(this story has a fanmix! :) you can find it under my 8tracks username sodium-amytal, or under my fanmix tag on my tumblr: saulpinkmans)

Jesse won't admit he misses Saul's presence in his bed, even when the nightmares rear up and destroy his calm. He'd almost forgotten how vivid and awful they are, how they leave his scars throbbing in remembrance.

Jesse's had a lot of practice being angry at Saul, but it's different this time, because they're not just lawyer and client anymore. They're connected now by this tenuous string of mutual attraction and understanding, so Saul's ignorant accusations cut deeper than they would have before. He's not sure what he's more offended by: the fact that Saul assumes he was sexually abused because Jesse wanted to blow him, or the idea that Jesse only wanted to suck dick because of said abuse.

He huffs out an angry sigh and stares at the curtains billowing in the soft breeze from the A/C. Jesse's never realized how Saul keeps the nightmares away until he's not there anymore. The way Saul curls his arms around Jesse's tiny frame, the scent of him on the pillows, the heat of his body, the way he wakes up and calls Jesse "Pretty Boy"—Jesse'd miss it all if it was no longer there.

He swallows his pride and climbs out of bed. He makes his way down the hall to Saul's bedroom. The door is open, as if inviting Jesse in to make peace. Saul's lying in the bed, turned over so Jesse can't see his face, just the Pink Floyd blanket he's wrapped in. Bark Lee's curled up at the foot of the bed in the empty space that once belonged to Jesse. It's adorable in a gutting sort of way; Bark Lee must have sensed Saul's heartbreak and offered the only comfort he could.

Jesse pads inside on silent feet and swallows thickly before whispering, "Yo," into the stillness.

Bark Lee's ears tilt in the direction of Jesse's voice.

"You're not pissed at me, are you?" Jesse waits for an answer that doesn't come. "I really hope you're not pissed. 'Cause I wanna talk about this. I want us to be good again."

Bark Lee pushes up on all fours and moves over to Saul, nudges Saul's face with his snout. Saul stirs, mumbles, "Jesse, what're you doin'?" before he sees Bark Lee there. "What'd'you want?"

"Sorry," Jesse murmurs. "I wanted to talk to you."

Saul rolls over to look at Jesse. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'. I just wanted to apologize."

"For what?" Saul rubs his eyes.

Jesse takes a couple tentative steps toward the bed, like he's not sure if he's still allowed here anymore after a fight. "For yellin' at you."

"In all fairness, I think I deserved it."

"No, you didn't. You had no way of knowin' 'cause I've never talked about what happened." He shrugs. "I didn't think I needed to."

Saul watches Jesse standing there at the foot of the bed. He stretches his arms out, gives him permission to join him there. "C'mere. This is your bed too, y'know."

"Seriously?"

"Of course," Saul says, like there was never any other answer.

Jesse crawls into the bed, nudging Bark Lee aside so he can cuddle up to Saul. Bark Lee huffs exasperation and goes back to sleep. Saul holds Jesse close, one arm linked around his waist. "You just surprised me, is all. I figured if you ever tried something it'd be a handjob, because you're new to this."

"Yeah, I guess I was kinda forward."

"Just a bit." Saul smiles, and it's all love and forgiveness.

"I thought you'd be into that."

"I was, and I am, but... I wanna know you're doin' it for the right reasons."

"Is there a better reason than wantin' to make my boyfriend come?"

Saul blinks like he's stunned. "No, that's—that's pretty good." It takes him a moment to shake off the mental image. "Maybe I was a touch insensitive earlier, but you should open up and work through this stuff. I'm all ears if you wanna talk about it—or not, of course. But I don't know how to do this if I'm constantly afraid I'll say something that reminds you of something horrible. You gotta let me know about the crap in the road so I can avoid it, y'know?"

Jesse sighs. "Would you believe me if I said nothin' like that happened?"

Saul looks into Jesse's eyes for a long handful of seconds. Jesse wonders what he sees there. "Yeah, I guess I do. I just—" He glances off, tries again. "Why'd you get so upset about it if it didn't happen?"

"You know that's not the only bad thing that can happen to somebody, right? Gettin' beat, bein' chained up and starved... There's a reason it's called torture."

Saul's whole face winces, and it's painful to watch. But Saul said he wanted to know, so Jesse doesn't feel too bad about it.

