A/n: Chapter contains some romance between Hamfast and Bell—nothing rated higher than a mild PG, however.  I hadn't intended on it, but it sort of…slipped in.  0__0

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Hamfast was met immediately by Bell in the corridor outside Sam and Frodo's chamber.

"They're settled, then?" She whispered.

He nodded, and passed a trembling hand through his still damp curls.  "Aye, as well as can be expected."

Bell wrapped her arms around her waist and bit her lip, gazing toward the door to the small room, but she didn't move toward it.  "Well," she said after a moment, "we'd best be getting ourselves dried out.  Won't do for Sam if we're sick…we could make him sick too.  Sicker," she added as an afterthought.

Ham nodded and took his wife's arm, hooking his hand gently under her elbow in a gesture of support and comfort as they headed back into the parlor.

Damon was waiting for them, a bundle of clothing and blankets in his arms.

"I always keep extra clothing on hand," he said, smiling as he handed Hamfast a shirt and a pair of trousers.  "Never know when you'll have to cut something off of some young lad or lass to get to a broken leg.  I don't keep much in the way of dresses, Bell, but this"—he handed her a long, dark green gown—"belonged to my wife.  I think you'll find the fit to be near; she was about you size.  It's a little fancier than occasion calls for, but I'm afraid it's all I have in the way of gowns."

Bell took the garment—made of some kind of lightweight, rippling material that shone in glints of emerald in the firelight—and hesitated.  The garment was finer than anything she'd ever worn, to be certain; she wasn't sure it would be proper of her to wear it, even for a short time while her own clothing was washed and dried.  She glanced up and found Damon watching her, a gentle look on his face.  "Go on," he said quietly.  "We can't have you about in naught but your skin all night.  I'm certain we'll need your skill again before this is over."

She raised an eyebrow at him, but took the garment all the same. "Skill?"

Damon grinned.  "The way you got the young Frodo to stop crying—I haven't mastered the art of child-comforting just yet, I'm afraid.  Like as not I make them cry harder."

Bell laughed in spite of herself.  "Aye, well, you don't get through a brood like mine without learning a thing or two," she said. 

Damon smiled, though it looked a little sad.  "Aye, I suspect you don't," he said.  Bell noted the dip in the doctor's demeanor and was about to question him, but at that moment Bilbo re-entered the room, dressed in a pair of plain brown trousers and a white cotton work shirt.  With his hair still damp from the rain, he looked every bit a farmer, and nothing like the gentlehobbit he really was.  Bell bit back a smile.

Bilbo, however, caught the glances of Bell and Hamfast and grinned.  "I do believe you two have been holding out on me," he said, his tone lightly accusing.  "This is far more comfortable than that awful weskit!  And the shirt!  Why didn't you tell me these were so much softer than those horrid pressed things I'm always wearing?"

Despite themselves, the Gamgees burst into peals of laughter.  "Oh, Mr. Bilbo, sir, if you don't look a sight then I don't know what does!" Ham said, still chuckling.  "Begging your pardon, of course," he added hastily, but Bilbo only grinned.

"Well, then, go on, you two, get changed and get your clothing in front of the fire.  The storm hasn't let up any."  Bilbo smiled again, though it vanished quickly, then moved back down the corridor to check on Frodo and Sam. 

"Bring your wet clothing out here when you're finished, if you please, and I'll set Lilly to getting them washed up a bit," Damon instructed, then vanished down another corridor.

Hamfast and Bell walked into the dressing chamber, closing the door behind them.  Safely out of earshot, Bell turned to her husband and said as she pulled her hair down from the tight knot she's put it into earlier, "Did you notice the look on his face, when we were talking about the children?"

Hamfast nodded.  "Aye.  Right down he looked about it, and no wonder, after all."

Bell frowned, shaking the water droplets from her shoulder-length curls.  "No wonder?"

