Chapter 13
That night Law didn't even go to bed. He sensed with every fibre that if he closed his eyes, his thoughts and emotions would hit him full force and even the Ope Ope no Mi wouldn't be enough to control them; that was something he wanted to avoid at all cost. Fortunately, the hospital was bursting at the seams due to the greatly increased amount of patients - the staff had had to set up the camp beds in order to accommodate everyone - and the next ones were already waiting for their turn. The situation just couldn't be better for Law: he had the perfect excuse to pull an all-nighter. All parts were content, and for the patients it was really all the same if they were being treated by day or night since they were asleep anyway when Law performed the Ope Ope no Mi surgeries on them.
And so he worked all night and the next day, too. He realised, of course, he had to be cautious. He knew well that using his Devil Fruit for a longer period of time could have the unpleasant aftermath, so he was extra careful about deactivating the Ope Ope no Mi: whenever he did it, he would first assume the 'safe' position, which was sitting. If he lost consciousness, he could pretend he'd just sat down and dozed off after having been awake since the previous morning... Never again did he want to go through any faintings, and even less through everything they caused in his surroundings. He still considered it an absurd of the century that the media had made a sensation out of his brief indisposition... This time, however, nothing like that happened, maybe because there was no case that would require a prolonged use of the Fruit; the longest surgery took just over one hour, and the vast majority ended after some fifteen minutes.
He managed to almost entirely focus on work, and it was only occasionally that the events from the previous day tried to occupy his mind, but he didn't let them. He didn't allow himself a single free moment, devoting all time to the patients, and even during the hasty meals (he hadn't visited the canteen in the two days) he read the medical charts in his office. Somehow, he didn't even run into Clione, which meant he was super lucky, for normally the head of the psychiatry department would appear before him the moment Law needed him the least. Of course, he could avoid him actively with the use of Haki, but such measures seemed first ridiculous and second would require to focus of the person he wanted to avoid, while today Law desired to thing of anything but what concerned the yesterday's matter, and Clione by no means fell into that category.
In the evening, he was properly tired and fell asleep upon touching the pillow. The next day, however, he waked up in a foul mood and didn't know what had caused it. Unfortunately, he remembered that much too fast, and the morning shower only intensified his thought process. Even turning the hot water off didn't help; instead of sobering him, the cold stream added to his frustration. In the end, he gave up and decided to, during breakfast, quickly process all that had happened two days ago, hoping it would no longer harass him.
Such situations usually led to the conclusion that his naivety sometimes was way off the map.
Drinking coffee and staring at the darkness outside, he tried to calmly analyse that incident, but he felt angry right away and couldn't help it. He'd brought to his office a kid that had tried to drown himself in the freezing ocean. Then, accidentally, he'd broken his arm when preventing yet another suicide attempt. Lastly, he'd yelled at the boy and nearly told him to get out of his hospital. The last part was obviously the worst and made him feel like a scum.
Why had he reacted that way? Well, probably because the situation had caught him off guard. For over ten years, he hadn't met anyone who would tried to kill himself. The Corazon Memorial Hospital was a place of helping, performing the miracles and saving lives. Ten thousands of patients had left its walls, each of them healthy, strong and happy. (Maybe apart from those on the psychiatric ward, but he omitted that now). Trafalgar Law, the user of the Ope Ope no Mi and the greatest doctor in the world, used his abilities to cure and save. Every man that had gone through his hands, bore witness that the 'Surgeon of Death' had been buried in the past and would never be back. Every man that had gone through the hands of his co-workers, realised that life was greater than anything. Not a single patient would depart from Raftel without feeling grateful, for everyone had come here willing to live, but it wasn't gratitude that mattered to Law, only victory over death. If a person's life depended on him, he would never let them die.
And then, all of the sudden and unexpected, that reality of life celebrations had been disturbed by an element that didn't fit here: a man wanting to die so hard he tried to kill himself. It was as if a dark hole had appeared in a beautiful and bright scenery and domineered the sight. Of course Law had been surprised, having grown accustomed to the fact that people he met always wanted only to live. There was no place for death in the Corazon Memorial Hospital, it had no right to appear here - but that brought to his mind the words he'd said to the boy: that it wasn't a place for those who wished to die... and it led to an even more unpleasant conclusion that Law cared only about the perfect statistics of his hospital.
