Jesse continues to pet the dog, frowning a bit at the way it seems to remain just at arm's length. It hasn't run off yet – or worse, chased devotedly after its would-be executioner – despite being free, and Jesse counts that as a small win. The dog's expressive eyes remain fixed on the blond, stub of a tail hesitantly wagging, though its spine remains curved defensively. Jesse isn't sure how he's going to coax it into the car without a leash, turning the problem over in his head as he watches Mr White fuss with one of the duffels of cash while muttering angrily to himself. Just as Mr White leans down to pick up the second bag of cash, someone else beats him to it.
Jesse watches in surprise as Mike casually lifts the duffel by its side straps. The ex-cop is almost unrecognizable, dressed in dark slacks, a black casual military jacket, shades and a snake tattoo that travels up his neck to curve along the edge of his eye, mouth open and fangs visible. Jesse snorts, but quickly masks any further laughter with a cough, which progresses into a true coughing fit that steals his breath for a moment. Mike eyes him with veiled concern over his sunglasses before shifting the bag in his hold again. The man lets the bag rest near his thigh as he looks Mr White over in a sharp glance.
"I believe this one belongs to the kid," he says gruffly, face impassive. "Boss says you two are equal partners – fifty-fifty – and that's how we divided the bags."
Mr White sputters for a second, before growling, "Who are you?"
Rather than answer, the ex-cop leisurely turns his attention to Jesse. "Get up. I'm to help you into your new ride."
Jesse stands, reading the scene and Mike's stance to realize Mike is a Stranger under Bustamante's orders – the man's already undercover and Jesse shouldn't recognize him. He hopes his slip at Mike's tattoo wasn't caught by Mr White.
Just as soon as Mike takes the keys from Jesse and moves to stride past the blond, Mr White reaches for him angrily.
"I asked you a question," he grumbles, eyes locked on the bag of cash in the ex-cop's grip. "You weren't at the meet last time. It's rude to skip introductions," he says condescendingly.
Mike turns around with a snarl on his lips and Jesse intervenes, slipping between them and batting Mr White's hand away with his good arm. "It's alright, Heisenberg," he assures. "We're done here. I'll see ya later, yeah?"
Mr White stares at him, really looks, and the scrutiny is something new. Jesse feels exposed, and hopes his face isn't doing something funny without his knowledge. He can feel the sweat across his brow and the consistent downward tug of his lips due to pain and fatigue, but he has no idea what Mr White sees in his eyes. It evidently isn't something his ex-teacher likes, because he shakes his head sharply.
"I'll follow you out."
Jesse tenses. His plan after this isn't to grab pizza or go for a joyride; he wants to get back to Saul as fast as he can. He can't have Mr White stalking him to the caring man's house, and it'll fuck up everything if he insists.
"No, really, it's—"
"Then we'll meet up, at the usual spot," Mr White interrupts with the counter offer.
"The kid should see a doctor. Standing here is a waste of everyone's time," Mike states gruffly. "C'mon," he says, voice authoritative as he turns from the two of them and walks toward the Mustang. He whistles sharply, and the dog instantly rushes to follow, paces carefully measured to stay just behind Mike and to the right with pinned ears and an uneasy gait.
Mike's right, and his arm throbs at the reminder. They're wasting time and odds are Bustamante is watching the entire exchange at this very moment. He could potentially blow Mike's cover by engaging Mr White for too long, and realizes he'll have to continue treating Mike as a Stranger on these grounds.
"I'm, uhm, gonna go get patched up," Jesse offers, as he watches Mike near the car. "I'll text you once things settle."
Mr White hums in reply. "We'll have to get started on the next batch."
"Right, yeah," Jesse agrees, eager for the slight change in topic. "Just, uhm, lemme know your schedule. We'll meet up later." The blond turns on his heel and hurries after Mike, leaving before Mr White can delay him further.
Mike slams the door shut behind the dog in the back – Jesse only catches a glimpse before the tinted windows block his view. The man rounds the car and pops the trunk, and Jesse joins him to watch him load the bag. The raised trunk lid blocks them from the apartment complexes and Mike's attention is instantly on the blond.
"Are you alright?"
Jesse's knee-jerk reaction is to nod – because that's the safe answer anytime he's asked that question – but Mike's piercing gaze stops him. "I'll be alright," he says instead.
"Your partner's a dick," Mike mutters. "He shouldn't have let it escalate. You shouldn't have gotten hurt."
