Chapter Text
Times like these were his favorite. Peace, quiet, a soft mattress with warm blankets, all drenched in darkness with the privacy of the night. Howard was more tired than usual, and found solace in finally getting some tranquil sleep.
But Howard had been sleeping for years. There was a stranger in his bed, and only one of them had woken up. They’d briefly met before they went to sleep. Howard thought it was just a nightmare, because since then, he’d only had good dreams. His consciousness had remained stagnant, never pursuing what it all meant.
So he slept, engulfed under the cover of weighted, brown blankets. He began to toss and turn to no avail: Howard couldn’t move. And suddenly, the good dreams began to crash and burn. The air - rather, the lack of it - was hot and stuffy. There was barely any left, certainly not for two. The darkness wasn’t the night sky. It was much darker. His blankets were not comfortably weighted; they were crushing.
Howard began to hyperventilate and choke. He feverishly pushed himself up by his hands, and suddenly everything felt light again. It was not the light of good dreams, but the physical light of a room — a cave. A few industrial lights illuminated the space from the middle, giving sight to the crumbling dirt walls.
Howard gazed at the remains of what he presumed to have once been a library or a giant kitchen. His body felt weightless and translucent sitting above a tightly packed mound of dirt. It was only slightly elevated, as if something flat had tried to cover it.
“Awake?” A low voice called out, seemingly nonchalantly.
Howard looked to his right and saw a dark figure lazily leaning with its back against a wall. A faint memory of recognition flowed through his mind like cold water, but he couldn’t grasp it.
“Yes.” Howard replied. The vague inflection in his voice made the answer sound like a question.
“Mm.” The voice nodded and approached Howard. “I wondered when you were ever gonna get up. I’ve been waiting, like, months.”
Howard looked puzzled. Since he’d gotten up, a deep sense of dread had drowned his whole being. He couldn’t understand why this voice sounded so okay with the given circumstance. Howard didn’t know where he was, how long he’d been there, or what led him there.
“Remember me?” The figure said with a grin, outstretching its arms.
But Howard felt nothing. He didn’t remember. This man had some form of familiarity, but Howard just couldn’t catch the thought.
The man dropped his arms. “You seriously don’t remember? Me? Lalo?” Upon seeing Howard’s blank, unknowing reaction, Lalo inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want Howard to remember, at least not yet.
“Where are we?” Howard asked. His voice was soft. He expected his voice to be raspy and broken after such a long slumber, but he felt completely refreshed, like laying in a made bed after a warm shower.
“We’re dead.” Again, Lalo’s voice was unaffected by the bombshell of his words.
“What?” Howard pleaded.
“You heard me. We’re dead. Expired. Muerto.”
Howard leaned forward and looked at the ground he sat on. He wanted too many thoughts to flood his head and overflow out, but he couldn’t recall a thing. All his fuzzy memories were scrambled together and distorted. They were bundled and compact somewhere in his brain, dripping out one by one. His heart tinged with pain. Why couldn’t he remember anything?
“For how long?” He quickly turned his head to Lalo.
“Er… Give or take a few years, maybe.”
A few years. The words rang in Howard’s ears. Pins and needles began to poke and prod at his body, making him of its existence. He was slightly opaque and weightless compared to his surroundings. His vision began to blur with salty, collecting water.
“Don’t think about it too hard.” Lalo leisured to Howard’s side and took a seat next to him. “The shock goes away fast.”
Then a pause from both of them.
“How did I get here?”
The dreaded question. Lalo didn’t want to answer, let alone answer honestly. He’d had months to prepare a response, and still couldn’t muster one up.
“How would I know?” Is all he said.
With each passing minute, miniscule memories began to fade back into Howard’s mind. His ordinary life seemed less far away, and he proceeded with more identity than before.
“How did you get here?” He asked with the same confrontation of his usual voice.
“Got shot.” Lalo responded blandly.
Howard put his head down and breathed an exasperated sigh.
“You seriously don’t remember anything?”
“Some is coming back. But towards,” Howard hesitated, “...the end, nothing.” He shook his head, and turned to face Lalo. “Uh, what did you mean when you asked if I remember you?”
