slightlyoffchilt | - IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

Arguable, your claim about my firsthand knowledge about Pinkman. But you -- oh, Walt, no. I understand you intimately.

[The word was practically licked as Chilton tasted his own teeth.]

But while I understand you, I can humor your defensive nature. I don't envy what you've made Pinkman into, no. [Made into, forged. Chilton was still convinced that Jesse Pinkman was corroded and branded by Walter White's hand. What was an undisturbed metal was now a chemical alloy, reborn in the burning flame of Walter's megalomania.]

But that doesn't mean I won't engage you on my own terms, of course, Walt. I want to. Isn't that why I'm here, with you, right now?

Or did you think you had control of the situation?

[Chilton leaned back a little, once more indulging in his whiskey. The ceiling lights, dimmed in their evening dusk, caught glint in the watch that Walt had bought Chilton. The watch he wore willingly.]

[ The look Walt gave Chilton cut deeper than any words ever could. Did Chilton seriously ask that question? That caustic, burning question that Walt read as a challenge. It was the way things had always been between them -- a battle for control and dominance. His eyes lingered on the gift he gave Chilton -- given in Baltimore, forever associated with their time in Baltimore. ]

Did you.

[ He hissed in retaliation before he mirrored Chilton's actions, tilting his glass back and taking a sip. Walt's hand -- the wedding band returned to his finger, found Chilton's knee beneath the lip of the counter. ]

Do you have control of yourself around me anymore, Chilton?

[ The hand began to climb. ]

When you feel my touch -- do you fight it or welcome it with open arms?

[ Fingers tapered inward, along the inseam of Chilton's slacks. ]

You asked me right before you fell to the poison why I chose dopamine as my attack. And I think the answer is pretty clear.

[ His palm finally reached Chilton's belt, having no qualms about feeling him through his pants. ]

[Chilton's mouth went dry. The hand holding his glass began to shake -- and while it shook subtly so, the quaking movement would have been only barely visible if not for the motion ripples in his disturbed drink. He kept Walt's gaze only out of pride, fearing additional humiliation, as the chemist slid that articulate hand upwards his thigh. What struck him in particular was the sensation of that wedding band enraptured around a finger that smoothed along his slacks. It was a reminder of Walt's guilt that was now showcased, presently perverted. That ring and its currently proximity to Chilton was as much a psychological attack as anything Walt was saying.]

Walter.

[And then his belt was threatened. Chilton's gaze dropped, his composure shattering. He resisted squirming, but he couldn't deny the warmth felt. He couldn't disregard the conflict, the friction. It was familiar, almost Pavlovian at this point --

Almost, nothing. It was Pavlovian.]

Why didn't this work on Pinkman?

[ Walt made a face when Jesse was brought up, looking away from Chilton. But he didn't draw his hand back. If anything, it caused him to begin idly brushing his fingers against the area, stroking subtly. Not a single person in this room but them would know what was going on unless either of them reacted in a suspicious manner -- and Walt was pretty much daring Chilton to react. ]

Because you ruined things between us.

[ It was easier, of course, to blame Chilton. He did help to accelerate the deterioration of Walt's and Jesse's partnership. A deterioration that would have happened naturally over time regardless -- but Chilton provided an outside source to take it out on. Something to blame outside of Walter himself. Chilton drugged Walt and then made Walt confess to Jesse about drugging him, too. And that, really, had been all it took to start the downhill spiral of his and Jesse's relationship -- to start Jesse's move toward freedom and equality. ]

You coming into my life has pushed him out of it. You and your obsessions and manipulations. So therefore, you have to suffer the consequences.

[ Single-handedly, he loosened Chilton's belt in order to casually slide his hand within unless Chilton did something to stop it -- all while calmly taking a sip of his drink. ]

Pinkman's freshly understood autonomy wasn't born from my mere presence, Walt. [Chilton stared straight ahead, his hands having now abandoned their whiskey glass were flat over the counter -- palms down. He was consciously regulating his breathing, intentionally keeping his voice at an unassuming, conversational pitch.

Walt was right in that this was a dare above all else; Chilton, cunning and analytical, understood that implication. It was rebellion enough, to just continue making his argument. It was defiance proven, if he could keep concentrating.]

