Chapter 4
In the Corazon Memorial Hospital, there was one place that Law use to visit even less eagerly than the children's ward; fortunately, he didn't need to go there more often than once per month. It was the psychiatry, that occupied the seventh floor together with the neurology. As for the reasons why Law considered working with the psychiatric patients even more oppressive than with kids, there were quite a few, and they could be grouped as personal, ideological and medical.
Law wasn't convinced that the Ope Ope no Mi was very effective in the psychiatric disorders. He knew that mentally ill suffered from the pathological brain function; however, even bringing it to normal didn't guarantee a recovery, contrary to the purely physical conditions. He could restore the normal function of the central nervous system, and yet the patients' behaviour often remained bizarre, as if had been solidified during the years of their illness or was deeply rooted in their personality. Some disorders, like depression, Law couldn't cure at all; he could only alleviate the symptoms, which left him displeased and doubtful.
The ideological reason was that Law had a problem to consider psychiatry as a field of medicine, to begin with. It probably resulted from the fact that in his life he'd met more freaks than so-called normal people, and regarded madness as a part of human nature. He'd never thought it should be cured, and, when starting his hospital, it hadn't even occurred to him to open a psychiatric ward. Clione, however, had been giving him grief about it - trying to convince him that the mentally ill didn't go mad because they wanted to, only they really suffered - and Law had finally yielded to his request.
The personal reasons for his reluctance were several, even though they mattered the least. He felt troubled around people whose sense of reality was completely different from his own. Law had always had both feet on the ground and kept a clear head, which he considered as one of his strongest points. He didn't daydream, didn't imagine things, didn't create illusions to believe in, didn't see enemies all around him, and had no delusions about himself. He saw things as they really were and didn't interpret his surroundings in a peculiar way. Yet, those patients, even if he'd talked to them for a whole month and presented lucid arguments, couldn't be persuaded that their hallucinations were only hallucinations, and their anxiety had no real cause. Law found it extremely frustrating. He couldn't but be amazed that there were people who could - and wanted - to work with such patients, and that was exactly the impression the personnel of the Seven gave, starting from the head of the department, through all doctors and nurses, ending with the ward domestic. As for himself, one day per month was enough, and he would never agree to visit the psychiatry more often.
Moreover, the mentally ill used to say things that should never escape from an adult person's lips and that Law often didn't know how to react to. He hated it when another person left him speechless, for he considered himself as an intelligent man and someone to always find his way in any situation... and it just wouldn't happen when on psychiatry. He never knew if he should answer seriously, or would it mean exactly that he was on the same level as the patient. Sometimes, he was under the ridiculous impression that those people, in fact, mocked and teased him, waiting that he said something stupid to triumph over him. Their words puzzled him and made him begin to doubt things that had been familiar and obvious to him so far. Whenever he left the Seven after the whole day, he never knew if he were wiser or more stupid, more sane or rather closer to madness than before. Clione always had a field day because of him.
However, Law was of the opinion that the main cause of his reluctance towards psychiatry was that it painfully reminded him of his own psyche. When he saw people suffering not physically but mentally, his mind involuntarily returned to the time when he himself had been as broken as they, crushed by the load greater he could bear, staying in a nightmare that wouldn't end. Hurt to the very core. Exposed to condemnation and rejected due to something that hadn't been his fault. He knew that mental suffering could be stronger than physical, or even stronger. He remembered that, long ago, it had been easier for him to accept the disease and prospect of death than the loss of people who'd been important to him. He'd somehow managed, but the wounds and scars remained, and he couldn't remove them even with the Ope Ope no Mi. That was why now, every month, he came to the psychiatric ward and did what he could - very little - to help those who dwelled in the nightmares produced by their own minds, rejected as the worse, lost in another reality and unable to find their way back to the familiar world.
When he entered the corridor of the Seven, however, he came to the conclusion that maybe the first cause of his reluctance was the head of the department, anyway.
"Law, we begin to think you won't come today!" he heard an affectionate voice as soon as the door closed behind him.
"I always come, don't I?" he replied with a grimace that just wouldn't resemble a smile, and raised his eyes to look at Clione.
