Jesse's hand wavered over the two bottles of morphine sulfate buried at the bottom of Walt's bag. They were the largest bottles he had ever seen. Most bottles he had encountered before were small, single-use ampoules sold by desperate relatives of the terminally ill, but these were huge in comparison. The situation felt like twisted providence to him, and he didn't want to waste minutes while Walt was still locked away in the bathroom. He scooted out from under the table with one of the bottles and a needle, and climbed to sit on the edge of the mattress. He would have to guess at the dose, but he wasn't the least bit concerned. If it knocked him out or killed him, he didn't care. Maybe if it didn't kill him, Walt would be sufficiently annoyed to leave him behind. He hoped he'd wake up a day later completely alone, and if there was any justice in this world, a stack of cash would be left for him on the table. He looked to the bathroom door and could see the tiniest bit of steam slipping out through the bottom of the door. The shower was still running, and Walt's absent-minded singing was just audible through the door. Trying to move quickly, Jesse began scouring the room for something to use as a tourniquet. He would have to place it just under his gunshot, and it would be painful for a few minutes, but the payoff would be huge: he'd feel nothing at all. He was still wearing just a pair of boxer shorts, and Walt had his former outfit with him in the bathroom. The table had snacks strewn about it still, but nothing useful was present. Then, on the floor he spotted a lone sock nestled on the floor against the dresser. After grabbing and stretching it between his mouth and hand, he placed the morphine bottle horizontal in between his legs. Inserting the needle, he pulled back the plunger to draw the morphine into the syringe. He pulled the plunger back past the 20 mark, assuming it would be at least enough to knock him out. He felt as though he was taking a spin, Wheel-of-Fortune-style, and he hoped the wheel landed on something bad, something permanent. He placed the needle in between his teeth, and began the arduous task of tying the sock below the wound on his left arm. He winced before crying out silently as he managed to tie it on the first try. He took the needle back from his mouth, and sat for a moment rapt in eager anticipation thinking about how good it would feel. He felt almost aroused as he imagined the rush sweeping through him. All of the feelings of devastation and grief inhabiting him were about to vanish for hours on end. Nothing could rival the holistic analgesic powers of an opiate, he thought, recalling the summer his aunt died, and how taking her leftover oxy's had made the grieving process just bearable. And, how after Combo died, meth was barely a relief and Jane convinced him that H was the best option. She had been right, he thought as he moved the needle to his arm. It was throbbing under the makeshift tourniquet, and his wound was quickly losing any clotting it had formed, but he didn't care. He slowly pierced the first vein he found, and pulled back the plunger until he could see a bit of blood. Satisfied that he'd done the best he could, he started to slowly push the plunger to release the morphine. Just as he began, the bathroom door flew open.

"I've left a sock out here some-" Walt froze when he saw Jesse huddled over with a needle in his arm. Two blue eyes looked back up at him, wide and stunned. Walt stared back at them astonished as he cinched a half wet towel against his stomach. He took a step forward and with a trembling in his voice said, "Stop…don't, don't do it, Jesse."

Walt's voice was plaintive and unusually quiet. Jesse had barely pushed a half milligram into himself, and was sitting with his fingers on the plunger looking up at Walt. He was caught in the act, and found himself unable to move. Walt took another step forward, and was waving a hand in front of himself as he shook his head. There was annoyance in his voice, but also a sadness as he continued to speak. "Take the needle out. Do you even know what that is you're taking?"

Jesse swallowed and quietly returned, "Yeah, I do."

Walt was now standing in front of him red-faced. He rose his finger to point at Jesse's arm, and said sternly, "I need that sock." Walt then ripped the sock off, nearly losing his towel in the midst of the struggle. Jesse cried out in pain, and Walt moved his left hand down to the needle that was still hanging out of Jesse's forearm, and yanked it out with a cruel force. Jesse yelled out and clutched at his arm as a crimson trail trickled out.

