The opioid in Jesse's system had him in a heavily sedated state and his mind was walking through memories. He couldn't achieve true sleep on this type of drug, and instead he was in a deep 'nod' somewhere below wakefulness. He floated through vivid scenes as though he was visiting his life from a safe distance.

"What are you doing with that little shit in here, boy," Jack called out to Todd.

"He smells worse than horse shit. I'm taking him for a shower…if that's alright with you, I mean." Todd stopped halfway across the clubhouse with Jesse linked through his right arm. He blinked back at his uncle expectantly.

"Yeah, alright, but Kenny, go with them two. I don't want nothing untoward going on." Jack returned his eyes to the old Hustler magazine he was thumbing through. Kenny set his cue down on the pool table next to his stubby beer bottle, and followed Todd and Jesse out of the room.

After entering the locker room, Todd turned one of the large shower faucets around several times before water began to spurt out. It took a few moments before steam rose from the uneven stream sprouting from the shower-head. After unlocking Jesse fully from his shackles, Todd stood back and stared, but Jesse just stood with his head downcast. After a minute passed, Todd started, "Well, take your clothes off and get in. Jack won't let us stay in here for long."

Jesse looked up at Todd as slowly began to pull his arm from his ragged shirt's sleeve. There was dirt smudged indiscriminately across his face, and the layer of grime and grit on his hands felt miles thick. Once he disrobed fully, Jesse stood under the water and turned himself away from Kenny and Todd, the latter of whom slid over a bar of soap along the green tiled floor. The sensation of hot water spilling over him felt like a dream. He couldn't imagine feeling clean in this place and in a way he didn't want to; his quick descent back into filth would serve as a reminder of the permanence of his captivity. He sheepishly lathered up his torso while keeping his eyes tightly shut, just hoping Todd and Kenny would keep quiet for the duration of the event. Suddenly, a mobile phone began to ring. Todd's eyes lit up as he looked to his phone.

"It's Lydia," he said, looking across to Kenny.

"You better be taking that call. That pretty bitch waits for no man," Kenny said with a grin. Todd nodded, and slinked away from the shower as he answered the call. Kenny steadied his gaze on Jesse as he leaned against a tiled partition. He was scanning over the backside of Jesse's body. The filth was washing away but the bruises and scars remained, including a particularly nasty looking deep purple welt situated around his left kidney.

"You been takin' a lot of beatings from us all, huh?" Kenny said in a curious tone. Even Jesse knew that was one of those questions he didn't have to answer.

"It must be uh, really uncomfortable sleeping in that pit in the ground there, eh?" Jesse was tempted to look at Kenny so he could read his face, but he didn't dare turn around. "Hey, I'm not gonna do nothing to you right now. I ain't cruel like that," Kenny said coarsely.

A guffaw escaped from Jesse's mouth. "You're not cruel…."

"Hey, I ain't! Yeah I'll beat ya if Jack there tells me to, I'm his number one, see, but I ain't doing that of my own accord." Jesse stole a glance over his shoulder and saw Kenny leaning over the partition looking up at his face with an almost earnest expression. It seemed the man was sincere in what he said however meaningless the words were.

"Even if you're scum, you know, a man's gotta get clean and have a decent night's sleep every now and again." Kenny seemed almost to be rambling at this point, cradled his chin in his hands and still staring at Jesse, who was now lathering up his hair with the bar of soap.

"I don't think a good night's sleep is on the cards for me," Jesse returned quietly. It felt foreign to be conversing with a person now. He had become so used to answering questions as economically as possible.

"Yeah, and it'll be winter soon. They gotta think of something else otherwise you'll either die in that pit or frostbite's gonna ravage you," Kenny remarked as though he was talking about catching a seasonal flu. Todd reentered the room, and he continued.

"Todd, we gotta keep this here rat on the inside going forward. He ain't gonna survive that turn in the weather out there. You tell Jack I'm putting him in the back room tonight for some recuperation."

