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Tom is quite used to the antics between his boys. Frequent arguments, from the tiniest details of schematics to the broadest strokes of a design, bickering about food preferences and cola and over-steeped tea, by this point most of it simply washes over Tom like the tide. Not always gentle, if the shouting gets especially loud, but familiar, and a good reminder of the life he’s built.
So the sight of Iceburg storming down the narrow hallway of their home one morning, barging straight into the drafting room and roaring “WHAT did you do THIS TIME!” is not of particular concern to Tom.
His own sleep was... not truly disturbed, but certainly not restful during the night, with dreams of Franky’s ships attacking, and recognizing the government’s twisted ploy, and surrendering himself to them in order to protect his apprentices. Which is to say Tom is perhaps not fully awake yet, ready to meet the world with gusto. So, he continues to shuffle down the hall himself, intent on reaching their kitchen and putting the kettle on for his morning tea even as he hears Franky squawking in outrage. “What- what are you- what did I do, what are you doing, Ice-for-Brains-?!”
“The dreams, you idiot!”
Tom pauses.
“You- what dreams?”
“About your stupid ships! And Tom being taken to Enies Lobby! And you being a moron trying to stop the train!”
His heart skips a beat.
So glad to have you rejoin us in the land of the living, Tom! Too bad about that little apprentice of yours, though - after that foolhardy attempt to stop the sea train, why, he’ll never be waking up again!
Slowly, Tom turns around, pacing back towards the open door where Iceburg’s tirade continues: “Don’t you think it was bad enough losing him and then your stupid self goes and gets so badly torn up everyone assumes you’re dead?! I should kill you myself, putting us through that! And I’m the one who knows you survived it!”
By the time Tom peers into the drafting room, Iceburg has seized his little brother by the ankles and dragged him out of bed entirely. Blankets are tossed aside, bedding added to the organized chaos of scattered books and blueprints, and Tom’s boys are focusing entirely on one another. Iceburg stands with both hands against his hips, glaring, long hair a tangled mess around his head with no sign of his usual white bandana. Sprawled on the floor below in only his underwear, Franky looks to be frozen in the act of scrambling to his feet, jaw hanging slack as he stares up at his brother.
Then Tom rumbles “Boys?” and two heads of blue hair whip around towards the door. “Is there something you want to tell me about the dreams I also had last night?”
Both in their twenties, young men rather than the children he originally took in, and yet they each break out into tears exactly like toddlers. And the next thing Tom knows, he’s holding a double armful of wailing apprentices, crying that they missed him, insisting they’ll change things, promising that they won’t lose him again.
He really needs that pot of tea.
Franky didn’t die underneath the sea train. He did get badly hurt, and need to rebuild himself piece by painful piece, which leaves Tom both horrified and so, so incredibly impressed.
Meanwhile, Iceburg united the shipwrights of Water 7, kept the Pluton blueprints safe for years, and brought prosperity and pride back to the people of their home. He and Franky go back and forth on filling Tom in with all the details, with frequent pauses to snap at each other like they’re still teens, and that warms the fishman’s heart more than anything.
Well, that, and the way Kokoro fusses over all of them once everybody is back on the same page. Even if she does threaten to wallop all her ‘idiot boys’ over their heads with a frying pan. “You’d better make sure things turn out different this time,” she says firmly, before asking who wants extra servings of breakfast.
“I don’t have time for extra servings,” Franky grumbles, even as he does hold out his bowl. “I gotta get started pulling the funds together to rebuild the Thousand Sunny-”
“Stealing the funds, you mean,” Iceburg interjects, reaching over to thump his little brother. “Which isn’t going to work, remember? The sea train isn’t finished, our economy is still a mess right now!”
“I remember what’s going to happen when it is finished, and we won’t have a chance to save Tom then-!”
Tom bursts out laughing, the only thing he can do to break up the impending fight. “Boys! First thing’s first.” He lets his grin slide away, fixing each of them with a sharp look. “You said during this whole thing with your Straw Hat friends, you destroyed Pluton’s blueprints?”
Franky nods.
