Marie heated up some leftovers for her and Jesse to eat before heading for bed. She had managed to crush up a couple sleeping pills and slip them into his drink. Luckily, he hadn't said anything about it tasting odd or having a weird texture—she wasn't sure if she had crushed them thoroughly enough.
But thirty minutes after he dismissed himself from the table, Marie decided to check up on him. And she found him passed out and curled up in the guest bed. She smiled faintly at the image. At least he looked a lot cleaner than he had. He definitely needed a haircut though. And a good shave.
Marie pulled the bedroom door shut and headed for the bathroom herself. She figured she'd take a quick shower and call it a night too. There was no telling what the next day would bring.
It was early the next morning when Marie awoke and crawled out of bed. She had troubles falling asleep and staying asleep, and the more she thought about it, she should have taken some sleeping pills herself. There was too much stuff on her mind. Stuff that pertained to Jesse. It practically revolved around Jesse. Questions she wanted to ask but was too afraid to.
So she got up and decided to fix something for breakfast. Just something simple, nothing too extravagant. And by the time she was about done, she noticed Jesse standing back a little ways in the doorway.
"Good morning." Marie forced a smile as she pushed the omelet from the skillet onto a plate. She glanced over at him. "You sleep okay?"
Jesse vaguely nodded. He hadn't said a single word since Marie brought him back to her house. Maybe she just needed to ask more than a yes or no question.
"Well, I made omelets. Egg whites only. And there's some whole wheat toast, 100% orange juice—no pulp—and fresh fruit in the fridge. Just… help yourself."
Marie forced another smile and stared at Jesse. She couldn't tell what his gaze was fixed on but he wasn't moving and he still wasn't saying anything. Then he just kind of blinked at her, like she wasn't real or something.
Just like a kid, Marie thought. A lost, broken kid.
She turned back to the food and went ahead and fixed up a plate for him. What were her plans for the day? What in the world was she going to do with Jesse Pinkman in her house? Maybe she hadn't thought everything through very thoroughly. She had just acted on an impulse.
Marie set the plate down on the table along with some silverware. She gestured for Jesse to come over and take a seat as she moved back to the kitchen to make up her own plate. She cautiously watched from the corner of her eye. Jesse had his arms hugged around himself as he slowly approached the table, pulling the chair out and sitting. And when Marie was finished making her plate, she took the seat across from him.
It was completely silent except for the occasional clang of a fork hitting a plate. Marie was used to it but that didn't mean she liked it. She watched Jesse, for the most part, push his food around. He set his fork down after a while and grabbed the glass of orange juice Marie had poured for him. He used both hands and Marie noticed he was slightly shaking.
"There's coffee too. If you prefer," Marie offered to break the silence.
Jesse only shook his head, rubbing the side of his face.
After a few minutes of nothing but silence, Marie found herself pushing her food around her plate too. She couldn't tear her stare away from Jesse, couldn't tear her thoughts away. He seemed almost lifeless six months ago and now he was so much worse. She had seen the confession tape he made for Hank but apparently there was some other tape that had been found at the crime scene. Whatever was on it had led them to believe Jesse was still alive. But what was on it?
"What did they do to you?" Marie whispered. She hadn't meant to really say it aloud but the words slipped from her mouth.
She could see Jesse visibly tense up. And it marked the first time he truly looked her in the eyes.
"I mean… I don't—" Marie placed her fingers against her temples, elbows resting on the table. "It's none of my business…"
"Just ask already," Jesse replied.
Marie lowered her hands away from her face, brow furrowed. "What?"
"You wanted me to come back here with you so I could tell you how your husband died, right? So just ask me already."
Marie suddenly felt like a fish out of water, her mouth agape, taken aback. Of all the things Jesse could say—the first thing Jesse had said since he stepped foot in her house again—had to be that.
"I… I do want to know what happened… what happened to Hank." She spoke slowly, cautiously. She didn't want to say the wrong thing. "But I want to help you too."
Jesse sat forward more, his elbows now on the table and his face buried behind his hands. She heard him mutter, "No, you don't."