"Umm…Chopper?"
"Yes, Zoro?" the younger boy replied, fully intent on his assignment.
"I don't wanna…y'know interrupt or anything, but…what are you doing? Exactly?"
"I'm just running a quick examination of a particular specimen. It's for my Anatomy 360 class."
"I understand that, but…is there a reason I'm the specimen?"
Chopper's large brown eyes looked up from where they'd been intently watching the pull of the older man's forearm muscles as he rotated the limb around. The boy's demeanor changed instantly, as though a switch had been thrown.
"Oh, I'm sorry! I should have asked first, right? I'm really sorry, Zoro! I just wanted to get my observation notes finished before class tomorrow, so I grabbed whoever walked by! I'm really really sorry!"
Zoro just rolled his eyes and leaned back further into the cushions of the couch. "Not like I care. Just wondering, kid. Calm down."
Chopper beamed blindingly at the swordsman. "Thanks a lot, Zoro!" he cried, before reverting back into Student Mode, moving on to the intricate workings of the large, tanned hands.
He bent the long fingers, gently but persistently testing they're flexibility, their give; he rolled the wrist carefully, watching how the ropes of muscle ripple up the arm with the movement. He judged the width and size, made notes on the length of each digit, how the veins protruded when the hand was curled into a fist. He closely considered the color and durability of each nail, prodding slightly at the cuticle, studying their cracked and scuffed appearance. He took in the rough, leathery skin, heavily calloused and scarred. He wondered about the scars, too. How had he gotten them? How many did he have? Were there scars on other parts of his body? What kind of life did one have to lead to get hands this worn and strong?
Chopper's eyes turned away to write down his observations, when he noticed his own hands: thin and small and pale and soft. Everything Zoro's weren't. His hands were so…young. So inexperienced. So uninteresting and childish and naïve. They only proved what little Chopper actually knew about life. How little he'd actually lived. How much he didn't know about struggle and achievement and hard times and fending for himself. How utterly useless he was.
How could he ever compare his hands to Zoro's? Someone who'd lived fifty times more than he could ever hope to. How could he ever hope to have the man's respect when he couldn't even respect himself? And he couldn't. He hadn't done anything deserving of respect yet. His hands were so…clean.
Chopper sighed, setting the pen down. Today was a weird day.
"I'm all done, Zoro," he said, closing up the notebook and getting ready to retreat back into the room he shared with the green-haired man.
Piercing snores were the only responses he got.
Casting one last look at the swordsman, he sighed again, and left the older man to his sleep.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx
"Hey Chopper, what do you want for breakfast?" Sanji asked early the next morning as the young med student came stumbling out of his shared room, fisting his eyes and yawning. How Sanji managed to be alert at this hour was utterly beyond Chopper: the chef woke up before anyone else, and came home well after everyone was asleep (although Zoro was always asleep, so he didn't seem to count).
"Just some toast," the boy muttered, sliding into one of the barstools at the table.
Sanji gave the boy a cursory look, then went back to the bacon he was frying on the stove. "You need more than toast if you're gonna be functional, Chopper. Why do you think you're so tired all the time?"
"Hmm?" he lulled, still half-asleep.
"You've been pulling late nights studying, and you've been skipping meals to do your homework. I know you're worried about your grades and all, but if you're malnourished, you won't retain half the stuff you're trying to learn."
Chopper blinked, head still a bit muzzy. "Really?"
"Yep. So you should eat more at meals. You burn way more calories studying than you've been taking in. You need to keep a better balance. Try this," Sanji said, turning around and presenting the boy with a plate of scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast, with jam, a side of hash browns, and a tall glass of milk. "It may seem like a lot, but eat as much as you can. Whatever you don't finish will disappear into that vacuum of a kid when he wakes up."
"Th-thanks, Sanji!" Chopper gasped, wide-eyed and feeling slightly touched. He reached out to take the plate from the cook, and he didn't know why he even noticed, probably something left over from his examinations late last night, but whatever the reason, Chopper couldn't help but study Sanji's hands as they passed over his breakfast.
