A chiming sound rings out from Jesse's jacket pocket. He jumps and fishes his phone out.

There's a text message from Buck on the screen: can u handle things on ur own? emergency at home g2g

Horror punches a hole straight through Jesse's chest. Was Saul caught staging the break-in? Or did something worse happen?

No, Saul couldn't have been caught. Bark Lee would see nothing amiss in Saul's presence there, so he wouldn't bark and alert the neighbors. Even if someone caught a glimpse of Saul entering or leaving the place, they've probably seen him over there enough times that it wouldn't raise suspicion. And Saul's not dumb enough to stage a burglary and then call it in. He would want to distance himself from it, let Buck and Billy Ray discover it themselves.

Brad notices the change in Jesse's demeanor. He lifts an eyebrow, looks at how Jesse's clutching his phone like it might sprout wings and fly away. "Something important?"

Jesse takes a deep breath to clear his head. Whatever it is, Buck and Billy Ray are handling it. What sort of aid could Jesse bring to the table, really? Just because he wants to be there doesn't mean he'd be useful. He'd just get in the way.

So why mention the details at all? Why not just say, "hey, something came up" and leave it at that? They're cops; it's not crazy to think they might have something more important to do. The "emergency at home" part feels like a lure they're throwing to see if Jesse bites.

Jesse looks around the lounge. "Can I—can I smoke in here?"

"No, the ashtrays on the tables are just for show," Brad says, like he's answering the stupidest question ever uttered by a human being.

Jesse shoves his phone back into his pocket and withdraws a pack of cigarettes. He fumbles with the lighter but manages to get the thing lit. The nicotine helps calm him, but not by much. His leg starts jackhammering beneath the table. Acting like a lunatic won't help Jesse's chances getting in with Brad's crew. He already looks like he's been on a week-long bender. Calm down. Focus.

"Alright," Jesse says, breathing out a plume of smoke, "so you don't cook. What's your set-up like? You use an RV, a factory, what?"

"Did you pass by the university on your way here?"

Jesse nods, takes another drag off of his cigarette.

"There's an old science building they've got under renovations, but nobody ever goes in there. We, uh, repurpose the lab, if you will."

"You just sneak on campus and cook? How do you get your shit past the guards?"

Brad snorts. "Guards? It's not Fort Knox, dude. Their idea of security is a fat guy on a golf cart. All it takes is a little green to make him look the other way."

"And how long 'til he starts squeezin' you for more?"

"Doesn't matter. Everybody involved in this operation has a specific monetary goal. Once we hit that, we're out. This isn't a long-term solution."

Seven hundred and thirty-seven thousand. That's what I need.

Jesse chuckles humorlessly. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but you and your partner? You guys suck at peddling meth. Seriously, how the hell did you get this far?"

Brad scowls at the table like it's offended him somehow. "We did a lot better when we had the girls selling. They're sweet, unassuming, and, c'mon, if a hot chick flirted with you you'd probably buy what she was sellin'."

Jesse remembers the two girls he'd seen in pictures on Brad's Facebook. "So what happened? They quit?"

"There were"—Brad searches for the word—"complications."

"Like?" Jesse takes another drag.

"We ran into a, uh, rival gang. Call themselves the White Death. They threatened the girls. So me and George decided to take their place. The worst those guys'll do to us is kick our asses, y'know?"

Jesse hears the subtext there. Christ. He taps out the ash growing on the end of his cigarette. "Is that why you guys turned tail and ran when you met me? You thought I was part of this other gang?"

Brad nods, a solemn look crossing his face. "They killed one of our guys, so, yeah, we're a little paranoid."

The puzzle pieces click together in Jesse's head. "Was his name Shawn Wesson?"

Brad straightens up as if hit with a cattle prod. "How do you know that?"

"I work with his brother Duane."

For a moment Brad looks stunned, then his expression shifts into exasperation. "Really? Goddamn it." He must have realized how Jesse found his phone number.

"So Shawn went to the same school you guys do, huh?"

Another nod.

Jesse's leg starts bouncing again. "What's your inventory like?"

"We're sitting on about half a pound of product we can't sell, because these White Death assholes keep stealing our shit."

Just as Jesse suspected.

"When's your next cook?"

"I can set something up tomorrow night."

"Do it," Jesse urges. "We'll meet here, then you can show me the lab. I'll teach you how to cook the best batch you've ever made. You can start charging more." He thinks about dangling the "selling in bulk" carrot, but this is a slow, steady process. If Jesse pushes for too much too soon, Brad will get suspicious and back out of the deal. And then where will that leave Jesse?

Jesse's done all he can here. He stubs out his cigarette and rises from the table.

Brad stops him. "Wait—wait. Your, uh, your little ultimatum."

"Yeah?"

"You wouldn't—you wouldn't really turn us in, right?" He laughs nervously. "Right?"

Jesse stares at him for a long moment. He likes to think he wouldn't, but if push comes to shove—if his and Saul's future hung in the balance—he probably would. And that scares the fuck out of him.

"Just show up," Jesse says before walking away.

Jesse doesn't bother navigating his way back home on his own. He plugs his address into the GPS and drives pretty much on auto-pilot. He switches the radio from classic rock to top 40, but nothing's taking his mind off of Saul right now.

God, if something happened to him... Jesse should have been there. He should have abandoned the meet entirely and helped Saul steal the tape. Forget about this fucking Blue Sky ordeal. Why didn't they run when they had the chance?

Jesse grips the wheel tighter. None of this is helping. He needs a clear head to get his thoughts in order, think about his next step. Stay disciplined in the face of pure panic.

