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It was utterly pointless to pretend she wasn’t going to call him. They were best friends, after all. Right? And this was what best friends did after they'd had a thoroughly dull Valentine’s date.

Her hand hovered over the phone, though; what if he was in bed with his date right now? Well, if he was, they were more likely to be at her place than his tiny little hidey-hole, so it wouldn’t do any harm. She’d just be calling an empty two-room apartment.

But do I even want to know if he’s with his date?

Why should it matter?

Just go to bed, Kim, you’ll hear about it tomorrow anyway, so just—

The phone rang under her hovering palm.

Lips twitching in amusement, chest crackling with excitement, she picked up the phone.

“Kim Wexler.”

“Kim Wexler…all by herself?

“All by herself.”

He didn’t even try to hide his sigh of relief. “Alritey, then.” She could practically hear him adjust his stance, settling down in the bed and shoving his hand in his pants. And he knew that she knew.

“Eh, not tonight," she said, through a smile. "I’m not in the mood.” She wasn’t, although she really didn’t mind if his hand was in his pants.

“Shitty date?” he asked.

“I should’ve known I wouldn’t like a guy who asks a girl out on for a first date on Valentine’s Day.”

“Hey! I do that. I am that guy.”

“Well, I guess that just solidifies why we’re not—” She swallowed and stopped herself. “Um, anyway…it was fine. Just not…scintillating in any way, shape, or form. When I go on a date, I’m always hoping for just…a decent human interaction. I’m not under any delusions that Mr. Right is out there. Just…I wish more people I dated were more…interesting.”

“Yeah, if only there was some interesting guy out there who'd go on a date with you at the drop of a hat,” he said, drily.

Kim hummed in the back of her throat. “Well.”

He sighed. “So what’d he get you? He must’ve given you some cloyingly adorable gift. A teddy bear? Wearing a bow tie?”

Kim stared at the offending artifact that was taunting her from across the room. Might as well admit it. “He gave me a pool noodle.” Her voice shook with a tremor of absurd amusement.

Jimmy snorted, sounding like he was choking. “Please tell me that’s a euphemism for his dick. Mind you, I don’t exactly enjoy hearing about you screwing other dudes, but that should tell you how much I’m hoping he didn’t actually give you a shapeless piece of foam as a gift.”

“Not a euphemism, it’s an honest-to-god pool noodle that he molded in the shape of a heart, and he poked all these fake flowers in it. It was…kind of sweet, clearly he worked hard on it. It’s just…not really my cup of tea.”

"Like...was it a joke? 'Cause it could be kind of—"

"No, he was very earnest."

“Oh my god, Kim, I’ve gotta see this thing at the earliest possible moment,” Jimmy said, practically salivating.

“Well, what about your date?" Kim said, turning her eyes away from the noodle. "Did you give her a Valentines-y gift?”

“Just a single red rose. Simple, elegant. Brunettes get red roses. I tucked it in her hair.”

It was too much of an invitation for her to brush aside.

“And what do blondes get?”

He let out a shaky breath. “Well, for most blondes, I’d say pink. But there are a few very special blondes out there who get something…entirely unique. Maybe just…one blonde.”

“And what does she get?”

“Oh, she needs jewel tones. Not red, that’s too obvious. Emerald or sapphire, or maybe a deep plum…I don’t know what gemstones are plum-colored, but I can see it in my head. I’d have to do some research. To get the flower just right. But a red rose…it’s not quite right for her. She needs…more.”

Kim’s heart flipped out of her chest and landed on the floor. “Oh,” was all she could manage.

They were both quiet for a while, and then she cleared her throat. “So your date…she didn’t like the rose?”

"Eh, she liked it just fine. It really wasn’t a bad date. It was just…”

“...meh.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

His hand was no longer down his pants; Kim could tell. He was probably gripping the phone with both hands, squishing it to his ear.

“Maybe…” Kim said, starting to breathe a bit more heavily, playing with her waistband.

“What?” His voice had gone husky.

Shit, what are we doing…

“Um...maybe I’ll bring the pool noodle to work tomorrow. I’ll leave it in the car, but you can check it out on your smoke break, if it lines up with mine.”

He breathed and swallowed, and then rejoined, in a chipper voice: “Oh, I’ll make damn sure it lines up. I can work wonders, Kim.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

“G’night.”

“Night.”

She couldn’t sleep for a while, thinking about jewel-toned flowers that he might put in her hair, knowing that he’d be heading to the library on his lunch break tomorrow to look them up. She wondered what color he’d select, and whether he’d tell her about it.

The pool noodle heart succumbed to the laws of physics during the night, springing open, flinging fake flower petals around Kim's bedroom for her to sweep into a dustpan in the morning.

Chapter Text

Kim insisted on helping him study, even though the other clerks had offered to take her out to the bar for her birthday.

“I’m pretty tired, guys. Maybe another time,” she promised as she edged toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”

And she had made her escape, hurrying down the hall to the elevators and stepping out onto the P3 landing, hoping she hadn’t missed him yet.

But no, there he was, leaning against his car, smoking.

“Hey, birthday girl,” he said.

“Hey yourself. I thought you’d be gone by now. Aren’t you supposed to be studying?”

Jimmy offers her the cigarette, but she shakes her head. He shrugs and stamps it out.

“Is that why you ran down here so fast? What’d the other guys say?”

“Nothing. They don’t need to know my business.”

“Classic, Wexler,” Jimmy chuckles.

“I don’t even want to know what that means.” Kim unlocks her car. “Your place or the library?”

“Mine.”

They both get into their cars and wave at each other through the windows. 

“See you,” Jimmy mouths, exaggerated. Then, he drives off.

Kim knocks on his front door, and it promptly opens as Jimmy lets her inside. The place is a bit of a mess, and Kim quips, “No need to tidy up on my account.”

Jimmy shrugs. “Just keepin’ it real.”

Kim pushes day-old fast food containers off to one side of the kitchen table.

“A little too real.” She looks around at the piles of law books and notebooks. “You know, I almost thought helping you study was some sort of euphemism…” She trails off, embarrassment coming over her.

“And you still came over? We can totally do your plan instead.” Jimmy puts aside the books he’s carrying.

“I said ‘almost’.”

Jimmy grins. “Please tell me reviewing con law is more fun than roses and, what was it? Foam noodles?”

“I suppose so.” Jimmy’s grin widens. “But only barely,” she amends.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

The sharp conversational turn throws Kim off balance.

“What’s tomorrow, Friday?”

“Don’t, Kim. You know. You got a date? Are we shit talking afterwards, or what?”

“Jimmy…” Kim warns him.

“In the spirit of sharing, I’ll tell you—“

“I don’t want to know—“

“I haven’t got anything lined up.”

Kim sucks in a breath. “What, none of the nameless numbers on your phone take you up on it?”

“Actually, yeah.” At least he looks sheepish about it.

“Oh.”

“So what about you?”

“Well...”

“Really? Nobody asked you?”

“They did,” Kim retorts, a little miffed. “I’m the one that turned them down.”

“Oh my god, who? Was it Bill? I see how he looks at you when you fix the copier.”

“He does not—“

“Totally does. You wouldn’t notice. You’re too busy fixing the copier in your tight little skirts.”

“Mm…” Kim decides not to fight him on this. He’s in some sort of funk, a minorly belligerent mood. And it was Bill, but she doesn’t want him to go and get a big head about it, especially now.

“Call me crazy, but what if we…”

“No, Jimmy.”

“Not a date,” Jimmy promises.

“Yeah, right.”

