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Isha liked her eggs sunny side up, the bright yellow of the yolks bleeding into her toast when she jabbed a fork into them. Sevika was careful not to break the yolks herself when she flips them out of the pan and onto a plate; she wasn’t accustomed to doing things with a delicate hand, would usually just fry the eggs and let them flop carelessly onto her plate if they were for herself, but for Isha she took her time. She liked watching Isha’s eyes light up when she saw the two perfect eggs laid out for her, a piece of toast perched beside them.
Jinx liked her eggs scrambled, though Sevika wasn’t sure if that was a genuine preference or just that it was the only way Silco knew to prepare them, something she’d gotten used to and eventually made a habit of. Sevika couldn’t imagine Vander was a bad cook—had to have been good, with all the mouths he’d taken to feeding—but Jinx never asked Silco to make them a different way. Sevika thought of her as she’d been in those early days, sometimes; quiet and pliant, eating whatever was set in front of her with placid obedience.
It hadn’t lasted long. Once she’d started getting comfortable enough to speak up and realized that Silco wouldn’t punish her for it—and, Sevika suspected, once the weight of her losses truly began to hit her—Jinx’s appetite, among other things, changed drastically. She ate in sporadic bursts and never enough, a habit that had followed her into adulthood.
Sevika tried not to let her concern show, but she did insist that Jinx ate whenever it was mealtime for Isha. She didn’t want Isha developing any unhealthy habits, and it seemed Jinx didn’t either; she’d only complained once about Sevika’s insistence that she eat, and when Sevika had explained why once Isha was out of earshot, Jinx had gone uncharacteristically quiet before giving a slow nod of acknowledgment and turning away.
The next meal they shared had been eaten without comment.
Now Sevika dumped the scrambled mass of Jinx’s breakfast onto a plate atop two slices of slightly burnt toast, watching the steam rise with idle fascination. Gods only knew why Jinx preferred her toast that way, but it made Isha laugh when she bit into the bread and made over-exaggerated crunching noises, so Sevika left it in until it blackened.
For her part, Sevika had always liked her eggs whichever way it was easiest to cook them. She’d never given much thought to taste or texture. Food was fuel, simple as that. The faster she could cook and eat, the better: more time to spend on the important things.
But Isha liked the experience of eating, and Jinx liked seeing Isha happy, and Sevika—
Sevika just liked having them both at the table.
They didn’t manage it as often as any of them would have liked. Sevika’s days were busy, her evenings even moreso, and Jinx… well. The point was that Isha wandered, unsupervised, more often than either of them liked her to, though Sevika knew Jinx was spending more and more time at her side as the days wore on. They ate meals sporadically, usually Jinx and Isha without Sevika, and Sevika tried hard not to miss the sound of Jinx’s teasing or Isha’s laughter whenever she scarfed down a meal in some seedy bar in between missions or deals, just her and a plate at a dirty table.
Breakfast became a sort of ritual, a brief point of connection before they parted. Increasingly, Sevika found herself wanting to draw these moments out. She wanted to grasp the morning in her hands and pull it, stretch it like taffy and make a home in one of the gaps she’d forced into it. A little pocket of time where they could curl up together and exist without the oppressive pressure of the lives they’d found themselves in. A space where Isha could always be safe and fed, and Jinx could smile, and Sevika could lay down her weapons and breathe without worrying that it might all be different tomorrow, inexorably altered by yet another thing outside of her control.
But all she could do was slide some eggs onto a plate. It never felt like enough. Isha always took the meals as though they were offerings from on high, though. She’d come bounding down the stairs with her hand clasped around a half-asleep Jinx’s and blink, wide-eyed, every time she saw a plate already set out and steaming on the countertop. Then she’d smile at Sevika, release Jinx’s hand to rush forward and fling her little arms around Sevika’s hips, and for a moment Sevika wouldn’t feel quite as deficient.
Sevika had always felt that the greatest satisfaction came from possessing the strength to do exactly as she pleased. She’d never been particularly kind, never had any reason to be gentle—but strength she had in abundance. She had the power and the confidence to exert her will upon others, and for most of her life she’d done so via brute force. She’d built herself into a box of intimidation and bloodshed and convinced herself that power alone was enough to satisfy her.
And then Isha had fallen into their lives, and suddenly it wasn’t. Suddenly Sevika had something worth learning to be gentle for.
She hooked an arm around Isha’s waist, scooped her off of her feet, and grinned when Isha laughed brightly. Jinx trailed sleepily at her heels, sweeping the plates off of the counter and balancing them rather precariously along her arm before following them to the table. She set Isha’s down in front of her whilst Sevika dropped her into her chair, then joined her at the table.
Sevika went back to the countertop for silverware and glasses half-full of tap water, and when she returned her plate was waiting for her: two slices of toast and steaming eggs. One sunny side up, two more scrambled. Isha was waiting, as she always did, for Sevika to sit down before she began to eat. Jinx was standing her toast up and leaning the stiff pieces against one another to make what she called a ‘toast tent’ while Isha rolled her eyes and signed something about wasting food.
Sevika sat down and began to eat.