The ten minutes it takes him to reach his neighborhood are the longest of Jesse's life. He's pulling onto his street when he sees flashing red lights. Dread sinks in his gut like a dead weight.

"Oh no, no, no, no..."

The flashing lights belong to police cars and emergency vehicles congregated around Buck and Billy Ray's house. His driveway's blocked off by yellow crime scene tape. Jesse parks on the street and gets out of the car. He sprints toward the house, legs tingling in fear. That's when Jesse notices the body bag on the gurney being loaded into the ambulance, and he barely manages to stifle a scream.

Nononononono!

Anguish squeezes his insides and slows him to a stop. He can't lose the love of his life again. This has to be a nightmare. Jesse hiccups a sob. Wake up, wake up, wake up! Why isn't he waking up?

He forces himself to keep moving. Buck and Billy Ray's place is also cordoned off by yellow tape. Jesse fights his way through the throng of faceless policemen. The front door is open, and Jesse spots Buck talking to a uniformed officer.

"Buck!" Jesse calls, ducking under the tape and rushing toward the house.

A voice behind Jesse says, "Sir, stay behind the tape, please."

Jesse turns around, sees the face of the cop who arrested him months ago. Gilligan, was it?

"'S'all right," Buck says from inside, stepping onto the front porch. "Let him through."

Jesse can hardly see through his wet, blurry eyes. He stumbles forward and collapses into Buck's chest, sobs spilling out of his lungs. "How could you—why didn't you tell me?" he whimpers, clutching fistfuls of Buck's shirt. The man's beard scratches Jesse's face, but he barely feels anything but the void of despair swallowing him whole.

Buck lays his hands on Jesse's shoulders. "Tell you what? We got it under control."

Jesse gapes at him in disbelief. "What happened? Where's Saul?"

"Hospital."

The word rips the breath from Jesse's lungs. He feels himself start to fall, the world teetering underneath him. Buck holds him up.

"He's all right. Billy's with him. He'd let me know the minute somethin' went south."

So that wasn't Saul in the body bag. Thank Christ. Jesse breathes a shaky sigh of fleeting relief. "I—I have to go," he sputters out.

"Slow down, kid." Buck holds his hand out like he's waiting for something. Jesse stares at it for a moment before giving him a hesitant low-five. A weird thing to ask for in the middle of all this, but whatever.

Buck's brow furrows like he's wondering if Jesse was dropped at birth. "The wire." He wiggles his fingers.

"Oh." Jesse reaches underneath his shirt and rips the mic free, crumpling up the wires and shoving them into Buck's open palm. "Here."

Jesse finds his footing and stumbles to his car in a numb haze. He can barely manage to type "where are you? is Saul ok?" to Billy Ray before his eyes blur over with tears.

Your fault, Jesse. Your fault.

Jesse gets into his car, fear gnawing into his marrow. Saul needs him right now. This is not the time to go to pieces. Jesse sits there for several minutes and wills himself to calm down enough to switch on the ignition.

His cell phone dings with a text message. The sound startles him out of his haze. He reaches into his pocket, sees that Billy Ray's written back with the hospital address. Jesse doesn't think twice before putting the car into drive.

Jesse's face-to-face with Billy Ray when the elevator doors open up to the second floor of the hospital. "Where is he?" Jesse gasps, rushing out and clutching onto Billy Ray's worn flannel shirt. "What happened? I have to see—"

"Whoa, hold your horses, kid. This ain't the I.C.U. Saul's fine. Well, he will be. He's a lil' banged up, but—"

"How bad?"

"He took a bullet in the side."

Jesse's mouth drops open. An icy nerve-jangle punctures a hole straight through his heart. "What? What do you mean, 'he's fine'? He got shot?"

"They already stitched him up. He'll just be sore for a lil' while." Billy Ray leads Jesse to a set of nearby chairs.

Jesse drops into the seat. His bones feel heavy. "What happened?"

"There was a break-in at our place. Saul says he went over there to check it out, got in over his head. He and Bark Lee incapacitated the guy, but the fella bled out before the paramedics got there."

Jesse gulps. Bled out. Saul killed someone. Something presses against Jesse's ribs and makes it hard to breathe. "Who was it?"

"The wallet he had on 'im belonged to an Austin Merritt. Local gangbanger."

"But it wasn't him?"

"Hard to tell," Billy Ray says around a grimace. "Prints'll give us a solid ID."

Jesse feels his heart crawl into his windpipe. What the fuck happened in that house? His leg starts jackhammering again. He hugs himself like he's cold. "Is Bark Lee okay?"

"He's fine. Might take a good bath or two to get the stains outta his fur, but he's right as rain."

Jesus, literally every question Jesse asks has some awful, horrible answer. He rakes a hand over his scalp. Tears flood his eyes. "Is Saul in trouble?"

Billy Ray shrugs. "He shouldn't be. He told me what happened on the ride here. I got 'im a good attorney just in case, but from what I'm hearin' it sounds pretty cut and dry. Self-defense. Saul made a run for it, guy shot 'im, Saul did what he had to do. He's got permission to be on our property, so trespassin' ain't an issue."

Jesse hears his words as though he's underwater.

"Maybe he'll come under fire for a civil suit, but there shouldn't be any criminal charges. 'Course, that ain't up to me. But his chances are pretty good."

Billy Ray's voice barely cuts through the haze. All Jesse can hear is his inner voice screaming, my fault, my fault. Tears leak from his eyes, but he can't muster up full-body sobs. It feels like somebody's pulled out his internal plug. "Where is he? I need to see him."

