Author's Note: This AU is based on Breaking Bad, which means we'll be seeing some pretty serious shit in this one-shot collection—drug dealing, homicide, some vague (or maybe not so vague if I decide to make this M-rated) depictions of rough sex. Proceed with caution if you're squeamish.

Disclaimer: I don't own To the Moon.


A Chance Encounter

Two weeks. That's how long Eva has been living on the streets—two weeks of doing the bare minimum of grooming herself in public washrooms, walking for hours to get some food for her growling stomach, and sleeping in whatever random alley she ends up at. It's a far cry from living with her family or boyfriend—ex-boyfriend now—but if there's two things in this world she absolutely does not want to do, it's going to her parents' house and crawling back to David. Returning home means facing the judgment of her mother and father, and she has no desire to add to four years' worth of being judged for how she chooses to spend her time. As for David...well, the bastard's lucky she decided shooting him wasn't worth it before she left him.

He ditched me. As she stands on a street corner, waiting for the light to turn green, the thought comes to her—not for the first time—and the bile that rises in her throat feels worse than the afternoon sun beating down on her. He ditched me! The damn coward had the nerve to leave her to get caught by cops at the bank they were robbing, just to save his own skin. The only reason she isn't on trial or in jail right now is because she managed to convince the police she was an innocent girl who had nothing to do with the robbery. Easy enough when all she did was cause a distraction while David actually threatened the teller, but she wouldn't have had to do it if he hadn't fucking ditched her.

One ugly fight later, during which insults—and objects—were thrown on both sides and Eva screamed that they were done, she stuffed cash into all the pockets she had and stormed out of David's crappy apartment. At present, as she crosses the street and walks further through town, passing various stores and restaurants she doesn't bother looking at, she feels the light pressure of the few coins and dollar bills she still has. God knows where she'll get more money, but she will need it sooner rather than later. She might have enough for today—maybe—but after that...

She doesn't know how long she spends brooding about her money troubles. Whether it's been a few minutes or an hour, she's wrenched from her thoughts by the roaring sound of a black truck speeding past her. The truck stops at the cheap, two-story motel some feet away from her, and half a dozen black-clad, helmeted men armed with shotguns jump out and hurry towards the motel's front door. She's able to make out the bright yellow DEA emblazoned on the backs of their uniforms before one of the men shoots the door down and they all rush inside.

About a second later, she watches as a young man—tall, lean, brown-haired, and probably no older than her—jumps from a balcony on the motel's second floor, landing on his feet with a curse before falling on his ass. He gets up, straightens his glasses, darts his gaze from side to side—and then his eyes clap on her.

The expression that crosses his face practically screams, "Aw, shit." After another swift glance around, he looks at her again, presses a finger to his lips, and rushes to a nearby red car. Dots are connecting in her mind by the time he's shut the car's front door behind him, and by the time he's tearing down the street, she's running after him. If she's right—and she's certain she is—she won't have to worry about money for a good long while.

She catches up to him after he stops at a red light (what inconsistent standards some people have!) and bangs on his window.

"What the hell, woman?!" he snaps as soon as he rolls the window down, scowling.

"Let me in," she says, her voice leaving no room for argument.

"Oh, yeah, like I was born yesterday," he retorts, rolling his eyes.

Her own eyes narrow. "I'm not with the DEA, if that's what you're thinking. Now let me in."

He opens his mouth, but whatever he's about to say is cut off by the honking coming from the car right behind him. He curses again, spares a glance at the now green light, and returns his attention to her. "Fine, get in before I leave you here."

He opens the car for her, and she gets into the passenger's seat. "I have a deal for you," she says the instant he resumes driving.

"What makes you think I'm into making deals?"

"You're a drug dealer, aren't you?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "I've been homeless for two weeks and I need cash fast. Either you give me a place to stay—"

He interrupts her with a short burst of laughter. "Woman, do I look like a charity to you?"

"It's Eva, not woman," she informs him, impatience coloring her tone.

"Okay, Eva. Do I look like a charity to you?"

She ignores the question. "Either you give me a place to stay and we make drugs together—"

"I don't do partners."

"Damn it, would you let me finish?" she exclaims, glaring at him. "It's either that, or I turn you in."

"You call that a deal?" he asks incredulously. "I call that blackmail."

"Call it whatever you want. Are you going to agree or not?"

"And if I say no?"

"Then I have to assume you really like being in prison. Or you're just a moron."

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. After a moment of silence, he lets out a grunt and turns the car around. "Lucky for you, I've actually got a place for you to stay. Just don't expect me to put up with you forever," he quickly adds.

"Fine," she agrees. "Once I have enough money to get my own place, we're done. Now that that's over with, you mind telling me your name?"

"Would it matter if I did?" he asks rhetorically. "Name's Neil."

"And what drug do you cook, Neil? Marijuana, cocaine?"

"Crystal meth."

She hums. So he deals in the hardest stuff. Good. That should make her plenty of money. With any luck, she'll have all the cash she needs in a month at most, then she'll be able to part ways with Neil without a backward glance.

One month. She's sure she can put up with someone as rude and stubborn as Neil for one month.