Jesse shrugs, but the concern is enough to inspire a genuine smile. He eases them back into more familiar territory by asking, "So, uhm, what's with the Tyson look, man?" Jesse traces the snake with his eyes, grinning broadly. "Real badass, dude," he tags on cheekily with a huff of a laugh.
Mike looks to him, same unimpressed eyebrow raised, but his lips are curved upward ever so slightly. He reaches up and suddenly flicks Jesse between the eyes under his beanie with a snap of thumb and middle finger.
"Ow, what's your problem, yo?"
"That was for your stupid display earlier. This life requires restraint, kid, and the sooner you learn that, the longer you'll live."
The blond rubs at his forehead with a frown.
The ex-cop's expression softens slightly. "That being said, you really impressed Bustamante, which is good. He values bold action and steady nerves. Now, your next stop is the hospital – I've already notified Saul that you're done here."
Jesse sighs. "What else did you tell him?"
"Everything."
Damn. He didn't want Saul to know too much until he could clean up all the frayed edges, doesn't want the man to worry about things currently out of his control.
"I don't have much time," Mike reminds him. "Give me your phone."
He digs into his pocket and obediently hands it over. He's not quite sure what Mike's motive is, but he has Badger's and Saul's numbers memorized, so it won't be devastating to lose it.
"Unlock it."
Jesse's surprised the thing has any juice left. He reaches over and does as asked. Mike types for a moment as Mr White's car starts from the other side of the lot. He watches his ex-teacher drive down the road for a beat before his phone is being nudged at his good shoulder to gain his attention. A new contact has been entered, simply tagged: M.
"The next time Saul hesitates to call me, I want you to do it for him. He should have had a bodyguard as soon as you were off duty; it was smart of you to force him into it. You're a good kid, Jesse."
The praise makes something in his ribs expand warmly. He ducks his head and shoves his phone back into his pocket. Mike claps him on the shoulder, a solid weight before he reaches up and shuts the trunk.
Mike turns to him, facing away from the apartments, lips barely moving as he mutters, "There's a tracker in the glove box. I'll retrieve it from you later. We'll get the car signed over to you soon."
Jesse climbs into the car muttering, "Be careful," as Mike turns back toward the building.
The man hums in acknowledgement, strides confident and unhurried as he returns to his boss.
Jesse looks into the rearview to catch sight of the dog cowered in the backseat, hunched as small as it can make itself. The blond coos back to him warmly, "It's alright, buddy. We're gonna go get you patched up."
||[]||[]||[]||[]||
Driving stick with a broken arm sucks. Any other time, Jesse would be stoked to drive; he knows the beast can handle turns well enough and he'd like to take it up to eighty and beyond just to feel the speed, but in his current condition it's all agony. Any time he has to downshift, he has to keep hold of the wheel with a delicate, awkward grip, vibrations from the road and the engine an excruciating burn while he quickly manipulates the gearshift. He's unable to use his knees with enough coordination to maintain the wheel and the clutch as he feeds it more gas, so he tries to keep it in second as much as he can, breezing through a couple of stop signs. It's late enough in the day – just past rush hour – that the roads are fairly clear, and Jesse takes the risk to avoid more pain. Saul would scold him endlessly if he knew. The thought makes him feel a little guilty, but every time he has to grip the wheel with his broken arm, he feels like he may vomit and more sweat beads across his brow.
"Shit," he hisses between clenched teeth, finally parking in front of the vet. He pants raggedly for a moment, cradling his arm to his chest, desperately tamping down the bile rising in his throat. His reflection in the rearview reveals a waxy, pallid complexion and strain around his tired eyes. The dog whines softly from the back, drawing Jesse's ears up out of their pained downward angle. Jesse murmurs, "It's okay. Do me a favor, though, and don't make this difficult, alright? We'll be in and out." Jesse mops his face with his sleeve and takes a steadying breath. He eases his arm back into his pocket with a whimper and knees the door open.
He opens the door for the dog and clicks his tongue in hopes to beckon it out. The dog is agreeable, hopping out and staying close to Jesse's side. The blond sighs in relief, locking the car and quickly leading the dog to the entrance and up to the counter.
The woman at the desk frowns in concern when Jesse presents the dog to her.
"I, uhm, I found this dog…" Jesse clenches his fist down near his hip where the woman can't see. Saul's right, he is shit at lying. He's sure their collective appearance is shocking, and he's desperate to avoid any trouble. He tries to make himself seem unthreatening, eyes open and honest in hopes she won't be tempted to throw him out or call the cops on a fear that he's involved in dog fighting or some shit. He powers on, "Can you patch him up? Maybe a bath, too? I can pay for treatment."
