March 2004

Jesse doesn't visit his parents very often, so when Mr. Pinkman opens the door and sees him standing there, he gives him a scrutinizing look, like Jesse's a vagrant urinating on the steps.

"Jesse... It's been a while."

"Yeah. Can I come in?"

Mr. Pinkman lets him inside and leads him into the living room. Jesse can see his mother out in the back yard, pushing Jake on the swingset. "We were just about to have lunch," Mr. Pinkman says. "Would you like to join us?"

Jesse shakes his head. "No, that's—that's cool."

The porch door slides open, and Mrs. Pinkman and Jake come inside. "Jesse, what a surprise," Mrs. Pinkman says, holding her youngest son's hand. "Jake, you remember your brother Jesse."

Jesse smiles, crouches down and fistbumps Jake. "Hey, little bro."

Jake smiles back. "Hey."

They move into the kitchen to talk. Atop the table is an open coloring book and a box of crayons. Jake climbs into the chair and starts coloring. Jesse loiters in the kitchen, unsure if he's allowed to sit or not. His parents sort of barricade him inside. "So, what's going on in your life?" Mrs. Pinkman asks. "Staying out of trouble?"

Jesse rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I, uh, I got married." He sticks his left hand up so they can see the ring.

Mr. Pinkman gasps. "You're married?"

"How come you never told us?" Mrs. Pinkman asks.

"It was sorta... sudden. There wasn't a big wedding. We just went to a courthouse," Jesse explains. "You didn't miss anything."

"We missed our son getting married," Mrs. Pinkman says with a hint of sadness. "Did you take pictures?"

"Not really," Jesse mumbles. He thinks it was probably the least romantic wedding ever, save for maybe the Red Wedding from A Song of Ice and Fire.

Mr. Pinkman looks wary, like he thinks Jesse married a prostitute or a stripper and that's why he kept this from them. "Well, we'd love to have you two over for dinner sometime. Get to know our new daughter-in-law."

Jesse chuckles humorlessly, glances away. "Yeah, um, you guys don't exactly have a daughter-in-law." This is the most awkward conversation Jesse's ever been a part of, and that's saying a hell of a lot.

Jesse can see the cogs turning in their heads. Mrs. Pinkman puts it together first. "You married a man?"

Jesse doesn't say yes, but he doesn't say no either. He just sort of blushes and rubs the back of his neck and finds his shoes particularly interesting.

To their credit, they don't seem offended or appalled, just... confused. And it's not like he can blame them. Jesse never expressed any interest in the same sex or uncertainties about his sexuality.

Mr. Pinkman lifts an eyebrow. "Well, that's... different. Where did you meet?"

Jesse chews his nails. "At school..."

"One of your classmates? Anyone we know?"

Jesse takes a deep breath. "You remember Mr. White? Junior year chemistry?"

They look like they're waiting for him to elaborate, maybe talk about a student Jesse met in that class. When he doesn't say anything else, their eyes go wide, their posture stiffening, almost like a spasm. "You married your chemistry teacher?" Mrs. Pinkman says around a gasp, like he just told her he's the antichrist or that he summoned Cthulhu.

Jesse gives them a half-smile. "Crazy, huh?"

Mr. and Mrs. Pinkman exchange glances. Jesse's pretty sure this wasn't covered in any of the parenting books or pamphlets. Someone should write one. It would come in handy in situations like this. What to Do When Your Son Marries His Teacher: A Guide for Parents.

Jesse realizes he'll have to help them along here. "It's cool though. He got me clean, I'm takin' a couple classes at the community college... It's good."

"He came here to give us heart attacks," Mr. Pinkman says to his wife after a moment. Ha-fucking-ha.

"This—this is a lot to take in at once," Mrs. Pinkman says. "How did this happen?"

"I, uh, I got in trouble a while back, Mr. White found out and made a deal with me. He'd help me get clean and pay for school as long as I let him move in, y'know, to keep an eye on me." Jesse isn't sure his parents will be very understanding of the truth since it's sort of borderline prostitution. They already think he's enough of a criminal. "So I took him up on it, and we went from there."

"At the risk of sounding insensitive, isn't he a little old for you?" Mr. Pinkman asks.

"Age ain't nothin' but a number, yo."

"That's not entirely true, Jesse," Mrs. Pinkman warns. "You're both at completely different stages in your lives."

Jesse shrugs. "So? Mr. White doesn't care about that. He loves me."