Lalo again went silent. Why was he the only one who knew? Was this some act of God to curse him to an eternity of dwelling on his sin? He had spent the past few months alone, standing atop he and Howard Hamlin’s grave, painfully reminiscing on the immoral things he’d done whilst alive. He’d been rewriting himself in his head: An Eduardo Salamanca who was never betrayed nor betrayed anybody, who didn’t need $7 million in bail money, or to fight off 5 gunmen from his home. A Lalo who never met Jimmy McGill, or as he knew him, Saul Goodman.
He regretted a lot of things by this point. He’d suffered inside himself, first about how he was murdered without succeeding in his goals by the one he pursued to kill, then about how any of it happened at all. Perhaps if he hadn’t tried so hard to eliminate Gus Fring, he wouldn’t be stuck forever inside a hole with a man who embodied his guilt.
“Lalo? That’s your name, right?”
Lalo snapped out of his thoughts and loosened his posture once more.
“Yeah.” His voice was distracted. “I just meant I thought you were awake sooner.”
“Awake.” Howard said flatly. “What does that mean here?” He asked with genuine curiosity.
Lalo grunted and stood up. “Jesus, do you ever stop asking questions?” He put his hands on his hips with his back to Howard, yet he didn’t sound mad.
“Awake. What are we, ghosts?” Howard had a lighter tone to his voice now, and almost laughed out the sentence.
“If that’s what you wanna call whatever this is.” The faint slur in Lalo’s voice intrigued Howard. He finally stood up.
“Where did you get shot?” Howard turned his head to Lalo with an empathizing, unsure gaze.
Lalo tapped the suprasternal notch of his neck with a finger. Howard winced.
“Jesus.” He said, turning more to engage with Lalo. “How on Earth did you manage that?”
Lalo smiled; The way Howard talked was comical.
“Long story.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world.”
“No, like, it’s really long,” Lalo tried to communicate with his eyes that he didn’t fancy talking about it.
Howard took the hint.
“I wish I could tell you what happened to me, but,” he clicked his tongue, “you know.”
Lalo closed his eyes. Howard didn’t realize just how right he was about Lalo ‘knowing.’ Of course, ‘you know’ is just a saying, but Lalo couldn’t help the guilt that stabbed at his heart.
Howard strode back over to the mound of ground, and furrowed his brow in confusion.
“Oh yeah, that’s where we’re buried. I’m sure you noticed.” Lalo pointed and put on a sarcastic smile.
“No kidding.” Howard paused for a moment, and the air clouded with apathy. “Tell me about yourself!” His demeanor snapped into positivity. He wasn't as upset about this predicament as he thought he should be.
“Tell you about myself?” Lalo was usually the one asking people this question.
“Yeah!” He flicked his hand, “We may as well get to know each other. So, humor me! What was it like?”
Lalo watched as Howard sat cross-legged on the ground. He noticed how stiff Howard’s movements were, almost like a robot. He recalled that night in the apartment, where Howard seemed looser and less composed than now. Lalo’s eyes shifted to the dirt at his feet. Howard must have had a terrible day, and he had to come and make it worse.
Howard stared expectantly at the empty spot in front of him. After a moment of hesitation, Lalo acquiesced and sat down.
Now they had a chance to get a better look at each other. Lalo was wearing what he'd died in, albeit fresh and ridden of blood. His hair was only slightly unkempt, stray strands sticking out perfectly. His eyes were carried by bags, and his posture was less than perfect.
Howard wore his Hamlindigo blue pinstripe suit. There were no creases or wrinkles. His hair was its usual state of pale blonde frizziness, not needing much effort to look neat. It was obvious he wasn't used to sitting so casually: He wanted to make Lalo feel comfortable.
He lowered his head and looked up at Lalo through his lashes with an assuring smile. He could trust him with his stories! After all, there wasn't really anyone else to tell.
“Well,” Lalo clicked his tongue and shifted his position, “I had a wife.”
“A wife?” Howard smiled, leaned back, and tilted his head as he would at a business lunch.
“Yep. Her name was Julia. Very smart woman. Too smart for her own good, probably. And she was very hard on herself, but she was really good deep down inside. She was a caring person, you could tell just by looking at her.”
