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“Gath-”
… No.
“Ga-”
… Damn.
“... Gather up all-”
Damnit.
“G-Gather-”
Damnit!
“You doin’ okay, skele-bro?”
No.
“Yes, Franky-san, I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
Brook gritted his teeth as he lowered his bow.
He’d been worried about this. He had only been a member of the crew for a few short (wonderful, wonderful) days, he didn’t want to burden them with his troubles again so soon after Thriller Bark. That was why he’d gone so far below decks, for some attempt at privacy while he assessed the … extent of the issue.
An attempt. It was never guaranteed to work. After all, Usopp-san and Franky-san both spent quite a bit of their time below decks, from what he’d gathered. He just … didn’t want everyone to know.
“Yes, I’m quite sure.”
Franky-san raised an eyebrow and pinned him with a look of casual inquisitiveness; despite the fact that he had to crane his head up so far to do so, Brook couldn’t help but feel small.
“You don’t sound fine, bro. And I don’t mean that in a bad way or anything, but …”
Brook felt like he must have looked uncomfortable (he struggled to really mentally map his body language anymore) as Franky-san rubbed the back of his head with a sigh.
“Look, you’re crew now, yeah? That means you don’t have to … hide away, or whatever it is you’re doing. If you need help with anything, you can just … ask. If we can help, we’d want to.”
A thumbs up, coming just short enough of Brook’s face to not hit him. A smile, sharp and electric and warm.
Alive.
“Take it from the last newbie around here. Man to man. It helps. It’s alright.”
… Was it?
Could it possibly be, after they had declared him their musician with such pride? If they knew, then …
“Brook~”
His voice took on a wheedling, near-musical tone, lighthearted and judgement-free, and in a moment he knew he might regret later, Brook couldn’t help but let down his guard.
“I’m … struggling. With … with my violin.”
He breathed a mountainous sigh of relief (with the lungs he didn’t have) that Franky-san didn’t react with anything along the lines of ‘oh that’s it?’. He didn’t want to be angry at more than himself right now. Instead, Franky-san simply hummed, looking at the instrument curiously.
“It doesn’t look broken to me … at least, not too obviously. What’s up with it?”
He was an engineer, after all. It was natural that he’d see a problem and want to fix it. It was just a shame that the problem here wasn’t something he could fix.
“It’s not the broken one here, my friend. I-I am.”
He didn’t want to look at Franky-san’s face anymore; he was sure he’d find either frustration or pity, and he wanted nothing less than either.
All those years in the dark, and music had weighed too heavy. He hadn’t touched an instrument since the moment that the heart that he no longer had had stopped beating. It hadn’t felt like a celebration of life, but a reminder of death, of all that he’d lost; the accompaniment playing on its own was such a terrible thing. The 50 years he spent in the darkness were also spent largely in silence, every day threatening to drown him.
He had been … so relieved, at the celebration after the battle was on, that he could even still play the piano. It had sent his spirits soaring that his muscle memory hadn’t wavered even slightly.
Even though he didn’t have muscles. But … muscles weren’t so much the issue. The piano was one thing, all hard and sturdy keys and pedals, but … strings were another.
“It’s … my hands. They can’t … play like they used to.”
Where he used to have flesh, now it was just … bones. Thin and knobbly and hard with no cushioning to speak of. He hadn’t really thought about it in the 50 year blur, but of course fingers like that wouldn’t be kind to string instruments, especially without practice. Properly pressing the strings to play the right notes, even before taking timing into account, was … arduous, in a way it simply never was before. It was a greater climb than learning for the first time.
It was humiliating.
A musician, a violinist first and foremost, and every attempt at a song sounded like nails being scraped inside his skull.
And on top of all of that, simple practice was terrifying; he could damage the strings forever, and then that would be that, one of the few parts of his old life would be gone.
But he couldn’t just let it slip away. So here he was. Walking the tightrope and trying his best to be a violinist again. Praying that it hadn’t been stolen from him by the march of time.