"That stuff can leave just as many scars." Jesse thinks for a moment. "So I guess I got mad 'cause it felt like you were sayin' what I went through didn't matter 'cause it wasn't that. And you acted like goin' down on you wasn't something I'd wanna do unless I was forced into sex slavery or somethin'." Saul should understand him a bit better now. This is the most Jesse's ever talked about his experiences in the compound; he doesn't want to be treated like he's made of brittle sticks because of it.

Saul half-smiles. "Guess I should take a sensitivity seminar then, huh?"

"Yeah, maybe," Jesse says around a soft chuckle.

"I'm sorry, kid. I was just tryin' to protect you."

Jesse curls a hand around Saul's hip. "From what? Orgasms? For real, how bomb is your dick?"

Saul huffs amusement. "I've been married enough times to know it's pretty good. It has to be, right? It's not like they were in it for my good looks or prestigious career." He breathes out a soft sound that Jesse recognizes as Saul's self-deprecating laugh.

Jesse just shakes his head, pushes his hand underneath Saul's t-shirt and skims over the line of his body. "Stop it, you're awesome." Saul doesn't argue with that, though he looks like he wants to. "But, yo, I'm not as broken as you think I am. If you do somethin' I don't like, maybe it'll affect me, maybe not, but if it does, y'know, we can just talk about it like we're doin' now. But I want you to try with me. You gotta take chances sometimes or good things never happen." Saul's watching him intently, as if every word out of Jesse's mouth is gospel. "I trust you, like, completely, okay? I lo—" It tumbles off his tongue like a verbal train wreck, and Jesse barely catches it before it's out there. He breaks their gaze, feeling his heart pounding against his ribcage. "Just—yeah, you don't have to tiptoe around me like I'm made of glass. I'm fine."

Maybe Saul didn't hear that. He could be overwhelmed with Jesse's emotional onslaught that he missed the near-confession Jesse's really, really hoping went unnoticed. Because that's not the kind of thing you just blurt out.

Saul's eyes widen, his lips parting slightly. "Whoa, you love me? Is that—were you gonna say you love me?"

Fuck, he heard it. The verbal train wreck claims another victim. Jesse scoffs a shaky sound of feigned disbelief. "What? No way. C'mon, that's— Don't be ridiculous. I was gonna say 'I love how much you worry about me, but you don't have to,'" he stammers out.

But Saul's grinning like the goddamn Cheshire cat. "You totally love me."

"Shut up," Jesse grumbles, burying his face in Saul's chest. "No, I don't."

Saul's hand slides over Jesse's back, and Jesse can feel the heat of his breath ghosting over his head. "Maybe I love you too, kid. That's why I don't want to screw this up."

"You love me?"

"I said 'maybe,'" Saul says, but he smiles like he means it.

Jesse doesn't know how to handle the fact that Saul's seen him at his worst so many times, seen the scars on his face, and fallen in love with him regardless.

"So, yeah, I'm afraid of messing this up," Saul's saying, totally oblivious that he's blown Jesse's mind. "I mean, how many other relationships have I bombed by saying or doing the wrong thing? I can't afford to wreck this one too."

Jesse meets his eyes, finally finding his voice. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. There's no way you could fuck this up."

"Kinda feels like I have."

"Whatever, that's nothing. It's all good, man." He snorts a laugh after a beat. "Oh my God, I just now got that!"

Saul smiles back and covers Jesse's mouth with his own.

In the morning, Jesse's got his face smushed against Saul's chest, one arm looped around him as he sleeps. Bark Lee surrendered the bed at some point during the night, so Jesse's legs are stretched out in the space where the pup once was.

Saul nuzzles the fuzz of Jesse's hair and breathes out a contented sigh. He's so glad last night wasn't a disastrous fault line in their relationship, instead a mere bump in the road. Talking to Jesse about his fears is something he can do, something that won't be met with eye-rolling or dismissive answers. He doesn't have to tiptoe around anything, because Jesse is resilient as hell. Nothing like the fragile boy who'd come into Saul's office with tragic, weary-worn eyes and bruises all over his face.

Saul is so fucking proud of him.

Jesse stirs awake, the fingers of his tattooed hand coming to life around a fistful of Saul's t-shirt. He groans low in his throat and blinks his eyes open.

"Mornin', Pretty Boy." Jesse makes a happy sound and hides his face in Saul's chest. Saul snuggles him closer, kisses the top of his head. "You sleep okay?"

