Walter did not immediately accept his offer, though he did not decisively rebuff it either. He did continue to come into work, and when Gus invited him for dinner a week later, he did not refuse. When prompted to help with the disbursement of the Max Arciniega scholarships – the best resource Gus had to start building a relationship with more promising young chemists – he took to the tasks with enthusiasm. Gus had planted a seed in him and, he thought, Walter had accepted his path, even if he wouldn't yet admit it to himself.
The invitations turned into a standing weekly meeting, where the two of them would share a meal, and some hours of discussion afterwards. And in the lab, Walter started to train his three assistants to work more independently, to hopefully free up his own time.
"This isn't working," Walter declared. It was another Thursday evening, and Walter was in a foul mood. "These guys... they're useless! They're never going to learn."
"Are you certain?" Gus asked. "Under the circumstances, a small drop in quality would be acceptable –"
"Unless by small you mean twenty percent, I'm quite certain. They're only good for ordering around so I don't run myself ragged, but anything requiring finesse will go wrong if I don't stand over them to watch the process. Hell, I'm not even sure Rob wouldn't blow up the lab if I left him to his own devices! None of them have any true appreciation for the chemistry."
It was a frustrating situation. It was bad to have a single point of failure for his entire business model; especially if that single point of failure was a man with cancer. However, it would likely take years to find another chemist – and even then, the situation with Gale had demonstrated that there were significant risks involved with recruiting someone who had no criminal background of their own. Walter had suggested giving college scholarships to selected "underprivileged youths", but that would take even longer, and the return on investment was equally uncertain.
However, he didn't need a chemist, per se. Yes, he wanted perfection – and to make the product at Walter's quality a solid understanding of the chemistry was a must, since circumstances varied slightly between each cook. But all he needed was the best drug on the market; that should be possible for a non-chemist to learn. Hell, Pinkman had learned. But apparently the men he had given as assistants to Walter could not replicate the quality of one wastrel junkie.
"You know what I'm going to say..." Walter began.
"Out of the question," Gus told him.
"Jesse has been clean for months," Walter pushed him. "I know, I've been keeping in touch with him. And he's stayed out of trouble. But he misses cooking, and I bet he'd join us if I asked him to."
Gus rather doubted that the boy would be happy to work for him, given the nature of their last interaction, but perhaps Walter was right that he could be bribed with enough money. And truthfully, it wasn't such an outlandish notion. Jesse Pinkman, apparently, had some skill that his own people lacked, and he was loyal to Walter, if not to Gus. But there were just too many problems with the boy to make it worth it.
"You might be right," he conceded. "But, you might not be. He is... inflexible. Suppose something happens again, and he backslides. Or he does something equally foolish. If he knows too much, I would have to kill him. And that would upset you." He shook his head. "Do not ask this, Walter. You would not like the outcome."
Walter gave him a long look, then sighed and nodded. He clearly understood the wisdom of the decision.
"Then," Gus asked. "What specific qualities does Pinkman possess, that others may share?"
Walt drove through the streets of Rio Rancho, looking around for inspiration.
There were many tasks involved in expanding the business, but production was his responsibility. And that was hard. Walt finally had some apprentices who were not completely useless, but to make optimal use of them they would eventually need more than one lab, preferably in their main area of operation and not, say, in Mexico. Yet, to set up a place as inconspicuous as Gus' laundry took years, since Gus didn't like to use a place with a large existing cellar; they would actually have to excavate it. Completely in secret. Yeah.
While Walt could think of some ways to make the excavation process easier, he was convinced there had to be an easier way. So he looked around at existing businesses, considering their potential.
He stopped as his eyes were drawn to a large house with canvas all over it. It was being fumigated. Some pest control company?
Bingo.
"You will return that Porsche," Gus ordered angrily. "Do you wish to advertise your profession?"
"You sound like my wife," Walter grumbled.
Gus just gave him a look. Well, at least one of you has sense.
"What's the point of wealth if I cannot use any of it?"
