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[Hooray, Jesse is finally awake and home after his half-week holiday with hookers and meth. This of course means he's looking extra groggy, red around the eyes, and not exactly the most cheerful. Which makes the following message a little dissonant:]

Hey, so... - Hey, hi, I'm Jesse. If you're new.

Anyway, um, I know I talked to a few of you earlier about maybe some baking lessons? I was thinking probably, since in a couple weeks we'll have a whole 'nother shipment of new guys, we'll practice making cookies for 'em.

Some of you saw me this last time, right? I had like this whole setup with a tent? I was thinking we could do that again, but bigger this time. Or if you don't wanna be out in the cold all day, we could set up in the lobby downstairs, like right when people come in to find their units? I dunno. I'm just thinking out loud.

Anybody into that, though? Like on the 28th or something we get together and make some cookies? Assuming nobody bombs us or anything.

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[It isn't pride, it's defeatism. Or "self-acceptance", Jesse would say, which is something he learned in rehab of all places.

He nearly falls right over when Adam releases him, but he catches himself on the wall and leans back up against it, folding his arms like it ain't no thing.]

What, you think there's some big story behind it? News flash: I'm not that interesting. I cook for the cheddar. I smoke 'cause I like it. Same as every other junkie in the world. You give all of them this much shit?

Only the unlucky ones.

[ Seems like Jesse has gotten very unlucky in this case and Adam doesn't believe him. He's not done yet anyway, as he grabs Jesse by his upper arm this time to roughly drag/shove him towards his and Ranka's apartment door. ]

You're gonna invite me inside your place so we can talk. Civilly, I suggest.

[ We don't want to scare any small girls after all. ]

[Jesse can't put up much resistance, but he tries, and his arm aches for it. He was bluffing earlier. He doesn't want Ranka to overhear what they're saying, and he especially doesn't want her to find his body if something happens to him. When he looks back at Adam, there's a particular kind of fear in his eyes. Pleading, however, only lets people know what they can use against you, so he keeps his mouth shut about it and opens the door.]

...Asshole.

I try.

[ Yes, he's aware, thank you very much. Being an asshole is a full-time job, but the pay is still pretty shitty.

He duly notes that he seems to be getting what he wants for now, however, which means he's relaxing a little; himself as well as his steel grip as he removes his prosthetic hand. Due to the nature of it there's more power behind it than you'd expect, so Jesse might be feeling that for a while. He follows. ]

Maybe if you stop being a shithead and start talking, I'll do the same. In my experience people can't shut up about their problems and sob stories when they come across somebody more or less willing to listen, so either you don't think you have a problem at all or you're hiding something. Which is it.

There's your first problem: I don't have a sob story.

[He's rubbing at his shoulder as he walks in, looking around. Coast is clear, but he doesn't invite Adam to make himself comfortable. Jesse doesn't sit, either. He walks into the kitchen and prepares a whiskey for himself while he talks:]

You wanna talk about my addiction? You think I don't know I got one? I did two months in rehab. Shiny place, all spas and group therapy. Lots of love and care. They give you these chips so you can count the days, weeks, months you're sober. I was looking right at it when I did my next line.

I relapsed hard, right, and my bosses didn't like it so they cleaned me up again. That time worked a little better 'cause they wouldn't let me outta their sight for a second. But then I went on vacation and backslid. Did another stint in rehab. My girlfriend helped me. It was sweet.

Got on some mood stabilizers, too. I dunno if you know, but there's this withdrawal thing where you get real depressed getting off meth. So they give you other drugs to replace the drugs you were on. When I kicked H, I didn't do the methadone thing, but saying goodbye to the meth was harder. So that was good. That was great.

Then, you know, things happen. Lose your girlfriend, lose your kid, lose your job. You wake up one morning and all you got left is the crystal. And at least that gets you outta bed.

[He raises his glass like he's toasting himself, lips twisted into a wry little smile.]

Then you get shot in the face and end up in Wonderland. It's a goddamn fairytale ending. You like that? That satisfy your curiosity? Or do you wanna talk more about how I'm seriously the most classic case of fuck-up ever? Like I said: I'm not that interesting.

[ Adam isn't getting comfortable anyway. The point of heading inside was mostly to avoid being so out in the open where people can just walk past or overhear your conversation.

He does listen, patiently. It does sound like a typical story of its kind. ]

I decide what's interesting. You skipped two parts.

[ He pauses briefly. ]

One, when, why and how did you even start with this crap. Don't tell me it was just curiosity and or peer pressure, that's the lamest excuse. [ Another beat. ] Second, this doesn't explain how you came to learn to cook up your own meth; I don't think they teach that at rehab. Sounds more to me like you're a dealer, which--and feel free to correct me if I'm wrong--goes a bit beyond the classic case of pathetic but otherwise mostly harmless fuck-up.

