[open] out of the blue and into the black

[5055034455]

Date & Time: Throughout August
Location: Around Exsilium
Characters: Saul & TBA
Summary: A catch-all log for Saul's many business etc. meetings throughout the month. Again.
Warnings: N/A; will be updated accordingly.

[The more time Saul spends in Exsilium, the more he realizes he misses Albuquerque. And the more he misses Albuquerque, the more he realizes what he's missing isn't so much ABQ itself, but the idealized version of the city he's constructed in his head over the past four and a half months where nothing mattered but his business and his life and it was all hunky-dory, for the most part.

And then he thinks, shit. Four and a half months. Damn.

Albuquerque was perfect. People came and went, sure, but not at the same rate they do here. Back home, all Saul anticipated on the first of every month was the flipping of a calendar page. (National Geographic's American Landmarks calendar, to be precise. Francesca gets — used to get — him one every year. August would have been a photo of the Alamo at sunset, if he remembers correctly. Ha.) But here — here, each new month brings a horde of unhappy newbies and random disappearances, and there's really only so much doom and gloom Saul can take before it really starts getting to him. He used to be able to track people down. Here? He's helpless.

He misses the sunshine, all 300+ days of it. The Initiative-sponsored trip to the beach was nice, but his tan's already faded and he's pretty sure he's developing some kind of vitamin D problem. He also misses the security of having a boatload of money sitting in his wall. He misses a lot of things. Even the dust storms.

At least he has Jesse. But he can't really cling to Jesse with Walter hanging around, and then there's the problem of Jesse not wanting to be clung to in the first place. Saul can hear that stupid kid's voice in his head just thinking about it: You don't need me, yo. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. Right now, it feels like the former. It hasn't stopped feeling that way since April.

Anyway, here's the weird thing: much as he misses home, Walter's presence has made it crystal clear to Saul that he absolutely does not want to go back to that mess. Not now, maybe not ever. He has a bad feeling, and he likes to think he's a pretty intuitive guy — nine times out of ten, his gut's right. Sometimes it's indigestion. But those are odds you don't mess with, and the chow here is just bland enough that it's much easier on his stomach than all that Mexican food.



Somehow, he got it in his head that the more he does in and for this place, the less likely it is that he'll see the sunshine and his money and his calendar and all that dust again, so he's twice as busy this month as he was last month. Three times, maybe. Training, yes; doing business, yes; fueling up on caffeine, hell yes. But August has the added bonus of new things that need caring for: his kitten. His girlfriend. His stupid-as-shit-in-hindsight idea of forming a Transport-run government.

He'd wonder what he was thinking, but he already knows. Better to burn out than fade away, right?]

Comments

Jesse | September 1;

[5055034455]

[Saul doesn't want to think about this past week anymore. He's spent too much time replaying the scenes over and over in his head, every painful little detail brought to the surface then shoved back down then dug up again — and for what? So he makes sure he won't forget the way Jesse looked before he tried to off himself? So his cheek never stops stinging where Stephanie slapped him? No. Screw that.

He has work to do.

So the morning of the first finds him and his massive hangover at 409's door for the dozenth time in the past week. He's been checking in on Jesse every so often since that day, the visits extremely brief and tense, but today he's intent on sticking around. He even brought a deck of cards with him.

And if that fails, he'll drag Jesse's ass upstairs for some quality kitten time.

Saul allows himself one moment of nervous hesitation, then knocks.]

[hostage]

[Jesse doesn't know if he's glad to see Saul or not. Feelings like that are getting buried under the weight of his depression, which he would normally attribute to withdrawal if it didn't feel suspiciously like loneliness. But he doesn't dwell on that, either. If he did, he'd be forced to face the truth: he's alone in a sea of people who've been tricked into loving him, and the only ones who really know him are Saul - who now probably hates him - and Mr. White - who's gone.

And Jesse doesn't want to miss either of them.

