Chapter Text
When the sails of the Moby Dick appear on the horizon, Marco is tucked into the crow's nest again. He's settled into comfortable resignation.
Shanks thinks that Whitebeard will forgive Marco without question, but-- how? How could he? Marco left, defying orders, abandoning his crew when they needed him most. Pops-- Whitebeard-- should declare his actions mutiny and exile him from the crew.
That would be for the best, too. On his own, Marco could start fixing things, without having to worry about anyone finding out all that happened last time. They don't need to know about any of it.
Marco wishes he could just fly away, leave now. But he needs to return Ace to the crew first.
His little brother keeps following him up to the crow's nest, foiling Marco's attempts to hide up here alone. Nothing-- not even food-- will distract Ace. If Marco flies up here, Ace will come scrambling after him. The kid's here now, tucked under Marco's wing and napping.
Maybe it's Shamrock's fault.
It's easy to blame Shamrock. He's been avoiding Ace-- which, granted, might be in part because Hongo has only just allowed him to start spending time upright and out of bed. But while Shamrock has been oddly careful, even polite, around the Red-Haired Pirates, he hasn't said more than five words together to Ace the whole time that Marco has been here.
It could, in Shamrock's mind, be a sort of concession. Avoiding Ace just as much as Ace is avoiding him, instead of apologizing for kidnapping and terrifying him.
Marco sighs. He's never going to understand Shamrock. He doesn't particularly want to.
He should probably wake Ace up and start getting ready to greet his old crew, but just as the thought crosses his mind, the other redhead on board pops up over the side of the crow's nest.
"Thought I should let you know that-- Awww," Shanks grins softly as soon as he sees Ace, but lowers his voice to continue. "We're on an intercept course, and should meet the Moby Dick in an hour."
"Right," Marco says. "Have you gotten that call from Rayleigh yet?"
Shanks grimaces. "No. Hopefully Whitebeard will be willing to stick around." He laughs, a little self-deprecating. "Well, not like he's ever listened to me before."
"For all the good it did him," Marco says, and then winces at the bitterness in his own voice.
Shanks hears it too. He pauses. Looks at Marco. Then pulls himself up the rest of the way to settle into what little space is left in the crow's nest. He looks at Marco with bright, keen eyes.
"It's not going to happen again," he promises quietly. "With everything that's been changed already, everything that we're going to keep changing, your crew is going to make it through this."
"We can't know that," Marco replies. "Shanks, what if we can't change it? What if it's going to come back to the same events, no matter what we do?" There's something that's been bothering him, and he finds he can't keep himself from leaning forward. "Strawhat's whole escape from Impel Down went so differently, and yet it was still Trafalgar who ended up helping him in the end. He still ended up in Rayleigh's care. Ace is alive, but . . ." The words catch in his throat.
Shanks understands his meaning. "You think things will still end up in the same mould, no matter how we try to shape them." He glances down at Ace, and his mouth thins.
"Shamrock can't be forced to kill you anymore, sure," Marco continues, "but he's not the only Knight. Last time, the Supreme Commander of the Knights killed him, and he'll be coming for Shamrock again this time. What if he--"
What if he kills you? What if we've only hastened your death? The end of Marco's sentence dies on his tongue as the colour drains from Shanks' face. Shock, then horror, then a sort of cold, lethal rage flash across his face. The sudden pressure of Haki in the air is enough to make Ace wake up with a jolt.
Marco opens his mouth to ask what's wrong, but Shanks vaults out of the crow's nest without another word, dropping straight down onto the deck. Marco tries to follow him down, but Shanks is gone by the time he lands, off belowdecks somewhere.
Ace follows too. "What happened?"
"I'd like to know that too," Benn Beckman says dangerously, appearing from somewhere to loom over Marco suspiciously.
"I have no idea," Marco says. "I mentioned something Shamrock said, about the Knights hunting down traitors, but," he glances up at Benn, "Shanks should have known about that already."
The hostility in Benn's posture dims, confusion taking its place. "He did," Benn replies, looking over his shoulder. "I'll go see what's wrong."