[ It's all a bit vague. Adam can sort of understand wanting to experiment with different things, because he did that too, but without completely discarding his common sense. ]

Hung around the wrong people, or were you really just that bored and past giving a shit.

[Jesse rolls his eyes and takes a drink before answering:]

I got started in high school. There was this buddy of mine, Emilio. I knew him forever, like all the way back in kindergarten. Anyway, he got started cooking. His cousin was some big-time gangster, so that's how he got into the game.

Anyway, at first I was just another customer but, you know... Expensive habit. Since me and him went way back, he cut me in. I started dealing. Small-time, you know, just around school. Stopped and started a few times, 'cause my parents found out I was smoking and you know the story: got kicked out, moved back in, got kicked out... I tried to go straight a few times, but I ain't exactly college material - obviously.

Blah, blah, blah, my aunt got cancer and needed somebody to take care of her, so I moved in with her and didn't have to deal with my parents' shit anymore. Then she died and left her house to me, which was great, but I was back to needing cash. Hooked up with Emilio again, got ourselves a nice little lab set up, and there you go.

Is any of this seriously surprising you?

Surprising, I guess not. What really surprises me is how furious I still get whenever I hear a story like this. Kids being dumbasses and the government and their executives failing to do their job.

[ Yeah, he's pretty angry, but at least outwardly he manages to hide it well. Adam almost never raises his voice. His fist is a different story.

He walks over to Jesse and rather impulsively takes away that bottle of whiskey from him, thank you. Only - ]

When you were a kid, what did you want to grow up to be? A drug dealer?

[ Well, he's drinking it himself now, right out of the bottle. If Jesse wasn't intending to share it, tough luck; Adam's not the type to ask first. ]

[Jesse actually shrinks back a little when Adam takes the bottle, like he thinks he's about to be hit with it. He's glad the guy's just drinking instead.]

I never thought about it. I mean, I wanted to be a superhero, but those weren't real where I came from, so - nothing.

[ He raises a brow. The booze he just ingested quickly takes effect, but he knows it'll only last a few moments. ]

Kind of a steep deviation.

[ Pause. ]

So you've got plenty of creative energy and skill when it comes to cooking up harmful substances, but you couldn't simply channel it into something more fun--if you can't be a superhero, you think one up. The point isn't whether they're real or not, I always enjoyed reading comics.

[ He knows he's going off on a bit of a tangent, but instant intoxication will do that to you. Oh well, he's gonna have some more of it. Good for Jesse too because booze mellows him out a lot. ]

Yeah, I used to draw. You know how much money that makes?

[Not a lot, judging by his tone.]

So? Do you know how shitty my pay was? Do you know how much college cost me and my parents? We couldn't fucking afford any of it, so don't give me that bullshit excuse. Things are not always gonna work out right away.

[ He is so not impressed. ]

Did your drug dealing make you rich? Was it productive in any way? Or maybe I should ask, does it make you rich.

Yeah, it did. But I don't sell here. Personal use, you know how it is. I don't care anymore. About the money. I got what I need. Perks of being somebody's hero, finally.

[He gives a vague little wave to their overly comfortable surroundings, courtesy of the Initiative.]

[ Adam just sighs, places the bottle down and takes a few moments before he replies. ]

Don't be an idiot. You keep that up and you're gonna be dead in a couple years.

I'm already dead.

[ Behind his lenses, Adam rolls his eyes, unseen.

And then, very suddenly and without warning, he does that one thing Jesse might have dreaded: he raises his hand, curled into a fist, and aims for the other man's face, though he's careful not to apply all of his devastating force to the blow. ]

I'm sorry, my hand slipped. But since you're already dead, you didn't feel that anyway, right?

[The punch sends the glass flying out of Jesse's hand and shattering on the floor. He staggers back, barely catching himself on the counter, and bites back whatever he's tempted to shout because he doesn't want Ranka to run in. His contempt is plain on his face, though. There's a good long moment where he says nothing, breathing deep through his nose and swallowing blood. Then, with controlled calm:]

You get off on that?

I could ask you the same question. You're doing the same thing. Only drawn out and excruciatingly slow instead of sharp and on-the-spot.

[ He appears perfectly calm himself, taking another step towards Jesse. ]

You felt that. You're hurting. My point stands.

[Jesse doesn't move away. He stays right there, both hands flat on the counter for balance in case he's hit again.]

You wanna hear how you're right? Yeah, I felt it. Yeah, I'm hurting myself. So what? You don't care. You just wanna come in here and fix it. Like a couple punches is gonna do what years of rehab and group and all the love in the world couldn't do. Then maybe at the end of it we hug it out and I tell you, oh, I'm so so grateful you came along and finally made it better. Thank you so much for saving me, officer. You really made a difference in the world.

