Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Lydia takes her seat at the breakfast table, her tea is already waiting for her. Cooled to the perfect temperature, with a fresh croissant sitting in the plate beside it. She takes a bite of the croissant first, then a sip of her tea. Delores has done a passable job, for once. Lydia's about as content as she can be, turning her eyes to the window and taking in the sight of pre-dawn Houston in the valley below.

Never allowing her a minute of respite, the phone in her handbag starts vibrating. Lydia sets down her croissant and reaches for it, checking the number before bringing it to her ear. "Miss Rodarte-Quayle?" a young woman's voice greets in strained English. "Mr. Nováček is wanting to speak with you."

Lydia squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, massaging her temple. "Yes, alright," she answers in Czech. "Connect us now."

The line switches over, and a gregarious voice booms over the line, "Lydia!"

"Dobrý den, Marcel," she replies, clipped. "I'm afraid I don't have much time to chat this morning. I'm just about to leave for the office."

"Always with the rushing in America," Marcel says dismissively. She can practically hear him waving her words away. "Who makes you the most money, huh? Is it Madrigal or is it Marcel?"

Lydia scowls at her plate. "Forgive me. What did you want to discuss?"

"Ehh… You know already, I think."

"Don't tell me it's not up to your standards," she huffs, as if he's just insulted her personally. "I'll have you know, our chemist is blowing the local competition out of the water."

"I doubt this," Marcel says. "Is sixty-three percent what you would call high quality perník in America?"

Sixty-three percent. Jesus Christ. "That's absurd. Test it again. Sixty-three percent is impossible."

"Oh, I tested it again. And again. The number is correct, Lydia. Maybe it is your chemist who is absurd."

He isn't wrong. This is all Declan's fault. That arrogant cowboy and his band of mouth-breathing hicks. This is what happens when a so-called chemist has spent more time in a prison cell than in a school. "Something must have been off in the precursor," Lydia says, her voice getting shrill. "It's a fluke. It won't happen again."

"And for now, what am I to do? Sell this shit you gave me? We have a reputation to uphold, miláčku."

"Two weeks," Lydia pleads. "Just give me two weeks and you'll have another batch. A good one."

"You're not the only one with a child to feed, Lydia. Two weeks is a long time for my men to go without pay."

The mention of Kiira sends an icy shock down her spine. "One week, then. It'll be worth your while, I swear."

"For your sake, I hope you're right," Marcel concedes. "One week."

He hangs up without another word.

Lydia slowly sets down her phone, sagging in her chair. She takes several measured breaths, working to calm her racing heart, before nudging her plate away. She's lost her appetite.

"Well, don't you look fancy today," Declan purrs as he strides up to the table. He flashes her a sleazy smile before unfolding the menu, pretending to read it when she knows full well he's staring at her breasts.

Lydia clears her throat and draws her mug closer, blocking his view of the dip in her blouse. "We're here to discuss business."

"Sure. Hold on a sec." He turns away, gesturing for the waitress's attention, and orders himself a BLT and a beer. Only then does he deign Lydia worthy of his full attention. "What business are we here to discuss?"

"Sixty-three percent," she hisses. She shouldn't have to elaborate.

Declan rolls his eyes. "What about it?"

"Sixty. Three. Percent."

"Better than sixty-two."

"And far, far worse than the standard we agreed upon." Lydia sits up taller in her chair, as if height will also grant her some authority over this man. "Our associate is not willing to distribute a product only sixty-three percent pure."

Declan's expression goes suddenly cold, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl as he leans forward, "That sounds a hell of a lot like you're saying my boys aren't gonna get paid for their work."

Though Lydia pales, she manages to keep from wavering as she replies, "Your men will get paid when they perform to the standards they were hired to meet."

Declan's lips tug back into a sneer, head tipping just slightly to one side. "Careful, Lydia. Nobody tells me how to run my business, especially not on my turf. Now let's think about it geography-wise. You like maps, right? Think about it like a map. How long did it take you to fly in from Houston?"

Lydia swallows. "Three hours."

"And how long's it take to fly from Houston to Prague?"

"...Thirteen hours."

Declan whistles, leaning back in his chair. "Looks like Phoenix is a lot closer to home than Prague, huh. I know you got a lot on your mind, so I'm gonna be gracious. But Lydia, maybe you wanna prioritize which side you're leaning on. Pissing off your neighbor just isn't smart."

Walter White has always been a cold-hearted bastard. Lydia knew it from the moment she first shook his hand. Initially, it was a trait that benefitted their partnership. It meant that he would always do what had to be done. She should have known, though, that it would eventually come to this. That his egocentrism would leave her to clean up his mess when he inevitably decided to cut and run. In the end, even the most professional man shirks his responsibilities when it suits him.