-----
Shanks lands hard on the deck, Haki absorbing the impact.
He doesn't know why he's surprised. Garling is a monster; what else is new? But somehow, the thought that he'd kill Shamrock, his favoured son, his heir-- Maybe Shanks thought Garling had some love left in him. Deep down. Very deep.
It's not like it's proof of anything Shanks didn't already know. But when he bursts into Shamrock's room, he can hear the horror in his own voice when he says, "Why didn't you tell me Garling killed you?"
Shamrock jolts at Shanks' sudden entrance, dropping his book. He makes an aborted reach for his sword before seeming to register that Shanks isn't a threat.
Shanks feels a little bad about spooking him. It's hard to find any humour in it when he knows, now, that Shamrock is expecting to be hunted down and killed for the crime of-- what? Wanting his freedom? Wanting to escape the cage of Mariejois?
Blinking at him, Shamrock says, "Why should it matter?" He sounds neutral, even disinterested.
How can he not care? He died. Shanks only heard about it secondhand, from Beck. About Marco's almost casual admittance, that the two of them had lived up to the moments of their deaths. And now this. He suspects that Shamrock hadn't told them on purpose. He must not have wanted to seem weak.
But once the truth was out, why couldn't he admit who had killed him, even if only to Shanks?
Especially since Garling will be coming to kill him again.
"Because he's your father, Shamrock!"
There's a sharp intake of breath from the door. Shanks glances over his shoulder to see Beck. Probably coming to check on him. He probably hadn't seemed very calm, leaving the deck. But now Beck looks as rattled as Shanks feels. He pauses in the doorway, glancing between the two of them, and then steps inside, closing the door behind himself. He meets Shamrock's eyes.
"The commander who is supposed to be coming after you," Beck says slowly, "is your father."
Shamrock frowns, a bit of Celestial Dragon pride slipping through. "I am the Commander of the Knights of God," he says. "My father is the Supreme Commander."
Beck winces slightly, and looks over at Shanks. He steps back to lean against the wall: not engaging, but present if needed.
Shanks tries to repeat himself. "He's your father."
"Yours as well," Shamrock points out.
His own fury catches Shanks off guard. "He's no father of mine," he says, more sharply than he intends.
Shamrock flinches, slightly. Maybe Shanks was too sharp. Or maybe it's just that Shamrock is so used to defending his father that he's alarmed to hear anything else.
"Then what's so important?" Shamrock says coolly.
He's still your father, Shanks wants say. And he hurt you. And you seem resigned to it.
Yeah, no. There's no way Shamrock will respond well to that approach.
Shanks tries to sit down beside Shamrock, but is met with a furious glare. Alright. Looks like Shanks has managed to piss him off. Or, perhaps he's just scared.
"If he comes looking for you, I'm going to kill him," Shanks promises.
This achieves exactly the wrong response.
"What-- No!" Shamrock bolts upright, ignoring doctor's orders. He's on his feet and glaring down Shanks in an instant. "You will not."
Shanks can hear Shamrock's sword growling, very quietly.
He steps back, putting his hand up. Internally, he's still angry. How is Shamrock still defending his father, after all this?
"Fine," he says, giving in. "Fine. Whitebeard's powerful enough to handle Garling if he dares show his face. He'll protect you."
Shanks almost turns to leave, but he hesitates for a moment. That's the only reason he sees a riot of emotions wash over his brother's face. Surprise, anger, distress, grief-- in an instant, all of them, before they are shuttered behind numb cold.
"Whitebeard?" Shamrock sounds almost normal when he talks. Shanks would believe it if he hadn't seen the emotions underneath.
"Yeah," Shanks says slowly. "When you leave. With Marco."
"If that's what you want." Shamrock turns away, arm pressed against his injured ribs.
"I thought it was what you wanted!" Shanks bursts out.
Shamrock doesn't say anything, looking pointedly away from Shanks.
There's a quiet sigh from Beck. "Shamrock, what do you want to do?" he asks bluntly.
