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Summary
"Heisenberg?!" Ethan lowers his gun, feeling suddenly, horribly tired. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you too, Ethan." Ethan's first name practically drips out of Heisenberg's mouth. He's been using a dinner plate as an ashtray, Ethan notices—the kind of minor detail the mind focuses on in moments of extreme stress (god, he's probably lucky the bastard bothered to find himself an ashtray at all).
But Heisenberg's still talking: "Dropped by, you weren't home, so I let myself in. Wouldn't want me loitering around your porch, bringing down the neighbourhood, would you?"
Ethan grits his teeth. He'd actually forgotten just how annoying Heisenberg could be. "Which still doesn't explain what the hell you're doing here."