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Spock always woke up first. He would disentangle himself from the three pairs of arms keeping him attached to the large (though never quite large enough) bed with an elegance only a Vulcan could manage, and descend to the main floor without making a sound. Then he would check for any new transmissions that may have come in during the night, and give them a response if they were urgent. After that, he often went for a walk.
The other three, contrarily, always fought for last place. Jim was usually second, and Scotty third, and Leonard fourth, but it was normally in such quick succession that they could hardly tell. And, groaning and complaining about their old age and how they’d slept funny, they’d drag each other out of bed and down to the kitchen, where they would continue to bicker over who got to make breakfast.
“Omelettes,” Jim declared, on one brusque, wintery morning on Qoron III, where they’d settled for the next few months. Leonard, as always, had complained about the distance, but they’d all reassured him that they would be back near Earth before a half-year had passed. “I’m making omelettes, gentlemen, and nobody can stop me. Is that understood?”
Scotty grinned from his vantage point near the refrigerator. “Aye, captain!” he called lightheartedly.
Leonard scowled. “You’d better not put any tomatoes in mine,” he insisted, poking a finger towards Jim’s nose. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—vegetables do not belong in omelettes.”
Spock cleared his throat, having just entered from the outside, and was in the process of removing his jacket when he said, “I think you’ll find, Leonard, that tomatoes are fruits.”
“He’s got you there,” replied Jim with a smirk and his eyebrows raised. “Fruits are fair game.”
“There shouldn’t be any damn fruits in an omelette either,” Leonard countered. “It’s a breakfast food, not a buffet!”
“You heard it here first, lads,” said Scotty. “Leonard McCoy is an omelette traditionalist.” He clapped his hands on Leonard’s back, making the older man jump a little bit, and looked over at Jim. “May I submit sausages to the breakfast menu, sir?”
Jim did a weird little half-bow to acknowledge him and drawled back, “You may, Mr Scott,” with an edge of playfulness in his voice.
Leonard rolled his eyes. “This is our kitchen, not the Enterprise .”
“Wherever I go, the Enterprise goes with me,” Scotty declared dramatically. “A bonnie lass that will never die, so long as we remember her…”
“Montgomery, I believe the Enterprise is still in operation, and will continue to be in operation for quite a long while after we are dead,” Spock replied simply. “She is not, as you put it, ‘dead’.”
Scotty gaped for a long moment, then abruptly shut his mouth. “I meant our Enterprise, Spock,” he said. “She’s… different, now. She’s missing her captain.” He gave a sideways glance at Jim, who laughed.
“Sulu’s daughter is taking care of her just fine, I’m sure,” Jim responded, waving a hand dismissively. “But I have told old Hikaru that if Demora blows up my ship I will be very annoyed.”
“And you’re not keeping tabs on the Enterprise, of course,” Leonard drawled sarcastically, folding his arms over his chest. “You would never. Because you’re retired and you have better things to be doing.”
Jim raised his eyebrows. “Better things, Bones? I mean, I can certainly think of a few things I’d rather be doing right now—” His lips began to twitch into a smirk.
“Gentlemen,” Spock interrupted, tone light. “Perhaps we ought to start breakfast? I have concluded from research that you all are much more agreeable and logical when you have consumed sufficient nutrients.”
Jim snapped his fingers. “Right! My omelettes! All hands on deck, Scotty, you’re helping—Spock, keep Bones out of the way, will you?”
“‘Keep me out of the way’,” Leonard repeated with a snort. “I wonder how you plan on doing that, Spock.”
Instead of responding, Spock simply lifted Leonard into his arms and, ignoring his protests, delivered him to the sitting room.
“Y’know,” Scotty commented as they began to cook, “this would go a lot faster if we could power up this stove of ours. We’re working with sparks, here!”
Jim laughed. “What do you think, Scotty, warp factor two on the stove? Maybe three for the oven? Five on the toaster?” he joked, running his hand over the back of Scotty’s neck.
