May 1880

'Get your very own beautifully hand crafted toys right here ladies and gentlemen!' called Tino, desperately trying to make himself heard over the immense racket of people buying, selling or even simply trying to get to work, 'these will look splendid in your child's nursery I can assure you!'

A few people stopped to rummage around in the wheelbarrow he was pushing through the street and some even bought whatever plaything took their fancy. A couple had children with them, whom they allowed to pick out one, just one, cannot spoil them, whilst others bought what they thought their kids would like as a present. Tino took their money cheerily and made conversation with a few of them.

It was a fine day, Tino thought to himself. The sky was clear, the air cold and crisp and even the Thames didn't smell as bad today. He lifted the wheelbarrow up again and moved through the crowded street past similar people with stalls, wheelbarrows and trays. He bought a muffin from a boy with a tray and struck up a conversation with him whilst he ate.

The boy had light brown wavy hair, neatly combed, and amber eyes. He wore a little hoodless cloak over his clothes to keep the cold out and he held his head high, standing proudly and generally not looking like he fitted in at all.

'So how come you are selling these all by yourself?' asked Tino, 'where are your parents?'

'Over there,' he pointed at a brown haired, female staller in a simple navy blue dress selling all sorts of pastries and breads, 'would you like to meet her?' he asked.

'Yes, why not?' Tino smiled at the boy as he led him to his mum, who waved cheerily at them.

'Hey, mother, I made a new friend,' said the child, 'I do love making friends.'

'Good for you, Oscar,' said the woman before turning to Tino, 'nice to meet you. The name's Jemima. Wanna buy some bread?' she took his hand and shook it.

'Sure, why not?' Tino picked out a loaf and paid for it with a toy soldier, putting the food carefully in his wheelbarrow.

'Nice toys,' commented Jemima, inspecting the little soldier before handing it to Oscar.

'Thank you,' he said politely, pocketing the figure.

'Thank you as well,' replied Tino. Just then a man with curly blond hair turned up with a small child and an empty tray.

'Morning dear,' he greeted, 'just stopped by to refill,' he indicated to the empty tray.

'Mornin' honey,' replied Jemima, 'this is… sorry, what did you say your name was?'

'I didn't,' replied Tino, 'but my name is Tino, nice to meet you all,'

'Hello,' William handed the little girl to Jemima and lifted his flat cap in greeting before refilling his tray with muffins and bread rolls.

'Hey, would you mind if I left Lottie here with you?' he asked, 'I will collect her after I empty the tray but I need two hands to carry it and…'

'No problem at all,' Jemima smiled, kissing William on the cheek before saying goodbye.

Tino made a few faces at the toddler, who looked at him with a bored expression.

Jemima laughed loudly, 'yeah Lottie seems to be a bit moody today,' she joked, ticking the infant under her chin, the only reaction she got was Lottie trying to swat her hand away.

'She's adorable,' said Tino.

'Why thank you,'

'How old is she?' he asked.

'Three next month,'

'Three? Wow so grown up,' Tino waved his fingers in front of the child, who smacked them lightly. Tino chuckled, 'mine's two and already he's so hard to control.'

'Well they usually are,' laughed Jemima.

'Poor lad's a bit poorly at the moment though,'

'That is a shame; well, I hope he gets well soon,'

Tino nodded and smiled, 'well it was nice meeting you all, must be off now.'

'See you then,' Jemima waved goodbye and Tino continued down the street, shouting to catch people's attention.

Today was definitely a successful day, thought Tino as he walked along Victoria embankment under the warm glow of the electric street lights. It was early evening and a few people were strolling home, walking lazily along the river. This way home was slightly longer, but less crowed and more peaceful. He nodded, tired but happy, at the people who walked past then turned into another street, walking for a half hour before finally coming to the building where he lived. Slowly, apprehensively, he opened the door and went inside; carrying the wheelbarrow up two flights of stairs before coming to his room.

He hesitated before entering. What if he had gotten worse during the day? Tino sighed and opened the door.

Berwald appeared to have not moved from the spot Tino had left him in that morning: sitting silently on a wooden stool next to the bed where Lars had been laying for the past few days, sick with fever. Tino set the wheel barrow in the corner of the room and joined Berwald, dragging his own wooden stool next to the bed.

'Still no change then?' he whispered to Berwald, who shook his head.

'W'rse,' he sighed, 'broken 'nto a rash now.'

'Oh no,' Tino turned to the boy to find, yes, he had a fine, rough rash on his arms and parts of his face. The child was unconscious at the moment, exhausted by his fever. His red hair was plastered to his face, which was gleaming with sweat and he was shivering slightly.

'G't a sore throat too,' mumbled Berwald.

'Well I earned a fair bit of money today,' said Tino, taking a small sack out of his pocket, 'so we are that bit closer to affording a doctor,' he tried to smile reassuringly, but failed, 'we will get him better, Ber, trust me.'

'Thanks,' replied Berwald, closing his eyes and bowing his head, tears falling down his cheeks and onto his lap, 'ah jus' can't afford to lose him.'

