*POST-THRILLER BARK / PRE-SABAODY*

Mamihlapinatapei

"Oh my. Will she be alright?"

Franky bangs his head on the Mini Merry II's elevated hull. "Ow! Is that my super archaeologist?" He hears her chuckle. Of course it is; the question is habit, though his heart thumps a little harder when he realizes his gaffe. He clears his suddenly tight throat and smoothes a hand up his pompadour as he rolls himself out from under the small boat.

Robin stands in the doorway of his workshop, a stack of bentos balanced in her arms, an extra hand sprouted from each to carry two sweating bottles of cola and what looks like a thermos of coffee. "Will she sink on her next voyage?"

Franky raises an eyebrow, but Robin's face is a mask of polite interest - just the tiniest twitch of a smile at the corners of her mouth as she adds, "After the incident on Thriller Bark, it would be most unfortunate if we were to drown when it founders."

"Hey now, don't say such unlucky things in my workshop!" He pats the Merry's side. "I'll have her Suuuper tiptop in no time, don't you worry!"

"That's reassuring." Robin steps into the workshop and crosses to set down her load on his cluttered bench. She's wearing one of Nami's skirts, just above knee-length and pleated, so that every small movement makes it twirl and flare against her long fair thighs.

"I brought you lunch."

"Uh?" Franky straightens on his mechanic's creeper, as much stunned at being caught staring as he is by a few misfiring circuits. His face is suddenly warm. "Oh, super, I was just getting hungry, too." His mouth is watering but it's not for the food.

He swallows.

Robin turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, a sideways glance, dark eyes through dark lowered lashes. "How timely. Sanji packed quite a lot for you." A small laugh escapes her, more of a breath than anything, as she takes up one of the bentos, an electric blue one, and holds it out for him. "I believe this is his very sincere apology for injuring our dear Little Lamb."

He rolls closer and her fingers are small and delicate and vaseline-smooth under his for just a moment before they slide away and he remembers that they are lethal weapons.

Not against him, though.

Never again against her family.

"He better be super sorry for what he did," he says, setting the bento box on the creeper and lifting the lid. The lunch packed inside smells like a greasy slice of heaven - and scrawled in ketchup across his pile of crispy fries, in the littlest font possible, is Sorry. "It's not completely his fault," he adds, feeling a pang of pity for the cook, "Though he should have known better than to let Luffy steer. Even if the dummy was trying to eat the groceries."

His hamburger is heaped with extra cheese and bacon. Franky sighs. "I'll let him know the Merry will be super alright, that'll ease his mind. Thanks for bringing this down."

He lifts his gaze to grin at her, expecting her to return to the deck, but she stands there staring back, hands clasped behind her and rocking a little on her heels, that gently amused smile on her lips.

Then she smoothes her skirt against her legs and sits on his bench, between the other bento and his toolbox. She crosses those long legs at the ankles and hooks a heel on a bench rung, her skirt hitching just one inch, maybe two, baring a soft pale expanse of thigh before she rights it with an unselfconscious brush - still smiling and perfectly at home among the clutter.

Franky can't breathe. He can feel his gears overheating as they churn a little too fast.

The other bento.

She brought her own lunch too.

She passes him a cola, and they eat their lunches in a mutual silence. When they do talk, it's idle chatter: about how good it was to leave Thriller Bark behind, and how mysterious, that Kuma the Tyrant left without finishing any of them (to which Robin only smiles, a slow but wide, secret smile); about the round rainbow they saw the other day; about what they're each most excited to see at Fishman Island (Franky can't wait to find Tom-san's brother, and Robin is sure there will be a Poneglyph).

Their lunches are long eaten and still Robin stays, and with her dark watchful eyes on him, Franky finds himself reluctant to return to his work. Their conversation peters out, though, and there's a moment of silence, awkward this time. Robin unhooks her heel from the rung and swings her legs free, actually fidgeting. She leans forward, and Franky finds himself leaning, too, and there's a charge in the air that he feels across all his circuits. Her lips part as if to speak, and he wants to say something, too, anything, or maybe even - maybe even - but neither of them say a word.

A heartbeat, two, three, and maybe he's afraid to mess this up like everything before...

Then there's a crash of stampeding feet and voices raised in shouts loud enough to reach them in the bowels of the ship. They both look up as Luffy's bellow resounds from above,

"We're finally here! We made it!

"This is the Red Line!"

Franky grins at Robin, and without a word they both jump up to join their crew.

-x-

Furanky's Tumblr Frobin Week: Day 7

Originally posted: April 14th, 2013

Prompt: Mamihlapinatapei (Yagan, an indigenous language of Tierra del Fuego; doesn't have direct translation to english): The wordless yet meaningful look shared by two people who desire to initiate something, but are both reluctant to start.

Words: 915

(A/n) - And that's it, folks! If you want to continue following this story, I may add more Frobin one-shots at some point, if the itch returns~ Thanks for reading!