CHAPTER SIXTEEN
~ Nursemaid ~

After that, Bilbo wasn't sure where he stood with the dragon anymore. He could be calm, and docile, and as harmless as a lamb at one point, but a false move could turn him wilder than a dog. Those wrongs usually had something to do with Erebor or Thorin, but Bilbo could never be sure what would send the dragon into a fit of furious possession. He would be seething mad, and clutch Bilbo's arms tight even if he promised he'd stay, and sometimes he'd drift off like that, his sharp gold eyes dulling as he went to sleep.

The hobbit didn't know what to do by the time they were both hungry enough to venture to the kitchen. Smaug was all over him, like a fresh coat of paint, and it was madness trying to cook with the dragon constantly wedging himself close and interfering with everything. He was fidgeting with the curls in his hair, pulling at the corners of his clothes, and constantly fingering the little clasp around his dwarfish braid. And with the chill ever-present in his bones, Bilbo didn't have much of a good humor to let Smaug have his ways with everything.

He went to bed as early as he could, retiring to his bedroom with an armful of good tales, and he locked the door behind him resolutely. He knew Smaug was watching him as he made his way down the hall, and he knew Smaug would have heard his little latch click into place, but he was frustrated and dissatisfied and most likely getting ill, so he didn't quite care.

He sank into the Tales of the Brothers Grimm, his drowsy mind brimming with tales and terrors and he fell to Sleep's blade wandering the forests in search of monsters, mayhem, and adventure.
As if he hadn't already had his fill of adventure.

Bilbo slept deeply that night, his body needing the rest, and when he woke up at noon the next day he groaned at the aches in his weary old bones. He felt as though he'd been trampled by a troupe of trolls, and his head was throbbing to the beat of a war drum. Rolling onto his side weakly, Bilbo whined low in his throat and, hearing a scraping at his door, he groaned louder.

"Go away…" He had to pause for breath when he run out, coughing, and he groaned again. "I'm dying."

Bilbo didn't expect the door to burst inwards and swing in on the squealing hinges, so he jumped and nearly choked on his own harsh breath. Bilbo caught himself on the edge of his bed, struggling for a good breath of air, and Smaug's face flooded his field of vision.

"Thiefling?" He whispered, his pupils dilated more than healthy. "Thiefling, you do not smell of death." His softest voice yet bashed Bilbo's skull in, crippling him with a headache, and the hobbit whimpered as he pulled his covers over his head to hide from his houseguest. "You cannot be dying yet, little thief, or my nose would speak of it. I will not let you."

"Hnng…" Bilbo responded weakly, not at all comforted by the fact that Smaug couldn't smell the fiend that was surely taking him on to the next life. His entirety was clammy and quivering, and Bilbo couldn't rustle up the gumption to cross his bedroom and light the fire. "…'m cold."

"No." Smaug thought quite the opposite. His large hand fell to Bilbo's forehead, blinding him for a short while. "You are very warm, thiefling. I do not conceive this change to be beneficial to you, or your tiny little body."

Bilbo insisted, "I'm cold, Smaug," He tucked the thicker portion of the covers, shivering faintly, but the dragon ripped them away from him again. He groaned, curling his legs up close to his little body, and groaned again as Smaug tugged him over the edge of the bed and into his arms. He began to shiver.

"You are too hot, thiefling!" Smaug hissed, whisking him away across the vast plain of his bedroom and into the bathroom. Bilbo fisted his hands in the ruined cotton of his old midsummer shirt and wriggled faintly, his world spinning in the dragon's grasp, and held tightly to his guest as he let one arm fiddle with the small taps. "Illness has taken you, little one! What idiocy have you risked yourself in so recently?!"

"…I went out…" Bilbo managed, his teeth chattering fiercely now. "I needed to get away." He said the first thing that came out of his mouth, his face hot now and his entire body covered in feverish sweat. "I couldn't stay here…"

Smaug stiffened, the hand he'd busied with the tap frozen, and he looked down at the hobbit in his arms. "Then why did you return, little thief?" He watched the tiny figure loll in his arms, going limp, and he shook the hobbit slightly. "Thiefling?"

"Mmm…" Bilbo's eyelids didn't flicker. "cold…"

"Thief?" Smaug felt his fleshy stomach tighten anxiously, his grip going a little slack, and suddenly Bilbo was pressed tight to his chest so that the burn of his paling skin seeped through the flimsy cotton between them. He wasn't hot, but he was clammy and he struggled to breathe; Smaug let his grip slacken slightly, rubbing the space between his shoulders and feeling the birdlike frailty of his shoulder bones. He was so small, so feeble in comparison to him, and when he shifted Smaug cradled him like a shining gem. His eyes were glued to Bilbo's blank and sweaty face, and he winced as the hobbit's breathing panned out to harsh whistling and shallow gasps. "Thiefling… can you hear me?!"