"I thought he was married before," Mrs. Pinkman wonders aloud.

"Yeah, but him and his wife split." Jesse looks at his parents' faces, doesn't see a lot of positivity there. "He's good though. He pays child support for his kid, visits every weekend. That's where he is now, actually." He smiles.

Mrs. Pinkman tilts her head. "His family doesn't accept you?" It doesn't sound like a question.

Jesse shrugs again, shuffles his feet. "It's not a big deal. I get why they don't want me around. I mean, his son is cool, but Mr. White thinks it's best to, like, ease him into the idea that he's got another dad now, y'know?" He doesn't seem to be winning them over. Jesse segues into the reason he's here. "But, uh, I wanted to ask you somethin'. Since I'm married now, Mr. White thought it'd be a good idea to, like, get property in my name. I was wonderin' if you guys would sign the house over to me. I mean, Aunt Ginny wanted me to have it, right?"

They exchange glances again. Jesse wonders if, when you've been married that long, you can just communicate entirely through eye contact, rendering words entirely unnecessary. Mrs. Pinkman sighs. "Jesse, I don't—I don't think that's a good idea."

Jesse hadn't been expecting this. He thought if he showed up clean and on the right track with his life that they'd cut him some more slack. "Why not?"

"We're very proud of you for kicking the drugs and going to school," Mr. Pinkman says. "But... this marriage you have with your teacher..." He trails off, unable to find the proper words.

"It's not going to last, Jesse."

Jesse feels a pow. "What?"

At least they have the good sense to look beleaguered about this. "Plenty of our neighbors have gone through difficult times and made rash decisions," Mrs. Pinkman continues. She looks at her husband. "Remember when Mr. Harris had that affair with his secretary?"

Jesse doesn't understand why this is happening, why they still don't trust him after all the strides he's taken to clean up his act. "You don't trust me? Is that it?"

"It's not you," Mr. Pinkman says. "It's your husband we don't trust. You tell me you've gotten married in secret, I assume you've shacked up with some streetwalker or drug abuser. Why else would you hide it from us? But then you tell us it's your teacher, and I wonder why he wouldn't show his face here, at least ask to meet the parents of the boy he's marrying."

"I didn't know we were gettin' married," Jesse pleads. "It was, like, when you get hitched in Vegas, y'know? Just a spur of the moment thing. We didn't really have time to send out invitations."

"But he lived with you for a while, correct? During that time he never thought to sit down to dinner with us?"

"Why do you care, yo? This ain't the '50s. I don't need your permission to get married."

"No, you don't. But it shows respect," Mr. Pinkman says. "It shows he intends to become part of the family. I know your generation finds that kind of thing lame and outdated, but he wouldn't."

"So, what, just 'cause he didn't ask you for my hand or whatever, you're just gonna say no?"

"It's more than just that," Mrs. Pinkman says. "If he did urge you to go to school and get off the drugs, why wouldn't he encourage you to reconnect with your parents? Why doesn't he want you to spend time with his son? Why would he marry a nineteen-year-old he has nothing in common with?"

Jesse heaves out a deep sigh, drags a hand through his hair.

"I just don't trust him. Obviously you've made your decision"—she glares at the ring on Jesse's finger—"but we're making ours. I don't see this relationship lasting very long, and when he decides to go back to his family, I don't want him trying to take your home with him."

"Mr. White won't do that!" Jesse protests.

Mrs. Pinkman sighs. "I'm sorry, Jesse. Unless you have the money to buy the house, our answer is no."

"Why can't you just be happy for me?" Jesse growls. He shakes his head in disgust and turns away. "Screw this. I'm outta here."

Jesse sees himself out.


Walt's already home when Jesse comes through the front door. He hears Jesse's footsteps on the stairs, then the sounds of quiet sobs growing nearer. "Jesse?"

Jesse appears in the doorway of their bedroom, tears in his eyes and agony on his face.

"Jesse, what's wrong?" Walt asks, and Jesse rushes to him, sobbing and shaking. Walt pulls Jesse into the cradle of his arms, and he can feel Jesse's cries in his chest, deep and aching. "Are you alright?"

Jesse sniffles, staining Walt's shirt with tears and fracturing his heart. "I thought they'd be happy," he wails, the words cracking in his throat.

"What are you talking about?" He threads a hand through Jesse's hair, guides them to the bed and sits. Jesse wraps his arms around Walt's neck and pulls him closer.

