After he confirms his suspicions — that Walt isn't just gone, but gone-gone — he returns to 509 and stares at his bedroom ceiling for a solid hour. He thought he'd be relieved enough to cheer, but he's not and he doesn't; he's exasperated. He's tired. It's always something, here and back home, and that something always seems to bring him to Jesse.
If he doesn't tell the kid about this ASAP, he might freak out. Saul can hear it now: Mr. White didn't show up to work. He can see the look on Jesse's face, too, all puppy-eyed and annoyed and panicked. He's been on the receiving end of that look enough for one lifetime and then some, which wouldn't be a problem if it didn't stir up so much guilt. But it does.
No wonder Jesse doesn't trust him, when Saul makes this all so obvious.
But this is business, technically speaking. This is a situation involving two of Saul's clients, one of whom is still very much here, and Saul isn't going to shrug off professional responsibility just because he's afraid of unintentionally pissing Jesse off again. If he decides to shoot the messenger, so be it.
He makes the trip one floor down some time around 9:30, hoping that Jesse hasn't left to start his day yet, and knocks.]
[Jesse's barely even awake yet. He's only just managed to get himself dressed, his limbs all heavy and weak with the residual effects of the tranquilizer he uses to get to sleep every night. He's just about to have a bump when he hears the knock at the door. And that's weird. Most people know better than to drop by 409 before noon. He shoves the meth back into his pocket and shuffles over to the door to answer it.
[Getting straight to the point seems like the best way to go with this, but Saul realizes being blunt might translate to something more ominous in Jesse's sleepy head.
So he backtracks, lifting his hands in preemptive defense as he speaks.]
Of the universe's volition, I guess. The powers that be — whoever. I'm still not sure how that works.
[Jesse's so tired, he almost asks who, who's gone? - but it hits him just as he's about to form the words and his mouth just hangs open like that for a second.
His hand leaves the doorknob and he takes one step back, then another. He looks over his shoulder, like he's checking if the coast is clear, then he looks at Saul again. He appears disoriented, if anything. It overpowers any emotion he might be feeling. He's very literally stunned.
[It almost looks like Saul's worried Jesse might fall over, with the way he leans forward as Jesse steps back. Hell, he almost fell over, himself, when he noticed the tracking device he'd planted on Walt's tablet wasn't registering anything. But he remains in place, careful to keep his back straight and his expression neutral.
This is business.
A one-shouldered shrug, and he lets his hands fall.]
[It's Saul's turn to fall into stunned silence. He doesn't know if it's this place that's making him stupid, or if it's all the stress or the perpetual lack of enough sleep, or if it's just that he's lost the ability to think with his head and is instead letting his foolish heart drag him into these situations, but he was an idiot to believe he could get away with pretending this is strictly business.
Or maybe he just misheard. In light of recent events, he doesn't think it's too much a stretch of the imagination to assume the truth is that Jesse hates him, so it's no wonder he's taking this personally.
That's why he stares at Jesse, blinks, and asks:] What?
[It's out of his mouth before he can stop himself.
The problem here is that the hour he spent staring at the ceiling was an hour spent wondering if it'd be worth it to try and rebuild whatever it was he thought he had with Jesse before Walt showed up.
And now he's thinking the answer to that might be "no."
So, okay. Fine. If Jesse wants him to leave, he'll leave.]
As in, "left Jesse alone." He never made it back to his room, or to the office or Hold or anywhere, because he paused outside 409's door for a few seconds and the next thing he knows, it's over an hour later and he's still sitting there on the floor, back to the wall next to the apartment door — which is, of course, still open.
He needs to do something about this situation. Now, before it somehow gets worse.
After a moment's consideration taken in the name of planning ahead, he thinks screw it and heads inside with no plan, no script, and no idea what the "something" he needs to do actually is.]
[The door of Jesse's bedroom is ajar, too, just like he left it an hour ago. He's alone inside. Lisbeth was gone before he woke up, off to work diligently as she has been on her new project.
He's sitting on the edge of his bed, a syringe in one hand and a belt in the other. There's a clear liquid in the syringe. He hasn't shot it yet. It doesn't look like he'll be shooting it anytime soon. He's frozen just like that, staring down at the floor in silence, with tears soaking his cheeks.]
[He's not surprised. Scared and a little disgusted, but not surprised.
If he could leave, really leave and bid a not-fond farewell and fuck you to all of this, he would. Turn around and walk out and just keep going until his feet can't carry him anymore, and if that means he's somewhere in the Outlands or in United Earth territory, whatever. So be it.
Part of him almost wants to go home, at this point. Forget what he thought earlier this month; being in hell is better than being in limbo.
Saul pauses in the doorway of Jesse's room, taking in the scene and committing it to memory for later use — this is who you care so much about, this unsalvageable mess of a person — before cautiously closing the distance between them to kneel in front of Jesse.
