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Since the fateful day of his younger brother's return to Marie Geoise, Shamrock had grown not only fond of his twin, but also incredibly protective. He was painfully meticulous when it came to teaching Shanks all the unspoken rules of the Celestial society so he may not be looked down upon by other nobles as a 'stray'.
Shamrock couldn’t stand that word. Shanks was no filthy mutt who had no right being here! The blood of the Figarland family ran through his veins, it was his birthright to live among the Gods and flee the wretched underworld where he had been chained down all these years. He belonged in the holy land, his older brother was sure of it.
At banquets and balls the royal court would whisper and jest behind Shanks' back. They questioned his purity and upbringing, mocked his poor manners and worst of all, lied about their father secretly planning to abandon him.
That couldn’t have been further from the truth. Father loved Shanks, he was just as relieved to have his son back as Shamrock was to finally reunite with the brother who had been promised to him ever since he could remember. They were a family now, inseparable and loyal like a pack of wolves. The envious flock of vultures wouldn’t bring them down.
It wasn’t always easy to teach Shanks right from wrong. Sometimes he wondered if his brother's strange behavior would ever subside with enough training or if he'd always stick out a little.
One morning the older twin was about to head down for breakfast when he caught Shanks climbing up on the golden railing of the staircase, wearing his uniform open with his chest out and his jabot untied, boots dirty and his hair unbrushed. Alarmed by his disheveled state, he hurried over to him and grabbed his shoulder.
"Shanks! What do you think you’re doing?" Shamrock hissed quietly, not eager to alert their father who was already sitting downstairs in the dining hall.
Shanks chuckled, carefree as always. "Heading to breakfast! What’s wrong, Shams?"
" … well, you’re the one sitting on the railing," he grumbled and his twin laughed at him.
"Don’t tell me you’ve never tried sliding downstairs! It's a lot faster than walking. Here, I will show you," Shanks offered and shook Shamrock’s hand off. "We’re Gods, remember? We can do whatever we want."
"Careful, you might—!"
Without hesitating for another moment, Shanks slid down the golden railing, sending Shamrock into a full-blown panic. His left eye was still in the process of healing, if he injured himself again, who knew how terrible it would be! It was his duty to protect him from the other nobles and most importantly, himself and his foolish ideas.
So he ran after him, barely able to keep up with how fast Shanks was going down.
"Shanks! You could get hurt!" Shamrock scolded him, but was ignored as Shanks whistled a tune and kept going.
When Shanks reached the end of the railing in the entrance hall downstairs he jumped off with his eyes focused on Shamrock. As if he was trying to rub it in that he wasn’t going to obey him. In that brief moment of distraction, he ended up falling to his knees and hitting his head against a large vase holding an exotic flower bouquet.
The porcelain shattered, shards flying through the air and landing all over the marble floor alongside the flowers who landed in the small puddle of water leaking out from the broken vase. Deafening silence followed the crash.
Shamrock held his breath, waiting for his father to shout from the dining hall and question the commotion, but when he remained quiet, he prayed that he hadn’t heard it. He jumped over the last few steps and stared at the damage in pure horror.
Shanks must have noticed how frozen he was, he slowly approached him with his head tilted and his hands folded behind his back.
"Shams?"
"You … you broke the vase," Shamrock gasped, kneeling down to pick up one of the white shards, "That was father's favorite."
Shanks stopped himself mid-eyeroll upon hearing that explanation. While he had felt at least a little guilty for breaking the old man's possession, he couldn’t fathom why this was vase, between all the other vases, was special to a man who could easily buy a hundred more.
Nothing was sacred in this hellscape, he had learned that in his first few days of living with his family. So why then, was his brother’s face twisted by pure, unadulterated fear?
"It's just a vase," Shanks said and shrugged, hoping his twin would calm down.
Shamrock placed the shard he had been holding back on the floor, carefully, as if the damage wasn’t already done. He stood up, though his legs seemed a bit more wobbly than before. Talk about a drama queen — Shams tended to overreact from the smallest of things.
"No, you don’t understand," he pressed out, staring deep into Shanks' eyes as he closed the distance between them, "Father will be very upset, that vase is older than us! It belonged to our grandfather!"
Shamrock had gotten a hold of Shanks' shoulders and shook him as if he himself wasn’t the crazy one for flipping out over some ugly flowerpot.
Before Shanks could argue with his sibling, a maid passed them with her head bowed as if she was trying her hardest to not be seen. Her mission was admirable, Shanks didn’t even bother glancing at her, but Shamrock however — he immediately stopped shaking him and snapped his fingers at the poor woman's face.
"You! Come here," he commanded in that haughty tone Shanks couldn’t stand.
"Yes, my Lord?" The maid asked with a curtsy.