"You absolute fool! What were you trying to accomplish?" Walt roared. Jesse was now crumpled on the bed clutching his arm. Walt loomed over him continuing to point accusingly, and continued, "How dare you use my supplies! I need that morphine. It's mine, and I need it! How much did you take? How much did you do?"

Walt was livid as he knelt over Jesse, and began prying his eyes open with force to look at his pupils to see if they were shrinking. He then took his jaw, and yanked his head from side to side before releasing it just so he could slap him hard across the cheek.

"What the…fuck…" Jesse breathed out in subdued shock. Whatever little morphine he managed to inject was taking effect. Walt looked down on him embittered, and snarled at his piteous state before moving off the bed. He snatched the morphine bottle from the bed, and leaned under the table to grab his bag. He put it on top the table and returned the bottle to the bottom of the bag.

"I can't believe that after everything you've been through your default setting is still 'junkie idiot' – how is that possible?" Walt threw his hands up in the air and shrugged dramatically. The high had spread in Jesse, and he was lying across the bed looking back at Walt askew with the hint of a grin in the corner of his mouth. As he stood fuming with hands on his hips, Walt's towel suddenly dropped to the floor. An indolent giggle, or two, spilled out of Jesse as he raised a wobbly hand in his direction, "You're naked."

Seething, Walt snatched up the towel and stepped forward to point at Jesse. "You're a fucking child," he yelled, before grabbing the bag from the table and stalking back into the bathroom. The door slammed shut behind him.

The sound of the door slamming banged around in Jesse's head like a bowling ball bumping down a padded bowling lane. Everything was becoming thick and cottony as a pleasant high planted itself inside him. He worked his way towards the pillows on the bed and realized he could no longer feel pain in his left arm, and the deep pit of despair inhabiting his chest had dissolved. Everything was more brighter, and the bed was a hundred times more comfortable. He flicked the television back on, and it was still on the channel that only showed NCIS and its many iterations. The show was suddenly interesting, and the goth girl with the pigtails was almost cute.

After a murder and a few bad jokes, Walt emerged from the bathroom fully dressed.

"I washed your clothes and they're drying now. I forgot I cut the t-shirt to shreds. But, you're lucky. If they weren't wet and torn apart, I would be sending you out of this room in them." Walt was shuffling items on the table before he looked back to take in the state of Jesse, who was splayed out in his boxers and perched on all four of the bed's pillows.

"Is that so…" Jesse said in a groggy, thick voice. His throat and mouth were going dry.

Walt spun around to loom over Jesse with his hands back on his hips. "After everything, after being held against your will for a year…this, this is what you choose to do with your freedom?"

A silence hung in the air as Jesse ran a hand languidly through his hair, then dropped it to his side like dead weight. "I'm not free," he said in an odd, unnerving tone.

"Stop saying provocative things. I'm not arguing with you, especially in this state." Jesse's hand grabbed his shirt while he spoke, and was tugging at him in a pesky rhythm. This more than ruffled Walt who exclaimed, "Get your hands off me!" He pried Jesse's hand away as he continued, "What is wrong with you, for God's sake!"

Before he could turn away, Jesse grabbed at his shirt again and murmured, "You ruined me."

"I'm so fucked up now…you really have no idea," Jesse continued, smiling as his glassy eyes slowly blinked open and closed. Walt hadn't really seen Jesse in this state many times: a state where he seemed to lack any filter of bravado on his words. Sure, Jesse often spoke like a person who wasn't filtering his words, but in truth he always was trying to present himself a certain way, especially in front of Walt. The exception to this being when he was overcome with emotion, and lost control of himself altogether. Walt had seen that more times than he cared to count. But, the young man wasn't on a silly high like marijuana, or an aggressive one like crystal meth. This was different, and Walt wondered if he would get a different brand of honesty from Jesse now. Do I really want to sit here and listen to this drugged up idiot yet again blame me for every terrible thing that's happened to him? Walt was thinking it over; he couldn't decide if there was any benefit in letting Jesse talk in this state. His trauma was a pressing issue Walt needed to tackle, and he wondered if maybe he could glean a new insight into his time at the compound while he was in this compromised state. Anything that may help him deal with the next outburst, the next panic attack…the next episode. Conflicted, he took a seat on the edge of the mattress, and prepared to remove any aggravation from his voice. In the softest tone he could fake, Walt asked, "Why don't I have any idea? I was there. What did I miss?"