"My parents. I told them we got married, all the stuff you did for me," Jesse says through spasming lungs. "I wanted to get the house in my name, like you said. But they don't trust you. They said you're gonna leave me." His voice breaks around the last few words. Walt feels his heart clench in shared agony.

"I'm not going anywhere." Jesse sniffles again, his shoulders shaking. "Jesse, look at me." Jesse lifts his head. His eyes are wet and red and full of pain. Walt settles his hands on either side of Jesse's face. "I'm staying right here, okay? Everything's going to be fine."

Jesse's lower lip quivers. His hands fall away from Walt's shoulders and tangle loosely in the front of his shirt. "I wanted them to be happy for me..." he whimpers. "How come nothing I do is ever good enough?"

Walt doesn't know what to say, how to stop the tears from falling. He takes up Jesse's hands in his own and kisses the backs of them, hopes the press of mouth against skin and ink can salve his wounds. "Don't listen to them, Jesse. I'm your family now." Jesse's lips part in a soft gasp, and Walt presses his mouth over Jesse's own to sway his tears to dry. "We have each other. That's all that matters."

Jesse's hands snarl in the front of Walt's shirt, and he pulls him closer, kisses him hungrily, aggressive. Walt licks at Jesse's lower lip, savors the taste of him on his tongue. Jesse grabs at Walt's shoulders so he can climb into his lap, knees on either side of Walt's hips. "I love you," Jesse murmurs around a kiss, his arms wrapping around Walt's neck as his hips rock and shift in Walt's lap.

It happens faster than Walt thought it would; Jesse gets them undressed, just enough to do the deed, and Walt feels saintly when Jesse sinks upon him, his arms wrapped tight around Walt's neck, fingers digging into his shoulders as Walt slides in. Jesse's tight and eager to please, moving in a quick, unpracticed pace, and Walt settles his hands on Jesse's hips to guide him, to make each movement resonate for both of them. Walt thinks he must have said something good earlier, something to make Jesse want to give back.

Jesse's panting, "Mr. White, Mr. White," at Walt's ear, his fingers gnarled in Walt's shirt, hands shaking over his back. Neither of them last very long when they do this, too subsumed in the blistering heat of passion, and tonight is no exception. Jesse moans out in warning, a choked sound he only makes when he's close, and Walt nuzzles his face into the curve of his throat, squeezes Jesse's hips and rocks his own into the way Jesse's riding him. Jesse cries out and loses himself, and Walt's not far behind.

Jesse shivers through his orgasm, whimpering and murmuring soft praises and heartfelt words as his body loosens up and the tension drains from his muscles. Walt litters delicate kisses over his skin and whispers Jesse's name. Jesse practically melts in his embrace, and Walt can feel the subtle shake of sobs racking Jesse's small body.

"I love you," Jesse says over and over, holding Walt tight against him.

"I love you too, Jesse."


Jesse runs out of money one week later.

To be fair, it's not entirely his fault. It's that asshole Walt who keeps dragging this fucking thing out, forcing Jesse to pay for a pretrial hearing. It's grotesquely unfair, because Walt's the one with all the money, yet he's clinging onto it like a life-raft in a stormy sea. Jesse, meanwhile, is bled dry of his paltry funds, because Walt's a greedy asshole.

At least, that's how Jesse sees it.

On Monday morning, Jesse wakes up to an obnoxious sound coming from underneath his head. He blinks awake, lifts up the pillow and finds the culprit: his phone. The caller ID reads: Saul Goodman.

"Yo."

"Hey, Pinkman? Can you talk?"

"Yeah, what's up?" Jesse slurs out, still groggy.

"Aw, jeez, I didn't wake you, did I?"

"It's cool." Jesse sits up and tugs the blankets over his legs. "Is somethin' wrong?"

"Yes and no. Just, uh, drop by when you get a chance. I think we oughta discuss what's going on with the case, yeah?"

Jesse sighs. "I don't have any money, Saul. I can't pay for another meeting."

Saul's quiet for a moment, then: "I'll waive the fee, kid. C'mon, that's what I wanna talk to you about. It won't cost you a thing, okay?"

Jesse's reminded of the old adage: if it sounds too good to be true... But he doesn't have a lot of options here, so he takes Saul up on the offer.

When Jesse gets dressed and goes downstairs into the kitchen, Walt's already waiting for him. "Where are you going?" he asks, like he genuinely gives a shit.

"I got a meeting with my lawyer."

