the bell rings

by taranoire

Summary:

Walter made better choices and Jesse stayed. When they're invited to the Pinkmans' ski cabin for Christmas, concealing the truth of their shared criminal history is easier said than done.

Notes:

Imagine the Gilliverse meeting a Hallmark movie: that's this fic.

Walt is much softer than he is canon, but that was intentional.

Jesse never met Jane and they started working for Fring right after the start of season 2. I've left timeline details vague on purpose.

Chapter 1

Walter hums a little tune to himself as he drives to work on a chilly, dry day in November.

One year ago, in an abandoned arcade somewhere in Albuquerque, Walter did something he never thought he would: he gave up. And he did it not for his family, or his pride, or his daydreams, but because a pair of tearful blue eyes were pleading for it. Walt had told Jesse his plan to kill Gale—ridiculous, and unnecessary, and horrifying in retrospect—and Jesse had just shattered, clinging to him in the dark and begging him to think of anything else. To stop fighting the inevitable and accept the consequences of his actions for once in his life.

He hadn’t used those words, exactly–this is Jesse after all–but Walt had gotten the gist of it. And as he held him, his wedding ring uncomfortably tight around his finger, he realized he was right.

So, Gale lived. Walt hid Jesse away while he negotiated with Gus at a distance. His terms were simple: he would train Gale as a protégé for the next three months, gratis, then walk away, never contacting either party again. He would never breathe a word of the operation to anyone. And if for whatever reason he didn’t keep his end of the bargain, well—Gus knew where Jesse lived. Surely that was enough of a bargaining chip, though it was not one Walt intended to test. 

Surprisingly, Gus agreed, and even let him take his usual pay for the duration. Walt hasn’t heard from him since their arrangement ended, and he aims to keep it that way.

Walt swallowed his pride and got back in touch with Elliott, accepting a well-paying position at Gray Matter. He and Skyler amicably agreed to part ways, with Skyler having full custody of the children—though he has visitation privileges. She’s in some sort of serious relationship with Ted Benneke now, who has already moved in. Walt would be bitter if it weren’t for Jesse.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. Speak of the devil.

Thx for not leaving coffee for me JACKASS >:(

In Jesse speak that’s basically, “I love you. Be safe at work today.”

Walt texts him back, though he really shouldn’t do this while driving.

I’m sorry, is the coffee maker too complicated for you?

Which is Walt speak for, “Love you too.”

*

Their relationship was already kind of weird and sexually charged, so Jesse wasn’t shocked that it turned out the way it did when they officially left the meth business. He’d offered to let the guy move in with him when shit went south with his wife, and then suddenly they were way too close to each other all the time, and then they were showering together to ‘save water’ during a drought, and then they were offering friendly hand jobs (“just dudes helping dudes, yeah?”). Until finally Jesse was brushing his teeth next to Mr. White one morning and realized, holy shit, this was gay gay.

He's not even upset about it, which is the weird thing. Maybe he’s always been kind of gay on the inside and it took a codependent clusterfuck of murder and mayhem to finally get him to realize it. Though there’s a lot less of that now, thank God. It's insane to think about how cleanly they walked away from it all. 

He never thought this is how he'd be spending his twenties. But for the first time in a long-ass time he's happy. They don't talk about the bad shit, but they know it's there, buried deep in a closet somewhere, and having Mr. White on his side is what gives Jesse the strength to forget about it most days. They know exactly what's in each other's pasts, so there's nothing to hide or lie about. Ironically, it's probably the most innocent, honest kind of affection Jesse's ever shared with anyone. 

They’re on the couch and Mr. White has remote control privileges, which is perfectly fine, because it’s chilly and dark outside and Jesse kind of just wants to curl up against his warmth and fall asleep in his lap like he’s a kitten or something. Now that he can do this kind of thing with him he wants it all the time.

“Are you hungry at all?” Mr. White– Walt –says, and Jesse can feel the rumble of his voice way deep down inside his chest.

Jesse grunts a non-answer, which makes Mr. White start to pull away.

“No, stay,” Jesse mumbles, drawing out the ‘no’. “You’re really warm.”

“I also haven’t eaten since breakfast, so you’re going to have to cope without me for a bit.”

“You’re such a prick . You want me to freeze to death.”

Mr. White takes his hand and kisses his fingertips. It’s so weird. Feels good, though. Like every touch of his lips is a little flame of heat. “Not to death. Just enough that I can warm you up later. Thoroughly. In our bedroom. Do I need to spell it out, or–”

“Okay, okay, enough,” Jesse relents. He reluctantly lets him go, the chill immediately seeping into his skin. As revenge he tosses a throw pillow at him. Mr. White catches it, smiling, then leans down and kisses him on the head. 

“Love you,” Mr. White says. It's so easy for him to say even when Jesse can't say it back. Then Mr. White kisses him again, on the lips this time. Lingers for just a second too long, but before Jesse can turn it filthy Mr. White’s pulling away for good.

Jesse watches him go into the kitchen and then settles down on the couch, kind of miffed about being cockblocked. He grabs the remote and flips through the obnoxious amount of TV channels they’ve got now. He settles on a baseball game, although he knows fuck-all about baseball, and his horny ADHD brain is hyperfocused on just how thoroughly Mr. White is going to warm him up later anyway. 

*

Walt used to love Christmas, even in a (usually) snowless Albuquerque: the nostalgic crooning of the Rat Pack singing carols, the festive twinkle of holiday lights, Christmas Eve services at church, family gatherings with spiced wine that went late into the night. The last few Christmases with Skyler have admittedly not been very joyful, and Walt realizes now that it's mostly his own fault. At a certain point, he got weary of his life–and stopped trying to enjoy anything at all.

Jesse makes him want to start trying again. 

“I just–you know, don't want to go too fast with him,” he tells his therapist at his weekly session. She's a no-nonsense professional who doesn't make him talk, which is probably the only reason he does it so readily. He's never missed a session since he started right after parting ways with Fring. 

Because, well. He can freely admit it now: he has problems. Issues with boundaries, with an inflated sense of self importance. He's never going to be cured, and he's still going to screw up. There are days he feels that same restless boredom seeping in. But he wants to at least try to learn to deal with it in a healthy way. For Jesse.

No more death. No more greed. No more fear. That was the ultimatum Jesse asked for, though not in as many words. 

I don't wanna do this anymore, he'd said. And neither should you. 

“Has he expressed that things might be going too quickly?” Dr. Delaney asks. 

Walt racks his brain, but can't think of a moment Jesse ever said anything specific. Jesse seems cautious of their budding relationship, which makes sense, but content. Walt is wary of the day that mere contentment won't be enough.

“No, no. Nothing like that,” he says. “It's just that we met under…traumatic circumstances. And sometimes I wonder if he only feels obligated to stick around, as a result of that shared trauma.”

“If he did want to take a step back, how would that make you feel?”

Walt thinks about it. He clenches his jaw. “Awful. Sick to my stomach. Probably angry, even though I know I shouldn't be.” 

“And what would you do?”

“I'd want to try and convince him to stay,” he says. The idea of losing Jesse even hypothetically is a thought he doesn't often entertain. It turns his guts to ice. Jesse makes him feel alive, and without him, he would turn back into a shambling, myopic corpse. “But look, you don’t have to tell me that's not the right answer. In the moment, I just don't know whether I'll remember that.”

“You love him,” she says, but in an almost disinterested way as she scribbles in her notepad. “You'll remember.”

Walt is driving home later when he passes a Christmas tree lot. He stops on a whim, but knows he'll never be able to get a full-size fur loaded with just his Aztek. He buys the scrawniest, tiniest tree they’ve got on display and ties it to the roof of his car, then heads back home. It's so small he can carry it easily through the front door, where Jesse is sitting in the living room alone with the TV off, and a sketchpad in his lap he's been scribbling random spirals into. Walt doesn't think about how odd that is. 

“Got a tree,” he says sheepishly, stating the obvious. Maybe Jesse will think the gesture is too corny. 

But Jesse just gives him a weak smile and helps him untie it and prop it up in the tree stand it came with. They fill up the water dish and empty the packet of nutrients into the bowl. On the drive home, the tree must have lost a lot of needles. It looks barren and twig-like–Charlie Brown Christmas Special levels of ridiculous.

“I'll dress it up,” Walt says. He heads for the front door, intending to go buy some decorations or at least some goddamn tinsel, when Jesse blocks the way. 

“Need to talk to you about something,” Jesse says. 

Walt only now notices how pale and shaken he looks. His stomach drops. His first thought is that Jesse's broken his sobriety, which would be disappointing but not the end of the world. Addiction can be complicated. He remains calm and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.

“Whatever it is, we’ll get through it,” he says. “Did you slip?”

Jesse shakes his head. “No, no. It’s not—not that.”

“Did you fail a test at school, or?” 

Another head shake. Walt waits patiently.

Jesse sighs. “My parents invited me over for Christmas.”

Oh. Is that all?

“That’s—that’s great, Jesse,” Walt says, trying to be happy for him. 

Jesse’s relationship with his parents has been rough for a few years now, so it’s nice to know that they’re finally allowing him back into their lives. Jesse’s been sober almost a year, is working on getting his gen ed credits completed in college, and even has a part time job doing data entry. He’s worked hard for that stability. Still, Walt doesn't like the idea of Jesse's parents meddling in what they have–because surely they would have concerns. He certainly would. 

Jesse closes his eyes. “They didn’t just invite me.”

Walt stares at him.

“They want to—well, meet you, I guess.”

Walt snaps his hand back like Jesse’s burned him. “I’ve already met them.”

“Yeah, when I was in high school. Like ten years ago. They want to meet you as my—fuck, boyfriend, I guess. Jesus, sounds so much more gay when you say it out loud.” 

Jesse scrubs a hand over his face. 

“Why did you tell them we were dating in the first place?” Walt demands. “Is that really something they needed to know?”

Jesse gives him a confused, furious look. “What the hell was I supposed to do, keep you a secret forever? Either that or I just don't talk to them again. Would that make you happy?”

Yes, Walt nearly says, but Dr. Delaney’s voice interrupts that train of thought. 

“No,” he says, more gently. “No, you–you deserve to be on good terms with your folks, Jesse. I'd never want to get in the way of that. This is just–a really uncomfortable situation.”

Jesse scoffs, but he's not angry at him. “More uncomfortable than me showing up to my parents’ fancy ass cabin in Angel Fire saying, ‘By the way, mom and dad. You remember Mr. White? He fucks me now. I get dick from Mr. Fucking White. Also we might have killed a couple dudes while selling crystal meth but hey, it was self defense—’” 

Walt gets stuck on the wrong part of that. “A cabin in Angel Fire? That's easily three or four hours away.”

“Right,” Jesse says, miserably. “We'd be there for the weekend. In the guest bedroom.”

Walt runs his hand over his head, through the short hair he's been growing out these last few months since his cancer went into remission. Two or three days out in the wilderness with Jesse’s parents watching him the entire time? The weight of their crimes hanging around their necks? He can't think of a worse way to spend the holidays. 

