The pit. (Waiting.)

Jesse was in so much pain, he couldn't breathe.

Why didn't you just kill me yourself, you fucking coward. You're the one who thinks 5 moves ahead of everyone else. You wanted this. You knew.

After the shootout in the desert, he was dragged from under the car at To'hajiilee, all because he met Heisenberg's eyes. He had wanted White to see him, to know he was a witness to Hank's death and would vouch for him to the coming DEA agents. All he had to do was hide a little longer. Others had to come. They had to.

Jesse looked out from the oversized wheel so White could see him. He wanted him to know he was there with him. He wanted him to know he was sorry.

"Pinkman," Heisenberg sneered. He survived, not Hank. Always Pinkman. It took all of 2 seconds for him to decide. Not this time.

"You find him, I'll kill him," uncle Jack said.

"Found him," Heisenberg almost snickered. There.

So they dragged him out, screaming betrayal. Wasn't there blood enough for Heisenberg? Jesse just wanted to stop him. Heisenberg always wanted so very much more.

Jane was like you, Pinkman, throw away people. You do it to yourselves. How long would it have been before you overdosed each other anyway? You should know what I thought of her before you died. "Never trust an addict," Fring had said. Your unthinking, Jesse, ruins everything. You kill everything you touch.

Then why didn't you just put a fucking bullet in my head yourself? thought Jesse. Too hard? Too easy? That, I do blame you for.

He tried to shift slightly, to take some pressure off his back. Todd had left him like that on the cement floor, though he begged him, writhing, to at least put him onto his side, or rest him against a cool, cell wall. Just not on the dying skin of his back. Alquist intentionally decided to use the metal belt that had Jesse's hands cuffed awkwardly to his sides so he couldn't turn. He also restrained his legs with a 2 foot, solid, metal rod. Any other position Jesse took would either cut off the circulation in his arms and shoulders or suffocate him on his chest. He just tried to keep breathing, to keep one breath going after another, to try not to think about pain and time.

Another 400 breaths passed.

I can't do this anymore. His gasps trembled, but didn't, as he hoped, stop.

"I c-can't, fucking, do this anymore!" he screamed into the uncaring silence around him.

He had dared asked Alquist, the knife edge still in him, what happened to the girl he did this to. "Oh, she wasn't that strong, not like you. She left before I really got to this part. She's out there in the desert, I forget where."

Jesse felt the slick pool of blood he was lying in on his skin, the movement of the flayed flesh of his back as he inhaled.

Just another 700 breaths, then I can stop. He felt pain in his ribs, raw nerve endings rubbing against rough concrete, oiled by his own drying and renewing blood. He wanted to vomit up the contents of an empty stomach.

Did you really want this, Heisenberg? Is this more than you hoped for, for me? Did you always plan to throw me away?

Or would Heisenberg recognize his precious formula still being produced? Would he come back to stop it? How long would it be before he came back to finish it.

He began his endless count again.

…

It was early morning. The sun was beginning its bright rise and Skyler Lambert, not sleeping the night before, envied its enthusiasm. She sat in her small kitchen, cigarette in hand, waiting for whatever nonsense would come today. Flynn used to scold her for the increased smoky smell in the dingy rental, but lately, he wouldn't care if the whole place just burned down. The day before, Mrs. Corbett agreed to take him in for a few days, to escape all the roaming reporters, all the attention. She asked if they would all like to come for a little while, but Skyler thought it would be better if the reporters only knew about her house, not all of Flynn's friend's homes. She agreed, with a relieved look.

There was a soft knock on the door. Skyler hoped it wasn't Mrs. Corbett and that there was some sort of trouble. She would call first, wouldn't she? Unless she couldn't. She got up, anxious, opened the double chained door, actually hoping for a reporter this time.

Marie was standing there. The sun backlit her hair into a red fury and her expression matched the artistry. "Is Flynn around?" she asked in barely contained anger.

"Marie, what are you doing…"

"I said, is Flynn around?"

Skyler didn't know what to say. She didn't like having her sister here in such a state with no one else around, except, worst of all, Holly.

"Flynn!" Marie began shouting, "Are you here? Answer me!"

"Shhh, you'll wake her." Skyler pulled her sister inside. "She doesn't need to be up this early." They both listened carefully, but there were no cries from her room.

"I need to talk to you. I wish you were both here, because we all need to discuss That Man."

Skyler didn't like how Marie was already not making sense. She looked like she hadn't slept either. No real conversation could come out of such a situation.

