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Tinker Knight had a tendency to very easily lose track of just how many hours he worked every day. He was the sort of man who hated leaving things off unfinished, no matter how complicated the task. Even larger long-term projects required organization into several discernible phases, even sub-phases, for Tinker’s own sanity. Between losing sleep to long hours of work and losing sleep to long hours of dissatisfied contemplation, he would slam full throttle towards the former every time.
One such long-term project had been seizing his undivided attention for the past few weeks, before said attention unexpectedly grew very divided indeed.
“Pass the ratchet, eh, quarter-inch socket,” he ordered of the hoverhaft who had been appointed his assistant.
“Ah, how do I know which one is the quarter-inch?” they asked.
Tinker sighed. Every instance wherein he was reminded of the dearth of engineers on the Flying Machine made him ever-so-slightly more irritated. “There should be an engraving on it, towards the base. Says what size it is.”
“Ohhh…” A moment later they handed him the tool in question, thankfully with the correct size socket attached.
Tinker leaned back into the fuse chamber, and wrenched free several too-tight bolts holding a rusted panel in place. Behind the panel was the perpetrator, the reason he’d been ordered to the skies in the first place: a terribly outdated fuse box.
“When was this ship built?” he asked the hoverhaft, trying not to sound too incredulous.
They scratched their helmet in thought. “I would say, 25, 30 years ago?”
“…Right.” Tinker looked over the round, corroded dials and crossed, worn-through wires. “So this hasn’t been refurbished since then.”
“Uhm…no?”
Tinker groaned. “Well, in that case, this will be more than a quick patch job. I’ll need more tools and parts than I have.” He turned to the hoverhaft. “Keep an eye on this for a few minutes, make sure no one goes near it. Even you. I’ve got to go explain this mess to -“
“Pâtisseries, pâtisseries! There is enough for everyone!”
Tinker’s shoulders sagged. “…The captain.”
It wasn’t that he disliked Propeller Knight. He wasn’t too prideful to admit that the suave sky pirate had more than one thing to admire. His energy, for one. Sometimes, it revitalized Tinker just to be in his presence. Other days, however, it was a bit…much.
“Ah, monsieur Tinker Knight!” Propeller called, noticing Tinker’s presence as he passed by the small yet brightly-lit room housing the fuse box. “Would you care for a pastry, mon petit ami?” He offered a flimsy cardboard box, which Tinker barely paid even a glance.
“Propeller Knight, we need to talk about your ship’s inner workings. Everything I’m looking at here, it’s outmoded,” Tinker explained, pointing over at the fuse box. “Newer wiring techniques and insulation material are way safer than what’s going on here.”
Propeller gasped, laying a hand on his chest. “You are calling my ship old? She is more sensitive than she appears, tu sais…She’ll hear you!”
“Yeah, sensitive in a could-catch-on-fire kind of way,” Tinker returned, putting his hands on his hips. “You didn’t just blow a fuse, you narrowly avoided a meltdown.”
“Eh bien, I do not see why you are complaining to me,” shrugged Propeller, sifting through the box in his hand. “A big, ah, little genius like you can just replace the broken…” He waved his hand dismissively. “N’importe quoi, and be on your way, non?”
“Wh- No, I cannot!” Tinker insisted. “This thing’s busted at the core! Slapping a bandage on it will be a waste of everyone’s time in the long run, including yours!” He started to pace between Propeller and the fusebox, getting progressively worked up at the thought of such a mess. “The fuses are cross-wired with the thrust controls, not to mention the lack of insulation on all fronts! The weatherproofing on the deck had better be up to date and regularly maintained, or one rogue raindrop could fry the engines themselves! And with the lack of ballast on the rotors, there’s no possibility of a controlled descent in case of emergency, and despite the fact that most of the crew is equipped with their own personal evasive maneuvering devices you still can’t account for foreign objects and lack of emergency exits -“
“Hé.”
Propeller halted Tinker’s pacing, placing one hand on the engineer’s pauldron. He offered the box of pastries once more.
“Eat something, mon petit ami. I insist.”
There was a hint of concern, almost, in his voice; such a contrast to his usual bombastic tenor that it caught Tinker’s attention. The hand on his shoulder, too, had alighted so gently. He’d not known Propeller Knight to exude such an air of quiet reassurance, and yet he could already feel his panic beginning to melt away.
Tinker sighed, and looked over the selection of pastries. Donuts, muffins, sweet bread… A few scones looked particularly appetizing. He plucked a blueberry one from between two donuts, and tilted up his mask ever-so-slightly to slip it under so he could eat it.