Todd didn't seem fazed by Kenny's order, and simply returned that Jesse'd stay cleaner longer if they kept him inside for a bit, which he'd greatly appreciate. Once Jesse finished washing, Todd handed him an old towel and placed a clean set of clothes on the partition next to Kenny. The new outfit consisted of grey sweatpants and sweatshirt, and a faded black t-shirt that seemed to be for a Def Leppard tour from the Eighties. If the circumstances were different, he would have appreciated wearing it. Todd shackled Jesse's hands back together and delivered him straight to Kenny.

"I'll tell Jack what you said," Todd stated. He had a way of reducing even the smallest interactions to a schoolboy level, Jesse thought. Kenny grabbed the shackles' connecting chains and tugged to signal Jesse to walk.

Walking out of the changing rooms, Kenny lead Jesse to the first room on the right of the corridor that connected the front, leisure room to the rest of the premises. He launched open the door and flicked on the light, illuminating a compact room that included a small double bed and beat-up dresser shoved against the opposite wall. There was a white basin and toilet in the left corner. As Jesse continued to survey the room, he stood just shy of the door. He couldn't begin to guess where this was leading, but he hoped Kenny had meant what he said about the need for a good night sleep. He hadn't slept on a real bed in three months and the sight of one so close felt like a terrible tease. Abruptly, Kenny shut the door and locked it; there was a deadbolt on the inside.

"Sit down, don't be shy," Kenny said signally toward the bed. Too used to obeying commands, Jesse went straight to the bed and sat on the end. As he sat, Kenny circled around to the far side of the bed and knelt, fishing for something. He stood and Jesse saw a small, automatic pistol in his left hand. He was beyond fear at this point, but an apprehension began to gain strength in his stomach.

"Now I'm gonna take these cuffs off of you, alright, but I got this gun so don't be thinking things, that would be mighty stupid," Kenny warned. He bent over Jesse and began unchaining him.

Confusion was enveloping Jesse. He asked plainly, "Why are you doing this?"

Kenny looked into Jesse's eyes as he removed the cuffs from his wrists, and then stepped back. "Jack puts a lot of trust in me around here. And that's because he knows I have a certain common sense that a lot of the boys out there don't have. I ain't so quick to be violent. I reason shit out. And I have reasoned that you ain't gonna last much longer in that pit out there, even if we take to giving you privileges like getting a shower, and such. You already tried to hang your sorry self down there once and, what was that you did with that chemical in the lab? Heck, any which way you look at it, you're a liability that warrants more attention. We need you round here to cook, and Todd really needs you so he can hit that fine pussy of Lydia's, so this is gonna have to do."

Jesse stopped watching Kenny gesticulate halfway through his explanation. An overwhelming hopelessness overtook him upon hearing the man talk about his hard wrought attempts to take his own life as though he were a child acting out. The scenario of being in this small room with Kenny was beginning to feel ludicrous, and he wished he were filthy as ever lying on the sodden mattress out in the freezing cold. At least out there he was alone with his own thoughts. A few minutes of silence passed as Jesse despaired.

"Well don't just sit there, get in bed. And take those clothes off, you don't wanna wreck them already." Kenny threw an extra-large t-shirt at him from the dresser.

"I need a pair of boxers," Jesse said unequivocally.

"Don't you be demanding nothing," Kenny raised his voice and waved the gun, reminding Jesse he held all the power. Defeated, Jesse slinked off his clean jogging suit and put on the giant t-shirt which nearly met his knees. He folded tomorrow's outfit and placed it on the floor at the foot of the bed before crawling across the bed to get under the duvet. As his head hit the pillow, the softness of his surrounds was almost too much to bear, but his eyes closed quickly, and his mind drifted. Sleep was only moments away when Kenny neared his side of the bed with a bottle of water.

