Work Text:
September 2020
"Hey, asshole, watch your back. I don't know where you live but I could easily find out."
"Fuck you, you imbecile piece of trash! And your mama, too."
"Yeah? Well, now you're dead, shithead. See you on the other side."
Jesse rips off his headset and throws it across the room. He wants to destroy his ancient X-Box with a hammer, but he just smashes the off button instead. In the kitchen, he searches through the junk drawer until he finds an old pack of cigarettes. Jesse rarely smokes anymore, but he needs it now.
Junkie imbecile. What the hell are you calling this number for?
Or, another classic...
Are you actually this stupid?! I mean, what the hell is wrong with you?
I'm really asking you! You don't think, you never figured out how to think, did you, Pinkman?
It's not like Jesse even needs the reminder today. His former teacher and partner Walter White has been on his mind since he woke up. He's not going to melt down just because some 12-year-old called him an imbecile. Well, not on a normal day, anyway. His X-Box has been collecting dust in the closet for years, but Jesse needed the distraction today. Or so he thought.
Today is September seventh. Mr. White’s birthday.
12 years ago, Walter was days away from tracking Jesse down and blackmailing him into a partnership.
11 years ago, Jesse gave Walter a watch for his birthday. They'd been working together for a year, and Jesse wanted to give him something nice to mark the occasion. And Walter didn't even thank him for it--the bastard.
And 10 years ago today, Walter freed Jesse from imprisonment, minutes before he died in the makeshift chemistry lab he created.
It's been 10 years since Jesse moved (well, escaped) to Alaska. It's been 10 years since Walter has insulted him, and still one word can trigger such hatred, guilt, sadness, and relief all at the same time.
Junkie imbecile.
Jesse is not either of those things anymore, though. He hasn’t touched crystal, well, in ten years. Yeah, he smokes a little pot with his neighbors and the guys at the shop sometimes, but who doesn’t?
Plus, with age comes wisdom, or something. At 37, he knows nothing good comes from going down a Mr. White spiral. Obviously it happens with a lot less frequency than the first couple of years after his escape, but he’s still triggered somewhat easily by the oddest things.
Like when he’s taking one of his long walks to clear his head and sees an RV parked next to a cabin.
Or the scent of a certain chemical they use to clean the bathroom at the local diner he goes to--random, but the smell brings Jesse right back to the super lab when they’d take the day off to scour the vats. He avoids that bathroom now.
It’s the big things and the small things that bring it all back to Jesse. He’ll be fine for a long stretch of time, months, even, and then he’ll catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror and the scars will look brand new, as though they simply popped up in the middle of the night, and everything that happened at the compound will flood through him once again. On those days, he just goes back to bed. It’s not worth fighting through most of the time. Thankfully they are happening less with each passing year.
And when he's really in a bad mood, it helps to remember the muffled groans coming from Todd as Jesse slowly choked him to death. But that's just when nothing else works.
Jesse puts on his warmest hoodie and goes outside to smoke. From his rather spacious backyard, he has a spectacular view of the sun setting over the Chugach Mountains. The sunset is especially stunning tonight--or maybe he just needs it more than usual.
He sits in the patio chair he made himself just a few months ago. Quarantine has royally sucked, but at least he’s been productive. He didn’t bake any fucking sourdough but he’s managed to make, build, or restore every piece of furniture in his house.
Saul, Jesse’s husky that he found on the side of the road a few years ago, sits next to him and wags his tail. Jesse named him Saul because he has a flair for the dramatic--he really hammed it up that day when Jesse rescued him, making all kinds of noises and pretending that his leg was hurt. The vet thoroughly examined him and pronounced him healthier than any stray dog she’d seen before. Plus the name just made Jesse smile sometimes.
Jesse’s phone buzzes and he looks down to see a text from Isabelle.
“Do you see the sunset? It makes me miss you more than ever.”
He smiles sadly. He hasn’t seen Isabelle in six months. She lives in Wasilla, which is only about 45 miles away from Anchorage. But she takes care of her aging parents, and her six-year-old daughter has a compromised immune system. So they’re doing the long distance thing for the foreseeable future.
Isabelle sends a picture of herself on her own back porch, her long blonde hair waving in the wind. God, he misses her. Jesse does enjoy the solitude of his house in Anchorage--the house he took four years to build, with the help of many of his friends--but Isabelle… she’s special. She’s the only person he’s told his whole story to, and she didn’t bolt or sell him out or call the police or whatever. When he calls her with another repressed memory of his time in the compound, she soothes him when he cries. Before the pandemic, when they actually got to see each other a fair amount, she would rub his back and whisper in his ear after yet another nightmare woke him up in a panic.
Jesse loves her daughter Hannah, too. She’s had so many illnesses since she was a baby, but she’s so brave and has a spunky little personality. Jesse can’t wait to see her again.
Isabelle is the only person left who knows him as Jesse Pinkman instead of Derek Driscoll.
Jesse received a postcard from Ed every few months for eight years before they stopped coming. He looked Ed’s obituary up and cried after he read it. Ed gave him a second chance. Ed gave him everything. And now Ed is gone, too.
He glances at his watch and sees it’s almost 5:30. Max will be at the store soon, and Jesse does need a new miter saw.
Jesse puts a leash on Saul and makes sure his mask is in his pocket before he heads out to his truck. Saul jumps in the truck, happy to go on another adventure. They’re going to Jesse's favorite hardware store, Zeke's, which is a nice 20 minute scenic drive through the mountains. Ever since the quarantine started, the store hasn’t been as busy, obviously--they do most of their business online now. Which suits Jesse just fine--the less people he comes in contact with, the better. Even after a decade, he’s still paranoid he’s going to be busted someday. But that’s one of the things he loves the most about Alaska--people just seem to mind their own business.
