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Jake Sisko was a writer, not a cook. But again, neither was his father, but the greatest Benjamin Sisko always had a fresh, home-made dinner prepared every time his son came home from playing with Nog.
There was this one time when Jake was about thirteen, long before they were called to the station, still living on the Planitia Fleet Yards on Mars and trying to discover a life next to normal after his mother’s death, and Ben was trying to teach him how to cook.
“I gotta admit, you can’t cook an omelette to save your life, Jake-o.” Ben said while shaking his head – not disappointment, his dad was never actually disappointed with him.
“So what if I can’t make some eggs!” Jake crossed his arms and pouted. He was never a big fan of eggs anyways. “I can make the best stew in the sector!”
“Don’t let your grandpa hear about that.” And as Ben ruffed his head, Jake knew that no matter what, he would always have his dad to cook him an omelette if he wanted one.
Except when he didn’t.
He couldn’t stop himself from being the least bit angry. Yes, he pushed Kas into dating his father. Yes, he was happy when they got married. Yes, he was beaming at the news he was going to be a big brother. But he felt wronged when Sisko’s final corporeal words – or whatever he was at that moment – were to his stepmother instead of him. He had to hear from Kassidy that his father was now with the damn prophets and might never be back.
Suddenly he was that eleven year old being told that mommy was never coming back, and although he loved Kassidy and there was the slightest possibility that his dad was coming back someday, he couldn’t shake this feeling of grief, the same as when his mother was killed. It got stuck in his throat until he swallowed it dry.
They made a tradition of making a weekly dinner to keep themselves close. The ones who remained, of course. Chief O'Brien and his family were now on earth, Odo was with the great link and Worf was in Qo’noS or with the Enterprise crew. In any case, they still did these weekly dinners.
Most of the time it was replicated food, sometimes Quark would bring something fresh, and on very, very rare occasions, Jake would cook.
He found the process to be quite relaxing, actually. It reminded him too much of his dad, but instead of this heavy, almost overwhelming feeling he got when entering Sisko’s office, for example, cooking seemed to be a comforting place where he could almost feel his dad’s hands gently helping him, just like when he was thirteen. For a moment, if he closed his eyes hard enough and just focused on the scents of the kitchen, he could picture the steam forming the figure of the man he most admired in his whole life, and it was just enough.
“What are we having for tomorrow night, huh?” Dr. Bashir muttered as he threw a dart towards the board. “Quark could definitely get us some of that Tholian soup, that was terrific.”
“Sorry to disappoint you doctor, but unless you yourself find a Tholian freighter until tomorrow, I believe the soup will have to wait.” Quark said as he filled Jake’s glass with – As the Ferengi put it – more disgusting root beer. If Jake looked hard enough, he could see the eye roll Quark gave him when he requested for the drink.
“Well, replicated food it is.” Jake heard Bashir’s yess! as he hit the bullseye of the dart board.
“...I can make the food for tomorrow night, I don’t mind.” Because he really didn’t. For a while Jake has been feeling awfully depressed, that might help him a little.
“Good! We’re having real food for once!” And then a God! when the doctor missed out entirely.
-
His friends – family, really – would be there in around 15 minutes, and Jake was certain he had finished almost everything. He made sure to take Kira’s and Julian’s religious restrictions into consideration, as well as Kassidy’s pregnant diet, especially now that she was about to pop at any time. He even made sure to include some slugs for Quark.
Jake was just cleaning up to set the table when his hands brushed over the eggs on the counter and his memory instantly clicked to his father’s words: “I gotta admit, you can’t cook an omelette to save your life, Jake-o.”
He pondered for a minute. Surely he did things much more complex than a simple omelette at this point. He had never actually tried to make one himself after that occasion, he never needed to, his dad was there to make it for him – But he wasn’t anymore, was he?
Jake sighed, taking two eggs. This would only take a few minutes.