“Très bien,” Propeller remarked, setting the box aside. He pulled Tinker to his side, and subtly began guiding him out of the fuse room. “Maintenant, let us continue this tête-à-tête of ours at a less…hectic pace, non?”
“Hmh… Guess we could,” Tinker muttered through scone crumbs. Now that he’d been reminded of his hunger, it was all he could do not to inhale the thing in one gulp.
Propeller, to his credit, had his helmet turned respectfully away from Tinker’s partially exposed visage. “Tinker, I think it is…a bit too much, all this work you are doing on my Flying Machine par toi-même.”
“I have to do it.” Tinker swallowed a bite. “Couldn’t forgive myself if your ship crashed due to what could have been a quick fix.”
There was a moment before Propeller responded. “But Tinker, mon ami, none of what you explained just now sounds like a ‘quick fix.’” Tinker heard the metallic tapping of Propeller’s finger against his helmet. “Peut être you could, ah, how would you say it… entraîner? To… show my men about your engineering?”
“Train them, you mean?” Tinker shoved the rest of the scone under his mask and quickly polished it off. “Don’t have time for that. Enchantress wants a weapon assembly demo in two days. And your men don’t even know the basics.”
“Je vois… And what about your men, hmm? Can they not train mine? Peut être even take up some of your work?”
Tinker rubbed at the temples of his mask as he eased it back into place. “They’re all on the assembly project… My best cogslotter is overseeing it while I’m over here, and when I take her place she goes back to iterating for the mech project. Progress on the mech has already stagnated enough as is, what with the blast furnace meltdowns over at the Lost City and the blueprint press getting jammed six ways to Sunday… And I have to oversee the assembly, because it’s going to determine how well all the Enchantress’s other crazy project demands will shake out, and plus the assembly demo is going to be presented directly. If she doesn’t like what she sees, I’ll suffer for it, my guys will suffer for it, she’ll make things even more difficult because that’s a good project management model, of course morale and productivity will only improve if everyone’s on edge, and…”
He trailed off. They’d somehow ended up in a quiet parlor room. Tinker felt his face get hot. Why had Propeller let him go on that long?
“And…?” Propeller prompted, making his way over to what looked like some kind of alcohol cabinet.
“And… Hm, never mind.” Tinker waved his hand dismissively. “Isn’t professional, to go off like that with a client.”
Propeller chuckled. He always managed to sound so carefree. “Monsieur Tinker, I am wounded you only consider me a client! We are, at the very least, equal collègues de travail… With the same insufferable boss, hohoh!”
He took a bottle and a couple of glasses before sauntering over to a fancy-looking sofa and coffee table. Tinker watched him with a bleary incredulity. “And just what has the Enchantress been crawling on your back about? You’re just her air force division!”
“My dear Tinker, I’m so very glad you asked!” laughed Propeller, taking an elegant seat as he tossed one leg over the other. “I hardly think she can stand me at all!”
He patted the cushion beside him, and Tinker reluctantly approached. He worried about getting grease and oil on such an extravagant piece of furniture.
“Au début, she forbids me from flying in that dreadfully grim tower of hers. I cannot see why, what with how wide and open many of the rooms are… Personally, je penses she must be self-absorbed!” Propeller proclaimed, pouring juice into the two glasses. “She feels she must have the power of flight all to herself…”
Tinker huffed with effort as he got himself up onto the sofa. “Well, I dunno about that, but she always gets hissy when I fly on my mobile gear too… Must be some kind of control tactic.”
“Oh? I did not know that machin-bidule you are always using can fly!” Propeller remarked, a sudden intrigue in his voice. “How does it do it?”
“Eh, s’just a simple propulsion engine,” Tinker answered, taking the glass Propeller offered him. “The force of the jet pushes it up, and I get just a little control steering it just by leaning.”
“A whole engine is inside it? How does it turn on?” Propeller leaned in closer with every question, though somehow Tinker didn’t feel his personal space was invaded. Being that Propeller usually preferred to be the one going on about himself, it was actually somewhat flattering that he was listening so intently.
“Well, the jet’s in two parts, you see.” Tinker held his gloved hands close together to demonstrate, his glass in between them. “If you can imagine this glass is the gear, the two halves of the jet are my hands. When I press the button on the lever on top of the platform, it triggers a response from the metal pulley below, which slides the gear –“ Here he scooted the glass between his palms until it rested just before his fingertips, “– to the back of the platform. And now as you can see, my hands are together, and at this point, the jet pieces combine and lock together, and all fuel usage is diverted towards maintaining consistent thrust and propulsion upwards. The engine’s always on when the gear’s in use, but its purpose is twofold. It can serve as an axle for the gear-wheel or a powerhouse for the jet.”
