Mike comes into the shop trailing cold air and displeasure, but Walt's used to the latter by now. Mike Ehrmantraut is the avatar of disgruntlement and frowns; it's his default state. "This is pathetic," he says, surveying the empty chairs and empty tables. "How is Vamonos making more money than you guys when their coffee tastes like motor oil?"

"Cinnamon rolls," Saul insists from his chair, rustling the pages of the newspaper he's reading.

Walt gives him a glare. "Don't you have actual work to be doing?"

"Not on my lunch break."

"Perhaps we should consider hiring someone with exceptional baking skills," Gus says, and Gale's face falls. Ouch.

"Perfect sweets to go with perfect coffee." Walt doesn't mean to sound like he supports this sudden dogpile on Gale's self-esteem, but his brew is flawless and there's no way he's going back to J.P. Wynne.

Gale makes a quiet whimpering sound and looks at Gus. "I—I suppose I could find someone..."

The bell over the front door dings, and Jesse slinks inside, like he's trying to be covert but failing miserably. Gus holds up a hand to cease Gale's protest while he watches Jesse approach the counter. "That may not be necessary."

"Yo, Mr. White!" Jesse's wearing a shy, embarrassed smile; it looks good on him. Walt can't help but snag his gaze on the boy—Christ, he's so young—for a moment before diverting his attention elsewhere.

Gus sort of shoves Walt aside so he can speak to Jesse. "Do you have a moment? I'd like to discuss something with you."

Jesse's gaze flicks from Walt to Gus. "Yeah, I guess..." Gus steps away from the counter and leads Jesse to a table near the window. Once they're seated, Jesse mutters, "Did Mr. White say anything about me comin' in and talkin' to him? 'Cause I'm sorry if I'm, like, disrupting business or whatever."

Gus shakes his head and smiles. "You're not in trouble—Jesse, is it?"

Jesse nods, a little unsure. A lifetime of disciplinary problems has led him to distrust pretty much all authority figures.

"You can call me Mr. Fring. Or Gus, I suppose, if you prefer a first-name basis." He folds his hands on the table. "I have a question for you: have you ever tried the cinnamon rolls from Vamonos Coffee?"

That's a really unorthodox opening question, Jesse thinks, but he goes with it. "Yeah, they're okay, I guess."

"Only okay?"

He tugs at the ends of his sleeves. "The dough is kinda too thick, I think, 'cause they make it with cold butter and eggs. But you don't really notice it 'cause of all the glaze."

Gus lifts an eyebrow. "You have experience with baking?"

Jesse's brow furrows, and he stares at Gus like the guy's a math problem he's trying to solve. "Yeah, sorta. I used to make cookies and brownies and shit with my aunt Ginny all the time."

"From scratch?"

"Yeah, she said it was better that way—special, y'know?" The corner of his mouth pulls into a sad smile.

"If provided the proper ingredients and tools, do you think you could make a variety of quality products?" Jesse just stares at him blankly, so Gus says, "Would you consider working here, for me, as our baker?"

Jesse's eyes go impossibly wide, because Jesse Pinkman has never been someone people take chances on. He glances around like he expects this to be some sort of prank. "You—you'd—really?"

"We're certainly in need of one," Gus explains, "and you seem to be knowledgeable. You have a rapport with Walter, which not many people are capable of." Understatement of the year. "It all depends on your performance, of course, but I'm sure you won't have any problems."

Jesse's first instinct is to be suspicious. No one just gives you a job when you really, really need one, and very few people have ever believed in Jesse like this soft-spoken stranger. He risks a glance at Walt, who makes a valiant effort to look like he's not eavesdropping on their conversation. This can't be Walt's doing, because Walt has always been a dick to Jesse, telling him to "apply himself" and "live up to his potential." But this dude clearly thinks Jesse isn't a total fuck-up.

This is way too awesome to actually be happening to him, but Jesse's going to go for it instead of cleaning this gift-horse's teeth. "Y—yeah, of course! That'd be great!"

"Are you busy today?"

"No."

"Then you can start now." Gus smiles and rises from the table, walking behind the counter and showing Jesse into the kitchen.

"Thank you, Mr. Fring! I won't let you down!"

"I know you won't." Jesse disappears into the kitchen, and Gus tosses a sly smile at Walt.

Walt shakes his head in stunned disbelief. "You didn't. Tell me you didn't."

Gus shrugs, says, "It's all about chemistry, isn't it, Mr. White?" before he joins Jesse in the kitchen.