Shanks doesn't think Shamrock will answer. He sees the muscles of his shoulders and back go tense; that'll send stabbing pains through his injuries, but Shamrock doesn't relax as he turns about and gestures at Shanks with a snarl. "To keep him alive! You--" He seethes, eyes meeting Shanks'. "You'd go throwing yourself into battles with Knights, after everything I've told you! Everything I've done, just to keep you from death!" His voice breaks on the last word.
Shamrock's hair is coming out of his braid, the shorter bangs falling around his face. It strikes Shanks, not for the first time, how similar they really look.
Shanks finds the words he needs. "I won't just stand by and let Garling kill you," he says. "I don't understand why you'd let him kill you."
Shamrock slumps back down on the bed. It's awkward, holding one side stiff and tense. He did hurt himself, then, even if he won't admit it. "He can do nothing else," he says. Weary, but through gritted teeth, he adds, "I've betrayed him, my family, my name, the Throne-- everything. I've betrayed everything, and all to keep you alive."
"But you're free now. You could do anything."
"If I could do anything, I would go home." He sounds helpless. "If I could do anything, I would have saved you and kept my place as a Knight. But I couldn't do both."
For Shanks, Mariejois had always been a cage. Or worse, a threat. Something that hung over him, looming like the promise of a life ended. Shanks had grown up with the whole sea and sky promised to him. Shamrock might have been promised the world, but all he got was a gilded cage and a leash.
He'd forgotten-- or maybe he'd just never understood in the first place-- that Shamrock wouldn't see it like that.
Shamrock had grown up there. He'd been the one to show Shanks around, during his brief and torturously long stay. He'd known the place, like how Shanks had known the Oro Jackson. Known its gardens and fountains and streets of white marble. Because it was the only place he'd ever belonged. Even a cage could be a home, if you never saw anything else.
Shanks has to sit down under the weight of the sudden comprehension.
When Shamrock says, I want to keep you alive, he means, I want it more than everything else in my life.
"Shamrock," Shanks says, and then can't think of what to say.
Shamrock just shrugs. "I know I'd regret it if I did anything else. But Father is still my commending officer. He is within his right--" He hesitates. "He is obligated to dispose of me, as a traitor." He glances over at Beck.
Shanks follows his gaze, and is furious at the implication. "I would never hurt my crew," he says.
Skeptical, Shamrock replies, "If they betrayed you? If your first mate left to join your sworn enemies? Don't be foolish."
"Never," Shanks says. "I'd know something was wrong, if Beck left. I'd get him back. I'd bring him home."
Beck grins. "I wouldn't leave."
It's a solid foundation of Shanks' life. People leave all the time. Roger left. The crew left. Buggy left. But Beck promised he would stay. He's kept that promise all these years.
Shanks realizes he's been waiting for Shamrock to leave too.
"I would never hurt my crew. And I won't tolerate anyone else hurting them, either," Shanks says. He meets Shamrock's eyes. "You have a place on my crew, if you want it."
Shamrock frowns. He glances away, over at Beck. Beck just raises his eyebrows and tips his head towards Shanks.
"You can't promise that," Shamrock says finally.
"Sure I can. I'm the captain, remember." Shanks hesitates. "And you're my brother."
Shamrock's mouth twists. "I thought Garling wasn't your father."
Suppressing a wince, Shanks shakes his head. "How could the man who hurt my brother ever be my father?"
For a long moment, Shamrock is quiet. He watches Shanks with dark, thoughtful eyes. Shanks half-expects Shamrock to try to defend Garling again. Or for him to tell Shanks that he's making a mistake by offering Shamrock a new home. Somewhere he could be really, truly safe-- and free.
There's a quiet noise from Shamrock. Shanks looks over to find his brother hiding his head in his hand, shaking. Crying, almost silently.
Shanks can't loop an arm around to to hug him easily; his arm is on the wrong side. But he leans against Shamrock's side, tipping his head onto his shoulder. He reaches up to squeeze Shamrock's arm in silent reassurance.
"I'm here," Shanks says. "I'm not leaving."