"Drink half of this now," he commanded. Jesse batted his eye lids open, and sat halfway up to comply. After drinking half the bottle, Kenny patted his head and set the bottle down where he could reach it. Within a moment the lights were flicked out and things began to blur.

Hours later in the dead of the night, Jesse awoke to a hand tugging gently on his hip. After being pulled a few inches, the hand relented, but was replaced by an arm crossing his abdomen and chest to tow him backward. He found himself with his backside nestled against another, much bigger body. Wondering what fresh Hell was greeting him, he instinctually began to squirm. As he tried to pull himself free, the body beside him began cooing and shushing him until he froze and then relented out of tiredness. It was Kenny beside him, and Jesse couldn't fathom his intentions.

"Take it easy, you're safe," Kenny whispered. Jesse shuddered at the words. The arm that was at his chest lowered and sought his waist, pulling him in tighter. He worried for a moment where this was headed, but the situation didn't escalate. Kenny bunched the pillow under his head, and let out a few deep breathes. As repulsed as he was at being so close with this man, he knew he was warmer, and more comfortable, than he'd been in at least three months. Everyday since he was taken away in that hot desert heat, he tried to live in the present, to close off the sense of a possible future as much as he could, and it was all he could do now to forget that he'd wake up again tomorrow. He concentrated on the warmth and coziness, and the nearly foreign feeling of comfort – all sensations he had not known for months.

A sliver of light cracked through the curtains where their embrace had broken. It was barely dawn and the light filtering through the narrow passage was blue. Walt found his eyes creeping open as he rolled over onto his left side. He was fighting to keep his eyes closed, and let his mind drift back to dreamland when a faint hand crawled its way onto his stomach. His sleepiness kept his reaction subdued, but curiosity lingered forcing him to open an eye. Jesse was lying flat on his back in the middle of the bed still deep in sleep. His left hand was lightly petting at Walt's stomach in a stilted fashion owing to his injury, and Walt wondered what Jesse may be pawing at in his dream. He left the young man's hand to wander since it had limited mobility, and shut his eyes as he nestled his head further into his pillow. As quiet minutes passed, muffled whimpers became audible, and Jesse's hand grasped the ragged t-shirt Walt wore, holding onto to it tightly. This jostled Walt from those initial psychedelic stages of sleep, and he was slightly irritated. He put his hand on Jesse's to unclench it from his shirt, and then the hand unexpectedly released and glommed onto his own. It was clammy and clingy, and proceeded to furl and unfurl until it found a way to weave its fingers through Walt's. Walt lay still while this happened, and let Jesse's errant hand transport the two to his own leg, where it wished to settle. It was a small sacrifice to make, Walt thought, in order to provide some basic modicum of comfort. Convinced he was doing Jesse a favour, Walt slipped into sleep.

A few hours later, Walt awoke to an orange glow permeating the room from the break in the curtains. As his eyes focused on the room, he noticed his hand was still firmly weaved into Jesse's, and now rested on the young man's abdomen. He was surprised, and it made him a bit uncomfortable. The grasp was too tight for him to slip his hand away and leave Jesse undisturbed.

"Wake up," Walt began as softly as he could manage. He was resisting the urge to jostle him and demand he awaken. "Jesse, it's time to wake up."

Jesse stirred ever so slightly before he somehow inched closer to Walt. His thumb moved to massage Walt's palm with a level of affection that only intensified Walt's discomfort. He did not want to startle Jesse, but he wasn't above doing so if it would get him out of this predicament. He moved his free hand to the young man's shoulder, and gently pushed. Barely moving, Jesse murmured, "Don't leave me…."

Walt was staring intently at the young man now and wasn't certain if he heard the utterance correctly. Each time he tried to move his hand away Jesse would change his grip in a spate of caresses and squeezes. The peculiarity of the situation was heightening with each passing moment. Walt decided to push him more vigorously and repeated his name. In response, Jesse turned his head toward Walt, but it was clear his eyes were still sewn shut. He muttered more audibly, "Please…stay…don't make me…."

