slightlyoffchilt | - IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

[ Walt looked up at Chilton, surprised and mildly hopeful. So of course that asshole was going to dismiss the topic for another time. Ten thousand dollars worth of sessions -- minus whatever Chilton deemed fit for cleaning up the mess. Walt didn't even know what Chilton's rate per hour happened to be, but he was sure this was going to be his Friday evening for the foreseeable future.

Maurtia Falls, however. That was perfect. Close to the safe house, and maybe the safe house could even become a site for their sessions at some point. Walt wasn't sure he wanted Chilton to know the exact location, but it would certainly be a lot easier if he was already in the cabin when Walt decided to make his move. ]

Maurtia Falls works. Do you have a pen and paper?

[ Walt didn't wait for an answer. He looked around before getting up and taking what he needed off of Chilton's desk. He jotted down the motel name in Nonah as well as the room number their little project was put up in. And then he wrote down the number of one of his burners as well. The paper was folded and offered to Chilton. ]

You can contact me there. It's a new number considering you confiscated my old phone. And my gun. And my hat.

[ He picked up his glass again, polishing off the contents before pressing it into Chilton's hand. ]

So how many sessions does my money buy? I assume you're taking into account that it's high-risk?

[His lips pressed tightly together. Walt, by his desk, touching one of his pens without request. Chilton's controlling impulse resonated beyond the influence of people; he was a man who liked to dominate his environment, and Walt was going to remain a combustible variable regardless. Even in this small, insignificant way.

Chilton took the glass returned to him only begrudgingly.]

As many sessions as we deem necessary.

[The psychiatrist graciously chose the plural we. His intent manifested differently, of course, because while the money was a delight (Chilton habitually indulged himself with status symbols), the true trophy offered was Walter White himself. And now that Walt had committed himself to this unorthodox solution (a motel! Scandalous!) Chilton felt vindicated. Perhaps the whole exhibition of Walt dangling himself like so was simply to ensure those aforementioned loopholes: no medication, no public knowledge that Walt was indeed a patient of Chilton's. As much as "doctor-patient confidentiality" was a thing, Chilton's sharp tongue was often a loose one. Will Graham had long ago called him out on his inappropriate gossiping.

But he couldn't do that with Walter White, not if Chilton wanted to avoid Hank. His own skin was tied into the game.]

I've been wondering about that -- your hat, I mean. I have all the items collected, and the predictable burner phone and gun were unremarkable for a man of your... Tendency. But the hat? [Chilton played with the glass in his hand.] In the context of our meeting, when you clearly had ill intent, that hat was a signifier. An identity marker. Is that part of who you are, Walt, or part of what you wish to be?

[ Walter rolled his eyes after Chilton's remark. Of course. Why would Walt expect there to be a price tag on their sessions? The main reward for the psychiatrist would be satisfying his interest and as soon as that dwindled, so, too, would their meetings. But Chilton proved he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and this was what he wanted -- Walter under his grasp. Being here stopped the questions, the stalking, the chances of being cornered in a basement. It stopped Chilton from taking measures both unorthodox and within his legal rights, and also put the man in a close, observable position. This was the best move. On both of their behalves.

But the thing he needed to remember above all else was that Chilton was exceptionally skilled at reading and observing people. The mention of his hat and its significance proved this. It caught Walt off guard. The idle musings and wonderings were spot on. Walt floundered around for a proper way to answer that question, which in and of itself was probably the most telling thing. And after a few seconds of a pause, he sneered in distaste. ]

It's just a hat. God! Do you look for something of meaning in everything? I suppose next you're going to say I chose this particular jacket because I thought wearing the color blue would increase your chances of going along with this.

[ He shook his head like it was the most absurd thing in the world, even laughing it off dismissively. ]

Sometimes, Frederick, things just are. There are no reasonings or logic or hidden motives behind them.

Edited 2015-04-04 16:12 (UTC)

-- Hm. [Chilton glanced at Walt's particular jacket the moment it was mentioned, eying that shade of blue. Walter was a chemist, wasn't he? He of all people would appreciate the impact of chemical reactions, the transformations in acidity and biological effect, the compounding, and the coloring. Walter White had come here to negotiate, but with money rather than violence. He was offering a treaty, not a threat.

Perhaps blue represented the sort of person Walt remembered he could be, before guns and burner mobiles.]

I wouldn't underestimate how loquacious the subconscious is, Walter. Every minute decision is made because of motivation, because you want something on some level. How important that motivation is, well, that's what I'll determine.

[He offered a halfway smile, his left cheek pinching with that curl of lip.]

