Hm. [Chilton didn't illuminate if his reaction was one of approval or not -- he simply nodded, his lips tight while his mind marathoned the myriad connections. Chilton, of course, possessed no moral qualms over the scapegoating of this ill-fortuned homeless man; what he was considering was Walt. The panicked pressure that Walt felt at the time, the desperation, why he simply had not avoided Hank when the bruises were ripe. How Walt played the victim. The hint of boasting now. Was Walter quite used to that? Playing the victim, and boasting? Was his world a passive-aggressive hoax, and that's what stimulated his identity crisis?

Identity crisis was used loosely, in Chilton's mind, but no one could deny that Walter White presented a good many versions of himself. It was as if he were enacting the definitions of id, ego, and superego. And that id, that malignant design, the man who would ruin a stranger for the sake of saving himself -- and saving Chilton.

But why, wondered Chilton, would he include me in his calculation. As Walter had already said, he had nothing else to lose. By exposing Chilton, whatever exposure Walt would face surely was negligible. Was it just about keeping Chilton close? Was it about control, about dominance? Was Walter proving to Chilton that he could stroll into the jackal's lair?]

You want to hold session every Friday. At this time. [A beat followed. Chilton leaned over his desk, watching Walt on his couch.] That is what I find most curious.

[Not the manipulation of Hank, not the lies. Not the John Doe, not the acknowledged possibility of another homicide.

Walt's want of sessions. Because surely Walt knew that Chilton would not allow any "wasting" of his time.]

Are you opposed to medication? Being on it, I mean.