Panic shot through Walt as the tightness and pressure from Jesse's hands began to crush his neck. He tried with as much strength as he could summon to pry Jesse's hands away from his neck in hopes of gaining a moment of breath, and gush of blood to his brain. He managed to lift one index finger off only for it to snap back into place with pressure doubled. There must be a strategy here, he thought as he scanned through his mind, there must be a move to unseat this checkmate. And then it came to him; it was rudimentary, but it would work. Walt curled his fist into a tight mass and wound it backward. Blinking up into Jesse's eyes, he could see years of rage pulsating down into the young man's arms and hands, veins bulging and sweat dripping. Jesse's eyes were bugging out of his skull, and his teeth were grit so hard a punch to the face would surely knock a couple loose but, Walt wasn't aiming for his face. He wound his arm back a stretch further, and then pummeled Jesse heftily in the balls. It was a direct hit, and Jesse cried out in swears while his hands dropped from Walt's neck to instinctively grasp his crotch. While gasping to regain his breath, Walt toppled Jesse onto his back, and monitored him for signs of a second attack. When no signs showed, Walt began to speak through strained breaths. "It was foolish of me not to see this coming." He hadn't given much thought to the strength Jesse must have garnered during captivity. The young man had killed three men with his bare hands before they left Welker's compound, and Walt now realized this was a fact he was glossing over out of convenience. Jesse was now a foot and half from him on the bed, cradling his balls in a near fetal position. He grunted, then rolled to his side with a vicious look across his face.

"I'm in no condition to fight you off, Jesse, if this is what you want." Walt huffed a few times, and stifled a cough. A grave silence followed, and he could tell whatever rage had fueled him only moments ago was already morphing into anguish.

"I'm ready to go…more or less, however my survival instincts are still there, clearly, but…"

"But what?" Jesse was staring at him from the corner of his eyes now. "Your last act of kindness is gonna be letting me kill you? That's incredibly fucked up even by your standards." Still clutching his balls, Jesse scooted himself off the bed to stand.

"No, that's not quite…in any event, you just tried to strangle me to death." A sense of the absurd had crept in a long time ago, but Walt could still step back mentally to survey just how wayward things had become. Recognition of what had transpired between them, and around them, was avoided to let each day pass in peace. The loss and the betrayal, and the effects of Jesse's trauma from captivity, were specters now looming over them. As Jesse moved to leave the room, Walt implored. "Jesse, you can't walk away from this like you have everything else."

Just as he passed through the door frame, Jesse turned with a scowl toward Walt. "Every time you tricked me into talking to you like this, about something, you've thrown it back in my face. You've made me feel more worthless than my parents ever did. You did it before we ended up here, and it turned into the apocalypse."

Walt couldn't see Jesse's face in focus without his glasses, but he could hear the errant sniffles and breaks in his voice. "Son, I don't have all the answers –"

"You don't get to use that word anymore."

Walt managed to balance his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He surveyed Jesse's face looking for a tell that his words were only venom. He couldn't find one. "Jesse…if you kill me, you might not survive the guilt. Violence is not going to fix what is broken inside of you."

A most mocking smile distorted Jesse's face. He laughed with menace at Walt, and then started twisting the brass knob of the door back and forth. Nodding a few times, he said, "You wanna bet?"

The door slammed shut, and the walls vibrated. Feebly, Walt called his name out once before losing himself to another fit of coughing.

Jesse stood peering up into the sky from the deck, cigarette lit and burning away in his hand. He pulled on it mightily, and enjoyed letting the exhaust trail out at will. The night sky was so dark in Hungry Horse owing to the complete lack of city lights, and so the midnight blue of the sky was pierced that much further by the silvery glints of stars. For a moment he thought he was looking at the Big Dipper, until his eyes happened upon a much bigger dipper. He noted it was the first time outside of the desert he saw both the dippers at once. A pang hit the walls of his heart; one more hit to that damaged vessel. He was going to miss the desert profoundly, and this he knew for certain despite the excitement of living out a long-standing fantasy of northern woodlands life, even if in Montana instead of his dream state of Alaska. He would never ride a BMX in the sand again, nor would he feel the heat of a blistering Albuquerque afternoon. The thought of winter lodged in his head, and he nearly shivered. The desert heat is all but lost at night, but this place here, he thought, looked like it needed snowshoes when the white hits. He finished his cigarette and chucked it from the deck, half-heartedly wondering if it would be the one that burns the house down. He looked back up to the night sky as he heard the deck's glass door slide open. He didn't turn around.