"I'unno, did you?" There's a coy little smile at the corner of Jesse's mouth, and Saul has to cover it with his lips. Jesse grins wider around the kiss, pushing his hand underneath Saul's shirt. The warmth from Jesse's hand makes his skin jump a little. He's still not used to Jesse touching him, and he doesn't think he ever will be.

"I slept fine," Saul says. "It's not every morning I wake up with your gorgeous face beside me."

Jesse laughs at that, like it's a joke, but his shy little smile says he knows Saul means every word of it. "Yeah, maybe I like seein' your dumb face every mornin' too."

"I call you gorgeous, and I get 'dumb' in return?" Saul jokes, because being a snarky pain-in-the-ass is how Jesse flirts. He's been flirting with Saul forever, it seems.

Jesse's still smirking at him. "I didn't say you were dumb. Just your face." Which he then kisses, because Jesse's a sap who can't resist making out. Saul crushes their mouths closer and lets his hand trail down the slope of Jesse's spine. He curves over Jesse's hip, rubs his palm against the swell of his cock. Jesse gasps around Saul's mouth before kissing him harder, appreciative of the touch. Saul rubs him through his shorts, and Jesse squirms and shifts, hips bucking into the heel of Saul's hand.

"Shit," Jesse grunts, nails dragging over Saul's back.

Saul freezes, immediately concerned he's done something wrong. "Is this—this is okay, right?"

Jesse manages a nod as he shoves into Saul's touch and tips his head back. "Totally." His voice is rough and breathy around the word.

Saul moves in to cover the swell of Jesse's Adam's apple with his mouth. He can feel the slight bob of a swallow beneath his tongue, the reverberations in Jesse's vocal cords when he moans low against the air. Jesse throws a leg around Saul's hips, pressing at the small of his back with his heel. Saul dips his tongue into the hollow of Jesse's throat. He wants to see what the rest of Jesse's body looks like, wants to taste it under his tongue. He gets his hands full of the hem of Jesse's t-shirt. He moves like he's going to pull it over Jesse's head. Jesse doesn't stop him, so Saul's going to take that as a yes.

Jesse's torso is magnificent, even more than Saul imagined. He stares at it for a moment or two before deciding the tattoo across his chest is a good place to start. He mouths kisses over the ink, following the design with the tip of his tongue. Jesse breathes hot little noises of want, digs his fingers in Saul's hair. Saul reaches the end of the tattoo, and he's absolutely putting that nipple in his mouth. Jesse makes a gasp-y, shuddery sound that turns Saul on more than it ought to. He takes the nub between his teeth, careful not to bite too hard, just enough to make Jesse's spine arch and his thighs squeeze together. The second nipple is just as sensitive as its partner, and that's when Jesse reaches down to jerk himself off, impatient.

Saul catches his wrist and gently pins his arm against the line of his body. "Don't. I wanna get you off."

A breath ghosts out of Jesse's parted lips, his eyes wide.

"You said you wanted me to try, right?" Saul asks, and Jesse shudders out a shaky sound of approval, fingers tightening in Saul's shirt. He kisses a line down Jesse's stomach, tongue dipping in at his navel for a moment as he edges Jesse's shorts over his hips. "If you change your mind, just say the word, okay?"

Jesse nods wordlessly, watching Saul kiss the jut of his hip bone as he's laid bare. His dick's tight against his belly, and there's a delicious-looking vein along the underside that Saul wants to follow with his tongue. So he does.

Jesse sucks in a breath and shakes under Saul's mouth. Saul chases the vein again, his tongue flat against Jesse's dick. The head of his cock's flushed and leaking pre-cum at the tip. Saul wonders what Jesse tastes like, figures the only way to know is just to go for it. He opens his mouth around the head of Jesse's cock, and Jesse whimpers behind his teeth and shifts his hips. His legs slide in the sheets, hands reaching for Saul's hair. Saul's careful to ease into it, going slowly to keep himself from gagging, because this is new to him, and he wants it to be good for Jesse.

Jesse makes quiet noises of encouragement, his hands tugging and pulling as Saul's mouth works around him. Saul assumed Jesse would be much noisier in bed, and, yeah, that's something he's thought about a lot. But it's still early, and maybe the kid's just shy, so he starts sucking on the head, figures that'll make Jesse a little more vocal.

