Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had now been a few months since Kim had permanently left Albuquerque, and Howard and Lalo had last seen Jimmy.

It was raining intensely. The weather could not be more fitting for the moment.

Everything was bleak and black. Particularly Howard’s soul.

The past few months up until this day, Howard and Lalo kept on adapting to their new “life” as dead ghosts stuck in the realm of the living. Throughout such time, they discovered more ghost abilities… and restrictions.

Much to Lalo’s chagrin, their souls were restricted to roaming around the state of New Mexico alone. There was one day they had attempted to leave the state, as a test, only for an invisible force to stop them from going any further. To Howard, this made no difference. He had never been outside New Mexico either way, so he was fine with this. To Lalo, it was an entirely different story. Mexico was his homeland (one he clearly adored), and the knowledge that he could no longer go there in any form enraged the Salamanca deeply. He only went back to his old, jovial self eventually because Howard had one day the idea of asking Lalo about Mexico. That worked like a charm. Lalo visibly beamed at Howard’s interest in his homeland (a surprisingly honest and innocent kind of happiness coming from Lalo of all people, too) and “wasted” days upon days telling Howard stories about Mexico and his childhood (unfortunately… some of the details were a bit too gory and disturbing for Howard’s taste. Can’t forget. Lalo IS a Salamanca). All of this joined together unexpectedly brought the two dead souls just a little closer in the long run. Something Howard was certainly not opposed against. Anything to make Lalo less annoying enough.

Another restriction imposed on their souls the pair discovered was the time period they could viably stay away from their buried bodies. Usually, the time period from the moment they left the meth lab (their shared tomb) behind lasted a whole month before their bodies, through some other kind of ghostly invisible force, gradually pulled their souls back to them like a magnet, forcing the dead pair to return to where their bodies eternally laid. Once there, they had to stay there, preferably inside the makeshift grave itself, an entire day so their souls could “recharge” and regain the energy necessary for the pair to be allowed to leave the lab for another month again. “A needlessly complicated process”, in Lalo’s words. But those were the rules, so…

Throughout these months, construction on Fring’s meth superlab had resumed. Every day (whenever they were at the lab), Howard and Lalo would watch a construction team advance work on the lab here and there (the same room where their bodies were buried, which was freaky to think about). They were supervised by an older man Howard recognized as the Albuquerque courthouse’s former parking lot attendant, to his considerable shock. Lalo only added to the insanity by throwing Howard into a loop of a discovery: that older man was none other than THE Mike Ehrmantraut Kim had mentioned the day she broke up with Jimmy, the same man who had been protecting the con pair from Lalo during the period the latter had been faking his death. In short, this old man Howard didn’t think much of, who he would consistently greet and sometimes even strike small conversation with when he worked on the parking lot, was now no more, no less, than Gustavo Fring’s right-hand man himself, a hardened criminal. It was simply… unbelievable to think about. Such a small world…

Nothing exciting had happened during that period. Kim left, and Howard chose not to see Jimmy again, not even wanting to see his face in any way and shape, fearing the moment he did so, he’d let himself be too influenced by Lalo’s way of thinking and would commit a regrettable action against the guy. Better let bygones be bygones…

…is what Howard would’ve loved to say. But destiny had other plans in mind.

It was unusual for rain to fall on Albuquerque, let alone torrential rain. But that was the event of today. The skies were eerily dark, and the streets were emptier than the norm. Almost as if the heavens themselves could sense what was to come.

Howard and Lalo had been right by the entrance to Lavandería Brillante, watching the torrential downpour washing the earth. Lalo, in particular, had been fascinated by the sight, having never seen rain like this in his life due to his more desert-y origins. When Howard asked Lalo which kind of weather he preferred though, the latter stuck by the drier, sandier heat of his “amado México”. Probably predictable.

And then, at some point… Howard sensed it. Sensed her.

Caught off guard by this, Howard took a few steps forward into the rain, the drops tapping into his ghostly body but not wetting it, and stared into the distance, in the direction where he could very faintly sense the new, familiar presence. He frowned.

“That your attempt at a scary face?” Lalo playfully jabbed. He joined Howard on the latter’s current spot and stared in the direction Howard was looking at, trying to see what had caught the blondie’s attention. “Is someone approaching, or…?”

Howard’s fingers twitched. He could feel his ghostly instincts screaming at him. Telling him, whatever this was, it was important. And so, he chose to listen to them. He gave Lalo a wary look.

“It’s Kim. She’s back in Albuquerque.” Howard revealed.

“Oh? ¿En serio?” That seemed to pique Lalo’s interest. “So, that güerita is back already, huh? Hasn’t even been that long. Couldn’t be mad at her poor, previous Saul Goodman who can do no wrong for too long, huh? Buhu. We should all cry for Saul, the true victim of everything, and beg for his wise, righteous forgiveness.”