"Power," Gus explained.
"Look, I used to drive a Porsche when I was younger, okay? Before my son was born, and I lost my job at Sandia's... I have wanted to return to that lifestyle for years. And now, with the car wash doing so well, I can. Plus, I might be dead in a year. Frankly, the suspicious thing is that I waited so long."
Gus sighed in resignation, accepting the excuse. They might have many similarities, but they were still very different people, after all. At least Walter was starting to be more honest with himself.
"We should discuss the manner of your compensation."
Walter eyed him warily. "Why?"
"I believe you have 5 million dollars in cash now?"
"3.5, actually. I gave some to Jesse, if you recall. And Skyler is working on laundering it through the car wash."
"Ah yes," Gus nodded. "Still. Laundering it will take years. And cash may be found. There are better ways."
"How do you do it?" Walter asked curiously.
"All my money is reinvested in the business," Gus smiled. "But I have no family." Some of his top men did, though, and it was a problem he had already solved. He felt foolish for only thinking of this now; the cash arrangement still stemmed from when Walter was on a temporary contract. "However, might I propose an account in the Cayman Islands?"
"You should consider our offer. We will take this territory, with or without your cooperation," Walt told the man in front of him.
"Who the hell do you think you are?"
"You know who I am," Walt smirked. "You all know exactly who I am. Say my name."
"Er... No, I don't."
"Yes you do," Walt corrected him. "I'm Fring's cook. I'm the one who killed Bozo's leadership in Colorado."
"Bullshit. They died of the flu."
"Are you sure?"
The man hesitated, looking as though the rug was suddenly pulled out from underneath him. He glanced back at his men and shot a look at Mike who stood some distance behind Walt.
"That's right," Walt said with satisfaction. "Now, say my name."
"You're Heisenberg," the man declared with a note of fear in his voice.
"You're god damn right I am."
"My wife wants me to move back in..." Walter said. Surprisingly, he didn't seem thrilled about the development. Gus had had to dissuade him from moving back in without her permission months ago, reasoning that having his wife become resentful of him was the most dangerous thing Walter could do, but if she had gotten over her issues with his profession, he couldn't see any objection.
"Is this not what you desired?" Gus inquired.
Walter sighed. "Yes and no. I want to be closer to them, of course I do, but... well, I'm already spending most of my free time there, right? I go home every evening that I'm not either with you or out on business, and lately I've been spending quite a few nights there as well. I want to go back and get this whole separation bullshit over, but if I actually live there, my son might start to wonder where I am when I'm not with the family or in the car wash. I got a lot of crap with that when I just started."
Gus nodded, thoughtfully. "You need a job, then."
"Why would I take a job?" Walter asked. "The car wash is doing great, I have no plausible reason to apply at Los Pollos Hermanos or something like that."
Yes, Walter has learned a lot over the last half year, Gus reflected. It used to be that Gus had to regularly remind him of his public persona, and make sure that he had excuses prepared beforehand for absences that might take longer than expected, but now it had become second nature to him.
"You would apply to do something you enjoy," Gus suggested. "I will extend the Max Arciniega scholarships to offer one or two positions to older, part-time researchers – intended for women to return after having children, say. You will apply. They will not wish to hire you, due to your cancer, but when I learn of it, I will sympathise and offer an extra scholarship for you. Formally, you have nothing to do with me. Your contract is with the university only, and the decision is theirs."
"Part-time..." Walter mused. "But no one who knows me would be surprised if I stay longer..."
Gus just smiled. The only risk now was that Walter might enjoy his phony job too much.
"What's this?" Walt asked, turning over the envelope that Jesse had given him with a proud smile. He opened it and saw... "A wedding invitation?"
"Yeah," Jesse said, a soft smile on his face. "Andrea and I have been getting pretty serious lately."
"But... you haven't known her that long yet, have you?"
"Almost a year now," Jesse replied. "And she's been living with me for the last six months. We probably would have waited a bit longer, but her grandma is getting worse and she'd like to see her married before she goes, you know?"