A couple of days later:

'I'm back!' Tino called as he entered the room with two men in plain suits, both carrying bags of equipment, 'and I got a doctor.'

'Brilliant,' Berwald stood up and greeted the two newcomers. One, who was apparently the doctor, had dark hair and spoke calmly; assuring Berwald and Tino that he would do everything he could to cure Lars. The other, a cheerful-looking chap with strawberry-blond hair, who was the doctor's assistant, set the bags on the table and examined Lars.

'Hey, Tsvetan,' he said, 'the kid has a pretty bad rash all over and he's burning up.

The dark haired doctor, Tsvetan, thought for a moment, rubbing his chin and humming, 'check his throat, Alin, are there any ulcers?'

'Hey little fella I just need to see inside your mouth so you can get better,' Alin cooed, stroking Lars' hair. The boy nodded weakly and opened his mouth.

'There are a few,' he told them, peering down the boy's throat, 'tonsils are pretty clear though. The tongue's gone all red and strawberry looking too.' He looked at Tsvetan, 'most likely like scarlet fever.'

Tino gasped and Berwald buried his head in his hands.

'Hey, we will fix him,' Tsvetan assured them, placing a hand on Berwald's arm, 'Alin and I have dealt with cases like this before. We will give him all the remedies and medicine necessary. It would be best to shave his head too,' he told them, examining Lars himself, 'as his case if pretty severe, but not malignant, so be calm. Shaving will stop his head from overheating and any deliriousness that might follow. Keep the room well aired, with an open window and after shaving, frequently cool the head with wet rags and maybe we should move the bed closer to the fire, at least the end of it so his feet will be warm.' Tsvetan placed a hand on Lars' forehead and inspected his throat, 'well, I do not think leeches will be necessary…'

'Aww, that is my favourite part,' whined Alin, pulling bottles out of the bag, 'grains of nitre and acetate of ammonia, right?'

'That's the stuff,' Tsvetan examined Lars' chest and armpits for more rashes, 'we might also need to put some nitrate of silver solution on these throat ulcers too, could ya mix some of that up too, Alin? You remember the ratios?'

'Of course,' Alin rummaged in the bag for more bottles.

Tsvetan stood up, looking at Tino and Berwald, 'Lars will get better,' he told them, 'the fever could be far worse so he is pretty lucky, though it is unusual for such a young child to get it. Of course, really young children seem to recover better from it. Keep him bed-ridden for two weeks and do not do anything to cause a massive change in temperature for him, or he will get really sick. Wait until he is completely better before letting him outside again.'

Tino and Berwald nodded at this. Tsvetan stroked Lars' hair soothingly, singing softly in an unfamiliar language. Lars smiled before closing his eyes.

'Hey that was good,' commented Tino, 'what language were you singing in?'

'Bulgarian,' replied Tsvetan.

'Is he singing again?' asked Alin absent-mindedly, 'okay, so he has to take these every three hours,' he told then, handing the medicine over to Berwald, who nodded.

'Oh,' Tsvetan added, suddenly remembering, 'I have to say, Scarlet fever is highly contagious and there is a chance it will infect you too. Have either of you had it in the past?'

Tino shook his head but Berwald nodded, 'h'd it as a child,' he informed them.

'And you have not, then?' Tsvetan asked Tino.

'No, never.'

'Then it may be best for you to avoid contact with Lars,' Tsvetan informed him, 'and try not to come into contact with other people if you can help it, to stop this from spreading. If you start to show any signs of the disease, contact me immediately.'

'Of course, doctor,' replied Tino.

'Please, call me Tsvetan,'

'Of course,' Tino gave a small smile.

'Oh, and keep the child on a diet of watery, fluid food that would be easy on his stomach but full of nutrients, no meat or anything dry. And plenty of water too!'

'No problem, thank you so much.'

Tsvetan smiled, 'just doing my job.'

Lars grumbled to himself as he ate the soup in bed. His fever had passed and the rashes were starting to disappear, except the painful, itchy ones on his armpits, which he found out, to his disgust, were usually the last to go. He also did not like the light stubble on his head and missed his soft, ginger locks. Lars also missed running around and helping his papas with their work. But at least he had papa Berwald to keep him company!

'S'good?' asked his papa.

'Hn,' Lars grunted; he wanted real food, but didn't feel like annoying papa.

'Rememb'r ya water,' added Berwald.

Lars nodded and picked up the wooden cup next to him, taking a sip.

'Papa I don't wanna be ill,' he grumbled, folding his arms and frowning comically.

Berwald chuckled and patted his son on the head, 'hey, yer getting better, soon ya will be completely fine. Be happy. I defin'tely am.'

Okay second chapter. Well, I mentioned in RD that Lars once had a fever, which Tino described as being the only time he's seen Berwald cry. So I thought I would cover that episode in this.

Right, human names:

Jemima- fem!Australia

William- New Zealand

Oscar- Hutt River

Lottie- Wy

Tsvetan- Bulgaria

Alin- Romania

Please review, I would really appreciate it.