Matches in the Gas Tank: Boom Boom! is our newest fanfiction attempt and sequel to the infamous Dial Tone of the Heart. Enjoy!

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The sun was bright upon the courtyards of Gondor. It shone on the brilliant flowers. It shone on the White Tower. It shone on the gleaming golden locks of the sixteen year-old youth who leaned rebelliously into the pure summer air, smoking.

The shrill cry echoed through the courtyard. Put that out!

Oh shut up, Uncle Frodo. Charlie grimaced, but he stubbed the cigarette out all the same.

Below, a weary hobbit came into view, stumbling along slowly on his toeless feet. He squinted up at the boy, who shrugged and grudgingly began his descent from the Tower.

Frodo said warmly, patting the boy's slim tanned arm. We'd love you to come hang decorations in the banquet hall for tonight's celebration. Having toes really does make a difference, you know.

Charlie squirmed uncomfortably. Uncle FrodoI've been meaning to ask. Would it be alright if I didn't attend the celebration tonight?

Frodo's eyes flashed angrily. Not attend? Not attend the celebration of our twelve years of freedom from Gandalf's evil persecution? Of course you will be attending! Don't you want to spend time with your family? The family that raised you, took you in when you were dirty and half-starved, weaned you from snuff?

The family that made me forget what my real father's face looks like? Charlie retorted, the pitch of his voice rising as tears sprang into his clear green eyes.

White with rage, Frodo glared up at his foster-son. Your father, he said through clenched teeth, your father cut off my toes and the toes of all I loved. He deserted you! You don't know how blessed you are to have hobbits in your life!

I wish I didn't! Charlie yelled, brushing the tears from his eyes. I wish I was still living with Gandalf! I wish I'd never come here! And with that, the boy ran from the courtyard.

Frodo sighed. He knew where the boy had run off to – up to his black-draped room to listen angrily to his new Sons of Numenor CD in the darkness. Oh well. The child had been through an awful lot in his short life. Pursing his lips, Frodo hobbled back towards the kitchens, planning what kind of sauce would be served that evening with the pudding.

*

Merry Brandybuck gave a giggle of delight as he surveyed the decorations. He was most fond of the large banner, which read Twelve Years of Gandalf-Free Living! In fact, he was so delighted that he could almost feel his phantom toes wiggle in joy.

Sipping from his tankard of ale with a contented sigh, he leaned back and watched the young hobbits, some carrying newborns whose toes wiggled freely, safe from any danger. Belching, Merry turned to the large pile of mail lying beside him on the table. He picked up the guest list with a weary look and began to check off RSVPs.

Gimli son of Gloin will be here! he exclaimed with joy, checking Gimli's name with a flourish. Haven't seen him in ageswonder if he knows about Aragorn and Legolas?

Merry's eyes misted over a little as he thought of his two friends and their devastating and gruesome downfalls. Legolas had been awfully tasty though, he remembered, salivating slightly. So tender. What had they used to spice him? Oregano, was it?

His thoughts were cut short by the entrance of Frodo, which immediately led to cheers from the other hobbits, particularly Samwise. One look at Mr. Baggins' face, however, and Merry could tell that not all was well.

Bumbleberry Flashtyhook, Merry called to a hobbit who lay in the corner, playing happily with his prosthetic toes. Do these RSVPs, won't you? Beckoning to Sam and Pippin, Merry took Frodo firmly by one arm and dragged him out into the hallway for a serious talk.

What is it, Master Frodo? Sam asked, fat and concerned.

Frodo groaned, looking older than ever. He was certainly taking after Bilbo, Merry decided. Just Charlie.

Sam repeated, glowering. Always thought there was somethin' not right about that

What's he done this time? Pippin asked eagerly.

The three hobbits leaned forward for their share in the new gossip tidbit. Eyeing Frodo, they waited.

He...he doesn't want to come to the celebration tonight, Frodo muttered to the floor.

The others stared, aghast.

Sam finally said.

I'm afraid so, Sam, Frodo replied. I'm afraid so.

But...but I nursed him to health! Merry cried.

And I played hand games with him! Sam cried.

