"You really are two of the sorriest sons of bitches goin', aren't ya?" Jack chuckled to himself as he cocked his shotgun. He centered it on Jesse, whose gun was steeled back at him. Jack stepped further into the room from the entrance never letting his focus leave Jesse as he began addressing Walt. "I don't know how you pulled this one off, Walt, but I'm not fucking amused. Where's Todd?"

Walt stammered struggling over his next move. He found he was the only one without a weapon and felt naked. He wanted to spur Jesse to shoot first because that shotgun's wrath would be final. Looking over to Jesse, Walt's apprehension only grew. The distance lurking in Jesse's eyes seemed to be growing into an expanse. Although he was holding the gun squarely on Jack, there was something markedly different about him: he wasn't trembling and struggling to hold the gun up, or panting through adrenaline sailing over his fear. There was instead an eerie calm in his stance, and a seriousness in his face Walt had never seen. This behaviour coupled with his ghastly, bloodied appearance worried Walt. That blood wasn't Jesse's, he was sure of this now. What had he done?

Staring back at Jack, Jesse swallowed thickly. An air of invincibility layered itself atop his words as he spoke. "I ripped open his throat. Do you wanna see?" A chill ran through Walt.

Jack lowered his shotgun a couple of inches as his jaw slackened. He took one step forward, and lifted the shotgun, squinting an eye to start taking his aim at Jesse. He seethed, "I'm gonna blow your motherfucking head off."

As Jack balanced the shotgun to take aim, Jesse raised his slender handgun less than an inch and pulled the trigger. His shot hit Jack like a bolt in the right side of his forehead. Jack's head flicked backwards as the echo of the shot hung in the air. His body crumpled and dropped to the floor with the shotgun eliciting a muffled clatter as it hit the floor. Walt exhaled in hitches as he blinked hard. He was thrown by how quickly Jesse had acted. His hand was nearly melded into his chest during the exchange, and as he caught his breath, he flung his hand away, surprised by himself.

Jesse moved toward Jack's body immediately. The man lay lifeless with his jaw hanging wide open, tongue sliding out, as blood trickled out of the hole in his forehead. Staring down at him, Jesse delicately sunk to his knees and coasted the hand still clenching the gun up Jack's chest towards his face. He didn't notice Walt quietly stepping toward him angling for the shotgun. As he reached Jack's face, Jesse put a hand on its right side and twisted his head nearer. He pushed the barrel of his gun inside Jack's mouth.

Walt managed to pick up the shotgun without Jesse noticing. He held it against his left side as he moved to peer over Jesse's shoulder. As the ghoulish scene came into focus, Walt stilled. "Stop whatever you are doing, Jesse…he's dead," Walt instructed.

Walt wasn't sure his word were reaching Jesse. The gun remained in Jack''s mouth, and Jesse moved his free hand to the man's face to seemingly steady his grip. Walt was aghast, but a sense of pragmatism was leading him. "Jesse…don't. If you do that, it's going to get uh, everywhere. He's dead, let's get out of this place while we still can."

Jesse didn't stir, and Walt worried his desire to pull the trigger was elevating with each protest. He could see Jesse's chest was now heaving, and his breaths were loud with exertion. Walt wasn't in opposition to Jesse finding release in vengeance, but this was too messy, too tactile. Walt flipped the shotgun around and swung it heartily, trying to knock Jesse from Jack. The shotgun connected at his jaw, cracking against Jesse hard, and he yelled out stumbling onto his back. His handgun tumbled to the floor after impact, and he sat back, bracing his jaw in pain. Walt saw the gun lying plainly beside Jesse, and so he scrambled across the floor to get his hands on it before Jesse realized. Walt just about grasped the gun's handle when Jesse spied him and dove over, and yanked on the shotgun from him with both hands, causing Walt to topple. The two were grunting on the floor as they scrabbled around for the guns. Walt finally took the handgun into his palm as Jesse freed the shotgun fully from Walt. He rolled backward, fumbling with the giant gun while Walt made it to his feet.

"Let's just, let's calm down," Walt began, nearly out of breath. He clutched at his side with his free hand.

Jesse's eyes were narrow as he looked back at Walt. He had two fingers wrapped around the trigger and was aiming at Walt.

"Don't point that at me Jesse…the police are likely on their way already - we need to leave now."

"Why the fuck did you just try and knock me out?" Jesse spat out.