Jesse bites down around a grateful moan, but it's louder than he's ever been here; Saul can totally work with that. He lets his tongue glide along the shaft while his mouth works, tracing the curves and ridges there. Jesse hooks his legs over Saul's shoulders and rolls his hips. "Fuck..." he pleads around a groan, quaking beneath Saul's lips. Saul thinks he's doing pretty well for his first time, though Jesse seems like he'd appreciate of any sort of mouth-to-dick contact.

Saul can taste the salt-bitter ooze of pre-cum on his tongue, the way Jesse's body responds to him, and he's got no idea why that turns him on so much. Sucking cock was never something Saul gave any thought to before, but now that he's dating Jesse he wants to get immeasurably good at it.

Jesse moans, loud against the silence, fingers going tight in Saul's hair. He raises his hips, and Saul can tell he's close. Jesse makes a fractured, graceless sound of warning, then it all shakes out of him, his hips rocking and shoving into Saul's mouth as his muscles seize and the dam breaks. Saul drinks him down, and he's pretty sure he's got a whole new fetish now because of this relationship.

Jesse's breathing hot and jagged by the time Saul's finished licking him clean, his chest rising and falling in a quest for oxygen. His hands slacken a little in Saul's hair, coming to rest on his shoulders. "God damn..." Jesse breathes out, pure contentment curling around the words.

Saul climbs his way up Jesse's body and plants a kiss on his mouth. Jesse smiles, and Saul feels a hand rubbing at his swollen dick. "You get off on blowin' me?" Jesse asks with a hint of arousal, like the idea of Saul being turned on by giving blowjobs is the hottest thing he's ever heard.

"I think it's the whole making-my-boyfriend-come thing more than the act itself." But, yeah, Saul kind of likes giving head too. "It's about fifty-fifty."

Jesse grins. "Hot." His hand works between Saul's legs, and the added friction from his pants and boxers makes it almost unbearable. Saul bites his lip and pushes into Jesse's hand. "Want me to do you?"

"If—if you want."

Jesse rolls his eyes like Saul's being difficult. "'Course I want to. I think about it a lot, actually." He squints a little as the morning sun creeps in through the curtains. "Is that weird?"

"No, no, that's—that's totally normal. I think. I hope." Saul's never been with another dude before, so he's winging it here.

Jesse pushes his hands over Saul's hips and into his underwear. "So you're not gonna spaz out this time?"

"I did not spaz out," Saul mumbles, mildly offended by the insinuation. But semantics hardly matter when Jesse's sliding Saul's boxers over his hips and pushing his back against the mattress.

Saul and Jesse spend their next mutual day off next door at Buck and Billy Ray's. Jesse's worried that they're giving off some sort of anti-social vibe since they started dating, and he wants to rectify that immediately. Bark Lee's certainly happy to see Jesse, hopping up next to him on the worn-out couch and laying his head in Jesse's lap. Jesse scratches the mutt behind the ears, and after a while the dog starts snoring quietly.

"You got a real knack with him," Billy Ray says to Jesse.

"Saul or the dog?" Jesse asks, because Saul's tucked alongside him with his arm draped over Jesse's shoulders.

"I was talkin' about Bark Lee, but since you mention it..."

Jesse tries to steer the conversation in a direction that won't spark more questions about his manufactured past with Saul. "Where'd you get this little guy anyway?" he asks, rubbing Bark Lee's head. "Kinda a rare breed, huh?"

"Found 'im wanderin' around the garbage dump at my old place," Buck says, snapping open a beer can. Bark Lee's ears twitch and turn in the direction of the sound, but he doesn't wake up. "He was kinda dirty and skinny-lookin', so I took him to the vet to make sure he was all right. Learned these types don't get along too well with other dogs if they're not raised with 'em, so I figured the owners brought him in to a home with another dog and he got a bit aggressive."

Jesse glances down at the sleeping dog and wonders how anyone could abandon an innocent creature.

"So I took 'im home, even put up flyers around the neighborhood in case he really was lost, but nothin' ever came of it," Buck continues. "But if he was somebody's pet, I figure I would'a seen at least one 'lost dog' sign somewhere."

Jesse smiles and rubs behind Bark Lee's ears, happy the pup found a home.

"You ever have a dog?"

Jesse shakes his head. "My parents never let me have one. When they stopped callin' the shots, my house wasn't really suitable for a dog, I guess..." Then again, neither was Jesse.

"Speakin' of parents," Billy Ray says, "you goin' anyplace special for Thanksgiving?"

