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Chapter Text

It was an uncharacteristically cold and piercing spring afternoon in Albuquerque and Kim felt the bite of it as she smoked her fourth cigarette of the day against the parking garage wall. Sad as it may seem, these breaks were the highlight of her day. It was the only time she was able to roll her neck around, to breath in non-office air, but today, the same as the last 22 days, the air didn’t feel soothing--it felt barren, artificial--but most of all it felt cold.

She looked at the cigarette in her hand, shivering. What are you even good for? She thought, annoyed that the cigarette was failing to warm her up, and calm her recent anxieties.

It’s been 22 days since she’s been taking her cigarette breaks alone because it's been 22 days since she broke things off with Jimmy. Kim wasn’t sure how to classify that word–’things’-, or if what they have--or had, she thinks--could even be classified into any category. All she knew was that he made her laugh and that she loved the feel of his hands around her waist, and that she had pushed him away.

“Kim, why are you throwing away something we both know can be so good?” Jimmy had half pleaded, half protested once she had finally made up her mind to sit him down at her kitchen table. The night before, he had nuzzled his face into her neck in the hazy afterglow of sex, and she had felt his eyelashes brush against her skin, heard him say that scary, scary word, a word she had never said to anyone.

“It’s not fair to you, Jimmy. You deserve more than whatever this is,” Kim had gestured helplessly between them. “I need to…I need to focus on work. I just started, really started, my career. You deserve a-” For some reason, she stopped herself before she said the word ‘girlfriend’. “...Someone who has the time”.

Like always, Jimmy’s face was an open book, but it seemed to Kim like he was purposefully making it as transparent as possible now, his blue eyes wide and full of unconcealed hurt. But then, after some small nods directed more to himself than to her, his bravado snapped back into place: “No, you’re right, Kim. You came here to do something great,” Jimmy said softly, his gentle smile not reaching his eyes.

Thinking about that night now, she wanted to go back and tell him that he was something great. That she wanted him to stay in her life, as a friend, but she knew it would make things more painful. A clean break is always better--that she knew all too well.
It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and it still does now, but as she stood enshrouded in the darkness of the parking garage, shivering and alone, Kim did not feel like she was doing something great. She just felt cold.

It was in this sullen, introspective mood that Kim walked back onto her office floor when she ran into Howard and his ever-present grin, a feature that annoyed her always, but especially today.
“Kim! Just the person I was hoping to see. Think you run these down to the mailroom for me and make copies of these for all the partners?”
It irked her very much that he still treated her like a mailroom employee–it was like she hadn’t even passed the Bar–but maybe she could see Jimmy, just for a second, just the mere sight of him was like a soothing balm on her anxieties.

“Sure, Howard. On it.” Kim said with a tight smile.

“Great, Kim–Oh!” Howard exclaimed. “By the way, if you see Heather down there, make sure to introduce yourself. I’m sure she’d love some support from our most recent mailroom success story!”

Slightly caught off guard considering Kim had quite literally started as an associate only one month ago, she asked, “Is there already a new mailroom hire?”

“Well, you were such a valuable asset to the mailroom, we needed to fill the spot with someone just as capable right away. She reminds me a lot of you,” Howard said, oblivious to the slight change in Kim’s demeanor. “Driven, going through law school as well! I think you’ll like her. Well, better get back to it. Thanks, Kim,” he finished, leaving her there with swirling thoughts.

Huh. A new mailroom hire. And a girl. Kim doesn’t know why this second piece of information gnaws at her the way it does. She had always prided herself on being the most capable one in the mailroom, the most hardworking, dedicated, regardless of her sex. She had never been a ‘one of the guys’ girl, (she had barely ever even had friends to begin with) but it was sort of gratifying, in a way. Maybe she liked the way it made her feel special. And Jimmy might have never started faking a smoking habit to talk to her if there were other girls available to use his charms on…
Jimmy. The name alone sent a humiliating wave of longing through her body, a rush of warm aching. Kim had not really talked to him in almost a month, afraid of giving him the wrong signals, and scared of opening herself up again. Still standing by the elevators holding a stack of heavy binders, she felt the phantom touch of his lips against her neck, so vulnerable, open, loving, and then she pressed the down button.