That cracked a tiny smile out of Howard. Lalo noticed and openly smirked, satisfied.

“It could be. But I don’t actually think that to be the case.” Howard refuted. “Shall we go?”

On they went. Kim had (unknowingly) taken Howard and Lalo with her to Jimmy’s new law office, named “Saul Goodman & Associates”. The moment the dead pair entered the office’s waiting room with Kim, the mood changed drastically. For both parties involved.

Business was booming, to say the least. Such would normally be a good thing… if not for the fact most, if not everyone inside the waiting room, was so clearly a criminal. And not just criminals of any kind. As Lalo correctly pointed out, they were of the hardened kind, the kind that had been at it for years on end and were willing to do anything for money or for their business, even killing. Jimmy had once represented Lalo himself in court, a criminal of the worst kind, and it appeared as though it was no fluke. It was there to stay. He was now willing to do it again. Over and over.

Howard had wanted to say the sight didn’t surprise him, considering this was Jimmy McGill, Chuck’s evil brother, he was talking about… but that wouldn’t be the complete truth. The sight of all those criminals concentrated in that one single room, waiting for Jimmy to get them out of their deserved punishments… it was far more disturbing than he would like to admit.

And now, here they were, inside Jimmy… or rather, Saul’s office. It didn’t take being in the office too long for Howard to figure out the man had discarded the “Jimmy McGill” name altogether, now going by “Saul Goodman” fulltime. That’s it. Chuck is dead. HHM is gone. And now, Saul threw away the McGill name. It was done. Chuck’s legacy was 100% gone. Burned to the ground, like his house. It’s almost like he never existed. And it only made Howard feel worse.

Chuck deserved better… he deserved so much better…

He numbly watched as Kim signed some papers. Divorce papers.

Ah. That explained her return. It wasn’t a permanent one.

The door to Saul’s office opened, music infiltrating the room briefly. A dark-haired woman, most certainly working for Saul, approached his desk, pushed a small statue out of the way, placed another set of papers on top of the table and began writing something. As for Saul…

He was busy doing something on his phone. He was completely ignoring Kim, and the woman’s face said it all. She was deeply bothered, even hurt, by everything. The ambience, and Saul’s attitude alike. Not that Howard felt sorry for her, in this case. He and Chuck warned her time and again. Now, it was time for her to reap what she sowed.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Kim finished her half of the work and handed the divorce papers to Saul. The man, wearing a chipper, indifferent attitude, picked up a pen and signed the papers. While he was doing so, he briefly glanced up and noticed Kim staring at the office’s pompous, ostentatious decorations. He immediately took his chance.

“What do you think? Pretty great, right?” Saul asked proudly. A bit too proudly.

“Yeah. It’s, um…” Kim tried to describe, to make any small conversation the way she used to do with Jimmy, to no avail. In the end, she settled with a simple “yep”.

“I just need your printed name and signature.” The dark-haired woman, Saul’s secretary, requested meanwhile. Kim took the offered papers and signed them. At the same time, Saul carelessly threw the divorce papers in the secretary’s direction. He made himself comfortable (in his own office), both legs sprawled on top of his desk. Lalo found the action just a bit humorous.

“So…” Saul began. He sighed. “Florida. Florida, Florida, Florida.” A deep inhale and exhale. “Why there?”

Kim moved to Florida, then. Good to know. Not that Howard and Lalo could go there anyway…

“I guess-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Saul immediately interrupted Kim, despite clearly asking her about it in the first place. “It doesn’t have to make sense. Heh.” The interruption clearly left a bad taste in Kim’s mouth. “Hey, I gotta tell you. I think you’re gonna regret not taking your share of the Sandpiper money. That’d buy a shitload of swampland.”

The mere mention of THAT case nearly gave Howard the temptation to grab the small statue from before and throw it right at Saul’s head. Not that it’d affect the guy anyway…

Damn you, Saul… Jimmy… it doesn’t matter the name. It’s same guy. The same… evil guy…

Another uncomfortable silence between the two ex-lovers ensued. Kim looked like she wanted to say something judging by her mouth movement, but no words came out. No meaningful ones.

It was too late. No matter what she said, nothing could fix this. And Kim knew she was partially to blame for it.

“I will, um… file these tomorrow.” Kim said instead.

“Alright. Well, have a nice life, Kim.” Was all Saul bothered to say in return. He picked up a stack of documents and started reading it. Or pretending to read it. Who knows. He seemed devoted to completely ignoring Kim. And she hated it.

She took some time to leave Saul’s office, far too many words stuck inside her, left unsaid. But she eventually relented and accepted all was over between them. As it should be.

Kim got up from her seat, looked at Saul one last time and turned around, leaving her ex-husband's office in a hurry, Saul’s secretary accompanying her.