He places his left hand over the right side of his chest. “Cross my—“

“It’s the other way,” Kim points out. Jimmy switches hands, caught in the act.

“Cross my heart, Kim.”

Kim thinks it over. “I guess I was going to watch “It Happened One Night” by myself anyway.”

Jimmy nods enthusiastically. “And now you have someone to watch it with. I love Clark Gable. What a stud, am I right?”

Kim flips his notebook open to a random page. “That’s tomorrow. But for now…”

They’re three hours into the study session and one failed footsie attempt later when Jimmy pushes back from the table.

“That’s it, I’m tapping out.”

“Jimmy, we have one more chapter left.”

“Nope, I’m all lawyered out. I can’t possibly learn any more law.”

Kim sighs and looks up at the clock. It’s past one a.m. “It’s pretty late.” She looks down at her bag, contemplates going home.

“Wait, Kim—“

She turns her head to look over at Jimmy, but he’s much closer than she anticipated. In fact, he’s right on her, pressing his lips to hers. She leans into it before she can really process it, before the reasonable part of her brain pumps the breaks, hard.

Kim pulls away. “Jimmy, we can’t—“

“I know, I know,” he retreats. But Kim is pulling him by his shirt collar and kissing him again. Her hand is on his waistband, drifting lower. It barely takes thirty seconds to get him hard under her hand.

“Kim, I want you,” he rasps, and Kim is gasping, stumbling back from him once again.

“Jimmy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“No, Kim, don’t,” he pleads with her. He starts to reach out for her, but retracts his hand. “Don’t do this,” his voice is small, inward.

“It’s Valentine’s. We can’t…”

“This is such a stupid rule, Kim.”

“Tell me you won’t think this is an official step between us.”

Jimmy shakes his head, frustrated.

“See? You can’t.”

“And you can?” Jimmy responds, incredulous.

Kim goes quiet. “Of course I can’t. I never said the rules were just for you.”

Jimmy grunts and adjusts his slacks. “You’re gonna want to go now.”

Kim is confused for a moment, but realizes quickly after. “Oh, okay.”

“As soon as you’re gone, I’m jerking it to that.” He gestures at their study spot. “I’m going to imagine fucking you over that table.”

She doesn’t even know what to say. It’s not that she minds the idea, but it still makes her sad. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you.”

At the door, she fumbles with the handle.

“Kim,” his voice changes again, all the anger evaporated and left with a fragile, pathetic fear. “We’re still watching the movie later, right?”

Kim hesitates. “Yeah. Of course.”

They’ll be okay, she knows, but sometimes she wonders if it’s something she should count on. “Next year,” she promises herself. “Next year will be better.”

Chapter Text

Jimmy's shoulder is warm against hers in the crowded bar. He tilts his bottle towards Kim and she frowns at him.

"What are we cheersing for?" 

"For this beautiful evening. For moonlight and imported beer and sticky tables and amateur karaoke on a shitty sound system."

She snorts a soft laugh. "Well, in that case…" She clinks her bottle against his and then takes another slow sip. Jimmy swigs noisily from his, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, beer already half-emptied. 

"Easy there, cowboy. You know you can't handle your drink as well as you think you can."

He lifts his eyebrows and juts his jaw. "Uh, excuse me, but who was the one who carried the birthday girl home last night after she had a little too much of that horribly overpriced HHM wine?" 

Kim smirks but her stomach turns at the memory. She's still feeling a little delicate, but Jimmy insisted they come out tonight to sample the delights of the campus bar on Valentine's Day. "C'mon, Kim. You know you want to. Hair of the dog and all that. We can poke fun at the sadsacks who are spending V-Day doing karaoke and trying to find someone to make out with."

"And pretend we're not like them?"

"Exactly."

"All right," she'd relented with a sigh, raking a hand through her hair roughly, eyes still closed against the piercing morning light. "But I'm not touching a drop of wine."

"No wine. Got it."

"Oh, and Jimmy?"

"Yeah?" 

"Never call it V-Day again."

He had laughed down the phone line and she had heard him busying around in his kitchen, holding the phone to his ear, running the faucet. She'd imagined that he was still scruffy and sleepy (albeit more chipper than her) in those blue boxers and a white t-shirt. She had shaken the image away and brushed her teeth and tongue for double the usual time, scrubbing away the drunkenness of the night before, smirking at the memory of Jimmy cursing as he tried to fumble open her apartment door in the pitch dark whilst holding her up with a strong arm around her waist. They hadn't made out, save for a sloppy, beer-wet kiss to the side of her mouth which he'd labelled "The obligatory, totally-platonic birthday kiss" as he'd pulled away and held his hands up innocently. If she'd been less drunk, she might have pulled him closer by his stupid purple tie and kissed him properly. 

Maybe. It's been a while. 

Back in the bar, he's reaching around to the shelf behind him to retrieve the cowboy hat he's been wearing intermittently through the evening. It's not his--some sucker left it here, but he's always fancied being Clint Eastwood for a night. 

Kim gives him a nod of amused approval. "Lookin' good, partner."

"Thanks." He stretches his arm along the back of the booth behind her and tips his hat with the other hand. "I used to have one of these when I was a kid. Went through a phase of wearin' it all the time. Church. Baseball. School. Everyone laughed at me but I didn't give a shit."

She smiles, glancing at his profile in the cream Stetson. "That's cute."

She watches as he clicks his tongue slowly and then narrows his eyes to survey the bar. His arm is warm behind her and his thighs are spread, his jeans brushing against her bare leg. 

"Jimmy." She says softly, eyes gazing at him with a renewed sense of wonder. "You did it."

He looks at her. "Did what?" 

"You got your law degree. You'll pass the bar in the summer." She shakes her head slowly, genuinely awed by his accomplishment. She thumps his arm, as though to awaken him to the reality of his achievement, and his body moves with the force. "Come on! It's amazing."

He tongues his lip and glances down at his beer bottle, running his thumb around the rim. "Yeah," he exhales, eyebrows lifting. "Still can't really wrap my head around it."

She smiles. "I know. But you need to. You're a freakin' lawyer, Jimmy."

He glances at her sideways again, his gaze lingering on hers now, his head tilted to the side in boyish contemplation. "Yeah? You proud of me?"

She frowns at the question, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "You know I am."

"Yeah?" He's doing that thing now, where he looks at her longingly. Where his eyes cloud and deepen and he grows serious and cute and suddenly demanding, and those same old butterflies flutter madly within her. 

"Jimmy…" It's halfway between a warning and a come-on.

"What, Kim?" But he's leaning toward her now, eyes flickering to her lips, and she sighs deeply.

"If this is just because it's Valentine's Day…"

He shakes his head slowly. "Nothin' to do with V-Day, m'am."

She snorts a laugh and takes the cowboy hat from his head, smirking at his mussed hair, before placing it on her own head and leaning back more in her seat. 

It's an invitation, he knows. 

He follows the movement of her body as he leans over her, placing his hand on the booth for support. 

"Are you proud of me, Kim?" He asks again, lips close to hers. 

She sighs heavily. "You know I am." 

He nudges her hat with his forehead and she laughs. 

"You were a great tutor, you know."

She bites her lip, smirking, as she lets her eyes fall closed. "Uh huh."

His breath is hot against her skin. "Really. You could make a few bucks doin' that on the side."

"If all my students are like you, it's more trouble than it's worth."

She is teasing. She hears him laugh boyishly before the sound is swallowed up by her own moan as he captures her mouth with his, eager, slow and wet. 

It's been too long. 

But each time they allow themselves this inevitable pleasure, against their better judgement, it feels like home.