Billy Ray gestures with his thumb to the nearest room on their left. "Right in there. He's not critical or nothin', just sleepin' 'til the anesthetic wears off."

Jesse stands on shaky legs and steps inside the room. Saul's fast asleep in the bed. He doesn't look drawn or pale or fragile, but Jesse can't help the fear that bubbles up in his throat, because this is the last place he'd ever want to see Saul.

No, second to last.

There are probably more depressing places to be alone than a hospital room, but Jesse can't think of any. He doesn't want Saul to be alone when he wakes up. So he sits in a chair at Saul's bedside and waits.

It takes some time, but eventually grief breaks through Jesse's wall of denial. He hugs his knees to his chest and sobs quietly, lets the tears flow freely. "I'm so sorry," he whimpers. "I shouldn't have—I should've gone with you... I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Jesse doesn't know how long he cries, just that he stops when a familiar gravelly voice murmurs, "Ah, jeez, kid, what're you doin' here?"

Jesse's head snaps up as if on a string. Saul gives him a pained, "what can you do" smile. Just like that, all the fear and panic drops out of Jesse like it's been cut out of him. Love takes its place, blooming warm in his chest. "Where else would I be?"

Saul rolls his eyes, but there's no heat to it.

"How do you feel?" Jesse asks, dragging the chair closer to the bed.

"Like I've been shot, which is pretty much what happened."

Jesse gulps down a sob that threatens to surface. "In your side, right?"

"'Tis a flesh wound. Lucky me." Saul's mouth pulls into a tired smirk. "You talk to Billy Ray?"

Jesse nods, wringing his hands. "He told me what happened." He squeezes his eyes shut, tears gushing down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry... I shouldn't have—"

"Don't. This isn't on you."

"Everyone I care about gets hurt 'cause of me..." Jesse whimpers. "I'm poison."

"Kid, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," Saul says.

There's no way... Not after the hell Saul's been through because of Jesse. Jesus, the first time they met Jesse kidnapped the guy, drove him out to the desert and stuck a gun in his face. Before their reunion in Omaha, their last interaction involved Jesse punching Saul and, again, pointing a gun at him. Seems to be a pattern here.

"Wow, your life must suck," Jesse says.

Saul chuckles. "Not anymore."

"I got you shot," Jesse reminds him, because that's a pretty important point.

"You also give me the best orgasms I've ever had." Saul sort of shrugs. "You gotta take the good with the bad."

Jesse finds himself laughing despite the weight in his chest. He brushes his fingers over Saul's hand, as if his touch might shatter him completely. Jesse wipes his tears with his free hand and pulls himself together. "I'm glad you're alive," he says in a small voice.

"Me too." Saul curls his fingers around Jesse's own and looks at him for a long moment. Jesse wonders what he sees there.

That's when Saul says three words that make the ground buckle and crack under Jesse's feet: "Marry me, Jesse."

Jesse gapes at him. "What?"

"You heard me. When all this is over, whatever happens, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. More than anything."

Something in Jesse's chest rises and takes flight.

Saul gives him that self-deprecating half-smile. "I know things are a little crazy right now, so if you wanna hold off on—"

"I'll do it. I'll marry you," Jesse says, a grin spreading across his face. "I'll marry the fuck outta you."

Since Saul's "lucky"—the bullet missed his internal organs and he sustained no head injuries—he doesn't need to stay overnight for observation. Jesse brings him a change of clothes and drives him home. Billy Ray follows, making sure they get home safely. The commotion on their street is gone, which Saul appreciates. But he's not sure he feels totally safe in the solitude either.

Jesse hops in the shower while Saul gets comfortable in the bed. He can't do much but lie on his stomach, which, okay, his spine will hate him for a while, but at least he won't put pressure on his sore side. Sometimes sacrifices must be made.

Jesse's skin is still damp when he's finished. They share a brief, quiet moment of eye contact before Jesse gets that "serious discussion" look on his face and reaches out for Saul as he moves toward the bed. "C'mere."

Saul can't resist an excuse to cuddle, and he gives zero fucks how unmanly that sounds. He lets Jesse take him into his arms, and Saul falls into the embrace. God, does he need comfort right now. He wants to melt into this hug and stay in Jesse's arms forever.

Jesse links his arms around Saul's waist and rests his head on his shoulder. Saul runs his fingers over Jesse's tattooed arm. "You wanna talk about it?"

"What, the wedding? You don't strike me as the type to want a fifty-thousand dollar cake or a giant swan statue made out of ice, so maybe a small ceremony would be fine, right?"

Jesse sighs at his ear. "That's not what I meant. But if we have an ice statue it's gonna be somethin' cool, like Godzilla or Darth Vader." He twines his fingers with Saul's. "But, yo, you can't just bottle this stuff up. It'll drive you crazy."

If Saul can't talk to Jesse about this, who else can he turn to? "He said he knew they were cops. I guess he was there to see if they had anything on him." It's all a panicky, terrifying blur. Saul struggles to recall every detail. "He said something about finding out Buck and Billy Ray were looking into the Heisenberg case."

"How would he know that?"

Saul shrugs. His brain and body are tired, and he just wants to forget about today entirely. "I don't know."

Jesse does the thinking for him. He snuggles Saul closer, kissing the slope of his shoulder. "Maybe he's got somebody on the inside."

That stops him. "Like a cop?"

"Well, yeah. I used to watch a lot of mafia movies, and they usually had a cop or judge on the take. Somebody paid to look the other way."

