Running around in circles. That's all Finch has been doing lately, running around in circles. He makes a frustrated noise when Pinkman finishes with what he does and runs his hands through his hair. It's getting too long, unkempt. He should get someone to cut it. He should shave. His head's a basket of scrambled eggs and all he wants is to empty it out.

"Then what?" Jesse asks, near-angrily. "What, you're gonna shoot him? How is that gonna help? No, I mean - really. You shoot him, y'have to be the one who shoots him. D'you wanna be that person?" But he's not done. "And then - and then he dies. He comes back. Goes through the same thing I did. Now y'got two miserable fucks who jump at their own goddamn shadow. What good's that gonna do anybody?"

It doesn't sit right, but there's no answers. "There's nothing. I don't wanna see you kill someone and I don't wanna see him dead. So fucking don't."