Jesse spends most of Wednesday morning putting far too much effort into his appearance, because he has a date tonight after work and doesn't want to look like a swamp creature. He even stopped at the store last night for some make-up to hide his scars; Jesse doubts any romantic partner would list disfiguring scars as a turn-on. Maybe hiding his imperfections will bring out some long-lost confidence. He likes himself better without them, so he doesn't feel bad about hiding the scars underneath caked-on make-up.
When he's finished, he looks in the mirror and finds himself smiling at his reflection for the first time in months. Maybe this date won't be so bad. Maybe he'll actually have a good time tonight.
Saul notices the spring in Jesse's step when he comes down the stairs. "Look at you all dressed up! What's the occasion?"
"I got a date tonight, remember?" Why does Jesse bother saying things if no one listens?
"Oh, yeah, of course!" Saul pats him on the shoulder like a supportive softball coach; Jesse enjoys the brief touch more than he ought to. "Go get 'em, tiger."
Jesse rolls his eyes with affection. "Don't you have to go to work?"
"I can always spare a couple moments to tease you."
Jesse'd prefer a whole different kind of tease, but he'll take what he can get. "Thoughtful."
"And no housework today," Saul warns him. "You sit on that couch and watch soap operas 'til you go to work like a normal person."
"Didn't know I needed permission to relax. Maybe I like being a housewife."
"Boy, did I miss the boat. Why couldn't I have married you? Would'a saved me a lot of trouble."
Jesse hides a smile as blood pools beneath his cheeks. "I don't think dudes can marry each other, but we can always pretend." Where the fuck is all this flirtation coming from?
"Well, take it easy, honey, you work too hard," Saul says with a smirk before turning to leave. Jesse feels his whole body flush at the endearment. "Oh, and don't put out on the first date. Make her work for it."
Jesse laughs. "Whatever, man. Peace." He's still a little flighty and heady after Saul closes the door behind him. This make-up is a fucking godsend; he can flirt with Saul like it doesn't make his heart race, like it's something they do all the time. Saul even called him "honey." So what if it was in jest? Jesse's etching that onto his goddamn tombstone.
After work, they take Maggie's Jeep into town, because asking your date to walk everywhere is hardly romantic. Jesse feels like a dorky twelve-year-old again, being driven around by his friends' parents.
"I need to get that car runnin'," he says, just to broadcast his awareness that the lack of a vehicle isn't a check in the "pros" column.
"You want some help? I wouldn't mind stayin' late a couple nights and helpin' out."
"For real?"
"Yeah, it'll be fun."
Jesse watches the streetlights whip by outside the passenger window. "You wanna do dinner instead of a movie? Sittin' in front of a huge screen doesn't seem like a great way to get to know each other."
"Sure!" Maggie is the most laid-back woman Jesse's ever met. She's fantastic.
She takes him to a barbecue place located in town, near the pizza joint he'd been to with Saul days prior. The interior is dimly lit, cozy in a way that feels familiar. Most of the light comes from the neon signs advertising various brews and the television screens broadcasting a baseball game. The sweet smell of mesquite hangs in the air. On the jukebox, Roger Daltrey sings of being the seeker, which only makes Jesse wish a certain goofy ex-lawyer roommate was here instead.
But it's really a dick move to spend an entire date wishing somebody else was on the other side of the table, so Jesse pushes the thought out of his mind and orders a beer. He doesn't realize how hungry he is until he starts digging into the plate of complementary bread and butter. He decides to avoid discussing his fake past by asking her questions instead. "So how long have you lived here?"
"About fifteen years," she says. "My sister and I grew up in the country. There wasn't much to do out there, so I learned a lot about fixin' cars and farming equipment. But we moved here when I started junior high."
"Did your dad want a boy?"
"Yeah, but he ended up with two girls instead. I was the tomboy, my sister was the dainty little princess." Maggie smirks. "What about you? You got any siblings?"
He doesn't see the harm in being honest here. "Yeah, a younger brother. My parents kinda forgot I existed after he was born. They sent him to private school, made him take piano lessons, all that Yuppie shit. I'm not bummed they didn't do that for me, 'cause I would'a turned out hella nerdy, but I wish they would'a cared more about what I wanted to do, I guess." He rubs the back of his neck.
Maggie smiles like she understands. "My parents did the same thing with Emily. They spoiled her rotten."
