(movie-verse (with mayhaps some book elements?)) this might turn into a series of oneshots but idk man.

thx for ur reads and reviews!

The first night since the return home that Frodo was sober enough to remember anything, all he could remember was not being able to sleep. He had an extensive mental list of everything that contributed to this unfortunate fact. For one thing, his mattress swallowed him up, and–for another–his nice, feather pillows suffocated him. The wooden structure of the old Hobbit-hole creaked and groaned as it always had, but it had never bothered Frodo as it did that night. These were only a very few of the things that kept his eyes open wide nearly all throughout the night.

On the very few occasions when he did manage to nod off, he would jolt right back awake, clutching wildly at his chest only to remember that there was nothing there save his night-shirt.

The sun rose over the Shire as she was supposed to. Many decent folk rose at dawn: the Maggots, the Cottons, the Gamgees… Sam would be up and already in the garden. As for Frodo, he was not particularly fond of getting up while the sun was new, and yet he couldn't find any reason to stay in bed.

Tired and not far from lying down on the floor and trying to sleep there, Frodo pulled himself out of bed, dressed, and shuffled into the kitchen where the sound of garden clippers could be heard. His prediction had proved true. Just out the window, the top of Sam's head could be seen--there was a green leaf stuck in his strawberry-blonde hair. Faithful Sam never missed a day's work, even when they had both drunk their fill of ale and Frodo assured him he would understand if he decided to stay home.

Frodo made his way out the door. "Good morning, Sam," he greeted as he walked towards his friend.

Sam, on his knees next to a patch of marigolds, looked up at Frodo with a wide-eyed smile. "G'mornin', Mr. Frodo," he returned. "You're up a bit early."

There was no point in bothering Sam with the details of his sleepless night- for Sam would be quite bothered if he heard of it. "I suppose I am," Frodo agreed. "But then, you're always up a bit early."

Sam looked back and forth between Frodo and the flowers he was tending to. "Well, you know I don't mind it none, Mr. Frodo. It's just what I've always done, and so it seems proper to always do, if you take my meaning."

"I do, Sam," Frodo assured him, casually reaching to pull the leaf out of Sam's hair and stick it in the pocket of his waistcoat. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

Sam shook his head and turned back to his work. "No, I've not had breakfast, but I was meanin' to go back home to get some just as soon as I was finished with these stubborn weeds, here," he said, yanking on one of the said weeds for good measure.

"Don't be ridiculous," Frodo said with a warm smile as he turned back to the house. "You're going to have breakfast with me. I'll make some for the both of us."

"Now, that's awful kind of you, Mr. Frodo, but–"

At the door, Frodo turned back to Sam. "I won't hear any objections, Samwise Gamgee. I'm sure you're hungry; so you might as well stop a while to eat."

Slowly, Sam stood and brushed his hands on his trousers. "Well, if you say so, and there's no changin' your mind..."

"Certainly not," Frodo insisted as Sam walked through the door.

It was good to be busy again, Frodo noted as he gathered eggs, bacon, and the pans he needed to cook them. He had done little since he returned home save work on the book he had promised Bilbo, and at times, he would even forget to fix himself anything to eat–most unnatural for a Hobbit, as Gandalf would say. Now, he found that cooking breakfast for himself and Sam revived him a little. He had been feeling sluggish all morning.

One disadvantage that Frodo could have gone without was the difficulty he had in gripping things. He kept expecting his finger to be there–he even imagined he felt it, but the clang of the pan on the ground told him what his imagination would not.

"Frodo! What happened?" Sam questioned.

"I'm alright, Sam," Frodo assured him, picking up the pan and flexing his mutilated hand once before returning to work. "I've just dropped the frying pan is all… There wasn't anything in it."

Before Frodo could blink, Sam was behind him, gently shouldering him aside and grabbing the handle of the pan. "That's alright, Mr. Frodo. I'll take over from here. It's a good start you've got."

"Sam…" Frodo began.

Sam got a stern look in his eye. "Beggin' your pardon, but as I recall, you've brought me in here to rest a bit. And you can be sure I won't be able to rest for one second if I know you're troubling yourself on my account."

Arguing with Sam was pointless-that much was evident. Frodo stepped aside and let Sam continue. "Very well. But I hope you know that I have every intention of making it up to you."

"And so you will," Sam agreed as he washed his hands in the water basin. "Once you've got the hang of everything, that is."

Frodo sat down at the table. As much as he appreciated Sam's confidence, he found he could not be sure he would ever "get the hang" of anything. Much had changed since his burden had been destroyed. Even sleeping with a sober mind had passed into the realm of impossibility, it seemed.

