Chapter Text
Walt had never been good at keeping secrets. Not from himself, and certainly not from his wife.
So when he stopped coming home at night, quit his job at the car wash, and admitted to buying weed from a teenager — well, let’s just say Skyler was less than pleased. Her husband was terrible at keeping secrets. It was going to come out sooner or later.
It turned out to be lung cancer. When he told her, everything clicked into place. Of course, was her first thought followed by:
“ Are you kidding me right now? ”
Walt looked stunned. “I just — I didn’t know how to tell you. The medical bills, everything just —”
“Not that.” Skyler cut him off. “You know I love you, and I support you. You had to take some time and process this. I get that. The medical bills are going to suck, but we’ll figure something out. We always do.”
Walt just stared at her blankly, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Okay,” he said. “Good. I’m glad. That we’re on the same page, that is.” He still looked confused.
Skyler stared back at him, searching his face for the truth. “Is this why you were buying weed from that Jesse boy?”
“Uh,” Walt said eloquently, hesitating a moment. “Yes?”
“I can’t believe you. You find out you have lung cancer , and you go and smoke weed? What, your lungs weren’t in crap enough shape for you? You really thought, Oh, I know what’ll fix this — smoking! ”
Walter Jr. stuck his head into the room. “Dad’s smoking weed?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Walter!” Skyler snapped at him. “Not the time. Go.” She pointed to his room. He sighed but did as he was told.
Her husband had the audacity to look only mildly abashed. “It’s supposed to get you to relax. it’s not like” — he paused, struggling for words — “it’s not like I’m smoking all the time or anything, just, y’know, sometimes I just need to calm down.” He cringed to himself a little as he said it.
“Okay,” Skyler said. “Fine, cool, whatever. Forgetting the fact that your brother-in-law is a DEA agent, and that this is illegal , did you not even think about getting something that you didn’t have to smoke? Edibles exist, for Christ’s sake. God knows those are easier on your lungs.”
“My dealer—” Walt had to pause for a moment, trying again. “My dealer doesn’t do edibles. I don’t even know how that works. It’s really not that big —”
“What kind of dealer doesn’t do edibles?” Not like she knew any dealers, but still. “It can’t be that hard.”
Plans started forming in her head. They were ridiculous, but so was this whole situation. Besides, it wasn’t like there was much she could do to make things worse.
Jesse bobbed his head along to the beat, the wire to his earbuds swaying as he rolled himself a joint. He really needed a better system than leaving all his weed on the table, but eh, small tomatoes. Potatoes? They’re probably interchangeable, right?
A sharp rapping on his front door bled through the heavy bass in his ears. Jesse rolled his eyes, not bothering to take out his earbuds as he cracked open the door.
“Ayo, wassup — oh shit,” Jesse cut himself off at the sight of Mrs. White on the other side of the door. “H— uh, hey, Mrs. White,” he stuttered out, casually waving with one hand.
She said nothing, her eyes following his fingers for a reason he couldn’t quite place.
Oh, yeah — the joint. Oops. Jesse tucked the offending object behind his back sheepishly. “Is there, uh, something I can do for you?”
“Maybe we should talk inside.” Damn , Mrs. White was scary for such a small woman. Jesse couldn’t tell what she was thinking at all.
She stepped forward towards the door, and Jesse wedged himself in the crack between the door and its frame.
“I — uh, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea right now,” he said. Shit, why did he have to leave all of his weed on the table?
Mrs. White rolled her eyes. “I already know you’re still selling weed to Walter,” she said. “I just need to talk to you.”
At Jesse’s raised eyebrow, she huffed a sigh. “No cops?” he asked warily.
“No cops,” she confirmed. “I promise.” It looked like it pained her a little to say it.
Jesse didn’t really have a lot of options here. Fuck it . “ Mi casa es su casa , I guess.” He stepped aside, beckoning her in.
“Thank you.” She nodded, folding her coat over her arm as she stepped into the foyer. “Is there somewhere we can sit while we talk?”
“Uh,” Jesse said eloquently, still baffled by her sudden appearance at his place. “There’s a kitchen?”
“Great,” Mrs. White said. It looked like she was trying to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “Lead the way.”
Jesse Pinkman was a strange young man, Skyler noted, taking in her surroundings. There was a strong, almost herbal smell in the air that hit full-force as they entered the kitchen. It didn’t take her long to spot the source: a veritable mountain of marijuana, just sitting in buds on the kitchen table.
It’s not even on a cutting board , she thought. She blinked, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the smell.
Jesse pulled a chair out from in front of the table awkwardly, gesturing for her to sit before plopping down into one on the other side of the table.
“Look, Mrs. White—” Jesse started.
“Skyler,” she interrupted. “Skyler is fine.”
“Uh, okay, I guess. Uh, Mrs. Skyler, I know you said —” he stumbled over his words, and Skyler decided to take pity on him.
“It’s okay,” she cut him off. “While I’m not exactly thrilled about my husband’s new penchant for drugs, I think it’s understandable, given the circumstances.” Jesse looked a little lost. She supposed he must not have been expecting that, given their last interaction. “You were just trying to help,” she tells him. “Still, I’m disappointed.” Jesse opened his mouth to talk, but she blazed on. “Between the two of you, did neither of you even think about what smoking was going to do to his lungs? Bad enough he didn’t tell me he has lung cancer,” she muttered.
“. . . I still don’t really understand what this has to do with me,” Jesse said. He held his hands up hastily, like he realized how that sounded. “I mean, I’m just the weed guy. I already know what you’re gonna say —”
“You don’t have to stop selling to him,” she interrupted. “I think he’s under enough stress right now as it is.” She hesitated.
“Okay. . ?” Jesse drawled out. “Then what do you want from me?”
“I want you to sell him edibles instead.” Skyler blinked. She’d never expected to be saying those words out loud. “If he has to do drugs, at least he can do them in a way that won’t make his lungs worse.”
Jesse just stared at her.
Skyler was beginning to feel self-conscious. “You do sell edibles, right?”
Jesse’s eyes widened. “No,” he said, making a strange face. “I mean, I don’t really know how to make them.”
Skyler raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.” She eyed the pile of weed on the table surreptitiously.
“Seriously,” Jesse insisted. He held his hands up in surrender. “I never learned how to bake.”
“What, did your mom never teach you?”
Jesse rolled his eyes, looking anywhere but at Skyler. “Not exactly her priority,” he muttered.
… Huh . Yeah, that kind of made sense. But if that was the only problem, then it was really a non-issue. “I can teach you to bake,” Skyler told him, noting the genuine surprise on his face. “All you would have to do is actually make them.”
She couldn’t believe she was really offering to do this. Her brother was a DEA agent, for crying out loud. But here she was, aiding and abetting. She shook her head at herself.
“Really?” Jesse sounded way more enthusiastic than she had expected someone of his age (and occupation) over learning to bake, of all things. “Awesome!” He grinned wide, and Skyler felt the corner of her mouth turn up against her volition. “Thanks, Mrs. Whi — uh, Skyler.”