He pressed his lips. No, he knew it wasn't about the statistics... but the other explanation wasn't any excuse anyway. No matter how surprised he'd been, it didn't justify how he'd treated the kid. Even if he considered a suicide to be the worst stupidity and the greatest mistake a person might commit, why had he exploded like that? Why hadn't he checked his rage, hadn't contained himself, hadn't behaved with calm he was known of? For the Pirate King, he was a doctor...! He was a hospital director and an adult... and yet he'd acted like a brat, as if he hadn't been any older than that boy, himself. He'd let his emotions get the best of him and spewed out all those terrible things that wasn't for the ears of a child. No, for the ears of a patient.
He used to never lecture his patients. Sure, he would instruct them about a healthy lifestyle, but he never imposed his opinions on them. He only shared his knowledge and advised but never threatened, demanded or dictated what they should do. He never raised his voice, never backed his words with emotions in order to make a stronger impression. He left the decision to them because the moment they left the hospital they became responsible for their lives again. In contact with the patients, he was always calm and never said needless things, and if he sometimes smiled, it was just a light smile that didn't even affect the other person's way of being. Law remained perfectly neutral, and the only thing he had in common with the patient was the will to destroy the disease, for it was the only reason he was here. He never crossed the personal barriers, never treated the patients like friends, and never argued ad hominem.
Until now.
He wasn't the nicest man in the word - personally, he considered himself to be one of the least pleasant people that had ever lived in this world - but when work was in question, he tried to utilise his best traits. He thought he was a civil person, even though, outside the work, he used to speak straight and sometimes shocked others with his directness. However, he didn't consider himself as an evil, low man, and yet two days ago he'd acted exactly that way. He'd got mad at a child, had called him the worst and had been close to throw obscenities. He'd called the boy an ingrate - he, who didn't treat people in order to receive their gratitude. Sure, every doctor had a right to feel frustrated, upon seeing the fruit of his hard work was being make light of; he could feel that way when the kid had tried to kill himself just three days after Law had spent several hours using the Ope Ope no Mi to recreate almost every bone in his body... but such a behaviour just didn't befit him. The truth was that the other day he'd completely failed an exam for a human being, and he still didn't know why.
Before his eyes, unwanted, the face of the hospital's head psychiatrist flashed. He pulled his head in his shoulder and knitted his brows, staring at the night scenery he couldn't really see.
It must have been about something deeper... something much more personal if he'd been thrown off balance so much; the thing was, did he want to think of it? He knew from experience that psychoanalysis almost never led him to happy conclusions, and he didn't feel like worsening his already bad mood. However, since he'd never developed the ability to ignore certain matters once they'd caught on his mind - had never developed the healthy instinct of not contemplating the things that would only weigh him down - he now dived into his own psyche, telling himself it might help him to avoid similar situations in the future. There was nothing he wanted more than avoiding them.
Reluctantly, he recalled the face of the boy he'd saved from death in the freezing ocean. Well, that moment the kid had been red and blue from cold, but Law remembered his looks from their previous meeting. Oval, still pretty childish face - of a twelve-year-old? thirteen-year-old? - that he'd never seen with a smile. Ruffled brown hair and very blue eyes that were staring seriously, unlike of the child. His name was Rosapelo... but he wanted others to call him Pelo, for Rosapelo 'sounded like a girl'. He'd been hospitalised in the Corazon Memorial Hospital several times, for he suffered from a - working diagnosis - bone fragility of unknown origin that caused frequent fractures. The Ope Ope no Mi couldn't detect any anomaly in his organism, which was more than worrying in and of itself, but Law forced himself to forget it now. Apart from the health issues, the boy seemed to be an average kid - he went to school and liked to play football with friends. He lived only with his mother; the father didn't belong to the image, but it wasn't rare, so there was no need to attach any importance to that.
And then the very same Rosapelo, upon their next meeting, had appeared before him with his skeleton in little pieces after he'd been injured in a ship catastrophe. (Law hadn't recognised him, but it was of no significance here. He could at least console himself with the fact he was still human enough to not tell others apart because of what they had inside). Law had saved his life and felt he'd done a good job... only to see, just three days later, how the boy had tried to kill himself, and with very determination.
What it was that Kaya had said? That the boy's mother had drowned. The boy hadn't known about it that until two days later when he'd regained consciousness. How had he got known? In the worst cases, he'd been asked to identify a body. The kid had lost probably the only one member of his family. It was enough to become depressed and lose will to live... and it was also likely that he blamed himself for her death. Since they'd travelled to Raftel together, it meant one of them had been ill, and probably the boy, for if it had been mother afflicted, she'd have left her child home instead of taking it out for the storm. It wasn't really hard to understand that the boy who'd just been left all alone in the world - and with the feeling he'd caused the death of his only close person - could make such a drastic decision.
