The Stampede ~Vash x OC AU~

Chapter 42: Breakfast in Stoneburry

Kanyon

~2 Days Later~

Omelets.

Omelets sound so good right about now. Especially since I haven't had one since Penton, and I'm feeling particularly nostalgic this morning.

Perhaps that's why I woke with a start this morning with my stomach growling and the images of fluffy eggs folded around vegetables, meat, and cheese. And perhaps that's why I tossed back my duvet, quietly creeping out of the room so not to disrupt Meryl. And perhaps that's why I'm now in the kitchen, fast at work, making an omelet not just for myself, but for everyone.

The suite is quiet, the morning's brassy hues just barely cutting through the windows, chasing the night's shadows away. A clock ticks somewhere, the time probably reading half past seven (7:30). It's early, and I know the others are all still asleep. I can hear the faintest of snores through the doors, and I smile.

The eggs hiss as they touch the heated pan, bubbling and popping at me. I work, carefully cooking them as I add the other ingredients. It all smells so good and savory. My stomach growls.

Suddenly, one of the doors opens and I glance up, watching as Nicholas appears. He walks, scuffing his feet as he ruffles his already disheveled hair, yawning. He is already dressed, his clothes hanging from his frame, and a cigarette tucked behind one of his ears.

He stops, his dark eyes falling on me, then the food, and then me again. Confusion twists his expression as he lifts a brow. "What are you doing?"

It's my turn to lift a brow, replying, "Cooking. What does it look like?"

He looks at the pan, then meets my gaze. "Like you're cooking." He stretches, yawning again, and makes his way closer to me. "I didn't know you knew how to cook."

"How did you think I survived these last five years?"

"I dunno. But I've never seen you cook, so I didn't know you knew how."

"Comical coming from a man who also has not displayed any culinary skills."

He smirks, "In case you haven't noticed, no one here has displayed a skill like that."

I hate to admit it, but he's not wrong. He's not right, but he's not wrong. I can't say who did what or how they all functioned on the road before I showed up, but I can confidently say that in Penton, there was little to no cooking. However, I suspect most of that has to do with the fact we didn't have a kitchen like this. We survived off snacks and fast food, but here, we can be self-sufficient.

"Touche," I say, adding some more ingredients to the pan. It hisses and pops, but it smells so good. "That said, I just felt like cooking. Is that a problem?" I turn, looking at him. "If you don't want any, just say so."

"Woah. I never said I wouldn't eat," he defends quickly. "What is it, anyway? Eggs?"

I'm about to answer when I hear another door open. Both Nicholas and I turn, looking to Roberto's door. He is shuffling out, yawning as he cocks his head to the side, cracking his neck. His hair is already brushed and neat, and his clothes hang from his frame casually.

He brings his sharp, but tired eyes to us, then sniffs the air, asking, "That smells good. What is it?"

"Omelet," I reply cheerfully. I turn back to the pan, working more with the food before plating it. "First one is all done if someone wants dibs. Give me a few and the second will be ready soon."

"I call dibs, Grandpa," Nicholas chuckles. He hurries over, taking the plate from me.

"You're such an ass," I say, shaking my head.