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Chapter Text

”Daddy?”

Jimmy McGill grunted, squeezing his eyes just a little tighter to force himself back to sleep. Tiny fingers ran down his face, pulling on his lower lip. His eyes opened, and his first vision of the day was a blurred alarm clock that read 3am and a five-year-old boy wearing a large, bright orange T-shirt.

“Go back to sleep, bud,” Jimmy mumbled.

“I can’t,” his son whispered.

“Bad dream?”

“No, a really good one. But then I woke up, and I wanna watch cartoons.”

Jimmy buried his face in his pillow and groaned. The covers rustled as Kim turned over and sat up.

“Mark? Why are you up, honey?”

Mark raised his voice to make sure both his mother and father could hear them this time. “I just said I had a good dream, but then I woke up and now I wanna watch cartoons.”

“Shhhhh, quiet voices, Mark,” Jimmy hushed. His hand reached out behind him and patted Kim’s calf over the duvet. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Nope, I’m up.”

“You have that meeting with Mesa Verde in a few hours.”

“Kevin loves hearing about Mark, consider it a combo of good parenting and legal strategy. That said, if I’m suffering, we’re all suffering.”

Kim pushed against Jimmy’s body, forcing him to roll over and stumble onto his feet. As soon as he was up, Mark wrapped his hand around Jimmy’s thumb and pulled him into the living room. Kim followed behind them, rubbing her eyes and stretching.

Jimmy picked up the remote and powered up the television. “Alright, where is the DVD player remote?”

Kim shook her head. “ Godfather ’s still I there. Disney Channel is your safest bet for Mark-safe content right now.”

Jimmy sighed, punched the channel number and Mark’s attention was suddenly rapt in bright colors and cheery voices.

“Coffee?” Kim suggested.

“I’ll make some,” he answered. He padded over to the coffee maker and measured out the coffee grounds into the filter. Kim took the coffee pot and filled it up with water from the tap, transferred it back into Jimmy’s grip.

“At least it’s wasn’t a night terror this time,” she yawned. “Poor kid isn’t getting enough sleep these days, though.”

Jimmy flipped the switch on the coffee maker and it gurgled to life. “Just so you know, I took The Godfather out after you went to bed, and I had Mary Poppins queued up in the DVD player ready to go to in case this happened again.”

“‘Feed the Birds?’”

“‘Stay Awake.’ The best example of reverse psychology with music and lyrics by the Sherman brothers.”

“Man, that would have knocked him out so quick”

“It would have...if someone hadn’t quickly given up on finding the DVD remote.”

“I didn’t know you switched out the DVDs.”

“We’re supposed to be a united front here,” he teased. “Where’s the trust, Kim.”

Kim batted at him, and the coffee maker groaned as it finished its task. As Jimmy opened the cupboard to pull out two mugs, Kim wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. He smirked when she pressed her cheek against him, holding him like he was a middle-aged teddy bear.

“The bed is more comfortable,” he commented, pouring coffee into each mug. “Get some sleep, have the bed to yourself.”

“But you’re here, and the bed is all the way over there,” she argued. “You’re just as comfortable.”

Jimmy carefully twisted around and pressed a kiss to Kim’s temple, holding a mug in each hand. “Let’s go sit down, drink coffee, watch our son watch TV. Maybe you can sneak in a few z’s on the couch.”

“Actually,” she said. “I wanted to ask you about something.”

Jimmy shrugged, placed the coffee mugs on the counter before returning Kim’s embrace.

“I noticed there was an opened envelope with Chuck’s name on the return address. Did he send you something?”

Shit.

“Yeah,” Jimmy admitted.

“What did he send you?”

“It wasn’t for me.”

“If it wasn’t for you, who was it—wait. Mark? He’s sending stuff to Mark? What is he sending to Mark?”

“A check” Jimmy grimaced. “A very large check.”

“I don’t get it.”

“There was a letter that came with it. It said that Chuck wanted us to set up a trust fund for Mark.”

Kim’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow!”

“Yeah.”

“You tore it up, didn’t you?” she said.

“First few times, I did.”

“This happened before!”

“You had a lot on your plate, I didn’t want to distract you—“

“But I want you to talk to me. You have to talk to me about these things, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s reasoning was mostly true. Around the time of his disbarment hearing, Kim had found out she was pregnant. They gave up the office, he spent his time trying to get his community service squared away (and selling off his ad spots), and she was running around for Mesa Verde. There were a few mornings when she would fuss at him for insisting that he drive her to meetings—“I’m pregnant, not an invalid”—and he remembered how quickly she would fall asleep in the car. What would have happened if he let her drive herself?

After Mark was born, Jimmy played stay-at-home dad while Kim was working her ass off to provide for them. Eventually, losing time with her own son on top of losing sleep and purpose in her career had her shift gears. She offered to develop a banking division with Schweikart and Cokely to allow time to pursue pro bono PD cases and spend time with her family.

Then there was what was beneath all of that. After Kim told him about the pregnancy, and after the conversation that they both wanted to have a child together, he had made his way over to Chuck’s. The plan was to make amends. The plan was to have his brother back in his life so that they could be a family again.

Instead, his older brother said that he was doomed to fail. “You ruined Kim, you ruined me, and you’re going to ruin that child,” Chuck said, cruel words stated as a simple matter of fact. “It’s just what you do. You really shouldn’t be surprised.”

A year had passed after his suspension, and Kim asked Jimmy if he was going to get his license back. He had been holding Mark, almost three months old, and his son’s fingernails clawed into the skin where he gripped Jimmy’s finger. He thought of Kim, his son, his insurance premiums, the office, the Kettlemans’ bribe, Sandpiper… his brother telling him he wasn’t “a real lawyer.”

“No,” he told Kim. “I think I’m done.”

“Where’s the latest check?”

Jimmy was pulled back to the present, Kim looking up at him with those bright blue eyes.

“It’s in my wallet,” he admitted. “Fully intact...creased a bit, but that’s all.”

She nodded. “We need to sit down and talk to Chuck about this.”

“I’d rather not.”

“He’s getting better,” she assured. “Howard says that he has been taking medication, going to a therapist—“

“He’s still Chuck,” Jimmy replied.

Kim pressed her lips together, raised a hand to stroke a thumb against his cheek. She wasn’t going to let it go, but she would at least let him stew for a bit before coming back to the subject. It was a fair compromise. Over her shoulder, Jimmy saw their little boy sprawled flat on the floor.

“Hey, look,” he whispered. Kim turned her head, exhaling a soft “thank christ.” Mark’s arms were strewn out to either side, mouth open slightly as gentle snores joined a cacophony of goofy sound effects from the TV.

“I better take him to bed,” Jimmy said.

Kim places a hand against his chest to stop him. “Let me,” she insisted.

“Kim, you need sleep.”

“You just made me coffee.”

“I’ll make you more coffee, but you have to get some sleep.”

“I’ll get sleep. I just need to tuck in my son first.”

Jimmy squinted his eyes and pursed his lips, a small smirk curling up underneath the mask of a feigned pout. “You’re very good at winning.”

“Yes, I am.” She kissed him quickly, and Jimmy watched her as she lifted Mark off of the floor and carried him back to his bedroom.

What is my life? he wondered, smiling and running a hand through his thinning hair.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you don’t have a rusty nail I could step on? I mean, I’m due for another tetanus shot anyway, we might as well make it exciting.”

Kim raised an eyebrow. “No, but if you ever decide to get into porn or stripping, Rusty Nail is a great stage name.”

Jimmy slouched in the driver’s seat. Kim had called Chuck the previous week to arrange a meeting to sit down and discuss the checks he had been sending for Mark. Instead of a meeting, it became an invitation to dinner. He couldn’t even let it be a dinner at a restaurant—it would be a private dinner at Chuck’s, eating a fancy meal cooked by the man himself. “Just family.” (“Those were his exact words,” Kim told him. “‘Just family.’”)

They were parked in front of Chuck’s house, and lights shone through the windows with the soft glow of electricity. The image of Chuck’s hand flexing and clenching passed through his mind.

“Remember the ground rules?” Kim asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Jimmy groaned.

“That’s not what I said. I said maintain a level head, try to focus on the facts rather than the past, and excuse yourself the moment you feel like you might lose your temper.”

“So, keep my mouth shut?”

“As long as you don’t get plastered on wine, followed by driving away and leaving me here to make small talk while waiting for a taxi, you strategize however you need to.”

Jimmy sighed. “Can we stay in the car for a few more minutes?”

“And do what?”

“The more time we waste, the less time we have to spend with Chuck—”

“We can’t do that.”

“Sure, we can! In fact, we could spend this time making out in the car.”

Kim chuckled. “A tempting offer,” she snarked.

“I am willing to throw in some heavy petting if you give me ten minutes.”

“Oh my god!” she guffawed.

“You’re right, you’re right... I’d prefer ten, but I really only need five.”

She swatted him. Her smile was bright, and comfort warmed his body as she gazed at him and gripped his hand in hers. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “Let’s get this over with.”

They walked the path to the front door, and Kim knocked on the door. Jimmy noticed the changes that would seem so insignificant to other people. The house had received a fresh coat of paint, hiding the worn wood beneath the veneer. There was a new mat in front of the door with a texture that reminded him of a mutation of hay and pubic hair. He stared at the empty space where a piece of metal used to be, where a simple touch was supposed to ground him enough to decrease his brother’s discomfort.

The creak of a door opening snapped Jimmy out of his reverie, and he caught eyes with his older brother. Five years. Neither McGill had seen or spoken to each other for five years. What was left of Chuck’s light blonde hair had turned white, the lines on his face a little deeper. But time did not affect the way Chuck’s pride and dignity overpowered everything in its orbit. The men were both the same height, but Jimmy suddenly felt so small.

“Kim, Jimmy,” Chuck greeted. “Come in. Wipe your feet first, if you don’t mind.” 

Jimmy walked behind Kim as they followed Chuck into the living area. Classical music played from a stereo, piano keys and strings coming together to play a soothing melody. The sound made Jimmy grind his teeth.

“I’m glad we made the time to do this,” Chuck said, walking briskly over to a bar cart. “Would either of you like a glass of wine?”

“Sure,” Kim replied.

“And you, Jimmy?”

Jimmy didn’t answer his brother, but gave a short nod. Sure, why not?

Chuck opened a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and poured red liquid one, two, three glasses. He offered a glass to Kim, which she accepted with a “thank you.” He handed the second glass to Jimmy. 

Keep your mouth shut, Jimmy reminded himself. He took the glass from Chuck without a word, took a sip. It was an expensive vintage—only Chuck would think that the best wine should taste like the dirt that the grapes grew from.

“So… where’s Mark?” Chuck asked.

“He’s at home with the babysitter,” Kim answered. 

“You could have brought him over,” Chuck said. “I would have liked to see him. Well, that is to say, I would have liked to meet him.”

“We’d like that, too,” said Kim. Jimmy furrowed his brow at Kim. We? he asked with his expression alone. Who is ‘we?’ She nudged him, a silent admonishment that universally translated into be nice. Jimmy rolled his eyes and wandered away from Kim and Chuck, listening to their conversation as he investigated the books on the shelves.

Kim continued, “But we just thought it should be the adults for now. Plus, his bedtime is in an hour and if he stays up too late, he can become a little overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?” Chuck repeated.

“He’s been dealing with some night terrors recently. It sounds worse than it is, but it affects his sleep. And ours.”

“Ah, I understand. Dinner is almost ready. If you two can find your way to the dining room, I’m going to start plating.”

Chuck’s footsteps echoed, keeping in time with the beat with the stereo. Jimmy found himself in front of the biggest change to Chuck’s home. His older brother had never been a sentimental man, but there was a portion of the wall dedicated to photographs and newspaper clippings. There were items related to Chuck’s career—of course there fucking was—but Jimmy also came face to face with aging photos from his mother and father’s wedding, a browned paper drawing Jimmy had made of their old house, a black and white photograph of the Brothers McGill from 1968...

And one of Mark Wexler McGill smiling wide next to a Lilo and Stitch birthday cake.

“Hey,” Kim called. “You coming to the dining room?”

Jimmy didn’t take his eyes off of the photo. “Kim, did you send him this?”

Kim sighed. “I saw him at a networking event, and it was right after Mark’s fourth birthday—”

Jimmy turned to her. “Kim!”