“Hey, sweetcheeks, who do we got next? Let’s make some money!” Saul yelled from his seat. The fact he was clearly addressing his secretary, not Kim, only further added salt to the wound.

Lalo, who had been busying himself reading all the stuff plastered onto Saul’s walls, curious to know what it was all about, suddenly felt a strong gust of wind emanating behind him for a few seconds. Confused, he turned around, only to see Chico Dorado no longer in the room. Instead, some junkie criminal was entering Saul’s office. No Kimster in sight anymore, either.

Chico Dorado left without him, huh? How rude. Couldn’t he have waited just a bit more?

Just to spite on the guy, Lalo chose not to leave Saul’s office right away, instead keeping on reading all the stuff on the wall. Fortunately for Chico Dorado, Lalo grew bored fast, and with some mock reluctance, left the place. Not like he felt like listening to the screechy voice of this stupid cucaracha Goodman guy for much longer. He’d shoot the guy if he could.

As soon as he fazed through the place’s front door, he was “graced” with the sight of Kimster, taking a blunt. Must be nervous, the gal. Poor her.

Rain was still going strong. Weirdly enough, Lalo couldn’t see Chico Dorado anywhere. Sheesh, guy left fast. Was he the one who made that weirdass wind before with how fast he left?

He knew Chico Dorado was still nearby. Lalo could sense his presence close by. But he sure was outta sight for some reason.

No way is Chico Dorado trying to run away from Lalo, is he? Nah, can't be. He’s a poor, lonely soul. He can’t do anything without Lalo around, he NEEDS him. So-

“Hey yo, could I bum one of those?”

The new voice made Lalo stop in his tracks.

Uh… wait just a sec…

Lalo curiously looked at the new person on the scene, a really young-looking man (or maybe a teenager still?) wearing two coats and a dark bonnet on his head. He approached Kimster and took a cigar from her pack.

“Thanks.” The man showed his gratitude to Kimster. She said nothing and simply helped the man light up the cigar.

It wasn’t the same. Lalo could obviously tell.

But this guy’s voice…

Glaring whiteness suddenly consumed Lalo’s eyes, causing him to groan and cover them with his arms. He felt his whole body (or soul) seize without his permission.

***

Nacho and Arturo parked right by the Los Pollos Hermanos chicken farm for their routine drug pickup. Arturo killed the car’s engine, and the duo got out of the car.

“We’re taking six tonight.” Arturo announced outta nowhere. Nacho thought he heard that one wrong.

“What?” Nacho questioned, indirectly pressing Arturo for answers.

“Six keys. It’s what the boss would want.” Arturo coolly reasoned. “You’re gonna back me up or what?”

Sigh. The boss, huh?

Just the mere passing mention of Hector made Nacho feel a cold chill down his spine.

He still couldn’t believe he had succeeded in “giving” those spiked pills to the man… and now, Hector was fully bedridden, perhaps permanently…

Not that he regrets it, obviously. It was just the aftershock of it all.

“Yeah.” Nacho simply replied, preferring to play by the rules for now. He couldn’t risk anything. He had to lay low for a while.

The duo entered the factory and reached the usual meeting point, where Fring’s men were waiting for them. On the table laid a mere five packages of drugs, instead of six. Arturo glared at Fring’s men disapprovingly.

“Where’s the rest?” He demanded to know. “I only see five.”

“That was a one-time only.” One of Fring’s men, Victor, retorted.

“Not the way we see it.” Arturo retorted back.

“That’s the way it is.” The other one, Tyrus, insisted. Not that Arturo cared.

“Salamancas get six. We’re not leaving without six.”

Nacho quickly glanced at Arturo, sensing the situation promised to escalate if they weren’t careful.

“Your boss isn’t giving orders. He can barely even open his eyes.” Victor “kindly” reminded. He looked directly at Nacho.

“I’m giving the orders.” Arturo countered. Tyrus was visibly smirking by now.

“Take the five or leave with nothing.” Tyrus challenged, undeterred. Mocking, even.

An invisible war ensued. Salamanca versus Fring. No one dared move a muscle, instead scrutinizing the other with their eyes alone. If looks could kill, everyone in the room would be equally dead long ago.

And then, the cocking of a gun. Nacho’s gun.

He’d rather not do this. But right now, he had to keep appearances above all else.

Gun in hand and projecting a confident poise, Nacho’s eyes glued themselves to Victor.

“Do you wanna go?” Nacho asked invitingly. Threateningly. “You heard him. Six.”

Both Victor and Tyrus glared daggers at Nacho, Tyrus’ smirk never leaving his face. They weren’t fazed at all by this new development.

“Put it away.” Victor calmly ordered.

“Do you really wanna do this?” Nacho ignored him.

