Disclaimer: Don't own LotR or Seinfeld.
What's Up Doc?
Night.The moonlight shown through the window of Grima "Wormtongue" Johnson III's dark office, illuminating the tan/orange "Return of the King" poster, which had the mad doctor's own face super-imposed over Aragorn's as he rode into battle.
Wormtongue sat at his desk, waiting in silence as he gazed intensely at the door. He'd been waiting for several hours now, his twisted mind bent entirely on one single thing: the visit from his secretary, the woman behind the desk.
The glow-in-the-dark Flaming Eye clock on his wall read 12:18 when she finally came knocking at his door. Without a word, he stood up and silently made his way to the door.
"Who is it?" he said in a thin voice, peering out through the eyehole.
Standing outside the door, his secretary waved at him through the eyehole. "It's me, Sir. I got the photos."
"Well come in," Wormtongue said sternly, swinging open the door. His secretary hurried inside, pulling out a large manila envelope and sitting it on his desk.
"I just took them this morning," she said. "I waited outside St. Radagast's like you said." Wormtongue sat back at his desk and opened the envelope. Inside were a half-dozen photos, which he began to sort through.
"He looked like the one who came in yesterday," the woman said, absent-mindedly scratching her self. "Anyway, the frog's with him."
"That sneaky little two-faced halfling!" Wormtongue growled as he looked at a picture of Sam attempting to pull a wild-eyed Gollum out of the back seat of the C-Bird. He flipped over to the next photo, which showed the hobbit on all fours, trying to coax his patient out from under a street corner mailbox. "I warned him to mind his own business!"
His secretary stepped back slightly. "Should I wait for him again tomorrow?"
Grima Wormtongue threw the pictures down on his desk and stood up quickly. "No. I've seen enough already. How many patients am I seeing tomorrow?"
"Twenty."
"Try to squeeze them into the others' schedules. I won't be here."
With that, he stormed out his office door. He stopped in the hallway and turned to meet his secretary's gaze. "I'm going to pay Doctor Smith a little visit."
The woman nodded. "Yes Sir."
There was something about that third bacon and Sno Cap sandwich he'd eaten that wasn't settling well with Pippin. He lay on his side in the top bunk, facing the wall as he tried to ignore the knot in his stomach and go to sleep. He seemed to be concentrating heavily on this, appearing deep in thought as he closed his eyes and curled into a ball.
So deep in thought was he that he didn't even hear the creaking of his bedroom door opening. Nor did he hear the sound of footsteps on the ladder beside him.
He did, however, hear the raspy, labored sound of breathing behind him, though he was too drowsy to identify who it was. Assuming it was only Merry, who slept in the bunk below him, Pippin rolled over and lazily opened his eyes.
And suddenly, he was quite awake.
"AAAAAAAHHH!" Pippin screeched and leapt back, hitting the back of his head on the wall. "Get away from me!"
Perched at the top of the ladder, Gollum only stared.
Pippin took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his throbbing head, and said in a somewhat calmer voice, "Go on. Back into the living room."
Gollum continued to stare.
Pippin twitched slightly, his eyes widening nervously. "You heard me. Go back under the couch." There was no response. "Go away!" he shouted.
But still, Gollum continued to stare with glowing eyes as he hunched over at Pippin's bedside.
For a while, Pippin stood still, catching his breath as he watched the gaunt figure sitting before him. So eerie Gollum looked, as unmoving as a statue and hardly making a sound. His lamp-like eyes were unblinking, gazing fixedly at ...
Pippin stopped in mid-thought suddenly. Was Gollum even looking at him? The creature looked like he was staring at something past the hobbit. Couldn't he see him? Was it too dark?
It took him several minutes to gather up his courage, but Pippin managed to extend an arm towards Gollum, quickly waving his hand in the creature's face.
Gollum continued to stare.
A look of perplexity appeared on Pippin's face, and he began laughing. Gollum was asleep.
Below him, Merry stirred and opened his eyes. "Pippin?" he called out groggily. "What's so funny?"
"He's sleep-walking!" Pippin said quietly, still laughing.
"What? Who's sleep-walking?"
Merry's head appeared out from the shadows and looked up at the top bunk.
