Gross Indignity

Genre: Family, Humour, FUTURE FIC

Pairings: Greg and Molly, Rosie and Julian, both backround

Main characters: Greg and adult Greer

"Seriously, Dad," Greer said, sighing with clear disgust. "You're SURE I can't just get away with my dress uniform?"

Greg sat in the Nook at the pub, his last designated pint nearly gone and a fresh cup of the best coffee this side of his daughter's coffee pot sitting in front of him waiting.

"I'm pretty sure Rosie would be pissed and I'm doubly sure the only ones allowed to wear their dress uniforms are myself and the groom. Oh, and the groom's dad."

"That is SO unfair," she said, draining her glass of scotch. Four Yarders between us and all but one allowed to get off easy. I'm not a girly girl, Dad. You KNOW that. I worked damned hard to earn that uniform."

Greg snorted loudly at this. "Of course I know that, Little Love. Now I may only be a simple man, but I also know that traditionally the maid of bloody honour wears a real bloody dress. I'm sorry Greer, but I'm going to have to err on the side of the bride on this."

"Well so much for loyalty," she pouted. "Just remember you old fart, I'm the one choosing your nursing home, just keep THAT in mind, yeah?"

"Greer Sherla," Greg finally said, as firmly as he could muster without bursting into laughter that would only make the whole thing worse. "It's ONE bloody day, for one of your very best friends apart from Ciana. Rosie and Julian have been preparing for this day since they were six years old. It honestly wouldn't kill you to put on stockings and a dress for a paltry 12 hours.

"Daddy, you are SO mean. I HATE you," she pouted, before making the mistake of raising her face to make eye contact with Greg, who sat with dark brown eyes dancing with poorly concealed laughter.

"Well," he managed to squeak, his decorum clearly falling apart, "BE that as it may, the maid of honour STILL has to wear a dress."

"I suppose," Greer finally conceded. "And I suppose since technically they waited for me before setting the date…"

"Yes, they did, Detective Constable Lestrade," Greg said, finishing his pint and reaching for the coffee mug. "They wanted you to be free to participate without interrupting your studies. Because you are THAT important to them. To all of us really. So with all of that in mind, would it really be that hard to wear the damned dress for a day?"

Greer frowned at him, finishing her scotch, then eyeing her own coffee mug with a bit of anticipation. "I suppose not," she finally said.

"I am rather cute in it though, aren't I. If Rosie had to pick a dress for me to wear at least she chose one that suits."

Greg sipped on his coffee, thinking carefully.

Greer was almost appeased. ALMOST. This was a delicate stage.

"You are beautiful in it," he finally said. "You do your old dad proud. You're your mother all over aside from your eyes and your height."

"I suppose so," Greer reluctantly agreed. "Mum is gorgeous though," she smiled bashfully, "I'm not sure I do her justice. I like to consider I do best to think that I look like ME though," she said, hopefully.

"Well, you DO look like Molly," Greg said. "And believe me you do her justice, but yes, you look like Greer most of all and that's what matters. And something else that matters, Little Love, is that you wear the bloody dress for Rosie and Julian's wedding."

"The bloody dress," Greer sneered with poorly restrained disgust.

"It's ONE day," Greg reminded, as he sipped on his blissful brew.

Greer pouted, bringing her own mug up to her face, trying to take comfort in the aroma.

"When Rosie is happy, Julian is happy. And Julian is your superior officer, and now that you're CID you're far more likely to fall under his direct authority," Greg gently reminded her.

"GOD, I HATE it when you're right, Dad," Greer said. Her mouth twisted desperately as she glanced up at her dad's beaming face. She hated it it when a proper bad mood was ruined by her dad's laughing eyes and good humour.

"Heels or flats, then? Because that's the only thing I apparently have a choice with."

"Well, if it were me, which it obviously isn't as I'll be in my DCI dress uniform," he couldn't help himself teasing her with, "I'd go with flats. 12 hours is a lot of time in heels for a lady who doesn't normally wear them."

"Well, flats and the bloody dress it is then, I suppose," Greer finally said, lifting her coffee mug.

"To Rosie and Julian, may they be bloody worth my dignity being sacrificed," she said, with an eye roll and a giggle, raising her coffee mug.

Greg cleared his throat softly, raising his own mug to clink against Greer's. "To Rosie and Julian, may the maid of honour survive the gross indignity of the day."