Walt looked down at Jesse. His face was mired in worry and his brow knitted. Softly, he said, "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

Jesse squeezed his hand back and brought his right hand to join, stroking Walt's hand and arm. His head was tilted to the side, inclined toward Walt. "Just with you…"

Walt felt the words like a stab through his heart. He yanked his hand out of Jesse's, and bolted up right against the flimsy fake wood headboard. A deep aggravation set into his bones at the realization of the origins of Jesse's present state. Walt needed to face the reality of the situation: Jesse's trauma was invading his mind at all stages of consciousness. Walt hadn't the slightest idea how he needed to proceed to minimize these episodes, and he knew he stood no hope of banishing them. He was no therapist and if he was honest with himself, he struggled to be sensitive to the emotional plights of the likes of Jesse. He had always reserved that level of empathy for Skyler on the rare occasion she needed it. It wasn't that he was a cold man, but coddling just wasn't where his interests laid. He preferred to enable and motivate through discipline and intellectual stimulation. Jesse had always been needy, and if the young man wasn't emotionally bare before him, he was deferring that state until the next available moment of no self-control. He was the only adult Walt could think of who lacked sophisticated coping skills. Drugs and women, Walt thought, those were his two escape routes.

Jesse was now awake and staring up into the ceiling, but he hadn't spoken a word. Looking down on him with silent pity, Walt thought it prudent to test where Jesse was mentally: the past or the present. He moved a hand over to his head and gently started stroking his hair. Jesse closed his eyes, and grabbed the duvet to bring it up to his chin.

"Are you here with me?" Walt asked softly. It felt like a silly question to ask, but he was avoiding harsh, probing words.

With a laboured exhalation, Jesse returned, "Yeah…why are you petting me?"

Relieved, Walt chuckled and patted him on the head before withdrawing his hand.

It was mid-afternoon and the curtains were still drawn. The room was lit completely by bedside table lamps, each with lampshades coated in dust and yellowing at their edges. Jesse was sitting upright on the bed with his back against the headboard. He had watched three episodes of NCIS and not particularly enjoyed any one of them. Taking a swig of a water bottle inhabiting the table to his right, he looked across to Walt, who was sitting at the table trying to set up the cheap mobile phone he purchased. Jesse looked at his face for a while noting how much it had changed over the past twelve months. Walt had certainly lost some weight, which had caused his wrinkles to become more pronounced, but he now had a thick, healthy looking head of hair. These elements paired with his thick-rimmed glasses led him to look much like a different person. He looked softer now, though Jesse knew that was strictly skin-deep. The man was still an unrepentant, arrogant asshole responsible for his current, miserable state. Even though he knew that without Walt's misguided attempt to attack the compound there was no way he would be free presently, a twinge of resentment began to ignite in his chest. He was stuck on this bed in pain and craving another fentanyl. He would consume anything handed to him right now; anything that would take the edge off the feeling of the present. He considered asking for another pill, but he thought it best to wait until Walt was out of the room and grab one himself in order to save himself the addict speech. He wasn't going to become addicted to Walt's stash, they were just pills after all. To him, it felt like nothing in comparison to heroin, or even crystal. Sure, the first one really knocked him into another dimension, but it wasn't the same, he thought. It didn't feel the same gorgeous euphoria as with heroin, and he rationalized his desire by categorizing it as a very temporary solution. He had no desire to bogart the man's stash of whatever the drugs were to him – they sounded important for his recovery, Jesse thought. Walt would inevitably take a shower, and then he'd search for them. He took another drink of water, and his mind flitted around landing on things he didn't particularly want to remember. Kenny's face flashed in the fore of his mind in various unpleasant guises, while horrible words echoed. He heard Walt's words at To'hajiilee about Jane and then curiously, a new line tugged at him. Suddenly, a question popped into his head.

