December 2005
Jesse leans his head against the cold glass of the passenger window in Walt's Aztek—or as Jesse's dubbed it, The Asstek. He made the mistake of saying that out loud once. Never again. But Walt's noise of offense hasn't stopped Jesse from calling it that in his head.
They're on their way home from a depressing-as-hell visit with Walt's ex-family. Really, the only bright spot there is Junior, who at least treats Jesse with a modicum of respect. Jesse gets that it's not easy accepting Walt's sudden lifestyle shift, but is it too much to ask that they treat him like a human being with feelings and dignity? Apparently so.
Jesse stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and watches neon signs pass by for stores he wishes he could afford to shop at. All the commercials advertising Christmas sales only remind him of how isolated he is. His parents have made their position on Jesse's marriage crystal clear, and Walt's got a raging boner for keeping Jesse away from his friends who might lure him back into using drugs again. So the only person Jesse's got to buy gifts for is Walt, which is harder than it sounds, because he's not the type to appreciate corny, groan-inducing science humor like Jesse thought he might their first Christmas together.
Sure, he can buy gifts for Junior, but Junior will never see Jesse as a step-father or even a father figure. Which is probably due to Jesse having a mere ten years on him; he's more of an older brother or even a cool uncle. But not a dad.
"Do you ever think about having another kid?" Jesse asks.
That probably wasn't a question Jesse should have asked while Walt's in control of a vehicle. There's a leathery creaking sound as Walt's hands tighten on the wheel, his knuckles going white.
"I mean, Junior's gonna be a teenager pretty soon, and, I dunno, it might be nice to have a younger one around. Jake was pretty fun when he was comin' up." Jesse tends to ramble when he's nervous, a trait he's certain Walt knows by now.
"I... haven't given that much thought," Walt says, carefully measuring his words like they're bombs about to burst. "It's a lot of work, raising children."
Jesse nods. "I know. But, y'know, it's just somethin' to think about." He looks over at Walt, who's staring intently at the road ahead. "If you were still with your ex-wife, what would you do if she got pregnant again? Would you... make her get rid of it?"
Walt doesn't answer for a moment, then: "I would—we would take precautions to ensure that wasn't a decision we'd have to make."
Kind of a roundabout way to say "birth control," but whatever. Walt's a wordy motherfucker. "Accidents happen," Jesse says with a shrug. "I was an accident."
"Of course you were," Walt mutters under his breath, and Jesse feels a pang of offense.
"But, y'know, an accident isn't a bad thing," he says. "It's just somethin' you didn't know you wanted 'til you got it. A mistake is somethin' you'd go back and change if you could."
Walt fixes him with a judgemental look. "What's your point, Jesse?"
Jesse shrinks under the criticism. He shrugs his shoulders lamely. "Just, y'know, think about it, I guess."
Walt breathes out a deep sigh. "Jesse..." Like his name is enough to just end the conversation right here. But Jesse gives him that quizzical, open expression that forces Walt to say more. "I think, after Junior's grown, that part of my life is over. If I were to have another child now, I'd be sixty-four when he—or she—graduates high school."
Jesse feels his heart sink in his chest. His brain says: you fucked up. Maybe if he'd presented the topic in a neater way, more professional. Something involving a PowerPoint slideshow with visual aids and statistics, all that academia shit Walt loves. Jesse thinks the idea has merit, that he can convince Walt if he could only find the right combination of words. Because Walt's already got one kid; he's not entirely opposed to the concept of children.
But Jesse doesn't push the topic further, just stares out the window and thinks about his options.
January 2006
Jesse's reading a chapter in his philosophy textbook when Walt comes barging into the living room like an angry bull. Jesse looks up, sees a handful of pamphlets clenched in Walt's fist, and suddenly his heart's pounding in his chest.
"I thought we settled this matter, Jesse," Walt says through clenched teeth. He's holding pamphlets Jesse's collected for various surrogacy and adoption programs. So not only is this subject a berserk button for Walt, but he also goes through Jesse's bureau drawers. Fantastic.
Jesse sets the book aside and shrivels under Walt's furious glare.
