11 Compromise

Axl Rose sang about patience as the wind softly blew my face. The old Toyota couldn't go as fast as my old chevy but hey at least it didn't make too much noise. The highway stretched long like a giant asphalt snake. That was good though, because I really needed time to think about my future.

The guitar solo kicked in and my thoughts went to old life. I knew who I was before I became Jesse but it was getting hazy with each passing day. It was getting harder to remember those old faces.

It was getting dark. I decided to head back home to Jane.

I'll figure everything out eventually

__________________________________________________________________________________

In the small but neat back office of a particular Chicken Man.

"So how did he do?" The man in yellow shirt with the golden spectacles asked the older grizzled man.

"The kid passed with flying colours. Frank tried to rattle him but the kid didn't relent. He kept his cool and talked his way out of a speeding ticket." Michael Ehrmantraut replied with his usual stiff dry delivery.

"And what about your judgement?" He asked knowing fully what he was about to say.

"Sure, I'm impressed but the fact remains that he's a junkie. A smart junkie but in the end, he's a junkie." He held back from suggesting any course of action to the chicken man. After working for him for about two years now, he knew better to question his judgement.

"We'll see. How is the other one, Walter White?"

"He's in remission. 80% reduction in tumour size. Looks like he's out of the woods."

"Anything else?"

"They both seemed to have some kind of falling out. They haven't contacted each other in the past two days. The kid buried the money in the desert. Four different spots. Looks like he really plans to get out."

"And….the other one?"

"Might want more than a million dollars now that he doesn't have to worry about his life."

"I see." The chicken man adjusted his specs and crossed his hands.

Mike held his tongue. He didn't want to share more than what was asked. After being a cop for multiple decades his instinct for people was razor sharp. Jesse Pinkman was no ordinary junkie that's for sure, he orchestrated this entire deal from thin air. He seemed to have a good head on his shoulders and seemed to be not using anymore. Guess he was wising up. The problem was that he could relapse and you could never trust a junkie. He had a feeling that Pinkman wouldn't go down that path but then again he had been wrong about people more times than he could count. The bottom line was that you could never trust a junkie. Walter White on the other hand was perfect. Educated, smart and didn't have a rep sheet. He was a perfect now that his cancer was in remission. At least that was how it seemed on the outside but he had a bad feeling about him, one that he couldn't just put a finger on. The way he talked and acted just rubbed him the wrong way.

"Alright, set up a meeting with the high school teacher." Gus declared quietly.

Mike didn't voice his thoughts on the matter, he did a small nod and left the room.

Gus was alone but then again when was he not. He got up from his office chair and walked to his liquor cabinet with a mechanical stride. There was an assortment of wines on the shelf. Some were from Italian, others French and even rarer were the spiced wine from Chile reminding him of his childhood. Despite the variety, his hands never touched any of them, not even once. Spare one. A tequila. Zafiro Añejo.

He opened the cabinet and held the tequila gently as he had done a million times. It was almost a routine now. This time however, his grip tightened as he said to himself,

"Soon."

___________________________________________________________________________________

He was conflicted. Walter white was sitting by the pool side and he was conflicted. On one hand he had more money than he ever had but on the other…..

Jesse had changed. He was more responsible now, more mature. Then again after the whole affair with Tuco, who wouldn't change. They had killed a man. HE had killed a man. Well, actually two if you include Krazy-8. For some reason he always forgot about that boy. He was horrified at first but then that feeling numbed. Just like how he felt now with the alcohol so thoroughly in his system.

He gripped the glass tightly. He thought bitterly, 'Why is he quitting? Now of all times!'

Shouldn't they be jumping up in joy? Shouldn't they be celebrating? After all the pain and suffering they had been through. Why was he cashing out now….so soon?

The feeling of cashing out soon was a feeling that Walter White had grown used to. He settled in his life. He settled when things got nasty at Grey matter. He settled when he found out that his son had cerebral palsy. He settled when Bogdan made him wash the tires

He settled. That's what he did. Settled.

He almost settled when they found the cancer in his lungs. He had decided that he would go out in his own way, he wouldn't take any meds and he wouldn't do chemo. He was so sure that at least in the matter of his mortality he would have his way and he did. For a week, then his wife convinced him to take his meds and do the chemo. He settled.

But still….a small part of him found solace in cooking. It gave him purpose and more importantly 'money for his family.' That's what he told himself. He did all for his family. For Junior's and Holly's future.

He looked inside his bath robe's pocket. He was carrying five thousand dollars. That was more than what he made in a month working in that damned car wash.

He had money. A million dollars and another hundred thousand to spare. He didn't have to cook anymore. No more dealing with coked up meth dealers. No more worries about his future since his cancer had gone into remission. 80% sounded like 80 years. He had time and money.

And yet.

Why did he feel so….dead.

Why did he feel like he was settling again?

A flash of the last three decades of his life passed through him and he had to shut his eyes. He couldn't take the embarrassment. He couldn't believe that all of his genius and potential led him to washing people's tires. Embarrassment turned into anger. The thought that he became such a weasel, the fact that he gave away his son's birthright for what? A month's rent! His blood began boiling as he clenched his teeth.

No! I won't settle again. I won't stop doing what I'm good at because it was the right thing to do!' He did that when he sold all of his shares because of his guilt from the affair.

'Yeah, Fuck them and what they think is right!' He smirked arrogantly.

He would go meet with Gustavo Fring again. Like Jesse said, his product was too good for any rational businessman to pass up. If Jesse….if Jesse wanted to settle then that was his decision. If he wanted to spit a gift in the face like he once had in his youth then he should be allowed to.

'It won't be a matter of time before he smokes it all up and comes crawling back to me!' He thought victoriously.

Suddenly, Gretchen and Eliot's face came to him. Those snob, pretentious assholes.

"Fuck them-" His grin was cut short when the glass he was holding exploded into his hand.

He got up yelping in pain. 'Ah fuck…shit." He whispered quietly. One by one he started removing the shards from his palm. The big ones didn't hurt but the large one was a motherfucker.