So he turns her away, telling her, "None of my concern." And Lydia is left reeling as she walks out of the car wash, heartbeat thudding in her ears as she tries to think of another solution. Any solution. Because if she can't, then one side or the other is going to decide to shoot the messenger.

Lydia's reaching for her phone when a woman's voice speaks behind her, "Excuse me." It isn't a polite request, but a demand, and Lydia turns to find a blonde woman with a hard expression towering over her.

"Yes?" Lydia answers in alarm, taking a step back.

"I need a number where you can be reached," the woman says.

"What?"

"I need a number where you can be reached," she repeats. "To discuss my husband's business."

"Oh," Lydia whispers breathlessly. Thank God, he changed his mind. She pulls a business card from her purse and hands it over. "The, ah… The cell phone should be fine. It's secure. Please have him call me as soon as he's able. It's urgent. I'm staying at the Hotel Andaluz, if he'd rather speak in person. I'll be in town for a couple—"

"Thank you," the blonde woman interrupts as she tucks the card away. "Don't ever come here again." She doesn't linger for a second longer, turning to walk back into the building.

Lydia stares after her, head spinning. Yes, she supposes, it was careless of her to confront Walt in public. But she's glad, at least, that he's still open to communication. It was worth the risk if it's earned her an audience with him.

A knock at the door to her hotel room brings Lydia to her feet immediately. She rushes over to unlock it, eager to get this whole mess sorted out as soon as possible, and throws the door open.

Instead of Walt, she finds the tall blonde woman standing there.

"What are you doing here?" Lydia demands. "I need to speak to Walt, not his wife or—or whoever you are."

The woman purses her lips and steps forward, brushing past Lydia to enter the room without bothering to wait for permission. "Walt's not coming," she says. "He doesn't even know I'm here. I'm the one who wants to speak to you."

"I have nothing to say to you," Lydia snaps, waving her arm toward the hall. "Get out of my room."

The woman remains right where she is. "I'm not leaving until you listen to what I have to say."

Lydia glares for another two seconds before begrudgingly shutting the door. "I'm not speaking with you until I see some identification."

Unfettered, the woman pulls her wallet from her purse and folds it open for Lydia to examine. Lydia leans in, getting a good look at her license. Skyler White. That much is true, at least.

Her suspicion isn't quelled, though. "How do I know you're not working with the police? Or wearing a wire?"

Skyler tosses her bag onto the floor. "Go ahead. Search it."

There's no such thing as too careful. Lydia picks up the bag and brings it over to the desk, dumping out all of its contents. She pulls the battery out of Skyler's phone, then searches the lining for the purse for any signs of a bug.

Even when that's done, Lydia's not satisfied. She whirls around and juts out her chin. "Take off your shirt."

Skyler's jaw drops. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. If you can do it at the gym, you can do it here. Take off your shirt."

With a roll of her eyes, Skyler shrugs off her ivory cardigan, untucks her shirt from her pencil skirt, and strips it off.

Nothing but a flesh-toned bra underneath. (Matronly, Lydia notes. Their sex life must not be terribly exciting.) "Alright," she says, nodding in approval. "We'll talk."

"May I put my clothes back on?" Skyler asks dryly.

Lydia waves dismissively and turns her attention to the minibar, pouring herself a glass of vodka. This feels like it's going to be a long night. "Can I get you a drink?" she asks. The least she can offer after running Skyler through security clearance.

"Sure," Skyler replies. "I'll take one of those."

When Lydia turns around with both drinks in hand, Skyler's fully clothed and seated on the edge of the bed. Lydia steps over to join her there, handing over one of the glasses. "What can I do for you, Mrs. White?" she asks coolly.

"Call me Skyler."

"Skyler, then."

"Well, Lydia," Skyler says, making a point to draw out her name. Making a point to remind Lydia that her identity is known. "I couldn't help but notice how desperate you were earlier, trying to see my husband."

"I don't know what you're insinuating by that, but I assure you—"

Skyler holds up a hand to stop her. "I know the two of you were in business together. I know that you're attempting to draw him back in, even though he's happily retired. What I want to know is: Why?"

Lydia frowns, inwardly thrashing herself for surrendering her business card earlier. What a stupid mistake. It's put her at the mercy of this woman, holding her trapped for interrogation. "I need him," Lydia responds shortly. "He's the only one who can do what he does."

Skyler smirks. "I doubt my husband is the only meth cook in the country."

"No," Lydia corrects. "He's not the only one. But he's the best one. And that's what I need. I need the best."

Skyler doesn't seem convinced of the direness of the situation here. "Or else..?"

"Or else some very bad men will come to kill me and my daughter!" The words leave Lydia's mouth before she gives them a second thought, and the moment she admits it out loud, her eyes go wide and brim with tears. God, it's true though, isn't it? She has only a few days to fix this or her life is over.

Skyler looks just as alarmed by that admission. "Your daughter?" she repeats. Apparently she hadn't even considered the possibility that Lydia might have a family, too.