The place he's got is not at all what she expects. She expects him to drive her to an ugly, concrete apartment complex or something, just some shithole that's an insult to shitholes. Instead, he drives her to a house, and a rather nice one, at that. The house is made of light gray brick, accented with reddish brown siding and white trim, and topped with a medium gray roof. The green lawn looks well-mowed, the few trees that are in the yard look properly cared for, and there's a lavender garden of all things next to the driveway. Crime really must pay, Eva guesses, if Neil was able to afford this place.

Making a deal with him is also paying quite well for her so far. Once she's inside the front door, the first thing she does is locate the kitchen and scarf down any food she finds in the fridge and pantry. After she's eaten to her heart's—and stomach's—content, she has Neil show her where she can find a bathroom. Turns out, the bathroom is in the back of the house, just past his bedroom, and she spends at least forty-five minutes in the shower, washing away all the dirt and grime two weeks on the streets has left her with. Afterwards, she grabs some jeans and a sweatshirt from Neil's closet and puts them on. His clothes are a bit big on her, but they'll do until she can get her own clothes.

With her stomach full, her hair and body washed, and clean clothes on her back, Eva flops down onto Neil's unmade bed and stretches her arms and legs out with a satisfied sigh. Even his sheets aren't bad; they feel soft and cool beneath her—definitely the sort of bed she won't mind sleeping in. In fact, she thinks as her eyes flutter closed, she doesn't mind taking a nap right here and now.

She barely completes that thought before she hears the bedroom door being nudged open. Her eyes open just in time to see Neil walking in with two plastic cups of coffee. She sits up, turns to swing her legs over the side of the bed, and accepts the cup he wordlessly gives her.

One gulp of the coffee—and the bitter taste that accompanies it—is enough for her to grimace. "What, no sugar?"

"Hey, be grateful I thought to bring you coffee in the first place, Your Highness," he says snippily.

"My, how generous of you," she snarks, rolling her eyes. "But not everyone likes their coffee tasting like liquid dirt."

He looks at her like she just said bombing a hospital is a fun thing to do, then pins her with a glare. "Tough shit—you drink what I make."

She scoffs. "Like you're in any position to give me orders."

"It's still my house, woman. You want to put something that's for chocolate syrup in coffee, go somewhere else."

"Now why would I do that when I've got you to do it for me?" She holds her coffee out to him, a smirk spreading on her face despite herself.

For a moment, he stands there fuming, then knocks back his coffee, takes her cup, and trudges to the door. He mutters something that she doesn't quite catch under his breath.

"What was that?" she asks.

His back is to her, but she still sees his ears flush bright red as his body tenses. "I said go choke on a flute!" he snaps before leaving.

Eva feels her smirk widen. Somehow she doubts that's what he really said.

His face is still a little red when he returns with her coffee. She takes a sip and smiles at the sweetened taste. "Much better."

He just snorts and drains the rest of his coffee before setting his cup on the night table next to the bed. His mouth is set in a scowl, his brow is furrowed, and his eyes (Pretty eyes, Eva thinks idly; she doesn't think she's ever seen eyes that were so brilliantly green before) are glinting angrily, but he doesn't say anything as she nurses her drink. It's only after she's done and has placed her cup on the night table as well that he decides to speak.

"So, are you gonna be stealing my bed, too?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "If that's your way of asking where you'll be sleeping, I saw a perfectly good couch in your living room. Sleep on that."

He rolls his eyes. "Guess that answers that question."

"Well, now that we're done talking about sleeping arrangements," she goes on, standing from the bed, "there's something more important to decide. Where exactly are we cooking meth? Here?"

"No!" he exclaims at once.

"Wait, what?" she asks, staring at him in confusion. Most of what he's said to her has been spoken in harsh or sharp tones, but the sheer vehemence she now hears in his voice is a surprise. "Why not? If we cooked here—"

"We're not cooking meth in my house!"

"But if we did, we wouldn't have to go anywhere else beforehand."

"I said no!" he shouts, getting right in her face. "You want to invade my house and boss me around, fine, but we are not cooking here!"

She looks him right in the eye, not even flinching; if he thinks he can intimidate her, he's wrong. "Give me one reason why we shouldn't."

He opens his mouth, then closes it, glaring at her all the while. "You know what? The deal was that we cook and sell dope and I let you stay here in exchange for you not ratting me out. Nowhere in that says you get to ask why we're not cooking in my house."

"And none of that explains why cooking meth here is such a terrible idea."

"Just take my fucking word for it, okay?!"

"All right, all right, fine," she relents, waving her hand impatiently. If he's that set against it—though she can't fathom why—there's no point in arguing further. "We won't cook here. Care to share any bright ideas on where we will be cooking?"

"A motel." She can almost hear the duh in his voice.

"A motel?" she repeats, unimpressed. "You mean the same kind of place the DEA almost caught you today?"

He bristles. "We wouldn't be going to that same motel! I'm not one hundred percent stupid, ya know!"

"No, you're just ninety-nine percent stupid," she shoots back. "What about an RV?" she suggests before he can say anything else. "If we had that, we could go out into the backwoods, be more difficult for anyone to catch us."

"And just how the hell are we getting an RV?" Neil wants to know.

Eva shrugs. "That's something for you to figure out." She lies back down on his bed and closes her eyes. She can almost feel his gaze—probably a glare—boring into her. "I want to get started tomorrow. Have the RV by then."