"The Kingpin and The Junkie"
Dated: A couple days ago
Title: The Kingpin and The Junkie
Rating: Eh, no language, allusion to violence
Summary: Gus waits for his guest... future-fic-ish, implied character death
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"Are you going to kill me?"
"Just be quiet. Wait."
Gustavo's composure hiccups for all of a split second as he rubs his hand slowly across his temple, where a vein has begun to pound. He has been under enormous stress lately, the kind he hasn't had to deal with in years. He considers himself a cerebral personality - pragmatic, as Walter would describe it - but now he is slowly burning away with a rising anger. Bloodlust, he's always thought, is for weaker men. But he can't seem to help the red-hot contempt that that licks at him every time he gives the worthless little worm next to him more than a glance.
"What do I have to wait for? Haven't you mind up your mind?"
Even the sound of the voice grates against his nerves, and Gustavo's teeth nearly grind together. He doesn't want to wait any more than the junkie does, but he must, he can't be a bad host and go through with the main event before the guest of honor arrives. He gives the junkie a sidelong glance, a practiced technique that comes to him naturally now, it is a look that has shriveled the coldest and most dangerous of men.
The junkie only looks back at him.
"You think you're the first person to point a gun at me?"
The look hardens, darkens, it's escalated to a soul-piercing glare. He wants to imagine that the junkie has shrunk away, has finally crumbled beneath him the way all the others have, has fallen into the place his completely despicable kind belong. But no, not only is he not intimidated, he's mocking.
"You're not even as scary as the last couple of people to do it. And one of them was a chick."
Gus turns away again, watching the door. May as well not dignify that one, these little wastes of air and all their immaturity. This annoys him most of all, out of every annoying thing this junkie has done, showing no respect or fear of Gus is the worst. Fear has never pleased Gus the way it has pleased some people, most in his profession, but just the fact that this mindless imbecile is able to stare him down makes a deep frown carve itself into his face and the vein in his temple throb. Under other circumstances he would believe it's because the junkie doesn't know what real pain is, but looking at this one now, seeing that perfectly fearless flash in his eyes, he realizes that he does know, and that is precisely why the situation he is in strikes him as being something trivial. Something not even worth his time.
"Why are you doing this?"
If the junkie doesn't already know, why should Gus bother to explain?
"Oh, that's right, I'm not worth speaking to. I forgot. Because you hate junkies, right? But without junkies you'd be out of a job."
Gustavo's eyes flick in his direction again, long enough to express a look that should communicate his lack of interest in the junkie's observations and small-talk, one that he's not sure if it succeeds because part of him is interested.
'What a waste,' Gus finds himself thinking, going back to keeping calm watch of the door. He imagines there could have been some potential in one so fearlessly ignorant, had he not been born with a fool's mind and cursed with dependency on chemical substances. He had thought the same in his first official meeting with Pinkman face to face. That had been when Walter reported that the junkie was planning to poison two of his employees. Gus was even more furious then than he was now, except he had expected to effortlessly demolish the junkie that day, systematically tear him apart and knock him down for good. The way he had always been able to. If he had any sense he would have just eliminated him then and there, his working relationship with Walter be damned. Capital punishments were not particularly Gustavo's favorite way of doing things but he knew well enough when it was necessary, and during that meeting, it had become apparent that it was. He thought he had seen fear on the junkie's face then...
But no, that wasn't right. That wasn't quite it. It had been something much more elementary. It was not fear of the words coming out of Gustavo's mouth but a simple anxiety of meeting him for the first time, something that had worn off after a few minutes. He might even call it shyness.
'How stupid,' Gus thinks, just as the junkie speaks again: "You're waiting for him, aren't you? Mr. White."
"You catch on quickly," Gustavo comments with a subtle sneer.
"Are you going to kill him too?"