Gale frowns. "I was gonna make a really neat 'help wanted' sign." Man, today is not Gale's day...or Walt's, really.

There is no justice in the entire world. Gus is a filthy traitor.

#

Gus doesn't tell Walt to keep an eye on Jesse, but Walt does anyway because he doesn't trust Jesse in a room with expensive heat-related equipment. Seriously, he taught the kid chemistry; Walt is almost intimately acquainted with Jesse's uncanny ability to make things explode...and, wow, okay, there's some unfortunate implications in that sentence.

During an afternoon lull, Walt stands in the kitchen doorway watching Jesse diligently gather, measure, and mix ingredients. This lasts about five minutes before Jesse sets the mixing bowl down with a dramatic sigh. "You don't have to fuckin' shadow me, Mr. White. I can do this."

"I'm only supervising."

Jesse picks the bowl back up, mutters something that sounds like, "Supervise this," and goes back to stirring.

Walt steps closer and notices how Jesse's shoulders tense up a bit, like he senses Walt's new proximity. He can smell the faint aroma of weed and cigarette smoke emanating from Jesse's hoodie. "Why did Mr. Fring hire you?" He says it in a way that undercuts any possible ability Jesse might have, like Gus was just drunk and picked the first person that walked through the door. Walt's still not entirely convinced that isn't what happened.

"'Cause he said I was knowledgeable."

"So you told him something."

"I said the cinnamon rolls at Vamonos are too tough. It's 'cause they use cold ingredients." Walt scratches his chin in thought. Impressive. Jesse knows Walt's silence is near reverent because he adds, "Yeah, I know stuff."

"Do you know why that doesn't work?"

"'Cause they don't know how to bake shit?"

"I mean, do you know why cold eggs and dairy result in a poor product?"

"Because science?" Jesse shrugs, sets the bowl down again and focuses on Walt. "Enlighten me."

Walt makes a choked little huff of air as Jesse's gaze bores into him. He wets his lips, collects his thoughts. "Room temperature ingredients will bond and form an emulsion to trap air that expands during baking. Cold ingredients don't incorporate evenly enough to bond."

Jesse spreads his hands. "Because science."

Walt frowns at the simplification.

"If you're so smart, how come you're not doin' this?" Jesse asks, pouring the brownie batter into the pan.

"I prefer to focus myself on one thing and do it well."

"Coffee?"

Walt nods.

"What's so great about coffee anyway? It tastes like ass."

"You obviously haven't tried mine."

Jesse rolls his eyes.

"How about a deal: if you try a cup of coffee I'll try one of your brownies."

"Damn right you will. My brownies are the bomb, yo!"

Walt really hopes that's just an expression, but with Jesse he can never be sure.

He Walt fixes Jesse a drink while the brownies are cooling. Jesse might like something sweet, if his past orders are any indication, so Walt makes him a pumpkin latte. He even adds extra drizzle and whip on top—let no one say Walter White isn't considerate, goddamn it.

He goes back into the kitchen and slides the mug over to Jesse, and Jesse stares at it like it might bite him. "What is it?"

"Pumpkin latte. Just try it."

Jesse seems slightly intrigued, but he plucks a brownie off of the cooling tray and hands it to Walt. "You first." He smiles, and Walt immediately knows that saying "no" is not an option. "They're awesome; my own special recipe."

Walt gives the brownie a dubious look. "I don't know if Mr. Fring went over this with you, but you do know you're not allowed to use marijuana in your baked goods, right?"

"I didn't put weed in the brownies!" Jesse insists a little too loudly.

Walt carefully pulls a piece off, chews like he's afraid it might do something to him. It's actually kind of good—okay, really good—but that has to be a fluke. "Not bad." Jesse beams, his bright blue eyes luminous with pride; Walt feels a pow in the center of his chest. He takes another bite. "What is that spice I'm tasting?"

"Chili P, yo! My secret ingredient!"

Walt stares at him like he's insane but doesn't gag or throw up, because he's never thought about putting chili powder in brownies before, but it works. Maybe Gus was right and Jesse has some actual, marketable talent here.

Maybe.

"Now you try," Walt says, nodding at the latte.

Jesse seems pleased with Walt's reaction, so he takes a sip. When he comes up for air he licks away the whipped cream on his upper lip, and Walt briefly thinks about licking it away for him.

"This is coffee?"

Walt nods.

"It's good," Jesse says before taking another sip.

"The best."

"I wouldn't go that far."

