Don't get upset. [He smiled a little bit, like an asshole. It was a gentle chide, a calm parent to an irate child, and purposely a condescending reflection of something Dr. Chilton had said to him earlier.] All I'm saying is that I'm going to need some sort of insurance on this friendship of ours. Some proof that I'm not throwing my talents and assets into some void that will never provide return for me, or worse, will backstab me. You're too opaque, Chilton, while Walt might as well have been tissue paper, his motivations were writ so boldly beneath his skin.

But, well. [He swings his little knife around by the handle, smiling more openly now.]

There's is a way I could read your motivations.