Bedside Manner (Law x Reader)

09. Counseling Session

"Would you say that's an accurate account of the procedure?" 

You were looking down at your hands in your lap, lost in your own thoughts. Kureha had been speaking to you for the last ten minutes. Yet, you hadn't heard a word of what she had said. The older woman heaved a sigh before calling out to you, punctuating your name with a slap of her clipboard against the armrest. When you jumped, eyes trailing up to hers, she repeated her question. 

"Well, I wouldn't say I was being disrespectful." You argued. "If we would have gone through with my idea, the patient would have lived." 

"But you can't possibly know that." 

You grew quiet, turning your head to gaze out the window. On a lower roof of the building, you could see a gathering of pigeons. 

"You experienced a similar situation back in school, didn't you?" She inquired. "You knew what you needed to save someone, but couldn't put it into action?" 

You nails dug into the tops of your thighs, heart rate picking up speed at the mention of that incident. 

"There wasn't an attendant holding me back that time." 

"No, you were holding yourself back." 

"And he didn't die." 

One of them hadn't died.

You heard the slight rustle of her coat as she adjusted in her seat. It was quiet a moment as she let the last bit of your conversation soak in, let the words tumble around in your mind. 

"But he wasn't the same." You muttered to mask the sob bubbling up in your throat. 

"No, most aren't after a trauma like that." The soft, low tone she used now was like one a mother used when consoling a child. She was like that to you in many ways-- a mother. A teacher. "Have you tried reaching out again now that some time has passed?" 

A bitter smile on your lips, you scoffed. "What would be the point? He made it pretty clear how he felt."  

The topic was moved away from; the older doctor begrudgingly agreed to have you cleared for operations again. Kureha was a jack-of-all-trades in the medical world, but as of late, you were the only one going to her for mental care/assessments. She was the only one you'd speak with. Well, it was more like she was the only one who knew how to navigate your attitude. 

She stopped you just before you left her office. You focused on the space on her desk personalized with a snowglobe that held a picture of her thirteen year old deerhound as she spoke.

"That point you asked about? It would be for you to get some closure. I don't think either of you ever really got that." 

_____

"It's a simple procedure." You assured, attention intentionally directed to the eleven year old in the bed and not the mother gripping their hand like a vice. "We do them all the time." 

The patient's mother was not a fan of you by the time you got done detailing a tonsillectomy to ease the child's mind. They asked and you hadn't seen a problem answering the way you would had an older patient asked. 

"Was that necessary?" The mother hissed in an effort to keep her tone even. "He doesn't need all that detail. You're going to give him nightmares!" 

She continued to berate you until she was cut off by a sudden question.

"Can I see them after?" The boy asked. "My tonsils?" 

You had to bite your tongue as you watched the woman's face distort-- appalled by the very words her child was speaking. His wide, gleaming eyes flickered back and forth between the only adults in the room. The woman's mouth opened and closed, but she couldn't find the words to respond with. 

You muttered a 'we'll see what we can do' and left them to wait for the anesthesiologist. 

You rounded the corner to place the chart in its rightful place outside the room, your shoulder roughly colliding  with another. There was a sharp echo as you slammed the chart into place. There was a snarky remark somewhere, but it was lost when you found stormy eyes boring into your own.

You were immediately reminded of the attentive way those eyes had watched your expressions the other night, taking in even the slightest quirk of your brows. 

This was the first time you'd come to face him since Sunday morning and he looked more than a little amused at your lack of words. You thought you detected some irritation as well, but were quick to dismiss it. 

"I take it you made it home alright." Law's hands slid to rest in the pockets of his coat. 

A sigh pushed its way past your lips as you turned away to start walking down the corridor. You hadn't expected Trafalgar to fall into step beside you. Despite the inches of space between you, you felt the ghost of his fingertips glide along your skin and leave goosebumps in their wake. The more your mind wandered back, the more tempted you grew to swear off drinking altogether. 

But you knew that would only last a week at best. 

"I know we work together, but you don't have to pretend like you care." You sidestepped to let someone from lab pass by with their cart. "Unless... you're worried I'll tell your girlfriend?" 

"Girlfriend?" 

You stopped to look over at him with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. "You don't need to come over." You mocked. "Cora."  

Then he laughed. The corners of his eyes wrinkled with delight. A low rumbling that emanated from his chest. He couldn't help it-- you just looked so serious despite the ridiculous accusation. Your expression contorted to something between embarrassment and confusion. 

Confused because you didn't understand what was so funny. 

Embarrassed that you found him incredibly attractive when he laughed. You had never seen or heard him do so before. You didn't realize that he could. 

"What-" You began to question, only for your cell to vibrate in your pocket. Slipping the device out, you expected to find your attending summoning you to one of the operating rooms. 

That wasn't the case.

You furrowed your brows, hesitating. Law's laughter had ceased as he watched you take the call.

"This is l/n."  

"A patient was just brought into the emergency department." A woman spoke carefully. "You were listed as one of their contacts. Could you come down?"