Jesse yawns himself awake around four in the morning. He stretches out and realizes he's alone in the bed. He sits up, rubs his eyes, and looks for Saul. The bathroom door's wide open, showcasing the empty interior. Jesse kicks his way free of the blankets and pads down the stairs.

There's a bit more light downstairs, but not much. Jesse turns around when he reaches the end of the staircase. Saul's sitting at the kitchen table pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a decanter. It doesn't appear to be his first of the evening.

Jesse swallows. "You alright?" Because lone, late-night drinking is clearly evidence of a healthy mind.

Saul turns his head and raises his glass as if beckoning Jesse to join him. "Never been better."

Jesse moves closer, sits in the chair across from Saul. Saul pushes his glass toward Jesse with a finger. Jesse just stares at it for a moment before looking at Saul. "You didn't take any painkillers, did you?"

"I don't wanna die, Jesse. I just wanna get drunk." Saul drags the glass back and takes a sip.

"So, how do you feel? Like, pain-wise."

"You should probably cancel my UFC fight."

Jesse smiles despite himself. That sense of humor will definitely help him through this.

Saul sets his glass down, breathes out a chuckle. "Look at this. Talk about a cliché."

"Sometimes clichés work," Jesse says with a shrug, because he'd rather Saul drown his sorrows in alcohol than anything harder. Seriously, when did Jesse become a walking anti-narcotic ad?

Saul sits back in his chair and fixes Jesse with a long, curious look. "How'd you get it out of your head?"

Jesse thinks about his own torment, the ghosts in his head; Saul doesn't deserve to be haunted like this. "You don't." Jesse takes the glass and swallows the remainder of amber liquid. He pours until the glass is full and slides it over to Saul.

They sit together in an easy silence, passing the glass back and forth without a word. Jesse understands that Saul needs this, and he's willing to help Saul carry whatever burden he's dealing with. Because Saul carried Jesse when he showed up here out of his head with grief.

Jesse glances out the window, notices a soft glow radiating from Buck and Billy Ray's house. "You think they're still up?"

Saul doesn't divert his gaze from the drink. "I don't know how they can live there."

Jesse tries not to think about how he might feel in Saul's place, if 6353 Juan Tabo Boulevard was next door, a tangible thing he had to see every day when he woke up and every night before bed. An ever-present phantom in the back yard.

But Jesse's own home wasn't devoid of ghosts either...

"They don't have a choice."

"Man, property values on this street are gonna go way down, huh?" Saul chuckles to himself and takes another long swallow.

Jesse wants to say something, remind him he doesn't have to be blasé or funny all the time, that he can break down if he needs to, but it won't do any good. Jesse gets up and moves toward the sliding glass doors. Faint music drifts in from the next yard when Jesse pushes the door aside.

"Guess they're up." He looks at Saul. "You mind if I drop in for a second?"

Saul smiles, warm around the edges. "I'll be fine, kid. Always have been."

Jesse ignores the obvious lie and moves for the front door. It's chilly outside, but Jesse doesn't think he'll be outside for very long. He hurries across the sidewalk and smiles at Bark Lee, who's curled up in the doghouse with his head sticking out. Jesse decides to use the front door this time.

Billy Ray lets him inside. "I thought you were goin' to bed?"

"Saul can't sleep," Jesse says simply.

Buck and Billy Ray give him that solemn, respectful silence for a moment. "How's he holdin' up?" Billy Ray asks.

"Could be worse," Jesse says. "Could be better." He side-eyes the blotchy hardwood near the back door that's a shade or two darker than the rest. Jesse's not sure if he wants to sit down and face it or turn his back to it.

"Self-medicating?"

"Of course." Jesse opts to sit on the couch. That's when he sees the faded stain on the wall and feels his heart in his throat. "Jack Daniel's."

"Could be worse," Buck says with a shrug.

"Could be better."

"He'll move past it," Buck reassures Jesse.

Jesse nods. "I've been thinkin'... After last night, one more cook should yield about a pound of product. I could raise the idea of sellin' it to these White Death guys, since they're the ones stealin' it anyway. One pound for thirty-five large. We set up a meet, they make the deal: boom. Two birds with one stone."

"You think they'll go for that?"

"These guys don't know jack about the business end. Plus, they need the money. Thirty-five split six ways is almost six grand each. I doubt they've made that much at once before. Greed always takes you down in the end."