Walt nodded absentmindedly. "Well... Congratulations. I'm really happy for you. But... this invitation..."
"You should be there, man," Jesse said genuinely. "You've helped me more than anyone." He shifted, a bit awkwardly. "Look, I know I was pissed at you before, but I'm not stupid, okay? I can see how much you've done for me."
"But Jesse, how would I explain being there?" He protested. "You and I are not publicly associated. Unless for some reason I would show up at the wedding of the guy who used to sell me pot?"
"Yeah," Jesse answered confidently. "I thought about that..."
It was a beautiful ceremony. Small, with not even a dozen people in attendance, but the joyful smiles of the young couple filled Walt's heart with pride. Jesse's life had been a waste when Walt had first met him, and now here he was – clean, a millionaire, marrying a beautiful woman, and ready to make his own family along with her son and little brother (who was actually in attendance, and not dealing drugs anymore). Yes, Walt felt that he deserved quite a bit of credit here. It was good to see Jesse like this.
An older couple walked up to him. By process of elimination, Walt had already deduced that these must be Jesse's parents. A teenager who must be Jesse's little brother Jake – and who, according to Jesse, was the only reason that his parents had been invited – was trailing behind.
"Sir... aren't you one of Jesse's old teachers?" The woman asked him.
"Yes," he nodded pleasantly. "He used to be in my chemistry class. And you must be his parents. Congratulations."
"Oh, thank you," the woman smiled. "But... I'm just wondering. Are you related to Andrea? I didn't think Jesse kept in touch with any of his old teachers..."
"No, I'm here for Jesse," Walt replied, launching into his prepared story. "I got him into rehab a bit over a year ago, and, well, I felt responsible, so we kept in touch afterwards." He smiled fondly. "He's stayed strong ever since. I think meeting Andrea and Brock had a lot to do with that."
"Rehab?" The man repeated, glancing at his wife. "Why... why did you...?"
"I found him on the street," Walt explained bluntly. "He was homeless, addicted to heroin and in a deep depression after his previous girlfriend's death. I recognised him and, well, it hurt me to see a former student like that, especially one that I actually liked." He shrugged. "I always thought he had a lot of potential; he just had to work on himself."
"His... girlfriend died?" The mother asked in shock. "He never told us that..."
"That's probably because you kicked him out of his house, which set the whole thing in motion in the first place," Walt informed her.
Her eyes went teary, and the pair quickly made their excuses and fled. Walt sipped his champagne. Jesse hadn't exactly suggested that he do that, but Walt liked to honour the spirit of the suggestion. These people deserved some guilt, treating their son like they had. He would never do that to Walter Junior!
He became aware of a pair of eyes on him. Jesse's little brother was still standing there.
"You're bullshitting," the kid told him. "You're the brother-in-law of that DEA agent, aren't you? I remember mum agonising over that. That was before they kicked him out of the house. So how did you really know him?"
Crap. Walt quickly scrambled to amend the story to something slightly less innocent.
Hiding in plain sight only works so long as no one points at you.
It had started small at first. A Madrigal employee had overheard Lydia Rodarte-Quayle talking to a lower-level employee, and wondered at what he learned. He had done some private investigations within the business, and then notified the DEA.
The DEA worked quietly, and efficiently. They finally got some real leads, and busted a Los Pollos Hermanos distribution center, where barrels full of methamphetamine were being processed. Gustavo Fring was arrested barely an hour later.
"They got Fring," Mike's voice told Walt on the phone.
"They – what? Who? How?"
"The DEA. Do not go into the lab. Get out of town now while you still can."
"I can't. My family –"
"Fine. Then hide the money, and keep your mouth shut when they get you."
He disconnected the call. Walt sat very still for a few moments, thinking furiously. Then he called him back.
"What?"
"What do they actually know?" Walt asked him. "Why would they get me?"
