When I started my job at The French Laundry, I was working next to Thomas on the canapé station. He asked if I was going to rinse the onions. I had no idea what he was talking about. Why would I rinse onions? He’s probably a foot taller than I am, and he reached right over me and started rinsing the onions, with me trapped between his arms. He said in a soft voice, “You see, if you rinse the onions, it makes them less harsh.” Needless to say, I felt like a little boy.
"This," Stacker says to the cooks lined up in front of him an hour before service begins, "is Herc Hansen, and his son Chuck. Herc will be the executive chef at Pacifica while I oversee construction at Mori. Chuck will start on sauces and rotate as needed."
The Weis nod at Herc, heads bobbing in unison before they really get a look at the newcomers. The three of them remain silent, sizing Herc and Chuck up first with a fighter's eye before they scan the younger Hansen's uniform, neatly pressed and stiff on his shoulders. It's a stark contrast to everyone else's comfortably fitted and well-worn jackets.
"Jin," says Stacker, addressing the triplet with a piercing and a baseball cap, the latter sitting backwards on his head, "you're on vegetables today, so I'll count on you to keep an eye on him."
"Yes chef!"
Turning to the brother with a bandana tied around his forehead, "Hu, show Chef Hansen and Chuck where everything is before service."
"Yes chef!"
Stacker meets eyes with Cheung for a moment before he turns to Herc. "Cheung is my sous chef. Whatever you need, you can refer to him. If you have any questions, he should be able to answer them. Yes?"
"Yes chef!" Cheung answers.
Nodding, Herc claps Stacker on the shoulder and ties his apron, looking quickly around the space as his old friend leaves. He introduces himself personally to Jiewen and Xiaoyu before turning back to Hu, who's been hovering behind his shoulder. Gesturing for Chuck to follow, they start their tour around Pacifica's kitchen while everyone else returns to work.
Ten minutes before service, Jin pauses behind Chuck, glancing over his shoulder at the saucepan he has on the stove. "Hey," he says, reaching under Chuck's arm and quickly swishing the sauce around the pot, "what's this?"
"It's the fig sauce--"
"It's too thin," Jin interrupts, reaching over Chuck's head and grabbing a small box of cards off an overhead rack. "Recipe we use is in here. Fix it."
Chuck's shoulders tense up and he scowls, quickly flipping through the pack of cards. Under his breath, "Well, I didn't bloody know."
"Why didn't you ask me?" Jin retorts immediately, lip curling, still standing close enough to Chuck to breathe down the back of his neck until the younger man turns and shoulders him away.
"Why didn't you tell me before I started?" Chuck snarls back, bristling.
Fists clenching, Jin squares his shoulders and backs Chuck fully up against the counter. He doesn't even notice the rest of the kitchen grinding to a halt and Stacker in the entrance, checking in one last time before he's to head downtown to his newest project. Herc looks at a loss, trying to decide whether or not he should step in.
"Why aren't you fucking competent?"
"Jin!" Cheung shouts across the kitchen, abruptly snapping his brother back to attention, "If you'd kept an eye on him from the beginning, you wouldn't have to take time out to fix it."
Jin backs off, looking sheepishly from Chuck's station to his own, then at Stacker.
"Mako will handle vegetables for the time being," Stacker tells him, then glances pointedly at Chuck. "See to it that he's familiar with how we do things here."
"Yes chef!"
Mako happily takes up Jin's spot, picking up his knife and steel. She waits for him to finish ruffling her hair in a quick greeting before honing the blade's edge, regarding the half-filled hotel pans before grabbing a carrot to julienne.
"First off," Jin says, lightly bumping Chuck out of his way and ripping a piece of masking tape off a roll he picks off the overhead, "label the pot for whatever you're doing. Sometimes different sauces look the same." He secures it to the pot's handle, scrawls a neat 'fig sauce' across its length, then swipes a rag across the metal panel in front of the burners, cleaning off spatters of grease. "When you start working at a prep station, keep your cutting board and table clean or you'll get yelled at. By me."
