Chapter 15

It didn't take long for Law to wish that day had never happened. He didn't even want to think of the events he'd participated in - on top of it, willingly. The very memory made him feel awful. He was left with the feeling he'd behaved completely, totally unlike him, the greatest embarrassment being the scene in Clione's office. The worst was how he'd exposed himself before the psychiatrist. Sure, the psychiatrist was the best choice for a person to expose oneself before, but Law had never considered himself to be someone in need of such a specialist... or anyone to confide in. No, he didn't need to confide, in the first place.

Deep inside, he realised that if he started to think in details of what he'd done, said or heard, he would feel much worse. Such analysis would undoubtedly lead to unpleasant conclusions about his life... and then he would need a psychiatrist indeed, while it was the last thing he wanted. So he preferred to stay at the safe stage of reproaching himself over his own stupidity, being overly amazed at his own behaviour, and blaming the external factors. After all, something had provoked him into acting that way. Something had thrown him off balance, resulting in behaviour that was unlike him and that he would have never expected of himself. He knew well what it was... or, rather, who: a twelve-years-old kid called Rosapelo, who was at present occupying the bed in the Seven and who had brought chaos in the daily life of the Corazon Memorial Hospital... No, just in the daily life of Trafalgar Law.

All in all, it was the best to forget everything about the psychiatry ward with its patients and the head doctor, and not let his thought even stray on the seventh floor, at least until he would have to go there, which was fortunately no sooner than the end of the month. It wasn't entirely his fault that he'd got into this story, and yet it had cost him too much nerves and resulted in foul mood, to say nothing of the bad things he'd done to other people. What had happened couldn't be undone, and, in fact, it wasn't his turn to solve the problem, only Clione's and his team's. Law had enough work, enough things to concentrate on so that he could 'forget' that unpleasant affair, push it down into the deepest layers of his subconsciousness from where it couldn't resurface. The hospital hardly ever experienced the lack of patients, and medicine was still something Law could fully focus on.

He guessed it wouldn't go so smoothly if not for the fact that Clione hadn't shown his face around at all. Was it a coincidence or a deliberate action, that Law didn't know, but nothing could suit him better. Maybe, after what had happened in his office, the psychiatrist too had decided that it would be the best if they had some time apart. He must have realised that Law couldn't feel comfortable after all that, right? In any case, Clione's characteristic figure didn't even glimpse out of a corner of his eye, not that Law particularly looked out for him.

His luck lasted the whole three days.

On the fourth day, in the evening, after the new admissions were over and he was doing the paper work in his office, he heard a knocking on the door. Upon his answering 'Come in', the door was slowly opened, revealing none other than the head of psychiatry. Law suppressed a sigh, preparing for the surge of negative emotions... yet it didn't happen. Apparently, he'd managed to calm down after the upset from a few days ago - he knew from experience that a few days were sometimes enough, indeed - or maybe he just couldn't be angry with Clione. Probably both.

"Sorry for interrupting you. May I take you a moment?" Clione asked, and there was untypical hesitation to both his words and the general attitude.

"Sure," Law replied, putting down his glasses and increasing the lighting.

The psychiatrist sat at the edge of the couch and clasped his hands on his lap. "I have a problem with a patient. With Pelo. He's not recovering," he said outright.

Now Law did feel annoyed, as the boy's face glanced before his eyes, just as he'd seen it the last time. A living dead. A lifeless doll. He wasn't surprised that Clione had a problem. "Discharge him," he said reluctantly.

Clione frowned, and his eyes were filled with resented astonishment. "Stop telling stupid jokes," he snorted. "We're treating him."

Law pressed his lips in a thin line. He didn't like this conversation already. "What can I do about it?" he asked with an obvious displeasure.

The psychiatrist gave him a serious look. "Could you see him?" he asked. "I think we need your help."

Now it was Law's turn to frown. "Hey, you know that I don't use the Ope Ope no Mi in the depression patients," he reminded in a menacing voice.

Clione shook his head, making his long earrings tingle. "I'm not talking about the Ope Ope no Mi. I just want you to... to talk to him."

