Work Text:
“I’m telling you, it’s fine.” The kid’s fidgeting, eyes flitting nervously around his own kitchen. “You don't gotta cook or whatever.”
Mike says, “I’m making sandwiches.”
“Yeah, I can see that, man.” Jesse’s shoulders stay hunched, arms hanging limply at his sides. He’s more on edge now than he ever is on the job, acting the kind of uneasy he only really gets when he thinks Mike’s looking after him. He thinks it happens a lot less than it actually does.
Mike tells him, “You should get some pimento cheese.”
Jesse’s face scrunches up, less in opposition and more in honest confusion. “I’ve got cheese.”
“What you’ve got is Kraft singles,” Mike lays one out on the bread slice, patting it lightly with his fingertips. “I’m telling you to get pimento cheese spread.”
The kid’s attention wanders as he seems to file this away, going quiet for a moment or two. It’s with a put-upon kind of nonchalance that he agrees, “…Alright.”
Jesse is a skittish thing in Mike’s periphery, tentative like an animal curious of a sniper in wait. He knows that he isn’t Mike’s target, at least, but he hasn’t determined what else he could be besides that.
If he’s honest, Mike’s not really sure what he is either.
Parts of Jesse remind Mike of the boys he saw drafted out of high school. Soldiers with itchy trigger fingers packed together in the jungle, half or more killed by friendly fire. Other parts of him remind Mike of the boys in the Philadelphia precinct. Fresh-faced rookies ready for orders, ready for anything.
Friendly fire killed a few of those, too.
The kid’s moved a little closer, hoping to supervise, or something similar. He’s watching Mike’s hands like he’s getting trained by them, following every movement intently with his eyes. “…You sure we got time for eating and shit?” he asks then. “I thought we had, like, a schedule.”
“You let me worry about time.” Mike keeps layering in what deli meat had been in the fridge. “In the future,” he says, “don't start work on an empty stomach. I need you sharp. You have food, you eat it. Alright?”
Jesse swallows. Nods.
“Good.”
Mike finishes off the first sandwich with a bit of mayo, keeping it toward the middle to minimize any future mess.
“Oh, shit,” Jesse marvels. “That was fuckin’ precise, yo.”
Expression predictably impassive, Mike looks over at him. Then he turns back around and repeats the motion identically on the second sandwich.
Jesse’s approval comes in a half-surprised laugh. When Mike gets a glimpse of the grin on his face, he lets out an amused huff of his own. The way he shakes his head is all too fond.
“You have plastic wrap?” he asks.
“Uh,” Jesse glances behind himself, features scrunching up again in thought. “No.”
“Then we’ll eat here,” Mike concludes. “Go get yourself a glass of something hydrating.”
Jesse’s focus immediately shifts. Now a man on a mission, he heads for the cupboard. “…Hey, uh,” he looks over his shoulder, “you want anything?”
Mike glances up to meet his eyes. “I’ll have water. Thanks.”
“Yeah, man.” Jesse rubs the nape of his neck with his palm, rolling his shoulders a little before actually going to grab the cups. “No problem.”
Mike carries both plates over to the couch that’s nearest to the door, grunting softly as he sits down. The place has been cleaned up since the last time he got a look around - somewhere on the way toward habitable. It’s a good sign. Better still, there’s actual space to set the food.
Jesse comes to settle in next to him, keeping a little less than a foot of space between them. He follows Mike’s example, putting their plates side by side. But he waits for Mike to start before actually biting into his own sandwich.
Mike always eats the same way, no matter what he’s got in front of him. Unceremoniously efficient, making quick work of every meal.
Gus has a way of eating where Mike can tell he’s contemplating each bite. Judging the taste, the texture. Deciding what was done right and what needs to be improved. He’s good company because he never expects an egregious response to the food he serves. Not from Mike, anyway.
The way Jesse eats, it’s like a chore.
“…You know,” Mike advises, “there’d be less to chew at a time if you took smaller bites. Here-” Gingerly, he takes Jesse’s sandwich before tearing off a piece, raising it to Jesse’s lips.
All of a sudden the kid has that deer-in-headlights look he sometimes gets, wide-eyed and frozen in place. It’s almost automatic when he lets himself be fed, mouth opening obediently. His lips brush Mike’s fingertips. He leans away as he chews.
“See?” Mike lowers his hand. “Much better. Have some water while you’re at it, help it go down easier.”
Again, silent, Jesse obeys.
He stays like that for a second or two after he’s swallowed, staring into the mostly-full cup. Then he turns a little toward Mike—
And aborts the movement, seeming to catch himself.
Watching him closely, Mike prods, “You want more?”
“I mean, yeah,” Jesse’s fingers tap restlessly against his glass, eyes avoiding Mike’s.
“Alright then.” Mike tears off another piece and holds it out.
