maskormenace | [03] Video

[03] Video

[ The video feed starts with Walt in a room in his Heropa home, an open box on the bed filled with Kaylee's things -- coveralls neatly folded and tucked inside, wrenches and other tools laid delicately on top...the whole process seems exceedingly painful for him as with each item he pulls out of the closet, the efforts become slow and labored. ]

I don't know who knew Kaylee Frye. If you didn't, you should have. I've never met anyone so genuinely cheerful and kind. She was the sunshine in this dark, cloudy world.

[ There's a very sad, forlorn smile. This feels more like a funeral, like saying goodbye to someone who passed away. And in some cases it's worse -- them vanishing to another universe, never to remember their time here, never to be seen again. ]

She helped me when she didn't have to. She cared when she shouldn't have. She took care of me when I couldn't take care of myself. And what did she expect in return? Nothing.

[ With a long pause, it's very clear Walt is trying to maintain his composure. A breath in and a breath out. ]

I hoped I was wrong. I hoped to god I was wrong. That her disappearance was only temporary. But it's been a few weeks, and there's been no sign of her returning. I will miss her. Every day I will miss her. I already do.

This world -- it's done nothing but take things away. From me. From everyone else. Can you honestly say you've gained anything from being here?

[ Walt goes to reach into the closet for one of the final items and his hand twitches back. The sadness in the lines of his face increases as he pulls out a wrapped present -- a card reading: To Mr. White.

That's when Walt can't hold it back anymore. He sits on the edge of the bed, pulls the square-shaped present to his chest and cries. ]

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[ His breath hitched in slight surprise and he looked up from his misery toward Chilton. Because that's not really a face he expected to see so soon.

And then he looked away. ]

Chilton.

[ So what now? Well, obviously acting as though nothing was wrong, that's what. ]

She was...

She was everything I imagined Holly would be. If I ever got to see her grow up.

Better to have had the chance of her acquaintance then, wasn't it? [Only the following day, in fact -- Chilton was resilient. He could be patient. But most of all, he was opportunistic, and if Walt was emotionally vulnerable now...]

You know that someone in their respective world has met your expectations. And while she is no longer here -- [He didn't need to inquire when the Port-Out happened; these all had the same tenor of despair.] -- You retain that idea of her. That abstract connection.

Your connections are so vital.

[Especially the psychiatric ones.]

[ Walt hated that Chilton was talking to him. And he hated that he was giving sound advice. And he hated that there was any form of comfort at all in his words. This same pattern, this game they played for dominance and control. Chilton rebounded stronger than ever -- and not with vicious cruelty Walt would expect. No. With a gentle understanding tenor meant to soothe.

Walt still didn't look at the camera. ]

Why are you talking to me, Chilton? It's not like you talked to Crane...

[ And wasn't Walt's attack worse? A betrayal of their relationship and their coveted session timeslot, a betrayal of Chilton's trust. Not that there was much by way of trust between them, but Walt had never truly retaliated before. Not the way he had the night prior.

And it was sick, wasn't it? It revealed things about Walt that he didn't know he housed. Letting Chilton's life dangle on the thread of his touch, becoming his poisoner and his lifeline. Murder? That was simple. What Walt did was beyond murder. And what sort of monster had this world turned him into?

Moreover, what sort of monster had Chilton made him? ]

Crane and I didn't have time to form history. Meaning. He was much too... Overeager.

[There was no loss, in cutting Crane loose; Chilton hadn't the chance to make investment. And it wasn't like Chilton was unaware of how he courted psychopaths and sociopaths. One needed to be selective in one's pursuits. While Chilton proved nimble and death-defying before his psychotic selection, he wasn't immortal. Why take on a high rising risk at a low value outcome?

Crane was no Hannibal Lecter. He was no Walter White.]

But you and I? We have a connection. We have that abstract idea between us.