"Did you like…order Jack and his gang to kill me?"

Walt looked up from the little black flip phone in his hands with his brow slightly furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Jesse had the television's remote in his hand and was tossing it head over heels repeatedly. "Some things you said just sort of popped up in my head."

Walt's eyes jerked toward Jesse, then he coughed and kept fiddling with his cheap phone. "I did…expect that you would be dead, that's right."

Jesse stopped fooling with the remote, and stared at Walt. "I get that like, you would have assumed Jack and them would've killed me ages ago…but, even out in the desert it's like you expected all of them to just kill me for you."

Walt nodded slowly and exaggeratedly giving an air of ambiguity. "Well, you knew I had agreed to work with them to extinguish the risks centred in the prison network…"

Jesse cut him off with loud tut. "Extinguish the risks? How about mass murder?"

Walt waved off the accusation as he stated, "There's no need to be dramatic. Mass murder is a bit much."

"I'm pretty sure brutally murdering ten men at the same time fits that definition," Jesse returned. Walt was shifting in his seat as he broke eye contact, flipping the phone open and closed.

Jesse narrowed his eyes to him as he said, "You called Jack and ordered my death, didn't you?"

Crisp, silent tension engulfed the room as Jesse's words broke into the air. Walt looked up and met his gaze. He sucked in a breath before speaking with disdain dripping off his words, "You're right."

Jesse just stared back at Walt, unmoving and quiet. He had asked the question on a whim, but now felt unprepared for the answer. His mind ran quickly through the sequence of events leading up to the desert, and something pressed itself forward. "You couldn't even bother to kill me yourself. You ordered it like it was a pizza."

Walt scoffed, "That's a ludicrous thing to say."

"Yeah, no. It's not. I knew you wanted me dead, but you couldn't even do it yourself," Jesse started. The flicker of resentment was quickly burning into seething anger. He was still perched against the headboard, but his good arm was gesturing emphatically. "And in the desert, you what, didn't want to let your hitmen pull the trigger because you needed to rip my soul to pieces? As much as you like hurting me, because like, you do, so much…"

Walt cut him off angrily, "What exactly are you saying, Jesse?"

"Why shoot me in the arm? Why didn't you shoot me in the head or chest, like a real man?" Jesse was practically yelling now and his eyes were dark and narrow. "You know how much I wanted to just fucking die. What is wrong with you that you can't kill me?"

"Are you hearing yourself right now? This a new low, even for you. Is there something wrong with you? Are you feeling feverish suddenly?" Walt jerked his head back before shaking it.

Jesse stared at him, and said flatly, "Yeah, there is something wrong with me. You shot me in the arm after twelve months of slavery. Nothing will ever be right with me. And you did that. How does it feel living with the guilt that you're responsible for this mess of a person?" Jesse's voice wavered a bit over the last few words.

"So only I'm responsible for everything that's gone wrong for you, is that it? I made you become obsessed with methamphetamine to the point where selling it seemed like a great idea, did I? Did I put that heroin in your veins as well? Did I get your addict girlfriend back on the, the junk – that's what you junkies call it right? Did I really ever make you do anything Jesse, ever? The answer is no, I didn't. You're an adult. You wanted this just as much as I did." Walt had risen to his feet and was pacing along the compact space between the bed and television.

"You manipulated me over and over. You made me kill an innocent man." Walt's words were so offensive to Jesse, but he pushed through them determined to make himself heard. He was trying not to yell, but his voice was becoming hard to control.

"Who on earth are you referring to as innocent?" Walt said, stalking about the room.

"Gale, or do you not remember because you didn't pull the trigger?"

Walt stilled instantly and turned to face Jesse. Pointing a finger, he said, "That was him versus us, you know that. Don't you dare act as though that wasn't the case. And he was far from innocent. He was a criminal, just like us."

