Chapter Text
“Sarge, it’s 9:30 in the morning, how is this guy already totally drunk?”
“I don’t know, Peralta, he probably started last night and didn’t stop until one of the guys picked him up on . . . let’s see that file. Ah, ‘public intoxication, possession, and,’ I can’t believe this, ‘solicitation’ and the night shift said he’s also our best lead so far on that new distribution network the Captain’s been on us to track down.”
“Geeze, but why do I-”
Shoving the file at the detective, Sergeant Terry Jeffords left the mess behind him and washed his hands of the case. “Just book him and toss him in the tank to sober up before the Captain gets out of his meeting, Peralta!”
With a sigh, Jake surveyed the subject of his current case, who currently resembled a writhing ball of limbs on the seat by his desk. The man was obviously drunk, and high as two and a half kites probably, yanking obsessively at the cuffs around his skinny wrists. He’d probably be slightly taller than Jake once he was unchained from the side of the desk and standing upright, but almost disturbingly thin and strangely super attractive (what the hell, Peralta?) Sliding down in his own seat, he opened the file and reached for a pen to start filling in details, conferring with the records on the computer in front of him that details a laundry list of prior arrests .
“Ok, name?”
“Wha- heh, wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Listen buddy, the faster we get this done the faster you can go back to the nice, cozy cells and sleep off. . . whatever junk you took, cool? And could you just. . . sit still for like, two minutes? You’re making me dizzy, man.”
The skinny figure, who’d somehow gotten one ripped-black-jean covered leg hooked over the backrest as he appeared to be tugging at the metal loop on the desk finally stilled, and in one fluid, albeit a curiously non-Newtonian and indecisive fluid motion, slid back into a more conventional seated position, slumped in the seat. A mess of dark, curly hair that mirrored the bedraggled fur trim on his patchwork coat framed a pale, pointed face with a pair of bright hazel eyes ringed by dark smudges and darker lashes peering out at him, and his sharp smirk was ringed by a small, elegant goatee. Well, it wouldn’t be the first weirdly hot perp they’d had there.
“Fine, what’d’ya wanna know?” He might be sitting up, but the man kept yanking persistantly at the cuffs.
“First, what’s your name, smart guy?”
“Klaus Hargreeves, spelled ‘y-o-u-s-u-c-k’”
“Wowwww, that’s a first for that. Not. And birthdate.”
“October first, 1989, the same as all my siblings.” The yanking got more frantic.
“How - yeah, keep trying that, you’re not gonna get out of them”
The man - Klaus - had slid his chair over to the desk and started slamming the chain of the cuffs into the edge, each swing flailing more and more. Somehow he’d already detached the chain from the ring and was half out of his seat by then.
“Yeah, do it . Try.”
In a nigh-acrobatic feat, he’d contorted himself to get one foot up between his hands, kicking out at the short chain. With one smooth motion he’d flipped himself out of the chair, and face down on the floor.
“They’ll. . . never. . . make. . . a pair of handcuffs. . .that can hold me!” Between gasped out words he’d rolled over and started kicking out with his free leg, worming his way across the floor until he’d kicked the computer off Amy’s desk.
“Jake!”
“I know, look at him go! I bet you ten bucks he can make it out of those things. Boyle?”
“Yeah Jake, I got ten bucks. You wanna get in on this Rosa?”
“Hey I’ve got five.”
“I say no, this is stupid. Jake, quick, get him off the floor before Captain Holt sees this!” Amy, ever the voice of reason.
By then the frantic figure had climbed up onto the windowsill clinging to the shelves with one bony leg, banging the chain against the wooden window trim, then the shelves, before sliding clumsily back down into a sprawl on the floor surrounded by a shower of scattered files and binders.
“Eh, I’ll take that action. C’mon, cuffs!!!”
“What’re you doing???” Rosa had joined the growing circle of detectives in the middle of the floor. Having given up on the window, the would-be-escapee had resorted to banging the handcuffs into the edge of a metal filing cabinet. A moment late, and he’d managed to worm his way back over to the desk, getting his legs back up over Jake’s now empty chair, and the cuffs over the corner of the metal filing cabinet, he began to do pull-ups as though his slight weight could snap the cuffs. After only a few reps, the chain slid free and dumped the writhing figure back onto the floor.
“C’mon, handcuffs, woo!” Gina had finally put down her phone and deigned to take notice of what was unfolding.
With a roll and a snakelike writhe, Klaus had found his feet again, and, raising his bound hands above his head with a shake, started trying to kick at them with a flexibility that would make a Rockette proud. Two, three kicks, and his legs gave out under him, once more landing him in an awkward sprawl on the floor.
“Awwwww!” came the chorus of groans from the bullpen. The little scene had everyone’s attention at this point, bystanders in the poorly-executed-but-valiant escape attempt. Even Amy, disapproving at first, had gotten into the spirit.
“Goooo!!!!” Even the Sarge had gotten into the spirit of things.
“C’mon boy, you can do it!” from Boyle, crouching down to one side.
“C’mon handcuffs!”
“Go, go go!”
The would-be escapee had once again struggled to his feet, twisting his hands around like he was performing some arcane spell.
“Wooooo!!!!”
“Go! Go! Go! Go!”
With a final twist, the cuffs fell free and the room broke into cheers and applause. In one smooth motion, Rosa stepped forward and jabbed the man in the side with her stun gun, and Klaus dropped bonelessly to the floor in an improbably acrobatic position.
At that moment, Captain Holt finally swung his office door open, calmly surveying the scene of recent chaos before stoically stepping across the prone body and crisply scooping the pair of discarded cuffs off the floor. “Made in America, dammit.”