We've got nothing to prove

[magnets]

[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?"

Comments

[rigging]

Jesse laughs at that, reaching to shove at Pinkman. He's not adorable, he's manly as fuck. "Ay, I was sixteen, man, gotta start somewhere."

But he flops back down into the couch and sighs a little. Sometimes - not always, he's not always thinking about it - he misses Jon and Emmett more than anything. It's the longest he's been without seeing them.

"Jonathan. Name's Jonathan." Jesse peers up at the ceiling. "He - fuckin' saved me, later, too. When we was out of school." Does he really want to talk about that? He's not sure yet.

[magnets]

"Yeah?"

And he gets it, to an extent. Because he misses Skinny a ton, he misses Badger. Hell, he even misses Mr White, cueball jackass and all his weird-ass idiosyncracies. Doesn't matter who he's pissed at for whatever reasons back home; absence and the heart and all that bullshit. One of Jesse's hands rubs at the back of his neck as he considers asking, hems and haws over it for a good twenty seconds before he finally speaks up again.

"Mind my askin'?"

[rigging]

He thinks about it, and no, he doesn't mind. Jesse thinks if he hadn't wanted to talk about it he wouldn't have brought it up - and besides, if anybody is going to get it, it's probably Pinkman. He doesn't need to hear all the gritty details to know how bad it can get. With a sigh, Jesse picks at his sleeves, keeping his hands busy as he talks.

"I got outta school, and things were shitty," Jesse says at length. "But there were parties, right? And they had the best shit there. Stuff that makes you forget in the best way." Jesse had mentioned before the sort of drugs he'd been into. "I sunk real low. Real low, like - bottom of the barrel crackhead addicted. And Jon reached in and pulled me back out and dried me out."

Nope, still can't meet Pinkman's eyes when he says that.

[magnets]

Alright, he had a pretty good idea of what it was going to be - he doesn't know how deep it goes with Finch insofar as that area's concerned, no, and he's not about to start asking questions; it's not any of his business. He listens and he props up his knees again, folds his arms and sets them on them as Finch talks.

He can't help but think of that night in that house, after Jane- whatever. Mr. White's shoulder propped under his arm as he carried him out. He thinks of his house back in Albuquerque, gouges in the wall and watching your toes for needles and unconscious bodies strewn around the room. Yeah, he gets it. He has a pretty fucking good idea of what gets you to that level.

"Been there," he says after a long pause, rubs his hand against one of his arms and ducks his head a little to try to meet Finch's eyes. Another few beats before he speaks up again. "Lucky, though. Havin' someone to help you out like that. It ain't-" He sniffs and pinches his nose, shakes his head briefly. "Ain't easy findin' friends like that."

[rigging]

He lets Pinkman catch his gaze, solemn and quiet about it. He figured Pinkman had been there. Dealers have to start somewhere, right? And in any case, it's nice to have someone who gets it. Who understands how much easier it is to just lose yourself in it, sometimes, to get so low that you don't want to pull yourself back up.

Jesse nods at what Pinkman says, though, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "I didn't think I had a friend like that 'til he locked me in the bathroom of his apartment t'dry me out," Jesse says, half amused, rubbing at his hair in mild embarrassment. "Always wanted to return the favor, y'know? If I hadn't gotten out, I never woulda met Galen."

He glances at Pinkman. "You got friends like that?"

[magnets]

Yeah, Jesse definitely gets it, definitely knows the feeling of losing yourself, even when it's just trapped in your own fuckin' body. He's a pro at rock bottoms by now, between sleeping on the floor of an RV covered in somebody else's shit, and, well. Recently, back in Albuquerque. He didn't just hit rock bottom; he goddamn brought rock bottom to him.

His hand paws at the back of his neck, agitated as Finch talks, but it's the only sign of anything going on in his head - kind of smiles a little weakly when the guy keeps going. "Sounds like a keeper." Both of 'em, he guesses. "Bathroom floor? Seriously rough, man." But if it works, it works. And Finch is clean now, for now. He stuck with it - Jesse's not sure he could do the same.

The question gets his jaw hanging open a tick, no words coming out for a moment before he looks down at his feet and rubs more at his neck. "Totally, totally," he says in a voice that's really not the most convincing thing. "Got my boys, Badger and Skinny back home." But he hasn't seen them in days- well, longer now that he's here. Kinda misses them. He's quiet a long moment, worries at his bottom lip as he debates even saying. "Kinda- have this, uh. Well, I mean, he checked me into rehab while back, guess I was pretty-" He twists his head and squeezes at the back of his neck, worriedly. "-down."

[rigging]

Maybe it's not the most convincing thing, but Jesse is always careful not to push too hard. If he does, Pinkman takes that metaphorical two steps back, and Jesse's trying his hardest to avoid that.

His expression's softer when Pinkman says he had someone to check him into rehab. Jesse pulls his knees to his chest, peering down at Pinkman from behind them. "Yeah?" He asks, quiet. "Could be a good thing, y'know? Someone looking out for you."

[magnets]

He's quiet for a moment again, eyebrows furrowed, and it's been a while since he's hashed up any of this. His hand presses against his face, rubs into it for a good long while as he starts and aborts about a half a dozen different sentences.

"Guy ain't exactly your role model friend," he finally decides on, finger pressing into one of his eyes and pushing at the lid for a while, in debate. "I mean, he's a total- like, dick and everything, but- I don't know, M-" And he stops for a moment, like he's not sure he should actually be saying the guy's name. "Mr. White, he's always had my back and I don't see it changin'."