I didn't imbue you with your controlling habits, Walt. I didn't instill your insecurities -- that's all upon you. If such personality traits were somewhat provoked by my guidance, that is simply because consequences happen during the healing process. You ought to know that. You had cancer.

[The psychiatrist swallowed. Hard. He had already lost one battle of wills, could he afford to lose another?]

Pinkman reacted to your treatment of him. I had nothing to do with that.

[Warmth stirred, and Chilton glanced down again.]

Chilton, you had a far more direct hand in what happened, so let's not try to play innocent. Innocent is unbecoming of you.

[ And the barrier was breached, fingers slowly invading unfamiliar territory. He could feel Chilton, the warmth and strain against his undergarments. It was pleasing to know he caused such a chemical reaction without a single chemical being administered.

Things with Jesse had been chaotic. Walt enjoyed it, of course, if only because it had been so long since he was intimate -- but it wasn't how he wanted it. This was his chance to take back some of that control. Because what was Chilton if not the source of this mess? ]

You were the reason Jesse ever found out about me drugging him. And ever since then, things haven't been the same. If you had just left me alone, things with me and Jesse would be fine right now.

But you can't leave me alone, can you? I'm your obsession. I complete you. Allow me a moment to psychoanalyze you -- and you don't have to talk. As a matter of fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't.

[ Which was when the exploration on the outskirts of Chilton's briefs ceased and the exact moment his hand dipped in for a little skin to skin contact of a different sort, fairly certain that this alone would keep Chilton from speaking. ]

The reason you want me around so badly, the reason why you feel like you have to capitalize off of my legacy is because I represent everything you wish you could be. You wish you had the guts... [ He flashed a knowing smirk at Chilton, letting that linger for a few seconds before continuing on. ] ...to be like me. To live life on your own terms. To do something monumental. Something worthwhile. Something that people will talk about and remember for ages to come. What will be your legacy, Chilton? The guy who writes books about guys like me? You have the ability to craft and mold people's personalities like masterpieces. And yet, you will never get the credit for it that you deserve.

Is that really a satisfying life?

Edited 2015-08-08 06:30 (UTC)

[Walter White and his power dynamics. This is what a cultivated case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder and a martyr complex wrought -- that was a concoction of personality defects that proved rare enough (in Chilton's experience), but the latter could be come warped, even malformed, by the former. Ego was no frail negotiator. Chilton took a sharp, uneven breath when Walt dared to cross that boundary. When Walt invoked a new genre of power.

Possession. Sensitivity to betrayal. Emotional instability. While Walt's NPD was formidable, and his martyr complex twisted unconventionally, they both peeled away to the dominion of the chemist's Borderline Personality Disorder. The compounding of these personality disorders was the psychological equivalent to sulfur mustard.

He winced, when Walt spoke of his guts. He frowned, his brow furrowed, when Walt alluded to his envy, to his vicarious triumph. Chilton clenched his hands into fists -- he felt what Walt was doing. Physical intimidation, psychological taunting. The audacity that Walt could demonstrate, cornering and touching him like that. The fact that he knew Chilton wouldn't dare risk a scene in such a cultured and elegant setting.

The fact that he knew Chilton wanted Walt to fracture. It was just that the psychiatrist had always assumed that Pinkman or Abduxel would be the target. He had always assumed that he would play the part of manipulator and observer. The scavenger wasn't the intended prey. Something stirred in Chilton -- anxiety, yes, but he felt equally galvanized. He felt his veins throb with blood.]

You're not concerned about my satisfaction, Walt. Only your own. [At last he looked over to the man he still considered his patient, his head slowly angled sideways for a good look.] And that is fine, after all. I do. Admire. What you are becoming. What you have done.

[Despite the measured calm in his voice, his eyes were wide. Walt had punctured at Chilton's motivations, he had verbally brought that to Chilton's ear. And now there was no denying it.]

But I will satisfy you. I can. You know damn well I can.

[ He spared a glance downward -- his hand movements so very subtle beneath the table, but still moving. Still grasping and touching and violating. Chilton had gone in and violated Walt's mind, so this was only fair. It was justice -- one Chilton had started, one that Jesse fanned the flames of, and now one that Walt was going to finish. ]

And it's only right, isn't it? To give back to my creator. To give back to the man who made me everything I am right now.

