Anjion: :D That's a fantabulous word. I'm going to use that eventually.

So this one just goes to show that no relationship is perfect . . . X) Not my favorite chapter, but it might be somebody's favorite . . .

The blissful moments were not the only ones Sev remembered. They had plenty of irritation to rub off, although frustration bothered Sev enough that she kept her feelings there to a minimum. Occasionally he was in pain from his wounds, and those times didn't always coincide with when Sev needed blood, but they did what they could to compensate (she wasn't as careful with herself managing a home and having a consistent blood source, and resultantly received bruises and cuts and things more often).

One of those things that drove her nuts was a certain sort of day, one she felt coming. She didn't know what to do with the feeling, the apprehension that something was going to change a little. She went in to kiss Frodo once to wake him up, and he awakened overly jovial, spinning her around and kissing her rather openly. But the moment he was finished, he sprang out the door.

Sev was confused, but had a busy day all the way out to the South Farthing and couldn't ponder it. In truth, Pippin had approached Frodo about the fact that Sev was busy, and invited him to go around with him and Merry. Pippin was having troubles with his lass Diamond, and needed some time away. They enjoyed themselves immensely, although Frodo didn't remember why.

While he was out, Sev came home early from South Farthing . . . very early. She anticipated exciting Frodo when she came inside, but she couldn't find him. Eventually she gave up looking, and asked Rosie where they had gone. But he was not with Sam, hadn't mentioned anything about it to anyone.

Sev worried for a while, then curled up on the couch and let a glare harden on her face. She didn't like worrying about him, but she could do very little at this point. He was probably just fine.

But she didn't like not knowing.

She also didn't like feeling alone. She'd fallen from a stack of crates in South Farthing, and felt as helpless now as she did before she married Frodo. She pulled into herself as her bruises continued, for agonizing hours, to mend.

Finally Frodo stepped inside, some two hours after sunset. She didn't even perk up; she wasn't in as much pain anymore, but she was exhausted. She could hear Pippin outside, and Frodo laughed, replied to whatever he had said.

"Yes, we should." Pippin had asked if Frodo wanted to do this again; Frodo had missed that carelessness most hobbits had. He didn't have enough of it to be around it all the time, but Sev was rather solemn some days. Sarcastic, but solemn.

He turned and saw her on the couch. She lifted an eyebrow, then burrowed into the cushion, locked hard into her body.

"Sev? Are you all right?"

Sev exhaled slowly and let her gaze fall to the floor. Her voice came out somewhat of a mumble. "If you would just let me know when you do that . . ." She trailed off. "But as long as you're with Pippin I suppose it's no trouble. Just tell me first. Please."

Frodo's brow furrowed. "I will." He knelt in front of the couch, suddenly concerned. He brushed a finger over her ear; she had locked her face down into her arms. She didn't want to be upset with him—it didn't feel right, it made her feel sick. "Is something wrong?"

She didn't want to respond; it could come out a growl.

"I'm a little stressed, so bear with me," she warned, lifting her gaze to him.

Frodo nodded slowly.

She opened her mouth, then shook her head. "I was worried about you. And I don't like to be alone. I'm glad you're safe, but . . ." She buried her nose in her arm, scooted away into the couch. Frodo's brow creased and he leaned closer to her. "But it felt too much like life before we got married." She bit her lip. "I'm okay, I promise. I just need to think this through; I don't want to mess you up at all."

Frodo sat back, a little mystified. "You're upset with me, aren't you?"

Sev sighed. "I don't want to be. I don't enjoy being upset; it feels like I swallowed a thistle." She licked the roof of her mouth at the thought. "I'm just trying to figure out why it was so hard." She frowned. "Then I can think through my problem."

"Maybe it isn't just your problem," Frodo pointed out. "What if it would have been better if I'd told you?"

"But you didn't know! You probably didn't know I would be this bothered." She furrowed her brow. Something still rubbed on her. "I think I just have to adapt." Then her eyes lit up, but it was purely epiphanic, nothing excited about it. "Maybe it's just not a part of what I'm used to. I spend every minute of every day that I can with you." Then she glanced up at him. "I'll fix it, I promise."

Frodo leaned forward, but she wouldn't kiss him. He conceded to peck her forehead. "You're all right."

"But it isn't all right to make you stay here." She bit her lip as she realized there was more to the sorrow in her. She didn't want to tell him, but she had to. She forced it out of her mouth as she stood suddenly and walked towards the door.

"It's also a little hard, I guess, to know that I can't do everything to make you perfectly happy." She glanced up at him. "That—trying as hard as I can—it is not enough. I am not everything."

Frodo stood to follow her. "Isn't that how life is, though? That I can't offer you perfection either?"

Sev nodded, glancing at the ground. He sounded so wise for his age, and it caused her a great deal of second-guessing. "Yes . . . but that doesn't mean I like it. I can accept you for everything you are. You mean the world to me, and I've known that for so long that I can't let it go." She opened the door slightly. "The Shire, the people in it, don't know me well enough to do stuff like this, take me out for the day, and I have no desire to go out for the day. I work because I'm asked to, and for no other reason! I have to accept your paradigm; that's all." She bit her lip again, wondering if she ought to apologize or what she ought to do. But she felt more like she wanted an apology from somewhere else; not necessarily from him, but from whatever powers kept her from being the perfect woman for him.