”—and he asked for a photo. Rich was standing right next to me, and even if he weren’t... I would have given Chuck the photo anyway. Jimmy, you weren’t there to see his face. He’s so lonely.”

Jimmy clenched his teeth together. Keep your mouth shut, he thought again as he walked away from Kim and into the dining room.

“Kim, how is life at Schweikart and Cokely?”

Kim was mid-chew when Chuck asked her his question. Jimmy stared at the salmon he had cut up into small ribbons of meat, his quiet frustration more powerful than hunger or congeniality. She quickly swallowed her food and dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin.

“It’s good,” she said.

“I must say, I’m very impressed with the path you’ve taken,” Chuck complimented. “Developing a banking division, becoming partner, working as in public defense... and being a mother on top of all of that. HHM should have fought harder to keep you.”

“Thank you, Chuck,” Kim replies. “I’m very grateful for my time at HHM.”

You gonna extort me, Chuck?... You just set things right for Kim. You get her back in her office, out of Doc Review, everything back to normal, and I quit the law for good. Jimmy’s grip around the handle of his fork tightened.

“I don’t understand how you do all of it,” Chuck marveled. “The fact that you can find the time to balance an incredible career and parenthood. It’s extraordinary. Childcare must take a big chunk out of your income.”

Kim smiled and placed a hand on Jimmy’s leg. “Actually, Jimmy made a big sacrifice and stayed at home with Mark while I worked.”

Chuck blinked. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. He’s amazing with Mark. I’m very lucky.”

In every other setting where Kim had sung Jimmy’s praises as a father, he would feel a swell of pride and contentment. Yet that feeling was muted when Jimmy noticed Chuck’s reaction. On the surface, Chuck examined him and smiled. It was the exact same face he had when Jimmy told him he passed the bar. Astonishment. Wonder. Disbelief.

“Well, I suppose there’s no prolonging it. We should discuss Mark’s trust fund—”

“Mark doesn’t have a trust fund,” Jimmy interjected. “And he’s not getting one.”

“Jimmy,” Kim warned.

“No, Kim, I don’t want his money—”

“The money isn’t for you, Jimmy,” Chuck corrected.

“—I don’t want his money influencing our son’s choices. I don’t want it used as a bargaining chip.”

Chuck chortled at that. “A bargaining chip?”

“Yeah, a bargaining chip to become involved in Mark’s life and manipulate him into doing exactly what you want him to do.”

“It would be his money to do with as he wishes the moment he turns eighteen,” Chuck explained.

Jimmy waited. He lifted an eyebrow, a silent bluff that said, I know you. Chuck stared back at him, but huffed in surrender. Chuck could never resist erasing any ambiguity that he was right.

“That said, I think the appropriate options should for his future should be considered once we come to an agreement.”

“He’s five-years-old!” Jimmy shouted, enunciating each word.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“He’s a kid, Chuck. He shouldn’t have to worry about where he’s going to school or what job he should get—his options should be endless at this age.”

“Children grow up, Jimmy. And Mark’s potential should not be wasted. If the McGill name is going to be passed down, then I am going to ensure that Mark has the support he needs to succeed.”

Jimmy’s rage boiled over... and he began to laugh. Hard, riotous laughter. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry... just the fact that you told me that I was going to destroy my kid’s life... and now you want to provide support?”

He pounded his palm against the table as another bout of laughter racked him. 

“Jimmy!” Kim snapped. “Take a walk.”

“Sure, sure,” Jimmy giggled. He took out his cellphone. “Oh! Missed a call from the babysitter! Maybe she’s fixing the damage I’ve done.”

Jimmy continued laughing as he walked out the front door, very aware of the eyes watching him go.

Smoke swirled around Jimmy’s head as he puffed on a cigarette. He was leaning against the car, watching the night sky above him. A satellite dotted its course above his head. The cigarette in his lips was plucked out of his mouth.

“I thought we agreed to quit.”

Jimmy turned to Kim, who was now taking a drag from it.

“I had a feeling it would be a bad night,” Jimmy rasped.

“How’s everything at home?”

“Mark had one of his night terrors. He’s fine, but apparently it freaked Hannah out. I think I talked her down, told her it’s normal. We should probably give her a little extra cash tonight.”

Kim nodded, flicked the cigarette to the ground before grinding it into the pavement.

“You good?” she asked.

“Define ‘good.’”

“Jimmy. Chuck wants to be part of Mark’s life. He’s looking to make amends the only way he knows how.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I think we’re fine the way we are, thanks.”

“Did he really say that? About ruining Mark’s life?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jimmy shrugged. “I was already talking about it in therapy, I didn’t see the point of bringing you into it. I should have, but it was already... hard. Besides, I was more interested in proving that I couldn’t ruin my son’s life.”

Kim took his hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You are proving it. I think Chuck should see that.”

“Kim—“

“Jimmy, listen: my family only sends a birthday card year after year. No personal messages, and my parents don’t even sign them as ‘grandpa’ or ‘grandma.’ Mark has no idea who they are because they don’t want to know who he is. Chuck asks for photos, sends him anonymous gifts—you know most of Mark’s books were from him—and now he just offered to set up a trust fund for him. It doesn’t erase the horrible things he has done to you or said to you. But he is actually trying.”

Jimmy watched Kim. He would never call it “looking” at her—there was always something happening with her. Her mind was always going, her face never really showing what cards she had in her deck. She always kicked his ass at poker during their mailroom days. But years of sharing a bed and sharing a home allowed him to have moments like this one. Moments where her face was stoic and practical, but he could see her. Her hurt, her vulnerability, her goodness... It was everything that she would say wasn’t useful in the courtroom, but everything that made her a good lawyer.

He squeezed her hand, kissed her lips. “We should get home.”

“Okay,” said Kim. “This isn’t over.”

“Didn’t think it was.”

Chapter Text

May 2003

“This is crazy.”

Kim rolled her eyes. “Repeating ‘this is crazy’ over and over will not make it any more or less crazy.”

Jimmy continued massaging her feet, Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail playing in the background. She was almost six months into her pregnancy, and he was three months into life without his law license. The coffee table was littered with chips, candy, and cookies. When Jimmy got the call for this smorgasbord of foodstuffs, he asked if she wanted any other pregnancy craving staples. She told him to fuck right off. She called him back five minutes later to add queso to the list.

“I just never thought I’d have a kid, y’know?” he admitted.

“Neither did I. But now—” Kim waved her hands in front of her belly “—behold! The forty-year-old pregnant lady.”

Jimmy laughed as she took her small cereal bowl filled with Doritos and placed it on top of her stomach. It balanced perfectly. She waved her hands again. “Ta-da.”

“After October, you won’t know what to do with yourself,” Jimmy quipped.

“Well, between the mood swings, swollen feet, and feeling like a turtle getting out of bed, this kid better be the most beautiful boy known to man.”

“I don’t know if you’ve passed by a mirror lately, but I promise you, he’s going to be fine.”

Kim popped a chip into her mouth, licked orange dust off of her fingers. “So you never wanted kids?”

“It’s not that I didn’t want them, I just...” he paused midway through the sentence, regrouped. “Y’know, it seemed like it wasn’t gonna happen. My ex-wife had a few scares that didn’t amount to anything, and then when I hit forty, I figured that was the end of it.”

“Charlie Chaplain had kids when he was 73.”

“Yeah, but he was too old to pick ‘em up.”

Kim pushed her foot against his chest. “I like a man that can quote When Harry Met Sally.”

“I don’t know if that’s a high standard or a low one.”

“Chuck didn’t have kids with Rebecca,” she noted.

“Nope.”

“By choice?”

“Does it matter?”

Kim shrugged. “It might.”

“Little bit of Column A, little bit of Column B. Honestly, his standards are so high that I think even his genes felt like they couldn’t live up to those expectations.”

The TV filled the silence with taunts by rude Frenchmen, and Kim pushed her foot against Jimmy again.

“Pass me the queso.”

“So demanding,” he teased. “It’s sexy when you’re bossy.”

“Honestly, if you pour queso all over your body right now, I would probably fuck you.”

Jimmy chuckled. “I’m so tempted to test that, but let’s stick a pin in it. Here’s your queso.”

Kim took the container from Jimmy, dipping a Dorito in the cheese.

“Oh my god,” Kim moaned as she chewed. “Here, take a Dorito and dip it in.”

“It’s already cheese.”

“It’s cheese on cheese!”

Jimmy followed orders, dipped the chip into the cheese and popped it into his mouth. Kim moved her bowl of chips to the side and held out her hand. “Help me up,” she said.

Jimmy took her hand, standing up and pulling her up with him.

“Hitting the hay—?” He was cut off by her lips on his, all passion and heat. She pulled away and licked her lips.

“What was that for?” he asked, catching his breath.

“You had queso on your upper lip.”

“Normal people would just tell someone to wipe their lip.”

“Well, my hormones are driving me insane, so shut up and take me to bed.”

“So bossy,” he groaned.

August 2008

Jimmy opened his eyes, his nose buried in Kim’s hair and his right arm tingling from the weight of her body laying on top of it. He shifted away from her, careful as he disentangled himself from her warmth. She lifted her head for a moment, briefly groaning in disappointment before falling back into bed and sleeping easily. He smiled, considered breaking his morning routine to stay next to her. But the pull of the routine was stronger today.

Jimmy closed the bedroom door behind him, wearing only boxers and a white undershirt as he entered the kitchen. He opened the pantry and filled one arm with dry ingredients—flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt. He set them on the counter, and started scavenging the refrigerator for eggs, milk, and bacon.

“Good morning.”

Jimmy turned around and there was Mark rubbing sleep away with one hand and waving with the other.

“Hey, boss. Did you get enough sleep?”

Mark nodded. “Is Mommy at work?” he yawned.

“She’s sleeping. She may go for a bit today, but we were thinking about taking you to the pool. You wanna do that?”

Mark nodded violently, the word “pool” a child’s equivalent of three cups of black coffee.

“Well, let’s get you some breakfast first,” Jimmy said. “Let’s see, it’s Saturday, so I think that’s a good day for making some pancakes and bacon.”

“Yay!”

“Shhh, Mom’s sleeping, remember? Here, come over here and help.” 

Of course “help” really meant “stand on a stool and watch Dad cook.” Jimmy did save a few tasks that Mark could do. He had purposefully left the sugar in the pantry, placed it on the lowest shelf where the little boy could pick up the bag with little to no problem and carry it over. Mark grunted from the effort, repeating “oof” and “so heavy” as he heaved a three pound bag filled with one pound of white sugar.

“I know what I want for my birthday,” Mark announced.

“Yeah? What?” Jimmy asked.

“I... want... uhhh... a balloon!”

Jimmy didn’t look up from the batter he was mixing together. This game was best played starting with feigned disinterest turned into feigned outrage.

“A balloon, huh? Got it, one balloon.”

“No, more balloons!”

“Okay, two balloons.”

“No!”

Jimmy stopped stirring, placing his hands on his hips and raising an eyebrow. “Okay, how many?”

Mark’s grin was full of mischief, his top row of teeth biting down on his bottom lip. He held up his hand and wiggled all five of his fingers.

”Five? You want five balloons? That’s so many balloons!” Jimmy waved his hands in the air like a human Muppet and his son giggled at his father’s reaction. “Why five balloons? I need a really good reason if I’m getting five balloons.”

“Because I’m gonna be five!” Mark said.

“You’re not five yet? Man, you are just rocking my world here!”

Mark laughed, nose scrunched up from the pure joy of pulling one over his father. Jimmy had been calling him a five-year-old for the last two months, something he remembered his own parents doing with him as he was growing up. He wondered if they did it for the same reason he did. It’s hard enough watching kids grow so fast, so you try to catch up a few months ahead of schedule.

”Ugh, fine!” bemoaned Jimmy. “I’ll get you five whole balloons because you’re gonna be five. Oh wait, when’s your birthday again?”

“Nine, nine,” confirmed Mark.

“September 9th, okay. Five balloons, five-years-old, September 9th.”

September 9th, 2003 was one of the best days of their lives, albeit preceded by one of the most terrifying. Jimmy could still feel the tension in his hands from white-knuckling the steering wheel. Kim screaming at him to drove slower even as she was pale from pain and blood loss. Jimmy barely understood what the doctors were saying over the feedback loop of fear playing in his head.

”... forty-years-old...”

”... history of smoking?...”

”... the placenta is...”

”... C-section...”