[He's like that for another second or two, still as a statue. Then all at once he's moving. Forget the tourniquet. He's going straight for the nearest vein. Not his arm, either, but his neck. He'll shoot this fucking verstatsi straight into his own neck and maybe he'll wake up somewhere beautiful.]
[It's instinct that has him reach out to grab Jesse's wrist, and it's numb panic that keeps him from thinking about what's happening.
Thank God for that combination.
Because really, if Saul were to sit back and reexamine the situation as it is right now, he might be tempted to let Jesse do it. An escape is an escape is an escape. Maybe he could even pull some strings with his connections over at the Initiative and prevent resurrection. He'd be doing Jesse a favor — certainly more of a favor than he's doing right now by stopping him.
But none of that occurs to him, because he's too selfish and too scared in his own way to let Jesse go.
[This is certainly how Jesse feels whenever he's in Walt's grip.
He could fight. He fixes Saul with a murderous stare that says he's ready to. That strength of his is only as good as Jesse allows it to be, as previously demonstrated. They could brawl the old-fashioned way and fight for the right to hold syringe that's meant to deliver Jesse's lethal injection, and Jesse would probably even win.
[When Saul speaks, his voice cracks. It's half from fear and half from trying not to cry; the look on Jesse's face is simultaneously terrifying and heartbreaking, and if he didn't feel so trapped under that gaze he'd make a break for the door and not look back.]
I don't — I told you, I don't know how this works, I don't know where people go when they leave!
You want the truth? Remember when that girlfriend of yours OD'd? Remember how Mike disappeared? And the kid — how do you think he got so sick? I don't know what you're assuming I did to Walter, because I didn't do anything, but I'm telling you right now: whatever happens to that son of a bitch, whether it's done by my hand or someone else's — he deserves it.
[Jesse stops. It's not the answer he was expecting or the answer he was looking for. In fact, every word Saul just spoke would have completely shattered him in that moment if he hadn't already been helped along to those conclusions over a year ago.
What surprises him now is that Saul's actually saying it out loud. It's been there between them the whole time, and now he's saying it.]
[And that's not the response Saul was expecting. He was worried he'd find Jesse's hands around his throat or that needle in his own neck, and he's so tense and so scared and so ready that the sound of Jesse's voice alone makes him flinch.]
No! Of course I'm — I was, okay? And I did, but Jesse, you gotta believe me, there's no way —
[He releases his grip on Jesse's wrist, moves both of his hands to clutch Jesse's legs instead.
So this is what real begging feels like.
Huh.]
I didn't know how far this would all go! I didn't know what he'd do! I'm sorry, Jesse, I'm so —
[Sorry. The rest of the apology is lost when Saul swallows back something that feels an awful lot like a sob.]
[Jesse sounds weary all of a sudden. He doesn't want to hear about Saul's desperation, whatever excuses come along with that. He knows, okay. He's had so much time to think about it. He's already rationalized away every single one of Saul's betrayals, accepted all of it and even let himself believe they could be friends before Walt threw a wrench into everything. Again.]
Tell me if this is part of the game, Saul. If he wants me dead, I'll do it. I'll do it right now. I don't know what I did to screw it up - if he found out I talked, or... I don't know. I can't see it, whatever the plan is. If he's trying to shake me off, if he's gonna hurt somebody... You don't even have to tell me that part.
I'll put the needle in my arm. He won't blame you. And it'll be quick. And you don't have to look. And you can tell him he doesn't have to worry.
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knock knock
After he confirms his suspicions — that Walt isn't just gone, but gone-gone — he returns to 509 and stares at his bedroom ceiling for a solid hour. He thought he'd be relieved enough to cheer, but he's not and he doesn't; he's exasperated. He's tired. It's always something, here and back home, and that something always seems to bring him to Jesse.
If he doesn't tell the kid about this ASAP, he might freak out. Saul can hear it now: Mr. White didn't show up to work. He can see the look on Jesse's face, too, all puppy-eyed and annoyed and panicked. He's been on the receiving end of that look enough for one lifetime and then some, which wouldn't be a problem if it didn't stir up so much guilt. But it does.
No wonder Jesse doesn't trust him, when Saul makes this all so obvious.
But this is business, technically speaking. This is a situation involving two of Saul's clients, one of whom is still very much here, and Saul isn't going to shrug off professional responsibility just because he's afraid of unintentionally pissing Jesse off again. If he decides to shoot the messenger, so be it.
He makes the trip one floor down some time around 9:30, hoping that Jesse hasn't left to start his day yet, and knocks.]
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Saul, what the fuck?]
Uh, yeah?
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[Getting straight to the point seems like the best way to go with this, but Saul realizes being blunt might translate to something more ominous in Jesse's sleepy head.
So he backtracks, lifting his hands in preemptive defense as he speaks.]
Of the universe's volition, I guess. The powers that be — whoever. I'm still not sure how that works.