"Good night," she managed, then flew out the door.

Frodo sprang to the black opening. "Sev!" He glanced outside, but she slipped underneath her log already. He slacked against the door. He wanted to go after her, but based on her mood perhaps that wasn't the best idea. He needed to talk it out, figure out how to solve this problem. But nothing he could think of might work.

He hesitantly backed away from the door. Hopefully she would come in the morning; if not he would sit down and try until he couldn't try anymore to tell her that it was all right, that he would always love her, that it was all right to be upset once in a while, even if he didn't understand what her frustration was founded on.

He wrote her a note and left it on his door before uneasily climbing into bed.

Sev found it the next morning as she walked inside. She drooped a little, certain he must be perplexed. She had made no sense the night before, leastwise in her mind. She thought it out, analyzed everything she felt, until she felt nothing. She plucked the note off the door and read it slowly.

My Sev,

So perhaps I don't understand entirely what's troubling you, but I want to know. I want to help. You helped me so much before, and you do your best now. Remember, I don't love you on conditions. Tell me what you can, and I will do what I can.

I love you.

Sev bit her lip and held the note to her heart. That little piece of paper was the exact reason she wanted to be more than she was, exactly why she wished he might want her as much as she wanted him.

But she gathered it impossible. Willation had warned her, somewhere back there, that she was possessive, but only about one isolated thing at a time. Frodo had fit that for many years, and she knew he would never latch emotionally to her like that. But it was all right; it meant she could be alone if she wished.

Sev inhaled and exhaled slowly before opening the door. Frodo lay facing her, curled in her Lorien cloak. She snickered to herself—he looked irresistible like that. She knelt down by his side and brushed the dark curls from his face.

"Frodo, love." She smiled, then pecked the tip of his nose. Warmth sparked him into partial consciousness, but he did not move. He had to wait another moment or two before he could try anything; her presence excited him, and he had to restrain himself to keep from fidgeting.

She lowered her lips to his and touched them carefully, a couple of times. Frodo suddenly brought his arms around her shoulders and held her close, kissing her intently, very sweetly, as tenderly as he could. Sev melted nearly into a puddle on the floor. Frodo followed, kneeling down beside her. It was a moment flooded with realization on the part of both of them.

Sev gasped for air when she pulled away, partially from kissing him and partially because she was too relieved to speak. "I didn't know . . . I'm so sorry about yesterday . . ."

Frodo brushed her mouth with his thumb and trailed kisses along her jaw before coming back to her own lips. He pulled away and laid his forehead against hers, taking her in with his eyes closed. He didn't have to see.

"You came back."

She nodded, but did not move otherwise. "I figured it out."

Between kisses, she told him what she had found in thinking too hard all night, and they talked of many things. They had to part ways late in the morning, and the next day Frodo left with Pippin again, feeling cautious but better.

Sev cleaned Bag End restlessly. He had told her he would be gone that day, but she didn't have to like it. Frodo had told her to go ahead and feel what she needed to feel. She responded that she would until she could change her thoughts. She wanted to accept what he wanted to do as long as she didn't think it wrong.

She actually turned to berating herself for being worried . . . as well as for marrying him. That quickly escalated until she started old thought patterns, old habits she feared and knew to avoid. She grabbed the Red Book and started reading.

It distracted her well enough. She relished in the words she knew Frodo had written, the words she wanted to hear him say: telling his story, emptying his heart onto paper. She got to the Grey Havens in the story, and she remembered how painful that all was. And reading Frodo's perspective on it—how he would miss the Shire he had grown up in, but had no choice other than to leave or be in crushing pain.

She set the book aside, imagining it all so starkly. She grabbed her knees and buried her face in them. Pain flickered through her, and nothing she tried could stop it. At least it was more sympathy than pity and self-deprecation this time.

When Frodo came in, her tears had dried, but the blood in her eyes was still thick with fear and heavy sorrow. She spotted him, and after what she had read he looked more bright, more handsome, than ever before. He stared at her, suddenly worried.

But before he could even ask her what was wrong, she sprang up from the couch. His departure had become such a reality, she forgot he was still here. She grabbed him tightly and swallowed. She trembled in his arms.

"You stayed!" She reached back and began covering his face with kisses. Frodo stumbled suddenly, and her lips caught his. She hung on to him for dear life, then exhaled slowly and laid her head on his heart, feeling the precious thuds of proof that Frodo was still alive, still breathing, still here with her.

Frodo embraced her, dumbfounded. "Sev, are you all right?" he asked slowly.

Sev swallowed and nodded. "I'm fine." She pulled away and began carefully dotting his face with kisses again; she couldn't know his features were there unless she could feel them. "You stayed," she repeated wonderingly.

He nodded, kissing her back. "I did." Then he spotted the Red Book on the couch, left open, and understood what must have happened.

This was the typical ritual whenever Frodo left for the day, for whatever reason. He grew to enjoy it a great deal, once he got over the potential despair in Sev's visage. He didn't like seeing her stressed, but it was hard to keep her jovial: she thought on a ridiculously deep level, and acted the same way when she was in isolated company. But he was determined to do his best there.