"Please, please tell me you haven't made any moves here—"
"No, no, of course not. I was just doin' research. Seein' what our options are."
"Our options?" Walt repeats, incredulous. "I thought I told you I didn't want to pursue this."
"'Cause you'll be, like, sixty when the kid's eighteen? So what, yo? You'll be fifty-three when Junior gets outta high school anyway."
Walt's shaking his head and moving closer in a particularly threatening way. "I don't want you thinking about this, alright? We are not having children."
Jesse gulps, swallows down his disappointment. He can't understand why Walt's got such a stick up his ass about this thing. He's gonna get old anyway; why not spend the time nurturing a new life?
"I'm sorry," Jesse murmurs, though he isn't exactly sure what he's sorry for. Those words just seem to be a reflex around Walt. He shouldn't have to apologize for thinking about starting a family with his husband. That's what couples do, goddamn it. And they've been married a decent amount of time that it shouldn't be weird to bring the subject up. If it's too soon, why can't Walt just say that?
"I just... I really wanna have kids," Jesse manages to say. "I'm good with them. I've got practice, y'know, with Jake. I think I'd be a good dad."
Walt lifts a skeptical eyebrow. "Two years ago you were a strung-out drug addict," he says, and, oh my God, will there ever be a time when Walt doesn't use that as some sort of argumentative ammunition?
"Yeah, well, people change. I'd probably be dope at keeping my kids off drugs 'cause I got, like, experience instead of just the bullshit they tell you in those DARE programs."
"Becoming a teacher would be an ideal career for you, then," Walt says, missing the point entirely. "You could be around children and mold their futures without all the responsibility of being a parent."
Jesse huffs a sigh. "Just 'cause you work in a high school where you see how shitty kids can be when they grow up doesn't mean our kids would be like that." Because Jesse thinks a great way to childproof your home is to work in the public school system, especially in a high school. Christ Almighty. "Hell, Junior's not gonna end up like I was back then."
Walt doesn't say anything, but Jesse knows he hasn't changed anything. Walt shakes his head and moves in closer. "Jesse, we're not doing this, okay? Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I get it. We're not havin' kids." The words scrape in his throat like shards of glass. The sting of tears pushes at his eyes, but he fights it. He's not letting Walt see how much this conversation has wounded him.
Walt's posture relaxes, and he stands up a little straighter. "I'm glad we're on the same page, then."
Jesse diverts his attention back to his textbook, but there's no ignoring the dull ache in his chest or the way his eyes want to leak tears. He tries to focus on the words until they turn blurry.
There has to be some bigger, more important reason for Walt's adamant stance than just being old. He mentioned Jesse's ex-junkie status; maybe he's afraid Jesse's not stable enough in his sobriety to be a positive parent and role model for a child. If he were to relapse, how much danger would he put their children in? What kind of example would he set for them?
That's got to be it. After all, it's only been two years since Jesse's been off drugs. Not a very long time to prove himself. Maybe in a few years Walt will change his mind after seeing Jesse stay on the straight and narrow. Give him some more confidence in Jesse.
Jesse feels a bit better now that he's got a future to work towards.
Saul's searching for a suitable dinner in the fridge when his cell phone rings. The screen reads: "Pinkman." A lump swells in his throat. If Jesse had a question about something, he would have sent a text. Jesse wouldn't call him this late unless something was wrong.
Saul presses the answer button and says, "Jesse?"
Jesse sniffles, and three words tear through Saul's chest like a reaper's scythe: "He knows, Saul."
"Oh God." Fear wraps around him in tight bands. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Jesse insists after another sniffle. His voice sounds low and raw, like he's been crying for a while. "I don't know if he's gonna come after you or whatever, but I wanted to warn you."
"Jesse, did he hurt you?" Jesse's quiet for a moment too long, and Saul knows. He shuts his eyes in pain. "Jesus..."
"It's nothing. I'm fine," Jesse pleads, but the way his voice cracks in his throat tells Saul that's a huge fucking lie.
"Did you file a report?"
"No, no, Saul, it's not a big deal. Just drop it, okay?"
