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Sunuva- bitch.

[ The camera goes all screwy as Jesse pushes himself up, sits back on his knees and sweeps his hands off on each other. He doesn't seem to notice the camera's even on as he paws at himself and finally stands, swearing a few times under his breath as he does. Idly beats some gravel off his jeans. He sounds dumbfounded when he finally speaks again. ] I'm back here.

[ And the camera turns with him, a few confused steps before he throws his arms out to both sides, an irritated kind of shrug. ] I'm back- here. [ And his hand raises again, so he can first tap a finger against the screen, and then slap an angry palm against it a few times. He repeats, ] Sunuvabitch.

[ Then he finally fiddles with the buttons, intending to turn on the communicator, but, ] oh, [ it's already on. ] Ya wanna clue me in here? [ He glances around the area. ] Yo, anyone still out there?

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[ See, the problem here is that Finch didn't actually mean he was going to leave. Not when Pinkman's upset and definitely not when Pinkman cries. Because honestly - what kind of friend would do that?

When he looks back and he sees how upset Pinkman is, for a second he really considers going. Letting Pinkman gather himself back up - but that would just be a confirmation, right? That friends don't actually help. So maybe he'll hate him for it now but Finch can't bring himself to go anywhere except for off the couch and right next to Pinkman. Look - you can punch him if you want, but he's going to hug you from the side anyway. Again. Because the way Pinkman reacted earlier, Jesse doesn't think he gets many hugs, and sometimes you just. Need one.

There's more to all of this than Pinkman says and while Jesse doesn't know what exactly it is, he's willing to be there if Pinkman needs it. ]

Yeah, well. [ Jesse mutters, and he won't look or call him out on crying, but like fuck is he going anywhere. ] Maybe I want to be around.

[ There's a markedly different reaction to Finch when he's not in the right mindset to argue it - there's no 'homo' this or ducking away that - and instead it feels like he bleeds into the touch, his hands trembing when he clutches them tighter over his whole face again now. A few tears turn into a brief and deep-throated sob that he tries to cut off; doesn't work. His shoulders shake and he feels like a little kid again, too small for his own shoes. ]

[ His hands are smoothing erratically over his face - hurriedly wiping away and only really smearing wet across his cheeks - like as if he can still save face here and fix this. But Finch isn't going anywhere, Finch isn't budging, and that's for some reason hitting him harder than if the guy just left. Everything's a shock to his system right now. ]

Everything got so f-fucked up.

[ He's expected to get pushed away or punched, so when Pinkman just sort of melts into the touch instead, he's surprised. But he doesn't say anything about it or change the way he holds - except for maybe to move closer and make sure he's covered. Rubbing Pinkman's back gently, Jesse thinks carefully about what he's going to say.

In the end it doesn't end up being much. ] Yeah? Like what? [ He asks softly, wishing his head was a little clearer. He wants to tell Pinkman not to worry, that Pinkman's seen Finch at his worst, he's not going to judge. It's okay. ]

[ Jesse's head just shakes at first, furiously and stubbornly. ] I can't believe he fucking killed-

[ He starts and stops again, cuts off with a harsh breath before he forgets himself. The hand at his back is comforting, even when his muscles are all bunched uncomfortably tight like this, his shoulders up around his ears. He stops wiping at his face long enough to let out another little splutter of a sound, and he tugs his hoodie over one of his hands, rubbing under his nose. He looks ahead but not at Finch when he speaks up again. ] I hadda get out. I had to, me'n Mike, we just- shit.

[ Nope, he aborts that again, turns his head back away sharply as his face screws up, only for a second, like he's going to really lose it, really start to cry - no, he's not going down that road. ]

[ No, no, come on. Jesse knows how much this sort of shit hurts to keep inside. If you bottle it all up, it slowly, slowly kills you. And Finch doesn't want to see that happen. He keeps at rubbing Pinkman's back gently, listening. ]

Ay - ay. Pinkman. Jesse. [ He says in that same gentle tone. ] Listen, for a sec? You don't gotta try this hard t'keep it in. [ Careful, careful. ] S'gonna build up if you let it. You ain't any less of - of a man, if y'cry, alright? Just saying.

