8:01 a.m. – 99th Precinct Bullpen
Ezra arrived precisely on time—again. Not a second early, not a breath late. He passed by the whiteboard where Jake had drawn a large thermometer titled "Suspicion Levels," with his own name suspiciously high on the scale.
"Morning, suspects and snack hoarders," Ezra greeted dryly, setting his bag beside his desk. "What's today's game?"
Jake spun around in his chair, holding two donuts and looking far too smug. "No game, Kael. Just good, honest suspicion."
Boyle nodded gravely. "Jake thinks someone's been stealing from the breakroom."
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "What was stolen?"
"My donut!" Jake exclaimed, holding up a very average-looking glazed one. "There were two yesterday. I left one in the fridge labeled 'Property of Detective Jake Peralta, Not for Rosa, Not for Scully, Not Even for Gina.'"
Ezra blinked. "That's... extremely specific."
"It was stolen," Jake said, eyes narrowing. "Which means we have a thief among us."
Amy sighed from her desk. "You mean it means you forgot you ate it."
"False!" Jake declared, leaping to his feet. "I have a steel trap memory. And also, I recorded myself saying 'I'll eat the second donut tomorrow' on my phone."
He played the voice memo. It was, indeed, him. With a British accent. For some reason.
Rosa walked in mid-memo, snorted, and headed straight for the coffee. "If this ends in interrogations again, I'm out."
Ezra took a seat and opened his laptop. "So, what's the plan?"
Jake grinned. "We're going full sleuth. Mini-stakes investigation. Think 'Ocean's Eleven,' but sadder."
Gina chimed in, without looking up from her phone. "Or: Ocean's Four and a Half."
Boyle held up a hastily printed suspect chart. Ezra was on it twice.
"Why am I on here twice?" Ezra asked.
"Because you're too clean," Jake said. "And clean means hiding something."
Ezra smirked. "You're profiling me for neatness?"
"Also for your face," Jake said. "You have a donut-thief face."
Ezra turned to Amy. "Is there any point in resisting?"
"Zero," she replied. "Welcome to Tuesday."
The room settled into its usual chaotic rhythm, punctuated by Hitchcock and Scully arguing about whether powdered donuts count as dairy, and Terry trying to balance a budget spreadsheet while wearing headphones to drown out Jake's impromptu humming of the Mission: Impossible theme.
Ezra quietly typed notes into his phone—observational data. Not about the case, but about the team. Subtle behavior tics. Tell-tale signs. The little things people didn't notice about themselves. He had once used those same observations to crack safes and talk his way past armed guards.
Now, apparently, he was applying them to donut theft.
Still, there was something comforting about it. As absurd as it all was, it gave the day shape. Laughter. Rules. Even if those rules were made by a man who laminated his own bathroom schedule.
9:30 a.m. – Breakroom Recon
Jake, Boyle, and Ezra sat shoulder to shoulder behind an overturned rolling cart just outside the breakroom. Jake had binoculars. Boyle had a thermos full of questionable stew. Ezra had a book titled How to Lie Without Saying a Word.
"Operation Jelly Swipe is go," Jake whispered.
"I hate this name," Ezra muttered.
"Too bad, you're in it now," Jake whispered dramatically. "Every detective has to earn their nickname. Yours is Kael the Clandestine."
"Catchy," Ezra said flatly.
They watched as Scully walked into the breakroom, opened the fridge, sniffed a sandwich, and walked back out with a granola bar he had definitely not brought.
"Suspicious," Jake said.
"Borderline tragic," Ezra replied.
They saw Rosa walk in, take exactly two seconds to assess the chaos, and then exit with coffee and her headphones.
Boyle scribbled furiously on his notepad. "This is going in the report."
"There's a report?" Ezra asked.
"Oh yes," Boyle said with pride. "Color-coded, cross-referenced, even laminated."
Jake whispered, "Next phase: confrontation."
Ezra leaned back against the wall and observed the scene one more time. A unit made of misfits, each absurd in their own right. But they watched out for each other. Even if that meant investigating a donut. It made him feel something he didn't expect.
At ease.
He glanced at Boyle's laminated chart again. There were doodles. Arrows. The phrase "THE DONUT DILEMMA" scrawled in highlighter.
Ezra snorted. "If my life had a resume, this would be a weird bullet point."
Boyle beamed. "You're adapting!"