There were other instruments, of course, but … he wanted the violin. His first, his lifeblood (even though he no longer had blood). Childish, perhaps, but true.
And now, a shameful secret he shared with another.
“... Damn. That … really sucks.”
Brook allowed himself a little laugh.
“Quite.”
Blunt words, but tender thoughts. Sympathy without pity. The best he could have hoped for. He really was so glad to have found these people.
Even though he couldn’t be what they wanted. If this didn’t work out (his hollow chest panged at the thought), then maybe they could find a piano at an upcoming island? Or hopefully acapella would do. That would work, even if it would feel too much like settling.
“A-Anyway, Franky-san, what brings you down here?” He didn’t want to talk about it anymore for now, though; the skin that he didn’t have was starting to squirm the longer this went on. “I hope that the noise wasn’t interrupting you or anything.”
“Nah, nah, you’re good …” He sounded so warm that Brook almost believed it. “I was just getting everyone for dinner. Sanji would’ve come to get you himself, but little bro is … kinda, slightly, always, fightin’ for his damn life in that kitchen so Luffy doesn’t eat us out of house and home.”
Another laugh came. Louder this time, a melody that was thankfully still familiar; thankfully still his.
“An unenviable task. His sacrifices do not go unappreciated.”
“True that. Honestly, Cap’s lucky that Sanji likes him as much as he does, or else he’d probably have been tossed in the sea before they even left the East.”
Said with all of the love in both their hearts. As bitter as it was to find out the limitations of this new body (‘new’, he’d had it now for longer than he was alive the first time, but it still felt like something alien), it was drowned out by the sweetness of being able to call somewhere home again.
He could live with this. He could learn to, at least.
“Anyway, let’s go before The Bottomless Pit We Call Luffy inhales our food.”
Brook hummed in assent and followed Franky-san back up the stairs. As they climbed, Brook could hear the chatter in the galley getting louder and louder; music to his ears (not that he had ears).
All the while, he could tell that Franky-san’s eyes kept not-so-subtly drifting back to him. Watching him like a puzzle to be solved.
…
Brook awoke in his hammock with a start that night.
Such a thing was something he was very used to by now; a nightmare he couldn’t even remember. An old friend at this point, a routine, even though the routine had to be modified slightly after becoming a Straw Hat.
Confirm reality.
He looked around at the boys sleeping in their hammocks, snoring loudly, a shameless declaration of life that did wonders to calm the nerves. This isn’t a dream, you’re safe now. He forced himself to take deep breaths he no longer needed until that awareness didn’t feel so much like a lie.
It was enough. It was more than enough. And he should really rest too. But out of habit if nothing else, simple comfort, he still reached down to touch the-
Touch-
Touch the-
He froze. Lazy, too-early morning movements snapped to alertness; his hands searched in a panic as his restlessness only grew.
Where-
Where is it?
His bones clattered as he practically launched himself out of his hammock; he winced and tried to contain the noise, to not wake anyone, but refused to slow down too much as he marched out of the room.
Where is it … where is his violin?
He was sure he had it when he’d gone to sleep … but then again, his brain was hardly reliable these days, after everything. Not that he had a brain!
He tried to retrace his steps as he walked onto the deck, seeing the light of the crow’s nest from whoever was on night’s watch (he wasn’t sure; was it one of the girls, a boy who he didn’t realise that he didn’t see when he was asleep, he couldn’t remember, it didn’t really matter-)
Whoever it was, he didn’t want to bother them unless he had to; his poor missing violin was unlikely to be in the crow’s nest, anyway.
And he didn’t want to have to search the bedrooms at the head of the ship, oh the thought of waking anyone up with this issue was mortifying, so he snuck across to the other side of the deck as fast as he could (which was quite fast indeed, if he did say so himself). He moved like a ghost (well, he was already dead!), and sighed in relief that the night’s watch hadn’t spotted him before he carefully opened the door to the aquarium and-
… Ah. There was a light on. Not from the aquarium itself, but from the floor below. Muffled sounds, too. Someone was awake besides him and the night’s watch.