"He hit you," Saul says, because domestic violence is a hell of a big deal. "If you file a report, you can use that against him in the divorce."
"No, he said he would—if I didn't drop the case, he said he was gonna turn you in." Saul can hear the panic in his voice.
"How did he find out? Did you tell him?"
"He put a bug on my car."
Saul exhales in relief. "So the only evidence he has for an affair is that you've been to my house? Shit, any two-bit lawyer could poke holes in that. He's got nothin'. I wouldn't worry about that."
Jesse's breathing heavy on the other end. "You—you really think so?"
"He's bluffing, kid."
A pause. "You're totally sure he can't do anything to you?"
"I think it's sweet you wanna protect me, but I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself." Saul hears Jesse sniffle again. "Do you need someplace safe to stay for the night?"
"No, I'm—I'm at a motel. I'm fine."
"Jesus, I said somewhere safe, not somewhere you'll get stabbed and mugged. Where are you? I'll come get you."
"No, Saul, he knows where you live—"
"Just tell me where you are." Saul feels a chill; he doesn't think Walt will do anything, but, man, if he does Jesse can't be anywhere near him.
Jesse heaves a deep sigh, like Saul's benevolence inconveniences him somehow. "The Crossroads Motel." He gives Saul the address.
"What room are you in?"
"No room. I'm in my car."
"Are you—Okay, I'm coming to get you. Just sit tight, kid."
Saul hangs up and dials another number. After two rings, a gravelly voice answers, "Articulate."
"Seriously? Is that how you answer your phone now?"
Mike sighs, loud and crackly on the other end. "What do you need, Saul?"
Saul can hear a din in the background, maybe from a TV or a radio. "You remember Jesse White, don't you?"
"I do."
"Well, his husband knocked him around, and he needs a place to stay the night. You alone?"
Mike makes a sound that Saul can't quite decipher. "Kaylee's here. How bad is he?"
"He drove himself to a shitty motel, so I'm guessing his limbs work well enough. He said he was fine, but you know those types."
Mike hums in agreement. "Bring him over. I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks, Mike. You're a peach."
"Don't ever call me that."
Saul pulls into the motel parking lot about ten minutes later, and, man, this place is butt-ugly. The white paint has faded to a sort of dingy grey, chipped and weathered in spots. He sees Jesse's car parked in one of the spaces, though it's not hard to find considering there's only about three other cars in the expansive lot. Saul slides in alongside him and rolls down the window. "Your chariot awaits."
Jesse glances over at him, and Saul almost gasps out loud. The right side of Jesse's face is covered in dried, smeared blood, caked around his eye. There's the beginnings of a nasty bruise around that eye, dark reds and purples mixed together to create a mess of almost-black. Saul tries not to wince, but, damn. "Sheesh, kid..."
"Is it bad?"
"You haven't even looked?"
Jesse shakes his head. "I'm kinda scared to."
"Well, climb in, and we'll get you somewhere safe."
"And just leave my ride here?"
"Yeah, it'll lead Walt in the wrong direction if he comes looking for you."
Jesse nods and gets out of the car, slides into the passenger seat of Saul's Cadillac. Saul reaches into the glove box and plucks out an unopened packet of hand wipes he pilfered from a restaurant. He flips down the mirror on Jesse's side. "This should get you cleaned up."
Jesse keeps his gaze averted, stares at the pack of wipes in his hand.
"C'mon, kid, my guy won't take you if you show up lookin' like a haunted house extra."
Jesse tears open the packet and drags the wipe over his face. He hisses when he touches the cut on his eyebrow. "Who's your guy?"
"You remember Mike? Well, he's gonna let you stay the night, depending on how beat up you look. Can't have you givin' the granddaughter nightmares, y'know."
Jesse risks a glance in the mirror. He winces at the sight and wipes the caked blood away. Saul wants to reach out and help him, but he doesn't know how to offer comfort in a situation like this. "Do you—do you wanna put a TRO on him? If you go to the cops—"
"No," Jesse cuts in. "No cops."