Lalo stared at the crumbling ceiling above them as he told the story. That only intrigued Howard more: He rested his chin on his hand and listened intently.
“You?”
“Me? Ah, yeah, I had a wife. For the most part.”
Lalo furrowed his brow and scoffed.
“For the most part? What’s that mean?”
Howard hesitated for a moment. A crashing wave of new, bad memories scuffed his brain, and now he could remember part of why he'd been so miserable being going to sleep. He began to recall a timeframe of when he died.
“We hadn't really been married before I kicked the bucket. Legally speaking, yes, but at home? Never.”
Lalo wanted to cover his ears and not hear about any more of this man’s misery. He felt the guilt would bubble up and swallow him whole. For months, the shame galvanized in his head in a dark cloud of noxious fumes. If he were alive, he’d have suffocated on them.
Howard paused and again rested his chin on his hand, though this time heavier.
“I really tried. So many times, I tried to fix us.” Tears began collecting in his bright eyes. “I don't know why she stopped loving me.”
The last sentence came out nearly as a whisper; Howard’s voice was hoarse now and began to break. Anxiety welled up in Lalo’s gut. He didn't know how to genuinely comfort somebody. The last time he tried at all — faked it condescendingly — was the night at the apartment. He felt he should empathetically tear up too, but his body was static.
Howard’s breath hitched as he tried not to weep. As if he wasn’t already unsatisfied by his life, he was now crying in front of another dead man.
The ocean of reminiscence leaked from his eyes. He cried silently into his hand, weakly leaning his weight onto it. The perfect storm of emotions cascaded through his head, suddenly he remembered the true guilt, loneliness, and frustration he went out with.
Lalo outwardly recoiled. What was he to do?
“Shhhhh. Shh. Shh. Sh.” He went to rest his hand on Howard’s knee, but stiffened uncomfortably and pulled back. Instead, he spoke softly. “Hey, you don't have to worry about that anymore.” He shrugged and smiled. “What’s the good in worrying about it?”
Howard broke out sobbing. Beads of sweat began to bud at Lalo’s skin; He felt guilty trying to comfort him. Now, he took the opportunity to cup Howard’s knee.
“Hey, hey.” Lalo continued with an attempt of an empathetic voice, but Howard felt no better. His hand gripped tighter. Howard just wasn't listening to him.
“Hey!” The stern tone of Lalo’s shout was accentuated by the sharp clap of his hands.
Howard jolted upright as his breath caught in his throat. His red face was pathetically wet with tears, eyes bright and dilated. Dropping his head, Lalo sighed and clenched his fists. Shit.
“Listen. Don’t cry. No tiene sentido.” He was still looking at the dirt.
“How can I not cry?” Howard pleaded in frustration. “I mean, we’ve lost everything! All of it! We’re buried here, God knows why, with our entire reality just – Gone!” The words escaped his mouth, articulated and hectic. He huffed out a final sob and limply dropped his head.
Lalo pinched his sinus with his eyes shut.
“Exactly, Howard. It’s over, it’s gone, it doesn’t matter anymore, and there’s nothing we can do about it, so why bother?” He swatted his hand around and smacked it on his thigh. “So who cares?” His words came out as frustrated and flat.
Howard snapped himself to his feet and turned his heel. Stuck for eternity with such an apathetic man, he couldn’t believe it. He’d rather be stuck with Chuck –
“How do you know my name?” Howard stood with his back turned to Lalo, who still sat on the ground.
‘Howard. You need to leave.’
‘Howard! Please, go. Just, please…’
“What?” Shit. Lalo hadn’t practiced lying for years. Hopefully his silver tongue still lived up to its infamy.
“I… I never told you my name.” The dreadfully familiar swirling feeling of manically defending himself washed over Howard. “There are no marked graves. My wallet isn’t here. I didn’t know your name.” A pause. “Who are you?"
That was it. That was the missing link that gerrymandered Howard’s remembrance.
“Lucky guess.” Lalo shrugged and smiled.
‘Me? Nobody.’
‘No, no, no, no, no. Take your time.’
‘What’s this about?’
‘Like I said. To talk.’
‘There’s really no need to –’
Lalo shrugged again.
Howard stood rigidly. His hands were clenched into fists. He wasn’t looking at Lalo: He wasn’t looking at anything. His eyes looked blank and his face more empty.