Buck scratches his chin—or what was once his chin but is now only beard. "When's the next cook?"

"I dunno. I gotta set somethin' up with them."

"Glad you got a plan. We're gonna look into Merritt's phone records. If he had contact with Gilligan, we'll find it. Maybe we can find some of Merritt's other associates."

Jesse stares at a mounted bass on the wall. The fish offers no answers. Figures.

"You think Saul might feel better with Bark Lee around?" Billy Ray asks after a moment. "Considerin' they saved each other and all."

And that's how Jesse ends up bringing Bark Lee through the front door of the house about ten minutes later. Saul's vacated the kitchen table, so Jesse and Bark Lee climb the stairs and find Saul in the bedroom. The lights are out, save for the blacklight on the wall, but Jesse doubts Saul's asleep yet.

"I brought you a buddy," Jesse whispers as Bark Lee hops onto the edge of the bed. The pup paces in circles until he finds the perfect spot to lie down.

Saul pushes himself up on his elbows and smiles when he sees the dog. "Hey, Vicious." Bark Lee lays his head on his front paws. The picture of innocence.

Jesse kneels at the foot of the bed and scratches the dog behind the ears. "Who's a good buddy? Yeah, you are." Bark Lee makes a sound of gratitude. "Look at that face. You're such a pretty puppy."

Saul huffs a laugh. "Not sure he's either of those things."

"You call me 'Pretty Boy,' and I haven't been a 'boy' for almost ten years. And the jury's still out on the 'pretty' thing." Jesse's still petting Bark Lee's head, grinning to himself at the way the dog enjoys the affection.

"What jury? This is a bench trial, and I find you pretty as hell."

Bark Lee breathes a little loudly, and Jesse's absolutely calling that a sigh. "The dog fuckin' sighed at that joke."

"But you found it clever and charming?"

"Yeah, let's go with that." Jesse climbs into bed alongside Saul, tucks the blankets tighter around them like a cocoon. "You think you'll sleep a lil' better now?"

Saul snuggles into the warmth of Jesse's chest. Jesse breathes in the scent of shampoo in his hair, the alcohol on his breath. "We'll see."

Jesse arranges a meet with Brad at the tacky '90s bar the next day. He spots Eden and Savannah at a table near the window. Jesse pulls up a chair and joins them. The girls stare at him as if he's just sprouted an extra head.

"What? Am I early?"

"What are you doing here?" Savannah asks.

Jesse's brow furrows. "Brad didn't send you?"

"No?"

Jesse looks around for Brad. "Huh. Well, it's good you're here, 'cause I had some questions about the cook and supplies and—"

"No talking business until Brad gets here," Eden interrupts before taking a sip of a fruity drink in the middle of the table.

Jesse figures that's fair. Odds are he just barged in on some sort of platonic date as an unpleasant reminder of the darkest part of their lives. He can afford them a few more minutes of normalcy.

Savannah glances over at Jesse. "What happened to your face?" she asks in a low voice.

"Oh my God, you can't just ask people that!" Eden hisses in a whisper.

"My scumbag ex-partner sold me out to some psychos who made me cook for them." Blunt and to the point, but Jesse figures bluntness is the way to go here. "You ever seen that movie Midnight Express?" She shakes her head. Jesse silently bemoans today's youth. "Well, it's about this dude who gets busted smuggling drugs overseas and goes to this super-shitty Turkish prison and eventually gets out. I was gonna compare the place they were holdin' me to the prison in the movie, but since you haven't seen it..." He shrugs into silence.

Savannah toys with her thick, black braid of hair. "They tortured you?"

Jesse nods. "I tried to escape once. They killed my girlfriend and made me watch."

Her eyes widen in horror.

"She had a little boy. Eight years old. I didn't try to escape again."

Savannah hears the subtext there. "So how'd you get out?"

"That ex-partner? He came back. Killed 'em all with some sort of machine gun and let me go. I guess he felt bad about what he did, maybe." He'll never understand why Mr. White came back for him, if it was guilt or revenge or something transcending all that. "Doesn't matter. It was a huge stroke of luck. I wouldn't count on something like that if I were you."

Savannah notices the ring on his finger. "You're engaged?"

Jesse nods and can't help the smile that spreads on his face. "Yeah."

"How long have you known each other?"

Jesse counts the time on his fingers. "Just over two years." He's about to say more when he spots Brad walk through the front door of the lounge.