Law straightened in his chair and gave the psychiatrist a disbelieving look. "But you ordered me to keep away from him," he reminded edgily. "You said that it would be better if I didn't see him. And you were probably right," he added under his breath.

Clione glared at him. "Damn it, Law!" he called quietly in exasperation. "Am I some kind of an oracle that is never wrong? You know well that our job requires that we're flexible and can admit our mistakes. Well, actually, I don't think I was mistaken, that moment..." He shook his head again. "I only think that now he can benefit from your visit, not the contrary."

Law leaned back and gave the psychiatrist a hostile look. They stared at each other in silence for a longer while. Clione's gaze was hard, uncompromising, the previous hesitation was gone, as if he was certain he was right. Law clenched his teeth and looked at the window; it was getting dark outside. He really didn't want to do it. During those three days, he'd managed to once again regain the psychical balance, having cast the kid off from his mind. He didn't want to be bothered with him again, for it would mean the return of his bad mood... and made it possible that he started to act strange once more. The very thought of seeing that boy again evoked a strong objection in him, and Law didn't use to do things he found revolting. As a free man, he had the right to say no...

But he was a hospital director and a chief doctor here, which obliged to something. He couldn't dismiss a colleague who needed a consult, and only because he didn't like the case. It would be first unethical and second egoistic. The personnel knew - should know - that Trafalgar Law offered medical help whenever needed. If Clione was asking him for that, he wasn't doing it on whim, only because of his patient's welfare, and Law couldn't pretend he didn't know that.

He sighed. "What's happening with him?" he asked, looking at the head of the Seven again.

"Nothing."

"What do you mean 'nothing'?"

"Nothing," Clione repeated, shaking his head. "He's lying in the bed, speaks to no-one, doesn't eat nor drink, but he also doesn't object to any procedure. We had to put him on a drip and give him a catheter. He's conscious and probably aware of his surroundings, at least to some extent, but he stays out of touch and doesn't respond. Well, his condition is like it was when you saw him the last time. Of course, there's no neurological issues. We got an MRI and all other tests," he described.

"Sounds to me like a classic case of psychotic depression, doesn't it?" Law made a diagnosis. "Why won't you give him the ECT? 'Cause I guess the medication is not working...?"

Clione nodded. "Not at all. Well, I agree that it looks like a psychotic depression, he's obviously catatonic... But we also know that there is a specific factor responsible for his condition: namely, the death of his mother."

"Reactive psychosis or not, the ECT should work," Law muttered. "How long can you keep him on a drip? It's going to develop into a life-threatening condition."

"It's our last resort," the psychiatrist agreed.

"Then, what do you want from me?" Law asked less politely he'd intended. "If there's no contact with him, how can I help?"

Clione straightened on the couch and gave him a serious look, and Law prepared for an argument he wouldn't like at all. The psychiatrist sighed and stared at his own knees. "It may look like I'm clutching at a straw, but..." He looked up again. "Law, when you saw him... he responded to you. It's been his only reaction in all those days. Believe me, the only one. Maybe it was a pure coincidence, something that won't happen again... But it still doesn't change the fact you're the only person he'd come into a contact with, even if short. I don't want to dismiss it, to ignore it, for it may be pretty significant," he said with emphasis. "That's why I ask you to see him once again. If I'm wrong and it won't work, then I promise to never bother you again with this case," he declared.

Law observed him closely for a while. He really didn't like the idea... but he was a doctor; he could understand Clione's point of view. If the case was hopeless, then a doctor would grab every chance to help or make a difference, and psychiatry was a field where even the tiniest detail could be important. And it was true, that the boy had reacted to his presence, had been aware of it. Uninvited, the feeling of triumph that had filled him that moment, returned to him... along with the temptation to experience it once more. If he could made Rosapelo pay attention to him again... then, why shouldn't he try? Trafalgar Law liked challenges, at least medical ones.

"You realise what you're doing?" he mumbled, focusing on the psychiatrist's slate-blue eyes. "You're asking me to cure someone without the Ope Ope no Mi. I haven't done it in... I don't even remember how long."