"…" Bilbo's labored breathing was all that filled the silence. Hissing with annoyance, Smaug pressed the little creature close to him and pulled a tongue of flame up into his throat to heat his chest cavity with it. Bilbo squirmed sluggishly but did not protest, and soon Smaug was sitting in the bathtub again with the hobbit bundled onto his lap and the two of them mostly submerged in the hot bathwater.

He would warm him by other means, considering licks of flame would do only more ill, and then he would keep him as any dragon would. Nice, and safe, and forever; the little hobbit would never get sick again of Smaug had his way.

Bilbo shifted restlessly and Smaug brushed their cheeks together faintly, letting his growl rumble in his chest, easing his troubles. The tiny creature stilled, his breathing loud as Smaug brought his ear close, and he let his shoulders drop with a watery splash. Bilbo was breathing easier, even if his nose was running terribly, and the watery sheen on his lashes was not salty enough to be pained tears.

He coughed once, seeming to come around, but after one glance at Smaug his eyes slid closed again. He went slack in the dragon's arms, stiffening only for a few coughs here and there that made him wince, and snuffled and snorted as he slept uneasily. The dragon watching over him moved very little, accommodating the smaller man cradled in his grasp, and the silence between them was pregnant with unspoken tension.

Bilbo had left, obviously driven away by their conflict and his anger, but he had returned to the tiny mound of soil and tunnels after a few hours and had buckled down for the shenanigans in the bathroom. Smaug couldn't understand why he would leave because he couldn't stand him, but then return to bend to his whims and fancies again.

"…I went out…" Bilbo's voice quivered fiercely. "I needed to get away. I couldn't stay here…" He was so fragile- illness had already rendered him inert.

"Little thief," Smaug mumbled, adjusting his grip. "I know not why you returned… I could crush you, should I wish it." He caught sight of Bilbo's nose twitching like a rabbit's, and expected retaliation, but the hobbit did not stir. "You are so delicate, and yet… like a mithril shirt."

"Mithril?" Bilbo mused suddenly, his lips curling upward in a little smile as he came around. "I had a mithril shirt… so pretty. I put it away…"

"Where?" Smaug didn't want the hobbit asking questions. He was not going soft! "Why? I has such value-"

"My second cousin just had a baby." Bilbo's eves crinkled at the corners as his smile widened. "A boy… Frodo Baggins. I want to keep it for him, for when he comes of age." He turned a little, enjoying the warmth, and sighed faintly. "He's such a beautiful little boy…"

Smaug made a noncommittal noise and brought another lick of flame into his throat- the bath water had cooled. He had never heard tell of this nephew, not in all Bilbo's anxious ramblings, but the fondness and yearning for the little boy was clear, and at that moment Smaug felt something sink in his stomach, something nauseating and foul and unrecognizable.

Guilt.

Smaug the Terrible, the Greatest Calamity of the Age, felt guilty.

"Recently?" Smaug enquired, cocking his head. "Was he born recently?"

"A week or so before you arrived…" Bilbo nodded, sighing, "I was getting around to see him, but…"

"I came." The feeling in Smaug's stomach did not diminish. "My arrival must have put quite the stopper in your plans, little thief."

"Mhm," Bilbo shrugged against his ribs, barely a nudge, and coughed a bit. Seeing no alternate conversation, Smaug got out of the tub and shook himself briefly before he bundled Bilbo into one if his thick fluffy towels and left the bathroom entirely. He listened to the hobbit mumble sleepily in his grasp, not really awake still, and curled up under his mountain of plush covers and shining duvets until Bilbo's breathing evened out. He remained watchful as sleep took the little creature, even when sleep tempted him, and eventually Bilbo roused himself enough to squirm.

"Smaug?" He rasped, looking confused as his eyebrows furrowed together. "Why am I in a towel?"

"You ill, thiefling." Smaug told him seriously. "Soaking in the warm water was for your welfare. Desist from squirming." To Smaug's surprise, Bilbo did. He paused, looking at Smaug strangely as if he'd never seen him before, and then looked away with vague concern etched into the bags under his eyes. With nothing else to say, Smaug decided to point that out. "You look terrible, thiefling."

"Do I?" Bilbo jumped a little, running a hand through his nappy curls and touching the dark circles lightly. "Ugh, I should get up."

"No!" Smaug protested, shaking his head and tightening his grip. "You will stay at rest, little thief, or I shall make you!"

"I have mail to check, and I have to tidy up," Bilbo said lamely, looking for an excuse. "and who will feed you if I'm in bed all day?"

"I shall fetch your 'mail'." Smaug declared haughtily, "Tidying also. And I am certainly capable of pursuing game for both of us. You WILL remain in the nest, thief." Meeting Bilbo's eyes, the dragon dared his smaller host to protest the arrangement and fight back, his golden eyes gleaming for the challenge, but Bilbo's face paled a little and he sighed heavily as he sank back into the warmth.