He wasn’t interested in killing anyone tonight. But sometimes, risks had to be taken. If they paid off, all’s well that ends well.

And that’s exactly what happened. After another equally tense round of silence, Tyrus relented and signaled for Victor to bring Nacho and Arturo a sixth package. Neither looked satisfied with this, but what could they do?

The moment Victor (brutishly) placed the sixth package on the table alongside the others, Nacho kept his word and triggered the gun’s safety, storing it away.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Arturo said confidently. He grabbed the bag Nacho brought and stored the six bundles inside it. All the while, Nacho stared at Arturo, uneasy.

Once done, the cartel duo left the interior of the factory and headed back to their car.

“That’s how you do it.” Arturo boasted, clearly pleased with what happened before. “We had them pissing their pants.”

Their supposed victory didn’t last long. No sooner had Arturo said that, Gustavo Fring himself appeared from the shadows and placed a plastic bag around Arturo's head. Nacho tried to help, only for a worrisome number of men serving under Fring to point their guns at him, forcing him to stop… and watch.

Not giving Arturo the chance to free himself from his fatal predicament, Fring violently hit Arturo’s head against their car before pinning him to the ground with Victor’s help. They tied the plastic bag to Arturo’s head tightly, while at the same time tying Arturo’s hands and feet together, leaving him completely to the mercy of a slow, terrible suffocation.

Now on his knees, Nacho was forced to watch Arturo’s still alive body wretch and twitch in utter desperation, survival instincts kicking in. He could see Fring’s imponent figure through his peripheral vision, looking down on him with contempt and superiority.

He hated this. If there was one thing Nacho despised above all else, it was the feeling of powerlessness, of lack, or worse, LOSS of control. And right now… Fring had somehow made him feel more powerless than Hector Salamanca himself.

“I know what you’ve done.” Fring emotionlessly spoke. Nacho’s eyes directed themselves away from the dying Arturo and into Fring, realization of the coldest kind taking over him. “The Salamancas… they do not. Do you understand what I am saying?”

…heh… hehehehehe…

…fucking… GODDAMNIT!

He should’ve known. Nacho should’ve known he escaped scot-free too easily. He should’ve KNOWN something would go wrong at any moment in time!

His eyes close to stinging, Nacho closed them and nodded before he went back to staring at the dying Arturo, who by this point was almost completely out of air inside the bag. He could already guess where this was going.

“Look at me.” Fring ordered. Nacho reluctantly did so. “From now on… you are mine.”

That was all he bothered to say. Fring left the scene. His men remained there, guns pointed at Nacho, ensuring he had no chance whatsoever to save Arturo’s life.

A few more seconds was all that was needed. Arturo stopped making any kind of dying noises… and then his body completely limped.

Nacho was left there, on his knees, despairing over both his colleague’s death… and the fact Fring now pretty much had a gun pointed to his father’s head if Nacho didn’t behave.

From one gun to another… Nacho and his father could never be free from this hell…

***

With a visceral, involuntary gasp for air (as if he needed it), Lalo reopened his eyes. He was back at the entrance to Saul’s office. Kimster and the mystery guy whose voice kinda reminded him of Nachito’s were still there.

Despite the fact he was a ghost, who clearly didn’t need to breathe, he found himself utterly unable to stop his erratic breathing. He leaned forward on a pillar while slapping himself in the face, doing everything he could to regain his composure.

Chico Dorado better not come back and see him like this, or Lalo swore to Díos…

What… in all the infiernos out there… was THAT shit about?!

…

…oh, why was he even bothering making such a question? He already knew. That’s the thing with being a ghost and all that.

That was a memory. Something that happened when Lalo was still in México. Something that happened… not long after Tío Hector suffered a stroke.

And now… he knew the truth.

Nachito! It was HIM! Nachito was the one who poisoned Lalo’s beloved tío all along! It was HIM, the WHOLE FUCKING TIME!

Lalo trusted Nachito… he was the ONE non-Salamanca Lalo chose to trust, because of Kimster’s words and because he liked how different Nachito acted and felt compared to everyone else in the cartel… and it turns out… the ONE guy he chose to trust and the murderous monster who almost killed his tío… were one and the same man.

Nachito… took EVERYTHING from Lalo! His home, his close family, his tío…! Perhaps even his life, in a more indirect way…

(From now on… you are mine.)

Chicken Man…

A blurry vision of Chicken Man looking down on Lalo victoriously as he laid on the meth lab floor, bleeding out, slowly dying, crossed Lalo’s dark eyes. That made him lose it. He started punching the building’s pillar over and over again. Trying to imagine himself punching Chicken Man’s face instead. Or Nachito’s.

No cracks or dents were left behind on the pillar, completely unaffected by his fit of rage. Lalo felt no pain in his fist either, no matter how many punches he performed. He wished both opposites had happened instead.