[ Walt set down the glass before reaching out with his free hand. His index finger pressed to the side of Chilton's stubbled jaw, turning his face toward him. ]

I'm crazy, Chilton. Mentally unstable. [ The corner of his lips quirked upward. ] And I think that excites you. I think it gives you a thrill. I think you're so perverted and twisted that you get off on danger. And well, Chilton....

[ Walt leaned over, whispering with a wolfish grin: ]

I am the danger.

[It was chilling. A cold finger down his spine, that's what it felt like when Walt referred to Chilton as his creator. It was completion, it was fulfilling -- this was what Hannibal had craved from Will Graham, this very acknowledgment. This kind of influence. Had Chilton succeeded where Lecter failed? He held his breath, his lower abdomen shivering, the heat between his thighs undeniable and very, deeply human.]

You're right.

[Chilton murmured the words, two little words. He felt Walt, the warmth between their bodies, the electricity in the air. He couldn't move his face away, not with Walt's anchoring it to his own with that singular finger.]

You're doing this because I created you. I took what was left of your and forced a opus. And if you think a little close encounter is going to inspire any twitch of guilt, Walt, I must say. You should know better.

-- But that isn't what you want, is it? You don't want my remorse. You want my dignity. And -- [He couldn't help what did twitch, in response to Walt's invasive force. He couldn't help that.] You know you can just take it.

I forged you, Walt. I manifested you. [A break in his voice, in his composure, betrayed the high emotions running beneath that aloof sneer.] Does that not mean anything to you?

[A beseech to Walt's humanity, perhaps. But Chilton had miscalculated; Jesse Pinkman had been the inch of that humanity. And now that measurement was gone.]

[ The only humanity left was simply fumes of guilt -- guilt, regret and remorse for Skyler and what he had done to her. But that guilt had been swallowed in favor of this. Jesse took from Walt, and Walt paid it forward to take from Chilton. And the instant he could make the man lose control of himself, he won this little game -- whether it be to stop him from what he was doing or an unintended release.

His grasp tensed and his rhythm increased from the slow and steady to moderately quick. Chilton was reacting just the way Walt wanted him to, and his pride alone kept this going -- fanned the flames. Chilton even took Walt's words and accepted them, donning the title of Creator without fuss or fight. So predictable when it came to Frederick Chilton -- arrogant and cocky son of a bitch. ]

Something happened in Baltimore, Chilton. I didn't leave it as the same man I went in. And that was thanks to you. I realized something there. You are vital to me. In ways even Jesse is not. The way you make me feel, Chilton -- my hatred for you makes me alive again. You ruined my life while simultaneously becoming the center of my world.

You did create me. This me. And now I no longer want to simply dominate and control you.

[ His mouth neared Chilton's ear, words nothing more than a husky whisper. ]

I want to own you.

[ A beat. ]

Now. How long can you hold back before you burst, I wonder? Whether it be through words and protests or....otherwise. Either way, you're going to give me what I want.

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.

You're right, Chilton. You aren't Jesse.

[ Walt stopped the movement of his hand abruptly, though he didn't release Chilton which might have been more torturous than continuing to stroke him. He glanced down at Chilton's arm around his shoulder and then at the one stationed on his bicep. After the quiet pause, he looked back into the psychiatrist's eyes. ]

You're better than Jesse. Think about it for a moment -- I have. Jesse never appreciated me. Jesse never truly respected me. Jesse doesn't give a shit about me. Not anymore. But you do. You want to see me flourish. I'm vital to you. And you have me now. Isn't this what you wanted? What you asked for? You wanted to reach out and touch my mind. You wanted to release me from the imprisonment of being Walter White. And now, I'm merely returning the favor.

[ And after the temporary reprieve, his hand began to move -- more aggressive and intense than before. The reactions of Chilton's were thrilling. Of course, his touch did waver after the comment about not wanting to own one man. Disappointing though it was, Chilton didn't fully understand Walt, although he claimed to. ]

You don't know me as well as you think you do, Chilton. And how could you? We never truly discussed this. But my mind has always been a singular focus. I no longer have Jesse. Not the way I want things with him. And if I screw up, I lose him for good. And quite frankly at this point in time, I don't care. If he wants to go hang around his replacement for me -- let him. Jesse is a disgusting piece of doublecrossing shit.