When one was Trafalgar D. Water Law, something like that was frighteningly easy understand.
Law crossed his legs, folded his arms and sank lower inside his chair, trying to ward himself off everyone and everything, especially that pain squeezing his heart in a familiar manner. He was still staring outside without seeing anything. Unwanted, his thought flew to the winter island on the North Blue, where twenty-six years ago he'd been in the very same situation he was witnessing now. He'd done his best to never recollect it, to leave that feeling in the past, cut off it and disguise it with a new goal, a new motivation, a new mission... but he'd never forgotten that after Corazon's death he'd wanted to die, himself.
That time on Minion, he'd only wished he could lie down next to the body of the man who'd become his whole world and then had died because of him, and fall asleep for ever... follow the one who'd given him everything and then had left to never come back. That moment, living had appeared to be a burden that a thirteen-year-old Law couldn't bear - burden of loneliness, of guilt, of emptiness. Life without Cora-san had lost all sense, while the death had seemed more tempting than ever. Only respect for his saviour - respect that hadn't allowed him to waste the sacrifice of the best of the men - had made Law get up and leave Minion instead of making it his own grave, too. It'd made him turn his life into a tribute, for he simply had no strength to live only for himself.
Law didn't like children, especially ill ones. The boys wishing death, he liked even less, for they too acutely reminded him of himself, nullifying twenty-six years of life as if they'd never passed. They would bring him back to Minion, to those moments of his greatest despair he didn't want to remember, for it would still, still, tear his heart to pieces. They would turn him again into that thirteen-year-old boy who could only hate living and crave to die. That wound had never scarred up, that part of him had never healed, had never closed, had never grown, had never matured. Even if normally he wasn't aware of it, it kept influencing him - his emotions, his feelings, his patterns of reacting and behaving - making some things unattainable for ever.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Still, did all that justify his actions? Did his personal feeling give him any right to act the way ha had towards another person who hadn't done anything wrong? No. The answer was the same, no matter what arguments he might use: he'd turned out to be a real bastard, just like Clione had said. At some point, he'd assumed his grief and his despair to be holy and allowing him everything. True, he'd always been an egoist unbothered by others' feeling... but today he felt particularly bad with this.
Then, maybe it was high time to let go of that grief and despair?, he asked himself, and it shocked him, for he'd never thought that way. The next moment he came to the conclusion he wouldn't get anywhere if, over and over, focusing only on himself, just like now. He clenched his teeth. This way or another, he shouldn't hide behind his own suffering and freely hurt others. He was still decent enough to know when he mistreated the other person.
He had to apologise. Regardless of his own feelings - or, maybe, precisely because of them - he had to apologise to the kid. The boy wasn't at fault here and hadn't deserved that aggression Law had treated him with. This one was obvious and sought redress. He'd always considered himself as someone to admit his own mistake, and he knew better than anyone he was just a human being and made mistakes in every other field than medical. It didn't make him happy - the prevention was better than cure, and that could be applied to every sphere of life, so it was his policy to rather avoid making mistakes than correct them later - but there was no use in arguing with the facts. Neither was there any point in delaying the inevitable more he'd already done so. He decided to go to the psychiatric ward once he was done with the morning surgeries; since he'd worked more yesterday, today his schedule wasn't so tight. The decision made his mood improve a bit, and he hoped that executing it would make him feel much better. And everything would be back to normal.
For now, it was enough that he finished his breakfast with renewed vigour and without that unpleasant sensation in his stomach, before going to work. Three hours passed in a flash, and it was slightly past eight that he was standing in front of the main door to the psychiatric ward. However, before he managed to enter it, Clione emerged from his office and, just like that, opened the door of the Seven for him.
"Do you have some kind of radar for me?" Law asked after ten seconds of mutual silence; the door had closed behind them.
"No, a surveillance Den Den Mushi in the hall," the psychiatrist answered, "with transmission to my office."
Law frowned. "You're not serious...?"
"I am serious. I had it installed yesterday, to keep an eye on the patients trying to run away."
"So that you could chase after them in the rain," Law muttered.
Clione shrugged, paying no attention to his sarcasm, just like always. "But I didn't need a Den Den Mushi to know you would come. You're a good man."
Now Law stared at him in clear disbelief before shaking his head. "Sometimes I feel like a total scum," he said quietly.
"I know," Clione replied simply, then patted him on the back and smiled lightly. "You're just a human, like all of us. I'm glad you came."
Law said nothing, only nodded. Now that he was here, he felt nervous, although it didn't affect his resolve. It only convinced him he should deal with the problem fast and return to his business.