Saul's about to prod at the "used to" part of that sentence before his rational brain kicks on. Being knee deep in the world of organized crime probably soured Jesse's enjoyment of the mob genre; really, how can someone enjoy The Godfather when, for a time, they were Michael Corleone? Fiction should be escapism, not a funhouse-mirror version of the worst time of your life.

"You think Buck and Billy Ray considered that?" Saul asks.

He feels Jesse shrug. "I dunno. Maybe they're suspicious." He trails off as if he's at a loss for words.

Saul attempts to change the subject. "How was your meet? Were you safe?"

"Yeah, totally. Dude's just some college kid workin' the distribution end. I'm s'posed to meet the rest of the crew tomorrow night for a cook."

Saul chews his lip. "I've been thinking... This guy wouldn't have cared about the Heisenberg case unless he's connected into the manufacture of blue meth going on right now." He lifts his head to look at Jesse. "Have you considered the possibility that you're not as safe as you think with these people?"

Jesse sighs. "I thought we talked about this already."

"That was before I had to play Whack-a-Mole with a guy's skull, so excuse me if I'm being a little paranoid. Look, they've been fighting a war on drugs since, what, the '70s? Drug dealers are like the heads of a hydra. After this case, there'll be another one, and another one, and another one. Hell, with a simple Google search anybody could find the recipe and cook it themselves. It's never gonna end, Jesse. And I'll be damned if I lose you 'cause you wanna play the hero."

Jesse doesn't argue or pull away like Saul thinks he might. Instead, he just snuggles up closer and tips his head against Saul's own. "There's two different groups makin' Blue Sky. These guys are good people."

"And the one I had the misfortune of meeting was part of the, uh, not-so-good group?"

Jesse nods. "I'm workin' my way into Brad's group. When they start to trust me I'll suggest a settin' up a buy with these other guys. Buck and Billy Ray'll bust 'em, and that's it."

Saul closes his eyes. He wants nothing more than to just forget about all this, leave it behind and start anew. But he knows the past will follow them like a shadow. Some days it might seem far behind, but it will never truly leave.

This is Jesse's world. He lived in it for years, even thrived for a while. If Jesse could survive Walter White, he can navigate the jungle of amateur drug dealers. And if not, well, they'll flip a coin over a map and see where it lands.

Jesse glides his thumb over Saul's knuckles. "Y'know, usually when you ask somebody to marry you, there's a ring involved," he says, a curl of flirtation in his voice.

"Most people don't propose right after a near-death situation."

Jesse chuckles. "Yeah, well, we're not 'most people.'"

Understatement of the year. "I do have something for you," Saul says, disentangling from Jesse's embrace.

"Oh yeah?"

Saul kneels next to the bedside table, pulls open a drawer and digs through the cluttered contents. It's underneath old papers and files that he finds it, the small black box he'd hidden here weeks ago. If Saul had died and Jesse found this...

Saul sits on the bed again, and Jesse crawls closer to examine the box.

"You didn't spend a lot of money, did you?" Jesse asks, his brow creased like he hopes the answer is no.

Saul places the box in Jesse's palm. "You're worth every penny."

That doesn't ease the distress on Jesse's face, but he lifts the lid and peers inside at the ring. He's speechless for a few moments, his lips slightly parted in wonder. When he finds his voice, he says, "How long have you had this?"

"I wanted to ask you on Christmas," Saul admits, "but it felt like a bit too much. And... Alright, I was kinda scared you'd say no."

Jesse tears his gaze from the ring to look at Saul with disbelief. "What? No way! Why the hell would I say no?"

Saul shrugs like he doesn't know how to answer that. "I'm lame jokes in a cheap suit," he says around a half-hearted laugh. "Why would you say yes?"

Jesse looks mortally wounded. "Yo, stop, you are so much more than that. You're compassion and strength and awesome jokes and a heart filled with, like, so much love it scares the shit outta you. And, yeah, it is scary to have somebody who would totally do, like, anything for you. Somebody who sees through all the bullshit you try to put up." Jesse swallows, his throat gone tight. "But don't you ever think for one second you don't deserve to be loved. I love you 'cause you're amazing, 'cause you taught me how to smile and laugh and live again, and screw however many times you've been married before 'cause this is the one that's gonna stick, yo."

That's sappy as fuck, but Saul doesn't care, not after tonight. "Man, I should get shot more often if it gets you to say stuff like that."

Jesse laughs, his smile wide and exuberant, as if his face might crack from joy. He reaches into the box and plucks the ring out between his long, thin fingers. The silver band glides with ease onto the third finger of his left hand.

"Fourth time's the charm, right?" Saul says before capturing Jesse's mouth underneath his own.

Saul bolts awake with his heart pounding like it might break free. Sweat covers his forehead. Panic seizes his chest, and he's breathing quick and hot into the darkness. He sits up in bed. His side screams in pain. He pushes a hand through his damp hair. He can still hear the squelch and crunch of the man's skull, taste the copper in the air. Death is burned into his mind's eye.

Jesse's sound asleep beside him. Saul slips out of bed. He finds his way to the bathroom and splashes water on his face, hoping to smother the memory of the dream that left him shaking. He dry-heaves over the sink for a moment, stomach roiling with empty nausea.

When Saul steps into the bedroom, Jesse's no longer asleep, instead sitting upright on the bed. Even in the darkness, Saul can see the concern and love etched on his face. Jesse reaches out for him, and Saul is more than happy to fall into his arms. "It's okay," Jesse murmurs. "I get 'em too."

It takes Saul a moment to remember that, oh yeah, Jesse killed someone too.