Clione raised his brows. "Is it something bad?" he asked in astonishment. Then, a wry smile stretched his lips. "But if you find it so embarrassing, we won't tell anyone."

"Very funny," Law retorted, turning his head.

"But I do like your attitude," Clione spoke again, and his voice was still pretty playful. "You said 'cure'. Your optimism really cheers me up."

"It's just a habit of mine," Law dawdled. "You must forgive me that I had forgot how to use the word 'treat'."

"Fine, fine, Doctor I-have-the-Ope-Ope-no-Mi-and-can-cure-any-disease Law. In any case, thanks."

"You'll thank me after I make use of myself," Law grunted, running his fingers through his hair. Then, however, he remembered something and looked at the psychiatrist again. "What if I... get angry at him again?"

Clione reassumed a serious expression. "His condition is so bad that it couldn't get any worse," he said dryly. "Actually, if your words or behaviour, anything... provoked some emotions in him, it would be only desirable. Everything is better than being a living dead... Of course, it doesn't mean you can do whatever you please," he warned.

"You're going to remind me that I broke his arm," Law muttered.

Clione shrugged. "I'm not. Actually, I already forgot about it," he said indifferently; then, however, his gaze became intense again. "I just hope that when you go there and speak to him... you'll be able to get to him."

"I can tell you don't really believe in that psychotic depression..."

"Sure I don't. It's nothing but a reaction to the tragedy he experienced. He lost his mother, had a terrible shock, withdrawn into himself and cut off from everything. He gave up on everything. Can we be surprised?" Clione asked rhetorically. "But the truth is we must bring him back to life. We must make him realise that living on is the only right choice, no matter how bad he feels."

"And of course you decided that I'm the best candidate for that? That I would be able to put myself in his shoes and reach to him?" Law threw before he managed to bite his tongue. "No, forget what I said."

The psychiatrist fixed his eyes to scrutinise him for a longer while. Annoyed, Law pushed out the chair and got up to approach the window, although he could see nothing outside. His heart was beating too fast, and he had an unpleasant sensation in his chest. He felt like cursing. He could still feel the gaze of Clione on his back, and he couldn't look back. The silence prolonged.

"Law, you do realise that you can't talk to a psychiatrist that way...?" he finally heard the quiet voice, and the warning in it. "Are you doing it on purpose?"

"I'm not doing it on purpose."

"Then it's your subconsciousness," Clione stated. "It wants to throw out what you desperately try to forget."

"I'm going to throw out. You, out of here. I have a full control over my subconsciousness," Law retorted, turning around and glaring at the psychiatrist.

Clione's eyebrows went up so high they almost touched his hairline, and then a mocking smile curved his lips. "It was the funniest thing I've heard this week," he replied. "I'd love to say, 'Keep thinking that', but my psychiatric ethics doesn't let me. Anyway," he rose from the couch, "as you noticed, I should go already. Thanks for hearing me out," he added sincerely, and this time his smile was that familiar, warm sign of affection.

Law nodded and sat down behind the desk. "I'll come tomorrow," he said, running his schedule in his thought. "I should have a moment around half past eleven."

"Good. I'm really grateful.

Law waved his hand and put his glasses on. "I told you, you're going to thank me if there's any use of me," he muttered, grabbing the chart of the patient he'd worked on previously.

"Okay. Then, see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Law replied... and then, despite himself, he called, "Clione...?"

The psychiatrist turned to him. "Yes?"

"I'm not doing it on purpose," Law replied, looking him in the eye. "I just..." he started and stopped, as if he waited for Clione to finish the sentence for him, like many times before.

The psychiatrist, however, was staring at him intently. "Just...?" he said.

Law shook his head. He didn't knew how to finish... or didn't want to know. "What do you mean that I shouldn't talk to you that way?" he asked instead, having the vague impression he couldn't win this fight.

Now it was astonishment that flashed in Clione's eyes. "When you throw me such scraps of information... if it can be even considered the information... then you're just asking me to psychoanalyse you," the psychiatrist answered directly. "You seem to want me to get everything out of you, despite shrinking from it at the same time and always move away. And I, of course, would love to get all your secrets out of you, and thus I must be very careful to never try it because..." he hesitated, "because I don't want to risk our friendship. I must wait until you want to tell me everything yourself, if you want it one day," he explained. "But sometimes it seems to me that you deliberately tease and tempt me because you know perfectly well about my weakness," he added reluctantly and tucked his hair behind left ear.

