the ghost of Walter White and Elliot Schwartz get freaky

Walt returns

He first announced himself in the form of a tacky metal click. Subtle, he knew, but he had much bigger plans in store for their long-awaited reunion; plans that he wouldn't have anyone interrupting.

He watched the other's eyes wander over to the door lock, pass right through him for just a moment, and then settle back on the vanity. Perfect. If the man could be bothered to look away from his own damned reflection for even a fraction of a second, it meant he had at least made an impression.

Walt's fingers, adorned with 12 inch acrylics that had fish swimming around in them, shifted meticulously around a kitchen knife, readjusting his hold on the handle as he watched him undo the buttons of his overcoat. He slipped the weapon into his pocket for later and pondered his next move.

Standing around watching his old coworker gawk at himself wasn't exactly what he would call thrilling, and it was hardly what he had came here to do. No, it was time to start the fun.

His feet didn't even care to strike the ground as he came up behind Elliot's chair, his cold hands resting at either corner of the backrest.

Within an instant, Elliot froze. His elephant like ears perked up. Realization trickled through his face like water from a faucet. He leaned away from the mirror and turned to look behind him, rather reluctantly.

"Well hello again," That same, gravely voice he hadn't heard in years now spoke with a grin. He nearly jumped out of his seat as it rang through his head like an echo chamber.
"You forgot to lock the door." It followed up, flatly.

"Walter?!" He blurted out with physical recoil. He looked like he had just seen a ghost.

"That's right, Elliot. Did you miss me?" He asked, cocking his head.

"How- what are you doing here?" Elliot pulled his arms through the sleeves of his overcoat and turned back around to face him. Walt was exactly the way he remembered, from his voice to his looks, down to his Elonish musk; the only difference was the chilling air that now surrounded him.

"I came to pay a long overdue visit." Walter looked up into the mirror, running his nails through his hobo hair and pursing his lips like a queer.

"But you're..." He paused, squinting into his icy blue eyes as if he were trying to read them. "Dead."

"Oh, I am," Walt waved an arm right through his torso for show, casting his eyes back down onto Elliot's. "Well, undead would be a better word, I suppose."

Elliot swallowed the lump in his throat as Walter sunk himself into him. The toes of his shoes met the floor with a tap, and his lips all but kissed the mortal's goosebump-dotted neck as he went on, "But that's not going to stop me from settling an old score with you."

"You're really still hung up on that?" He snapped. "You settled that score when you put me in jail, you killed all those people."

"Please, Elliot, you were hardly in for a day. And most of the people I killed meant nothing. The only way we'd be even..." He drew the knife up from his pocket, slowly, smoothly. "Is if you were dead." He hissed into his gigantic, elephant ear.

"You can't be serious." Elliot shook his head frantically, his face draining white. "Can't we just talk?"

"I'm afraid not. This is where you get what you deserve." Walt moved the blade closer to him, until it was mere inches from the skin of his neck.

"No, nono wait! Take this up with Lois Griffin, who is as you know my bitch wife! Not me!" He tried to bargain as the ghost stepped around either side of his chair. He changed his position to sit on the table in front of Elliot, all while keeping the knife at level with his neck. Elliot's eyes were sure to follow Walt's every move.