I dream of Doflamingo

You don’t know how you’re supposed to function any longer. The most menial tasks become massive hurdles to overcome and you’d like to just lay down and pray for things to sort themselves out without any need for your participation.

It would have been a nice night. The sky is clear, the stars shine down on your miserable existence as you throw some stones out at the sea in front of you, getting irrationally sad at the stones not bouncing the way you want them to. Not angry – you don’t have enough energy left to be angry, not anymore.

You flinch when a noise startles you out of your contemplation. Somebody flicking their lighter, somewhere behind your back.

“A beautiful woman like yourself ought not to be left alone on a night like this.”

It’s not a voice you recognize. The voice is dark, warm, quiet. It’s a nice voice, but conversation seems to require energy you don’t have right now, so you don’t react. Maybe if you ignore the voice he’ll just disappear from whence he came.

He doesn’t. Instead you see from the corner from your eye how a well-dressed blond man sits down on the grass beside you, keeping a respectable distance between the two of you. He smokes quietly, saying no more for a few minutes.

Despite your general apathy, you find yourself weary. Is this another person seeking to prey on your vulnerability? But what will you do if it is? You can’t be expected to tackle yet another issue. It’s just not possible.

But he remains quiet. Just smokes by your side, not looking your way from what you can see without turning your head.

Your thoughts return to yourself as you let the stranger be a stranger.

The passing of time seems irrelevant to you so you can’t tell how much time has passed until he speaks again. “If there is anything, anything at all you need. Do not hesitate to say so, please. I can’t bear to see anyone suffer like you are.”

For some reason, hearing that makes you angry. An anger you couldn’t muster when casting stones, but who is he to want to meddle in your affairs? To presume the extent of your suffering like so? “Thanks, but no thanks.”, you mutter.

“I understand.”, he replies casually in a neutral tone. You hear the fabric of his suit rustle as he gets up and leaves.

Huh. Oh well, he likely just wanted to get into your pants either way. Good riddance. Your heart aches for the kind of stranger you wish for – somebody who could somehow lessen your burdens while having no ill intent towards you whatsoever.

The next afternoon, you visit the same stretch of shore. There’s something calming in the thought of the waves washing onto the shore not knowing who you are and continuing in their monotony no matter what happens with you moving forward. 

A scent hits your nose. Something delectable that absolutely has no place by the shoreline. 

A small package is set down on the grass in front of you. “Here. I hope it be will be to your taste.” 

The hand that put the box down retreats. It’s a nice hand, soft and refined, nearly aristocratic in nature. The voice is the same as the one you’d heard yesterday. Tonight, you look up. 

What you find is a tall man, as well-dressed as he was yesterday, looking down at you with an inscrutable expression, smoking yet another cigarette. 

You scrutinize him, looking him up and down, before peaking into the box. It’s a rich assortment of food in small contained compartments. It’s basically a buffet in lunch box form. 

“Why? Why would you make this for me?”, you can’t help but ask. 

The man shrugs faintly, looking out onto the waves. “Because everyone deserves a positive nudge and food is an essential for feeling well in the first place.” 

“Huh. Guess you’re right.” You pick up the sticks neatly put in a designated area of the lunchbox and start eating. It’s beyond delicious, to the point where you consider the physical lunchbox unworthy of its ingredients. 

“You made this?”, you mumble with a full mouth. 

Now his lips twitch upwards into a flash of a smirk, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared again. “Yeah. I’m likely the greatest chef you’ll ever meet.” 

You can’t help but react to that as you snort into your newly acquired lunchbox. “Very humble. A “humble brag” or whatever people call that.” 

Another faint smirk which disappears quickly again. “Humility isn’t a strong suit of mine. But I could make an exception for someone as lovely as you.” 

You huff, furrowing your brows. “Are you trying to get into my pants by making me food?” You regret the open words the second they leave your mouth, which is still stuffed full with the delicious buffet that this kind stranger has prepared for you. 

He looks quite hurt, but that impression disappears quickly again too. “Sure. If getting into your pants means filling your stomach with my food…” The line lands flat and he shrugs it off with an awkward smile. But it dissolves the tension your accusation had immediately brought up and you appreciate it for that. 

“That’s a new way of doing it for sure.”, you mumble, a little embarrassed. “Thanks for the food.” 

“It’s my pleasure.”, he states simply. 

He’s about to add something else when a loud and infectiously happy voice suddenly shouts “SAAAAAAANJIIII!!! I’M HUNGRY, MAKE SOME FOOD!!”