"The doctor's wife died in childbirth, only a few years after they were married," Hamfast explained, his voice low.  "Lost the child a few days later.  Poor lass; she was never the childbearing type, and the midwives around here all warned the couple; but they wanted children, and were determined to try."  He began unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging out of it with a little difficulty as the wet cloth clung to his skin.  "It was quite a blow to Damon, poor hobbit," he continued.  "Locked himself away for almost a year.  Then one day he approached old Willow and asked to be apprenticed to him.  Never said why, but I suspect he wanted to prevent what had happened to him from happening to anyone else."

Bell nodded a little, lost in thought as she stripped out of her wet garments and pulled on the soft green gown.  It was a good fit—though being a little smaller than the roomy housedresses she was used to, it clung around her hips and waist slightly.  There was a crisscross of black ribbon up the front that tied just over her bosom, and the sleeves clung tight around her shoulders, leaving her entire neck completely bare.  The skirt hung nearly to her feet, rather than ending at her shins, and the fabric was heavier than she had thought it would be, hanging in folds that swirled a little when she moved.  There was a line of buttons up the back she couldn't quite reach, so she turned to her husband.

"Ham, could you…" she paused, then said, "Ham?"

Her husband was staring at her, his eyes widened a little.  Standing in the light of the fire, her hair hanging in flowing, damp curls around her shoulders and the gown clinging softly to her, Bell looked positively radiant.

"You look…beautiful," he managed finally, moving forward to assist her with the buttons. 

She blushed, lowering her eyes, reaching up a hand to pull her curls out of the way.  "Come now, Hamfast, is this really the time to—,"

"Shh," he said, finishing the last button and planting a gentle kiss at the nape of her neck before drawing her hand from her hair to let the curls fall back into place.  He smiled as she turned to look up at him and squeezed he shoulder gently.  "Let's go check on Samwise," he said softly, bending over and gathering their wet garments in one hand.  

She nodded, still blushing a little, and placed her hand under the arm her husband extended for her.  Together, they walked out of the room.

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A few hours later, Hamfast was curled up asleep in the parlor by the fire.  Bell had been sitting with him, the pair talking quietly as they waited for word of any change.  Thus far, there had been none, and soon Hamfast has fallen silent, dropping into a heavy sleep of exhaustion.  Bell had tried to fall asleep too, knowing she would need to be rested when Sam woke up, but despite her weariness was unable to close her eyes.  Finally she slipped quietly out from under her husband's arm.  Wrapping the shawl she'd been given around her shoulders, she made her way quietly to the small chamber where her son and her employer's heir rested, intending to sit with them for a while, but was startled when she opened the door and saw Bilbo sitting beside the bed, holding Frodo's hand.

"Oh!" She said, and started to back out of the room.  "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realize you were here."  She bowed respectfully and turned to go, but Bilbo's voice stopped her. 

"Oh, no, Bell, you can stay," he said.  She turned and he patted the seat beside his, smiling encouragingly at her.  She flushed a little and drew the shawl tighter around her otherwise bare shoulders, ever more aware of how overdressed she was, and accepted the offer, lowering herself into the chair at the bedside.  She looked at the two young hobbit-lads curled so tightly together and sighed, her heart aching for them both. 

"They didn't deserve this," she whispered, her eyes filling a little.  "No child should have to suffer through this."

Bilbo looked up at her, then down at his nephew.  He sighed and reached out, stroking the lads hair, noting the faded bruise on his neck from Odo's attack. 

"He's been through so much already," Bilbo said quietly.  "Losing his parents at such a young age, being left to fend for himself in that warren, Brandy Hall…then his difficulties in Hobbiton…"

Bell frowned.  "What difficulties, sir?  Hasn't Mr. Frodo been adjusting?"

Bilbo gave her a wry smile.  "Adjusting?  Well, if you consider spending day in and day out up at Bag End with me looking over moldy old scrolls 'adjusting', he's doing right well."

Bell frowned again, confused.  "What of those Boffin lads, then?" she pressed, unable to put the pieces together in her mind.  After all, if Frodo didn't like the other lads around Hobbiton, why had he been so quick to abandon Sam?  Wasn't some companionship better than none?