These dark thoughts were quickly subdued as Sam sat in front of him with two plates of eggs and bacon as only Sam could make them. Frodo sliced some bread with strawberry jam for them with a little difficulty, but Sam permitted it, and they enjoyed the companionable silence for some time.

"I wonder sometimes..." Sam broke the silence first. "I wonder what everyone else gets up to. The rest of the Fellowship, I mean. You'd figure they'd have a good lot to think and do. I reckon they've even got more adventures to have. And here we sit, eatin' breakfast like we haven't just come home from the end of the world." There was something peculiar in his tone.

"Do you miss it, Sam?" Frodo asked.

Sam shrugged. "No," he answered. "Leastways, not the dangerous parts, and there's no goin' back to the parts I liked." And that was all he would say on the subject.

The conversation shifted to many different subjects, each simple and pleasant. There was no mention of the Old Burden, and all seemed to be as it had been before. Sam didn't seem to be having the same trouble readjusting to the Shire (he was more or less up-to-date with the goings-on of their neighbors) and made sure to bring Frodo in on every piece of news. There was hardly anything about crops and parties that would linger in Frodo's mind for more than a day or so. It was the crinkles in the corners of Sam's eyes as he smiled wide and the laughter bubbling in Frodo's chest–sights and feelings he hadn't seen or felt for what felt like an age–that would last. Peace and quiet that had returned to Bag End if only for an hour or so. The world was behind, and home was an arm's-reach away.

Soon, breakfast ended, and they both decided against a second one. (Neither seemed to be as hungry as other Hobbits, nowadays.) So, Sam returned to work, and Frodo returned to his book.

Morning passed to afternoon, and afternoon passed to evening. Sam left, and Farmer Maggot came by with well-wishes and an armful of carrots for a present, and was gone. There was no word from Pippin or Merry who had scarcely left the Green Dragon since the return. So, after supper and a brief walk around the neighborhood, Frodo went straight to bed.

And still, after a full day without a wink of sleep to run on, Frodo found that he would not be dozing off any time soon. This time, a new impediment came to light: it was cold. On his journey, he had slept under worse conditions, but this was a cold that surpassed the physical realm. It was the cold of an empty place--with silence as a companion--that kept Frodo from sleeping. Even when the world seemed to be ending, he had not felt such a thing.

As he tossed and turned, he kept in mind not to kick Sam, but Sam wasn't there. He listened for the sound of Sam's snores, but no such sound came. There was no chain on his neck; there was no earth underneath him. Every thing was in such a way that, under normal circumstances, he would've slept and overslept. Yet, he couldn't.

Determining there was no point in lying awake on a mattress he didn't even like, Frodo rose and wandered outside. If he left Bag End, there was no telling where he would go. He might leave and never return, and the thought did cross his mind. He was beginning to understand Bilbo's desire to leave the Shire and live the rest of his days with the elves.

The less extreme part of him considered the fact that it certainly wasn't too late to visit the Green Dragon and drink so much ale that it would make no difference to him whether he slept on a bed or the tangled roots of a great tree. In fact, it hardly made a difference to him then. After all, there was at least one tree in the East Farthing Wood that he had managed several times to sleep either in or under. And so, he determined to try it.

It wasn't a long walk to East Farthing--or at least, it wasn't longer than Frodo had recently become accustomed to. In some peculiar way, he found being out of doors was more relaxing than being in his own home, though he felt ridiculous for thinking it. All he had wished for on his journey was to return to a safe and peaceful Shire, and now that his wish was granted, he could not enjoy it.

When at last Frodo found a tree he knew, he settled himself between the roots and managed to at least close his eyes, though he couldn't sleep just yet. It was a chill night, indeed. Even if he had heaps of blankets to pile on, Frodo was sure the cold would bite straight through them. All he could do was shiver and curl up.

"Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo's eyes shot open at Sam's voice. At first, he thought he had only imagined it--he was so used to that being the first sound he heard when he woke. But he hadn't. His Sam was standing not three inches from his feet. The light that the full moon gave told him so.

"Sam?" The exhaustion in Frodo's voice surprised even himself.

"Pardon me, sir, I didn't mean to disturb you," Sam apologized. "I'm just... surprised to find you here, is all."

Frodo nodded, and a silence passed before he decided he ought to explain. "I was trying to sleep."

"I gathered that, sir, and I'm awful sorry."

Frodo sat up a bit and shook and shook his head. "Don't be sorry. I was only trying, and I was failing anyway. What brings you here?"