Shamrock pointed at the mess of shards on the floor, the woman was about to fall to her knees and begin picking up the porcelain with her bare hands when he stopped her.
"Go to my father and tell him that you were clumsy and broke the vase," he demanded, throwing Shanks an eerie smile, "What are you waiting for? Hurry up!"
The maid's eyes flickered over the chaos, she allowed herself a glance at Shanks' shocked expression, then she bowed and headed towards the dining hall. Her steps were uneven, she was biding her time, fearful of what fate awaited her beyond those ivory doors. It was sickening to watch these innocent people suffering under the oppression of a bunch of self-proclaimed Gods.
Shanks' mask had slipped long enough for Shamrock to notice. Deeply worried, he approached him once more, not to grab and shake him, but to gently cup his face between his hands and gaze at him. He caressed his bandages, Shams had replaced them this after they had awoken, he refused to let a doctor go anywhere near the wound.
"Now you’re safe," he sighed in relief, but when Shanks did not soften his frown, his touches became rougher.
"Tell me, brother, what will father do to her?" He questioned him, grabbing Shamrock's wrist and pushing him off.
"If he's in a good mood she'll get off easy with a whipping in the courtyard," he replied, sounding almost bored, annoyed, that Shanks was worried about her.
"And on a bad day?" He pressed on, circling Shamrock like a tiger on the prowl.
Shamrock admired his finely manicured nails as if there was no rush to answer him. The sound of the maids' shoes clicking over the floor sounded like a clock counting down to zero in Shanks' mind, he needed an answer, now.
"Well, he might kill her," he finally admitted.
Shanks had enough. He chased after the maid and grabbed her arm, scaring her but it was necessary.
"Stop that!" Shamrock interfered, "You don’t understand how terrible father’s wrath can be, it's not worth sparing a slave for!"
Shanks ignored him and dragged the maid in the direction she had previously been heading towards, she was shaking terribly and nearly stumbling over her own feet. Those high heels be damned, there was no good reason to wear them but to indulge Garling's vile desires.
"No, it's you who doesn’t understand, Shamrock!" He shouted at him. "A vase can be replaced, a human life can not!"
His older brother looked at him as if he was speaking in foreign tongues. A light scoff escaped him, he couldn’t quite bring himself to grin although this all seemed to amuse him greatly.
"She's a slave," Shamrock had the gall to correct him, "There's plenty like her at the market."
It was moments like these when Shanks began to regret ever considering forming a deeper bond with his twin. How could he love someone so cruel and ignorant? It was the work of Garling's upbringing that had shaped him into a cold-hearted monster who didn’t see the value in a life unless it benefited him.
"Forget it, she's not taking the blame for what I did," he decided with enough confidence to make Shamrock yield. "I broke the vase, I will tell father and see what he does."
Shanks patted the maid's back, silently urging her to hurry along and leave to the kitchen which she dutifully obeyed. He felt guilty for being unable to do more for her, but for now sparing her life would have to suffice.
Shamrock watched her leave, his mouth slightly agape in shock.
"You’re such an idiot," he whispered to him harshly.
Shanks couldn’t fathom why Shamrock acted like their father, cruel and unjust as he may be, would ever lay a hand on his sons. He had treated Shanks with nothing but overwhelming affection from the moment he had returned. However, his love was tainted by his egoism and a purely selfish desire to reclaim Shanks as his own.
"And you worry too much," he sighed.
The doors of the dining hall swung open and their father walked out, strutting towards them in his uniform which he never seemed to take off.
"What is all this noise about? You two are late for breakfast, I expect you to guide your little brother and—," Garling stopped when he saw the shattered vase.
Shanks stepped in front of his father and opened his mouth to speak, only to be shoved aside by Shamrock.
"It was me, father. I broke the vase," he confessed in a lie, dropping to his knee as if he had committed a grave sin.
Garling sharply regarded him for a moment longer before he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.
"I really thought you were mature enough to be a good example for your brother, but it seems I was wrong," Garling lectured him, Shamrock’s shoulders dropped as he felt his father's disappointment, "You won’t be joining us for breakfast, go and begin your training early. I don’t wish to see your face until noon."
"Yes, father," Shamrock accepted his punishment without question. He bowed his head, his neatly curled hair fell over his face like curtains to hide the tears pricking at his eyes.
Shanks stood still as he watched his twin leave, he knew it would only worsen the situation if he spoke up and exposed Shamrock as a liar. He was always like this, from the moment they had laid eyes on each other, danced around in circles as they checked every distinct feature on their faces and compared it. Shams had been promised a little brother all his life, now that he finally had one, he was eager to prove that he was a good sibling.
If only Shamrock didn’t believe all this cruelty in Marie Geoise to be deserved and just, then maybe Shanks would have felt just as protective over him. And yet, against all that the pirate stood for, he felt pity for his twin as he headed outside into the courtyard to train on an empty stomach.