"This a group meeting now?" Brad asks, pulling up a chair and squeezing his way between Jesse and Eden.

"They were already here," Jesse says with a shrug. He leans in, all business. "Alright, so I'm thinking one more cook will get us to a pound's worth of product. You guys ever had that much at once?"

They shake their heads. "We can't sell that much at once," Eden explains. "It makes more sense—at least for our own safety—to sell in small amounts. We don't know anyone who deals in bulk."

Jesse spreads his hands. "What about these, uh, White Death guys? They seem pretty interested."

"Why would they buy from us when they could just kick our asses and take it for free?" Brad asks.

Savannah drags the pink, fruity concoction nearer and takes a long sip.

"Yeah, your asses. They don't know I'm in with you guys now, and I think my reputation precedes me. One of their guys just wound up with his head smashed. Not sayin' I did it, but as long as they believe I did..."

"How much?" Eden asks.

"Thirty-five large?" That's what he charged Tuco on their first deal, and the popularity of Heisenberg's blue meth ought to have raised the street price a bit since then. This'll be a steal. "So how 'bout we cook next week, then I'll—"

"Try next month," Eden says. "We're out of methylamine and PAA. I can't order more so soon without raising suspicion."

Jesse really doesn't want to drag this shit out much longer. Saul's already cracking from his ordeal; another month of uncertainty about Jesse's future would probably burn a hole through his stomach lining. "Alright, you still have the supplies for a pseudo cook?"

Savannah makes a face. "Seriously?"

"We make poison for people who don't care. You really think they're gonna notice the difference? Do these guys even cook their own shit, or are they like the Milli Vanilli of drug dealers?"

Brad laughs. "Nice."

Jesse hides a smile.

"He's got a point," Brad says to the girls. "And thirty-five split six ways is almost six grand each."

"Only, like, twenty-five percent of the batch is gonna be pseudo. Nobody'll notice."

Eden and Savannah share a glance before looking at Jesse. "How're we supposed to make this deal? We can't exactly call these guys and set up a meet," Savannah says.

"You know where their turf is?"

"They've got pretty much everything on the other side of I-80," Brad explains. "Walk around South Omaha for a while and you'll probably run into them. I guess they were trying to expand their turf when they found us."

"Okay, so I just hang around South Omaha 'til I grab their attention. Then I set up a meet."

Another shared glance between the girls and Brad. "One of us should go with you," Brad says. "I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but who's to say you won't set up a meet, leave us in the dark, and then take the money for yourself?"

Jesse frowns. "'Cause that'd be a dick move." But he gets it. He shows up out of the blue and pulls some Dangerous Minds shit about wanting to help them make better meth, yeah, of course they're gonna be suspicious. "But, alright. It'll be nice to have some company."

Brad drags his phone out of his pocket. "I'll ask George. He knows the area pretty well."

"Bitchin'." Jesse looks around the table for any opposition. "We done?"

Brad nods. "We're done." He glances at the girls. "Right?"

"See you at the next cook," Eden says.

Jesse's next cook falls on his first day back at work, which Saul does his best not to complain about, but he's a little nervous about being alone eight hours straight then surrendering Jesse to the ramifications of a cook. Jesse picks up on Saul's anxiety—because he's an awesome boyfriend/fiancé—and reminds him, "You won't be totally alone; you got Bark Lee," which is true. But Bark Lee can't protect Saul from the demons in his own head. Then again, neither can Jesse.

Saul busies himself with household chores to keep his mind from wandering. Every now and then he gets a cute, flirty text from Jesse. And occasionally he gets something dirtier, like, im sexually frustrated and it's all your fault, which makes him smile. Saul attempts to bring some normalcy back to his life by fixing dinner. He snaps a quick photo of the biscuits fresh out of the oven, types, red lobster got nothin' on me, and sends it off to Jesse. Saul gets a reply from Jesse while he's cooking the main course: awwwww yeahhh sweet damn get in me u saucy bastards.

Saul doesn't understand how one person can be so perfect.

He's got dinner ready on the table when Jesse comes through the front door. Jesse shrugs out of his hoodie, tosses it over the arm of the couch. "Yo, heard you got some fuckin' fine-ass biscuits for me." He moves closer, sees the piled-high plates of pasta on the dining table. "Dude, you're the best."

Saul smiles at the compliment. "I guess you're hungry?"

"We were hella busy; I had to eat lunch outta the vending machines." Jesse pulls a chair out from the table, but Saul stops him with gentle hands.