"I'm just making sure... You came to talk with him, right?" Clione asked. "With Rosapelo...?"
"To apologise," Law muttered.
"Okay. He's in a pretty bad state, but apology won't harm him. Maybe it will even help."
"Did... Did he try to do something again?" Law asked, although he wasn't sure if he really cared.
The psychiatrist shook his head. "No. At present, he stopped doing anything," he replied. "Ah, you're going to see yourself."
Well, it was good to know the boy no longer made any attempt on his own life. Maybe he'd understood it wasn't a solution.
Clione showed him the way, and they walked into the corridor. The ward seemed just like always. It was the breakfast time, for some patients - those who didn't want to eat in their rooms - were sitting by the tables with the trays... but some of them hadn't got due attention. One patient apparently suffered from racing thoughts; she was talking to everyone around her about five things at the same time, unable to focus on eating. She was holding a sandwich in her hand probably for several minutes already, and even if she occasionally put it up to her mouth, she couldn't stop the torrent of words in order to even take one bit. Another patient was laughing his head off on the coach, although he didn't seem to listen to the woman's tale, more to his own thoughts or voices. Another one was standing in a stiff pose by the wall - his one leg in the air and one arm stretched forward - without blinking, and staring ahead.
Law saw yet another patient join that group. He was agitated and couldn't settle down; he sat down on the couch, only to get up the next moment and move to the chair. Then he snarled at the 'prattler', yelled at the 'funny man', cast the 'statue' an irritated look and quickly walked from when he'd come. Soon enough, he appeared again; he stopped in front of the Law and Clione and, his face some fifteen centimetres from psychiatrist's face, started to demand five different things he'd included in a single sentence before moving to the next five. Clione listened to him calmly, unbothered by the man's agitation seen in the annoyed tone and violent gesticulation, and then promised to talk to him a bit later.
"A few sunny days, and it started to rain maniacs," he explained as they resumed walking, although that much was obvious for Law.
"Spring is coming," he mumbled. "One could be fooled, if not for that minus twenty outside..."
Clione smiled with the corners of his lips again before going round the corner. Law followed him, and they soon entered one of the patient rooms. It was bathed in sunlight that probably made wonders for many patients... but not this particular one. Law realised right away he'd misinterpreted the psychiatrist's previous words that the boy had stopped trying anything. Rosapelo was sitting in the bed with his arms on the cover, staring at some point ahead and didn't react to their entrance. A tray with untouched breakfast was on the table, and Law imagined that the boy hadn't as much as cast a single glance at it.
"Good morning, Rosapelo," Clione said in a serene voice, stopping at the foot of the bed and waving at Law to come closer as well. "Doctor Law is here to see you. He would like to talk to you."
According to Law's expectation - and contrary to his hope - the boy didn't move nor made any gesture to show he was aware of their presence. He seemed to be completely absorbed in his own world, and the only sign of life was a sporadic flutter of eyelashes when he blinked. Law looked at Clione, who kept observing his patient. He wanted to ask if the kid was all right physically, but he guessed that the head psychiatrist must have already eliminated any bodily disease that might cause such a stupor. Well, Rosapelo wasn't the first person suffering from the severe depression Law had seen, even though he tried to avoid such sights. Without doubt, Clione would help him; after all, he was the best specialist in his field.
He, however, had come here for another purpose, and the sooner he was over with it, the sooner would he be able to return to his work. He sat down on the chair - the apologising person shouldn't look down on the one being apologised to - and tried to assume an expression that would be a bit more cheerful than his normal one. It probably made no difference, for Rosapelo didn't mean to look at him, but he tried anyway and hoped it turned out convincing.
He opened his mouth... and then closed it again. He realised he hadn't prepared for this talk. He hadn't thought it to be necessary, but now that he was here already, he had no idea how to start. That the boy was ignoring him altogether didn't help, either. Annoyed, Law realised that he'd really grown accustomed to the patients looking at him in full attention and listening to his words like sermon or divination. He felt an absurd urge to reach and shake the boy, although he was rational enough to know he absolutely mustn't do it.
He took a deep breath, although he felt very stupid doing so, especially in Clione's presence. The psychiatrist, however, didn't react at all; he kept standing in the foot of the bed, his hands with turquoise painted nails resting on the railing. Law glanced at the window and saw a gull flying outside, then stared at the boy again. He didn't need anger. He'd come here with a clear intention, and he would be damned if he didn't realise it. He should just go straight to the matter, just like he used to on other occasions.