Bilbo made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat.  "Let's just say it didn't work out," he said ruefully, stroking at the faded bruise for a moment before his fingers resumed their work in Frodo's hair.  Bell caught the movement, and awareness dawned on her features for a moment.  They were quickly clouded with confusion again, however.  "Doesn't Mr. Frodo like being with other children, Mr. Bilbo?"

Bilbo sighed.  "Oh, I expect he does, if he finds the right ones; but he's so small, and he's never been well-accepted…I shouldn't have made him go with those lads, I really shouldn't have.  Now he's afraid to try his hand with any of the Hobbiton folk; afraid they'll all reject him like the Boffin lads did."

Bell said, "You made him go?"

Bilbo sighed, his head lowered.  "Aye, I did.  I'd set up the date with Griffo, see, and he'd said he'd bring the lads by 'round seven o'clock in the morning—I couldn't very well have told him to leave after they'd traveled all the way out just to pick up Frodo, could I?—but I should have asked Frodo before I set up the date in the first place.  He'd only been in Hobbiton for two days, after all; I shouldn't have pushed him so fast."

Bell sat in silence, mulling over what she'd been told.  So Frodo hadn't decided not to come and see Sam's garden, then; it had been Bilbo's doing, though the gentlehobbit hadn't known Frodo had made other plans.  Bell frowned.  What did this mean, then?  Did Frodo really mean to make friends with Sam after all?  Or had Bilbo's intervention merely sped up the inevitable split between the two?  Glancing down at the tightly curled pair, Bell reflected that Frodo certainly didn't seem to be bothered by the fact Sam was technically his servant; quite contrary, the lad had seemed genuinely concerned for her son.  But that could have stemmed from guilt, couldn't it?

After a brief debate with herself, she said casually, "I'm sorry Mr. Frodo didn't take to our Sam, then; mayhap the lad could have shown him some of the ways of the place better than those Boffins." 

Bilbo looked up at her, confusion on his face.  "Didn't take to Sam?  Of course Frodo took to Sam.  Why wouldn't he?"

She looked at a loss.  "Well, he didn't seem to want to come calling again, after the first day," she said.  "I assumed he'd found more…suitable company."

Bilbo's eyes lit up in sudden comprehension, and to Bell's surprise he almost smiled.  "I see I'll have to have this conversation with you as well, then," he said, amusement silvering his voice. 

Bell stared at him.  "What conversation would that be, sir?"

Bilbo smiled at her gently.  "Bell…you and Hamfast are wonderful hobbits, please don't mistake me.  But you have a tendency to take propriety to an unnecessary extreme."

She raised an eyebrow.  "Oh?"

"Bell, Sam is perfectly suitable company for Frodo," Bilbo said, reaching out and covering Bell's hand gently.  "As I told your husband, there's no law that says gardeners can't be friends with gentelhobbits.  We're not all that different, when it comes down to it, are we?"

Bell sputtered.  "But sir…it ain't proper…"

"What's not proper about it?"

Bell opened her mouth.  Then closed it.  "Well I…we…"

"Work for me, aye, I know," Bilbo said, smiling slightly, though it had turned a bit sad.  "That means nothing, Bell Gamgee.  Nothing at all.  I deeply value you and your husband, as friends, not as servants.  I hope you know that."

She hadn't, but she could hardly say it, what with Bilbo looking the way he did now.  And truth be told, she'd always been fond of the old hobbit, all talk of 'odd' be thrown into the Brandywine.  She closed her mouth, which was still hanging open, and smiled.  "Of course I do, Mr. Bilbo."

Bilbo smiled, looking a little relieved.  "So.  What's all this about Sam?"

She hesitated.  She didn't really want to make it sound as though the blame were Frodo's, but as far as she knew it Frodo had simply…stopped talking to Samwise.  She recalled the day Sam had come home, sobbing, curling into her arms as a child far younger than Sam would do.  She had never asked him outright what had caused his tears, but she could only assume Frodo had told him he'd made new friends and would no longer need Sam's company.  Had she been wrong…?