They were long and thin, the fingers slightly tapered, like a woman's, but the hands were large, too. The veins stood up noticeably when the muscles strained, the wrist bones protruding at sharp angles. The muscles of his forearms were less coiled than Zoro's, but firm and sinewy; everything very light and lean. The skin looked soft, but Chopper could see the vaguest, pink etchings near the tips of his fingers and the edges of his palm; small scars and little burn marks here and there, littered about the appendages, not doubt from former cooking accidents. The hands were quick and smart, very knowledgeable and efficient in whatever they seemed to do, dancing over the food and utensils, and pots and pans and different knobs in the kitchen, never halting, never getting confused.
How did someone develop such deft skills? How much discipline and hard work went in to training those hands to do whatever the owner commanded?
And again, Chopper looked at his own hands: slow, nervous, unsteady. How could he ever hope to be a good doctor if his hands wouldn't obey him? How would he ever be able to conduct a surgery if he couldn't keep his hands from shaking?
How could anyone so ignorant and untrained succeed in such a delicate field? What made Chopper think he could pull this off?
"Oi, Chopper. Eat up, or it'll get cold," Sanji said, his back to the shaggy-haired boy as he flipped the bacon.
"Kay. Thanks again Sanji."
Chopper ate and tried not to think for the rest of the morning.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Come on, Chopper! Play HALO with me!"
The young boy looked over the top of his textbook to see Luffy leaning over him, grinning hugely.
"I can't, Luffy. I need to finish reading these three chapters in my physics class."
"Awwww! But you always do homework! Why don't you ever play with me?"
"I'm sorry, Luffy, but I just can't --"
"I refuse!"
Chopper blinked at the older boy, who now stood with skinny arms folded, comical frown in place.
"Refuse what?"
"Your refusal."
He stared at Luffy, wondering if he tossed his spare key across the room whether the older boy would chase it or not. Luffy just watched him blankly, dark eyes round and wide, as though there wasn't a thought in his head. Chopper often wondered how he managed to get others to do whatever he wanted, with how easy it was to distract him. He was so simple-minded, it was a marvel he could even –
"PLAY HALO WITH ME!"
"GAAAAAAh!" Chopper freaked, flinging his textbook in the air and darting quickly behind the couch he'd been reclining on, peering around the arm carefully.
"Shouldn't you be hiding the other way?" Luffy asked.
Panicking, Chopper quickly reversed his position.
"Kinda late for that, now." Then Luffy looked over to where Chopper's physics book had ended up closed and upside down on the coffee table. "Yay! You're done studying! Now you can play HALO!" the boy cheered, holding up his game controller and pointing excitedly at it.
Chopper frowned, coming out from his hiding place. "No I can't, Luffy. I've got a lot of work to do if I want to become a good doctor. I can't just blow it off to play games with you --"
And he did it again. He didn't know why, but for some unknown reason, his eyes were once again drawn to someone's hands, this time Luffy's. They weren't big. They weren't incredibly thin. They didn't look strong or deft or skilled or powerful; the skin was smooth, pale, and free of scars or other marks; the nails healthy but slightly chipped.
Utterly and in all ways unremarkable hands.
Hands that smacked Zoro's back when he said something funny; hands that tackled Usopp whenever he walked in the door; hands that cleverly stole food when Sanji wasn't looking; hands that grabbed and tickled Chopper when he was too absorbed with his studies. Hands that played and punched and slapped and waved and clapped and slammed and pushed.
Hands that weren't very strong on their own, but strong enough to keep all of them together.
"Hey, Luffy?" Chopper asked in a meek voice, looking up sheepishly. "Do you think…do you think my hands are good enough to be a doctor?"
Luffy cocked his head slightly, staring at the younger boy. "Your hands can't be a doctor, Chopper. You can be a doctor." Then he cackled, grinning from ear to ear. "I thought you would've known that! You're the one studyin' bodies and stuff!"
Chopper blinked a second, wondering if he should bother pointing out that Luffy hadn't actually understood the question, and therefore hadn't really answered it.
But then Luffy, still grinning and laughing, grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the TV, hooting and jabbering about how cool the graphics were, and how Usopp designed the game himself from stories of his time in the CIA, and the explosions were so huge and awesome, and Chopper decided maybe Luffy had been right after all.
He did study too much.
Ain't Chopper just the sweetest? After this chapter, the real story starts up, so you guys have that to look forward to. THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! I LOVE YOU ALL!!!