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“C’mon, Zoro!”
The cloudless expanse of late afternoon sky was fading to a soft methylene blue as Chopper led his patient firmly towards the stern-side entrance of the infirmary. Their latest scrabble with the marines had been fairly mild as things went, and Zoro’s injuries weren’t severe, but Chopper had another motive for insisting upon a post-battle check-up. Zoro had been acting strangely for some time now. Zoro was not his usual self. Zoro was sick, and Chopper, official doctor of the Straw Hat Pirates, was going to cure whatever ailed him.
With his muzzle held high and shoulders squared (just as Dr. Hiriluk had taught him), Chopper opened the door and directed Zoro inside the infirmary despite his continued protests.
His new office aboard the Thousand Sunny welcomed them in with warm light, a soft new cot, and a reassuring array of sparkling clean instruments. His collection of medical journals and anatomy books were proudly displayed on the shelves next to fragrant jars of ginger, peppermint, and calendula, and there was even a board for him to track treatment. He had everything he needed to beat this mystery illness.
“Please sit down and take off your shirt!” Chopper intoned firmly in his best imitation of Dr. Kureha and puffed out his chest for good measure.
Zoro sighed but did as instructed.
Chopper took a deep breath and said, just as he had practiced in front of the mirror, “Before I begin, a quick check of your medical details!”
Zoro raised an eyebrow. “For a bunch of scratches?”
Chopper continued bravely on. “Name!”
“Zoro…”
“Full name!”
“Roronoa Zoro…”
“Age!”
“21?”
Chopper picked up his clipboard and made a note. “Confused state,” it read.
“How have you been feeling lately?!”
“...Fine? I guess?”
Another note was added. “Depressive affect.”
“How’s your appetite been?”
“...Okay?”
Chopper made another note. “Loss of appetite.”
“And sleep?”
“So-so?”
The final note read, “Severe insomnia.” Chopper underlined it twice.
Zoro craned his neck trying to see what was on the clipboard, but he whisked it away under the cover of going to his supply cabinet. With great deliberation, he measured out a few lengths of silk thread and collected his stitching kit, disinfectant, lidocaine cream, medical tape, and several rolls of gauze. These he arranged on a tray at his desk and then sat down on his roller stool.
Chopper set the tray firmly on his lap, and with a little kick, pushed off the desk. The stool gently rotated as it rolled the short distance to the cot with great–and professional, he felt–dignity. Just like a proper doctor.
Zoro was watching him with a small smile on his face.
“St... Stop smiling, you idiot! That won’t make me happy!!”
But it did. The usually stoic swordsman had been a seesaw of irritation and melancholy lately. Fighting with Sanji, long, voluntary shifts in the crow’s nest, more fighting with Sanji… It was reassuring to see a smile. Perhaps he was worrying for nothing. Chopper crossed out the “Depressive” descriptor on the chart.
Zoro’s grin widened, but it was quickly interrupted when his gaze shifted to the door leading to the galley. The sounds of pans banging could be heard faintly through the wood. The smile disappeared. Zoro’s shoulders seemed to droop.
Chopper frowned. He carefully rewrote “Depressive” on the chart and doodled a small sad face.
Concern now truly piqued, he got to work, taking his time with the various scrapes and cuts so he could probe for any injuries or maladies he’d missed. He decided to cover this discrete inspection with something he’d read about in the latest Toroa Medical Journal: “Bedside Manner and Establishing Patient Rapport.”
He cleared his throat. “There are about twenty lacerations, but most are superficial, and only one deep incised wound this time! Great job!”
Zoro looked at him blankly.
“And they’re mostly sharp force wound edges too, unabraded and clean, all things considered!”
Zoro’s expression did not suggest a good rapport. Chopper faltered slightly.
“Th-They probably won’t even leave a scar!”
If anything, Zoro looked slightly disappointed.
“Um, um, tell me about this scar!” he blurted, pointing at a long thin line across Zoro’s ribs. There were small, even rows of suture granulomas on either side from what had been to all appearances very tidy stitch work. As far as Chopper knew, he was the Straw Hat’s first and only doctor, so the skill and care applied to the old wound surprised him.
“Freaky lizard pirate, I think. Dunno.”
“Who dressed it?”
“Cook,” Zoro said without hesitation.
“A-And this one?” Again, clean, well-spaced stitch work despite the jagged path of the scar that even Dr. Kureha would have approved of.
The dark eyes were distant as he tried to recall, but then they focused.
“Don’t remember,” he said. “But the cook again.”
Chopper blew out a breath, relieved to have found the all important “common ground” mentioned so many times in the journal article, but as he continued on, listening attentively and nodding whenever Zoro replied with his customary, “Dunno,” and “Cook,” he noted with a start that this was yet another symptom. Zoro had almost zero recall when it came to said scars except when it involved a strong opponent or when Sanji had done the stitching, apparently – clear signs of selective memory or memory loss. Could his condition be related to head trauma? He made another note.
Finally finished, he taped down the last of the gauze and realized that the skin under his hoof felt very hot. Alarmed, Chopper stood on the stool to get a better look at Zoro’s face. The swordsman’s cheeks were definitely flushed. He ran to his desk and grabbed his stethoscope. Pressing the chestpiece in the correct position adjacent to Zoro’s heart, Chopper listened intently.
The steady thump-thump of Zoro’s heart came through loud and clear. Suddenly, there was a clang and a curse from the galley. The beats thrumming through the stethoscope increased at an alarming rate. Chopper listened for a few seconds more and then peered again into Zoro’s face.
Could it be poison?
Chopper turned Zoro’s head left and right and then straight. The cacophony of pans in the background kept a steady, noisy rhythm as he checked Zoro’s ears and nose. He took out his little pen light and carefully shone the beam in each eye.
The door to the infirmary clicked open. Sanji poked his head in.
“Chopper, you want some tea? I just put the kettle on.”
Illuminated by the pen light in Chopper’s hoof, Zoro’s pupils dilated so wide that only a sliver of color remained.
Speechless, he could only nod and as Sanji left, Chopper frantically scribbled more notes on Zoro’s chart.
Some time and several tests later, Chopper sat alone in his office with the treatment notes from the day spread out before him. Mood swings, loss of appetite, insomnia, memory loss, fever, increased heart rate, elevated norepinephrine and adrenaline… None of which seemed related to the recent battle or physical injury in general. Could it be a disease? A new world virus? He could find nothing quite like it in his medical books.
At a loss, Chopper decided to seek a second opinion from a trusted colleague and friend. He set his pen to paper and detailed the patient’s medical history, symptoms, and his observations. A News Coo accepted delivery of the letter for a fee and then he waited. A week later, he was delighted to receive a reply.
The letter was sparse, but helpful. Maybe? Chopper wasn’t entirely sure.
Affliction: amore labefactus idiota
Treatment: Quarantine patient in secure space with object of aggression/fixation ( soundproofing recommended ). Duration: 2-3 days.
Mixture: 1 part aloe vera, 1 part coconut oil, 5 drops peppermint ( patient application )
High percentage alcohol can expedite the treatment.
-L
There was a short postscript at the end.
If it doesn’t work, just toss them both off the ship.
There was another even shorter postscript after this.
Stop writing me.
Chopper reread the message again and decided to take the latter bits as a joke. The captain of the Heart Pirates, though an excellent surgeon, had a strange sense of humor, after all. Relieved to have at least some idea of what he was dealing with now, Chopper got to work collecting the ingredients and hoped that Sanji wouldn’t mind sparing some of his time for the treatment. As he prepared the mixture, he even began to whistle happily to himself, hopeful that Zoro might finally be cured.
The End?