I'm not. I'm -- not going to -- ohgod. [Chilton blinked -- metaphorically. He had stared down Walt, coaxed the other man to stare right back, and he had been the first to blink. The friction beneath the counter top tightened, and his reaction was to stiffen. His breath was ruptured, his focus wavering, and Chilton was beginning to panic. Walter spoke with such conviction. He not only truly believed the rhetoric, he weaponized it.]

Please. Walt. Please understand. That. I'm not Pinkman, I can't be leashed in the same manner you had done to Pinkman.

[Every word took monumental concentration. Chilton's shallow breathing was rapid and his eyes dilated. He didn't know what to do precisely, but talking had never failed him before. Speech was control, persuasion was victory.]

You want respect from me? You've already had it.

[His hands moved now, since Walt was close enough -- one slipped over Walt's nearest shoulder, the other to that corresponding bicep.]

But I cannot deliver anything more until you deliver results.

[Even while practically pinned in place, Chilton sought control through manipulation. Creating and if and then dilemma, he thought, would surely capture Walt's attention. That was the trick to wanting, as Chilton knew quite well: always keep whatever was desired in baited proximity.]

You're not content with owning one man, are -- are you? [Chilton closed his eyes, his throat drying. His very veins screamed for release.] You deserve so much beyond the singular.