[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.
I don't know what he wants. I don't know what he's planning, I don't know if he was telling the truth when he told you he was out, I don't know where he went — I don't know. What I do know is that you — [Saul pauses, drops his hands from Jesse's legs.]
What will killing yourself accomplish? Do you think that'll fix anything? Do you even know how many people here love you, Jesse? If you do this...
[He trails off before his voice breaks again, then takes a shaky breath. If Jesse kills himself and Walter shows up again, he's a dead man. And he'll be a dead man over and over and over again until the Initiative decides it's not worth it to keep bringing him back. Saul will make sure of it.
But he can't say that.
Not that he could if he wanted to, because talking while crying is difficult. But he manages to get a few words out before he can't look at Jesse anymore:]
[Jesse has to believe Saul. And it has nothing to do with faith. If Saul's saying that Jesse's death isn't the endgame here, then it's not. And as much as Jesse would welcome that euphoric exit from this hell... if it isn't what Walt wants, then other people will suffer for it. Now or later.
Saul doesn't have to say it.
He tosses the syringe onto the bedside table and runs his hands over his face.]
[There's no sigh of relief, no release of all the tension he's holding in his shoulders, nothing. He knows better; the storm's blown over, but another one will rumble its way into their lives soon enough. It always does.
He sniffles and touches Jesse's knee, briefly, before standing up to retrieve the syringe and get rid of it. It's an empty gesture, really, since he's sure Jesse has an entire supply at his disposal — but Saul can't just leave it there. And while he's in the bathroom, draining the liquid and tossing it into the trash, he'll do them both a favor and grab some tissues.]
[By the time Saul returns, Jesse's pushed back up against the wall with his knees drawn to his chest. He's just about run out of tears for now, though his face is all a mess. Really, he's starting to settle into that necessary numbness that's required for every turn of this game. The next thing that happens isn't going to be up to him. He's having trouble figuring out why he should bother even moving until then.]
[Saul joins him, kicking off his shoes so he can assume the same position without being rude. Jesse probably doesn't want him there, but that's tough shit. He's there. He's staying.
It's like April all over again.
He plucks a few tissues out of the fistful he'd gathered, then offers them to Jesse.]
[Jesse lets out a sigh, but that's about as much protest as Saul's going to get from him now. He takes the tissues, wipes at his face, blows his nose, and goes right back to sitting still.]
He wonders if he should say something, but nothing that springs to mind seems appropriate, so for a very long time he's silent and still, gaze focused on his knees.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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What will killing yourself accomplish? Do you think that'll fix anything? Do you even know how many people here love you, Jesse? If you do this...
[He trails off before his voice breaks again, then takes a shaky breath. If Jesse kills himself and Walter shows up again, he's a dead man. And he'll be a dead man over and over and over again until the Initiative decides it's not worth it to keep bringing him back. Saul will make sure of it.
But he can't say that.
Not that he could if he wanted to, because talking while crying is difficult. But he manages to get a few words out before he can't look at Jesse anymore:]
This isn't your fault. Any of it. Please don't.
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Saul doesn't have to say it.
He tosses the syringe onto the bedside table and runs his hands over his face.]
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He sniffles and touches Jesse's knee, briefly, before standing up to retrieve the syringe and get rid of it. It's an empty gesture, really, since he's sure Jesse has an entire supply at his disposal — but Saul can't just leave it there. And while he's in the bathroom, draining the liquid and tossing it into the trash, he'll do them both a favor and grab some tissues.]
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It's like April all over again.
He plucks a few tissues out of the fistful he'd gathered, then offers them to Jesse.]
Here.
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He wonders if he should say something, but nothing that springs to mind seems appropriate, so for a very long time he's silent and still, gaze focused on his knees.]