Chuck stands back to let him taste the sauce, wisely not commenting on Jin's brief nod of approval. "Should I do it over?" he says instead.
"Flavor's fine." Jin picks a small pan up and mixes a slurry of cornstarch and water in it, then hands it over to Chuck and relinquishes the stove so he can add it slowly into his sauce. "Don't brown the roux so much next time."
Pacifica's cleaners handle the dining area, but Stacker has his cooks maintain the kitchen at the end of each service, rotating through chores. Friday nights (and most other nights), the triplets are on duty-- Cheung makes sure utensils and cookingware are in their places, Jin checks their stock of plastic containers, saran wrap, aluminum foil and whatever other disposables they use regularly. Hu wipes down every surface with a towel soaked in sanitizer. Whoever finishes first helps the others.
Most Friday nights, Jin and Hu have plans-- it's the one night of the week they have a social life outside of Pacifica's kitchen, with no lunch on Saturday, Sunday reserved for sleeping in and recuperating for the week ahead.
Half an hour after the kitchen closes, the younger Weis are already compulsively checking their phones. Hu usually finishes last-- he works as quickly as his brothers, but the fact remains that the sheer amount of surfaces that need wiping in a restaurant kitchen dwarf the other tasks, and they were never in the habit of cutting corners. Cheung and Jin have already moved on to taking inventory in the refrigerator.
When they finish, Cheung checks the time, plucks the towel out of Hu's hand and then lightly pushes him at the door. "Hey, you two are about to be late. I'll finish up here."
Hu hesitates, looking tempted, but he shakes his head and reaches for his towel. "It's fine, we're almost done."
"Yeah, we wouldn't leave you here."
"Just go," Cheung snaps. "Buy me lunch tomorrow."
Jin and Hu seem to phase out of their jackets, stowing their whites and shrugging on button-down shirts in what seems like seconds. "You won't regret it," Hu tells him fervently as he stuffs his wallet, keys and phone into his pockets. Jin does the same, both of them slapping Cheung on the back as they dash out.
"We owe you!"
Stacker arrives to see Cheung wiping down the last of the prep tables, movements spare and efficient but with none of the frantic speed he and his brothers keep up during the dinner rush. Stacker's always been under the impression that as much as he loves the company of his brothers, Cheung enjoys his rare moments of solitude; he always looks completely zen, the image exacerbated by his shaved head.
"You're alone?" Stacker asks, catching him (for once) off his guard.
Head snapping up, Cheung shifts into the shadow of a defensive stance, but he relaxes when he registers the person in the kitchen entrance. "My brothers have plans," he says dismissively. "They just left."
"You're not going with them?"
"Separate plans. Jin’s getting drinks with customers, Hu’s got a date." He cracks his neck, then leans forward to stretch his spine. "I'd rather stay home anyway. Getting old."
A snort. "You don't get to say that for years yet."
"I'll keep that in mind, chef," Cheung answers, tone polite but with a mischievous quirk to his lips.
"Cheung. About today--"
"Jin just gets impatient," the younger man interrupts, defensive the way he never is for himself. "He's harmless."
Stacker gives him a long look, as if silently calling him on the blatant lie that any of the Weis might qualify as 'harmless' with their background, but he moves on. "You handled it well, I was going to say."
"Ouh... Thanks, chef."
"Are you almost done here?"
Cheung swipes his rag across the table one last time, then lobs his towel clear across the kitchen into the small plastic bin they keep in the corner. "Yeah. Done."
"Let's go across the street for something to eat. Have you had dinner?"
"Had a bit." Cheung grimaces, gesturing vaguely at the back door, "If you're just feeling sorry for me--"
"I have something I'd like to discuss with you personally, as matter of fact."
"As you know," Stacker says, picking at the stack of fries in front of him, "Mori is opening soon. Current timetable sets it at two months while we're finishing the dining room."
