'Seven Thirty-Seven'

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Breaking Bad or any of it's content; I only own Charlie and her side of the story.

The 'Dog House' electrical sign lit up the picnic bench where a couple sat, one of them with a tray of food in front of him and the other rubbing her red nose. The smaller figure, female and obviously very anxious, sniffled several times and scratched at the back of her hand. Although their current mission was to avoid being suspicious in any way, the two figured that compared to every single other person surrounding the establishment; they were least to be suspected of criminal activity. Slowly, Jesse shifted his tray table back to expose a wad of cash, tied together and ready to go for the large African-American gentleman heading his way. The man picked up the cash, walking towards a beaten down Toyota and climbing inside. After several more seconds, a tall white male emerged with a white paper bag and placed it beside Jesse's tray table, veering in a different direction towards a Dodge colt and speeding away. The Toyota did the same after Jesse had glanced inside the bag and nodded once. Jesse tucked the white paper parcel into his large pocket, leaving his unfinished fries and wrapping a hand around his girlfriend. The two set a brisk pace away from the diner, hoping that no one had grown suspicious of the exchange and had decided to tail them. After several moments of silence, Charlie figured it was safe enough and let out a long breath.

"Jesus," She muttered, scratching her forehead. Buying the gun meant several things, one of which was protection and the other was serious injury. It was a heavy subject even for her, who had dealt with guns in her father's household before.

"I know," Jesse blinked a couple times, as if to snap himself out of it. He could feel the weight of the gun that they had just purchased still in his pocket, weighing down not only his jacket but his thoughts as well. He had never used a gun before, and the only experience he had with rifles was when his father had taken him hunting one summer in the sixth grade. But nonetheless, he figured that owning one would have made a good investment at one point or another, because he had grown suspicious that Tuco's thugs had begun to stalk him. It made the most logical sense that after the dream team had watched Tuco beat his henchman to death, they would be his next targets. They did make very pure product for the gangster, but nevertheless they were loose ends. And Jesse didn't want himself, Charlie, or Mr. White for that matter, on the opposite end of the barrel when the time came.

Small signs of Tuco had been everywhere; cars taking off as soon as Jesse had laid eyes on them, large men eyeing him up in the Latino areas of town where they usually left him alone, phone calls with dead air and noises that he didn't think were natural to hear in the middle of the night. On top of all that (and the added stress of having to produce 4 pounds of methamphetamine in a beaten down RV every week) Charlie had mentioned to him several times that large intimidating men had come up to her during her work hours, asking for a lighter and occasionally, a cigarette. It infuriated Jesse that Tuco's thugs would dare come near the only thing that was worth anything to him anymore, but he felt helpless as he watched her travel to work each morning knowing that he couldn't do anything to stop it. Charlie had assured him, trying to convince her panic-stricken boyfriend that the men had paid her back for the cigarettes and had never been anything but friendly to her. Still, he found his stomach twisting in knots each morning that she left. Something wasn't right.

|:|

The next afternoon, Mr. White took the time to visit the two in their humble abode and additionally took the chance to lecture Jesse about his rash actions. Whilst Charlie cooked – she had gotten into the habit of trying out new recipes on Mr. White to keep him well nourished while he visited – the two boys sat at the kitchen island arguing intently.

"Oh, we are dead," Jesse ranted, pacing back and forth as he explained his musings to a frustrated Mr. White. "Dead, man! Muerto! Ormuerte! However the hell you -"

"This is conjecture." The older man stated.

"This is conjecture?"

"Yes. And conjecture isn't helping."

"Oh, my conjecture isn't helping?!" Jesse raged. There was a hiss of oil as Charlie poured the yellow liquid onto the chicken in the pan. The bread and salad had been prepared, waiting for the chicken to be placed into them and rolled into fresh lunch.

"Fine," Walter demanded. "Facts then."

"Fact A: My phone rang, like, eight times last night. Dead air, hang-ups, every time," Jesse began to list his observations from the past week. "Second fact: they've been bumming smokes off of my girl at work this entire week! Third fact: like three in the morning we saw that black caddy of his cruising our neighbourhood – no headlights!"