Chapter Text

“Jimmy, you can do this.”

Jimmy had taken her to the Dog House for an impromptu birthday dinner, but his playful banter had drifted into contemplative bouts of silence as the night lingered on. They’d long since finished their food, the parking lot empty as closing time approached. They sat side by side on top of one of the picnic tables, Jimmy looking up into the sky, the stars competing with the neon glow overhead.

“You’ve worked too long and too hard to be stuck in that mailroom forever,” she said. “Screw Hamlin. You need to get out there and show them what they’re missing.”

Jimmy closed his eyes and a sad smile tugged at his lips. He’d spent the past several months looking for work, and it quickly became clear that no one was going to take a chance on him with his no-name law degree and lack of experience. He knew it was time to do this the hard way and make a name for himself from the ground up. But that wasn’t what was weighing on him tonight.

“Kim...”

And when he finally looked into her eyes, she felt that weight as well. It wasn’t lack of confidence that was holding him back, it was what he’d be leaving behind.

Who he’d be leaving behind.

And she hadn’t let herself think about it before now. She’d pushed the thought away like so many others that she hadn’t been prepared to confront. She’d gotten so used to tackling the next challenge alongside him, but now…

Now he was ready to go out on his own.

An ache started blooming in her chest, sharp tendrils prickling at her arms, constricting her lungs.

And it was so stupid, she thought. So she wouldn’t see him every day. So what? They’d run into each other at the courthouse. She knew his number, where he lived. Nothing was stopping them from continuing to hang out just because they wouldn’t be working together.

But Kim had never been the best at reaching out. She was much better at running away. At withdrawing within herself, her work. Her default state was isolation, the performative state of socialization an exhausting ruse.

Except for when she was with him.

“Kim…?”

She felt him nudge her shoulder with his own.

She scrunched her brow, holding her lips inward, trying to push the feeling back down. But her eyes had already betrayed her, and Jimmy was putting his arm around her shoulder, drawing her close, and she gave in and leaned into it, burying her face into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt.

“Hey,” he whispered into the top of her head before placing a light kiss there and smoothing his hand down her arm.

After a moment she pulled back and fully turned to face him, taking his face in her hands. Her glistening eyes locked onto his questioning ones, lit softly by the gentle multicolored glow above.

“Jimmy, you’re going to be an amazing lawyer.”

She moved a hand to the back of his head, lowering his lips to hers. He returned the kiss, his breath heavy as he held her tightly, anchoring her to him.

Above them, the neon sign flickered and went dark, throwing them into shadow. Kim rested her forehead against Jimmy’s.

“Take me home?”

Jimmy awoke with his chest pressed against her back, her soft hair lightly tickling his cheek. The desert night had turned surprisingly cold, and she was wrapped up in his sweatshirt beneath the covers. He nuzzled into her warmth.

Tomorrow he’d put in his resignation at HMM. After his second rejection from Howard, they must be expecting it. He’d try his best to tamp down his anger and frustration and put on a mask of professional courtesy. He’s got his own reputation to build now, right? Either that, or he’ll finally call Howard a pig fucker to his face for once. He figured he’ll just play it by ear.

But as he felt Kim breathing slowly against him, the pang hit him again, the piece of himself he’d be leaving there.

He knew he’d still see her around here and there, but would she have time for him?

Morning light scattered through the curtains against the opposite wall, and he remembered that today was Valentine’s Day. They wouldn’t mention it, though. They weren’t a couple, after all. He held her close against him, naked beneath his sweatshirt.

She stirred quietly, turning and blinking up at him.

“Hey,” she smiled sleepily.

“Hey.” He trailed a finger softly along her cheek. “Want me to put on some coffee?”

“In a little bit.” She rested her head on his chest and wrapped an arm around him, holding him in place.

He kissed her forehead, gathering his resolve. He’ll do what it takes to become successful. To be worthy of her. To give her more than HHM could ever offer.

How the fuck is he going to do that?

He noticed her looking at him again, the way she was looking at him last night, eyes full of uncertainty. After a moment, she turned away, resting her cheek against his chest again, her expression obscured. He wrapped his arms around her as she nestled into his side.

They’d worry about all that tomorrow.

Chapter Text

She hadn’t seen him for weeks. It wasn’t for lack of trying, either. One thing she knew about Jimmy was that when she couldn’t find him, it usually meant he didn’t want to be found.

Kim stood in a deserted strip mall after dark looking up at the Day Spa & Nail sign, certain she had the wrong address. She looked down at the matchbook in her hand: 160 Juan Tabo Blvd. Then back up again at the storefront. She walked up to the door and cupped her hands around her face, peering in through the glass. There was a light on near the back of the salon; someone was still here. Maybe they could explain the mix-up. She tapped on the window, and to her very great surprise she saw Jimmy come around the corner through some beaded curtains.

He approached her, his nonplussed look matching her own. He appeared exhausted and subdued, which she expected. Ever since his mother had died, he’d been more withdrawn; quiet, even. That was probably the most concerning thing about it. Jimmy was rarely quiet.

“Hey,” he said after unlocking the door and opening it a crack. 

“Hi.”

He looked confused at her presence, but didn’t say anything else.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

He opened the door wider, letting her inside. “Yeah, you’d better, this area gets a little dicey after hours.”

Kim stepped inside and he closed and locked the door behind her.

“Wow,” she said, not unkindly. “Are you… are you living here?”

“Technically it’s my office. Got a permit and everything.”

She nodded, taking in her surroundings. A dozen or so massage chairs with foot baths, rolling carts filled with rainbows of polish. It smelled like acetone. “A permit,” she parroted, tapping the side of a large fish tank softly. “You, uh… didn’t call me yesterday.” 

He briefly appeared to be connecting the imaginary dots before he closed his eyes and exhaled. Kim wasn’t the type to care much about her birthday but Jimmy had faithfully celebrated with her every year since they’d met. If they weren’t together, he’d at least remembered to call.

“God, I’m sorry, Kim. I’m an asshole.”

“No, you’re not. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. Things have been crazy but that’s no excuse. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” She paused. “I haven’t seen you since before the funeral. Are you okay?”

He put his hands in his pockets and looked her in the eye. “Yeah. I’m okay.” 

She nodded, her mouth quirking up into a tiny smile, then pulled a bottle of wine out of her bag, holding it out to him. He took it.

“This is for me?”

“No. It’s for us.”

Jimmy looked up at her again, his eyes soft and welcoming. Us. The word held more weight whenever Kim uttered it, they both knew this. And tonight she could tell he needed it.

“So… there’s an us tonight?”

She shrugged. “Yeah.” 

He grinned. “Okay, great. I think I have a corkscrew back here somewhere.”

He led her towards the back room of the salon, taking two plastic cups from a table next to a jug of cucumber water. She followed him through a door that had a printed paper sign with “James McGill, Esq.” printed on it. The sight made her heart ache.

“Nice shingle.” 

“There’s more where that came from.” He held the door for her as she made her way into the tiny office. 

Jimmy found the corkscrew and opened the bottle while she looked around the tiny, quiet room. There was a desk and a couch and a giant water heater in the corner taking up half the space. He poured the wine into the plastic cups, handing one to her and holding up his own up in a toast, and it hit her: a Trefethen cabernet in a plastic cup. Jimmy McGill.

“To us,” he said. He hesitated a moment, then took a sip. “Shit, Kim, that’s really good.”

She smiled at him. “It’s the very best.”