But here's Saul, diligent in his duty if nothing else. Jesse opens the door, looking marginally improved since Saul's last check-in, if only because he bathed at some point and he's stopped crying so much and taken to simply staring at the wall.]

Yeah, I'm still here.

[It's a joke. A joke so dark that no light escapes it.]

[5055034455]

[Marginal improvement is better than no improvement. What would be worse — and what Saul had been expecting — is a complete backslide, so it's a relief to see Jesse looking slightly less distraught.

Looking at him still hurts like hell, though.

Saul squints at Jesse's comment. Yeah, it's dark, and yeah, morbid humor coming from the kid at this point in time is a little worrying, so...

He pokes Jesse's arm, then smiles. It's not entirely forced.]

Sorry. Had to make sure.

[hostage]

[Did you.

Did you really just poke him, Saul.]

...Anything else?

[5055034455]

[Of course he did.

And Saul wasn't planning on this, because who the fuck knows what might happen and he's been hit and cried on more than enough this week, but —

Yeah, there is something else.

He pulls Jesse into a tight hug.]

[hostage]

[Jesse sinks into that hug like a ragdoll, his knees going out from under him so that he really almost falls before grabbing onto Saul's shirt to catch himself. And to hold on.

This usually happens when they're facing death. And they've been on the same side every time, until now. But the worst thing about it - the worst, worst thing about it - is that they were on the same side this whole time, and Jesse's the one who fucked it up with his paranoia and his bitterness and his thirst for revenge.

He was going to make Saul watch him die. Even though Saul once died for him. And he remembers how it felt to watch that. He was going to make Saul watch because of that. All because of something he made up in his head.

Mr. White's gone.

Jesse's a monster.

And Saul's holding him like none of it happened.]



Stop...

[It's the weakest plea. He won't even let go of Saul, himself.]

[5055034455]

[Jesse won't fall. Saul won't let him.

Why Jesse did it — or tried to do it — doesn't matter, at this point. Whether he did it because he wanted to end his own suffering or because he wanted to make Saul feel even worse or both or neither — he's considered all the possibilities, weighed their implications. In the end, he decides that the reason why, whatever it may be, is irrelevant. It didn't happen and Jesse's still here, as solid as anything in Saul's arms, and that's all that matters right now.

There's something automatic in the way he presses his lips to Jesse's head and starts to mumble quiet reassurances. It feels like all he's been doing lately is relying on physical contact to keep the people he loves from straying too far, like if he holds on tightly enough everything will be okay.

He'd wonder when he lost his ability to persuade with words alone, but he already knows Jesse never trusted him completely. Neither did Stephanie. And now neither of them trust him at all, he suspects.

He doesn't know what to do about that.

One step at a time, though. Right?]

It's okay, Jesse.

[hostage]

It's not okay. It's not...

[The protestations continue, lacking any force but persistent because he feels like he needs to make Saul understand: this doesn't stop. Jesse buries his face against Saul and his hands don't know whether to push him away or pull him closer.]

I dunno what's happening to me, Saul. I can't tell what's real. It's like I'm having a nightmare and then I wake up and I've done something horrible and I don't even know how I got there - like I had all these reasons but suddenly the reasons don't make sense anymore and...

I'm crazy, right? That's what it is. I'm just crazy. I keep thinking it's all him but it's not, right? It's me. I'm doing all of this. And everybody's scared of me and they should be.

[He wants to cry and he can't even do that much. Crying at least might help him get some of this feeling out of him, like it did with Sonya. He wants to be sad but he's crossed straight into terror, whispering all of these revelations.]

You shouldn't be around me, either. I dunno what'll happen next time, what I'll think you did, or... I mean, I actually thought you helped him poison Brock. This whole time, I thought it was you and him. But you'd never do that, I know that, I know it. I'm so sorry...

[5055034455]

[Saul gets it. If there's one thing he's figured out this week, it's that this is never going to stop. Whether Walter's here or a million miles away or dead, this will not stop. And that breaks his heart.