Embarrassed by her most base intrusive thoughts that rested somewhere deep within all women, the first thought that came to Kim’s mind was that the new mailroom girl was beautiful. Long brunette hair that was made in a half up, half down style and bright green eyes. Freckles, too. She was the only one in the mailroom, Kim realized as she unconsciously scanned the room for Jimmy.

“Hi, Heather, I’m presuming?” Kim stuck out her hand. “I’m Kim Wexler, welcome to HHM.”

The girl (Kim referred to her as this in her mind, even though she probably couldn’t be more than two or three years older than her) grabbed her hand immediately and shook it firmly. “Oh, hi! I’ve heard so much about you. All good things!” Heather gushed. Her smile was bright, not gummy, perfect teeth. Ugh.

Never too comfortable with compliments, Kim shifted her weight onto her other foot.
“Oh-thank you.” Come on now, Kim. You’re an associate now, act like it. “I’m just here to drop off some binders that need to be copied. Howard told me you’re fairly new, do you need me to show you how to do the first one? It can be pretty tricky.”

“That's kind, but I'm okay. I’ve been here for about a month; Jimmy showed me a couple weeks ago how to do it. He sort of showed me everything, actually, thank God–I would’ve been floundering with this new Sanders case if he hadn’t!” Did Kim detect a slight blush under those freckles? No. Definitely not.

Kim blinked, a bit directly. “Well, that’s great then.” And then before she could help herself, “Actually, do you know where Jimmy went?”

“He went out to smoke, I think.”

“Thanks. Well, I’ll just leave you with these, then," Kim said somewhat abruptly, putting the binders onto the mailroom table with a little more force than what was necessary. It was nice to meet you, Heather.” Kim said politely, suddenly feeling the need for fresh air.

“You as well, Miss Wexler!” The girl said just as politely. Kim wondered why it should bother her insides so much that Heather knew where Jimmy was as much as it did. Not one for long bouts of introspection, she decided to try and ignore it. But the uncomfortableness of it would not leave the pit of her stomach as she waited for the elevator to bring her back up, so at the last minute she took the elevator that led to the parking garage instead.

“You know, I’m surprised to see you smoking.” Kim’s voice was soft but it echoed loudly around the garage, but Jimmy didn’t look startled–just surprised, and deeply, authentically happy. It broke her heart.

He took a drag of his cigarette and chuckled around the smoke. “Why, you thought I faked a smoke habit this whole time just as an excuse to talk to you?”

Kim leaned against the wall, their wall, close to him but not as close as before, not nearly as close, and raised one eyebrow as if to say, well, didn’t you?

Jimmy, being one of the few people capable of being able to read her every expression, smiled his self-deprecating, Jimmy smile as an answer. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Another inhale. "I guess it stuck." His gaze pierced her. 

Neither knew what exactly to say. She wondered if he felt the sting of rejection, if he was upset with her. Or if he stared at the ceiling at night in bed debating on whether or not call her, if he imagined the phantom touch of her fingertips running up and down his waist as he touched himself, if he missed her desperately. She did all those things, every night, and the ache of it all confused her and scared her, but mostly it just made her sad. 

He got her out of her reverie--"Earth to Kim. Where'd you go there?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, just... lots on my mind."

Jimmy's smile was bittersweet as he said, "I get it. Lots going on up there, huh?" He gestured vaguely above them with his chin and he blew out smoke. "The Sanders case?"

A beat. She was about to tell him, she didn't know what, she just couldn't bear the strange and seemingly uncrossable gap that existed between them now. What had she done? But just as she opened her mouth to explain, something, anything, he continued on. 

"The busiest we've been in months because of that case and they decide to send us a new mailroom slave to train right now...but I guess, more people means the less work I have to pretend to be doing, so I guess everything works out in the end."

Kim chuckles, but she doesn't think Jimmy realizes how forced it was. He hands her his cigarette, and she takes it without looking and takes a long, self-torturing drag of it. There's that weird feeling again. 

"So she's good, then? At her job, I mean?" Kim says in a way she hopes is nonchalant. 

"Yeah, I guess so. She's pretty funny too. Poor Ernie has a very obvious crush."

Kim takes another very long, very harsh drag, and then says, "Makes sense. She's pretty. And competent. And funny, apparently."

She doesn't look at him, she doesn't think she could keep her unbothered demeanor up if she did, but she can see his brows furrow slightly. Kim feels a rush of affection--her Jimmy, always so readable. But no, not her Jimmy, she has to remind herself. She can lay no claim on him.