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His hand leaves the doorknob and he takes one step back, then another. He looks over his shoulder, like he's checking if the coast is clear, then he looks at Saul again. He appears disoriented, if anything. It overpowers any emotion he might be feeling. He's very literally stunned.
And silent.]
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This is business.
A one-shouldered shrug, and he lets his hands fall.]
C'est la vie, eh?
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After a moment, he finds his voice:]
Leave.
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Or maybe he just misheard. In light of recent events, he doesn't think it's too much a stretch of the imagination to assume the truth is that Jesse hates him, so it's no wonder he's taking this personally.
That's why he stares at Jesse, blinks, and asks:] What?
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[It's out of his mouth before he can stop himself.
The problem here is that the hour he spent staring at the ceiling was an hour spent wondering if it'd be worth it to try and rebuild whatever it was he thought he had with Jesse before Walt showed up.
And now he's thinking the answer to that might be "no."
So, okay. Fine. If Jesse wants him to leave, he'll leave.]
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As in, "left Jesse alone." He never made it back to his room, or to the office or Hold or anywhere, because he paused outside 409's door for a few seconds and the next thing he knows, it's over an hour later and he's still sitting there on the floor, back to the wall next to the apartment door — which is, of course, still open.
He needs to do something about this situation. Now, before it somehow gets worse.
After a moment's consideration taken in the name of planning ahead, he thinks screw it and heads inside with no plan, no script, and no idea what the "something" he needs to do actually is.]
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He's sitting on the edge of his bed, a syringe in one hand and a belt in the other. There's a clear liquid in the syringe. He hasn't shot it yet. It doesn't look like he'll be shooting it anytime soon. He's frozen just like that, staring down at the floor in silence, with tears soaking his cheeks.]
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If he could leave, really leave and bid a not-fond farewell and fuck you to all of this, he would. Turn around and walk out and just keep going until his feet can't carry him anymore, and if that means he's somewhere in the Outlands or in United Earth territory, whatever. So be it.
Part of him almost wants to go home, at this point. Forget what he thought earlier this month; being in hell is better than being in limbo.
Saul pauses in the doorway of Jesse's room, taking in the scene and committing it to memory for later use — this is who you care so much about, this unsalvageable mess of a person — before cautiously closing the distance between them to kneel in front of Jesse.
He holds his hand out.]
Give it to me.
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[Saul snaps his fingers in front of Jesse's face, but makes no move to take the syringe from him — yet.]
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Thank God for that combination.
Because really, if Saul were to sit back and reexamine the situation as it is right now, he might be tempted to let Jesse do it. An escape is an escape is an escape. Maybe he could even pull some strings with his connections over at the Initiative and prevent resurrection. He'd be doing Jesse a favor — certainly more of a favor than he's doing right now by stopping him.
But none of that occurs to him, because he's too selfish and too scared in his own way to let Jesse go.
This must be how Walter feels.]
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He could fight. He fixes Saul with a murderous stare that says he's ready to. That strength of his is only as good as Jesse allows it to be, as previously demonstrated. They could brawl the old-fashioned way and fight for the right to hold syringe that's meant to deliver Jesse's lethal injection, and Jesse would probably even win.
But Jesse has something to say first:]
Just tell me where he is.
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[When Saul speaks, his voice cracks. It's half from fear and half from trying not to cry; the look on Jesse's face is simultaneously terrifying and heartbreaking, and if he didn't feel so trapped under that gaze he'd make a break for the door and not look back.]
I don't — I told you, I don't know how this works, I don't know where people go when they leave!
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Tell me the truth.
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So:]
You want the truth? Remember when that girlfriend of yours OD'd? Remember how Mike disappeared? And the kid — how do you think he got so sick? I don't know what you're assuming I did to Walter, because I didn't do anything, but I'm telling you right now: whatever happens to that son of a bitch, whether it's done by my hand or someone else's — he deserves it.
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What surprises him now is that Saul's actually saying it out loud. It's been there between them the whole time, and now he's saying it.]
...You're not helping him.
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No! Of course I'm — I was, okay? And I did, but Jesse, you gotta believe me, there's no way —
[He releases his grip on Jesse's wrist, moves both of his hands to clutch Jesse's legs instead.
So this is what real begging feels like.
Huh.]
I didn't know how far this would all go! I didn't know what he'd do! I'm sorry, Jesse, I'm so —
[Sorry. The rest of the apology is lost when Saul swallows back something that feels an awful lot like a sob.]
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[Jesse sounds weary all of a sudden. He doesn't want to hear about Saul's desperation, whatever excuses come along with that. He knows, okay. He's had so much time to think about it. He's already rationalized away every single one of Saul's betrayals, accepted all of it and even let himself believe they could be friends before Walt threw a wrench into everything. Again.]
Stop, okay? Stop.
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And he's waiting.]
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I'll put the needle in my arm. He won't blame you. And it'll be quick. And you don't have to look. And you can tell him he doesn't have to worry.
Is that what needs to happen here?
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