Jesse's reaction was just to laugh, and he began to tug at Walt's shirt again. It was annoying, but Walt now guessed it was some misguided way to satisfy a need; it was something he didn't know how to ask for. Walt never forgot that he was dying, but he had to remind himself that things would be easier with someone there to keep him comfortable. If he allowed things with Jesse to spin out of control, the two of them could end up caught, or worse. They had come so far, and Walt refused to let the last months of his life be taken from him. Jesse swallowed a few times, and weakly cleared his throat. Walt could tell he was already getting dehydrated, and so he grabbed a bottle of water from the table, and brought it back to him. Jesse thanked him, and gulped from the bottle. Walt said, "Why don't you scoot over, I'd like to sit and stretch out."

Jesse took two pillows and moved to make space for Walt, who sat up against the headboard. He stretched his legs out, and crossed them over before taking a swig of the water bottle himself. Jesse was still splayed out with his head resting on his good arm. His eyes were floating up at the ceiling. "If you could do it all over again, would you let this happen to me?"

Walt exhaled in a deep sigh as he straightened his glasses on his nose. He wasn't about to assume ownership of all the man's plights. "Which bit are we talking about here?"

"…Being a slave. Being used," Jesse answered quietly with his face snug against a pillow.

Walt rubbed his forehead a few times before dropping his hand to his lap. "I never in my life wanted this to happen to you. But, it did, so we have to to deal with it now."

One of Jesse's eyes cracked open to peer at Walt. His pupil was slim and dark. "We have to deal with it? We?"

Walt saw this as an opportunity to sell how he envisioned the next few months going. This could keep Jesse loyal until his final days arrived. "Yes, it really is just us against the world now."

Jesse rolled onto his back, and sighed. "That's depressing."

With a laugh, Walt said, "I think we're beyond the luxury of depression, Jesse. We are surviving…existing."

"Well, you know what my feelings are on existing."

Walt's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Is that why you tried to take my morphine?"

There was a long pause before Jesse answered in an exasperated voice. "Maybe, I don't know. I just don't want to be like, awake. I just saw it, and thought it was a good idea."

"I know it's tempting, but you can't run from what happened. It won't work." He looked over at Jesse, who had rolled his face back into a pillow. "Why don't we talk about it a bit. Just...skim the surface, see what's there."

"That sounds fucking weird," Jesse scoffed.

"Humour me," Walt started. He reasoned the morphine had dulled all of Jesse's pain, and so he pushed forward. "Were you always bound in there?"

Jesse's answer was muffled by the pillow. "Yeah, at first, definitely. But then not when I was with Kenny."

Walt slowly unscrewed the water bottle's cap and drank a few sips, not because he was thirsty but for something to occupy him as his discomfort rose.

"When we were locked in that room," Walt started, "Kenny called you his angel. Is that – did he always call you that?" He looked out of the corners of his eyes to see what affect, if any, his words had on the young man.

Jesse bunched up his pillows under his head. "Yeah, kinda."

"Did you spend a lot of time with him?" Walt was trying to speak slowly, and keep his voice gentle.

"Yeah. I mean, like outside of cooking." Jesse yawned, and stretched out to take the water back from Walt.

"What sort of things did you do with him?" It felt like an obvious question, but Walt thought it was prudent to start at a basic level. He knew only what he witnessed, what Jesse had told him about being chained up, and about those graphic visions of him trying to take his own life. He hardly had the full picture of the past twelve months. And there was Andrea, my god, he thought, how did all the pieces fit together?

The little dose of morphine had put Jesse in a safe space and his mind was open for visitors. He was firmly planted in the present, and speaking without moderation or worry. The bed felt cozy and he was enjoying the sensation of bundling the duvet around his legs. "I slept with him every night," he answered.

