Chapter 15 – Breaking Bad
Ethan had barely stepped back into the apartment, shoes still on, when Leonard sprang up like a coiled spring.
"Well??"
Ethan was still half in his thoughts. "She just said I'm kind of cute…"
"…What?" Sheldon looked up, eyebrows nearly forming an archway.
Leonard blinked. "You're sure she meant—you?"
Ethan froze, realizing he'd slipped. He cleared his throat. "What I meant to say is—good news. She's not mad anymore."
"Not mad or not mad for now?" Leonard asked immediately.
"For now," Ethan said. "Her words, not mine. I suggest a proper apology. And Sheldon—don't go."
Sheldon exhaled deeply. "Excellent."
Leonard still looked anxious. "Okay… that's the good news. What's the bad?"
Ethan spread his hands, tone serious. "The bad news is—Leonard, if you want to date Penny, you're going to have to try very, very hard."
"What does that mean?" Leonard frowned. "Did this make her lose interest in me?"
Ethan didn't answer—just gave his shoulder a meaningful pat.
Sheldon added helpfully, "I don't consider that bad news. That has always been the obvious baseline."
"Thanks for the support," Leonard muttered.
---
After showering and changing, Ethan came back out. The living room was empty.
But Penny's door across the hall was open.
He peeked in.
The floor was covered in wooden boards, screws, cardboard, and an instruction manual the size of a textbook. Howard, Raj, Leonard, and Sheldon were standing around it like a scientific committee.
"What happened now?" Ethan leaned against the doorframe.
"They're trying to turn my cheap TV stand into a NASA space shuttle and launch it to Mars," Penny said flatly.
"I wish I were exaggerating," she added. "I am not."
Ethan fought a smile and stepped over the packaging.
"Need help?"
"Ethan, you only have a medical doctorate," Howard shot back. "This is a temple of engineering. I am the most qualified person here."
Howard kept talking, waving a screwdriver around. "My concern is that this design lacks imagination. No wonder Sweden produced IKEA and not SpaceX."
Penny couldn't help saying, "But it looked really nice in the store…"
No one responded. The four nerds had already descended into full technical mania.
"This structure wastes space."
"We could add a speaker module."
"How would we control it?"
"Infrared adapter—but we'd have to manage heat."
"What about liquid coolant? PVC tubing!"
Penny blinked, visibly disconnecting. "I just want to put a TV on it…"
"Quiet. Science is happening," Sheldon declared, raising a hand solemnly.
They argued over one another—and somehow actually came up with a plan.
A few minutes later, all four shouted "Perfect!" and high-fived like they'd just landed a Mars rover.
Then they bolted out the door in a swarm of excitement.
Silence fell.
Penny stared at the pile of "parts," her mouth twitching.
"…That was them helping me?"
"They were absolutely helping you," Ethan said with a smile. "Just in a… highly abstract way."
"Okay." Penny looked at him. "You'll actually assemble it properly, right?"
"Of course."
Ethan followed the instructions step by step, putting the TV stand together.
At that very moment, more than two thousand kilometers away, the air inside an old house felt frozen.
The dining room light was harsh, reflecting different emotions on every face.
Skyler White, holding the "talking pillow," spoke first.
"I'm really trying to understand your thinking, Walt.
But clearly, I don't.
This decision doesn't just hurt you—it hurts this entire family."
Walter White opened his mouth, but she cut him off.
"I have the talking pillow," she said, raising it. "Everyone gets a turn. Hank, you're next."
Hank took it reluctantly, forcing optimism into his voice. "Look, buddy, maybe what I say doesn't carry much weight, but—I care about you. A lot. We face this cancer head-on."
He managed a tight smile. "I started with nothing, and now I've got a good life. Luck changes. You've just gotta stay strong. Keep hope."
Marie frowned. "Hank, what are you even saying?"
"Let him talk," Skyler said firmly.
Hank cleared his throat. "It's like a nine-inning baseball game. Bases loaded. Your arm's messed up. Maybe you can't hit a home run—but you can finish the game with dignity. You get me?"
Walter answered flatly. "No."
The air stalled.
Skyler handed the pillow to her son.
"Walter Jr., your turn."
His hands clenched into fists. "You look like a coward. You're giving up, aren't you?
I've been through so much, and you're scared of chemo? What happens to me if you quit too?"
Skyler's eyes reddened instantly.
"I want to say something," Marie said softly.
She took the pillow, calm but firm. "I understand Skyler's fear. But this has to be Walter's decision. He's the one in pain—not us. We can't live for him, and we can't die for him."
"Marie, you're taking his side?" Skyler snapped.
"I'm not taking sides. I work in hospitals. I see patients on treatment—some of them are miserable. Pills, hair loss, nausea, no dignity… all for a few extra months. Families call it 'love.' Sometimes it's just not letting go.
Maybe Walter doesn't want that."
"If he doesn't fight," Skyler cried, "he has no future!"
Hank reached out. "Can I get the pillow back? I agree with Marie."
Voices rose. Everyone clung to their view.
Until Walter reached out and pressed a hand onto the pillow.
"Ladies. Please."
His voice was eerily calm.
Silence.
"I know we love each other.
I know you want what's best for me. I'm grateful.
But what I want… is one choice.
Sometimes I feel like I've never lived for myself. Every decision was made by someone else.
Now I have one last decision.
Cancer. The only choice left is how I face it."
Skyler choked up. "Then make the right one. You're not the only one with cancer. What about your son? Don't you want to see your daughter grow up?"
"Of course I do," Walter said quietly. "But you've seen the statistics.
Doctors only care how long I'll live. One year? Two?
But what kind of life? If I can't work, can't enjoy food, can't make love… just swallow forty pills a day, lose my hair, lie in bed—
Is that living?
I don't want you to remember me like that.
I want to spend my last time in my home. My bed."
He exhaled. "Skyler… I'm sorry. I choose… to let nature take its course."
The room went silent.
Only the ticking clock remained.
Morning light slipped through the curtains.
Walter woke, smelling eggs frying.
He put on a jacket and walked into the kitchen.
Skyler stood there in an apron, flipping eggs while checking bills. The light hit her face—focused, exhausted.
Walter stood quietly, watching her.
"…Okay," he said, stepping forward and hugging her from behind.
"Okay what?" she turned.
"I'll take the treatment."
She froze—then slowly set down the spatula and hugged him back.
Walter patted her gently. "It'll be okay."