by shirebound
"There there, my boy. Everything will be all right." Bilbo held tightly to the weeping boy. "Why carry on, so?"
"Oh Bilbo," Frodo sobbed, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to get sick and ruin our first birthday together."
"Of course you didn't," Bilbo soothed. He lay on Frodo's bed, the blanket-wrapped lad resting weakly against his chest. He could feel heat from the boy's fever radiating from the tweenager. "Now you must stop this crying, or your throat will hurt even worse."
Frodo nodded, but the tears continued to flow. He had been so excited, for weeks, about this birthday. Bilbo had said they could have an adventure together, just the two of them, and they would do whatever Frodo wanted.
"We should be far away by now," Frodo sniffled, "camping out and singing and telling stories, and watching the stars... and now you're cooped up here, having to look after me."
"Frodo lad," Bilbo smiled, "if I hadn't wanted someone to 'look after,' after all these years alone, I wouldn't have adopted you. We'll look after each other, now." He looked into the boy's wet eyes. "I'm very happy you're here, Frodo, sick or well."
"Me too," the boy whispered. "So happy, Bilbo." He snuggled tighter into the old hobbit's arms, feeling achy and hot and drowsy. "I'll try to get better fast... I promise..."
"All you need to promise is to sleep as much as you can, and take the medicines the healer brought, and not worry about a thing," Bilbo said. He felt the boy relax as the mildly sedating, fever-reducing tea began to take effect. "Close your eyes now, and I'll be here when you wake up."
Frodo murmured something else, then went limp in Bilbo's arms as he sank into a deep sleep.
"I love you too, dear boy," Bilbo whispered.