“Mon dieu… You must show it to me sometime! It sounds incredible!” Propeller exclaimed,sitting back up straight to take a sip of juice. “Eh bien, at least it did from what words I could understand…”
“O-Oh, eh, I’m sorry,” Tinker muttered awkwardly, turning his anxious gaze down to his drink. He hadn’t considered his already plentiful jargon would be harder to parse out for someone unfamiliar with English. “I’m told I eh, go a little on auto-pilot when I get technical.”
“Non, non, do not apologize! I never knew l’ingénierie could be so fascinating! And it is, well, a delight to see you so enthusiastic for once,” Propeller admitted, putting one arm casually over the back of the couch.
Tinker blinked. “Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, do not take it the wrong way, not at all!” Propeller amended quickly. “You have just always been so uptight, on my ship. Always worried about what must be fixed next. But really, your true passion is creating, is it not?”
“Well…yeah, it is! I wouldn’t be where I am now if I just fixed stuff. I was designing new things just for the thrill of it before eh…well, you know. Got a long-term project shoved onto me.” Tinker tilted up his mask a little to sip from his glass awkwardly. He hadn’t meant to sway talk back over to his work for the Enchantress, but that had been more or less his whole world the past couple weeks. It wasn’t a world he much cared to be a part of, either, and his voice surely made it obvious. But unlike before, he didn’t feel as uncomfortable voicing his frustrations to Propeller. It was clear at least that the captain knew where he was coming from.
“That really is too bad…” Propeller set his glass down on the table before them, having almost completely drained it. He seemed deflated, almost, his tasseled shoulders dipping downwards. “If all of your creations are as intricate and unusual as that gear of yours, they must be wondrous to behold indeed.”
Tinker shrugged. “It’s not like I get rid of them once I’m done… Even the most broken prototypes I keep stored away in case I come upon a use for them.”
Propeller perked up anew. “Oui? Do you ever show them off?”
“E-Eh, I used to have little engineering showcases, but with the assembly project taking up all our resources –“
“Ohh, you simply must allow me over to see them!” Propeller clasped his hands together, and for the first time Tinker could really hear a smile in his voice. “I know you are quite busy, but I’m hardly satisfied only imagining the sorts of miracles mécaniques you must conjure!”
In spite of himself, Tinker felt his face getting hot again, though this time not from embarrassment. He’d not considered just how long it had been since someone had shown an interest in his inventing work. The Enchantress was well aware of his prowess, of course, but her obvious, manipulative praise always fell on deaf ears. It was clear that she wanted him to make something very specific, and would make him regret it if he refused. But Propeller, usually so self-absorbed and brazen, earnestly requesting a look at Tinker’s more unusual forays into engineering… It was hard to ignore the swell of pride in his chest.
“E-Eh, well, I guess I could…fit you in somewhere…” he trailed off. He wasn’t sure just why that was the answer that had come out. He very much could not fit Propeller in somewhere. But a small, lonely voice inside him insisted he could manage it.
“Merveilleux! I cannot wait to see what sort of ideas come from a mind such as yours!” Propeller clapped his hands together excitedly.
Tinker smiled a little. It was impressive how infectious the captain’s disposition was. “I, eh, I look forward to it.”
Propeller swished his drink around jovially, arm leaned casually over the back of the couch. “And you sound moins déprimé than you have in weeks! It is a miracle!”
Tinker messed with the stem of his glass self-consciously, getting the gist of what Propeller meant. “Eh, I… I guess I haven’t really taken a break in awhile.”
“Eh bien, taking breaks is ma spécialité!” laughed Propeller. “If you are as entertaining to talk to as I’ve witnessed today, I will take as many breaks with you as you need!”
“Heh, that sure is a compliment… My wit’s half what it usually is from fatigue alone right now…” As if on cue, a yawn forced its way up through Tinker’s mouth.
“Oh? Have I tired you out, then?” Propeller chuckled.
Tinker felt hot in the face all over again. “No, no, it’s not you! Eh, believe me, I’m pretty sure my multiple days without sleep are to blame. Drinks probably didn’t help either…” He trailed off as he suppressed another yawn. “I had a lot more work to do today, too –“
“Ohh, do not worry, we are not ordered to set sail until you are finished, tu sais? If the Enchantress has a problem with a bit of a delay, I’ll riposte against her unreasonable demands for you myself!” Propeller proclaimed, getting into half a guarding stance and pantomiming a fencing thrust with his empty glass.