[ He shifts, rearranging his grip. Still not letting go. ] You were getting out, yeah? Out of the business. I don't blame you.

[ It's like an invitation for him; it's not a stop, or a subject change, it's an invitation and his face slowly starts to contort into something else again, just absolutely distraught as his eyes start to well up again. ]

They killed a kid, Jesse.

[ It comes out of him like a punch, as his hands part from his face long enough for his voice to really make it out. He turns his head enough that his eyes can dart over to Finch for the first time, nervously. His hands miserably hold his chin, fingers intermittently pushing hard at his skin under his eyes. ] I was lookin' right at him and he didn't know what was going on and he didn't know what he was seeing and the guy just fuckin'- plugged him right in the chest, right in front of-

[ What the fuck is the point of thinking about this? Again? Months later and it still hits him this hard? He can't get the sight out of his head. ]

[ It - almost doesn't surprise him, but it is shocking to hear. They killed a kid. They killed a kid who didn't even know what was going on, and - of course Pinkman's freaked out, of course he's upset, Jesse can't even imagine. He takes a shivery breath at the revelation and bites his lip, looking at Pinkman with his own upset expression. ]

Shit. Shit, I'm - m'sorry. [ Jesse doesn't even know if that's the right thing to say. He can't ask if Pinkman's alright. Because he's obviously not. So he swallows hard, and stays close. Quietly: ] ... Wasn't your fault, Jesse.

[ It's not his fault. Which is something he keeps repeating to himself in this case, because there's been a lot his fault, yeah, there's been plenty that's his fault, but not this one. He didn't shoot. Or he maybe didn't pull the trigger, but that doesn't mean it's not on him. ] Yeah, great, and with that fuckin' revelation under my belt, that'll bring him right back.

[ Don't take it out on Finch. Do not fucking take it out on Finch. ]

[ Jesse sits up a bit, lets out another little hiccup as he smooths his hands over his cheeks one last time, finally wipes them on his jeans instead and keeps his eyes down as his fingers rub antsily together. ] Can't make any headway on this shit anymore.

[ He knows Pinkman doesn't mean it, and he has to take a deep breath to stop himself from snapping back angrily. It's shitty every time he hears a comment like that, but it's not about him. So Jesse takes it, holding on tightly to the back of Pinkman's shirt. ]

He ain't coming back either way. [ Jesse says quietly. ] I dunno what you coulda done. What d'you think you coulda done that woulda changed it?

[ He pauses to the question really sink in, and his hands stop moving and his legs stop jittering and he even stops breathing so labored for a moment - heavy wet breaths that focus into slower, more dangerous type ones. Jesse's eyes open and he wets his lips, but when he speaks, it's full of venom. ]

I could'a grabbed the gun. [ The obvious answer, the one that flashes at him in bright angry lights when he thinks too hard on it. ] Could'a gone all tackle on his ass till we got to hash some shit out, I could'a- [ He looks off again and seemingly loses some steam, props up his chin on a hand and lets his fingers twitter anxiously on his lips. ] Or I could'a just not come up with the whole plan in the first place. I don't know.

Ay. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. [ Jesse tells him, pulling back just a little to look at Pinkman, making sure he's looking back. ] How were you supposed t'know there'd be a kid there? Not come up with the plan? That's something you ain't even at all able t'control. How long does it take t'pull out a gun and shoot someone, huh? Would you really been able t'grab it, or tackle him? Y'weren't expecting it, I don't think, huh?

[ He reaches to hold onto Pinkman's arm, instead, just - reassuring. It's hard for him not to. ] Y'can think about it and beat yerself up for shit you should've thought of in the moment, but it's just gonna poison you in the end.