"Parents are weird, man," Jesse says, shaking his head. But he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss them now. Just knowing he can't call them up or send a letter makes him wish things had turned out differently. God, do they think he's dead?
Their food arrives, disrupting Jesse's train of thought, and, man, that's the biggest fucking baked potato he's ever seen. Jesse does his best not to eat too fast or make orgasm noises around the food in his mouth. He doesn't want her thinking he's having a stroke. Maybe save that for the second date. Or never.
"Were you born in Alaska, or did you move there?" Maggie asks him.
"I moved there. I was born in Phoenix. And, yeah, it's just as hot as you think. Total desert."
"Is that where they found that giant meth lab?"
Jesse's hand freezes, his fork stilling over his plate. "What—no, I think—that was somewhere else. Santa Fe or somethin'." The back of his neck breaks out in a sweat that has nothing to do with the food.
He scrambles for a topic that won't cross wires with the life of Jesse Pinkman. "Y'know Alaska has a longer coastline than all the other US states combined?" Thank God for the Discovery Channel; one insomnia-fueled night gave him enough conversational factoids about Alaska to last him the rest of the year. It's just as good as having lived there.
After dinner, they take a nighttime stroll through the streets of downtown. Jesse thinks about reaching over and holding her hand as they walk, but he keeps his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He doesn't want to come across as too forward, because he's not entirely sure what he actually wants here. But Maggie doesn't seem to mind that he keeps his hands to himself. She points out notable restaurants, stores, and hangouts, and Jesse soaks it all up like a sponge.
They stop for ice cream along the way. Jesse's not even embarrassed about ordering a huge sundae with Oreo crumbs and gummy worms, because that shit's delicious. Maggie shows him more of the city as they eat, though Jesse needs two hands to get the ice cream onto his taste buds.
"I didn't know anyone over the age of twelve actually ordered that," she teases him. "Did they give you the kids' discount too?"
"Shut up," Jesse mumbles around a mouthful of fudgey, creamy goodness. "Don't hate 'cause you got lame-ass strawberry. No one likes strawberry ice cream. Are you even a real person?"
Maggie pilfers the spoon from his hand and scoops up a big bite for herself. "It's not bad, I guess."
Jesse makes a noise of offense.
"I mean, if you like all that extra junk on your ice cream."
"Oreo sprinkles and fudge are not 'extra junk,' yo." He's about to say something else when a graffiti symbol on a nearby brick wall stops him cold. He turns, orients himself in front of the wall to get a closer look. A chill runs through his blood and paralyzes him. Sprayed on the brick in bright yellow paint is the golden bee symbol from the methylamine barrels.
Another reminder that the past ripples and reverberates and never truly leaves. Jesse's ghosts have chased him all the way to Omaha.
"Aaron?"
Jesse jumps at the sound of her voice.
"What's up?" Maggie asks, coming to his side for a look at the graffiti. "You see somethin'?"
Jesse wishes he could be honest with her, that he could tell her about the things that haunt him at night, or how he earned his scars. But she would never understand.
He shakes his head and forces himself to keep walking. "Nah, just—checkin' out the dope tags..."
Jesse stays late after work the next couple of nights to fix up the car with Maggie, much to Saul's dismay. It's not like Saul's going to tell Jesse to stop having a social life, but they can barely have a conversation now before Jesse's going upstairs for a shower and falling into bed. Saul misses Jesse's presence around the house, something comforting and familiar to fill the empty spaces.
And, okay, yeah, maybe Saul's a little jealous of this girl for winning so much of Jesse's attention. The only reason she's hanging out with Jesse is because she asked him, but Saul can't afford to risk that kind of brazen, exposed honesty. He can't infringe on Jesse's comfort here by asking him out, or make Jesse feel that people only like him for what they can get out of him. Saul would be no better than Walt. So, no, he can't say anything. All he can do is hope Jesse's a mind reader who thinks the same thoughts Saul does.
It's all very frustrating, but Jesse seems happy, so Saul can't be too upset about it.
Buck and Billy Ray reveal a curious development on Saturday when Saul's next door borrowing some black beans. "Dunno if you've noticed, but I think that boy's got a crush on you," Buck says.
"Who? Aaron?" Saul scoffs a nervous laugh. "You're joking, right?"
Buck shrugs animatedly. "Maybe I'm wrong, but he gets awful red whenever your name's mentioned."
