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“Yo Mr. White! Check this out!”
Jesse’s azure eyes were lit with a childish excitement as he held up a clear bag filled with the blue meth they’d been making for so long. Mr. White always said Jesse’s was subpar, but he was sure that he’d finally gotten it right this time. Like, seriously, he’d been working with the old guy for how long?
Mr. White had spent his day talking deals with the big guys, so he’d left Jesse to deal with everything for the first time ever. That had to mean something, like maybe he thought Jesse was actually capable. Jesse was practically bouncing, eager for Mr. White’s attention, but Mr. White held up that ‘one moment’ finger in an annoyed fashion. Jesse’s bouncing slowed and his shoulders began slumping again. He hated when Mr. White treated him like this. They were partners, not teacher and student the way they used to be.
“Mr. White, I’ve been working all day on this shit. I just need the okay on it and we can get boxing.”
“Jesse, please. Can you just… can you wait?”
Mr. White’s voice was annoyed in that patient teacher fashion it had, and Jesse felt his own annoyance rising. He’d worked hard on this all day and this was how he was being treated? Mr. White hadn’t even glanced at him, not once. He’d been so confident Mr. White would say ‘it’s really not that bad’ or ‘you have potential’ after seeing the meth, but now he was beginning to think he’d simply get berated, because fucking Mr. White didn’t have time to praise him.
“You know what, Mr. White? Fine.”
Walter heard the usual impatience in Jesse’s tone and he finally turned to his former student with a sigh, watching as Jesse’s face twisted in anger and he threw the bag on the ground like a three year old having a tantrum. He’d told Jesse he was going to be out dealing with Gus all day, but that hadn’t been the case. He’d been getting these headaches lately, feeling sort of out of it. He dreaded what he’d hear, but he’d gone to the hospital nonetheless. The results had been… less than stellar.
“You can box it yourself, bitch!”
Jesse turned to leave, because screw Mr. White and his self-importance. The guy had walked in, sat down, and started tapping out numbers, which would’ve been fine had he not completely forgotten the rest of the world and Jesse dealing with his fucking meth. Jesse was sick and tired of being treated like a grunt, of being underappreciated. He was going to leave this whole thing, get out and go. Mr. White had fucked him over enough, to the point where he’d actually shot someone to save his old teacher’s life.
“Jesse, wait.”
He didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to turn back to see Mr. White. But his resolve to get out of the life always seemed to crumble when Mr. White was involved, mostly for reasons like this. This being that he wanted to know what Mr. White thought of the meth he made, and the brilliant former chemistry teacher had now scooped the bag off the floor and was examining it. Jesse tried to turn back sulkily, but the way he looked at Mr. White expectantly like a puppy waiting for praise betrayed him.
“It’s... sellable. We can pass it off for mine this once. I mean, there’s a trace of cloudiness in it but nothing too serious. It’s probably around 98% purity. You didn’t keep track of the condensation diluting some of it, did you?”
Mr. White and his fucking condensation. Who had time to wipe things down every few minutes, anyway? It was just a couple drops of water. But still, coming from Mr. White, the praise was like being told he’d just scored an A+. He nodded, a smirk coming across his features.
“It’s good, isn’t it? So, like, if I wipe the condensation, my product will be as good as yours?”
Mr. White hesitated, tilting the bag this way and that, squinting.
“Well… I don’t know if you could say that. I have yet to see a perfect batch from you. We both know you always find ways to mess it up. I’d say you could probably get it to about a 98.7% purity, which is good. Not something I’d advertise as fantastic, but passably good.”
Jesse clapped, tilting his head back and laughing. Yes, bitch. Passably good from Mr. White was the best thing he could hear. It set a warm glow of pride spreading through his body, and he was almost giddy with the praise. He wondered when it had gotten like this. When he’d had Mr. White as a teacher, he’d never cared about the nerdy old man’s approval or good grades. There was simply an understanding between them that Jesse would never ever match up with Mr. White’s standards. Never. But when it came to meth, Jesse felt like he was maybe one of the only ones who could match up to Mr. White’s standards. And that, for whatever reason, felt fucking great.
“Mr. White, we both know you mean I’m the fucking bomb. I never thought I’d say this, but yeah chemistry, bitch.”