The head of the psychiatry and neurology department was standing in the doorway to the nurses' station, his expression perfectly happy, and yet there was sharp intelligence in his eyes. Clione took two steps towards him, clicking his heels. Law knew that he should have grown accustomed to his appearance long ago, but it still made him want to shook his head, maybe because he used to see him just once per month and always managed to forget, somehow... Eyes accented with mascara. Hair pinned up. Long earrings, ringing by his every move. Fingernails painted with a turquoise polish. Dress, stockings and high-heels. Slight scent of perfume. And under all that was a one-hundred-percent man... as far as Law knew. Well, it was his policy to never look in his workers' biography or medical records, nor to use the Ope Ope no Mi to look them anywhere else.
Whenever he saw Clione, all psychiatric sayings he'd heard during their long cooperation would cross his mind, like, 'There are no sane people; there are only undiagnosed ones,' or, 'A psychiatrist differs from his patient in that he leaves home for a night.' At the first sight, Clione seemed to be a complete nut, and maybe he really was the right person in the right place. Law didn't really care about that. In the world where even a polar bear or a reindeer could be doctors, a man with a penchant for dresses seemed but a colourful variation of an already weird norm. If the head of the neurology and psychiatry department sometimes asked to be addressed as 'Clio' - or even had undergone a sex change operation - it didn't matter to Law in the slightest. Himself, he once had been a pirate with the bounty of a milliard berry on his head, and yet he'd grown to be a respected doctor in the best hospital in the world. He had no right or desire to judge others or tell them how to live, even less in case of his workers. What mattered in the Corazon Memorial Hospital was that they wanted to treat people, and Clione was a pro who managed the psychiatrics with confidence and fantasy.
"Can we start?" Law asked, remembering why he was here.
"Yes, we're ready... But first I'd like to have a word with you," Clione replied. "Let's go to my office. We won't talk in the corridor."
It wasn't the first time that Law decided that, on this particular floor, it was best to keep silent, not think too much and do as he was ordered to, so he obediently followed the colleague. It had been a while since he'd visited that office, and he was nearly disappointed upon seeing that, contrary to Clione himself, the place was perfectly normal, even ordinary. Well, the real, colourful nature of psychiatry appeared in the contact with a patient, and those Clione met on the ward; here, he would only tend to the administrative matters.
"What's going on?" Law asked when the door closed behind them.
"Will you agree if we separate neurology and psychiatry? Administration-wise. Elysia knows everything she should know about managing a department. To tell the truth, she's been managing neurology on her own in the last months."
"It wasn't you who proposed they should be together?" Law asked with a surprise.
"No, you," Clione reminded. "I think you said that all patients sick in the head should be treated in the same place. Since neurology, of all medical fields, is the closest to psychiatry, I didn't protest, for it was important that the ward came into being in the first place, so one floor was sensible. But after all those years I clearly see that there's no reason to keep them together. It will be beneficial if each has its own boss."
Law admitted it sounded lucid. "You say that Elysia will do?"
"I have no doubt about it," Clione answered at once. "Have you heard about any problems on neurology?"
"No," Law replied truthfully.
"And it was she who managed the ward in the last year... even longer. I focused on my field. Occasionally, she consulted her ideas with me, but all were so good that I had no say. The personnel is very fond of her, and the patients satisfaction rate is growing."
Law nodded. He knew that neurology kept getting more and more positive feedbacks and it was currently in the second place, right after oncology. It meant that the work of the ward was good and moving in the right direction. In his mind, he recalled the face of the young neurologist with grey eyes and short brown hair. She was a decisive person, and he had no trouble to imagine her as a head of the department.
"Have you talked with her about it?" he asked. "Does she want to do it?"
"I haven't yet, I first wanted to ask you," Clione replied. "What do you think?"
"I think there's no problem." Law trusted himself well enough to be able to make quick decisions. "You've been her boss for years, so you know her skills best. If you're sure she will manage, why should I oppose? But first ask her if she wants to do it. Even if she's been managing neurology on her own, she still knew you were the boss. It's a different thing to have all responsibility oneself," he noticed.
"If it's about it, I have no doubts. She's a courageous woman who doesn't fear challenges. But I'll talk to her and ask her opinion, just as you suggest," the psychiatrist promised. "I planned to do it anyway."
"Fine. Inform me if she agrees. We'll take care of all administrative matters," Law said, deciding the case was closed.
