Chapter 353: Qualified — or Not
Pinkman had fallen into despair because of her disappearance.
But for the same reason… she also became the only spark that could pull him back.
---
"You need to quit," Frank said. "I'll send you to a rehab center."
"After that, I'll help you look for her. But I won't do it forever. If you really want to find her—if you really want to see her again—you'll have to do it yourself."
Pinkman listened in silence.
---
Castle returned, carrying breakfast.
"Eat first," Frank said, handing Pinkman a bowl of porridge. "No matter what happens, you still need to eat."
Pinkman took it and began eating in large gulps.
After a moment, he spoke again—
"…I'm sorry."
Frank shook his head. "I already told you. There's nothing to apologize for. To me, you're no different from my own kids."
"…Dad."
Pinkman lowered his head, quietly finishing his meal.
---
After breakfast, the three of them left the apartment.
The place was no longer livable—Pinkman had completely trashed it.
Frank hired a cleaning service to take care of it, then had Castle drive them somewhere else.
---
"…This is—"
Pinkman froze as the car stopped.
In front of him stood a house he knew all too well.
His old home.
His aunt's house.
---
After his parents had completely given up on him and thrown him out, they had taken the house back. Since they already had their own place and didn't need it, they did some basic repairs and put it up for sale.
When Frank found out, he bought it.
Quietly.
He even had it furnished—ready for someone to move in at any time.
The price hadn't been high.
In New Mexico, land was abundant, and houses weren't nearly as valuable. Even ordinary homes looked like villas compared to crowded cities.
Just looking at Walter's place was enough to tell.
Pinkman stood there, stunned.
For a long moment, he couldn't say a word.
Walter was just a public high school chemistry teacher. His salary was modest. Skyler was a full-time housewife, and they had a disabled son—meaning the entire household depended on Walter's income.
In most cities, that kind of income wouldn't even be enough to think about buying a house—barely enough to get by.
And yet, Walter owned a home.
Not just any home—a spacious one, with a lawn, a garden, even a backyard swimming pool. Sure, there was still a hefty mortgage left to pay, but it said everything about housing prices in small New Mexico towns.
---
After buying Pinkman's old house, Frank hadn't even had the chance to tell him before Pinkman quit.
Even so, Frank had planned to leave the house to him anyway—after his death, as part of his inheritance. A place to belong. Something to remember him by.
But things hadn't gone as planned.
So instead, Frank brought Pinkman here himself.
"This place is yours now," Frank said, tossing him the keys.
"...Thank you, Dad." Pinkman caught them, gripping them tightly.
The kinder Frank was to him, the heavier the guilt weighed on Pinkman's chest.
"Enough with that," Frank said bluntly. "Go take a shower. How many days has it been since you last washed?"
"…Okay." Pinkman nodded and went upstairs obediently.
Frank watched him go, a flicker of memory passing through his eyes.
The first corpse he had ever seen—Krazy-8.
If he remembered correctly… that body had been dismembered in the upstairs bathtub.
---
"You're a good father."
Castle's voice suddenly broke the silence.
"Hm?" Frank snapped out of his thoughts.
"I'm not," Castle said after a pause.
"You're a parent too, aren't you?" Frank replied casually.
Castle shook his head slightly. "I wasn't… qualified."
"I was deployed in Afghanistan for years. Rarely home. I didn't even know how to talk to my kids… how to be with them."
It was rare—another glimpse into Castle's past.
But just as quickly as he opened up, he shut down again, saying nothing more.
Frank didn't press.
Everyone had their own wounds.
Instead, he picked up the remote and turned on the TV.
---
"Tonight, Hammer Industries' 'Peacekeeping Exhibition' will be broadcast live. Founder Justin Hammer will showcase a new line of advanced weapons—"
Frank switched the channel before the report even finished.
Compared to that kind of dry news, he preferred something lighter—comedy shows, anything that could make people laugh.
---
A while later, Pinkman came downstairs, towel draped over his head, hair still damp.
He sat on the couch and lit a cigarette.
"…Dad," he said after a long pause, "can I… come back?"
"You quit first," Frank replied simply. "Then we'll talk."
---
That afternoon, Walter came by.
Seeing Pinkman no longer looking like a walking corpse, Walter visibly relaxed.
"Let's talk outside," Frank said.
Some things… Pinkman didn't need to hear yet.
"Stay with him," Frank told Castle. "Don't let him touch anything."
Castle nodded.
---
Frank and Walter went to a small restaurant and sat across from each other.
It was already past lunch hour. The place was nearly empty, only a couple of scattered customers.
"Two coffees," Frank said to the waitress.
Until the drinks arrived, neither of them spoke.
When the steaming cups were finally set down and the waitress left, Walter couldn't hold back any longer.
"The factory's ready," he said quickly. "The equipment in the basement has all been delivered. Once it's cleaned, production can start immediately."
"But what are you planning to run upstairs?"
"When I redesigned the basement, I added new systems—ventilation pipelines, enhanced air filtration. All toxic gases will be processed. What gets released will just be clean, odorless steam…"
Walter kept talking, almost obsessively.
Clearly, he hadn't been idle. He had spent this time planning everything for the future operation.
"Walter."
Frank cut him off.
"You know what I mean."
Silence.
Walter did know.
Frank had told him—again and again—over the phone.
So many times that Walter had grown annoyed… and simply stopped answering his calls.
"Walter," Frank said, looking straight at him. "What are you really thinking?"
Walter lowered his gaze.
"…I don't want Heisenberg to disappear."
"Why?" Frank asked.