"She's five years old," Lydia cries, latching onto that hint of sympathy. "It's just me and her. She doesn't have anyone else in the world."

Digesting all of that, Skyler raises her glass to her lips and drinks half of her vodka down in one gulp. The news troubles her. It must complicate whatever plan she had in mind. Lydia stares at her, wordlessly imploring her to have some mercy, and finally Skyler says, "If I could find you a replacement just as skilled as Walt, will you promise to leave us alone?"

9809 Margo Street. Lydia double-checks the address in her notes. The house certainly looks like it belongs to someone respectable, at least from the exterior. Gus might have lived in a house like this. It leads Lydia to believe that the owner will at least be someone more professional than Declan's thugs.

A red Ford rolls up behind Lydia's rental and comes to a stop. Skyler climbs out, which is Lydia's cue to join her. "Is he expecting us?" she asks as they both cross the street and approach the house.

"No," Skyler answers. "But that won't be a problem."

Lydia's not so sure about that. And she's proven correct thirty seconds later, when Skyler knocks at the door and there's no reply. "He's not home," Lydia sighs.

"His car's in the driveway," Skyler says. She reaches for the doorknob as a last resort, and to both their surprise, it turns and swings open.

Lydia's impression of the house drops to a negative as they step inside. The living room is filthy, clearly inhabited by someone using the very same product he's peddling. Messy and untrustworthy. From the sight of all the empty food containers, the man can't even handle caring for himself, let alone run a lab. "This is a waste of time," she snaps at Skyler. "What kind of game are you playing?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" a rough voice asks before Skyler can answer.

Lydia knows that voice. Mike's man. "Jesse?" She turns, seeking out the source, and realizes he's been slumped on the futon the whole time. At a glance, she'd mistaken him for a pile of clothes. "Good god, are you the chemist?"

Skyler shuts the front door, locking it behind her. The movement draws Jesse's attention, and he sits up to get a look at her. "Yo, I already told him I'm not gonna do it. I don't need you checking up on me for him."

"Do what?" Skyler asks, baffled.

"What?" Now Jesse's confused, too. "He didn't send you?"

"What's going on?" Lydia demands, looking between the two of them. The longer she's here, the less she wants any part of this. Jesse looks half-dead, stoned out of his mind and clearly unstable. He's no use to her and she doesn't want to look at him for another second.

Unfortunately, the question returns Jesse's attention straight to her. "Hey, you want five million dollars?"

Lydia blinks. "Excuse me?"

Jesse slaps his hand down onto the pair of duffel bags beside him. "Five million," he slurs. "Cash. It's a cash giveaway. You win the prize."

Skyler and Lydia exchange a glance, then Skyler steps forward. "What are you doing with five million dollars, Jesse? Did Walt give that to you?"

"It was supposed to be for Mike's granddaughter," Jesse rambles, and he rolls his head back to throw an accusing glare at Lydia. "Half of it, at least. You hear that, huh? It was for Mike's little granddaughter, because he's dead. Hey, you know that right? Mike's dead. Mike died. Why do you think, Lydia? Why do you think Mike's dead?"

Lydia shivers, retreating a step. "I… I never wanted that to happen. Mike and I were friends."

"Friends," Jesse echoes sardonically. "Right."

"You didn't tell me you two had a history," Skyler says to Lydia.

"You didn't tell me your cook was Jesse Pinkman!" Lydia retorts.

"I'm nobody's cook," Jesse interjects before collapsing back onto the cushions. "Go away."

Skyler takes another step toward him. "Lydia needs your help, Jesse."

"I said go away."

Skyler's gaze drops to the duffel bags. She considers them for a moment, then speaks up again, "You wanted to help that little girl. That's a very kind gesture, even though you couldn't do it."

"Leave me alone."

Skyler ignores the request. She approaches the futon until she's standing in front of it, staring down at him. "What if you could help another little girl, Jesse? I don't mean financially. If you could save her life… Would you?"

Now it's Lydia's turn, walking with cautious steps until she's standing at Skyler's side. To her surprise, Jesse's eyes are fixed on Skyler. He's clearly stirred by what she's saying. Lydia chimes in, her voice trembling, "If I don't find another cook—another chemist with the same skill level as Heisenberg—Walt's former associates are going to kill me and my daughter. Please. I'm begging you. If it's true that you can cook his formula—"

"I can't," Jesse tells her, gentler now. Regretful. "I can't do this anymore."

"Can't, or won't?" Skyler challenges him.

Jesse disregards her, speaking directly to Lydia, "We got a little boy killed. That mission you sent us on, that ocean of methylamine you sent us after… A little boy died all so we could cook some stupid crystal. I can't go on like that. I can't keep doing this. A little boy died."