Jimmy had sat in the waiting room, the doctors insisting that he was not in a good state of mind to be near Kim. It had made him even more furious and afraid, and it took everything in his power not to hurl chairs across the room. His best friend, his partner, the love of his life was being cut open, and their baby—Jimmy couldn’t even process that.

Jimmy was alone.

He almost called Howard.

He called someone else.

“It’s gonna be fine.” Those were the only words Mike Ehrmantraut said to him during the wait. The old man’s inherent grim nature helped, emotions still rampant but numbed just enough to sit still. When the doctor came out to say both mother and baby were fine, Mike took his leave. No goodbye, no congratulations. The job was done.

Jimmy briefly wondered what it would have been like if Chuck had been there. If Chuck would have offered any comfort. If Chuck hadn’t said the things he said.

If Jimmy hadn’t done the things he did.

“Hey, Mark-o,” said Jimmy to his almost five-year-old son. “Can I get your ears real quick?”

Jimmy and Kim had spent the last few weeks alternatively discussed, argued, and avoided the topic of Mark meeting Chuck since that disastrous dinner. It was an endless cycle that ended in a stalemate—Kim’s logic versus Jimmy’s emotions, both equally stubborn in their approach. But it was never about Kim or Jimmy.

It was about Mark.

“Your mom and I went to see someone a few weeks ago.”

“Mommy’s mommy?” asked Mark.

“Um, no,” Jimmy replied. He cleared his throat and explained. “He’s actually... we went to see my brother. Which means he’s your uncle. Your Uncle Chuck. And he told us that he wanted to meet you. Is that something you want to do? Meet your uncle?”

“Today?”

Jimmy fought the instinct to yell, Oh god, no!

“Not today,” he answered, calm and collected. “But maybe soon.”

Mark considered it, lips pursing and chipmunk cheeks puffing out as he mulled it over. He had his mother’s sharp blue eyes. Jimmy could almost imagine Kim as a child with the same expression on her face, pondering life’s great mysteries.

“Will he bring presents?” Mark asked.

Jimmy tilted his head. “No, he’d just bringing himself.”

“He should come to my birthday party, then. That way I can meet him and get presents.”

Jimmy couldn’t help the chuckle that burst out of his chest. He really is my son, he thought.

“I’ll tell you what: meet him first, and then maybe you can invite Uncle Chuck to your birthday.”

Mark considered this new information. A new question formulated in his mind. Pursed lips, puffed cheeks, index finger tapping an offbeat rhythm on his lips.

“Is Uncle Chuck nice?” he finally asked.

“He’s gonna love you,” Jimmy promised. It was the truth. He didn’t answer the question, but it was the truth. 

Mark nodded. “Okay. I wanna meet him.”

Jimmy copied the boy’s nod. “Okay. How about we make these pancakes, huh?”

Father and son hovered by the stovetop, the boy ordering Jimmy when to stop pouring batter over the griddle. The bedroom door clicked open and Mark hopped down from his stool to run over to greet his mother. Kim’s hand rubbed Jimmy’s back and she pressed her cheek to his shoulder as he flipped pancakes and strips of bacon. Jimmy didn’t need to tell her about the conversation he and Mark just had. 

“I have an Uncle Chuck, and I’m gonna meet him!” Mark proclaimed. “And if I like him, I’m inviting him to my birthday party so he can have fun and bring me presents.”

Jimmy kept cooking, no need to see Kim’s look of equal shock and peace of mind.

Chapter Text

August 2008

There were times when Jimmy McGill wished he could go back in time and apologize to his parents. Apologize for so many different reasons. Most of those reasons were gargantuan in size, things he was sure still would have shamed his parents despite their forgiveness. But he also wanted to apologize for some things that were as small and simple as throwing tantrums in the middle of grocery stores.

Because Jimmy was now a parent that endured tantrums in the middle of grocery stores.

The goal had been simple: prepare for Chuck. This involved grabbing a cheap bottle of wine from the store; running errands that would allow time for the maid service to finish at the house; try not to drive away to Canada with Mark in tow. And that required Jimmy to remain calm.

That calm flew out the window the moment Jimmy told Mark he couldn’t have a Phineas and Ferb notebook and could put it on his birthday list. And the boy snapped. Jimmy stood by and watched as Mark sobbed, screamed, collapsed onto the floor. A woman in her late thirties passed by him, glaring at him while her head shrunk into her neck. He had given in to the embarrassment before, a few times spent grabbing Mark and walking out the door as the boy’s wails pierced his eardrums. But nowadays, when people passed silent judgment on him, Jimmy glared right back at them. 

“Hi,” he greeted the woman, flashing her an audacious smile. “Kids, right? You got any tips?”

The woman’s eyes widened at the boldness of this strange man calling her out, rushing out of the aisle as quickly as her heels could carry her. 

Jimmy turned his attention back to his son. Mark had unleashed a scream that would have frightened the banshees back in Ireland. His small, thin frame heaved as he tried to catch his breathe. Jimmy bent down on one knee and came face-to-face with the boy.

“So,” said Jimmy. “Did you get your way?”

Mark looked at his dad, his mouth curling down and eyes watering up again. “No,” he whimpered.

Jimmy nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Mark Wexler McGill’s face was still red and puffy from the hard effort of crying over a small notebook with Phineas and Ferb’s faces plastered on the front. He stared out the window from his car seat as Jimmy held the steering wheel with one hand, and held his cellphone to his ear with the other.

“Thank god you called,” Kim said on the other line. “I need a distraction right now, I’m going cross-eyed from all this paperwork.”

“I can’t do it,” Jimmy whispered into the receiver, his exasperation and desperation making it come out as a hiss.

“Yes, you can, I believe in you,” she responded in a blunt monotone.

“No, Kim, you don’t get it. Today was a bad day—a really bad day. And Chuck cannot see me have a bad day.”

Kim sighed. “What happened?”

“Mark threw a fit at the store, and I handled it, but he’s not my biggest fan right now and I can’t say I’m his either.”

“Alright, calm—“

“If Chuck even gets a sense of this, he’s gonna lord it over me and he’s going to turn my son to the Dark Side! Chuck looks enough like Ian McDiarmid to convince me he’s actually Emperor Palpatine—!”

Kim cut him off mid-rant, her voice low and soothing. “Jimmy, it’s gonna be okay. Take some time to cool down. I’ll, uh, call Chuck and tell him that I’m running behind. Push dinner back from 6:30pm to about 7:30pm or 8pm?”

“Or we can make an impromptu move to Seattle. Taking the bar again shouldn’t be too hard for you.”

The line was silent for a beat. He knew she wouldn’t be tempted to build on the joke. Probably because it was only 30% joke. 

“Where are you now?” she asked.

Jimmy looked in the rear view mirror to check in on Mark. The boy was still in his own world, staring out the window and thinking about the forbidden notebook. And, more importantly, seemingly oblivious to his father’s anxiety attack about looking like a bad father. 

“Uh, car wash,” Jimmy said, at a normal volume. “Thought I’d get it washed and vacuum Goldfish crumbs out of the interior.”

“Okay, here’s what you’re gonna do: You’re going to get a car wash, and then after that you’re going to drive to the office and drop Mark off with me. Then you go straight home, decompress, and then Mark and I will get home with a pizza before Chuck gets there.”

“I thought you wanted to cook something.”

“Screw that. We’re both having bad days and Chuck is coming over. We’re getting a pizza, and that’s that. Hell, I’ll even splurge and get it sliced.”

Jimmy closed his eyes, took a breath. “Thanks, Kim.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Jimmy pressed the ‘end call’ button, and stepped out of the car to unbuckle Mark from his seat and place his car wash order. A young man wearing a blue polo shirt, khaki pants, and a baseball cap scribbled on a receipt pad and ripped off the sheet. “Take this inside to the cashier and he’ll take care of you,” he said.

Jimmy held Mark on his hip, the latter gripping Jimmy’s shirt even tighter as they entered the narrow interior of the facility. A bright red light flashed above it all, reminding Jimmy of the police cars from some of the old black and white movies where Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis caused mischief. On the opposite wall, the car wash’s large logo was displayed and rhyming tag line:

A1A Car Wash — You’ve Tried the Rest — Now Try the Best 

Jimmy set Mark down on the ground, handing the receipt slip to the cashier and then fishing for the wallet in his back pocket.

“How much do I owe you?” Jimmy asked.

“It will be $26.97—” The cashier was interrupted by his own hacking cough, a loud and powerful thing that almost had him bent over. Jimmy paused, leaning in toward the poor man.

“Are you okay?”

The cashier waved it off, smiled and laughed off his embarrassment. “Ah, it’s just a chest cold. My wife and son just had it. It’ll pass.” 

Jimmy nodded, dug in his wallet for cash or card, whatever came first. Two $20 bills won the race, and he passed it over. I know he just coughed up half his lung, Jimmy thought, but I cannot stop staring at the dead caterpillar that this guy is trying to pass as a mustache... 

“How old is he?”

“Huh?” Jimmy was drawn out of his thoughts and noticed that the cashier was smiling at Mark. Meanwhile, Mark was hiding behind his father’s legs, shy of the man with the bad cough and wispy mustache. “Oh, he’s gonna be five in about two weeks.”

The cashier smiled brightly. “Ah! Happy early birthday!”—Mark smiled and tucked himself further behind Jimmy—“That’s a good age. They’re able to communicate and run around, but the world is so big and full of possibilities. It’s also a pretty good week to have a birthday, if I say so myself.” 

Jimmy offered a tight-lipped grin. The cashier was polite enough, but there was something about him that set him on edge. The man was around his age, maybe a few years older. On the surface he seemed like a nice enough guy. But his mannerisms, the awkward grin he wore, his vocal inflection that boasted of knowledge and with a hint of superiority in that knowledge. Right, he thought. He reminds me of Chuck. Inside his head, a version of Kim argued that everything was reminding him of Chuck right now and to lay off of the poor man.

“Anyway!” the cashier spluttered good-naturedly. “We’re pretty slow today, so your car should be ready in just a few minutes. You can take this disk to your car wash professional, and you are free to go.”

Jimmy took the plastic disk from his hand. “Great. Thanks a bunch…”

“Oh! Walt.”

“Thanks, Walt.”

“I’m Mark.” Jimmy looked down at his son, now planted in front of Jimmy and declaring his name loud enough for all to hear. 

Walt smiled at Mark, nodded. “Very nice to meet you, Mark. Have a good day.”

And we’re done. Jimmy picked Mark up, offering the disk to him as they walked out of the door. Mark plucked it from Jimmy’s hand, happy to have a responsibility for something that looked like a tiny toy. Of course, this meant Jimmy had to give a quick reminder that the disk was not a toy. Mark’s face fell slightly at the news that he couldn’t chuck it like a frisbee, but he continued holding on.

“Hey, how would you feel about hanging out with Mommy for a bit?”

Mark bobbed his head, and then he wrapped his arms around Jimmy’s neck and hugged him close. Was he choking Jimmy? Yes, but after the animosity and the wailing and the Chuck-like cashier, it was a welcome sign of affection.

“Alright.” Jimmy pulled Mark out of his loving stranglehold on him. “Let’s get you to Mommy. And then... we’re having pizza with your Uncle Chuck. As promised.”

As Jimmy pulled the car out of the parking lot, he noticed Mark waving goodbye from his car seat. Jimmy glanced quickly out the window for what his son was waving to. It was either the inflatable tube man in one of the neighboring businesses, or it was a familiar looking man who looked deflated as he squatted next to a tire wheel and started scrubbing.

Jimmy chose to believe it was the tube man.

Chapter Text

Kim set two Venezia’s Pizzeria boxes on the table, opened them to reveal steaming circles of pepperoni and plain cheese pies. Mark reach out to pick at the hot cheese, squeaking “ow, ow, ow” as he stretched it out. Kim batted his hand away, eyeing him down as he grinned mischievously and sucked at the grease and marinara remnants on his fingers.

“Go wash your hands,” she ordered. Mark ran toward the bathroom, narrowly missing Jimmy as he walked in.

“How’s this?” Jimmy asked, gesturing at the blue button-up shirt and gray suit paints that replaced his casual civilian clothing.

“You don’t have to dress up,” Kim assured. “It’s just pizza.”

“Do you have time to change?”

Kim scrunched her nose. “No.”

“Okay, well, neither will Chuck. And I’m not going to be the only one shlepping in a T-shirt and jeans.”