"Jesse," Walt's voice was quiet, and full of resignation. Still, he refused to turn around.

"We don't have to talk, just come inside. That bear could be lurking around."

Jesse whipped around finally. "Didn't you get the message back in there? You're off the hook."

"Fine, Jesse. Have it your way. Goodnight." The door slid shut, and within a moment there was the unmistakable click of a lock. Jesse went to the door and tried it immediately as Walt stood on the other side of the glass pane, smiling eerily in the moonlight. He was locked out, and the bear tearing open his chest with only its teeth was now the only thing in his mind. Stricken with panic, both hands went to his head and he started surveying the entire deck. He knew he would be defenseless; no furniture tower could save him against that thing. And then, Walt unlocked the door and slid it open.

"That was too easy – get your ass inside."

Jesse stepped inside, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

"Get some sleep," Walt said.

The next morning, Jesse woke from his belated slumber on the couch to the aroma of bacon. The smell was warm and comforting. As a kid, his mother would often cook breakfast on Saturdays, but that was before junior high, and before she started looking at him with a searching in her eyes. When he was in high school, and routinely slept until four on any non-school day, it would unnerve him how she'd corner him in the hallway when he dared to emerge from his room, with eyes steeled on him, peering down into his soul to appraise it. He had the smallest morsel of comfort knowing she would never look into his eyes again to see for herself how blackened and misshapen it was now. As he sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes until they focused, he spied a nearly nude Walt in the kitchen.

"Ah, he's awake," Walt announced. He could only see a long green apron covering the man.

"As if you are cooking bacon naked."

Walt grinned, "I'm not, I've got boxers on."

Jesse sighed, and ruffled his hair as he approached the kitchen in search of coffee. Out of instinct he sat at the kitchen table, and then questioned what the Hell he was doing. Every moment of normality was now attended by skepticism, and he wondered if this would be the flavour of his life until its very end. Humming some banal tune, Walt brought him a cup of black coffee, and then within a few minutes a plate piled with bacon and eggs. He devoured nearly all of it before Walt sat opposite him with a plate of his own. As Jesse finished his last bite, he grabbed his coffee and gulped a bit of it down, eyes lingering on Walt. It seemed he was content pouring over some old newspaper as he ate at a gentleman's pace. Jesse nearly shook his head before he noticed the red welts covering Walt's neck: there was the evidence of last night's madness staring him in the face. He knew that every piece of him had craved the man's death as he strangled him, but he also knew the feelings evaporated as soon as he took a direct hit to his nuts.

Walt looked up from his paper. "What, Jesse? You're staring."

"Uhhhh," he stumbled for a minute contemplating his options. "I really went for it last night I guess." He sipped the coffee now, holding onto it with both hands as an anchor.

"You nearly succeeded at that." Walt set the paper down. "Did you…get confused?"

Jesse's heart pounded at the question. It was so much easier to pretend it didn't happen the way it really happened. The thought of leaving Walt today, taking the van and not turning back, seemed like an appealing escape, but something weighed on him. It was pressing him to dare to speak. "I saw him, I mean, it was like I was strangling him once I started."

"That's who you needed to stay dead?"

"Yeah," Jesse returned.

"Say his name."

Jesse hesitated as though its use would invoke the man's presence.

"You've seen Kenny instead of me a few times now."

Jesse's jaw was sitting atop the coffee mug. "I guess I really have post-traumatic whatever."

"Your amygdala, it's vastly overstimulated from what has happened. Catastrophic trauma changes the brain, and it can take time for your brain's chemistry to recover."

"I don't know, this shit's probably permanent."

"I assure you it doesn't have to be." Walt sat up in his chair, clearing his throat. "Do you accept now that he hurt you – that it was impossible for you to be a willing participant in…what happened?"

Jesse was quiet as Walt's words floated by him. His thoughts were running in a different direction. "In my mind, you two are tied together."

Walt's coffee mug smacked against the wood table, but didn't break. "Oh?"

"He made me do things, made me want to do things. And so did you." Jesse spoke with a rare deliberateness. The tiniest, most pathetic cough hopped out of Walt's mouth.

"How could I know what they would do to you?"

"The part where they're Nazis should have been a tip off that they were capable of like, the worst cruelty known to the universe."