"Thank you, I'm glad about it. I guarantee you that the hospital will only benefit from that," Clione announced with a smile. Then, however, he pierced Law with the gaze of his made up eyes and asked suspiciously, "But you don't plan to take advantage of the situation and close the psychiatrics... now or later, right?"
"Well, now that you mentioned it... You have the worse rate of patients satisfaction..." Law said in a serious, even concerned voice, although he felt like sniggering. "I'm afraid that the shutdown is unavoidable..."
Clione lightly hit him on the shoulder and smiled menacingly. "Such is a charm of psychiatry. Our patients rarely realise the need to be treated, even when they feel better already, so we hardly ever receive any positive feedback," he replied and then added ironically, "If even our wise director thinks that the psychiatry ward isn't needed, what should we expect of them...?"
"Fine, fine. If I closed psychiatry, then I have no idea where such a freak like you would go..." Law retorted.
Clione, however, didn't follow his joke only gave him a serious look. "Law, I would perfectly manage on my own, but they wouldn't," he said, and then some warmth appeared in his eyes. "I know I said it many times so far, but I'm really grateful to you for this ward. And that you use the Ope Ope no Mi to treat those people."
Law averted his eyes, suddenly feeling abashed. "Then don't keep me here all day and let me start my work already. I'd like to cure them all."
"I think the day that you agree to date me is closer than the one you'll have cured all mentally ill," Clione muttered, opening the door. "Let me remind you that schizophrenia develops in every social group and population, and-"
"I know, I've heard it thousand times," Law cut in, following him to the corridor. "It also develops in people without genetic load. They just get de novo mutation."
"And that's why it can't be eradicated."
"No genetic disease can," Law corrected. "Well, the Ope Ope no Mi can at least remove some symptoms." He stopped abruptly and stared at the psychiatrist. "You were serious about that date...?"
"No," Clione answered, shrugging. "You're so busy you never leave the building... And the dinner in the canteen doesn't count as a date. Besides, everyone knows Trafalgar Law is alone."
Law thought it was no answer. Clione, like befitted a psychiatrist, accurately read his frown as lack of understanding and added, "I mean, that's how you chose to live. I'm not going to go into your reasons, for it's not my habit to diagnose my friends. In any case, that's how you chose."
Law said nothing only resumed walking. Then, however, he glanced at Clione again, and the colleague added, slightly exasperated, "There's no need to be bothered with what I said." Then, however, his gaze grew serious again. "Law, I didn't mean to confuse you. I should have known I had better spare myself such comments. I'm sorry-"
"Don't apologise," Law shook his head and then looked at him askance. "There's one problem with you, the psychiatrist: once can never know if you're serious or nor..."
"Now, that was a bit too harsh," Clione replied with a fake offence.
"Then, you really want to go for a date with me?" Law asked ironically.
"My, you won't leave me alone now, will you...? And the problem with you is that you always want everything in black and white," the psychiatrist retorted. "No, I would just be happy to spend more time with you. But if you want to know if I'm pinning away due to unrequited love then the answer is no. Even if we all love you, no-one plans to usurp you, for it is pointless. And don't have that look of 'I-can't-believe-I'm-having-this-conversation'."
"Then let me get to work, before I go crazy... without having met a single patient yet," Law pointed out mockingly.
"You have wrong attitude. You should rather think that you can learn something new from them," Clione suggested with a nasty smile.
"I can't believe I'm having this conversation," Law said, rolling his eyes.
"Welcome to psychiatry," Clione replied cheerfully.
They returned to the ward where, as it seemed, normal psychiatric activities were taking place. Law chose to ignore a man in the corner who, apparently, was chasing away invisible bats, as well as another one who was having an animated conversation with a turned off telly. He knew that Ope Ope no Mi was able to eliminate such symptoms as hallucinations and delusions and, what was more important, minimise the risk of their reoccurrence. Although science still didn't fully answer the question what caused schizophrenia and other psychoses, the patients often presented either with abnormalities of the brain structure or functional disorders related to the neurotransmitters, often both. Of course, there was no telling whether psychosis caused those or resulted from them. What they knew was that the psychotic process was toxic to brain, leading to the further loss of the nervous tissue, but it still couldn't be ruled out that people who were to later be diagnosed with schizophrenia had already had reduced brain volume and mass, long before the first symptoms manifested.
