Chapter Text
Law's getting better at drawing Cora.
It's part of his routine, now. When he comes to the aquarium, he heads to Cora's tank to let him know he's here, then goes up to the open air exhibit so they can talk while Law sketches-- or sometimes does homework. As fascinated as Law is by everything about merfolk, Cora seems equally amazed by Law's mundane life.
"Do you have artistic aspirations, then?" he asks.
"I like art," Law replies. "But I've always wanted to be a doctor."
"I think you've said that before," Cora notes thoughtfully. "Clarify for me: what does a human doctor do?"
"Oh, lots of stuff," Law says. "There's lots of types of doctors. My mom's an immunologist. That means she deals with stuff to do with the immune system, like allergies and disorders that make the body attack itself, sort of."
"Sort of?" Cora repeats, a twinkling humour in his eyes.
"It's really complicated," Law huffs. "I don't really know how to explain it. But a regular doctor, a general practitioner, they make sure you're healthy most of the time with checkups and exams, and if something is wrong, they help you find the right specialized doctor to go to. There's doctors for basically everything in the body."
"So, what sort of doctor do you want to be?"
Law frowns. "I'm not sure yet," he admits. "My dad is a heart surgeon, and I kind of want to do that, but--"
"Sorry," Cora interrupts, smile apologetic, "can you explain that, too? I assume it's related to surgery. Heart surgery?"
"Yeah, that's right," Law says. "Dad operates on hearts that aren't working right. It's a really hard job."
"I can imagine," Cora says. There's a faint frown in his brow.
"I guess merfolk wouldn't do surgery much. Being underwater, and all that."
"It's generally not done unless there is an open wound that needs treating," Cora agrees. "And even then, the . . . surgeon will usually try to get out of the water to do it."
"Really?" Law sits forward.
For a moment, Cora doesn't elaborate. He looks indecisive. Then: "It's done, sometimes, where I'm from," he says finally. "There are a few places that are inaccessible to humans, but enough above water that specialized treatment can be performed there. But I know that, historically, it was much more common for medical work to be done on land."
"Why not--" Law cuts himself off, with a wince. Why not anymore? he was going to ask, and it's a stupid question. He knows the answer. Humans wouldn't leave an injured mer alone, even if another mer-- a doctor-- was in the middle of treatment. But it's unsettling to read between the lines and hear what Cora isn't saying. If merfolk used to practice medicine on land, and they can't anymore--
Law's family had to move to a whole new city to get the treatment Lami needed. If they hadn't been able to come here, Lami would have-- wouldn't have--
He shivers.
Cora must be able to hear the unasked question, and follow the train of thought to its logical conclusion. He gives a sympathetic smile.
"So, your father is a surgeon," Cora says. "You can't decide whether that's what you want to do?"
"Yeah," Law says, and then does not elaborate.
Watching him for a moment, Cora tips his head to the side. "Is it that you want to follow in your parents' footsteps, to make them proud, but cannot decide which parent to follow?"
"Well, no," Law says. "I mean-- yes, I want them to be proud of me. But they'd be proud no matter what I did. I want to be a doctor because--" He hesitates.
"Go on," Cora says. He tips his head to the side in the way that means he's listening.
"I want to do something important," Law explains, all in a rush. "I want to be someone who makes a difference in the world, you know? I-- I want to be important, but not like a prime minister or a celebrity or like that. I want to be important because I do important things. I don't just want to be a doctor. I want to be the best doctor. I want to save lives every day. And I can't decide what the best way to do that is."
A quiet, proud smile spreads across Cora's face while Law talks. "That sounds very noble, Law."
"Not really," Law says. "It's kind of selfish. Probably better if people just think I want to make my parents proud."
"It's selfish to want to do some good?"
"It's selfish to want to be known for it," Law corrects.
Cora makes a little, deliberate hand gesture. He does stuff like that sometimes: a movement of the hand, or a fin, or a tail. Some kind of body language that doesn't translate between humans and merfolk. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be known, kid. You put in all that effort, every day trying to get the best grades possible. You're teaching yourself everything without even having a teacher. Of course you want someone to recognize how much work you've done."