He sat on the couch and she sat next to him, kicking her heels off. Jimmy pulled her legs up gently across his lap and there they sat; two good friends who simply could not get the us off the ground despite how much she knew they both wanted it. She wondered if he even knew what day it was. If she had to guess, Jimmy hadn’t celebrated Valentine's Day once in his entire life. Then again, neither had she.

“It’s not very impressive,” he said, embarrassed, looking around his office. “I know.”

“No, Jimmy, it is,” she insisted, and she meant it. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel ashamed of starting out on his own. “It’s exactly what you need.”

He drew his mouth into a thin line and nodded. 

“So are you really okay?” she asked again, and he looked at her with those eyes that could always convince her of just about anything.

“I am now.”

He took another sip from his plastic cup then set it on his desk, leaning back into the couch and rubbing her calves absentmindedly. It killed her sometimes how he acted like her boyfriend when they both knew that wasn’t the case. 

But it was Valentine's Day. Maybe just for tonight, it could be.

“Jimmy?” 

“Yeah?”

She wanted to ask if he thought this could ever work; if he thought maybe they could be an us when it wasn’t simply convenient. But more than that, she just wanted him. So she moved over until she was straddling his lap, and put her arms around his neck. He kissed her, and she let him. 

She told herself it was because he needed it. But the truth was, it was what she needed, too.

Chapter Text

"C'mon, Kim. Two people as good-looking as us should *not* be alone on Valentine's Day," Jimmy crooned. He cocked an eyebrow to a ludicrous angle.

"Besides, you gotta eat at some point, right?"

Kim felt her defences crumbling under the dual offence of charm and practicality.

"Is there a green papaya salad in that bag?" she asked. She raised her chin, fighting to conceal any sign that she was about to give in and have dinner with Jimmy. Before agreeing to stop by, she had told him clearly that she only had five minutes. Now she found herself in front of a beauty salon, with Jimmy holding a bag of Thai food.

"Extra shrimp, no cashews," he answered with a knowing smile.

He did remember her favourite order. Okay, Kim thought, sighing. She did have to eat.

Sensing her acceptance, Jimmy fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the salon door.

"I hope you know you're not getting a blow job out of this," Kim told him when he stepped to the side and ushered her in. She kept her tone even but he would know she was messing with him.

"Why Ms. Wexler, I am shocked. Shocked! That you would even suggest such a thing," he returned with a fair impression of a pearl-clutching Southern gentleman.

He dropped that particular act immediately as she walked past him, onto a tiled floor lined with pedicure and manicure stations. "I was thinking hand stuff, max," Jimmy added nonchalantly.

Kim turned to look him in the eye and check if he was serious. He wasn't.

"For you. Naturally," he added, waggling his fingers.

Kim finally smirked. Jimmy beamed in triumph.

Kim took another step inside and surveyed the salon. There was a fish tank. Some hair dryers. No office doors in sight.

"Explain to me how this is your office?" she asked. He’d said something about his space being in the back of another business, but it was hard to see how that was possible here.

"I'll give you the grand tour after dinner," he answered. "Now, may I recommend you begin Singles Night with a complimentary chair massage while I prepare the signature cocktails?"

Kim watched sceptically as he removed two plastic cups from a stack.

"Gin and cucumber water," Jimmy explained. "If you ask me, it beats gin and tonic every day."

Kim remained standing with her arms crossed while he prepared the drinks, using a bottle that he pulled from the bag and the salon's water dispenser.

"Not bad," she admitted after she took a sip of the cocktail.

Jimmy watched her over his cup as he took a long drink. He smacked his lips dramatically, then held his cup for a toast.

"To being footloose and fancy-free on Valentine's Day," he offered. They tapped cups and drank again.

"Kim, I know you've been working too hard as usual,” Jimmy said after a moment. “Why don't you try the massage chair while I put out dinner?"

"Maybe another time," she decided. Kim didn’t feel footloose or fancy-free - when did she ever? - but Jimmy was making an effort. It was sweet. She helped him clear off a manicure table and spoon the Thai food onto paper plates.

Dinner was nice. Kim relaxed into Jimmy's easy conversation and chuckled at his cheesy jokes. And after one bite of shrimp Kim had realised she was ravenous. She had had nothing but coffee all day.

She did need to get back to work, though, so as soon as they’d polished off the take-out, Kim asked him to show her his office.

Jimmy seemed reluctant but he led her to the back and opened a door that Kim half-expected to reveal a storage closet. She nodded evenly as she took in the office-cum-living space. When she took a couple of steps into the room Jimmy scooched past her.

"I meant to put these chairs down before you got here. Bad host," he muttered apologetically. He arranged the chairs by the desk, leaving little room to move.

"It's a little tight. But there's the desk here and a fold-down bed there. Everything I need," Jimmy said.

His voice lacked conviction. He was desperate for affirmation. Kim would not let him feel embarrassed for showing her his space. She inhaled deeply and nodded again.

"This is good, Jimmy," Kim told him with complete sincerity.

"Well, it's a start," he replied.

"Exactly," she answered, summoning the strength to convey her belief in him. "You work from here for now. You build your client base and your reputation. At the same time, you can save up for a bigger space."

"Yeah, next stop will be a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows," he chuckled, still channelling self-deprecation.

"Why not, Jimmy? You've come this far. Look how hard you worked to pass the bar. This is another step on the path to success," Kim assured him.

"Maybe you'll even find a law partner," she mused, looking around the room again. "Share office staff. Share rent."

Jimmy turned his head sharply. He was eyeing her carefully, though Kim wasn't sure why.

She continued. "And in the meantime, it looks like - unlimited cucumber water and chair massages?"

Kim offered Jimmy a smile and was glad when he finally returned it.

"Look, I gotta get back to work," she concluded. "But thanks for Singles Night. It was fun."

As they walked back to the entranceway, Jimmy tried to convince Kim to stay for a massage or even a pedicure.

"Next time," she promised. They were standing together at the door now. The moment had the potential to turn awkward. Kim spoke before Jimmy the Showman could make an appearance.

"I'm proud of you, Jimmy," she told him, pulling him into a brief, tight hug. And then she was gone. Jimmy smiled, reflecting on the past hour. It had been one of his best Valentine's dates ever.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

They stumbled, as one, from bedroom to bathroom with halting steps and bowed legs, wobbly from too much horse riding, too many shots of tequila, and a round of satisfying (muscle cramps notwithstanding) sex.

“Didn’t think I’d be doing this kind of walk for another few decades,” Jimmy snorted, turning on the tub faucet. He turned in time to get a gratifying view of Kim’s ass as she bent over, searching under the sink.

“I’d say I’m here to fix your plumbing problem, but I don’t think my knee’s up for a second round for a while,” he said, attempting to laugh as he massaged his aching knee.

Kim raised herself up slowly, displaying a carton of Epsom salts.

“And here I thought I’d ordered a pizza with extra sausage,” she smirked, sprinkling the salt into the rising water and letting it fizz. “Go ahead and get in.”

“I’m used to this pain,” he protested. “Your hips and back need some relief.”

They faced each other, naked as they day they were born, in a standoff. It was perhaps the most pleasant argument he’d ever fought.

“Jimmy,” she sighed, folding her arms in irritation and only managing to frame her breasts becomingly, “get in the tub.”

 Jimmy was a man who loved and respected his girlfriend. However, he was also a lawyer who could argue for a concession.

 “If that means I can massage your hips and thighs after your soak, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Her smirk was unexpectedly soft, and she held his hand firmly as he negotiated wobbling thighs and unsteady calves to step over the lip of the bath. The hot water greeted him as a friend, sliding over his skin like silk, embracing and easing the many twinges and aches as it went. Kim helped him brace himself as he sat down, sighing with pleasure.

