Author Notes : I have to write these really fast – shirebound, Trilliah, Amanda, tiggivon, Elvish (yeah, I know that's you, 'cause you're signing your reviews 'AC' ^_^), MichelleFrodo, and my darling Butterfly (I'm a chronic sufferer of F.C.A.S., tis true) - I love you all ! ! And I really really want to reply to your comments, but I have no time. One thing, though – Trills, stop poking me ! He'll be alright ! *grins* Okay, read on, peeps. And this is *not* the end of the story the previous idea of 25 chapters be damned. I need to keep writing. ^_^
The rain fell relentlessly outside, pattering against the window of Frodo's bedroom. Now that Sam was taken care of – at least for the time being – they turned their attention to Frodo.
« What he needs, » Bell said thoughtfully, « is to cough up that muck in his chest. »
« Why ? » asked Bilbo, who was of the opinion that no muck was a good thing.
« Because that's where the infection is, » Bell told him. « An' if he can cough it up, he'll get better. An' if he can't, it'll only get worse. » Bilbo grimaced.
« Well, how can you make him cough it up, then ? » he asked. Bell chewed her lower lip and stared off into space.
« I'm thinkin' extraction of bluebells, » she said slowly. « If we can wake 'im up to make him drink. If not, then a hot poultice should loosen things. »
« And in the meantime ? » Bilbo raised his dark brows.
« In th' meantime, we need to get him out of those clothes, » Bell said. « They're absolutely soaked. »
« Certainly, provided we can separate him from your son, » Bilbo said dryly. « Without waking either of them up. » Bell sighed.
« No guarantees, sir, » she said, looking at how closely the boys were entwined.
« We can but try, » Bilbo assured her, laying a hand on her arm. She smiled worriedly and looked back at the boys.
« Well, then. We'd best set about tryin', » she murmured, bending over Frodo. « Come on, lad, » she said softly, taking his arms from around Sam. Frodo jerked away and muttered something in his sleep, reaching for Sam again. Bell quickly slipped an arm around his shoulders and sat him up, and Frodo came to reluctant consciousness, coughing a little and glaring sleepily up at Bell.
« What now ? » he whispered hoarsely and with more than a hint of irritation. Had he been less miserable, he might have pushed her away, but as it was he was too tired and too sick to do anything other than lay there. He sensed Sam awakening also, and was doubly angry with Bell. Sleep, little one, just go to sleep, he soothed. Too late, Sam was awake he could feel it. « You woke him up, » he told her accusingly. Bell looked to her son, whose long lashes fluttered and parted. Dark green eyes looked up at her with weary patience and a desperate longing to go back to sleep.
« Sorry, lads, » she said apologetically. « I didn't mean to wake thee. »
« What now ? » Frodo asked again, swallowing painfully and wishing to heaven that she hadn't wakened them.
« Your clothes, » Bell informed him, « are drenched. An' you need to be changed out of them. »
« Right now ? » he said tiredly.
« Right now, » Bell confirmed with a nod. « So hold still. » Frodo didn't understand till she had untied his sash and began to pull his tunic off. She's undressing me. She's *undressing* me ! By the time realization had struck home, his tunic was off and she had her hands on his waist to pull his breeches down. Frodo sat straight up, and fought against the waves of dizziness that washed over him when he did so. He put his hands on Bell's and took them off his waist.
« I can do it, Mistress, » he said tersely. Bell crossed her arms over her chest.
« Really ? Let's see you do it, then, » she said just as tersely. Frodo was sick, possibly very sick, and Samwise was already suffering from dangerous complications. Besides that, she had the rest of her family to worry about, and Master Bilbo as well, and Bell was in no mood to put up with Frodo's self-consciousness. Under the heavy flush on his cheeks, she could see the red darkening with a blush. Frodo glared up at her, humiliated and defiant.
« No, » he said. « Turn around. » Bell quirked an eyebrow and complied. Frodo was too dizzy to sit up on his own, and fell back against his damp pillows. He fumbled with the waistband of his breeches, but the muscles in his arms were shaky and balked at the effort of pushing his breeches down. Even with the slight exertion, Frodo was already breathing hard. Bell let him struggle a few more moments before pulling them off herself in a few short tugs. Frodo pressed a hand to his eyes and thought that the world must surely swallow him up that instant, because he was quite literally dying of embarrassment. Bell then humiliated him further by putting his clean breeches on him. He sat up again and jerked roughly at them, putting them on himself, and glaring at Bell the whole time. His blue eyes were fever bright and perfectly furious.
« I can do it, » he spat between clenched teeth, holding her amused brown gaze. Success, and he grabbed the tunic she held and yanked it over his head in a sharp, vicious movement that showed just how angry he was. Forcing his arms through the sleeves, he took the sash in her hand and tied it tight around his narrow waist, pulling tight on the knot to prove that he could do it. Frodo had a rather hot temper, and never in his life had he been so perfectly humiliated. He glared at Bell a moment longer and felt himself on the ragged edge of tears.