"That's a hell of a segue," Saul says, casually wrapping his hand around Jesse's shoulder as if sensing the question might prickle a nerve.

Jesse shakes his head. "Nah, I don't think so. The folks and I don't get along too well..."

Billy Ray looks wounded. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm in the same boat as Aaron," Saul says softly, and Jesse thinks he hears a tinge of regret in his voice. "We, uh, we haven't really talked about what we're gonna do for the holidays."

"Y'all should celebrate together," Buck suggests. "You gotta at least be thankful for each other, right?"

Saul and Jesse share a look. Saul's mouth is curved into a small smile that Jesse wants to kiss away, but he's still a little shy about kissing his boyfriend in front of "country folk." So he just says, "Yeah, that'd be dope." Jesse turns his head to Saul. "You wanna do that? Just you and me?"

"And Bark Lee," Buck adds, "on account of his carsickness. Poor feller wouldn't last the drive to Lincoln."

Buck and Billy Ray seem like the type to have huge family get-togethers, so of course they're going to visit family for the holidays. Jesse's glad he won't be alone, but he feels kind of douchey taking any sort of comfort in Saul's lack of family ties. Saul is wonderful and fantastic and deserves all the happiness in the world; it seems unfair that all he has is Jesse.

"Yeah, we can watch him," Jesse volunteers. "It'll be great, won't it, lil' buddy?" He scratches the dog's ears some more until Bark Lee blinks awake with a great big yawn. He rubs a paw over his snout and rises to his feet, hopping off of the couch. His tail wags a mile a minute as he looks expectantly at Jesse.

"You wanna go for a walk?" Bark Lee bounces around like a circus freak on speed. Jesse's going to take that as a yes. "Can I take him out?" Jesse asks Buck, rising from the sagging middle of the couch.

Buck smiles, ever the proud parent. "'Course. He'll show you around if you ain't familiar."

Bark Lee shows Jesse to the table near the door where his leash is, as if Jesse doesn't know by now. He clips the leash to the dog's collar, and Bark Lee's tail picks up velocity.

"Don't take too long, kid," Saul says, fixing him with an open, honest look of adoration that makes Jesse's heart soar and sing. "He's not the only one who's crazy about you."

Jesse rolls his eyes with affection and leans over the arm of the couch to plant a quick kiss on Saul's mouth. "God, you're so needy," he teases as he walks out the front door.

The park isn't too far from their neighborhood, but Bark Lee leads the way in case Jesse's forgotten how to get there. The enclave of trees boasts autumn-hued leaves, and the grass in some spots is weathered over by faded orange, the last hurrahs of fall before winter's arrival. Orange streaks of sunset split through the trees. Jesse loves the atmosphere and solitude here; Bark Lee probably appreciates the lack of other dogs. Most of the inhabitants are joggers or a handful of children decorating the playground; today is no different.

Jesse spends most of his time on his walks letting his mind wander. He thinks about how Saul went from being a sleazy, kind of obnoxious bus-bench lawyer to someone he'd give his life to protect. Jesse's never put much value on his own life, but the sentiment ought to count for something. He thinks about what it might mean that they're spending the holidays together, or if it means anything at all since they have no other choice. Would Saul want to spend Thanksgiving or Christmas with Jesse if going home to visit his family was an option?

Bark Lee focuses his attention on a squirrel hopping across the pathway. He doesn't bark or give chase, just watches like he's equally fascinated by his surroundings as Jesse is.

They walk past park benches and crooked rows of trees. Jesse breathes in the fading aroma of autumn, delights in the crunch of leaves under his shoes. Sometimes he has to remind himself that it's all real. Because Jesse still secretly suspects he died back in the compound and all of this wonderful, incredible life is no more than a dream, some imagined afterlife he's created for himself.

Funny how the mind works.

Up ahead near the end of the trail, Jesse spots a pathway that he's never taken before; he decides to follow it this time and find where it leads. Bark Lee glances at Jesse as if to say, "Where are we going?" but he looks pleased that they're not turning around and heading home yet.

The path is rather scenic, leading them between more trees and past a stretch of nice-looking houses. Then after about five minutes it all turns to shit, as if someone had shoved the seediest part of Albuquerque against an upper-class neighborhood. Billboards advertising cell-phone plans and questionable weight-loss methods stand against the sky. The land is flat and practically barren, save for the buildings lining each side of the four-lane road. None of the businesses appear as if they've seen renovation in the last fifteen years. Everything looks, well, butt-ugly and cheap. For a moment Jesse feels like he's back on the street corners of Albuquerque slinging glass, but the lack of dry, oppressive heat keeps him grounded in reality.