He held out his fist almost hesitatingly, wondering if this would be the day Mr. White would finally give him a fist bump back. If not, he’d end up feeling stupid, but then, he always felt sort of stupid around Mr. White. Only this time, instead of giving him a raised eyebrow, Mr. White sighed tiredly and gave him props. Holy shit. His batch must’ve been grade A, fan-fucking-tastic shit. Now he was almost regretting not skimming some off the top just to try it.
“Jesse, I think you should sit down.”
Jesse was so elated from Mr. White’s obvious praise in his product that he shrugged off the suggestion and started packing the meth into the boxes himself. After all, this was his product so he may as well do the work for it, see the whole thing through. It felt like he’d just remade that box from his woodworking class, the amazing one that he’d ended up selling for drugs. But this time, selling his project wasn’t something he’d regret—now everyone would get a taste of what a great cook he was, even if they didn’t know it was him cooking.
“Jesse. I need to tell you something.”
Jesse nodded, still packing and weighing, almost enjoying the labour. This meth was his baby, and Mr. White was proud of him for making it. If Mr. White wasn’t watching him with those cold green eyes of a hawk, he’d slip some into his pocket just for the sake of having a memento of this day.
“Jesse. Sit. Down.”
He couldn’t disobey that voice, the one that made him feel like a kid with his hands caught in the cookie jar. He stopped boxing the blue crystals and grabbed a stool, scraping it over the floor so that it dragged loudly. He set it down with an exaggerated flourish and sat on it, his legs spread loosely and his arms crossed. What now? Maybe the entire praise thing had been guilt, and Mr. White was saying it because Jesse was out of the deal. After all, he’d shot Gale.
Mr. White started speaking but Jesse zoned out for a second, thinking of that night. He hadn’t been expecting the call, but when he’d heard Mr. White’s voice on the other end of his phone sounding like a solid flint of steel, he’d known something was terribly wrong. Mr. White had killed before, hell, he’d run over one guy and shot the other in cold blood. But that was because they’d killed a kid. This time was different—it was self-preservation and he was killing a guy he obviously held respect for. Still, that seemed like it would make Mr. White’s voice different than it was. Walter White’s voice on that night had held just the slightest edge that made every golden hair on Jesse’s body rise.
And then, after he’d spoken, Jesse recognized the explicit message within the message—if you don’t kill Gale, I’ll die. It’s him or me. They’d known that from the beginning, but that moment had been so raw, so real that Jesse had immediately leapt into his car without even considering what he was doing. He didn’t consider it as he strode into the apartment, didn’t consider it as he banged on the door, didn’t consider it as he held out the gun.
No, he hadn’t considered it until the gun had been pointing straight in the middle of Gale’s forehead, quivering, and Gale had said ‘Take whatever you want.’ That was the moment he’d realized that he’d let his body run on autopilot so that he wouldn’t have to think. Pulling the gun hadn’t required thinking, but pulling the trigger… now that was an entirely different story. Gale was guilty only of getting involved in something he loved. In that regard, he was like Mr. White.
Mr. White… that’s what made the devastatingly hard choice easier than breathing. The guy who stood before him was someone Mr. White respected, probably even more than he respected Jesse. He was one of those guys who would’ve been Mr. White’s star pupil in chemistry class, who would’ve gotten all A’s and stayed for stupid extracurricular activities like science fairs. He was the exact opposite of Jesse. But Mr. White hadn’t chosen Gale, who was clearly better in every regard when it came to chemistry. He’d chosen Jesse. Maybe it was because, to him, Jesse was like a… a…
Jesse’s hand had shaken more then, as he realized that maybe Mr. White’s circumstances were similar to his. Jesse’s father was a complete fucking tool, whom he didn’t even consider a father. How could he relate to that piece of shit who wouldn’t even look him in the eyes? In a weird, twisted way, despite the fact that it was Mr. White’s fault he was standing here preparing to kill for the man, he could relate to Mr. White in a way he’d never been able to relate to his father.
“I-I g-got a lot of money.”
