Work Text:
Tuesday Morning, Shanks's voice on the phone was a rapid-fire barrage of barely controlled panic. "SHAMMY! I need a favor! Emergency! That overseas mining project just blew up with a major compliance issue-the foreign government reps are demanding an in-person meeting within two hours, and I have to fly out right now! And Law has a critical joint surgery today that's been on the calendar for months-there's absolutely no way he can step away!"
On the other end of the line, Shamrock's voice was as steady as ever, even tinged with a faint note of irritation at being interrupted. "Get to the point."
"Lawrie! The preschool just started their short break today-the original plan was for me to pick him up and take care of him. Now the only option is to drop him off at your office for half a day. I'll be back by ten tonight at the latest to get him. Please, Sham! Save me!" Shanks's words came out so fast they practically overlapped, like bullets from a machine gun.
Silence stretched across the line.
Shamrock could almost picture his younger brother on the other end, hands pressed together in a desperate plea, eyes wide and pitiful. "...Half a day. That's it."
"THANK YOU! You're my real brother-well, you are my real brother-my most reliable brother! I'm sending Lawrie and his survival kit over with the driver right now! Love you!" Shanks hung up with an audible click of pure relief, leaving Shamrock frowning faintly at the dial tone.
An hour later, the quiet hum of the Figarland Group's executive floor vice president's office was gently disrupted. The secretary led in a small boy with bright red hair, a tiny dinosaur backpack strapped to his shoulders, a plush unicorn clutched firmly in his arms. Behind them came Shanks's driver, lugging a travel bag that looked suspiciously well-equipped.
"Mr. Shamrock, young Master Lawrie has arrived."
"Uncle!" Lawrie's eyes lit up the moment they landed on the familiar figure behind the massive desk. He released the secretary's hand without hesitation and launched himself toward the office like a small, red-haired sun breaking through cloud cover.
Shamrock looked up from the mountain of documents before him. He gave his nephew a brief once-over, then nodded at the driver. "Leave it there. You're dismissed."
The driver, clearly relieved to offload his precious cargo, deposited the heavy travel bag and retreated with impressive speed.
Shamrock's gaze settled back on Lawrie, who had already climbed onto the guest chair across from him with practiced ease. The boy was wearing a hoodie printed with a spaceship, the hood flopped against his back, his red hair slightly mussed but his energy level unmistakably at full charge.
"Papa said he had an emergency and told me to hang out with Uncle." Lawrie swung his legs idly, his tone light and unconcerned, as if he'd merely been relocated to a new adventure zone. "He said you'd take care of me. Uncle Sham, what does 'take care of' mean? Is it like when Papa builds blocks with me?"
Shamrock set down his fountain pen and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He glanced at his schedule-two internal meetings this afternoon, a merger evaluation report requiring urgent review, and several critical international calls. "'Taking care of,'" he said, choosing his words with deliberate precision, attempting to provide a definition that was both logically sound and capable of managing expectations, "means ensuring your safety, basic needs, and... moderate recreation within a designated time frame, while not interfering with necessary work processes."
Lawrie blinked his large, round eyes, digesting this lengthy explanation. Then, with the devastating efficiency only a five-year-old could muster, he distilled it: "So Uncle works, and I play next to him? Like in Papa's office?"
"...Essentially correct." Shamrock felt a small measure of relief. At least the child understood the importance of work. "What's in your survival kit?"
Lawrie immediately slid off the chair, padded over to the travel bag, and unzipped it with the enthusiasm of an explorer unveiling treasure. "Papa packed spare clothes and a little blanket! My water bottle! Biscuits and fruit cups! And picture books, crayons, a puzzle... oh, and THIS!" He hauled out a flat box with visible effort-the very same build-it-yourself telescope kit Shamrock had given him on a previous occasion. "Papa said maybe Uncle Sham would have time to teach me today!"