He stays on the sad excuse for a sidewalk, reads the occasional graffiti tags on the concrete. There's a gas station in the distance on the corner with a sign reading "Kum & Go." Incredible. Jesse veers to the right down a side street boasting some trees and actual greenery. There's a run-down building to his right that looks like it used to be a car repair shop; the garage windows are beaten and boarded up, and a "for sale" sign sits in the patch of grass barricading it apart from the next plot of land—another empty, for-sale building. On his left is a structure built out of aluminum siding, and a stretch of alleyway with two teenagers loitering in the dead-end.

Jesse's heading down the street when he hears it: "Psst."

The sound makes him freeze mid-step. Even Bark Lee stops walking.

"Yeah, you. With the dog."

Panic squeezes in his gut. He didn't get a good look at their faces because he didn't recognize them. But what if they recognize him? He tries to imagine how these two strangers might know him from his previous life. Nothing rings a bell, but that doesn't mean he's in the clear.

Jesse turns around and faces the two men in the alleyway. They don't look like troublemakers, but Jesse's lived long enough to know about unassuming duos. The shorter of the two—Jesse can see a formidable goatee on the guy's chin—beckons him over with a wave of his hand.

Jesse's first thought, of course, is that they're going to rob him. But these guys would be idiots to try to rob someone with a dog, let alone a dog the size of Bark Lee. He's no Great Dane or Doberman, but he's no toy breed either. Getting a limb or extremity chomped between his jaws would not be a pleasant experience.

Plus, any thief worth his salt would have the good sense to be subtle about it. So Jesse doesn't see much harm in walking into the mouth of the alleyway. Once he does, he gets a better look at the two strangers, and they're too old to be teenagers. College students, maybe? One is a semi-balding white guy with wire-framed glasses and a goatee; the other is a black guy in a bandana with a couple inches on Beardy. He's got thicker, square-framed glasses and a Batman t-shirt.

"What'd'you want?" Jesse asks.

"I think the question is, what do you want?" Beardy says. He sounds like a used-car salesman. He reaches into his pants' pocket, withdraws his hand just enough to flash a small baggie of—oh, fuck no. Blue Sky.

Jesse's throat closes up.

"You look like you know what I'm talkin' about."

Glasses makes an exasperated sound at Beardy. "Dude, profiling."

Beardy rolls his eyes.

Jesse moves closer, as if compelled by some unseen force. "Yo, where'd you get that?"

"Don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from," Beardy says. "Of course, it all depends how much you've got."

"Did you cook it?" Holy shit, did he manage to find the guys cooking Blue Sky? What happens now? Should he do some sort of citizen's arrest? Can he even do that? "Where'd you get your recipe?"

Beardy pushes his glasses up. "I'm afraid that's classified information."

Jesse tries another avenue. "Then who's your supplier, huh?"

"I think he's a cop," Glasses whispers. "That dog could be a drug-sniffing dog!"

Bark Lee just tilts his head curiously.

Jesse doesn't appreciate being ignored here. Fear is a pretty good motivator, so Jesse moves closer and snarls, "Yo, you deaf? Tell me where you're gettin' your glass!"

"Not a cop," Beardy says to Glasses, his eyes wide like there might be some worse fate in store for him than being arrested. "So not a cop!"

"Okay, dude, I'm just gonna reach into my pockets and give you the product, and we won't have any problems, alright?" Glasses slowly puts his hands into his jacket pockets, withdraws a red bandana tied into a satchel. With a shaky arm, he offers it to Jesse. Jesse just stares at it like it's something left unflushed in a toilet.

"Don't like being handed things? That's cool, Tony Stark, we can play it that way." Glasses drops the satchel onto the ground at Jesse's feet and side-steps away. "Nice doin' business with you."

Beardy glares at his partner, who's currently fleeing the scene. "Really?" He huffs exasperation, mutters, "Jesus fucking Christ," under his breath and runs after Glasses. He tosses a glance over his shoulder to see if Jesse gives chase before disappearing behind the building facing the street.

