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Shanks liked few things more than a lazy morning on Sphinx. It usually meant waking up to Marco beside him, nose deep in a book. More rarely, it meant catching the Phoenix asleep, unguarded and vulnerable, drooling a little on his pillow. A rare sight for Shanks, who was always met with at least a cursory amount of annoyance just so Marco could keep up appearances when he was awake.
And sometimes it meant waking up with Marco at his desk instead of curled up beside him. This was one of those mornings, which signaled to Shanks immediately that he was going to have a bad day.
"Hey," Marco said the moment Shanks's consciousness surfaced from a pleasant dream about sailing the Red Force through a bay filled entirely with rum, "do you know a Figarland Shamrock?"
He took a while to register the question, but Marco waited patiently. After a while Shanks finally managed to respond, "You know, I develop an ulcer every time someone says the word 'Figarland' to me."
"He's the head of the Holy Knights," Marco said.
Shanks groaned, turning stomach-down on the sheets to bury his face into a pillow that still smelled like Marco. A small consolation for the conversation he was having. "Isn't that Garling?" he asked, voice muffled. Neither of them have ever appended 'Saint' to the names of Celestial Dragons in conversation; they didn't respect them like that.
Marco shifted his seat closer to the edge of the bed, folding the newspaper in his hands so he could shove the page in front of Shanks. "Look at this headline. 'Monkey D. Luffy Deals Crushing Blow to Holy Knights on Elbaph'. Says Figarland Shamrock is the new head of the Knights. Jaygarcia Saturn passed away due to unknown causes and was replaced by Figarland Garling." Marco paused a second to allow Shanks to lift his head and read the first paragraph. "Obviously this could all be misinformation, but..."
Shanks turned over, shifting to the side of the bed so he could sit up at the edge of the mattress. So much for a lazy morning. "So he's an Elder now."
"And you have a twin? Do you think he's as strong as you?"
"I guess?" Shanks dragged his hand down his face. That guy was apparently the head of the Knights. He must be strong. "Why do you sound so confused?" he said. "You should've known!"
"Why would I know?"
"You were there."
Marco made a face. He was technically there, and he was the one who'd identified Shanks to Rayleigh in the first place. But he was seven at the time, and the memories weren't very clear. "I was only ever handed one baby at a time," he pointed out. At that age, even the Celestial Dragons wouldn't have trusted him with more.
"And you couldn't tell the difference?"
Shanks knew that was the wrong thing to say even before Marco's lips pressed into a thin line. He was usually much more careful about the things that came out of his mouth but that was around his crew, around his subordinate fleets and protectorates. They had an image of him that he had to maintain, but Marco had known him for so long that there was no need for that between them. He could be careless with Marco, but that carelessness sometimes came with consequences.
"Oh," Marco drawled, "excuse me. I was too busy getting beaten to familiarize myself with your entire family tree."
Shanks immediately looked contrite. "Sorry," he said, and smiled crookedly at Marco, who forgave as easily as ever. It just wasn't in him to hold grudges, especially against Shanks, who never means to hurt him. "I spoke thoughtlessly."
Instead of answering, Marco set the newspaper down on his desk and caught the hand that Shanks extended to him, squeezed it gently. Shanks wasn't acting like the easygoing, party-loving pirate he knew, getting this agitated, but then again it wasn't often that he heard about his secret twin in the news. Information about World Nobles and their family members was deliberately scarce. Marco asked him, "Are you alright?"
"I'm great," Shanks lied. Actually, he was worried about Luffy but there wasn't much he could do for the kid without breaking their promise. It was still good to hear he'd been to Elbaph; Shanks loved that island and didn't doubt that the giants would show the Straw Hat crew a good time. "Sounds like Luffy sent Shamrock packing. What's on your mind, Bluebird?"
"One: Shamrock is a silly name. Two: It probably won't be the last time they run into him." Marco released Shanks's hand to pick up the paper again. "He really looks just like you."
"Don't compare me to those guys," Shanks complained. "We're nothing alike."
"Did you see the picture? It's uncanny."
Marco handed him the news before Shanks could ask for it, and waited while the younger pirate inspected the black-and-white photo. Shanks was a handsome man and his probably-twin brother had inherited those qualities as well— sharp eyes, a strong jaw, a stately, straight nose. He had both arms, and lacked those scars over his left eye that Shanks was known for.
"Y'think that's why they never seriously came after me?" Shanks asked quietly, eyes never leaving the picture. "They had a spare?"
Marco didn't know if he was imagining the life he could have led, pampered and free of the pain that had marked so many of his years. It was one thing to be aware that he was descended from that family, and another thing entirely to be confronted with the knowledge that there was a man in the world living that parallel life.
"Would you rather they did?" Marco asked.
He wouldn't begrudge Shanks that. Any reasonable pirate would. The scars over his eye twinged and throbbed at quick changes in the weather, and although he never complained about it Marco knew his arm burned as if it was still there sometimes when he was stressed. Shanks had a bunch of joint and muscle aches that definitely wouldn't be an issue if he didn't drink and get injured so much. If he'd been raised on Mary Geoise, he never would've had to watch his crew be disbanded, his captain be executed—
Shanks took a while to answer. He'd already been knocked for a careless reply once today. He pulled Marco forward to sit beside him first, and let his weight drop into his side. "Consider myself lucky they didn't," he murmured into Marco's shoulder, "actually."
"That's an uncharacteristically thoughtful answer."
"Uncharacteristic—"
"Me too," Marco told him, and when Shanks looked up the heavy-lidded eyes that met him were soft. "I'm glad you're here instead," Marco said, and slung an arm around his waist, warm and steady as always. With his other, he took the newspaper and tossed it onto his desk.
"Hey," Shanks said, tipping his head into Marco's hand as it came back to comb through his messy, sleep-tousled bangs, "you think I should grow my hair out?"
Marco let out an exasperated huff; Shanks was just fishing for compliments now, but Marco liked to indulge him. It was becoming a problem. Sooner or later, he knew, he'd end up like poor Beckman, whose ability to refuse Shanks anything had all but completely deteriorated without practice. "I like it," Marco sighed against Shanks's cheek, his stubble scratching the soft skin there, "just the way it is."