"Didn't you hear me? They got Fring," Mike bit. "That means they're searching his house. Your prints are probably all over the place with those weekly visits. Plus, they must have found his laptop, which has all the business documents. We're boned."
"No, we're not," Walt explained impatiently. "The guy's a control freak, he gets his house deep cleaned every Friday. That laptop is heavily encrypted, and he doesn't use surnames or real business names. What we should be worried about is who else they arrested, and what they know. That, and the lab."
There was a short silence on the other end. Then, a calmer Mike replied.
"My guys are solid. They won't talk. And the lab's well-hidden."
"If they got him, they're looking into Madrigal," Walt hissed. "It might take a few days, or maybe weeks if we're lucky, but they're going to find the laundry. You should get some men to take out all the equipment right now, before it's too late."
"That's gonna be hard to pull off without being detected," Mike pointed out. "Would be easier to just wipe it clean."
"And lose millions in equipment that we cannot replace without Madrigal?" Walt asked rhetorically. "Just get it done."
"Who made you the boss?"
"You know I'm right," Walt bit back. "Plus, if they find the lab they'll arrest the laundry manager, won't they? That's another of your guys going in."
"If they find a big empty cellar hidden behind a machine, it's pretty obvious that something illegal happened there."
"So house the illegal immigrants there."
There was a moment of silence.
"What exactly are you planning to do with the equipment?" Mike asked eventually.
Walt just smirked. "What do you think?"
"This man they arrested, Gustavo Fring..." Skyler began hesitantly when they were in bed together. She hadn't brought up his work in weeks, but apparently that position had ended after today's non-stop news coverage. "Did you... know him?"
Walt considered his answer. But what was the point in evasion, anyway?
"Quite well," he admitted.
She was silent for a while. Then she said, as if to herself: "I actually met him. He sat with us, after Hank was attacked. He seemed... nice?"
Walt didn't bother to correct her.
"He's a very good cook, too," he informed her instead. "Food, I mean. I have quite come to appreciate Chilean cuisine."
She seemed to think over his words, looking thoughtful but not horrified. He suspected that the knowledge that he associated with someone as low-key as Gus was reassuring to her, and quietly hoped that not too much of Gus' activities would come out over the next weeks.
"Is there any chance that he might tell them about you?" she eventually asked.
Walt considered what he knew.
"No," he told her, almost surprising himself at the absolute certainty he felt. "No chance at all."
It was a bitter irony, Gus reflected, that he had spent two decades building up a vast distribution network of which mostly Bolsa and Eladio profited;, that he had spent millions upon millions batting away the constant barrage of problems caused either by the stupidity or the deliberate sabotage of the Salamancas; and that he had finally destroyed his enemies and gained the independence to run things his own way only to be toppled not even a year later due to some freak accident.
Over the following weeks, he came to the painful realisation that his empire in fact still stood – just without himself at the helm.
His caution had protected most of his men. Not all – several who were connected to Madrigal or Los Pollos Hermanos had been arrested, and Peter had even committed suicide. But the others were secure, and no one was talking. Yet, he had expected the business to fall apart; without a steady supply of product, his dealers would run into problems and either get caught up in gang wars or turn on their superiors. Others should have muscled into his territory and taken over with whatever product they were peddling. But instead, there was peace on the streets, and the DEA was still looking for whoever was making the blue meth.
He felt extremely insulted when he was offered a deal for a substantially reduced prison sentence in exchange for ratting out Heisenberg.
Fortunately, Gus was not a proud man, and he recognised the benefits of his situation. To the DEA, he was not the kingpin but merely a distributor. It certainly made his lawyer happy, although Gus knew that his life was essentially over regardless.
He did not consider taking the deal, of course. Yet, he had to admit to himself that it rankled. He had worked all those years to build his dream, only for another to profit from it. After all that he had done, was he that easy to replace? And yes, he had trained the man himself, and there was a measure of pride – he had no idea how Walter had managed, but he was obviously doing very well. He couldn't begrudge the man his success; if he'd seen the opportunity, he would have done the same in his place. Yet, despite these rational feelings he couldn't suppress a touch of resentment at the man he had unknowingly trained to be his own successor.
