-x-

Steam:
the castings

-x-

"Oh my. They're broken alright."

The last three fingers on Franky's right hand have certainly seen better days. They're mangled after being caught in one of the end bearings, still bleeding despite the steady pressure Iceberg is applying, Franky's hand clamped between the two of his. The oil-stained rag from his back pocket probably wasn't the wisest choice, but he had it in his hands when he pried the bearings apart, and in his defense he wasn't really considering an infection at the time. He thought for certain Franky had lost his hand - and he's seen people work with less, but not shipwrights, and the cold panic is still sitting heavy in his chest.

When Iceberg peels back the rag to take another look, gingerly pinching one of Franky's trembling fingers to feel out the severity of the break, Franky grits his teeth, but he doesn't cry. He squirms on the crate he's sitting on, scuffs his feet against the broken boards and dirt and bounces his knee. His left hand curls into a tight fist.

"Hey, be easy, damnit!"

His voice breaks.

Not that it hurts or anything doesn't make it out this time - probably because it hurts quite a lot. Iceberg covers Franky's hand again, eyes narrowed. He squeezes harder than is entirely necessary and Franky pushes his feet against the ground, the heel of his left hand banging against the edge of the crate.

"I told you that same thing not ten minutes ago, Flaky. You don't listen!"

The slight waver in his voice is pure annoyance. With some of the blood sopped up, the wound doesn't look as bad as he thought it might be, but there is no disputing that he will be the one picking up the slack while Franky's hand heals. It will take twice as long because he will insist on doing work that he can't and won't give his fingers the time to heal properly. And they've had so much trouble trying to get the running gear aligned...

Leaning over the two of them, Tom casts a broad shadow. He takes the tension right out of them both when he sees that everything is alright and he booms with laughter. Franky grins up at the shipwright, though it's more a grimace of pain as he raises his free hand, puts his thumb up. Iceberg sighs, adjusting the rag around Franky's fingers to a cleaner section.

All of Franky's fingers are accounted for and that's all that matters.

-x-

"We'll need more iron," Tom says over the top of his bowl, chewing slowly while he thinks, chopsticks clacking on the porcelain.

The splints on Franky's broken fingers came off yesterday, but the bandages haven't. Kokoro says to let them breath a little in between changing the bandages every night, tells him not to pick at the scabs because they'll bleed and make the scarring worse. They still hurt like hell. They're kinda stiff when he tries to bend them and they itch like crazy, swell up when he uses his hand too much, so he can barely use them at all by the end of the day - but that doesn't stop him from cupping the bottom of his bowl and lifting it off the table. (It's not to hide his face - that'd be stupid.) The warmth eases the throbbing in his fingers a little, the bandages blocking most of the heat.

The steam rises up, fogging his goggles and warming his cheeks, the broth burning his tongue.

"I know where we can get more iron," Iceberg says, in that smart ass way that makes Franky shovel more noodles into his mouth, though he can't really taste them, now.

The past couple of days, they've been pulling the bolts out of rotten boards, scrubbing rust off of patch plates and disassembling any unused rigging from the scrapped ships on the island to get enough iron to fill the castings Tom made. Iceberg has spent hours in the warehouse dock melting it all down, maintaining the temperature in the crucible, pumping air into the furnace and filling the molds. His skin is still flushed from the heat, even now that he's been away from it for a while; ash smearing his face and arms, cleaner streaks in the dark where he's sweat through it. He's staring hard at Franky, but Franky pretends not to notice.

He keeps his face shoved into his bowl, his heart beating hard in his chest. He finished another Battle Franky today and it's his best design yet! Almost tough enough to stand up to a Sea King! He doesn't think he should feel like garbage just because he used some of the scrap iron that was lying around - it wasn't like he knew they would need all of it, it's just a bunch of junk, anyway, and Tom told him he could do what he wanted with it.

Tom didn't laugh when Franky showed him the new blueprints.

He didn't tell Franky they didn't have the time or resources for him to work on his own project.

But Iceberg... has a point.

Franky doesn't like the way the last of his broth tastes as he gulps it down, too hot to swallow. It hurts his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces it down. Tom's laughter shakes the table and Kokoro rolls her eyes, tells him to quiet down even though there's that weird smile on her face as she stands. She wrestles Franky's empty bowl out of his hands and takes Tom's, as well, so she can get them both seconds.

"Leave his Battle Frankies alone, Iceberg," Tom says, and Iceberg looks about to protest, but Tom is still laughing, helping himself to a roll from the basket on the table. Franky wishes he had something in his hands, something to hide behind. He chews on the ends of his chopsticks and stares at Yokozuna as the frog licks his own bowl. Iceberg lets out a sigh through his nose, raising his own bowl to his lips while he watches Tom. "He worked hard on them. Besides, his ships are no less important than mine."

At that, Iceberg scoffs, the sound hollow and wet.

"The Sea Train is way more important. Flaky only builds ships for himself - and they're just goofy weapons!"

"Hey!" Franky snaps, banging his right fist on the table. His hand trembles, comes unclenched. "At least I'm building ships, ice for brains!"

"What the hell d'you think I'm doing all day?!"

"Ta ha..! Ha...! Ha! Simmer down, boys," Tom says, before the argument can start in earnest. Franky hides his hands underneath the table, palms flat against the insides of his thighs to stop his bandaged fingers from shaking and throbbing. He sees Iceberg staring out of the corner of his eye and resists the urge to stick his tongue out at the jerk. "We'll just have to take on a couple of jobs in between working on that old train, that's all. You'll both have plenty of opportunities to build ships with a BOOM!"

-x-

-BobTAC