Then again, he is–against all odds– serious about Jesse Pinkman (if someone told him that two years ago, he would have laughed in their face). He wants to start over with him, build new lives together. Getting on good terms with his family seems like a prudent way of doing that, and proving to Jesse that he meant every word of his promise to him.

“Okay,” he says, more to himself. He doesn't want this at all, but it's important to Jesse, and it's only a few days. It's not like he had other plans. “I'll go with you, okay? If this is what you want to do.”

“It's really not,” Jesse says, but he sounds relieved. He tangles their fingers together, squeezing his hand. It's such a sweet gesture that Walt softens. “I'd much rather just stay here, fuck, and bake some gingerbread or something. But I mean–this is the first time they've asked me to do anything with them in a long time.”

“You don't have to explain,” Walt says. If Jesse asked him to walk naked into a pit of venomous snakes he’d probably grumble and then start stripping. “I'll do it.” 

*

Mr. White is trying to be careful about how he chooses to spend his salary and the windfall Fring left him–after being laundered, of course–but Jesse convinces him to splurge in preparation for their trip. Jesse's mouth might be on his dick most of that conversation, which probably helps. 

The next day Mr. White buys a flashy Mercedes, but painted all black, to Jesse’s disgust. 

On December 22nd they load it up and head out to Angel Fire. It's been a while since Jesse's been up to his parents’ cabin–which is actually a timeshare, because they're not that fucking rich–and he forgot how gorgeous the mountains are when they're covered in powdery glistening snow. He watches the landscape shift from the passenger window in a trance.

In a way, the drive reminds him of those days back in the RV. It wasn’t always terrible. If they were driving, or cooking, or just sitting in companionable silence watching the sunset, it felt good. Like everywhere was their playground, and like everywhere was home.

Jesus, have they always been this gay? 

They only get briefly lost once they approach the resort town and can't find the meandering road leading to the cabin. Mr. White– Walt– grumbles and bitches at the built-in GPS a lot but they finally make it once Jesse remembers the way. 

The cabin’s nothing too fancy, and hasn't been updated since the 80s, but it has three bedrooms and a killer view of the snow capped mountains. Still, Jesse can tell Mr. White is weary when he sees it. There's not a whole lot of room for avoiding other people. Maybe Jesse can come up with something for them to do together out of the house. 

Jesse's getting his bag out of the car when the front door opens, and his little brother Jake is casually strutting towards them with his earbuds in. He's grown a lot. Jesse's been looking forward to talking to him one-on-one again this trip. 

He pulls Jake into a hug, then messes up his hair.

“Quit it,” Jake says, but he's only half annoyed and grinning. He smooths his hair back down. “I didn't think you'd actually come out.”

“I told you I'd be here,” Jesse says, acting offended. “I always keep my promises, dude.”

“No, I meant…” Jake wriggles his brows and looks in Mr. White's direction, who's still pretending to fumble with his suitcase in the trunk. “You know. Come out.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “Oh, ha-ha. You're so fucking clever. I've never heard that one.” 

Jesse messes up his hair again. Jake makes a frustrated noise and tries to neaten it, but it's too late now. Total disaster. 

Mr. White finally comes over with the suitcase, looking cold and exhausted and out of place after the three-hour drive. Jake seems suddenly and understandably nervous. It's gotta be weird to find out your brother's dating a guy, and a nerdy, old-ass, scary looking guy on top of that. 

“Jake, this is Walt,” he says, and the word doesn’t feel right in his mouth but if he showed up calling his much older boyfriend ‘Mr. White’ he’d really look like a bad case of Stockholm syndrome, which, okay, maybe . God, why does ‘Walt’ have to be the oldest-sounding name in the book? “He's, um. We're together.”

Walt lets go of one of the suitcases to shake Jake’s hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you, young man,” Walt says. “Jesse’s always going on and on about the famous Jake Pinkman. Graduating early, aren't you?”

Jake perks up. Kids are always happy to talk about themselves. “Well, I won't be able to graduate for a couple of years, at least. But I'm on track to completing some college credits.”

“What are you planning on doing?” Mr. White asks. “Have you decided?”

“My dad wants me to be a doctor,” Jake says, wrinkling his nose. “But I’m thinking I’ll become a journalist. I’d kill to have a Pulitzer.” 

Walt laughs. 

“Jake, would you mind helping us get the car unloaded?” Jesse asks, because he’s freezing his nuts off.

Jake nods, and heads over to the Mercedes. He does this eyebrow wriggle thing at Jesse again, as if to say, so he's a rich old creep, huh? Then he pulls out the remaining bag and suitcase and follows them to the door. 

The inside of the cabin smells amazing, and is all decked out in red and gold, and warm and shit. Mom must be making her homemade eggnog in the tiny kitchen, and the familiarity of it makes Jesse kind of teary-eyed. He never thought he’d be welcome here ever again. He blinks the tears back and calls out. 

His mom appears moments later, pulling him into a tight hug. All the hassle of the stupid trip was worth it for the look on her face. 

“I'm so glad you could make it,” she says, drawing back to look at him. She makes a surprised sound when she sees he's foregone the usual baggy pants and hoodie combo for dark wash jeans and a cable knit sweater, because he wants to make a good impression. “You look so clean. It's a miracle. How was the drive?”

“You'll have to ask him,” Jesse says, jerking his head in Walt’s direction. “He did most of it. Where's dad?”

His mom gives him a nervous smile. “Oh, sweetheart, you know your father. He's in his office, making some last minute calls for work. He'll be done in a few hours.”

Weird, but okay. 

Jesse introduces Mr. White and his mom to each other, though it's really more of a reintroduction.

“Nice to meet you, Diane,” Walt says, cordially, shaking her hand. 

“We've met,” she says, beaming. “It's been about…nine years now?”

“Seems like only yesterday. And decades ago,” Walt chuckles. 

Jesus, get a room. 

“I think the last time we saw each other was at a PTA meeting,” Diane says. “You were always so patient with him, you know?”

Jesse balks, because no he wasn't. Then again, Mr. White had been the only one who seemed to give a shit at all, so maybe that's a form of patience in itself.

Mr. White and his mom start talking about boring-ass crap like mutual acquaintances and property values and the homeowners association, so Jesse and Jake leave them to it and bring the luggage to the guest room. 

It's pretty cramped, but tastefully decorated, and the quilt on the bedspread looks cozy. He and Mr. White agreed to keep their hands to themselves for the trip—who knows how long that’ll last—but Jesse thinks it’ll be nice to curl up against him, watch the snow fall. They can be all romantic and shit. 

Jake wanders off so Jesse starts unpacking. He took only a few things, packing light, but Mr. White is kind of a freak and brought most of his clothes, all his toiletries, and shit he probably won't even need like a waffle maker, eleven paperback novels, and his swim trunks. Jesse doesn't know why he thinks he might need to go swimming on a mountain in the middle of winter, but who's Jesse to disagree?

He's almost finished when his dad peeks into the room. 

“Yo,” Jesse says, awkwardly, because he never has any idea whether his dad actually wants to see him or not. He misses being a kid, how easy it was to just get visibly excited to see his old man, and run up to give him a tight hug with his scrawny arms. 

Oh no! You’re crushing me! His dad would cry out dramatically. Diane, help! He’s squeezing my lungs out! This is the end!

“Jesse,” his dad says, super impersonal, like he's greeting the help or something. “I'm glad you decided to join us. I'm sure your mother was happy to see you.”

Because I’m not, it seems to imply. 

“Yeah,” Jesse says, tone light, because if his dad's not going to try then he should. “Jake, too. I mean, it's been a while since we were all together like this.”

His dad sighs, stuffing his hands in his trousers, like Jesse's presence is in itself a hindrance. That he only invited him out here as an act of charity. Jesse quickly figures out what must have happened. His mom pleaded and begged, and his dad eventually gave in. He's allowed to be here for that reason alone.

“I saw you brought your…” His dad gives him a look of disgruntled confusion. “What is he, exactly?”

“I told you, we're together,” Jesse says, not flinching from his gaze. “I was pretty clear about that on the phone. And if that's going to be a problem, then…”

“Not at all,” his dad says. Yes . “I just hope you know what you're doing.” 

Jesse looks away and takes a deep breath. Counts to three. Whirls back around to say something nasty, but his dad’s already gone. 

*

Walt spends the afternoon chatting with Diane. They sit down in the breakfast nook over coffee and talk about the past few years, though in Walt's case he deliberately avoids discussing more recent events because he and Jesse haven't agreed on a story yet. Meanwhile, Jesse spends some time with his little brother, Jake, sledding out behind the cabin. 

Diane starts making chicken enchiladas for dinner and Walt offers to help, glad to have an opportunity to ingratiate himself with at least one member of Jesse's family. It's actually very pleasant, listening to carols on the radio and dicing up vegetables while she rambles about her life and Jesse’s childhood. He can see a lot of Jesse in her. They’ve got an airy, compassionate warmth to them—like if sunbeams were people. 

“I’ve never had enchiladas with cream cheese,” Walt says.

“It’s not necessarily authentic,” Diane agrees. “But it gives them a wonderful richness. They’re Jesse’s favorite. When he was little he would always ask me to make them on his birthday.”

Walt chuckles. “Well, maybe you’d consider sharing the recipe. I could surprise him.” 

“That’s a great idea,” she says. “I’ll write it down for you. It’s so easy in a pinch.”

Her husband, Adam, eventually comes out of his tiny office for introductions. When he enters the kitchen he doesn’t acknowledge Walt at all, at first, which Walt finds a bit strange but doesn’t mention. Adam kisses his wife on the head and says something quietly to her before finally turning to his guest.

When he shakes Walt’s hand he gives him a cool, appraising look, and Walt can tell he's sizing him up. He can detect a little bit of hostility there–understandable, given the circumstances–but he's not going to confront it head-on. He doesn't need to cause any problems for Jesse. Even if the condescension is radiating off the man in waves.

“It’s been a few years, Walter,” Adam says, politely, somehow managing to make his name sound like an insult. “Are you still working at Wynne?”

“No,” Walt says. “Thank God for that. I’m a chemical engineer at Gray Matter now. We’re working on smart fabric applications.”

“Moving up in the world,” Adam says, though he doesnt sound particularly impressed. If anything he sounds suspicious, though it’s possible Walt is being paranoid. 

“Can't beat a 401k and stock options,” Walt agrees, tersely. 

Adam crosses his arms over his chest. “So how exactly did you and Jesse—”

At that precise moment Jesse and Jake enter the cabin, soaking wet with melted snow and gasping at the hit of warm air. They're both laughing. 

“Dad, the lake froze over,” Jake says. “It’s completely rock solid. Do you think we could—“

“--Don't track mud on the flooring, please,” Adam says. “You'll warp the wood.”

“Sorry,” Jesse and Jake say in unison. They share a conspiratorial look, and break out into giggles again. Then they head upstairs to change clothes, presumably, laughing all the way. 