Gale was smiling now, his hands up, his idiotically friendly face pleading fearfully with Jesse to take what he wanted and get out. It was different for Gale, because it wasn’t about the money. Gale loved what he did, and he just wanted to live on to keep doing it. For Jesse, it had started out with the money, but now he also enjoyed the tiny moments of praise, the ones he’d never heard in his entire life. The words from Mr. White that said he was good at something.
“Don’t do this.”
Gale’s face was now breaking up in fear, his look one of tearful innocence. Jesse could still walk away and disappear. He’d be chased, but he could keep running and maybe keep his soul intact while he did it. But if he ran… if he ran then Mr. White would die. The man who had taught him, pulled him out of his small time life, who made his life meaningful… he would die. His lips parted, tears of indecision in his eyes although he’d already made the choice.
“You don’t… y-you… you don’t have to do this.”
Gale was looking away now, truly frightened, his lips pressing together and shaking before he looked back at Jesse, his terror building into a frightened, crumpled look. Goddamn it. He should leave. This man was innocent. This was so, so wrong. The gun shook harder than ever as Jesse thought of how cold Mr. White’s eyes had grown lately. And yet… fuck. He didn’t want Mr. White to die. Somewhere close, someone else was holding a gun to Mr. White’s head. And the former chemistry teacher probably wasn’t shaking in fear or almost crying for his life. He probably wore a defiant, cold look that said he didn’t care. Because he believed in Jesse. He was putting his life in Jesse’s hands. Jesse had fucked up so many times, and yet Mr. White trusted him with his life.
Yes. He did have to do this. The tears blurred his vision as he tried failingly to steady the gun. Mr. White trusted him with this, so he had no other choice. It was Mr. White or Gale. When it boiled down to it, that was the real choice. It was easy. So Jesse pulled the trigger, breaking something inside himself and solidifying something else. Despite the fact that Mr. White hadn’t really had any other options, he’d turned to Jesse before anyone else, and Jesse had to do it, because it was Walter fucking White, the man whose approval he craved more than anyone else’s.
“—spread to my brain. So uh… I guess that’s it. I’ve got a couple months at best, then you can do what you want.”
Jesse only caught the last of it, but even someone considered a complete idiot like him realized what Mr. White had been saying. It sounded like it was coming from very far away, and he felt like there was a high pitched squeal in his ears as he simply looked at Mr. White for a second, dumbfounded.
“What?”
Mr. White let out a sigh, removing his glasses and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose for a very long while as Jesse sat up straighter, leaning forward.
“Mr. White you… you said you just got checked up like a few weeks ago! You can’t just up and get fucking brain cancer like that! That doesn’t even make sense!”
Mr. White rubbed a hand over his eye tiredly before perching his glasses back on his nose, looking Jesse straight in the eye.
“It’s very simple, Jesse. They didn’t catch it last time, but it was there. It’s not like this was something unexpected. Cancer is a very… tenacious disease.”
How the hell was Jesse supposed to react to that news when Mr. White sat there talking about it as if it was the easiest thing in the world? Jesse stood up and began pacing, rubbing his hands over his face, his mind racing furiously.
“I—I can’t… It’s just… Jesus, Mr. White. I mean, are you okay?”
He stopped pacing and faced Mr. White, searching for any signs of obvious trauma. Besides the fact that the man was a little paler than usual, he looked perfectly fine. He didn’t seem like a guy that would die in two months. As silly as it sounded, to Jesse he looked indestructible. Strong, firm and resolved. Even slightly elated, like the weird motherfucker he was.
“I’m fine. In fact, I feel like I’ve never been better.”
“Never been better…”
Jesse echoed him, his mind still in a daze. Mr. White was dying. Why was it so much harder to imagine than it had been the first time Jesse had heard he had lung cancer? He felt a deep anger boiling within him, and he wasn’t sure what exactly it was directed at.
“Do you want me to… you know… like… do anything for you?”
He didn’t even know what he was saying. He meant something along the lines of help Mr. White sort out his last affairs or give him some money for his family, but what Mr. White said next was so weird and so typically him Jesse felt like hitting him.
