[OPEN] sometimes I can't even see the reason why

[kingpawn]

WHO: Walter White and OPEN
WHERE: All around the place.
WHEN: Throughout the day of March 20th
WHAT: Walter finds out he's cancer-free and has a rough time dealing with what this means.
WARNINGS: Mentions of cancer, mentions of cooking meth, violence against inanimate objects and lots of Jesse hate. :P Will update if anything worse comes up.

De Chima Hospital - 10am

Maybe it was because of Hank's prompting or maybe it was because Walter felt it was time to be proactive, but whatever the case -- he finally decided to go and receive medical treatment for the lung cancer he believed he still had. They had to run a series of tests to determine the best course of treatment, so Walt took off the morning from work and went for his diagnosis. He felt fine. Better than he had in many months, which led him to believe whatever Jesse had done to him had put him in remission, but that it was only a matter of time before the cancer returned.

So when the doctors called him into the office and ran over a series of results -- Walter almost didn't believe what he was hearing. The words were a garbled jumble, very similar to what it had sounded like the very first time he got diagnosed. His eyes were focused on the pen holder, wondering if he was dreaming and why they were talking to him like he should be happy about the results. Because if Walter was hearing them correctly, they were telling him there were no traces of cancer in his body. He was clean. Everything was a hundred percent, perfectly normal for a man his age.

The news should have been thrilling except it meant two things. Walt lost the only thing that justified everything he did back home and he lost his inevitable escape from this world as well.

Walt didn't even remember thanking the doctors. At some point he left the hospital, carrying more paperwork than he came in with and he stood outside at the bus stop, staring off into the distance. Walt had gotten used to living life on borrowed time, so he didn't really know how to live it free from a time limit -- without a set number of years.

Just the symptoms, okay? Breathe, relax. You're gonna start feeling better. Like medicine.

His eyes narrowed and he curled his hand into a fist, crumpling the paperwork in his hands. "Jesse."

With an outburst of misdirected rage, Walt threw the documents into the nearest trashcan and kicked it over, storming away from the bus stop after causing his mini-scene.


Diner/Coffee Shop in De Chima - 11:30am

The anger hadn't left Walt when he arrived here, even though he calmly sat by himself and ordered a cup of coffee. Most of the time, he remained at a table by a large window -- staring off into space with the coffee warming his hands (he barely took a sip). Though there was one period of time where he got up, went to the men's restroom and had an all out battle with one of the paper towel dispensers -- punching it until his knuckles were battered and bleeding before he slid to the floor, leaning against the wall in exhausted despair. The paper towel dispenser was dented, but not defeated. It won this battle.


Heropa Pharmacy - 2pm

Walt was supposed to return to work at 12:30, the latest. And yet he strolled in at 2pm without so much as an explanation. He went into the back, put on his labcoat, wrapped his knuckles in gauze, and then went into autopilot. Walt did seem to space out a great deal when filling a few prescriptions and maybe even mixed up a couple. Oops. Hopefully the patrons knew what they were getting so they could correct the mistake.


Local Bar - 7pm

He had been pretty good about curbing his drinking lately. Whether it was because he was getting used to being in this world or his situation was improving -- who knew. But after the day Walt had, he couldn't wait to get out of work and go straight to the bar. He took a seat by himself and decided to drown his sorrows in alcoholic bliss. It wasn't really helping, though. Every time he thought about what Jesse had done and how he had lied about it, he wanted to go straight to his place, put his hands on him and fire up every single pain nerve in his body until he was writhing in agony. The thought caused him to squeeze his glass so hard it broke in his hands.


Streets of Heropa - 10pm or later

Walt wasn't terribly drunk, but the idea came to him when he was drinking -- a way to pay Jesse back. Jesse had the monopoly on methamphetamine -- the streets were his. Mike had said as much. So what if Walt rose up to challenge him? What if Walt got back into the game in order to move against Jesse and dethrone him? What could Jesse do? What would he do? Nothing. Walt would make a statement about who the real chemist was. Jesse would know that he shouldn't have tried to do all of this without him. It seemed like a good idea and Walt's heart was pounding with exhilaration -- ready to dip his hands into familiar chemistry and cook again. Thinking about it made Walt feel better than he had the whole day and maybe even better than he felt his whole time in this strange, new world.

His steps were deliberate and he walked like a man on a mission -- his destination was the closed pharmacy to which he had the keys. But Walt had been so focused on heading back there, he didn't realize anyone else was out and about and he may have bumped straight into them.