This finally makes Gus take his eyes off the door again. It isn't just the bizarre acuity of the question but the way it was spoken, and when Gus looks at Pinkman again he thinks he has finally caught the traces of fear in those eyes. How fast that bravado goes at the mention of something he might actually care about. Gus could exploit that, he could exploit it easily, but he knows already that there would be no victory in it for him. Gustavo has never taken a cheap shot in his life and no matter how much he hates this junkie, he won't take one now.
"You know very well that I can't do that," Gus answers, his voice superbly emotionless.
The junkie stares at him, and then looks away, appearing to fall into deep thought. Is a shallow junkie mind capable of any thought beyond a few seconds? 'Of course not,' Gus thinks automatically, although he doubts if Pinkman is such a master of his own expression that he could dupe someone into believing he was contemplative while actually thinking of nothing at all. The instant before Gus speaks and breaks Pinkman's concentration he has the clear, intuitive sense that the kid was wondering if he's going to Hell.
"Yes, you've been busy, haven't you?" Gus goes on. He may not find it worth it to lie about Walter's fate but what this junkie has done... Well, that's another story.
Pinkman meets his eyes again but this time he stays silent and that does away with what ever else Gus had meant to say. There is a somewhat disconcerting calmness to his expression, and Gus thinks it must be because he's bleeding to death. Having no fear is one thing, being calm in the face of death is something different entirely, something he can't honestly believe this sack of useless skin is capable of unless he's so close to dying already that he no has control over whether he feels calm or not. The wound Victor inflicted in order to bring the junkie here hadn't appeared very serious at first, but now the entire front of his shirt is sopping wet with blood, running down and spreading out across one of his legs, staining the dark fabric of his jeans so they look almost black. For a long moment their gazes are locked, Gus from his standing position near the door, Pinkman from his sitting position on the chair his hands are fastened behind. The gun Gus was planning to shoot the junkie with dangles forgotten at his right side, which is no problem, it's likely he won't even need it.
A sudden noise on the other side of the door causes the contact to break, and when Gus spares Pinkman one last glance before he opens the door and sees that he's shut his eyes and given up, briefly he feels something that is almost like lamentation.
He almost had a worthy adversary.
x
Title: The Kingpin and The Junkie
Rating: Eh, no language, allusion to violence
Summary: Gus waits for his guest... future-fic-ish, implied character death
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Are you going to kill me?"
"Just be quiet. Wait."
Gustavo's composure hiccups for all of a split second as he rubs his hand slowly across his temple, where a vein has begun to pound. He has been under enormous stress lately, the kind he hasn't had to deal with in years. He considers himself a cerebral personality - pragmatic, as Walter would describe it - but now he is slowly burning away with a rising anger. Bloodlust, he's always thought, is for weaker men. But he can't seem to help the red-hot contempt that that licks at him every time he gives the worthless little worm next to him more than a glance.
"What do I have to wait for? Haven't you mind up your mind?"
Even the sound of the voice grates against his nerves, and Gustavo's teeth nearly grind together. He doesn't want to wait any more than the junkie does, but he must, he can't be a bad host and go through with the main event before the guest of honor arrives. He gives the junkie a sidelong glance, a practiced technique that comes to him naturally now, it is a look that has shriveled the coldest and most dangerous of men.
The junkie only looks back at him.
"You think you're the first person to point a gun at me?"
The look hardens, darkens, it's escalated to a soul-piercing glare. He wants to imagine that the junkie has shrunk away, has finally crumbled beneath him the way all the others have, has fallen into the place his completely despicable kind belong. But no, not only is he not intimidated, he's mocking.
"You're not even as scary as the last couple of people to do it. And one of them was a chick."
Gus turns away again, watching the door. May as well not dignify that one, these little wastes of air and all their immaturity. This annoys him most of all, out of every annoying thing this junkie has done, showing no respect or fear of Gus is the worst. Fear has never pleased Gus the way it has pleased some people, most in his profession, but just the fact that this mindless imbecile is able to stare him down makes a deep frown carve itself into his face and the vein in his temple throb. Under other circumstances he would believe it's because the junkie doesn't know what real pain is, but looking at this one now, seeing that perfectly fearless flash in his eyes, he realizes that he does know, and that is precisely why the situation he is in strikes him as being something trivial. Something not even worth his time.