Walt lifts an eyebrow. "He's hourly, you know."

"Yeah, he said he'd waive the fee."At Walt's look of surprise, Jesse adds with a sneer, "I want this divorce, and I'm not lettin' money stop me. I'll take a loan from my parents if it means gettin' away from you."

Walt looks like he wants to argue with that, mouth curling at the edges. But the anger vanishes as quickly as it appeared. "Jesse, why are you doing this to me? Just—stay with me a few more months, until the holidays are over. How long did your aunt have by the time she was stage 3?"

Jesse swallows back the lump in his throat. "Seven months."

"And that was with chemo, wasn't it?" Walt already knows it was. "Just a few more months, Jesse, and you'll be set for life," Walt says, intense now as he moves closer. It's as close to begging as Jesse's ever heard from him, but it still rings insincere somehow. "If you call off this divorce, you, as my spouse, will have my life insurance policy, my possessions, everything when I die."

Jesse stands there, stunned by Walt's words. It's not the most ideal solution—how the hell is he supposed to get through seven months when he can barely handle seven days?—but it would solve all of his current problems. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Walt grabs his things off of a nearby chair, shoves his arms into his jacket. "Just think about it, Jesse."

Jesse barely registers the sound of Walt's coughing as the front door shuts behind him.


"Glad you could make it," Saul says when Jesse drops into the couch in Saul's office. "So, how are things? You doin' okay?"

"He wants me to stay with him," Jesse drones out, still in somewhat of a daze. "He figures he's got a couple months left 'til he's gone, and then I get all his shit 'cause we'd still be married."

Saul sits on the edge of the table and faces Jesse. "Wow, he's really playin' hardball, huh?" He chuckles, but the levity fades when he notices Jesse's not sharing his mirth. "C'mon, kid, this is just a negotiation tactic. He's bluffing and he knows it. Why the long face?"

"'Cause Mr. White's dying," Jesse says, a shake in his voice. "I mean, I forget it sometimes 'cause he's such a dick to me, but, yeah, he's got cancer." He wipes his eyes with his hand. "But maybe I'm bein' a dick for leavin' the dude." He fights back the sting of tears.

"You're not obligated to stay married to someone who treats you the way he does. So what if he's sick?"

"'In sickness and health,' yo," Jesse says.

"Doesn't change the fact that he mistreated you before his diagnosis. Maybe his behavior could get a pass if it started once he got sick, but from what you've told me, this has been ongoing."

Jesse scrubs a hand through his hair. "I know, but—but maybe he's right, y'know? Like maybe I am being selfish and ungrateful."

"Abusive people are pros at making themselves sound like martyrs."

Jesse shakes his head, because it's easy for Saul to say Jesse's in the right here when he doesn't know the whole story. "I was nineteen when Mr. White and I got together. His douchebag brother-in-law picked me and my partner up on possession. I guess he figured out I was one of Mr. White's students, 'cause he called Mr. White braggin' about how he arrested 'that dumb junkie you used to bitch about.'" Jesse winces at the words. "But Mr. White bailed me out, took me to dinner and made me a deal. 'You go to school for something—anything—and I'll pay for tuition and help you get clean.' All I had to do in return was be his boyfriend. Which, at first, just meant givin' him a handjob every other night or so. Whatever, y'know?"

Saul doesn't look uncomfortable, so that's good. Jesse reaches into the pocket of his jeans and takes out a pack of cigarettes. "Can I smoke in here?"

Saul hands him an ashtray from the other side of the table.

Jesse lights up and takes a long drag. The nicotine helps calm him down and takes his nerves off the edge. "I had him move in with me, and everything was okay for a while, I guess. When we started havin', like, real sex, it was weird at first but it was kinda nice... It felt like he actually liked me." Stupid, now that he thinks about it. "So then when they started doin' same-sex marriages here, Mr. White and I got married."

"Was it his idea?"

Jesse nods, as if realizing what Saul's hinting at. "I was in love with him though, so of course I was like, 'hell yeah, bitch.'"

"Why'd you take the deal in the first place?" Saul asks, curious more than accusing.

"It sounded pretty sweet. Go to college, kick the crystal, get everything paid for, and all I gotta do is jerk a dude off every once in a while?"

"Prostitutes do the same thing, and they don't have to marry the guy."

"Mr. White was different," Jesse says, taking another drag. "He said he wanted me. And it's not like I had any other options."