Walt swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"I don't wanna be this person." Jesse stood from the table, trying to stem the flood of anguish that was rushing into his heart. That pang from earlier was goading him on to speak the words he was terrified of saying aloud, and within seconds he felt them slipping out. "How do I stop missing someone I hate?"

"What could you possibly miss?"

The incredulity in Walt's face stung Jesse, but he carried on baring his scars. "Is it normal to miss sex with your rapist? That's what I'm supposed to think of him as according to you."

Walt said nothing, and silence filled the kitchen. Jesse nodded for a moment, but as the magnitude of his own words hit him, his face dropped, his breath quickened, and he could feel himself becoming faint. "I didn't mean any of that, I don't know why I just said it all."

"Jesse." Walt said softly, rubbing his forehead. "I'm disturbed you're equating me with this person."

Trying to race out of the room, Jesse grabbed his cigarettes from the counter and started tapping the pack. "I'm not sure who's worse, him or you."

Walt stared as Jesse whipped out onto the deck without looking back.

Over the next three days, Walt continued to rebound in health, and busied himself with cooking the full gamut of breakfast, lunch and dinner. After preparing each meal, he would set a plate on the table for Jesse, who would then sit, shovel the food into his mouth, and take leave in under ten minutes. They spent little time together other than this, an afternoon hour of Matlock, and the time it took Walt to recite his grocery demands. On this particular day, after clearing the mess from the day's lunch, Walt sat by the bay window reading a year-old Economist. Jesse was on the deck smoking and staring out into the lake, which had become his default position in the house. Intermittently, Walt glanced to Jesse, silently disapproving of the young man's self-torture through seclusion. Walt kept his distance, but he couldn't pretend he hadn't noticed Jesse was sleeping less, and his appetite for self-care hadn't returned to its pre-confinement level. After his fifth cigarette, Jesse came back inside, and Walt couldn't resist an urge to pipe up. "Jesse," he started.

Jesse stopped, and glanced at him for a split second. He rubbed his eyes and said, "What is it?"

"Everything okay?"

Jesse bumped his fist against the back of the couch with little thought. "Just dandy."

As he made to leave the room, Walt tutted, and couldn't stop himself. "Would you like to take a shower?"

Jesse shot a mean look in Walt's direction. "How's that your business?" He shook his head.

"It's been… a while." Walt plastered on a goofy smile.

A guilty recognition crossed Jesse, and he nodded. "Later."

Before he could get out of the room, Walt added, "There's not as many mirrors in the bathroom downstairs…"

Jesse's eyes went round as he met Walt's gaze, and he nodded again before shuffling out the room. Walt heard Jesse's footsteps jogging down the staircase in minutes, and he smiled to himself. The upstairs bathroom was spacious and beautifully tiled in white, but it prided itself with three-paned mirrors at either end. The last time Jesse had used it, now days ago, it had taken him an hour to complete the task, and he had emerged from the ordeal red-rimmed and quiet, like a solider returning from a tour.

Walt continued to read about derivatives and sub-prime mortgages as a half hour passed. With feet pounding the stairs, Jesse returned with wet hair spiked in every direction. He scrubbed it with a towel, which he threw over one of the arm chairs populating the living room. Walt immediately scolded him, and motioned for it to go outside on the deck, if anywhere other than the laundry hamper. He watched as Jesse hung the towel over the deck's wooden railing, fussing to keep it straight in the breeze. Once looking content, Jesse took out a cigarette and swiftly lit it. Walt, puffed up from an apparent victory, slid the glass door wide and leaned into the frame. "The air is so fresh up here, isn't it?"

Jesse smirked, then flashed him his cigarette before taking a long drag.

"I was thinking chicken roasted with that barbecue sauce for dinner."

"Yeah, we only have chicken so, good thinking." Jesse raised an eyebrow, then turned away again. Suddenly, the sound of someone mounting the wooden staircase leading to the deck startled them. The visitor walked incredibly slow, and the wooden boards were creaking with every step. It almost sounded as if two people were stalking up the steps together. Panic shot across Walt's face.

"Who is that?" He whisper-screamed.

"I can't see," Jesse returned.

"Get in here!" he demanded, but before Jesse could move, a deep, heavy growl bellowed from the staircase. Jesse's face lost every ounce of blood as he swore and stuffed the cuff of his shirt into his mouth.

"Jesse, get in here now," Walt was ordering, but he could see Jesse was frozen in fear. Within a moment, the grizzly bear had its front paws perched on the deck. Its nose was sniffing the air curiously.