Once they decided that he was merely a cog in a larger organisation the media attention dropped, and his trial proceeded relatively fast. Merely three months after his arrest, Gus was sentenced to 23 years in prison. He bore it stoically. There was nothing left for him, even if he did live through his sentence. They had even dismantled Los Pollos Hermanos.
He was being driven to his new home when it happened. The prison bus suddenly swerved, and there were gunshots and shouting outside. He started to feel faint – had he hit his head? No! The guard opposite him also seemed to sway. Was it... some kind of sleeping gas?
In an instant, he realised what was happening and who must be behind it. All the resentment of the last months evaporated in a heartbeat, leaving only elation in its wake. He stopped struggling to remain alert, and allowed unconsciousness to claim him.
He woke up lying on cold metal, with a pillow below his head, the floor beneath him shaking a bit as though it was moving. A truck or van, he deduced. He also had a splitting headache. He could barely suppress a groan as he opened his eyes.
"Headache, ey?" Mike's voice spoke beside him. "Sorry 'bout that. We might have overdone the gas a little."
He turned his head to see his former right-hand man rummaging through a large box. "It's good to have you back," the man added with a satisfied expression.
Gus pushed himself up, wincing at the pain in his head. Mike silently handed him a bottle of water, a strip of painkillers, and a plastic bag.
Gus drank and took the medication, then looked into the bag. A suit?
"Walter figured you'd want to get changed out of that prison garb. Sorry if the measurements are off. We had to guess."
He did, in fact, want to get changed. Gus quickly stripped and tried on the new clothes. They fit surprisingly well. He sighed in relief as he put his tie into place. Finally, he felt like himself again.
"How did you do it?" He asked as he carefully sat down. The pain in his head was abating a bit, now.
Miked sighed. "Oh, you know. Walter being Walter."
Gus nodded at the half-answer, understanding the point. Mike knew when a task couldn't be done, and didn't try. Walter didn't accept impossibilities, and just figured out a way to do it anyway. He was also far more prepared to accept casualties. Mike was a soldier – he did as he was told. But while he understood the business to a T, and was great at coming up with creative plans, he rarely took the initiative on any endeavour that would get people killed who hadn't struck the first blow. He could never run the business on his own, and was unlikely to organise a rescue mission where it was likely that at least some of the guards would die (which, judging by Mike's body language, was exactly what had happened). Walter had no such inhibitions.
He'd get the full story later. "Where are we going?"
"Mexico," Mike replied. "You're gonna have to lie low for a while, but we got a hideout set up, and a secure connection so you can run things remotely. Plus, we still hold on to a bit of the Juarez territory – Walter figured you might wanna consider expanding our operations south of the border."
There was more to discuss, but at that moment the van slowed down, and then stopped. Moments later, the back door opened and Victor poked his head inside. He nodded respectfully to Gus.
"He wants to see you."
Walter stood with his back to the hovel's door, wearing the hat he always used when out on business meetings. He turned around when Gus entered, and dismissed Victor with a small hand motion. Gus was slightly disturbed at the ease with which Walter apparently controlled his henchmen, but he didn't show it – he really should have expected this after being gone for so long.
"I'm glad to see you again," Walter announced when Victor had left.
Gus nodded in agreement. His life would still drastically change now that his cover was gone and he was a fugitive, but this was certainly preferable over the alternative.
"I must apologise," Gus spoke, weighing his words carefully. "I have wronged you in my mind. I confess that I believed that you had simply taken over." He studied the man before him closely; he wanted to know how Walter would react. He might be offended, but... Gus didn't think he would be. Walter had been the kingpin for three months. Bringing back his former boss – and thereby necessarily ceding power back – could not have been an easy decision.