"If he wanted to kill us, he would've done it at the junkyard." Mr. White reasoned, cleaning his glasses on his nicely ironed shirt. Charlie started to roll the cooked wraps into neat cylinders, grabbing two glasses of water and turning off the stovetop.

"What is that?" Jesse exploded once again. "Conjecture? Are you basing that on that he's got a normal, healthy brain or something? Did you not see him beat a dude to death for, like, nothing? And that way that he just kept staring at us, saying, 'You're done.' 'You're done'?! You wanna know what that means? I will tell you what that means. That means exactly how it sounds, yo!"

"All right," Walter raised his hands, trying to calm the boy down.

"We are witnesses," Jesse drew him back in, trying to make him realize the seriousness of the gangster's looming threat over their heads. "We are loose ends. Right now, Tuco's thinking, 'Yeah, hey, they cook good meth, but can I trust them?' What happens when he decides no? Because if his thugs are with Charlie that means he knows about her, man. And I can't afford that!"

There was a beat of silence as Jesse turned around, mumbling the repeated statement and rummaging through the desk drawer. "I can't afford that." He pulled out the recently purchased firearm, slamming it on the table.

"It's him or us!" He howled as Mr. White gave a sharp 'no' of disapproval. "You understand?! It's him or us!"

As soon as there was a moment of silence between the two heavily distracted males, a distinct whimper was heard from behind them. Jesse whipped around to find Charlie gripping the counter, wraps forgotten and tears falling down her face. Immediately his face masked into a mixture of worry and regret, half of which was towards himself for raising his voice and the other half was for not being able to recognize her suffering sooner. The sobs wracked her little body, and Mr. White found himself moving out of the way as Jesse went to embrace the small girl.

"Hey," Jesse muttered, carefully plucking the spatula out of her hands and picking her up to carry her towards the couch on the living room with no struggle whatsoever. "Breathe. I'm gonna go get Po for you, alright? You can sleep."

She clung to him like a wet rag, crying into his shoulder and gripping his shoulders for support. Mr. White opened his mouth as if to say something to the boy that was again approaching the kitchen after having set Charlie down, but he closed it when Jesse dashed past him and scooted upstairs. His old student came back down moments later, clenching his jaw with Po in his hands. It was only after he had wrapped the girl in blankets and given her the Teddy Bear that Jesse ventured back into the kitchen.

"How would you do it?" Mr. White asked after a moment of shock, still adjusting to the way that his two former students ran their household. It was as if Charlie was still a child, occasionally showing traits of adulthood but so emotionally vulnerable and wrapped up in her past that she couldn't take care of herself.

"What do you mean how would I do it?" Jesse tone was different as he leaned on the countertop, mostly due to the lump stuck in his throat. It was clear that he was upset at the discomfort that he had caused Charlie, and fought to keep his voice down for her sake.

"Specifically," Walt clarified, trying to take his mind off the very concerning girl in the other room, who had lapsed into silence and fallen asleep. "How would you do it? Step by step."

"All right," His counterpart suggested, grabbing the weapon and imitating the situation. "Say we set up one last sale. This is providing he doesn't decide to waste us before then. Every time we bring in a new batch, he always tests the product, right? So as his head is down, you know, just giving it a snort – pop, pop, pop!"

"Pop, pop, pop?" Mr. White quoted sarcastically. "So three shots?"

"Three shots…or, I don't know, two." The boy responded nervously. He hadn't thought this through as thoroughly as possible.

"Yeah, but is it two, or is it three?" Walter narrowed his eyes. His intention was not to learn about the attack but to bring Jesse to the realization that he was incapable of performing said task.

"Two would probably work, I guess."

"Two shots in the chest? Or in the face?" Mr. White received a strange look from Jesse. "Come on, I'm just trying to understand how this works."

When Jesse didn't respond, Mr. White made a face. "Alright. We'll put a pin in that. But by now, the big guy – Gonzo – he's probably coming at you, right? So you turn towards him. How many shots for him? He's a big guy, right? How many shots does that take?"

"I don't know," Jesse admitted, running a hand through is hair and estimating. "Three - three shots."

"Okay," Walter played along with the boy's fantasy for the time being. "Three shots. Tuco and Gonzo. Two men down. Now, is there anyone else ther? I mean, Tuco is usually with someone else, right? Maybe even a couple of guys. His dealers; his posse."