Law stares at Cora for a moment, mutely. Then he flushes red and dips his head. "I guess."
"What, you think I don't know what I'm talking about?" Cora teases.
"I know you don't," Law replies automatically, falling back into easy banter.
"Oh! The cruelty!" Cora says, with a melodramatic half-swoon. He's laughing, though.
But his laughter is soon cut off by a painful-sounding cough. He covers his mouth with his hand as he coughs, and Law sits up, worried.
"Are you alright?"
Cora waves away his concern as the coughing subsides. "It's just the weather," he says. "Bit of a chill."
"You should go back in the water, where it's warm," Law says.
"I will," Cora promises. "But show me your drawing, first."
Law turns around the sketchbook to show him.
Cora looks at it for a long moment. He looks surprised. "You know," he says slowly, "I've never seen myself."
"You haven't?"
"Well, not outside of reflections off the water," Cora replies. "I know that human stories have ideas about us being vain, but mirrors are uncommon underwater. Dre-- In my home, they are considered a human foible." Meeting Law's eyes, Cora smiles slightly. "But I know you must be an excellent artist, because you've never seen my brother, but your art looks just like him."
Law looks down at his art, trying to imagine the mer he's never seen who looks so much like Cora. "I wish I could give this to you."
"That's alright, kid," Cora says. He sounds fond, but sad. "You keep it."
---
There's a part of Law that think that he really should tell someone about Cora. The more he thinks about Cora, stuck in a tank too small for him to stretch out in, swimming in bored circles without anything to do, the worse he feels.
He's almost certain that the only reason Cora talked to him was that it had been so long since he'd been able to have a conversation that he couldn't resist.
But what can Law really do about any of it? He's just a kid. No one would believe him if he said that Cora was a person, thinking and feeling. People didn't even believe those scientists when they said the same thing, and those guys were experts on merfolk, grownups with degrees and books!
Law's thought about trying to contact those scientists. Doctors Kureha and Hiriluk, a marine biologists and an anthropologist pushing to revolutionize the field of merfolk studies. Law has done plenty of research on them since first finding their book. Apparently, Dr. Hiriluk rescued a juvenile mer who'd gotten tangled up in netting and beached, and the mer had thanked him. From the tone in which Hiriluk writes about it, Law gets the impression that the mer had simply been too overwrought to remember not to talk to humans.
'Chopper' is what they call that first mer. Apparently, despite his age, he's been something of an ambassador between them and the nearby pod of merfolk.
They'd understand, probably. Maybe they'd know what to do. He goes so far as to find the email address for Dr. Kureha, who teaches at a university in a country not too far away. But as he sits there, a blank email open in front of him, he tries to imagine how to explain himself.
He's only thirteen. How is he supposed to make anyone believe him? How is he supposed to tell anyone that something bad is happening, and he can't stop it?
And if anyone did believe him, what would he tell Cora? That told a bunch of people about him, even though Cora obviously doesn't want anyone to know about how smart he is, but that he did it for a good reason? That would just be cruel.
No. Law can't tell anyone.
He closes the email and feels very small again.
As fall winds onwards, Law becomes very aware of the closing date for Cora's exhibit. While Flevance is a fairly Northern country, Cora is apparently from much further south. For most of the year, he's okay, but he can't handle the near- and below-zero temperatures in the winter. Every winter, the aquarium closes up his tank, putting a cover over the top, and shuts down the outside section of the exhibit.
That means no more talking to Cora; no more conversations. All winter long, Cora will be alone.
On top of that, Lami is getting worse.
Their parents are trying to hide it from Law, but they can't manage it. She's too tired to walk around the aquarium much anymore. Law's taken to towing along a little red cart with a sturdy plastic bottom and canvas walls for her to ride in. She's quieter. Lethargic, some days. And though she doesn't like admitting it, she's in pain all the time.
It terrifies Law. The question hovers at the edge of his mind: what if, even after coming all the way out here, Lami still doesn't get better? What if she never gets better? What if she just keeps getting worse?
No adult would believe Law about Cora, but Lami would listen. She couldn't help; she's even younger than Law. But it would be a proof, if only to Law, that all of this is real. Cora can talk.