Should I not worry that my drug-addicted partner doesn't seem to care whether he lives or dies? You should see his house. It's like skid row. He has actual hobos living there.

Saul shudders away from the memory and holds Jesse tighter. He doesn't need to ask how Jesse survived; he knows.

"Guess we got somethin' else in common, huh?" Saul says dryly.

Jesse doesn't laugh, just strokes Saul's hair and holds him until the shaking passes. He moves so they're lying down, and soon Saul's weary eyes close. When Saul wakes in terror, Jesse kisses him and tells him everything's okay, and Saul believes him.

In the morning, Saul wakes up to an empty bed. He really hopes the numbers on the clock are wrong. He crawls out of the warmth of the covers and makes his way down the stairs. Whatever painkillers he'd been given in the hospital are wearing off. He can feel the stitches in his side, and it's as if each movement rips his skin apart.

Jesse's in the kitchen cooking breakfast. Saul winds his arms around Jesse's tiny waist, nuzzles the back of his neck. Jesse startles a bit at the sudden touch, but immediately warms to it when he recognizes the familiar embrace.

"Mornin'," Jesse says. "You finally got to sleep okay?"

Saul mumbles what might be a yes into the curve of Jesse's shoulder. "Woke up late."

"Don't worry about it. I called in for you, got you a couple days off."

"You're the best."

Saul can't see Jesse's face, but he knows Jesse's doing that cute little smile-and-blush thing he does when he's complimented. Jesse pokes at the bread in the pan with a spatula.

Saul surveys the kitchen countertops and notices a mixing bowl with a whisk sticking out. Inside is a creamy, white mixture. "What's the white stuff?"

Jesse laughs under his breath. "That's what's gonna make this French toast the bomb. Vanilla cream, yo. Just like my aunt used to make."

"Yeah? What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. Just thought I'd save you the trouble."

They share a comfortably quiet breakfast at the kitchen table, and Saul learns Jesse's French toast is indeed the bomb.

"You don't have to talk if you don't wanna," Jesse says, "but if you do, y'know, I'm here."

Saul nods. "I know." He wants to say there's nothing to talk about, but Jesse's offering an ear, a shoulder to cry on. Suck it up and accept the gesture.

A knock sounds on the front door. Jesse gets up to answer it, checks the peephole first before opening the door. "'Sup?"

Buck and Billy Ray stand on the other side. "Good, you're both home," Buck says. He gives Jesse an expectant look. "Can we?" Jesse lets them in, makes his way back to Saul. "Y'all holdin' up okay?"

Saul makes a grumbly noise. "Define 'okay.'"

Jesse huffs and lays his hands atop Saul's shoulders. "We'll be fine." It sounds like reassurance, a reminder to Saul more than anything else. Saul feels Jesse push a hand through the back of his hair.

Billy Ray smiles as if noticing something. "Finally gettin' hitched?"

Jesse glances down at his left hand. "Oh yeah! He, uh, he asked me last night." There's a smile in his voice, like he can't believe it himself.

"Well, that's great! Congrats, you two," Buck says, and he sounds like he means it. Maybe he does. Saul doesn't know what to believe about these guys anymore.

Billy Ray looks at Saul. "You mind if I borrow your fiancé for a bit?"

"Doesn't bother me," Saul says, delegating the answer to Jesse.

"Nah, it's cool." Jesse leads Billy Ray out the sliding glass doors to the back yard, leaving Saul alone with Buck.

Does Buck know about Saul's part in the burglary? He's probably not here to give condolences or hug it out, so, maybe? Saul swallows, guilt swelling in his chest.

Buck sits across from him at the table. "Got an ID on our John Doe. Thought you'd wanna know who he is"—he catches his mistake—"was."

Saul winces inwardly.

"Fella's name's Austin Merritt. Had a couple drug-related priors and ties to a local gang known as the White Death."

Saul makes a face. "So... White Supremacist group?"

Buck shakes his head. "'White Death' is a nickname for the great white shark. White sharks have no natural predators 'sides killer whales. They're at the top of the food chain."

Christ, how did they get mixed up in this shit again?

"He did some time in Nebraska State for trafficking, so he's no stranger to law enforcement."

Saul mulls all of this over. "Am I in danger? These guys aren't just gonna kick back and uncork a bottle of champagne when they find out I killed one of their own."

"How would they know it was you? Guy died in our house. Logic points at me or Billy bein' the one who did 'im in. We're keepin' a lot of the details under wraps, for your sake."

Saul feels a pang of guilt.

"Plus, there's a lot of infighting in gangs like this. They hear Merritt's dead, they'll figure it was a territory dispute or somethin'. Occupational hazard."

Saul isn't totally sure about that, but there's too many questions buzzing around in his brain right now. "He said he knew you guys were cops, and that you were looking into the Heisenberg case. Have you considered the possibility of a leak in your department? Someone who might look the other way if enough money was involved?"

"All our guys check out," Buck says. "If they could be bought, we would'a seen it."

Saul scratches his chin. "Well, there's no way this guy would've known about your research unless he had some sort of inside access. One of these Great Whites has their, uh, hooks in somebody in your department. Whether they're paying them off or threatening them is up for debate—my two cents, I see these guys as more of the threatening type—but either way, somebody's being bought."

After Buck and Billy Ray leave, Jesse calls into work so he can spend the day with Saul. "Just in case you need me," Jesse said, but Saul thinks it's because Jesse wants an excuse to treat Saul like he's made of glass. Which, okay, Saul's not saying he isn't, but he'd appreciate the benefit of the doubt, at least. On any other day, Saul would crack wise about how Jesse must be practicing for married life, but if Saul's honest he needs the comfort of Jesse's presence right now. A guy gets shot and kills someone, you expect him to have a couple issues.

