kore_logs | We've got nothing to prove

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We've got nothing to prove

[WHO:] Jesse Pinkman and Kenzi (guest starring Jesse Finch!)
[WHERE:] House 20
[WHEN:] Day 75
[WHAT:] Jesse's got something to do and there's a tiny goth bulldog in his way.
[NOTES:] idk warning for pinkman in general

So - whatever. So maybe Jesse didn't do apologies that often. He had more than enough to do it for, but not exactly so many people that they mattered for. He was out of practice, and talking to Finch wasn't like winding his mother down back in the day or some junk. Felt important, felt like- it wasn't a given thing.

He feels squeamish when he's standing outside, fingers pinching nervously at his lip as he stares down the door and doesn't get to knocking yet. Maybe he should have called first. But he's already here, right? House 20, he's pretty sure, and there's no backing down now. "Quit bein' such a pussy," he mutters to himself, reaches up and beats against the door with the heel of his hand rather than his knuckles proper.

"Yo, anyone home?"

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He should totally feel accomplished. Passing the trials of awesomeness isn't for the faint of heart! Or dweebs. It's not for dweebs. Dweebs need not apply.

She appreciates the way he cut himself off. She knows she pushes buttons and it probably took a lot of restraint, but she also legitimately feels like it is her business which is half the problem most of the time. But it's not like it's malicious or out spite or anything, her intentions are good.

"Hey, I bet you anything I've messed up with him way worse than you and he still forgave me, so... I mean-- just don' sweat it, dude. He's a pretty forgiving guy for such a stubborn jerkwad." She smiles, resting her arm across the back of the couch and tilting her head. Seriously, Jesse, don't freak. "Real friends fight sometimes, so just think of this as a sign that you're doing it right!" Stay positive!

The pep talk definitely isn't a bad thing. It kind of makes him wrinkle his nose a little, almost doubtfully. He doesn't do too much right lately. It's nice to hear, even if it's from a borderline stranger.

"Yeah?" he says at first, a hopeful little thing as he looks back at her, rubbing his hands together in a fashion that's bordering on nervous. Of course, it doesn't last long; his face kinda sets into an expression that's less soft, more machismo as he waves a hand passively, his knee bouncing up and down as he does so.

"I mean, he's like a little bitch if he doesn't," he adds. "Wasn't even that bad." Yeah. And that's why he's here the next day looking to apologize or something along the same lines.

... Kenzi would like to reply, really, she would. But right now, she's too busy wrapping her arms around her stomach, all doubled over with laughter. Give her a minute. Oh my god. Okay... okay, she can breathe again.

She claps a hand on Pinkman's shoulder, just grinning. "Do not call him that to his face. He probably won't ever forgive you. Holy heck, you're my hero." And honestly, it probably WASN'T even that bad. Really. Definitely not as bad as vampire/werewolf fights. Certainly not as bad as MURDERING HIM! Nah, he's probably fine.

"And hey, if he does end up being a little bitch, we can just find you a new boy-crush! Wait-- ... manfriend." So much better. Yeah, she's smirking. She's doing it on purpose.

What's- going on, for a moment she's laughing and he almost looks confused, didn't think what he said was too funny. But he breaks into a half a proud smile when her hand lands on his shoulder, gives a shrug and claps his hands onto his knees. "Only if he's legit bein' a little bitch!" he admits, way more confidence than he's actually feeling.

Come on, boy-crush, and he opens his mouth like he's going to protest, but she's correcting herself before he can. Shuts his mouth, the grumble apparent on his face. "Uh-huh." Cuz that's going to happen. "Maybe we oughta host auditions."

"I would totally volunteer if it wasn't for my complete and utter lack of a dong. The second I grow some manbits, put me on the bff short list. Deal?" And since he passed every test with flying colours, handled every bit of attitude she threw at him, and she's pretty sure he'snot carrying a weapon... he earned a shot at making it right with his actual bff.

Kenzi stands up on the cushion and climbs over the couch, heading for the stairs. "Wait here! Brb. Don't go anywhere, okay? I'll go get him." Because friendship is important! And this is probably going to be adorable. Just give her some time, Pinkman, climbing on a roof is freaking difficult in these boots.

After what was probably a lot of sad, pouty faces, pleases, recaps of epic star wars references and some arm punches, Kenzi returns with the other Jesse. And maybe even nudges him towards the couch a little. And watches with her hands clasped under her chin and an excited expression on her face. Privacy? What privacy?

He is just the tiniest bit grumpy when he comes down from the roof. He had a weird day yesterday and woke up with that stupid anxiety back in his chest, so he's not all that great. But Kenzi has a way of getting him down, and while he doesn't exactly look happy, at least he's here. Jesse shoves his hands in his pockets and stands next to the couch, refusing to sit.

