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Jessie normally put her hazmat suit on over her clothes. Not today, though. There was a problem with the fans and the heat from the furnace wasn't venting right. Gus knew about it, of course. They could barely take a dump in this place without him being wise. He’d said finding a trusted man with the right skills was a problem, or at least that's what he'd told Mr. White.
Heisenberg didn't buy it though. He said Gus was just using the situation to put pressure on them -- on him, that is -- because everything was always about Mr. White. It was his formula, his lab. It didn't matter how long or how hard Jessie busted her ass, she'd still be the screwup, the target of whatever was bugging him on any given day. So that morning Jessie didn't bother moving away from the lockers to change. He'd just yell at her for wasting time. As for him seeing anything, she couldn't muster the energy to give a fuck. He'd been all up in that before he’d dumped her to go patch things up with his wife.
But right when Jessie was sliding her arm into a sleeve she noticed that Mr. White was looking, and not just darting glances either. He didn't even have the manners to act embarrassed when she glared. Instead he just gave her The Look -- the one that meant she'd better figure out what she was doing wrong before he had to waste yet more of his super-important time explaining it to her.
Still, she waited him out.
"Jessie. What the hell are you wearing?"
"What the hell are you talking about?”
"Why," Walt tugged his own suit up his legs, dressing with quick, aggressive motions, "are you wearing men's underwear?"
So that was it. The great Heisenberg was pitching a fit because Jessie wasn't up to his standards of girlyness. It was the hoodie argument all over again, Jesus.
"Because they're roomy." She stuck her thumbs in the waistband and stretched the elastic away from her hips. "You know, air the outsides. Don't tell me your balls don't get sweaty in those." She meant his tighty-whities, although those words were forever off limits since that time in the RV.
"My balls -," and maybe Mr. White was going to say "are none of your business" and then stopped because they had been her business for awhile. So he just yanked up the zipper on the front of his suit and then swore when his T-shirt got caught.
Sensing victory, Jessie smirked. "At least my shorts are from this century, yo."
She left Mr. White to figure out how to get his shirt unstuck and went to get the forklift. It felt good to get a dig at him. She hardly ever got the chance.
"You know, wearing James' clothes isn't going to bring him back."
Jessie froze. Okay, he’d figured it out. But he did not go there. He did not just announce her dead boyfriend's name halfway across the lab.
The next words were in his annoying teacher-voice. "Are you even listening?"
She would not break down. No way. Instead she would go back to the lockers, stab a finger where someone could put a knife and tell him to back ... the fuck ... off. But she couldn't. All Jessie could do was zombie-walk to the break room and sit down on the fake leather couch until the shaking was under control.
Of course he followed her. "It's just that I'm worried about you. This attachment isn't healthy."
"So you're my shrink now too?"
"I just want what's best for you." His voice got softer. "For us."
"Us? Now it was her turn to get mad. "I thought there was no more us."
He sighed. "I've been thinking that we should . . . reevaluate our relationship."
"Oh what, you saw my ass and it got you all nostalgic?"
"No, not that." His eyes didn’t waver. "Jessie, I’ll be honest. I miss you."
"Not getting any play at home, huh Mr. White?"
The great Heisenberg sighed. He rubbed at his face, underneath his glasses and then slowly let them settle back down onto his nose. "I'm under a lot of pressure right now. Don't make this even harder for me."
There should've been some crack about how his wife could probably do that just fine, but Jessie didn't have the heart. She didn't even move when he sat down next to her, which put them so close together that all he had to do was catch her with the comfort of his arm. She didn't want to lean into him, but he guided her there, so that her knit cap with the brown hair spilling out from under it was on his shoulder. It felt so good. It reminded her of the last time they’d done this, in the desert, at night. Mr. White’s other hand covered one of hers. It was warm.
With his voice softer than ever, he said "I miss how it was. Just the two of us."
Jessie really wanted to believe that. She wanted feel there was some room for her between all the the planning, the paranoia and the pissing contests with Gus. So she didn't say anything when Mr. White moved in, his lips firm but soft, and kissed her. His tongue was at home in her mouth. He was slow. He waited for her to get turned on, to want to kiss him back. Then he eased off until she moved closer, until she was straddling his hips and they were hooking up in a place that she hoped to whatever was in the sky that Gus couldn't see.
The kisses left her panting. She held onto his arms. Dug her nails in. Mr. White pulled down the zipper on her suit. It had Jessie wishing she'd worn a nicer bra that day. He cupped it anyway and kissed his way down in between, thumbs on her nipples, beard tickling. South of the border he was hard, probing her, and feeling just right. His kisses and cock made lightning arc through her belly. It made a Y of energy that connected Jessie’s nipples and clit. Hard nipples. Stiff clit. God, she wanted him.
Mr. White was kissing lower now. He'd pulled the cotton cups of her bra aside and was sucking what he'd found. It made her grind against him, even stick her hand down so that she could feel how much he wanted. Still, he kept on driving her crazy with his mouth. When he leaned sideways he drew Jessie down too. The hand inside Jessie’s boxer-briefs found her wet and ready for the two thick fingers that he pushed inside and bent, curling towards that spot that nobody but him had ever found. He knew that spot. He knew the wordless sounds that came out of her when he touched it, when he stroked it with a demanding kind of pressure that said "give this to me." "I want this now."
It didn't matter if Jessie felt like she had to pee, if she was nervous that they were hooking up in the lab and that Gus would shit a brick if he found out, or even if she wasn't sure whether her and Mr. White should be like this again. In the end she came apart under his touch, just like always, with Mr. White watching and stroking and saying, "there we go. That's it. Just like that Jessie, good girl."
She muffled her cries against his shoulder. Her head spun and she gasped for breath. He waited - first until she calmed down and until she took hold of him again. He just stilled her hand with a squeeze and said "later". Then he got up and proceeded to take care of the flood that happened whenever Mr. White touched her that way. The first time she’d nearly died of shock, thinking she’d peed on him or something. But that wasn’t it. He’d known what her body was doing. He’d known Jessie better than she’d known herself.
"I'll go back first." Mr White murmured after awhile. Jessie was in a new suit, warm and dry, with her head on his leg and her mind still blissfully empty. He’d tossed her briefs into trash can, where she guessed they were supposed to stay. "You just come out when you're ready."
And it was like he knew. Knew that Jessie, bored without company, would find her way back to him and work all day with a burning need to fuck his brains out. Which they'd do. At his place, with the fancy sheets and the take-out anything but Pollos Hermanos on the dining table out front.
It was like he knew all about her. Even like he'd planned it, somehow.