Walt's aggravation was mounting; they had no time for this. Every moment that was wasted now could resign them to incarceration. As ever, Walt's goal shifted as he surmounted each challenge. Why not push on for freedom?

"Jesse, as much as I'd like desecrate corpses with you, we need to get out of here. So, stop fucking around! We're on the same side here, let's just – let's get out of here. Drop the gun." Walt was exasperated but the anger was roiling him. Jesse stared back, but did not move as much as an inch. He kept the shotgun pointed at Walt, who now had no choice but to raise his gun in return.

"Don't make me shoot you." Heisenberg suddenly appeared. His deep voice boomed.

"Not if I shoot you first."

Heisenberg stepped forward, eyes dark and unrelenting. This little fool is not going to get the better of me now, he thought. Seeing Jesse's fingers twitching at the trigger, he aimed his gun with superb steadiness. Without any hesitation, he fired. The shot rang out, and Jesse dropped the shotgun as it hit him. Heisenberg stood watching as Jesse realized he had been hit in upper left arm.

"Shit…" Jesse trailed out as his breathing suddenly hastened. He then let out a yell that went from guttural to screeching over the span of several seconds. Heisenberg's façade was shattered; Walt's sensibility returned and he was stunned he shot the boy. Despite all the killing the two had been a party to, neither had ever been shot before. Walt stuffed the gun into his waist band, and rushed to Jesse's side. Oh god, he thought, what if this kills him?

Jesse winced as he put his right hand across the wound, and looked down to see blood spilling out between his fingers. "Get away from me," Jesse managed to spit out, making a feeble attempt to push Walt away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I – I didn't mean for this to happen, I just couldn't let you shoot me." As the words fell out of his mouth, Walt understood how lamentable they were. The situation suddenly seemed so absurd and obtuse, he needed to just take control of it…and Jesse. There was no time for more confusion. "Hold on to me, I'm going to lift you up. We're getting out of here."

"No way, man," Jesse pushed out. The pain seemed to be doubling and tripling in him as the minutes ticked by. He laid his head back softly against the floor, and closed his eyes. Walt's eyes narrowed, and he grabbed Jesse's jaw, shaking it vigorously.

"Do not play with me. Stay awake!" Walt was practically screaming as he leaned in to lift Jesse off the ground, his eyes now wild with ire. Jesse weakly lifted his right arm to hook his hand behind Walt's neck. Relieved but no less wild, Walt gingerly raised the two of them up, and together they began to hobble out of the clubhouse toward Walt's Cadillac. There would be no time to enjoy his triumph, Walt thought.

Opening the back door, Walt helped Jesse to lay on his back. Before Walt stuffed the M60 back into the trunk, he grabbed a handful of loose clothes that were strewn about. He used a t-shirt as a makeshift tourniquet around Jesse's arm, and hoped the pressure would be enough to stop the bleeding. Then, he covered Jesse with a number of shirts for warmth to ward off shock. Closing the trunk, Walt stood for just a moment, and looked out at the clubhouse riddled with bullets. I did this, he thought, and very nearly smiled to himself. As the Cadillac rumbled to life, Walt noticed the gate of fencing was locked shut. He would need to peel out through the gate to break it open. "Brace yourself," he said looking up to Jesse in the rear view mirror. Jesse's eyes were still fluttering and his chest falling up and down. Walt cleared his throat, and hit the gas pedal.

Walt had been driving for about two hours when he was finally nearing the Arizona state line. His intention was to cross over and find a motel where the two could lay low for a number of days. For all his talk and bravado with Jesse while they were held captive in the room, Walt was now flying by the seat of his pants, and he once again had the overwhelming feeling that he was navigating on borrowed time. He kept idle talk going as he drove to ensure Jesse didn't slip into unconsciousness. Holding a casual conversation with him was exceedingly difficult on any given day, and this early morning hour was no exception.

"You know there are quite a few drugs that fall under the family of amphetamines, known as substituted amphetamines, that are legally prescribed to a great number of people – people who probably don't know they are consuming a type of amphetamine. There's phentermine, bupropion, and of course our old friend pseudoephedrine. It's quite, uh, intriguing…"

Jesse cut Walt off with a harried grunt. "Stop…trying to teach me. I don't wanna learn shit right now. My arm is fucking burning."

"Alright, that's okay. We're not far from Arizona now. You just need to hang on a little longer with me here." Walt glanced up into the rear view mirror to see Jesse shifting around. As the time had worn on, it had proven challenging for Walt to think of safe subject to engage Jesse in. After a year of captivity, what could be floating around Jesse's mind, he thought. He had to say something to keep them both cognisant. Warily, Walt asked, "What was the lab like…at the compound?"