Adam works his jaw, but shifts back into pleasantness quickly.

 “Kids,” he sighs to Walt. “Listen, I have a new bottle of scotch I’ve been meaning to break open. Would you care to join me?”

Walt nods, eyes wide in feigned surprise at his generosity, but he’s not an idiot—this will be an interrogation. One he definitely deserves, but not for the reasons Adam thinks. “Of course. Thank you. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good strong drink.”

*

When Jesse comes back downstairs, dressed in dry warm clothes, he immediately notices Mr. White and his dad are absent. He’s about to try and track them down before his dad can saw his boyfriend’s dick off, because he kind of needs that, but his mom reassures him and wrangles him into finishing up dinner instead. 

Jesse’s in charge of the salad, but it’s slow going because he keeps nervously pausing as he chops up romaine to see if he can hear any muffled screaming. He and Mr. White have done a pretty decent job of distancing themselves from their criminal past, listening to the lawyer’s advice, practicing self-forgiveness, yada yada yada, but the weight of all of it is super heavy sometimes. 

If his dad thinks Mr. White is just a creep, that’s one thing. They can deal with it. If he knew about all the other shit, he’d go full scorched earth. Is it even possible to build a life after so much bad shit happened before it? 

“I didn’t even know you were gay,” his mom says offhandedly, looking almost distraught at the possibility, like she’s somehow failed as a parent for not noticing something he tried painfully hard to hide. 

“I’m not,” Jesse says. “I mean, like, not all the way. It’s complicated.”

“You were a perfectly normal little boy. You were always a little sensitive, but…”

Jesse flinches, but manages to not cut his finger off. “Ma. It’s called bisexual. Google it.”

“Is that the term?” she asks, genuinely curious. Then she shrugs. “Well, whatever you are, you know I’ll always support you. I’m not sure I agree with your taste in men but that’s none of my business. Does Mr. White treat you okay?”

“ Jesus, ma.”

“I’m serious. Is he good to you? Does he make you do anything unsavory?”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Actually, he keeps me chained up in the basement and only lets me out to piss or suck his–”

“ Jesse , watch your mouth.”

“He’s—he’s good, yeah. A real prick sometimes. Like, he’s the kind of guy who’ll go off on his waiter for the stupidest shi—stuff, and he’s always harping about crap that doesn’t matter , but ever since we started whatever the hell this is, he’s been real respectful and a perfect gentleman. To me at least. Does that make you feel better?”

She smiles as she slides the enchiladas out of the oven. “As long as Mr. White makes you happy, that’s what matters to me.”

“God, please don’t call him ‘Mr. White.’ That’s so fucking weird.”

“ Language .”

*

“Do you want a cigar?” Adam asks.

Walt is tempted, but he would rather not irritate his lungs while his cancer is in remission. He tilts his glass of scotch in his direction. “This is more than adequate. Thank you, though.”

“Of course—you’re a guest here, after all,” Adam says.

Adam lights his cigar with a wooden match before tucking the matchbook back into his pocket. He sits back in his leather office chair and they fall into what could be a comfortable silence, but Walt isn’t fooled. He can hear Jesse and his mother in the kitchen. They seem to be in good spirits, but Walt can’t make out the words.

“Jesse tells me you paid for his rehab,” Adam says, flicking the ash from his cigar into an expensive-looking ashtray.

Walt nods. “That’s correct.”

“That’s really something,” Adam says, but he doesn’t sound impressed. “Out of the goodness of your heart, huh? No strings attached?”

There’s no correct way to answer that question, no way to say that Walt felt responsible for Jesse after their adventure with homicide and a Mexican drug cartel and Gustavo Fring’s industrial meth operation. But staying silent would probably be worse.

“It was his idea,” Walt says, swirling his glass. “And yes, there really weren’t any strings. I just wanted to help him get better. That’s all.”

Adam hums, contemplatively.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Adam says. He takes another drag on his cigar. “Nothing Diane and I could say would convince him it was in his best interest to sober up. It all went in one ear and out the other. But he’s—God. It’s like he’s pulled a complete one-eighty. Going to school, finally holding down a job. I’m proud of him.”

“So am I,” Walt agrees, glad the conversation is becoming less antagonistic. “I’ve always thought there was some kind of spark in him. If only he’d apply himself.”

Adam stares at him. “Oh?”

“He was a decent student,” Walt says, stupidly. He takes a sip of his scotch. “I could see it in him. Even then.”

Adam’s expression darkens, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, but then Diane calls him from the kitchen. Adam snuffs out the rest of the cigar in the ashtray, then gets to his feet. He lays a hand on Walt’s shoulder, smiling gently, then leans down to speak close to his ear.

“If I ever find out you touched him when he was still in school, I will kill you,” Adam says. He claps his shoulder.

*

Jesse doesn’t have a clue what his dad said to Walt, but it must have been pretty fucking bad for him to look so distracted and weird as they’re sitting down for dinner. While his mom puts out the fancy china serving dishes and his dad argues with Jake over whether or not to let him have a sip of wine, Jesse leans close across the table so that they won’t overhear.

“You okay?” he asks.

Walt blinks himself out of his daze, then gives him a super fake appeasing smile. “Of course, sweetheart. It’s just been a long day.”

Jesse’s so distracted by the pet name that he forgets what he was going to say. 

His mom starts to pour him a glass of wine, but he shakes his head and grabs the pitcher of water on the table instead. He takes this shit seriously. He technically could drink, if he wanted to, but he’s scared he’ll end up using it as a crutch. Becoming a raging alcoholic just because he can’t do meth anymore? Pass.

Once the five of them are gathered around the table, with some sort of Christmas piano collection tinkling quietly in the background and the whole cabin smelling of pine trees and spice, his dad offers to say grace. Jesse has to nudge Walt to get him to bow his head. Apparently this was not a common practice in the White household, but the Pinkmans are really into that Jesus shit. 

“…and thank You for bringing Jesse back into the light and to our table,” his dad finishes. 

Okay, that's super uncomfortable. It’s like his dad takes every opportunity to remind him he’s a fuck-up, even after Jesse’s done everything he can think of to make it right. Normally this might set him off, but he’s not going to embarrass Walt in front of his family by throwing a tantrum. He quietly cuts into an enchilada, which admittedly, he’s been looking forward to all afternoon. 

Jesse is quiet for a little while.

Mr. White and his mom and dad continue talking about sophisticated shit like the stock market, and their careers, but Mr. White always winds up talking about Jesse: his job, and his art, and his volunteer work at the local dog shelter. Jesse realizes with some glimmer of pride what Mr. White is doing. He's talking him up. Trying to make him look good for his folks. 

“So how did you two end up together?” his mom eventually asks. 

“Rehab,” Jesse says around a mouthful, too quickly. 

“Church,” Walt says at the same time.

Walt gives him an exasperated look from across the table, and Jesse hopes he didn't just contradict anything he's already told them. 

“Did you also have a drug problem?” his dad deadpans at Walt.

“Not at all,” Walt says, and Jesse waits with bated breath for him to work his devil magic and smooth this over. “I was a recovery mentor for Narcotics Anonymous. Meetings were always happening at my church, so I volunteered. Jesse and I just happened to reconnect through those meetings. Isn't that right, Jesse?”

Jesse nods, stupidly. “Yeah. Yeah, Walt was all over that twelve step shit.” 

We definitely, definitely did not manufacture felony quantities of meth, yo. 

“Is that ethical?” Adam asks, then takes a sip of wine.

“I never mentored him personally,” Walt clarifies. “That would be unethical. But we had dinner a few times, and, well. We really clicked.” 

Walt gives Jesse a fond look, and Jesse almost believes the bullshit himself. That they really did meet at a drug counseling session and slowly and carefully established a relationship. Jesse doesn't know if it would have actually worked out that way, if true. He doesn't think he would've given Walt a chance. Only blood and tears and bonds forged in fire could make him do that.

Does that mean this isn't what he really wants? The thought makes him kind of upset, because if he's sure of anything it's that he doesn't want to imagine life without him. It'd be like cutting his own heart out.

He's thought about this a lot, when he's lying in bed not able to sleep. What he should do is turn himself into the cops, confess everything, push Walt away, throw himself on his sword metaphorically and find Jesus or something. His future would be spent behind bars, glumly watching the world move on without him. Alone. 

That's what he should do. 

Suddenly, he's lost his appetite. He stares at his plate and tries to ignore the burn of tears in his eyes. 

“Are you guys gonna get married?” Jake asks, and Jesse thinks his brain literally makes a record scratch sound. 

His dad is glaring at Mr. White, like he's the one that suggested it. 

“No,” Jesse says, quickly, and then kicks himself, because he doesn't miss the way Mr. White looks a little hurt at how fast he sprung on that one. But Jesus, they've been together officially for maybe six months now. They've barely started figuring out normal human communication, let alone romance. If they go too fast, too soon, then–then Jesse might just end up pushing him away.

As soon as Mr. White realizes he's not worthy of all this adoration and worship , that he's just some fucked up little ex-meth addict who never learned how to read super good and destroys everything he touches, he'll dump him. Mr. White's got money and class and a future and a fixed up brain now. He can chase any piece of ass he wants. 

“That’s sweet, but we haven't really discussed that, son,” Walt says. “We're taking it day by day.”

“Good,” Jesse's dad grumbles, stabbing his enchilada like it's offended him. “No sense rushing into anything.”

Jesse gulps down his water, mortified.

*

After dinner they light a fire in the fireplace, have some eggnog, and play low-stakes poker together in the den. Antagonism of their afternoon conversations aside, the mood lightens considerably once they're all a few drinks in and laughing around the table. Adam compliments Walt’s incredible poker face, Jesse catches Jake cheating at least twice, and Diane is surprisingly good at the game (apparently, she spent her college years as a croupier in Vegas). Walt ends up twenty dollars richer, but gives it to the boy, Jake. 

Then at around ten the family goes to bed and it's just himself and Jesse downstairs. Jesse pulls Walt onto the couch and they lounge there with Jesse pressed against Walt’s chest, a soft cashmere blanket thrown over them. The fire crackles cheerily. In the dark they watch some Christmas specials on the TV–Rudolph and Frosty–though Walt isn't paying much attention. 

He still can't believe he's allowed to do this. Touch Jesse, hold him close, lazily stroke his soft tattooed wrist, breathe in the scent of his hair. He doesn't understand. If he's learned anything today it's that Jesse is still so young, and good, and that even if Walt becomes the best man he can possibly be–stable, wealthy, with clean hands and conscience–it still won't be enough. He won't ever be enough. He's just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Jesse kicks him hard under the throw blanket.

“Yo,” Jesse says. Then he sighs, flopping his head back on the sofa pillow, when that doesn’t get a response. “Are you gonna be weird about this all weekend?”

“I’m sorry?” Walt mumbles, feigning ignorance.

“Blow me. You’ve been acting like this all night. What’s your deal?”

