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Gus was sitting in his armchair, watching an old soap opera without taking very much of it in, when his front door was flung open and loud, heavy footsteps made their way into his living room. He wasn’t alarmed, and didn’t even bother to look up at first. He’d known Mike Ehrmantraut long enough to recognize his footsteps by now, and even if he hadn’t, Mike was the only other person with a key to Gus’s house.
He did, however, feel some frustration when Mike grabbed the remote from where it sat on his armrest and turned the TV off.
“Mike,” Gus said, finally looking up, “is there a problem? How was the cleanup?”
He noticed, then, that Mike looked flustered, to say the least. He’d definitely showered since what had happened that night, but even though he was clean he was unkempt. His white t-shirt was only half tucked into his jeans, and his face was red. If he’d had hair, it probably would have been disheveled as well.
“The clean—” Mike started to say, and then he reached down and grabbed Gus by the ear, hard, making Gus let out a little squeaking sound. “Get up. Now.”
Gus always knew it was a risk, entrusting so much of his protection to one person when people could turn on each other unexpectedly. But at the same time, he never felt that Mike would turn on him. He thought that even now. Nevertheless…
“Where are you taking me?” Gus asked as calmly as he could through gritted teeth, as Mike dragged him by the ear into the kitchen, then to the basement door.
Mike didn’t answer until they were all the way downstairs, shadows on his face cast by the dim basement light. As he spoke, he finally let go of Gus’s ear, and lurched forward as if he was going to hit him, but he didn’t.
“What the hell was that about today?” Mike demanded instead, his voice louder than Gus usually heard it. “The Pinkman kid kills one of your cooks, so you go and kill Victor instead of—Gus, I don’t make a habit of questioning you, but do you think you could tell me what Victor ever did to you?”
Gus narrowed his eyes. If any of his other workers spoke to him like that, questioned him like that, he would probably give them a similar treatment to what he’d given Victor. But things with Mike had always been different. In many ways, Mike had kept Gus grounded over the years, but Gus didn’t want to give an inch. Not this time.
After a moment of careful thought, he said, “Mike, when I hired Victor, I asked him to, like you, not only be one of my protectors, but to help protect the rest of my employees. And for other work, too, of course. If he couldn’t stop Mr. Pinkman from killing Gale, then I’m sure there were other mishaps that would have happened with him too before our time together was done. He was of no use to me. And I think our two cooks will be less likely to rebel in the future now that they’ve seen what I’m capable of. It was a decision I made for the business.”
“Sure,” Mike said, folding his arms and looking like he was sizing Gus up. “So if I was the one you called to stop Jesse and I didn’t make it there in time, you would’ve killed me, too?”
Gus opened his mouth, and closed it again. He liked to pride himself for his self-awareness, but the truth was he didn’t know the answer to that question. He and Mike had spent many years together, certainly more time than either of them had ever spent with Victor. They were close, intimate. They’d held each other in their arms when—
“Look,” Mike said, his voice getting quieter but no less intense, “you liked Gale. I get it. I’m not jealous. I have never been possessive over you. I’m just saying you can’t let things like however you felt for Gale make you stupid, or needlessly cruel. Being civilized is the one thing that separates you from a lot of guys in our line of work.”
Gus thought of Gale. Gale quoting poetry to him after they first met, all those plants Gale loved and cared for, tended to so much. Of his hand on Gale’s knee, and then further up, of what Gale’s neck tasted like under his mouth. The smell of Gale’s coffee in the morning.
“And the Pinkman kid’s a real cutie, too, I’ll give you that. But, seriously, if you were gonna eliminate anyone for what happened tonight—”
“Mike,” Gus said.
He thought of a swimming pool, so many years ago, and he thought of a young man pulled too hard into a world he didn’t understand and all the bloodshed that came from it.
Gus’s eyes weren’t wet, but they were burning. Most things in life were so unstable, messy. But some things weren’t; these things were hard and rigid, unshaking. He reached for Mike’s hand. Mike looked away from him, but let him take it.
“Perhaps you’re right that I wasn’t thinking clearly in the wake of—in the wake of what happened, and I’m sorry—” Mike did finally look at him then “—about what happened tonight. I truly felt it was what needed to be done in the moment for all of our safety, but I do know you considered Victor a friend from your time working with him. I truly wish this had turned out differently, for Gale, for him, and for Mr. Pinkman.”
“Yeah, well,” Mike said. Some of his earlier anger seemed to deflate, and now he just looked tired as he let go of Gus’s hand and squeezed Gus’s shoulder instead. “Just don’t go crazy on me, okay? There’s already enough crazy in the world and in that meth lab of yours.”
Gus nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. Would you like to stay for dinner?”