[ Jesse does look at him when he wants him to, but it's cagily, gaze darting away every few seconds. All he has to say to Finch's suggestions are quiet 'I don't know', 'I don't know's and his hands scratch agitatedly at his arms because there had to have been something he missed, for months he's been looking for something he missed, hindsight, because you put a dog in the paper, you drop it off at a shelter, because what kind of a person kills a helpless animal for no reason? He just can't vibe with that kinda idea. ]

[ His breathing's gotten heavier by the time Finch is done, slower, tenser, the shudder's back into it when he rubs the back of his hand up under his nose and sniffs and shakes his head. ] I just, I gotta, [ and he turns in his spot to retrieve the bowl on the coffee table behind him. ] Ya know, maybe I got my hands in too much shit, maybe it don't matter what kinda poison ya add to the system anymore. I just- need-

[ It's taking too long to pack this thing again, Jesse's hands are still shaking when he unrolls the bag and starts to pick through the twigs and seeds. ]

[ Jesse doesn't know what to do. There's not much he can. Talking doesn't seem to help, but neither does anything else, and Finch sort of just watches Pinkman a little helplessly as Pinkman goes for the bowl and bag again, shaking like crazy. Jesse bites his lip, and then tugs on Pinkman's sleeve, come on, look. ]

Hey - hey. [ He reaches with his other hand to still Pinkman's hands on the bag. Not gonna take it. Not gonna do that, just. Come on. Look. ] S'gonna be okay, though. Jesse, listen.

[ It's so weird, using his name. It's like he's talking to himself from years ago, and he never had any idea what he was supposed to say then, either. ] Does matter. It matters t'me. Look - look, m'gonna... this'll calm y'down. Okay? And I ain't going anywhere, so you ain't alone. Promise.

D'you want me to pack it? [ It's hesitant, a little, because he doesn't want to make Pinkman feel useless. ] Either way just... take it slow, okay?

[ His hands go to an automatic standstill when Finch's own cover them, still can't stop their tremor but they stop moving so erratically for the time being, just grip more tightly around either object. ] Just-

[ Does he want him to pack it, no he doesn't want him to pack it, and for a moment he stands by that idea, sounds a little angry when he nearly cuts Finch off: ] Just gimme a minute, now, wouldja?

[ His hands spread questioningly, his head turns to Finch abruptly, and when he does, another spare tear shakes loose, runs down his cheek - Jesse sighs, immediate, his front gone in one fell swoop as he just begrudgingly hands the bottle and the weed over to Finch. His hands rub together after, agitated, trying to steady. ]

[ Not alone. Not alone. He promises. He's not alone. He knows he's leaving Finch hanging here. Quite a bit. And it feels pretty awful. ]

Look, I get what- I get what you're tryin' to do, okay? [ He says after a long beat, one of his thumbs swiping under the offending eye as surreptitiously as he could manage. ] What you're sayin' to me, I get it? I get it. I do get it. I just don't- know- [ His hands thread together for a moment and bounce a couple of times, fingers gripping each other tight. ] But, man, where do I store that, like, information? Whaddo, whaddo - [ He waves a hand around, breaks it free from the white knuckles of his other hand, tries to generate the right thought. ] Whaddo I do with that? What am I s'posed to do with that, ya know?

[ Finch just raises his eyebrows at Pinkman when he gets indignant, but he takes the bottle without a comment and gets to work. Doesn't look as Pinkman tries to steady himself and stop crying. It's alright that he does, Finch doesn't mind and even encourages it, but he out of all people knows how embarrassing it can be.

Pinkman gets it, and Jesse knows he does, but when he asks that question, Jesse just shrugs, finishing with the bottle and handing it off to Pinkman, expression weary. ]

I dunno what y'do. [ He shakes his head. ] Y'carry it with you, I guess. Like a scar. Tattoo. Shit like that's not gonna go away after a certain amount'a drinks or weed. [ He knows, he's tried, and maybe he's talking from personal experience. ] Gotta learn t'be able to lift the weight and keep going. The world ain't stopping for nobody.