And I smuggled him snuff to stop his cravings! Pippin cried.

You did? Frodo would have struck Pippin across the face, but he was too distraught.

Does he feel nothing for us? the hobbits pondered in despair.

*

Charlie's upper lip spasmed as he surveyed the scene below him.

Bloody hobbits, he spat, and bobbed his head in time with his new-fangled rock music.

We're the Sons of Numenor! he sang. Yeah, yeah, oh yeah!

There came a sudden heavy banging at the door.

Charlie? It's Frodo!

In response, Charlie turned his super-hobbit-magical-boombox up to number eleven.

We are the lads of Numenor!/ Come hang with us in our pad in Mordor!

Charlie stopped short, forgetting the terrific banging from Frodo.

he said, brightening. If I could go hang out with S.O.N. in Mordor, I wouldn't be shunned for my snuff addiction!

His fingers trembled as he unlatched the delicate catch of his father's silver snuffbox. Eyeing the door in paranoia, Charlie quickly took a pinch and snorted it in satisfaction.

As he lay back on the black-satin coverlet, Charlie realized that Frodo's insistent pounding on the door had ceased. From below, he heard laughter and quaint hobbit music.

cried Frodo, sailing through the window.

Charlie gave a high-pitched yell and scrambled to hide the evidence of his illicit activities.

Frodo's face, which had been flushed with exertion, went grey very quickly.

he sputtered eventually, pointing an accusing finger at his foster-son, who was still clutching the precious silver box. I've -- after all I've done for you! I brought you up! Nursed you when you were green with withdrawal! Catapulted myself through your window because I thought you might be hurt!

Charlie's mouth trembled, and he fought back the tears of indignance that threatened to spill forth.

he began.

A broken sob escaped the croaky depths of Frodo's throat. I am not your father! I HAVE NO SON.

Fine! And I haven't got any father, either! screamed Charlie back, tossing his S.O.N. Cds into his rucksack and running towards the door, knocking Frodo to the ground as he went.

He fell blindly down the stairs and tumbled out into the deserted courtyard. The banquet hall's windows, brilliant with yellow light, cast strange shadows amongst the trees. Charlie paused to get back his breath; fumbling for a cigarette, he did not notice his companion in the bushes.



Giving a squeak of fear, Charlie dropped his cigarette and flattened himself against the stony wall. Who's there?

A squat, bearded dwarf stumped jovially into the light. Can I bum a smoke, pal?

Charlie gave a sigh of relief and handed the dwarf a cigarette. Taking a break from the festivities?

Hell's yeah, boy, the dwarf grunted, taking a long drag from his cigarette and squinting upward at the teen. Hey! Charlie!

Yeah, that's my name, Charlie muttered, looking away.

I'll bet you don't remember me, little buddy, but I was there at your first birthday bash! I'm Gimli. Gimli son of Gloin, he added, noting the confusion on the youth's face. There was still nothing. I knew your father.

Ah, now that did it. The boy's eyes were twinkling now, twinkling with certain and eager recognition.

My father?

Gimli snorted. I mean, we were companions once. Helluva big quest, that was. Hard on the feet and the heart. Course, I don't wanna bore you, but I got jilted awful bad by this sweet piece named Legol--

So you knew my mother, then?

The dwarf blinked. Oh. Oh, yeah. Your mother...? Sure, I knew her. I mean, we all did. Or at least, we thought we knew her... He trailed off, his eyes dark with some hidden hate.

So you know where to find her? Charlie was jiggling impatiently, taking half-psychotic drags from his cigarette every now and then.

Don't want to talk about it, Gimli pouted, turning away. Besides, it's not as if I know where she lives now...for all I know, she could be in Mordor!

Mordor? Thanks! He sprinted off into the night.

Gimli called after him. Don't you wanna hear about the time I got jilted by this sweet piece named Legolas? Said he liked manly men, he did! Tall men, he did!

The dwarf kicked a discarded beer can gruffly, all alone in the garden.

*

Oh dear, mumbled Frodo apprehensively. Where's Charlie?

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Read and review, darlings. We dedicate this chapter to Sam for his utter impatience, and Abby for her sweet adoration.