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You raised your hand, shaking from anxious hesitation. The door seemed to loom in front of you, being an impenetrable shield to your glimmer of hope for a cure.
“Oh, are you going to see the captain?” said a voice behind you. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around with your fist still raised. You calmed once you laid eyes on Bepo. You exhaled with a small smile.
“Uh… I... I think… well, it can wait” you managed to get out, stumbling over your words. Bepo cocked his head.
“It’s okay, Come in with me. I just have a quick question and then you can talk to him.” His wide body was accidentally corralling you towards the door as he knocked twice.
“Come in” said a voice gravely with exhaustion. Bepo smiled at you and gestured for you to open the door. You gulped but followed his silent request. Will Law even help me? I’m not technically part of his crew. Still, he healed Luffy after Marineford. I’m part of the Strawhats and we’re allied but… your anxious thoughts garbled the mundane question and answer that occurred between Bepo and Law, and before you realized it, the bear was leaving the room with a small pat on your shoulder.
“So?” Law said, cocking an eyebrow at you. Your heart thudded.
“Uh… it… It’s not too big of a deal” you began, trying to scramble for words to voice your request.
“But you’re a doctor, right?” you asked. You cringed at the dumb question. This was why you proposed this whole internship in the first place! Sure, learning about the submarine would help your crew eventually somehow, but… you had to follow through on your real reason for coming here.
“Are you feeling okay?” Law asked. There was a tone of professionalism in his voice now, different than the regular voice he used as a captain.
“Yeah I’m fine!” you replied automatically with a forced smile. His brow furrowed.
“Then why do you need a doctor?” he prodded. You swallowed, looking down. Your heart thudded and your stomach dropped.
“If… If I tell you some hypothetical symptoms, would you be able to give m… uh… the patient, a cure?”
He leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled under his chin.
“Maybe. There may not be a cure exactly, but medicine or surgery could help. Or both” he said, shrugging. You didn’t like the gleam in his eye when he mentioned surgery.
“Oh” you muttered disappointedly. Law sighed and gestured to a seat.
“Sit. Tell me about the patient’s hypothetical symptoms.”
You sat stiffly in the chair, bouncing your leg nervously as you steadied your breath.
“Where should I start?” you asked, glancing at the captain. He hummed in thought.
“Start with the physical symptoms. Aching? Discomfort? Sweating? Redness? Exhaustion?” he rattled off easily. You furrowed your brow, thinking. Back to when your symptoms really acted up.
“Um… exhaustion for sure. They sleep a lot, and minor tasks seem to make them tired. Not like physically exerted, but just like they need a break mentally?”
“Any other physical symptoms?”
“Hmmm… does crying count?”
“From physical pain?”
“No… but sometimes it’s accompanied by a fast heartrate and hyperventilating. Oh, and a decreased appetite” you reported factually, gazing upwards as you thought. Law hummed.
“What about mental symptoms?”
“M-mental?” your heart dropped. This was the part you were worried about.
“Mental distress often leads to those physical symptoms.”
You held back a scoff. Mental distress? It’s not that big of a deal.
“Symptoms like what?” you asked quietly. You refused to look at the doctor.
“Low self esteem past the normal amount, feeling like a weight is holding you down, feeling worthless or guilty for things that aren’t your fault, decreased concentration, and loss of interest in things the patient used to like” he listed. He hesitated before he continued in the same even tone “thoughts of hurting themselves or others, and thoughts of killing themselves.”
You flinched at the last two. This guy really does not pull punches when it comes to medical stuff you thought with an internal shudder.
“It sounds way worse when you say it out loud” you muttered under your breath.
“I have a hunch this patient has a combination of two illnesses- depression and anxiety- which are very common together. Should I list the symptoms of anxiety, and you can tell me if it seems to fit?”
You sighed, but nodded.
“Worrying excessively about things and finding it difficult to control the worry, muscle tension, restlessness, easily mentally fatigued, mind going blank or difficulty concentrating, irritability, sleep disturbance…” he listed, trailing off.
“Basically, worry and stress that goes beyond the norms. So, like not about being embarrassed, or away from people, or during a panic attack. Of course, panic disorders are basically part of anxiety disorders and are just an intense episode of an accumulation of different symptoms, which you mentioned with the fast heartrate and hyperventilating. There’s also probably some other symptoms yo- uh- the patient doesn’t notice during the time, or doesn’t know it’s a symptom”
You tried to absorb the onslaught of information thrown your way. You rubbed your temples. Law seemed to notice your struggle.
“I know it’s a lot of information all at once” he said sympathetically. You sighed. There was only one question you had. You looked into the captain’s grey eyes.
“Is there a cure?”
The captain hesitated, but leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk and met your gaze resolutely.
“No”
Your heart dropped, and your lungs constricted. Your throat burned as you fought back tears.
“There’s no cure, but there’s medicine that can help.”
“Right” you muttered as you stood.
“Wait.”
You paused, hand on the door. You didn’t look back.
“What’s been done to treat it before? It’ll help me narrow down a more effective medicine.”
You huffed, hiding your distraught behind a veil of humor.
“Nothing. Been rawdoggin this bitch the way God intended” you said, keeping your voice light. You heard a snort behind you.