Law knew that the reason why the mentally ill didn't recover even with the Ope Ope no Mi therapy was because he didn't 'repair' their brains, that was he didn't interfere with their brain tissue. If he had, forming anew the grey and white matters, cortex, lobes and gyri, then he would turn them into different people, which he considered to be an activity going beyond medical ethics. Brain contained a person's psyche, a soul. Even if he could successfully operate on its parts, removing abnormalities of kind or another, then modifying it as a whole just wouldn't do. He didn't dare to rebuilt the brain tissue based on the repaired genetic code, even if one might think, theoretically, that doing so he would recreate a person as he or she would have been if no disorder had developed.
No, something like that was out of question, just like he never meddled with people's memory centres, even if they sometimes asked him to remove particular memories from their minds. A man was what the life had made him, and each life included bad times and unfortunate events, too. A person developed and got stronger, working with his tragedies, not forgetting them, no matter how painful they were. It was the same in case of the physically ill people; they could remember they once had been ill, suffered, felt anxiety and other negative emotions. Law thought it was more natural that way, and the patients had access to the psychotherapists who could help them convert those painful fragments of their history into something good and beneficial.
Nevertheless, Law would feel better if he could cure the mentally ill completely; things being as they were, he was left with feeling that the work was incomplete and his success only partial. Well, he was a perfectionist, so there was nothing odd about his frustration... He had to settle for restoring the stability of nervous system, regulating the level and activity of neurotransmitters, and slightly repairing some abnormalities in the brain anatomy. He couldn't, however, make the prefrontal cortex grow thicker, or increase the volume of hippocampus, which meant he had no means to reverse the cognitive deficits, like problems with memory, planning capacity or social skills. Even if the patients no longer suffered from the psychotic orders, they kind of stayed on a certain level of functioning and there was no chance to regain what they'd lost during years of duration and progress of their illness. Better prognosis was only in case of people who had just fell ill, in their first episode - they could still achieve the full recovery - but such patients were rare in the Corazon Memorial Hospital. More often, it was people who'd been ill for years or dozens of years that were admitted here, those their families could no longer take care of, and in their case full recovery was simply impossible.
Psychiatric operations, after Law had accepted he couldn't change the whole brain only affect some aspects of its functioning, were quite simple, although they depended on the diagnosis. In patients with schizophrenia, they includes decreasing the dopamine level in the mesolimbic pathway, increasing it in the mesocortical pathway, and normalising its synthesis in the nigrostriatal pathway; enhancing the serotonin activity in some parts of brain and suppressing it in others; regulating the activity of glutamate, GABA and a few more substances. It happened by repairing the cells that produced the neurotransmitters, molecules of transport proteins, and receptors of substances that facilitated their action. Law had performed many such surgeries, and now they were but a familiar routine for him.
After treatment, the patients were calmer, had better mood and acceptable level of anxiety. They often said it was easier to gather their thoughts now or concentrate, and that they had better memory than before. Of course, they no longer heard voices nor experienced any other hallucinations, and their daily functioning usually returned to normal. However, just like Clione had said, because they often lacked insight, they didn't necessarily connect that improvement with the hospitalisation; they rather saw it as a natural event that must have happened sooner or later. Work in the psychiatry wasn't for those who needed the patient's gratitude; the only reward was that the patients felt better and could function in their normal life again. That was the most important thing, anyway.
So that was how Law spent one day per month: on seventh floor, patiently restoring the physiological stability of the central nervous system of numerous patients and knowing that the result would be just acceptable, at the very most. Psychiatry taught to be humble and made every doctor, even the 'greatest doctor in the world', realise their own imperfection. However, maybe being reminded that a doctor was just a human, too, had some positive connotation. If there were still people who wished to take care of those who could never be as healthy as others... if they still wanted to help them, despite very limited possibilities and means, then everything was still fine with the world and the health care. And when one looked at Clione, whose eyes filled with affection and sympathy whenever he talked about his patients, then one was under the impression that something had been saved... some good that could happen only because of another man.
It still didn't change the fact that Law would rather not associate with the psychiatric patients, to avoid such situations. They entered the room of the first patient Law should treat today, a middle-age man. Before they managed to say more than, 'Good morning,' the patient stared at Law and pointed an accusing finger at him.
"Evil," he said.
"What are you saying, Mr Maks," Clione spoke, walking up to the patient. "He is Dr Law, the hospital director. Of course he isn't evil."