"Ay." Jesse grouches at Pinkman, glancing at Kenzi. Aw, come on, ladyface, you have to give the men time to have boytalk.

Jesse stands as soon as Kenzi comes back, the other Jesse in tow. His fingers are picking at his jeans again, restless as he regards Finch with a nod. "Sup." And then, with a half a hand gesture to Kenzi, "Thanks."

But then Finch isn't the only one looking at Kenzi. Once he's done letting his eyes flicker guiltily from Finch and the floor and back, Jesse's skritching a hand over his head, rubbing semi-nervous fingers into his scalp. "You, uh," he starts, eyes narrowing a little in question. She hasn't ducked out of the room yet, and he's really not sure why he was expecting that in the first place, way she was. "You gonna watch or what?"

There is a joke here... and she opens her mouth to say so-- but it could ruin the potential for manly forgiveness and hopefully hugs or something, so she promptly shuts her mouth shut on that front.

But don't think she's leaving quietly! Gotta get the exaggerated eyerolling in there and a big, huffy sigh, and maybe one pleading pout to see if they'll let her-- nope. No dice. Okay fine. "I'm going! I'm going. Holy crap. Don't blame me when you're kicking yourselves later for not using my epic moderating skills. I've watched a lot of trashy, daytime talk shows." So there. She points to both of her eyes with one hand before pointing back at the two men a few times as she disappears into the kitchen.

Good luck. And you're welcome!

As always, he's amused by Kenzi, no matter how grumpy he is. She gets up and he reaches to pinch her as she passes, making a face at her as she goes. He knows she's going to probably listen, but whatever. This is fine. Whatever Pinkman wants to talk about, he'll listen, even if he's still bitchy about what went down between them. It has to be important enough if Pinkman was willing to sit through Kenzi's interrogation.

Sniff. Jesse rubs at his nose, and sits on the arm of the couch, glancing at Pinkman. What did you want, huh?

He owes her a beer or something. She got him down and everything, and the guy doesn't look the happiest about being here. Maybe it was too soon or something. Should've let it cool a couple of days. Too late for that shit now.

Jesse keeps standing, his hoodie sleeves shifting over his fingers as he threads them together a few times and picks at his nails, and he's all but pacing back and forth, not really thinking about the idea if Kenzi is listening in on them or not. "So, um," he starts lamely, gestures vaguely at Finch before nothing else really makes its way out. The air goes stale for a moment or two before all that pent up energy comes out in one fell swoop.

"Look, I was bein' a real dick, alright?" he starts off instead, spreads his arms wide for a beat before they fall by his sides again, starts pacing a few steps back and forth as he keeps the momentum going. "All that crap I was sayin' back there, about like the, the- kickin' puppies or whatever the hell else crap I was spewin', I was just spewin', man, alright? Ya asked and I started talkin' and shit got outta hand and," he looks back to Finch, points a hand to him again, "and-and, I mean, I prob'ly said some shit that shouldn't'a gone down."

He stops walking, the nervous energy back as he threads his fingers together again, shifts from foot to foot in his place. "Prob'ly."

Honestly, all Jesse actually needs is for Pinkman to say that he was being a dick. Because that alone means, for Jesse, that Pinkman knows he was an asshole. Which is fine, because Jesse probably was too. So the rest of it? The rant just gets a slow-forming smile out of Jesse, and he lets Pinkman go until he runs out of steam. Maybe it's mean, but whatever. After a moment of just watching Pinkman, Jesse speaks up.

"So yer done acting like a five year old, I see." Aw, come on, Finch, you're going to scare him off from actually apologizing.

At once, Jesse's shoulders slump, his head tilts back towards the ceiling. "Come on," he says in a voice that's practically a whine, and when he does he really does sound like a five year old. "I'm, like, tryin' to say somethin' here, man." Trying to grate out some attempted apology that's masquerading as anything but an apology, yet still sounding like an apology in the process.

The heel of his hand rubs furiously into one of his eyes as he looks back down at the floor instead. "I mean, I could just leave or somethin'-" He gestures to the door when he says it, but the threat's only a thin veil over the rest of everything else, some high strung nerves mixed with some actual sincerity in there somewhere.

Aw, no, Pinkman. Jesse laughs a little and shakes his head, reaching out with one hand almost instinctively. "No - no, don't leave, c'mon, I'm kidding."

He slides off the arm of the couch, putting himself on a lower level. Look, don't feel intimidated or anything. Jesse rests his elbow on his knee, chin in his palm, and gestures with his free hand. "What're you trying t'say? I'm listening." And it's not in an expectant way. He really is just actually listening, so say whatever you want, Pinkman.