Jesse keeps talking; Saul grows more nervous. He's halfway to a full-blown panic attack when Jesse finally comes out and says it — you'd never do that — and his hand curls tightly into the fabric of Jesse's shirt collar. It's not a threatening gesture at all. It's more like he desperately needs to hold onto something lest the floor slip out from under him.]

I did. I helped him.

[The way he sees it, none of them are innocent. And if the truth is going to come out, it might as well happen now — Jesse was convinced that Saul had helped Walter in the first place, anyway, so what difference does it make if he just admits it?

All the difference, probably.

He doesn't let go of Jesse as he speaks because he's afraid that any distance between them will allow Jesse the space needed to beat the shit out of him. Kill him, maybe. How should he know? Nothing would surprise Saul, at this point.

It's not like he doesn't deserve it.]

But it wasn't the ricin! He didn't — it was some flower, right? He didn't use the ricin, Jesse. I gave it back to him! He tricked you, and if I didn't do it, he — you know he would've killed me! The kid too, maybe! I didn't know how sick he'd get! Walter said — he said it'd be like the flu, just the flu, I swear!

[hostage]

[Jesse doesn't pull away, or throw a punch, or pull out his gun. He doesn't even move for a few seconds, staring at Saul with a glazed and distant look in his eyes, apparently taking in the information that's being delivered and processing it slowly.

Then he shakes his head and his face softens. It's not quite a smile, but it's something like one. He keeps holding onto Saul just the way he has been, not tightening or relaxing his grip.]

...Okay.

[5055034455]

[That's...

Not what he was expecting at all.

It somehow makes him feel worse, because now he's worried he personally just snipped Jesse's last thread. Saul pulls back a little, brows furrowed.]

What?

[hostage]

[Maybe. Maybe Jesse is gone. He still has that weird look on his face.]

That's it. That's the truth, right? It's just like that. That's what happened.

[5055034455]

That's exactly what happened.

[As much as Saul knows, anyway. He doesn't know what Walt did with the ricin.]

And I tried to tell him, just like you, that I was out. Done. So of course he got up and got right in my face, and you know what he said? "We're done when I say we're done." He's got his dirty claws in both of us, Jesse. We're —

[Saul doesn't know what Walt did with the ricin. For some reason, he's only just realizing this.

He looks off to the side, squinting. But then he shakes his head, dismissing whatever thought he just had, and focuses back on Jesse.]

He made you do plenty of things you never wanted to do. That goes ditto for me.

[hostage]

Okay.

[Yeah. That's it.]

[5055034455]

[But it's not okay. None of it is okay.

Saul lifts his hands and places them on Jesse's cheeks, then moves his head around like he's some weird kind of doctor doing some weird kind of examination. Checking for some loose screws and whatnot. Maybe literally.]

You're not about to go catatonic on me, are you?

[hostage]

[And Jesse patiently allows that examination. He's not catatonic, no, but he's not quite here, either. Anyway, if there's anything to be found in his expression, it's relief. And he moves - slowly, so it isn't alarming - to place his hands on Saul's shoulders.]

We're good.

[5055034455]

We're good.

[It almost sounds like a question, when Saul repeats it. He's doing so just to make sure he heard Jesse correctly.

He's pretty sure he did.

His hands drop down to his sides, and he nods once.]

Okay.

[Saul would love to know what Jesse's thinking, but — no.

He wouldn't, actually. He'll just take this for what it is right now and treasure the moment before everything goes up in flames again. If Jesse says they're good, they're good.

Lamely:] I brought cards.

[hostage]

Cards. Okay.

[Jesse lets go of Saul, too, and drifts back into the apartment, making way for him to follow.]

[5055034455]

Uno, actually. You ever play that?

[How he keeps finding this shit is beyond him — Uno cards, a Nerf gun, the teddy bears — but he's not complaining. The more familiarity he has to cling to, the better.

He steps inside, taking stock of the apartment as usual.]