Summer Songs III: Still Breathing

"Had enough already, Master Baggins?" Ted Sandyman sounded entirely too curious.

"I'm afraid so," Bilbo sighed, fishing in the pocket of his weskit for the proper change. He pushed his third ale aside unfinished, much to Hamfast Gamgee's dismay.

The barkeep accepted Bilbo's payment with a nod. Ted took a puff of his Longbottom, eyeing the handful of coins with barely contained derision.

"Why not pay off the lot of us while you're at it, rather than spare your change on--"

Bilbo's warning glance subsided as Ted's companion clapped a hand over his mouth with an apologetic glance in Hamfast's direction.

"Begging your pardon, Gaffer, sir. He's like as not had enough to empty your master's coffers entire. Pay 'im no mind, neither, Mr. Baggins."

"Aye, Jolly," Bilbo responded with a cautious smile. "Like as not, you're correct, but we shan't stay to find out. Good night, gentlemen, and let it not be forgotten who my coin's really worth."

A chorus of final toasts and well-wishes saw Bilbo and his companion out the door. The night air was cool, calming. Bilbo supposed it must be near midnight. He turned to the Gaffer with an apologetic sigh.

"Mark my words, Ham, if ever there's a one who doesn't know his place from a leaf in the pipe, it's Ted. Besides, he meant ill of me and mine sooner than he meant a slur upon your head."

"That may be true, sir, but all the same," the Gaffer huffed as they made their way across the square, "he oughtn't speak of honorable folk so, least of all Bagginses."

Bilbo chuckled. "Of course he shouldn't. But you and I, friend, are clearly biased!"

The remainder of the walk to Bagshot Row was spent in companionable silence, with pipes lit and rings blown aplenty. They parted ways at Bilbo's front gate.

"I expect your Sam's home by now, but if I find him wakeful, I'll shoo him along. If he's asleep, no matter. He's quite welcome, Master Ham, and don't you forget it."

"You're too kind, sir," Hamfast murmured jovially. "Word o' this lodging and the like gets around, and Sandyman'll expect the tab's on you indeed!"

Bilbo waved the Gaffer off and closed the gate behind him. "Oh, nonsense! Get along, then. I don't fancy a scolding from your Bell any more than you do."

"Good night, Mr. Bilbo."

Bilbo stood puffing his Old Toby thoughtfully until the Gaffer was out of sight. A fine hobbit indeed, that Ham Gamgee, a fine-

Bilbo yawned and turned to his front door. There was bed to be concerned with, no question, but not before concerning himself with Frodo. Bilbo left his pipe extinguished on the kitchen table and wended his way by candlelight back to Frodo's door.

"Frodo-lad?" he called, loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to let the boy rest, if indeed he slept. Bilbo judged by the lack of a response and the state of the door (locked) that Frodo did.

"Good night, then," Bilbo murmured to no one in particular. He padded back the hall to his own chamber, and with a yawn, shut the door.

* * *

Sam stirred against Frodo in his sleep, the movement just enough to rouse him. Sam took a deep, audible breath, clutching Frodo tightly. Frodo blinked, turning his head to nuzzle drowsily at Sam's cheek.

"Are you all right?"

"I thought I heard somethin', was all," Sam replied in an anxious whisper.

Frodo rubbed his back. "You might have. But it's all right, I doubt that--"

Sam kissed his throat. "I know, sir. I'm sorry."

Frodo swatted him gently, then tugged him closer. "Hush, Sam. Go back to sleep."

"Not yet," Sam whispered, his mouth a breath away from Frodo's.

Kisses like that, Frodo decided, were worth waking up for in the middle of the night.

* * *

"Bell, me dear, let an old hobbit in from the cold!"

The door of Number Three opened a fraction at the Gaffer's rap and call, revealing a pair of sharp hazel eyes.

"Not until you fetch that lad of yours! Putting on airs, lingerin' at Bag End till all hours of-"

"Peace, Bell," the Gaffer sighed, tugging the door just hard enough to dislodge his wife. He caught her about the waist before she toppled onto the doorstep, silencing her indignant huff with a peck on the lips.

"None of that, now, love. Your Sam's asleep in a bed finer'n any we've got, savin' perhaps ours with you in it."

Bell Gamgee allowed herself to be ushered inside with no further complaints.