"Me and my brothers still have to wire the place up," Cheung adds as he lifts the greasy top piece of bread off the sandwich he'd ordered, peering underneath it before he puts it back in place. They'd been tapped to hook up the computers and POS system-- one of the many skills they'd picked up helping run their father's restaurant. They have plenty of experience even on top of that, having been conscripted into helping their neighbors and family friends set up as well. "Almost done otherwise?"
"Exactly. It won't be very long." Waiting until after Cheung digs in, a good quarter of the sandwich disappearing in a single bite, Stacker folds his hands on the table and leans forward. "I was considering moving you and your brothers over to head it up. Herc will stay on at Pacifica, and you three will once again be working directly under me."
The younger man washes his sandwich down with a long swig of Corona, the last of his late-night snack finished without a trace while he starts on the fries. "I'm surprised you don't want Chef Hansen over there," Cheung comments, leveling a curious look at Stacker. "I thought you were just letting him get used to your kitchen at Pacifica before you bring him to Mori."
"Herc and I came up together in many ways," answers Stacker, "but the ones who are best equipped to execute what I have in mind for Mori... that's you three. Mako requested you personally as well, and as you've probably already guessed, I'm letting her take the reins of that operation once she's done with school."
Cheung seems to mull that over, finishing the rest of his bottle and then nodding thoughtfully. "We spent a lot of time building Pacifica up, boss. It was just getting comfortable."
He's never known the Weis to prefer comfort and ease over an ambitious new project, so Stacker takes a slow sip of his own wine and then sets down his glass. "Would you prefer I take Herc with me to Mori as sous chef and have you promoted to executive at Pacifica?"
"No," Cheung answers firmly. "He's your friend, so I understand. But our team was the one that brought Pacifica to where it is. I don't know that he can keep the place in control when we're gone, or that he can keep it running at the same level."
Have you seen his son, Stacker translates automatically in his mind, looking slightly pained as he drains the rest of his wine. "Those concerns... are valid. But Chef Hansen is an excellent leader." Ordering another two beers, Stacker obligingly takes a fry from the plate that Cheung pushes at him. "In any case, once at Mori, Pacifica will be my problem and not yours. I need you and your brothers' technique and precision more at Mori than I do at Pacifica."
"I'll let them know," answers Cheung as a new bottle appears in front of him, its neck plugged with a wedge of lime, "but I think we're all up for it."
The younger man looks flattered, face mildly flushed-- probably from alcohol. Stacker raises his own drink for a brief toast, idly tallying the number of beers Cheung's already downed before they clink bottles. "I'll keep you posted, and inform Herc that if he wants to bring his team over they'll have a few weeks to settle in."
Flashing Stacker a bleary grin, Cheung leans back in his seat. "Congrats on the new restaurant, boss." After a beat, "And for picking such... accomplished chefs to open it."
Stacker motions for the check, fighting back an indulgent smile. Cheung's usual restraint is nowhere to be seen-- he looks and sounds, at the moment, more like his younger brothers, all of their mischievous arrogance on display. "Well, let's get going."
"I got it," says Cheung when the little billfold arrives, reaching for his wallet.
Stacker leans across the table and traps Cheung's hand under his own before he can snatch up the receipt, much more easily achieved than usual given the level of the younger man's intoxication and the blow to his reflexes. "I have seniority," Stacker insists, trying not to laugh at the obvious warring expressions on his sous chef's face. Cheung quickly decides that trying to argue in his state would only result in failure and lost face, so he settles back.
When Stacker turns to hand his card to a server, Cheung buries his face in his hands, face still red.
"Are you alright?"
"Little drunk, chef. Thanks for dinner."
Stacker stands, shrugging on his jacket and patting Cheung on the shoulder. "Let's get you home."
Jin hurtles into their room and onto Cheung's bed sometime before noon the next morning, peeling back the cover and shaking him by the shoulder. "No way! You're hung over?"
He'd stepped over a short trail of clothes from the apartment entrance to the bedroom, put away a still-open bottle of Aspirin in the bathroom and grabbed a cup of water before coming to find him. Jin's still in the clothes he'd worn the night before and Hu trails in after, looking equally disheveled with Cheung's jacket, shirt and pants under his arm. "We thought you just came home and hit the gym, what happened?"