Jesse balked with a devilish grin. "What, you think he dissolved bodies in acid in his spare time, too? I don't think so…" He was shaking his head in disbelief at Walt's latest argument.

"Don't you shake your head at me!" Walt yelled still pointing at Jesse cartoonishly.

Jesse looked back at the man with smug satisfaction. His voice suddenly became quiet and eerily soft. "Calm down, Walt."

Walt looked back at him expectantly as he slowly dropped his arm to his side. Jesse began, "You engineered the poisoning of a child for the sole purpose of control over me. You somehow persuaded Saul to do it. And it worked perfectly. You had me back. What the fuck is it with you?"

Walt stayed quiet.

"When I wanted to leave the new operation," Jesse continued. "You let Mike leave, but not me. Of course you killed Mike and lied to me so I wouldn't leave you. When you finally decided it was okay for me to leave, only when the magnificent Heisenberg ok'd it, you let me cry on your shoulder like a lost child. What the FUCK is wrong with you? Did you like that? Is that what you wanted?" Jesse's tongue was lethal in its tirade, and Walt was standing in stunned silence.

"Mm, you did like that didn't you? I bet it felt like a crowning achievement. You didn't ever really want me dead. You have me now exactly how you've always wanted me. Messed up and completely broken. Yours to do with what you will." Jesse breathed out quickly as the self-satisfied grin melted from his face when the weight of his own words sank into his head. His eyes became downcast for the first time since he started the argument.

Still standing at the end of the bed was Walt with one hand on his hip. Looking squarely into Jesse's eyes, he started, "Do you know how many times I was advised by various people to kill you?"

Jesse peered up with a confused look on his face, his eyes big like saucers, but kept quiet. Walt continued, "I think the first person to tell me point blank that I should kill you was Saul. When Hank did a number on you and we were at your bedside in the hospital. Saul suggested it in the hallway after you woke up." Walt could see a bit of hurt inching across Jesse's face. "Yes, that's right. And when I called Jack to order your death, I guess it was a bit like a pizza after all, do you know why I did that? It was my wife, Jesse. She wanted you dead and gone from our lives. She said to me something to the effect of, what's one more death in the grand scheme of things given all that I have done? So…I called Jack. It was easy. You wouldn't believe how easy it was." Walt stopped for a moment, seemingly just to survey the damage he wrought. Jesse's head was tipped back against the wall almost as though he was trying to put more distance between them. There was slight furrow along his brow. Walt moved slowly to Jesse's side of the bed, closing the space between them.

"Do you know who really wanted me to murder you?" Walt paused, heightening his dramatics as he sat beside Jesse. He planted an arm over his legs and said, "Huh? Do you know?"

Jesse began to shake his head and muttered 'no'. Jesse's discomfort was obvious, and so he continued, "Mike - your precious father figure. He wanted me to kill you. He came to my family home a long time ago specifically to tell me so. How does that make you feel?" The venom in Walt's voice was coating his words thickly.

Jesse's eyes started to glisten as they darted from Walt's to the ceiling. He was looking anywhere to avoid direct eye contact. He tried to move himself further away from Walt, but he could only shimmy to the other side of the bed. Walt leaned in closer to continue, "But, do you know what I did after Mike gave me his sacred and profound advice? I saved you, Jesse, from making a terrible mistake. I killed those two gang-bangers for you - to protect you. I saved you from yourself. That's what I did instead of killing you."

Jesse tried to keep his eyes on the ceiling as the force of Walt's words hit him. The aggressive tension of the room was somehow morphing into an emotional stew he felt he could drown in. He tried to remind himself these events took place before Mike knew him, before they had spent any meaningful amount of time together. Mike had saved his life once, he told himself, and he returned the favour in Mexico. He was running through these events, and making a tally in a bid to keep possession of himself, but Walt's words had really stung him. He remembered being so fearful of Mike after Jane's death, but he had grown to care for him, and felt the man had cared for him. The thought of Mike, and so many others, hoping for his death while Walt remained the one person championing his very survival was now breaking his mind in half. If he accepted that Walt was the one person during this entire descent into Hell that was on his side, he would have to accept he betrayed the one person he shouldn't have. His voice broke as he started, "You're lying, right? These are lies again."