Tinker couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that. “You’d really take that big a blow for my sake?”
“But of course! Think nothing of it, mon ami.” Again, Tinker could almost hear him smiling. “Now, rest, will you? You look like you’re about to fall off the couch!”
Tinker started blearily. “E-Eh, do I? I don’t… I don’t want to impose, I should really just get back to the tower -“
“Nonsense! Up here it is peaceful, and no one will disturb you with any more crazy engineering problems!” Propeller crossed his arms. “You need a good hour or so to yourself.”
“Well…alright…” Tinker murmured, his eyelids feeling heavier by the second now. It hadn’t taken much suggestion to remind him just how exhausted he was.
Propeller nodded affirmatively, and stood from the table. “Now, you stay right here, and I’ll fetch une couverture and a cushion for your head, hm? I’ll only be a moment!”
Tinker nodded, only half-processing Propeller’s words as he watched the sky pirate prance out of the room. He couldn’t in good conscience promise he’d stay awake for that long at this point.
=====
Propeller returned to the parlor humming a small tune, a cushion and a blanket tucked under each arm. Upon entry he paused a moment, though it would be dishonest to say he hadn’t expected to find Tinker asleep upon reentry.
The small engineer was somewhat uncomfortably leaning against the headrest, head tipped all the way up at the ceiling. One leg hung over the edge of the couch, while both arms lay across his torso, holding the wine glass between them like the world’s measliest bouquet of flowers.
Propeller tried not to chuckle too loud. It was, objectively, one of the more amusing sleeping positions he had witnessed. More than that, it satisfied him more than he had expected to see Tinker finally at rest. He’d always seen Tinker at his most focused, working so hard he hardly even noticed his surroundings, and until today that almost mechanical level of focus had made it easy to ignore how much of a toll that all had to take on a single man.
Delicately, Propeller rescued the glass from Tinker’s clutches and placed it upon the ornate coffee table nearby. That was easy enough, but next was the careful relocation of Tinker’s head position. Propeller slipped one hand under Tinker’s head, and the other under his back, and slowly moved his head down off the armrest.
“Hm, what… Put that gear back, it’s too big to fit in the chassis…”
Propeller froze, nearly dropping Tinker. With the welding mask still in the way, it took him a moment to realize the engineer was talking in his sleep.
“No no, don’t melt it down, it’s got to be for something or we wouldn’t have made it…” He squirmed a little in Propeller’s arms, and Propeller swiftly laid down Tinker’s torso before grabbing the cushion and sliding it under his head.
“And that engine, what’s that for? That’s not in the notes… It’s functioning capacity isn’t optimal for any of our projects! It’ll combust if you put it in there!” The engineer curled inward, shoulders tense.
It concerned Propeller a little, to see that a man as busy as Tinker worked even as he slept. He bit his lip, trying to think of how to fix it. “Ah… We can figure it out another time, hmm?” he suggested quietly, with uncertainty. “Perhaps you just need to view it with fresh eyes.”
“Mngh… Yeah, there’s too much to worry about… Need fresh eyes…”
Propeller nodded to himself. “Or, perhaps, new eyes…? Get someone else to look at it?”
“Someone else… No, no, it’s gotta be me, if something goes wrong, it’s on me,” he rambled, voice cracking as his hands messed with his apron haphazardly.
Propeller laid his hands over Tinker’s. “It isn’t, it isn’t on you,” he said quietly. “Please, you need rest… That is all you need to think about…”
Tinker’s hands stopped messing about under Propeller’s, and his shoulders seemed to relax a little. “Just need rest… that’s all…”
Propeller nodded. “That is all.”
Tinker muttered a few other things that Propeller couldn’t quite make out, but eventually he seemed to settle down. Propeller stood back up, and gently laid the blanket over Tinker’s small, curled-up body.
He looked quite a bit more vulnerable, when he wasn’t trying so hard to appear put-together.
Propeller had been planning on leaving Tinker alone for as long as he ended up sleeping, going back to his usual captain duties and maybe checking in every so often. Instead, he found it quite a challenge to leave, and even more so a challenge to stop making sure Tinker was in fact soundly asleep. What if he started talking again? That surely wasn’t a very restful way of sleeping for him…
Over the next hour or so, Tinker thankfully was not roused by his feverish muttering again. However, this did little to deter Propeller from staying seated in the chair across from the couch for as long as possible before his crew required his attention again, listening to Tinker’s deep, quiet snoring lest it be interrupted for even a moment.