* * *

"Oh--Oh!--Samwhatare--you--d--!" Frodo gasped into his pillow, hands bunching into tight fists against the sheets beneath it.

"Kissing your back, sir," Sam whispered halfway down his spine, continuing without so much as skipping a beat. He framed Frodo's hips with his hands, kneading gently, fingers creeping beneath to the softness of his belly.

Fodo shuddered with every light, damp brush of Sam's mouth, tremors that seized every inch of him. This felt as good as--as--almost better--than--

"Don't squirm so," Sam chided gently, nipping at his tailbone.

Frodo bit at the pillowcase, stifling a moan. "Wh--When I've got you like this, just--just you try--Sam!"

Sam had moved on to the backs of his thighs, alternating sides with slow brushes of his tongue. "Like this, Mr. Frodo?"

"Y--Yes! Now, S--Sa...ah!"

Frodo lost all sense of reason to Sam's hand sliding fully under him, where, he would have admitted (if he could but speak), it was quite urgently needed.

* * *

"Tired, me love?"

Bell snorted and kissed her husband's forehead. "Not likely! Fine bit of wishin' you've got there, Gaffer Gamgee. Just because I ask for a rest now and again doesn't mean this old dame can't tussle with the best of them."

Hamfast chuckled and ran his fingers through Bell's long, loose curls. He loved the way candlelight denied its own gold, turning her gray strands to silver streaks in a spill of well-worn auburn. "You're sure I haven't worn you?"

It was Bell's turn to laugh. She wound her fingers in straw turning leisurely to snow against their pillows, month by month. "Not since Overlithe the year before our Sam came along!"

"Aye, and how quick he came," Hamfast sighed, stroking Bell's flushed cheek. "But never so quick as you, for all your keepin' up."

Bell pinched his side lightly. "You and your talk. At least he comes by it honest!"

"Our Samwise?"

"Aye," Bell sighed, and Hamfast felt the flutter of eyelashes at his collarbone.

"What's this, now, me dear?"

"He doesn't pay her much mind now--that Rosie-lass of Cotton's."

Hamfast nodded thoughtfully, shrugged. "Not in a year or two, at lea--"

"Three," Bell whispered.

"He ain't ever paid that much more'n mind to begin with. The day he's sowin', I'll be sure to know, mark me, Bell. I suspect he's not only got my tongue, if you take--"

"Oh, and I do at that, Ham, but you sure as anything didn't know when he walked in here last night."

Hamfast blinked, puzzled. "From a bit of a picnic with Mr. Frodo? He said--"

"You don't do the laundry." With that, Bell planted a kiss on Hamfast's cheek, turned over, and soon, her breathing was soft.

Hamfast sat staring into the darkness beyond their windowpane until the candles died.

* * *

"Tired, me dear?" Sam tucked his head against Frodo's neck, kissing softly.

Frodo shifted in his arms, murmuring something that sounded sleepy and content. Sam set his hands at the small of his back, warm and still.

"You amaze me, sir," Sam whispered, grateful that darkness covered his blushing. "I can't help but love every inch of you."

Frodo yawned and burrowed closer. "And I shan't...stop you, and I surely will...do the same...Sam..."

"You sleep now," Sam murmured.

Frodo stroked Sam's thigh briefly. "So precious," he breathed. "Good night."

"No, Frodo-love. That would be you."

Frodo was already still, breath steady and languorous. Sam closed his eyes and smiled.

* * *

A rap at the front door roused Bilbo from a dream of far-off nights spent in a pair of strong arms. He fumbled with his covers, stumbled out of bed, and groped in his trunk for a robe.

"Mr. Bilbo, sir?"

Bilbo could hear the Gaffer's voice, clear and concerned, before he even reached the door. He opened it to reveal a rather tired-looking Ham Gamgee. Bilbo rubbed his eyes, chuckling ruefully.

"Far overslept, have I? Looks as if you could use some more rest yourself, to clear your head of--"

"No, sir," the Gaffer replied soberly. "It's nigh ten o'clock."

Bilbo frowned. "Bah, early yet! But your Sam ought to be out back with those pansies by--"

"He's not, sir. Begging your pardon, but that's why I knocked. Seeing as he stayed last night, I thought--"

"Stayed? Not as far as I can see." Bilbo frowned twice as hard. "None of the spare rooms are occupied, let alone the sofa."

"I've no notion where else he might be," the Gaffer said tentatively, spreading his hands.

