[Touch her? He's not even sure he wants her to touch him. Her revulsion is tangible to him. A slap might have been better, because at least he wouldn't feel guilty about it.
So he makes no move to raise his arms and hug her in return. He does, however, lean into her. Because he's weak and needy. Because no one else will hold him right now. Because everyone thinks he wants some distance, and he doesn't want that at all. He wants exactly this: to be held and to be allowed to feel bad without earning disgust or exasperation or outright fear in response.
Pretty soon, Jesse is back to sobbing out loud. It's everything at once. He's crying because he's a murderer and an addict and because he almost abandoned everyone and killed himself - which was as much about fulfilling Mr. White's wish as it was about getting revenge on Saul for helping him in the first place. And he's crying because both of those men hurt him so much and he can't help needing them anyway - because they both deserve to die but Jesse loves them. He loves the Saul who took care of him when he got sick and tried to save his life. He loves the Mr. White who used to take him camping and actually did save his life. He doesn't understand why the people who love him hurt him so much. He doesn't understand why he does the same to the people he loves.
And there's no articulating any of this. All he can do is cry and cry.]
[And Sonya...Sonya hates Jesse Pinkman. She hates him with every fiber of her being, every capillary and tendon, down through the depths of her soul. She hates him so much. But she also...
Her brother had come out of Sing Sing like this. Struggling with addiction, hardened and sad. Mom and Father hadn't wanted anything to do with him, and Mehrdad and Omaid had been too young to make decisions on her own. Sonya alone had been caught at the crossroads - side with her parents or side with her brother, her brother whom she'd ruined by being...smart, and obedient, and bratty, and a bitch, and awful in every way so that Mom and Father had gotten disgusted with him. And she'd sided with him, gone to see him, and gone to watch him die on 139th and Willis. Hadn't gotten to him until he'd bled out.
So maybe that's a little bit of it. Maybe that's why she closes her eyes, pain pricking below and behind the crease of her lids, and gently rocks him back and forth. And maybe that's why her lips purse so that she can hush him like she would a baby, whispering that instinctual, ancient sound of comfort - that Shhhh, shh shh shhh, shhhhh, shh shh shh. And that's why her hand moves every once in a while, rubbing his back, as she murmurs:]
[Eventually, he physically cannot cry any longer. His head hurts, his throat is sore, and his eyes have dried up. His sobs fade into hiccuped gasps and sniffs. The shaking of his shoulders settles back into the exhausted, ever-present tremble that's characteristic of withdrawal.
Jesse becomes aware, at some point, that he's curled up against her but he must have long out-stayed his welcome, now that all he's doing is trying to breathe steadily. He picks up his head and slowly eases back, retreating to a more comfortable distance.]
[And she eases back as well, disentangles herself from him and goes over to her bag. She picks it up, opens it, pulls a kleenex out - blots some of the moisture off her shoulder. But for once she does so without judgment or condemnation or displeasure; her gestures are just matter-of-fact. Doing what has to be done without recrimination.
Then she pulls out a few aspirin, tips them into her palm and holds them out to him. As she does, she asks - ]
[She nods, and disappears at once into the kitchen. About a minute elapses, and then there's a beeping, and then she emerges once again: in her hand is a mug, filled with warm milk, scented with a bit of vanilla and cinnamon, sweetened with just a little sugar. She hands it to him gingerly.]
Careful. It's a bit hot. I guess maybe that mug wasn't microwave-safe.
[His hands are cold, anyway, so he hardly notices the heat. He's already swallowed his aspirin. Now he takes a tentative sip. The way his hands shake, it's a little difficult to hold the mug, but he manages.]
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So he makes no move to raise his arms and hug her in return. He does, however, lean into her. Because he's weak and needy. Because no one else will hold him right now. Because everyone thinks he wants some distance, and he doesn't want that at all. He wants exactly this: to be held and to be allowed to feel bad without earning disgust or exasperation or outright fear in response.
Pretty soon, Jesse is back to sobbing out loud. It's everything at once. He's crying because he's a murderer and an addict and because he almost abandoned everyone and killed himself - which was as much about fulfilling Mr. White's wish as it was about getting revenge on Saul for helping him in the first place. And he's crying because both of those men hurt him so much and he can't help needing them anyway - because they both deserve to die but Jesse loves them. He loves the Saul who took care of him when he got sick and tried to save his life. He loves the Mr. White who used to take him camping and actually did save his life. He doesn't understand why the people who love him hurt him so much. He doesn't understand why he does the same to the people he loves.
And there's no articulating any of this. All he can do is cry and cry.]
no subject
Her brother had come out of Sing Sing like this. Struggling with addiction, hardened and sad. Mom and Father hadn't wanted anything to do with him, and Mehrdad and Omaid had been too young to make decisions on her own. Sonya alone had been caught at the crossroads - side with her parents or side with her brother, her brother whom she'd ruined by being...smart, and obedient, and bratty, and a bitch, and awful in every way so that Mom and Father had gotten disgusted with him. And she'd sided with him, gone to see him, and gone to watch him die on 139th and Willis. Hadn't gotten to him until he'd bled out.
So maybe that's a little bit of it. Maybe that's why she closes her eyes, pain pricking below and behind the crease of her lids, and gently rocks him back and forth. And maybe that's why her lips purse so that she can hush him like she would a baby, whispering that instinctual, ancient sound of comfort - that Shhhh, shh shh shhh, shhhhh, shh shh shh. And that's why her hand moves every once in a while, rubbing his back, as she murmurs:]
It's okay. It's okay.
no subject
Jesse becomes aware, at some point, that he's curled up against her but he must have long out-stayed his welcome, now that all he's doing is trying to breathe steadily. He picks up his head and slowly eases back, retreating to a more comfortable distance.]
no subject
Then she pulls out a few aspirin, tips them into her palm and holds them out to him. As she does, she asks - ]
Do you have any milk?
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Um... I think so.
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Careful. It's a bit hot. I guess maybe that mug wasn't microwave-safe.
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...Thanks.
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It's what my mom used to do for me.
[And then she realizes what she said, and immediately scowls at him:]
Not that I have cried or will ever cry.