[ Never mind the fact that Walt had betrayed Jesse first. Never mind the fact that Walt tortured, taunted, threatened, and turned on Jesse first. No, in Walt's mind, Jesse was the one who made the offense. ]

Right now? You are the only one I have. The only one I want. And if you think you can just use that therapist voice of yours to convince me to stop this, clearly you're thinking too small. And you're not exactly small, are you, Chilton? I mean....no part of you is really small.

[While the brief hiatus had incurred bodily yearning -- Chilton was already deeply responsive to Walt's gesturing -- relief had accompanied it as well. Relief that he wouldn't embarrass himself, relief that he could maintain that cold composure he had worked years to manufacture. Relief that he wouldn't lose.]

Of course you're vital to me --

[Walt's hand, gripping with greater fervor, returned. Chilton clenched his jaw, hoping to camouflage his squeaked gasp. He leaned against the counter at an angle, closing the gap by degrees as his hands still gripped onto the chemist; both for the sake of greater privacy and because his own restraint was deteriorating by the moment. This could afford him something to lean on, at least, some mirage of dignity. Chilton's mind grappled for the words Walt was speaking, those pinpointed revelations sung in syllables: replacement, doublecrossing, lose. All trademark of BPD interpersonal demonizing, as according to Chilton's diagnosis. Close company to a BPD sufferer was either idolized or scrutinized, there was little in between. Little wonder why Walt was so churlish, so radical in his reassertion of power -- even if it was over Chilton rather than Pinkman.]

You're doing this -- you're finishing this. Aren't you?

[Chilton could feel the heat rise to his cheeks. Walt's comment was both compliment and control tactic. He felt appraised by the very man who was supposed to be his project.]

If you. Don't pull away --

[He was close, so close, and that made the next sequence of events all the more terrifying. Chilton's eyes went wide as their bartender checked in on them, asking about their drinks and any requests for refills. He looked to Walt, panicked, urging the other man to step in -- Chilton at present wasn't in a position to speak typically. He squeezed at Walt's bicep and shoulder, once, before relenting. This was as good as any Walt, help could have been managed.]

[ This was a shining moment of triumph for Heisenberg. Chilton, the man who had tortured him so thoroughly from the beginning -- reduced to nothing more than a breathless, struggling mass beneath his grasp. It was beautiful to behold. It was arousing. It was a thrill of complete and utter domination -- proof that Walt didn't have to rely on chemical means to get Chilton to respond to the reward. ]

Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. You don't exactly seem to want me to stop. I could be cruel. Bring you right to the peak and let go. You would still have your dignity knowing you didn't succumb fully. But man would you ache.

Why don't you tell me what it is you want, Chilton?

[ Walt had been so focused on his psychiatrist, he didn't even remember there was anyone else around. And when the bartender spoke to them, Walt glanced up -- irritated by the interruption which he viewed as a distraction. Perhaps something for Chilton to focus on outside of them to stave off the inevitable. But, as casual as could be, Walt waved his hand dismissively. ]

We're fine. The drinks are excellent. We're still working on them.

[ He lifted his glass toward the bartender when he smiled uncertainly and then went on his way. The only help, the only salvation was leaving them to tend to other patrons. And with him gone, Walt could focus entirely on Chilton. ]

You could always try begging me to stop. If that's what you want.

[Once Walt had taken care of the bartender complication, Chilton was free to shiver and quiver with that overwhelming sensation provoked upon him. He squeezes shut his eyes, riding wave after wave of abdominal clenching, palpitating urgency. He felt constrained, restrained, and yet so near a release -- it was maddening. The psychiatrist gulped air, trying to stay as balanced and alert as possible.

It wasn't very possible.]

Walter. White.

[Chilton opened his eyes wide, staring right into the other man's gaze. He held the vision of a raw and desperate man seeking compassion and knowing damn well that riverbed was desert.]

Heisenberg.

[And there he stepped into that cracked earth, dusty and dry, still ready to kneel for water.]

Let me go to the restroom. Let me -- handle this. What do. You have to gain by. Playing this card right now?

[His hands, once on Walter, now fell limply away. A surrender, a retreat -- a battle lost, perhaps, for the sake of a burning tide of warfare. But one needed to heed strategy.]

Tell me what you get out of this.