“Then let’s start there.”
For centuries, the blueprints of this terrifying weapon have been passed down from master to apprentice. When Tom was young himself and newly arrived on Water 7, he started working for a woman who didn’t care a bit about him being a fishman, just the fact he held as much passion for ships as she did. And when a bad cold turned into something worse and stole the strength right out of her, she chose Tom of all her apprentices to take on the duty of safeguarding Pluton’s secrets.
It is not up to us whether it should or shouldn’t be built, she said sternly, placing the ancient parchment into his hands. Only that if the time comes, and such a nightmare is necessary upon the seas once more, that the best shiprights in the world will be able to build it.
Tom respected that woman above any other human he’s ever met. She took to her tasks each day with gusto, inspired in him a dedication to do the same, and he’s kept the blueprints hidden all these years out of that respect.
But he also loves his boys, more than any human.
And if they burned the plans once, then he’s willing to let them do so again.
(And, if that bastard Spandam shows his face again, Tom will be more than willing to break it in half, before the CP agent can get anywhere near Iceburg or Franky.)
It’s not until they’re done watching the last slivers of parchment burn down to ash that Franky stirs, breaking the solemn silence. “...so. I’ve got an idea. Just telling those Cipher Pol losers that the plans are gone won’t be enough, whenever they show up again.” Iceburg growls an agreement, but otherwise doesn’t interrupt. “So what if we make some fake plans that Tom can hand over instead? Something that’ll blow up in the faces of whoever tries to build it?”
The chuckle that starts in Tom’s throat is small, but it grows, building out louder and louder, until he’s tipped back in his seat roaring with laughter, pounding a webbed hand against the tabletop. “Fantastic! Now that’s throwing yourself forward with gusto!”
“It’s not a terrible thought,” Iceburg agrees, clearly doing his best not to look too invested, though there’s a gleam in his eye that Tom recognizes just fine. “Add enough extra elements around the key design, and someone might not even realize what they’re putting together until it’s too late. Think you can pull it off, Flunky?”
“Just watch me, Idiot-Burg!”
Life, in theory, should fall back into normal patterns after their rough morning: working on the sea train each day, lunch break full of laughter and good cheer, hot afternoons spent at the drafting table or doing small tasks, then a few more hours of work in the evening before dinner and winding down to bedtime.
Ha.
Franky ducks out that first day to do some scouting around the city; he doesn’t come home until nearly dark, with a basket of groceries and a pensive expression, which only fades when he gets started on the fake blueprints. The following mornings see the boy throw himself headlong into construction on the Puffing Tom, Iceburg right on his heels, and Tom himself needs to holler frequent reminders not to wear themselves out.
“Hey! Hey, you’re Tom, right! Tom the Fishman?”
Startled, he turns to squint at the nearest stairs - spots a couple of young girls with dark hair and identical long noses. “Yeah? What’s it to ya, little ones?”
The girls beam, and promptly scramble down into the piles of junk and scrap, hurrying towards him. Wincing when he sees how threadbare their shoes are, Tom hurries to meet them halfway. Surprisingly, they seem just fine with this, the one dressed in yellow even hopping up to grab and swing from his hand. “Where’s Franky? Can we see him?”
“...huh. Sure, he’s over by the water, working too hard. Who are you two, then?”
“I’m Mozu,” the other girl says, her clothes pink and hair curly. “She’s Kiwi. We ran into Franky at the market a couple days ago, and then we dreamed about a bunch of stuff that hasn’t happened yet, and Franky always says if something weird happens we should tell him so he can help fix it!”
“Yeah!” Kiwi agrees, still swinging from Tom’s hand. Bemused, he offers the other to her- friend? Sister? Whichever. Mozu hops up too. Don’t weigh more than a couple of empty buckets, these girls. He hopes Kokoro won’t mind throwing together some extra lunch.
Yokozuna sees them coming first, and croaks out a greeting. The girls squeal with delight, letting go of Tom to dash towards the big frog. It’s enough of a commotion to draw Iceburg’s attention, his head popping up over a stack of metal beams. Tom watches his older boy’s face; it takes a minute of baffled staring, before Iceburg’s expression clears with recognition, and then turns to a smirk. “Oi, Flunky, your Square Sisters are here!”