Natural events are chaotic. Human beings? We function on thoughts and desires, stimulated even at the most essential biochemical level. It was never just nature or nurture. Surely you can appreciate that.

It sounds more like you spend your time chasing dead ends and looking for things that aren't there. But if that is how you want to waste an hour of your time, then by all means.

[ Walt retorted with a dismissive sweep of his hand, ever the skeptic. Of course, Chilton did raise a good point when it came to talking about the fundamentals of biochemistry being the true determining and motivating factor in the choices people made -- but Walt, again, was skeptical. This was probably just some ploy to get him to relate, to feel at ease, or to get him defensive, even. What did Chilton know about biochemistry, anyway? ]

Now that we're here. Now that we've reached this point, I do have to ask -- why me? What was it that made you hone in on me from the beginning and never let go? What was it that made you decide on the most essential biochemical level that I was the perfect candidate to chain up and drug in your basement? Are you really that certain of your chances of being resurrected by the nanites that the risk was worth it to you?

Oh, Walt. Denial is such a -- [He leveled a glance at the other man, his smirk undeniable.] Harlot.

[It was a playful observation, and proof that Walter's skepticism couldn't get a rise out of Chilton. No foul language in this preliminary session, oh no. The psychiatrist was convinced he was right, just as he had been right about Walt's truer personality.]

You came in here practically repenting, Walter. Your first appearance on the Network. You considered the possibility that this world was hell -- and given that you aren't particularly superstitious, it was logical to suspect that your cognitive associations drew from some profound guilt. And not because you necessarily felt guilty, no.

[Chilton looked off, enjoying his own interior design. Relishing the environment, his environment, like it was a stage.]

But you knew that you should have sincerely felt that. And that disconnect inspired your minor existential crisis. Because you know, as I know, what kind of man doesn't feel guilt despite the social pressure to.

[ Walt balked; his mouth hanging open for a few seconds before he immediately became defensive. His shoulders straightening, his jaw clenching, his eyes narrowing, his fist closing. Denial is such a harlot. ]

That's not true! I'm not some kind of heartless monster. I care about things. My family. The life we built together. And any guilt I felt -- that was real. I'm not some kind of....of.... sociopath.

Everything I did. Everything. I did it for a good reason!

[ The question was, who was he trying to convince? Chilton or himself? ]

Maybe a man who locks people up and tortures them in his basement can't understand. But I'm not a monster. I'm nothing like you. I don't break people down and build them up how I want them to be. And when I'm up against someone, I don't cheat and drug them to win. I outsmart them. I earn my victories.

You don't cheat and drug people to win? You didn't push back my own sedative into my bloodstream? You hadn't done anything to Pinkman? For a man who claims he didn't recall much during our little engagement and then accuses my treatment to be something akin to torture, that sure appears to be deliberate cherry-picking. Walt.

[Chilton pulled himself up to his full height, though he wasn't going to match six feet, and flashed a sharper smile Walt's way.]

You think I'm a monster? Morality is only a relative device. But at least I am not content to tell myself little convenient arguments, to persuade myself of some fictional greater good. [Which was not true, as Chilton did that all the time. Still, he was simmering in the accusation.] At least I am comfortable with who and what I am.

And that, Walter White, is our therapeutic goal for you.

[ Walt immediately scowled. He had a feeling the reason Jesse knew about what Walt had done to him was because of Chilton. And that meant Chilton also knew -- and that made Walt suddenly paranoid. What else did he know. Did he know about Brock? Did he know it would be the catalyst that turned Jesse against him fully?

He took a step forward, grabbed a fist full of Chilton's suit and pinned him against the wall or bookcase -- whatever was closest to their proximity. ]

You don't know anything!

[ Realizing what he was doing -- how he was rising to the bait, he calmed himself down. It wouldn't do to assault the man in his own office after Walter was the one to sneak in and after he vowed to Hank he would stay away from Frederick Chilton. Walt immediately amended his behavior by letting Chilton go and smoothing his hand over the lapels of his suit. Ignore that outburst. It never happened. ]

This is why you piss me off, you know. You act like you have me all figured out -- but you don't know shit about me. If I pushed the drug back into you, it was to defend myself! You have the nerve to turn this around on me? You have the audacity to call what you did to me treatment?! You should be kissing my feet right now for not turning you in. You should be grateful that the only thing you're getting out of this is a restraining order that I don't even necessarily want to give.

[ Walt walked away from Chilton and didn't bother to let his unrestrained frustration show -- grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he paced away a few steps. ]

I wanted things to be normal here! I thought I had a second chance to live a normal life. But you had to come along and dredge up my past and make me fall into old patterns.