[ OOC: Feel free to bump into Walt at any of the places above or you can make something else up, too! ]

Comments

Option 5, 10:20pm

[restingstitchface]

Crane's already let himself in.

He's somewhere in the back of the laboratory, and doesn't look up at first - he's too absorbed in his work, and making sure a stopper's airtight in a vial of colorless liquid. He's heard the door. He's just not too bothered about giving a homely greeting. He's busy with his work. He's busy with the only thing that matters.

Making his toxin. The process would require a mask at some point - perhaps he'd just grab one from the locker, rather than use his own special creation.

He fiddles with attaching the vial to a stand.

[kingpawn]

Walt throws his things down on the counter before he heads toward the lab and pauses in the doorway upon seeing Crane. At first he wonders what the hell the man is doing here -- but then Walt belatedly remembers he gave him permission to use the lab. It just so happens to be at the most inconvenient time, however.

"Are you going to be long?"

On a normal day, he might have been interested to see what Crane was doing, to watch his processes and see how he manipulated the chemicals in his craft. But at the moment, Walt is frazzled. He has a mission and a very limited time to do said mission before the pharmacy opens up. He has to at least get the methamphetamine crystallizing. Walt has every confidence he can keep it hidden from Lana while it does its thing. No one except him, and now Crane, uses the lab -- and Lana never steps foot inside of here unless she absolutely needs Walt when he's in there.

But the question is: will he have to use the lab alongside Crane? Walt supposes his project can wait another day. Maybe if he holds off, the emotional need to dive into familiar work will die down. But as it was, this is the first thought he's had all day that filled him with something other than anger. He needs this. It's almost therapeutic. And Crane did say before that men like him and Walter find satisfaction in life from their work. There's a definite truth to it.

[restingstitchface]

"This is a delicate process," Crane says simply.

He wouldn't have been able to avoid Walt for long, and he had always suspected that sometimes the man would walk into his lab. His presence is an expected variable. A chemist in his natural habitat. But his ears prick at the frustrated tone of Walt's voice. The sudden change strikes his interest. He knows such frustration. Has something happened?

"I'll leave soon as it's complete."

It's a simple compromise. He's prepared to leave when his test is done, and the way he turns his back to return to his work shows he's not going to get in Walt's way in the meantime. But something is obviously wrong. He's not going to force the issue when Walt looks willing to spill it all on his own - which would make it sweeter.

de chima coffee shop.

[earnedmystripes]

[Barnaby's job as an energy drink spokesperson occasionally takes him to events and the like in the other Porter cities, which generally leads to Kotetsu tagging along for the weekend, even though technically as a Registered imPort he could come see his partner any time. He prefers it this way, though; call him old-fashioned but there was a certain kind of charm involved in staying at a hotel and being able to order room service hat Porting back and forth didn't provide.

Of course, coffee isn't really the sort of thing room service is best for, and he's got an afternoon to kill while he's waiting for his partner (Barnaby tends to put his foot down when it comes to actually coming to the studio and being annoying distracting), so he ducks into a local coffee shop, intending to grab something and then wander around the city for a few hours. He tends not to spend much time in De Chima when he's not operating in a Hero capacity, so it's fun to sightsee a bit. But he decides to stop and use the restroom first, and it's about as he's coming out of the stall that he walks in on the scene of Walter White vs. The Paper Towel Dispenser. He ends up staring a good moment or two while he washes his own hands, then...crouches carefully next to him, though giving the man several inches of space, in case his presence is found unwelcome.]

Those automatic ones are the worst, huh?

[He's well aware that paper towels are not the issue, whatever the issue actually is. But talking around problems is an old security blanket of Kotetsu's. He really doesn't expect to be confided in or told what's actually wrong--just wants to show this man that someone out there gives a crap, maybe.]

[kingpawn]

[ Maybe Walt should have checked to make sure the stalls weren't occupied when he unleashed his anger on the paper towel dispenser. But the damage is already done (both to Walt, the dispenser, and now Kotetsu, who had to witness the whole tantrum.) Fortunately the man doesn't seem to be needling him for the reasons behind his actions or even faulting him. For that, Walt is grateful.

He absently rubs at his bruised hand, forcing a smile. ]

You would think it would just give you the paper towel with a wave of your hand. They say motion sensor so a simple movement should be detected. But no. It becomes a whole ordeal of looking like an idiot, waving your hands wildly just to get the machine to activate and not even give you nearly enough to dry your hands.