« Leave me alone, » he ordered her, choking on the last word and coughing. He coughed for a few minutes before he stopped and fell back against the pillows again. He was unbelievably miserable he'd never thought anyone could be so miserable and still live. See what you did ! he wanted to tell her, but he was so tired, just so tired…
« You wait here, » Bell replied, and went over to the fireplace. Where else would I go ? Frodo wondered sarcastically. Bell took Frodo's mug and a small cloth packet from the basket. Opening the packet, she tipped some of its dry, powdery contents into the mug. Then she took the kettle from where it hung over the fire and poured hot water into the mug. She swirled it a little to stir it and came back to Frodo's side. « Drink this, » she commanded, handing him the mug. Frodo sat up straighter and sipped at the hot fluid, wrinkling his nose at its slightly bitter taste. He swallowed again, wincing for the pain in his throat.
He had nearly finished off the mug when he felt a rumble go through his chest. His breathing caught, and he coughed, and he kept on coughing, and this time, the cough didn't go away after a few moments. He coughed until his fingertips started to turn blue and he was swallowing great gulping gasps of air between coughs, which only seemed to aggravate the problem. Bilbo was beside him, holding him and pounding his back, trying to release whatever was caught in Frodo's throat. Bell held the basin in front of him, ready for whatever he choked up. But nothing came and nothing came and Bilbo looked alarmedly at Bell.
« In a moment, » she said confidently, and sure enough, just when it seemed Frodo was about to choke to death, he spat up something sticky and dark, streaked with red. He coughed again and spat up more, and again, and again. His chest felt like large pieces were being torn from it, and he when he finished, he began to cry, his breath still coming in huge, shuddering gasps. It hurts, it *hurts*, he wept silently, and Bilbo comforted him while Bell wiped his mouth with a soft, damp cloth. He felt a small, burning hand laid on his back, and pulling away from Bilbo, he reached for Sam, who was too exhausted to sit up. Frodo needed to sit up, it was the only way he could breathe, and Bilbo adjusted the pillows accordingly so that he could sit up against them.
Frodo pulled the weary child into his arms and Sam laid his head on Frodo's heaving chest, closing his eyes again. It's alright, it's alright, he soothed, but his thoughts were weak and fractured. Frodo calmed himself with an effort, running his fingers distractedly through Sam's soft hair. It quieted him to feel that silky hair between his fingers, lightly twisting the nearly-straight locks around them and feeling the shape of Sam's head. The tears slowed and he didn't hurt so much and they started to fall asleep again.
Bell was tremendously relieved that the bluebells had worked. If they're coughing up, it's good, her cousin had told her. If they're not, make 'em. It's only coughing up as loosens the infection in their lungs. She was thankful that Frodo, no matter how much it hurt, had responded to the expectorant and brought up more dark gold mucus. But she was nervous that it might not stay that way. These next two days, I'll have to watch him careful, she thought. The next two days would be critical – either Frodo's fever would break and he would get well, or it would remain, and he would develop pneumonia and die. Bell refused to think of such things, and shook her head to clear it of those thoughts.
« Bell ? » Bilbo said softly. She looked to where he sat on the edge of the bed next to Sam and Frodo and raised her brows questioningly. « The poker's ready, » he informed her. Bell felt as if the floor had dropped out beneath her and her stomach clenched. She turned around slowly and saw the poker glowing white-hot in the fire. Her glance flicked back to her son, curled up in Frodo's arms with his golden head on Frodo's chest, his sleeping features pale and troubled. I can't do this, she thought with a sick sense of apprehension. I can't. I cannot burn my own son I can't do it. Oh, Father ! Help me !
Bilbo stood and pulled the covers off the boys, exposing Sam's small foot and the blood that smeared it. Bell suddenly felt as though she would faint, and this sudden weakness steeled her resolve. Her head cleared and her thoughts were sure and confident. She knew what she had to do, and she wasn't flinching from it. Do or die, she realized. He'll die. And I can't let that happen. Not ever. Not to him.
« Bandages, » she said, and took them from the basket to have at the ready. An' cold water. « Sir, if you'd fill a bowl with water… » Bilbo nodded and left the room, returning a short while later holding a basin filled with cold water from the bathroom. He handed it to her silently and she set it in the armchair by the fire.
Pulling her son's leg straight and holding his small foot as firmly as she dared, given that he had a broken ankle, Bell gestured Bilbo to come over and hold him down. Bilbo came and gently but firmly laid his hands on Sam's shoulders. To keep him from flying through the ceiling when he feels this, he thought grimly.
« Well, » she said heavily. They looked at eachother, and Bell reached for the poker. « Here goes. » She pressed the white-hot end to the bloody gash on Sam's foot and her heart leapt to her throat when she felt Sam go rigid. Bilbo had to hold him much harder than he'd expected as Sam jerked forward with surprising strength. His pupils expanded and his dark green eyes went black before rolling backward. Sam fainted dead away and went limp in Bilbo's arms, and the acrid scent of burning flesh filled the room. Frodo had not awakened, and both Bell and Bilbo offered their fervent thanks Westward.