"My legs won't move."

"You need to stay perfectly still now, like a statue." Walt ran through options in his mind. A loud noise, or some bear spray, might be all that was needed. He cautiously started to slide the glass door shut so the bear couldn't enter the house while he searched for items to solve their predicament. Jesse squirmed as the door was closed.

"What are you doing? Don't leave!"

Walt signaled for him to stay quiet as he scrambled back to the kitchen. He tore through the drawers looking for anything that might help.

Two monstrous paws with black spikes for claws stepped toward Jesse. The bear now had all four paws on the deck, and stood for a moment sniffing around him as though something delicious was wafting through the air. Its fur was mangy and frazzled, and it had likely been wandering for days in search of a good meal. Jesse stood as still as possible, but his gaze was caught in the bear's. Their eyes stayed locked, and as the bear growled again, he squeezed his eyes shut in the most impotent line of defense. As one eye dared open, he caught the bear taking to its hind legs in a terrifying pose. "Shit, I'm gonna die," he whimpered, "and it's gonna fucking hurt."

Just as he braced to be slashed by the bear, the glass door tore open. A frantic Walt waved a wooden spoon in one hand, and clutched a tiny spray bottle in the other. "Look at me, you big lug," Walt shouted, clamouring the spoon against the glass. "We've had enough trouble for one lifetime, get the Hell out of here."

He shook the tiny can of capsaicin spray, and then let it rip. He waved it around and sprayed for ten seconds forming a solid cloud in the bear, and Jesse's, direction. The thick yellow cloud covered them both, and the bear grunted, and then shot off down the stairwell. As Walt sighed in relief, he noticed Jesse still standing motionless save for hands covering his eyes to protect from the spray. Walt grasped his arms, but he didn't budge.

"Is it gone?"

"Yes, yes, come on –."

Jesse took the towel back from the railing and pushed it to his eyes as Walt guided him back inside. Walt locked the glass door, and closed the curtains to the bay window. Jesse was already collapsed on the couch with his head buried in the towel when Walt turned around, but this didn't stop him from spurring on a conversation. "You know, I wonder if this cabin was empty for quite some time, and that bear has made itself a regular visitor. I didn't think grizzly bears usually came this close to houses."

Jesse grunted in response. Walt was compelled to bring him a glass of water. Reluctantly, Jesse took the water and drank it, perched on his elbow. He looked back at Walt, who was staring at him with a faint smile. "Getting eaten by a bear is like, the perfect ending to the shitty life I've led," Jesse bemoaned.

Walt tutted, "You're not going to be eaten by a bear." Jesse's eyes darted to his. "I don't think you will." Walt tried to sound as certain as possible as he fought a smirk.

"That deck was the only thing keeping me from cabin fever," Jesse said. He let out the most frustrated groan as he dabbed his eyes with water from the glass. "Why did I think being up North would be this fantastic adventure? We should have got another RV, and gone to a different desert. At least there'd be some snakes or something, or a tarantula. I can deal with that size of animal. Small, you know. You can stamp on 'em if they piss you off."

Walt shook his head, knowing he had no conceivable response to his companion's musings. Spending his last few months in another RV with Jesse would have been a punishment fit for the Divine Comedy. "Coffee?" Walt offered, trying to move on quickly.

"Uh, sure."

A few minutes later, Walt brought him a mug that curiously said, 'Save the Rangers,' and Jesse stared at the liquid in it for too long before sipping. Walt could tell there was something else he was itching to say, but working up the courage to broach. Finally, Jesse spoke.

"What did you say when you called Jack to get me killed?"

"I don't recall exactly," Walt said, his throat tight and unyielding.

"It was that insignificant?"

"No, no," Walt began shaking his head. There had to be a way to leave Skyler's presence out of this conversation. He lowered his voice for gravity, and said, "It was a difficult call to make, Jesse, but you left me little choice. We've talked about this, must we beat a dead horse?"

"If I have to be here with you, you know, till the end, you're going to have to talk about things."

Walt rolled his eyes, but nodded to concede. "I made the best choices I could at the time."

Jesse gulped his coffee like it was water, then set the empty mug on a magazine covering the oak coffee table. Squaring his eyes back on Walt, he said, "How could you poison a kid? How could you just be normal after making him so sick?"

Walt sighed. Skillful deflection was a small price to pay for end of life care. "I thought I was losing you, and I needed you. Heck, I was losing you."

"That was completely your own fault."

