(no subject)
Who: Jesse Pinkman, Billy Costigan; later, John Watson
Where: Costigan's room
When: Backdated to 9/11, after this (because Ang has no memory).
What: Costigan helps Jesse own up to his addiction and calls on Watson for help.
Warnings: Drug references.
Costigan was waiting anxiously for the new guy to arrive in his room. He really didn't know what the hell he was doing, but he did know it wasn't safe and he needed to stop trusting people just because they were put in bad situations that he could identify with sometimes. That is, just because the guy was an addict and he was having trouble with his own addiction didn't mean that they were anything alike. After all, this guy was most certainly not a cop and had been addicted to something other than prescriptions. Still, the former undercover couldn't just let the guy suffer alone, knowing how bad withdrawals could be.
The Bostonian had his gun at the small of his back and his knife tucked into his back pocket; the knife might be visible if Jesse was looking for it, but at least the gun was decently hidden beneath the baggier brown jacket the inmate was wearing.
When he heard the knock on the door, he moved immediately forward and opened it a crack to confirm it was who he suspected, then all the way. He looked hardened and paranoid like most people who'd spent enough time on the street seeing terrible things often did. Once Jesse was inside, he closed the door behind the other man. "I called one of the doctors who's good for subtly and who gets it. He's on his way."
He paused, awkwardly. "How has it been so far? Being here, I mean."
Where: Costigan's room
When: Backdated to 9/11, after this (because Ang has no memory).
What: Costigan helps Jesse own up to his addiction and calls on Watson for help.
Warnings: Drug references.
Costigan was waiting anxiously for the new guy to arrive in his room. He really didn't know what the hell he was doing, but he did know it wasn't safe and he needed to stop trusting people just because they were put in bad situations that he could identify with sometimes. That is, just because the guy was an addict and he was having trouble with his own addiction didn't mean that they were anything alike. After all, this guy was most certainly not a cop and had been addicted to something other than prescriptions. Still, the former undercover couldn't just let the guy suffer alone, knowing how bad withdrawals could be.
The Bostonian had his gun at the small of his back and his knife tucked into his back pocket; the knife might be visible if Jesse was looking for it, but at least the gun was decently hidden beneath the baggier brown jacket the inmate was wearing.
When he heard the knock on the door, he moved immediately forward and opened it a crack to confirm it was who he suspected, then all the way. He looked hardened and paranoid like most people who'd spent enough time on the street seeing terrible things often did. Once Jesse was inside, he closed the door behind the other man. "I called one of the doctors who's good for subtly and who gets it. He's on his way."
He paused, awkwardly. "How has it been so far? Being here, I mean."