Shamrock looked at the telescope kit, then at his impossibly full schedule. He was silent for a moment. "I need to handle work this morning. You may stay here." He gestured toward the corner of the office, where a soft rug and a childproofed play area had been set up. "Conduct your recreational activities there. Maintain quiet. Lunch will be brought in."
"Okay!" Lawrie agreed cheerfully. He gathered up his unicorn and a picture book and happily claimed the play area.
The first hour was surprisingly ideal. Lawrie read quietly, scribbled some drawings, and occasionally narrated a story to his unicorn in a whisper. Shamrock processed emails and documents with crisp efficiency. The only sounds were the scratch of pen on paper and the soft tapping of keyboard keys. He even allowed himself to think that perhaps, just perhaps, childcare wasn't as... disruptive as it was often made out to be.
But a child's attention span is a finite resource. After finishing a simple puzzle and producing three abstract family portraits (in which Shamrock was depicted as the tallest figure, a stickman wearing a square hat), Lawrie began to grow restless. He poked his head over the edge of the playpen fence, peering at his uncle with careful, assessing eyes.
Shamrock was on a serious phone call, speaking in a language Lawrie didn't understand, his brow faintly furrowed, his tone cool and unyielding. Lawrie watched for a while. Then his gaze drifted to Shamrock's impeccably knotted tie-a deep navy silk with subtle diagonal stripes.
By the time Shamrock ended the call, Lawrie had migrated to his side.
"Uncle," he said, curiosity coloring his voice, "your tie looks like the lucky tie Papa couldn't find yesterday."
Shamrock glanced down at him. "This is a standard business tie. It possesses no luck-related properties."
"But it looks like it makes Uncle Sham talk more powerfully!" Lawrie reached out a small hand and very carefully touched the tip of the tie. "Can I feel it?"
Shamrock had been about to refuse, but faced with the sheer, earnest curiosity in his nephew's eyes, he gave a barely perceptible nod. Lawrie immediately ran his fingertips over the silk, savoring the texture, then promptly made his next request. "Uncle, can I see the knot in the back? Papa sometimes does a knot called Windsor. He says it's like a castle."
This, at least, touched upon a domain of knowledge. Shamrock hesitated briefly-recalling that Shanks was indeed fond of such things-then undid his tie and handed it to Lawrie. "This is a half-Windsor. More compact and stable."
Lawrie accepted the tie, which was comically long on him, and attempted to drape it around his own neck like a ceremonial sash. The result was a tangled mess.
Shamrock, unable to watch, reached out and took it back. "Observe." He looped the tie back around his own neck, slowing his movements to demonstrate each step with clarity-cross, loop, pull through, tighten-every motion executed with the precision of someone operating delicate machinery.
"Did you understand?"
"Mm... I think so!" Lawrie nodded vigorously, his eyes full of admiration. "Uncle is amazing! Faster than Papa!"
Shamrock straightened his spine, an almost imperceptible movement. He checked the time. Twenty minutes until his next meeting. "Want to try?"
"YES!"
What followed over the next ten minutes was an extraordinary scene playing out in the vice president's office: a solemn uncle teaching a preschooler how to tie a tie. Shamrock produced a spare dark tie from his wardrobe and, with patience that would have shocked his subordinates (though his face betrayed no emotion), guided Lawrie's small hands through the motions.
Lawrie applied himself with intense concentration, his little face flushed with effort. The final product was a crooked, loose, barely identifiable lump of fabric-but he was immensely proud of it and insisted on wearing his creation.
"Adequate," Shamrock assessed objectively. "You've grasped the basic structural principles. Now, remove it. We need to go to the meeting room."
"I get to come too?" Lawrie's eyes sparkled.
"You will stay in the adjacent break room. There's a sofa and a television." Shamrock produced a tablet, queued up a documentary channel suitable for children, and handed it over. "Watch this. Stay quiet."
The meeting was halfway through. Shamrock was listening to a presentation from the marketing department.