Bilbo stretched and yawned. "Oh, I suppose I can check with Frodo. Lad's always up and reading at dawn, I swear it. Step inside, have a wait while I ask him."

Bilbo had scarcely turned when the Gaffer ventured politely, "How's he faring this morning?"

"Blasted if I know," Bilbo responded with a wave, continuing back in the direction of the hall. "His door was locked last night. Sulking or studying, I'd wager, though not against the likes of you!" Bilbo approached Frodo's door, rapping lightly. "Frodo-lad?"

No response. Bilbo called again softly, only to be met with the same silence.

"Now you've got me worried, my boy," Bilbo muttered, twisting the doorknob.

Still locked.

"Frodo!"

Bilbo's panic was short-lived, however. Being a practical hobbit (and a burglar besides), he promptly picked the lock with one of his mother's old hatpins. In attempt to quell his apprehension, Bilbo took a breath as the lock gave. He pushed the door open.

"Now, lad, if you're ill, I--"

Belladonna's favorite carved holly hit the inlaid floor with a soft click. It was not enough to wake the pair tangled in Frodo's sheets, curled around each other in peaceful sleep. Pale, green-golden light streamed in through ivy and glass overhead, glinting in curls both dark and fair against Frodo's pillow...

Dappling bare shoulders, milk-white and tanned alike.

Bilbo stared for a solid minute before gathering sufficient sense to slap the doorframe with the flat of his hand. "Frodo Baggins!" he hissed.

The lad woke with a yelp, sat bolt upright. "Sam? What--Uncle!"

Bilbo fought the impulse to duck away with an apology as Sam, too, woke with a horrified start.

"M--Mr. Fro--Bil--I--sir--!"

Bilbo glared steadily at Frodo, who was, despite returning the glare quite steadfastly, trying his best to help Sam hide in the bedclothes.

"Do you mind?" Frodo managed, sounding much less brave than he looked.

"Aye," Bilbo responded gravely, "but not half as much as Master--"

"Mr. Bilbo, sir, is that Samwise I hear? Did I miss him out back, at Mr. Frodo's window or somesuch?..."

Sam turned ashen at the sound of his father's voice approaching. With a last wordless huff and jab of his finger at Frodo, Bilbo slammed the door, turning just in time to intercept the Gaffer.

"Y--Yes, as a matter of fact! Asking if he ought to make tea now that we're up! Master Ham, would you see kindly see to the water and let your boy know you...?" Bilbo ran out of breath, gestured helplessly. If the ruse showed, he could hardly blame himself.

The Gaffer raised an eyebrow. "Certainly, sir. Are--things all right with Mr. Frodo?"

Bilbo pitched his exasperated expression into a semblance of frustration. "We're at odds, pay it no mind. Nothing a lad scarce out of his tweens won't spring on you once in a while, isn't that so?"

The Gaffer nodded and turned for the kitchen, but not before fixing the door with a brief look of...of what, Bilbo couldn't rightly decide. He waited until he heard the rattle of cups and saucers to open Frodo's door and duck inside.

"Now, you listen--oh, for heaven's sake. Keep dressing, Samwise. Now, as for you..."

Frodo stood up straight, not even bothering to use the garment that he had just retrieved for Sam to cover himself. "As for me?"

Bilbo gritted his teeth at the familiar defiance. So it hadn't left the boy after all...

"Yes, you will have a seat on that bed and wait till I've dealt with Master Samwise."

Frodo threw the weskit aside and advanced on Bilbo furiously. Sam struggled into his shirt, watching with wide eyes.

"You'll do no such--"

"Frodo, sit!"

Frodo flinched at his uncle's tone, hissed under his breath, and backed down onto the mattress. Sam shot him a long, miserable glance as he finished with his weskit.

Bilbo gestured to Sam. "Listen closely. You're to climb out Frodo's window and be exactly where your Gaffer expects you to be."

Sam stammered, as if struggling to guess where that might be. "The...The pansies, sir?"

"Good lad. Out with you quick, before my hide's the one he's after."

"Y--Yes, sir!"

Frodo stared after him miserably, eyes lingering on the window even after he was gone. Bilbo cleared his throat, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. Frodo did not turn.

"Have you any explanation before I tell you exactly what I think of your behavior, Frodo-lad?"

"None," Frodo said softly. "What you see is what you get. Are you satisfied?"