When he finally grew bored of punching what was merely a pillar made of stone, Lalo took his hands to his face and once again tried to calm down, to varying success.

Oh, Chico Dorado… smartass thinks he has it SO hard…!

Fine. Ain’t this what he wants? Then Lalo will do him that favor.

Little brave boy thinks he can keep on going like this without Lalo? Foolish.

Lalo doesn’t need Chico Dorado. It’s the opposite. And Chico Dorado should know that. He should know his place.

Preferring not to spare Kimster and especially the man who made him think about Nachito a second glance, Lalo left Saul’s office behind, becoming one with the torrential rain, not bothering to check on Chico Dorado or where he was.

Let’s see how long Chico Dorado’s oh so PERFECTLY LONELY sulking will last before he comes crying for Lalo’s presence like a little baby bitch…

Lalo stormed through the rain and to parts unknown, unaware Howard was watching him disappear from a distance, tear trails on his cheeks and a face fluctuating between neutral thoughtfulness… and genuine concern.

Chapter Text

Howard cleaned the tear trails from his face. All the while, he watched Lalo leave the area in a hurry, disappearing through the never-ending rain curtain. He sighed shakily.

He didn’t miss how visibly furious Lalo looked as he passed by him in the distance. He looked as furious as… no. He looked even MORE furious than the day he realized he couldn’t leave New Mexico. It was as if an invisible fire was emanating from his dead soul, daring anyone to come close and be burned.

Something happened in Howard’s absence. Coming from Lalo, he could immediately tell.

Howard couldn’t help it. He could tell he had reached his breaking point. He needed to be somewhere else. Anywhere but that cursed office with that cursed, slimy man inside it. Or he might’ve exploded in a way the living Howard for certain would have never dared to do (he still cried either way). Perhaps even in a way which might’ve run the risk of affecting the real world. Something he’d rather not do.

He sincerely doubted his sudden exit to be the reason why Lalo was upset. Although… what DID manage to make him upset in the first place? What exactly happened meanwhile?

Howard felt himself regretting leaving Lalo alone at all. He should’ve known doing so was the same as asking for trouble. This one’s on him, he supposed.

He pondered what to do. He probably shouldn’t leave Lalo on his lonesome any longer. At the same time, he predicted Lalo would be quite vexed with Howard’s presence in his current moodiness. And Howard honestly was not in the right mood himself to deal with Lalo’s antics at their absolute worst. Thank God he could no longer feel headaches…

His mind made up, Howard chose to remain in his secluded spot where no one would disturb him (not that anyone WOULD) for a while longer. He needed this. He needed this moment of relative peace. He needed the rain to “drown” his soul and “wash” the grime. He needed to BREATHE.

Howard quickly noticed his eyes weren’t done tearing up. He didn’t fight it. He let them fall freely. He realized he almost never allowed himself to cry when he was alive. Chuck’s suicide was the last time. And even then, that was, in his own words in his head, a slip-up.

He didn’t even cry when his own father was the one to do it… he merely felt empty. That’s how little he had connected with him…

Howard looked up into the sky somberly. He couldn’t see the stars this time around. Only rain and a vast, intimidating foggy blue. Nor could he feel the cold and wetness of the rain touch his bodyless soul.

He wanted to feel something… he wanted to feel the same sense of peace he felt that day when he was at the hotel, looking at the stars.

But he found nothing today. All he could feel, all he could REMEMBER feeling now… was a nauseous depressing in many shades of blue…

***

Time passed. It was much later at night.

Howard was back at the meth lab. He knew Lalo was there.

He hated that he did not truly feel much better than before. Probably because he was fearing what awaited him the moment he came face-to-face with Lalo again.

It was easy for him to deduce Lalo was here, despite how far Saul’s headquarters were from Lavandería Brillante. Lalo was inside their shared tomb. Howard’s soul could instinctively feel Lalo’s own soul’s essence “physically” brushing against Howard’s decomposing body as a result. It was like he had accidentally made himself a beacon. Or maybe Lalo wanted to be found? Who even knows with that man…?

Perhaps it was not surprising Lalo was there. Neither he nor Howard could explain why, but the truth was… both of them found their shared tomb a ridiculously comfortable place to be on. Howard guessed it had something to do with their deceased bodies being laid there for eternity, influencing their souls consequently. But who can say?

Howard took a deep breath as he stared at the exact spot where his tomb laid many feet under. Out of habit, he fidgeted with his suit, attempting to make himself look more presentable, even though it made no difference. Unless he just didn’t master such a power yet, it seemed as though it was impossible for him to change his appearance in any way, no matter how minor, once he was dead. Loose tie, slightly messy suit, messy hair caked in blood on its right side… all looked the same as that fateful day. He was pretty much a mess, in every way of the word.