"We're going to Mori," Cheung tells them, pulling the blanket back over his head and booting Jin off his bed. "Chef wants us there, he's going to let Hansen take over Pacifica."
"You went out for drinks with the boss? Damn, maybe we should've stayed to watch."
Hu sidesteps Jin and hops onto the bed, sitting on the small of Cheung's back. "Too distracted to drink water, huh? You're never hungover."
"Shut up."
"Let's go out for food," Jin suggests, grabbing clean clothes out of their closet and toeing off his socks before ducking into the attached bathroom for a shower. Sticking his head back around the door, "Yumcha, yeah?"
Cheung ignores him until he ducks away, then turns over, flipping Hu off him in the process. He pokes his head out from under his blanket, sounding concerned. "You two didn't eat yet?"
"I made breakfast, but didn't stick around to eat it. Jin said he did too when we were walking up."
"What'd you two make?"
"Omelette."
"Jin?"
"Same thing."
After a pause, Cheung sounds amused when he asks, "Got home at the same time, too?"
Jin steps out of the bathroom half-dressed, drying his ear with a corner of his towel. As far as Cheung knows, he didn't hear his and Hu's conversation, but he hardly needs to after all these years. "Creepy, huh?"
"Hu, hurry and shower so I can go."
Jin waits for Hu to shut the bathroom door behind him before grilling Cheung himself, flashing his brother a sly grin. "So how was drinks with the chef?"
There's nothing but a cagey "Fine," in response, Cheung suddenly busy checking his phone.
"Yeah," drawls Jin, "let's just pretend steam isn't coming out of your ears."
He gets smacked in the face with a pillow.
"I hope everyone's ready for dinner," Stacker says to his brigade that afternoon, inhaling deeply before calling in the servers to try the day's specials. "Get started on prep!"
"Yes chef!"
Turning to the triplets, Jin with a pan of zucchini under his arm and Hu balancing an entire leg of lamb between his hands, Stacker waits for them to set their items down before asking, "Jin, Hu. About Mori--"
"We heard," Hu answers, slipping a steel and a boning knife out of his roll, quickly honing the edge of the blade, "it's fine with us."
Jin nods, flashing him a crooked smile while he runs his vegetables under water. "Looking forward to it, chef."
"Medium dice on those zucchini," Stacker says, giving them a nod and patting Jin on the shoulder as he leaves to make his rounds through the kitchen.
"Yes chef!"
Cheung's test-plating a trio of bite-sized cakes at the pastry station when Stacker approaches, the younger man too busy arguing with Xiaoyu about whether the berry coulis on the plate should swoop left or right to notice until Stacker clears his throat. Cheung backs off, shooting Xiaoyu a look that says he'll be back, and falls into step behind Stacker to the order counter. "I spoke to your brothers," Stacker tells him.
"I know," Cheung answers, giving him a curious look, as if he should know by now that if it involves each other, nothing escapes the Weis' notice. "I told you they'd be up for it."
Stacker decides to overlook the way Cheung's shoulder tenses up under his hand, but he moves it quickly away. They have that much in common, though he'd always thought that after so many years of working together Cheung might be less averse to it. Stacker, after all, had to get over how tactile the younger Weis are. "Just wanted to thank you for making things easy," he says instead.
Waving him off, Cheung gestures over his shoulder at the pastry station, looking perturbed. "It's Mako's birthday, isn't it? That plate's for her, Xiaoyu wanted an alternative to the chocolates for dessert so she figured Mako can be the first tester."
A nod. "Then you'll want to swoop the berry coulis to the right."
Cheung smiles, the usual mellow, restrained quirk of his lips to show no hard feelings. "That's such a weird hang-up, boss."
"I'll let you get back to harassing my pastry chefs," answers Stacker, feeling his expression involuntarily twist to match. "Keep me updated."