His partner declined to respond once more.

"Alright, so we'll put a pin in that one, too." Walter nodded, glad that his plan had worked. "Now, at this point, how many shots have been fired? You've gotta be running low. How many bullets does that gun take?"

He watched Jesse struggle to open the device, and give up after several seconds of the cartridge not opening correctly.

"How can you suggest that we kill a man, and you can't even open the gun? It's not that easy, is it?"

"Hey man," Jesse gave him a sullen look as he sat back down in defeat. "Walt, you did it."

There was another beat of silence as the two were basked in the seriousness of the task.

"Yeah," The older man eventually muttered, tears in his eyes. After several awkward coughs from both of the boys, Walter finally motioned towards the sandwiches. "Is it alright if...?"

Jesse nodded in approval for the unspoken question, both silently agreeing to discuss the matter of the gun in the morning. They ate quietly, both reveling in the simple fact that Charlie's cooking was equal ground in an otherwise more than unpleasant afternoon. No noises besides ones of chewing, swallowing, and occasionally a deep sigh from Charlie – still asleep on the couch – was heard. Eventually Mr. White took his leave, bidding his partner farewell with the promise of contacting him soon.

"Jesse," Mr. White turned at the last minute, worry clouding his features as he remembered the sleepy girl. "I have to ask – are you sure she's alright?"

The kid met his stare, equal and even. "Mr. White, I love that girl more than anything else in the entire world. I'm always gonna help her no matter what – so if she's not alright I'll be there for her like everyone else wasn't."

Thus forward, Walter considered the conversation ended, and said no more on the subject. He turned, ridding his mind of the matter and continuing towards his car with several last waves of his hand. He didn't bother to look back and only sighed in regret once Jesse had shut the door behind him. The minute that the latch was closed, Jesse crept into the room where his girlfriend was still sleeping comfortably.

"Charlie," Jesse's muffled tone woke the rested girl, who yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Charlie, I'm sorry baby."

At this, Charlie blinked several times in confusion before the events came back to her, and she sat up to shake her head at him, a smile taking over her face. Anger was never a trait that Charlie liked to dwell more than a second on, as she couldn't connect to the emotion after everything that her father had pushed upon her. Jesse's tone had been terrifying for her to hear – he rarely used that sort of force when she was around – but she recognized the meaning behind it. His situation was a tough one, and he had every right to be upset and yell as much as his heart desired.

"Come here, you dork," Her grin relieved him, and he accepted her hug with a grin. "It's okay."

"You're okay?" He smiled, clutching her and tangling his fingers in her hair as he kissed her head.

"I'm okay."

"We're okay?"

"We're okay." She confirmed, laying a kiss on his lips. They both considered it the end of a very long day, and once again, he scooped her up bridal-style and began to walk her towards the kitchen.

"Wait," She whimpered, clutching the chest material of his shirt to stop him. "Po."

He turned around, reaching down and picking up the bear before carrying her into the kitchen and plopping her down on the island. She regarded him with large, curious eyes as he took a bowl out of the cupboards and some leftover soup out of the fridge. Charlie smiled as he mentioned how Mr. White had enjoyed her chicken wraps, and Jesse found himself simply smiling because she was smiling. Soon they were both laughing at each other for smiling for no reason, and dopey laughter flooded the house. They were interrupted by the beeping of the microwave, and soon enough the bowl was placed in Charlie's hands. There was never any pressure to eat when he cooked her meals, but simply the reminder that food was required to live. He was prepared to offer her love and support – the last thing Jesse wanted was to push her away or degrade her. So, with a spoon in hand and her food tapping on the corner of the furniture anxiously, Charlie finished the bowl of soup with a sigh and placed it in the sink.

The two joined hands and retreated to finally finish the very long day.

|:|

It was five in the afternoon when Charlie finally rose out of bed the next day. She had faded in and out of sleep whilst Jesse went about his day, listening intently as he and Walter figured ways to eliminate Tuco and eventually landed on the idea of Ricin beans. Eventually her bladder controlled her actions and forced her to rise, also forcing her to look into the mirror and grimace at her appearance. Large bags were being made present, and she decided that it was time to call in sick at work. Every couple of months she would fake an illness to get off several days, pretending that she had been stricken by some sort of rare 72-hour stomach flu and miraculously healed the next day. Gus bought it every time, and no one had grown suspicious about it at Los Pollos. She figured everyone had his or her secrets either way, so there was no harm done.