CRASH!
Tom can’t help but wince, and hope whatever just got dropped didn’t break anything. Even if that is the case, though, it’s a small price to pay for the stunned look on his younger boy’s face as Franky comes skidding into view. “Mozu? Kiwi?!”
“Big Bro!”
The sisters apparently live with an aunt who isn’t inclined to notice or care if they spend all day out of the house, which makes Kokoro grumble with indignation as she gives them extra onigiri to eat. They announce their intention to spend as much time as possible with Franky, which makes the young man clap both hands over his face and loudly insist he isn’t crying.
Tom just laughs, and throws him a towel to mop up the tears.
Rather than rest during the heat of the day as Tom prefers, Franky starts going out with Mozu and Kiwi, ambling through the rougher parts of Water 7 and spreading whatever memory magic he brought into the past. Crooks and vagabonds of various ages begin turning up, one or two at a time, awkward and cautious but glad to see their boss when Franky welcomes them. Some bring cash in their pockets, or supplies in hand, or just the clothes on their backs. Pretty soon, though, there’s some kind of organization put in place for securing funds, because everybody gets the option of second helpings at meals, and there’s a new structure hammered up next to the small building Tom’s family works out of, with enough bedding to go around.
Iceburg looks pained. Tom just claps him on the back and laughs, figuring they’ve got enough else to worry about than a bit of light thievery from those more fortunate.
Besides, it’s good to have more hands on deck! A bunch of Franky’s kids know how to take things apart; Tom shows them better ways of putting ‘em together, and the group working on the sea train construction slowly grows, ramping up their progress.
“At this rate, we might very well be done within the year,” Iceburg reluctantly admits, just over a week since they woke up years in the past.
Tom beams. “Heck, with as much gusto as these kids are packing, we might finish inside of six months!” It’s a major weight off his shoulders, the possibility of the sea train being ready to roll early, that judicial ship returning to pardon him long before Spandam can show up and ruin things. Not that Tom will ever let himself regret building the Oro Jackson; that ship was his pride and joy, before his apprentices came along.
Things are going so well, in fact, that he flat forgets to look for another shoe about to drop.
Returning home that night, it’s Yokozuna’s croak of alarm when Tom opens the door to their drafting room that tips him off. He throws a hand back, shielding his boys, even before spotting the slim figure over by their bookshelves.
Then that figure turns, face revealed by the lamplight, and Tom’s heart leaps into his throat. “Hello,” says the girl who can only be Nico Robin, the Devil Child, the only known person in the world who might be able to find and restore the ancient weapon Pluton.
For a split second terror seizes control of Tom; then Franky, stupid, young, reckless Franky, ducks under his arm and bounds across the room in two long strides. Tom almost hollers wait, don’t, he thought he lost his boy once already, he can’t let it actually happen this time, right in front of him-!
Franky.
Who is- laughing?
Yeah. Laughing. And scooping Nico Robin up into his arms, causing her to laugh as well, and then they’re both spinning around in serious danger of crashing into the bookshelves or drafting tables.
“Shit,” Iceburg groans behind him. “Tom, I am so sorry, I completely forgot to explain- she’s not a threat, she’s part of the Straw Hat crew-”
Whatever else he says goes right over Tom’s head, as the fishman sags against the doorway and waits for his heartbeat to start up again.
“I do apologize for my alarming appearance,” Nico Robin says a little later, after they’ve got a pot of tea going and are sitting around the kitchen table. “It was not my intention to frighten Franky’s mentor into a hospital visit, nor an early grave.”
“She’s like this,” Franky hastily adds, sheepishly glancing at Tom’s raised brows. “Make a comment on the darker side of morbid, and then laugh at the faces people make.”
Well, when someone’s grown up on the run, Tom supposes he can’t blame ‘em for grim coping skills. So he chuckles, and grins at the girl. “Hey, if you can pull that sort of thing off with gusto, more power to ya!”