Ezra smiled faintly. "Yeah. Maybe I am."
10:12 a.m. – The Breakroom Interrogation
Jake burst into the breakroom with all the subtlety of a Broadway lead making a dramatic entrance. "Alright, people. This is now an official investigation. Everyone take a seat—or fridge handle. Wherever. Just look like you're being questioned."
Ezra followed behind, sipping coffee and giving off the casual air of someone who once convinced a prince he was the long-lost heir to a fortune in emerald mines. "This is going to be embarrassing," he murmured, settling against the counter.
Boyle had turned two folding chairs toward each other like an amateur therapist's office. "We'll rotate through suspects every ten minutes," he said. "I brought mints for rapport-building."
Scully walked in with a half-eaten bagel and looked around in confusion. "Is this the new book club?"
"No, but you're first," Jake declared.
Scully looked proud. "About time someone took my theories seriously."
Five minutes into questioning, Jake had only managed to get Scully to admit that he once ate a hot dog he found in the evidence locker. Ezra, watching from the corner, raised an eyebrow. "I have so many questions—and no desire to hear any answers."
Amy poked her head in. "This is getting ridiculous. I ran the security cam footage from last night."
Jake gasped. "Amy! Are you saying you believe me?"
"No," she said. "I'm saying I'm tired of hearing the phrase 'pastry profile.'"
She handed Ezra a thumb drive. "Have fun."
Ezra plugged it into his laptop and scanned the grainy footage. The breakroom lit by fluorescent betrayal, timestamped at 6:17 p.m. A blurry figure opened the fridge, reached inside…
"Enhance," Jake whispered dramatically over his shoulder.
Ezra smirked. "It doesn't work like that."
Still, he tapped a few keys and paused. There. Scully, definitely. But also clearly confused, holding up the donut, squinting, and then—
"Oh come on," Ezra said, turning the screen. "He was checking if it was his. Realized it wasn't. Then put it back."
Jake squinted. "So… he didn't eat it?"
Ezra leaned back. "Nope. At least, not on camera."
"Which makes this an open case," Jake announced triumphantly.
Terry walked by, holding a protein shake and shaking his head. "I swear, if y'all put this much energy into the tax fraud case, we'd already have three convictions."
11:45 a.m. – The Unexpected Twist
While most of the team had given up, Jake remained at his desk, mumbling possibilities and suspect lists like a detective unraveling a noir mystery. Ezra was half-listening, half-distracted by a call from a precinct contact about a real case when he heard it—Boyle yelling, "THE DONUT HAS BEEN FOUND!"
Everyone looked up.
Boyle held up a slightly smushed, individually wrapped glazed donut.
"Found it in Rosa's desk drawer," he said, then immediately flinched.
"YOU WHAT?" Rosa snapped, standing suddenly.
Boyle yelped and dropped the donut. "It was barely wedged in there! I thought it was a paperweight!"
Rosa stared at him, then looked at the donut, then muttered, "Fine. It was me. I took it."
Jake's jaw dropped. "You confessed? That's… unprecedented."
Rosa shrugged. "Didn't want to hear you complain for another hour."
Ezra blinked. "Wait. You took it?"
"I didn't eat it," she clarified. "Just wanted to see how long it would take for the circus to find it."
There was a pause.
"Respect," Ezra said, nodding.
Jake gasped again. "So Rosa was the thief and the mastermind? That's incredible."
"I'm adding that to the chart," Boyle muttered, flipping pages.
12:15 p.m. – Post-Case Reflections
The bullpen was quieter now. The donut case had closed with less fanfare than expected. Jake still wore his detective coat like he'd solved a triple homicide.
Ezra stood near the window, finishing his coffee, when Amy walked up beside him.
"You're adjusting fast," she said.
"Chaos is easier when you understand the math behind it," Ezra replied. "Plus, I'm starting to like it here."
Amy gave him a small smile. "Even Jake?"
Ezra glanced across the bullpen. Jake was now trying to tape a donut to his whiteboard as a victory trophy.
"Especially Jake," Ezra said with a smirk. "He's a mess. But he's… earnest. That's rare."
She nodded. "You're not what I expected, you know."
He met her eyes. "Neither are any of you."
They both watched as Scully accidentally sat on the donut chart.
Ezra sighed. "And yet, it feels like the most functional place I've ever been."
Amy smiled. "Welcome to the Nine-Nine."