Jesse pressed his eyes closed and stalled in what Walt guessed was hesitation. After a long pause, he said, "It was…it was big. They had a lot of stuff, er – equipment like kinda similar to Gus' place…before we blew it up."

"Were you able to test for purity regularly?"

"Um…uh, yeah kinda. I did alright."

"What level of purity did you achieve?" Walt was pushing now; his curiosity overtook him.

"I don't know," Jesse answered, letting a pained moan follow.

"Yes, you do. Tell me, Jesse."

"I'm not telling ya, so just stop asking already." He wasn't about to tell Walt his percentage, in part because he couldn't bear to have his only morsel of achievement torn away, but mostly and quite simply because Walt would never believe him. Unless the man saw a purity reading on a machine himself, he would never believe Jesse.

"Fine. There's no need to be embarrassed about not achieving a high level of purity under such reprehensible conditions. I can only imagine it was less than ideal trying to cook under duress." Walt was willing to drop the subject altogether. The last thing he needed was Jesse becoming stroppy, more so than he already was.

"Under duress, is that what you're calling it?"

"Yes, duress meaning enforcement…or coercion. I think that's apt."

"I was a SLAVE, you asshole. How many times do I have to say that? Attached to the ceiling. I had to like, piss from a distance like it was some sort of track and field sport." Jesse stopped, wincing in pain as he grasped his arm. "You shot me, alright? Can you just chill it with the twenty questions? Can you at least do me that as like, penance for this shit?"

"From a distance? What does…well, anyway. Not long now until we're tucked away into a room. Just, why don't you talk about something you'd like to talk about? You need to stay conscious, so you start us off." Walt felt he was being very charitable.

"Oh my GOD, this is worse than being shot!" Jesse yelled out.

Walt sighed then took a firm tone. "Just do it Jesse."

Walt could see Jesse visibly racking his brain for something to say, and he allowed himself a little amusement at how long it was taking the young man to put something together. Finally, he spoke. "Um…there was like, a lot of purple going on at your brother-in-law's house. What's the deal with that?"

There was an instant pang in Walt's chest when Hank came to his mind. He had quite some time to come to terms with his role in the tragedy of his death, and although he still found Jesse culpable, he didn't see the point in haranguing him over it, especially now. But, nevertheless he was curious, and so Walt's eyes flitted up to the mirror, "When were you in his house?"

"Oh, uh...when all the stuff was happening before you know, that other…stuff." Walt knew exactly what he meant despite his lacking vocabulary. He simply nodded, knowing he would get the facts in time. The borrowed time he was entering wouldn't be fruitless; for now, he allowed himself to reminisce. "The purple would be from Hank's widow, Marie. She has very particular tastes. Even her car was purple."

"That's obsession on a serious level. Like, a medical level."

Walt chuckled. "That's a funny way of seeing it. I think she just knows her mind; she knows exactly what she wants, and she brings it to fruition."

Jesse didn't respond. He had his eyes closed, and Walt could hear his unsteady breathing. He allowed the silence to pass for a few moments. Finally, Jesse said, "Where are we going to stay?"

"Somewhere out of the way and inconspicuous. Not long now."

Walt drove for only half an hour further before they arrived on the outskirts of Springerville, a quiet Apache County town with a population of less than two thousand people. He surmised that avoiding a highway motel would put them in better stead to stay unnoticed. As dawn cracked across the sky, he was parking the Cadillac after securing the room from a groggy, middle-aged woman at reception. There had been only one room left owing to a road-tripping gang of bikers. The parking lot was still and quiet at this early hour, and Walt was thankful for it. Jesse needed to get up and into the room without anyone noticing he was wounded, and saturated in blood. The room was about thirty steps from the car and Walt needed him to walk it on his own; the spectacle of carrying him would be too memorable in case anyone were to peer out a window. He speeded ahead of Jesse with his sole duffel bag, and opened the room's door. Jesse walked slowly towards the door putting one foot in front of the other. His head felt increasingly light and the ground seemed to be rising up to meet him. He stopped and grabbed his head for a couple seconds thinking about how glorious it would be to get clean and sleep in a fresh bed. He hadn't slept under a clean duvet in twelve months. And then everything started to fuzz like television static. Walt saw Jesse hit the ground as he stood at the room's white door. Somehow he had managed to collapse forward onto his knees saving himself from a likely concussion.