"I'm not doing it on purpose," Law repeated again... and then asked himself if it was really so.

Clione nodded slowly, but something flickered in his eyes, and for a moment he seemed pretty desperate. "I'm not an angel, Law," he warned. "Even I have my limits."

Law sighed. "All this would be much easier it it were just an affair," he muttered without thinking.

The psychiatrist fell silent for a longer while. Then he closed his eyes, opened them and took a deep breath. "Law, please, don't flirt with me," he said beggingly and shook his head. "It's not like you... But maybe it's my fault; recently, I've been bothering you and talking only strange things, so it's no wonder you start to imagine who knows what," he added in such a tone that he might as well try to convince himself. "Maybe I should go to some congress and vanish from your eyes for some time... Ah, right! Bepo could return already. He is a haven of peace and a supporting pillar for you. With him, you act perfectly normally."

"Sorry for being such a nuisance," Law grunted and leaned over the medical record. "And being good only for Bepo."

Clione moaned. "On all sea gods, I'm out of here. I really feel like kissing you now and don't want you to punch me in the face."

Those words sobered Law. He looked up to stare at the psychiatrist, who had opened the door. "I'm sorry," he said seriously, realising his own cruelty, for his thoughtlessness couldn't be called anything else. "It wasn't fair of me."

Clione glanced over his shoulder and smiled wryly. "If you absolutely want to, we can go on date on your next day off," he said ironically, although, knowing him, he could be dead serious. "It falls right between the Valentine's Day and my birthday."

Then he nodded and left. Law, stunned, spent the next five minutes trying to convince himself it had been a joke.

Despite that unexpected ending, he realised he was relieved, and it took him another while to understand why. He'd probably feared that, after their last talk, something would change in their relation: namely, the psychiatrist would start to avoid him. But Clione treated him just like before, just like always... It seemed he really didn't count on anything in relation to Law and settled with their friendship... although it was also pretty certain that, had Law allowed him, their relationship could go to an entirely new level, hmm... But no, he mustn't think of such things. What mattered was that nothing had changed between them, and it was favourable that it never changed.

Law remembered what Clione had said the other day, 'It would never work'. For some reason, he felt twinge in his chest and some objection... All the same, he didn't intend to find out if the psychiatrist was right about it. Too much he feared it was exactly the case.

He ruffled his hair in frustration. It was that moment that his psyche, as if it had a life on its own, started to make problems... Definitely, it was high time that he forbade himself considering those topics, which he did. His last thought, as he resumed his paper work, was that Bepo really could return already.

The next day Law discovered that he was back to that stage from four years ago, when he completely couldn't understand his own behaviour. Now, however, sweeping everything under the carpet and removing from his thought wouldn't do. A single stupid thing could happen to anyone, but in this case it had happened twice already... and there was no guarantee it wouldn't happen again, which Law didn't want.

Why, on earth, did he keep saying such embarrassing things to Clione, ones that he would gladly wipe off his memory? The truth was he'd been flirting with the psychiatrist indeed, no matter how retarded it sounded, and he was under the impression that he'd done it seriously, which was ridiculous in and of itself. If he joked, there would be no case whatsoever - after all, Clione had been flirting with him since ever, and only as fun, so it wouldn't be anything strange if Law responded in the same way - but no. It bothered him and made him wonder about the reasons for that. Maybe it was Ikkaku's words that no-one would put up with him that had hurt him too much, had hit his self-esteem too hard... And later, when Clione had rejected him, too... maybe Law had wanted to show them both that they were wrong? Maybe he'd wanted to do things out of spite, and hence the way he'd been treating the head psychiatrist now?