[ He whirled around on Chilton. ]

This is all your fault. All of it.

[ It was so much easier to cast the blame on someone other than himself. ]

[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.

[ Walt remained where he was -- glued in some sort of angry, glaring deadlock with Chilton. He wanted to hiss and spit and curse him out for the things he said. But in that moment, nothing rang more true than Chilton's words about his cognitive dissonance wrecking his emotional stability. It explained why every time he and Jesse had something normal, something nice, Walt seemed to mess it up through some form of self-sabotage -- even going as far as to shoot himself so that he could manipulate Jesse into staying and healing him. It explained why Walt immediately went to cooking meth as his coping mechanism for finding out he was cancer-free, even though he had no need for the money. It explained why even Hank took notice of something being amiss in his mental state -- because he was unstable, self-medicating with alcohol and harboring a death wish.

Walt's face crumbled in devastation at this realization and he dropped himself onto Chilton's couch -- head in hands and taking a moment to collect himself. When he spoke next, his voice was calm -- begrudgingly accepting Chilton as someone who would at least listen. Because when he tried to explain himself to Jesse, Jesse just didn't understand or accept his words. He could only see things the way he wanted to see them, never through Walt's eyes. ]

A few days ago, I tried to commit suicide. I shot myself once in the side and then in the chest. I wanted to die. No... in a way I still do. Chilton, I didn't ask for any of this. I lived and I died on my own terms back home. I was content. And then all of that was ripped from me. My life was complete. And now here I am again -- and I don't even know what I'm supposed to be. It doesn't seem fair...

[ He leaned his head back, closing his eyes. ]

It doesn't seem fair that neither Hank nor Jesse know what I do to them in the future. And I have to live, knowing at any moment it's all going to blow up in my face. Saul so graciously reminded me that they could go home and come back and that would be the end of it. I will lose everything. So how am I supposed to atone for the things I do to them when they don't even have a clue that I do those things? You're right. I am living a double life because I don't know what else to even do. One day I'll wake up and the nightmare will start, and there won't be anywhere left for me to run.

[ God, this was horrible. He was actually talking. But at the same time, maybe if Chilton understood him as much as he claimed, he could give him some parting advice. The hour had to be ending fairly soon, right? ]

Edited 2015-04-05 05:11 (UTC)

[Chilton walked over, taking the seat next to Walt -- but a cushion over, so that they weren't touching on that softly colored blue sedan. Space was a domain still acknowledged. He listened as Walt spoke, this monologue of sorrow and angst pouring out from the other man's mouth. The suicide in of itself didn't surprise him -- obviously the attempt had failed. But did Walter know it would fail? Did the man have a healing power, or had someone been around who did? Had this been a sincere attempt to die? Because "in a way I still do" is in itself discouraged to be taken literally. The way Chilton saw it:]

You wanted a variable that made sense. Death is logical. It is absolute. And dying on your own terms... That is an incredible display of power, something you must have fought for back home. [Whether Walt was fighting himself or external forces was a different matter.] Very little is going to make as much sense in this world, Walt. This... Factor of timespace. The fluid curvature of our past and future. Nonlinear concerns are going to be yet another challenge to conquer.

[Chilton leaned closer to Walt -- still respecting the space between them, still keeping his hands to himself. His gaze focused on the other man's face.]

You have to make them doubt what they will come to know. You have to make them deny what you will have done to them. The time that you've got now is crucial -- do not waste this resource on histrionic exhibitions. If you can win them over before they even realize why, that will provide to you some measure of influence.

Edited 2015-04-05 05:39 (UTC)

[ Walt listened when Chilton spoke and didn't outright dismiss his words as garbage or useless for once. That was progress, wasn't it? At least a little bit. But what Chilton was saying about the time now being crucial -- that helped to motivate him. Walter had been so focused on himself and his world going to shit that it was hard to see anything beyond that. Loathe as Walt was to admit it, Chilton was right.

He turned to face him, just so he could make eye contact and perhaps see the manipulation that he knew was there. But he couldn't. It almost seemed like genuine advice. Good advice. But what was the catch? He furrowed his brows and then looked back down at his hands. Regardless of whether or not this was a manipulative ploy on the good doctor's behalf (Walt still had to remember this man attacked and drugged him underneath this building), there was no denying that he was right. Walt had to get control of himself so he wouldn't continue to screw things up and make the ones he loved suspicious. ]

Then maybe I shouldn't be meeting with you behind Hank's back?

[ But it was just a joke. Walt wasn't going to rescind his request/offer. The brief smile that was there faded almost as quickly as it came. ]

Thank you.