The news shocks Lydia. She had no idea. She hadn't heard of any accidents, any casualties, let alone the death of a child. Her mouth drops open, then shuts again. She's speechless now.

Though equally shaken, someone has to push this forward. "A little boy died," Skyler repeats, breaking the heavy silence. "But if you do nothing, Jesse... A little girl will die, too."

The situation isn't ideal but it is, at least, an improvement. A junkie who's proven himself to be capable of cooking Heisenberg's formula is better whatever junkie is currently in Declan's employ. Tomorrow they'll leave for Phoenix and Jesse will begin tutoring Declan's men and everyone will be happy. To some measure.

Lydia kicks off her heels, downs an Ambien with a shot of vodka, and throws herself into bed. She's earned a good, long rest after the last few days.

Some twelve hours later, she's awakened by the buzzing of her cell phone on the nightstand. She isn't sure how long it's been going, and it takes her almost a full minute to roll over and answer the phone. "Hello?" she croaks groggily.

"Finally." It's Skyler. "I—Did I wake you up?"

"Yes..."

"Jesus. Look, we need to…" Skyler trails off for a moment, as if realizing something. "Don't say anything. Don't go anywhere. I'm coming to you."

"...What?"

She's hung up already.

Lydia drops her cell phone and rubs the sleep out of her eyes, then climbs out of bed. There's time for a shower before Skyler arrives, she thinks. She takes wobbling steps in the direction of the bathroom, discarding yesterday's clothes along the way.

She miscalculated her timing, because she's still in her bathrobe when Skyler begins pounding at the door. Lydia opens it with a hiss of annoyance, which fades as she comes face-to-face with a beautiful baby girl dressed in pink. "You… You brought your daughter," she mumbles, taken aback.

"I didn't know what else to do." Skyler herself looks frantic, clutching the baby to her chest as she hurries inside. Her eyes are red, as if she's been crying. "So much has happened. I… Oh, God."

So much has happened? How much could have happened while Lydia was asleep? "Okay, okay," she says, reaching to take the baby from Skyler's arms. She isn't in the habit of calming others—usually the one in need of assurance, herself—but if Skyler carries on like this, the baby's going to start wailing. "Sit down. Breathe. Do you want an Ativan?"

"No! I—" Skyler tightens her hold on the baby, turning away. "She stays with me."

"Alright." Lydia drops her hands. "But please sit down. We can't be drawing any attention to ourselves."

Thankfully, Skyler sinks onto the bed and seems to find some peace in cradling the little girl.

Lydia pulls up the vanity stool so she can take a seat directly in front of Skyler. "Tell me what happened."

"My sister just tried to kidnap my baby."

Oh, good. Family drama. This is exactly what Lydia needs right now. "Why would she do that?"

"Because she knows. About Walt, about the business, about everything." Skyler swallows, her lip trembling as she meets Lydia's eyes. "And so does her husband. Who's a DEA agent."

Suddenly this has become Lydia's concern. She sits up straighter. "Are the police on their way? Did they follow you here?"

Skyler's brow creases. "What? No, they—They drove off before I called you."

"Are you sure? How do you know?"

Skyler shakes her head, as if Lydia's asking all the wrong questions here. "They don't have any proof. They're desperate, grasping… All they have are accusations. But I'm afraid."

"Well, of course you are." Lydia had that same fear just a few months ago, when she was being scrutinized by the DEA herself.

Skyler shakes her head. "No, I'm afraid—I'm afraid of what Walt will do, when he hears about this. When he hears that I spoke with them. I'm afraid he won't believe me, that he'll think I confessed."

Lydia's eyes widen in comprehension. Yes, if it was her, she would be equally terrified. She isn't even sure if Skyler fully understands what Walt is capable of, when it comes to keeping his secrets hidden. Her eyes move to the baby in Skyler's arms and her heart sinks. This poor woman will probably be dead before nightfall.

"What should I do?" Skyler asks Lydia, as if she has any kind of clue.

Lydia's helplessly silent for a moment. This is more than she bargained for. Far more. She can't help but relate to this woman's plight, though. For all the ruthless things she's done to keep her head above water, can she really turn away a frightened woman and her child? Skyler wouldn't have come to her for help if it wasn't a last resort.

"Come with me," Lydia says at last, meeting Skyler's gaze. "I can get you out of the country."

The decision to leave Holly in the care of a stranger was difficult, but as she makes her death march to the front door of her house, Skyler's grateful that she did it. She has no idea what's waiting for her inside—whether it's a murderous husband or an army of police officers—and she doesn't think she'd be able to open the door and face it if Holly was still with her.

She can't leave without the money, though, and she certainly won't abandon her son. So Skyler takes a shaky breath and pushes the door open, stepping inside.

Walt's on her immediately, snarling before she can even see him coming, "Where were you?! I've been waiting here for hours, and nothing! No messages! No note! What the hell were you thinking? Were you thinking at all?"