"Are you still sexually frustrated?" Saul asks, lifting an eyebrow.

Jesse laughs and bites his lower lip as he stares at the way Saul's hand curls around his hip. "Why don't you look for yourself?"

Saul gets Jesse against the nearest wall and swallows his cock. Jesse moans, thumps his head back and pushes a hand through Saul's hair to guide him. But Saul's well-versed in making Jesse come, and it never takes very long when he's got Jesse's dick in his mouth. It feels like it's been a while since they've done this for each other; the past few days haven't exactly been conducive for their sex drives. But Saul thinks it's worth trying now, and Jesse's so squirmy and vocal Saul thinks he's doing something right.

Jesse gasps a choked sound and clutches at Saul's t-shirt with his free hand. He pushes his hips forward, groans through his teeth as he lets himself go. Saul swallows him down, sucks him through the aftershocks and licks his curves and ridges clean. Jesse's shaking under Saul's mouth, murmuring soft appreciation in breathy whispers. Saul lingers at the head of his cock for a moment before letting him drop free. He doesn't need to ask if it was good; the way Jesse's chest heaves and his body slumps against the wall says enough.

Halfway through dinner, Jesse hops up from the table to answer a knock at the door. He checks the peephole first—Saul's not going to miss the paranoid suspicion after all this is through—and opens the door. "Yo."

Buck and Billy Ray are on the other side. "Didn't know y'all were in the middle of supper," Buck says. "Should we come back?"

"Nah, it's cool. Haven't heard from you guys in a while," Jesse says, letting them inside. "Any news?"

Bark Lee trots down the staircase at the sound of his master's voice. Buck scratches him behind the ears and sits on the couch. Bark Lee jumps up alongside him. "Well, we looked into Merritt's phone records. Turns out he placed a couple calls to Gilligan's cell over the past few months."

"Fuckin' called it," Jesse boasts. He sits at the table and grabs his plate, turns his chair so he's facing Buck and Billy Ray.

"Thing is, Gilligan's awful tight-lipped. We asked him about it, but he ain't sayin' nothin," Billy Ray says. "But I think he's hidin' somethin', somethin' he's afraid to tell us."

"Odds are he's not just protecting himself," Saul offers. "These people probably threatened to hurt his family if he said anything."

"We just can't prove it," Buck grouses.

"Yet," Jesse says around a mouthful of noodles. "Once we bring these guys down, he might feel safe enough to confess."

"Speakin' of which, how's things on your end?"

"The final cook's scheduled for tonight. Then I'm gonna set up a buy with the White Death crew," Jesse says.

"You know how to contact them?"

"Brad says just hang around in South Omaha for a while. I'm bringing one of his guys who knows the area just in case. I'd suggest bein' wired for this one, but your surveillance vehicle might stick out too much."

Buck scoffs. "The point of surveillance is to blend in, kid."

"Plus," Billy Ray says, "they'll want to investigate why you two are hangin' around their turf. And if they think you killed Merritt, well, obviously you ain't workin' with the law."

"Alright, cool. Whatever you think is best."

Saul breathes a quiet sigh of relief. He doesn't want Jesse meeting these guys without some sort of protection or back-up.

Jesse takes another bite. "I'll text you with details about the meet."

They seem to take the hint. "Good work. We'll let you finish your supper," Buck says, rising to leave.

Jesse locks the door behind the two once they're gone. "It trips me out every time they say that, 'cause I thought only old people called it 'supper.'"

Saul laughs.

"So, what made you wanna make dinner tonight?" Jesse asks, dropping back into the chair and stuffing nearly an entire biscuit into his mouth.

"Just thought I'd climb back on the horse, so to speak. I go back to work tomorrow, so I might as well get back into the routine, y'know?" He's not used to being coddled; he's had to survive on his own for quite a while. At this point in his life, growing accustomed to being doted on seems counterproductive.

Jesse smiles. "That's awesome. I'm glad you're feelin' better." He takes another huge bite of pasta. "So, hey, next time you enter one of those food fairs or whatever, maybe we could make somethin' together? 'Cause, like, everything you cook is dope. Straight-up. And I wanna help."

Saul loves that idea, that they can plan something for the future. Because as much as he forgets sometimes, this tense period of unbalance and fear won't last forever. They'll get married and make a safe, happy home.

"I'd be honored, kid."