Bell removed the poker and laid it on the stone fireplace. She then took up the bowl of cold water and bathed her son's seared wound in it. The water hissed when it touched the heated wound, and she swallowed against the bile in her throat. When Sam's wound seemed sufficiently cool – though still very hot to the touch – she gently patted it dry and wrapped clean, dry bandages loosely around it, tying them carefully, but not tightly. Burns need to breathe, her cousin had told her. Else they get infected, and then your patient's as good as gone. Keep them clean keep them dry. And let them breathe. She finished and put the things away before carrying the fireplace chair over to the bedside to be next to her son. She stroked his hair softly, touching Frodo's hand that was still laid on Sam's head. She ran her finger gently down his cheek and bit her lip anxiously to feel the tears that coursed down it from behind his long black lashes. Looking up, her eyes met Bilbo's and his worry matched her own. Slowly, she raised her hand, crossing two fingers for luck. Bilbo raised his own crossed fingers in answer and they smiled weakly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam shrieked and he seemed to flicker for a moment between dreaming and waking.
« Sam ! » Frodo was alarmed and tightened his grip on Sam's hand to secure him. Sam solidified again and burst into tears. « Are you alright ? » Frodo asked. Sam shook his head violently. No.
« Th-they – they – my – hurts, Frodo, h-hurts… » he sobbed incoherently, his pretty face twisted in pain.
« Shhhh, shhhh, » he murmured, though his thoughts were panicked. What did they *do* ? And why didn't I feel it ? he wondered. He didn't dare open his thoughts to it now, afraid of the pain that slammed through Sam's small body and brought the child to his knees.
« Oh – oh – ah ! » he screamed, bent double with his head touching the ground. Frodo knelt beside him and pulled him onto his lap, his own hands shaking as he stroked Sam's back, trying to calm him. « Ohhhh… » A long, low wail, dull with agony that tore at Frodo's heart. Sam coughed on his tears and he shivered with sobs, his small hands clutching desperately at Frodo's tunic. « H-hurts, it hurts, » he said over and over.
« Shhhh, baby, I know, I know, » Frodo whispered, rocking him back and forth. « Calm down, now, Samwise just calm down… » But Sam would not calm, not for quite a while, and there was nothing Frodo could do but rock him and rub his back. Finally, he seemed to come to a halt, and he hiccuped and sniffed wetly. Frodo stood carefully and carried him a ways, sitting down with his back to a tree, which was more comfortable. For another 'quite a while' they sat there, Frodo running his fingers through Sam's hair as Sam's shaky breathing evened out.
« It's alright, little one ? » Frodo said, or rather, asked, when Sam had calmed down. The boy nodded slowly, and Frodo stood up again, still holding him. He looked down into Sam's face and could have wept himself. The little boy's skin was so white, it was almost translucent, and shining trails of not-quite-dry tears marked his face. His lashes were still wet and spiky with tears, and his small chin trembled. Frodo gently kissed his forehead, and then his closed eyes, and then his tearstained cheeks. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at him with a faltering smile. He looks for all the world like a child that's been beaten, Frodo thought sorrowfully, returning the smile softly and kissing Sam's forehead again.
« Can you walk ? Or should I carry you ? » he asked.
« I can walk, » Sam assured him, though the tremble in his voice belied the conviction of his words. Frodo put him down reluctantly and knelt beside him.
« You're sure ? » he said uncertainly. Sam sniffed and rubbed his face with the back of his sleeve before nodding.
« Yeah, » he said, and smiled at Frodo again. This smile was much brighter and the pain was gone from his eyes. He still looked terrible, but color was returning to his cheeks. Frodo smiled back and hugged him tightly. He let go and sat back on his heels, looking at Sam, who looked back, smiling a little.
« You know something ? » Frodo asked. Sam quirked an eyebrow. « I love you. »
« I know, » Sam replied, and smiled brilliantly at him. « I love you, too. » Frodo grinned.
« It's a good thing, » he said. « Seeing as we're best friends and all. »
« Aye, » Sam nodded. « That it is. T'would be strange if we were best friends as hated eachother. » He looked bemused and Frodo laughed.
« No such thing, Samwise, » he told him, standing up. « No such thing. Are you sure you're alright ? » he asked a final time. Sam looked him straight in the eye and Frodo was once again surprised at how much older than his years Sam behaved.
« Would I lie ? » the child asked bluntly.
« No, » Frodo admitted. « Well, then. »
« Well, then, » Sam repeated, and tugged on Frodo's hand. « Let's go somewhere else. »
« Let's, » Frodo agreed, and they walked off, hand in hand.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: ^_^ You're welcome. I'll update soon!