"He has signs on his skin," the man wouldn't be persuaded. "Evil."
Somewhat perplexed, Law thought that apparently one had to be a psychiatric patient to feel anxious upon seeing tattoos but react normally to a guy in a dress. In any case, he decided that using the words 'Devil Fruit' wasn't wise around that particular man.
"I told you yesterday that Dr Law would give you a treatment today," Clione said.
"He has an ugly mug. I don't trust him," the patient declared flatly, then crossed his arms and scowled at Law.
"Nah, he isn't ugly... only a bit gloomy," Clione replied. "I always say he should smile more."
"He's a cheater," the patient decided. "Don't believe him, Doc... Or maybe you are on his side?" he added in an aggressive manner, looking up at the psychiatrist before he glowered at Law again.
"Mr Maks, have I ever been not on your side? I assure you that Dr Law acts in your best interest. You're going to feel much better after treatment."
The patient didn't say anything; he kept staring at Law with distrust. Then his gaze got blurred, and it seemed he lost touch with the situation for a moment.
"Mr Maks...?"
The man started and returned to the present. "What?"
"What did you hear?" Clione asked.
"That you are evil, all of you. I'm not allowed to talk to you. Go away."
"All right, we'll soon leave," the psychiatrist assured him. "But first your treatment."
He waved at Law, who activated the Ope Ope no Mi and calmed the patient so that he let them lead him to his bed. Then he anesthetised him and started the surgery. Clione's presence didn't bother him in the slightest. When using the Ope Ope no Mi, he cut himself off from the reality himself, acting in a separate dimension, and Clione, although it seemed impossible at first, could merge in the background and not to draw attention.
"Mr Maks had the beginning of the coronary disease," Law informed after the treatment was over. "Talk to him about the healthy lifestyle once he's more willing to listen, okay?"
Clione nodded and wrote it the chart. Law, although he normally didn't use his Devil Fruit to cure 'light' diseases, made an exception for the psychiatric patients; he knew their ability to care about their health was often diminished, which made them more often develop cardiovascular diseases, which, in turn, affected negatively their life expectancy. Opening the blocked arteries or stimulating the pancreas were very minor actions that took just a moment, so he could add them as bonus to the main treatment.
"What those people have left once they stopped hearing voices and imagining they are the centre of the attention?" he'd once asked the psychiatrist, aware that the hallucinations and delusions often resulted from the solitude or unconscious need to mean something. Those people just filled the emptiness, for every person needed some sense in their life.
"A good question. I like to fancy that they will be able to fill that empty place with something that won't make them suffer," Clione had answered. "That once their contact with the world is restored, and it's no longer distorted, they will see all those things they were indifferent to before. Other people, some interesting matters, pleasant activities. That they will find their life easier and will feel connected to what is around them."
Law hoped it to be so and that this patient, Mr Maks, once he stopped seeing enemies everywhere and hearing hateful voices, would find friends or something that would give him joy, too.
They went to the next patient. Back in the corridor, Law saw that the man in the corner ceased chasing away the bats and was now vigorously brushing something off himself, maybe great spiders. The man by the telly was silent now and seemed to be listening closely to the other side. Before Law's eyes, another patient, an elderly man, approached the telly and simply switched it on, which made the 'talker' jump to his feet and leave, giving vent to his outrage in a violent gesticulation.
The next for treatment was a middle-age woman, who was more than happy to share her experience with them.
"Mrs Jamille, how do you feel today?" Clione asked.
"My name is Daniela Wick," the woman replied.
"It's written in the chart that your name is Jamille Hissingen. And that you were born in year eighty-two, on June 12th."
"Of course I wasn't! It's December 10th. But the year is correct," she admitted. "On June 12th, my clones were born."
"Clones?"
"Yes, all ten thousand of them. My identity was stolen a several times, and they used it to create them. They move around the city. Actually around the whole country. But I'm Daniela Wick. I have it written in my brain. The aliens showed it to me."
"Who? Aliens?"
"Yes. From outer space. I'm in contact with them."
"What kind of contact?"
"You know, in thoughts. But sometimes I can't concentrate on anything because they talk all the time."
"I see. It must be hard. It would be better if sometimes you could get some rest from them, right?"
"I think so... I could watch television, for example. And I can't sleep because of them. The last light I didn't sleep at all; I had to listen to them."