"He can't do anything to me, Jesse. That was a bluff."
Jesse shakes his head, still daubing away the blood. "You remember what happened to Michael Jackson? Some kid says the dude molested him, they go through a whole trial and find him not guilty, but it doesn't matter. Everybody still thinks he's a total pedo, even though there was all this evidence that proved the kid was lying." He fixes Saul with an intense gaze. "There's some bells you can't unring, yo. I'm not gonna ruin your life just to get back at Mr. White for somethin' that was my fault."
Saul's heart breaks in his chest. "Your fault?"
"I lied to him. If I had just been honest and told him where I was, maybe..." He trails off. "I shouldn't've pissed him off."
"He shouldn't have hit you."
Jesse just shrugs, like the fact that his husband busted his face means nothing. Saul grinds his teeth together to stop himself from arguing further. "I'll get you away from him, Jesse. I promise."
Jesse nods, looks himself over in the mirror. "Do I look okay?"
"Well, the blood's gone," Saul says, examining Jesse's face. "But that's a pretty nasty bruise."
"Can you take a picture? Maybe send it to Mike and see what he says?"
"Mike's still in the Stone Age when it comes to cell phones." Saul backs out of the parking lot. "Let's just pay him a visit and see how it goes from there."
Jesse switches on the radio during the drive and doesn't move, just stares out the window at the rolling scenery. Saul wants to make conversation, but obviously Jesse's not in the mood. He hates it when the kid's quiet though, because Jesse's probably stuck in his own head, replaying the attack and thinking of all the ways he got things wrong.
They arrive at Mike's house rather quickly. Saul helps Jesse out of the car despite his insistence. He walks him to the door, keeps a hand on Jesse's lower back as reassurance. The hand drops away as Saul rings the doorbell.
Mike answers after a moment or two, takes one look at Jesse and sighs. "Jeez..."
Jesse lifts a hand to his face. "It's—it's not too bad, is it?"
Mike shakes his head. "Just come in."
Jesse steps inside. Saul moves to do the same, but Mike stops him with a hand. "A word, please."
Saul gulps, loosens his collar. Jesse disappears out of his sight. "This—this isn't payback for that peach comment, is it?"
Mike glares at him like he thinks Saul's the stupidest person in the entire world. "You think I don't see what's goin' on here? You and this kid..." Mike grunts out an angry noise. "Jesus..."
"You wanna be a little less obtuse here, Mike?"
"In all your years of doin' this, how many clients have you had with spouses who beat them?"
Saul doesn't answer. He doesn't think he's supposed to.
"Now, how many of them have you ever brought here?" Mike watches Saul's face for a reaction. Yeah, maybe Saul feels partly responsible for all of this, because if he'd pushed Jesse away that night things might have turned out differently. "Is there any way this could come back to bite you in the ass later?"
"No."
"Good. Now, go home, and try to think with the proper head next time."
"Can I ask for one more tiny, itty-bitty favor?"
Mike groans. "What?"
"Guys like this... you know it's probably not the first time. You wanna look into Walt's past, see if he's got any previous incidents like this one?"
"Already on my to-do list."
Mike shuts the door and approaches Jesse. "You sure you don't wanna go to the hospital?"
Jesse nods. "I'm fine. Really. I just need a safe place to stay the night. I won't be any trouble."
Mike makes a face. "Kid, you're no trouble. Have you had dinner yet?"
Jesse shakes his head. The empty rumble in his stomach reminds him of this fact.
"Good. I was just about to make some. You like chicken nuggets and macaroni?"
"Yeah. You need any help?"
"Sit down, Jesse. Watch some TV," Mike says, moving into the kitchen.
Jesse does as he's told and sits beside Kaylee on the couch. She's watching some animated show on the television, but diverts her attention to Jesse when he sits down. Jesse gives her his warmest, friendliest smile. "My name's Jesse. What's yours?"
"Kaylee."
"That's a cool name."
She smiles back, studies him for a moment. "What happened to your face?"
Somehow, the truth doesn't seem like something he should tell a ten-year-old. So he lies. "I fought a monster."