"I came to apologise for the words I'd said the other day," he said outright, matter-of-factedly and without hesitation. He was saying what he thought. "You heard something I shouldn't have said to you. You did nothing wrong, and yet I treated you in a very nasty way. I don't want to explain why I did it, because my behaviour can't be excused. I only want to apologise to you, and I want you to know I regret what I did. I'm sorry, Pelo."
In the silence that fell, the steps in the corridor could be heard, followed by a nurse's voice. Law, however, hadn't expected any reaction, so silence was perfectly okay. He didn't know if the boy had heard him, taken in his words... but he couldn't do anything about it. He'd apologised, and it was the most important. He was glad he'd said what he'd wanted, thrown it off himself; he felt much better now. What was left was to wish the boy to recover soon, and he could leave.
However, before he managed to open his mouth again, an unexpected thing happened: Rosapelo slowly turned his head to look at him, and Law suddenly felt excited. After all, the boy must have been aware of his presence, must have heard him... even though he still seemed to be a living doll. It was probably a defence mechanism, but there was no emotion on his face - no sorrow, no fear, no despair, no offence - only emptiness. He was staring blankly, too, but Law had no doubt that the kid's blue eyes were focused on him.
In his medical sight, he noticed that the boy's face was thin and sunken. He looked tired, exhausted. He didn't seem to be in pain, which was a good thing after all those terrible fractures... But, on the other hand, Law knew well that state that a man stopped paying attention even to the physical pain: state of being dead while still alive. This boy was exactly like that: as if he - although he was still breathing - had died two days ago.
All of the sudden, that anger from two days earlier engulfed Law again, for it was all wrong. The kids just shouldn't want to kill themselves. No matter how hard the situation was, death was no solution. Himself, he'd understood it quickly and put all his effort into surviving and, later, clung to life, for he'd had to live also for that one who'd died because of him. So it was perfectly real, perfectly possible and manageable to grasp it... and yet that brat seemed as if hadn't cared about anything anymore...! As if the only thing he wanted was to die...?
Law knew something was very wrong about him thinking this way, and yet once more - again! - he couldn't stop himself. "How could you act that way?" he asked in reproof and saw the boy flinch. "It was so stup-"
"Law, I think it's best if you leave," Clione interrupted him, putting one hand on his shoulder. "Now, come."
Law didn't move; he kept looking at the boy. He hoped he would provoke some response... but then Rosapelo turned his head and once more stared at an invisible point ahead, and Law had to contain that impulse from a moment ago: to grab the boy's arm and make him face him... make him look at him again.
Clione's fingers dug deeper in his shoulder. He shook the psychiatrist's hand, rose and exited the room without a word, pressing his lips in a thin line. Clione asked a nurse to stay with the boy before following Law.
"I don't know if you deserve a passing mark," he said as they walked. "You started well, but then it turned worse, unfortunately. Don't visit him for a while," he ordered, although Law didn't plan to visit the kid at all. "The last thing that boy needs are your accusations. Or anyone's, for that matter."
Law remained silent, walking with his gaze fixed ahead. He was mad - at the boy, at Clione, and at himself. Nothing good would come from associating with the psychiatrists and their patients, he'd always known it. He wanted to leave and not show his face around here for as long as possible, which meant until the end of the month when his next psychiatric day came.
Before he reached the main doors, his anger had managed to fade, at least that directed at his surroundings. Something was happening to him, something very bad... Why, for all Devil Fruits, couldn't he behave normally? What he was doing and feeling now, was so unlike him and made his hair stand on end... Soon, however, he came to the sober conclusion that the Seven was the last place he wished to wonder about it.
"Despite the bad ending, I wouldn't say that your visit was a catastrophe, though," Clione spoke again. "The boy reacted to your speech. It was more than we got in two days, he wouldn't even look at us... Maybe because you... How did you address him? Pelo? Why?"
Law took a deep breath. His pulse was still quick, but he knew he was calming down; besides, he could never stay mad at Clione. And, actually, he hadn't been mad at him, in the first place. "Everyone calls him that," he grunted in response, looking at the psychiatrist askance. "He says that Rosapelo sounds like a girl."
Clione was staring at him as he had just grown another head. "You're reading his mind?" he asked without emotion.
Law rolled his eyes. "He told me the first time I examined him."
Now the look that the psychiatrist cast him was very focused, penetrating, and sharp. Law couldn't resist the impression that Clione had got some idea in his psychiatric mind, but the latter said only, "I see."
"No psychoanalysis," Law warned him.
"I didn't say anything."
And Law, for some reason, found it even more disturbing and felt annoyed again. He ran his hands through his hair and took another deep breath. Yes, it was high time to evacuate from here before he lost it.
