"we'll always be connected, no matter what. like a fucking invisible string." â @pinkman, as jesse pinkman.
there ain't no damn angel above 'em that could save him from himself, but that's a thought lucy thinks is better spent on someone living. maybe if he'd been warm-blooded, hot-headed, swarmed with the sort of life she could respect, she might tell him what she thinksâ and maybe if she was more sympathetic, empathetic, cross-hatched with the kind of peace 'n love she used to believe in, she might give him a lil' more grace. but she ain't, and he's not, and no god or monster alike could make either of 'em anything more than what they are, so she takes it for what it is. doesn't pretend that they're anything that they aren't.
he could be cryin' rivers and she'd still think the same. he's a killer. he's a monster. he's a stone-cold, blood-thirsty, vamp with a fate she can't help. no matter how she spins it, his existence depends on death. his survival relies on murder. in only a second, jesse could drain her dry. ain't no use in trying to save someone who's already past savingâ ain't her problem if his guilt eats him alive. âserves him right. the eater gets eaten, the snake swallows its own tail. same ol' story, even if it's a different playbook. everything comes back around eventually.
lucy exhales a mouthful of smoke through her teeth, and resists the urge to make a face. (truth is, the pity party he's throwin' makes her wanna hurl. even so, she's tryin' to be tactful. at least a lil' bit decent.) "alright." she says, mild, and flicks a scatter of ash to the side. her features are all screwed up like she's got somethin' to say, words kickin' in the side of her cheek like a bubble blown twice its size, but she bites it down ... for at least half a minute. "sounds self-made, t'me." a glance at him, brief. "he's dead. you'reâ" also dead, she thinks, and swallows it back. "âstill here." a beat. "move on."