Seemingly unsure of what the right answer to her (admittedly snide) comment would be, Jimmy huffs and puts a hand on the back of his neck. "Heh, I guess so."

Suddenly, dramatically, Kim wants to vomit. This entire time, she had been been feeling guilty over the assumption that Jimmy was in emotional turmoil the whole month since she rejected him, because of her. That she had to distance herself from him because giving him any hope that she was going back on her word would crush him. But maybe that wasn't the case at all. Maybe he, a grown up after all, accepted her rejection and had moved on. The uncomfortable and very painful reality of the situation was, Kim thought, he had every right to. She had given him close to nothing to work with and he had offered his heart up to her in the palm of his hands every single time they were together--every time he would bring her snacks without her asking him to during her study sessions, when they both decided to not put a label on their increasingly sexual relationship but he would still plant butterfly kisses on her neck, tenderly, beautifully. 

Later on at home, in the dark and self-pitying time that exists between 3 and 6 AM, Kim found her mind wandering into dangerous, self-torturing territory. She thought of the way Jimmy's arms would cradle her head as he fucked her. She thought of his tender yet equally confident kisses.

Then, against her better judgement, she thought of him giving those kisses to the mailroom brunette with the perfect smile. She thought of them fooling around in the mailroom like they, Kim and Jimmy, had always fantasized about doing, on the phone, late at night, had actually done, when she would purposefully bend over in a tight skirt in front of him whenever no one else was looking and catch his hungry eyes staring.

And then, even worse, so much worse, she thought of the new mailroom girl making him laugh, her getting to hear his real laugh, the one that comes straight from his belly, loud and brash. She imagines him opening the passenger side door to his Esteem for her, cracking a joke about it. Then for some reason, the worst image she could conjure for herself, is of Jimmy sharing a cigarette with anyone else, and finally she forces herself to stop, the image too viscerally painful. 

That night Kim realized two things. One, she realizes now with complete clarity that she had made a massive mistake in turning Jimmy away--and two, despite her innate problem-solver personality--she had absolutely no idea how to go about correcting it. 

Chapter Text

The end of fall and the emergence of winter passes by Kim like a revolving door, without much fanfare. After having proved her worth to Howard and Chuck these past months, keeping her head down, skipping on lunch and sleep, she was finally awarded with a spot on one of the bigger cases, one of those cases that make or break careers. 

So by the time February rolls around, she's feeling the pressure. But Kim’s always been good under pressure, thrives on it even. And not to mention it comes at the perfect time, the constant pressure in her temple and knots in her neck providing the perfect distraction from the ache in her heart, still present even after the change of season. 

Feeling particularly miserable and tipsy on corner store wine, she’d called Jimmy on his birthday, smiling to herself when it only took one ring for him to pick up. Some things never change.

“Is it too late for a birthday call?”

Jimmy chuckled his deep chuckle through the phone, calming something deep inside her. 

“Hmm, unfortunately you’re about 32 minutes past the cut-off,” he said.

“Make an exception for a friend?”

“For a best friend,” Was his sincere response. 

There was a silence, a beat of hope from her end. “Best friend,” she finally echoed.

He told her had gone to Cicero a few days ago to be with his mom for his birthday, upon her request. “She made a cake and everything,” he said. “Same one, every year since I was a kid. But it tastes just as good every year.”

“What flavor?”

“Red velvet,” he said. 

Kim laid her head down on the couch cushion, her hand coming to curl up against her chest. 

“Did you make any birthday wishes?” She imagines him in his childhood kitchen, boyish face illuminated by birthday candlelight, closing his eyes and wishing hard.

“Kim, Kim,” Jimmy reprimanded with a tsk . “You know you can't tell someone your birthday wish.”

“Right, right.” She relents seriously. “Sorry.”

There was a comfortable beat of silence, the one that always existed between them before Kim turned the beat into an eon. 

“Kim, I wish-” Jimmy finally started, then stopped.

What? She wanted to press. What did you wish for? But pressing was not in her nature. 

She said instead after a while, “Remember your first birthday in Albuquerque?”

“Of course,” Jimmy says softly, so softly. “How could I forget your top notch baking skills?”

She had baked a terrible, tiny little cupcake for him, making one out of the tiny amount of box cake mix her roommate had left. She had put a tiny little candle on it for him to blow out, and as she watched him make his wish, she’d known somewhere in her heart that he was wishing for her. 