But it was completely unfair to Clione, for Law knew perfectly that he regarded the psychiatrist as a friend only. If he just wished to prove himself he was capable of staying in a relationship, he couldn't do it at the expense of the man who had much deeper feelings towards him, that was obvious. What distressed him the most, however, was the very iidea/i that he might - wanted to? - enter a relationship with another person. If it really was so... then when had it started? Until very recently, he'd determinedly removed such thoughts from his mind and hadn't even considered them; no, he hadn't even let them come on his mind. Trafalgar Law needed only his work, such had been the situation for many, many years. Had it suddenly begun to change? But he didn't want it, he didn't want any change in his life filled with working and with the Corazon Memorial Hospital; he wanted it to remain like that until the very end. Work was his absolute footing, and he could have trust in both medicine and his own skills. On the other hand, the relationships meant uncertainty and multidimensional fear, while those were emotions that he'd been avoiding as strongly as possible. No, there was no place for interpersonal bonds in his life, at least not those deep, and no superficial desire or momentary whim could affect his policy.

Anyway, it was high time to finish with that ambiguous behaviour that, just like Clione had pointed out, was so unlike him. Law decided he would no longer let himself be drawn into that game or provoked into speaking that frivolous tone and juggling words that could be interpreted not always in an innocent manner. It was obvious that something like that couldn't end well and benefit anyone; quite the contrary, it would probably lead to someone's harm, and Law didn't want to harm himself nor others.

The only positive of the whole affair was that he'd forgotten to be stressed by the meeting with Rosapelo. Only now, half past eleven, as he entered the Seven, he felt slightly nervous. He was anxious he would lose it again and say something he shouldn't. Well, Clione had said that it wouldn't do any harm anyway, but Law would rather avoid making scenes. In his mind, he repeated several times that Rosapelo wasn't to blame, in order to strengthen his empathy... but he knew from the experience that it still couldn't be insufficient or would have no effect whatsoever. That kid, without realising it himself, just had that ability to upset Law. Clione would undoubtedly be able to explain it, if Law wished to know the cause for that... but he didn't. What was in his head belonged only to him, and he didn't plan to share it with anybody; it applied to what was in his heart as well.

The head psychiatrist emerged from the nurse station; he'd been clearly waiting for him. "I'm glad you came," he said with a smile.

Law nodded to greet him. "Before that... I'd like to have a word with you, in private," he muttered.

"Come, the conference room is free now."

When the door closed behind them, Law looked the psychiatrist in the eye. "I sorry for yesterday," he said straight out. "You were right, I haven't been myself recently. I promise it won't happen again. I want our relationship to remain purely collegial, okay?"

"In other words... no dates?" Clione replied cheerfully... too cheerfully.

Law nodded. "That's right, no dates. No... nothing."

The psychiatrist smiled. "Fine. It would be the best," he said in a calm voice. "I'm sorry if-"

"Don't apologise," Law interrupted him. "It's me who should apologise."

"In that case, let's leave it at that, all right?" Clione suggested.

Law took a deep breath. "All right."

"Then, we're off to Pelo," the psychiatrist decided vigorously and opened the door.

Following him into the corridor, Law wondered if Clione ever felt depressed... He probably did; he was just as good in hiding his emotions as Law himself, at least. Feeling guilty, however, wouldn't help anything. The matter had been dealt with, and their relationship had been clarified. There wouldn't be any misunderstanding... or futile hopes for anything. That would be the best, he repeated the psychiatrist's words to comfort himself.

This time, there was not much to look at in the ward, for the patients were occupied with lunch. Most of them preferred to eat in their rooms, but at least several wanted to have meals with others in the common space. Actually, Law realised he would eat something, too, but today he had to settle with a salad taken to the consultations.

"I have some fifteen minutes," he informed.

"Well, it's enough to make sure if the treatment would have any result," Clione replied, shrugging.

"Poultice of Trafalgar Law," Law said under his breath.

The psychiatrist glanced at him and smiled, before pressing the handle and entering the room. Law followed him, gathering his strength to confront the person he'd never planned to see again. It was just fifteen minutes, he told himself, closing the door.