Lalo winced. There it is. Now he knows.
The air in the rubble was the stillest it’d been since the night they were buried. The proceeding sound echoed and chilled the grounds like frostbite:
Howard sighed.
“What did they do to you?” There was genuine concern, empathy in Howard’s voice.
Lalo gaped at him in confusion.
“What?” He’d prepared to be punched, shot, shot again, stabbed, scratched, kicked, or something that would punish him for what he did.
“What did they do to you that would make you do such a thing? Surely it had to be worse than what they did to me.” His bright eyes were full of pronounced hurt, yet a sickeningly sweet empathy radiated through them as well.
Lalo squinted with a tilted head.
“They weren’t the ones who did anything to me.”
Howard continued to stand idly. His hands fell open once more. His heart felt like a supernova: All of his emotions fired and burst in a second, and all that remained was a darkly colorful streak of heartbreak. He felt angry for a moment, more than angry, like he could tear the world down only to rip Lalo apart last. That was the pressure drop in his nova. And when the riptide of clarity crashed, that was the overbearing gravity. Then, finally, the collapse came when he remembered Lalo’s words:
‘It’s over, it’s gone, it doesn’t matter anymore, and there’s nothing we can do about it, so why bother?’
So what if he was angry? They were both in the same situation, dead in a grave in an unmarked mausoleum.
Howard stepped forward again and stood over Lalo’s heavy spirit on the dirt.
“This time, you’re going to tell me. How and why did you die?”
Lalo shuffled to rise to his feet, but Howard yanked him forward by the collar of his shirt.
Don’t get angry, he told himself. Don’t get angry. Breathe. We don’t have control of what happened.
Lalo was on his knees with his chest hoisted up by Howard’s grip. The tips of his fingers just barely touched the ground.
“Tell me what happened, start to finish. Now.” Howard had never heard himself like this. He hadn’t heard himself in a while.
Lalo tugged himself out of Howard’s grasp and dusted off his shirt, shakily standing up. He looked at the fierce, constricted pupils in Howard’s crystalline eyes.
“You already know they were my lawyers.” Lalo leaned back on his heels to appear more casual. He talked with his hands to waver some of the tension. “And I did terrible things to them.” He looked up at Howard through his lashes and stepped closer.
“I sent the lady to kill Gustavo Fring, after our,” He looked to the side, “...exchange. I sent Saul through a desert for days dragging 7 million.” His palms were open and arms slightly outstretched at his side, as if he were confessing.
Howard covered his mouth in faux shock to suppress a small giggle. Jimmy, that dick.
“Hold on,” He interrupted. “You sent Jimmy through a desert? What the hell happened that you needed to transport 7 million for? And- And, who is Gustavo Fring? —”
The two men settled their nerves as their respective stories began to unravel to each other. The length at which their words were flowing was immeasurable, a cathartic sense of closure encapsulating them.
Lalo soaked in Howard’s emotion: There were no pessimistic or heartless distractions deterring his attention for the first time in what would have been his life. He began to feel for Howard, cursing himself for underestimating who he found out to be Jimmy McGill and Kim Wexler, not just killing them sooner.
Replenishing relief washed over Howard’s mind. Finally, he thought. Finally someone believed him about the pair. Someone related to him, assured him he wasn’t crazy. He knew it was them the whole time, and he was right! Any last bit of hope that Howard still secretly held for the pair turned to ash in his heart as he got lost in the story of their second life. He’d given so much to them and believed in their good, only for it all to be in vain.
“Jimmy did all that without raising any red flags to those of us around him?” Howard clenched his jaw. “He’d always been such a goddamn good liar.”
Lalo snorted. “You serious? That guy couldn't lie for shit.”
“Well, maybe not to you.” Howard sarcastically leaned his elbow on his knee. He sighed and looked up at the dim yellow lights. . “I wish I could just go back in time and change everything.”
There was a pause as Lalo decided the appropriate response.
“What would you change?” He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and leaned back on his hands.