On Monday, the triplets squeeze into the locker area at their usual time, then scatter into the kitchen and dining area to find Pentecost. Stacker's in the walk-in refrigerator taking inventory when Jin and Hu pop up behind him, peering over his shoulder. Hu quips, "Did you and Mako celebrate her birthday, chef?"
Stacker glances at them, a small smile sneaking its way onto his face at the memory of the day before. "We went out for dinner on Sunday, actually."
"She's twenty now, right?" Jin laughs, elbowing his brother lightly in the ribs. "Old enough to drink? Did you let her?"
"She had a few sips of wine," he tells them, "and turned bright red."
"We need to take her out! Young people only, chef, sorry!"
"Yeah, I want to see Mako trashed."
The only thing keeping Stacker's expression neutral-bordering-positive is the express joking tone they're using; they've always watched out for Mako. Even if they were to get her drunk, the Weis would get her home safely, three of them able to handle just about anything that a bar could throw at them. "I imagine it would take you three longer," Stacker says, ticking off the last of the items on his list. "You're nearly twice her size."
"Longer?" asks Hu, head canting sideways in confusion.
"To turn red."
Jin frowns. "Huh?"
"The flush," Stacker clarifies slowly, wondering if he might sound vaguely racist at the moment. But the Weis are identical triplets; if Cheung turns red after a good number of drinks, it only stands to reason that the younger brothers would as well.
"Chef," says Jin, "we don't get the flush. It's like a 50-50 chance usually."
"Lucky genes," Hu adds, grinning. "Tolerance is just okay, though."
"I see," Stacker says. But he's thinking Oh, and well, gaze sliding toward the fridge door as Cheung passes it with a bin of side towels in his hands. "My mistake."
Pacifica AU, someone complains about the food. Who deals with it?
Complaints aren’t rare (though they are fairly uncommon for Pan Pacifica; Stacker checks every plate as they go out), but most of it can be resolved quickly— meat too rare, or a dish needs more sauce, or the plate’s gotten cold. Most of the time, Mako goes out with a replacement and an apology, everything wrapped up without fuss.
The one time someone starts yelling, sound loud enough to carry into the kitchen, Stacker practically dashes to the front of house. He returns with a repentant Mako, then has her switch places with him to expedite while he tries to defuse the situation.
“What happened?” Jin asks, peering out of the kitchen window. “Was it the customer that sent back the appetizers twice?”
“Yes,” Mako answers stiffly, passing a plate of lamb chops to a server.
“What was wrong with them?”
“Nothing. They were all delicious. The customer kept saying they tasted bad but wouldn’t say why.”
“So,” Hu quips, “what happened?”
Cheung tries not to look like an eavesdropper, but his chopping slows and his head cocks to the side, waiting on her answer.
“I told him,” Mako says, voice dripping acid, “that if we had known a customer’s tastebuds were damaged to that extent, we would have adjusted the dishes from the start.”
All three brothers wince. “Mako,” Cheung says over his shoulder, as if trying to gently break news to her, “a ‘fuck you’ would probably have hurt less, don’t you think?”
Few things are more worrying than a pot sitting in the middle of a kitchen first thing in the morning after a long weekend. Especially for Mako, who was supposed to be the last one out the Friday before, responsible for storing their unused stock for when they open back up after the new year.
She trails behind Cheung as he unlocks the kitchen door, running into his back when he pauses in the entrance. “Is that…?”
“Ah! Oh— no, I forgot to—”
Hu ducks around them, trotting up to the pot and sniffing it before he takes a spoon and tries it. “It’s the veal,” he announces, futilely pressing his palm to the metal outside of the container, as if hoping it might have retained enough heat to still be viable. Stacker takes just that moment to enter, over a decade of experience in the industry (and several years with the same crew) alerting him immediately to the problem.
“We can’t use it,” he says, leveling a long look in Mako’s direction, “there are veal bones left, but the stock won’t be done by dinner so replace it with the chicken or shellfish as needed. Start it again now.”
The triplets scatter, no need to communicate to establish who gets which role for prep; they rotate. Mako stands still, dejectedly regarding the pot.