Kaylee gazes at him with wide eyes, enthralled by his story. "Were you scared?"
"Yeah. See, one of his claws got me right here." He points to the wound on his eyebrow.
Kaylee gasps. "You won, right?"
"I won. He's not out there anymore."
She leans in and whispers, "Are you a superhero? 'Cause superheroes fight monsters."
Jesse chuckles to himself. "Yeah, I am. But don't tell anyone. You gotta keep my identity a secret. You wanna be my sidekick?"
"Yeah! What's your superhero name?"
"Diesel."
She frowns. "That's not very superhero-y."
"All the really cool names are already taken though."
"Nuh-huh!" Kaylee insists.
They spend the next twenty minutes discussing superhero names and what their powers would be until dinner's ready. Jesse feels much calmer now that he's in a safe enviroment, away from Walt and his indignant fury. He's at peace here with this stoic grandpa with a heart of gold and his granddaughter. Jesse's never had people in his life that truly cared about him; it's a nice change of pace.
Plus, he hasn't had chicken nuggets in forever.
After dinner, the three of them watch cartoons on the couch until Kaylee starts yawning. "Time for bed, kiddo," Mike says, lifting her off of his lap.
"But I wanna stay up and talk to Jesse."
Mike smiles. "He'll be here in the morning. Maybe the three of us'll get breakfast."
A grin spreads on her face. "Okay! G'nite, Pop-Pop! G'nite, Jesse!"
"Good night, pumpkin."
"See ya," Jesse says. Kaylee disappears around the mouth of the hallway. Jesse looks over at Mike, who's smiling like a proud parent. "She's a good kid."
"The best," Mike says, leaning back against the couch. "You doin' okay?"
"Yeah..." Jesse risks a feather-light touch to his bruised face. "It's kinda hot."
"You want some ice? Might keep the swelling down."
"Sure."
Mike fetches him an ice pack from the freezer, wraps it in a dishrag. Jesse presses it to his swollen eye, ignores the bite of cold. "I'm gonna run a pretty thorough check on your husband. I doubt this is the first time he's done this. If there's any skeletons in his closet, I'll find them."
Jesse isn't sure he wants to know Walt's secrets. He considers that reaction and wonders if Walt did the right thing by hiding his cancer in the first place. "Is that gonna help?"
"It might," Mike says, and he sounds hopeful. "Usually, guys that do this, they're hidin' something. Maybe he knocked his last wife around too."
Jesse feels bad for her, though she looks at him like he's something left unflushed in a toilet. But he can't really blame her; maybe she doesn't hate him, maybe she hates what he represents about Walt: dishonesty, manipulation, cruelty, and a mid-life crisis the size of Texas.
Mike looks at Jesse. "So, you and Saul, huh?"
Jesse's face goes impossibly hot. "He told you?"
"In all the years I've known him, he's never had me provide a client sanctuary before." Mike smirks as if remembering something. "I know what Saul Goodman looks like when he's crazy about somebody. The way he looks at you..." Mike trails off, but Jesse understands. "He must think you're somethin' special."
Jesse smiles despite himself. His face feels like it might crack from the stretch of glee. "I like him a lot," he admits in a quiet voice.
"I think the feeling's mutual."
Jesse eventually dozes off on the couch, overwhelmed by the day's events. He dreams a jumbled haze of violent images, crimson and white mixed together in angry flashes. He's exhausted enough to stay in the realm of sleep, never waking throughout the night in sweat-prickled fear.
When Jesse finally does wake, it's morning, and he smells the familiar aroma of coffee. Jesse pries open his good eye and sees Mike in the kitchen brewing a pot. He forces himself up, pushes a hand through his hair. The damaged side of his face throbs in blistering pain. He grunts in agony.
"You awake?" Mike asks.
Jesse makes a noise.
"Bet you could use some painkillers, huh?" Jesse hears him open up a bottle of Tylenol and shake a couple pills out. He brings Jesse the pills and a bottle of water. Mike winces when he sees Jesse's face. "That doesn't look good."
Jesse's afraid to see how his bruises have evolved.