[ For not being a dick, was the unspoken. Really, Walt didn't know Chilton had it in him. ]

Is this something you, yourself have experienced? People from your past or future, showing up and making everything seem so....meaningless, confusing, and uncertain?

[ There was a pause and then a probing, but curious question. ]

Are you married, Chilton? Do you have kids?

I am not married, no. And nor do I have any children.

[Nor did he like kids, really, Chilton wouldn't wander past precocious teenagers in terms of clients or company. But these questions inspired a slight tension in his shoulders -- while it wasn't unusual for patients to be inquisitive about their psychiatrists, Walter White was hardly a usual patient. This sort of ground could have been an attempt to discover similarity, to forge sympathy, but Chilton knew that Walt could detect the loneliness in Chilton's words -- and what Walt could then do with that detection, Chilton could only imagine. The psychiatrist was a confirmed bachelor, and yet he wore his golden alma mater ring on his right hand. The context whispered married to his work, and it wasn't a topic Chilton would independently revive. However, providing only silence would risk souring this budding rapport, and Chilton needed Walt to be receptive if he was going to have any access to the chemist. Influence was the higher priority, and this given information was the calculated risk.]

I was an only child, and had very few additional relatives. [Sacrificial information. Walt would hopefully be appeased by Chilton's charity.] So it was never familial ties that could haunt me, in this place. But I have experienced the reoccurring return of... Difficult individuals from Baltimore, yes. We'll say that they emphasized the uncertainty of this dimension.

But they left, eventually. Sometimes all you have to do is survive beyond their limitations -- no matter who comes here, Walt, they are still subject to those uncalibrated outcomes that we are. Porting out goes both ways, on friends and antagonists.

[ Walt didn't say anything for a while. Chilton's words were abrupt, to the point. But yes, there was an undeniable loneliness in them because in spite of how they were delivered, they painted a very clear picture of Chilton living a life alone -- surrounded only by his work and his patients, who could never really be considered true companions.

Some might have claimed Chilton deserved it -- that he brought it on himself by being so incredibly insufferable. But Walt, having gone through the process of losing everything he held dear felt an empathy he didn't want to feel. He wet his lips and looked away, bouncing a knee. ]

You seem to be good at it -- surviving.

[ Walt couldn't imagine that he was the only one who harbored a violent (and now somewhat compromised) hatred for the man sitting beside him. ]

It helps that you can't die in this world. As you so smugly reminded me during our last encounter.

[ There was an awkward pause where he felt as though he should have tossed some sort of insult at Chilton simply because they had been civilized for a few minutes too long. But instead, he gave a cryptic warning that could be every bit about himself as much as it was about something else he knew, someone else: ]

Continue to keep your guard up, Chilton. Sometimes threats aren't always from your own world...

[ He thought of Crane. He thought of the needle Crane packed away in his suitcase while promising to try it out on their mutual threat. And then he thought, he shouldn't become involved in their affair, that Chilton deserved to be writhing in some LSD-related hallucination if he was stupid enough to get caught.

Don't be stupid enough to get caught. ]

But until that money runs out and our mess blows over, you have me on your side -- should you need me. I'm not a threat anymore. There's no reason why things from here on out can't be amicable in spite of our original misunderstandings.

[ Walt finally looked at Chilton again, raising a brow in mild humor. ]

Is this the point where you call me on my bullshit like you did during our phonecall?

[ Or did he believe it this time? Because Walt does intend for this to carry on without further incident. At least for a little while...until Hank was looking the other way... ]

Oh, believe me. I know.

[Chilton thought of the beautiful, passionate Christine Stanford. She was elegant and poised and kinky -- and, as Chilton eventually discovered, highly psychopathic. Possessive and vindictive and violent, she had used Abel Gideon to torture Chilton nearly to death.

He thought of Danger, the exquisite artificial intelligence who was struggling with her newly found humanity. She had been so powerful and malleable, and the first promising subject since Gideon himself. She had tried to contain Chilton, she had succeeded in surveying his every move and heartbeat and body fluid regulation for months. Possessive, insecure, gorgeous Danger. She was the patient who had lived up to her namesake.

And then, Doctor Karla Sofen. The woman he had provoked into nearly scrambling his brains, the woman who had flown him into the Atlantic. It was a complicated relationship -- the honeymoon period came after those death threats, paradoxically. But she had some understanding of him, and he of her.

But those were just the girlfriends. Just the shortlist of off-world threats. But nothing would ever compare to one man that Chilton had allowed much too close.]

If I can survive Hannibal Lecter -- [A beat. Nostalgia had done him no favors, and now that name slipped through.]