Clione opened the door for him and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it," he said in a comforting voice. "We'll manage. Thanks for coming."
Law headed for the lift without a word. He had surgeries to perform, and he should focus on them now. He had a minute or two for regaining his balance. Irritation, anger, fury were pointless. He had to move forward, forget about what had happened, today and two days before. Clione had said not to worry about it, and he was right. There was no need that Law worried about a single kid, much less let him spoil his mood. He'd done what he should: just like he'd planned, he'd apologised to the boy. It was over.
Even so, he just couldn't calm down, for he had a feeling that everything had gone wrong and he could blame only himself, again. What had he expected? That the boy would generously accept his humble apology and say he forgave him? And they would part their ways in accord? And yet, he'd got only a silent look - was that what had upset him so much? And strengthened the impression he couldn't leave it at that, that it wasn't end yet... that he had to return there, go once more to that sunlit room with a dead alive boy... and try to apologise again, try to convince him... and finally get some answer...?
He felt like ruffling his hair out of frustration, but in the end he used the Ope Ope no Mi to regulate his physiological functions. Pulse sixty per minute. Breathing twelve per minute. Blood pressure one-hundred-twenty over seventy. Muscle tone normal. However, calming his body didn't help the feeling of irritation, and the moment he entered the operating theatre, he berated Shachi and Penguin for that the first patient wasn't ready. The patient, actually, was ready and waiting in the adjacent room for Law to operate him; soon, they started.
The reasons for bitching were more: 'the flow of oxygen is too weak, turn it on, the monitor is beeping too loud, switch it off, why those ECG cables are tangling under my feet, why there are only two pairs of gloves in the box, and what are those illegible scribbles in the medical record, should we send for Nico Robin to have it deciphered?' And so on, and so on... His two assistants bore with his bad mood... and didn't seem to be bothered at all. Well, they were the masters of taunting, and they cheerfully subjected one another to mutual mockery on a daily basis - it could have something to do with the fact they were best friends - so they probably needed more to feel offended.
When the surgeries were over, and the three of them were changing into normal clothes, Shachi said in a casual manner, "Boss, you're quite out of sorts today... Did you get out of bed on the wrong side?"
"That's because that nurse returned to her island, right?" Penguin asked with a meaningful grin. "Why didn't you offer her a better salary to keep her here, Boss?"
Law looked at him with a frown. A nurse...? Ah, Ida. He hadn't thought of her in the last two days... "You think only of women," he retorted, putting on his coat. "Like always."
"I beg your pardon," Shachi said with dignity that got out of sync with his appearance, for when he straightened up to glance at Law, his trousers fell to his ankles and he stood only with his pants on. "I think only of my wife."
"Me too," Penguin backed him.
Shachi looked at him askance. "Penguin... You think of my wife?" he asked.
"No, you moron. My own one!"
Shachi grabbed his trousers again, pulled up and belted up. "Well, my woman and your woman together are two women," he stated, then glanced at Law again and added reluctantly, "So Boss was right."
"Like always," Penguin muttered in a similar tone.
Law rolled his eyes. It was impossible to have a normal, serious conversation with those two. He hung the stethoscope over his neck and headed to the door. Before leaving, he raised one arm to thank them for the work and heard them giving each other a high five. He could imagine them grin and felt the corner of his lips twitch, too. However, when he made for the lift - he planned to stop by the canteen and grab an ersatz lunch - his foul mood was back.
In the morning, everything had started to look good, he thought, getting himself some salad. He'd come to the right conclusions and made a plan aimed at bringing the situation to normal. He'd even managed to realise it... and yet the things had just taken a turn for the worse. No matter how he tried, he couldn't stop thinking of the boy that was currently lying on the Seven and appeared perfectly absent. But he was there, more real than anyone else in this hospital, for Law couldn't get him out of his head. He could almost feel his presence, just one floor down, under this very corridor as he was walking towards his office holding his lunch.
He didn't even know if all that was about the boy or himself. When he focused on one, the other would jump out like a jack-in-the-box. The boy, his presence, his case, his condition... disturbed and annoyed him. And the more annoyed he became, the more he realised his own condition that was far from normal. The boy made Law behave unlike himself. Trafalgar Law who was shouting at his patients, wasn't just a deviation from the norm; it was bloody turning on the head of everything he was. And when he'd tried to remedy it, had gone and apologised, then, for some reason, the situation had only worsened. He'd got angry again, and was even more furious now. He'd become trapped in that circle and had no idea how to break free.