After he's swallowed down the pills, Mike says, "C'mere," and leads Jesse down the hall into the bathroom. He opens a drawer and takes out a tube of concealer. "I use it to hide liver spots, but it oughta do in a pinch."
Jesse risks a glance at himself in the mirror, and, yikes. The bruises have darkened into deeper purples and reds, the skin swollen and stretched. Jesse squirts a dab of concealer onto his finger and stipples it over the discoloration. "So," he says, painting over the bruises, "you find out anything about Mr. White?"
Mike gives a solemn nod. "I did."
"You gonna tell me?"
"After breakfast."
Dread sinks in his gut like a stone. What could be so awful he can't say it now? Jesse runs through the possibilities in his head. Could Mr. White have killed someone? Probably not, or he'd be in prison. Maybe he's a drug dealer? That would explain his preoccupation with Jesse's sobriety despite Jesse being clean for five years.
"You don't think Mr. White... went after Saul, do you?"
Mike shakes his head. "If anything like that happened I'd be the first to know about it."
"How?"
"Well, either he would call me, or, God forbid, if he couldn't, well, I'm listed as Saul's next of kin."
Jesse gulps. "For real? But you're not family."
"I'm the closest thing he's got."
"Did—did something happen to them?"
"I'll let him tell you about it," Mike says. "But Saul doesn't get close to people too often. So count yourself lucky to be one of the few he lets in." He watches Jesse put the finishing touches on the make-up. "Not too bad, kid."
The three of them go out for pancakes after Kaylee wakes up. Jesse spends most of breakfast in his own head, his mind swirling dizzily with Mike's newest revelations. One, Mr. White's done something horrible, and two, Saul is far lonelier than he'll ever let on; the first frightens him and the second breaks his heart. Saul mentioned he's been divorced three times; maybe he gave up on happiness entirely and drowned himself in litigating the misery of others, covering up his inner pain with a façade of jokes and lackadaisical wit.
Jesse wants to find Saul and hug him, to somehow take away all of his hurt and replace it with something brighter and filled with love. He's tempted to send Saul a text that says "I love you," but he doesn't know if that would be a welcome gesture. He hates that he's suddenly self-conscious about expressing something positive and wholesome; love shouldn't be hidden away like a dark secret—it should be shouted from the rooftops and written on one's sleeve.
When they get back to Mike's house, Kaylee shows Jesse her room and invites him to color with her at the kid-sized picnic table near the window. Jesse kneels across from her—he's slightly too big for the seat—and she opens up a coloring book filled with pictures of dinosaurs. They work on one picture together, Jesse coloring the background and Kaylee coloring the triceratops. "How come your face is all healed?" she asks.
He remembers he's still wearing the concealer he applied this morning. Must be some good stuff. "'Cause I got healing powers."
"If I got hurt, could you heal me?"
Jesse shakes his head. "It only works on me."
"That's kinda dumb."
"No, 'cause what if, like, a bad guy wants me to heal him? He could just make me do it, y'know, if I could heal other people."
Kaylee thinks that one over. "I guess. But you can't heal your friends either."
"Yeah, sometimes I wish I could." Jesse thinks about Saul, and even Walt. "But I got other cool stuff I can do, so it's not so bad."
"Like what?"
"Well, I can draw."
"Can you draw Wonder Woman?"
Jesse chuckles. "Yeah, I can draw Wonder Woman for you. After we finish this, okay?"
"Okay!" She grabs a purple crayon for the dinosaur's horns. "You came here with Pop-Pop's friend?"
It takes Jesse a moment to realize she's talking about Saul. "You know Saul?"
"Uh-huh. He's funny. He brings me candy sometimes."
"Oh yeah?" Jesse says, a grin spreading on his face. He had no idea Saul was good with kids. As if Jesse wasn't already stupidly smitten with the man.
"He got me a ginormous gummy bear for my birthday. It was this"—she spreads her arms apart as far as she can—"big!"
"That sounds awesome." Jesse's knees start to hurt, so he sits on the edge of the bench and turns his body so he can work over the picture. "He's really nice, huh?"