From the distance you see a number of figures standing atop a pirate vessel, one of them waving almost desperately with an arm that looks too long to possibly still be human. 

The kind chef - Sanji, apparently - sighs in mock-defeat and flashes you a small smile. “Business calls, it seems. I’m glad I got to meet you.” 

And so one day when you’re about to climb into the Thousand Sunny’s watch tower, you’re held back by Chopper’s voice calling out to you.

“Hey! Can you come to my office with me for a moment? I need to do a check-up with you.”

You turn your head, calling back to him about how you’re actually on night watch right now, but he shakes his head in reply. “I already talked to Usopp, he’ll take over for you. There’s something important I need to talk to you about as your doctor.”

With a queasy feeling settling in your gut, you descend and follow Chopper to his office. Once inside he puts on a white lab coat (likely to look more professional, even if it just ends up looking cute to you) and gestures for you to sit down on the cot.

“I think you’ve been struggling with mental health.”, he announces in a steadfast voice, meeting your eyes, searching them for confirmation.

You look at him in surprise but nod faintly, too embarrassed to voice your issues out loud even with a trusted crewmate (who wouldn’t pick his nose mid-conversation like your captain might).

“So, I only just read one book on it, I need to read like way more. But from what I read I know it’s very important that you understand you can come to me at any time and ventilate. No, that wasn’t the word…”, Chopper trails off, scratching his antlers as he tries to remember.

“You usually use the word “vent”.”, you offer helpfully.

Chopper’s eyes light up. “Oh yeah! That was it. But yes, the book said not to put any pressure on you, but that you can totally come to me or any other member of the crew about your issues. Though I wanted to warn you about that a little too… not all of our crewmates might be able to help! But I should be able to, being a doctor… even if not a trained psychologist… heh…” Chopper trails off, seemingly losing confidence in his abilities as he speaks.

You reach out and take his tiny hoof into your larger hand. “I appreciate you wanting to help. That matters a lot already. I’m guessing this wasn’t part of your training with Doctor Kureha?”

Chopper drags his hat over his eyes a little, mumbling embarrassedly about how of course he wants to help, he’s a doctor after all. Then he pushes his hat back up and nods thoughtfully. “We only briefly touched upon it, there was so much she had to teach me in so little time and there’s so much to learn in the medical field… it’s one part of my training that I have no experience with yet as well.” Chopper sighs, clearly feeling like he’s lacking a key component in being a good doctor.

“That’s fine. I can be your test subject.”, you smile reassuringly, even if you’re a little uncomfortable with the idea of your issues being used for practise – but you’d happily help Chopper with his training if that’s what it took.

“No! No, no, no. I’m going to do my best to help, but you’re not a test subject! You’re my… you’re my… crewmate…”

As Chopper is struggling to get the words out, you have a creeping suspicion you realize what he might be so averse to saying. You remember what Sanji and Nami had told you about how Chopper had come to join the crew and what difficulties he’d had in not being seen as a monster.

“Friend. That’s the way you’re looking for, doctor.” You call him by his title teasingly, knowing how proud he is of being one.

Chopper nearly falls off his chair in astonishment, then hides behind it quite ineffectively. “I’m not a friend! I’m a…!”, he trails off, suddenly realizing what he’s saying.

You chuckle and keep teasing him jovially. “Maybe you’ve got a bit of mental health stuff to uncover yourself right there, doctor. I’d be happy to help in any and all ways possible. Come to my doctor’s office any time.” You stick out your tongue at him.

The poor reindeer looks even more flustered than before. “Stop teasing me! I just wanna help!”

Your face mellows as you crouch down to be at the same level as him. “I know. I really do appreciate that. But despite how wonderful of a doctor you are…”, you ignore how he’s blushing and waving his arms like an idiot while insulting you under his breath, “… that doesn’t mean you have no troubles of your own. I know that we can all come to you for help at any time, but you need to realize that we are just as happy to help you in return. Even if, like you said, not all our crewmates might be able to help properly.”

Chopper takes a little while to stop being flustered before he finally sighs and calms down. “Okay! Then we’ll do “reverse therapy”. We’ll do double sessions where first I help you and then you help me! The book didn’t say that was an option, but we can just invent it!”

You grin at him, giving him a high five. “It’ll become known as the Doctor Chopper super-method!”

“You big idiot! I wouldn’t like that at all!”, Chopper flusters yet again.

“What’s super?”, says Franky, poking his ridiculously large neck into Chopper’s office from the door.