"What is there to discuss? They have him, there's not much more we can do."

"Not much more we can do? What are you talking about?" Marie glared at her older sister. "What are you going to tell them when they start asking you questions, Skyler?"

"I don't think they are going to ask me anything, Marie. They're going to ask him everything, ya think?" Skyler was getting angry at the attitude Marie was developing. Developing? She had it her whole life. Whether it was because she never had any children of her own, or she was lonely in her life as an overtiming cop's wife, she seemed to always think she owned the people around her, and that her opinions could straighten out any problems that they had.

Walter always came home to her at 5:30 pm, every day, sometimes even earlier. There might be a small stack of student papers to grade, something he would glance over while giving her almost full attention when she talked about her jobs, little stories he would tell back about some prank the students pulled on him. Some of those pranks could be dangerous, given that it Was a chemistry class. She remembered one story where the students filled up a bunch of balloons using a methane tank, they were going to use them during a half time cheerleading show. The green and white balloons floated out and filled part of the football field. They were tied together in sort of a caterpillar shape with little, googly eyes and antennas in the front. When the cheerleaders were finished with their rousing cheers, they pointed their pom poms to the mascot and out ran a quarterback with a flaming torch. Fortunately, one of Walter's smarter students, a bit of a skinny, bespectacled nerd who smelled the additived methane leaking through his balloon, tackled the muscled, popular quarterback to the laughter and appreciation of the crowd. A great part of the show, they thought. The torch flamed out on the wet grass, and after the story was explained, the nerd became the better, more popular hero for the rest of the season. The coach even gave him an oversized uniform, padding included.

She remembered when Walt praised students who worked hard in his class, including the famous nerd, made an effort to redo experiments after school or go over extra assignments to make sure they got a concept. Walter was proud when an addling student started pulling himself up in his grades, and he was glad to give them extra counseling and time and answer any questions they had. He loved teaching and used to be a humble man, happy when even little things turned up for them. He was thankful for the money the car wash gave them, as humiliating as serving some of his own students was to him. Yes, he wanted more, but if the cancer never happened, they would have had a content life.

"Are you listening to me?" Marie was back in her face. "They are going to want your corroboration on his stories. They don't believe anything he says, and why should they? So you are still very important to them. They're going to come to you. And what if he dies? It'll be a bigger mess than ever."

"I don't know anything, Marie. What do I know?"

"You've become as big a liar as he is. I don't know what you know, but it's not everything you say."

"The only active thing I did was to try to hide the money. There was so much of it, that I saw. I don't know what he did with it or where it went."

The ticket.

Skyler took in a quick breath, and Marie narrowed her eyes at her.

"What is it?" she asked suspiciously.

No, that ticket was her, Flynn's, and Holly's only bargaining chip and possible escape from this trap. She could not let her sister know about it now. She'd run to the DEA to exhume the bodies, and that would be the end of any normal life possible for them. She had to keep it secret from her. She had to see how all this would play out. She was as selfish and cruel as Heisenberg.

He turns everyone he touches into him.

"I w-was just thinking of that compound they found him in. All those bloody bodies, and the money. That's where it went."

"You still care about the money, Skyler?" Marie spat.

Skyler took her sister by the shoulders, spun her around, made her look at the place she was standing.

"Look at it, Marie. Look at how my children are living. They froze all my assets. They're only now allowing me some of the money I'm earning. I'm so behind in everything. It's only because of some of the kindness of Flynn's friends, the school, some donations, that I even have a few furnishings to sit on and they have some used beds. The happy pictures on the walls haunt me, I should take them down. I have nothing. You still have sympathy and help from all of Hank's department, his pension, the big house…"

Skyler gasped, abruptly stopped. She was shocked that she had said so much.

Marie turned around, Skyler's hands still on her shoulders. "So, you really are quite the bookkeeper, sis. It really was about finance."

"No, Marie," she dropped her head and shook it, blond hair falling over her shut eyes, still not believing she said those things. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Marie couldn't hold back tears, despite her extreme anger, or maybe because of it. "I would give all that up to have Hank back. Can you get me Hank back, sis? I'll give you everything I have, and more, anything you want, if you could."

Skyler almost blurted out her secret then, but pressed down on her lips. Not yet, just not yet. She pulled her sister to her, wrapped her arms protectively around her, betraying her. "I'm s-so sorry, Marie. I'm so sorry."