"Maybe so…" Walt trailed off.

"I don't wanna keep saying the same shit over, and over, again, but you coulda listened when I was asking you for advice. Like, not gone ballistic because I fibbed to you about seeing Gus."

"Mistakes were certainly made."

"And why did you think your old man ass would beat me in that stupid fight? So lame. I kicked your ass."

Walt laughed, and the warmth left Jesse's face. "The lies just make me hate you. When I think about Brock lying in that hospital bed, I could claw your eyes out."

The room seemed to drop two degrees, and Walt straightened his back through a visible chill. Jesse merely rose, and made to leave the room.

"I cried," Walt stated. Jesse turned back, face scrunched in puzzlement.

"What?"

"The day after our almighty fight, I was a wreck. It was my son's sixteenth birthday, and I missed it completely. He ended up at my house taking care of me."

Jesse swallowed hard, then just shook his head. He descended the stairs, and Walt heard the bathroom door slam shut eventually. He sat, eyes forward, uneasy in the silence.

It was the middle of the night, and Jesse's room was enveloped in darkness. Only a scant moon beam hit the corner of the window pane casting the dimmest of light. He lay in bed, on his stomach, hugging a pillow. His mind had wandered to that tipping point between unbridled thoughts and the depths of dreaming, and he was lost to a memory.

"Hey now, you're holding on tight, what's got you?" Kenny stroked at his hair.

Jesse squeezed his eyes shut, and then open. He spoke in a breathy whisper into the man's chest. "Nothing."

"Don't gimme that, we're past that." He grabbed Jesse's jaw and forced him to look into his face. Kenny thumbed at the corner of Jesse's eyelid, wiping away an errant eyelash. And then, Jesse spoke, not breaking their gaze.

"I need the restroom."

"Alright," Kenny said quietly, wiping a couple beads of sweat from Jesse's forehead. As Jesse lifted himself from the bed, Kenny's hand grazed his backside. Upon his return, he grabbed his hand to pull him right back into his chest, "Get yer head right down."

The beat of Kenny's heart pulsed into Jesse's ear. The syncopation of those lub-dubs lapped at him, like waves pulling him out to sea, as they did on so many nights. The revulsion and the resentment, he left them behind. Now in the swirling depths of this murky ocean, he embraced the protection granted to him, despite its inconsistencies, and its toll. He embraced the sedation that any comfort brought to him and, at long last, he embraced the distraction of desire, and the constancy of physical intimacy. Jesse lifted his head and brought his lips to Kenny's.

With a start, Jesse awoke from his dream. He was panting, and with tears pooling he lifted his chest from the mattress. He swore, and threw the pillow across the room. It crashed into a floor lamp near the opposite wall, which broke its bulb as it hit the ground. A minute passed, and he jumped when the door to this night's bedroom popped open.

"Shit, Jesus, don't…do that," Jesse panted.

"I heard something break," Walt said.

"Yeah,"

"Are you…can I come in?" Walt asked, but stepped into the room without yielding to an answer. Jesse backed himself against the headboard, bringing his knees to his chest. Walt pulled a lamp's chain, and the yellow light from the bulb revealed Jesse's red, wet eyes. He sat himself on the opposite edge of the bed, and just the sensation of the weight on the bed made Jesse's skin crawl.

"Nightmare?"

"Something like that, just more confusing." Jesse rubbed his palm to his nose before grasping a tall glass of water from the nightstand.

"Don't punish yourself for what you're feeling. There's no rules for this sort of thing. It's not…black or white."

"What are you saying?"

"Well, I…" Jesse could see Walt was beginning to stumble away from his initial message, but he wasn't about to rescue him. He liked watching him fight to say something useful.

"I suppose what I'm trying to say is that you're allowed to be conflicted about someone who hurt you. Very few people, if really any at all, are completely evil, if you believe in the concept of evil that is. The vilest people are capable of kindnesses. People often bring up how Hitler had a dog that he cared for greatly."

"What, was his dog like a German shepherd or something?"

"Yes, it was an Alsatian named Blondi."

Jesse's head retracted ever so slightly with brow knotting. "Whatever. So, in this metaphor, I'm Hitler's dog because I was kept by a bunch of Nazi's, and sometimes one of them was really nice to me?"

"It's not a metaphor, you're not Hitler's dog, I meant-."

"Sure felt like a dog," Jesse said, kicking the duvet bunched around his legs.