But Jesse doesn't give a shit about two dumber-than-dirt dealers, because there's a bag of Blue Sky at his feet. Bark Lee sniffs at it for a moment. Jesse reaches down and picks up the bag. He unties the knot at the top. The bandana falls open to reveal five little baggies filled with tiny blue crystals.

His breath catches in his throat. The faint temptation to smoke it scratches at the back of his brain before Jesse clamps down on the urge. There are more pressing matters at hand now, like what the fuck should he do with this? Bring it to the police? And, what, say some drug dealers just gave it to him? Yeah, that's about as plausible as an Elvis sighting.

Maybe he could leave it somewhere innocuous and call in an anonymous tip. Leave it for the cops to find. He doesn't need to be a hero by putting his own ass on the line. It's not a bad idea, really. He could just drop the bag behind the aluminum-sided building that doesn't look like it's been open for business in ages. No one would find the drugs—not for a while, at least—and maybe the dealers would return and take their product back. It's not the best option, since Jesse feels twenty different kinds of wrong about his recipe being back on the streets, but he doesn't need to get entangled in this kind of shit again.

This would be an awesome plan if the cops didn't show up first.

A police car sneaks up from behind, its lights flashing wildly, and blocks him into the alley. Jesse's jaw drops. No fucking way. Did those guys actually narc on him! Impossible. He isn't sure how much time passed while he was wordlessly staring at the bag, but there couldn't have been enough time to place a call and have the cops arrive. He didn't even hear any sirens.

Although if those dudes really did sic the police on Jesse for "stealing" their meth, they're the stupidest fucking drug dealers on the planet. He hopes they step on all of the world's Legos.

Jesse quickly surveys his options, of which he really only has a grand total of one. Running from the police would be idiocy. The only feasible way out would be to play Frogger across four lanes of busy traffic. And then what? This is totally alien territory for him; he doesn't have a homefield advantage here.

Trapped.

A uniformed officer climbs out of the car, one hand on the gun holstered at his hip. Immediately, his gaze settles on Bark Lee, who doesn't seem at all distressed or concerned that his sort-of owner is being arrested.

"That your dog?" the cop asks.

Jesse manages to speak. "Uh, n—no, he's my neighbors'. I'm just walkin' him." Did he really just use the "it's not mine; I'm just holding it for a friend" excuse on a fucking dog? Shit, is he going to be arrested for possession and dognapping? This is the lamest rap sheet ever.

"Neighbors, huh?" The officer moves closer and takes the incriminating evidence out of Jesse's hands. He lets out a low whistle. "That's some pretty mad volume you got here." Jesse rolls his eyes. "How much this cost you?"

Jesse glares at the concrete like he blames it for everything. "They just gave it to me," he mumbles. No one will ever believe him. His life sucks.

The policeman—his shiny nameplate reads "Gilligan"—actually fucking laughs at him. "You must be pretty important then. You got ID?"

Jesse nods, then the cop's sticking his hands into Jesse's jeans' pockets. "Yo, buy me dinner first." Jesse's never met a cop who wasn't homophobic; gay humor gets them every time.

But Gilligan doesn't seem fazed by Jesse's joke. "A comedian, huh?" He flips open Jesse's wallet and looks at his license. Jesse's so fucking glad he got a Nebraska ID a little while after moving here; using his Alaska license would be a death sentence right now. Gilligan lifts his gaze from the ID to Jesse, like the pictures don't match and he's trying to figure out if the wool's being pulled over his eyes. Then he looks at Bark Lee again before sticking the wallet into Jesse's pocket.

"Are you gonna make me handcuff you, or will you just get in the car?"

Jesse gets in the car. Bark Lee hops in the seat next to him, and Jesse's half fucking terrified the cop might shove him out and leave the pup for Animal Control. But the three of them ride to the police station together. This is the least aggressive arrest Jesse's ever been involved in.

But his heart feels like a bird banging against his rib cage. He can't be arrested. Not now, not after everything in his life has fit into its own perfect place. Because Jesse's been arrested before, and he knows they're going to fingerprint him and run those prints against the national database. And when they do...

Fear wraps around his chest in tight steel bands. Bark Lee, as if sensing Jesse's impending panic, whines and nudges his snout against Jesse's face.

As they're rolling into the driveway of the police station, Jesse asks in a shaky voice, "Yo, can I call my lawyer?"

"How the hell you gonna put Zeppelin higher than Skynyrd?" Billy Ray argues, like the mere idea is sacreligious.