"Like a little strawberry," Billy Ray adds.
That's the cutest fucking thing Saul's ever heard, but there's got to be another explanation that's more reasonable than Jesse having a crush on him. "And you're basing this off of, what, blushing? Maybe that's not blushing; maybe that's anger." Saul pauses, his arm half stuck in the pantry. "Oh God, is he mad at me?"
Billy Ray laughs like he pities Saul. "You ever get a vibe from him in class? Like maybe he wanted a little extra credit?"
Saul thinks back to his pre-Omaha interactions with Jesse. Nothing strikes him as particularly telling, but, of course, he hadn't been looking. And, yeah, maybe there were some unnecessarily long moments of eye contact and flirty smiles way back when Saul had tried to persuade Jesse into buying the nail salon, but... No way. This is Jesse Pinkman. In all the time Saul's known him, Jesse's never been shy about anything. He's always been mouthing off or breaking down when he's not in a drug-induced haze; he wears his heart on his oversized sleeve. So, as much as Saul would love to believe otherwise, this all sounds like wishful thinking.
"No, I don't think he was interested back then. I don't think he's interested at all. You guys are just trying to set me up for an awkward conversation, aren't you?"
"Why would we do that?" Billy Ray asks with offense.
"Because you're bored? What do you two even do all day?"
Buck ignores the question. "Why don't you talk to Aaron and see if he don't get redder than a schoolgirl?"
Saul rolls his eyes and heads for the door. "Thanks for the beans."
"So, did you like it?" Jesse asks Maggie as they're walking out of the theater.
"Oh yeah, I love watching giant robots beat the crap out of each other."
"You sound totally enthused."
"Well, I meant it." She reaches out and twines a hand with Jesse's. Jesse doesn't pull away despite wanting to.
They stroll through the Old Market as the sun begins to set. An orange glow peeks over the tops of buildings and through their crevices. Fluffy clouds drift in the pink sky. The air smells like motor oil and the amalgam of different food aromas wafting from every direction.
Maggie glances over at him. "Can I ask you somethin' weird?"
"Sure."
"How come you haven't tried to kiss me yet? Are you really that old-fashioned?"
"No." Well, that sounds kind of terrible. Jesse tries again. "I mean, yeah." Strike two. "I mean—shit."
"I think it's cute if you are. Not many guys your age are like that."
Jesse rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. "Well, I mean, I'm not—I don't think I... I guess I'm just not feelin' it?" Wow, that's really fucking awful said out loud, but he can't think of a more tactful way to phrase "I'm just not that into you."
"I mean, you're cool and all, I just..." Jesse makes a shrugging gesture that's supposed to encompass some form of emotion. "I just don't feel it." Because how can he tell her that he doesn't feel with her the same pull in his gut when he looks at Saul? Or that her smile doesn't make his stomach do flips the way Saul's does?
They could never have an honest relationship because everything she knows about him is built on a lie. With Maggie, he'll always be Aaron from Alaska, some manufactured identity with a clean past and no drug ties. A total fake.
But with Saul he can be honest and open. With Saul he's Jesse Pinkman, and he trusts Saul intimately because of their shared experiences. He doesn't think he'll ever find a relationship like that, someone who loves him unconditionally, no matter the skeletons in his closet. Maybe Saul could never care for him the way Jesse wishes he would, but would a "normal" person stay if they knew Jesse's sordid past? If they knew he killed three people and built half of the greatest drug empire in history?
But Maggie takes the blow in stride, doesn't even frown. "That's alright. That's just the way it is sometimes."
Jesse stops walking, stunned by her lackadaisical response. "For real? You're not even mad?"
"Why would I be mad? Sometimes you feel the spark, sometimes you don't. It's nobody's fault. At least we tried."
He lifts his eyebrows. "Wow, that's, like, way more mature than I was expecting."
Her mouth twists into a smile. "Have you ever broken up with a human woman before?"
"Once, but that was..." He trails off, starts over. "I thought there'd be more crying and yelling and throwing things."
"You watch too much TV."
"Yeah, probably." They sit together on a nearby bench and watch the cars roll by. Jesse sighs, leaning back. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"It's cool. Duane was the same way."
"You guys dated?"
"We tried to. But I think he's too hung up on losin' his brother to feel joy."
Jesse stares at his hands. He could easily be as hollowed out as Duane if the dice had fallen another way. He shivers though he's not cold. "We can still fix up the car though, right?"