Slipping on one of Jesse's large sweaters and a beanie, she padded downstairs to where Mr. White and Jesse were seated at the table and joined them. Both her and Jesse listened curiously to the phone call taking place, which grew alarming very fast. Walter's D.E.A agent brother-in-law had send him incriminating photos of two murders that had taken place, one of which was No Doze, Tuco's unfortunate henchman, and the other being Gonzo, who had apparently died trying to move the body. As soon as Jesse and Charlie moved to see the photos Mr. White was paling towards, they blanched.

'Guess it could be worse, huh?" We could be having a day like these two.' The voice on the other end of the cellular device blurted. '…Couple of local bulletheads. I guess they pissed off the wrong guy…Walt? You there? Walt?'

The three realized that they had been staring for an abnormal amount of time, and regained their senses quickly. Mr. White ended the call quickly and darted into the kitchen, reaching into the drawer and pulling out the Ruger SP101.

"I'm taking this!" He declared.

"No!" Jesse protested, spreading his arms. "It's my gun! I need it!"

"No you don't!" Walter pulled on his jacket and tucked the gun away in one of the pockets, making eye contact with Charlie. "Not if you two leave town. Get out of here. Tuco killing Gonzo means he's coming after us next. I've gotta get home – my family."

Walter dashed out of the house, and as soon as he was gone Jesse and Charlie locked eyes. She darted upstairs to fetch Po, whilst he tore through the cabinets – cursing all of Charlie's baking materials in the meanwhile – until he found her old duffel bag where they had been storing their cash.

"Get some shoes!" Jesse yelled up the staircase, knowing that he wouldn't have time to force pants on Charlie. His large sweater came down to her mid thigh and would keep her warm, but she at least needed something to cover her feet. He heard the distinct sound of her converse slapping against he wood of the staircase, and they exited the house in a hurry.

"Come on," Jesse reached for her hand in the darkness as they stumbled towards the car, climbing inside and roaring the engine. He could make out the sound of her heavy breathing, and knew that at one point or another her panic would take over. Unfortunately, panic was about to play a large part in both of their lives in the form of the gangster that was crouched in their backseat.

Tuco popped up behind Jesse with a growl, startling Charlie and causing her to release a scream. The car swerved slightly as Jesse's nerves skyrocketed, recognizing that the barrel of a gun was being pressed against his face. Tuco spat out orders to drive towards Walter's house, not making eye contact with either terrified individual in the front seat until they had parked in front of the White residence and flashed their headlights multiple times. Tuco didn't exactly care that Mr. White may have been living with a family or that his meth business was a huge secret for everyone involved. In fact, Charlie reckoned that Tuco didn't care if the danged Pope was staying in Walter's house; he just wanted to slaughter his three loose ends. Charlie also reckoned that Mr. White would come roaring out of his house soon, demanding that Jesse move off his property, which would make for the perfect storm of events and would most likely lead to their unfortunate demise in the form of a certain uber-criminal stashed in their backseat. Soon enough, a disgruntled Walter White came to the window of Pinkman's car.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" He clutched the window of the Monte Carlo, a sudden realization taking over as he saw Charlie's pale, hyperventilating face and Jesse's anxious one. Slowly, a gun crept over Jesse's shoulder and Tuco made himself visible.

"Get in." He growled, repeating the threatening words when Walter hesitated. "Get in."

The car door handle creaked as Walter reluctantly slid into the seat next to Tuco, sharing a brief glance with Jesse through the review mirror. Charlie's frantic breathing was taking up the vehicle, and although Jesse wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and whisper words of comfort, the gun pressed to his head prevented him from shifting away from the controls. Walter wasn't sure what to think anymore.

"Let's go."

A/N: If no one remembers from Season 1, 'Po' is Charlie's Teddy Bear and quite possibly the only memory/valuable she has from her past.