It will all be worth it, Walt. Every -- stunt you pull, every denigration I suffer at your hand. I will welcome my triumph all the more.

[It was unusual, for Chilton to speak with such thermal conviction, his aspirations in absolute parallel to his emotions on the matter. Chilton did not jerk away, nor did he flinch, when Walt touched him. He took it, like he had taken everything else this evening, with the cold comfort of Walter White's propelled arc. Submission would feed into Walt's ego, his submission specifically. Didn't that justify his sudden cowardice? Didn't that amplified any afterthought strategy behind his enjoyment of Walt's aggression?]

Did you used to think about me this much? Considering my psychological profile, goodness. [He didn't respond to that earlier provocation: something more stimulating. The words alone were enough to make one blush.] How long will you be thinking of this after we leave? Do memories still haunt you, memories of loved ones you've screwed, do those still whisper doubts in your mind? Or do I overshadow them now? Is anger that much easier for you?

[Chilton thought it was.]