“Oh, you know. If you could just… act normal, that would be good. Don’t treat me like I’m dying or some sort of invalid. I’m only telling you because you’ve gotten pretty good at making the product, so you can use that to get Gus to keep you around once I’m gone. Just remember to check the condensation and keep the timing down, and I’m sure it’ll all—”
“You are dying, Mr. White. Do you get that? This isn’t some sort of ‘it’ll go into remission and you’ll be fine’ thing. You’re dying. Like ‘maybe I’ll live until tomorrow, maybe not’ sort of dying. Aren’t you… like… upset?”
Jesse sure as hell was, as he leaned over the desk, his face contorted in a nervous sort of anger. He wanted to think Mr. White was taking it so well because it hadn’t hit him yet, but the former chemistry teacher didn’t seem to care all that much about his life. Mr. White sighed, picking up the pen with a shrug and scratching down more numbers. Now that Jesse looked, he realized Mr. White was calculating the cost for his own funeral. His eyes went back up to Mr. White’s, but Mr. White kept scribbling in a nonchalant fashion.
“No, Jesse, I’m not upset. I’ve had a good run, I think. Besides the fact that I’ve screwed up so badly Skylar may not come to my funeral, I’m sure my family will be well supported with the money I’ve made. Skylar knows how to save, so she’ll be fine. I’ll leave the business to you so you’ll be fine too.”
Mr. White started crossing out costs, wrinkling his forehead as he contemplated something. Then he scribbled ‘urn’ instead of coffin and got rid of ‘wake.’
“Walter Jr. has friends, and Hank and Marie will support him and Skylar. They’ll miss me, but not for too long. In the end, whether I’m dead or not, it doesn’t make…”
Mr. White scribbled out ‘funeral’ and wrote ‘small, cheap service.’
“…too much of a difference to anyone.”
Jesse didn’t realize his head was shaking from side to side until Mr. White set the pen down and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, giving the kid his full attention.
“Doesn’t make much of a difference, huh?”
Jesse shook his head voluntarily this time, turning away and scowling at the ceiling, resuming his pacing. Mr. White stood up, watching Jesse warily, waiting for him to explode. They could both sense it coming, and neither of them knew how exactly it would come about. Until Jesse’s hands slammed the table so hard Mr. White’s ‘funeral costs’ paper drifted off of it and to the floor.
“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to walk into my life, fuck everything up, turn everyone against me, then die, like some piece of shit without fixing any of it. Are you kidding me? No one will care? No one will care? I’ll care, bitch. I need you here, to fix what you did.”
Mr. White looked away thoughtfully for a second, before offering Jesse a conceding nod.
“Fair enough. Everything else is more or less taken care of, so I’ll do my best to fix your life with the time I have. So tell me, Jesse, what do you want me to fix? Do you want me to give you some weed to smoke, call up your old ‘friends’, and get Gus to leave you alone? I can even take your house and money if you want.”
That was colder and harsher than what Jesse had been expecting, though he didn’t know why he’d expected anything different. Mr. White wasn’t who he had been, not when he was a teacher and not when he was still fumbling his way through the drug business. He was harder, sharper, and more dangerous now than ever. Whereas before he’d been blurred curves and easy humour, now he was sharp edges and sly wit.
“In fact, Jesse, I’ll go to the store, right now, and buy you some ‘Chilli P.’ Then you can even go back to making meth the way you did before.”
Jesse wanted to scream at him. Yell that he hadn’t meant it like that at all. He bit back at a surprising bitterness that rimmed his eyes red as if he were as high as a kite. He craved it now like never before, the taste and feeling of being high. Yet he knew that if he gave in, Mr. White would give him that disapproving look that seared his eyelids for days, so that every time he blinked it was all he saw.
“I don’t want it like it was before. You don’t get it at all, do you? Like, seriously, you think it’s all about the meth all the time, don’t you? Who the fuck cares about that?”
Mr. White listened patiently, but the more Jesse talked, the more his eyes narrowed until he held up his hands, trying a few times to get a sentence out before finally seemed to find one that fit.
“What are you talking about? I’m trying very hard to see your point, but the whole thing seems… contradictory. Isn’t the entire reason we’re even talking right now because of the meth?”
Every few words were exaggerated with firm hand movements, way too much like the old teacher he’d been. Jesse’s lip curled into a frustrated snarl and he dug his hands into his hair, looking away. He’d only just realized what he was getting at himself, but how was he supposed to say it aloud? I care about you. I don’t know how the fuck that happened, but I do.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when you’re gone.”