Walt's throat knotted. It was up to him to keep the tone casual and light, as though no malevolent force could seep in. "You slept in the same bed as him?"

Jesse was peering back at Walt with an air of contentment from the morphine. Walt found it startling to see him without his signature brand of uncertainty and sadness. He knew it was false, just a side effect of the morphine, and he wondered if it would ever be possible for Jesse to achieve this sense of safety while sober. He remembered the Jesse from the beginning of their venture, full of half-baked ideas and bizarre anecdotes, but who was so content when he was cooking. The young man could be focused and confident, and often thought he finally had life figured out. It all would usually manifest in an incredibly misguided fashion, like when he returned from rehab and pronounced himself Satan in the flesh. So sure of his identity was he that day, and so unbelievably wrong he was.

Jesse finally returned, "Yeah, and I meant we had sex."

Walt began wringing his hands without realizing. It was painful navigating his diction like this. "Wouldn't…rape be a word to consider?" That word was out now in the open, Walt thought, this would mean progress.

Jesse draped the duvet further over himself, and simply responded, "No," outstretching his bad arm so that he had a finger poking at Walt.

"I saw…you two," Walt mustered. "It didn't look that uh, consensual."

Jesse looked up at Walt, and then laughed into his pillow. "Nah, I know the difference. And you don't know what you saw."

"Don't you think that maybe you are blaming yourself for things far out of your control?" Walt hazarded; it seemed so obvious to him.

"Nah…we both know I blame you for most things." The high was making Jesse pleasantly restless and tactile. He was fluffing and bunching his pillows endlessly, skirting his hands over the duvet, adjusting his boxers.

"Are you familiar with Stockholm Syndrome?" Walt asked.

"Yeah, I don't have that shit."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Cause it's different. I hated them all. Even Kenny in the end."

Walt's left eyebrow raised itself considerably. "What did he do to make you hate him?"

Jesse lifted his top half up from the bed to face Walt. "He turned me out." Jesse leaned across him and grabbed the water bottle, and began gulping again.

Walt turned the words over in his mind, and his mouth. "He turned you out…" Walt was staring back at him waiting for the meaning to take hold. He had heard that phrase somewhere before.

Finally, Jesse stopped and stared at him. "Are you not up on pimp terminology or something? That's like a 1970's phrase. You should know that shit." Jesse shifted, and brought his knees to his chest. His chin was bouncing off folded arms.

"Why would I know anything about pimp terminology?" He guffawed, but then the smile melted off of his face as the meaning hit him. His jaw fell open and he was hit with a wave of potent regret. This can't be true, he thought, but things Jesse said earlier started to repeat in his brain. Walt had realized this was the reality of the situation before, but had been ignoring it. "How did he do that to you?"

Again Jesse answered with no hesitation. It was as though the words were streaming out just to be heard. "For I think six months, he gave me everything I needed. Everything. He took me from living like…like an animal, to being human again, and he ended up using that. I trusted him, and eventually he used that against me."

"Don't you think he was using you the entire time, Jesse?"

Jesse looked at him as his head rested on the folded arms atop his knees. "Maybe. But I wanted it."

"You thought you wanted these things with him, that's how it works, Stockholm Syndrome," Walt corrected. He wasn't about to accept this absurd take on the situation.

"You're wrong, you weren't there." Jesse's voice rose abruptly, and suddenly there was an edge in glassy eyes. Walt nodded to acquiesce. He promised himself he wouldn't give in to an argument while he was in this state, there was no point.

Unexpectedly, there was a knock at the door. Both he and Jesse stared at the door for a minute before looking back at one another. Panic set into Walt's face almost immediately. Then Jesse said, "Should we answer it?"

Walt was shaking his head in response when there was a second knock at the door followed by a woman's voice. "I know you're in there, it's the front office."

A twitch of relief shook Walt, and he quickly stood up. "You need to answer the door. Here, take my sweater." He started disrobing swiftly and handed the sweater to Jesse.

Jesse was stunned, and moving slowly, but he put on the sweater. "What's our story?"

