Previously on Breaking Bad: BANG! BANG! SCREEEEEECH! CRUNCH. BANG! BANG! BANG! ping Step-step-step. [sound of axe being dragged across asphalt] Pause. BANG! SPLAT!

We're greeted by Jesse's back tattoo, which is of a skull that may or may not be blinged out. It looks oddly like something you'd find in Santa Muerte's shack, actually. We're seeing this because Jesse is gingerly getting dressed in his street clothes, as he's getting sprung from the hospital today. Clearly, a whole lot of him is still sore. He gets wheeled out to the curb by an orderly (or something), who asks Jesse if he's good to wait alone until his ride comes. Jesse -- who wasn't exactly the most friendly sort to outsiders even before Hank beat him into New Angry Jesse -- grunts his response, then moves to light a cigarette. The orderly says he'll have to move another 20 feet from the entrance if he wants to do that. "So roll me further, bitch!" is Jesse's charming reply. The orderly leaves his ass right where it is.

So Jesse smokes. And when the ambulance speeds up, he's sufficiently bored that whatever's inside is bound to entertain him for a moment. So he rolls on down and takes it in as the ER crew wheels Hank out and reads off his vitals. His pulse is weak and his belly is rigid -- neither one a good sign. Jesse's kind of amazed at seeing this up close, until he gets a good look and recognizes Hank. His expression becomes inscrutable. He follows the gurney into the ER (still holding his cig, I think), until they're past where he can follow. Then he returns to his wheelchair and his spot on the curb. Skinny Pete rolls up soon after and marvels at the holy hell that is Jesse's face. Jesse's expression is still a mask of shock. Skinny asks if he's okay. "Actually," Jesse says, and a wicked, sickening smile widens on his face, "I'm great."

After the credits, we catch up with Walt down in America's Meth Kitchen, firing the shit out of Gale. Gale, who totally doesn't get it. Gale, who feels shocked and betrayed and with a not inconsiderable flash of rage every here and there. Walt, who has trouble with honesty when it doesn't reflect well on him, mumbles around until he stumbles upon a metaphor: it's like he's classical, and Gale is jazz. You see? Just a clash of styles! Nobody's fault. Nobody made a power play to haul in his burnout old partner to save his brother-in-law from a costly lawsuit. (I'd also be remiss if I didn't point out Bryan Cranston's hilariously off-the-cuff snapping when Walt described Gale as "jazz." Wonderful.) Anyway, Walt's whole classical/jazz thing gets flushed down the toilet with the arrival of Jesse. And not just Jesse, but Jesse with the "obnoxious" dial turned up so high it broke off. "SHIT!" he keeps hollering as he marvels at the spiffiness of America's Meth Kitchen. With his face still half-swollen and purple, he greets Walt with a "Wassup, partner?" He barely acknowledges Gale, who shoots Walt the greatest "You have got to be fucking shitting me" glance ever. "IT'S ALL FUCKING SHINY UP IN HERE!" Jesse bellows. "This makes no sense," Gale says, in a last-ditch effort to restore some sanity in this room full of buffoons and the taciturn men who prefer their company. Gus's bag-man (you know, the guy who literally distributed the bags of money to Jesse and Walt) escorts him out. Walt, seeing how this all must look, grabs Bag Man by the arm and assures him, "This is for the best." Bag Man could not give less of a shit. "200 pounds by the end of the week," he bottom-lines.