There. Mr. White was a smart guy, he would figure out what Jesse meant. But Mr. White obviously didn’t figure it out, because he shook his head, speechless in confusion.
“Jesse, uh… I mean, if you need someone to tell you what to do with your life, you can ask Saul. I know you weren’t doing the greatest before we met, but you haven’t been doing drugs lately, right? You’re smart enough to figure it out, I’m sure.”
“That’s not what I meant! It’s just… fuck, I don’t know how to say this. Um… so like, you know when kangaroos carry baby kangaroos in their pouch and the babies get attached because of it?”
Mr. White’s mouth hung open as he shook his head in exasperation.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jesse. Kangaroos and meth aren’t exactly synonymous in… well… any part of the world. Are you… are you on something? Did you take some meth while I was out? Is that what this is about?”
Mr. White stepped closer, searching Jesse’s eyes for signs of pupil dilation or redness. The redness was there but there was no dilation, and Jesse could feel Mr. White’s relief like a slap in the face. He honestly believed Jesse was still some junkie kid who didn’t care about the product, who only cared about getting high. Jesse shook his head in disbelief, any doubt about the fact that the chemist didn’t have a heart expelled.
“You know what? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Do whatever you want.”
Jesse turned away so Mr. White wouldn’t see the tears prickling in his eyes. It was so shitty that he was the only one getting upset about this. And yet he knew that if he could do something, anything, to help out the cold, older man, he would. He’d shoot Gale again if he had to. But there was nothing he could do and no one he could shoot, because this was cancer and they both knew how that turned out.
“Just... let me come to the funeral, okay? I can’t get into a shitty little private service because I’m not family.”
He tried to keep the pain out of his voice, but evidently he failed because Mr. White caught his arm and turned him, about to say whatever it was that was in his mind—Jesse had no idea because he didn’t understand Mr. White at all.
“Jesse… are you crying?”
Jesse scrubbed at his eyes furiously, wishing he’d just taken some meth anyway. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so fucking emotional; the withdrawal must be still messing with his emotions.
“Just thinking about my Aunt’s cancer. I lost her, I lost Jane, now… well, it’s just a lot of death. And I’m fucking tired from cooking alone so let’s get it all packed up.”
Jesse went to turn away again but Mr. White didn’t release his arm, and when he turned back Mr. White actually pulled him closer. Jesse froze up, unsure of exactly what was going on, until Mr. White wrapped warm arms around Jesse and… hugged him. It was one of the most awkward things Jesse had ever experienced, and obviously from the hesitant way Mr. White’s arms were resting on his back, Mr. White felt the same. And yet…
It was comforting, the warmth and almost sort of protection in the circle of Mr. White’s arms. For once, Jesse felt like maybe this was more than a business deal, and maybe Mr. White actually did think of Jesse as more than a stupid high school dropout. It had been so long since someone had hugged him that it took Jesse awhile to react, but finally he slumped into the hug and let out a half-sob, something he didn’t know he’d been holding back breaking.
Mr. White’s arms grew firmer, more sure, and he reached up to pat the back of Jesse’s head, sighing slightly. Jesse felt like he was a kid again, and he completely let go, not holding back as he reciprocated the embrace and dug his fists into the back of Mr. White’s hazmat suit, his sobs coming more regularly. He’d killed a man, and for what? For a guy that was going to die in a couple of months? That was so fucked up. Being with Mr. White had changed him in ways he never could’ve imagined, and it scared him to think he’d soon be left alone with those changes. Just him and his dirty hands, with his partner in crime from whom he only wanted a ‘good job’ gone. Who else could understand what they’d been through? Without Mr. White, Jesse would be well and truly alone, despite Andrea and Brock’s support.
“You can’t die, Mr. White, you don’t have the right to die after you’ve messed me up so bad.”
Jesse’s words were muffled in the shoulder of the hazmat suit, and he wasn’t sure if Mr. White heard him or not, but he felt the hand on his head grow gentler and then a shift as Mr. White finally understood what Jesse had been trying to say and nodded.
“I can’t stop myself from dying, Jesse. I’m sorry I brought you into this, but there’s nothing I can do or say that will change the past.”