Pippin couldn't see his cousin from where he sat, but heard the rustling of sheets below him, followed instantly by a loud thump as Merry hit the floor.
They sat out in the little hall, peering inside the room at Gollum, still seated atop the bunk bed ladder.
"I don't get it," Pippin whispered. "He wasn't sleep-walking last night. I know Frodo said he used to have insomnia, but he never said anything about this."
"Maybe he's getting it back," Merry suggested lamely. "I mean, it's been two days now. He's probably just going back to normal."
"Or maybe it's from the bacon," Pippin said with a laugh.
Merry rolled his eyes at the thought. "The bacon. Yeah, that'd be a good one. He sleep-walks when he eats ba—" He sat up straight. "That's it!" he whispered loudly. "It's the bacon!"
Pippin blinked. "It is?"
"It'd have to be! He's never had it before, right? It's probably got some sort of side effect on him."
"Like how I always have dreams about cave trolls when I eat hoagies?" Pippin asked curiously.
"Exactly like that," Merry said, grinning. "Maybe we can lure him out with the rest."
Pippin shook his head. "There isn't any left. He ate it all."
Merry frowned. "Oh. Well ... what about fish? Do we have any fish?"
"We've got those month-old fish sticks in the freezer," Pippin said, shrugging. "Think he'd go for 'em?"
"It's worth a shot." Merry staggered to his feet. "C'mon. The sooner we get him out of there, the better."
Pippin nodded in agreement, then stumbled forward in the direction of Merry's voice.
"But what about tomorrow?" Frodo asked over the phone. "What're we gonna do with him when we leave?"
"Well, I don't know anyone who could watch him. Certainly not Gimli," Sam said. He was in his office, talking to Frodo over the phone as he sat behind his desk and paged absent-mindedly through his cards (which by now were so thoroughly covered with red ink corrections that they appeared to have been stabbed.) "But he's going back to normal, anyway. We should be able to just leave him there by himself. With the door locked, of course. I don't want him getting' out and running around like yesterday."
"Yeah, but Sam, this party's gonna be, what, seven to twelve?" Frodo asked. "Smeagol's bound to do something; you know, being off his medication and everything. And he knows where we keep all the knives."
Sam frowned. "Well what's that stinker do in his closet all day? This shouldn't be any different. Except for him being a little crazier than usual."
"He never really does anything. I think he sleeps all day. Either that or he watches movies."
"Then tell him to watch 'Titanic' or something longer if you can find anything. That way he won't go around eating paint chips or whatever."
"It's worth a shot."
Sam sat back in his chair. "How's he doin' anyway?"
As if in respond to this question, a loud BLOARGH! sound could be heard from the other end of the phone. Sam heard Frodo shouting at someone across the room.
"No! Not on the carpet! Use the waste basket!"
BLOARGH!
"There you go."
Frodo came back on the phone. "It's hard to say. He's acting pretty normal. Well, I mean normal for Smeagol. But every now and then he just sort of ... well ... does stuff."
"Did he just throw up on the new carpet?" Sam said impatiently.
"Three times," Frodo confirmed. "Twice, actually. The first time was in the kitchen."
"Oh that's lovely," Sam grumbled.
"I don't know what's wrong with him. He looks fine. Temperature's alright. I guess he just can't hold his bacon."
"Or his liquor," Merry's voice commented from far off.
"Nah, I don't think it's that," Sam said. "He said he threw up yesterday too. I didn't pay it any mind though."
"What do you think it is?"
"I'm not sure; probably withdrawal. Three times would be a bit much for a stomachache. Just keep him off the carpet."
There was a knock at the door.
"Just a second, Frodo." Sam sat the phone on his desk and asked who was at the door.
"It's Hama. Haldir sent me," the man's voice responded. Sam got up and opened the door, wondering why his boss would send anyone to his office, especially at this hour.
Hama looked down at him. "Morning, Doctor Gamgee. You're the one who took that morphine home last week, aren't you?"
Sam's eyes strayed down to the round cardboard container that Hama held in one hand. It looked like a jar of ice cream.
"... Why?"
..............................................
(Things are less great now. Please R&R.)