Just like before, the room was filled with the sunlight, but this time a nurse was sitting by the bed; upon seeing them, she rose from a chair and greeted Law. As for the patient himself... Rosapelo didn't react in any way. He was lying in the bed completely still, his eyes were staring blankly, and only regular move of his chest indicated he was alive. There was a drip connected to his left elbow pit, supplying him with the nutrition. Of course, it was nowhere near the amount that the boy of his age needed. Law realised it'd been a whole week since their previous meeting. Since then, Rosapelo had clearly lost some weight. His face was thin, his cheeks sullen, and his arms lying on the cover seemed to be two sticks. If Law were the one to decide, he would've started the electroconvulsive therapy long ago...

But it was Clione who supervised the boy's treatment, and he was of the opinion that they shouldn't use that method yet. Law didn't use to interfere with the decisions of the psychiatrists, and he fully trusted Clione's judgement. If the head of the Seven believed that Trafalgar Law could help, they had to figure if he was right.

"Pelo, I brought Dr Law, just like I told you before," Clione spoke, showing Law the chair in the same time. "I asked him to talk with you."

Law sat down, observing the boy closely. Nothing indicated that Rosapelo had heard the psychiatrist: no twitch of an eyelid, no move of a muscle. For his part, Clione didn't seem to have expected anything. The real trial started now... also for him, Law realised.

What should he say? What words to use in order to wake up that boy who had withdrawn into himself? He hadn't prepared for this meeting... Well, first he should probably remind the patient who he was. "Hi, Pelo," he began. "Do you remember me? I'm Trafalgar Law. I treated you before... Ah, you can't remember me doing so, but we did talk a few times when you were conscious, too."

No reaction, which disappointed him a bit. But if it had been so easy, Clione wouldn't have a problem. Law just had to keep trying.

"I see that you have no fractures this time, it's good," he spoke again and smiled, although it came out pretty weak. "But I can't say that you look well. I heard you haven't been eating recently. You should eat otherwise..." He stopped. He'd wanted to say, 'Otherwise you won't recover', but that boy didn't seem like wanting to recover. "Otherwise you won't be able to come off the drip. And it's a pain to be on it. For example, you can't play football, which I remember you like."

Silence. Law could as well talk to the wall. Clione had stated that the boy was conscious to some extent, but Law found it difficult to believe. Rosapelo's mind seemed completely closed, detached from all external stimuli and information that normally reached a person through their senses. Did the boy really see or heard anything? His gaze wasn't focused on anything that existed in this room. Law felt like causing a loud, sudden noise - clap his hands or stomp his feel - but it probably had been tried already.

He activated his Devil Fruit. Rosapelo's heart rate and breathing were in a full resting norm; he could see it with a naked eye, for the boy was so cachectic that the pulse could be observed on his carotid artery. His vitals weren't affected by Law's words either, just as if he hadn't heard anything indeed. However, with the Ope Ope no Mi...

"You're not going to use Counter Shock, are you?" Clione asked with the slightest shade of suspicion, not moving from his spot in the foot of the bed.

Law shook his head. "Trust me," he replied. Actually, he would gladly use that technique, but now he needed the Ope Ope no Mi merely to assess the boy's cortex activity. "Pelo," he muttered. "I really hoped you would talk with me..."

His heart beat faster when he noticed a reaction in the auditory area. It was weak but evident. Then, Clione had been right, and the boy was really aware of his surroundings, at least on a neurological level... Of course, even if his brain heard the words, it still didn't mean that those words reached his mind; nevertheless, the chances to make contact beyond doubt existed...! Law just had to keep doing; he still had several minutes.

"Pelo, I hoped you would talk with me," he repeated, and this time his voice was stronger, and he could observe the reaction in the auditory cortex again. "The last time I visited you, you didn't ignore me, remember? I remember it very well. Actually... we didn't finish that conversation," he said and grew silent as his optimism suddenly dropped.

They hadn't finished that conversation because, instead of talking, Law had got mad and started to accuse Rosapelo. Instead of grab and hold that thread of contact, he'd let it be broken. It was with a very unpleasant feeling that he thought he may have missed the only chance to reach the boy. He really had managed to make contact, but it was a whole week ago... and a week is a terribly long time for one's condition to deteriorate.

