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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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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.

[ That wasn't quite his intention, but he can see where he's coming from. ]

Buy something nice for Ranka, then. Take her on a shopping trip. She deserves it.

[ They never had the money back then. When money was no longer an issue, he started spending it on others. ]

And I never said you were. When I want to beat somebody, I just do it.

[ .... He'd really be very poor if he gave money to every single one of those guys. ]

[Jesse doesn't respond. He merely pushes the money back toward Adam and crosses his arms. If he wants Ranka to get it, he can give it to her himself.]

[ He's seriously considering getting into another argument over this but then comes to the conclusion that would probably be very childish, so he just frowns and puts the money away again. ]

You just have to be difficult, don't you.

Nobody owns me anymore.

[ Now it's his turn to feel slightly offended. ] Where did you even get that from.

Nevermind.

[Honestly, it's just too hard for him to succinctly explain being a victim of cartel human trafficking. He doesn't even know the term.]

I just don't want your money. Or anybody's.

Fine.

[ He can't help but find this odd, considering how he mentioned earlier that drawing wouldn't pay and drug dealing made him rich. Yeah, the Initiative provides free lodging, but he had that when his aunt died too, so that can't be it. ]

If I'm going to ask why, though, how high are the chances that you'll be an overly defensive brat again.

[ If they're particularly high, it might be best if he just leaves. ]

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