[ Walt shakes his head. He can turn this into a complete rant and rave about paper towel dispensers if he needs to. He's sure he can spare a small part of his overall rage toward them. ]

[earnedmystripes]

[And Kotetsu obligingly plays the part of believing that this guy is actually that angry about paper towels. To that end, he tries to keep his gaze off of the man's injured hand, concerned as he is about it. Airily:]

Maybe it's all part of their master plan to get us to use less paper towels without having to pay for dryers. Save the environment and money, it's a win-win. Well, except for us, anyway.

Streets of Heropa

[onewiththewild]

[ Toboe is a wolf a he has no curfew, sure that jesse is his owner, but he also never really put a leash on Toboe and demanded the pup to stay nearby. Possibly because that would be utterly weird when the wolf can talk and take care of himself (sort...... of....).

Still, walking through the streets at night isn't weird to him. It's, in fact, something Toboe quite enjoys doing since he can see the moon and hear the night animals. It's when people are mostly quiet and he can appreciate it, even if he loves how lively humans are.

As he turns around the corner, he does bump into someone, letting out a small "ack" ] Sor- ah, Walter! [ no "mister" or "white" sorry, Toboe is a wolf and wolves don't understand the use of mister and miss ] Hello!

[kingpawn]

Watch where--

[ Walt is immediately on the defensive -- expecting anyone who was out at this time to be some punk kid, a drunk, or someone homeless. What he doesn't expect is Jesse's wolf. The thought of Jesse is enough to make his blood boil, but he's able to tone it down a notch. Dogs can be dangerous when they feel their owner is threatened, so Walt doesn't want to let on that he's pissed off at Jesse. He would rather not experience Toboe's bite. ]

Toboe, was it? Sorry, I didn't expect to see you there.

[onewiththewild]

[ Toboe touches his own nose, still smiling at the man since he has no idea what is crossing his mind (even if he did... it's not like Toboe would attack Walter. Probably.) ][ howling to the moon and such ] Are you alright? [ he can smell the alcohol on him ]

Local Bar

[aggressiveapathy]

[ The funny thing was how much she had hated De Chima a couple months back. Not for any real rational reason, granted. But it'd been there. Now she was volunteering her time to help Mitch help run the place, and with everything else going on in her life if that didn't earn her a drink in Florida after another day of pretending to be nice over the phone she didn't know what did. Oh, except her saying she wanted one. That earned her one, too, no matter what she'd been doing.

Seeing other imPorts was kinda part of the package, but she usually just turned her back to them at wished some fairy god-demon would make them go away. But when the glass burst in...Walter's hand? Right. That was the name in the network ID when they talked. It was Walter's hand and he'd been fun to talk to before and there was something about someone even more annoyed with life than her that just had a way of cheering her up.

So she took a seat by him, broken glass and spilled alcohol and all. ]

Yeah. That's the first month.

[kingpawn]

[ Walt curses after the sudden explosion of glass and liquor. Well that was a waste of money. He shakes his hand uselessly. No matter what he does, the alcohol will dry on his clothes in its own time and there's no removing the scent until he throws them in the wash, but he still can't help the instinctive reaction to shake the damage away. A little less uselessly, though, he takes a couple napkins and tries to contain the mess, marking it off as a sopping, wet hazard area until the bartender comes over to deal with it.

And naturally, his blunder had to be seen. At the very least, it's by the self-proclaimed Disney princess, Janet Snakehole, and well -- Walt can think of worse people he would want to see him in this state of mind. At the very least, if she can forgive him for his underwear network post, she can forgive him for this. ]

They don't make glasses the way they used to. You'd think in a world full of superheroes, they would reinforce these things.

[ Though a little more seriously, he cautions as she sits: ]

Careful of the broken glass.

[aggressiveapathy]

Mm. Not like it can kill me.

[ But despite the apparent lack of concern, she hasn't personally died in this word had no real intention of a rogue piece of glass being the cause of the first time. So she brushes any shards away before waving to the- understandably sighing- bartender to get her own drink. ]

Unless they gave you Canadian whiskey or some other kinda poison.

Heropa Pharmacy - 2:13 pm

[slightlyoffchilt]

It hadn't been difficult, persuading a nativeborn doctor from his psychiatric wing to jot up a prescription for zolpidem. Not that Chilton had authentic trouble sleeping, as whatever might keep him up at night never registered on his conscience. The medication was but a charade. Ever since Walter White had uttered the name of his work habitat, Chilton had been eager to revive his pursuit of the chemist -- and what better place to continue? The disappearances of Freddie Lounds and Abigail Hobbs had delayed his indulgence, but his ambush had no strict schedule.