"Well, sir, after that first day…Ham had a talk to little Sam, explaining to him how it weren't…proper…to claim Master Frodo as his friend…we had a bit of a job explaining class to him, you see, and he…well, he didn't take to it right away.  Seemed convinced Mr. Frodo would come over to see his little patch of flower garden instead of going with the Boffins.  He took it…rather hard when Mr. Frodo went with them instead."

Bilbo frowned.  "I thought surely Frodo would explain to Sam why he'd had to break his promise…after all, it was I who made Frodo go with those lads in the first place.  Frodo wanted to see Sam, but I told him it would be impolite to send the Boffins away after they made a special trip…"

Bell looked down at the two young hobbits.  "Then it was all just a misunderstanding?"  She frowned again.  "But then why wouldn't Mr. Frodo have explained to Sam…?"

"It's something I suspect we'll have to ask them when they wake up," Bilbo said.  "It sounds like it's all been a misunderstanding, like you said, but we won't know one way or another until they're up and about a little more."  Bilbo sighed, then stood and stretched.  "I'm going to go and see if I can get some rest," he said.  "Are you to be staying with them for a while, then?"

Bell nodded.  "Aye, I will.  I haven't been able to sleep anyway."

Bilbo nodded sympathetically.  "Do wake me if there's any change, won't you?"  He yawned and started moving toward the door.

"Yes, Mr. Bilbo," Bell replied, turning her gaze back onto the two hobbit children.  "I will, sir."

Bilbo nodded and left the room.

Bell gazed down at Frodo, a soft frown on her face.  She didn't really know the lad, after all; before tonight, but for seeing him once or twice on the street and a polite introduction a week after he'd moved in, she hadn't spoken to him at all.  After the incident with Samwise, she hadn't really made any attempts at doing so; proper or not, she'd harbored some aversion toward the master's new heir for hurting her son the way he had.  But now…now it was looking like none of it had happened the way anyone thought, and the entire situation was built upon one mix-up after another.  And now, she was beginning to feel stirrings of guilt for treating her master's new charge with the coolness that she had.

She sighed, and tilted her head, considering him.  His pale face was relaxed, his mouth open slightly; she could hear his soft breathing from where she sat.  His dark curls lay askew over his forehead and across the white linen pillowcase, making him look more than ever like a child of no more than twelve or thirteen.  He was curled on his side with his back to her, both arms wrapped protectively around her son, whose curly-haired head was tucked snugly under the young gentlehobbit's chin.  Sam, for his part, seemed to be responding to the embrace unconsciously; one of his chubby arms was draped over Frodo's slender waist, and the usually independent child seemed more than content to be held in the gentle embrace of the older lad. 

Watching the two, any dislike she had felt toward Frodo melted away, replaced quickly by pity—and a deep swelling of gratitude.  Whatever his reasons, Frodo Baggins had saved her son's life.  Not only had he pulled the child from the river and gotten him breathing, he had carried him—weak and cold as he was himself—to safety.

"Frodo," she whispered, leaning forward to brush the hair from the young gentlehobbit's brow, "thank you."

She bent and kissed his forehead, feeling her heart clench when Frodo sighed contentedly and murmured a little in his sleep before settling down again.  A fresh wave of pity washed through her; this child had been orphaned for the better part of his life, living quietly unnoticed in a throng of noisy relations for years until Bilbo had adopted him.  How hard that must have been, to feel so…unloved!  Bell bit her lip at the unexpected tears that sprung to her eyes, regarding the lad before her with new understanding. 

"You've learned to be alone, haven't you?" she whispered, stroking his dark curls almost unconsciously.  "All these years, no father or mother to care for you, to love you…"  Frodo had visibly relaxed and was almost smiling under her gentle caresses.  She smiled in response, feeling a swell of understanding well up within her.  Whatever had happened, she was now more than certain Frodo had not—would never—deliberately hurt anyone.  And the child had suffered enough. 

"Well, no longer, Frodo-dear," she whispered.  "You've got Bilbo now.  And you've got us."    She brushed his hair behind his ear, and Frodo, still asleep, smiled a little. 

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