He clenched his teeth. Knowledge that he might have contributed to worsening in his patient's condition, while it should be the opposite, stung like hell. It didn't matter that they still had the ECT in reserve; it didn't matter that the boy would sooner or later recover. What mattered now was that Trafalgar Law, the greatest doctor in the world, had done something he should have never done: had harmed a patient. No explaining would do; he had no right to justify his actions. What he'd done was substantially wrong.

"I'm sorry," he said and thought that recently he'd been only apologising. "I'm sorry, Pelo. I treated you badly, although you didn't deserve it. I'm sorry," he repeated helplessly.

That was how he felt now: completely helpless. If saying 'sorry' could solve all problems, there would be no unhappy people in the world.

"I'm really sorry," he kept talking, though, for what else could he do? "For what I said. For all those thoughtless and cruel words you heard from me. I'd like you to be angry with me... 'cause it's not enough that I'm angry with myself. Can you hear me, Pelo? You should be mad at me, I deserve it."

He pressed his lips, but the words couldn't be stopped; they wanted to burst out of his throat as that hot emotion welled up in him: a mixture of shame, remorse, compassion... and desire to save what he hadn't managed to ruin yet. He knew at least as much that he was no longer speaking to relieve himself, show himself in a better light, or extort forgiveness. No, that stage was already past him. What drove him now was just a desperate need to help.

"Tell me what should I do in order to compensate you," he asked in a pressing voice. "Nothing I do can make those words disappear... but maybe you will feel a bit better. And I... I want you to feel better. Not as a doctor, but as a... as a man. So let me know what it is that you want from me... would you?"

He lowered his head, swallowing down a heart-breaking apprehension that Rosapelo might no longer want anything from him, which would be perfectly understandable.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen you out that day. I promise I will never push you away, so please... Tell me that it's still not too late," he whispered, clutching his fingers on the fabric of his trousers, and bit his lips. His throat clenched, and suddenly he wasn't able to keep talking.

In the silence that fell he could hear the nurse breath in through her nose; her mouth was covered with one hand. She couldn't have expected such words of the hospital director... and she probably wished that his good will was answered, for the silence was like a blow, cruel in its emptiness... devoid of hope for any sign of life.

"Enough, Law," Clione said in a soft voice, putting one hand on his shoulder. "You did your best. Tomorrow, we'll start the ECT. Thanks for trying. I'm really grateful."

Law shook his head and looked up at him. The psychiatrist knitted his brows in surprise, and Law knew what had made him do to so. He smiled wider... Actually, he felt like smiling for the rest of his life, and it was so wonderful, so great that it completely soothed all anxiety and agitation of the previous moments.

"Law...?" Clione asked, hesitating, and then his eyes grew wide. "You don't mean..."

Law nodded and looked at Rosapelo again. The boy was half-sitting, half-lying in the bed, unmoving, and nothing had changed in his outward appearance, yet... "There was a physiological response."

"Are you sure?" the psychiatrist asked pressingly, and today his scepticism couldn't hurt Law.

"Like my own name," Law answered, getting up from the chair and looking him in the eye. "The Ope Ope no Mi is never wrong about such things."

Clione suddenly seemed ten years younger. He rubbed his forehead, and then put his hands together, nervously clasping his fingers. "It still doesn't mean anything," he said weakly, but Law could tell that his inner optimist wouldn't be silenced.

"I'll make it mean something," he declared; he was still smiling. "I'll come tomorrow," he announced and turned to the boy once more. "I'll be back tomorrow, Pelo, so wait for me," he repeated, staring at still blue eyes, and added in a softer voice, "Thank you."

The boy's pulse accelerated again... and then Rosapelo closed his eyes as if he wished to say goodbye. Law deactivated the Ope Ope no Mi and left the room without looking back. He would come here as soon as tomorrow. As he walked to the consultations, his step was so light it seemed to him he could fly. What lifted him up, however, wasn't triumph or satisfaction, only a shy hope that he'd been forgiven.

Just like always, Clione had been right. Rosapelo didn't need Trafalgar Law as a doctor only a man.

A/N. Hey, I'm waiting for your comments! We are half-way through the story, and I really die to know what you think of it!