He only knew that if it lasted, he would undoubtedly go crazy. He would really go crazy, and Clione would lock him on his ward, first putting the Seastone cuffs on him. And Law wouldn't be able to work, while working was his last bastion of normality...
It all would be totally absurd if not for the fact he hadn't been so upset in ages. Clione would be more than happy to talk about it, damn him... The psychiatrist seemed to have an odd fixation for his psyche... but maybe he behaved that way towards everyone, Law wasn't sure.
Somehow, he managed to eat the lunch, but he tried to do it so quickly he almost choked. As for the consultation session, he could concentrate on it very poorly, but he didn't refrain from scolding one of the surgeons, anyway. He immediately apologised for his tone, and then he made his best to speak only when it was absolutely necessary. The next few hours, he spent admitting the new patients, and it was that moment of relief he'd desperately needed. Even if everything else went to hell, at least on the work with patient he could focus perfectly, and he hoped it would never change.
At some point, however, the patients had run out, and Law was left with his bad mood that came back as if it'd just awaited the first occasion. In the end, he began to wish for some catastrophe, another red alert that would take his mind off that awful situation for half a day, maybe even longer... Fortunately, the providence must have had something else to do than listen to the evil requests of the doctors suffering from a serious lack of morality, and the evening passed without disturbance, so Law didn't manage to avoid yet another confrontation with his poor humour.
Like usually, he'd admitted several children, and now, as he was browsing through their medical charts and making a plan of treatment for tomorrow, analysing every case in his head and deciding on the best method, their faces were obscured by the face of that single kid who didn't give a damn about the effort put into his recovery. Law had no doubt that Clione and the whole staff of the Seven did everything to help him. Actually, even more people were involved his recovery process, among others a paediatrician and even he, Trafalgar Law...
He raised his eyes and straightened in the chair when a realisation struck him: himself, he was doing nothing to help the boy, quite the contrary. It was like a blow making one see stars. He arose from the desk and left onto the balcony; he hoped cold - it was some minus twenty-five - would cool his thoughts. He rested his elbows on the railing, and the forehead on the clasped hands. In this very moment, it was the disgust with himself he felt in the first place.
What it was Clione had said? 'He doesn't need your accusations.'
It was high time to end that contempt he had for the boy. It was where he should start, otherwise he wouldn't get anywhere. He was an adult, and being angry with a child didn't befit an adult. No matter what the boy had done, no matter how he behaved, no matter how he treated others, and no matter what kind of feelings he prompted in him - Law had to cease seeing him as a bother and a nuisance. The kid was a patient in this hospital, he was ill and needed treatment, and that was how Law should think of him. And every patient deserved care, concern and sympathy, just like that and in principle. It was the right starting point.
He remembered he'd been on a good way this very morning. He'd already started to treat the boy as someone who didn't need aggression only consideration, but then he'd focused on himself and his own story, and the situation had gone back to square one. He was such an idiot... but the worst thing to do was to occupy himself with this thought, so he rather tried to recall that mood and those feeling from the morning... although his own words, those he'd told the boy, kept returning to him to cut deep into his conscience and squeeze his chest.
All indications were that the boy had lost the only family member he'd had, and a mother, on top of it; for a child, a mother was always the most important figure. It could be that he was all alone now. Even if he had some relatives, it didn't mean he would find a loving home. Himself, he probably felt that he had nothing, that there was only emptiness, that everything had ended - and he also blamed himself for having contributed to the death of his beloved person.
How Law could condemn him for wishing to die? Even if he knew now that life was worth more than death, he had once gone through the very same stage of despair and waiting for his end, or even begging for it. Rosapelo's and his were almost identical cases. Law had managed, had got back on his feet, but it hadn't been an easy thing. How could he demand that Rosapelo immediately pulled himself together and returned to life?
The boy withdrew into himself, cut himself off everything, has almost lost touch with the world. It was obvious he was suffering. He probably couldn't find anything worth living for. He probably considered life as a darkness without a single light. When his age, Law had managed to find that light inside him, and it'd allowed him to walk even through the most frightening darkness, but that boy couldn't do it, not now, not yet.
And Law, instead of understanding it, had started to yell at him, had started to accuse him and negate all sense of living, that must have been thinner than the thinnest thread anyway. If Kaya and Clione hadn't broken in, he would have probably ended his thought, 'It's not a place for the likes of you, so get out of here'. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and it had nothing to do with the fact he was standing in the blistering cold; it was caused by realisation that his words could have been interpreted as 'Go and kill yourself somewhere else', and despite his previous actions. With one hand, he had stopped the boy from committing a suicide, but with the other, he'd almost pushed him to it. How could he have done so?