Garling's hand squeezed his shoulder, a gesture meant to be reassuring, but Shanks could only feel how tight and painful it was.
"Come, my son. You must have been starving in the underworld," he said.
Shanks had indeed woken up feeling quite hungry, but his appetite slowly dwindled away as he imagined how many times Shamrock had been punished by having his food taken away. On the Oro Jackson no one was allowed to start or end the day without a meal. Even when Shanks and Buggy got into big trouble, Rayleigh always brought them dinner and kissed them good night.
Had Garling ever tucked Shamrock into bed? Was a monster like him capable of loving his child?
" … I'm not hungry, I think I would rather train with Shamrock," he decided and put on his most polite smile.
As luck would have it, his stomach growled right after he had finished speaking, begging for food. He didn’t give the old man a chance to argue with him and excused himself with a bow before he hurried away and left Garling standing in the hallway with his stupid vase.
"Shams!" Shanks called out as he saw him practicing his attacks with Cerberus, blowing up enough dust around him to nearly blind the younger twin.
Shamrock paused his training, breathing heavily. He had taken off his jacket to spare it from being ruined, his white blouse was already covered in dirt and his leather boots had lost their shine. He pointed his blade at his twin, his brows furrowed as if he intended to charge and kill him. It took a moment longer until he realized who he was facing.
"Get back inside, this is my punishment," he reminded him harshly, stomping towards him and jumping over the fence surrounding the training area.
"You didn’t do anything, you should be the one eating with father," Shanks retaliated, "Besides, I hate the breakfast served up here anyways. Why must everything be topped off with caviar and those strange looking herbs?"
In a rare moment of comfort, Shamrock chuckled. It was odd to see him smile or hear him laugh, it sounded a bit strange and rusted, as if he had never done it before Shanks had returned. The older twin sheathed his sword and wrapped his arms around his brother's waist, pressing him close to his chest.
"All I'm doing is trying to keep you safe, you’re not making that particularly easy," Shamrock scolded him softly, tugging on one of Shanks' oily hair strands, "You need a bath. And breakfast— and new bandages."
Shanks sighed. For someone who had grown up with the devil himself, Shamrock's behavior reminded him an awful lot of a mother hen.
"Fine, but we’re taking a bath without any servants hanging around," he agreed.
Shamrock let go of him and crossed his arms — was that a pout on his face?
"I can wash my own hair," Shanks added, teasing another laugh out of his twin.
"I beg to differ."
The two of them managed to slip into the next bathroom without their father noticing.
Shamrock sat down with his twin to remove the bandages from his eye, layer after layer he peeled it off, careful not to tear away at the recovering flesh underneath. Once it was gone, he inspected the three cuts, all jagged and uneven, only a brute would leave their opponent so disfigured. He traced the cuts, at first he had hoped they wouldn’t scar if treated right, but he was beginning to doubt that.
"When I find the man who did this to you, there will be hell to pay," he growled as he applied a cream to Shanks' wounds.
"Fighting him won’t get rid of my scars," Shanks hissed out as the cream burned on his flesh.
Shamrock scoffed.
"No one hurts my brother and gets away unpunished. I would destroy the entire underworld if I could, they’re all to blame for what you had to go through," he told him with feverish hatred.
Shanks saw flashes of his past — sitting on his Captain's lap while the rest of the crew celebrated another victory, sharing a bed with Buggy and cuddling him when he was suffering from strange nightmares and all the love he was given from men who had no obligation to raise the child of a Celestial. It was anything but torture. Whenever he could, he wished to be taken back to that time.
"It must be hard for you to talk about," Shamrock ended the silence and finished with the bandage, "Let us think of something brighter. Like a nice, warm bath."
Shanks pushed the memories away, far enough that he could look into Shamrock's eyes without throwing up. All that he could cling onto now was his mission, if Gaban had been right about him being a Child of Fate then he needed to keep playing his role.
"Only if you can catch me," he challenged his twin and ran to the other side of the spacious bathroom.
"You’re so childish," Shamrock mumbled, yet he still got up and and began to chase his brother around.
Oh, Shamrock, why couldn’t we grow up together in another world? One, that didn’t force us into different molds, a world where we could sail across the four seas and fight for our freedom.
Distracted by his thoughts, Shanks slipped up on the tiled floor and Shamrock managed to catch him just in time so he could carry him over to the massive bathtub and drop him into the water.
"At last, I remain victorious," he boasted proudly while Shanks wiped the wet hair out of his face.
Shamrock was the only thing keeping Shanks in this wretched place, although his care often became overbearing and his moral compass was misaligned, his love was genuine.
Leaving him was going to hurt them both. Shanks wasn’t sure whose heart would be aching more by the end of his visit.