Walt lifts an eyebrow.

"I mean, it's still coffee." Jesse grins at Walt's expression and steals the brownie back to dunk in his latte; Walt pretends not to notice the flush that creeps up Jesse's neck or the way it makes his own blood rush faster in his veins.

#

It turns out that Jesse's actually really good at baking—insultingly good, if Walt's honest. Gus comes up with the idea of giving away a free brownie or cookie with the purchase of a coffee, which gradually earns their quaint little shop more patronage.

It's Wednesday when Hank Schrader and Steve Gomez come into the shop, and Walt can't help but feel nervous, but that's to be expected when your brother-in-law (well, ex-brother-in-law, Walt supposes) is a health inspector. Ever since Walt's divorce from Skyler three months ago, he thinks Hank just comes here in search of violations.

"Morning, Walter. Gomie says you have the best bakery in New Mexico," Hank boasts as he walks up to the counter.

"Actually, it's 'cause of the kid," Steve says. "Walter just glares at you and makes the coffee."

Jesse actually fucking blushes and rubs the back of his neck as if to say "aw, shucks." "Well, I don't know about that," Jesse says, attempting modesty. "What can I get you, Mr...?"

"Hank, please. This is Gomie." Steve gives a cordial little wave. "Health inspectors." Hank flashes his badge, because he's that guy.

Jesse blinks. "Wow, I bet you know all the clean places to eat, huh?"

Hank and Steve share a laugh. "Yeah, it's a non-stop party," Hank says. "How 'bout you fix me up with a medium Americano, black, and one of those spicy brownies."

Steve opts for a white chocolate mocha and two dark chocolate peppermint cookies. Walt works on the coffees while Jesse doles out the sugar-laden sweets. Jesse watches Hank's reaction to the brownie. "It's good, huh?"

Hank nods. "Hell yeah. You got a gift, kid. You ought'a start chargin' for it."

Jesse blushes again, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "That's, uh, that's up to my boss, but thanks."

Walt tries not to stare at the way Jesse's face flushes scarlet, but he's really bad at it.

Around mid-afternoon, Jesse's straightening up the kitchen after making a fresh batch of brownies, and Gale strolls in through the front door. Walt looks up from the crossword puzzle he's finishing. "Gale? I thought you were off today."

"Just a late shift. Jesse's leaving now; I'm covering for him."

This is news to Walt. Gale slips behind the counter and pulls on his apron, just as Jesse emerges from the kitchen. "Hey, Gale, thanks, I owe you one."

"It's no problem," Gale says, and it's hardly a secret that he agreed to cover this shift so he could spend more time with Walt; the thirst is unquenchable.

"I just took the brownies out. There should be enough 'til close," Jesse says. "Thanks again, dude!"

"Where are you going?" Walt asks, hoping he sounds concerned instead of suspicious.

"I got plans."

"Smoking marijuana, eating Cheetos, and masturbating do not constitute plans in my book."

"Screw you, alright? Why do you even care? Gale and Mr. Fring aren't giving me shit for having other stuff going on in my life." Jesse gives him a significant, frustrated look before he's out the door.

#

Friday night marks the first time Walt orgasms thinking about Jesse. It's not like he's proud of this in any way, but he remembers it because earlier at the café Jesse slipped on the slick, newly-mopped shop floor and careened face-first into Walt. Walt caught his fall, but the firm line of Jesse's body molded to Walt's own. Just a small, minute moment of contact that poured gasoline on the fire Walt's been trying to choke.

It's easy for him to shove his feelings into some internal closet when Jesse smirks at him or grins or teases him. Walt finds it's not as easy when actual physical contact is involved, because that's a tangible, irrevocable memory burned into his nerves.

So when he gets back to his apartment that night, electricity humming in his blood, he steps into the shower and tugs his lonely, swollen dick while the hot needles of water beat down on him. He thinks about Jesse kneeling at his feet, greedily sucking his cock, and Walt thrusts into his fist, because that's an image that needs to be savored. He imagines what Jesse might sound like, if he'd hum around his dick or stay quiet. He wonders if Jesse would swallow or end up with jizz smeared over his mouth and splattered in his hair. Fuck, that should not turn him on as much as it does, and the image of Jesse licking Walt's cum from his lips is what does Walt in, his body shuddering as he comes undone.

He breathes in shaky spurts, opens his eyes to see the evidence of his lust splattered on the tile. He stays there until the water runs cold and wonders when his life became such a goddamn train wreck.

Not his proudest moment, really.