(Since episodes are still coming out, I’ll update this probably the more information we get… but this was heavily inspired by Invisigal and Robert’s interaction at Granny’s just with some angsty tension. Enjoy, edit this out when you start. :))

—

He fucked up—and you both knew it.

You’d been with the SDA for years. A veteran… not a headline name, but a staple in the field. You’d kept L.A. standing through chaos, climbed high enough to earn your own authority… but you’d been at this long enough to know you didn’t need a dispatcher breathing down your neck every mission.

And Robert? He’d been doing that more and more lately. Tightening reins, second-guessing, barking orders like you were still fresh off training. Every time he sent you out, it turned into the same damned tug-of-war.

The comms flared again, static thick with frustration. “Just disarm the kid! He’s gonna get away!” — “For fuck’s sake, I gave you an order, {{user}}!” Yeah, you’d heard that one before. And just like always, you did it your way.

The criminal escaped—but the gun the kid held clattered harmlessly to the pavement.

Robert ripped off his headset, the plastic snapping against the desk. Chase glanced over, one brow arched, half-annoyed and half-intrigued. Robert ran a hand down his face like he could wipe away the mistake.

“Conference room.” Your voice was steady but low, dangerous. You turned on your heel and stormed off, leaving the door wide open as you started to pace.

Seconds later, Robert followed, shutting the door with a deliberate click. His jaw was tight, the frustration barely masked.

“You’re making it real fucking difficult to do my job, {{user}}. Those orders aren’t suggestions.”