“No, don't tell me. She finally answered him in a soft voice, holding out a small flicker of hope that his wish hadn't changed. “Or else it won't come true.”

That was almost two months ago, and although she had gotten used to seeing and calling him less frequently, much to her irritation, she had still not completely gotten used to the new presence in the mailroom. She was harmless, really you know she’s harmless , Kim argues with herself as she stands in line at one of the vending machines on her office floor, waiting to pick up her measly lunch of fritos and diet coke. Jimmy used to bring her peanut butter sandwiches when she was having a particularly tough day. She shook away thought– your fault, Kim said to herself. Your fault, and it's done, so don't think about it anymore. 

A small tap on her shoulder snapped her out of her reverie. 

“Kim, hi!” Heather says enthusiastically. What is she even doing on this floor without a mailcart? Kim thought to herself with a hint of guilt considering her own start on the HHM totem pole. 

“Hi Heather,” Kim replied agreeably, as agreeably as her surface level smile would allow. 

“They have way better vending machines up here, don't you think?”

Kim jerked her chin up as a nod of agreement. “Oh, yeah. Totally.”

She watches as Heather tuck her hair behind her ear, seemingly nervous all of a sudden. 

“Hey, so this might be..not too professional I guess, but, I figured since we're both one of the few girls at this place, I figured I'd ask… you’re friends with Jimmy, right?”

Kim felt the flame of something building inside her that she refused to name, and in an uncharacteristically stupid manner, she said, “Jimmy who?”

“Uh, Jimmy McGill? I thought you guys were friends?”

It genuinely hadn't even occurred to her to willingly put those two things together. Or rather, it did, but she preferred not to. Jimmy? 

“Oh. I guess we are. What about him?” She said with a tight smile.

“Well, this is sort of embarrassing, but I think he's really cute, and he's helped me so much with showing me around the mailroom and I kind of wanted to get him something small for Valentine's day as a sort of thank you? And as a hint, I guess?”

Oh . 

“A hint for what?” Kim said dumbly, but also with a hint of meanness, a part of her wanting to embarrass the younger girl by making her say it out loud.

“Um, that I like him,” Heather blinked. 

Well, when she says it out loud like that. 

“Oh.”

“So what do you think he'd like? I was thinking about getting him a tie or something, and he always wears those really garish ones, so maybe one from a thrift store? I was thinking–”

“He doesn't really like ties,” Kim interrupts, barely registering the hostility that her voice was laced with, so unlike her it was.

“Oh, but–” Heather laughs awkwardly. “I mean, he has to wear them for work at least, right?”

Kim shifts her weight to one foot, the bright ember of jealousy now making her feel stupid, but she couldn't help herself. Now it wasn't just jealousy that ate at her: even at the hypothetical of Jimmy and his girl together, smoking, embracing, laughing, a fierce feeling of possessiveness now quickly took its place, a much more dangerous and vindictive feeling.

She cocks her head to one side, contemplating thinking. “Sure, but he already has a ton of them. At least what I've seen from his closet,” she adds reassuringly, maliciously.

In reality, he is in desperate need of new ties, and if she really did want to help, she would suggest Heather buy him a nice, new professional one. But she didn't. 

Kim has always prided herself on her ability to deeply consider her words before speaking. It's made her an excellent and competent lawyer and made her appear quite intimidating to others.

But her treacherous imagination forces her to imagine Jimmy opening Heather's present, giving her a surprised and genuine smile. 

Tie it on for me? He’d grin his grin at her, her small hands brushing up against one of his cheesy button ups on his chest. 

Yeah, no. She decides abruptly. Not happening.

In an attempt to hide a deep, unending hurt from her own psyche, the darker side of her that lurks within forced her to remember a conversation between them earlier that summer when they went out for dinner at a cheap, not particularly tasty diner. A song by Sugar Ray plays on the speakers.

“Oh my god,” Jimmy groans dramatically. “As if this place couldn't get any worse.”

Kim chuckles behind her milkshake straw. “Come on, you're not a Mark Mcgrath fan?”

“Kim, it's like they're trying to be Sublime, but they only know four chords. It's physically painful, Kim. We need to ask for a refund.”

She quirks her eyebrows up mockingly. 

“Wait, so you actually like Sublime?”

He throws torn off bits of his straw wrapper at her. She giggles.