Skyler recoils, back pressed to the wall as she stammers an apology. He looks wild and half-mad, his clothes caked with dirt and a layer of dust on his skin. More monster than human, without a hint of the man she married showing through the cracks. She doesn't want to ask where he's been, what he's done. She's just praying he backs away.

And he does, but only because something about the picture seems wrong, and he voices it uneasily: "Where's Holly?"

Skyler hesitates before spitting out a lie, "Marie took her. She was here, with Hank. They took her. I couldn't stop them."

"Oh God." Walt smears his hands down his face, knocking his glasses off-kilt. He turns away, pacing to the other side of the room and then back. "Of course they're holding our daughter hostage! How could I expect anything less? It's as if they're determined to tear this family apart, and nothing we say or do can change their minds about it."

"We—We'll get her back," Skyler assures him.

"You're damn right we will." Walt turns away from her again, and she notices he's teetering on his feet. Is he drunk? "Junior will be home any minute now. Think of a good story. I'm… I have to get in the shower. I…"

He takes two steps before collapsing to the floor.

Skyler shrieks, her hands clutching at her heart, and stares at his fallen body with her mouth hanging wide open. She isn't sure, at first, whether he's fainted or dropped dead—and she isn't sure which outcome she's wishing for. But as she approaches, she sees that he's still breathing. Whether it's due to alcohol or exhaustion or cancer, he's passed out and he doesn't seem to be stirring.

As soon as the shock leaves her, she gets to work, grabbing him by one arm to drag his body across the floor and to their bedroom. She can't let Flynn see Walt like this. It'll be much more difficult to convince him to leave when his father's lying unconscious on the living room floor.

Huffing and puffing, she strains until she's got Walt in bed and under blankets, then turns her concentration to packing. Most of the necessities can be purchased once they're in Europe, so she focuses on sentimental items: gifts and heirlooms and photographs, the kids' favorite toys and baby blankets. She leaves her wedding dress behind but takes the ugly purple gown she wore as a bridesmaid for Marie.

She's nearly finished with one suitcase when she hears the front door open. Shutting the bedroom door behind her, she rushes out to greet Flynn with a hug. "Oh, sweetheart!"

"Uh…" Flynn shifts uncomfortably in her arms. This isn't her typical way of saying hello. "Is everything… alright?"

Skyler draws back and grips him by the shoulders, instead. "I'll explain everything later. Right now, you need to pack your things."

"W-Why? What happened?"

"Just pack, okay?" She releases him and waves him toward his room. "We have to go. As soon as possible, okay, sweetie?"

Flynn doesn't take a single step. "Mom, you're scaring me."

"Don't be scared," Skyler tells him, losing her patience. "Just go to your room and pack your things."

"Did something happen with Dad?"

"Yes," Skyler snaps. "Something happened with Dad! Now get your things before we run out of time!"

It's the wrong thing to say. Flynn remains frozen, increasingly upset with every word. "No," he responds finally, as if she's insane to even suggest it. "No, I'm not going anywhere with you. You need to tell me what's going on."

There's no time to even begin to explain all of this. "Your father… Your father did something very bad. We need to get away before—"

"Where is he?" Flynn demands, obviously not believing a word out of his mother's mouth. "I wanna talk to him. I wanna hear what he's got to say about it."

"He's not here. Flynn, please—"

A groan from the master bedroom startles both of them, and the blood drains from Skyler's face. Walt's waking up. Flynn throws her a disgusted look, her lies now blatantly apparent, and starts to make way for their room. Skyler rushes ahead of him, running down the hall to throw the door open and grab hold of her suitcase.

"Skyler..?" Walt mumbles in confusion, half-asleep.

Skyler ignores him, dragging the suitcase out of the room. As she passes Flynn in the hall, she whispers to him, "I'll be back for you. I will. I won't leave you with him forever, I promise. I want you to know that." She presses a kiss to his cheek, then turns away.

She can hear Walt calling her name from the bedroom as she escapes through the front door.

Skyler bursts into Jesse's house without bothering to knock, shouting, "I'm here! Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Jesse calls down from upstairs. "I'm coming. Grab the bags by the door."

Turning, Skyler finds the duffel bags waiting for her. Five million dollars. They look like they're going to be heavy, and as she discovers when she reaches for one, they are incredibly heavy. She'll have to haul them out to the car one at a time.

She's just heading back to the house after her second trip when a figure stalks out of the shadows and grabs her by the wrist. Skyler raises a fist, but stops short when she's met with Hank's scowling face. "I should have known," he sneers. "Like this whole thing wasn't twisted enough already."

"Let me go," Skyler pleads, trying to yank her hand out of his grasp.

"Don't worry, Blanche. I'm not here for you." Hank frees her with a rough toss aside. "If you're not helping, just stay outta my way."