Once he was settled, Kim found a cotton robe to wrap around herself against the chill and sat next to the tub on a pile of towels, reaching over to rub his aching knee. He groaned, both pained and pleasured.

“So…pizza delivery boy?” he said, into the quiet of the bathroom, broken by the lapping of the water.

“Hm?” Kim looked up from her contemplation of his swollen knee. “Isn’t that how the old pornos go?”

“No…it’s just…” the question had been sitting on his chest for the past few months. The closer they came to this hearing, the larger it loomed. “Kim, we know there’s a good chance I’m not going to come out unscathed. Suspension for a year, if I’m very lucky. Disbarred if I’m not.”

“We’re not going to let you be unlucky.” She was giving him her determined face.

“It’s just…” the words were pouring out of him now, loosened by exhaustion and tequila and that tender look in her eye that’s just for him. “…you worked so hard to get me that position with Cliff, and that’s when we started up. I’m not coming out of this without some consequence, Kim. Can you be with a guy who’s only qualified to deliver pizza?”

She stared back at him with a measure of hurt, and he instantly wanted to strike those words from the record, pull them back and swallow them.

“I didn’t fight to get you that position because I would only be with a guy who had a big-name job. I fought because I wanted you to know that you deserved it. That you’d earned it. Even if HHM can’t see that, I wanted you to know how much you’re lo…” she broke off, and now they’ve waltzed into a new minefield. His heart was beating no less quickly than if he were stepping among actual mines.

“I don’t care if you teach kindergarten or scrub toilets,” she growled, as if the fierceness of her words could mask what she’s just intimated. “So long as pizza is the only thing you’re delivering to horny housewives.”

“Does it bother you that we’ve never said the thing?” Jimmy asked suddenly, as she rubbed her thumbs in a quick, firm movement up his calf. It was a risky move – her guard was already up. And the word itself, if he must coax it out, didn't feel quite as genuine.

Kim knitted her brow, either in feigned curiosity or real irritation. “What thing?”

“The, uh, the three little words that this whole day is about,” he replied hesitantly. The three little words he could hold onto if she found she didn’t like him without his license.

“February the fourteenth?” she asked playfully.

“Sure.”

“Those three little words get tossed around so much,” she replied, stilling her hands. “People say it about shampoo, or grout cleaner. Sometimes people say it and don’t show it.”

She paused thoughtfully. “I prefer three other little words.”

“Which ones are those?”

“Res ipsa loquitur.”

“Tort law on negligence?” He looked absolutely befuddled, and she grinned glowingly.

“I’m thinking more about the actual meaning of those words – the thing speaks for itself. My guy remembers me mentioning horses and plans a day where I get to live my girlhood dreams. He’s generous, he’s kind, he dazzles me with his smarts, and he makes an art form out of making me laugh. I’m truly living when I’m with him. Res ipsa loquitur. Our record speaks for itself.”

And now she gave him the look that makes his heart trip, a smile slow as molasses that lights up her entire face, eyes soft and warm.

She cast her eyes down. “I’m actually a little ashamed. My cufflinks gift can’t compare to that.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied sharply, taking her hands in his own. “Res ipsa loquitur. My gal goes to bat for me against the heavyweight lawyers in the city, with months of preparation and research. She talks me down, lifts me up.” He nodded towards his knee. “She knows when I’m hurting and tries to fix it. She shares my bed and my office space. She owns my heart. Res ipsa loquitur, Kim.”

“Res ipsa loquitur, Jimmy.”

Chapter Text

Kim's Bedroom. Morning. 2004.

"Mmmm, good morning..." She sighs.

"Hi... How did the birthday girl sleep?"

"Mmm... very well." 

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhmm. I was pretty exhausted after last night..."

"You wanna stage a reenactment of some of that right now?"

"You think you can take it?"

"You be the judge," Jimmy lifts the sheet around their waists.

"Oh," She giggles. He's very  awake. "Impressive." 

Kim kisses his chest and begins working her way down his stomach.

"Hey... for this to be a true reenactment, I think this is supposed to be the other way around."

"I'm improvising." Kim ducks under the sheet and out of view.

Somehow this is even more thrilling; the excitement of not being able to anticipate what she'll do next. Jimmy's only clue is watching her shift under the sheet. 

She teases him for a while, and then she goes for it. 

"Fuck..." 

She's really going for it.

After last night, how is he already this close? "Kim… I'm gonna…."

But she doesn't stop.

Jimmy pulls down the sheet and is met with an indescribably erotic sight. Her eyes look up and into his, but she doesn't stop. 

"Kim, if you don't stop…." He tries to pull her back up, but she swats him away and pulls the sheet back over her head. 

"Oh fuck..." He pants and softly thrusts his hips.

And so she takes him deeper, humming around him as she does.

He cries out as his body seizes in pleasure. Ears pop. A leg cramps. All the blood in his head rushes to his groin. "Jesus..."

Kim slowly crawls back up his body, kissing his chest on the way just like she did before but in reverse.

He pulls her to him for a kiss. 

She pauses for a second. Is he sure? After that ... 

But he is. 

"Gross," She giggles. 

"You or me?" 

"Both."

He reaches over to his nightstand and gulps his coffee. He kisses her once more, "Better?"

"Hardly," Kim lays down on his chest. 

But Jimmy is already moving out from under her. He really wants to return the favor.

"No—" She grabs him and pulls him back.

"Why no?" 

"In a little bit. More of this…." She snuggles into his chest. "Besides, you got to me several times last night..."

"How many times was it, you think?"

"Three."

"Three?"

"Uh-huh." Her fingers dance across his chest. "It was a very good birthday. Thank you."

"Well, if you liked that, just wait until you see what I've got in store for you tonight."

"Oh?"

"Oh yeah, we're ramping up the romance tonight."

"I can't wait." She plants a kiss on his neck. "I've got a couple of things planned for you, too."

"Oh, you do?"

"Mhmm…"

"What kinda things?"

"It's a surprise."

"A sexy surprise?"

"Possibly." Definitely. 

"I got us a reservation down at Forque for tonight. I figure we're bound to run into at least someone from the bar. Might be a good opportunity for us to conduct a little reconnaissance. I'm thinking maybe we stage a conversation about going the cemetery -- or maybe this is how we start floating the rumor about the reading room -- we can improv it."

"Are you sure you want to do that tonight?"

"Yeah, I mean... it's kind of our thing, isn't it? I figure we run a play or two, and then we come home and, you know, celebrate."

"You don't think that's a little... perverse?"

"How is it perverse? A bar scam is what brought us here —"

"Yeah," She's troubled now. "But it was a silly little trick on some douchebag stockbroker. This is... you know..." She doesn't want to say it feels morbid to celebrate scamming people about his dead brother, but...

"So what scams are we allowed to enjoy, and which ones are we not allowed to enjoy?" His tone is more passive-aggressive, or maybe even openly-aggressive, than he means for it to be.

She rolls out from his arms and onto her back. Ouch. That hurt.

"Listen, it was just a thought. If you don't want to do it, we won't. We can do something else. Did I ever tell you about the Irish Sweeps ticket hustle? It's a good one..."

Kim doesn't answer. 

"Or the wife's car scam? I've never run that one with a female partner. That opens up some new possibilities —"

"I think we focus on the scholarship fund."

"Yeah?"