Saul tells Jesse about Austin Merritt and the White Death. Jesse listens intently, and when Saul's finished he talks about his meeting with Brad and the existence of the Blue Sky gang. Then they switch gears and burn through Saul's Netflix queue, because they need a reminder of normalcy, of the life they're fighting for.

"You sure you don't wanna be wired?" Buck asks as Jesse's getting ready to leave that night.

"Yeah, let's hold off on that for a bit," Jesse says. "We're s'posed to cook, so I'm gonna be meetin' new people. I don't know how paranoid they're gonna be, but it's a pretty safe bet."

"That's putting it lightly," Saul says. "What's the conclusion these guys are gonna draw seein' 'Heisenberg' living his nice, normal life?" He waits for the answer, spreads his hands. "Police informant."

But Jesse's shaking his head. "Dude, look at me. I don't look like an informant. I look like a tweaker who's constantly lookin' over his shoulder, waitin' for the other shoe to drop."

Yeah, Jesse's definitely looked better. You can't fake the kind of exhaustion and terror in the kid's eyes. Saul's little ordeal probably hasn't helped Jesse's health either.

"You did negotiate for your cut of the profits, right?" Saul asks him. "I mean, tell me you didn't go about this like you had some sudden burst of philanthropy?"

Jesse's mouth scrunches into a frown, and he glances away.

"Aww, jeez, kid..." Saul can't be too upset, really, because negotiations are his bread and butter; Jesse's not as well-versed in the art. He ought to teach Jesse sometime; it's a useful skill to have. "Alright, it's not all gloom and doom, but they're not gonna let you out of their sight. They're gonna be suspicious."

Jesse scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, we're—we're not doin' a wire this time, right?" He glances at Buck and Billy Ray, seeking their support.

"No wires," Buck says, sounding disappointed about it. But the recording from the previous meet probably gave them something to use.

"You guys are gonna park across the street and keep an eye on him, right?" Saul asks. "This could all be a ruse to get him into their territory and, um, send him to Belize. I mean, look, he gave them time to set something up." Saul looks at Jesse. "How come you didn't ask to see their set-up last night?"

Jesse rubs a hand over his face and sighs. "Totally your fault, by the way," he says, glaring at Buck. "If you hadn't sent me that text sayin' you had some emergency, I wouldn't'a panicked."

Saul gapes at him. "You were—you were worried about me?"

"Of fucking course I was worried about you," Jesse grumbles. "Jesus."

"Well, nothin's gonna happen to nobody tonight," Buck says. "I'll stay here with Saul. Billy Ray'll keep an eye on Jesse. If he sees anything suspicious, he'll call for backup. We good?"

Jesse nods. "We're good."

Jesse isn't sure what he was expecting when Brad leads the way to the university's parking lot, but he's surprised nevertheless. Maybe he thought the whole "cooking in an abandoned science lab" thing was a joke. Apparently not.

They park behind the under-renovations science building. The spot's hidden enough that it won't draw much suspicion, but Jesse figures that's not much of a problem here.

"Any cameras?" Jesse asks as they walk toward the building.

"The rest of our crew is already inside. They took 'em out when they got here."

"How big is your crew?"

"We're pretty self-contained. We've only got about five people now."

Shawn would have made six, Jesse thinks. They sneak around back, and Brad edges the door open with caution.

The inside of the building is almost pitch-black, save for a few flashlights and cell phones serving as spotlights. The blinds are covered with shades, Jesse surmises, to keep their activities hidden. He can see vague human shapes moving through the darkness as his eyes adjust to the lack of light.

"So, this is the lab," Brad says, like he's a real-estate agent giving a tour. "It's kinda small-scale, but it's the best we can do at the moment."

"You brought him?" a female voice asks with intrigue.

"Guys, say hello to Heisenberg."

Jesse gives a small wave to the adoring fans. He sees four people standing around the expanse of the lab, and he recognizes each of them from Brad's Facebook photo albums. "'Sup?" Jesse says. Mr. Smooth.

A reverent silence sweeps over the room for a moment before the same female voice says, "It's an honor to meet you." She moves closer, extends her hand. "I'm Eden. I'm in charge of supplies." Jesse accepts the handshake. Eden's about an inch taller than him, with wavy pastel pink hair hanging past her shoulders. She's wearing a white lab coat over her colorful clothes.

"You're Heisenberg?" a familiar male voice exclaims. Jesse looks in the direction of the voice and recognizes Glasses—or George, as Brad had referred to him. "Man, why didn't you tell me in the first place?"

Jesse just rolls his eyes.

"You know each other?" Eden asks.

"We've, uh, we've met."

Brad clears his throat. "The two quiet ones are our head cooks, Doug and Savannah. Doug's a lab tech, so he has access to chemicals."

Jesse moves his way into the lab. Savannah whispers to Eden, "He's so pretty I want to cry."

Jesse smiles despite himself.

"Alright, Heisenberg's gonna cook with us tonight and show us how it's done. Whatever he says goes," Brad announces.

"First things first: how do you guys get your hands on your ingredients?" Jesse asks. "You're not stealin' or leavin' tracks, are you?"

Eden takes that one. "I'm a senior lab member. I can sign for chemical purchase process for obtaining chemicals is: a tech—that would be Doug—makes out an internal order. The Head of the Department signs it, then the Finance Officer makes out a formal order to our supplier. The delivery is signed for and held at the front office. Doug picks up the order and signs it out. All hazardous materials are kept under lock and key in a cupboard in a locked store room. Doug is one of few who has a key. Nothing hazardous is kept in the labs—it's all brought in from the prep room across campus in the fully functional science building."