But then... Had Gus really been his boss? In the months before his arrest, Walter had been involved in all the major decisions. There were plenty of things Gus had handled alone of course, but then, Walter had done the same on the production side. Of course, Gus' word was final if they disagreed on anything, but... it hadn't really come up. They were both rational men. Usually, one of them would convince the other, or they would settle on a compromise. In hindsight, for the last half year or so, they had interacted more as equals than boss and employee.
Partners.
"Yeah, well," Walter said with a wry smile. "You're a right bastard, but I've actually grown to like you. Plus, the business needs you."
Gus raised an eyebrow. "Does it, still? You seem to have done well for yourself."
Walter shook his head. "We lost a lot of ground. We've just been strategic about what we maintained, to limit the damage and make it easier to get everything back. It's still gonna take years to rebuild. Especially things like a good non-cash payment system, legal employment for your guys... There wasn't much I could do there."
Gus nodded, seeing the point. "Still, I am impressed. My arrest was costly. How did you manage to maintain such a presence?"
Walter smirked with his usual arrogant look. "Yeah. You really screwed up by putting so much in your own name." Ah, Walter. Always blunt. "I went the other way. Everything's decentralised now. We've got mobile labs set up in ten major cities throughout our territory. Makes distribution a lot easier – the product doesn't need to travel as far."
The idea had merit, Gus acknowledged – especially since they had lost Los Pollos Hermanos. Yet, there were clear downsides, not least of which the potential for a subordinate to splinter off and try to continue on his own. Still, that was manageable.
"How did you find enough cooks?" That had been a bottleneck before.
"These labs are small, local," Walter started to hedge. Oh dear. Gus had a feeling he was not going to like this. "So these cooks, they don't need to be quite as trustworthy as the ones you got me before. Like gang leaders, instead of our inner circle – they only need to know about their own location, and can't screw things up for the rest. So I just ended up getting a bunch of amateur cooks in, had Nick, Sarah and Luis teach them, and promoted the ones who learned. Some of them are addicts. Sorry." He didn't look apologetic at all. "The quality was lousy at first, but they're steadily approaching a small measure of competency."
"Lousy", in Walter's view, probably still meant something around 80%, and "a small measure of competency" meant 96% at least. Gus was annoyed about the junkie cooks, but he had to acknowledge Walter's point – it was a manageable risk. It would have to be carefully managed, though, but he could find a way to make it work.
"I suppose I have a confession, too," Walter mused, staring into space away from Gus. "I liked it. It was good getting to run things on my own for a while. I know it must have sucked for you, but I'm glad I got to have this experience. See how far I can really go, you know?"
Gus nodded, not begrudging Walter the feeling at all. He had earned this one.
"What happens next?" He asked.
"Your private jet should be arriving any moment now," Walter replied. "We've got a hideout set up for you in Mexico, and some guys – Luis is currently running the lab there. Mike will be coming with you. He knows all the ins and outs and can get you up-to-date with how things are running now. Once you get there... well, that's up to you, isn't it? You're probably gonna have to stay out of sight for a while, and definitely out of the US unless you get a facelift or something, but your guys are all still loyal to you. The new guys won't even notice the transition, I expect – very few people know who "Heisenberg" is, and all of the ones who do have been around you before."
Gus felt some confusion at Walter's words. "What about you?"
There was a pause, as Walter's confident demeanour left him.
"Gus... My cancer is back."
Like a punch to the gut, the breath was knocked out of him. He stared in shock, as Walter continued, oblivious to his sudden horror.
"I am back on chemotherapy, of course, and fighting as hard as I can... But the simple fact is, in four months time, maybe five, I'll be dead." He sighed. "I had to give you back your business, I owed you that, but after this I'm done. I want to spend my last few months with my family."
"Of course," Gus breathed quietly, almost on autopilot as his stomach contracted in pain. It had always hung over their heads, but he had forgotten it, or perhaps more accurately, ignored it. With the risky lives they lived, neither of them were guaranteed a long lifespan, after all. He felt all the more the fool now.
There was a loud noise outside – a plane landing.