And maybe Lami needs something incredible in her life, too. Maybe she doesn't have much longer to see incredible things.
Law will ask Cora before he introduces them. But he thinks Cora will understand.
---
Law watched on, a little worried, as Lami stands on the bench to lean on the railing, so that she can see into the tank better. "Do you eat? What's your favourite food? How do you breathe underwater? Can you drink water?"
Cora blinks, looking a little stunned by the questioning. But he recovers quickly, giving Lami a smile. "Yes, I can eat. I like . . . eels, I suppose?"
"Oh, ick." Lami looks fascinated. "You eat eels? But they're slimy!"
"Nothing's slimy when you're underwater," Cora points out. Surprise has given way to quiet amusement. "Or everything is, perhaps."
Lami looks astonished by this concept.
While she's distracted by her amazement, Cora continues, "Merfolk like me can breathe underwater and on land because we have-- hm. I'm not sure how to describe it in your words. Two choices? Two roads. No, channels. We can switch between them. One lets me breathe underwater, the other on land."
"Whoa . . ." Lami says, awed. "Do you ever get them mixed up?"
"Children sometimes do, when they're learning," Cora says. "And if I were surfacing while very disoriented, I might struggle to breathe air properly."
"I want mer lungs!" Lami declares immediately. "I would never get them mixed up. I'd be, swoosh! Under the water, on my very first try!" The swoosh is accompanied by emphatic gesticulation/
"I bet you would," Cora agrees, sounding utterly sincere. He shares an amused smile with Law/
"Wait!" Lami says, suddenly insistent, looking at Cora with wide, intent eyes.
"Yes?" Cora leans forward.
"You didn't say if you can drink water!" She looks at him with the biggest eyes. "Can you?"
"I have to drink a lot of water," Cora explains. "The ocean is so salty that I lose water through my skin, so I have to drink plenty to replace it."
"If I drink a lot of water, will I become a mer?"
"I suspect you would just feel sick," Cora replies apologetically.
"Aw . . ." Hanging her head, Lami looks morose for a moment. Then she perks back up again. "How do you eat eels? Like noodles? Do you have them with sauce?"
"Well, we don't really cook things," Cora replies.
Lami gasps. "But Mama says you have to cook things, or you'll get sick!"
"You certainly need to cook everything," Cora agrees. "I certainly would not recommend that you eat any raw fish, little human hatchling. But we merfolk have to eat our food raw, because there is no fire under the ocean."
"Oh," Lami says, wonderingly. "So you just eat it?"
"Indeed," Cora says. He rests his head on his arms. "When the eels are young, they are small and practically transparent. They're a delicacy at that age. My brother and I . . ." He hesitates.
Lami leans forward. She doesn't interrupt, which goes to show how fascinated she is.
Cora smiles. It's a little sad. "We used to go out to catch eels during hatching season and eat them until our stomachs hurt. Our parents would always tell us how silly we'd been, and then comfort us until we felt better." He tips his head to the side. "And then we'd go out and do it again."
Law snickers.
Cora tries to frown at him, but the grin is still pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Little shit."
Lami sits down on the bench, which is no small relief to Law, and kicks her heels. "If all the signs say your name is Amber, then why are you Cora?"
"Lami, that's enough questions," Law starts, exasperated, but Cora shakes his head.
"It's no harm," he says. "I don't mind answering her questions. Besides, it's a good question." He makes an elegant gesture towards one of the information placards about him. "The answer is simply that no one asked me what my name was."
Looking mortally offended, Lami says, "That's terrible!"
"I am inclined to agree." The aside is quiet enough that Lami might not have heard it, especially with how Cora sits up to add, "Besides, Cora is a translation from my language anyway."
"What!" Lami sounds shocked again.
"You couldn't say my real name." There's a laugh in Cora's voice. "Not in air. But I am called . . ." He pauses, just for a moment. "Heart. Corazón. But Cora is a good name that you can still say."
"That's so pretty!" Lami says, awed. "I want to be called heart too . . ."
"Mom and Dad will tell you your secret name when you turn ten," Law reminds her. "Maybe that'll be something as cool as heart."