"Apparently you are, and proud of yourself, besides."

Frodo rounded on him angrily. "It has nothing to do with pride! What are you getting at?"

"Do you understand what serious repercussions things like... like this have, let alone taking advantage of the gardener's--"

Frodo's jaw unhinged for a moment before snapping shut, eyes widening in amazement. "Taking advantage of--"

"How old is he, Frodo? Seventeen, eight--"

"He's nineteen just last month!" Frodo cried. "What, do you think I seduced--"

Bilbo cut him off with a frustrated gesture. "I don't know what I think, but I know that this isn't how you break this kind of news to me, let alone--"

Frodo looked up from the coverlet, as if he'd been thinking for a moment. "You said... you said this kind of behavior--as if you know--"

"Don't tread where you're not given leave, lad," Bilbo warned, but he closed his eyes with a sigh of defeat. Would gardeners be the weakness of every Baggins heir thereafter? Bilbo wondered if Hamfast knew what had gone on with his predecessor. He wondered what wisdom there would ever be in confessing, in light of--

"I think I have plenty," Frodo asserted. "And so does Sam."

Bilbo opened his eyes, rubbed his temples. "Frodo--for how long--"

"Yesterday. Just yesterday, Uncle Bilbo, if it's the truth you want."

"That explains a lot."

Frodo scowled. "Do you realize...that he chose to stay...that I let--wanted--him to stay because we didn't know any other...that we accepted we'd get...well, no, I suppose...I didn't accept it, did I? We just...Uncle Bilbo, we didn't want to leave...we...just...we couldn't," Frodo whispered, wrapping his arms about his knees, trembling as he closed his eyes and hid his face.

Bilbo covered his mouth and stared out the window for long moments before muttering, "Yes, a lot."

"...Uncle?"

Bilbo snapped back to attention at the sound of tears in Frodo's voice. The lad was staring at him from behind pale knees, sniffling audibly. Bilbo's heart twisted.

"Oh, Frodo-lad. Sh, none of that. Try to understand--what you've chosen--what you think you've chosen--"

"Sam's chosen. So have I."

"You put a lot of weight on him, lad."

"He was bravest, you know."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. "He was the one--to--?"

Frodo nodded, biting back a smile till his lower lip trembled afresh. "More or less. A picnic basket and a smile the Shire wide. Really," Frodo murmured, closing his eyes.

Bilbo rose from the bed, deciding there was little else to say than, "Be careful, lad, will you, from now on? And...And if you've questions, I suppose..." Bilbo averted his gaze, made a vague gesture that he hoped Frodo would understand. Judging by the tinge in his cheeks, he seemed to.

"Well, then...why don't you dress and join me for breakfast..."

Frodo's eyes drifted to the window, through which drifted the sound of another pair of voices. "Yes, sir--oh...if...can--?"

"If they're not working. Patience, lad. One would think you didn't just have the whole night with him!"

Frodo nodded sullenly and rose to dress.

* * *

Sam knelt in the grass, trembling so badly that he could hardly hold the spade. He'd been on the ground barely ten minutes before he heard his father's approach.

"G'morning, Sam-lad. Seems I missed you first time 'round. Fetching water for the posies, were you?"

Sam swallowed, staring at the tin watering can to his right, which was in fact perfectly empty.

"Yes, sir."

The Gaffer strode around him, bending to pick up the can. "Then let's get started, shall--"

Sam released the pained wince he'd bottled in his throat, grasping his Gaffer's hand.

Hamfast bent to his son's level, and their eyes met. "Are you going to come clean, then, or let your Ma keep at it for you?"

Sam went redder than the columbine lurking in the shade of the gate. "Yes, sir."

"Well?"

Sam opened his eyes when he realized that, for once, no tirade was forthcoming. "Sir?"

"We can't have Mr. Frodo going without his sleep. I expect you'll be more mindful, let alone go disappearin' on me?"

"Then, you...you just...you'd like to know when--when--"

"Not the particulars, Lady, no!" the Gaffer reassured him, rising with the watering can. "Just the whens and wheres and manner-minding, Samwise. You'd best not forget--"

Sam looked up, eyes flashing. "I know my place, sir."

The Gaffer knelt again, meeting his gaze. "Do you, now, lad?"

"Wherever he is, Dad. Wherever he goes, and whenever. That's where, and if you please..."

Sam took the watering can with a polite nod and headed for the stream.

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