“Mark is wearing a T-shirt and shorts. You two could match.”

“You’re right, I’ll go look for the adult version of the Batman T-shirt that doesn’t exist our closet.”

Kim placed her hands on either side of his face. Her three-inch heels placed her at his height level, and there was no escaping her eyes. Her intense focus on him created the stirrings of calmness in Jimmy. She lightly pressed her lips to his in a brief kiss and gave him a gentle shake.

“You are going to be fine,” she insisted, enunciating each word.

Mark ran out of the bathroom, presenting his hands and proclaiming, “I washed my hands!”

Kim and Jimmy turned to look at their boy, indeed, with clean hands. But at the cost of clean hands, the front of his Batman T-shirt was wet. Jimmy groaned, “Bud!”

“It’s fine,” said Kim. “He’s a kid, it’s a dark color shirt, Chuck’s not—“

Jimmy didn’t waste time arguing or agreeing. He scooped Mark up in his arms, and made his way to the boy’s bedroom. Jimmy’s shoes protected him from LEGO remnants that were scattered on the floor. Mark hemmed and hawed as Jimmy offered him options about which T-shirt he wanted to wear.

The doorbell rang.

Fuck it! Jimmy picked out a tried and true favorite—a multi-colored shirt that made Mark look like a child version of an Emergency Broadcasting System Alert rainbow. He yanked the wet Batman shirt, apologizing to his son and rushing him at the same time. Mark held up his arms while his dad pulled the shirt over his head and arms. Two voices greeted each other by the door.

“Hello, Kim.”

“Hey, Chuck.”

Shit, shit, shit! Jimmy smoothed Mark’s copper-colored hair, getting no help from Mark as he tried to move his head away from Jimmy’s fingers. He muttered “good enough” and picked the boy back up. Right before he entered the lion’s den with son in tow, Jimmy stopped in front of the mirror that hung over the door. He sighed.

“It’s showtime, folks.”

Kim and Chuck were still standing by the door, making small talk and both dressed in professional attire. (I knew it, Jimmy gloated inwardly.) As Jimmy got closer to the two of them, Mark’s bravado dissipated into shyness and he shifted around in his father’s hold. He did his best to hide, pressing his forehead into the crook of Jimmy’s neck while still keeping an eye on the stranger.

“Ah! Here they are!” Kim said. “And now I’m outnumbered.”

“Jimmy,” Chuck nodded. Then he caught eyes with the little boy and changed his tone in to something uncomfortably bubbly. “And who might this be?”

“Mark, this is your Uncle Chuck,” Jimmy said. “Say hello.”

Mark put his index finger in his mouth, nibbling on his nail as he considered Chuck.

“Mark,” Kim intervened. “Say hello to your uncle.”

Mark stayed silent for a moment longer, taking his time examining each adult in the room. He turned away and attempted to burrow his entire head into Jimmy’s shoulder. Finally, he did what was asked, but his voice was muffled from where his lips were mashed against Jimmy’s shirt. So “hello” sounded more like “hmmewm.”

“Hi, there,” Chuck responded. He lifted his hand as if to pat Mark’s head, then stopped midway and retracted it. “He’s sweet. Shy. Is he always this shy?”

“Sometimes,” Kim acknowledged. “But the moment he warms up to you? He will talk your ear off.”

“Sounds familiar,” Chuck murmured.

Asshole, Jimmy thought. He put on his own fake smile and asked, “So, who wants pizza?” 

Mark perked his head up and raised his hand high.

“No, little boys don’t get pizza!” Jimmy joked. “Little boys get broccoli!”

“No!” Mark squealed.

“And cabbages!”

“Nooo!” Mark exclaimed, laughing into Jimmy’s shirt.

“He already laid claim to one piece,” Kim commented as she plated the slice Mark had his fingers on. “Jimmy, put him down. Mark, get your food.”

Mark grabbed his plate from his mother, was reminded to say “thank you,” and immediately wandered over to the living room.

“Are we... not eating at the table?” inquired Chuck.

“Oh, um, we could,” Kim replied. “We just thought we should keep the evening casual.”

“Of course, it’s your home. It’s just not what I’m used to. I mean, this is what dining room tables are for, after all.”

Kim walked over to Jimmy and affectionately wrapped her arm around him, and then was taken by surprise when he felt her nails dig into his side. Was she trying to remind him to be on his best behavior? Or was she actually trying to convey her own frustration with Chuck? She clawed a little harder and Jimmy suspected it might have been both.

“It’s more of a junk mail and spare change collector than a table,” Jimmy quipped. “C’mon, we’ll put on a movie.”

“I’ve been playing some of the older movies for Mark,” Kim told Chuck as she released her hold on Jimmy and handed the McGill brothers their plates. “The one good thing about Hollywood censorship was that I can watch movies with my kid that doesn’t make me want to strangle an animator.”

“Ask her about Madagascar,” Jimmy teased as he took a bite out of his slice.

“I hate those goddamn penguins so much,” she sneered.

Chuck tried to balance his discomfort with agreeableness as he joined in on this dinner habit of the Wexler-McGill household. Kim had put a copy of Singin’ in the Rain in the DVD player, and the adults ate pizza and watched quietly as Debbie Reynolds popped out of a birthday cake and bantered with Gene Kelly. Mark, on the other hand, tried his best to eat his pizza and dance to “Make ‘Em Laugh” at the same time. Kim fussed at him to chew and swallow his food first, while Jimmy cheered ask Mark substituted flips with fast, jerky spins. The song stopped, Mark stretched his arms above his head, fingers spread out like fireworks could shoot out of them at any moment. The adults applauded, and the boy took that as his cue to sit back down, catch his breath, and nibble on his pizza.

“He looks like you,” Chuck commented. Jimmy turned his attention to Chuck, expecting him to be looking at Kim. Instead, he found that Chuck was staring directly at him.

“When you were that age, I mean,” Chuck clarified. “It’s astonishing how much he looks like you.”

Jimmy blinked. What was he supposed to say to that?

“Marco Pasternak, right? Did you name Mark after him?” Chuck asked, his voice soft yet icy.

“Actually, I had a grandfather named Mark,” Kim answered on Jimmy’s behalf. “My grandparents practically raised me while my parents worked, so I wanted to honor them. Ruth was an option, if it had been a girl. We just figured that there was already a Charles McGill out there, and Jimmy didn’t want his name to be ‘James’ or ‘Morgan.’”

Chuck nodded. “That’s wonderful. I was named after my dad, so I’m a little biased when it comes to keeping names in the family. Dad’s middle name was ‘Willard’—that was up for grabs.”

“I’m sure your father was a lovely person, but I hope you’ll understand when I say, ‘god, no.’”

Jimmy held his tongue, let Kim and Chuck laugh together. Kim wasn’t lying when she told Chuck that Mark’s namesake was her dear old grandad that would take her to baseball games out in Kansas City. But two things could be true—Mark was named for two very different men. Of course, Chuck would prefer a world in which a McGill was named after anyone other than Jimmy’s childhood friend that helped him run scams. A man who’s last words were to Jimmy after reliving their golden days of ripping off the gullible: “This week was the best week of my life.”

Mark ran back in from his bedroom and stoped in front of Chuck. When had he left his spot in front of the TV? That kid was too damn quiet for his own good. The boy tapped his knuckles gently on the older man’s knee. One hand was held behind his back, obviously hiding something.

“Knock, knock,” he said.

Chuck snickered, looked at the parents with raised eyebrows. Ah, is this the moment you were talking about? he seemed to be saying. Chuck returned his attention to Mark, willing to play along. “Who’s there?”

”Saul.”

”Saul who?”

Mark took his hand from behind his back and proceeded to clumsily put on Jimmy’s sunglasses. The frame did not fit his face, so Mark held them to his head with one hand and pointed a crooked finger gun at his uncle with the other.

Mark delivered the punchline with a giggly attempt at a hard edge: “S’all good, man!” 

Jimmy felt the weight of his anxiety lift for three distinct reasons. One, an old pseudonym Jimmy used his old Slippin’ Jimmy days was now an innocent and cheesy dad joke that made his son smile. Two, his son liked the joke enough to commit it to memory and deliver it to complete strangers. And three, Chuck had to endure it with a smile and good nature despite knowing the history of it.

Then Chuck turned that smile back on Jimmy, and said, “Very funny. ‘S’all good, man.’ Hey, Jimmy, now that we’re finished eating, I have a gift in the car for Mark here. Would you mind coming out to help me with it?”

And all that anxiety came crashing back.

Chapter Text

Jimmy followed Chuck out of the house, the older McGill leading them to a sleek-yet-practical black 2006 Toyota out front. A car that Chuck would not have been able to drive six years ago. Meanwhile, Jimmy was a man who was well-aware he was walking into a trap. It wouldn’t lessen the impact of the bite, but at least he wouldn’t be surprised by the pain.

“I thought we were clear with you,” Jimmy started. “You weren’t supposed to bring a gift—“

“You’re really something, you know that?” Chuck sniffed. “You give me the silent treatment for most of the night, you and Kim don’t even attempt to make an effort for guests, and I come to find out you are passing on your bad habits to you son?”

“The hell are you talking about?” Jimmy retorted. “I don’t know if you’re aware of what having a kid is like, but it’s not like we can plan a nine-course meal. And what ‘bad habits?’”

Chuck lifted an eyebrow. “‘S’all good, man?’”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “It was a stupid knock knock joke.”

“It was also one of your beloved aliases back in Cicero. A favorite, from what I can remember. You used it on your first fake ID.”

“That I took from a joke.”

“And now you’re passing it on to your child!”

“It’s a stupid joke!”

“That’s your go-to excuse, isn’t it?” Chuck chastised, waving a finger at his little brother. “Everything’s a joke to you!”

“It’s better than your excuse! If something bad happens, it’s probably because of Jimmy! Dad’s store, the end of your marriage, your mental illness—”

“Which I am being treated for, thank you very much. A condition, by the way, you exploited and abused. Making me look like a fool at the disbarment hearing.”

“You were trying to get me disbarred!” Jimmy fumed, heart racing to catch up with his frustration and rage.

“You never take responsibility for your actions!”

“And who do you think I learned that from? By the way, I don’t know if you noticed this, but I’m not a lawyer anymore. You did it! Congratulations! What else could you possibly want from me? If you hate me so much, why even try to be interested in meeting my son?”

Chuck studied Jimmy for a moment before looking away and raking a hand across his mouth. Jimmy noticed his breath own breath had not settled while Chuck had gotten more still and his breathing evened. He found himself resenting Chuck’s ability to find his cool despite how heated their arguments could get.

Chuck sighed. “Rebecca got remarried. Did you know that?”

Of course I fucking didn’t, Jimmy thought. He stared at Chuck, not even bothering to nod or shake his head. If he had something to say, Jimmy would listen without contributing anymore fuel to the fire. 

Chuck nodded and continued. “Yeah. She was in town about two or three years ago. We had dinner—and I noticed the ring. It was, um… it was a surprise, but not unexpected. And I suddenly realized that after... everything... I had gone to my own attorney and left practically everything to her in my will. I was upset, embarrassed and spiteful. After Rebecca told me, I figured that I should probably change that. Her new spouse would probably think it odd that she would inherit most of my estate.”

Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. “What does that have anything to do with me? Or my family?”

“Jimmy, as far as I’m concerned, we don’t have to pretend to like each other. But, as loathe as I am to admit it, I’m an old man. And the older I get, the less I want to die alone.”

Jimmy closed the front door behind him. What was meant to be a quick trip to the car had turned into a one hour conversation. His mind was reeling. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Kim emerged from their bedroom, business attire abandoned for a gray tank top and pajama bottoms.

“That took a while,” she said. “Did he park on the opposite side of town?”

“Where’s Mark?”

“I put him to bed. The excitement wore him out, so I thought it would be a good idea to call it an early night.” 

Jimmy nodded. Kim’s gaze shifted between his to his hand. She reached down and gently lifted the book he had been holding in loose grip.

“So, Chuck got Mark a present,” she stated.

“Yep.”

“The Adventures of Mabel by Harry Thurston Peck.” Kim flipped open the front cover, turned to the reverse of the title page. “Copyright 1912, re-published in 1986. Hm... older book, a more modern edition, gently used. Chuck really put some thought into finding this.”

“Yeah.”