Chilton had expected Walt to return by half past noon -- that was what he was told, when he inquired for Mr. White. The psychiatrist had thought that this would be nothing more than an extended lunch break, but this pursuit transformed into something of a modern day odyssey; he would wait in pharmaceutical purgatory until he spoke with Walter White. Every minute invested edged his determination.

Ninety minutes soaked in anticipation could make one somewhat tunneled in his vision.

"Hello, Walt."

Chilton, with his palms planted onto the clean pharmacy counter, leaned into the sacred space that served as some barrier between him and his labcoated target. It had been worth delaying a Friday session for the evening, if only for those two words he spoke. Hello, Walt.

[kingpawn]

Walt approached the counter with a clipboard in hand, eyes down on the paper to scan over the list of prescriptions -- so lost in what he was doing he didn't even notice who was waiting for him. He was just about to open his mouth without glancing up, about to greet the next customer, get their order all without making eye contact. But then he heard that voice, that grating and smug voice he would recognize from anywhere. It immediately caused a tension to come over him, making him to freeze in place as he tried to regain his bearings.

He slowly lifted his eyes, meeting Chilton's in all of their satisfied glory. Walt cursed mentally. Of all the goddamn days this guy could have shown up! The last time Walt spoke to Jesse, he expressed his concern about Chilton -- how he might be a lasting problem. Jesse laughed it off and said the dude would lose interest and hump the leg of the next headcase that entered his radar. Jesse said to give Chilton a week and he would go away. But Walt knew better. He wanted so desperately to believe Jesse, but he knew Chilton wouldn't go away. He would never go away. Not until his hands were forced and he was taking an all expenses paid, one-way trip to Belize.

"Frederick." Walt said through his teeth. All pretenses of fake kindness and cheer washed away at once. He didn't have the emotional strength in him to hide this much loathing. "How can I help you?"

[slightlyoffchilt]

"Doctor Chilton."

The correction came out before he could censor himself; in most situations, Chilton would have considered his impulse both righteous and educational, but his effort was a self-inflicted dagger wound in this context. His arrogance and his pride were open sores, and Chilton did not want to showcase his vulnerabilities before a man like Walt.

Recovering from his reaction (slightly widened eyes, briefly parted mouth), Chilton quirked the corners of his mouth -- it made for a sharper smile. From his jacket's front pocket (double-breasted, left sided pocket) he withdrew the papered prescription. Soundlessly, he passed to the pharmacist, his eyes never once leaving Walt's face. The hostility emitted from Walt simmered, like molten lava in flow. It was just as beautiful and as natural thing to observe as any volcanic exodus, thought Chilton. What had occurred, to incite these fissures in composure? What had Walt done?

"I require your assistance," said Chilton, his tongue flicking over the word. "As my newly chosen pharmacist." The possessive my might not have been stressed tonally, yet Chilton couldn't help but widen his smirk at the ownership inherent to the phrase.

"What's wrong with your hands?"

His eyes flickered down at the wrapped gauze.

"Encountered a few highly aggressive pills?"

De Chima Hospital

[starbuckaroobanzai]

[Dana Scully's travels are usually limited. There's not much reason for her to move between cities the majority of the time, but she grasps the opportunity when it does arise, drawing perhaps on the remnants of that old wanderlust left over from a life spent largely on the road. Even as a child, she hadn't stayed settled for long. Military families generally didn't. A few years here and there, and then on again. Her career had been even less settled. It isn't quite fair to say that she was dragged along helplessly in Mulder's slipstream, but maybe she'd allowed herself to be.

Either way, today is nothing like that. The only mystery to solve is the sort she's been solving since she arrived. This time she needs a patient history, and has opted to come and fetch the files herself. There's no real hurry. He's a body in a morgue locker, this man whose medical records she's come here to retrieve, and that leaves her morning free enough for walking, free enough to catch sight of a familiar face, free enough also to have arrived in time to catch him giving a trash can a beating. Maybe normally she wouldn't interfere, but given both the location and the fact that he's moving towards her, maybe it's best she does something.]

Bad news?

[She says it loudly enough to catch his attention, but not loudly enough for harshness, of which there is also none in her posture as she stands with hands folded in front of her, file folder gripped loosely between her fingers. She taps it lightly against the front of her skirt as she adopts a small, sympathetic smile. Me too. Or she's been there before, at least. In fact, they share in some respects a similar history, however their reactions to it may have varied.]