Sam looked over his shoulder and back to Frodo. "If I'm honest with you, sir, this is where I've been coming to sleep the past few nights. It's been a mite easier than tryin' to sleep in my own bed."

It made sense suddenly... Frodo felt foolish for assuming that his faithful Sam had recovered from the journey more easily than he had. "Oh, Sam," Frodo sighed. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've made sure you had days off: as many as you needed."

"Well, beggin' your pardon, but that's just why I didn't want to say anything. I've been your next-door neighbor for as long as I can remember, but since we've come back... well bein' next door just seems too far away. I don't think I would've been able to stand it if you'd made me stay at home all day."

Frodo smiled wide and made room next to him for Sam. Almost like second nature, Sam sat beside him (though they were both lying down more than they were sitting up.) "Well, then, that's just it," Frodo remarked. "You'll have to move into Bag End. I won't have an ill-rested gardener, you know; not while my lovely marigolds are still alive."

"But what about you, Mr. Frodo? My guess is you've not been sleepin' neither. My movin' in won't help you none."

"I do believe you're wrong about that Sam," Frodo yawned, turning his back to Sam. "But helping me isn't the important thing. I'll give you some time to think it over, but I hope you'll agree. Let's try to get some sleep at long last."

There was only silence for a little while as Sam made himself comfortable. Then, he spoke in little more than a whisper. "Y'know, Mr. Frodo, I've been thinking about somethin' my old Gaffer said..."

Frodo turned over to face Sam nose to nose. "What did Gaffer say?"

Sam shrugged. "Well, he was going on about that old knee of his... It was ten years since his accident just yesterday."

"Ten years?" Frodo said. "It seems he's always had that limp."

Sam nodded. "But he said that weeks and months after it happened he didn't want to admit that it was botherin' him at all, and he tried to do things he oughtn't've all while he was on the point of agony. I've a notion that if he'd admitted he was hurtin' and gotten the help he needed early on, he wouldn't have a limp--least, not one to speak of."

There was no need to ask what Sam meant by this. "Sam," Frodo mumbled. "I won't say that our return has been easy, but I don't want you to worry about me. I'll be alright, even if I have to sleep under this tree for the rest of my time here."

"Don't say that, Frodo. Because if you're going to come out here every night, then so will I. And you know what Gaffer would say if he heard that I preferred sleepin' under a tree than in a proper bed."

"He'd say you were cracked," Frodo laughed.

"And I'd never live it down," Sam finished with a smile. Only a few seconds passed before he spoke again in a much softer tone. "Don't say that helpin' you isnt important, Mr. Frodo. It's the most important thing I know. I'll move in and join you sure enough, even if it may take some time. But I've got to know that you'll let me help you with everything--even it's just makin' breakfast. Goodness knows you've gone through enough to deserve some rest."

Frodo gripped Sam's arm. "But so have you, Sam."

A wrinkle creased Sam's brow. "Then we help each other," he decided sternly. "It's what we've always done, and so it's what we'll keep on doin'. Now, try to get some sleep."

Sam shut his eyes and made that note the end of the discussion. Frodo did not know what else to do but smile, kiss Sam's nose, and finally go to sleep. He found that the night was not as cold as he had thought before...

Frodo woke the next morning under the afternoon Sun. Sam was already gone, and the familiar and comforting sound of the busy Shire could be heard from every direction. He took his time to stand and start home, reveling in the feeling of being well-rested without having a headache from ale. When he reached for the long-gone Burden and found it missing, he did not feel the same hollowness as he had. And he found himself once again longing for his home.

From outside Bag End's gate, Frodo could hear Sam whistling that song that Bilbo and Gandalf used to sing about the endless Road. "Good morning, Sam!" Frodo called as he climbed the steps to the door.

"Good morning, Mr. Frodo!" Sam returned ritualistically.

Frodo went inside and changed. The leaf that he had pulled from Sam's hair the day before was still in his waistcoat pocket. He took it out and looked at it a little while, twisting it around on its stalk before pressing it between the pages of his book.

Once he had a bite to eat, Frodo went outside again and found his gardener busy with some pretty red flower that Frodo couldn't name. "Did you sleep well last night, Sam?"

Sam nodded. "Better than I have in a while," he answered.

"I hope I didn't kick you too much," Frodo continued.

Sam offered a half-smile. "Well, you always did kick a little, Mr. Frodo, but I don't mind. I've got used to it, I think. In fact, it's been hard sleepin' without it."

Frodo laughed. "Sam, my dear Sam...Where would I be without you?"

And that's the story of how Frodo decided to stay in the Shire with Sam forever and ever the end