There's a long pause, where Jesse just picks at his nails again, seemingly enamored by the action rather than Finch sitting on the couch across from him. He's still, for a moment, and he chews at his lip in debate. "Look, I ain't- okay," he finally lets out, haltingly, a belated admittance that he should have probably said yesterday instead of now. "But that don't-"

He sighs and drops his hands again, sets a look on Finch with a newfound confidence. "I shouldn't'a picked a fight," and he ticks off on his fingers, "it ain't what I meant, I'm here now, and I'm, like." The 'sorry' doesn't quite make it out; he just waves a hand at Finch again. "You know?"

Hey, that's alright. The sorry doesn't make it out, but Jesse of all people knows how hard it can be to properly apologize to anybody. So he gets it and he'll take it, the fact that Pinkman says he shouldn't have picked a fight. Jesse waves his hand a little and gives Pinkman a smile, genuine.

"S'alright," Jesse tells him. "I get it. We're good, man, I ain't all that mad at you." He's mad at your self esteem! There's a difference.

Jesse's just about to open his mouth again, let out some other stream of apologetic bullshit that dances around the subject, never quite makes it there, but then Finch speaks and Jesse just- raises a hesitant hand, gestures towards him again and sits back on his heels. He's smiling. That's a good sign.

"We're, uh. We're cool?"

Jesse makes a face at Pinkman, amused. "We're cool."

A beat. "Just wanted t'help, that's all." He shifts, and glances down at his feet. He's not very good at that. Maybe he should stop trying.

"It's-"

For a moment, Jesse's expression is about as certain as Finch probably feels right now, never was very good at his poker faces. A few abandoned pep talks start and die in his mouth, and he waves a hand towards Finch about as many times. He finally decides on what he's doing with a crouch down, gets more to Finch's level than the one he's at now, his arms dangling over his knees.

"Ya help," he finally decides on, "ya know, as much as anyone lets you." Which, on Jesse's side, really isn't a lot, and he's not even sure what to do with what he's been given, not yet. "Yo, chin up. It's all good, man."

Nobody lets him, is the thing, but Jesse gets what Pinkman's saying. He sighs, and reaches to put his hand on Pinkman's face so he can shove at it a little, playful. Whatever, it's fine, they're fine, and Jesse swallows the serious things he wants to say (look, I've got your back, okay, you don't have to take all of this on your own, you could talk to me if you wanted) in favor of jokes.

"Yeah, well, everybody else is a fat fucking roadblock." He sniffs in amusement and looks at Pinkman. "We done being gay at each other?" Jesse.

And he knows it doesn't end there, he's not an idiot, but Finch pushes at his face before he can say anything else and he actually laughs a little, claps a hand at Finch's own as he leans back and almost falls over onto his ass - does, actually, sits cross-legged for a moment like he meant to do it; his hands sit in his lap.

"Yeah, yeah," he replies, could realize how much of a roadblock he is on his own, really, but instead he's just flicking at Finch's nose and starting to push himself to his feet again. "Don'tcha got, like, some dicks ta suck somewhere or somethin'? Jesus."

It makes him laugh again, anyway, and for right now? It's okay. Making another face at Pinkman, he watches as the other Jesse stands up. And because he's an asshole who can't resist: "Yeah, actually - I could start with yours, if y'want." Don't play with fire if you don't want to have homoerotic comments thrown at you, Pinkman.

Oh, for goodness' sake -

It's like a competition now, his need to win outweighing his discomfort with that situation as he just grabs a full handful of his crotch and squeezes for emphasis. "Yeah, yeah, well, just dive right on in, bitch," he jeers as he takes a step or two back.

Okay, okay, you win, Pinkman. You're not even his type. Jesse cackles, flopping back against the couch. "Nah, nah, I'll pass. I remember, you like the vagina." See, he remembers these things, isn't he a good friend. And now for some self deprecating humor! The best kind. He sticks out his tongue. "Better not hang with me too long or you'll get gay cooties, man."

"Should I start wearin' a mask?" he shoots right back, waves a hand in Finch's direction before both of his hands slip into his jean pockets, his shoulders shrugging emphatically. "Oughta get my shots if I'm gonna be hangin' out with you more." He leans in a little for emphasis, raises his eyebrows. "'S a lotta homo ta contend with."

"Damn right it's a lotta homo to contend with. Best homo you'll ever meet," Jesse hums, stretching. This whole thing he's been through several million times - usually without the jokey, friendly tone. "Don't worry 'bout the shots, you ain't my type." Neyeeeeeh.

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