When Jesse looks at it this time, he’s a lot more self conscious. Uncertain. “You can eat yours, man, this seems kinda…” he trails off, squirming a bit.
Pointedly, Mike indicates the food in his hand. “I’ll eat this if you don’t hurry up and get over yourself.”
“Jesus, fine, okay,” Jesse rolls his eyes, setting his water back down. It’s with a stubborn edge that he leans in again, like he’s daring Mike to go on. Like Mike had been the one between them who’d gotten squeamish.
But the details aren’t what matters here. Mike’s not about to call him on them. What he does do is feed Jesse the next bite, giving him another affirming nod as soon as it’s accepted.
The more reassurance he gets, the more the kid loosens up. It’s a clear-cut contrast to the way Gus had grown to accept Mike - a different kind of trust he only half remembers how to earn. He and Jesse aren’t on equal standing. This isn’t about respect, or proof, or loyalty. It’s about safety. Dependability beyond work.
The kid’s looking for someone to guide him.
Mike swipes at a stray crumb at the corner of Jesse’s mouth, unthinkingly bringing it back to his lips. Somehow, he doesn’t quite expect it when the kid’s tongue flicks out to take it from his finger, hot and wet against the pad of Mike’s thumb.
Jesse swallows. For a moment, Mike goes very, very still.
“…That’s good,” he soothes then, before Jesse has the chance to second guess. Reassurance asserted as fact, indisputable to them both. “You’re doin’ just fine.”
He doesn’t think too hard about the subtle way Jesse’s thighs press together in response.
They fall into a kind of rhythm. For all that he’s dedicated to the task, Mike keeps picking up on things - glimpses through Jesse’s carefully guarded expression, reading him without really meaning to. It’s like Jesse’s trying to hide how much he’s looking at Mike, as if there’s anywhere else it’d be reasonable to look. As if Mike isn’t looking at him, too.
Jesse leans back slightly, avoiding eye contact once again. “Can I, uh-” he clears his throat. “Can I get some more water?”
Mike pauses. Blinks. “Go ahead,” he nods.
A touch of tension leaves Jesse’s shoulders. He goes again for his cup.
As Jesse turns away from him, Mike considers what he might’ve done to make the kid think he needed to ask for permission.
Jesse is loyal, is the thing. Mike’s inclined to trust Gus’ judgment, but more than anything, he trusts his own gut. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume Walter’s still meddling behind the scenes, doing his best to get in Jesse’s head and stay there. And it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that it’s working, at least to some extent.
Even then, though, the bit of worry Mike’s started to feel isn’t over getting double-crossed. It’s over Jesse getting used.
He takes a few glances around the room - imagines all the work Jesse put in to get it to the point it’s at now.
“The paint job looks good,” he offers in comment. Just telling the truth.
Jesse looks back over at him, disarmed a little by the praise. “…I guess.” He averts his eyes before he really continues, head nodding absently from side to side. “I figured, y’know, no one’s hanging out here anymore. It’s just me, so...may as well.” Flatly, he adds, “Better than using, right?”
Mike hums a short note.
He’s dealt with his fair share of junkies, of course - dealt with Jesse himself on a few memorable occasions, too. But Jesse isn’t unpredictable the way Mike had anticipated a junkie to be. He’s got some spontaneity to him, sure, but it’s proven useful. Thinking on his feet rather than not thinking at all.
“It suits you better,” Mike says.
Jesse doesn’t object out loud, but his face makes it clear he feels conflicted. In reply, all he offers is a dismissive shrug.
“I’m serious,” Mike insists. “The job isn’t an easy one; you knew that much going in. But you’ve been holding your own out there, past just doing what you’re told. When you aren’t fogging it up with junk, you’ve got a pretty good head on your shoulders.”
Jesse regards him silently, uneasy again - not that he’s really stopped since Mike first asked when he’d last eaten. “I know I’m good, man,” he answers slowly, like he only half believes what he’s saying. “I don’t need a fuckin’ pep talk.”
“I’m not telling you because I think you don’t know.” Mike’s gaze is unyielding, holding Jesse in place. “The results speak for themselves. But if it’s between you wasting away and you watching my back, I want it clear which one you’re actually fit for.”
Jesse’s brows stay pinched together as his eyes search Mike’s face. Search for what, Mike’s not sure, but for as long as it takes, they both stay silent. Jesse’s tongue slips out to wet his lips before he finally replies. It’s short - just a simple, “Alright.” But it’s an agreement even so, uninhibited by faux indifference.
Mike dips his head forward in a loose nod. “Alright,” he echoes, and leaves it at that. He only breaks eye contact under the pretense of tearing another bite from the sandwich, and Jesse sets his water down again in response. When Mike looks up again, the kid’s already watching him. Receptive. Expectant.
“C’mere, then,” Mike beckons him. “Let’s get you some more to eat.”