"We'll try to remedy that. This is Dr Law, who is going to give you some treatment. I mentioned about it yesterday, do you remember?"
"No... but it's all the same. Only now I'm busy because they give me important information about this world, so maybe later."
"I promise it won't take long."
The patient was persuaded into lying down on her bed, and soon everything was over. Law had no doubt that once she waked up, she would be able to watch television indeed, and without any intrusions from the aliens from the outer space."
The third patient wasn't even twenty, and his insight was intact. Hallucinations made him feel very scared, regardless of his belief they were just the symptoms of the disease.
"My doctor said it's schizophrenia," he spoke when Clione and Law sat down. "Is it true, Doctor? I'm so scared of it. My aunt suffered from schizophrenia, but I can hardly remember her because she committed suicide long ago. No-one in our family wanted to talk about her... And now I hear voices myself, and they threaten me and say I should kill myself. They say I'm worthless and that something bad will happen to my relatives. I've been hearing them for several months, but at first they were distant and unclear... only later I started to make the words, when they became louder. Now I can hear them all the time, just like I hear you now, Doctor. Alcohol helped to drown them out, a bit, but later they only grew louder. The medication doesn't work, only the sedatives... I don't know how should I live with it," he said, pressing both hands to his ears, and then his lips started to quiver.
"Mr Samos, I told you yesterday that our hospital have some... ah, advanced methods of treatment."
"That's what I heard, too... But everyone knows that schizophrenia is an incurable disease," the patient said resignedly. "It's better to kill myself, after all."
"No, Mr Samos. Dr Law here can make it so you will never hear those voices again. And probably you will be able to continue living normally. You're studying at the university, aren't you?"
The patient nodded. "Yes... I'm studying physics. I started last year... but now I'm quite behind... Can you really cure me?" He looked up to shift his gaze between Law and Clione, distrust mixing with hope in his eyes.
"There's a big chance for that."
"They say I'm going to die," the young man said. "That if I agree to that, I'm a goner. But I don't believe them..."
"And you shouldn't. In the history of our hospital, Dr Law hasn't let a single patient die. He knows what to do."
The boy bit his lips and then nodded. He was trembling all over, lying down on his bed, as Clione instructed him to do, and clasping his fingers nervously. Law put him to sleep as fast as possible and began the treatment.
He spent the whole day this way. Apart from the patients with schizophrenia, he also operated on those suffering from other recurring psychoses as well as treatment-resistant affection disorders, depression included. Young and old. Adults and youths. Women and men. Mental diseases neither choose nor discriminated. They appeared in every race and population, in every social class and system, in very climate and age. In case of schizophrenia, which was bizarre enough itself already, the most bizarre was that its prevalence in the world population was exactly one percent, just as if it had been written in some bigger plan, in someone's idea...
However, the philosophic matters had never interested Law, just as he never tried to find any other cause of a disease than medical. He was a doctor, and his task was to treat the ill, not explain the sense of their disease to them. Even if a disease, once it happened, could bring something good, too, it had no sense itself, and the best would be if all people were healthy. Yet, because they had fragile bodies and didn't live in void only were exposed to all kinds of external factors, the health problems couldn't be avoided - and thus the doctors would always have work to do, this one was obvious.
When Law finished, it was dark outside. Clione, like always, had been accompanying him all day, leaving only occasionally to do some deskwork or have a consultation with his residents. Law was under the impression that the psychiatrist's presence made his work easier, for Clione had good influence on the patients. He was always composed, but it was not all; his attitude was also important. He wasn't overly respectful and rather talked with them like with anyone, even joked. He didn't focus solely on symptoms but also inquired about other aspects of their life situation. He smiled a lot and emanated positive energy. At the same time, he didn't let the patients get over on him and could be very decisive, if situation needed. He was someone that the patient trusted.
Compared to him, Law felt he was an antisocial bear, interested only in the patients' diseases and their treatment. Well, it was true... but he didn't plan to reproach himself for that now. Just like with every other head of the department, he was glad it was Clione managing this ward. He was really lucky to have such a great personnel working under him; all of them were people with a calling and brilliant doctors who had never failed him, both in medical and administrative matters.