“Well”—Scotty hesitated—“not quite that much power, no, Jim, but maybe at least warp one?” He raised his eyebrows playfully.
“I’ll think about it,” Jim promised. “Right now I need impulse power on the burners, Mr Scott, and you’re in charge of getting those sausages you wanted from the replicator—make sure they’re cold, there’s no point in cooking them ourselves if you just order them hot and ready.”
Scotty grinned back at him. “Impulse power and sausages, aye aye, Captain!”
“Well,” said Leonard, “I have to say, I think you would’ve had it done a lot sooner if you just used the replicator, or stopped pretending to be Starfleet officers the entire time.” He took a bite off his fork and added, “This is a damn good sausage, though.”
“But, Bones, we are Starfleet officers,” Jim countered with a smirk. “Once in Starfleet, always in Starfleet, isn’t that what they say?”
“I have never once heard somebody say that, Jim,” replied Spock. “Could you be misremembering the phrase?”
Jim waved his hand vaguely. “Nevermind, Spock.”
“Hmph.” Leonard looked up from his plate. “Got any wild plans for today, Jim?”
“Wild?” Jim repeated, cracking a wider grin. “Hardly. If the weather’s nice, I’d like to go fishing. Oh, and respond to that message Uhura sent me—she’s living on Vulcan now, you know.” He looked at Spock.
“I have been informed,” Spock said. “She has been corresponding with me, as well.”
Leonard stabbed another piece of sausage with his fork. “Strange,” he commented. “We all spent years together and now we’re all scattered to the wind. Except for us four, because we just can’t seem to stay away from each other.”
“It’s a miracle we all made it,” mused Scotty, before returning to his omelette.
Jim’s eyes met Spock’s. “Some of us didn’t,” he murmured.
Spock said nothing.
“I meant—” Scotty began. He hesitated, then stopped. “Nevermind.”
They continued eating in silence for a few minutes. Then Jim spoke up again.
“Y’know, I kind of miss the distress calls,” he said. “The routine missions that were never really routine, chartering ambassadors back and forth, performing diplomatic gestures…” Jim leaned back in his chair. “I like being retired, of course I do, but I miss when things were exciting.”
Leonard snorted. “You could always go back to Starfleet and see if they want to make you an admiral again,” he replied. “I heard there’s a few job openings.”
Jim tossed his head back and laughed. “Not in a million years. I’d rather be bored and retired than bored and an admiral.”
“I agree,” Scotty put in. “No offence to the admirals, but I’d go stir-crazy in a job like that! I need the wind in my sails!”
Jim nodded. “All I ask is a tall ship—”
“—and a star to steer her by,” Spock finished. “Sea-Fever by John Masefield.”
“You remember.”
Spock regarded him curiously. “Of course I do, Jim.”
“Damn Vulcan eidetic memory,” grumbled Leonard. “I bet he remembers every embarrassing moment about every single one of us.”
“Oh, yes,” said Scotty. “If Spock ever wanted to blackmail any of us, he would have plenty of material.”
Jim snorted. “I have plenty of material, he’s not special,” he joked. Then he looked down at his clean plate and added, “Let’s take the boat out. All this talk is making me want to get back in the captain’s seat.”
“It’s a pretty small seat,” Leonard commented. “And you’re going to have to share.”
Jim smiled at Spock. “I can share,” he said.
He got a smirk in response from Leonard. “Sure you can.” Leonard shrugged, then looked over at Scotty. “Say, isn’t he the one that got an executive order to take over the Enterprise just because he was annoyed that somebody else was taking her on a mission? And also the one that stole the same Enterprise just because he didn’t want to bother with a smaller, less conspicuous ship when he could have—”
“I get it,” interrupted Jim. “You’ve made your point, Bones. I can share with Captain Spock, is what I meant.”
Spock tilted his head. “I have no desire to captain a fishing boat,” he put in.
“And there we go,” Jim said, gesturing around vaguely. “No sharing required. Glad we got that all sorted out.” He beamed a grin directly at the three other men, jubilant. “Now, who’s washing dishes?”