[ It wasn't as though Walt didn't have compassion. It wasn't as though he didn't care. He could have met Chilton's desperate look with cruelty, but instead there was understanding on his face. It was a terrible feeling, wasn't it? To have ones power stripped away. Walt understood it far too well. He felt for Chilton.

Which was exactly why he needed to do this. This was to be a valuable lesson. So to Chilton's question, Walt offered an honest: ]

Revenge, mostly. But I also believe this will help you to be a better therapist. At least in regards to my problems.

[ Walt looked away from Chilton, turning to his drink and bringing it up to his lips. He took his time to savor the alcohol, an expression of enjoyment on his face. But more than the alcohol, it was the shuddered breaths and shivering man beside him that he enjoyed. How much longer? He could feel the taut tension beneath his grip. ]

This is, after all, pretty much the same thing Jesse did to me. So how will you cope with it, I wonder?

[ Walt met Chilton's wide-eyed stare. ]

But more short term than either of those things, I want to see the look on your face as you lose it. The ecstasy, the agony, the loss of control. Because for that one second, that one pivotal and blissful second -- I know you won't be able to hold back that beautiful expression, the open-mouthed pleasure.

[ Walt spared a brief glance down at the crotch of Chilton's pants before looking back up to his face. ]

You fought a good battle, but it's over. You know you can't win. You know there's only one thing you can do to end this.

[ For Chilton's pride in not wanting to beg, he would suffer the humiliation. ]

[It was honesty that reverberated through Chilton, as if Walt's words were in concert with his touch. Every motion pulled at another string, every syllable gripped Chilton by the throat. He looked away, his brow furrowed, his mouth hardlined into a trace amount of lip. The clenching in pelvic region, now volcanic with heat, doubled. There was no abating. There was no graceful exit.

There was only his will weakening before Walter White.]

I'll -- make you --!

[Chilton's mouth parted -- a final gasp. His furrowed brow eased, his eyelids closed, and his facial muscles relaxed beneath the sort of chemical relief that spoke of something profound (or profane) and all too inherent to the natural body. He slumped back in his chair, his shoulder dropping. It took five, maybe six seconds, but time wasn't so precisely calculated beneath the unfamiliar weight of degradation.

The way Walt had spoken. So paternal, so empathetic. It was that familiar tone that grated at Chilton's skin more than foreign humiliation; he recognized that tone. He had used it enough, on his own patients, under vastly different circumstances. It was a betrayal on a much more nuanced level than what he was willing to express.

Chilton looked at Walt, wary of this uncharted territory. Terrified of what this meant for their power imbalance -- for months he had enjoyed what he perceived as the upper hand. For months amplified by every following day.

But not now.]

What a mess we've made.

[Chilton spoke in a shaken whisper.]

[ There it was. The look Walt wanted to see. Although he could feel what was happening beneath his touch, seeing it present itself on Chilton's face? That was the turn on. The way he had one final burst of defiance before he succumbed made it all the better.

It was only after Chilton rode out the last of the rippling tide of waves that Walt pulled back, finally reprieving the man from his touch. And after a moment, he studied that hand before he brought it into his mouth -- finger by finger popped past his lips and cleaned. It was an act of possession as much as it was taunting. Look at the mess YOU'VE made indeed. ]

It was perfect. Everything I thought it would be.

[ He smirked and then pushed Chilton's mostly untouched glass in his direction. A gesture that said 'drink up, you deserve it.' ]

Now, you were saying something about making me do something? Do you honestly believe you're in the position to make such empty threats any longer? What we just did was me staking my claim on you. You belong to me.

[He watched, astounded, as Walt cleaned off his own fingers. Consumption. Wasn't that a running theme in Chilton's nightmares? Cannibalism was a form of domination, he had once said of Hannibal -- and that remained true, here, even if Walt wasn't quite as literal in his destruction. But Chilton felt cannibalized, just as much as he felt exposed and weakened.

He swallowed, glanced towards his lap, and tended to buckling back his belt.]

You've surprised me, Walt.

[Chilton was in shock -- and yes, awe -- over that stated fact. He thought he had Walter White all figured out up to this point, with a name to every string he'd pull. Chilton reached over and fumbled for his glass, lifting it to his lips. His hand shook until he swallowed.]

I am so rarely surprised by my. Company.

[Almost used the word patients right there. Almost.]