"Uh, father-son holiday of a life time…driving cross-country. You're having the best time of your life." Walt rushed out before enclosing himself in the bathroom.

"As if," Jesse muttered as he walked toward the door. He undid the chain and unlocked the door, and held it open only a foot to see a short, stout woman with her arms folded. Her greying hair was pulled back in a messy, greasy bun, and her face was dotted with age spots.

"Hey," Jesse managed to creak out in a dry voice. The sun was low, and beams were hitting his eyes.

"Howdy, sorry to disturb ya, but we need your fees."

Jesse was relieved. "Oh right, yeah my Dad will pay you in a minute. He's just, uh…taking a dump right now." He was sure to say it as loud as possible so Walt would hear.

The woman gave him a dubious look as she proceeded to look him up and down. "Well, alright son. Tell your Daddy to come up to the front to pay right away, please." She smiled a very phoney smile, but then turned to head back across the parking lot. Before he closed the door, Jesse glanced around the lot that was desolate. The motorcycles were now gone, and only one car remained. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure standing smoking against a room door on the opposite side of the lot. She was a brassy blonde with deep, dark roots wearing next to nothing. A purse was limply hanging by a strap from her elbow, and she was dragging hard on her cigarette. She wasn't close enough to make eye contact with, so Jesse stared at her from the door frame without worry. She looked young, he thought, what was she doing out here? Suddenly, the bathroom door opened and he moved to shut the door. He took another look at the woman as she stamped out her cigarette feverishly before shutting the door.

"Quite the comedian," Walt said with an annoyed grin on his face.

"You need to go pay that broad now so we don't get kicked out."

"I will Jesse. I think I will need to risk going to the Walmart I mentioned to you, unless I can find somewhere here that does clothes. We need more supplies as well."

"Will you buy me cigarettes?" Jesse asked as he sat on the edge of the mattress.

Walt turned around and smirked. "Maybe."

About thirty minutes had passed since Walt left, and Jesse had his face smushed into a pillow on the bed. He was still moderately high, and enjoying the lack of pain in his entire body. He wasn't thinking of anything in particular when his mind drew him back to the figure he had seen in the parking lot. What was a girl that young doing out here, he thought? He knew what she was doing, but he couldn't fathom it in a small town like this. How old could she be, he wondered, she may be eighteen. But god, she looked too young to be out here doing that. He swore to himself thinking about this run-down motel they were stuck in, and about how badly he wanted a cigarette. Seeing her smoke reminded him of that glorious affliction. He hadn't smoked since before things got bad with Kenny, but before that time they used to smoke a lot. He'd have to ask for one each time, but Kenny never said no. Jesse lifted himself up off the bed suddenly trying to shake the thoughts of Kenny out of his head. Despite the high, he was beginning to feel a bit trapped in the motel room. He decided to sit by the window, and see what he could see. He dragged a chair against the wall, and sat to the side of the window so he could lift the curtain, and peer out without being readily seen. As he scanned across the lot, his mystery girl reappeared. This time she was walking along the row of room doors, and walking in his direction. Without even thinking, he rose to his feet and scampered to the door to fling it open. He did just as she passed, startling her. She stopped for a moment, and looked him up and down. Her hair was now in a messy, high ponytail which made her look more like a brunette than a blonde. She was petite, shorter than him, and the black tank top she wore was riding up her stomach. She also wore a cheap, black mini-skirt that was a size too big and covered in ash. Her face was round and cute with an upturned nose, but her youthfulness was covered over by a hardness, and there was more than a tinge of ferocity burning in her eyes. She scoffed in disgust as she looked at him in just his shorts, and turned to walk away.

"Hey…hey wait up," Jesse started, trying not to step out of the door frame. "Do you have a cigarette maybe?"

The woman turned back as she tilted her head in annoyance. Without saying a word, she began fumbling through a scuffed-up white, patent-leather handbag. She took out a pack of Wilmington's and snatched out a cigarette before shoving it in his direction. He took it slowly, and as she turned away, he said, "And a light?"