Jimmy crossed into the kitchen, popping the cork off the red wine bottle he bought for the evening and poured himself a hefty amount. He didn’t bother getting a wine glass. The coffee mugs were closer and it was better than drinking it straight out of the bottle. Kim plopped the book onto the counter and leaned in.

“Jimmy, what were you two doing out there for so long?”

Jimmy processed the best way to explain it. There wasn’t even a good way to explain it. “Okay, so this probably was nowhere near your radar because there weren’t any submarines or arctic settings,” he fumbled. “But… do you know what the plot of Gilmore Girls is?”

“What? No—wait, when did you watch Gilmore Girls?”

“I’m a stay-at-home dad with a son that can’t sleep. That answers that. So, brass tacks, a mom makes a deal with her rich parents so that her daughter can go to this prep school. The deal? Every Friday, they have dinner at the big, fancy Gilmore residence.”

Kim blinked. “Are we having Friday night dinners at Chuck’s house?”

Jimmy grimaced. “They’re gonna happen Sunday nights twice a month and we’re alternating hosting duties.”

Kim went still, one hand on the counter and the other on her hip. Her face carried no emotion, but her eyes were confused and cold. There was silence between the 

“Okay,” she said.

Oh shit, there’s the ‘okay,’ Jimmy thought.

“I hate to remind you of this, but you’re the one who wanted Chuck to be more involved. That Chuck was ‘lonely.’ And you wanted him to come by the house and see how I’m such a good dad! Oh, quick update, he thinks I’m passing down bad habits.”

Kim groaned. “Fine, I did suggest that. But c’mon, Jimmy, I can’t commit to Sunday. I should have been a part of that conversation. And if he still has that opinion, I don’t see why he still wants to have this ritual with you.”

“It’s really more for Chuck to get to know Mark. My role in this would be to make sure Mark doesn’t turn into a mini-jackass. And if you happen to be available, that’s great, but you’re not obligated.”

Kim tilted her head, shaking it a little bit. “Okay.”

“Okay as in you’re okay with this, or okay as in you don’t like it and you don’t want to talk about this anymore?” he asked.

“Yes.” She took the mug filled with wine out of his hand, took a sip, and then retuned it to his grip.

“If Chuck were really as smart as he thinks he is,” Kim said, “he would have brought me a present.”

“You’re not as easy to influence as a child,” Jimmy added.

“Says you! Give me a $35 gift card to Marshall’s and I’ll start signing away my son’s future now.”

Jimmy set the mug down and leaned towards Kim. “Lawyers can’t accept bribes.”

“I’m not his lawyer,” she retorted.

“You’re technically still mine, though.”

Kim smirked, narrowed her eyes. “Are you thinking about bribing me?”

“I want to state for the record,” Jimmy murmured, close enough to Kim where their noses brushed against each other. “The next time I do something stupid, you set your price as low as a $35 Marshall’s gift card.”

Jimmy attempted to plant a fast kiss, but Kim was quicker as she pulled back and swatted his arm. Worth it. 

Chapter Text

Jimmy’s eyes cracked open as Kim’s alarm gently blared. A hand searched for his bed partner and found that the right side of the bed was devoid of her slight frame. His nose scrunched as he breathed in and shifted into a sitting position where his elbows and forearms supported his weight. The room was dark, the suit Kim had chosen the night before was draped over the top of a chair. The door was open wide—usually they would close the door every night, and if Mark happened to wake up, the creak of the hinges would be the first alert that they had to be on post-nightmare duty. Night terrors they could hear from clear across the hall and through the door, and either Kim or Jimmy would groggily collide with doorframe without fail ever time they needed to rush to his side.

He rubbed at his eyes and rolled out of bed. Jimmy found her in Mark’s bedroom—no screams, no excited jabbers about his dreams. She was kneeling next to his bed, gazing at her little boy and stroking her fingers through his hair. Kim often described herself with plenty of “nots”: not precious, not sentimental, not emotional. And yet these quiet and private moments proved to Jimmy how untrue it was. It didn’t matter if she didn’t see it as clearly as he did. What mattered is that it still showed despite it.

She seemed to sense Jimmy’s presence because she let her fingers drift away, standing up and tip-toeing toward Jimmy. Kim closed Mark’s door slowly, muffling the latch as she turned it slowly.

“Leave it to that kid to get a full night’s sleep on his birthday, but the other 364 days of the year is the equivalent of Russian roulette,” she shook her head.

Jimmy smiled and drew her to him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “How long are you going to be at the office today?”

“Good question. At the latest? 5:30pm.”

“Wow, you’re cutting your day in half!”

“Shut up,” she nudged him. “You two have a big day planned until the party?”

“I’m a middle-aged slave the moment he wakes up.”

“So just a normal day.”

“Yep.”

Both Jimmy and Kim went about their routine, taking care to be quiet. Jimmy used the French press instead of their noisy coffeemaker, Kim showered quickly and made the executive decision to wait to put on her heels until she was out the door. As Jimmy poured coffee into two separate mugs, Kim leaned against the counter.

“And we know for sure Chuck will be there?” she asked.

“There is an 80% chance,” Jimmy shrugged. “Apparently HHM is in the middle of some patent law issue.”

“Oof,” Kim grimaced.

“Yeah, so even though that’s not his field, Chuck said it was his ‘duty as partner to hold the fort if necessary,’” Jimmy informed. “Which in Chuckgarian means, ‘I’m pissed that the only blind spot I have is patent law, so I’m going to find some way to exert any and all control over the situation to make myself feel better.’ Not that it matters because we’re seeing him on Sunday anyway.”

Kim shook her head. “Imagine being a genius. It must be so frustrating when you don’t understand something.”

“Like empathy?” Jimmy took a sip of coffee, raised his eyebrows.

“Stop that.”

“Sorry.”

Kim glanced at the digital clock on the microwave and clucked her tongue. “If I do want to leave by 5:30pm, I’ll need to leave now.”

“Right,” Jimmy nodded. “Coffee for the road?”

“Yes, sir. Alright, I’ll pick up the cake. The presents are already in the trunk of my car?”

“Snuck ‘em in while you were giving him a bath last night,” Jimmy confirmed. He handed her a yellow travel mug filled with coffee. Before the wording chipped off after too many times in the wash it read World’s Best Lawyer. There was a small red stain that barely read as “2nd” if anyone took care to look for it.

“Okay, I’ll see you at Clara’s later,” and with that, Kim ran out the door with a peck on the lips. 

Mark clutched his new Pikachu plush toy, his eyes widened as he beheld the glorious site outside of the car.

“The park!”

Jimmy smirked and shook his head. No matter how many times you tell a kid that you’re going to the park, he will act like it’s the biggest surprise known to man. He unbuckled Mark from his car seat.

“Yeah, the park!” Jimmy repeated. “Now do you wanna leave Pikachu in the car?”

Mark shook his head. “No.”

“You promise not to lose him?”

The boy bobbed his head up and down.

 “Alright,” Jimmy said, lifting Mark up and out of the car. “Then here we go.”

The moment Mark’s feet touched the ground, he was off like a shot. Jimmy followed at a slower pace, like Pepe LePew did in the Looney Tunes that were his bread and butter when he was a kid. While his son was getting faster, Jimmy still had the leg up in terms of leg length. Bad knees or not, he had no trouble keeping up when he had to.

Mark’s goal was always the sandbox—a treasure trove for lost toys and change, but the occasional appearance of dog shit required Jimmy to investigate before Mark could be allowed to play in it. He and his toy raced past the swings, where two girls were sailing higher and higher. Opposite the swing set was a park bench, where an older man in black read a newspaper and made eye contact with Jimmy over his wire-rimmed glasses.

Jimmy froze. “Ehrmantraut?”

Mike wasn’t fazed. Of course he wasn’t. “What are you doing here?” 

“Daddy! The sandbox!”

Mark collided into his father’s legs, the impact almost knocking Jimmy over. Mark’s bright smile dimmed the moment he saw Mike, and he shifted himself behind Jimmy. 

“Mark, c’mon, get in front. There you go. Uh... This is—” don’t say grandpa, don’t say grandpa, don’t say “—Mike. Mike this is my son, Mark. He’s a little shy around strangers.”

Mike smiled warmly at Mark, and Jimmy about had a heart attack because Ehrmantraut is capable of smiles! 

“Hi, there,” Mike greeted.

“It’s my birthday,” Mark mumbled. Shy five-year-olds are not gifted at small talk, it turns out.

“Yeah? Happy birthday. How old are you?” Mark held up five fingers. Mike Ehrmantraut nodded as if he was impressed. “Wow, five-years-old. That means you can drive a car, right? No? Are you shaking your head ‘no?’ Well, that’s a real shame!”

A smile began to sneak its way onto Mark’s face, the little boy trying not to give himself away by hiding his head into Jimmy’s thigh. Jimmy ruffled Mark’s hair, hiding his repeating thought of What the hell is happening?

“Pop-Pop!”

One of the little girls had leapt off the swing and ran toward Mike. What the hell was happening!

“Hey kid, this is Mark. It’s his birthday today. Mark, this is my granddaughter, Kaylee.”

Kaylee waved at Mark, who was now trying to become part of Jimmy’s leg somehow to hide from a new stranger. And a girl on top of that.

“Is that Pikachu?” Kaylee asked. When Mark nodded and squeezed the toy to his side, Kaylee responded, “You wanna go pretend to look for Pokémon?”

Mark gnawed his lower lip, considering the offer. She was a stranger, sure, but hunting for Pokémon? He looked up at Jimmy, and on Jimmy’s ‘go ahead,’ Mark took Kaylee’s outstretched hand and they wandered off together. Kaylee initiated the conversation, and Mark began to open up the further away they got.

“Cute kid,” Mike said. “Only one?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy confirmed. “Isn’t she supposed to be in school?”

“Had a doctor appointment late in the day, no point in taking her back.” There was a pause between the two men. Mike was more comfortable in it, watching Kaylee and Mark look through bushes and throw the stuffed Pikachu up in the air. Jimmy, on the other hand, was debating whether or not he was allowed to sit on the bench next to Mike. Wait, allowed? It was a public bench. Jimmy sat down at the end of the bench—a safe spot.

“He old enough to be in school?” Mike asked.

Jimmy shook his head. “Not yet. New Mexico is very particular about kindergarten students being five before September 1st.”

“Good age.”

“Yeah.” 

“They grow up fast.”

“Yeah.”

“Birthday party?”

“Friend of the family is letting us throw a party at their home.”

Mike nodded. Both men sat in silence, watching Mark and Kaylee play. There was a peace to days like this. Bright blue Albequerque sky, the summer heat that would eventually transition into cooler temperatures—not 60 degrees and fall leaves, but also not 101 in the shade.

“Still not lawyering?”

The question grabbed Jimmy and hurled out of this meditation. He didn’t look at Mike, as he himself played a game of pretend called ‘act casual.’ “Nah, Mark keeps my hands full.”

“You ever think about doing it again? Once he’s in school and your days are freed up?”

“That’s a year away,” Jimmy chucked. “I don’t need to rush into anything.”

Mike leaned forward, gruff and conspiratorial. Well, the closest thing to ‘conspiratorial’ for Mike Ehrmantraut. “We could’ve used a guy like you a few years back.”

Jimmy turned to face Mike. The old man’s face was unreadable, but he offered so much information with so little. Jimmy’s heart was beating a little faster than before. “I’ve got a family.”

Mike shrugged. “We’ve all got families. But I hear you.”

Mike opened his newspaper back up, folded it open to the crossword section, and took a pen out of his shirt pocket. Jimmy stared out. Mark was throwing up his hand in the air, explosions only his imagination could conjure. Kaylee ran around him, spinning, flexing her muscles and jumping into a power pose.

“You miss it?” Mike asked.

“No,” Jimmy answered, telling a truth and a lie in a single word.

Chapter Text

November 18, 2004

“Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s head jerked slightly as he was called away from sleep, his inhale sounding like a surprised hiss. Hell, the crick in his neck from lying on the floor was going to be a bitch later. Kim kneeled above him, rubbing his shoulder and his hand instinctively went to the bare knee that peeked from beneath her navy blue skirt. The last thing he remembered was lying on the floor and reading to Mark.

“How long have I been out—? Where’s Mark?”