[kingpawn]

[ Walt, in his blind rage, is on a collision course with Dana Scully and the only thing that is actually able to stop him is her question. He didn't know where he had been going in such a haste, so he can't really be in that much of a hurry to get there. It was just that moving felt better than being stationary. When he stormed forward, he felt as if he had some kind of purpose -- some place to get to even if he didn't know where.

But even so, he stops short. It takes him a moment to recognize the woman from the network. Walt never got her name, even though monikers were apparently attached to the profiles. But he was a little too drunk to check. And here they are, face to face for their second meeting and he has no idea what name to utter in surprise. ]

I...

[ Walt doesn't know what to say. Her question registers and he frowns. It's not bad news in anyone else's eyes but his own. But since she caught him in the midst of his emotional whirlwind, he confesses what the problem is: ]

My cancer is gone.

[ And he expects that she'll expect him to be happy about that. Anyone in their right mind would be. But this world so far has been about everything slipping out of his control. And while the cancer wasn't necessarily something he could control either, it was good to know that something came with him and stayed the same from home. He had an inevitable escape. And now that, too, was gone. Now he just had to continue living until Jesse decided to kill him. ]

[starbuckaroobanzai]

[Most people probably would expect someone to be happy about that. Those people, obviously, have never had to live with cancer. Dana Scully... well.]

Mine too.

[She looks down at the files in her hand and then back up again, one corner of her mouth quirking up.]

Not now. About two years ago. I was...

[She shakes her head.]

Happy. I was happy for the people around me. But I was furious I'd had to live through it. I was... angry. At its meaninglessness.

[At a lot more than that, but admitting the source, or her beliefs as to the source of her cancer would make her sound crazy. Maybe, though, that made it easier, having someone in particular to blame. Sometimes, when the anger burned at its hottest, it was even satisfying to know that her knowledge and her relentlessness were dangerous enough that they'd kill her for it.]

I won't insult you by asking if you want to talk about it, but if you do...

[She spreads her hands. Maybe I'd understand better than most.]

Either way... it gets easier to remember how to look forward.

pharmacy, 4p

[glowsferatu]

Sertraline. It's there on the paper.

[ she taps her finger on the scrip she'd set in front of him, her eyebrow raising. of course, she doesn't imagine he's spacing out so much as staring at her. living in heropa and he acts like he's never seen an alien before, they need their prescriptions filled, too. but, a bit taller than he is, with pale grey skin, long fangs poking out between black lips, and orange-and-yellow horns expecting from the side of her head, there's a lot to stare at.

she came fresh from her psychiatrist's appointment, taking on her proper form almost immediately once they'd lowered the strength of her nullifying anklet. she's been human almost nonstop for two months, she wants to get all she can out of being herself again to the point that she came in before doing her makeup, heedless of her hollow cheeks and the jade-toned dark circles under her eyes. better than leaving copper makeup on slate skin.

she taps her foot idly, lips drawing thin as she eyes her watch. ]

[kingpawn]

[ It's her words that bring him back to reality. He blinks out of his daze and looks down at the slip. ]

Oh. Right. Sorry.

[ Walt looks back at her and does a double take because he's seeing her for the first time. Even though he's been here for a month, he's still not used to these inhuman creatures talking like they're human. But at least she's humanoid. It isn't like his encounter with the talking wolf. ]

Just a moment.

[ Walt goes off to collect her prescription -- very clearly remembering that he made it up after getting the call from the doctor. And yet, it's not in the appropriate spot. He digs around in a frantic attempt to find it before he sees it off to the side, ready to be bagged into another person's prescription. Walt pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration with himself and the stupid job right now, walking back to her with a faint, apologetic laugh. ]

I'm sorry for the trouble. It's just been one of those days, you know?

[ Diffuse it with a laugh and maybe she would forgive him for taking up so much of her time and seeming like the most scatterbrained pharmacist in the world. ]

[glowsferatu]

[ kanaya takes a deep breath, letting her frustration drain out. she should probably be able to spare him a bit of patience, especially when her day isn't as terrible as it could be. it's like she told her psychiatrist, she needs to try to be better. whatever random people she encounters deserve that much. ]

It's been one of those months, honestly. Just a chance to come up to breath every now and again can be appreciated.

