This request was for Yama's childhood and such for the prompt gingerbread.
The alarm intruded in on my dream, one of the few nice ones my brain let me think up in a while. Back at the academy, they taught us to jump out of bed and throw on our clothes in less than ten seconds, but on the Arcadia, I rolled to my feet and shrugged on a jacket. No one bothered to change out of their sleep clothes except Harlock, who probably didn't sleep anyway.
The battle wrapped up in less time than it took us to all shuffle to our stations. Afterwards, everyone wandered back the way they came. My bed did sound like heaven – warm, slightly too hard on my back heaven. But my growling stomach turned my feet toward the galley. The cook wasn't there to scold me for eating in the middle of the night, so I poured a glass of milk and raided the cookie jar.
Still half asleep, I felt only vaguely aware of my actions and surroundings. I hardly remembered walking to the table, instead finding myself sitting there with my palm holding my chin. I couldn't tell if I was blinking or falling asleep with each uneven droop of my eyelids. In the end, I didn't care. I stuck a cookie between my teeth and snapped it in two.
Was it gingerbread or a ginger snap? Was there even a difference? Either way, I knew the flavor of that mulled spice anywhere – sharpness mixed with sweetness like a good alcohol. Except, I never had alcohol as a kid, but Mom made us gingerbread every winter.
She cut the pieces to precise measurements like an exact science, checking every side with a ruler and protractor. From there, four walls and two sides of a sloping roof appeared. She pressed details in with the back side of a butter knife – doors and windows. Ezra piped on the white icing to glue the pieces together. When it stood finished, I always found myself wondering if houses with such an odd shape had ever truly existed.
Every year I asked if I could help put the pieces together, and every year Ezra reminded me of the time I made the house collapse with my attempt. Mom smiled and tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind my ear. "Maybe next year, bud," she said. "Your brother likes to be in charge of this, but you can put on the candy."
She looked as tired as ever, eyes worn by endless hours of work, but she always smiled for the two of us. When we eventually fell to arguing over the house, because we always argued over something – placement of candy types or specific icing patterns – she grabbed one ear from each of us and pulled up just enough that they burned pink. No anger touched her face or voice, only calm authority. "Hey." Brown eyes flashed between us. "You each have a job here, so you're not going to intrude on each other's work, right?"
We muttered unconvincing assurances.
"Now, since that fight is over, you have to make up." When neither of us spoke, she released our ears but crossed her arms. "Whether you like it or not, we love each other in this family, so you have to make up. Can't eat the house if you don't make up."
I threw a hug around Ezra's middle until he gave in with a sigh. After quick apologies with clear ulterior motives, Ezra finished his pristine lines of white icing just in time for me to ruin it by smashing all types of rainbow candy on top in no set pattern. I couldn't understand why it mattered when we tore it apart and ate it right after Mom took a picture.
Ezra picked the candy off his pieces to set on my plate, like a peace offering to show we honestly had no hard feelings. Mom watched us, her smile warming her eyes.
This time, Harlock stole me from my dream with a light shake of my shoulder. In his other hand he clasped a glass of wine. As I blinked myself awake, he sipped it, watching me over the rim.
My body felt weighted by sleep as I dragged my head off the table. I could feel the imprint of it stuck to my cheek. The plate of cookies sat empty, though I couldn't remember eating all of them. Maybe the captain ate one, I thought with an uneven smile. Looked like he really didn't sleep.
"I didn't think you would want to sleep here," he said.
I nodded, rubbing my eyes. My neck ached from the odd position, and my bed still sounded like heaven. But my half-asleep mind wandered again. "Harlock," I murmured. "You think the cook could make the parts of a gingerbread house?"