Jesse doesn't bother taking a shower or changing clothes after dinner, since he's just going to come home from the cook and rinse off anyway. Hot showers make Jesse sleepy, and he doesn't need to doze off while making meth.

They spend the next few hours on the couch, watching TV with Bark Lee curled in their laps. Saul doesn't know how he'll fare in Jesse's absence tonight. He's a little worried—nighttime is usually when his sense of security abandons him—but he's not going to say anything about it. Jesse can't afford to cancel the cook, not when they're so close to being finished with this mess forever.

Jesse slides off of the couch around 11:30. "I gotta go, babe. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, of course. I got Bark Lee, right?" Saul pats the dog's head.

Jesse smiles, but Saul thinks he sees a hint of pity there. "Yo, y'know you can wait up for me if you want?"

"No, no, c'mon, I'll be fine," Saul says with a flippant handwave. "Don't worry about me."

Jesse takes his word for it and gives him a quick kiss before rushing out the door; Saul wishes it had lasted just a bit longer.

Jesse spends the final cook in a solemn, observant silence. The kids occasionally crack jokes, converse about an upcoming exam or a movie they saw. Jesse wants to say something to them, to warn them about what's coming, but he doesn't. He doesn't know if it would change anything. Probably not. Buck and Billy Ray have already made too many exceptions for Jesse and Saul. Turning a blind eye to these kids in exchange for arresting the White Death members would be a step too far.

Maybe if Saul hadn't been shot, Jesse would try a little harder to keep these kids—he needs to stop thinking of them as kids, because they're not—away from the hammer of justice. But almost losing the love of his life—for what would be the fourth time—opened Jesse's eyes and reminded him of Mr. White's seemingly-cruel words in the lab on the night that changed everything: When you make it Gale versus me, or Gale versus Jesse, Gale loses. Simple as that. I mean, really, what did you expect me to do, just simply roll over and allow you to murder us?That I wouldn't take measures—extreme measures—to defend myself?

Jesse would lay down his life for Saul's. And, if push comes to shove, he would lay down yours too.

Saul's out of whiskey. This simply will not do. He'd drank the last of it the night before but forgot to have Jesse pick up more. Saul's not facing down the nightmares alone. The pain-killers—as nice as they are—aren't potent enough to knock him out until the morning. They only make him tired enough to doze off into a panic-laden nocturnal journey. But alcohol gives him a dreamless sleep, which is exactly what he needs.

He lets Bark Lee outside into the back yard before he leaves, locks the front and back doors. Saul hasn't been to his car since the night it all went wrong. The tape and the gloves feel like they're too exposed, as if there's a neon arrow pointing to the trunk and his guilt.

Saul thinks he ought to find another hiding place. You can't search someone's home without a warrant, but a vehicle search has so much more wiggle room. He looks left, looks right, and sticks the key into the lock. He lifts the trunk lid and peers inside.

The black plastic garbage bag is gone.

Saul stares into the trunk, his mind in a deep freeze. He blinks once, twice, trying to make sense of it. Where did the bag go? Had he moved it? Saul doesn't remember doing that, but who knows? He's been on a mix of pain-killers and booze for the last couple days. Memories get hazy.

Saul closes his eyes, seeking a way out. Maybe he moved the bag into the back seat. He doesn't know why he would do that, but, okay, he'll play along. Saul shuts the trunk lid and unlocks the door to the back seat.

Empty.

Saul feels a sinking feeling in his chest. He checks the passenger side, then the driver's side. Nothing. The car's impeccably clean. No bag. No gloves. No tape.

Saul rushes the best he can inside the house, climbs the stairs and starts in the bedroom. He checks all the obvious places—the closet, under the bed, the night table drawers, the bureau—and comes up empty in his search. He even looks in the upstairs bathroom toilet tank. No dice.

Where the fuck did that bag go?

His heart hammers in his chest. There has to be a logical explanation for this, something he can't see yet. He wouldn't have hidden it downstairs where Buck and Billy Ray would have access to it. In a fleeting moment of hope, he goes across the hall and searches through the guest room. But he leaves empty-handed.

Saul knows he wouldn't hide it someplace he wouldn't remember. Because, truth be told, he never really intended on destroying the tape, just holding onto it until he could properly read Buck and Billy Ray's motives. It would be hidden somewhere he could easily access to return the tape when the time was right. The gloves he might have destroyed, but, Christ, Saul can't remember anything. And Jesse's been with him the whole time; if Saul had some sort of sleepwalking incident, Jesse would definitely have mentioned it.