He puts his mask on and takes Saul inside the store, where both of them are effusively greeted by all the employees. Needless to say, Jesse--well, Derek--is a regular.
Jesse heads to the back of the store to find Max filling out some paperwork.
“Yo,” Jesse says--some habits he just hasn’t been able to break--”Did you get the saw in or what?”
Jesse knows Max is smiling under his mask. “Yeah, man. I put it aside for you. Why do you have such a boner for this thing anyway?”
“I’m making this sweet rocking horse thing for Hannah. She loves horses but can’t be near one because she’s allergic to their, like, dander? Or whatever. This saw looks like the only thing powerful enough to pull it off.”
“Wow, that’s really cool of you. And I’ll bet you’ll score some points with Isabelle, too.”
“That’s… not the point,” Jesse says, although it is a little bit of the point. But he wants to put a smile on Hannah’s face, too.
Max goes in the back and returns with the Dual-Bevel Sliding Glide Miter Saw, and Jesse stared at in awe the same way he looked at those beautiful crystals Mr. White created in the RV once upon a time.
“Ha, you’re a trip, man. How's business these days?"
"Pretty damn good, actually. I just delivered a bed I made to Mrs. Adams; took me a long ass time, too, like 3 months. She wanted it all fancy and shit, but she was real happy with the end product. Gave me a little extra for it. And I'm working on a coffee table for Joe Nixon; he's always been a good customer."
Jesse's woodworking business is actually thriving these days. It took a while for word of mouth to start working in his favor, but now he has a lot of steady work. It gets the bills paid, and keeps his mind occupied. Which is always a good thing.
"That's good to hear, man. Want to come over for a beer tomorrow night, if you’re not too busy with that saw? Paula and I are grilling some steak. Socially distanced steaks, of course. We set them 6 feet apart on the grill.”
“Yeah. That sounds good, yo,” Jesse says, nodding. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Cool.”
It actually took a while for Max to win Jesse over. When Jesse first started going to Zeke’s frequently, he’d see Max in the aisles, stocking paint cans or lightbulbs, and he’d actually steer clear of him and ask someone else for help. Because Max is an older guy--he has at least 20 years on Jesse--and he’s bald, and he has a fatherly vibe about him. If Jesse learned nothing else in his time with Mr. White--and Hank, and Mike--it’s that he doesn’t need another goddamn father figure who wants to use Jesse for their own fucked up interests. He can’t… he can’t do that again.
But Max wore him down over the years. Whenever Jesse had a question about a saw or a paint color or whatever, Max always knew the answer better than any of the teenagers the store hired on a weekly basis. He would always find Jesse in the aisles and talk him through what project he was currently working on and what tools he needed. They also had stuff in common--they listened to the same music, they both loved dogs, they even liked the same kind of beer. And they slowly formed a friendship that Jesse’s come to depend on--but in a healthy way, one that actually benefited him for once.
Max gives Saul a doggy treat he keeps behind his desk, which Saul takes gently and gratefully.
“Hey, are you okay? Even though you look like your pants are about to burst open when you gaze at the saw, you seem… I don’t know. Kinda bummed.”
Max doesn’t know anything about Jesse’s former life, or even where Jesse came from before he materialized in Alaska. But he always knows when Jesse is having a bad day. It’s unnerving.
“Yeah, man. I’m good. I just miss Isabelle. When is this thing gonna be over?” It’s not not true.
Max shakes his head. “I don’t know. Soon, hopefully. I haven’t seen my mom in almost a year and it’s not like she has a lot of time left, you know?”
Jesse nods. He knows Max is close with his mom. He wonders what that’s like. He can’t help but also wonder how his own mother is doing back in Albuquerque. But he doesn’t let himself think about that for long--it's just not worth it.
“I hope you do get to see her soon. Maybe that vaccine they keep talking about will actually work.”
“Here’s hopin’. I gotta stock some of this paint, man. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Have fun.” They exchange a distant fist-bump and Jesse takes Saul to the front, where he spends an unbelievable amount of money for the saw. It’s worth it, though.
Back at home, Jesse sits down at his desk and sketches out the rocking horse. He’s been spending a little more time lately with his colored pencils and notepad. It feels nice to draw again;
it’s been so long. Jesse almost feels like his old self again--the person he was before the crystal, before Walter White, before those Nazi pricks at the compound.
While he colors in the horse, Jesse lets himself think about Mr. White. He would have been 62 years old today. Positively ancient. Every now and then, Jesse remembers the high school chemistry teacher instead of the greedy shithead he turned into. Sometimes Mr. White would let Jesse stick around after class and help wash the chemistry equipment or watch him grade papers, and he’d go over Jesse’s homework with him. He was really patient with him, actually. It wasn’t so much his fault that Jesse didn’t get it--or, more likely, Jesse was too stoned or high to get it.
It hadn't been all bad. Even when they were cooking together, it hadn't been all bad.
And everything that happened led to Jesse finding himself in Alaska, making friends, and meeting the possible love of his life. Not that it absolves Mr. White from all the destruction he caused in his path, of course. But it does help take some of the sting away. These days, Jesse tries very hard to see the silver lining in everything.
“Happy birthday, Mr. White,” Jesse whispers to himself. Saul looks up from his dog bed before drifting back to sleep.
Junkie-- “No,” Jesse says a little louder. “Not anymore.”
Jesse finishes the sketch before he goes to bed, finally putting an end to this harder than usual day. Tomorrow will be easier. It always is.