Walt shakes his head, hesitating.

“Your father accused me of having illicit intentions toward you,” Walt admits. “I don’t exactly feel great about that.”

Jesse looks stunned for about three seconds, and then honest-to-God giggles. “Holy shit.”

“It’s not funny,” Walt pouts.

He waits for Jesse’s laughter to subside, but it takes an insultingly long time. By the time he’s calmed down he’s wiping tears from his eyes.

“I mean, if you really think about it, this is pretty fucked up,” Jesse says, and his tone is teasing but Walt stiffens a little anyway. “You did blackmail me into cooking meth with you. That was a pretty significant thing that happened. In case you forgot.”

“No, I didn’t forget, ” Walt says, bristling. He cups Jesse’s face with his hand, and his breath hitches at the way Jesse looks at him. “There’s a lot of things I’ve done in our relationship that I regret, but I never would’ve—I never would’ve done what he accused me of.”

Jesse turns his head a little, pressing a kiss to his wrist. Then another one. “Which is what, exactly?”

Walt is quiet for a moment. “He implied that I was involved with you when you were a student.”

“So what? Is that really any worse than the truth?”

Jesse's trying to make him feel better, but failing. Walt moves to pull away, intending to get up and go outside and think , but Jesse grabs him hard by the chin and kisses him with more teeth than necessary. It's a biting, dominating sort of kiss, so unlike him that it stuns Walt into staying exactly where he is. Jesse pulls back, but keeps his grip on him. Searching his eyes. 

His point has been made.

“You don't get to pull this shit with me anymore,” Jesse says. “Don't go falling down that hole in your head where you're some old pervert preying on my helpless ass, beating yourself up over it. Like yeah, I’m busted, and it was partly your fault, but so are you. So now you’re fucking stuck with me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Walt says, interrupted when Jesse kisses him again. 

It's much gentler, this time. Walt presses him down against the couch with his weight, and Jesse makes a pleased sound. Jesse can be soft and sweet, but Walt should never let himself forget that he bites, too, and when he's in the mood for it kisses like a filthy tramp. The innocence Walt fears destroying is already dead. 

He should trust by now that Jesse knows what he wants.

*

What Jesse particularly wants is the kind of love that makes his entire body shake. He thinks back on their vow to keep it PG over the weekend. They lasted six entire hours. Go figure.

Mr. White pulls Jesse's sweater out from where it's tucked inside his pajama bottoms and runs his hand over his back under the fabric. Maybe this makes Mr. White feels like a creep, with his big hands rough on Jesse's skin, pushing his thighs apart, yanking his head back by the hair so he can tongue his mouth better, but Jesse thinks that's what makes it hot as fuck.

Mr. White touches him like he wants to ruin him but is holding himself back. Maybe someday Jesse will ask him for it. 

“What do you need from me?” Mr. White asks, sucking a bruise into his neck. 

Jesse’s breath hitches at the sharp pleasure-pain. “Anything, baby.”

He’d be fine with making out with him like this the rest of the night, until their mouths are tired and he’s falling asleep wrapped in his arms. But he’s already pretty damn worked up, between the coziness of the fire and Mr. White’s rough hands on his skin and the sound of his low, pleased sounds as he tries to pull him closer and closer like he wants to crush him. 

Jesse grinds up against him, smirking at him when he feels his interest. Mr. White closes his eyes and just kind of breathes all shaky and ragged, like he's trying to control himself. Jesse keeps shifting up into his hard dick, biting his lip.

“ Jesse ,” Mr. White warns, and makes a feeble attempt to pull away. 

Jesse tugs him right back, and he doesn't try again. Jesse presses his face right up against his, nuzzling his jaw as he moves right up into his cock. Mr. White’s got his fingers clenched in Jesse's sweater. 

“You want this,” Jesse says. “You want it. Say you want it, baby.”

“Your parents are upstairs,” Mr. White says, but he's losing it. He runs his palm down his back, hesitates, then squeezes his ass, yanking his body closer. “Can you stay quiet?” 

Jesse bites his earlobe, then whispers in his ear. “Can you?” 

Mr. White actually growls and then grabs him by the arm, turning him over again so that his back is pressed against his chest. Jesse gasps, excitement flooding him, because that's just how his body reacts to being grabbed and pulled and tossed around like a ragdoll. 

If it's him, it's okay.

Mr. White yanks down his pajama bottoms, but the blanket is still on top of them, so it feels kind of cozy and sexy and sweet. Jesse whimpers when he hears him pull down his own pajama pants, then whimpers louder when he feels Mr. White's cock pressed right up against his ass. He grinds back into it, appreciating the hiss between his teeth. 

Mr. White spits on his hand, then palms his own cock. Jesse expects him to just take him like that–which would suck but he'd probably let him–and instead he gently nudges Jesse's thighs open, slipping between them. 

“That's it,” Mr. White says, once he knows he understands. He kisses his neck, then wraps his spit-slicked hand around Jesse's cock. Jesse squeezes his thighs around him instinctively. The mood changes entirely from frantic and desperate to warm and intimate. “Just like this, sweetheart. Perfect.”

Jesse closes his eyes as Mr. White starts fucking his thighs slowly. He's stroking Jesse's dick in perfect sync with his achingly slow thrusts. Jesse feels warm from head to toe, and so so good, wrapped up in his love and his desire. He stays quiet, or tries to, gently rocking back into him, breath hitching whenever he kisses his neck or touches him just right. 

“Do you like this?” Mr. White whispers in his ear. 

Jesse nods, head lolling onto the throw pillow. Yeah, this is good. Like, sinking into a hot bath on a cold day kind of good. He starts getting lazier in his movements, until eventually he's letting Mr. White do all the work, basking in the perfect dizzy heat of it. 

“Don't stop,” Jesse murmurs. “Please, baby, don't stop…”

Mr. White starts saying other things, hushed and barely audible, but Jesse picks out the important bits. So perfect and so good for me and I love you. Jesse bites his lip to try and muffle the moans that threaten to escape, but it’s not enough.

“Shh,” Mr. White says into his skin. He's breathing ragged now, too, moving a little faster. “Oh, Jesse… Jess…”

Jesse's close before he's even ready for it. He reaches back for him, breathing hard, but it's super difficult to touch him at this angle. Mr. White strokes him faster, kissing at his clumsy fingers where they're pressed against his mouth, and Jesse–

They hear a noise. 

Mr. White slips out from between his legs and wraps his arm snug around him, and they feign sleep, the blanket covering them for the most part. Jesse can't see for certain who the intruder is but from the footsteps it sounds a lot like his dad. His dad–presumably–shuffles around the hallway and into the kitchen, turning on the light. He spends way too fucking long in there, getting a drink or something. 

Go away, Jesse thinks, brow furrowing. Fuck, he's so turned on right now it hurts. He can feel Mr. White breathing hot against the back of his head, and knows he's frustrated too. 

His dad finishes up whatever he's doing and turns the light back off. When he's in the hallway he stops for some reason, just standing there. Jesse almost screams. Then his dad turns and goes back upstairs. 

As soon as they hear the upstairs bedroom door shut, they move at the same time. Jesse squirms around to face him while Mr. White settles on top of him, getting his hand around both their cocks to stroke them together. 

“Please, please,” Jesse whines under his breath. 

Mr. White fits his free hand over his mouth. Jesse loves the way it feels, being restrained like this, unable to move, his noises muffled by Mr. White’s hand. He grinds up into his fist, moaning and squirming unashamedly, the way Mr. White likes it–like he wants every time to feel like the first time. Like he's taking his innocence again and again. 

They wind up coming within moments of each other. Jesse thinks he dies, for a few seconds, his blood rushing in his ears, his hips jerking mindlessly, his mouth wet against his hand. Mr. White is dripping down his thighs. He lets go of Jesse's mouth just so he can kiss him again. 

After, once they’ve caught their breath, Mr. White gets some hot washcloths and cleans the both of them up. They go back to laying on the old sofa and finish watching whatever corny stop-motion special is on the TV, though Jesse is so loved up and dazed he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on in it. He’s half asleep when he hears the words whispered against his head. 

“Why are you still here, Jess?” 

Jesse knows he doesn’t mean that literally. And there’s a lot of things he could say, like that he still feels all fucked up and broken and rotting inside, but Mr. White knows about all of it–all of his sins–and makes him feel normal . Mr. White makes him believe that it was all a bad dream, that they really are exactly what they appear to be. Jesse loves his meticulous obsession with making things perfect, and his protectiveness of him, and the forgiveness he’s given them both. 

More than anything, he just loves him. 

Instead, he says: “‘Cause you’re here, too, idiot.” 

Chapter 2

Notes:

Part 2 of a Christmas fic in August I guess! :D
This is 100% grade-A raw unfiltered cage-free fluff and smut. It is saccharine sweet. It is disgustingly schmoopy. But I needed it, so here you go. Enjoy.

The next morning, Walt sips his coffee with a proud, lustful sort of look when Jesse comes into the kitchen wearing a white turtleneck. He never wears turtlenecks, so it's probably to hide all the bruises Walt left on his pretty little neck last night. 

In all fairness, Jesse practically begged him to. 

He's never been so enamored with anyone. Jesse lit a fire in his blood months ago and it still burns just as hotly, and when Walt isn't touching him he's thinking about it. Skyler will always be the mother of his children, but even when they first met Walt felt nothing resembling true desire for her–only the expectation of it. They both tried to make it work, certainly. And for a while Walt could pretend. 

Sometime around his fiftieth birthday he stopped pretending, too. 

With Jesse, he doesn't need to do any of that. Sometimes even the scent of his hair or the brush of his hand is enough to arouse him, and the particularly gratifying thing is that the feeling seems to be mutual. Jesse can't seem to get enough of him, and Walt doesn't know if it's because of skill or because of Jesse's lack of experience. He doesn't want to know. He'd like to go on pretending he's still desirable, even to his slender, ridiculously attractive, twenty-four year old lover. 

“Good morning,” Walt says. “Sleep okay?”

Jesse punches him lightly in the shoulder, throwing him a smirk. Then he starts making his own cup of coffee. No creamer, way too much sugar. 

“Back’s kind of stiff for some reason,” Jesse says. “Wonder what that's about.” 

“The couch we slept on?” Walt asks, coming up behind him. 

He carefully sets his coffee cup down on the counter, then rests his hands on Jesse's hips and kisses the top of his head. His hair is damp from the shower. He's soft, vanilla scented warmth under Walt's hands. Walt's cock gives an interested twitch. It'd be so easy to–but no. They can't, not here. 

Jesse tilts his head up, giving him what can only be described as a lovingly annoyed look over his shoulder. “We got a perfectly good room with an actual bed in it, y’know. Dick.”

“But no fireplace,” Walt whispers, kissing him sweetly. 

Jesse sighs when they part. 

“Yeah, that was nice,” he agrees. “We should get one of those like, kiva fireplaces for the living room, or something.” 