Law's secret name is Water, which he hadn't thought was cool at all when he'd heard it the first time, but since meeting Cora, he's looked at it differently. It feels more appropriate. Their secret names are supposed to represent part of their lives. Maybe Water means that Cora will be even more important to Law than he already is.
Lami has to live to ten to learn her name. Otherwise, it will never be spoken out loud.
He doesn't say any of that out loud, as Lami asks, "Is your name heart?" and Law reminds Lami that they're not supposed to tell people their secret names, remember? And Cora laughs, the brightest sound Law's ever heard from him.
---
Later, before they leave, Law reminds Lami, "You can't tell anyone he can talk, remember?"
"I pinky promised," Lami says. "I'm not going to forget!"
Cora tips his head to the side. "Pinky promise?"
Turning to him, Lami holds out her pinky. "It's the most important promise," she informs him. "And if you break it, your pinky rots and falls off and everyone knows you don't keep promises."
Cora shoots Law an alarmed look, and Law shakes his head and mouths, 'No.'
"I see," Cora says, looking back down at Lami. "That does seem like a very significant promise. Thank you."
As Lami packs up the snacks she brought into the exhibit, Cora leans over the railing to say, low and quiet, "You're sure she won't tell anyone?"
"Even if she does, she's eight," Law replies. "No one will believe her."
"Ah," Cora replies. That doesn't look like much of a comfort. "I suppose the testimony of children is rarely treated with the weight it deserves." It sounds like something he has experience with.
"Yeah," Law says. "I mean, if I said anything, they'd probably think I was crazy. But if Lami said anything, they'd just assume it was a game she was playing. So don't worry. You're safe." He glances over. "At least from us."
For a moment, Cora is taken aback. And then his expression evens out. "From you," he agrees.
---
Another trip to the hospital.
Law sinks down in the moulded plastic chair. The chairs are in a row, alternating between muted coral and a friendly shade of periwinkle, but that doesn't make them any less plastic. All the paintings on the walls are the sort of faded watercolour prints you see in cheap hotels, of generic beach scenes and yellow-purple sunsets. The cool pastels clash with the corner full of children's toys: bead mazes and sliding puzzles, and a shelf of picture books.
There's an inoffensive lemon scent of cleaning products coming from somewhere. It makes Law feel nauseous.
He knows the hospital like the back of his hand at this point. He has strong opinions on the foods at the cafeteria (the chocolate almond milk is more chocolate-y than the dairy milk, and even though the vegetable pizza isn't as good as the rice bowl, it's always in stock and the best backup option) and the bathrooms across the building (the first floor washroom in the pediatrics ward always smells funny, and the one by the building's library never runs out of soap). He's an expert. He could be a tour guide.
His foot bounces. He wishes he'd been allowed to go in with Lami and his mother. Lami needs another scan done, and that always takes longer than it's supposed to, because they never start on time.
A woman on the younger side of middle aged crouches in front of him unexpectedly. "Are you alright, honey?"
Law looks up from his book and narrows his eyes at her. "Fine."
"Do you need me to call someone for you?" she asks. "Or are you waiting for your parents?"
"I'm waiting," Law replies, pinching out the words.
"Okay," she says, sounding rather worried. "Well, if you need anything, the nice nurses at the front desk will help you, okay?"
Law looks over at the reception desk. The nurses there are chatting quietly, smiling at each other. One of them hides a laugh behind her hand.
Law feels a deep and boiling resentment.
"Whatever." He goes back to his book.
The woman gives a worried sigh as she returns to where her own children are waiting for her. She's probably imagining some sob story about Law to make herself feel better about whichever of her kids is sick. They're probably less sick than Lami is, anyway. Maybe they'd feel better about themselves if they saw how pale and skinny his sister is.
Law used to like the hospital. The other hospital, where his parents used to work, before the move. It was familiar, with its yellow walls and plaques about the establishment of the building in every wing. He used to know people there, and his parents had sweets in their offices that they'd give him when he had to stay with them or come to visit.
This isn't that hospital. Just like everything else, it's new and worse. He understands why they had to come here, he really does. His parents explained it plenty of times, and he understood it the very first time. He just doesn't like it.
And if Lami isn't getting any better, then what was the point to begin with?
"Law, sweetheart."
