chapter word count: 507

noir heart: fifty-two

Score one for accurate memory.

Jack reaches the corner of the Smoking Shack, situated to the right of the spectator stands and near the southeast corner of the track just as he hears the approach of rapid footfalls on the grass, easily audible over the sounds of football practice. Pressing himself against the wall, out of sight, he waits for the hurried running steps to get closer and closer, before he whirls around and holds out his right arm.

Viciously clotheslined, the unfortunate Sid nearly flips backwards with the surprise ambush, landing sharply on his back with a surprised, pained "oof!" before proceeding to utter a lengthy groan, his eyes clamped shut with one of the most pained winces Jack has ever seen in his tenure at high school. Bending over the unfortunate student, Jack rests his hands on his knees as he gives him a 'poor wittle baby' expression and mocks, "Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt? Want a band aid?" with his bottom lip stuck out for emphasis.

"You're an…ass…" Sid moans hoarsely as he labors to clamber to his feet.

"And you're the moron that thought running away from a cop was a good idea." Jack snarks as he yanks the boy up by his upper arm.

"Seemed like it...at the time." Sid winces, keeping his head low and avoiding Jack's eyes. Uh-uh, he's having none of that, so with an exasperated sigh Jack manhandles Sid to the wall of the Smoking Shack, and bends down to equal head-height.

"Kid," he begins, occasionally moving his head so there's nowhere Sid can look without his face in the way, "I'm gonna teach you the two most important words you'll ever hear: use protection...wait, that's not it. Check your privilege! No, wait...that's three words, and it's stupid."

Feigning forgetfulness, Jack looks off to the side as he clicks his right fingers over and over again. "Wait, I got it. Probable cause. Now, because you ran away as soon as you saw my badge, something that Principal Callaghan can corroborate, then that made me suspicious that you have something to hide. Therefore, I have probable cause to search you for anything that you don't want me to find..."

The image of Sid's hand tensing on the strap of his backpack barges its way to his mind, so he hooks his left hand around the strap and pulls it off the increasingly petulant sixteen year old, and it doesn't take a lengthy amount of rooting through the books, pens, pencils, stationery and secret pockets for him to find the contraband. Two fingers pinch the small bag, and as he pulls his out, his heart clenches and indignant rage surges within as his eyes rest upon the inimitable white crystals of methamphetamine.

Brandishing it sternly, he snarls, "...let me guess, sugar? No, wait - medicinal? Oh, I got it...you were looking after it for a friend, am I right?"

sid, breaking bad is just a TV show.

I think I'm channelling too much Danny Williams from Hawaii Five-0...

special thanks to: oninoko, jpbake, eireneharmonia, hornedgoddess, ghost angel14, stefalove, heartonfire and scottydog for reviewing!