Okay. Enough. No more delaying the inevitable. Far more preferable to get this over with. Lalo probably already knew Howard was here. If the situation perchance escalates… well. Not as if Lalo could kill him again…

Focusing on the task at hand, Howard allowed his soul to faze through the meth lab’s ground. He floated through layers of dirt until the soil revealed a small, cubic-shaped opening. The tomb where his and Lalo’s bodies slept.

As expected, Lalo was there, sitting on top of Howard’s body curiously. He wondered if it was on purpose. He immediately knew the answer.

As soon as Lalo laid eyes on Howard, his deep frown morphed into a sardonic, dishonest smile. Something about this smile in particular chilled Howard to the very core.

“Well, well, look who it is.” Lalo pompously announced. His voice dripped with venom. “Pobrecito couldn’t stay away from his gallant protector too long, as expected.”

…

…

…oh lord. It was worse than Howard thought.

Although… something about Lalo’s sudden bratty attitude (even for him) was off.

“Lalo, please…” Howard started, probably in vain. He rubbed a hand on his face. “I apologize for not telling you where I went beforehand. I just… I needed some time for myself. That is all.”

“Cierto, cierto. Whatever you say, Chico Dorado.” Lalo chuckled darkly. “Even going so far as justifying yourself, huh? You that scared I’d be mad at you? Que entrañable.”

It was Howard’s turn to frown intensely. His eyes narrowed analytically.

He had no more doubts left. Howard knew what this was about.

…well, he did not actually KNOW. But the attitude itself was nostalgic, to say the least. Too nostalgic. Too recognizable.

“I did not complain when you disappeared on me that one time we followed Jimmy and Kim to that hotel. Why must you complain when I do the same… for far less time?” Howard boldly questioned. He wanted to test the waters… “Are you suggesting I cannot fend for myself? You think I am THAT incapable?”

“What if I am?” Lalo taunted dangerously. His dark eyes scrutinized Howard as if challenging him. Pushing him to go further.

Howard shook his head, making a face. Much like with Jimmy, this would probably go nowhere. Higher chances in this case, being Lalo who he is…

Still… it’s not like he could walk away from this one. Not like last time.

Like it or not… Fring’s men buried them together. They were bound by fate. A highly dysfunctional bond… but a bond of sorts.

Jimmy and Lalo shared a lot of common traits. They were both evil and too proud for their own good.

But Lalo? Lalo was dead. Jimmy wasn’t.

Lalo was no longer bound to his old criminal life, even if he still thought like a criminal. He was free. Kind of.

Maybe… hmm…

Howard had a feeling he was getting far too ahead of himself. This WAS Lalo he was talking about. But…

…

…ugh! Damn his bleeding heart! For the 800th time!

Fine. So shall it be. Not as if he had much else to do in his death.

Howard walked away from Jimmy. He won’t do the same to Lalo. Not yet. Hopefully never…? One shall see…

Choosing to ignore Lalo for now, Howard simply sat down beside him. He knew he was technically sitting on top of Lalo’s decaying body, but he chose to ignore that detail as well. Not like there was much space in the grave anyway.

He knew well Lalo wouldn’t appreciate being ignored. He didn’t care. He refused to be Lalo’s little toy. Lalo’s usual attitude heavily implied those around him kept on enabling the worse in him, either out of loyalty or fear. And Howard fully admitted: were he alive… he’d probably treat Lalo in that same way.

But that is the point. He is dead. And so is Lalo.

Howard can safely say he has nothing left to lose. So… why submit?

He is no one’s toy to use. Not ever again.

“Yuhu! Cat got your tongue, Chico Dorado?” Lalo asked, even going so far as waving his hand in front of Howard’s face. “I asked you a question. Kindly answer it… por favor.”

Lalo was attempting to rile him up. But Howard won’t let him win.

“Lalo.” Howard turned around to fully face Lalo. He made the most neutral face possible. “Here and now, I present you two options: either you tell me what’s wrong… or you suffer in silence. Please and thank you very much.”

The way Lalo’s expression changed in that very second… Howard had to admit. It was impressive how effortlessly Lalo could change his demeanor in the blink of an eye. Were Howard alive (or in a better mood), he’d be peeing his pants for certain.

“Well now. Someone’s feeling daring today.” Lalo pointed out, equal parts intrigued… and pissed. “Lil chico dorado finally chose to grow some balls! Eres adorable.” He provocatively pinched Howard’s nose.

Howard rolled his eyes. It truly was like dealing with Jimmy all over again… except this one doesn’t know the meaning of “personal space”.

“Lalo, I don’t know what happened while I was away… but I’m sorry you’re in pain.” Howard admitted, more truthfully than he thought. The familiar words stung more than he thought they would. “I don’t expect you to tell me what happened. But I nonetheless want you to know… if needed… I’m here for you. That’s all.”

