#*captain holt voice* don't say amigo

[theclaravoyant]

I've been hearing the theory that Gerrard is going to captain the precinct for a while because something happens to Bobby?? Do you think you could write something about that? *prayer/please hands emoji*

AN ~ all aboard the Everybody Hates Gerrard Train!! whoo WHOO XD I am loving writing solidarity of these guys against that bench. I do have something angstier in the pipeline (ooof the buckbobby feels) but in the meantime I wanted to have a little fun with it.

tw for gerrard being ... Like ThatTM I may have dialed it up a bit for funsies. and because if Gerrard gets the Captaincy when Hen and Chim are sitting right there it might be dynamically interesting and whatever but imma still punch him tho

equality

“What are you wearing?”

Buck grins, turning away from the oven with a smear of cheese on his nose, and gestures down at his newest favourite apron. Printed across the front it reads: In my defence, I was left unsupervised.

“Hen got it for me.”

Gerrard is distinctly not amused.

Buck's smile falters. Yeah, they warned him about this.

From the table behind, Chimney attempts an assist - “Buck's in charge of the kitchen when Cap's not here. It's kinda their thing.”

“Well.” Gerrard turns back to Chimney and gives him a bitter smile. “Then it's a good thing 'Cap' is here. So I'll decide whose thing is what. Wilson! Get in here!”

“Shocker,” Hen mutters, but she moves nonetheless.

“What was that, Firefighter?”

“I said, yes sir.”

At least Buck, who's been doing his best not to look like a kicked puppy, gets a snort out of that. Chim bites back a grin.

“Good,” Gerrard spits, glaring. “'Cause it'd be a shame to have to write you up.”

“Really?” Hen challenges. “'Cause it would be a joy to report you.”

Buck and Chim's expression turn from quiet glee to panic. Abort, Abort. Hen resists the urge to bite her tongue. She's put her foot in it, and Gerrard relishes the stumble.

“For what, hm?” he presses, closing slowly in on her. “For making one of my subordinates do something she doesn't want to do? Boo hoo.”

Hen takes a deep breath. She has to choose her next words quietly - She can't afford to make a wrong move, and set off the trap. But then a new voice interrupts from the top of the stairwell. Eddie.

“For putting the only woman on the team in the kitchen. Again,” he points out. His voice is clipped. Confident. Impatient. “When somebody else has clearly volunteered to do that task.”

Hen groans silently. She's pretty sure there's nothing Gerrard would love more than to fire them all in one fell swoop. And probably nothing Eddie would love more than to punch the guy and set that chain reaction going. But- it seems to work. Sort of. Gerrard stops closing in on her and throws his hands out as if this has all been an innocent mistake.

“Ohhh, so that's the problem! Why didn't you say so? Wilson. What's something Buckley hates doing then.”

“Uh... Laundry I guess?”

Buck flashes her a look - come on, man – but he gets it. She has to take the out.

“You heard the woman,” Gerrard orders. “Laundry. Stat.”

“Okay, um,” he waffles out some handover instructions - “It's on 350 degrees at the moment, if you wait about forty five minutes then dial it up for the last ten-”

Gerrard clears his throat. “Step to it, Buckley! I think the gym rags need doing. And you'd better not have that thing on when you get back.”

Hen mouths, sorry.

“Don't even worry about it. Happy to serve.” Buck forces a smile at their Captain, hands Hen the tea towel he's got draped over his shoulder, and jogs off down the stairs.

“Problem solved, then,” Gerrard resolves on their behalf. “Equality.”

He fixes Eddie with a shit eating grin. Lets his hands linger outstretched as if he's going for a big, weird bear hug. Eddie grimaces as the man goes for a half-embrace-half-shoulder punch instead.

“You've got balls, mi amigo,” he says. “I like it.”