Then, the break room door creaked open just a crack. A small head of red hair poked through. Lawrie stood in the doorway, clutching his unicorn, his face betraying a hint of unease. The assistant running the meeting tensed immediately and moved to intercept.
Shamrock raised a hand, stopping her. He looked at Lawrie, silently asking the question.
Lawrie whispered, "Uncle... the documentary was talking about dinosaurs getting extinct. The asteroid hitting Earth. I got a little scared." He wasn't crying or throwing a tantrum-just seeking a small measure of reassurance.
Every executive in that conference room held their breath, their gazes darting between their cold-faced vice president and his clearly unsettled little nephew.
Shamrock turned to the marketing director mid-presentation and said, "Pause."
He rose and walked to the door. He didn't pick Lawrie up. Instead, he crouched down-a motion that made several senior executives' eyes widen-and brought himself to Lawrie's eye level. Then, with perfect, steady calm, he said, "That event occurred approximately sixty-five million years ago. Based on current scientific models, there are no foreseeable celestial bodies of similar magnitude that pose a substantive threat to Earth in the near term. Your fear is a rational response to the unknown, but excessive anxiety is unnecessary."
Lawrie nodded, only half understanding, but his uncle's calm, certain tone soothed something inside him. He twisted the unicorn's horn and asked, "So... could we defeat an asteroid? Like superheroes?"
Shamrock considered this for a moment. Then he offered a response that was both rigorous and quietly encouraging. "At humanity's current technological level, against a specific threat, the theoretical possibility of trajectory deflection exists. It would require global collaboration and advanced technology. Therefore-study hard. In the future, you may be able to participate in such an endeavor."
This answer far exceeded Lawrie's expectations, but somehow it also dispelled his fear, transforming it into a dawning sense of wonder. "Okay! I'll study hard!" He nodded with fierce determination.
"Go back and continue watching. Or," Shamrock glanced into the meeting room and made a decision, "ask the secretary to switch to a program about space exploration or marine biology."
"I want rockets!" Lawrie said immediately.
"Approved." Shamrock signaled to the secretary, then watched as Lawrie obediently retreated back into the break room, closing the door behind him. He returned to his seat and, with an utterly unchanged expression, nodded at the marketing director. "Continue."
The second half of the meeting proceeded with remarkable smoothness. Only occasionally did Shamrock's gaze drift toward the closed door of the break room, checking for any further disturbances.
Lunch was a specially prepared children's nutritious meal, accompanied by a small pudding cup-a known favorite of Lawrie's. Uncle and nephew ate together in quiet companionship at the small coffee table in Shamrock's office. Lawrie chattered enthusiastically about the rocket documentary he'd just watched. Shamrock responded occasionally, his answers peppered with technical terms, and somehow, improbably, the conversation flowed.
In the afternoon, Shamrock needed to focus on reviewing the dense evaluation report. To his credit, Lawrie was very well-behaved and didn't interrupt. But after entertaining himself for a while, he gravitated back toward Shamrock. This time, he was holding the telescope kit aloft.
Shamrock glanced at the time. He had finished the core sections of the report. He closed the file. "You get thirty minutes."
What followed over the next half hour, echoing through the vice president's office, was no longer the dry monotone of work discussions but something else entirely.
"Uncle why won't this lens tube fit into the bracket?"
"It's oriented in the wrong direction. Look at the notch indicator here."
"Ah! It went in! Now what? This screw is so tiny..."
"Use the miniature screwdriver included in the kit. Align it with the threading. Counterclockwise loosens, clockwise tightens. Slow down. Feel the resistance."
"Uncle you're so amazing! You know EVERYTHING!"
"...This is merely basic mechanical principle."
Shamrock's voice remained even, but his hands-usually occupied with signing multi-million-beri contracts-were now patiently guiding a five-year-old's fingers around a delicate telescope lens.