[ Walt knew what that brief pause would have been if Chilton hadn't caught himself. And he supposed he could have taken offense -- that even now, Chilton still viewed him as a patient. But the pause to Walt meant that Chilton was respecting him. Finally. At least enough to choose his words carefully. And that solidified this method of attack was a success. ]

You underestimated me. Clearly. But then again, I think you've been doing that from the beginning. Remember that time you pistol whipped me?

[ He finished off his glass and gestured the bartender for a refill. Then his attention returned to Chilton once more. ]

I don't remember a lot of that night, but I do remember that. How far we've come. Or rather...how far you've come.

[ Walt grimaced. The innuendo felt disgusting to say, and he regretted saying it immediately. That was more something that would have come out of Jesse's mouth. Not his. But instead of dwelling on it, his expression became curious. ]

How are you feeling? Right now?

How am I feeling?

[Chilton scoffed, harshly, into the remainder of his whiskey. It was a cruel turn of phrase, knowing that Walt let that syllabic boomerang fly with polished intent. The afterglow of Walt's force simmered in his mind, perhaps mitigating the brunt of his exasperated rhetoric. This wasn't the place, he reasoned, nor the time to engage verbal warfare.]

I'm feeling somewhat used, Walt.

[The sort of honesty that came with a darkly humored smile only after innuendo-soaked barbs had been flung. How far he's come, indeed.]

Of course, I am of the impression that you hadn't any audience when you had Pinkman.

[The psychiatrist gestured only with his eyes, scouring about this very public watering hole. How close they came to discovery: that was the tension in Chilton's shoulders, the width to his wide-eyed gaze.]

Your impression would be accurate, but it makes the situation no less humiliating.

[ The age difference. The age difference was what was killing him the most. But once Walt got his drink, he wrapped his hands around it, staring into the contents as he addressed Chilton's prior comment. ]

But used? That's a start. Do you, perhaps, feel as though the control has been taken from you? As though the roles have changed? Do you feel betrayed in some way? Are you angry that you didn't have enough willpower to resist? Did the guilt turn you on so much it was impossible to stop?

[ Walt shifted himself a bit. They called them guilty pleasures for a reason, and what he had just done to Chilton? Well, that came with its own interesting side-effects. Walt was mostly able to push his own feelings on the matter to the side in favor of reminding himself this was a necessary evil. It put him and Chilton on the same level. But damned if he wasn't turned on from it. ]

Edited 2015-08-14 19:17 (UTC)

You're looking to invoke my motivation.

[Quietly spoken, this revelation. It meant a lot to Chilton, who had invested much of his life into motivations, that this was Walt's newly minted tactic. A seizure of control (expected) but in a manner that pertained specifically to Chilton's forte. That was the most offensive quality to Walt's detected patronizing; he was simply being like Chilton to Chilton.]

If I am yours, then you are equally mine. I won't fight you, Walt -- I enable you. I want to help you flourish.

[Something that was no secret.]

You have to reassert some semblance of dominance, especially after what Pinkman did to you. For you. What he did because of you.

I understand that.

[ The look Walt gave Chilton was one of pure exasperation. Of course the man would dodge his questions. Of course he would turn this around on him. Walt wanted Chilton at a level where he could relate to him -- where he could crack open Chilton's head and see the thoughts on display. He wanted to ask a question and not have the evasive tactics. He wanted honesty. He wanted to know Chilton inside and out.

All part and parcel of owning him. ]

Do you understand it?

[ His brow raised skeptically. ]

Do you even understand me anymore? I don't think you do. I don't think either of us do.

I'm your creator, Walt. Something you've already admitted. Of course I understand you.

[Perhaps just as Doctor Frankenstein understood his monster.]

And I know that succumbing to you is the last thing our... Partnership requires. Your whole identity was fleshed upon trial and tribulation, why would I interfere with that learned behavior you've so cleanly adapted?

[Walt could expose parts of Chilton by force, but only parts. It was a sacrifice the doctor was evidently willing to make, however reluctant his initial approach might have been.]

You're not going to own me. And that friction is what will inspire you to greater magnificence, Heisenberg.

Trust me when I say I will do my part for both our agendas, whether or not you agree about the itinerary.

Edited 2015-08-15 03:51 (UTC)

- IC CONTACT POST FOR MASKORMENACE -

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