“Jesus fuck stop running, I’m not that in shape!”

Oh the life of being a criminal. It really was fun, the adrenaline of pickpocketing half a crowd in ten minutes, shoplifting, and the best part?

Leading on Jacob Peralta.

The guy had been on your ass for years, showing up seconds to late, running one pace to many behind, looking for you in crowds.

A thrilling game of cat and mouse. For you, anyways.

This time you had led him to you, needing a little action. It was simple, rob a store, conveniently let the guy hit the little red button behind the counter that called the police, and then Jake was there, chasing you down.

You both had done this same dance so many times, it’s a wonder he didn’t get backup sooner now. Some people don’t learn. Not that you’re complaining, the chase so far more fun than the cage.

“Goddamnit, can you stop running for one second! Just…fuck” he took a quick moment to catch his breath, then you were gone.

“Fuck!” He cursed, kicking at the wall, then immediately winced and hobbled back.

“Is it broken?” You hum from above him, leaning over a fire escape ten feet above.

“What—What the hell! How do you always pull this—this shadowy shit?” He stared up at you, seemingly forgetting he had a perfectly good gun in his holster and instead just glaring and shouting profanities.

How very out of character, you really got him riled up.