"You're really not bored, sitting by me and observing?" he asked when they were eating dinner in the canteen. On his 'psychiatric days', Law used to skip lunch, reasoning that doing so his visit on the Seven would be over sooner... At least, he had used to before; nowadays, having the dinner with Clione had been his habit, and he hardly ever thought of it.
The psychiatrist shook his head, putting the fork down and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "It's my only chance to spend some time with you," he replied outright. "You, at least, visit my ward regularly... Bepo sometimes passes me on the corridor, as does Ikkaku. I can't remember the last time I saw Uni," he added sadly. "When in the Polar Tang, we were always together. Sometimes we were even sick of each other, weren't we... But here everyone has their own floor and own work. Do you remember, before we used to meet and go outside together... But then we no longer could find time as people started to have their own affairs. I sometimes go out with Shachi and Penguin..." he said, thoughtful. Then, however, he focused his eyes on Law again. "But it's not like I blame you or anything, don't even think that," he added with emphasis. "How we live is our own business. I respect your work... as everyone else's. And I'm really happy to work here. This place is special."
Law said nothing, fixing his eyes on his meal. He wasn't going to feel remorse because of his work... but he still was uncomfortable, knowing that his action somehow made his colleague sad, especially when Clione was one of the nicest people he'd ever met. Yet, he was of the opinion he could do nothing about it, so there was no point in talking about it, either.
"I'd rather you said something," Clione muttered. "You have a terrible habit of keeping everything to yourself, and people can never know what's on your mind."
"Even a psychiatrist?" Law asked ironically, pushing the empty plate away, and leaned on the back of the chair.
"Even psychiatrist can't read others' mind," Clione smiled. "If you're mad, just say it."
Law shook his head. "I'm not mad. I just..." What it was he wanted to say, actually?
"You have different needs, right?" Clione guessed.
"So, you read my thought, after all," Law muttered, drinking his tea.
"No, I read your behaviour," the psychiatrist corrected.
"You said you don't use to diagnose your friends, remember?"
"I'm off work. I even removed my white coat, see?"
Law glanced at him askance. He knew that if he ever wished to talk about thing different from those that occupied him normally, Clione would be the best choice... Or maybe he just felt like engaging in that specific game...?
For a moment, he struggled with himself and then finally asked, "Then, what are you going to tell me?"
Clione's eyebrows slightly rose, he apparently hadn't expected Law taking up his offer, but he didn't miss the occasion nonetheless. Never taking eyes off Law, he leaned backwards and clasped his fingers. "You completely devoted yourself to your work," he said. "Not that it's anything new... After all, even before you used to always focus only on your task. Do you remember what you used to say to people who wished to join our crew? That you demanded absolute obedience. You weren't interested in who the man was; important was if you could trust they would fulfil your orders. Your crew weren't your friends... And your workers aren't your pals, either, right? You're happy with that level of social relations that you have through your work."
Well, Law decided it didn't sound that bad... and definitely wasn't wrong. "Everyone says I focus on work too much," he said, however, in spite of himself, "Bepo, Ikkaku, even Kaya... You're only the next one in that criticism."
Clione shook his head, still giving him that close look as if Law were the only person in the world. It was the gaze that the patients needed... although Law wasn't sure whether he needed it himself.
"No, I'm not criticising you, nor am I judging you. I've never done it anyway. Everyone has the right to live like he or she wishes," the psychiatrist said calmly and added, "Just like everyone has the right to worry about someone else. And it is true that you work too much, so no wonder we worry about you. But I don't think anything forces you to live that way, against your will, although-" He stopped short and shook his head again. "Well, it was your conscious choice... even if the majority of our decisions are made unconsciously. In any case, there's no need that every person imagines their perfect happiness as staying healthy and having a good job, a family and a house with a garden."
"You haven't said anything I don't know myself," Law muttered.
"Ah, then you really need a psychiatrist's opinion," Clione said with a twisted smile, but soon he grew serious again. He drank his tea, then moved closer to the table and put his elbows on it. When he spoke, his voice was softer now, "If you really want me to, I'm going to tell you what I think... but if you don't like it, we're not going to talk about it ever again. I don't want it to stand between us, all right? Whatever I'm going to tell you, I'm not doing it of ill will, quite the contrary... Can you trust me on this matter, Law? We, psychiatrists, often tell people things they don't like," he added, smiling wryly.
