[What Chilton found unnerving was not how Walt grabbed him, not how he could thrust Chilton against a wall and pin him as he squirmed. It was not because Walt exhibited sudden, inalienable power.

It was the aftercare. The way Walt smoothed over Chilton's lapels, the gentle and soothing touch that was intended to reassure the psychiatrist that nothing was wrong. It was the proximity of those chemical hands to Chilton's dissection scar. It was the profundity of Walt's repression on current exhibition, how deeply he wanted to deny the melting rage they had both been privy to just seconds prior. It was that moment of reclaiming, of power and his own image and Chilton.

But it was only for a moment.]

You're wrong, Walter. I know too much, and that's what has you agitated. [Chilton watched as Walt stalked away, only to witness him whirl back to face him.] Your old patterns, as you call them, are your behavioral constructs. That means they describe who you are, and what motivates you.

[Chilton hadn't moved from where Walt had pushed him towards, but he did stand tall in that spot. He did pull back his shoulders.]

I'm right about all of it, about everything. I'm right about you. And I trust you're smart enough to know that, even if the cognitive dissonance you so willfully invoke is wrecking your emotional stability.