... Anyway. You understand why I can't disregard you as a threat, Walt -- take it as a compliment. [Chilton didn't have the same hackles-raising qualms about perceived threats to contrast amicable working environments as most might. The man's profession typically allowed both to swarm together.] I agree that there's little immediate reason as to why we can't play nicely, however. I've got what I wanted [aka Walt himself.], and you have your restraining order.

Edited 2015-04-05 18:03 (UTC)

[ Walt laughed softly. Yes. They got what they wanted. And Chilton wasn't as guarded as he might have hoped. He let a name slip, and if Walt's experiences with the demon Abduxel were anything to go by -- names were a powerful thing. Walt would have to do a quick search to see if this Hannibal Lecter had been in this world. Maybe he was one of those threats Chilton had talked about simply waiting out until it worked itself out.

Or maybe Chilton had outsmarted him in some way.

Either way it was important knowledge to have. It gave him insight. The way Chilton spoke, it was as though this Hannibal Lecter was Chilton's ultimate threat. As though it gave him great pride to survive this man. Interesting indeed. Walt rose to his feet. ]

Yes, well, more than that we have our project. I look forward to hearing your first progress report.

[ Walt extended his hand -- and funny how with these two men, a handshake could be their most dangerous tool. ]

Until next time?

[Chilton glanced at that hand. He looked up at Walt, registering his awareness of Walt's unspoken point with the curl of a sneer before grasping the chemist's palm for a firmer-than-usual shake. It was brief and forceful, and when Chilton disengaged he stuffed his own hand right back into his trouser pocket.]

People out to be busy this weekend, what with the usual holiday festivities. Few will even have the chance to notice the scurry of our project.

[Of course, this was before Will invited him to that cozy Easter dinner.]

Next Friday we'll meet at the motel, then.

[ If Chilton wanted to play that game, Walt matched him grip for grip -- tense and terse. They separated without incident. No power use here. Chilton didn't know the extent of what Walt could do with his hands, even if he did know that something could be done with them. Walt wanted to keep it that way for a while.

But after the reminder of Easter being right around the corner, Walt frowned. ]

That's right. It's a holiday this weekend.

[ Which reminded him of Skyler and reminded him of Junior and god, Holly would look so beautiful in her little easter dress. He shoved his hand in his pocket and swept his gaze around the office one final time. ]

It's a shame. I think I could've gotten used to meeting here. [ He moved toward the door, tapping one of the picture frames idly. ] It's definitely preferable to the bloody cage. More inviting.

[ He looked at Chilton one final time. ]

You'll bring my things with you to the motel, won't you? [ Especially the hat. ]

I'm not your secretary.

[But Chilton would nevertheless return the pork pie hat, for sure. He wanted Walt to wear that, if it was an extension of his darker self. The article was therapeutic, and easily justified. The burner phone he could return, as well. It had been otherwise untouched, since the traceable battery was removed down in the depths of his hospital basement. But the gun...]

How many firearms do you have, Walt? I imagine that one hadn't been registered to your name.

No need to be like that. It's just a simple request.

[ Walt said lightly. He was actually in a relatively good mood. This had gone well. ]

I just had the one. And it was a gift. I would really rather it's returned to me. I don't take and play with your things.

Are you referring to me having needed to subdue you, or are you insinuating something else?

[Chilton wasn't above suggestion, obviously, but nor was he above the suggestive. That commentary came accompanied with a wink.]

I'll return it to you, don't you worry. It'll be in the same condition as it was, since I've last played with it.

[Minus the ammunition. Chilton wasn't about to give a loaded gun back to his patient Walter White.]

[ What the hell was Chilton implying here? Walt gave him a disgusted look and shook his head. That didn't even deserve a response. ]

It better be.

[ He remained rooted where he was, taking Chilton in and observing him -- every irritating expression he made. ]

I can trust you to keep all of this between us, can't I? I might not be your patient in the official sense of the word, but there is an unspoken agreement that, that money buys.

[ He gestured toward the stack of cash on Chilton's desk. ]

You are most certainly my patient, Walt. I never mind a little unorthodoxy in my psychiatry.

[As if that wasn't a chilling enough concept. Chilton glanced at the money as Walt referenced it, almost blasé at the sight of that impressive stack.]

I'll make myself clear now: it isn't the money that's keeping our plan confidential.

[It was the fact that he could analyze Walt to his own specific whimsy.]

[ With a roll of his eyes, Walt gave Chilton his best deadpan: ]

Of course it isn't.

[ His eyebrows raised. ]

But I think you're going to find I'm not nearly as interesting as you hope.

(no subject)

slightlyoffchilt - 2015-04-06 23:35 (UTC) - Expand