Skyler throws a hand out to stop him, but he shoves her away and barrels on into the house. Skyler reaches the doorway just in time to find him grappling with Jesse. He has the boy by the throat, dragging him down the steps into the living room while Jesse claws at his hand and gasps for air.

"Hank, stop!" Skyler screams, and leaps at him again. He doesn't even turn to look at her, swatting her away with his free hand and sending her tumbling back onto the futon.

By the time she's back on her feet, they've already vanished out the door. She runs to the end of the driveway in time to watch Hank's SUV speeding off down the road.

After a moment of hopeless staring, she wheels around and whips out her cell phone, diving into her own car while dialing Lydia's number. "They have him," she says the second Lydia picks up. Skyler starts the car and peals down the road, chasing after them.

"What?" Lydia replies over the line, bewildered. "Who has who?"

"Hank. My brother-in-law. He took Pinkman. He followed me here and took him away. I think they might be heading for the DEA."

"No," Lydia gasps. "No, no, no. You cannot let them—Oh God, Skyler, you have to stop them!"

"I will," Skyler promises, tires screeching as she yanks the wheel and turns into the next road. "I'm right on their tail."

"Who's with him? Your brother-in-law. Is there backup?"

"No." Skyler turns the wheel again. She can see the SUV up ahead, just one car between them. "He's alone."

"Good," Lydia breathes in relief. "Just get Pinkman in the car. Make him disappear. We can do this. There's a private jet waiting for us. You just need to reach us."

Skyler accelerates, tailgating the car in front of her. "If it wasn't for Walt… Hank's just so—so determined to catch him. To find something on him. Pinkman's his final hope, I know it. He's the key to capturing Walt. And there's not even a point to it all. Walt's out of the business. Doesn't Hank see that?"

Lydia listens in silence, allowing Skyler to vent her frustrations. Finally, she assures Skyler, "It's going to be alright. Just get Pinkman before the DEA does. I've got to go."

"Be ready for us," Skyler says, then hangs up and tosses the phone onto the passenger seat.

The car in front of her finally changes lanes and Skyler moves forward, directly behind Hank's SUV now. She expects Hank to attempt some evasive maneuvers—surely he's noticed her there by now—but he keeps driving on, steadily and without speeding. As if he doesn't want to attract the attention of any police along the route.

When the SUV makes a left instead of a right, Skyler sits up and takes notice. Is this finally it? Did he finally notice she's there? Is he trying to lose her? No—He's still going steady, just in the opposite direction of the DEA's office. It's almost as if—

...He's heading home. This is the direction of Hank and Marie's house.

The road curves up into the hills, and five minutes later, they're pulling up into that familiar driveway. Skyler doesn't bother to hang back, parking her Ford beside the SUV then jumping out of the car just as Hank's dragging Jesse out of his passenger side. Jesse's in handcuffs but he's still thrashing and fighting, trying to shrug Hank's hands off of him. "Get off!" he's shouting. "Get off of me!"

"Hold still and shut up, you little shit," Hank growls. He turns to glare at Skyler, not surprised to see her but not pleased about it, either. "And you—You stay back if you know what's good for you."

"This is illegal!" Skyler shouts at him.

Hank scoffs. "Oh, you're the expert, huh."

"You can't detain him in your own home," Skyler continues, more for Jesse's benefit, in case he doesn't understand the circumstances. "This is kidnapping. You don't have an arrest warrant. You haven't read him his rights."

"His door was wide open with drug paraphernalia in sight," Hank snaps back at her. He's not wrong about that. "And now he's resisting arrest and you're guilty of obstruction, so I suggest both of you calm the hell down before I get on the radio. I can have my people here in less than two minutes."

The certainty in Hank's voice—that threat in particular—is enough to make Jesse go still. But his eyes are wild, his teeth grinding as he shoots a look at Skyler. He's ready to flee at her signal.

Skyler knows they won't get very far with a fleet of patrol cars after them, however, so she seeks out any possible alternative. Which requires some negotiation. "What do you need from Jesse?" On second thought, she amends, "From us? What can we possibly do to help you?"

"I told you before," Hank answers. "I need every piece of information you can give me. Anything that could possibly point us to some solid evidence. Anything that could sway a jury to put that piece of shit in prison for good."

"And us, too," Jesse pipes up snidely. He looks at Skyler, his lip curled. "You know he's gonna use anything we give him to nail our asses, too. Hell, we won't even make it to trial. The second we're in a cell, we'll get shanked like the rest of 'em."

Hank throws a hand up. "Whoa, hey—" His assurance is mostly directed to Skyler. "Nobody's ending up in a cell. That's why we're here, at my own house. I'm not losing any more witnesses, alright? I'm gonna protect the both of you. For Christ's sake, Skyler, you're family."