The words were chosen so carefully, as always. Jesse had the smallest suspicion in the back of his mind that Mr. White had been manipulating him for a while, maybe even since the beginning, but if Mr. White had ever really felt even one ounce of pride towards him, he didn’t care about the manipulation. He just wanted… no, needed Mr. White to acknowledge him, because it felt like he really could gain this man’s respect, and that respect felt even better than gaining his biological father’s.
“So that’s it then? You’re just going to spend the next few months doing… what?”
Lord knew the chemist had enough money to support his family and pay for a funeral, so there was really no point in continuing to make meth for Gus if Jesse could do it alone. Jesse leaned back and Mr. White released him, absentmindedly leaning over to rest a hand on one of his machines.
“Well… I think I’m going to spend it with what family I have left.”
That was all there was to it? Jesse felt utterly stupid for crying over a man who was going to just going to abandon him without a care in the world. He felt beyond stupid for thinking Mr. White cared about him. He wiped his eyes one more time before he slammed the last box of meth on the weighing machine, not looking at Mr. White.
“Yeah, fine. I’ll deal with this then. You can go have fun with your family.”
Mr. White’s hand was now stroking the machine lovingly, though Jesse was the only one who was aware of it. Fucking prick loved his chemistry toys more than he loved a guy he’d been working with through thick and thin.
“What I meant by the family I have left, Jesse, is… well, it’s you.”
Jesse stopped and turned back, his eyes wide and guarded in case Mr. White was pulling a fast one on him, though the man rarely joked. Mr. White wasn’t even looking at him; he’d picked up the paper from the floor and set it back on the desk, and now he was gathering cleaning tools.
“So like… you’re going to spend the last two months of your life here, in this lab, with me, cooking meth? Even though you don’t need the money?”
Mr. White paused with a brush in hand, barely deliberating as he nodded.
“It’s not about the money, it’s about teaching you the proper technique. It takes a certain… touch to make meth as pure as ours. I could try to train someone else, but you’re so close I think it’s possible for you to learn. You know my ways better than anyone at this point, and you’ve done this for a while. In that regard, you’ll have to become my successor.”
There was an unspoken thought at the end of the sentence, one that pulled the corners of Jesse’s mouth up just slightly. Successor. It was a word he’d heard used when kings passed on their throne to their sons. In this case, it was more than fitting. Jesse grabbed another brush and climbed a stepping stool to clean out another part of the machinery.
“I may get sort of… strange towards the end, I guess. I’ve heard brain cancer has that effect. Even so, I’d still like to keep teaching you. Right up until the last day. Is that acceptable?”
Mr. White was going to spend his most precious days teaching Jesse. Once a teacher, always a teacher, Jesse supposed. But he couldn’t hold back pride at the fact that Mr. White had chosen him for this. Not his biological son, not his wife, not some other chemistry freak like Gale… Mr. White thought Jesse Pinkman had what it took to make the best meth the drug world had ever seen.
“I’ve dealt with my Aunt. I can deal with this.”
Later on, when Mr. White was closer to death and suffering, Jesse knew it would hurt like hell. Letting himself get even closer to the dying meth cook was probably a dumb idea, but at that moment, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. For now, he’d just have to focus on the time he had left to prove to Mr. White that he was worthy of inheriting the empire. He’d deal with the broken numbness that he imagined came with losing a father later.
“Good. Great. In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bright and early.”
Mr. White stepped away from the machine with a satisfied nod and set the brush down, moving with a comforting familiarity as he stripped off the suit and got ready to leave. It was just like every other day, despite the fact that it would come to an end soon enough. Jesse could almost imagine that the entire thing hadn’t happened, that Mr. White hadn’t more or less said Jesse was as important as a son to him. But it had, and he still felt the lingering warmth of Mr. White’s arms through his suit. He let out a quiet breath as he heard the door above him shut.
“Yeah, bye Mr. White. See you tomorrow.”
See you tomorrow for now, for the next couple of months. After that… Jesse pushed it out of his mind. A lot could happen in two months. He’d just have to make it count, so that Mr. White would be proud enough to maybe call Jesse more than a partner. It would be enough. Even just a nod would be enough.