She turned around and stared at him. "I never give randoms cigarettes, but you look pathetic," she said, as she flicked the lighter to light his smoke.

"Ouch," Jesse said, as he dragged on his first smoke in months. Her words did penetrate him, but the morphine was keeping him on a confident, even keel. And the smoke tasted like Heaven to him. The girl seemed to be lingering a moment so Jesse was quick to keep speaking. "What's your name?"

"Randall." She looked around furtively before taking her cigarette pack out of her purse again. She lit up and folded her arms.

"What are you up to, here?" Jesse asked. Her head lurched forward, and she rolled her eyes.

"Are you serious?" She laughed, and took another drag. "What are you up to here?"

Jesse laughed. "Absolutely nothing."

"Good. Me too." She glanced around again quickly, and then took a step toward Jesse. "Yo, one hundred bucks."

"What?" Jesse stretched his arm out to flick the ash off his cigarette.

"Yeah, a hundred bucks. You want it?" Randall was shifting closer to him with every word, and he felt himself retreating back into the motel room. He threw his cigarette away in time for Randall to take over the door frame.

Jesse was taking another step backward, and eyeing her hard. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen and a half last week." She smirked, but looked sincere, and Jesse felt convinced by the addition of the half year.

"Listen, I don't have any cash. You're wasting your time here."

"The fuck you don't. I saw that Cadillac parked out front before," she said, as she closed the door behind her. She took a few steps, and started pushing Jesse towards the bed. "You haven't got any in a while, have you?"

Jesse grabbed her by the arms to try and march her back to the door. "You can't be in here. And I honestly have no cash. My…Dad has it all, and he's out." Jesse knew he couldn't have a prostitute in the room with no money; he didn't want to get his ass kicked yet again. He forgot he was shot, and as he tried to grasp her, the pain in his arm returned and he found himself gasping in pain as he pulled away from her.

"Are you okay?" She said as her eyes began scanning across the room. As Jesse faltered in pain, and eventually sat on the edge of the mattress, she walked to the table and started rifling through anything she could find. There was nothing of value, however, only snickers bars and garbage. Her attention turned back to Jesse. "You're not in very good shape, are you?"

Jesse just sat wincing while he held his arm. "Listen, I can do you a half price blowie since you're injured, and I feel sorry for you." Randall took her purse off and placed it on the table, and started taking her heels off.

"No, you really need to leave okay?" Jesse was pleading with her with his eyes, but she was immune to it. She started shuffling towards him on her knees.

"Are you afraid of Daddy catching you with a girl?" Her voice was taking a false, playful tone he was all too familiar with. She arrived in front of him and put a hand directly on his crotch. His whole body stiffened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, knowing he wasn't the least bit aroused. Noticing this, she moved her hand to his thigh and gently stroked it. He pushed his eyes open and saw her big, brown eyes staring back at him. They looked different than before; they had an innocence and a sincerity. "What's wrong?"

Worried about how he was making her feel, he put his hand on top of hers. "No, no…nothing. I just…this isn't really…"

His words trailed off, and even he wasn't sure what he was trying to say. Randall was beginning to notice the state he was in. "Where did you get all these scars? Did you go to war?"

"No, not really."

She looked over his body again, and then into his blue eyes. "What happened to you?"

He shut his eyes immediately, feeling her stare was too intense. "I'm not sure."

She stood on her knees and delicately settled between his legs. She placed a hand on his chest and started caressing it gently, up and down. He was incredibly uncomfortable, but he didn't know how to stop it, and part of him didn't want to, even though he knew it couldn't end well. She whispered, "You look like you're in pain."

"I am," he said. She touched her hand against his stubble and felt its edges. As she moved closer, he could feel her hot breath against his neck. Her other hand played with the elastic of his shorts as she said, "I don't normally do this, you know Pretty Woman and all," she trailed off into kissing him slow and gently. It wasn't easy kissing her back; anxiety stalked after his desire. Soon both her hands were clutching at his cheeks as she kissed him harder each time. An ember of arousal was glowing inside of him, but his exterior was failing him. His hands were all but trembling as he moved them to the small of her back. He felt the soft skin under her tank top, and it felt so velvety. It had been so long since he touched a woman, and he was relieved at how different it felt to being with him. Randall was kissing his chest as she pushed him back down on the bed. She slid his shorts down and enveloped him in her mouth. Jesse bolted upright, and gripped her shoulders to try and push her away.