"Jesus Christ," Walt said as he rushed out to collect him. He looked around in haste as he grabbed Jesse by the arms to try and lift him. He kept repeating his name in order to rouse him, but he was careful to whisper so no one would overhear. If any of the motel's guests opened their doors now, the two of them were cooked. With an intense energy coming only from his drive for self-preservation, Walt managed to scoop Jesse up and sling him over his shoulders. He ran ragged back to the room and slammed the door shut behind them. He then walked over to the one double bed in the room and unfurled Jesse from his shoulder. He didn't really want him on the bedspread still covered in blood, but he had little choice. Moving to the bathroom, he chilled a face cloth under ice cold water to lay on Jesse's face.

"Jesse, Jesse wake up!" He put the cloth on half of his face and pressed it in hard. Continuing his pleas, he slapped the free side of face lightly. Jesse's eyes opened, and he instantly started struggling against Walt's arms while yelling for him to get off.

"Shush, shush I'm not hurting you," Walt announced sloughing off Jesse's hands clawing at him. "I hope no one just saw that out there, or we are finished."

"What, what happened?" Jesse asked in earnest. He was moving himself up the bed towards the pillows.

Walt went to the windows and pulled all the curtains shut, darkening the room instantly. He didn't answer Jesse, and he chalked up the confusion to Jesse's injuries. Walt reminded himself that there was a more pressing concern than guilt-ing Jesse for causing a scene in the parking lot. He moved closer to him with a concerned look on his face. "I need to see how badly you are hurt so I can figure out what we need. There's a serious risk of infection assuming you don't bleed to death first."

Jesse's face went morose as his eyes looked back up at Walt plaintively. It wasn't the threat of death affecting him, it was the promise of further suffering in the here and now. He couldn't, and he wouldn't, endure another bodily hardship. "I don't want you who shot me playing doctor, alright? You'll probably somehow poison me since that's like, your modus operatus."

Walt smiled with satisfaction, "Modus operandi. It's the genitive case."

"Literally…no clue what you're saying." Jesse's voice went faint as he remarked. Walt could see all attitude and pre-tense slipping from the young man's face. Jesse looked over at Walt, who was now sitting to his right on the bed and clutching the cool towel in his hands. Jesse moved his trembling right hand onto Walt's, and looked into his eyes, "I'm feeling…cold."

The gravity in Jesse's face and words disarmed Walt. It was somewhat rare for him to speak about any of his feelings, emotional or physical, unless it was fodder for an argument. And Walt could recall only a handful of occasions were Jesse reached out for him, and those had been the lowest ebbs in Jesse's life. Walt discarded the towel and took the hand into his own, cradling and squeezing it. He looked back on Jesse with warm eyes that he'd never cast upon him before. It was a singular moment of honesty between the two with no facades erected or deceptions deployed. As Walt continued holding his hand, Jesse tried to reposition his head against the pillow. Without thinking, Walt grabbed the pillow to fluff it, and move it into place. Jesse shut his eyes. The shape of the moment was foreign to them both. Walt moved one of his hands to gently stroke Jesse's bloodstained forehead. "Jesse, look at me," Walt said softly. Jesse's eyes batted open, but strayed downcast. Walt noticed a single tear roll down his left cheek, and he tenderly wiped it away with his thumb. Within a moment, Jesse appeared unsettled, and he grabbed Walt's hand to move it away from his face.

"Don't...be like this, I'm covered in blood." Jesse stammered it out over shivers undulating through him. "You don't actually care so just stop."

Walt wouldn't let him snake out of the moment that easily. There was a small sense of renewed purpose inside of him, and he wasn't about to throw that away. "That's not true, son. In time you'll see that."

He easily wrenched his hand away from Jesse's obstinate one and started stroking his forehead again. He then rubbed the tears around his eyes, trying to coax them open. "You may feel stuck in here, in this sorry motel room, but it's just temporary. You're free now…you're free"

And Walt said this not so much because it was rooted in truth, in fact he could not promise Jesse would remain free, rather he said it to push Jesse over the emotional precipice he straddled. It worked, and Jesse's tears flowed, and Walt was buoyed. He slipped comfortably into the role of father-knows-best. His sincerity converted to narcissism with ease, and the feeling of operating on borrowed time began to diminish. Only as the tears dried up did Walt notice a chill engulfing Jesse's body. He knew he would now need to act quickly to ensure Jesse's survival.