Nico Robin blinks, and her demure smile shifts closer to something a little more relaxed.
They exchange a bit of idle chitchat until the kettle’s boiling; then Iceburg gets up to pour three cups of tea, and toss a bottle of cola at his brother’s head before sitting back down. “Well, Miss Robin, is this the part where you tell us what you’re doing, sneaking in here after dark?”
“Actually, I arrived well before sunset.”
“Babe...”
Smirking at Franky, Robin takes a sip of her tea. “This was the closest location where I knew I could find one of my crew members, as well as the best place to hide until our captain can set sail to reunite us all.” She sets down the mug, and delicately rests a hand on top of Franky’s; he automatically turns his own over, to curl his broad fingers around her more slender but equally callused digits.
Tom shares a knowing glance with Iceburg. “Well, we’ve definitely got the numbers now for you to disappear into our crowd. Would appreciate it if you’re willing to lend a helping hand around here, though.”
“Certainly,” the girl all but purrs, as an actual extra hand blooms out of a flower in the middle of their table. At least this surprise only makes Tom guffaw. “Although that means I must now share more dire news.”
Franky makes a curious noise, which turns into a sharp inhale when Robin plucks a newspaper clipping out of her pocket and reveals the headline. Tom’s never been one to subscribe to the News Coo or any other paper; he stays mainly concerned with just the goings-on of Water 7 and their nearest island neighbors, and gossip from Kokoro and her extended family are more than enough to keep on top of important developments.
GOLD ROGER'S SON APPREHENDED seems a little weightier than just ‘important’. Especially considering the outraged shout Franky makes. “Fucking- fuck, SHIT, how in the hell did-?”
“I assume,” Robin murmurs, undercutting Franky’s rising volume, “Our crew and others were affected by this, Maelstrom phenomena. Including the marines present, who decided to deal with a threat before he could disappear.”
Tom rumbles, picking up the clipping to squint at the photo better. “Huh. Yeah, I guess that kid does look like Roger. Before the mustache, anyway. He do anything in the future, or is the government just targeting him like they did me?”
“Second option,” Franky snarls, slamming both fists against the table. He winces a moment later, lifting them back up to shake out. Guess that kind of gesture hurts more when someone’s gotten used to metal hands. “Dammit. How in the hell are we supposed to help from all the way out here?”
Robin hums, "We can't." Her pale eyes grow sharp. “So we hold our position instead. If they attempt to send him out of the East Blue, to Enies Lobby or Impel Down, then we intervene. But, I suspect it will not come to that - Luffy and the original crew members will do what they can, I’m sure, and from what I know of this point in time, Red-Haired Shanks is also currently in the East.”
“Ah,” Tom says. “Yeah, I can’t see Roger’s first brat letting this slide. How ‘bout this, then: you kids settle in for the night, and tomorrow we’ll ask Kokoro to put some feelers out, see if we can catch wind of what the marines are up to even if Shanks isn’t able to stop ‘em from getting out of the East.” No one offers an argument. Franky and Robin stay at the table a bit longer, murmuring to each other and holding hands, while Iceburg helps Tom sort out bedding arrangements. They’ll need to fix up something better long term, but for tonight at least Tom figures they can let the girl have a corner to herself.
...or, more of those flower-hands can bloom out of the ground, and tug the blankets they set aside for her over to Franky’s mattress. The fact that she apparently can tell which one is his keeps Tom from saying a word, although Iceburg does make a pointed noise when the two of them appear a little later.
“Ah, hush up, Ice-for-Brains,” Franky grumbles, face bright red as he flops down onto the bedding and Robin folds herself in alongside him.
He almost holds onto his composure, but then Robin slyly says “I promise we can be very quiet,” triggering a noise like a foghorn from Tom’s younger boy.
As for Tom himself, well. He just chuckles, and makes a point of giving all three of them a couple pats on the head before retreating to his own bed. Strange circumstances or not, these are still his boys, and he’s more than willing to handle whatever changes they throw his way.
Even one's liable to give him a heart attack.