Chapter Text
Clara Winslow carefully folded her sunglasses into an interior jacket pocket before glancing in her rearview mirror as a familiar faded blue Mustang pulled up to the dilapidated church that currently served as their police station. She squinted at the glare it cast, the dampened surface from last night’s rain reflecting sharp in her eyes. Averting her eyes she stepped from her Volkswagen Rabbit, avoiding the puddles she had managed to park directly over. Just now nearing completion of her first six months with this undercover unit Clara felt at home even in the parking lot outside the building, no longer filled with nervous energy over meeting her coworkers anew each day.
The driver of the Mustang wasted no time parking, nearly splashing her with the puddle as it screeched to a halt. Clara frowned as she walked towards the building’s entrance.
“Hey there darlin’” the driver said with a grin, slamming the door with more force than was likely necessary.
“Hanson, would it kill you to drive a little slower?”
“No. But it wouldn’t be as fun,” Tom Hanson said, shaking his dark hair out of his eyes.
“Well it would help me out because then I wouldn’t have to avoid getting splashed by the puddles you drive through.”
“Do you complain this much when you’re a passenger too?” he asked, holding open the door to the chapel, a small sign above it deeming the building 21 Jump Street .
Clara frowned, shaking her head, passing through the open door. The church was set into an old brick warehouse which created the exterior illusion that it was not a church at all. The inside however gave the impression of having just stepped into an exceptionally chaotic chapel service during which there were no customs to follow besides being busy. Spaced at even intervals throughout the main sanctuary were a maze of desks through which Clara led the way to where she had spotted the rest of their unit.
“Morning,” Doug Penhall’s voice grunted from behind a cup of coffee.
Clara nodded towards him as Judy Hoff’s slight figure appeared from around the corner, flashing her a chipper smile, “Didn’t get rained on too much last night did ya?”
“No, but I did get drenched by Hanson driving through big puddles,” Clara said, shooting him a grin.
“You’re exaggerating-”
“You have been known to come into the parking lot a little hot-” Judy said.
“I don’t drive that fast!” Tom said.
“You know,” Captain Fuller’s slow baritone interrupted, “I just received another complaint from an officer about a blue mustang driving too fast in the parking lot…”
Tom frowned again, a crinkle forming between his eyes, but he decided it best to remain silent. Captain Fuller continued as he handed them each a slim folder.
“Do you all know the performing arts high school on the other side of the city?”
“Yeah,” Judy said, “just like the one in Fame ?”
“Yes, just like that one. Except this one has a drug problem. A big one.”
“I see,” Doug said, scanning the contents of the folder, still nursing the oversized cup of coffee.
“What I actually don’t see is how we’re going to be able to pretend to go to this school,” Tom said.
“I agree, none of us are particularly ‘performing arts’ inclined,” Judy said, making finger quotations.
Clara half smiled as Fuller continued, “I’m sure each of you can find something you’ll be acceptable at.”
“Coach, I don’t want to do acting though,” Doug complained, his voice stretching out into a whine.
“Don’t worry, they’ve got lots of other things there, art, music, dancing-”
“What kind of dance?” Clara asked.
“All kinds I’m sure, jazz, hip-hop, ballet-”
“That’s what I’ll be doing then,” Clara said.
Judy nodded like she was thinking hard, Tom raised a skeptical eyebrow and Doug frowned.
“You dance?” Doug asked.
“Yes. Well, sort of. I used to. I did ballet for over ten years as a kid.”
“No fair that you get to go in with a talent already,” Doug replied, again drawing out the last word into a complaint.
“Well you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Fuller said, “realistically just two or three of you will be fine. I figured four would just make it easier.”
“Aho no!” Doug guffawed, “I will not be missing hanging with the weird performing art’s kids. They always know how to have a good time.”
Fuller frowned like he did not like Doug’s phrasing, “Good. Get me your backstories by this afternoon so I can file the paperwork so you can start tomorrow. And then please do work on the mountain of paperwork I know you all have.
The four let out a collective groan and ambled to their respective desks.
“What do you think, should I join you on the ballet front?” Judy said across their adjoned worked spaces.
“You could. I think you could probably catch on pretty easily, but it might be obvious you haven’t danced before. Depending on how competitive these kids are,” Clara said, disliking her own phrasing.
“I suppose that’s true. We would cover more ground if we’re all in with different kids.”
“That’s exactly why while you fools are dancing or acting I’ll be hanging with the band,” Tom said, kicking his feet up on his desk.
Judy snorted, “You’re gonna be a band kid?”
“Not a band kid . More like the cool dude in a band. Rock n’ roll.”
“What instrument do you play again?” Clara asked, immediately feeling guilty due to knowing he had previously mentioned this.
Tom gave no signal that he was offended as he turned to her, eyes suddenly glittering with obvious excitement, “Guitar. And clarinet, but that’s besides the point.”
“Ah so you’re off to band kid land, and you to stuck-up dancer land, while Judy and I fend for ourselves?” Doug said.
“You know I think this could be fun, you don’t have to make it sound so terrible,” Clara said smiling.
“Exactly. How often do I get to go show up highschoolers?” Tom said.
“All the time Hanson, that's quite literally your job,” Captain Fuller said walking by again, “Now, get on with it.”
Tom bit his lip and cast his eyes down. The other three were silent for a moment before bursting out laughing. Tom raised his gaze to meet Clara’s, grinning like an idiot.