"Why are you doing this?"
If the junkie doesn't already know, why should Gus bother to explain?
"Oh, that's right, I'm not worth speaking to. I forgot. Because you hate junkies, right? But without junkies you'd be out of a job."
Gustavo's eyes flick in his direction again, long enough to express a look that should communicate his lack of interest in the junkie's observations and small-talk, one that he's not sure if it succeeds because part of him is interested.
'What a waste,' Gus finds himself thinking, going back to keeping calm watch of the door. He imagines there could have been some potential in one so fearlessly ignorant, had he not been born with a fool's mind and cursed with dependency on chemical substances. He had thought the same in his first official meeting with Pinkman face to face. That had been when Walter reported that the junkie was planning to poison two of his employees. Gus was even more furious then than he was now, except he had expected to effortlessly demolish the junkie that day, systematically tear him apart and knock him down for good. The way he had always been able to. If he had any sense he would have just eliminated him then and there, his working relationship with Walter be damned. Capital punishments were not particularly Gustavo's favorite way of doing things but he knew well enough when it was necessary, and during that meeting, it had become apparent that it was. He thought he had seen fear on the junkie's face then...
But no, that wasn't right. That wasn't quite it. It had been something much more elementary. It was not fear of the words coming out of Gustavo's mouth but a simple anxiety of meeting him for the first time, something that had worn off after a few minutes. He might even call it shyness.
'How stupid,' Gus thinks, just as the junkie speaks again: "You're waiting for him, aren't you? Mr. White."
"You catch on quickly," Gustavo comments with a subtle sneer.
"Are you going to kill him too?"
This finally makes Gus take his eyes off the door again. It isn't just the bizarre acuity of the question but the way it was spoken, and when Gus looks at Pinkman again he thinks he has finally caught the traces of fear in those eyes. How fast that bravado goes at the mention of something he might actually care about. Gus could exploit that, he could exploit it easily, but he knows already that there would be no victory in it for him. Gustavo has never taken a cheap shot in his life and no matter how much he hates this junkie, he won't take one now.
"You know very well that I can't do that," Gus answers, his voice superbly emotionless.
The junkie stares at him, and then looks away, appearing to fall into deep thought. Is a shallow junkie mind capable of any thought beyond a few seconds? 'Of course not,' Gus thinks automatically, although he doubts if Pinkman is such a master of his own expression that he could dupe someone into believing he was contemplative while actually thinking of nothing at all. The instant before Gus speaks and breaks Pinkman's concentration he has the clear, intuitive sense that the kid was wondering if he's going to Hell.
"Yes, you've been busy, haven't you?" Gus goes on. He may not find it worth it to lie about Walter's fate but what this junkie has done... Well, that's another story.
Pinkman meets his eyes again but this time he stays silent and that does away with what ever else Gus had meant to say. There is a somewhat disconcerting calmness to his expression, and Gus thinks it must be because he's bleeding to death. Having no fear is one thing, being calm in the face of death is something different entirely, something he can't honestly believe this sack of useless skin is capable of unless he's so close to dying already that he no has control over whether he feels calm or not. The wound Victor inflicted in order to bring the junkie here hadn't appeared very serious at first, but now the entire front of his shirt is sopping wet with blood, running down and spreading out across one of his legs, staining the dark fabric of his jeans so they look almost black. For a long moment their gazes are locked, Gus from his standing position near the door, Pinkman from his sitting position on the chair his hands are fastened behind. The gun Gus was planning to shoot the junkie with dangles forgotten at his right side, which is no problem, it's likely he won't even need it.
A sudden noise on the other side of the door causes the contact to break, and when Gus spares Pinkman one last glance before he opens the door and sees that he's shut his eyes and given up, briefly he feels something that is almost like lamentation.
He almost had a worthy adversary.
x