There were a couple things Jake found absolutely insufferable. Nog listening to Klingon Opera at full volume, his editors poking at him for more information on his dad’s disappearance, whenever Dr. Bashir started talking about holo-women… He never ever thought he’d have to put making omelettes on the list, but after a dozen wasted eggs and a lot of burned resemblances of food, he was starting to get pissed.
He tried every method he could think of the top of this head, tried to consult padds, tried to just go willy-nilly , but if there was a God in the skies – and not in the wormhole – they certainly had decreed that Jake Sisko was not meant to make a damn omelette.
It didn’t make any sense! Again, he was a skilled cook just like his father, he knew how to make complex dishes, and how hard could an omelette be? Why couldn’t he make it and prove to his dad that he has grown, that he was responsible enough, that he would be fine without him?
But again, would he…? After all these years, had he actually grown, or was he still this little thirteen year old, unable to make a simple dish, relying on his dad because dad would always be there for him. Dad was supposed to be there for him. Why wasn’t dad there for him?
Jake closed his eyes, trying his best not to let the tears fall as he steadied his breathing. They fell anyway. No matter how good the kitchen smelled, how much steam floated in the air. This time he couldn’t picture his dad, just how much he missed him.
“Jake..?” Kassidy’s voice seemed to get him out of the haze. She was always the first one to arrive. “Everything’s alright?”
“Mm, yeah, yeah.” He cleaned his eyes, half turning to his stepmother. He knew his voice and his sniffing was giving everything away. “I was, uh… making some omelettes.”
“I think we have enough food.” She said warmly, because that was Kas, always warm.
“I just… To be honest, I really wanted to make these omelettes…” It was silly, he knew that, but he felt so helpless and Kassidy’s smile was so warmed it reminded him of his own mom.
“Well,” She looked at the mess on the counter and shrugged. “Your dad always banned me from the kitchen for being a horrible cook, but I can try to help you.”
“Kas, you really don’t need to.”
“Now, none of that. How hard can this be?” She patted his cheeks before turning to the oven, getting herself a pair of eggs.
When Ezri and Julian arrived in the quarters, they could hear Kassidy’s and Jake’s laughter as the boy tried to instruct his stepmom, who kept saying a muffled “Oh boy, this is a mess! How could your father do that?” in the most comfortable and joyful laugh.
“Uh, are you guys alright?” Julian said, getting into the kitchen followed by Dax.
“Do you know how to make omelettes?” Kassidy turned to them, still laughing. Her hands were creamed in yellow and salt.
“Jadzia always saw Ben making them, it can’t be that hard.” Ezri shrugged as she came closer, Bashir wasn’t too far behind.
As Kira, Nog and Quark soon joined – and saw the chaos that once was called a kitchen – it was soon decreed that some spiritual force had blocked all omelette making in the alpha quadrant for that night, because apparently seven people weren’t enough to make one.
All other food forgotten for at least 30 more minutes, there was a final attempt on making the omelette and stop slaying innocent chickens. As Jake flipped the eggs and saw that semi perfect yellow fluffy thing he could hear the roar of happiness coming from the people around him. Everyone was genuinely happy, and that made him genuinely happy.
As they sat down to finally eat, still blaming the prophets and maybe even some imaginary Vorta for the situation, Jake placed the omelette in the middle of the table.
“Well, now we need to eat it.” Kira pointed.
“Do us the honours, Jake.” Julian offered him a fork, and Jake was quick in cutting a piece to himself and shoving it into his mouth.
The eyes of everyone were fixated on the young Sisko as he chewed, and the silence was only broken by Nog saying a hopeful “So..?”
“...We forgot the salt.” Jake laughed at his own response, followed by his peers.
“That’s why I hate human food.” Quark rolled his eyes, going straight for the slugs.
That night Jake didn’t actually feel his dad’s presence in the steam of the scent, but in the laughs, the stories, the little fights, the companionship. In a way, his dad didn’t leave him alone, not completely. He would have more time to learn how to make an omelette.