Part 10

The Intensive Care Unit was controlled chaos as people deep in thought, or grief, passed each other quickly in the halls. Machines lined the walls of each room, lights blinking sympathetically with heart beats, alarms poised to screech in distress. A nurse in what first appears as a mask talks to a badged official in charge of the security of New Mexico's most famous criminal, or alleged criminal, depending on which side of the fan spectrum you stood.

"Are you kidding me? N-O. What are you thinking, Rose?" The officer looked sternly at her, a little flabbergasted.

"Well, so many people and… things are against that man in there, it just seemed human to let him have a visitor. One visitor he knows? I don't think there's ever going to be any more."

"He's a felon, a murderer, I mean," the officer searched for words. He didn't believe he was even having this conversation. "Rose. Why?"

"He's not been convicted of anything. Innocence and all that? From all I've heard, his family doesn't want to see him. They let people in prison, all of them, even murderers, have visitors."

"Not the real dangerous ones, Rose." The officer's sneer traveled down the hall, said hello to Pinkman as the policeman looked him up and down. "Who IS this guy?"

"Just an ex-student. He's known White for a long time, knows a lot about him. Says they're close, that he's like a father to him."

A short bark of a laugh escaped the veteran policeman. "Looks pretty rough for a student. And I don't blame his kid for never wanting to see him again. I've seen a lot in my job, Rosey, a lot of families slaughter each other. No."

"Alright, Officer Hendricks," the nurse sounded a little angry, but resigned. This sort of business, security and all that fuss, was not her job. She guessed she had to trust the judgment of the experienced law enforcement man. She walked back down the busy hall to where Jesse was. "The answer's no, Jesse. I'm sorry. Do you want me to tell him something for you when he's awake?"

"Can I talk to the officer, please, Rose?"

"No, Jesse, I told you, no means no. He's tough. It'll only make things worse."

Jesse called down the hallway, not loudly, but enough so Hendricks could hear. "I'm not going to be any trouble. I just want to see him, before he dies."

The officer stared straight ahead.

"Please, sir, he's my only family." His voice rose toward the end of the plea, and the sobs began again. People began looking at all three of them.

The policeman's voice was low, commanding, dangerous. "Get-Down-Here, both of you." He unclipped his gun, put a ready hand over it, prepared his stance. They both walked very slowly toward him. "Turn around," he ordered Jesse when he got to him, "you're disturbing my ward. Get on your knees, legs apart, hands behind your head. I'm sure you know how to do it." The officer was angry, saw too many druggies in his career, knew their lies. And this boy knows all the key words to try to pull heartstrings. He thoroughly frisked Jesse, felt no weapons, wallet, or resources on him or in his empty pockets, felt bone under the loose clothes. He could see the pale strain of hunger in his face, in the darkness under his eyes. He handcuffed Pinkman. The nurse felt very sorry for Jesse, he hadn't done anything wrong. He had just been emotional which was not unusual in that ward, but she remained silent.

"Kid, he can't do any more for you. He can't give you any more money, or drugs, or a place to stay. He's dying, you can't get anything from him, whatever you did to - earn - it."

Jesse shook his head, silent tears falling, tracing his scars, and shaking his hollowed frame.

"I'm not arresting you kid, but I am telling security to take you downstairs and make sure you don't show your face here again. I don't know what you have to do with White, but you can't see him, no one can."

Jesse nodded his head, took a shaking breath.

The officer sighed. He had 3 sons, 2 daughters, all with their own families and happy children. He and his wife visited them as often as they could. One close daughter and her growing family he was able to see every Sunday. It was a tough, complex world, what if everyone he knew never wanted to see him again? And he was dying?

"Rose, you going back inside?"

"Yes, Malcolm, my shift's almost over, though."

"Call David up here. I want you both inside with him."

"Okay, Officer Hendricks. Thank you."

"Thank you, Sir," Jesse said quietly.

The room was cool and darkened for the night shift. Walter White was asleep, lying in the raised hospital bed, a restraint belt loosely fastened above his hips. His wane, lined face looked 10 years older from when Jesse last saw him just a few days ago. He seemed almost thinner than Pinkman was, his fragile chest lightly rising and falling in raspy breaths. He focused on Walter's now lean hands, his skin was translucent and he could see the long, flexible needle of the i.v. going under the flesh. The needle left a bruise from being inside so long.

"Mr. White?" Even to his own ears, Jesse's hollow voice was unbelievably soft, softer than he thought possible at this moment.