"Did he get you a giant gummy bear too?"
"Not exactly," Jesse laughs. "But he was really nice to me when I didn't have anybody else."
"How come?"
Jesse shrugs. "'Cause's a good person, I guess."
Kaylee's shaking her head. "No, I mean how come you were alone?"
Jesse blinks in surprise. "Well, y'know most superheroes are loners, right? They've either lost everybody they love or shut them out 'cause they dunno if they can handle the whole superhero thing. Me, I guess... I lost people."
Kaylee looks sad for a moment before her demeanor brightens. "You got me and Pop-Pop though!"
Jesse smiles. "Yeah, I do."
"And Saul!" Kaylee reminds him, as if he could possibly forget.
"Yeah." Euphoria blooms in his gut at the thought that Saul wants him as much as Jesse does.
Kaylee hangs up the finished picture, sticking it to the wall with two well-placed glittery star stickers. Jesse finds a marker nearby and some blank paper and goes to work on drawing Wonder Woman for Kaylee. She watches, infinitely curious about his process, like he's making magic before her eyes. It's been a while since Jesse's drawn something like this—most of his work at the tattoo parlor is simple designs or lettering—and even though he makes a couple mistakes Kaylee doesn't even notice, couldn't see them if he pointed them out.
When he's finished with the lines he adds some color with Kaylee's extensive collection of markers and gel pens. Kaylee insists he use the sparkly gold gel pen for Wonder Woman's lasso and gold accessories; Jesse thinks that's an awesome idea.
Mike pokes his head into the room. "You two getting along in here?"
"Yeah, we're good."
Kaylee slides the drawing across the table and holds it up for Mike. "Look what Jesse drew!"
Mike smiles. "That's pretty good, kid."
Jesse beams under the attention.
Mike looks at Kaylee. "Is it okay if I borrow Jesse for a minute?"
"But he's not done," Kaylee says with a frown, looking at the drawing.
Jesse smiles and hands her a red gel pen. "You think you can finish it for me?"
She takes the pen from him, smiles big and wide. "'Kay!"
Jesse chuckles and stands up, follows Mike out into the living room. "What's up?"
Mike sits at the dining table and invites Jesse to do the same. "Have a seat."
Jesse swallows, wonders what Mike could possibly tell him that requires him to be sitting down. He pulls out a chair and sits down. "Is it about Mr. White?"
Mike nods solemnly. He looks like a doctor preparing to inform a patient they're about to die. "You don't need to divorce him, Jesse, because you're not legally married."
Jesse's brow creases in confusion. "What? But Saul said it was."
"All he did was verify the state recognizes a same-sex marriage that it previously licensed. That's got nothing to do with whether or not your marriage is actually legal."
Jesse runs a hand through his hair. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Walt's still married to his wife. I don't know if they just separated and she never filed, or if he never signed the papers or what the deal is, but they never divorced or annulled the marriage. That means you're not married."
A hand reaches into Jesse's chest and squeezes his heart. "What? You—you mean he lied to me this whole time?" Mike says nothing, letting Jesse get it all out. "He lied for five years so I'd stay with him?" Tears force their way forward and drip down his cheeks. He raises a hand to wipe them away, winces at the touch of pain from his bruised eye.
"I'm sorry, kid."
The realizations crash down on him in waves. "Oh God, I wasted five years on him... I spent all my money divorcin' him when I didn't even need to..." His chest hitches with frantic sobs.
Their relationship had been founded on dishonesty from the start. In his heart Jesse had always suspected that, but now it's spelled out in front of him, and, man, does it hurt. The evidence of Walt's betrayal is stacked into neat piles Jesse can't ignore or rationalize away.
Walt lied to him for years, and Jesse fell for it hook, line, and sinker.
"You can put a restraining order on him to get him out of the house," Mike says, steering the conversation into a more positive direction. There will be time for Jesse to grieve later.
Jesse nods, his watery eyes unseeing. "Does—does Saul know?"
"I told him this morning. He's on top of all the necessary steps, don't worry."
Looks like Walt's getting that divorce called off after all.