Kim tilted her head in the direction of their son, sitting right behind his dad. The toddler had stolen the book Jimmy had been reading to him before his body shut down out of the necessity of sleep. The night before, Mark had refused to have a full night’s sleep. Jimmy would rock and read to him for an hour, then Mark would go down for two hours and Jimmy would try to sleep. Then Jimmy would be back up, listening to Mark talk and babble excitedly while Jimmy read, then both would fall asleep in the chair. Rinse and repeat. And now Mark was stroking the paper, staring intently at them and turning the pages as gently as he could (meaning his little fist was crumpling the corners as he turned them).

“He’s been pretty invested in that book,” Kim observed.

“Invested in looking at the pictures or eating the cover?”

“He’s been looking at it for the last hour.”

“I’ve been asleep for an hour?”

“I’ve been home since 6:30pm, so that plus when you first thought, ‘Sure, lying on the floor is a good idea.’”

Jimmy rubbed at his eyes. Shit. Mark had been unsupervised for more than an hour. Sure, everything was okay, but Jimmy didn’t like leaving him alone for more than a minute. He could have found a coin on the floor, swallowed it, choked—

“It’s kind of cute,” Kim beamed, bringing Jimmy out of his thought spiral. “Mark pretending to read his book. Have you noticed that he loves mimicking people? He’s even doing that thing where people place their finger under each word as they read. I have no idea where he got that.”

“Probably saw someone on TV do it,” Jimmy mumbled.

“Hm. So, I figured that since you were asleep and I sure as shit wasn’t going to cook, ordering out would be our best option. We should be expecting Thai food any minute now.”

Jimmy sighed. “Thanks, Kim.”

She smiled back. “Any time.”

September 14, 2008

“Okay, boys. Let’s do this.”

Kim knocked on the door of Chuck’s house, Jimmy standing behind her and Mark standing on top of his dad’s shoes. Mark’s hands clutched onto Jimmy’s hands, trying to balance the uneven terrain that was the adult human foot. In a matter of moments, Chuck was at the door, wiping his hands on a dish towel before throwing it over his shoulder.

“Hello, Kim. Jimmy.”

“Hiya, Chuck,” Kim greeted. “Mark, say ‘hi’ to your Uncle Chuck.”

“Hi,” Mark repeated softly.

“Happy birthday, Mark! Belated, though it may be. Everyone come in.”

Chuck stepped aside to allow the small family to flood in. Kim was first and fastest through the door, placing a small bag filled with Mark’s toys out of reach. Jimmy followed, Mark’s weight slowing him down for a few steps before the boy gave up and jumped off of Jimmy’s feet. Instead, he held tight to Jimmy’s hands and tugged with all his might, trying to make his dad go faster. This strategy did not work.

“I didn’t know what to make,” said Chuck. “So I made spaghetti with a bolognese. I thought that would be best since I don’t know what’s appropriate for Mark yet.”

“Spaghetti’s fine, Chuck,” Jimmy replied.

Chuck leaned toward Kim wearing a big conspiratorial grin. “I also have c-a-k-e for dessert.”

Mark’s eyes lit up. “Cake!”

Chuck’s eyebrows almost reached into his hairline, looking between Kim and Jimmy. “It’s his favorite word,” admitted Kim.

“Well, that shows me for thinking I’m smarter than a five-year-old boy,” Chuck joked, his jovial mood humbled a bit by his surprise being found out.

This was the first official Sunday dinner between the McGill-Wexler clan, and based on the previous two dinners they shared, Jimmy was on his toes. Everything happens in threes, he thought. He had his fingers crossed that their luck would change and it would prove to be a boring evening. Just in case, he had an unopened pack of cigarettes in the car. Not necessarily to smoke, but to throw at his older brother should the temptation arise.

Mark scarfed down noodles that were free of any trace of bolognese—“We’ve tried to explain anything tomato-based is no different from pizza sauce, but he’s adamant.” The minute he was done, the boy asked to be excused, and Kim retrieved the bag of toys and placed it in a spot where she and Jimmy could keep an eye on him in their periphery. Mark took out each toy one by one, looking for the perfect toy to capture his attention while the adults discussed more boring things.

“Have either of you been keeping track of the news recently?” Chuck asked, maintaining the small talk train with no sign of struggling for low-stake topics. “Apparently the drug trade is thriving here in Albequerque.”

Kim sat back down and waved her hand. “I see a few of them down at the courthouse. I still watch the news, but I don’t really have to.”

Chuck dabbed a napkin against his mouth. “You don’t represent any of them, do you?”

“A few,” Kim shrugged. “Mainly buyers instead of sellers. But I have had a few sellers I’ve had to defend.”

“That must be difficult. The law is a noble profession, and everyone deserves representation. But it does test our own morals and ethics at times. I know I’ve had to put my own biases aside in my time.”

Jimmy bit the inside of his cheek and watched the verbal tennis match between Kim and Chuck. If he could just keep quiet for once, they could leave this house with only mild frustration rather than hysterical rage. Things happen in threes, he repeated. Things happen in—

“Where’s Mark?”

Jimmy’s eyes shifted to the place on the floor where Mark was supposed to be playing with his toys. Instead, it looked like an abandoned battlefield with a Tonka truck turned over and Pikachu and Stitch lying lifeless on the ground. The kid had left his goodies behind, but how far could he get?

“It was very still except for the tree toads and frogs in the brook, peeping mourn—mourn-full-y...”

Oh hell, Jimmy bemoaned inwardly. Not now.

Jimmy pushes his chair out and hustled over to the library. There was no point in attempting to get there first since everyone could hear it and there was no hiding what was happening, but Jimmy was determined to be a few steps ahead. He stopped just passed the archway, Kim and Chuck arriving right behind him.

On the floor, a five-year-old boy was reading aloud a first edition of The Adventures of Mabel.

“‘What’s that?’ said Mabel. ‘Oh, I’m so frightened-ed.’ In a minute or two, she heard the howl again. A long, wild cry.” Mark leaned his head back and howled like a wolf pup. “Awooooooooo!”

Chuck’s lower jaw dropped. “He’s reading. He’s reading— He’s reading?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy deadpanned. “He’s reading.”

Chuck stammered and stumbled as he tried to process. “How long has he been able to—? Is there anything else he can—? Just... how long have you known?

Kim looked to Jimmy, then back to Chuck when he didn’t answer. “We’ve known, for sure, since he was about two-and-a-half. Everything before then was... well, it was what it was.”

“This is... this is amazing!” Chuck turned his full attention to his little brother. “Jimmy, Mark should have his IQ tested. After you have a better idea with that, you can put him in school at a grade level appropriate to his intelligence.”

Jimmy shook his head. “He’s too young.”

“He’s reading a novel by himself. If he’s capable of comprehending the meaning of language, his age shouldn’t matter.”

Kim tried to appeal to the older man, all stoicism and authority. “Chuck, we’re not—”

Chuck ignored Kim, trying to make eye contact with his little brother. “Jimmy, he deserves to be challenged and to be with teachers that can help him grow!”

“Chuck,” Kim tried again, “right now, we’re going to treat him be a normal kid that just happens to read at a high grade level. We’re his parents, we know what we’re doing.”

Chuck kept his eyes on Jimmy, but finally addressed her. “I understand you concerns, Kim. But sooner or later, he’s going to have to go to school. Maybe it’s a little different now, but that’s what happened with me.”

Jimmy stepped aside, walking around Chuck without a word. He bent down to Mark’s level and reached out for the book. “C’mon, bud. We gotta put away Uncle Chuck’s book.”

“Ah!” Mark screamed. He shut the novel with force—thump!—almost closing it tight on Jimmy’s finger, and he pulled it close to him. No one was getting between him and his book.

“You have a copy at home. You wanna read it later at home, or not read it at all?” Mark looked away, filled to the brim with defiance. Jimmy lowered his voice. “You have ten seconds. Ten...”

Before Jimmy could say “eight,” Mark stood up, stomped over to the bookshelf, and placed The Adventures of Mabel on the second shelf up from the floor. He kept his eyes on the floor as he stormed over to Kim and his behind her legs. Mark’s pout peaked out, staring daggers at his father for betraying him.

“I hate to do this, but I think we may need to cut out,” said Kim. “Mark has reached a level of grump that only a bedtime can fix, and I have a conference call tomorrow morning, and Kevin is in New York on a trip—”

Chuck put his hand up, a tight smile. “No need to explain. It’s perfectly alright, I understand.”

Jimmy gathered Mark’s toys as Kim held Mark in her arms. He was starting to drift in and out, leaning his head against his mother’s shoulder. Chuck offered a Pyrex container filled with two slices of chocolate cake. Jimmy took it without a word and just placed it in the toy bag.

“Thank you for dinner, Chuck,” whispered Kim, fully aware that Mark was incredibly close to falling asleep. “What you did for Mark was very sweet.”

Chuck nodded and waved as Kim walked out to the car, car keys jingling as she pulled them out of her pocket. Jimmy hauled the bag over his shoulder, started to follow Kim out. Then Chuck called out.

“Jimmy!”

Jimmy stopped, grinding his teeth as he turned to face Chuck. There was no malice or superiority in the older McGill’s face. Instead his cheeks were relaxed, eyes slightly watery. Not sad, but somewhere between pleading and an attempt at empathy.

“If you... when you’re ready to talk about it, I’d like to help however I can. Not with money, I know you don’t want—I just... I’d like to help.”

Jimmy looked at Chuck. Observing him in this moment. Then he turned his back without a word and headed to the car. Kim had already started the engine, Mark in his car seat in the back sleeping deeply. Jimmy placed the bag of toys in the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat. Seatbelt, gear change from park to drive, and they were off.

Silence hovered over them, until Kim broke it with a sigh.

“Chuck has a point,” she said. “I mean, next year Mark will qualify for kindergarten. And even then, he might have to be in more advanced classes. We don’t have to talk about it right now, but we can’t avoid it forever.”

“You’re right,” Jimmy murmured. “I don’t really want to talk about this right now.”

The thrum of the engine and Mark soft breathing were the only sounds that filled the air as Jimmy drove them home. 

Chapter Text

2002

“You’ve reached Kim Wexler. Please leave a message.”

Beep. Jimmy pointed the remote at the TV and turned the volume down as Nepalese bar patrons cheered on two competitors of a drinking game, multiple shot glasses strewn across the table in the warm glow of firelight.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know that Raiders of the Lost Ark is playing on Channel 132 right now. Marion’s first scene is up, so if you turn the TV on now, you can experience a brief moment of catharsis when she punches Indy in the face.”

This marked two weeks and three days of the Great Kim Wexler Shut Out 2002. Not that he didn’t deserve it—putting out the Sandpiper commercial without Davis & Main’s go-ahead gave Chuck and Howard reason to punish her. His offers to quit Davis & Main and help Kim sue HHM? Worthless. Kim went so far as to call him out and tell him to actually try following the rules. She didn’t need him to come to her rescue. You don’t save me. I save me. He couldn’t stop the smile at this declaration, and was reminded for the millionth time in ten years that he was in love with her.

On screen, a large man with a red pug face smiled, completely unaware that he was collapsing backwards into a drunken blackout. Marion Ravenwood stood up and gathered her winnings in two hands. Movie extras were shooed out of the bar to make way for the entrance of cinema’s ultimate adventurer.

“You know, the first time I saw this, I never caught on that she and Indy were hooking up when she was 15 or 16,” Jimmy commented. “That’s fucking weird, right? A 27-year-old man and a teenage girl? Jesus Christ. I guess it was because I was 18 or 19, and I was straight out of high school, so that was the age of the girls I was dating back then. But still, that would not fly here in reality. And if you ask me, maybe Indiana Jones didn’t really deserve someone like Marion. Like, don’t get me wrong—he’s the coolest. But even without the problematic stuff, to put someone like Marion Ravenwood through that much... maybe he deserves someone like whatserface in the Temple of Doom or the secret Nazi lady in Last Crusade. That’s all I’m saying.”

Harrison Ford’s shadow loomed on the wall, and Karen Allen threw two shot glasses to the floor before smiling at him.

Jimmy bit the inside of his cheek. And he realized that unlike Indiana Jones, he was not above begging. “Listen, I really want to talk to you. If you don’t want to... even if you don’t want...”

Don’t want to pick up where we left off? Don’t want to be friends? Don’t want to see or talk to me ever again?

“I just want to talk to you.”

Wham! Marion cracked her fist against Indiana Jones’s cheek and declared that she had learned to hate him in the course of ten years. Jimmy’s heart chipped just a bit.

