[ Something about the way Chilton says that is unsettling -- as though Chilton is assuring him he has some hidden insight into the ways of people that only Chilton could understand and fathom. It almost seems like a promise that no matter how hard Walt tries to hide the blood on his hands, Chilton is going to see it. How accurate any of this is, is anyone's guess. And maybe it's the alcohol that's causing his mind to travel down these paranoid routes, but Walt suddenly decides the less contact he has with this Dr. Chilton, the better. Better safe than sorry. Especially when powers are involved.

His hands are shaking so much that he drops the communicator. Walt is tempted to leave it there; to walk away and blame his drunken state of mind. 'Sorry, Dr. Chilton. I completely forgot we were having a conversation. You can't take the ramblings of a drunk man very seriously after all -- ha ha ha.' But no. He has to face this like a man. He can figure a way out of it, drunk or not. He spent the past couple years figuring his way out of things that should have been life threatening.

Walt bends down, scooping the communicator up in his hands as he gets out of the chair and makes an attempt to walk into the kitchen. ]

Sorry about that. My motor skills seem to be impaired.

[ He manages to get to the kitchen and starts rummaging around in the fridge. There has to be more wine somewhere, right? ]

I would be more than willing to offer you my opinion on these matters. In spite of my skepticism when it comes to psychiatrists, I do have a fascination for psychology and neuroscience. The mind is an incredible organ, and as a chemist, I find it incredible that everything we think, feel and remember is dictated by a set of chemicals and neurological pathways. Perhaps we can combine our backgrounds and have some fascinating conversations over lunch sometime?

[ And Walt will conveniently be busy every time they try to actually make plans... ]