Walt’s brow raises. “I’m shocked you even know what that is.” 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, turns out I’m a total fucking homo with like, interior decorating opinions and shit–” 

Adam walks into the kitchen, wearing a bathrobe and matching slippers, and without thinking about it Walt takes his hands off of Jesse. He doesn't think it's any of Adam's business who Jesse chooses to have a relationship with, frankly, but it's probably for the best if he doesn't push it. He hasn't forgotten what the man said to him over scotch the night before.

‘If I ever find out you touched him when he was still in school, I will kill you.’ Walt didn't–thankfully. He never even thought about it. Somehow, though, he doesn't think the man will take kindly to the truth, either. There’s no diplomatic way of saying, By the way, I blackmailed your son into manufacturing methamphetamine with me. Honest mistake. Won’t happen again, probably. 

“Good morning,” Adam says. He pours himself a cup of coffee. He takes it black, just like Walt. “Did you two have plans today? I know Jake was talking about wanting to go skiing.” 

“Uh, yeah, no,” Jesse says. “We didn't have anything going on. That sounds fun. Maybe we'll go.” 

He looks at Walt to gauge his reaction and to see if it's something he might be interested in. To be completely honest, Walt isn't–he had hoped to spend some time alone in town with Jesse today, away from his family's prying eyes. Maybe even making it back to the cabin in time for a half-dressed quickie before anyone else returned. God, it'd be so dirty like that. 

“You don't need his permission, Jesse,” Adam says, his friendliness from the evening prior disappearing as quickly as it arrived. “I doubt he would want to hit the slopes at his age. Right, Walter?” 

He says it in a light, joking sort of way, but it doesn't hide the insult.

Oh, fuck you, Walt thinks. 

“No, actually, I used to be quite the skier when I had the time for it,” Walt says, and that's not entirely a lie. He dabbled in college. Like most other things. “I'd be happy to come along. And if my poor fragile heart gives out, well, feel free to leave me up there.” 

He chuckles darkly. 

Jesse opens his mouth to say something, then appears to think better of it. He leans up against the counter island and sips at his coffee, not making eye contact with either of them. 

“The more the merrier,” Adam says. 

*

They do end up going into town first, which is really more of a strip of restaurants and kitschy shops. Jesse immediately breaks off from the rest of his family and drags Walt with him, feeling like a kid in a candy shop. He doesn’t think he’s been on an actual vacation in forever . 

They poke their heads into a couple stores, but Jesse's not really interested in the artisanal candles or sporting goods or knick-knacks. He does find a cool looking geode with gorgeous fire-red crystal inside, but it's like two hundred bucks, so glumly turns away. He's doing okay in the money department, but between the house upkeep and his schooling his pool of laundered cash isn't infinite. He's trying to be smarter about how he spends it. 

Walt buys some souvenir Christmas ornaments for their crummy little tree back home. It's kind of adorable how seriously he takes the whole holiday season–Hallmark-level earnestness. He may be the nerdiest old guy Jesse knows, but Jesse's kind of in love with that. When Walt really cares about you, he puts his heart into making everything perfect. Not in the way his mom and dad used to–meticulously posing for family holiday photos and then devolving into cold silences after. Walt does it just to see Jesse smile, which is beyond foreign to him. No one's ever wanted to make him happy for the sake of it. 

Afterwards they stop by a restaurant for lunch. It's some Irish-American joint, but Jesse gets a burger and fries while Walt goes full Daddy Warbucks and orders steak.

Jesse gets hot chocolate while they're waiting on their food. He cups both hands around the mug and drinks most of it in one long gulp, letting out a hum as the heat runs through him. Then he notices Walt watching him. 

“What?” he asks. “Do I have something on my face?”

Walt smiles at him. “No. Just thinking about how cute you are.”

Jesse scrunches his nose in embarrassment. “Fuck off. I am not.”

“You are. Sorry to say,” Walt says, tangling their fingers together on top of the table.

Jesse squeezes his hand. “I hate you so much. You’re the worst.” 

Walt reaches down with his free hand and grabs one of his shopping bags, then plops it on the table with a thud. “Well, since you hate me, I guess I can take your present back.” 

Confused, Jesse peaks into the plastic bag. Shiny red crystal blinks back at him. Walt must have seen him pining after the geode in the store and grabbed it for him. Ordinarily Jesse might make fun of him, but it's so stupidly sweet. 

“Thank you,” he says, stunned. The gesture means more to him than the rock. “But like–you can't just drop money on me every time I see something shiny, man–”

“--Actually, I can,” Walt says, with a smirk. “I was meaning to tell you after the holidays, but now's a good time. They're promoting me to CSO.”

Jesse lets go of his hand in shock. “Shut up.”

“I'm sorry?” 

“Shut up, are you kidding?” Jesse says, so excited for him he's grinning. “Dude, you've been talking about this for months. I thought you said they'd passed you over for someone else.”

Walt shrugs. “It didn't work out.” 

“Holy shit, and it's legit too,” Jesse says. “Won't have to go pestering Goodman for money laundering advice. You're gonna be fucking loaded. ”

Walt smiles, in a faux humble way, and takes a sip of his drink. Then he sets it back on the table. “You too, you know. If that's something you want. I'd give you anything if you asked for it, Jess–you know that, don't you?”

Yeah, Jesse knows. There are human remains somewhere out there that prove it. But it's different to hear it said out loud, and besides that, he's scared that if things don't work out between them, he'll feel like he owes him a debt. For everything. Is he overthinking it? Assuming that what they have is purely transactional? Has Jesse misunderstood all of this?

Jesse doesn't know if he can picture forever with him. He's barely started imagining the next weeks and months after years of avoiding the idea of a future at all. He's happy for the first time in a long time, and he doesn't want to ruin it. Just once, he wants to have something real and keep it. 

“Yeah? Okay. I have one thing I want,” Jesse says, smirking to cover up his inner confusion. “It's pretty major. Urgent, even.” 

Walt considers him seriously, and nods, waiting. 

Jesse pushes his empty mug towards him. “Buy me another hot chocolate, moneybags.” 

*

At the ski slope, Walt can barely handle the bunny hill and winds up chatting with Diane over coffee near the gondola. Jake and Jesse split off from the rest of the family quickly, getting into all sorts of trouble–at one point they both wipe out and end up throwing snowballs at each other. It's clear that Jesse has missed his brother and their connection. Walt can't help but smile, thanking god or whoever it is that led them here to this scene. He knows it could all have ended so very differently. 

He had the wisdom to choose Jesse, this time. He prays every night that he’s allowed to keep him. 

Just him, Walt thinks, sipping his coffee. That's all I need or want. Take everything else away, if you have to, but never him. 

“There's so much I've missed with him,” Diane says, wistfully. “His addiction was–hard on us, Walter. He didn't completely change, which was the worst part. But he changed enough to where I couldn't recognize him.”

Walt nods. He went through the worst of recovery with him. Rehab definitely helped, but even when he came home Jesse felt sick half the time. On one particularly bad night, Jesse had a panic attack–had sobbed and begged for him to get him some crystal, because he couldn't take it anymore. Walt refused, of course, and drew him a bath and then held him until he finally fell asleep. 

“He's doing a lot better,” Walt says. 

“I think you might be to thank for that,” she says. 

Walt shrugs, sheepishly. Personally, he doesn't think he should be thanked for anything, especially as far as Jesse is concerned. Jesse got better despite everything they've been through, not because of it. 

“Thanks for saying so,” he says. “But it was all Jesse.”

After skiing, they take the gondola back down the mountain and pile back into the car. Jesse falls asleep on the drive back to the cabin and doesn't wake until they arrive, which gives Walt the perfect opportunity to keep stealing glances at him. They all change into dry clothes and try to agree on dinner, which takes a while. The family opts for pizza instead of preparing a meal. 

“Are we baking cookies tonight?” Jake asks over dinner. 

Diane shares a quick glance with Adam. “It’s a little late for that, sweetheart. We'll bake tomorrow. How does that sound?” 

“No oatmeal raisin, though,” Jake says, wrinkling his nose. “Or the ones made from cornflakes. They don't really taste like anything.” 

Adam looks annoyed. “You'll make whatever we have the ingredients for.”

“But oatmeal sucks. ”

“You watch your mouth,” Adam says. He casts a quick judgmental glance at Jesse, as if it's his fault, somehow. “I won't tolerate that kind of language under my roof.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “It's not even your roof. It's a timeshare.” 

He tries to get everyone engaged in something resembling conversation, but Adam has taken on a stony silence and Jesse won't meet anyone's eyes. Finally, Adam excuses himself early, and that's that. 

Walt takes a quick shower after dinner, then changes into some silky pajamas Skyler gifted him for Christmas (possibly as an insult). He settles into bed and reads a paperback novel he's been trying to work through for weeks now, but ends up distracted by Jesse. He's so oddly comforted by his presence even when he's not doing anything more than humming in the shower or brushing his teeth. Walt just–he likes being around him. Even or especially during the quieter moments. 

I love him, Walt realizes, and it's not a sudden earth shattering revelation. More like a quiet awareness. And it feels true. 

Jesse slips under the blankets with him and tucks himself against his side. He's a little chilly and his skin is damp, so Walt doesn't mind letting him siphon some of his warmth. 

“Whatcha reading?” Jesse asks. 

“A memoir by a Nobel prize winner I'm fond of,” Walt says. 

“Sounds boring.”

Walt rolls his eyes. “Well, I find it interesting. And I'd like to continue reading it, if you don't mind.” 

Surprisingly, Jesse doesn't argue or complain. He nuzzles a bit closer, and Walt can feel his ice cold toes against his leg under the comforter. But he seems content just lying beside him like this.

“Mr. White, can you like–read me to sleep, maybe?” Jesse asks, after a few minutes. “I…like hearing you talk.” 

If anyone else said such a thing to him, Walt would assume they were blowing smoke up his ass. But for whatever reason, he thinks Jesse means it. Jesse might–in some strange, unfathomable way–love him too. At least a little. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Walt says. He clears his throat, trying to find a good passage to start, but he's pretty sure Jesse won't be paying much attention to the actual words anyway. 

In just moments, Jesse's asleep. Walt smiles fondly at him, and kisses his head. Then he presses the book closed and turns off the bedside lamp. 

“I love you,” he whispers to him for the first time. 

*

On the morning of Christmas Eve, it's snowing hard and the wind is worse. Jesse spends a couple hours playing Xbox with Jake in the living room while the rest of the family sleep in. After a breakfast of french toast, Jake suggests finally making those damn cookies he's so excited about, and to be completely honest Jesse's been looking forward to it too. He's not a huge cookie fan but making cookies is fun, and he kinda thinks he and Mr. White– Walt will totally kill it. 

The kitchen’s stupidly big so Jesse and Walt take over the counter island and work on a couple different recipes together while Jake and Diane occupy the dining room. There's macadamia and chocolate chip, Greek wedding cookies, and some peanut butter Oreo monstrosity Mr. White insisted upon. 