“We have to throw it out?” she asks, knowing the idea of wasting so much is as repugnant to the triplets and Stacker as it is to her. “We can’t heat it back up to kill the bacteria?” Jin grimaces, laying raw bones out on a sheet tray, but he says nothing.
“We can split it to take home,” answers Stacker, not unkindly, “but I won’t risk the customers.”
“We’ve never had a problem as long as we reheated it,” Hu volunteers, “but it’s still a health violation. Salmonella and staph and whatever else gets in there, we don’t want to make anyone sick.”
“I’m sor—”
“Mako,” Cheung interrupts before she can apologize, “it happens. You won’t forget again?”
Intellectually, she knows that the triplets have screwed up worse, and neither she nor they are the type to repeat a mistake, the trauma of it keeping them vigilant from ever committing the same errors again. Still, she answers miserably, “Of course not.”
“Grab a few containers and pack it up for us, then.” Jin shoos her in the direction of the plastic quart containers. “Free soup for growing triplets. That okay, chef?”
Stacker gives him a grateful nod; he’s never been particularly good at softening blows, and Mako’s distress makes him even worse at it. The last thing she’d needed was a lecture. “That’s fine. And Mako— a quart for us as well.”
It’s been months since Stacker’d been back to this neighborhood of Toronto— he doesn’t know whether or not the Weis will remember him or what’s been going on in their lives but for his part, he’s seen some drastic changes. The idea of courting them for maybe the fifth time and being turned down (again) is hardly an appealing thought, but he didn’t end up with two restaurants across Asia because he takes ‘no’s sitting down.
All that aside, Mako’s finally good to travel, all her papers and documents finalized (the process is short for a man with money, a clean [adult] record and several medals from his time in service) and she’s been unquenchingly curious about Chinese food lately. When they step into the small, dimly-lit restaurant with its old plastic seats and dented tables, Mako wrinkles her nose and three heads take turns peering out of the kitchen door’s little glass window.
Stacker orders a plate of duck tongue to start, a cold appetizer, hoping Mako will learn to eat all sorts of things before she’s old enough to know to be disgusted; it had taken him years to come around to the idea that quite literally anything can be food.
The triplet who serves the dish looks at Mako curiously and greets Stacker with a familiar grin and a nod, hurrying back into the kitchen when one of his brothers shouts for him to get back to work. Mako digs in hesitantly but manages to clear half the plate before the next few cold dishes arrive, then a main plate of roast pork, another of sauteed bok choy (quickly tossed with wine and garlic in a wok so hot Stacker cringes at the thought of actually using it to cook), tofu with mushrooms and squash.
By the time he wanders into the kitchen (against the rules, technically, but the Weis never seemed to mind), the brothers seem prepared for him, three of them briefly asking after himself and Mako, and how they enjoyed their lunch.
“My offer,” Stacker says after the formalities, Mako clinging to his pant leg, “still stands. I understand your obligations to your family, so I won’t pressure you but—”
“Actually,” says Cheung, giving him a wry smile while Hu and Jin cajole Mako into checking out their kitchen, “our father wants to sell this place and retire within the next year. If you still want us then, we can go.”
Glancing after the two younger triplets disappearing into the fridge with Mako hot on their heels, Stacker nods slowly and extends a hand, shaking Cheung’s to seal the deal. “Then—” he pauses, having to gather his thoughts to account for the unexpected response, “if there’s anything you need in the meantime, you know how to reach me.”