Jesse leans against a lab table. "And nobody wonders why you guys are orderin' shit like phenylacetic acid and methylamine?"

"I have the Chem lab director by the balls," Eden says with a smile. "I found out he had an affair with a female student, and I'm absolutely using that to my advantage."

"So... blackmail?" Jesse lifts his eyebrows.

"It gets the job done," Eden says, shrugging.

Jesse rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. "So, Brad said you guys have some sort of goal to reach?"

"You know how much college costs per year? $14,300. And that's just for public institutions," Savannah says. "Now imagine paying that four times over. That's $57,200 you owe before you even get a job utilizing that degree."

"That figure only includes tuition, room and board. Not taking into account the cost of food, medical expenses, car payments or repairs, and just the basic costs of living," Doug adds.

Jesse blinks a couple times. "So you're cookin' meth to pay for college?" It sounds ridiculous said out loud, but, really, is it any more ridiculous than cooking for the sole purpose of getting rich? At least these kids are doing it for a somewhat noble cause.

Kids.

Jesse looks around at these young, hopeful faces and feels his heart break in his chest.

Hearts and minds, right? Get 'em young and they're yours forever.

"Scholarships and grants are nice, but they don't pay for everything," George says. "And they're not a guarantee, y'know? Everybody wants 'em, so there's more competition."

"Most of our parents are too poor to pay for college out of pocket," Savannah says, "but not poor enough that we get need-based aid. I don't wanna leave that kind of financial burden with them. And if my sister gets accepted next year?"

Jesse holds his hands up to ward off the rationalizations. "Look, you don't have to justify it to me. I get it, alright? But let's get one thing straight: after you hit whatever your goal is, you get out. I know a guy who knows another guy who can take your money and put it in viable stocks. An investment, or whatever. I don't care what you do, just... don't do this." His voice shakes around the words. "I'm only alive 'cause I got, like, stupidly lucky. But it sure as hell wasn't for free. So I'll help you cook and meet your quota, but after that? We quit."

No one argues with him.

Despite their age, these kids seem to know their stuff when it comes to making meth. It's not necessarily a cook; it's a synthesis, but they're still first-year chemistry students, so there's room for improvement. They understand the science enough to keep up with Jesse's occasional corrections and alterations to their recipe. But when Jesse steps in for a hands-on demonstration, his hands shake so badly he just can't. No one asks him to demonstrate after that.

It takes a couple hours, but eventually they complete the process. Jesse inspects the finished product like a jeweller examining a gem. "Damn, your crystals ain't bad. How come you use food coloring? This is pure glass, yo."

"Brand recognition?" Doug says. "It's not always guaranteed the impurities formed during a chemical reaction'll yield a blue color. We dye it, basically, to capitalize on the popularity of yours."

Jesse isn't sure how to feel about that. There's a small part of him that's proud he had a hand in creating something phenomenal, but most of him just feels overwhelming shame.

"People want blue meth now instead of clear or white?"

"Well, yeah, sort of. I mean, it's definitely more popular."

The team divvies up the crystals into tiny baggies. "What do you guys know about the White Death?" Jesse asks, switching gears.

George loses a bit of color. "How do you know about them?"

"You think I wouldn't know who my competition is?"

"They're pretty bad hombres, Heisenberg."

"Yeah, so I've heard." Jesse tugs at the sleeves of his Tyvek suit. Too familiar. He blocks out the memories. Not the time to go traipsing through the past. "You ever get mixed up with a guy named Austin Merritt?"

"Mean-looking blond dude? He was one of their heavy-hitters. Knocked us around a couple'a times for our product."

Jesse gulps. "Well, you don't gotta worry about him anymore. Dude's dead."

Five sets of eyes widen like dinner plates. "For real?" George gasps.

"Did you..." Brad makes hand gestures that Jesse thinks are supposed to insinuate something.

Jesse decides not to answer that. "What else you know about him?"

"He did some time in Nebraska State," Brad says. "Him and his crew kept other gangs from cornering the market."

"By bustin' heads?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Sometimes he'd rat out other gangs who encroached on his territory. 'I saw a drug deal goin' down off Pacific and South 74th,' stuff like that. Got some guys arrested that way."

"Was he, like, a snitch?"

"Nah, just a dude tryin' to corner the market."

Whoa, hold the phone. Jesse freezes, coldness seeping into his bones as the realization sinks in. "The first time we met," he says, looking at George and Brad, "the cops showed up, like, right after you guys left." Jesse thought they'd placed they call, but he'd been wrong. "It was him, wasn't it?"

"Could'a been, yeah. Or one of the other White Death guys."

"I think I get it now," Jesse says, mostly to himself than anyone else. He starts pacing the floor. "Merritt sees us, and, I dunno, maybe he's after you guys all along, or he thinks I'm some new gang leader or whatever. Point is, he makes the call. Cops show up, you guys are gone, so I get arrested. Now maybe Merritt watches all this, wantin' to make sure I don't get out on bail or anything. But he sees they let me go"—Jesse amends his story on the fly—"'cause my lawyer rocks, and he gets suspicious. So he follows me. For a while, I've felt like somebody's lurkin' in the bushes keepin' an eye on me. I think he was there, tryin' to figure out who I am."

Fear crosses their faces as they see what he's getting at: if Merritt had been stalking Jesse, were they being stalked as well?