“I’ll give you what I use then. We’ll start with that.”
You froze. I’m not alone? He has it too? You turned slowly in shock. He met your gaze.
“If it doesn’t seem to work, call me, and we’ll try something different. Eventually if we exhaust all the medicine, there is a more radical solution. It’s for treatment resistant forms of depression.” You took a few steps toward him.
“Why do you call it an illness? Aren’t I just weak?”
A small, soft smile escaped Law’s lips as he looked at you in a rare moment of gentleness.
“No. You’re not weak. It has to do with chemicals in your brain. Doctors aren’t exactly sure what triggers it, and it’s usually triggered by different things in different people. But it’s a chemical imbalance that occurs, and the medicine is to help correct that balance. Of course, talking to people is also incredibly important. Have you talked to anyone in your crew about it?”
You shook your head absently, mystified that there was a real reason you felt this way.
“No. They don’t know. They might suspect, but I’ve never said anything. I couldn’t bring myself to tell sweet, innocent Chopper that I wanted to hurt myself on purpose” you said easily.
“Have you?”
You flinched at the question, wrapping your arms around your middle.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes”
You glared at him.
“A little” you finally muttered.
“How?”
“Does that matter?” you said defensively.
“As your doctor, yes” he said gently. You bit the inside of your lower lip to stop yourself from spouting venom. He’s not attacking you or demanding to know for selfish reasons. He needs to know. You took a deep breath and slunk over to your previous seat to collapse in it. You held your head in your hands.
“I try not to, you know. I resist for as long as possible until I finally can’t find any logic against not doing it” you say eventually.
“How do you do it?” he repeats, softly. You sigh, looking to the side. You tell him. The words just flow out, accompanying the tear tracks down your cheeks in a delicate dance of pain and regret. When you’re done explaining, he stands slowly, approaching you slowly.
“I’m going to check the healing of it. That’s all. I just want to be sure it’s healing properly so you don’t have further issues when you’re better” he said softly, holding out a hand. I wish it didn’t heal you thought before pushing the negativity away.
“You sound so sure I’m going to get better” you said as his hands delicately grazed over the area.
“You will. Maybe not cured, but better.” You hummed, welcoming the companionable silence. A thought occurred to you, and you snorted. Law stepped back and raised a brow.
“Something funny?”
“Isn’t it ironic that the so-called ‘Surgeon of Death’ is helping me with… this?” you said, waving your hand in the air as if to gesture to your mental state. He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, yes. Very funny” he said flatly.
“Well at least I’m that” you teased.
“You’re so much more than that. If you can’t see it, trust those around you to. They see you the same way you see the positives in others” Law said, holding your gaze. You stopped breathing, eyes widened with shock.
“What, have you never had anyone tell you that?” he asked, looking at your expression. He leaned back against his desk, halfway sitting on it as he crossed his arms. You could only shake your head as you remembered to breathe. He grunted.
“Well. Remember it. Come back here same time tomorrow to pick up the medicine too. We’ll talk a little more too.”
You didn’t move, too shook that someone cared about you enough to do this.
“I’m sorry” you whispered. Tears gathered in your eyes again.
“Why?” Law seemed bewildered at the idea.
“I must’ve manipulated you somehow to care about me. To go through this… you don’t have to. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’ll live”
“I guarantee I am the last person on this ship you could manipulate” he said. Something warm and slightly heavy plopped on your head. A white hat brim entered your field of vision. You shrunk down further, starting to sob.
“You’re part of my crew, even temporarily. Even if I wasn’t your captain, I’m your doctor. You only told me the symptoms that you hide so well, not even saying at first that it was you who had it. How could you have manipulated me?”
He knelt in front of you, producing a tissue and handing it to you. He rested his hand on your head, securing his hat.
“If you see a good person who’s sick, would you help them if you could?” he asked gently. You nodded slightly, wiping the snot dripping from your nose.
“Then why wouldn’t I help you? You deserve basic human decency and respect, you know. Right now, you’re treating yourself worse than your enemies.” He said softly. Your sobs increased at his words. He sighed.
“C’mere.” He lifted you up bridal style and took you seat, holding you on his lap. You pushed him away.
“Hey. It’s okay. You’re not hurting me. You’re not manipulating me. I’m doing this of my own accord. When’s the last time you had a real hug like this?”
You shuddered in a breath, unable to speak through your sobs. His warm hand rubbed your back, and you let your head fall onto his shoulder.
“T-t-thank… you” you wailed.
“Always” he muttered.
--
“Are they okay?!” Shachi whisper-yelled as Law passed him the hallway with you cradled in his arms.
“They will be” he replied quietly. He didn’t want to disturb your tear-induced sleep. You looked peaceful, finally. He saw the pain in your eyes, the pain you had inflicted on yourself. Shachi nodded in understanding and continued on his way. Law carried you gently to your bunk and tucked you under the blankets. He removed his hat, knowing it would make you feel guilty if he let you sleep with it. Smoothing stray hair away from your face with his hand, he unthinkingly dropped a gentle kiss on your forehead. A light blush dusted his cheeks with the realization of what he’d done. He stood quickly and walked quietly from your sleeping form.
“Sleep well”