"Do you think he loved you? In the beginning, I mean."

"He had to, right? I mean, why would he offer me all that shit if he didn't care?"

Saul looks at him like Jesse's a wounded animal. "Oh, kid... I know you didn't ask for my advice, but, hey, I'm a lawyer, that's what I do: advise—so I'm giving it anyway. Here's how I see it: Walt sees you, a wayward teenager, and he makes you an offer you can't refuse. Then, when Sandoval County starts licensing same-sex marriages, he sees that as an opportunity to legally bind you to him. 'Cause, yeah, we've dressed it up and made it about romance, but marriage is all about property. I think he gets off on you owing him, on every nice gesture on his part being some sort of debt you have to pay back."

Jesse stays quiet and takes another puff.

"This new development you told me about? Just another stalling tactic," Saul continues. "How come before it was 'no, Jesse, don't leave me,' and now it's 'just seven more months'? He could be one of those miracle patients who lives for years. Or, hey, what if he starts secretly getting treatment the minute you agree to stay? Odds are he left everything he owns to his kid. There's no way you're getting anything when he dies. Don't fall for it."

Jesse feels the tears again. "What if he's right though? About me not bein' able to make it on my own?"

"Then why wouldn't he just agree to pay you the alimony you're requesting instead of making you go through a hearing? He's fighting this because he doesn't care about you, just what you can offer him. If you're not around to give him blowjobs or an engorged ego, he's not gonna support you. That's not love, kid."

Jesse shakes his head as tears drip down his cheeks. "No, you're wrong. He loves me."

"Explain it to me," Saul says in a gentle voice. "What do you see that I don't? Make me understand."

Jesse doesn't know how. He sniffles and wipes his face with his hand. "I just know. He loves me and he needs me, and I'm just walkin' out on him."

"He needs you, just not like you think."

"Why do you have to, like, over-analyze everything? Maybe Mr. White's just a dick sometimes. Why's there gotta be some dark, awful reason for it?"

Saul breathes out a sigh. "Why are you making excuses for him? Up until now, you were gung-ho about a divorce. Did he really get under your skin?"

Jesse stares at the skeleton of ash at the end of his cigarette. "My aunt died of cancer. Same kind Mr. White has. I, uh, moved in with her and took care of her when I was in high school." His eyes fill with tears again. "She didn't last very long."

Saul does that thing with his eyebrows that ties Jesse up in knots. "You think you owe Walt because of her?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Look, kid, I'm a divorce lawyer, not a therapist, alright? If you want, I can recommend you to a couple good shrinks, but I'm not that kind of counselor."

Jesse nods, ashamed that he even brought it up. Of course this isn't Saul's area of expertise. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. I get it. There's nothing wrong with wanting somebody to talk to." He watches Jesse with concern. "You wanna hear the good news?"

"Yeah," Jesse croaks out. He takes another drag off the cigarette.

"Well, the good news is I can't see him dragging the pretrial proceedings out very much. I mean, most of the contention in divorces is over custody and property, and since that's not the problem with you guys..." Saul spreads his hands.

Jesse plucks at his lower lip. "And what's the bad?" He takes one last drag off the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray.

"The bad news is Walt will probably play the cancer card with the judge and paint you as some ungrateful kid bailing on him. Not sayin' it's right, just guiding you through the judge's thought process here. Best case scenario: you get what you're asking for. Worst case: you have to pay Walt. If this goes to trial, there's a chance you'll take a severe hit to the pocketbook."

Jesse groans, rubs his free hand over his face.

"But, hey, I'm all about the silver lining, right? Ninety percent of court cases settle before trial begins. So, there's that."

"We both know he won't settle."

"Yeah, I was trying to be optimistic." Saul watches Jesse for a moment. "Remember, you can borrow money. I mean, if that's a feasible option for you..."

"Yeah, I can—I can ask my parents. They never liked him anyway."

Saul keeps looking at him, like he's searching Jesse's face for something. Jesse wants to hide under the gaze, disguise the way his cheeks flush pink. "It's worth a try, at least. You shouldn't have to go bankrupt because of him."

For the length of one heartbeat, Jesse thinks about grabbing Saul's lapels and dragging him in for a kiss, because Saul's charming and funny and attractive and kinder than anyone's been in a while, and it's been so long since Jesse felt like he wasn't dirt under someone's shoe.

But instead Jesse just says, "Yeah."