"We can definitely tend to his injuries, but we're not exactly a groomers," she says, rounding the desk and crouching before the dog. She makes soft noises at the frightened animal, and Jesse feels a flash of protective aggression when the dog presses against his leg with a small noise. He drops his hand to the dog's head and pets him comfortingly.
"Please," he says earnestly, "Please, anything you can do, please."
She looks up to Jesse, gaze assessing before she nods and stands. She pages to someone in the back, asking for assistance with an injured Doberman before sliding a clipboard to Jesse.
"Please begin filling this out. I'll have my team in the back start right away." She still seems a little unsure, but at least the dog will be treated soon.
Two lanky men in scrubs come out from the back, blinking in surprise at Jesse's bruised appearance before their attention is solely focused on the cowering dog. Jesse watches apprehensively as they maneuver the Doberman into the back, Jesse's murmured reassurances chasing the dog until it's out of sight. He's tempted to follow, but he knows he'd just be in the way.
He takes the clipboard and sits in one of the cushioned seats, carefully holding the board with his broken arm to keep up appearances while he fills in the forms. He lists his name simply as 'Jesse,' gives his phone number, and writes down Saul's address after only a moment of hesitation. Surely Saul won't mind? It's not like this information could be used against them. Could it?
He stares at the line containing Saul's address for a long moment, uncertain and mildly paranoid. He swallows thickly and eventually moves on, filling out what little he knows about the dog. He guesses at age, and has no idea as far as its medical history, so the form is spotty but finished quickly.
He takes it up to the counter again, interrupting the woman preparing a chart for his dog. "I, uhm, don't really know too much. Should he get shots?"
"We can run blood work on your dog if you'd like, sir. We'd be able to find out whether he's up to date or not. Though, with the state he's in, I don't have much faith he's been to the vet recently. It wouldn't hurt him if we doubled up, though."
Jesse falters at 'sir' but quickly regains his balance. "Uhm, no, let's just give him his shots. We'll start his medical history today."
She smiles at his answer, taking the forms from him and filing them in the dog's chart. "What's your dog's name, Jesse?"
The blond bites his lip. Up until now, he's really only called the dog 'Buddy.' Is that a good dog name? His uncertainty must show, because she picks up the thread of conversation again.
"It's alright if you don't have one for him yet. Where did you say you found him again?"
"Down in EDo," Jesse says, sticking close enough to the truth to make recall easy in case he's quizzed again later. "He was scared, and I couldn't leave him out there alone." He watches her scribble the information in the chart with a nod. He looks out to the parking lot, to the pet store down a few shops in the strip mall. "I'm not sure what he eats. Soft food? And he'll need a leash, right? And a bed?" He frowns and turns back to her to find the woman smiling gently at him.
"Those all sound like a good place to start. Head on next door; if he's ready before you're back, we'll call you. This is your cell number, correct?" At Jesse's nod, she smiles again. "Go on next door, ask for Max – he's a good friend, and I'll tell him to expect you. He'll help you out."
Jesse nods again, relieved to have something to dedicate himself to. He hustles across the lot, studiously focused on the dog and not his arm. He'll pick up supplies for the dog, make sure he's taken care of. He hopes Saul won't have any reservations about keeping it – he knows Saul hasn't signed up for half the shit he's had to deal with since meeting Jesse, but he hopes that once Saul sees the dog he won't be able to say no. There is no backup plan, and Jesse doesn't want to have to send the dog away.
His phone chirps at him as soon as he enters the store. His heart lurches for a beat, worried that something's already gone wrong with the dog. He digs his phone out hurriedly and finds a string of texts from Saul.
Jesse, where are you? Why aren't you home yet?
Mike said you were hurt. Are you okay? Do you need help?
Jesse, please.
Guilt floods Jesse's bloodstream. He frowns and types back quickly: Sorry. I'm okay. Home soon, I promise.
He manages to hit Send only a breath before the phone blinks and shuts down. The battery is finally dead and Jesse stares at it dumbly. He shuts his eyes and hopes with everything he has that the message went through. He doesn't want Saul to worry over him.
"'Scuse me, are you Jesse?"
Jesse's ears snap to attention at the sound of his name, brushing ticklishly against his beanie. He blinks to find a shaggy mop of hair wearing a red company smock standing before him. The man's mustache and beard are neatly trimmed, but the rest of him is untamed. He's holding a bag of dry dog food and a case of wet, setting them in a cart before turning his attention back to Jesse.