That very much caught Lalo off guard, judging by his astonished expression. Howard gulped, nervously awaiting Lalo’s response but refusing to look away. Light blue eyes glued to dark brown, almost black ones. He didn’t blink. A habit he knew Lalo had.

Unfortunately, and probably as expected, it didn’t last. Lalo’s expression switched to anger. Genuine, unbridled anger.

“What the fuck are you even implying with that?” Lalo interrogated, his voice dropping two or three octaves. He began chuckling a little too in a deranged manner. “I guess this is what happens when you never met me in real life, other than in your pitiful final minutes. Talking to me like this, unaware, or pretending to be unaware, of who I am and what I can do to anyone equally…” The corner of his lip briefly turned up. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I actually like that. I can respect that… IF the person below me is worthy of my respect, that is. And I don’t think you are, personally.”

Christ Almighty, here we go… yet another rant, probably Jimmy-worthy.

Will lightning shoot from Lalo’s fingertips, too…?

“Look at you, big boy. All high and mighty, thinking he’s the boss of us. In case you haven’t realized it just yet, you’re dead, cabrón. You’re no one’s boss any longer, certainly not mine. If there should be a boss between the two of us, it’s me. YOU need ME. Not the other way around. I can do perfectly fine without a goody two-shoes golden boy following me around everywhere like a lost puppy who desperately needs an owner. Infierno, I could’ve ditched you long ago if I felt like it. You’re lucky I-”

“Ditch me, then.”

The far too ready response quieted Lalo down. The blue in Howard’s eyes currently resembled the coldest ice. He wasn’t kidding around.

“If you’re as tough and independent as you so like to claim… ditch me. Right here… and now.” Howard challenged. It was his voice’s turn to drop a few octaves. “Go on. Live your best life… or death, should I say. I sincerely wish you the best of luck attempting to return to how you used to be. It will present quite a challenge… considering you are dead. I wonder if you have yet to realize your Salamanca surname no longer holds any meaning, now that you’re effectively gone from the world. Tell me, Lalo. What do you even have left in this afterlife of yours? That’s right. You have… nothing.”

Howard could feel his words becoming more and more tainted with fury. But he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t been in the best mood before in the first place. And his inability to throw his frustrations into Kim and especially Saul didn’t make things any better. Besides, he was done. He was absolutely DONE with people like Lalo, like Saul. People who insisted they were the best at everything, were always in the right and were utterly incapable of admitting their own shortcomings. But especially, they were the kind of people who could never process feelings, who could never FEEL in the first place.

It was Jimmy’s incapacity to process his grief over Chuck’s death and his jealousy of Howard for having managed to do so that led to everything that happened, including his own death. And now, Lalo was on the road to doing the same thing. Because everything Lalo just spat… it told Howard the whole message. It was called “projection”. Howard was acting like a mirror to Lalo. The latter was accusing the former of everything that had, in actuality, to do with HIM. Because that’s all Howard is, apparently. A mirror, a punching bag, a joke to be laughed at again and again. In the eyes of others, he was so, SO MANY delightful things, wasn’t he?

No more. Howard knew who he was, and he KNEW who Lalo was. And he’ll make Lalo realize so the hard way. After all, such was what the latter wanted. What he asked for.

“Oh, like you can talk, you maricón!” Lalo’s anger, too, was increasing. “What do YOU have to your pathetic name, huh?! You already had nothing when you were alive, let alone now! And don't even get me STARTED on your ‘oh, look at me, I’m perfect, I’m a saint, I’m always in the right’ shtick. Patético. Just like YOU are.”

“Yes. You’re right. I have nothing. I’m left with nothing. But I at least ADMIT IT!” Howard exploded, wanting to get through Lalo’s thick skull at any cost. “And you know what? That assumption that I’m perfect, the golden boy who can do no wrong and has his life set and all that crap?! THAT assumption was what destroyed my life! As well as Chuck’s! He died because of me! He set his own fucking house on fire, because of ME! I, like any human being, made mistakes, MANY of them! But you want to know what differentiates me from you, or from Saul for that matter? I admit them. I take accountability over EVERYTHING wrong I did, and devote my whole being to make up for my mistakes and coming out a better, more fulfilled person on the other side. And you know WHAT? I always did it by myself. Whenever I had to find a way to either fix my mistakes or deal with the emotional trauma of certain happenings, I ALWAYS had to deal with it all alone. Cheryl didn’t care, not anymore. Rich and Cliff? They were my fellow attorney friends, yes, and very dear to me. But that’s all they could be to me. Attorney friends. Not PERSONAL friends. Jimmy and Kim? Well, there’s the fact Jimmy was far too willing to shift all the burden of Chuck’s death onto me, even if it WAS on me. I had NO ONE, Lalo! Outside of my lawyer life, I had no one but myself. But I refused to allow that to stop me from keeping my decency, my beliefs, my principles, alive. It wasn’t easy… sometimes I felt it’d be easier to just give up and break. But I chose to persist regardless. Even if, in the long run… it led nowhere.”

