Rain
for my other half...
One infinitesimally tiny droplet fell to touch the already pooling water noiselessly, fracturing the still pond of the tabletop and bouncing back outwards in lancing sparks, a spiral creating a spiral creating a spiral. Keen blue eyes remain fixed on the sight as other drops joined it, painting a tesseract of pen strokes, pixie fireworks, across the once glassy surface.
Clouds were rolling in from the west, tall billowing plumes of lilac and slate, wafting like pipe smoke across the crisp summer sky. The sun sat just above the horizon line, and though setting, vanished from sight all the sooner as a single streak of light carved down through the clouds. "One...two...three...four...four miles away, yet..." Thunder reverberated in the distance as the soft voice whispered.
Sapphires turned to heaven and drifted idly closed as another drop caught the forehead and ran like a river down the delicate nose to sit just atop one pale rose lip.
"Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo remained with his eyes shut and face upturned, still seated several feet from the table and chairs, with legs curled under him, as Sam approached.
"It's beginning to rain, Master," Sam said as he came to stand beside the smaller hobbit. "You should come inside before you catch yourself a cold."
"A little rain shall not be the death of me, Sam," he answered, finally opening his eyes as he turned his gaze towards the newcomer. "On the contrary, I think it adds to the life in me..."
"Ah, I see..." Sam replied thoughtfully, bringing one hand to shield his eyes as he gazed towards the west. Another streak of lightning lit the sky and Frodo murmured numbers again. "I wasn't thinking anyone else even liked the rain besides me."
"I have always adored the rain," Frodo replied, patting the grass beside him. "Of course, I love the sunshine as well, but we have sunshine so often. Rain is...a rare treat."
"Indeed it is, Mr. Frodo," Sam said, obliging him by sitting down. He threw his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky and blinking slightly as another raindrop caught him right between his hazel eyes. "Rain is good for the earth, washes away all the impure things, you see...gives all the plants somethin' to drink, makes ev'rything all fresh and new-like."
"It reminds me of younger days...the way the world smells right when the rain first begins to fall. It's healing...it's like the day..."
Frodo's voice suddenly trailed off and Sam sat up, tilting his head with concern as he reached out a hand to touch his master's shoulder in a silent question.
Frodo sighed softly, turning his face away from Sam, not wanting the younger one to see his unshed tears. "It's nothing."
Sam frowned, sliding his hand from Frodo's shoulder to rest over his hand. "Now, Mr. Frodo, don't go thinking you can fib to your old Sam here. If it t'was nothing, you'd have no need to go trailing off and looking away." He inched himself closer and tentatively looped an arm around his shoulders. The rain was starting to fall a little more quickly now, dampening their hair and running down their faces in tiny streams. "Can't help none if'n you don't talk at all."
"The first day I came to Bag End," Frodo suddenly started again, leaning into Sam's arm. Sam responded by pulling Frodo close and up against him, wrapping both arms around his friend's waist as they sat not quite side by side, not quite one in front of the other. "Bilbo brought me back here and I was a terrible silent mess, had hardly spoken more than a word to anyone in goodness knows how long."
"I remember it just a bit..." Sam said softly, urging him on.
"Your Gaffer brought you by, making introductions as was proper, and just after elevenses, a terrible storm rolled in."
"Ah, yes, and the thunder, t'was so loud it was itching to shake the doors right from their hinges!"
Frodo laughed softly and leaned back against Sam, sighing again. "I was terrified, in a strange place, with a terrible storm, and no matter what Bilbo said or did, I remained curled up under a blanket in a corner near the fireplace."
"You wouldn't budge an inch," Sam recalled with a grin. "And here I was, just a little thing, not even a 'tweenager yet..."
"And you came wandering in, set yourself down right beside me and said: 'Aren't any reason to be afraid of no thunder, Mr. Frodo, sir...y'see...someone up there is just shaking loose all the raindrops, so the flowers can have a good long drink.'"
Sam laughed now, his arms tightening around Frodo, feeling his heart beat under the damp clothes beneath his hands. "I was a mighty forward little thing, wasn't I?"
Frodo nodded and turned to look at Sam, his eyes shining, less with sorrow and more with comfort. "But oh how I laughed...and I was never really afraid of thunder after that."
"A good thing indeed, Mr. Frodo," he said with a smile.
"And Bilbo read to us beside the fire until we both fell asleep curled up under the blanket together..."
"You miss him."
"I do...a great deal."
Another raindrop landed on Sam's face, rolling down to hang at the end of his nose, and without a second thought, Frodo leaned forward to kiss it away. Their eyes locked for just a moment, and then Frodo turned again, resettling himself against Sam. "We could go inside by the fire and read a story ourselves, if it'd cheer you, Mr. Frodo."
"That would be a nice idea, Sam..." he replied, and they both climbed to their feet and headed towards the door. As they reached the overhang, Frodo stopped for a moment to gaze out at the misty clouds hanging low over the fields and trees. "Sam...you said that the rain...makes things new-like."
"Indeed...seems to heal all the land, and give it all freshness."
Frodo nodded and reached for his hand, twining their fingers together as he sighed thoughtfully. "You are very right, I feel...and it reminds me that, with time, all things can heal and grow again."