[It's not even a question he has to think about, and that disgusts him more than it makes him feel anything else right now. He nods, mute, hiding his face childishly against his warden's shoulder.

He wouldn't want to... He never wants to, not really, not even now. But he would have.]

He shouldn't have done any of it. He shouldn't have asked those things of you, and he shouldn't have been so greedy. [Because the blame isn't entirely Jesse's- he just chose to care about the wrong person in the wrong way. A way that cost him.

When he's done crying, he'll offer him something to drink (something non-alcoholic. Something to settle his breathing and calm him again.]

[It takes him a while to cry himself out, and afterwards he looks -- and feels -- a wreck. But he takes the drink with a weary nod of thanks, holding the glass in both hands, staring down at the floor.]

I know you'd be happier if I said I didn't want to kill him for this... but I do.

I would be happier but I wouldn't think it likely. [A little sadly.] It seems like it would make you feel better, but it won't. He should be punished, but you're not the only person he's harmed. She wasn't the only one. What of his family?

[He urges him to sit down until he's fully recovered. Maybe he can collect himself just a bit before he braves the corridors.]

It was...

[It was for his family, it all was, he starts to say... but he's done defending Walter White. He sits down obediently, pliable now, scrubbing at his tearstained face with one of his long sleeves. He's weirdly calm now, distant, or maybe just disconnected. Like maybe it's easier to talk that way.]

A... a lot of people died because of that, actually. Her dad, he worked for an airline, something-- air traffic or something like that. He went back to work, after, and, um. There was a plane crash. And then he tried to kill himself. So a lot of collateral damage, there.

167 people. 168, counting her. I don't... You know, I don't actually know if he lived or not, is that weird? I guess I didn't want to find out. I figured it was all my fault, I didn't want to add to that body count...

I didn't know that, no. [It wasn't in the file. But he wonders how long Jesse's been blaming himself for that more directly, for Jane's loss.]

I don't think you have bad intentions, but sometimes I think you choose the easy way. The easy way to feel better. The easy way to make someone like you. I had a discussion with a lovely Jamaican gentleman that ran my favorite fish and chips place [And he means lovely in temperament, there's no dreamy look to him]. I asked him what if you could go back in time and prevent people from ever using sugar in tea. Or in baking for that matter. And he said that he would have been an African, as his grandfather was taken over as a cane-cutter.

They're such minor choices, Jesse, but you need to start making them for more than the immediate affect. More than making someone like you, more than feeling better.

[He shakes his head numbly, still staring down at his glass.]

It hasn't been easy for a long time.

I don't think it ever will be. [But he thinks it can get better.]

Yeah. You're right about that.

[He sniffs once, rubbing at his face again, although he's dry-eyed now.]

It used to be pretty good, though. I know I'm... not supposed to say that, or whatever, that I liked it, but I did. Even with the cops up my ass, dealing with the neighborhood assholes, trying to stay out the way of the gangs and the asshole tweakers with knives. Even with the drugs. It was, like... free. I was good at it, and I could do what I wanted, and even the assholes... I mean, it was all too low-level for anyone to give much of a fuck, no one that's not totally nuts is going to come after you with a gun over a quarter-gram of crystal.

And I can say, you know, I didn't know, when we started up, Walt and me, how bad it was gonna get. I guess maybe I didn't. But then I did, and I still... [He bites his lip, picking at his jeans.] I still went back to it. After she died. After he... I still went back. I got out twice and I still went back.

What's that say to you?

[He doesn't even have to think about it.] It says to me that you got out, and then you went back to a man that ruined your life and manipulated it so that you would go back. That even the good times were setting you up for something terrible.

Being tricked into thinking it's alright doesn't make it alright.

[A fresh current of anger runs through him, exhausted as he is. He grits it back and knocks down the rest of his drink as if it were a drink before setting the glass aside. By the time he's done, the rage is gone again, and he feels just as empty as before.]

You think... he was just using me? The whole time, I mean?

I think he liked you, I think he favored you. He obviously favored you. But I think he was greedy, unwilling to change but willing to harm others in order not to.

He called me his partner. He called me his family once, sort of. [It hadn't been so explicit as that. They never said that stuff out loud. But he'd said something like it, and Jesse had known what he'd meant.] I mean, we also beat the shit out of each other once, but... he still got me to rehab, all that...

[He trails off, shaking his head, shoulders sagging. He's not sure what he's doing here anymore; just reliving memories that are a thousand times more painful now that he knows the truth, the weight of them pressing him down harder and harder. After a second, he takes out his communicator, typing a message to Claire.]

I'll get out of your hair in a second. I just need to... she's not good with this stuff. Jane stuff.

You're not bothering me. I'm more concerned than annoyed. [He says that genuinely.]

Claire? Why isn't she?

[He shrugs wearily.] Jealousy, I guess. I tried to tell her it's not like much of a competition when one of you is dead, but. [Another shrug.]

Anyways, probably better she stays clear until... until I don't know.

You can stay here as long as you need. I have the TARDIS if you need your privacy and don't wish to return to your cabin quite yet. [He stands up, taking off his hat to toss across the room onto a hatrack.]

[He finishes the message and sets the communicator aside, watching the hat go sailing through the air.] Nice. [It's legitimately impressive, but his voice comes out flat and tired almost to the point of sarcasm. He draws a leg up and loops his arms around it, resting his head on his knee.]

I don't know what to do right now. [He's not admitting it to the Doctor. He's saying it to his Rocawear.]

[He sheds the coat and scarf too, but those he liesurely carries over.] You don't have to decide right now.

[He nods, not unraveling from his position, although he grabs the communicator back when Claire's voice starts coming over the feed, turning the volume down low enough that only he can hear it -- in theory, anyway. There's a brief conversation, or maybe an argument, though he sticks to text the whole time. When he's done, he puts the thing aside again with a sigh.]

I'll head back when she's gone.

[He just can't see her, not right now. He can't deal with the puppy-dog eyes, or the worried questions, or the quiet thread of jealousy in her voice, or... or any of it.]

I understand. [He just hopes that Jesse doesn't avoid her forever. But knows something like this is going to take time. But he doesn't spy on him. He doesn't even stand close to him or try to peek at the conversation. He gives him his privacy.]

Will you be taking a little bit off work? [He assumes the answer is yes...]

[He nods without giving it much consideration.] Need to get my head on straight, right? I'm not gonna be any good to anyone, like this.