Jesse pays his parents a visit the next day after classes. His mother answers the door, looking a little shocked to see him. He can't blame her; he hasn't exactly been a frequent visitor the past couple of years. Jesse didn't see the point in inviting them over when they made their opinion on Walt absolutely clear. Now, Jesse wishes he had listened to them.

"Jesse, this is a surprise," Mrs. Pinkman says, opening the door for him. "What's the occasion?"

Jesse shrugs. "No occasion." He looks around the foyer, peers into the living room. He figures Jake must be in school. "Dad home?"

"He's out back. I'll let him know you're here." Mrs. Pinkman heads for the back yard. Jesse makes his way into the kitchen. The refrigerator is covered in family photo magnets, drawings, and a typed essay with a huge red "A+!" at the top. Jake the Overachiever strikes again. Jesse can't even find it in him to be jealous. He wishes he had done more with his life, done it without Walt pulling the strings.

His father's voice sounds from the entryway. "Jesse, it's good to see you," he says with an honest smile.

Jesse briefly wonders who pumped his dad full of Prozac. "Yeah, you too." He pulls a chair out from the kitchen table and sits. His parents follow suit, sensing a discussion on the rise.

Mrs. Pinkman must see something on his face, because she asks, "Are you getting enough sleep? You look exhausted."

Jesse brings a hand to his mouth, chews his nails. "It's just stress."

"Exams coming up?" Mr. Pinkman asks.

Mrs. Pinkman's gaze stays on Jesse's hands. He thinks she's going to scold him for biting his nails—an old habit—but instead she says, "Are you having trouble at home?"

Jesse looks at her in astonishment.

"Your ring is gone," she points out. "And it's been gone for a while, hasn't it?"

Jesse looks at his hand. The band of paler skin that once wrapped around his ring finger has tanned to match his overall skin tone. He nods, swallowing thick in his throat. "Yeah."

"Did he do something?" Mrs. Pinkman asks with an edge of horror in her voice.

Jesse shakes his head. "I'm getting a divorce."

His parents share a look, as if to say, "We knew it." But they don't gloat over it. Mrs. Pinkman reaches out and lays her hand over his own. "I'm so sorry to hear that." It sounds like she means it, and maybe she does, if only for Jesse's sake.

"I'm not," Jesse murmurs.

"How is that going?" Mr. Pinkman asks. "Is he—is he agreeable?"

"Dude's bankrupting me, is what he's doing. He knows I don't make much money, and he's just tryin' to stretch this out so I go broke."

"You need money?" Mr. Pinkman says, cutting through the pretense. "Is that why you're here?"

Jesse sniffles and wipes a hand over his face. "I thought I could do it myself. But I'm totally out. He squeezed me dry. My lawyer said if you loan me money it gets counted as a credit, so I can get it paid back at the end of the trial. I'll give you back every penny. I just—I just need help." His voice breaks a little at the end, because he's in over his head, and his parents are his last hope.

His parents share another look, this time with more concern. Jesse's rarely cried in front of them—yelled and cursed, absolutely. But as Jesse got older, public displays of tears grew scarce. He doesn't know if they'll believe him or see it as a manipulation tactic.

"I'm almost done with school," he says. "This is my last semester. So if I don't get a lot of money in the trial, I can get a better job and pay you back. It won't be all at once, but I'll try."

Mrs. Pinkman studies him for a second. "Is Walt abusing you?"

The question hits him like a wet slap. Jesse's lower lip quivers. "It's—it's not like you think. Nothing I can prove. But he's—he's guilting me into calling it off and staying with him. He says shi—stuff like, 'after everything I've done for you' and 'you were just a worthless junkie before I came along.'" Jesse wonders if the words hurt so much because they're true.

Mr. Pinkman bites his lips together. "Your attorney, do you think he would be willing to meet with us?"

Jesse nods. "Yeah, totally. He's cool."

"We'd like to speak with him, just to make sure everything's on the up-and-up. That won't be a problem, will it?"

This might be their way of ensuring Jesse's being honest about his intentions for the money. He's been clean for five years, too set in his ways to screw it all up now, but the seeds of distrust are still firmly planted in his parents' heads.

"No, no problem."

Mr. Pinkman nods. "Good."

"We can't pay for everything, Jesse," Mrs. Pinkman reminds him, "but we can help the best we can."

Jesse smiles. "Yeah, no, that's great. I need all the help I can get." He doesn't mention that he doesn't have anywhere else to turn, but he doesn't need to. They know.