She looks at him finally. Her guts twisted into knots. She  does  want to do this. Silly bar tricks seem too small potatoes now. And if he's comfortable with it... "The memorial and reading room ceremony will get around on their own, but we could be doing more to punch up your role on the scholarship committee. "

"Well, okay then," He smiles almost smugly. It was a good idea.

"What do you think?"

He rolls over onto her this time, and her legs open for him, "I like it."

She nods. She likes it, too.

He kisses her. She kisses him. 

Reconciliation.

He breaks from her lips and moves to the valley of her breasts and then to her stomach.

Then under the sheet, he meets the apex of her thighs.

"Fuck..." She whispers as her back arches.

They spend the rest of the morning in bed. 

Lazy and spent, they both eventually drift off to make up for the sleep missed the night before during her birthday festivities.

"Happy Valentine's Day," He mumbles into a mess of blonde hair as his eyes slowly close.

"Happy Valentine's Day," She whispers back.

Chapter Text

February 14th, 2005
Albuquerque, New Mexico

February 14th, 2005
Titusville, Florida

Chapter Text

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

DATE: 2/14/06

SUBJECT: Hey baby! <3 SPECIAL DISCOUNT RATE <3

Hey Saul G.,

You haven't chatted with us in over a month, its been to long! Us lovely ladies over at LuvChat.com miss you so much. We wanted to make sure you dont miss out on our ~~ EXCLUSIVE OFFER ~~ one day only, specially for Valentines Day. 15% off today only…baby, we r lonely for you...and when you chat with us, your not alone!

Be our special date tonight! We’re waiting up 4 u… kiss kiss!

-You're favorite girls XOXO

FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected]

DATE: 2/14/06

SUBJECT: Completing your intake paperwork (Co-pay waived)

Dear Ms. Wexler,

Thank you for your interest in our practice. We noticed that it has been over six months since you began the intake process for referral to a therapist in our network, and we wanted to check in to remind you that we are here for you. Holidays can be a particularly difficult time for many people, and we wanted to let you know that if you complete your intake forms today, one of our practitioners would be able to waive the insurance co-pay for your first session.

We at Sunshine State take mental health very seriously, and we want to ensure that you get the help you need. Getting things off your chest can be vital. Remember, you are not alone.

Wishing you well, and Happy Valentine’s Day.

Sincerely,

Bill Chester, LMHC

Sunshine State Therapy

Chapter Text

How they got her address, she doesn't know. But every February 13th since her move to Florida she's received a card from Saul Goodman and Associates wishing her a happy birthday. No matter that Saul could not legally represent her in Florida. Of course that wasn't the point.

He wished he could take credit for it, that brilliantly obnoxious idea. It was Francesca who mentioned a mailing letter and birthday in the same sentence, and the idea was born. Kim was the first one added to the list, and Saul had a relatively good day. At the end of it, he leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, just imagining.

Who was he kidding. He will take credit.

Kim stares at his smiling face and accusatory finger before dropping him on the kitchen table. She has no birthday plans. She’ll finish work at 5, go home, there’s food somewhere in the house… 

She glances at the postcard again. Maybe she does have plans.

February 14th. Saul’s day starts with his dick ejaculating in someone else’s mouth.

It was risky; he didn’t know if he’d have the time. But today is the day of romance and Saul wanted to make the effort.

The office is filled with cheap decorations and love. Not romantic love. More like love of top fashion and money.

He has plans at a fancy restaurant with a lenient dress code with four of his favorite call girls -- the four who aren't afraid to abuse that dress code.

Did he have to choose Valentine’s Day? No. But his girls deserve some celebration for their excellent work, and it’s one less available table for a happy couple. Scratch that last one. It's because he feels like eating steak off a few racks.

Evening comes around. Once seated, he spots an attractive couple who look like they're just barely enjoying themselves. Always one to help, Saul sends over the most suggestive drink on the menu. He watches the hysterics until it's time to leave.

Into the limo, champagne, out of the limo, a "Wait for me upstairs" and a couple handfuls of ass as they pass him. He watches their hips sway up the stairs, but when he turns around, something else catches his eye. A hot pink letter among the pile of mail. Okay, he'll bite.

Please cease...

...unsubscribe from...

What is this shit?

Regards,

Kim Wexler

What?!

He reads it seven times. He splashes whiskey into a tumbler and then reads it four more times, gulping.

Stop, he interrupts his spiraling. Don't do this. This is fine. 

It's short-lived.

Fine my ass.

The girls are laughing together upstairs and Saul is dialing Kim's home number by heart. Voicemail. Voicemail. Voicemail.

"Uh, yeah, what is this shit? I can't send you a birthday card? You can't ubsubscribe from a person. And even if you could, I don't know about Florida law, but here in New Mexico we have a little something called the CAN-SPAM act. Wanna sue me for it--"

"--baby? Sue me!"

She's been listening to the result of her handiwork slumped on the couch, the energy that prompted her to action yesterday, gone. Her cigarette is almost lit, but with an impulsive decision she slips her finger off the button and calmly places the stick back in its case. She grabs her coat and shuts the door on his voice.

What tastes good again? It's been years since she's had any. Snickers is fine. Where's the Twix? 

"Buying these for someone special?"

She refrains from judging the cashier for her invasive question. Instead she nods and tries to believe it.

Usually eating candy in one's car at 11pm is a sign of mental breakdown. Tonight, it's the opposite.

The chocolate tastes good. But now comes the hard part. She takes out her second buy from the plastic bag and digs through the crap in her purse to find a pen. She stares at the front of the card, then opens it. Thinks, then writes. 

Then reads it back.

"You're doing fine."

She exhales, ignoring the embarrassment that threatens to have her crumple her efforts and throw it into the nearest trash can. Why couldn't she have written You're doing great if she was going to lie to herself anyway? She reads it again. You're doing fine. You're doing fine. You're doing fine.

She imagines writing three other words to herself, ones that she's seldom told another person, much less herself. Never herself. Maybe one day.

You're doing fine.

She nods.

I'm doing fine.

Chapter Text

He grits his teeth to ride out the pain pulsating from his knee, freshly smashed against the bedpost.

“I swear, you do this every time. You should really get that checked out.”

“What I need checked is my Xanax refill,” he mutters, the words tight and strained.

Tuesday-Jenny settles her hand on his knee and strokes it with her thumb.

He shoves it away. “Hey, c’mon. Not today of all days.”

“‘Of all days?’ Uh, hello, it’s Wednesday. Valentine’s is tomorrow.”

“Must’ve got my calendar mixed up.” He fumbles for his Bluetooth earpiece again as she continues eyeing him. “Well? Go have a breakfast bar or something.”

“You’re out.”

“So I have two things to restock. What’re you waiting around for? My grocery list?”

Kim squeezes the strap of her purse before pushing the door open.

Her eyes dart around the office. No new decor.

He uses his shoulder to push the door open. Francesca actually bothers to glance up from her travel magazine and scoffs the second she spots the cupcakes he ferried from Albertson’s.

“Bring enough for the whole class?” she asks with a complete lack of bemusement only slightly muffled by the partition.

“Uh, yeah.” He shifts gears and thrusts a finger through the air, still gripping his cargo. “You bet your ass I did.”

“What did I say about mentioning my ass?”

“It’s an expression!”

Francesca flips the page of her magazine. “Not even peripherally.”

“Yeesh!”

Kim spots the ambush in her periphery. She should’ve expected by now that decor (or lack thereof) wouldn’t be a giveaway. It always follows the same schedule, and they love their surprises.

After the last stanza of Happy Birthday, Kim instinctively joins her coworkers’ clapping, forgetting just what was worth applauding.