Saul makes a face. "I'm offended you're even asking me that question. And you put Rush on the top of your list. I mean, I don't even think we can be friends anymore."

Buck shakes his head. "I warned you."

"Zeppelin don't have any party songs," Billy Ray says, ignoring Buck's smug reminder. "But you put on 'Sweet Home Alabama' or 'Poison Whiskey' or 'Down South Jukin'' and see if that don't get things jumpin'."

"'Led Zeppelin has no party songs,' says the person who's never listened to an actual Led Zeppelin album. And, hey, Rush only has, what, five songs that even matter? The rest are just album filler."

Billy Ray straightens up and glares at Saul. "Them's fightin' words."

They're moments away from a tense stare-off when Saul's phone rings. "Saved by the bell...er, ringtone." Saul pushes away from the table and digs his phone out of his pocket. The number on the caller ID isn't familiar, but that doesn't raise red flags on its own. Jesse's cell could have died, and maybe he's using a pay phone. He's been gone for a while anyway; he probably got lost on his walk and needs directions. So Saul doesn't think anything's amiss when he answers it. "Hello?"

Jesse's voice is a panicked whisper on the other end. "Saul, you gotta help me."

Saul immediately assumes the worst. Adrenaline gushes through his veins as his mind floods with all the awful, horrifying reasons Jesse might need his help. "What's wrong, kid? You hurt?" Billy Ray and Buck rise from their seats, but Saul motions for them to stay put.

"No, I just—" Jesse grunts like he can't find the proper words. "I need your help. They're never gonna believe me, it was a total coincidence, I swear to God—"

"Hey, hey, c'mon, just tell me where you are and I'll come get you."

There's a pause on Jesse's end, then he murmurs, "I'm in jail."

Horror seizes in his chest. "What? Why?" Saul knows it's shitty, but his first thought is that Jesse's done something terrible.

"It's a huge misunderstanding! They caught me—allegedly—with crystal, but—"

The words knock the air out of him. "Whoa, whoa, kid, you're not—" Saul moves into another room to give himself some privacy; Buck and Billy Ray don't need to overhear this. "You're not getting back into that stuff, are you?"

Jesse sighs like they've had this conversation over and over and Saul's gotten it wrong every time. "No, I told you, it was—"

"Yeah, a misunderstanding. How many times have I heard that one before?"

Jesse whimpers a sound of pure heartbreak, and Saul immediately regrets his words.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't—" He stops himself from going down that road.

"Baby, please, you have to help me. They took my prints! They're gonna find out, and I can't—" Jesse's voice breaks, and he sniffles. "You have to help me."

His fingerprints... Oh Christ. Saul shuts his eyes in pain as nausea rocks his stomach. "Tell me what you need from me and it's yours."

"I need you to be my lawyer. And maybe some bail money, I don't know."

"I haven't been in the game in over half a year. I'm rusty."

"I don't care. I trust you, remember?"

Saul smiles despite himself. "I do. Just hang in there and exercise your right to remain silent, alright? Don't talk to anybody—not the cops, not the Feds, not even your new buddy in lock-up. I'm on my way."

Hot tears push at his eyes after he hangs up, but he swallows them back. Jesse's had that poison out of his system for a while now—since he came to Omaha, at the very least. He couldn't have relapsed, not with all the hope they have for a future together.

But Saul knows there's nothing more predictable than a junkie. God, how could he have been so stupid? How could he let himself trust someone who'd been high during most of their interactions? Jesse Pinkman batted his big, blue puppy-dog eyes, and Saul fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Saul Goodman: dupe du jour.

Buck and Billy Ray are standing in a concerned huddle when Saul comes back into the dining room. "Everything alright? Is Aaron hurt?"

Saul shakes his head, wipes a hand over his mouth. "He's in jail."

Billy Ray laughs. "For what? Dognappin'?"

Saul thinks about being honest but decides against it. He moves for the door. "I have to go."

"Now hold your horses," Buck warns him. "Aaron might be your boyfriend, but he's our friend, and we got a certain way of, uh, persuadin' people, if you catch my drift."

Saul forgets these guys are lottery winners, because their house sure as fuck doesn't look like they have cash to burn. "Are you offering to bribe the police?"

Buck shrugs. "All I'm sayin' is people do strange things when money's involved."

Saul chuckles humorlessly.

Billy Ray says, "Let's take the truck," before Saul can protest.