It's a lot messier than Jesse expected, and even more so when he gives in to his more childish urges and throws a glob of cookie dough at Mr. White. The look on his face is priceless. Practically murderous. 

“Are you done goofing around?” Mr. White asks, and yeah, that's definitely his Heisenberg voice. But it's so fucking funny in this context that Jesse bursts out laughing. 

Mr. White blinks, and then reaches into the mixing bowl next to him and grabs a fist full of flour, throwing it in Jesse's face. Jesse makes an embarrassing sound and grabs the next closest item in his periphery, which is a bowl of cracked eggs. He flings the yolk in Mr. White's direction with the spoon in his hand. 

Mr. White gapes at him. “Jesse, this sweater was just dry cleaned.” 

Jesse shrugs. “Guess you'll have to take it off.” 

He gives him a once-over, then goes back to mixing up the dry ingredients in the bowl on the counter. Despite their childish spat, they didn't waste much in the way of ingredients. That's a lesson they've both learned. In much less innocuous ways. 

He feels Walt put his hands on his hips and his spine goes stiff like a rod, especially with how close he is. He can hear his brother and mom chatting in the dining room, and if either of them peaked their head around the corner they'd see this. It's a supremely risky thing to do. He's not gonna ask Walt to stop, though. No way. 

 “Do you know what I want to do to you right now?” Walt whispers in his ear, making Jesse's skin prickle. 

Jesse smirks. “Tell me.”

“Alright,” Walt says. He keeps one hand on Jesse's waist. “Want to peel that apron off of you and fuck you up against the kitchen counter, for one. I miss being inside of you so much, Jess.”

Jesse's breath hitches. “It's only been like, three days. Maybe four.”

He misses it too, though. The very first time Mr. White stuck it in him, he hadn't been able to stop shaking or squirming, trying to get more of that heavy, hot feeling in his gut. Mr. White had been a mess, breathlessly asking him to hold still, but neither of them could. They'd lasted like, two minutes. He's a little more used to it now, but he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of being fucked. 

“I know,” Walt murmurs. “It's making me crazy.”

He starts kissing his neck. Jesse closes his eyes and tilts his head, inviting him to keep doing it. He can feel himself getting hard and it's difficult to remember exactly why that's a bad idea at the moment. He ends up dropping the spoon in the bowl. 

“Mr. White,” he mumbles, half a warning. 

“What is it, baby?”

Jesse flushes with warmth. He's getting a little delirious, wants Mr. White to touch him more. 

“We shouldn't,” he says. 

“Is this turning you on?”

“You know it is, asshole.” 

“I love that. I love doing that to you.” 

Jesse groans, not sure if it's pleasure or frustration. He twists in his grip and yanks him closer, and Mr. White crushes him up against the counter. They both have the same idea and meet halfway in a bruising, hard kiss that makes Jesse lose his mind a little. He can't seem to get close enough to him, wants his heat and his hands on his body all over him forever. He feels him trying to untie the apron and for a second tries to help, forgetting all the reasons they shouldn't.

If they were at home, hell, they could just do it here. They could. 

Mr. White abandons the apron and slides his hands down his back instead, slipping his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. He squeezes his ass and pulls him flush against him. Jesse gasps, mind numbingly turned on at this point, especially when he realizes how hard Mr. White is for him. Jesse can't help making these soft mewling noises into his mouth, too warm and leaking in his boxers.

“Shh,” Mr. White hushes between kisses, but Jesse can tell he likes it. He loves hearing what he does to him. It gets him so hot. 

“I wanna fuck,” Jesse mumbles. He tangles his arms around his neck. 

“ Shit , Jesse.”

Mr. White jerks into his body, practically dry humping him up against the counter. It feels so goddamn good that for like thirty seconds they're technically doing it, all thoughts out the window. Jesse presses his mouth into his shoulder to muffle his breathy moans, trying not to make a lot of noise as Mr. White grinds on him. 

“I'm gonna cum if you don't stop,” Jesse warns. 

Walt groans. “Bedroom?”

“ Yeah .”

Walt takes him by the wrist, and if it were anyone else being that presumptuous and grabby Jesse would probably hit them. He likes it when Mr. White just pushes and pulls him wherever he wants him, though. This time he leads him to the guest room, then closes and locks the door behind them. 

They only bother undressing from the waist down, and just sort of grind on each other and rub their dicks together. Walt keeps his hand over Jesse's mouth the whole time, and Jesse fucking loves it, safe and secure underneath him. 

They last maybe three minutes, but it's still fucking intense as far as orgasms are concerned. 

Afterward, they clean up, get dressed, and return to the kitchen as if nothing happened. Jake and his mom have apparently taken it upon themselves to assist in finishing up the batch that he and Walt (rudely) abandoned for a quickie. 

His mom doesn't say anything. Either she didn't notice them leave, or is too polite to mention it. 

Jake smirks at him, though. 

“Your hair’s all messed up,” Jake says. 

Jesse throws a dish towel at his face. “Shut it.”

* 

That evening, they all gather for dinner as usual and then play board games together over cookies and eggnog (Jesse and Jake take theirs without any whiskey, of course). Adam spent the day in his office working, allegedly, but Walt has a feeling he was really just avoiding him and Jesse. Now that he's finally joined the family and has a few drinks in him, he seems to be downright friendly. 

“You a fan of the Isotopes, Walter?” Adam asks as they play Scrabble together. Walt played the aforementioned word and netted several hefty points. 

“I've never been a huge sports guy,” Walt says. “My ex brother-in-law would be happy to talk your ear off about them, though.”

“Oh, that's right–you were married, weren't you?” Diane asks, kindly. 

“Yes, I was. To a wonderful woman. We had two children together, believe it or not. But–well. I discovered a few things about myself that made it a little difficult to keep up the illusion.” Like that I'm gayer than the fourth of July. Apparently. 

“Do you still see your children?” Adam asks. 

“Of course,” Walt says. “And my ex-wife's family, too. We're still pretty close, thankfully. They've even started inviting Jesse to things.” 

“His ex thinks I'm a total homewrecker,” Jesse says, tonelessly. 

Walt rolls his eyes. “Skyler doesn't think you're a homewrecker.” 

“Uh. Yeah. She does.” 

Adam's brow furrows. “Is Jesse the reason you divorced your wife, Walter?”

“No,” Walt says, too quickly. “I mean–he was certainly a factor. But things were already rough between Skyler and I. Jesse just–happened to be exactly who I needed when I needed him.”

Jesse smiles, softly, but his face reddens in embarrassment. He takes another bite of the Greek wedding cookie he's working on to distract himself. 

“Gross,” Jake says. “Dad, can I have some rum in my eggnog?” 

“No,” Adam says, glaring at him. “Not until you're twenty-one.” 

“But it's a controlled environment. They let underage kids drink alcohol in Europe all the time. You can Google it.” 

“Are we in Europe right now?”

“No.”

“Then no.” 

Jake opens his mouth to argue again, but Jesse interrupts him. 

“It'll only make you sick, kid,” Jesse says. “Trust me on that. You don't wanna get into that shit. You're way too young.”

“That's right,” Diane says, approvingly. “Even alcohol can be a gateway drug.” 

Jake rolls his eyes. 

“Come on, I've only smoked pot once,” Jake says, and then his eyes instantly widen and he slams a hand over his own mouth. 

Jesse stares at him in white faced fear. 

Adam’s attention zips to him, beet red. Walt swears he can see a vein pulsing in his forehead. “Was it you?”

“Adam,” Diane pleads. 

“It wasn't,” Jake sputters. “Dad, Jesse had nothing to do with it. It was all me, okay? I was with my friends–”

Adam angrily gets to his feet, then stomps to the other side of the table and grabs Jesse by the back of the neck, forcing him up and pulling him away. 

“ Hey !” Walt exclaims, jumping to follow them. 

Adam drags Jesse into his office, slamming the door behind them. Feeling a stirring of rage, Walt opens the door.

“Get your hands off of him,” Walt says, in that certain tone he's only ever used when he's in a particularly homicidal mood. 

Jesse wrenches out of Adam’s grip, then shoves him away. Adam looks at him with wide, surprised eyes, face darkening. Walt is half convinced he might even strike him. If he does, Walt isn't sure he'll be able to restrain himself–he might well kill him with his bare hands. No one touches Jesse, not even his own family. 

Jesse seems to know he's thinking about it, and holds up a hand to stop him. 

“What is your fucking problem?” Jesse asks Adam, and his voice breaks. 

Adam visibly swallows. He doesn't know what to say, maybe even has the self-awareness to know he's overreacted. Then Walt puts his hand on Jesse's shoulder, protectively, and something in how close he is must set Adam off. 

“No contact,” Adam grumbles. 

“Screw you,” Jesse spits. “He's mine. I'm his. What part of that don't you understand?”

“The part where you're a vulnerable drug addict sleeping with a man twice your age who used to be your teacher. That's the part I don't understand, Jesse.”

Jesse laughs, bitterly. “Oh, so that's what this is. Gotta play the overprotective dad role, right? Didn't do shit for me when I was literally homeless. No, you're just pissed that he fucks me.” 

Adam’s face purples. Walt is pretty damn appalled too, but he's too stunned to speak, and Jesse probably couldn't stop the words from spilling out even if he wanted to. 

Jesse blitzes on. “He fucks me and I like it and I bet that drives you crazy, knowing you can't do a thing about it because I'm not a little kid anymore. I bet it drives you nuts that he's the only reason I'm clean, that none of your interventions worked, that I'm nothing you ever wanted in a son. You are never gonna hit me again. And when we leave here tonight, you're not gonna hear shit from me again, either. I'm done.”

Jesse goes back out into the hallway, ignoring his mother trying to talk to him. He grabs his coat and his pack of cigarettes. He leaves out the back door and lets it bang shut behind him. 

Walt refuses to let this go. He whirls on Adam. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Walt demands. “He's been sober for months. He fought for it every day.” 

“Stay out of this,” Adam says. “You weren't here these last few years. You don't know what it's like, watching him waste away, finding him passed out and too high to speak. All the lies piling up.”

Walt shakes his head. “I know that feeling more than you think I do. The only difference is that I didn't give up.”

“I didn't give up on my son. He did that on his own.”

“You gave up the minute you threw him out,” Walt says, angrily. “He was seventeen, not even an adult. Did it ever occur to you how scared he must have been? Is this how your family handles this kind of thing, just tosses people away the second they screw up?”

“Then get out of my house,” Adam snarls. “If you don't like the way I handle things with my family, my son, then I don't want you here.” 

Walt scoffs in disbelief. “And you wonder why he started using in the first place.” 

“Excuse me? You've got a lot of nerve, saying something like that.”

“I love him,” Walt snaps. “I love him more than anything. He is good and sweet and funny and the only thing he's ever wanted is to make you proud of him, but you refuse to see it. He didn't have to answer your calls or come out here this weekend, but he did it because he loves his family and wanted you to know he'd gotten his life back together. There's nothing wrong with your son. There's something deeply wrong with you.”