Howard could fortunately feel his anger simmering down already, the torrent of words he had just spilled helping on the matter a great amount. The ice in his eyes thawed out, giving place to a more peaceful blue. An ocean kind of blue. That same blue looked at Lalo’s fiery blackness fearlessly. But also compassionately.

“And yes… you’re right again. After being alone for so long, and especially after dying… I don’t think I’m the only one who realized so. Being dead… becoming a ghost… it brought us enlightenment we could never grasp as mere humans, you and me both. This non-existence of ours made me realize… how deeply lonely my whole life was. No mother, no TRUE father, no friends outside of my attorney life, no wife who cared about me by then… no nothing. I was all I had. And now? YOU are all I have. Yes, you are a psychopathic, perhaps even sociopathic, criminal who most certainly took pleasure in killing and could not care less about innocents outside of his family. But the fact remains… you are all I have. And I personally think… the juxtaposition is especially true.”

Howard could sense Lalo wanted to say much. He did not let him. He would prefer to finish his piece first.

“Lalo… I do not think this to be the whole of it. But… if loneliness is THAT large of an issue to you… you could’ve and SHOULD’VE simply told me so earlier. Here, in this… peculiar state of being of ours, we don’t have anything or anyone else. It is only us. And we must adapt to our situation for as long as we remain in said situation. Either until our souls are ready to move on, or forever. So please… let us not make this any harder than it could otherwise be. None of us are each other’s ‘boss’, or something ridiculous like that. I’m no longer HHM’s CEO, and you’re no longer the Salamancas’ Don. We’re equals. We’re two bygone souls who have nothing to their names aside from each other’s company. THIS is how we must cooperate. Because if not-”

A pair of hands throwing Howard to the ground and squeezing his neck interrupted the man’s speech. Widened, shocked blue eyes felt themselves being consumed by Lalo’s dark, near soulless orbs, the Salamanca determined to strangle Howard. The latter’s breathing accelerated in a panic, the feeling of Lalo’s hands too strong and intrusive around his neck…

…before Howard’s mind caught up with his soul and he realized he wasn’t actually in any danger. He was already dead. He couldn’t die from any sort of asphyxiation. But the realization only gave rise to a new round of anger.

“Lalo…! What… are you…?! Stop it…!” Howard attempted to speak, but even though air wasn’t a factor in soul form, Lalo’s hands were still able to block Howard’s speech this way.

“You güerito think you’re SO smart, don’tcha?!” Lalo accused venomously. “And you even have the GALL to call us ‘equals’. I’m not like you, simpleton. Do yourself and ME a favor and don’t bring me down to your level again. Got it?! DON’T get too comfortable around me, not unless I EXPLICITLY allow it. You might be dead, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make you suffer in any way. So, you better tread lightly whenever you talk to me from now on, okay? For your own good.”

(I don't care about it! It's nothing to me! It's a bacterium! I travel in worlds you can't even imagine! You can't conceive of what I'm capable of! I'm so far beyond you! I'm like a god in human clothing!)

Howard’s teeth gritted at the reminder of THAT scene Jimmy caused. The rage blinded him, and he acted without thinking. Howard’s soul became intangible to the touch, and he fazed through the dirt below their shared grave, disappearing from sight, to Lalo’s surprise. Before the Salamanca could react, a foot surfaced through the dirt and made Lalo trip, followed by a fist colliding with Lalo’s bloodied face when he couldn’t defend himself. To the latter’s shock, he felt pain. Not as much pain as he should normally feel, but pain nonetheless.

Chico Dorado’s soul didn’t reappear inside the grave. It was just Lalo now. Alone, and surprisingly in some pain.

Not long went by before Lalo heard Chico Dorado’s voice from above him. The voice didn’t sound angry anymore. It now sounded disappointed.

“Fine. Understood you loud and clear.” Chico Dorado spoke. “You’ve made your choice, and I’ll respect it. But I meant what I said before. The day you decide to finally stop acting like a spoiled manchild who can never hear ‘no’ for an answer, feel free to come find me. Until then… watch yourself, Lalo.”

That was it. Everything went silent. Chico Dorado’s presence grew fainter and fainter by the second. He really was leaving.

He left… like Nachito left him.

The meltdown Lalo suffered right after as he growled and punched and kicked everything in his vicinity (especially Chico Dorado’s dead body) would’ve been a sight to behold for anyone who remotely knew him…