Howard laughed aloud. “What wouldn't I change?” He continued looking at the corroded opening in the ceiling. “Firstly, I think, I would have said no to my dad about being a lawyer.” His eyes shifted. “I think. I mean, from where I stand– stood, now, I've become so accustomed to it I enjoy it. But maybe I wouldn't be in this predicament if I had pursued another profession.” He laughed.
Lalo nodded, only feeling slight sympathy. He didn't know the feeling of being forced into a lifestyle, at least not that he was aware of. He was under the impression that he could do anything he wanted; He didn't feel restrained to his one life.
“He forced you into it?”
“You could say that.” Howard shrugged. “Would you change anything?”
“Nothing that I’m gonna dwell on.” He took a swig from the bottle in his hands.
“Wh- Where did you get beer?”
“Conjured it.”
“...Conjured it.” Howard stated it as a question.
“Yeah.” Lalo simply breathed the word out, as if Howard should have already known this information.
“I'm sorry, what do you mean you conjured it?”
“Look’it.” Lalo leaned forward, and cupped his hands in a large circle on the ground. “Look right in the middle here. Think real hard about something you really want.”
“I really want to be alive right now.” Howard stared blankly.
Lalo rolled his eyes. “Alright, come on, that’s not gonna work.” He patted the circle and cupped his hands again. “You want a cigar?”
“I don’t smoke.”
Lalo groaned. “Eres aburrido como el infierno. Whatever. Just imagine… your favorite cake. Me gusta el chocolate.”
Howard reluctantly closed his eyes and thought about a marble cake. He’d always enjoyed baking a loaf fresh for Cheryl early in their marriage, but as time went on, the sweet scent stopped coming from the oven. Maybe he’d be able to enjoy it in company this time.
“Oh, wow, it’s really there!” The surprised tone in Howard’s voice amused Lalo.
“Of course it’s there, where else would I have gotten the beer?” He smiled.
“How long have you known about being able to do this?” Fresh clothes appeared in Howard’s arms. He ran his hands over the soft blue fabric.
“Well, I woke up about 4 months ago, so… carry the 1, uh… Probably about that day.”
“That seems quick. How’d you find that out so soon?”
“Wanted a beer.”
Howard raised his eyebrows. “Understandable.”
Lalo looked to the side blasély. Small talk never interested him.
“Tell me why you were in Saul’s apartment.”
“Saul? Who’s Saul?” Howard seemed confused.
Lalo was just as perplexed.
“Saul Goodman. We just talked about him. You were in him and the lady’s apartment.” He said, gesturing his head to the side then taking a sip.
“Jimmy?” Howard gasped, then facepalmed. “Right, Jimmy practiced as Saul Goodman. Jesus.” He looked down and laughed. Lalo smiled in response, still looking at him.
“Wait, his name was actually Jimmy?! ¡Pensé que era una burla!” Lalo laughed with him.
“That son of a bitch had so many different nicknames, Jimmy may as well have been one of them.” They both continued to laugh. “I used to call him Charlie Hustle!” Howard’s voice shook as he tittered.
Lalo breathlessly wheezed out the name and hunched over cackling. The two men laughed their troubles away, lightheartedly expressing the trauma that they faced. Two lives so contrasting, so respectively black and white, seemed to mend together in the warm, gray pool of their reciprocity.
“He literally stole my car, and threw actual prostitutes out if it! In public! Can you believe that?!”
This especially threw Lalo into a fit of laughter. Still breathlessly, he said:
“Yeah, that sounds like the Saul I know!” His words lazily slurred together. His accent was more prominent in the absurdity. “He actually,” he gulped, “Walked through the desert carrying 7 million dollars in cash.”
“Christ!” Howard was astounded. “What would he do that for!?”
“It was mine!” Lalo fell backwards chortling.
“Your 7 million in cash?” Howard’s laughter had died down. His words quickened, and he spoke fast like usual. “Why was he carrying 7 million of your money?”
Lalo was still laying on his back with his legs propped up.
“I needed bail.” He said flatly, albeit with a smile on his face.
Then Howard remembered. An infamous case he heard whispered about all around the firm, that of one Jorge de Guzman.
“That was you? With the murder charge?”
Lalo, still on the ground, only turned his head and gave him a blank, sarcastic stare. Yeah, of course that was me. What do you think?