“Alright, Marion punched him. Hope you caught that. So... that’s it. Call me.” Jimmy hit the “end call” button on his cellphone and passively watched Indiana Jones punch Nazis and rekindle his romance with a woman far too good for him.

He couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, his mood worsened when he was channel surfing and finding Davis & Main’s cookie cutter swirl commercial advertising to Sandpiper victims. Victims that were deep in REM sleep at this time of night. He spent half the night chucking the tumbleweed-like balls across the apartment in a game against himself.

He only found sleep when he drove an hour and a half back to Mrs. Nquyen’s nail salon in Albuquerque, listening to the plumbing rattle in a tiny space of windowless wood panel walls.

September 14th, 2008

Mark had woken back up the moment the car had pulled up to the house. Jimmy took care of the bedtime routine, mostly silent as he maintained watch of Mark brushing his teeth, helping the boy into his pajamas, and tucking him into bed. As Jimmy pulled the covers up, Mark reached out and wrapped his hand around Jimmy’s thumb.

“I’m not mad at you anymore,” Mark said softly.

Jimmy sighed, smiled at him. “Good to hear,” he replied.

Mark’s hand gripped a little harder, eyes watering a bit. “Are you mad at me?”

Jimmy shook his head, pressed a kiss to the top of the boy’s head. “Of course not. Past is the past, okay? It’s time to go to sleep.”

Mark released Jimmy and shoved the blankets out of his way. He ran toward the dresser, opening the drawer closest to the ground and shouting, “Wait, wait, wait!”

Jimmy watched as his son dug through unfolded T-shirts and old baby clothes that were kept out of sentiment. Mark returned to bed and plopped a heavy book on the bed. The novel bounced a bit from the force of Mark’s throw and the spring back of the mattress. Jimmy picked it up and grimaced as he read the title.

“Adventures of Mabel, huh? Alright, you can read this for a little bit. But then—”

Mark shook his head, patted Jimmy on his knee. “No, you do it.”

“You already started reading it. You can read it by yourself.”

Mark shook his head, exaggerating as he swung his head from side to side. “This is better.”

Jimmy wasn’t given a chance to argue as Mark snuggled up to his side, placed his head over Jimmy’s heart. Jimmy rolled his eyes, shifting back until he rested against the headboard for more comfort. “Fine, you win. This time. Right, where did we leave off?”

The clock on the DVR read 12:09am, officially making it Monday, the 15th of September. Jimmy’s arms were crossed in front of him, sitting back on the couch as a unremarkable black and white movie played on TCM. The volume was low enough to make the over-enunciated bad dialogue sound like mumbled secrets. 

Kim entered from their bedroom, her blonde hair mussed from tossing and turning for the last three hours. Jimmy stared ahead, but he could feel her standing over him. In his periphery he noticed she was wearing a baggy pair of pajama pants covered in dachshunds. A few years back she had owned a pair similar to it, and he learned one of the few quirks about Kim Wexler was that she had a love for the breed. She said it was because her grandmother had a dachshund she adored, he made jokes about how much she loved ‘wieners.’ When that pair finally met their threadbare end, Jimmy bought her this new (though incorrectly sized) pair for Christmas.

“Mark’s still asleep?” Kim asked.

“Yep.”

“Has he woken up at all tonight?”

Jimmy translated the question from it’s surface meaning. “Nope. I just can’t sleep.”

The couch cushion dipped as Kim sat next to him. The mumbling of the movie continued, and Jimmy imagined these 1930’s studio minions reciting dialogue from Good Will Hunting. The Clark Gable wannabe currently shaking the over-dramatic heroine would be much more interesting if he was projecting theatrically, “My wife used to faht in hehr sleep!”

“Are you mad at me?”

Jimmy broke his attention to the TV and finally turned to face Kim. Her own arms were crossed in front of her, and the way she was looking at him gave nothing away. If she ever decided to give up the law, move to Vegas, and play poker for the rest of her life, she would make an easy killing. 

“No, I’m not mad.”

“Good. Then I’d appreciate it if you would stop acting like it.”

Jimmy exhaled, turned his gaze downward to the floor. “Sorry.”

“I don’t like thinking about it either,” Kim continued. “But sooner or later, whether you like it or not, we’re going to have to talk about it.”

“Mark deserves a normal life,” Jimmy responded.

“We’ll give him one.”

Jimmy knew how this worked. The open communication thing got easier once Jimmy stopped being a lawyer and committed to the stay-at-home dad thing. Therapy with Dave had helped with that, too. When Kim said that they needed to talk about something “sooner or later,” what she meant was that she wanted to talk about it right at that moment and get it out of the way. But the big difference between then and now was that Jimmy felt like he could take his time, process, figure out what he was going to say. It seemed like once Chuck came swooping in with his “I want to be a family again” campaign, Jimmy had to constantly face these decisions that he was no longer allowed to mull over. He still had time to be with Mark, still had time to not worry about schools for Mark, still had time to not worry about what his life would look like after Mark was in school full-time, still had time not to fear—

“Look, I know, okay? I know,” Jimmy answered. “But I’m tired, and that’s all I’m willing to talk about right now. I’m done talking for the night.”

Jimmy turned his attention back to the TV, and over-dramatic heroine was the subject of a close up, water dripping down her cheeks. “It’s naht yeh fauhlt, Will!” Jimmy imagined her saying. “It’s naht yeh fauhlt!”

“Okay.”

Suddenly Jimmy’s view of the screen was blocked by Kim as she straddled his lap. Her lips locked with his, wasting no time in running her tongue over his bottom lip. He opened his mouth to let her tongue slide against his, groaning as she started grinding against him. Her fingers ran through his hair, gripping it and guiding his head back to allow better access.

He pulled away to catch his breath. “Kim—?”

“You said you were done talking,” she interrupted, her voice low and sexy. “So stop talking.”

She kissed him again, and he surrendered.

Chapter Text

June 2004

“I don’t think we need this much space, Jimmy.”

“Kim, it’s a three-bedroom house.”

“Yeah, but we only need two bedrooms. One for us, one for Mark.”

Jimmy leaned against a wall as Kim nervously paced the master bedroom. Mark was being watched by their friend Clara as they went to their fourth open house in four weeks. While Kim found every excuse she could to avoid it, Jimmy could sweet-talk a deadly tornado into dissipating. And so it went, Jimmy and the real estate agents discussing the details of the house and the neighborhood, and Kim stoically observing and looking for the other side of the argument.

This time, though, she was having a harder time than usual looking for something wrong with the property. Which was a good sign. It also meant that her guard was up more so than usual.

“We’re practically living on top of one another right now in a two bedroom apartment, Kim,” Jimmy appealed. “And I’m saying this as a guy that lived in the back of a nail salon.”

She waved her hands as if she was throwing that excuse away in favor of a new one. “Fine, maybe it’s the price that’s getting to me.”

“Kim—”

“Don’t say it’s not that expensive, because it is expensive—”

“Kim, you’re a senior partner at your firm, we’ve got the money saved up, and we’re master negotiators. Plus, don’t tell anyone, but I hear all the popular kids are doing this popular thing called ‘taking out a mortgage.’”

“I guess you can take the girl out of poverty, but you can’t take the poverty out of the girl...”

Jimmy shrugged. “I get it. Same boat, different parts.”

“Right. Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” he said. “You also really love your apartment.”

“Oh my god, I love that apartment!” she resounded. Jimmy raised one eyebrow, and Kim sighed. “Okay, maybe this can be a contender.”

“And if money’s still an issue—”

“No, you were right, it’s not,” Kim answered. “I’m just... it’s a lot.”

“I know. We don’t have to make any commitments now.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Kim smiled. She crossed over to where Jimmy stood against the wall. She planted one hand on either side of his body, blocking him in as she trapped him in a slow and sensuous kiss.

“Hey,” she murmured as she pulled away. “Should we tell the real estate agent we’re not actually married?”

“Nah,” Jimmy shook his head. “Let her have the fantasy for a bit.”

2:47am, September 15th, 2008

For many people, it would be unsettling to hear the sounds of a child screaming.

Jimmy and Kim both startled awake as the first high-pitch cry rang out.

The second scream hit. Kim groaned. “Oh no—”

Jimmy had already rolled out of bed, putting on his boxers and a white T-shirt. He should have expected it, really. When things seem too good to be true for a late night round of sex, it’s probably because it is. 

“Jimmy, it might just be a night terror.”

“It’s not,” Jimmy said. “It sounds more like a nightmare. Either way, I’ll be right back.”

As Jimmy approached Mark’s room, the boy’s screams had started to blend with wails and slight hyperventilating. Definitely a nightmare. He opened the door and turned the light on, and the brightness seemed to illuminate Mark’s need to scream louder.

“Mark-o, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Jimmy hushed. He wrapped his arms around Mark, and his son clutched onto him for dear life. Mark buried his face in Jimmy’s neck, hot tears and muffled sobs staining his white shirt with fear and, as loathe as Jimmy was to think about it, a little mucus.

“The wolves!” Mark cried.

“What wolves, bud?”

“Mabel’s wolves!”

Jimmy rubbed his back. “The wolves from the book, you mean?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Were they in your nightmare?”

Mark nodded, face planted against Jimmy’s neck. Jimmy sighed, and he rocked his son. Sometimes talking about his nightmares only scared Mark more, and then sometimes talking helped. The only way to navigate which course to take was Mark wanting to volunteer this information. Jimmy’s place was to calm and soothe, to promise safety in a world far away from a little boy’s dreams.

“I know you like reading, Mark,” Jimmy started. “But we talked about this—when you read things that amp you up, you get nightmares. Same as movies late at night.”

Mark whimpered and mumbled something into Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it later.” Again.

It took about ten minutes of holding and rocking him for Mark’s fearful cries to crawl down to whimpers. It took another fifteen for him to fall back asleep, exhaustion from high emotion knocking him out. Jimmy lowered the boy back into bed, tucked him in. The lights went off, and the dull glimmer of a nightlight barely cast a shadow of Jimmy returning to his bedroom.

Kim was sitting up in their bed, the duvet pulled up and wrapped around her like it was a strapless dress instead of hiding her naked body. He plopped down next to her, sitting cross-legged and rubbing his eyes.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

Jimmy nodded. “He’s asleep.”

“I’ve been thinking that maybe we should get him into another sleep study... or maybe have him talk to someone.”

“Talk to who? A shrink?”

Kim shrugged. 

Jimmy shook his head, “Kim, he’s too young for that. And I told you, I’m done talking about that tonight.”

“Jimmy, I’m not talking about school. Mark’s having nightmares and night terrors, and we’re all losing sleep because of it.”

“Nothing has even happened to him yet!”

Kim stared him down. “Jimmy, he’s too young to be this afraid of a world he doesn’t know about yet.”

Jimmy almost felt the imprint of Mark’s face into his neck, and he noticed that there was both a pattern and a change that had occurred since the sleepless nights started. The minutes and hours shushing and rocking his little boy as Mark buried his nose into his neck and shoulder. But Jimmy had the brief thought that Mark’s nose had been changing shape—not much, but just enough. His hair had grown out and been cut, he was getting just a little taller. And yet this one thing remained the same. History repeating again and again.

“Before I say anything,” Jimmy began, “I want you to know that I’ve only told one other person what I’m about to tell you... and it was because it was a therapy session and I didn’t want to worry you.”

“That’s okay,” Kim replied.

“I also want to note that I preferred it when we had sex and then said nothing else.”

“Duly noted. Fucking and festering preferred.”

Jimmy took a breathe. “Kim, I don’t know if therapy is gonna be enough for Mark.”

“We don’t know that.”

“We kind of do. There’s only one other person I know who has been through what Mark’s going through,” Jimmy disclosed. “And it’s Chuck.”

Kim blinked. “I don’t see the connection.”

“Kim, Mark is starting to look like Chuck 2.0. And if he is a genius like Chuck, and if he is having nightmares like Chuck... then he might have the other stuff, too.”

Jimmy plucked at the loose thread on his T-shirt, pulling it bit by bit from it’s seam. Kim’s hand stopped him before it got more than two inches, intertwining her fingers with his and pulling it close. 

“Mark is not Chuck 2.0,” she intoned. “Mark isn’t even Kim or Jimmy 2.0. He’s his own person. But if you’re worried that genius isn’t the only thing that runs in the family, then we both have to agree that we can’t ignore it.”

“I know—“

“No, you don’t.”