"I'm just saying, let yourself feel whatever it is you feel about what happened, or toward this person. If you don't let yourself feel these things, you will never be able to make peace with what happened."

Jesse groaned. "I thought we were stopping this surrogate father shit. I don't need daddy duty at three a.m."

"Jesse," Walt protested. His voice had that familiar pitch of frustration and disappointment.

"If we keep talking, I'm going to end up choking you out again." Jesse rubbed his eyes furiously. Walt stood, and Jesse could now see a seriousness piercing his surface.

"I don't deserve forgiveness from you. I would never ask for it, but I can't just turn off my instincts toward you."

"I wish you could."

"I'm not saying this makes sense, but this is the reality we are working with. Accept that we are stuck here together for now, and are the only people able to care for one another. Take what little comfort that can bring."

Jesse groaned again in frustration.

"It pains me to see you like this, it really does."

"That pain, it's called guilt."

"Probably," Walt's throat caught as he finished the word. "If I say the wrong thing, poof, presto – you will snap, and strangle me to death, or worse. But, that's the end for me. Any way you look at it, my number is up, but yours isn't. You have to live on past this, what we're doing here, and what ends up transpiring. If you can't cope with this, you will end up in jail, or you will be dead, your life cut far too short."

Jesse just stared at the opposite wall, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Accept everything that has happened. It's the only way forward."

"Accept everything? These scars covering me, and everyone who's fucking dead?"

"Yes, that's exactly it."

Eyes darting, Jesse looked at Walt. "Should I just accept that I'm into dudes now, too?"

Walt's eyes went askew. Jesse stared at the wall. He began running through the guilty circle of this admission in his head. Even though he understood Stockholm Syndrome, his feelings felt real.

"You were merely surviving." Walt put a hand out to Jesse's shoulder and squeezed it, eliciting a flinch. He stilled, but then squeezed again to no flinch. Jesse sniffed a messy sounding nose.

"What am I, now…then?"

"You're you," Walt said, rather plainly. Walt coughed awkwardly, and Jesse raised an eyebrow. "We live life in the gray area, and we do the best that we can."

Jesse sighed a long and heavy sigh that he stretched out into a frustrated groan. He cradled his head for a moment, contemplating Walt's words while hating himself for admitting what he was thinking. Eventually, his brain hopped a stubborn hurdle. "Say I decide I can live in this gray area, and get that maybe I don't have to feel disgusting over every moment with this person, right? That doesn't mean you're off the hook for all your sick shit you did to me." Jesse could see a certain low-level shock in Walt's face, and he could see the man inject his face with a smirk to cover it.

"I can live with that," Walt said.

Jesse stood in front of stacks of egg cartons wearing a dull green parka dusted with dirt. He had found it in a basement closet at the house, and dared to wear it as a disguise into town. Hungry Horse was a true one horse town, with one main drag to its name, and a smattering of small shops. He was at the town's answer to a grocery store, staring at the few egg cartons left on the shelf. The exorbitant prices never failed to shock him in this remote town, and the six-dollar dozen irked him every time. He put them in the basket beside two pints of milk, bread, chicken soup mix, and a bag of Funyons he knew would bring Walt ire. He stepped to the counter and placed his basket down for unloading. A heavyset woman with short, wavy brown hair and a penchant for plaid started scanning items from his basket.

"Well howdy, I seen you around here once or twice."

Jesse nearly groaned in disappointment, but smiled pleasantly instead. "Yeah, I'm a repeat customer…" He trailed off, unsure what to say since he had no desire to speak whatsoever.

"Well, great. Welcome to Hungry Horse. You livin' around these parts?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah…just a way's away."

"You like it here?"

"Yeah, it's great, just great."

She had nearly scanned everything, but the questions kept coming.

"You on your own out here?"

"Yeah, I mean no, no…my uh, grandfather is with me. He isn't too mobile most days, he has dementia." Jesse made a tragic face trying to feign some sort of empathy.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry to hear that." The woman's face turned to the till, and she hurried to settle his bill. Before she handed over his receipt, she flipped it over and started writing. "If you ever need a helping hand, just call. We're a tight knit community here, always ready to help." She smiled broadly, but with the sincerest warmth he'd seen in nearly a year. It was pure, and he knew she meant every word she spoke. He would wait until he was home to crumple the receipt and trash it.