"Of course. We don't have to stop bein' friends, Aaron." She looks at him like he's a naïve, charming martian with no clue how things work on Earth.
"That's good," he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the tattoo on his arm. After a moment, he says, "You wanna get ice cream? That always makes me feel better."
Saul's cooking dinner when Jesse comes through the door. He makes a valiant effort not to seem too excited, because something probably went wrong if Jesse's home while the sun's still up. "Hey, kid! You're home early. Did something happen?"
"Yeah, we broke up," Jesse says, kicking off his shoes by the door.
Saul's not cruel enough to be pleased about that. "Oh no! I'm sorry."
Jesse waves a dismissive hand. "It's cool though. No big deal."
"Is she okay?"
"Yeah, it was totally amicable." He pulls up a chair at the table and sits down.
"So what was the problem?"
Jesse shrugs, fixing him with an open, honest look that makes Saul's breath catch in his throat. "No problem. Sometimes you feel the spark, sometimes you don't, y'know?"
Saul smiles sadly to himself, because he knows. "Yeah." He wonders if Buck and Billy Ray are right, if Jesse could possibly have a crush on him. Saul doubts he'd ever be that lucky, but stranger things have happened. Stranger things like Jesse tracking him down to Omaha, Nebraska in hopes of adopting Brock.
"I couldn't tell her this," Jesse continues, "but it was also 'cause I didn't want a relationship built on a fake ID. I could never tell her the truth about me and expect her to stay."
"Aw, c'mon, kid, there's gotta be somebody out there who's perfect for you." Somebody like Saul Goodman.
"I dunno. I doubt it." Jesse slumps over the table, his chin propped up on his fist.
Saul comes over to him, swings around the kitchen island so he can focus entirely on Jesse. "Hey, Jesse, you're a great catch. And you're gonna find someone who loves everything about you. I promise."
Jesse looks at him in wonder, as if no one's ever told him he's worth a damn. God, those big, blue eyes...
"Besides, it's taco night. No one can be sad on taco night."
"Is that a thing?"
"I'm making it one. Get used to it."
Jesse smiles, and he might blush a little. That might be a thing that happens. Saul doesn't have a lot of time to investigate, because the oven timer's going off. But he could swear he saw some color in Jesse's cheeks, and it makes his heart leap in his chest.
"Yo, can I sleep in here?"
Jesse's whispered words jostle Saul out of a deep sleep, and he's still startled to see Jesse standing in the doorway of his bedroom.
Saul shuts an eye to keep the moonlight from blinding him. "What?"
"Can I sleep in here?" Jesse asks again, shifting his weight to his other foot and rubbing his arm. The lost, terrified look in his eyes speaks volumes about why he's standing here now. How had Saul not heard him?
"Yeah, sure," he mumbles, closing his eyes again. He feels the sag in the mattress when Jesse lies beside him. Jesse smells like Axe and fear sweat. He tugs the blankets around him and cuddles closer to Saul. Saul lifts his head off of the pillow to peek at him. Jesse's lying on his side with his back to Saul, hands drawn up to his face and fisted in the blankets. Saul turns over so they're sort of spooning; Jesse doesn't even flinch or move away.
He watches the slow rise and fall of Jesse's ribcage. Maybe Buck and Billy Ray are right, and Saul's so wrapped up in his own disbelief that he can't see what's right in front of him. Jesse's likely too scared of rejection to say anything, terrified that an unwanted advance will earn him an eviction. A rational person wouldn't kick someone out of the house because of a crush, but Jesse's lived under Walt's thumb so long he's probably forgotten how normal people think.
Saul feels shitty for all the married couple jokes he made about Walt and Jesse; Walt might as well have been an abusive husband for all the baggage Jesse's carrying because of him.
Jesse needs someone who will be gentle with him. Someone who will heal his scars, not wound him further.
Saul feels the strangest urge to kiss the back of Jesse's neck. He shuts his eyes, breathes in the smell of him. He wouldn't mind waking up with Jesse's scent absorbed into the pillows and sheets.
Fuck it. He's going for it. He can always claim he was sleep-talking if Jesse's reaction isn't what Saul's hoping for.
"Hey, Jesse?" Saul murmurs. He holds his breath in anticipation of an answer.
Jesse replies with a soft snore and hugs the pillow tighter.
God damn it.