… Should he …? It was only one person, that was better than bothering the whole crew with this in the morning if he couldn’t find it. But … he would still be bothering that person, a person who was clearly busy, he shouldn’t, it was ridiculous-
“If you need help with anything, you can just … ask. If we can help, we’d want to.”
… Brook took a second to steel himself through the embarrassment (ridiculous, he really was being ridiculous) before descending to the lower floor where the light was shining.
He felt foolish. Like a child knocking to inform their mother that they’d been ill in the night. Nothing necessitated him getting his violin back now, it could wait until morning, easily, especially with how practically useless it was in his damned hands at the minute, but-
He couldn’t sweat but his hands were sweating, his mouth felt dry even though it never felt wet, he needed his violin back, oh he needed it now-
He knocked on the not-quite-closed door before he could inevitably second guess himself.
The sounds inside stopped.
No turning back now.
“... Franky-san?”
“Y-Yeah, what’s up?”
At least it was him. Even with him currently sounding as much like a child caught misbehaving as Brook felt.
“I’m terribly sorry for the interruption, but … I was simply searching for my violin. I appear to have … misplaced it somehow.”
There was a pause from Franky-san’s workshop. Brook used the silence to debate with himself on whether he should have made up an excuse, whether he should leave to continue the search elsewhere so he didn’t interrupt Franky-san’s work; he was just taking a step back when the door opened further from the inside, warm light bathing the wood below.
“... No you haven’t. My bad, bro.”
Wha-
“Come in, come in.”
Mildly confused, Brook obliged, ducking his head under the doorframe; he heard Franky-san muttering to himself about needing to make adjustments before he was distracted with the sight on his workbench.
His violin was … it was right there. Safe and sound. But he didn’t even have the time to think about that before he noticed something else.
“Is that … a replica?”
He could barely raise his voice above a whisper. He couldn’t take his gaze off the table at all; he could only tell that Franky was shuffling somewhat awkwardly next to him by sound, not by sight.
“N-Not an exact replica. Mainly just … strengthened strings. Better for … hard hands.”
Brook felt his soul hitch as he stared, almost mesmerised. He forced himself to look away, if only a bit, if only for a second. On the same workbench as both violins, was a guitar; Franky-san laid a hand across the body, almost wistfully.
“... I learned that same lesson the hard way too, you know? When I got back home after … this.” He gestured up and down to his whole body; it was a more subdued movement than Brook was used to, and a subdued tone, too.
He was being vulnerable. Oh, Brook wasn’t expecting this, these were dangerous waters tonight.
“There were all sorts of things I had to adjust that I didn’t even think about before. Just ‘cause … my hands were too tough. Too hard.” He tapped the workbench to prove a point; his hand clanged against it in a way that human hands shouldn’t, the distinct sound of metal on metal. “I just kept breaking shit, and so much of it was shit I didn’t even mean to break, didn’t want to break. I needed to change so much, both me and my tools, so I could do damn near anything. I wouldn’t trade it for the world now, mind you, but back then it was … a lot. My hands had never been gentle before in my life, but … well. You know, man.”
… Of course he knew. Of course he knew. But the words were stuck in his throat and wouldn’t get out; he was scared of what would happen if they did.
“Thought I could use my guitar as a base to whip up something that might help you. It was worth a shot, at least. I had plenty of materials lying around to make something without touching the original-”
He caught himself mid-sentence; Brook heard, more than saw, him rub the back of his neck and sigh in discomfort.
“... Well. I didn’t touch it besides … bringing it here after you fell asleep, so I could use it as a base too.”
And … And he bowed his head forward.
“... Really thought I could get it all done before you even noticed it was gone. Figured I could bring you a nice surprise when you woke up this morning. But … apparently not, I guess. Sorry to spook you, bro.”