He looks up. His mom is coming out from the back with Lami. Her smile is tired, and she looks worried.
Law shoves his book into his backpack and gets up. "How'd it go?" he asks, not looking at anyone in the waiting room but Lami and their mother.
"It was easy, right, pumpkin?" Their mother pats Lami's head. Lami nods, but doesn't say anything. "We're all old hands at this by now, huh?"
"I want pizza," Lami informs the world at large.
"Well, that makes dinner easy!" their mother replies brightly.
Law shoves his hands in his pockets and follows them out, while their mother tries to ask Lami what pizza flavours she wants, and Lami responds in single syllables.
---
It's a quiet day at the aquarium. Law hasn't even seen five other guests yet today. He's been working on homework while Lami fills in a colouring book from the gift store. Apparently, it has a whole six pages devoted to the seals.
Frowning down at the math problem he's working on, Law realizes that he's stuck. He glances over to ask Cora for help, then blinks in surprise.
Cora's asleep. His head pillowed on his arms, resting on the rocks at the edge of the water. His tail drifts in the pool
It's strange: Cora doesn't usually sleep during the day. Curl up in his pile of rocks, sure. But he doesn't let his guard down enough to sleep. He's always watching the guests as they come. And he certainly doesn't sleep when Law and Lami are here; he likes paying attention to the things they're doing, tasks and hobbies that a mer would never usually get to observe. But he's asleep now, dead to the world.
Law doesn't like that idiom, actually.
Cora has never looked like the pictures of wild merfolk Law has seen online. There are scars through his scales and the skin of his torso. His fins are ragged at the edges. He's pale.
But while he watches Cora sleep, Law frowns.
There's a new redness around his gills, with shades of an almost bruised purple visible when he exhales. Law's sure it didn't always look like that-- but he isn't sure if it's brand new, or something that's been developing slowly.
Cora's been tired lately, Law thinks. The last few times he's come into the exhibit, Cora has been laying at the bottom of the tank, instead of swimming. And this morning, when Law came in to meet Cora, he'd had to wait almost five minutes for Cora to notice him. Cora had apologized, told him that he was tired, but that should have set off alarm signs too. Because Cora is always watching visitors to his exhibit. He always notices Law.
There's a bark of laughter from the entrance to the exhibit, and Law and Lami both look up-- which means that they only hear the splash of water that means that Cora's dove back underwater.
The two aquarium workers who've just come in stop dead in their tracks, looking at the water.
Lami sits up and puts her hands on her hips, looking aggrieved in only the way an eight-year-old can. "You scared him."
"It was up here?" one of the workers says. He looks stunned.
"He was," Lami says, "until you scared him!"
The worker's mouth opens and closes until his friend elbows him in the side. "Sorry, kids," he says. "Didn't mean to spook the fish."
Lami sniffs, and turns back to her colouring.
The second worker smiles again and glances up at the security camera with a frown.
Law follows his gaze. Where there should be a little red light showing that it's on, there's just a black, unlit bulb.
He feels a burst of retroactive fear. He hadn't even thought about the cameras, or about the fact that there could be someone watching this whole time. How long have the cameras been out here? Did anyone see the first few times he talked to Cora? What if they've only gone out today?
"Sorry to bother you kids," one of the workers says, as he tows his friend away.
Law waits for the worker to be gone and then turns back to the pool. Cora pokes his head out of the water at almost the same time. The fins of his ears look rather pale.
"They startled me," Cora says, awkwardly.
"They woke you up," Law corrects.
Cora acknowledges the accuracy of this correction with a nod, tipping his head to the side ruefully.
"You must have been really tired," Law probes for an explanation.
Judging by the way Cora's eyebrows go up, he's not very subtle about it. But he still says, "I suppose. The weather hasn't been pleasant lately."
They've been having an unseasonably warm fall. The sun is bright and hot today.
But Law doesn't call Cora out on it. He just adds it to a pile of evidence he's been keeping in the back of his mind. The occasional cough, quickly suppressed. The discolouration around his gills. Lethargy, even exhaustion. And claiming that it's just the weather.
They come together into a picture that Law recognizes, and really wishes he didn't.
Cora is sick.