"Yeah. Are you Max?"
"Yep. Rachel said you might need some help. This food is a little bland," he says, gesturing to the cart, "but until you know the dog can handle it, I wouldn't recommend anything too heavy. Rach says he's got a pretty nasty neck injury, so I'd recommend a harness rather than a collar leash. You want me to walk with ya through the aisles?"
"That'd be cool, yo, if you, like, have a minute?"
"No prob; store's kinda empty right now, so as long as you need me, I'm here."
Jesse nods gratefully and walks alongside Max down the first dog aisle, relieved that the employee took charge of pushing the cart. Jesse isn't sure he'd have managed without giving away the state of his arm.
||[]||[]||[]||[]||
Forty minutes and three hundred dollars later, Jesse has a whole car full of supplies for the dog: food, a bed, toys, bowls, shampoo, treats, vitamins disguised as treats, a harness leash, and non-toxic ointment for the pads of the dog's paws after Jesse mentioned their cracked and damaged state.
Once he's done loading the car with Max's help, he enters the vet again, glad to find it empty aside from Rachel. He busies himself at the drinking fountain while they talk at the counter for a moment. He drinks his fill first, then fills one of the bowls with water in preparation for the dog. He sets it near one of the chairs and looks up questioningly at the two workers and asks hesitantly, "Would it be cool if he ate something before we go?"
Rachel smiles brightly at him. "Yes, of course. The boys are just finishing up his bath now, so he'll be out soon."
Jesse grins and thanks her, opening the can with minimal help from his damaged arm to empty it into the second bowl.
He settles the bill, handing over four hundred for the cleaning, sutures, and shots.
"He could also use a teeth cleaning," she advises. "Nothing serious, but I don't recommend we do that today. He could use a rest."
Jesse nods, muffling a cough in his sleeve. A nap sounds fucking awesome, and he imagines the dog would agree. He finishes signing and dating the last of the paperwork and turns to the back when the door opens. His dog follows the two veterinarians, neck bandaged and covered by a plastic ring guard. His fur is clean, brushed, and slightly fluffy. Jesse kneels with a smile, posture open, and the dog instantly trots over, tail wagging with far more confidence than earlier. Jesse nudges the food toward him and he quickly becomes second priority as the dog eats ravenously. Jesse nudges the water closer as well, frowning at the hurried way the dog gulps down its food. He thanks Max again on the man's way out, nodding when Max instructs him to ask for him any time Jesse's in the store. He doesn't move from his seat on the floor until the dog is done, afraid that he might spook it or unintentionally inspire aggression at feeding time. Rachel commends him on his decision after he declines a seat in one of the chairs with an explanation.
When the dog finishes noisily lapping up water, it nudges its dripping muzzle into Jesse's chest happily, tail wagging again.
The blond grins, petting the dog contentedly while Rachel walks him through treatment, advising to keep his wound clean and dry – the same advice Drew had given him for his own injury – and to keep him from scratching. The collar guard should help, but he still needs to be monitored. They already gave him a shot for the pain, but the pills they've prescribed will need to be taken orally and he might be stubborn about it.
"Just try to sneak it in with his food," she says. "They also make treats that work as sleeves for pills. I can have Max run some over, if you'd like?"
"I think we'll be okay," Jesse replies. "If he keeps eating his food like this, I doubt he'll even notice a pill."
Rachel agrees with a laugh. "Do you need help getting him back in the car?"
At the thought of driving again, Jesse drags a hand down his face. He really didn't think any of this through, but he just has to make it back to Saul's and then he can rest. "Nah, I should be alright. He's a good dog."
Rachel smiles, and holds the door open for him as he juggles the empty bowls with his hurt arm and his keys with the other. "Be sure to stop by within a couple weeks. We'll remove the sutures and give him another check up. We can clean his teeth then, too, if you'd like."
"Sounds good. Thank you, for everything. Including the bath – I bet he appreciates it, too."
Once the dog is settled in the car, snuffling curiously at his new bed, Jesse takes a moment to rest behind the wheel. His thoughts keep trying to drift back to his introduction to Bustamante, but he knows it's a tricky path of anger, doubt, and repressed fear waiting to catch up to him. He hopes to outrun all of that, at least until he's with Saul again. Jesse glances over his shoulder to find the dog curled up on its faux fur bed, closing its eyes with a heavy sigh.
Grinning, Jesse starts the car and heads home.