Another possibility starts gnawing at him.

Okay, let's assume the police saw the blood trail leading to the car and opened the trunk due to reasonable suspicion.

Why didn't anyone—Buck, Billy Ray, or any cop he talked to, for that matter—mention the gloves or the tape? Granted, the blood on the gloves was Saul's own, but it still doesn't add up. Suspicions would have been, to put it mildly, aroused.

Jesse couldn't have taken it. He doesn't know the tape and gloves were in the trunk to begin with. And Jesse couldn't have discovered the contents of the trunk because he didn't drive Saul's car.

So that leads him back to where he started: where the fuck did that bag go?

The only answer Saul can think of is that he's hidden it somewhere he can't remember. Or destroyed it altogether.

Why is this happening to them?

When Jesse gets home, all the lights are out. Saul's in bed, lying on his stomach to keep pressure off of his wound. Jesse assumes he's asleep and quietly grabs a change of clothes before heading into the shower.

Underneath the hot spray of water, Jesse lets a few tears escape. Channeling Heisenberg, puffing himself up like the blowfish, being around the chemicals and machinery and the drug that made his life hell for years... It's exhausting, physically and mentally. He reminds himself that it's over for now, that he only has to psych himself up two more times, but it still takes him about fifteen minutes to stop shaking and normalize his breathing.

Jesse shuts off the water, dries himself off and gets dressed. He opens the door and sees Saul sitting upright in the bed with a hand tangled in his hair and his knees drawn up to his chin. "You alright?" Jesse murmurs, moving closer.

Saul raises his head, looks at him with sleepless eyes. He doesn't say no, but he doesn't have to.

Jesse's at his side immediately, like a doting mother hen. He sits beside Saul on the bed and wraps him in his arms. "It's okay. Sorry I got home late. I'm here now though. We're gonna be fine." He pushes a hand through Saul's hair, feels the dampness on his brow. "It's almost over."

Saul sighs and wilts like a dying flower in Jesse's embrace. He lets out a soft chuckle. "You're too good to me, y'know that?"

Jesse holds him tighter. "No way."

"None of my exes would'a put up with this."

"'S probably why they're your exes," Jesse says with a smirk. He kisses Saul's cheek. "Put up with what, exactly?"

Saul shrugs his shoulders. "I drink too much. I have nightmares. I'm a mess."

"Yeah, how dare you get shot. Prick."

Saul half-smiles. "Y'know all my marriages ended 'cause the wife wanted out? I—I never cheated or asked for a divorce or anything like that. And I think I get why. It's 'cause I'm"—Saul gestures in a way that's supposed to mean something—"like this. I'm weak. I always made the mistake of showing weakness, and I guess they never truly felt safe with me. How could you, y'know, when the person who's supposed to be strong and protect you is just as fragile as you are?"

"I feel safe with you," Jesse says, because he does.

Saul wraps an arm around him.

"And, dude, I'd be a little freaked if you weren't a total mess after killin' somebody," Jesse adds. "Mr. White probably slept just fine."

They let that one hang in the air.

Jesse decides to keep rambling. "Besides, you took care of me when I was a pain in the ass headcase. It's your turn now."

"To be a pain in the ass?" Saul asks around a chuckle.

"Totally." Jesse laughs. "And maybe when this is all over you can be other things in my ass."

Saul cracks a smile. "B minus."

"Are you gradin' my jokes now?"

"What? I say it's encouraging. Positive reinforcement."

Jesse pushes a hand underneath Saul's t-shirt, fingers trailing over the curve of his spine. "Guess I'll start gradin' our sex then, if it's so encouraging."

"Whoa, hey, that's—that's a little unfair, considering I'm, y'know, wounded in action." Saul lays a hand over his side, as if Jesse wouldn't know what he's referring to.

"Y'should'a thought of that before you started gradin' my jokes," Jesse says, wriggling his way underneath the blankets.

Saul crawls in alongside him and lays his head on Jesse's chest. Jesse slides an arm underneath Saul's back, holding him close. "Hopefully you'll grade on a curve," Saul murmurs, already fading.

Jesse watches Saul drift into a sound sleep and feels something settle in his chest. This is the life he's dreamed of. He wants Saul's face to be the first thing he sees every morning. Jesse's not letting anyone or anything stand in the way of that.