Walter took a deep, longer breath, his eyes slowly opened as if to a remembered, pleasant dream. He looked up at Jesse, surprised, yes, and other emotions chased across his face. Walter looked around the room, taking in the nurse sitting in her usual, cushioned hospital chair, a security guard near his bed and close to Pinkman. Pinkman's arms seemed to be behind his back for some reason.

Jesse was only looking at him. The other's didn't seem to notice the intensity that came over Jesse's face, but they were strangers and expected that look in addicts.

"Jesse." It was said halfway between a resigned sigh and a welcome. Still, a small smile began to lift Walter's lips, brighten his eyes. Both witnesses in the room watched the two closely. Walter closed his eyes again, relaxing. "Jesse, I'm so pleased you've come to see me." There was a drained lilt in his voice along with the genuine gladness.

Jesse opened his mouth a moment, was unable to say any more. He bent forward to get closer to White. The guard stepped nearer, ready. Jesse continued his motion, slowly went down to his knees, his cheek brushing the end of the guard rail that secured White onto his bed. His mouth was close to Walter's ear, his breaths emotional heaves.

"I've come such a long way to get here, Mr. White, gone through so much to be here."

White kept staring forward, he knew what would happen next. It was the only reason for ever seeing Jesse again.

Jesse continued. "I've had a long time to think down there. Do you remember?"

Walter turned his head to the unexpected question. "Of course I remember, Jesse." Oh, yes, when he first saw Jesse and what they did to him - he was hunched over in his bonds, could not look Walter in his eyes, acted like a long-abused dog. Pinkman didn't know why White was there, they wouldn't let him kill Jesse, he couldn't rescue either of them, they didn't need White to cook. It was some sort of mistake, and Jesse was just there, as always, for someone's amusement.

"I wasn't sure what I would do here. I had to come and see." Pinkman moved his head slightly closer, his chin touching the edge of Walter's pillow, whispering, "I can still taste them."

Also unforeseen, tears came to Walter's eyes. "Oh, Jesse." He looked away from his young face, couldn't take seeing the scars at that moment, the scars he helped put there. He pressed his lips together, hesitant to speak, to make excuses. "I didn't mean for any of that. I didn't know, didn't think…"

"Didn't care." It was a flat statement from Pinkman.

"NO, I do!" The guard looked closer at them at the raised words. The hushed exchange had been so low even he, standing close, could not distinctly hear the words.

White looked up at the security guard, addressed him. "It's okay, officer, we just have so much to say to each other. I've known him a long time. Please, don't be alarmed." David looked at the two, hesitantly moved over to the corner the nurse sat at. She was also watching intently, but both could see how private the conversation was, their only conversation.

"Are you lying, Mr. White?" Jesse asked in an almost sing-song whisper.

"I was so despondent, and horrified, and … maddened with everything that happened. Hank had just died. I was at the point then," in a lower voice, "like you are, now." He paused a moment. "I have no more reason to lie, Jesse. I can't hide anymore."

"You've said that before." Jesse pulled back, but continued, looking carefully into his face. "You blamed me for everything going wrong, Mr. White."

Walter opened his mouth, a slight chill coming over him, but no words of denial forthcoming.

"Like I said, I had plenty of time to think." Jesse's voice was cracking, he began to cough, turned his face into his shoulder as he did so. He was forcing words through his emotions, the task overwhelming him, could not speak anymore. He took a long, trembling breath, slowly lowered his chin back onto the thin mattress, closed his eyes. Walter reached up with his right arm, loosely cradling Jesse's head, put a comforting hand along his neck, stroked his hair softly. Looking upwards, Walter brushed his cheek against Jesse's temple. The nurse had quietly gotten up, and was handing White a small, paper cup of water. She returned to her place. Walter held the cup so Jesse could drink.

Lips still wet, Jesse whispered, "You were right, Mr. White."

"No, Jesse," Walter pressed down on his lips. "I was not right. I was never right."

"Fring would have happily let you go if you hadn't killed his men for me, hadn't caused trouble, continued to cause trouble for me. You would have had your money back then, more than enough, than you wanted, you would have been satisfied, and nothing else would have happened. Do you remember, Mr. White? It was still near the beginning. When they shot Christian, my friend? If you had just let it end, let me end, so long ago, you would be free now. There were other times as well."

"Jesse, none of that matters."

"It does, Mr. White. We all have to pay for our mistakes."

"Jesse." Walter turned his head to see Pinkman again. Jesse's eyes were open, but he was so, so weary. "Jesse, please."

"You know, Mr. White, I picked these handcuffs ten minutes ago."