Fix it!

[ Oh okay, now he actually sort of does raise his voice, which is never a good sign. ]

Yes, don't I wish I could fix it. Wouldn't that be wonderful. But I know I can't, because of little shits like you not giving a rat's ass. What I can do is try to prevent it, but you're not making that easy, either.

[ When Adam moves, it's not to hit Jesse, but to catch him in much the same grip as he had when they first met in the hallway minutes ago, pulling. He consciously keeps his voice low now, slightly drawled. ]

Story time, Jesse. I grew up in a really bad neighborhood. Gangwars, street crime, drug dealers--you name it. I never got involved, but I lost some really good friends to some of that crap. My mother was chronically depressed because of it, addicted to antipsychotics. You don't know how often I wanted to knock some sense into a couple of those kids, but all I could do was watch because the cops were fucking incompetent. I wanted to take care of it myself, but guess what, I needed a clean criminal record, because I knew I wanted to be a cop since I was six. So I stayed at home and took care of my mother, and did nothing. I took ridiculously expensive online classes. I eventually joined the police.

[ He consciously leaves out the part where his father was murdered and his mother committed suicide. ]

The sole reason I've quit is because of a dumb kid like you. He ruined his own body, made himself a weapon, got addicted to drugs because of it. He couldn't afford it anymore and the withdrawal symptoms made him go mad with pain. So what's the order officer Jensen is given? Right, to put the poor SOB out of his misery before he can cause any more damage to our guys or anyone's reputation. Yes, I thought. [ The sarcasm is dripping. ] Of course eliminating the problem altogether is better than trying to fix it.

[ He snorts. ] You know what I said? Fuck you. And fuck you too, Jesse. I know I can't fix you. But you, of all people, don't get to tell me I don't give a shit.

[ He gives him a last rough shove, and lets go with that. ]

[Jesse gets the message. Maybe not the one he was meant to get, but all at once he understands why this guy is on his ass: Jesse's the surrogate for whatever kid that was that cost him his job. Jesse had thought this was a pride thing. Cops were usually like that. They got mad when they didn't get to be the big man. But this is something a lot more dangerous.

It's personal.

He doesn't say anything. There's no cute comeback to that, and there's nothing funny about a tweaker having to get put down like a dog. And whatever all of that means to Adam... Jesse empathizes, at least. But he's scared, now, representing a thing like that. He stays very still the whole time Adam's holding onto him and slumps back against the counter when he's released, avoiding Adam's gaze.]

[ --The kid died anyway, because the order was passed along to Adam's best friend, who still hates him for burdening him with the guilt of killing a fifteen year old. Many more people died in city wide riots after that. Adam's career died. His body, eventually, when he jumped at the chance of getting a job at the same firm his girlfriend worked at, because no one else was about to hire him.

It's sheer coincidence he's not dependent on drugs himself right now, and probably going crazy because he doesn't think the Initiative would be able to provide him with a Neuropozyne subsitute. It's all that, all of that, going through his mind when silently stares at the other man, seething on the inside. Adam knows that ultimately he has nothing to do with any of it. But he still hates the attitude.

He also hates that he feels so insecure right now that he seriously had that argument with Collette the other day.

Adam considers saying something more, after waiting a couple of moments if Jesse gives him a comeback, then he just heaves an exasperated sigh and turns away; retracting his shades briefly so he can run a hand through his hair and face. He should probably leave soon, before things escalate. ]

I would have beaten that stupid drug dealing idea out of you, I swear.

[ Then maybe at least someone would now still be together with their girlfriend and kid and cook things that aren't meth. Could have's, would have's. ]

You wouldn't be the first one to try.

[And it would've been great if that worked. Of course, he didn't think that at the time. Being hospitalized because of police brutality left him bitter and hopeless and desperate. But he'd almost been out. And then Mr. White dragged him back in. In movies, the heroes beat the villains and that's the end. Jesse wishes that had been the end.]

But the first to succeed.

[ Because, he likes to think, he's not the type to half-ass things, to leave them unfinished. Adam's been known for his tenacity and ability to get to the bottom of things. Either way, it seems irrelevant now.

He's half leaning on the counter himself, reaching into one of his pockets for his wallet. Yeah, he's taking out a generous amount of money, tossing onto the surface. ]

For your cookie baking efforts. Or whatever else you need. [ More like compensation for his injuries, though Adam would prefer if it didn't go into meth, but he doesn't outright say that. ]

[It's been months since Jesse has wanted for anything, materially. Spiritually, however... Anyway, what he needs can't be bought. And he's offended, honestly, that this guy keeps coming around and hassling him and then treating him like some charity case.]

Let's get one thing straight: I ain't your little bitch. You don't get to buy the right to cave my face in whenever you feel like it. Keep your money. I don't need it.

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