Jesse has begun to chafe under the thumb of the economic model under which he's operating, both with Gus reaping the lion's share of profits for the meth he's cooking, and with Saul suggesting he launder his money through a shady day-spa. ("So I'll have to pay taxes?") Jesse's solution makes perfect sense if you follow his trajectory towards dangerous wild-card territory: he's going to skim meth off the top of his and Walt's batches, then use Badger and Skinny to sell it to his rehab group. There is literally no way this can go wrong.
Walt also has a conversation with Gus in which he reveals he knows that Gus set Hank's shooting in motion, and was the mystery caller. Walt also says it's exactly what he would have done in the same situation. And after disparaging Jesse's economic discontent as mere whining, Walt is nevertheless inspired to use this knowledge as leverage to squeeze a better deal out of Gus: $15 million, open-ended. You'd think Walt would be happy about this, rather than moved to drive 90 mph down the highway, drift into the other lane, and very nearly speed headfirst into a semi. And yet ...
Meanwhile, Hank is alive but unable to walk, and the prognosis is sketchy, but the real problem is that insurance isn't going to be able to pay for the physical therapy he'll need to walk again. So Skyler, who has been looking for a way to have her cake and eat it, too, for several weeks now, decides that Walt is going to pay for Hank's medical bills. And so she delivers an impeccable and elaborate fiction to Marie about Walt making 7-figures-plus via illegal gambling. And having already let Ted Beneke down not-so-easy, Skyler's path is now clear to returning to Walt and his financial security, though she's under no illusions as to the danger Walt has and will put her family in.
This week's episode begins with a TV commercial for El Pollo Knockoffo, one that emphasizes the old-school values of "Los Pollos Hermanos." At the end, the visual of cascading fried chicken parts (uh...yum?) dissolved into a visual of cascading meth crystals. NICE. And so now, after getting a fantasy of the fast-food chicken business, we get a crash course in the reality of Gus's blue meth business. Specifically, how it gets boxed up by Walter and Jesse, then transferred to the small army of employees who bag the stuff, seal it up inside tubs of Pollos chicken batter (each one marked with a star only visible under a black light), load it on to Pollos trucks, and ship it out across the Southwest. Overseeing the trucks as they disperse is one Mr. Gustavo Frings. Quite the operation he's got there for himself.
After the credits, Walt and Jesse are measuring out their haul. They owe Gus 200 lbs., and this particular batch, as reported by Jesse, weighs 201.6 lbs. (Also, is Gus's operation the only drug ring not operating under the metric system? That's almost quaintly patriotic.) Walt simply says, "Better to be over than under," but Jesse is perturbed that they're throwing 1.6 lbs. of product Gus's way for free. See, Jesse's been crunching the numbers (...oh, stop laughing), and he's decided that the million-and-a-half he and Walter are getting is peanuts compared to what Gus is making off their labor. Oh, Jesse. Maybe you can get into a weed-selling operation with an old economics professor of yours so he can tell you how capitalism works. Walter, rather than explain to Jesse about how they're compensated less because they incur less risk as humble lab techs, simply tells Jesse not to look a gift horse in the mouth. But to Jesse, the numbers don't lie, and the imbalance of what Gus is making (Jesse works it out to $96 million) versus his and Walter's take ($3 mil to split between them) is positively obscene. Walter takes the perspective familiar to sports fans worldwide: "Jesse, you are now a millionaire, and now you're complaining? What world do you live in?" Jesse replies that he lives in a world where "the dudes who do all the work ain't getting fisted.: Not that I don't think Jesse has a point, but seriously, what world IS that? Anyway, Jesse wants to hash this out, but Walt just walks away.
In Hank's hospital room, the family busies itself making the room "comfortable," while Hank dozes. Gomez shows up, gingerly asking Marie for permission. Hank stirs and, barely audible, calls Gomie closer to him. Closer. Cloooser. With Gomez's ear almost to Hank's mouth, Hank croaks out, "Asshole." Flynn laughs that his uncle "Got [Gomez] good," while Gomie's like, "Yeah, great to have you back, you big douche." Hank's laughter is choked off by the pain he's in. Gomez pulls out a map for Hank, one which shows the blue meth has been cropping up all over the southwest as of late. Hank asks how that's supposed to make him feel better. Because Gomez merely telling Hank he was right all along -- "You were the only one who saw it coming" -- is pretty cold comfort now. Hank slams him thumb impatiently on his Morphine button, but Marie remarks that he's still on lock-out. Hasn't been an hour since he maxed out the dosage. She heads out to find a doctor who can maybe up Hank's meds, and as she leaves, she orders Gomez not to talk any more shop.