"Not that…just, not that," he said in a breathy whisper. He kissed her desperately, trying to cover up his fear. She backed away for a moment and half smiled. She shuffled to grab her purse from the table and returned with a wad of condoms.

"That's ambitious," he said, smiling as he pulled a piece of hair behind her ears. She said nothing, and climbed on top of him as he laid back on the bed. She straddled him, and his hands found their way up her skirt. His instincts were beginning to take over, but there was a darkness in his mind threatening to engorge him. He worried that the wrong move or touch would set in motion something in him he couldn't control. He pushed her underwear to the side and felt pure silk between his fingers. This could save me, he thought. He grabbed a condom and immediately ripped it open to start rolling it on. The girl he just met was grinding herself over him and he looked to her face to see she was absent, lost in the feeling. He pushed her back for a moment to roll on the condom, and then he watched her lower herself on top of him, enveloping him entirely. He held on to her hips as she rhythmically bounced on top of him. Staring up at her, he fought to stay in the moment, to not let his mind slide away to its caverns. He was rolling over phrases in his mind: this is good, this is fine, you're turned on, this is working. But it wasn't really working; he was trying desperately to stay hard. He pushed down her tank top and bra, and was rubbing her breasts. This is helping, he thought. He was finally starting to feel a build-up when the room's door flew open.

Walt stepped into the room with his arms full of bags. His head was down until he set a few bags down, and then his field of vision was filled with a tawdry image: there was Jesse with his hands full, getting ravished. He was at once disgusted and angry, but he couldn't risk whoever this tart on top of Jesse was getting a good look at him. He dropped the remaining bags, and left at once before the girl could get little more than a glance at him.

"Uh oh, you're in trouble now." Randall didn't once stop, and was increasing her pace.

"We better just finish." Suddenly Jesse remembered the morphine and continued, "You know, I'm stoned as fuck, I don't think this is gonna happen."

Randall stopped for a moment, and lowered herself to his face. "You're giving up far too easily." She moved over to his right side and he followed, kissing her as he adjusted to the new angle. It felt good, but it wasn't enough. He buried his head in her chest trying to delay the inevitable moment where he'd give up and ask her to leave. His thrusts were getting longer and slower, and he could feel a swell of sadness thickening in his throat and behind his eyes. Then, he felt a pressure in that little spot between his ass and his junk. He moaned into her chest, and then managed to breathe out, "What are you doing?"

"What you need. Fuck me harder." He moaned into her breasts again and obeyed, holding onto her hip as he slammed into her harder, again and again. He suddenly felt an overwhelming build-up, and knew he was moments from finishing. Her hand weaved into his hair as his panting increased and as he came, she held his head firmly against her chest. They laid for a few minutes in silence as she stroked his hair, and grasped his shoulder reassuringly. Jesse pulled up his boxers and sat up. Before he could put together the words, Randall was fixing her clothes and gathering her purse to leave. He stood up to walk her out of the room, but didn't have anything to say. Just as she went to open the door, she turned back to Jesse and said, "Pay me later, or fuck me later."

Jesse nodded but wasn't exactly sure what he was agreeing to, and watched as she left the room clutching her little patent leather bag. He held open the door and watched her walk off in the direction she came from, and before he could shut the door, he spotted Walt sitting in the front seat of the Cadillac. He was staring back at him with a cruel, hard look he'd seen a couple times before. Any good feelings rolling around in his head shot out, and anxiety took hold. This wasn't just going to be an argument, he thought. Maybe he shouldn't have fucked a hooker on the only bed in the room, and maybe he shouldn't have stolen morphine from the great Heisenberg and shot it up, maybe.