“You know what you should get him? A Sugar Ray CD.”

Heather furrows her perfectly manicured brows. “Really? She asks skeptically. “He's always playing like, classic rock and stuff, I wouldn’t think Sugar Ray would be his type of music.”

So he plays music for her. It hurts her, and then she feels annoyed at herself for feeling hurt. As if Jimmy isn’t allowed to listen to music with anyone else, ever? This was getting ridiculous. 

But… His hand resting on her thigh as he drove with the other, tapping out the drumming patterns with the pads of his fingers against the fabric of her jeans, listening to his soft humming, singing the words every once in a while in a terrible, off key impression of Frankie Valli: ‘I love you, baby…and if it's quite alright I need you baby!” 

“He's actually way more into mainstream music than you'd think. I think he'd really appreciate the gesture. I mean, if you're looking for him to be into you and everything. Oh,” Kim added, only her knowing the cruelty of the suggestion. “And tell him it reminded you of him.”

Even Heather seemed thrown off for a second, but seemed to take the advice seriously. 

“Awesome. Well, thanks so much for the advice! I owe you!”

“Yeah, no problem!” Kim responded with the same cheeriness, while walking back to her office. As she sat down at her desk she realized she hadn't even gotten anything out of the vending machine like she was there to do in the first place.

I'm a mess, she concedes with a wry and sudden clarity, then promptly groans and buries her face in her arms over her desk.

The next night, Kim tried, she really did, I really did , she told herself, try to get over it. She did at least 3 hours of work after coming home with no distractions, she watched some movies, none of which were made before the year 1990 so as to not remind her of any movie aficionado, she masturbated in the shower and tried to think of what other people think of to get off, a movie star, Brad Pitt, anyone. In a childish fit of frustration she even thought about tossing Jimmy:s American Samoa law school sweatshirt, but stopped herself, instead putting it safely in the far reaches of her closet. 

She went from agonizing over the thought of Jimmy inviting Heather over for a Valentine's day dinner and him being touched that she brought a gift, to feeling guilt over suggesting the gift to Heather in the first place. Jimmy was such a good guy that he probably would just be grateful anyone got him a gift in the first place, regardless of what it was. And she had gotten him nothing.

But you're not his girlfriend, she snapped back to herself. You're not his anything anymore. 

In the middle of all her miserable contemplation, she had failed to see the flashing unread messages light on her voicemail machine until just now, someone having called her while she was in the shower. Clicking it, she was surprised yet strangely not surprised at all to hear Jimmy's tentative voice play through the speaker. 

“...Hey, um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to be a lawyer anymore. Yep. I'm dropping out. Gonna become the Dog House’s next hot dog maker extraordinaire, because I can't look at one more paragraph on contract law anymore or else my eyeballs will fall out of the sockets. Seriously, Kim, it's like rocket science..but harder. In fact, I think we should all replace saying something like rocket science because it's hard to saying it's like contract law. Anyways, I was just seeing if you weren't too busy if you could maybe come over and help me with just a couple of these topics…Um, no movies or take out or anything like that, promise. Just strictly, um, friendly and studious, just in case you were worried about.. yeah. Just you bashing my head in with a contract law textbook, I swear. So.. uh, yeah. Just let me know? Okay, bye.”

She was over there within the hour, pathetically. On the drive over, her heart fluttered with the possibility of hope, praying to herself that tonight might be the night where she could be brave enough to be honest, to be open, willing her ice to melt.

The light in Jimmy's small studio was warm and inviting, just like the smile on his face as she finds him hunched over a circle of textbooks on his carpeted floor. She hadn't even knocked, instinct taking over. It felt good, it felt right. 

“Thank god,” he groaned, head falling forward towards his lap. “My savior.”

“Uh huh,” Kim said seriously but her eyes gleamed, setting her bag down on the kitchen table and dropping down to take a knee beside him.

Hunched over stacks and stacks of textbooks she had left behind years ago, her knee scratching against the rough carpet of his bedroom, and Jimmy looking at her like she had hung the stars and moon, like she was something miraculous, something rare and beautiful, she felt more at peace than she had in months. Only now, she was staring at him right back with that same feeling in her chest, threatening to burst. Something rare and beautiful. 

“Okay, where should we start?”

