Work Text:
Azu stares forward from the crow’s nest, mind miles away. She’s not sure if she’s thinking of anything in particular, just drifting. The clouds move and warp in endless, subtle cycles. Nothing of note occurs, and so she continues drifting.
At some point, she hears someone calling her name. Slowly, she looks down to see Zolf squinting upwards.
“Zolf?”
“Azu, oi- d’you wanna, uh- can you- I need some help with dinner?”
“Of course,” she replies. She makes her way down the ladder, hand over hand, rung over rung. The drifting feeling stays with her even as they go below decks and she can no longer see the clouds. She makes it to the kitchen and stands there while Zolf bustles around preparing things, slightly awkward around the extra presence in the room.
“Right, so, can you chop those - and put them in there -” he says, gesturing vaguely, mind already in full kitchen mode. Azu steps to where he points and picks up a knife. Four onions sit innocently on the counter.
Chopping onions. She can do chopping onions. The knife is old but sharp enough, and she quickly gets into the rhythm of it, muscle memory taking over as she discards the skins, tops and tails them, starts slicing them with firm and even movements into equal-sized chunks. The smell floats up to her, sharp and familiar. Brings her down a little from that high, floating place. Zolf peers over at her work.
“‘S pretty good, that,” he says approvingly. She blinks at him and tries for words.
“I often cooked back home,” she says slowly. “Lots of practice.” He nods, and turns away. She pushes the chopped onions into the pan and they sizzle satisfyingly.
Yes, back home … she liked to cook. She does like to cook. As a kid, her presence while cooking was lovingly tolerated, but as she got older she learned how to make things properly, and came to love cooking. Not just the act itself, but everything surrounding it - the jovial atmosphere, the coming-together of family after a long day, the laughter and rest, the smell of smoke and food coming together on the breeze while the sun sets. The celebration accompanying having goat, her favourite. Eating with her family, enjoying the food and seeing all the people she cares about enjoying what she had made for them.
She realises tears are sliding down her cheeks and wipes at them desperately. Vaguely, she wonders if they’ll mess up the taste of the cooking. She takes a shuddering breath. That drifting feeling is gone, and she realises what it had been hiding. Homesickness. For a moment the emotion overwhelms her and she gasps, taking a step back from the pan to sob, as quietly as she can.
From behind her, Zolf takes an alarmed breath and steps to her side.
“You alright?” he asks gruffly, a solid hand on her back.
“Yeah,” she manages, through her tears.
“D’you- I can manage from here, if you wanna-”
“No-” she sniffs. “No, I can do it.” He looks unconvinced, and she gives her best watery smile. “I want to.”
“Alright.” He pats her on the back and they continue in silence, save the odd noise from Azu as she gradually calms down.
The meal is delicious, of course, and they eat it on-deck as the sun sets.