a/n: Hey all!! Wow, so many reviews!! *sighs happily* They brighten my day, they really do. Always. *hugs all reviewers* Yay!! Okay, here we go—next chapter!
~ ~ ~
Bilbo was gone when Frodo awoke the next morning, a note on the table saying he'd gone to market to get some salve for Frodo's arm. Frodo sighed gratefully; his arm had grown rather stiff during the course of the night, and the bruises were beginning to turn black.
*Well,* he thought in an attempt to turn his attention from the dull throbbing, *at least now I'll be able to stay around Bag End.*
The sounds of voices drifted in from outside the window, making Frodo perk up. Sam!
He hurried to the window and smiled as he saw it was indeed the young gardener, and Hamfast as well. They were busy pruning a rosebush as Hamfast explained to Sam the necessity for cutting some of the buds so others could grow. Frodo's smile broadened as he watched them work for a moment, his eyes distant as he recalled Odo's disparaging remark about the Gamgees. He smirked. *They're better folk than you can ever hope to be,* he though smugly as he gingerly shifted his arm.
He decided not to bother them for now, but returned to the kitchen to fix himself something to eat. He'd go find Sam later, when his father wasn't teaching him, and apologize for the previous morning.
Humming lightly, eagerly anticipating a much more pleasant day than yesterday, Frodo walked back to the kitchen.
~ ~ ~
By midmorning, Hamfast Gamgee was abandoning trepidation and moving onto downright worry about his son.
Samwise, usually so free with his radiant smile and buoyant personality, had been silent all morning, speaking politely when he was spoken to, doing all he was told, and all the while not really *there* while he was doing it. Hamfast had seen the lad sulking before, but this…this went beyond sulking. This was…this was downright frightening.
"Well, lad," he said, straightening before the rosebush, "I'd say we're done with this here. Why don't you start turning up that patch around back and I'll trim the lawn?"
"Yes, Dad," Sam said automatically, standing and picking up his small spade (a gift from Mr. Bilbo). As he turned to go, Hamfast called hesitantly, "Oh, and Sam?"
Sam turned around and gazed at him expectantly, his once-lively brown eyes startlingly dull. "Yes, sir?"
Hamfast paused, considering his words carefully, then said, "You…you know you can talk to me if you want to."
Sam considered him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."
Hamfast sighed. "All right then, on with you," he said, waving his son away with a hand. "Work won't do itself, I suppose, so we'd best get back to it."
Sam nodded and turned away. Hamfast watched him go, noting the heavy, dull way he walked, not his usually springy self at all. He sighed as Sam disappeared around the corner, bringing one gnarled hand to his brow and rubbing his eyes.
"You did the right thing," he told himself again. "He had to know."
Still, as he turned to pick up his clippers, he couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't done the right thing at all.
~ ~ ~
Sam knew his father was worried for him. He'd felt it all morning, the way he kept turning to watch him out of the corner of his eye, his brow drawn in that look he got when he felt he was forgetting something but couldn't remember what. His mother was worried, too; she'd been almost too cheerful at breakfast, constantly asking about what gardening they planned to do today or if Sam wouldn't like another sweet roll. Sam declined, barely able to eat even half of his first, but he didn't miss the concerned look she gave his father as he picked at it.
He knew he should feel guilty for making his parents worry. He knew he should feel…well, a lot more than he felt now. Truth was, he didn't feel much of anything. The numbness that had prevailed the day before lingered still, and to be honest he was glad of it. It was better than feeling the pain. Even if it meant he couldn't feel happy either.
He started as he realized someone was standing behind him. Spinning quickly, he gasped and very nearly dropped his spade when he saw who it was.
"Hullo there, Sam."
Sam swallowed hard. "Hullo, Mr. Frodo."
Frodo stood before him, wearing long sleeves despite the unusual heat of the day, his hands stuffed in his pockets. The collar of his shirt was standing up on one side, giving him a strangely lopsided look Sam would have found funny if he'd been able to smile. Instead he merely watched as the older hobbit gave him a hesitant smile.
"What are you working on there?"
Sam didn't smile back. "Just turnin' over some ground, sir," he said quietly. "Getting it
ready for planting."
"Planting what?"
Sam shrugged half-heartedly.
Frodo watched him for a moment, his face expectant, but then seemed to realize Sam wasn't going to say anything more. He shuffled and cleared his throat, then stammered, "Listen, Sam…about yesterday…"
He looked at a loss, and Sam felt a sudden dreadful certainty that Frodo was going to try and explain class to him. A sickening drop in the pit of his stomach told him he wasn't quite past all emotion after all, at least not where Frodo was concerned.