Then something happens that neither of them expect. 

He hears Jesse scream, clipped and abrupt. Followed by silence. 

His blood runs cold. He and Adam share a look that, for once, puts them on the exact same wavelength. 

“Jesse?” Walt calls out, rushing outside. 

He sees Adam heading towards the frozen-over lake and guesses from his panic what must have happened, and the fear that shoots through him paralyzes him for seconds too long before his feet are moving on their own. 

Jesse manages to surface on his own, feet barely able to touch the bottom of the pond, but he’s gasping for breath and disoriented. If he slips, there's a chance he won't be able to get back up again. 

“Jesse, don’t move!” Walt shouts. 

Jesse nods, sputtering. He’s standing upright but the water is nearly up to his chin. If he passes out, or panics, he’s—gone.

Jake is watching with wide, horrified eyes.

“Go call 911,” Adam says, and Jake sprints off toward the cabin. Then, once his son is out of hearing range, Adam mutters frantically to himself.

Walt scans the ice. It’s too thin for either himself or Adam to pull him out on their own. Without thinking twice, he shrugs off his coat and kicks off his heavy shoes. Adam puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

“I’m lighter than you,” Adam says. Walt would argue but in this he knows he’s right, and saving Jesse’s life is more important than this ridiculous pissing contest. 

Adam starts stripping off layers, then heads over to the edge of the pond and lies down on his stomach. He shimmies across the surface of the ice, carefully but quickly. Jesse remains as still as possible, but he looks like he’s in agony, gritting his teeth and wheezing. He can't seem to speak. 

“Come here,” Adam says, holding his hands out to him. Jesse does so, making this quiet, pained noise, but when Adam tries to drag him forward the edge of the ice around him cracks and splinters too. “ No .”

Adam looks close to tears.

“Jesse, listen to me,” Walt says. “You have to drag yourself over the edge, okay? Can you do that, sweetheart?”

Jesse nods. He’s shaking violently, but somehow manages to get to the edge of the ice again. He tries to lift himself up, fails, then tries again. Once he’s got himself at least partly up his father tries to grab both of his hands.

“Can't feel my fingers,” Jesse gasps out, and Walt sees the wild panic in his eyes. 

Adam takes him by his wrists and pulls hard. It happens in just a few seconds, but to Walt it feels like eternity.

Once Jesse is safely on land, sputtering on the shock of cold air, Walt goes to him immediately. Adam is holding him close, expression twisted and pained, and Walt can tell he’s panicked to the point of paralysis at the idea of his child dying in his arms. The water drenching Jesse’s clothes is already starting to freeze. His lips are blue and he’s barely conscious.

“Can you carry him?” Adam asks, and the terror in his voice is what convinces Walt he needs to try. 

Walt scoops Jesse up, knees protesting. If it weren’t for the adrenaline pumping through him he doesn’t think he’d have a chance in hell of carrying Jesse with twenty extra pounds of soaking wet clothes. Jesse doesn’t seem to know what’s even happening anymore. 

They take him into the cabin and lay him on the couch and strip him down, then wrap him up in blankets. He’s breathing steady but completely still. Diane and Jake watch, terrified.

“They’re sending a helicopter,” Jake says, voice tight. 

Walt feels sick to his stomach when he notices Jesse isn’t even shivering. Then Jesse mumbles something annoyed when Walt brushes his hair back, which reassures him. 

“What about hot water?” Adam asks.

“I’ll run a bath,” Diane says, already turning to leave. 

“No, no,” Walt says, frantically. “If you warm him up too quickly the shock will kill him. I need—a first aid kit. Warming pads.” 

They dart off to find them. 

Jesse’s so cold it hurts to touch him. Walt is convinced he’s about to watch him die. That any second now his eyes will slip closed and he’ll just stop breathing. 

“Stay with me,” Walt says. “Do not fall asleep, okay?”

Jesse forces himself to look at him, dazed. Then he snickers, and Walt thinks that should be a good sign.

“I gave you so much shit about bringing those swim trunks,” Jesse mumbles, barely coherent.

“What?”

“The swim trunks,” Jesse says. “Would’ve been useful.” 

Walt nods, pretending he understands what the fuck he’s talking about, but frankly his entire brain is consumed with ways to keep Jesse alive until the helicopter arrives. 

Adam comes back, depositing several emergency hot packs he collected from around the cabin. Together he and Walt rip open the packs and activate them by rubbing them together. 

“Put them near his heart and neck,” Walt says.

“Okay,” Adam agrees. 

With the compresses, Jesse slowly starts coming back into awareness. He’s shivering again, but his lips are blue and he can’t seem to move his fingers very well. 

“You’re going to the hospital,” Walt says. 

“Great,” Jesse says, miserably, then hisses through his teeth. His face screws up, and when he speaks again it’s clear he’s in pain from the tightness in his voice. “Fuck, it hurts so bad.”

Walt nods. He expected this. “That means the circulation is coming back into your limbs. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, okay?”

Jesse pulls his hands tight to his chest. “Fuck . ”

Walt brushes his hand over his forehead. “I know. I know, baby.”

It gets worse. After a few minutes of helplessly watching him, Adam leaves the room with tears streaming down his face. By the time the helicopter arrives, the worst of it has passed, and Jesse is curled up and shivering in Walt's arms, breathing raggedly.

*

They keep Jesse in the hospital in Santa Fe overnight mostly for observation, since he was apparently super hypothermic and they didn’t know if he’d dry drown, which sounds messed up. He doesn’t have frostbite though, thank fuck. They told him he might have lost some toes and fingers at least.

Jesse mostly sleeps the entire time. It’s probably the worst Christmas Eve ever. 

He wakes up at around six in the morning on Christmas Day, and he immediately feels pretty bummed. He watches the sun rise for a few minutes through the hospital window, blinking back tears, and then hears a soft noise behind him. He lifts his head up and turns over, and isn’t sure whether he’s disappointed or happy to see his dad sitting there asleep.

Jesse lies there staring at him. Waiting for him to wake up.

When he does, he blinks in confusion for a minute, like he’s forgotten where he is. Then he looks at the clock, and quietly asks if Jesse’s in the mood for breakfast. Jesse nods, not saying anything, and his dad goes and puts an order in over the phone. Minutes later a nurse brings a cart with pancakes, fruit, juice, and coffee.

They eat quietly together.

“How are you feeling?” his dad asks finally, and Jesse’s never heard his voice so weak and scratchy before. He must have been here all night. 

Jesse shrugs. 

His dad smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Jesse stops chewing, and drops his fork on the plate. He looks away, tears burning in his eyes. It’s so stupid. He just has a flash of memory, a Christmas from years ago before Jake was even born, where his dad made pancakes and they spent the morning playing Nintendo games together. So much fucked up shit has happened since then. Most of it his own damn fault. 

“Why’d you bother doing it?” Jesse asks, trying not to cry.

“What?”

“Why didn't you just let me die?”

His dad’s lip trembles. “Jesse, why would you ever think…”

“I don't know, maybe because you never want to see me? Maybe because this whole weekend you've treated me like I'm fucking scum? Like I'm not even family, like I'm a diseased slobbering dog you found in the street or something.”

“I'm so sorry,” his dad says, very quietly. No excuses, no denials. 

Jesse stares out the window. He wants to leave. And he wants Mr. White. Where the hell is he, anyway? He'd never leave Jesse here alone–unless his dad finally ran him off. 

“It was when you overdosed,” his dad says, distantly. “I spent the whole night in the hospital then, too. You were asleep. I don’t think you even knew I was there. I thought that at any moment, something would go wrong, and they wouldn’t be able to save you, and your heart would stop. In my head I was already preparing myself for it. How I would tell your mother. Where we would have the funeral. What I would do with your things. After fifteen hours I went home and cried myself to sleep in your room. I was so sure you were already gone.

“And you woke up, of course. You swore it would never happen again. And I believed it, Jesse. I thought it would be a turning point for you. I slowly started opening up my heart again. So did your mother. Your brother. We felt like family again, at least for a little while. 

“So when you got caught doing it again, all of that pain came back. I hope you never, ever have to feel that—the terror that something insidious and evil has gotten inside your child’s head, making them think they’re invincible, when really it’s just looking for a chance to destroy them. I was living in a world where at any second you might kill yourself. Losing you, someone I loved more than anything, felt…inevitable.

“So I stopped. I stopped loving you. Or tried to. At night I’d lie in bed and just—imagine that phone call. The one where a policeman would tell me you were dead. I’d torture myself with it. Until finally, finally, I could get through the whole thing in my head without breaking down.”

Jesse just stares at him, tearfully, his chest tight and twisted up. His dad takes his hand, and he doesn’t yank away like he ordinarily might.

“But then yesterday,” his dad starts, and his voice breaks. “I realized how fucking stupid that was. It didn’t matter how much I tried to mourn you before you were gone. When it was happening right in front of me it hurt more than anything I could have prepared for. I love you, Jesse. And if you died, without knowing that, I’d never, ever forgive myself.”

Jesse pulls him into a hug, and it's returned for the first time in a long time. “I…love you too.”

They hold each other for a while, and must look absolutely ridiculous, two grown men sobbing in a hospital ward. Jesse doesn't give a shit. 

Finally, he pulls back. 

“I still don't like this–Walter White,” his dad grumbles. “But if he's good to you, then–that’s okay. And I'll get over it.”

Jesse smirks through his tears. “Hell, I don't even like him most of the time.” 

His dad laughs at that. 

They finish up breakfast. He learns his mom and Jake are back at the cabin asleep, but they're planning on coming to visit later in the morning. 

He's about to ask about Mr. White when there's a knock on the door. When Jesse sees him, looking exhausted and close to tears, he feels himself tearing up again a little too. Mr. White's supposed to be the strong one, the guy who isn't fazed by anything; if he's weepy in a hospital ward, shit must have been more serious than Jesse realized. 

Mr. White breathes his name, crosses the room and pulls him close. He kisses him slow and deep and Jesse doesn't even care anymore that his dad's there, too. All that matters right now is that he's breathing, and Mr. White's got his warm hands on his face, and is kissing him like it's keeping them both alive. 

“I'm so sorry,” Jesse says. He can taste salt when he speaks. Mr. White brushes his tears away like he's a soft delicate thing. 

“It's not your fault,” Mr. White says, then kisses him again, then just breathes against his mouth. “Sweetheart, no, it's not your fault. God. You don't know how scared I was. If I'd lost you…”

Jesse clings to him, overwhelmed. He's had a lot of close calls, and more than a few brushes with death, but never something this sudden and innocuous. It had been an accident. That's how he might have gone out after everything they've been through. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees his dad quietly leave the room. 

*

Jesse is released from the hospital later that afternoon, and everyone agrees it's probably best if he goes home to rest. Walt's already driven to Angel Fire and back to retrieve their luggage and help Diane tidy up by the time Jesse's ready to be picked up. Walt is exhausted, has barely slept, and is looking forward to going home. It's an odd sort of Christmas, but at least the roads are mostly empty because of it. 