[ not that she needs to breathe anymore, but details. she's half tempted to double-check the bottle, all the same, but realizes she should probably wait until he's out of sight first. she leaves the scrip where it is, as it's his to deal with now. though there's no telling how much he'll appreciate dr. frederick chilton's signature on it.

she puts her purse on the counter, digging out her wallet as she looks back up at him. ]

How much will that be?

option HANK — answer your %@#$ phone bro

[schrader]

Hank's not looking to stalk his brother-in-law, but Walt's entrance into Heropa had been soaked with murky happenings revolving around his cancer and the exchange with Jesse Pinkman. Coupled with Hank's suspicions of Jesse and Walt's out-of-control drinking, he couldn't be more stressed about where the hell Walt might be at all hours. If Marie was around, there would probably be a lot more 'talks', a lot more intervention attempts, on behalf of Skyler and the kids if nobody else. Hank's left doing his best to distract Walt without coming off as some kind of care-taker — he's been on the other end of that and fuck it.

That said, he's still not keen on letting Walter drink himself to a second death or make a complete ass out of himself forever-after, so he knows he'll need to broach the uncomfortable topic somehow. Fortunately there are a million paths to get there, and while none of them are pleasant, some are more necessary than others. He'll check Walt's house after work, and when he isn't there, try again closer to ten. Realizing he might just be at a bar, Hank cringes at the idea of having to scour them all looking for him, and ends up pulling out the communicator to call him up when it's nearly midnight and Walt's still not back.

Just be drunk, don't be dead in a ditch somewhere. Fingers crossed.

gdi hank

[kingpawn]

Beyond this morning when Walt went to get his tests done, Hank hadn't even entered his thoughts. Of course, the news would be great for him. But Walt hadn't even thought about telling him, needing the time to recover enough himself in order to be able to pretend to talk about it like it was a good thing. One emotionally bad decision led to another, and there Walt was -- cooking meth in a borrowed laboratory after months of retiring from the business.

Crane had left about an hour ago, so Walt is by himself -- sitting down wearily as he waits for chemicals to process and do their own thing before he can proceed to the other steps. When his phone communicator rings, he pulls it out and looks down to see who's contacting him. And when he sees Hank's name at a time like this, Walt frowns deeply. His instinct is to ignore it and let the voicemail pick up. Hank is Walt's moral compass, his name reminding him that -- hey, yes. What he's doing right now is totally wrong and he should just scrap the project before it's too late. Because if Walt goes down this road, he's going to get caught. Hank will catch him.

Walt ignores the call initially, continuing to stare at the phone long after it finished ringing. And then, about five minutes later, he impulsively picks it up to return Hank's call. Walt doesn't want him to worry. And he definitely doesn't want him to investigate. He might be on the fence about what he's doing right now, but there's no way Hank, walking in on him in the middle of a cook, would understand those conflicting emotions.

Pharmacy, after Chilton?

[bombshelled]

Lana hadn't said anything when for the first hour and a half of his shift, Mr. White was a no show. She hadn't said anything when he waltzed in at 2pm, past the line of frustrated customers waiting for their prescriptions. She also very kindly hadn't said anything when he thrust his crotch at some guy and told him to fuck himself. But when she went to hand a nice old lady her blood pressure medication only to find out it was something else entirely, she had to step up. She excuses herself from the customer, goes around back to where Mr. White was standing, and says, "Can I talk to you a minute?" Without even waiting for an answer, she pulls him back behind a shelf of meds, out of sight of the customers waiting.

"What the hell, Mr. White?" she starts in a low voice. "Mrs. Dobbins has a scrip for Lopressor, and you gave her Lorazepam. Even I know you don't go giving people benzos for no reason! What the fuck is wrong with you today?"

[kingpawn]

Chilton had left Walt disarmed and furious. The problem is, he doesn't know what to do about him. And it just turned out to be another issue stacked on top of his already large pile. He blinks out of his daze when Lana addresses him and before he can even protest, she's dragging him out of sight.

Walt stares at her. How does he explain what's going on? How does he tell her the devastation he feels at his cancer being gone? The only way she would understand is if Walt tells her the opposite. Because that is the same devastation he's feeling. The same sense of loss.

He looks toward the ceiling and says airily, without apology or pause: "I have cancer." Slowly, his eyes lower to her. "Well, I had cancer. Then I went into remission. Then I had it again. And finally, I died. I got here and it was in remission. But now I have it again." The cancer is this world. The cancer is Jesse, growing on him and killing him more and more every day. One day Jesse would kill him for good. And Walt can do nothing else but wait for that day.