Two hours of contract drilling later, Kim had deemed Jimmy worthy of a break. She suggested ordering take out and he had eagerly agreed, and she wondered if he could sense on her face the direction in which she hoped the rest of the night would go. He had been good all night, anyways, and she missed him. God, she missed him.  

Still on the floor, she rested her back against the bottom of his bed. He sat beside her. She looked past his shoulder to his CD player that rested on his drawers, and was reminded of something. She considered asking him about her, her gift, if he had plans to see her this week, but realized she had him here, beside her again, blue eyes bright on hers, and decided against it. Maybe now was as good a time as any to muster her courage and tell him in some roundabout way that these last few months were ugly and dull and lifeless without his touch, his hug, his music, his colorful car, his voice. Any combination of all the swirling scary thoughts that have been stuck in her head that she could string together. But, like usual, he spoke first.

“So, big month coming up.”

“Uh huh,” Kim replies, alway content to see where he ends up when he starts talking. 

“Lots of important days.” He is being intentionally and uncharacteristically vague.

“Hmm. Like that one holiday for that one saint. The one with lots of hearts and candy.”

Jimmy suddenly looks down, breaking eye contact and playing with his sweatshirt sleeve idly. “Oh, yeah.” A beat of silence, then he drags his hands along the scruff of his neck as he admits, “I got a present today. I think it was supposed to be a Valentine's day thing.”

Her face gives nothing away. “You think?”

“Yeah, I'm not really sure.”

He looks up at her again, his blue eyes uncertain but she can tell he wants to say something, and is just trying to figure the best path to get there. Somehow they've moved their bodies closer to each other. Maybe he's going to complain about the gift, Kim thinks not without mirth and a little glee. She could feel guilty about it some other time. She couldn't now, not when it had gotten her what she wanted, certainly not when his lips were so close and his eyes so soft. 

“What if it was?”

“What if what was?”  She felt like treading carefully–they were finally back in familiar territory. Her, in control and confident, him, desperate and eager, and after these past months of feeling so–so what? So unwanted, she thinks–she was suddenly loath to give it up again now that she had it back.

“Kim, sometimes I think–”

A knock on the door– their long forgotten take out had arrived. 

Jimmy blinked several times and abruptly got up, the moment lost–or at least suspended in time. She heard his voice from the door, “..shit. Wallets in my car. Let me run down and grab it.”

In the meantime, Kim wanders over to his CD player and stacks of CDS, wondering if she would find a brand new Sugar Ray album anywhere amongst the stacks. 

She did, and she wishes she didn't. The case laid open front and center, with the CD missing. Did he actually play this stupid album? She thought, slightly annoyed at Heather, at Jimmy, and a little at herself for maybe not knowing him as well as she thought she did. Looking around for the actual CD amongst the scattered cases, she finds a small case that looks like it contains some sort of jewelry, neatly wrapped–or as neatly as Jimmy could wrap anything. It was even tied together sweetly with a blue ribbon. 

It's for her, Kim thinks to herself, strangely detached now. He liked the CD, you’re so stupid, he went out and bought her a gift to say thanks. The rational part of her mind, the small part of that was left anyways, reprimanded herself, says who says it's for her? But who else would it be for? It couldn't be for her. They had barely talked for 4 months up until tonight and it's not like she had given him any sort of gift recently. And he had never even given her a valentine's day gift before. So, no, it couldn't be for her. 

She felt very young suddenly, the hurt and embarrassment of being so, so wrong about a situation making her feel 14 years old again and in over her head. She felt stupid for thinking he would still be head over heels for her after she had humiliated him the way she did. She felt disgustingly embarrassed by her own jealousy and above all she felt the stifling, overwhelming urge to be alone, to be in her own space, to retreat inside herself like she always did when she made herself too vulnerable. As she grabbed her purse she made the vow to herself that she would never let him know. Would never let him know how grateful she was that he had called her that night, that before she did that stupid, stupid thing all those months ago she was starting to feel like, for the first time in her life, she had found a home in his arms whenever he held her close, that she was too scared of what it might mean and thats why it all had to end, not because of any bullshit obligation to work. He would never know and she would never tell him. 

With that resolve, she raised her head and looked in the mirror that hung in Jimmy's kitchen, seeing a glimpse of the cool and controlled Kim she had always been, vowing never to let Jimmy McGill get it in the way of the image reflected back at her ever again. But inside herself, even as she felt the ice in her chest build up its walls again, seemingly impenetrable, she knew the vow was hollow.