restaurant!au cheung's raging crush on the chef is obvious to literally everyone but stacker!! he's kind of a quiet lowkey dude and he's never gonna act on it anyway cause he has way too much on his plate with work and family and social life, but stacker will ask for something and cheung'll usually be the one to get it, he'll look tired and cheung'll be the one who gets him coffee or slides over a chair, basically cheung is pretty naturally in tune to people's wants/needs, he's super observant and kind of a mother hen and he extends that to people who're important to him
so stacker kind of??? just assumes??? that it's a. cheung's personality (which it is) and b. the fact that he's essentially his second in command/enforcer, so he's taking that role seriously (also yes)
anyway just imagine the after-work drinks where stacker occasionally busts out a bottle of wine and he & the trips sit around a table and shoot the shit and work on the menu (early on, mako's still got school so she's doing her homework at a nearby table but also eavesdropping to learn the business) and jin and hu sometimes stand up to take off early
jin's usually meeting someone or getting drinks with a customer, hu's dating a bartender who gets off work a bit later than they do, so sometimes it's just stacker and cheung and mako, and stacker'll be like hey?? you never seem to be in a relationship, is there no one you're interested in??
and cheung's just like uuuHHHHHHHH i have too much going on to make time for that, and stacker nods and he'll go-- well that's a shame, you seem like you'd be great in one, anyone would be lucky to have you (you know, he comes to this conclusion based purely off the fact that cheung is a v. considerate person, and someone who always does what has to be done)
next table over, mako's internally screaming (sensei omg you can’t do this to a loser like cheung, he will literally combust!!!) and cheung takes a really long drink and he's like, plank-faced-- thanks chef, i'm glad you think so
and then he makes an excuse after a couple more drinks to make it seem like he's not trying to get away from that conversation, he gets home and usually just throws whatever leftovers from the restaurant onto the stove, eats, sometimes hits the gym
stacker realizes after a couple years, which is ridiculous because he's usually so good at spotting this kind of thing?? but to be fair cheung is REALLY LOWKEY ABOUT IT except when stacker starts seeing it he can't stop seeing it and he feels kinda bad for not noticing sooner how often cheung goes out of his way/above and beyond for his sake, and obviously once he starts thinking about it he starts Thinking About It and all in all he can't really come up with any reasons for why it might be a bad idea??
like they've already established that they work well together, have similar interests and personalities, they already spend most of each day around each other (also he is rly hot), but neither of them ever actually bites the bullet to do anything about it until idk, something big happens i rly have no idea what atm
anyway tl;dr stacker-><-cheung is probably my favorite dynamic in any universe bc it’s always simultaneously sad and hilarious
the first time yuna fills in for one of the linecooks after the aussies join stacker’s team, chuck decides to get all uppity and tries to mock her about co-owning a bakery instead of still being in a kitchen and the whole exchange kinda goes like
chuck, expecting the trips to join him because they are also frequently gigantic assholes: what, couldn’t cut it in a real kitchen? guess it’s easier to just churn out pastries all day, huh?
mako: chuck no
yuna, sharpening her knife: chad, was it? you should probably stop while you’re ahead
triplets, moving out of shanking range: yikes
chuck: aww, what’re you gonna do? bake me into a cake?
yuna: alright! first of all, i can cook your pasty little ass under the table any day of the week, so if you’d like to go, then let’s go. second of all, my girlfriend wanted to open a bakery, so i decided to help her. where’s yours, chuckles?
restaurant!au prompt: Some type of emergency (medical? culinary? robbery? unruly costumers? kaiju invasion? your choice)
NOT ACTUALLY AN EMERGENCY, JUST AN EXCUSE TO WRITE STH SAPPY
Most mornings, Stacker has time to appreciate the text abbreviations he and his crew have developed over the years, yc for ‘yes chef’ being the most distinctive, while WNMOFMPX (‘we need more onions for mirepoix’) usually takes him a few seconds to puzzle out. Not on mornings when he has a raging headache though, or when Mako’s down with a flu. He takes the train to work, changes and steps into his kitchen. A chorus of ‘Morning chef!’ greets him.
"I got your text," he says to Cheung, motioning him over and showing him his phone, "but you’ll have to remind me what SIOTS means."
"Stock is on the stove, chef." Cheung looks at him, head cocking minutely to the right before he approaches, stepping around the counter and in close. Still, he’s acutely aware of how much Stacker hates to be touched so he keeps his distance. "Are you okay?"