"...Alright." He admitted defeat and pulled the blankets a little closer. "I could use the rest..."

"Indeed." Smaug hovered uncomfortably, too used to solitude to really make any conversation, and soon the hobbit's eyes drifted back open. "I… the mail?"

"In the box out front." Bilbo told him gently, "Beside the gate. You'll see it." He blinked, amused by how quickly the dragon fled his presence to do as he'd said,, and he heard the front to smack against the wall as his houseguest threw it open harshly to dive out into the elements. He chuckled hoarsely to himself, sinking down into his covers a little and struggling to pull the towel out from under him as smoothly as he could. He had only just succeeded and dropped it to the floor when Smaug burst back into the room like a force of nature, a shower of melting snowflakes shaking from his hair, and dropped the stack of letters into his blanketed lap.

"MAIL!" Smaug proclaimed, "Thiefling, I have procured your post as required! What matters require such urgencies from your relatively close offspring and kin?!" He regarded the stack with obvious dislike. "Has there been a great deal of deaths?!"

"No," Bilbo choked on a laugh and coughed harshly, his throat dry. "no, it's probably nothing like that." He tugged out the knot the postman had made in the twine binding his mail together and smiled as his cousin's handwriting fell into view. "Primula loves to write me, and it's most likely about my nephew."

"The Frodo?"

"My Frodo." Bilbo smiled dazedly at his houseguest, snuffling as he slipped a finger behind the wax seal and pulled out the first letter. Out poured adulations of the baby, and a few hurried sketches the father had done of them both, but Bilbo wanted to see them both and he wanted to do it soon. Bilbo's sigh must have given it away.

"Thieflng, are you hungry?" Or maybe not. "Your seven-meal schedule has hardly been kept to in the past days." Smaug was quick to glaze over the fact that he had been the cause in the last few days, but Bilbo couldn't exactly fault the person tending him for it. His stomach groaned at the mention of food and Bilbo made a similar noise. Smaug lifted his chin a little higher and pushed his shoulder back. "I shall bring it to you. Remain here and await my return."

"Oh no!" Bilbo coughed, throwing back the covers and swinging his hairy feet over the edge. "No, no, no, no, no! Not in my kitchen!" He struggled for breath, blowing his nose, and gave Smaug a stern look. "You are not going to wreck my kitchen." He tried to stand up, but Smaug pushed him back down. Scowling, Bilbo pushed the dragon's hand away and tried again; Smaug pushed him back down onto the bed and gave him a stern look. "Smaug, what are you doing?"

"You will not overexert yourself, thief." Smaug commanded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your feet will not touch this floor until I allow it."

Bilbo stiffened, "Oh?" and slid off the edge of the bed.

Bilbo had expected to be tossed onto the bed again, or something as equally humiliating, but the idea of being bundled up and tucked against his houseguest was beyond his imagination. Smaug had simply rolled him in a thinner sheet, barely leaving room for his arms to work their way out, and cradled him like a little child.

Sitting on the dragon man's forearm, Bilbo had no choice but to cling to the towering figure or risk falling backwards out of his grasp. Unfortunately, the dragon seemed to have sheared off the seemingly endless curls just below his chin and Bilbo had only his broad shoulders for support.

"This is not what I had in mind." Bilbo grumbled, his chin resting comfortably on ever-warm skin. He coughed a little, sniffling, "If you could put me down-"

"I shant." Smaug turned his head and bumped noses with Bilbo seriously, his golden eyes focusing right on the hobbit's red face. "You are a liability to your own health, Thiefling, and I shall not remain alone in this mole hill simply because your frailty allowed you to pass."

Bilbo paused, about to say something quick and snappy, but then his mind digested the dragon's ill-worded defense for him.

'You're a danger to your own health and I won't live here alone because you grew worse and died.' Or, when he thought about it a little more: "I want you to get better. I don't want you to die and leave me alone here." After more and more thought, Bilbo was touched by the sentiment hidden in his words.

"Well, thief?" Smaug smirked, dumping the charred sausages and eggs into a bowl and leaving the pan on the table to singe the wood. "What do you say to that?"

Bilbo pushed off of the dragon's chest a little, just enough to meet his eyes, and said: "Thank you… it's been a long time since someone's nursed me back to health."

Smaug exploded, dropping into his nest with Bilbo and their meal. "What a preposterous notion! You foolish thief" –Smaug forced him to eat a bit of soft egg and, when Bilbo complained, he served the bit to him on some bread.- "I am a dragon, Thiefling! I am mighty, and fierce, and-" Smaug practically swallowed his bravado when Bilbo choked on a bite and, hovering anxiously, he waited for the hobbit to eat again to continue. "I play nursemaid to no one."