Skyler purses her lips. She's not foolish enough to think Hank alone can protect her from the justice system, but she also knows that fleeing won't be an option until he's let his guard down. They'll need at least enough of a window to make it back to Lydia and Holly and the private jet.

"Alright," she agrees tersely. "Jesse and I will help you, Hank. But you have to promise to keep us here, where we'll be safe. Walt's already threatened to kill us, and he—he has men all over the APD and the DEA. No one can know we're here."

"I'm not stupid," Hank replies with a wave of his hand. "It's just me and Marie here. Pull your car into the garage and let's get our asses inside before anybody catches us standing around out here. How's that sound?"

Skyler nods, her shoulders sinking in relief.

"What about you, Pinkman? That all sound agreeable to you?"

Jesse glowers at Hank, but he's taken enough of a cue from Skyler to nod his head in concession. Whatever plan she's got, he'll go with it. "Now can you get these fucking handcuffs off of me?"

The process takes hours. Their confession tapes are filmed separately, with Jesse going first while Skyler takes a much-needed rest in the guest bedroom, and then the two of them trading places, so that neither hears what the other has to say.

Finally, when everything's wrapped up and Hank's in the process of packing up the camera, Skyler and Jesse are both allowed to sit in the living room. Marie busies herself in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the four of them in silence. She was listening in on Skyler's confession, and whether she's angry or frightened by it, Skyler can't tell. She's sure it'll come out eventually, but for now, Marie's doing a marvelous job of keeping everything bottled up.

"I'm taking this down to the office," Hank announces, holding up the bag that contains his camera and the tapes. "Gonna make some copies, find a place to keep it all safe for now."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Marie asks. The first words she's uttered since Skyler's arrival. As discreetly as she can, she nods her head in Jesse's direction.

Jesse notices despite her efforts, and he scowls in response.

"What?" Hank asks, oblivious to her attempts at concealment. "Want me to cuff him again?"

"Jesus…" Jesse mutters under his breath.

"No!" Marie chirps, laughing it off nervously. "No, no. God, of course not. He's our guest, Hank."

"Yeah, I'm not worried either." Hank throws a smile in Jesse's direction. "'cause this little shithead knows I'll shoot his balls off if he goes anywhere near my wife."

"Hank," Marie and Skyler snap simultaneously.

Jesse holds a hand up. "Look, man, I ain't going anywhere near your wife. I just wanna eat some of that lasagna over there and get some sleep. I don't even care."

"That's what I like to hear." Hank steps over to Marie and gives her a quick kiss. "It'll just be a couple hours, babe. Anything happens, just hit the panic button."

"Come back soon," Marie tells him, worry drawn across her features.

Camera bag in tow, Hank disappears out the front door and the room goes uncomfortably silent as Marie returns to the kitchen and Jesse and Skyler resume their wait for a window of opportunity.

After about fifteen minutes, it becomes apparent that Marie doesn't intend to leave the room for a single second as long as she's charged with keeping an eye on them. Skyler gets up and walks into the kitchen, approaching her sister slowly. "Marie…"

"We'll talk later," Marie brushes her off, not so much as meeting her eye. "Can't you see I'm busy here?"

Skyler shakes her head. "Marie, we need to leave."

From his place on the couch, Jesse throws an incredulous look over to Skyler. Is that her brilliant plan? Asking for permission?

The look Marie gives Skyler is equally confused. "What?"

"Jesse and I," Skyler clarifies. "If we don't leave the country tonight, Walt will kill us."

Marie tosses down her oven mitts and places her hands on her hips. "Hank would never let that happen."

"Hank isn't in a position to stop it from happening. Don't you remember? What happened to Gus Fring, what happened to Hank's witnesses in jail… Now that we've turned on him, Walt won't rest until he sees that we pay for this. You know that."

"Skyler—"

"We're leaving, Marie." Skyler nods at Jesse, a signal for him to get up out of his seat, before she returns her attention to her sister. "You can't stop us. Your only choice here is whether you want to fight about it or whether you want to say goodbye."

"But where are you going?" Marie asks, her eyes filling with tears. Skyler's right and she knows it, but it's all so sudden. On top of everything else. This wasn't how their victory over Walt was meant to play out. "How can you—? What're you going to do?"

"I'll let you know when we get there, sweetie," Skyler lies. She leans in to kiss her sister on the cheek, and Marie throws her arms around Skyler in a tight embrace.

"Be safe, okay?" she whispers in Skyler's ear.

"You, too," Skyler murmurs before drawing away. She turns to Jesse, who's already standing beside the door to the garage, and waves him on. "Let's go. We don't have long."

Out they go, leaving Marie standing in the middle of the kitchen with her half-prepared lasagna. She's frozen there for a long time, listening as the car doors shut, the garage door opens, and the Ford drives off into the night to take her sister away from her. Maybe forever, she realizes, and tears spill down her cheeks as she reaches for the counter to steady herself.