Jimmy leaned his head back against the headboard, turned to look at her. “I’m overdue for a visit with Dave,” he mentioned casually. “I should probably set something up.”

“If you need me to set aside time for a joint session—”

“I’ll let you know,” he promised.

Kim pressed a kiss to his shoulder before laying her head against it. “By the way,” she said. “I also prefer fucking and festering.”

Jimmy smiled. “This is pretty okay, too.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty okay,” she agreed. “But sometimes you have to balance out the healthy relationship with the angry sex.”

“As they say: ‘Everything in moderation.’”

The pair eventually let sleep take over them again. When Jimmy awoke again, Kim was running the shower and Mark was sitting by his bedside reading his copy of The Adventures of Mabel. He said nothing, choosing instead to watch Mark mouth the words to the book.

Mark is not Chuck 2.0, he reminded himself. Mark is not Chuck 2.0...

Chapter Text

July 1972

“I don’t wanna be an altar boy!” Jimmy growled.

The nine-year-old boy glared at his father, about as threatening as a 15 lbs terrier barking at an affable golden retriever. Charles Willard McGill at next to him at the dinner table, and as usual, tried to use gentle reason with his young son.

“Jimmy, being an altar boy is a valuable experience,” his father explained. “I was an altar boy, Chuck was an altar boy—”

“Will, if he doesn’t want to be an altar boy, we can’t force him.” Jimmy’s mother was gathering dishes to wash as she made her argument. Her reddish brown hair was pulled into a bun, but strands were beginning their escape after a long day at the store followed by feeding her family and cleaning up after them. The dishes clacked and clanged together as they were placed in the sink.

“Ruth—”

“You and Chuck wanted to be altar boys. If you force a kid into something that they don’t wanna do, they’re not gonna get the same value.”

Willard turned to Jimmy and said, “Jimmy, would you mind giving me and your mother a few minutes alone?”

Jimmy scowled, but he pushed his chair back and sulked to his room. 

Later that evening, he wandered out of his bedroom, the television mumbling through a commercial at a low volume. His father snored from his spot on the couch, sitting upright and his head tilted back. His father was losing sleep from the store. He was also giving money away, Jimmy reminded himself. Money that was supposed to put food on the table.

He found his mother outside, holding a cigarette between two fingers and exhaling a line of smoke that dissipated into the air.

“You’re not supposed to smoke,” he commented. At the sound of his voice, Ruth turned to look at him, smirking as she took another puff.

“If you promise not to tell your dad I’m smoking,” she said, “then I promise not to tell him where I found this pack of smokes.”

Jimmy nodded. After all, he and his mother understood each other. While Chuck and his father were focused on doing the right thing, Jimmy and Ruth McGill were more interested making each other laugh. Being friends with a parent was not something that happened, but Jimmy’s mom almost made him think it was possible.

“I’m gonna have to be an altar boy, aren’t I?” It wasn’t really a question. It was more of fact that needed confirmation.

Ruth’s nose wrinkled. “I tried, baby. I really did. For what it’s worth, I did get your dad to promise that if you didn’t like it, you can quit after six months.”

Jimmy kicked at the ground, dirt flying up with the motion of his foot. “Ugh! I don’t even believe in God!”

Ruth shushed him. “Jimmy!”

Jimmy’s frustration ground to a halt, immediately shifting into guilt. “Sorry,” he whispered.

His mom reached out to rub his shoulder. “No, it’s okay. I’m not mad. Just don’t say it loud enough for your dad or the neighborhood to hear. Why don’t you believe in God?”

“Grammy Davenport.”

His mother’s brow furrowed. “Grammy Davenport told you not to believe in God?”

“I stopped believing when she died.”

Jimmy remembered the Christmas visit Grammy Davenport during her last week on earth. Ruth had received a phone call from her older sister about how “it was time,” and she packed Jimmy and a few bags into a car. His dad had closed the store early to rush home in a taxi, only to make the long drive to Wisconsin. Jimmy bounced his attention between watching snowy landscapes pass and reading a few comic books he had packed away—he planned to return them to the store later while his dad was distracted.

One night, the family had gathered together as Father Holloway gave Grammy the Last Rites. His mother and his aunt were crying, his dad and his uncle sitting in silence, and Chuck stood next to Jimmy with a hand on his shoulder. Meanwhile, Jimmy was staring at Grammy Davenport. Her eyes were clouded over, but the way her breathing rattled and shuttered made him think that she was scared. In his years of spending holidays with her, she had been a stubborn old Irish woman ready with a naughty limerick and sneaking Jimmy treats when his parents weren’t looking. The last word he’d ever use to describe Grammy was “terrified.” But it seemed as if Grammy wasn’t even in this frail shell anymore, and whatever was left didn’t know what was happening. What God would do that to a person?

Ruth tilted her head, taking in Jimmy’s demeanor and statement. As she took a drag from her cigarette, and he waited for her to reiterate some of the things he had heard his dad say. He wasn’t sure if he could avoid rolling his eyes about God’s goodness and His “plan” and all that bull-hockey.

Instead, she nodded. “That’s fair,” she sighed. “To tell you the truth, I don’t believe in God either.”

Did she just say that? What just happened? Jimmy’s mouth opened and closed, stuttering as every question that could be asked ran through his head. He settled on one. “Then why do you still go to mass?”

“Your father. Apart from that?” she shrugged. She dropped the cigarette to the ground, the ashes flickering upon impact with the pavement. She stomped it out with her shoe, crossing her arms as she thought about the question her son asked. “I guess... It can be comforting, too. Even if the prayers don’t become miracles, there’s something beautiful about them. It allows you to connect to the things that you’re grateful for. And it lets you acknowledge the things you’re sad about.”

“You shouldn’t use church to be grateful or sad about something,” Jimmy argued. “It should be an every day thing.”

Ruth smiled down at him, pulling him to her side to ruffle his hair and plant a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re a smart kid, you know that?” she said.

Jimmy ran a hand through his hair. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Not as smart as Chuck.”

“You don’t need to be Chuck-smart, you just need to be Jimmy-smart. I think I’d lose my mind if you two thought alike.”

She kept her arm around his shoulder, staring up at the sky as stars began to peak out through the sky. For a mom, she was really pretty. She was smart, too. While she didn’t push, Ruth made it very clear to both of her sons how much she had wanted to go to college when she was younger. That maybe, if they wanted to, both her sons could get a higher education. But only if you wanted to! Your dad and I got this far without college and we’re doing okay.

Meanwhile, Chuck had been an altar boy, child prodigy, and now he was on his way to building a career in law. He was perfect. And Jimmy was just Jimmy.

Jimmy chewed on his lower lip. “Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Why aren’t I as smart as Chuck?”

“Well,” she intoned. “I’m not scientist, but if I had to guess... Your Dad has a big heart, so to balance it out, Chuck was born with a big brain.”

“And I was born with—?”

“A big mouth.” 

Jimmy exaggerated sticking his nose up in the air and turning on his heel, but Ruth wrapped both arms around and swung him from side to side. Her cackle was one of the best noises on earth.

“No, you’ve got a big heart, too,” she promised. “Yours just doesn’t bleed as easy as your Dad’s does.”

October 6, 2008

It had been a little over two weeks since the topic of Mark’s genius and schooling had been brought up. Jimmy had made the appointment with Dave (bad timing in terms of booked appointments and a conference), and it just became a matter of keeping stressors to a minimum. Conversation at Sunday dinners mostly revolves around the work Kim and Chuck were doing, Jimmy occasionally asking about strategy. Mark would keep to himself, playing with his toys or wandering into Chuck’s library to read. On the most recent Sunday, Mark had wandered in with a copy of The King James Bible, and he angrily announced, “All of these words are spelled wrong!”

Chuck started to explain that it was written in the King’s English and how William Shakespeare helped write the book. Mark insisted that Shakespeare spelled “they” as “thy,” and even then it still didn’t make sense. Kim and Jimmy watched a man in his 60’s explain evolution of language and the importance William Shakespeare had on it. It was not entertaining to them in the least, but when you’re a captive audience, you have to get your kicks from somewhere. 

Eventually, Mark puckered his lips and nodded, pushing the Bible onto Chuck’s lap and returning to the library. Jimmy recognized the worn leather binding immediately, the gilt text still legible despite its age: Holy Bible - KJV - Charles Willard McGill. Chuck traces the lettering with his thumb. Jimmy said nothing.

Then late Saturday night, Jimmy and Kim woke up to a pale face that mumbled, “Daddy? Mommy? I don’t feel good.”

Kim and Jimmy worked in shifts, comforting their son, taking his temperature, getting him water. They all fell asleep for about two or three hours on the couch as infomercials played quietly in the background. Jimmy was heating up some broth by the time Kim woke up, Mark asleep in the fetal position with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around him.

“How’s his temperature?” she asked, running the back of her fingers over his forehead.

“It’s a little over 100, so no big change. And new development, I had to put his pajamas and my clothes in the washing machine.”

“The washing machine—?” Kim stopped as she took in Jimmy’s new grungy outfit of an old T-shirt and frayed pajama bottoms that declared ‘if a child vomits on this, I won’t be upset about it.’ Kim looked back to Mark and frowned. “Oh god, poor kid.”

“Might just be a stomach bug. If his fever increases or he gets worse, we’ll take him to the hospital or a 24 hour clinic.”

“You need to call Chuck.”

“About what?”

Kim gestured to Mark. “Mark’s sick, we have to dinner. Chuck will understand if we tell him that Mark has become Terry Jones in Monty Python and the Meaning of Life.”

Jimmy huffed out a breath. Chuck wasn’t gonna be happy about this. “Fine, I’ll tell him.”

Kim nodded. “Okay. I’ve gotta head to the office for a bit to prep some things. As soon as I’m done, I’ll pick up some provisions from the store.”

She went into their bedroom, and Jimmy heard the shower turn on as he dialed his brother.

Go to voicemail, go to voicemail, go to—

“Charles McGill.”

Fuck. “Chuck, hey.”

“Jimmy. I assume you need to tell me something.”

“Yeah, there is. Listen, Mark is sick and there’s a chance we need to skip Sunday.”

“Sick? What kind of sick?” Chuck’s voice shifted from indifference to a slight tinge of worry.

“There’s been some kind of stomach bug going around,” Jimmy explained.

“Is it the flu? You can still get the flu even after a flu shot.”

“I know that,” Jimmy asserted. Of course, I know that, the doctor has told me that every single year we get our shots.

“Has he been to the doctor?”

“It’s a Sunday and this literally just happened. We’re gonna play it by ear, see what we can do.”

Chuck sighed. “Poor Mark.”

The line was quiet for an uncomfortable moment. Message received, nothing left to say, conversation over. “Alright,” Jimmy said. “I’ve gotta go check on him, so...”

“Tell him I say hello. And that I hope he feels better.”

Jimmy flipped the cellphone shut without a “goodbye.” Mark groaned from his spot on the couch, and Jimmy poured the broth into a small mug.

“How’re you doing, kid? I’ve got some broth for you.”

Jimmy placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and Mark mumbled, “Don’t hold me.”

“Got it.” Jimmy pulled his hand back, but had to offer an arm for Mark to climb up into a sitting position. It reminded him of the sloths that they saw at the zoo. A sweaty, furless, sad sloth.

Mark sipped on the liquid, uttering “hot” between each one and blowing on it. Steam swirled with the movement of his breath. “Is Uncle Chuck coming for dinner?”

“No, bud. When you’re feeling better, we can go see Uncle Chuck. He says, ‘hi,’ by the way.”

“Hi, Uncle Chuck.”

Jimmy’s chest tightened, and he gnawed on his bottom lip. Oh hell, he thought. He got up from the couch and reached for his cellphone again.

The other line picked up quickly. “Jimmy?”

“If you wanna say ‘hi,’ you can do it yourself.”

Jimmy didn’t wait for confirmation. He crossed back to Mark and offered him the phone. “It’s your Uncle Chuck. Do you feel good enough to talk to him?”

Mark handed his mug back to Jimmy, trading it for the phone. “Hi, Uncle Chuck... I don’t feel so good... yeah...”

Jimmy walked into the bathroom, Kim wrapped in a towel. “Mark’s talking to Chuck, so the cellphone bill might be a little higher than usual,” he told her. “Also, remind me to disinfect the phone.”

Kim blinked, one corner of her mouth pulling up a bit. “Okay.”