And later? Today? He'd gone to apologise, and yet he'd started to reproach him again - a kid who probably considered himself to be the most wretched man in the world. 'He doesn't need your accusations.' Of course he didn't! How would Law have felt that time on Minion or later, if someone had thrashed him, called him a fool and trampled the last of the self-esteem he'd still had? Maybe he would've braced himself, clenched his teeth and just walked on, in spite of everything... or maybe it would've been the final straw, the last grain to tip the scale, and no light, no memory of love, no sense of mission would have been able to save him anymore. When one had no strength, a single gust of wind was enough to wipe a man off the face of the earth. Cries and complaints, aggression and frustration... It wasn't how one helped a grieving person to rebuilt his life. He knew it the best, he'd experienced it himself, and he still couldn't put that knowledge into practice. He was almost forty, and he kept behaving so immaturely. What good was of being the greatest doctor in the world, if he didn't understand the most basic things any decent man should follow...?
He remembered the boy's face as he'd seen it today. Pale skin, marked by bruises and scratches. Sunken cheeks and big, intensely blue eyes with dark rings. A blank face, devoid of emotions that had to be unbearable. Was Law really such a vicious man that the sight didn't awaken any sympathy? Or could it be that he'd focused on himself, on saying what he'd wanted to say, in order to leave as soon as possible? His words... Now that he recollected them, they seemed so unnatural, devoid of any feeling or conviction behind them. It was as if he'd just handed out a pat answer, although he hadn't really prepared it... which was a sign of disregard, too.
The boy had evoked such a strong reaction in him because he'd too strongly reminded him of his own tragedy from the past - the tragedy Law had never moved forward from. That parallel, however, instead of bringing out his best traits, had brought out the worst ones. Instead of sparking compassion, it had induced animosity that bordered disgust, along with the need to remove that element from his eyes. Now he was almost terrified, seeing who he'd become, and maybe of his own volition, too.
He straightened his elbows and leaned even more forward, burying his face in the fabric of his sleeve and covering his head with the other arm.
The truth was - although he didn't mean to excuse his behaviour with it - that when it came to the interpersonal things, he completely lost confidence and discernment, falling to the level of a crude boor. He was a genius doctor capable of curing any disease, but as a human being he barely passed the test. He kept others at a distance and, at all cost, avoided topics that might engage him not as a doctor but as a man - for he knew it was his weakest point - to say nothing of avoiding feelings and bonds. Rosapelo had fallen a victim to that inability... that disability of being a human, and Law was fully aware of it. Now he only had to make his best not to conveniently forget it.
What would Cora-san say if he could see him now? For certain, he wouldn't have wanted for Law to grow into such a person...? If he'd stayed... if he'd never left... if Law could keep bathing in that love capable of changing the world... then everything would have been different now. Yet, the kid that had been left alone with just a memory of kindness, with crushing feeling of guilt, and with a dreadful loneliness, couldn't have turned into an angel, that Law understood perfectly well. It had taken all his might to not turn into a devil instead.
Cold became too annoying... it too much brought back memories of that night on Minion, when he'd lost everything and only shreds had been left in his hands. He had to stop it. He returned to his office, shutting the door with his numb fingers. For a moment, he was sitting in the cold room, disgusted with himself, dejected, but finally completely calm. A self-examination, even if it was to his disadvantage, had helped him to burn out that anger that had been blazing inside him for two days and disturbing his thoughts, as even the Ope Ope no Mi could do nothing about it.
It was a good moment to make some sensible decisions, ones he could stick to. One was obvious: just like Clione had said, he should keep away from the boy. He wasn't someone perfect who always knew how to act and treat others, so there was no point in imposing himself on those that his presence might harm. He had to swallow down his pride... hide deeply the belief he was someone that people ran to from all the world, for even if it was true in any other case, it was the contrary in this particular one. Trafalgar Law was intelligent enough to understand it.
In Clione and his team's care, the boy would surely recover, Law didn't doubt it. The head of the psychiatry department had much more patience with people, as it was supposed to be. The little patient would soon feel better, even if the Corazon Memorial Hospital couldn't return him anything but health. In any case, Law should step back and don't tamper with his treatment. He'd known all along that psychiatry is the last field he might prove himself as a doctor, and he at least accepted that realisation humbly. They didn't need him there, not this time.
He breathed deeply several times and finally felt he was ready to get back to work. When he resumed browsing through the medical records, he could focus on the new patients entirely. He lacked his normal enthusiasm, but he decided to settle for it now. He consoled himself with the thought that dejection belonged to today, and tomorrow, without doubt, everything would be better.