Some immeasurable number of minutes pass before she hears the screech of tires in the driveway. Thinking Skyler must have turned around, she starts running for the front door. But it's Hank who bursts into the house, fear written on his face until he catches sight of Marie and heaves a sigh of relief. He reaches out to grasp her shoulders, hissing, "Oh, thank God you're okay."

"What is it?" Marie asks, her voice raising. "What happened?"

"It's Walt." Hank cups Marie's face in his palm, staring at her with wide eyes. "He's dead."

Prague looks like something out of a fairytale, all Gothic spires and majestic bridges beneath an icy blue sky. A place like nothing Skyler ever imagined for herself. It might as well belong to another world, it's so far from the desert where she was born and raised—the desert she just fled.

Lydia's villa in the district of Střešovice is practically a miniature palace, its alabaster exterior adorned with Baroque filigree. Its wrought iron gate opens automatically to allow their limousine passage, and as they pull up in front of the entrance, Lydia and Kiira rush out to greet them.

"Dobrý den, Skyler! Jesse!" The smile on Lydia's face is more genuine than Skyler's ever seen it. She's adopted the local customs already, apparently, because she rises on her tiptoes to kiss Skyler's cheek before turning to do the same for Jesse—who doesn't quite know what to make of it, and stands there awkwardly until the moment's passed.

Lydia's final moment of affection is saved for Holly, who receives a kiss on the forehead and about two minutes of cooing before Lydia realizes everyone must be jetlagged and in desperate need of a bed. She waves them all into the grand foyer, gesturing for the driver and butler to handle the luggage.

"I'll keep the tour short," she assures Skyler and Jesse. "How was the flight? I'm sorry about the delay in Germany. If I'd know the paperwork would be such a mess—"

Skyler shakes her head, dismissing Lydia's concern. "It's fine. I'm just glad we made it."

"There was never any question you'd make it," Lydia says, the smile returning to her lips. She turns to Jesse, who looks close to dropping unconscious at any moment, and takes him gently by the arm. "Your accommodations are right this way, my master chef."

She leads them along down a powder blue corridor lined with windows, until they reach the room at the end of the hall. The interior is spartan in contrast to the ornate architecture, its furniture white and fresh and waiting for an inhabitant to give it a personal touch. The place is fancier than anything Jesse's ever seen, yet he regards it all with empty eyes and a hollow expression. He doesn't utter a single word.

"Work starts tomorrow," Lydia reminds him with a pat on the arm. "I suggest you get some rest." Her obligations met, Lydia strides right back out of the room, not wasting another moment on him.

Jesse turns his head to look at Skyler, who's still standing in the hall, and that unreadable expression on his face breaks to reveal a glimpse of dread before the door shuts and cuts off the contact between them.

They take their breakfast the following morning in the little courtyard at the center of the house. In the evening, Lydia will have to meet with her Czech associates and introduce them to their new cook. But for now, she's free to enjoy a bit of leisure, which means she still hasn't changed out of her plush lavender robe. She's lent the pink one to Skyler, and they sit mirrored across the table from each other, their tea cooling in front of them.

"It's beautiful here, isn't it?" Lydia sighs. "All thanks to your contribution, of course. And Jesse's."

"Mm," Skyler responds, distracted by Kiira playing with Holly in the corner of the garden. She's trying to show the baby how to weave a crown of flowers.

"You do like it here, don't you? I wish I'd had more time to consult you on the purchase, but the realtor—"

"It's incredible, really," Skyler reassures her, distant.

Lydia takes a delicate sip of her tea, her gaze fixed on Skyler all the while. After a long moment of silence, she asks, "Are you still thinking about him?"

"My recently deceased husband?" Skyler responds wryly. She finally returns her attention to Lydia. "I can't really help it."

With a frown, Lydia lowers her teacup back to its saucer. "I hope you understand why that had to happen."

No. It wasn't necessary. She and Jesse had already made their escape. It was the pointless murder of a man who was already dying, as futile a move as Hank's hunt had been. "Those men you hired… They could have easily killed my son, too." It bears noting.

"But they didn't," Lydia stresses, reaching across the table to lay her hand over Skyler's. "Look, I understand. You know I do. I'd never do anything to endanger your children. Your son is safer now for Walt's absence in his life. We're all safer."

"Of course," Skyler murmurs. But she doesn't feel safer. She feels like she's been transported to a multimillion-dollar minefield. Assassination was never the kind of help she was looking for. And when she offered Jesse up as a bargaining chip, she never expected to find herself being trafficked alongside him. She wasn't meant to fall back into this business.

Lydia gives Skyler's hand a gentle squeeze. "Try to enjoy this," she says, flashing an encouraging smile. There are many burdens that weigh on her shoulders, but the murder of Walter White isn't one of them. Nothing else stands in their way.

"We won."