Back at the house, Walt was perched on the couch with another year-old magazine, and Jesse wanted to scream seeing he hadn't moved an inch from the morning. He'd taken up the same spot on the couch every morning for the past five days, and the monotony of passing him to smoke, back and forth, all day, was drilling into his skull. This waiting game they were playing was slowly killing him. He put the groceries away, then cracked open a can of Coke.

"Hey, you want some Funyons?"

Looking up from his magazine, Walt raised his brows. "I thought we agreed to avoid overpriced junk food?"

"Yeah, but Funyons are the only fun I'm having these days."

"Alright, alright, save the bad jokes." Walt's eyes went straight back to his magazine.

Jesse sat down on the couch directly in front of the television, Walt eyeing him the entire time. "I need to watch some television, I'm dying."

"Do it downstairs," Walt ordered.

"That one doesn't work, there's no signal."

"Fine." Walt stood, and walked to the kitchen table.

"Jeez," Jesse said, flicking through the channels. In search of a movie, he found a local affiliate.

And on a final note, park rangers are urging any residents of the area to report bear sightings to the number at the bottom of the screen. They are still looking for what is believed to be a grizzly bear that was seen in the backyard of two local residents. We leave you now for national news. See you at ten.

"That bear is seriously into human meat," Jesse said. Walt merely grunted in response.

Welcome to the news at six. The coroner has released his findings in the death of troubled singer-songwriter, Amy Winehouse. We will have more on the President's withdrawal of troops from Afghanistan, and as well as more coverage of the on-going search for the American drug lord, Heisenberg.

"Drug lord? More like, ass hat." Jesse smirked, pleased with his insult.

Walt was now standing by the couch awaiting the news story. "This is probably just a consolidation report, you know, nothing really new to report, but meant to keep the profile of the story up."

"We'll see." Jesse upped the volume on the set.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation is now helping the Drug Enforcement Agency in its on-going search for America's most infamous drug king pin, Walter H. White. White was last seen in the Albuquerque area just over a month ago.

The news continued with images and interviews both men had seen numerous repeatedly. They watched the report like it was a movie shown on cable so many times they knew every scene, cut and word. Just as a familiar school portrait of Walt from his teaching days left he screen, something new appeared.

Today the DEA have released an image of a man believed to be a top ranking member of Heisenberg's cartel. He has not been seen in over a year, and was assumed murdered by Walter White, or one of his cartel members. However, we have learned today from the DEA that there is reason to believe he is very much alive, and that he may have played a role in the white supremacist murders that happened outside of Albuquerque just over a month ago.

Jesse's mug shot from his first arrest glared at the two men across the screen.

"Oh, fuck me."

His name is Jesse Pinkman. A native of Albuquerque raised in the upscale Country Club neighbourhood of town, it seems this former student of JP Wynne High School was taken under the wing of Heisenberg himself. The DEA have stated he was suspected of a link to Heisenberg before he was known to be Walter White. He is believed to have cooked meth for the cartel, and has possibly fled south to Mexico. Authorities have approximated what he may look like now. If you have any information about the whereabouts of Jesse Pinkman, or Walter H. White, you are asked to call Crime Stoppers at the number scrolling at the bottom of the screen.

A rough sketch of a grizzled version of Jesse appeared on the screen. "At least the sketch isn't too accurate," Walt stated.

"My mother is crying into her 600-thread-count napkin right now. Shit."

"Jesse, you went missing over a year ago, I'm sure she's cried her tears."

Jesse glared at Walt, biting his lip. He switched off the television, and stood scanning the room for his cigarettes before realizing they were in his pocket. He went to the glass door, slid it open, and lit a cigarette in the door frame. "If I could call her, which obviously I can't because hello, wiretap, she would just tell me how I've ruined her life, hang up on me, and then call the police herself because she hates me that much."

Walt stood with arms folded. "Jesse, you were cooking crystal meth in their house, even before all this…madness."

"Not their house, my house." Jesse shook his head, and Walt shooed him outside onto the deck, following behind him.

"Listen, don't let it rattle you. We're fine, nothing's changed," Walt said.

"You need to show me where you're keeping the guns, and the drugs, and all your other illicit shit, whatever it is. You've hidden them well."

"Why on earth would I do that?"

"Because, if the heat is on us, and you're practically dead, I need to grab it all, and get us gone." He dragged his cigarette hard, before turning to look back at Walt.

"That's a fair point. Just…I'm a bit…"

Jesse watched as Walt struggled for delicate words. He interrupted him after a minute. "That's just a risk you'll have to take."