A/N: This is based off a real experience I had with a sick child. Kept me up really late, but hey, it inspired me.

It had barely been three months since Corazon had dragged the little boy onto this wild goose chase. Each day brought them closer to Law's self-prescribed deadline–some time in the next three months–and though neither of them mentioned it, both recognized that he was slowly fading away. The amber lead disease manifested itself in many other symptoms that just the iconic white splotches: Law's stamina dropped lower and lower, his tiny body succumbing to inexplicable aches, sometimes so painful that he could hardly move. Sleep, if at all possible, was scarce; the skin beneath the boy's grey eyes became hauntingly dull and bruised.

What made it worse for Corazon was that Law never complained. His face would harden in concentration, an unbreakable mask that sealed in the unending torment. He never cried.

It was with an air of weary resignation that Law allowed the blonde to doggedly pursue the dream of a cure, enduring the scorn, the fear, the inhumane treatment of each doctor they visited. Cora would have preferred sobbing, whining, outrage–anything but the oppressive silence that held the boy's tongue.

xxxxx

Their 'camp' could hardly dignify itself with that title. Being the spontaneous, underprepared person that he was, Cora hadn't brought much in the way of supplies. Comprised of a few blankets, a small fire (which Law had built) in a circle of stones, and a bag of miscellaneous goods, their camp's only true shelter was the trees above them. Sleeping under the stars was pleasant; he just hoped it wouldn't rain.

Corazon was startled out of slumber later that night by an unusual noise – the husky, choked sound of repressed crying. The sound electrified him; wriggling out from under his coat (he'd been using it as a blanket), Corazon stared into the darkness and whispered hesitantly:

"Law? You okay?"

The whimpering ceased at once, and there was a loud sniff, some mumbled phrases, the rustle of tangled blankets. Cora felt around, and, gently grasping the trembling child with both hands, pulled him forward so that Law's head rested on the blonde's collarbone. To him, the boy was not much bigger than a toddler, and fit easily in his arms.

"What's wrong?" His voice was soft.

Law's answer was lost amidst another storm of tears; Corazon couldn't imagine what had happened to make the boy so hysterical. A nightmare, perhaps? On a whim, he brushed the back of his knuckles against Law's forehead, wincing as the skin burned beneath his touch. Of course–if Law was feverish, he couldn't articulate even if he wanted to.

Cora wracked his mind frantically. He had no experience with sick children–or children of any sort for that matter. What was he supposed to do? Through his shirt, he could feel the heat radiating off Law's body; the boy's skin was clammy with sweat. He needed a way to cool him down, somehow…

Then, a thought struck him–he hated leaving Law alone, but there was a small creek only a few minutes away on foot, and he needed cold water, fast.

"I'll be right back." he murmured, laying the boy back down. Law shuddered, tugging his hat further down over his eyes as the blonde slipped away from the campsite.

xxxxx

He had no sooner reached the creek than he stumbled and fell in face first. He tried to regain his footing, but the rocks beneath were slick with moss and algae; he flailed helplessly in the water for several minutes until he was completely drenched. The canteen that he'd planned to fill had, no doubt, been lost downstream. Cursing his own bad luck and clumsiness, Corazon staggered onto the bank, wringing out his shirt with both hands. He'd already wasted too much time and now he'd screwed everything up, as per usual. Who knew what state Law was in by now? Well–his own shirt was already soaked; he could use that to cool the boy's forehead. Pleased at his own ingenuity, Cora peeled off the wet fabric and dunked it in the creek once more before sprinting back to the campsite.

He found Law seemingly asleep but tossing restlessly, each breath heavy and peppered with broken phrases. Feeling the boy's forehead with the back of his hand, Corazon was dismayed to discover that the fever had spiked; the panic bubbling in his chest escalated. Carefully, he removed Law's hat, but as soon as he tried, Law's hands shot out and reached for it, a protesting moan slipping through gritted teeth. Surprised, Corazon allowed the boy to hold the hat; he clutched it tightly in both arms, calming slightly. Then, wrapping his damp shirt around the boy's forehead, he tired the sleeves together in the back to ensure that it wouldn't slip.

It was tricky in the dark, but he managed to untangle Law from the suffocating folds of his blanket. Gingerly, Corazon gathered him in his arms and pressed him close; Law's heartbeat fluttered weakly against his skin.

Using his fluffy mantle as a cushion, he leaned up against a tree, slouching so that Law could lay on him comfortably. When the boy shifted so that his armed were draped around Corazon's neck, something leaped in his stomach–perhaps it was joy.

A simple touch told him the fever still refused to lessen; Corazon chewed his lip, eventually coming to the conclusion that he'd done everything within his power and could now only wait until morning. Angling his face downwards, he inhaled deeply and blew the cool air out through half-closed lips, instead of exhaling normally. Sure, his breath probably reeked, but there was hardly any breeze and it wasn't like they had any attendants with fans handy, either. He made a note to add "wind machine" to his list of personal skills (it was a short list).

Law stirred in his sleep, his downy hair tickling the underside of Corazon's jaw. After a while, he became completely still except for the methodical rise and fall of his diaphragm. If the blonde had been awake to check, he would have found the boy's skin warm but not hot, pulse calm and regulated.