"I'm not lying, Jesse. I was the only person looking out for you. I'm the only person who cared about you." Walt squeezed his good shoulder, but then stood up abruptly. He had managed to flip the argument in his favour, and was ready to move on. "I'm going to get in the shower…give you some space. I'm going to wash out those bloody clothes of yours as well, I think we're going to have to use them."

As Walt gathered the clothes and some toiletries before trundling into the bathroom, Jesse just sat still on the bed with his eyes glued to the ceiling. Walt's words had washed over him like an undertow, and he was now out to sea struggling to stay afloat. The bathroom door slid shut and he heard the lock click. As soon as he heard water run from the shower, he allowed himself to breath, and for a few tears to fall. Jesse had really thought he was on to something in thinking Walt was screwed up for not killing him. How did he end up doubting himself, Jesse thought, but no – Brock…and Jane. He repeated their names in his head almost like a mantra in order to drown out his doubts. He poisoned Brock and let Jane die for you. He did it all to keep you with him, to protect you and keep you safe. No, no…Jesse was at war with himself, and he desperately needed clarity. He scooted himself off of the bed using his right arm, and looked around the room. He saw the gun on the table and lingered on it. I could end it all in a second, he thought, and I'd never have to hear that man's grating voice again. He took a step forward and leaned across the table to grasp it. A flash of Jack dead with a bullet wound in his forehead danced across his mind as he brought the gun to his chest and cocked it. Holding it in his right hand, he caressed the cold metal of the barrel with his free hand. He had a new affection for the feel of the gun in his hand: the weight, the unfriendly metal, and power he knew was lurking in the small barrel. The catharsis he achieved from firing into Jack's skull had stayed with him, and he knew in his heart he looked forward to feeling that again. He wondered if he'd feel it after pulling the trigger with the barrel resting on his temple, or if that split second would elongate, and regret would engulf him before the bullet tore him apart. He'd rather shoot someone else and watch the life drain out of them, he thought. Curiously, he looked to the bathroom door. The shower was still running, and he could hear Walt cheerfully singing as though none of their words from the last hour had phased him. He imagined busting through the door and pointing the gun at Walt. He'd make a special show of cocking it in front of him, and then wait until the man's fear forced him to plead for his life. Maybe he would make him get down on his knees, Jesse thought, just like he had been forced in To'hajiilee. He would give him the same long stretch he had been given with a gun pressed into him just waiting…and waiting…for the trigger to be pulled. Suddenly, Jesse slammed the gun down on the table. The vividness of his fantasy startled him and he was rubbing his forehead to banish the images from his head. Walt's words were seeping back into him: I saved you. I killed those two…to protect you.

Jesse stepped away from the table, and now knew the last thing he wanted was clarity. Walt was in the shower, and so it was time to hunt for the fentanyl's hiding place. His eyes darted around the room looking for Walt's bag. He spotted the crumpled bag resting on the floor under the table smushed right into the corner. He dropped to his knees carefully, and steadied himself with his good arm as he kneed his way under the table to the bag. As he reached it, he splayed it out, and began tugging at the zipper with his hand. Everything took longer with only one useful arm, but he kept yanking the zipper until it relented. With the zipper open, he could see thousands worth in cash bundled up. He started rooting around and pushing the stacks of cash to the side knowing they hid a layer of uneven items below. Then, he could see several pill bottles, and he smiled to himself. He started picking them up and reading the labels: fentanyl, hydrocodone, haldol…and then he saw it. "Shit," Jesse said aloud before buckling back onto his behind. There were two full bottles of morphine, and a stack of needles sitting at the bottom of the bag.