She glimpses out the window and catches the fronds of the palm trees swaying in the breeze, nearly as synchronized.

A devil’s food cupcake sits upon his desk. He stares at it, as he’s been doing for the past ten minutes.

It has sprinkles.

There’s twenty-three of them.

He gets up before he starts evaluating their symmetry.

Poking his head through the doorway only reveals an empty lobby, a rare lunchtime curse.

Three strides and he’s at Francesca’s partition. He peers down into photos of white, sandy beaches lined with palm trees before tapping the glass.

“Yo, Moneypenny! How’s about we order in for lunch? I’m thinking pad see ew.”

Francesca, who rose from her chair the second he threw out a we, tosses aside the magazine and mechanically grabs her purse and sweater.

“Do it yourself,” she says, paired with an eyeroll dripping in disdain. “I’m headed out.”

Before she disappears out the front door completely, Francesca pauses and throws over her shoulder: “And don’t forget to dial 9 for outside lines.”

His thumb glides over the pinky ring.

He takes a deep breath.

After blowing out the candles, Kim is the first to be handed a slice of cake.

She pokes at it with a plastic fork.

Vanilla.

Alan seamlessly slides out of a conversation with Errol and resumes it with her, as interchangeable as everything else.

“Great party, huh?”

Kim hums in agreement.

“You should see how my kid blew out his candles last week.”

“Oh, yeah?” She adjusts her grip on the flimsy paper plate as a newly deposited scoop of ice cream (vanilla) weighs it down.

“I swear, he practically covered the place with wax he blew so hard. Got into the frosting and everything. Whole time, had his eyes locked shut. I mean locked. Down. Waving his little hands. I asked him why, he said he really, really, really wanted his wish to come true.”

“Must’ve been a big wish,” she says.

“I got him a Transformer.”

His fingers brush the phone. He lifts the handset up and the dial-tone pierces through him. He adjusts the knot of his tie with his other hand, the silk fabric swishing, then puts the handset back down.

Slamming his hands on the desk, he springs from his chair, leather straining, and marches toward the lobby.

The clamor of his door flying open causes all eyes to turn to him.

“Valentine’s special! Crimes of passion, half off! Uh, not in the actual legal term of art sense. I’m talking non-violent here. You know, the classics. Alleged property damage,” he lists with his fingers, "trespassing, theft.

“Did your fella’s mailbox get acquainted with a bat? Rightfully repatriate Fido from your old love nest? Old flame’s garage happen to go up in flames? Ah, love. The things you do...”

He momentarily pictures the crowd shrinking to an audience of one, and swallows to push the image back down.

“’Isn’t arson violent,’ you ask?”

He’s met with blank stares.

“Depends! I say, show me intent. Seems we here in the southwest have an awfully high rate of misclassification of arson. Must be the heat.”

His train of thought starts to trickle through his fingers like sand, and he sees the image again—an oasis he can never return to, the very idea a mirage, too dangerous to reach for.

“That desert sun really takes no prisoners—” He licks his lips.

“—And you shouldn’t be one either! Weather-related incidents and all, as they say in Roswell. But count yourselves lucky; it’s a dry heat. Some places, you’d be drowning in the humidity.”

She doesn’t feel the urge anymore, but Kim takes the occasional smoke break to punctuate the occasional day.

They don’t last long; the air gets too sticky.

It bears down heavily today, February be damned. Fabric already clings.

Trina had advised Kim once that if the side door ever seemed to lock her out past 3, she could just jimmy it open.

Kim has never stayed late enough for that advice to be of any use.

Keys jingle in his pocket, rattled by the chi machine.

Today, there’s decor. Dangling over the edge of Tammy’s reception desk are glossy pink hearts, precariously taped. On top, a vase sports a pink bouquet.

When Kim turns the corner, more decorations greet her. Pink streamers, a pink paper box.

Everywhere, pink.

He presses his earpiece, and it chirps in response.

There was a time, years ago, where she might have slipped a snarky remark about the decor to someone. And that someone might’ve taken it as a challenge, made decorations out of copy paper to “break up the color palette.”

But this is the fourth Valentine’s Day where she’ll say nothing remarkable about it to no one in particular.

“Whoa, whoa, save it for the office. We don’t want the presence of certain third parties spoiling a little thing I like to call confidential communications.”

He drapes his feet on the desk.

“Believe me, there are plenty down at the courthouse. So stop yapping privileged information away!”

Just over three years ago, she saw pink in a different office with its own brand of decor upheaval.

Three years was law school. Three years was longer than they had under the same roof.

Three years was everything.

And so far, nothing at all.

“He had to enter that establishment; the sun was blazing! Private necessity, clear as day. Of course he stripped down, the A/C was on the fritz! Keep trying to make this whole ‘streaker’ angle stick and we’ll throw in a defamation suit to boot. Yeah, that’s what I thought. Anti-SLAPP laws? Buddy, this is New Mexico.”

He uncrosses his feet and swings them down, swiveling the chair.

It was the worst amalgamation of pink she ever saw.

“See, just like I said! Take a nice ski trip to Taos. You’re behind on what payments? Uh, better make that sledding in Ruidoso.”

The clothes weren’t the problem.

His fingers curl around the earpiece and he flings it onto the desk. It clatters, and he reaches across to grab the phone handset.

The dial-tone reverberates off the walls.

He stretches toward the buttons.

His index finger hovers over the 9.

And hovers.

Hovers and hovers, like a helicopter, then starts to wobble as if it actually runs on a rotor for good measure.

He’s actually never been in a helicopter before. After all that money…

He’d need another big payout for helicopter money. Another big scheme.

So big he couldn’t do it alone. If he wanted to, he’d need…he’d want…

His finger retreats. He returns the phone to the receiver, washing the office in silence, and clasps his hands atop the desk.

Suddenly, he squeezes his eyes shut—as tight as possible, so tight his nose scrunches up and his cheekbones rise and crinkle and ache—and lifts his hands, wiggling his fingers in the phone’s direction.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Kim,

First, I have to apologize for misleading you. I hope that the trip to Albuquerque wasn’t too much trouble, and I’m so grateful that you made it. Please let Francesca know if you need any help covering expenses. We’re still in contact, or at least I think we are.

Seeing your face, you allowing me to say all of that to you, in person, is the single greatest moment that I have had in the last 6 years. There aren’t too many other contenders, but regardless of that, it was a moment that I feel I have been building towards, since all that happened to us.

I hope this makes you laugh- I’ve finally been talking to someone. Well, someones actually. They encourage group therapy in here, it gets you good behavior points and I can certainly use as many of those as I can get. But it turns out that therapy is pretty interesting. Somehow, I don’t think that I could really see myself until I had these other guys looking. Probably, I didn’t want to. Definitely, I haven’t had the time to what they call “sit with a feeling.” Or feelings. Or regrets. Time is one thing that I’m just lousy with now, and it hasn’t been easy to figure this shit out, but the more I do it- and this is a surprise- the more I want to do it! I this, calm, that I don’t think I’ve felt in my entire life. I wish I had done this sooner, when you suggested it. You always knew what to do.

I thought that I would be talking about my childhood, or Chuck. He’s come up a bit, but the main thing, that feeling that I’ve been able to sit with... turns out it has more to do with you than anything else. When I got the Sandpiper money, I was able to run away from you, from myself, from anything that reminded me of who we were together, or who I was when I was happy. You did make me so happy Kim, and I should have said it more. I should have told you every day.