When they get back to the house, they don't bother emptying the car of luggage and head straight to the bedroom to sleep. They lie on top of the bedspread still in their clothes and shoes, with Jesse tucked up against Walt's chest. It should be uncomfortable, but it's the most restful sleep Walt thinks he's ever had. 

Walt wakes first. It's early evening, but pitch black outside. He carefully pulls out of Jesse's embrace and kisses his head, not wanting to disturb him, then heads downstairs to cobble together something for dinner. The refrigerator is pretty bare. He winds up ordering Chinese food, since they're the only local restaurant open, and picks it up himself. When he gets back home, Jesse's awake and channel surfing on the couch. 

They eat in comfortable silence with the TV softly humming in the background. When they're done, Jesse untucks his feet from underneath him and lightly touches Walt's wrist. 

“Think I'm gonna take a bath,” Jesse says. “My ribs are all sore and shit from yesterday though, so–do you wanna help?” 

Walt can't exactly say no to Jesse naked under any circumstances, so nods his head and follows him upstairs. 

Walt draws a bath for him and helps him into the tub. He washes his soft brown hair, trying to make it as pleasant and soothing as possible. Jesse hums contentedly and closes his eyes as Walt massages his head. Walt is extra careful not to get any soap in his eyes. 

“Why are you so–soft with me?” Jesse murmurs. It sounds like genuine curiosity. 

Walt pauses, even so. He's never really thought about it. Once upon a time, he wasn't particularly gentle or kind toward Jesse at all–but deep down, he thinks he wanted to be. He had longed for the freedom to touch him, love him, possess him. And maybe that frightened him. Maybe he didn't know what to do with those overwhelming feelings. 

“Because…I think I adore you,” Walt says, clearing his throat, coming to the conclusion himself for the first time.

“Why?”

Walt chuckles, as if that's a stupid question. 

 “No, seriously,” Jesse says. “I'm all fucked up and like, broken, you know? There's something wrong inside me. It's always been there. And if it weren't for you it would have killed me a long time ago. I'm not worth it, man.”

“Jesse…” Walt says, heart breaking. This just won't do. He's wrong, whether he knows it or not. He takes Jesse's hand and smooths his thumb over his knuckles, trying to figure out how he can make him understand. “Jesse, you are…the most gentle, loving man I've ever met. I love everything about you. Every single thing.”

Jesse searches his eyes, achingly vulnerable. “Even the stuff we don't talk about?”

“Especially that,” Walt says, and means it. “I love you .” 

Jesse stares at him for a moment, and then his eyes screw up with tears. He reaches for him and pulls him into a sopping wet hug, which Walt gratefully returns. A lot of things will never feel right again, but holding Jesse makes up for all of it. 

Walt doesn't know what he'd do if he pulled Jesse out of that lake and he never woke up. He might well have tried to follow him. Given up completely. 

After the bath, Walt helps him out of the tub. Jesse surprises him by kissing him instead of dressing. And then he's pawing at him, pushing him backwards out of the room and toward their bedroom. Walt sees where this is going, and he's not going to complain about it. Still. 

“Are you sure?” Walt asks. “I don't want to hurt–”

“If I wasn't sure, you'd know,” Jesse says, rolling his eyes, and that's that. 

They lie in bed for a while, making out, with Jesse naked underneath him and Walt still dressed in his soaking wet clothes. They've never really done this. Just kissed, like they can't get enough of each other. Walt has never felt this way about anyone. The arousal is intense, thrumming, full bodied. 

“I want to make love to you,” Walt whispers in his ear. He feels more than hears Jesse laugh.

“God, you're so gross.”

Walt draws back, only a little annoyed. It was supposed to be romantic. “Are you opposed?”

Jesse giggles again. Then he looks at him, suddenly serious, and shakes his head. “Nah. Do it. Love me, Mr. White.” 

So Walt presses him down into the bed and kisses him again, twining their fingers together. He can't believe this is real. No matter how many times they do this, it never seems to truly sink in. Jesse is here, with him, wanting him, and they're both safe and mostly whole. And for those pieces they can't get back, well–they make up for it well enough.

Jesse trusts him so completely with his body, and obeys his hands instinctively. Walt runs his hands over him, savoring that thought, turned on beyond belief when Jesse just hums a little and arches into his touch. 

Then Jesse reaches for Walt's belt. He unbuckles it with his deft fingers, then unbuttons his trousers. Walt feels his cock jump, familiar with Jesse's hands, aching for them to touch him. 

“Take it all off,” Jesse commands. 

Dazed, and blindingly horny, Walt does as he asks. It means he has to stop touching him, even for a moment, and he's so eager to get back to it he rips off his shirt and trousers lightning-quick, then throws them to the floor. 

He settles back in his rightful place on top of him, kissing him hard. Jesse grinds up into him, probably trying to get things moving–but Walt wants to savor this. He grabs the bottle of lube from the bedside table, and Jesse moves as if to turn over. Walt stops him. 

“What're you–?”

“Shh,” Walt says. “Let me make you feel good.”

Jesse nods, uncertainty in his eyes. 

Walt moves down his body. He caresses his hip with his thumb, then kisses the dip in his pelvis, pleased when he hears him give a shuddering breath. He loves the shape of him. Then he kisses the tip of his cock, and Jesse gasps, unintentionally bucking up. Walt holds him down firmly. 

“Please,” Jesse says.

How could he say no? 

Walt takes his cock into his mouth, gentle and slow. He can feel that Jesse is trying to hold still, the tension of his body tight like a drawstring. Walt hums around him, and Jesse arches his back and tries to thrust into his mouth again. Walt holds him more firmly, both hands on his hips, and finds a decent rhythm with his mouth. He lets Jesse rock a little into it–loves to feel him squirm. 

In fact, he just loves doing this to him. Jesse's so responsive . Walt loves the feel of his fingers on his head and in his hair now that it's started growing back. He loves the wet taste of him on his tongue. He especially loves the way he writhes and trembles, and licks his lips and looks down at him with heavy lidded eyes, and the way he whispers his name, breathy and reverent. 

Walt knows he's close when he starts moaning, when those fingers tighten in his ear. 

Walt lifts off of him. 

Jesse watches him, open-mouthed, eyes dark and glassy. He doesn't even complain, or question it. He knows Walt will take care of him. 

Walt squeezes some lube onto his fingers. He nudges Jesse's legs apart with his hand, then grabs a pillow and helps wedge it under his hips. Then he slips two fingers inside of him, making a pleased sound when he feels how hot he is. Jesse must be incredibly turned on, because it's an easy slide. 

Jesse grabs his wrist. It's not a request to stop. The opposite, in fact. 

“Want it now,” Jesse says. 

Walt does, too. Now, and forever. And as much as he'd like to finger bang Jesse to oblivion, he promised him a much different ending.

“Okay,” Walt concedes. He withdraws his fingers, then slips between his legs. He wills himself to calm down, feeling like at any moment he might go off like a rocket. “Wrap your legs around me–there you go.”  

Jesse is a dreamy vision beneath him, and the feel of him pressed so close beyond dreams. 

Walt carefully, slowly presses inside of him. 

That first slide in is always one of Walt's favorite parts. Jesse hisses a breath through his teeth, tense for only a moment before he relaxes and unfurls beneath him. It's always a wonder to feel his body literally soften for him, to see his eyes lid and go hazy, to hear his soft shallow breaths. Walt brushes his lips over his nose, his jaw, the flutter of his pulse. He's so tight and warm, and the excess lube dribbles out around Walt's cock where it's flush inside of him. 

“Okay?” Walt asks, tasting his skin. He can feel Jesse's heartbeat, erratic and wild.

“Okay,” Jesse says. 

Walt starts to move. Usually Jesse exerts more control in bed, knows all the ways to move and touch and squirm to drive Walt crazy, knows all the filthy words that make Walt lose his mind. Tonight he's warm and lax from his bath, holding him close, letting him take care of him. Walt rocks into him slowly, savoring every little clench of his body, every exhalation. Jesse nuzzles his nose, then kisses him sweetly. Walt groans at the soft heat of his mouth, the soft ring of heat between his legs. 

“You feel so good,” Walt says, against his lips. Jesse wraps his arms around his neck, and makes this pleased humming sound.  “So good, Jesse.”

He keeps his pace slow, unhurried, but deep. Jesse is quiet, at first, but Walt can tell he likes it from the way he tenses up with every stroke, from the way his panting breaths turn to soft little moans right in Walt's ear. The mattress creaks steadily. 

Walt doesn't know if he's destined for heaven, not after what he's done, but he has the next best thing: Jesse's nails gently raking his back, Jesse's thighs tightening around him, Jesse's eyes dark with pleasure. His body is divine. Walt knows he would kill for him. He's almost certain he would die for him, too, given the chance.

( Maybe I did. In another life.)

He keeps it slow. They're just enjoying each other, the wet heat of it, the press of warmth in a cocoon of blankets. He knows he's close when he feels those nails digging a little harder into his skin, when Jesse clings impossibly tighter to him. 

“Mr. White,” Jesse moans. “More. Need you more, please. Need you…” 

Walt rocks into him a little harder and deeper, making him gasp sharply. He gets his hand around his cock between them, and Jesse arches up into him, making these heady ah, ah, ah noises.

“That's it, honey,” Walt pants. “That's it , sweetheart. God, I wish you knew how perfect you are, how good you make me feel.” 

Walt feels him cum, his body squeezing around him as Jesse tenses up and digs his nails deep into his shoulders. He's tense and quiet for two, maybe three seconds, and then shuddering. 

“ Mr. White–”

Walt curses, then jackhammers into him, desperate for him now. It only takes a few more hard thrusts before he's coming inside of him. He can barely speak, the orgasm hitting his entire body, but he manages to rasp out, “Oh, fuck, Jesse .”

He gently rocks into his body as he comes down, kissing him. He doesn't want to pull out quite yet, or ever, really. He'd happily stay inside of Jesse until he died if he could. 

He realizes after a moment that Jesse is crying. 

“Honey? Are you alright?” Walt asks. He's terrified he's done something wrong. “What hurts?”

“I'm okay,” Jesse says. “It's not that, I just…”

“What is it, baby?”

“I just… I love you, you know,” Jesse says, barely audible. Walt's expression softens, and he brushes his hair back, stunned at the admission. “And it scares the shit out of me.” 

Walt blinks back tears. “I…love you, too.” 

“And you won't leave?”

“Never. Never .” Walt kisses him, chaste and soft. He breathes in the fresh scent of him. “You're the most important thing that ever happened to me, Jess. What else can I say?” 

Jesse smiles, faintly, any fears apparently assuaged. 

“Merry Christmas, Mr. White,” Jesse mumbles. 

Walt kisses his hair. Closes his eyes tight. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” 

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of WJ Holiday fics