[What sort of monster was Chilton making out of Walt? Aggressive, strategic tactics demonstrated the evening prior, that was progress. That was provocation. That would provide significant material for the case study book that Chilton was already writing.

He just had to copyright the title.]

And what a connection it is.

[ Walt shook his head with some sort of sad irony. ]

I still can't decide whether to hate you or...

[ Care about you. Unspoken. Awkward. Walt fidgeted with his hands uncomfortably. ]

I suppose you're going to call last night a breakthrough. Isn't that the title you've given all our altercations so far?

How many other connections do you have, Walt? Of significance? How many others, besides me?

[Although unspoken, Chilton deciphered what Walt intended with those trailed and evaporated words.]

Well, I wouldn't say you were regressing. But you're not the time to move backwards -- always forward, always to your greater goal.

You know, Chilton. I'm not sure whether you're trying to help me or confuse me. But I have to admit, I've never felt more unstable than when I'm under your care.

Is that your goal? Should I write that down as a testimony? Frederick Chilton, so great he inspires his patients to tear him down and put him back together again.

[ As Walt said it, a sort of horrifying realization reached his voice and his face. It was meant to be a call to Abel Gideon. But while Walt might not have cut Chilton open and harvested his organs, wasn't what he did in essence the same thing? ]

[Whether Crane was capable of realizing it for himself or not, Chilton did know the difference between calculated risk and gambling. Anyone with eyes, a sufficient brain, and awareness of the situation could analyze Chilton’s behavior as high risk with only worthy outcome — every step he measured was part of an equation. Walt understood that. Abduxel understood that. That’s why the stakes soared with their involvement, and Chilton was not about to allow either an edge out.

And sometimes dulling the cut of an edge took a little sacrifice of flesh.]

There's no turning back, now. You are actualizing your full potential.

[A halfway confession. Chilton observed that reaction in Walt, and analyzed it. He knew an eruption was coming. He calculated the risk, knowing full well that a breakdown now would mean a breakthrough later.]

You are important.

No. No. No!

[ Walt shook his head adamantly in protest, trying to deny Chilton's words and not hear them for himself. He tried so hard to not let them get in, to not take them seriously. ]

I can stop it. I can change it. The damage you did to me -- that's not how I do things. It's not. It's not the man I am.

[ Walt desperately lifted the father's day gift, still wrapped. ]

This is the man I am. The one Kaylee cared about. The one who worked on cars with her or watched stupid tv programs with her. The pharmacist. The school teacher. The man who deserves this present.

How you made me move, Chilton...

That's...

[ Horrifying. ]

Yes. I made you move. I didn't provoke anything that wasn't already there, Walt.

[Not many of Chilton's patients fit these specific and highly desirable personality defects. There was a range Chilton was willing to work with, but the fact remained: Walter White was combustible. The ignition was there, and now it was sparked. What Chilton needed to coax was that cool-headed calculation that Walt had proven artfully capable of only yesterday. That was a truly psychopathic chill -- Walt's fury was too human, too sympathetic. It was a perfect demolishing point.

Abel had been angry, too. He had been molten with fury. But he was always in control of it, always composed, always precise -- and that was the phase two. Chilton would guide Walt into that control.]

I speak to something already inside of you.

[ Walter, still in denial, shook his head adamantly. ]

It's not inside of me. It was extreme measures! I needed you vulnerable. I needed to knock you down. For one goddamn second, I needed you to admit what you would never admit otherwise. That you need me. Because it was always 'you need me, Walt. You can't do this without me. We made such progress. I'm helping you.'

And that's bullshit! What we have isn't just a one way street. What we had, I mean.

[ Walt scowled. It was so easy to catch himself talking in the present tense because while what he didn't think he and Chilton would ever interact again after what he did -- here the man was, talking to him right the next day, falling into similar patterns. It was so easy to forget that this was supposed to be over. ]

What the hell do I have to do to you to make you go away? Maybe the mistake was letting you live.

