-Spillage-
Descending down the spiral staircase that led to his lab, Walt looked down to Jesse-still sporting his flourescent yellow hazmat suit.
"98.7, Mista White!" yelled Jesse, before jotting down the numbers in the daily log. "Fuck yeah, bitch!"
Walt paused briefly. "We're .06 percent down from last week, and you're celebrating?"
"C'mon, man. I'm sure it's nothin'," replied Jesse. "I mean, don't we gotta make room for like, errors and shit? 'Spillage?' Ever think of that, Eisen Von Science?"
Walt threw his hands up in disbelief. "This ain't no 'Chili P,' you 'feel' me?" Walt's glare met Jesse. "Crazy 8 may have stood for sub-par standards, but we're working with the Mexican drug cartel. Let that sink into your head...or has the weed smoke clouded your judgment again?"
"You're breakin' my heart, Mista White," said Jesse.
Shrugging off Walt, Jesse led the crystal blue glaze to the chiller, cart by cart, while Walt poured a cup of specially-filtered coffee into his "World's Best Father" mug. Walt glanced at the words, then let out a stifled chuckle.
World's best father, indeed. he thought-and took a sip.
As the toasty, scientifically-balanced liquid met Walt's lips, the intercom screeched.
A familiar tone followed.
"How's this week's production coming along?" questioned Gus through the speaker. "I expect we're nearing 99 percent purity?"
Jesse gave a concerned glare toward Walt, expecting him to have a response to Gus's inquiry.
"Minor setback, Gus," said Walt. "We'll bump back up next week, that I can promise you."
There was a pause in sound from the speaker.
"That you will," said Gus, and the intercom went dead silent.
Gus was never one to speak in a tone that would mimic anger. His sense of professionalism was the driving force of his being. He always had perfectly-pressed plaid suits and pin-straight posture, and he never let his anger seep through the cracks. This aspect of Gus frightened Walt more than reliving the nightmare that was Tuco Salamanca. Walt knew when Tuco was nearing a meth-driven anger frenzy. His body language said it all. Gus, however, was a silent bomb-one that Walt feared he'd one day detonate, if only for the most irrelevant of reasons.
Snapping back into reality, Walt took another sip of coffee.
"Shall we continue," he asked, "perhaps avoiding this time any possible, how do you say, 'spillage?'"
"Your word is, like, my command," retorted Jesse.
"Bitch."