Howard let out a half-exasperated, half-laugh sigh. He didn’t want to spend the rest of eternity angry. He kept repeating in his head his own words of affirmation, namaste, hakuna matata, peace and love, etc. Even so, he still felt crazy that he could even talk so casually with a murderer, let alone his. Of course, as an attorney, he’s had to both defend and prosecute the same kind of criminals; But none that he’s ever felt good about. Even being around them was distressing, and he hated having to take their side as defense. So why didn’t he mind this one?
He chalked it up to erratic emotions after death. He probably didn’t know what he was thinking! Because if Lalo attempted to kill him whilst they were alive, Howard would not only be terrified, but also furious. That’s all this could be.
He hung his head down and sighed.
“Alright.” He said, and muttered under his breath: “That makes sense, doesn’t it.”
“Uh, hey.” Lalo snapped his fingers. “You said you had a wife, right?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah.” He limply dropped his hand to the ground. “Wanna hear about mine?”
Howard tilted his head with a sympathetic gaze.
“Of course.”
Lalo hummed. His jeans scratched the ground as he sat upright again.
“Maria.” He smiled. “Like I said, very fine woman. She was very ambitious. Hated failure, I never heard the end of it when she got mad at herself.” He chuckled.
“I thought you said her name was Julia?” Howard squinted. Howard had dealt with his fair share of professional liars in his career.
“Julia-Maria. She went by both.”
“Is that right?”
Lalo stared back at Howard. Neither said anything, but their eyes told it all. Lalo knew he was lying, and he knew Howard knew he was lying. Still, he kept an apathetic poker face.
“Why lie?” Howard rested his chin in the palm of his hand. The question echoed through Lalo’s apparition. It was a good question, one he never really stopped to ask himself. Why lie? Why was he lying about having a wife in life? Just to relate to Howard, make him feel less alone? That's not even plausible. To make himself feel less alone? Maybe, maybe not. Why keep up an act? So Lalo nodded.
“I dunno, man.” He shrugged his shoulders and exhaled deeply. “I do~o not know.” He elongated the word.
“Okay, so, forget that. There was no wife, that’s fine.” Howard emoted almost as much as Lalo, but the mannerisms in which they displayed were subtly different from one another in attitude. “Was there anyone else? Did you have a girlfriend? Or- or a boyfriend?”
Lalo had begun absently looking at the decaying walls behind Howard, before eyes animatedly darted back to the man at the question.
“Uh, no, I, I didn't have either of those.” The words were strangely monotone, audibly awkward coming out of Lalo’s mouth.
Howard nodded. He sighed, blank as to what else to ask.
“Have you ever gotten bored while waiting here?”
Lalo rolled his eyes. Howard was such a dork, with his stale and juvenile curiosity. Lalo didn’t think he got bored while alone, but this interview sure made him feel like it.
“Why the small talk? Let’s rip our dead hearts out to each other and get on with it already.”
Howard was taken aback.
“What-”
“This shit is boring, I feel like I'm dying again.” He playfully rolled his eyes again, further astounding the blonde, then took a more serious tone. “What’s it to you?”
Howard was still processing the sudden change in the pace of their conversation. No longer knowing how to verbally approach the man in front of him, he could only stutter out:
“What’s it- What’s what to me?”
“Me.” He smiled and shrugged, as if Howard completely understood. “What does it matter to you to know about me?” He looked around and shrugged again. “Why do you care?”
His façade had begun to slip with how little he’d practiced. He tried to look nonchalant, even upset, on the outside. Howard squinted in disbelief.
“Why wouldn’t I care? You still lived a life out there, and at the very least, if we’re stuck here together, would it hurt to learn a thing or two about the other?” Howard dawned his professional voice.
Lalo simply bowed his head and coughed a pathetic laugh. He felt pitiful and crazed.
“What? Do you not agree?”
“I’d like to say I don’t.” He shook his head.
Something about the way Howard’s integrity humidified the words he breathed captivated Lalo. To him, people like Howard were careless: Open, vulnerable, so easily driven by emotion and blindly trusting. His smile twitched at the realization that the man’s voice put his mind at ease. It all felt so foreign to him.
“Just, forget about all that. Tell me more about what you liked to do.”
Howard smiled.
“Alright.”