You don't believe that. [His words were a coil, and insidious curl. Chilton knew of Walt's impulses, how he thought he could secure an exit -- but Walt was mistaken.

Chilton still had Lucifer to rely upon, if necessary. And that fact proved reassuring, it could afford Chilton a quiet confidence.]

Death wouldn't be enough for you now. Killing me isn't good enough -- do you remember? What you told me? How you had considered holding me captive, desolate and suffering, endlessly?

That's what you believe in, Walter.

Because you're giving me little by way of other options. You're forcing my hand.

[ His hand was rubbing at his face now, trying to claw away all the frustration if he could. ]

And death in this world is meaningless. If we were home, I would have shot you and been done with it.

But you're not home. Your reality is fastened to this universe, complete with these rules of engagement.

[His voice is quiet, soft. Even tender.] You wanted unique meaning, you require to be held in singular esteem. I've done that for you, and you are well aware.

I'm never fastened to any rules. The game we play obviously doesn't work if you're the target.

So maybe then, the real target should be myself. I remove myself from the situation. Permanently. And you lose. Every ounce of progress, every minute you invested into me -- gone. Erased. Meaningless. And I go back to what I wanted, what I've always wanted. Well beyond 'unique meaning' and being 'held in singular esteem.'

Death.

You won't die here, Walt.

[He says with such iron-enriched conviction -- but even Chilton can't be sure. Two people from his own universe had seemingly died, and while that was a statistically small number, Chilton felt unease. Those were two people important to him.

Just as Walt was important to him.]

You can't. You don't deserve it, not after what you've done to so many people. This is your punishment -- without reprieve. This is your purgatory.

[ Chilton's assurance. Chilton's conviction only serve to make Walt want to do it more. To call that bluff. To put the threat of loss into him. He set Kaylee's items down, took his communicator and walked to his room. Slow. Casual. And then he reached into his drawer to pull out a gun, pressing the cold barrel against his temple. ]

Wanna find out. I might not be your feces smearing patient, but I can paint the walls with my blood pretty good from one shot. And that would be all over your hands.

[The blood drops from Chilton's face -- it's a dramatic ploy, a bluff that Chilton would normally sneeringly call. But not with Walt. Not with the man whose emotional volatility was irreconcilable. Not when Chilton thought there was a sixty percent chance Walt would pull that trigger.]

No. Walt, no.

Think of Jesse, for god's sake.

[ Chilton's words did cause a momentary fall in his resolve -- the briefest of considerations. And for one shining moment, it seemed as though he was going to listen to reason. His grip on the gun loosened, his arm almost slackening.

He looked at Chilton, long and unmoving. His face showcased all of the sadness, all of the regret and remorse for things that he did -- both to Chilton and to the other people he cared about.

Walt closed his eyes and remembered standing in a position like Chilton, watching as Jack pressed the gun to Hank's head. It would be poetic justice. To end this same way. ]

You're the smartest guy I ever met...

[ Walt began, reopening his eyes to look at Chilton -- the words having double meaning. ]

And you're too stupid to see...

[ His grip tightened. As did his resolve. ]

I made up my mind ten minutes ago.

[ BANG!! It all happened too quick. The drop of the communicator at the sound. The fall of Walt's body, feed picking up the angle of Walter White's bloodied, unmoving fingers before it cut. ]

Edited (giving the appropriate warning x)) 2015-07-05 20:57 (UTC)

[He gasps -- it sounded so real. It looked so real. The authenticity of the shot, that undeniable gunfire -- it was genuine. The blood, the collapse. The cold horror of a soundless loop.

Walt wasn't speaking. Walt wasn't moving, and for all that Chilton could see in this angled video Walt was not breathing.

Chilton did what his instinct commanded: he cut the feed. He took three, four deep and deliberate breaths. And he called Will Graham.]

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[03] Video

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private. CW: implied suicide but it's just a fakeout because Chilton sux

CW: implied suicide but it's just a fakeout because Chilton IS GREAT!!