Law nodded. "I can tell that you have some kind of opinion about me, so you can as well say it aloud," he said, trying to ignore the fact his heart beat faster. He crossed his arms. "I can put it next to the rest," he added with irony that Clione ignored.
The psychiatrist rested his chin on the clasped hands and started to talk, never averting his eyes, "I've been knowing you for over twenty years, and I don't think you push people away because you don't like it. It is rather that you avoid attachment, for it makes you unconsciously feel uncomfortable. Or maybe even consciously. You fear what it brings. You always try to put everything under control, while the other person can't be controlled and he or she will never be exactly like you wish, so disappointment is inevitable in any close relation. Moreover, you're someone who never goes for half measures only acts on a rule 'everything or nothing'. You wouldn't be able to balance your career with your private life in a satisfactory way. You would feel unfulfilled in both, because you would rather devote yourself fully to what you're doing, but you can't cut yourself in two. That is why you committed yourself fully, entirely to your work. You give it your all time, you not only live in this hospital; you live and breath it. This and the Ope Ope no Mi. That way you don't feel guilty about doing things halfway, and you retain your inner stability. You have the feeling everything is like it should be, everything is all right, and you're okay with yourself."
"It's called 'anancastic personality', right?" Law threw. So far, Clione had said only things that were familiar to him.
"Yes. But your case goes beyond it, for it seems to me that the cause of your obsession is deeper than just belief that, as user of the Ope Ope no Mi, it's your duty to spend your live healing people. You have unnatural powers and can perform medical miracles... but I don't see you to be happy of your success, merely satisfied. You more acutely feel upset when you haven't manage to save someone than you feel glad when you have helped someone, right? As if you blame yourself... felt you've failed. When I look at you, Law, I am under the impression that your life is some kind of atonement, that you want to atone for something you did... Something that had happened even before you became a pirate... before we all met you. You've never stopped having that specific air around you, one you already had over twenty years ago. Every doctor has anancastic personality, but, to my eye, you act as someone who doesn't see any sense in his life than work and who would be the happiest if he worked himself to death. You don't care about yourself, not al all. You seem to live only because of the Ope Ope no Mi."
Law listened to that with his eyes fixed on the table. His heart was beating fast, but he knew his face was blank. The truth was he lived only because of the Ope Ope no Mi.
"In reality, we know very little about you," Clione continued, his voice serious. "Even though we've been around you for so long, more than half of your life, you gave us only some scraps about your past. I think two things matter here: how you got the Ope Ope no Mi... and who was Corazon. For twenty years-"
Law's head snapped up. "Don't..." he objected before he managed to contain himself, and then clenched his fists.
Clione, however, was staring at him with his steely gaze and didn't stop, although his voice was barely a whisper now, "-you have said just one sentence about him: that he was your benefactor. Putting all together: the way you exist, your complete devotion to the Ope Ope no Mi, and this hospital that is your life, I guess that Corazon died having got you the Ope Ope no Mi. And you feel responsible for his death, still blame yourself for it and wish to atone... but nothing you do can't comfort you because you can't bring him back to life. You think you owe him a debt that you could repay only with your own death. And that is why you don't attach any value to your life, seeing yourself only as a tool for the Ope Ope no Mi's action."
Law knew he should get up, stop this conversation right here... and yet something he couldn't understand made him stay and listen, even though he could barely hear because of his blood humming in his ears.
"And I think," Clione said, his voice softer now, "that if Corazon was the most important person to you, no wonder you decided to never again let anyone close to you, because his death must have hurt you to your very core. You're someone who engages in everything fully, so you probably loved him so much that nothing else mattered. His death left emptiness that no-one ever managed to fill... that you didn't let anyone fill. What was left is the life that bear witness to your love for him... or so it seems to you."
Law looked in the darkness outside. He didn't want to think; he wished he could unscrew his head and throw it to the sea. He wished he could stop his heart from beating, because it hurt. He wished to deny everything. He wished this conversation had never taken place. He wished that...
He looked at Clione, who suddenly seemed a stranger to him.
"What if I say you got everything wrong?" he finally said in reluctance, although he knew well there was no point in saying anything.
"Then, Law, I'd be very happy," Clione answered with that serious voice of his that rang with clear compassion.
Law muffled a curse. However, before he managed to speak again, a quiet but intrusive beep came from all communicator and speakers: a signal informing about the red alert for the whole hospital.