Walter stuck out his hand, and Gus shook it, still reeling but refusing to show it. Walter just smiled contently.
"Goodbye, Gus. It was a pleasure working with you."
"The pleasure was mine."
Jakob sat himself down in a chair inside Casa Tranquila, pretending he belonged there. He was quite old, and the staff was overworked; they likely wouldn't even notice. He looked towards the TV, and carefully positioned his phone so the camera would capture Hector Salamanca's face.
Heisenberg had given him this one task: to film the invalid's response when the news of Fring's escape came on, and then send it to some throwaway e-mail address. He was paid very well for such a minor task, so Jakob was more than happy to comply.
He got a bit more than he had bargained for when Hector Salamanca proceeded to die of an apoplexy watching the news not five minutes later.
Skyler stared at the TV, at the same item that had been playing for hours already. Infamous restaurant owner and meth distributor Gustavo Fring had been freed. Two policemen had been killed in the attack, while others had been left unconscious, but appeared to be unharmed. The unconsciousness was apparently caused by some kind of chemical gas that was attributed to the unknown kingpin "Heisenberg". She had watched it so many times already, and still struggled to accept the implications.
The door opened and her (murderer, drug lord) husband came inside. She looked between him and the TV fearfully.
He stepped up to her, and took her in his arms. "It's over," he told her. "I'm out."
A massive weight lifted off her shoulders, even as she struggled not to visibly cringe away from his embrace. At least it would all stop now.
Walter White died on a Monday, five weeks after his 52nd birthday.
He was openly mourned by his family, friends, former colleagues both from high school and the university, and even some former students. He was quietly mourned by a few other colleagues, and one particular drug kingpin living in hiding.
Gus didn't attend the funeral, or visit the grave. He only learned about it through his contacts, and showed no outward emotion when he was told.
As the years moved on, Gus did rebuild his business, and it became greater than ever before. He eliminated or incorporated existing cartels, and ruled his territory with an iron fist – though fairly, and with some measure of generosity when the situation called for it. His empire stretched across continents, then the whole world. Law enforcement across countries banded together trying to bring him down, but while they sometimes scored minor victories, Gus Fring's tight leadership blocked any significant progress at the top. Among themselves, though, some officers admitted that he made their jobs a lot easier. Gus kept the peace inside his organisation, and harshly punished anyone who violated his restrictions; none of his gangs preyed on their communities, harmed families or used children. Of course, those same officers would have been less content if they knew that much of their budget cuts were due to Gus' inroads into politics, where he supported right-minded politicians through anonymous donations, outright bribes, and in some cases directly supported his trusted allies into a political career.
Yet, those who got to know him would often be struck by the seeming incongruence of his actions. How could a man who built his empire on the sale of an incredibly harmful drug then turn around and spend hundreds of millions on investments in cancer research? Why would someone who killed people as a matter of routine support politicians who sought to make healthcare free and well-funded? Only those closest to him understood, at least those who had known Walter.
When Gus' first partner had died, he had spent twenty years in the pursuit of revenge. But when his second partner had died, he had no such release. Cancer was a mindless disease; not a person he could force to suffer. Yet, it represented the loss of control; the feeling of powerlessness as a friend died a senseless death. He knew it was pointless, but what else was there left to do, beyond pursuing growth for the sake of more growth?
No. Gus Fring would not rest until he had eradicated cancer from the world.
Author's note: This ended up a bit longer than expected... Originally this story was meant as part of a series of short "what if someone in the BB universe made a different decision" one-shots, and it stopped after season 3, where the storyline is set to diverge drastically from the series. However, at this point, the story had the potential for a good Gus ↔ Walt relationship, and I just really wanted to write a heartwarming platonic relationship between these men; with Gus as a mentor, guiding Walt's personal growth[1] and professional ambitions[2]; and Walt supporting Gus' dreams[3] and hobbies[4]...
[1] into a monster
[2] being feared and admired by everyone who hears about him
[3] taking over the world
[4] torturing Hector