Sighing, Stacker returns his phone to his pocket and tries not to wince at the sound of a voice so close to his ear. Cheung’s always been perceptive, sometimes inconveniently so, but he backs off when Stacker gives him a look, skipping straight to business. “Mako is home with the flu, so we’ll be shorthanded out front today. Hu, if you would?”
"Yuna said she can fill in if one of us gets sick," Hu answers immediately, "since So-yi can handle the bakery after prep in the morning. I can take the front."
"Call her."
"Yes chef."
"Jin, progress on the veal stock."
"Straining in an hour, chef."
"Good." Stacker turns to Cheung— then pauses, squeezing his eyes shut for a few long seconds, mind suddenly blank except for the throbbing ache in his temples. He exhales, then leans on the counter in front of him. "You’ll expedite today."
Jin abruptly looks up from his station, halfway through filleting a fish. “Is he okay?”
"What’s wrong?"
"Sorry chef," Cheung mutters, pressing a palm to Stacker’s forehead, other hand wrapping under his upper arm, keeping him firmly upright. 「Feels like a fever.」
「Wasn’t he here yesterday too?」
「With a fever? Should we call someone?」
"No. Don’t call anyone, I’m fine."
「Might be whatever Mako has,」 Cheung sighs. He doesn’t expect Pentecost to take sick days, but just the fact that Stacker hasn’t pushed him away yet and might actually be leaning into his grip— that’s a bit alarming. “Chef, go rest in your office. We can take it from here.”
Jin ducks into the locker room without prompting, emerging with a small bottle of painkillers they usually use for hangovers and muscle aches while Hu immediately swipes up a mug and starts a cup of tea. Jin tosses his loot to Cheung, who nearly has to drag Stacker back into his office and the couch in it. They move with the same efficiency they do everything else; Cheung presses a capsule into his hand and sets the tea in front of him while Hu grabs a blanket out of the closet, and a pillow.
Jin stays in the kitchen, checking on any pots still over a fire, finishing whatever Cheung and Hu had left on their cutting boards and then cleaning their stations.
"This," Stacker says indignantly when Cheung motions for him to take off his shoes and lie down on the couch, "is completely unnecessary."
"You won’t go to a doctor because you don’t want to miss lunch service," Hu retorts, "even though you make me and my brothers leave when we get hurt or sick. And we can’t make you go home, so just rest here and if something happens, we’ll wake you up."
The brothers breeze out, shutting the light and the door behind them. The part of Stacker that’s offended they think so little of his constitution is mildly offset by their obvious concern; maybe he really isn’t as young as he used to be, but he doesn’t have any intention of going home, either. He kicks off his shoes, stretches out on the couch (the triplets have used it themselves more than once, mostly when one was sick but wanted to be on hand)—
When Stacker wakes up what feels like several hours later, the kitchen’s already going at full speed outside his door. A fresh pot of tea sits on the table in front of him, along with a thermos filled with still-steaming chicken soup. There’s enough light coming from the half-drawn windows for Stacker to make out some rice in the bottom. The soup is clear and light but flavorful, a few sliced green onions floating on top. Cheung steps in just as he finishes eating, poking his head around the door.
"Feeling better, chef?"
Stacker gestures briefly at the thermos. The soup was delicious, but he’d clearly tasted scallions and ginger and peppercorns in it; it’s not how they make broth for the restaurant. “You started a new pot of chicken stock?”
"I’m on staff meal today," answers Cheung, setting a half-used pack of surgical masks on the table, "so I figured I might as well go with something for the weather. Was it good?"
"It was. Makes me wish we could put it on the menu."
He looks inordinately happy about that answer but says nothing, usual calm smile quirking into a full-blown grin as he leaves; Stacker doesn’t push him, as Cheung never was particularly forthcoming with details. Still, there should be plenty of soup left to bring home for Mako. After a few minutes, Stacker takes a mask and stands up, headache gone, and joins his brigade in the kitchen.
(Later, when he asks Jin about it: ‘Our mom made this soup for us whenever we used to get sick, Cheung picked it up from her. Dad was the chef, but chicken soup is home, you know?’)