For the last few years, I really thought that at any moment things would get so big, so distracting that one day I would simply wake up, go about my day, and realize that I hadn’t thought about you at all. Then, I would know that forgetting is possible. Then, when I knew that, it would make it all easier- I would be able to go through every day afterwards without pouring so much energy in to managing the lump in my throat or the knife in my gut. That’s when I’d be able to kick the pills, scale back some of the less savory clientele, stop being such an insufferable asshole all the damn time. Fuck, maybe I’d even be able to make some friends or start dating again like a normal person. I’d be able to let go of some of the things I’ve held on to... (the feds have it all now, but I’m sure they didn’t keep any of the stuff that I’d touch in the hall when I walked past, or take out in the middle of the night.)

That day still hasn’t come. And, here’s the thing - it won’t. It’s never going to come because, I love you Kim Wexler. It’s not something that can end, it just is. That’s the answer to all of it. I was running away from Jimmy McGill, trying to kill him off because he was a sucker holding a torch for the woman who left him... and Saul doesn’t give much of a shit about anyone.

But, I realize now that for the last 6 years that I was trying to do that, I was trying to do something impossible. I was waiting for some magic day when- poof!- I’d just forget you- but isn’t going to happen! How could it?! It’s laughable.

So, now I’m going to love you from over here. I’ve made peace with it, and I feel like I’m able to breathe for the first time in I don’t know how long, And, I’m not dreading loving you every day of the rest of my life anymore. I’m looking forward to it. I’m lucky to have that.

There’s no need for you to write me back. This isn’t a cry for attention, or at least it isn’t meant to be. Just, something that I left out of my statement at my sentencing hearing... it's something I hadn’t really known how to say.

I’m not sure when this will find you exactly, so I’ll try and cover my bases- Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy birthday. And even though you hate it, Happy Valentine’s Day.

I love you,

James

Video: I Guess It's Love

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

They took a moment simply to exist, hand in hand, peering into each other’s eyes as they caught the rays of the setting sun. Kim still couldn’t believe they got to do this: touching, breathing, feeling the cool winter air on their skin together.

Finally they squeezed hands, and James spread out the picnic blanket while Kim poured the wine (the non-alcoholic wine, to be precise; they were in a public park, after all).

“So,” Kim remarked as they sat down, smoothing out her jogging pants as though they were a skirt from a bygone era. “What’s this mysterious birthday present you’ve got for me?”

“It might be more Valentines-y this year. I…well, I didn’t exactly have enough money for both gifts. But this one needed to happen.” He looked down at his hands, and Kim ached with pride; it was a big deal for him to admit his own indigence aloud. But he was humble enough to do so now. 

His eyes flicked up to her, looking like a bashful schoolboy. “So…I finally figured out what flower you deserve to have in your hair.”

Kim’s jaw dropped open and a smile stole across her face. “From all those years ago?”

“Yeah. Way back then, I started looking into floriography — you know, what flowers mean — and I even got this book.” He pulled a little antiquated, clothbound booklet out of his pocket. “But then…I was too indecisive, I could never choose one specific flower for you, and I just…let it slide. For years.”

Kim ran her hand over the book cover. “How do you still have this?” she whispered.

He snorted out a laugh. “I don’t. It’s a different copy; the other one’s probably at the bottom of a landfill squashed under a cardboard cut-out of Saul Goodman. But I found the same edition.”

Kim’s eyes were wide. “And…you have the flower here?”

“I do indeed. Tucked in this little cardboard box.” He moved to get it, but Kim paused him, trying to steady her breath.

“Wait wait wait, first…I want to decide which flower you get. And not just you…every version of you. From every era.” She knew she was stalling, but she couldn’t help it; she wasn’t quite ready to be as adored as she was surely about to be. He raised a knowing eyebrow at her, and she barreled ahead. “So. Jimmy gets…”

“Ah, you forgot one. Before I was your Jimmy…I was Slippin’ Jimmy.”

“Even better! Here we go.” Kim leafed through the book, muttering. “Slippin’ Jimmy…let’s see, the crocus means ‘cheerfulness and youthful gladness,’ but that’s too obvious. Oh, here we go: coriander.”

“And it means…?”

“‘Hidden worth; merit.’”

James’s eyes widened. “You sure about that merit? You didn’t see some of the stuff I—”

“Well, it was hidden. But it was there.” She grinned and flipped to a random page. “Ooh, I found Jimmy McGill already…here. Aloe: ‘affection; also grief.’”

He pressed his hands to his eyes. “Affection and grief! Shit, Kim, are you gonna try to make me cry with every one of these?”

“I swear I’m not, I’m just aiming for accuracy.”

James took the book from her. “I’ll spare you the cringe-worthy trauma of thinking about Saul. …Here he is: the dahlia. It means ‘good taste.’” He smirked at her.

“Ha. Really.”

“Kidding, kidding. It’s probably this one: the nasturtium, meaning ‘patriotism, conquest, and victory in battle.’ Or wait…no. Here. Southernwood.” He tapped the page. “‘Constancy and jest.’”

Kim felt her face flush. “Constancy? From Saul Goodman?” She looked down, feigning disinterest. “Constancy to…whom, exactly?”

He took her chin in his hands. “You know who had my heart. Always. Any impression I gave of…inconstancy…was a fucking jest.”

Her throat tightened up. “You should find Gene’s flower, too. I know him the least.”

James’s face grew somber now. “Hm...I’m tempted by the red carnation: ‘alas for my poor heart.’ But that’s way too self-indulgent. …This is more like it: cyclamen. ‘Resignation, diffidence…goodbye.’”

Now it was Kim’s turn to stifle her tears. “But it wasn’t forever,” she said. “The goodbye.”

“No. It wasn’t.”

Gingerly, she plucked the book from his fingers. “And now: James McGill, the noble felon.”

This one took the longest, although it shouldn’t have. She passed over the appropriate flower at first, but then couldn’t help but return to it.

“Here,” she said. “Promise you won’t say it’s too cheesy. Because it’s perfect for you.”

He read it aloud. “The white rose. ‘Innocence…heavenly…I’m worthy of you.’”

James’s lined face looked ethereal in the sunset.

“I’m worthy of you,” he repeated. “Am I?”

She shrugged. “Am I?”

He clasped her hand. “I’m not innocent, you know.”

“I know. It’s just poetic license. Showmanship, if you will.”

“Well that, I can appreciate.”

They sat in silence for several moments, gazing at the waning sunlight reflected in the lake. “So...am I finally allowed to tell you about your flower?” he asked.

Kim nodded. “Absolutely. I’m done stalling.”

“Well. Regretfully, or perhaps fortunately, you have only one identity to pin down. You have ever and always been Kim Wexler, even when you didn’t know who you were. I always knew.”

“Did you, now.”

“I did.”

Kim’s fingers drummed on her leg. “Well?” She realized she was holding her breath.

The bare branches rustled in the breeze, and he pulled her closer to him. “After all this time…I wish it was more creative. But your flower...it actually is a red rose.” And he opened the cardboard box to prove it.

Kim cocked her head inquiringly. “You swore I wasn’t a rose gal. That it was too cliché…that I needed more.” 

He held the book out to her. "Read the meaning."

“It says...‘I love you,’” Kim mused. “Nothing fancy. That’s not too…mundane for you?” 

He shook his head fervently. “It’s not. It’s the most important phrase in the English language…and I had no idea what it meant back then. Did you?” 

Kim swallowed. “I didn’t.” 

“And now we do. Wouldn’t you say?”

Unable to speak, she nodded.

James McGill tucked the rose behind her ear and raised his glass to Kim Wexler.

“Happy birthday, happy Valentine’s Day, happy…just…happy.”