He pulled his head back and seemed to scowl at a memory. But to Brook, that seemed so far away; he’d gathered the courage to reach out a slightly trembling hand to the replica, tracing the bouts, the waist, the neck, the-
… The strings …
It … it was perfect.
“I just … couldn’t stay still after I found out you were struggling too. Especially not when I knew how it was weighing on you.”
His voice was warm but firm.
Oh, it was all perfect. He was perfect. They were all perfect.
“... You ain’t broken, buddy. Just different. Nothin’ wrong with that at all. And I just-”
He cut himself off in a wordless growl that was probably never meant to be anything more, frustration at the world and sympathy and understanding and care a-and-
Franky-san’s growl was then in turn cut off in a choke as he noticed that Brook was starting to cry.
How could he cry? He didn’t even have tear ducts! Oh, but he was, he was crying, crying, crying-
“H-Hey, bro, d-don’t cry, please, it’s alright-”
“Th-Thank you …”
Brook had managed to finally find his voice again as Franky-san stumbled over to him, concerned; he didn’t have the time to react before Brook wrapped his arms around him.
It was an awkward height difference they had for hugs, but between Brook having gone quite weak in the knees and his desperation to show his gratitude, he managed.
“Thank you, Franky-san … thank you, thank you, thank you …”
Franky-san was frozen only for a second or two before he returned the embrace in kind.
He patted Brook on the back, and despite him knowing that both men were cold to the touch, metal and bone in all their inhuman humanities, Brook knew in his soul that he felt warmer for it.
“... Don’t sweat it, man. Seriously, no problem at all.”
Brook let himself simply bask in the feeling of his life returning to him, piece by piece; the Straw Hats had saved him so many times in just one week, it was dazzling.
He wasn’t sure how long they held each other before their holds loosened. And once they did, Franky-san reached out to the replica.
And he held it out to Brook.
“... I actually got it far enough in development to test. Wanna try it out now? We’re far enough down in here that we shouldn’t wake anyone sleeping at the other side of the Sunny.”
Brook took it in his shaking hands like the precious thing it was, with a gentleness like it was made of gold and sugarglass.
This is your crewmate’s love made form. Oh, how blessed you are, Brook!
Franky-san was smiling. Brook hoped that he could tell he was smiling too.
He was still smiling as he gestured towards the guitar still on the workbench. But Franky-san just looked confused.
Brook wasn’t confused, though. It was a spur of the moment thought, but once it occurred, he knew exactly what he wanted.
“... Would you like to duet with me, my friend?”
Franky-san’s eyes widened. His jaw dropped far further than a human’s probably should.
But after that moment, he shone like the sun; there wasn’t a trace of doubt in his mind as he took his guitar in hand. Happy tears (ah, so it was his turn to cry now) were spilling from his eyes, trailing down a wobbly grin that spread from ear to ear.
“Hell yeah, bro.”
Breathe in … breathe out … a pointless gesture … but nothing of the sort.
“A one … a two … a one, two, three, four-”
He hadn’t needed to say the song; of course Franky knew.
And they played as one. Their strings sang under cold hard hands, but never ever faltered.
It truly … truly was perfect.
And, oh, how he felt alive.
…
The concert lights were sweltering. People were cheering.
And there he was on-stage, the Soul King tearing away on his electric guitar.
A solo.
But his electric guitar had been modified from its base. His old violin had been fitted with Franky-san’s strings, so he’d had them with him when Kuma had sent them hurtling through the heavens; those strings had been recreated, and now every single string instrument Brook owned was their home.
All by his request, no, by his demand, as soon as his career had started. His managers hadn’t really understood, but he was the talent, so they did it anyway.
Brook didn’t care if no-one else understood.
He was playing a solo, yes. It wasn’t his first, and he knew it wouldn’t be his last. But he also knew that he wasn’t alone this time.
He knew that he’d never be alone again.