[ It's uncanny, really, that Will would somehow lead it to this after what he'd thought of just half an hour ago. Hank has trouble believing in coincidences on a good day. ]
Is that how Pinkman's telling it? Skipped a few key chapters there.
[ The tone he takes when saying the name makes it clear just how highly he values Jesse's opinion, spat like a four letter word with a sneer reserved for very few. He isn't looking at Will when he says it, he's looking right through.
But it doesn't last long before he looks down, and something falls short in how he sits, as being forced to recollect that piss poor story he had hinted at in the text doesn't bring any pride at all. Will was a cop, and so that gives him more understanding in regards to this, but that doesn't make him trustworthy. Still, he'd rather he heard the truth from Hank instead of the fucking rumor mill, if he's heard it anyway. Or...at least some skewed version of it. What does it matter here? It can't be an Internal Affairs thing, not with it having taken place before, and Will looked like someone pissed in his beer bottle at the suggestion of it being a real trap. Hank catches that, even as he has to keep a check on his own temper.
So what the hell is it, then? ]
I told you it was a long story. Jesus... Wouldn't even know where to start, all right. But I didn't break in, the door was open—
[ Not helping. Those details don't fucking matter and he knows it. But whether or not Will understood what he was asking when he broached this, this particular topic gets Hank's hackles raised and his breath short, even if it's probably apparent he's trying not to make that obvious. ]
Look, I know that guy's a fucking saint around here, but that's not how it was in Albuquerque. I had my reasons for looking into him, and when I got too close he didn't like it. I had him cornered at a junkyard when he had someone call me up, telling me my wife was in a car accident and was bein' flown to the hospital.
[ It's impossible not to remember it, even though it was a blur at the time. He'd left the scene without another thought, letting Pinkman do God knows what to that RV while Hank had been about to collapse in a panic attack in a hospital hallway. His voice strains as he's caught between reliving fury and that memory of fear. ]
I got to the hospital and of course she wasn't there. By the time I realized what the hell was happening and got back to the scene, he'd sent the evidence off to fuckin' Narnia. I wasn't exactly...seeing straight after that, but I knew where he lived. ...Hitting him...hadn't been the plan.
[ And what happened after? That had been the real question, and should be a lot easier to answer, but it isn't. Words are hard look at how he tries. ]
no subject
Is that how Pinkman's telling it? Skipped a few key chapters there.
[ The tone he takes when saying the name makes it clear just how highly he values Jesse's opinion, spat like a four letter word with a sneer reserved for very few. He isn't looking at Will when he says it, he's looking right through.
But it doesn't last long before he looks down, and something falls short in how he sits, as being forced to recollect that piss poor story he had hinted at in the text doesn't bring any pride at all. Will was a cop, and so that gives him more understanding in regards to this, but that doesn't make him trustworthy. Still, he'd rather he heard the truth from Hank instead of the fucking rumor mill, if he's heard it anyway. Or...at least some skewed version of it. What does it matter here? It can't be an Internal Affairs thing, not with it having taken place before, and Will looked like someone pissed in his beer bottle at the suggestion of it being a real trap. Hank catches that, even as he has to keep a check on his own temper.
So what the hell is it, then? ]
I told you it was a long story. Jesus... Wouldn't even know where to start, all right. But I didn't break in, the door was open—
[ Not helping. Those details don't fucking matter and he knows it. But whether or not Will understood what he was asking when he broached this, this particular topic gets Hank's hackles raised and his breath short, even if it's probably apparent he's trying not to make that obvious. ]
Look, I know that guy's a fucking saint around here, but that's not how it was in Albuquerque. I had my reasons for looking into him, and when I got too close he didn't like it. I had him cornered at a junkyard when he had someone call me up, telling me my wife was in a car accident and was bein' flown to the hospital.
[ It's impossible not to remember it, even though it was a blur at the time. He'd left the scene without another thought, letting Pinkman do God knows what to that RV while Hank had been about to collapse in a panic attack in a hospital hallway. His voice strains as he's caught between reliving fury and that memory of fear. ]
I got to the hospital and of course she wasn't there. By the time I realized what the hell was happening and got back to the scene, he'd sent the evidence off to fuckin' Narnia. I wasn't exactly...seeing straight after that, but I knew where he lived. ...Hitting him...hadn't been the plan.
[ And what happened after? That had been the real question, and should be a lot easier to answer, but it isn't. Words are hard look at how he tries. ]