"But he's dead though, right?"

"Yeah, but these dudes are like the heads of a hydra," Jesse says, echoing Saul's words. "There's no tellin' how many others are out there." He stares at each of their frightened faces. "Be careful, alright? I've lost too many people 'cause of this shit." He's starting to sound like a walking D.A.R.E ad. Tone it down. "Just take care of yourselves, okay?"

When Jesse walks through the door to the house, Saul greets him with a warm embrace that's tender and clingy all at once; Jesse doesn't mind.

He tells Buck and Billy Ray about the cooking process and what he learned from the group. They nod and ask questions every now and then. When Jesse gets to the part about Austin Merritt, they pull up in surprise.

"You think he was followin' you?" Buck asks.

Jesse nods. "He had to be. If he was the one who placed the call about me and the guys, he would'a wanted to keep an eye on me. When he saw I got out so fast with no hearin' or nothin', well, wouldn't you think somethin' was up?"

"He said he recognized the dog," Saul chimes in, "which means he had to at least scope the place once or twice to see Bark Lee. Then, I don't know, maybe he backed off when he realized you guys were cops. But once he finds out you two got your noses in the Heisenberg file"—he spreads his hands—"he decides to pay you a visit."

"The question is," Billy Ray says, "how'd he know about that file? Saul raised the idea of a leak in the department, which is a possibility."

"Maybe he hacked into your computers?" Jesse offers.

Buck shakes his head. "This feller was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. No way."

"If he has an inside source with the police, odds are he speaks with that source directly. You think he would've called 911 and risked getting some random dispatch to pick up Jesse?" Saul says.

Jesse wonders about that. "Gilligan. That was the name of the cop who arrested me. And he was there at your house the other night when Saul wasted the dude."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jesse notices Saul wince a bit at the terminology.

"Would he have any reason to be at the scene?" Saul asks. "I called you directly. Wouldn't you have contacted somebody higher up to work the case and do all the paperwork?"

Buck nods. "I did. But it's not uncommon for other officers to show up too."

Jesse scratches his chin. "It's worth lookin' into this dude though, right? I mean, he seems to be a common denominator in all this shit."

"We'll see what we can do. We don't got a lot of hard evidence, so we're limited," Billy Ray says.

Jesse stifles a yawn. He forgets it's almost 2 a.m. until his body reminds him to go the fuck to sleep.

Saul rubs a hand over Jesse's back. "Go to bed, kid. I'll be up soon."

Jesse shakes his head. "I don't wanna forget anything."

"A good night's sleep oughta refresh the ol' brain," Buck says. "You did good."

"Alright, peace," Jesse says, pushing away from the table. "See ya tomorrow... or whenever."

He takes a cold shower to keep himself awake a bit longer, at least until Saul joins him in the bed. Jesse feels Saul press warm and solid against the line of his back. He snuggles into the embrace, lets Saul wrap his arms around him.

Jesse tries not to think about the day's events now that he's home safe, but he's never been very good at compartmentalizing. Today was the first time he's cooked in about four months, and his last cook was under less than ideal circumstances. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind tells him Saul was right, that this is going to leave a scar.

These should not be the thoughts of someone who's just gotten engaged. This is not right, goddamn it.

Saul breathes hot over the back of Jesse's neck. "Jesse?"

"Hmm?"

"I was just thinkin'... It's been a while since we've had an actual date, y'know? I kinda miss takin' you out. Maybe we could do something this weekend? Go somewhere, take a little vacation. Just us. There's this pretty ritzy retreat in Colorado I had my eye on, but—"

"You know I'd love to," Jesse says, rolling onto his other side to look at Saul, "but we can't. We gotta lay low and just stay home and go to work 'til all this is over. C'mon, baby, you know better."

Saul breathes a sigh. "Yeah, I know, I just figured if you thought it was a good idea it wouldn't seem so stupid."

Jesse huffs a laugh. "It's not stupid. We can totally do that when things go back to normal again." He brushes Saul's hair aside and kisses his mouth. Saul's kiss in return involves bringing his hand to the curve of Jesse's cheek and crushing their mouths closer. Jesse's never going to get over that, how Saul kisses like it's survival.

When their mouths are their own again, Saul asks, "You think we'll ever have kids?"

Jesse's eyes snap open. That was so not where he saw this conversation going. "What?"

Saul looks wounded, like he just witnessed someone kicking a puppy. "I mean, is it—is that something you think about at all, maybe in the distant future?"

"I used to think about it all the time," Jesse admits. "A family, a future." He wets his lips.

"'Used to'?"

"Bein' in that hole for six months... Dreamin' didn't do me much good." Dreams only reminded Jesse he had absolutely zero control over his life, that they were merely illusions created out of loneliness.

"But you changed your mind, didn't you? When you came here you wanted me to find Brock, which, as horrible of an idea as that was, I thought it meant you might want kids someday."

"Never said I didn't."

Saul's brow creases. "With me?"

"Pretty sure you're gonna be involved, yeah."

Saul smiles, though Jesse can tell he's trying his best not to.

"I know people'd probably laugh if they knew I just wanna get married and have kids, but they don't get that this life is worth fighting for. 'Cause they've never had to, y'know? I wanna spend my life with you and have a family, but we can't do any of that 'til we're safe."

They could never raise children with the constant threat of arrest or gang violence hanging over their heads. They could never sleep soundly waiting for the other shoe to drop. They have to vanquish it for good.

Saul's got that "charmed as fuck" smile going on. "I love you, kid."

Jesse murmurs, "I know," before cuddling closer and kissing him.