[ He glances at Pinkman. ] S'not so bad if you're not alone.

[ If you're not alone, yeah, and Jesse just initially laughs, something breathless and still a little tearful as he looks off from Finch, says through it, ] You fuckin' homo-

[ And he leaves that to sit there a moment, lighter in hand. It's such a simple sentiment, what Finch is trying to employ here, and he's rejecting it like a child. No, I can't. No, it's too hard. As expected, his smile droops off his face after a moment of consideration, into something more thoughtful, more guilty. He wets his lips again, bites down on one as he plays with the lighter - lights up a flame, doesn't light the bowl. ]

That how you do it?

[ Jesse wrinkles his nose at the word, but doesn't say anything, again. Instead, he wrings at his hand for a second, and then reaches over to the couch to grab the vodka again. Not drunk enough. ]

Do what. [ Finch asks dully, taking a drink from the bottle. He can take a guess, but he'd rather get it straight. ]

Yo, don't- [ And he abandons that thought, shakes his head and presses the flame to the weed instead, takes a long draw off it and speaks a bit strained around the smoke instead. ] That how you, like-

[ He pauses and breathes out, finally glances over to Finch and his bottle and, ] you know, like, hold it together.

[ Jesse snorts at that, shrugging. ] Yeah. I mean, I ain't a saint. [ He lifts the bottle and shakes it at Pinkman. ] I told you already how I dealt with shit. [ Another drink, and then he sets it on the ground. ] But I carry it 'round best I can. If it gets too heavy, Galen helps.

Yeah? [ And then, genuinely curiously: ] He know all that shit you had goin' down with you?

Mmhm. [ Jesse answers, offering Pinkman the bottle of vodka for the weed. ] I wasn't gonna tell 'im, but my dad -- [ And he pauses, swallowing hard, because that slipped out without him really wanting it to. Hold on, let him take another drink of the vodka before he hands it over. ]

Edited 2013-06-08 01:44 (UTC)

[ Jesse's line of questioning's promptly aborted at that comment; he sits a little more still when he passes over the bowl, looking at Finch dead on as his brows start to furrow at him in the slightest. He leaves room for him to explain, but when he doesn't, he sets up a quiet little, ] What?

[ He stalls for as long as he can, taking a long, long drag of smoke, holding it for as long as he can. It fuzzes his head and his tongue and he needs to be back on the couch for this, so he sort of half-crawls to it, flopping down onto the cushions. ]

Dad came into town. Me n' Galen, we wasn't datin' yet. But I didn't come t'work cause I didn't. Want my dad t'know where I worked? So. [ He shifts, chewing at his sleeve. ] So Galen came lookin' and got me outta my apartment and I had t'explain about my dad, and that just led to. Y'know. Everything. I guess.

[ Yep. Another drag of smoke. ]

But why your dad, what's- [ And Jesse keeps looking at him and furrows further, questioningly, shakes his head a little. Is he allowed in here? Finch is the one opening up the venue for questioning and Jesse doesn't really understand, no, but asking still feels a little too close to home. But they're already entrenched in the shit here, right? Why stop now? ]

[ Didn't want him knowing where he worked, that's- ] Why's he the one leadin' to everything?

[ Apparently the mix of alcohol and weed is enough to make him talk about this. He doesn't look at Pinkman, just keeps his eyes on the ceiling. ]

Cause he was a shit. [ Jesse says quickly. Like his father's in the room with him, like he needs to get it out before he can be stopped. ] Cause he didn't want me, and I ain't good enough. You spend enough time havin' someone tell you everything y'do is wrong, everything you are is wrong, you'd fucking --

[ And he stops again, taking a deep breath, kneading at his face with the heels of his palms. ]

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