When Shanks burst through the office door, windblown and frayed from his whirlwind trip, this was the scene that greeted him: beneath the warm glow of the office lights, his brother Shamrock had shed his suit jacket. He was down to his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows. He knelt on the carpet, one large hand wrapped over Lawrie's small ones, guiding him as they installed the final calibration knob of the telescope. Lawrie's little face was flushed with concentration, a tiny smudge of dust on the tip of his nose. The carpet was strewn with parts and instruction sheets, an empty pudding cup sitting off to the side.
At the sound of the door opening, both of them looked up.
"PAPA!" Lawrie cheered, but he didn't immediately bolt over. Instead, he carefully handed the small screwdriver to Shamrock. "Uncle, you do this last one. I don't want to break it."
Shamrock took it and tightened the knob with a precise, efficient motion. Then he handed the fully assembled-small but structurally sound-telescope to Lawrie. "It's complete. Remember to read the precautions before use."
"Thanks, Uncle !" Only then did Lawrie take the telescope and dash toward Shanks.
Shanks caught his son, scanning him from head to toe. The boy was intact-no, more than intact. He looked happier than he'd been that morning. Shanks looked up at Shamrock, who was now back on his feet, methodically rolling down his sleeves and reaching for his suit jacket. A knowing, mischievous grin spread across Shanks's face. "Looks like my son didn't give you too much trouble? Thanks, bro."
Shamrock adjusted his cuffs, his usual cool, stern demeanor settling back into place, though his tie was noticeably looser than this morning-the result of Lawrie insisting on practicing his new knot-tying skills, with predictable consequences. He glanced at Lawrie, who was eagerly showing Shanks the telescope. "He followed the rules. Apart from posing some... rather advanced questions regarding dinosaur extinction and planetary defense systems."
Shanks burst out laughing, ruffling his son's red hair. "That's my boy! Shammy, I'll come find you next time!"
"There won't be a next time," Shamrock said crisply. But then his gaze landed on Lawrie's bright, sparkling eyes. He paused for a beat, and added, "Unless... there are similar force majeure emergencies."
Lawrie, clutching his telescope, trotted over to Shamrock and tugged on his trouser leg. "Uncle, next time can I come and build something else with you? Papa said there's an old radio at home..."
Shamrock: "...When you're a bit older and can understand basic circuit theory."
"Then it's a promise!" Lawrie stuck out his pinky finger.
Shamrock looked down at that tiny, outstretched finger, and then at his younger brother, who was grinning so wide his eyes had nearly disappeared. Finally, with an almost inaudible sigh, he extended his own pinky and hooked it gently around Lawrie's.
"Very well."
On the drive back, Lawrie leaned against Shanks, already drowsy but still mumbling softly. "Papa... Uncle Sham is so amazing... he knows everything... he taught me to tie a tie, and how to read instructions... and the way he talks makes scary things not scary anymore..."
Shanks wrapped an arm around his son, his heart melting into a warm, tender puddle. He knew that for Shamrock, today had been anything but routine-a genuine challenge-and yet his brother had handled it far better than anyone could have expected. It was more than just care. It was something uniquely Shamrock: guidance, structure, quiet presence.
"Yeah," Shanks murmured, kissing his son's forehead with a soft smile. "Your uncle is amazing. But next time, let's try not to leave him on duty for quite so long. I'm afraid we might wear him out."
Though, thinking back to that final, slightly stiff but fully completed pinky-promise, Shanks had a feeling his brother's exhaustion might also have been laced with a quiet, unacknowledged sense of fulfillment.
Shamrock remained alone in his office. His eyes swept over the toys and telescope parts, now neatly gathered to one side of the carpet, and then rested on the crooked, lumpy necktie knot-Lawrie had insisted on leaving it behind as a "learning artifact."
Beneath the office lights, the hard lines of his face seemed to soften, just a fraction.
He picked up his phone and sent a brief message to his secretary:
"Delay tomorrow morning's meeting by thirty minutes. Additionally, source several introductory books on basic mechanics and astronomy, suitable for ages five to seven."
Perhaps, he told himself, it was simply a matter of being prepared for unforeseen circumstances.