"It's okay, sir," he said quickly. He couldn't, he *couldn't* hear it from Frodo. It would hurt too much. "I understand."
Frodo looked surprised. "You do?"
Sam nodded. "Yes, sir. Me Gaffer…he explained it to me."
Frodo looked at him carefully. "So…you're not angry?"
Sam shook his head. "No, sir," he said. "I'm…I'm not angry at you. 'Tweren't your fault."
Frodo looked relieved. "Oh, good," he said, smiling. "I was a bit worried you wouldn't understand."
Sam shook his head, and murmured, "No, I…I do…" but then had to turn away; suddenly Frodo's smile, his very presence, was bringing the pain back, and he couldn't bear the look of relieved joy in the older hobbit's face.
He started to return to his work, but as Frodo didn't move away he had to put down the spade, his fingers shaking too badly grip it properly. He waited a moment, but when it didn't seem Frodo was going to leave he said "Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Frodo?"
"Oh, no, I'm fine," Frodo said. He stepped around in front of Sam and knelt, looking at the soil where Sam was digging. He was awkward with his right arm, Sam noticed, holding it stiffly out of the way as he regained his balance from his crouched position. Before he could wonder what that was about, however, Frodo looked up at him and spoke.
"I'd still like to see your flower garden, though, if you want to show me," he said, offering a small smile.
Sam felt his throat suddenly constrict; the kindness in Frodo's voice was piercing his defenses, methodically pulling down the layer of apathy he'd built around his wounded heart.
"N…no, sir, it's okay," he whispered. "You don't have to…bother about me."
Frodo's smile vanished in an instant, and his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Sam stood quickly and turned away so Frodo wouldn't see the way his lip was beginning to tremble, or the way a fine sheen of tears misted over his eyes. "It's just…I…you don't…it's nothing, sir, really, just a bunch of flowers," he said. "Nowt like it is up here, nohow. It's nothing special."
Frodo said, "But—"
"Sir, I really ought to go find my Gaffer now," Sam said, cutting him off and keeping his voice carefully level. "I'll see you later."
With that he took off at a near run back around the smial, leaving his spade in the soil and a very bewildered and stung Frodo staring after him, wondering what he'd done.
~ ~ ~
Sam didn't go to his Gaffer. In fact, he didn't even stay at Bag End. He ran until he found himself outside his own home, his breath heaving as he fought back his sobs.
*Oh, you fool!* he berated himself mentally. *You idiot, Samwise Gamgee! Going back like you thought you could face him…you should have known better…*
He stopped at his door, gazing at it a moment before reaching a decision and heading instead out back, towards his garden. Once there, he collapsed, curling up on his side and gasping with emotion. He felt a few tears beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes, but forced them back. He would *not* cry again, he simply would *not*--
"Sam?"
He snapped his head around and saw his mother standing over him, worry and pity shining in her eyes. He crumbled then, his face scrunching with emotion as he reached for her.
"Oh, darling," she whispered as she pulled him up into her arms much as his father had the day before. Sam snuggled close, burying his face into the shoulder of her cotton dress and shaking with violent, though silent sobs. "It's okay, sweetheart. It'll be okay."
When Sam had calmed down she set him on his feet, then stood back and considered him thoughtfully.
"Why don't you come inside and help me and the girls with the pies?" she said. "I'm sure they'd love to have your company, and we could certainly use someone to test my new recipe on…"
Sam gave her what passed as a smile and nodded. She smiled back, ruffling his hair, and knelt before him.
"We shouldn't've made you go back," she said, almost to herself, as she brushed at the dirt on Sam's face. "I'll talk to your father tonight and see if he can set you to work here. Then, once you've been trained to his liking, you can start working for the Widow. How's that, Sam?"
Sam drew a shaky breath. "Yes, Mama," he whispered. As much as the idea of abandoning Bag End hurt, it wasn't as bad as the thought of having to face Frodo every day, knowing…
"Fine then," she said, smiling and straightening. "Come along, lad. Let's go inside."
Sam nodded mutely, and followed her through the door, leaving his dreams in a broken heap in the dirt behind him.
~ ~ ~
Frodo stood for a long time, staring at the freshly-turned soil and the abandoned spade.
*What did I do?*
He fingered his upturned collar, which hid the purple-black bruise from the day before quite nicely, and considered. Sam had said he wasn't angry, but it was clear to see things weren't the same as they had been two days before. Something had gone wrong…and Sam *was* upset with him, that was clear enough. He hadn't seemed angry, though; when he'd said he wasn't Frodo could tell he meant it. So it was something else…
*Maybe he just doesn't want to be friends.*
The thought came with such sudden force and clarity that Frodo's fingers tightened on his shirt, the tips brushing against his bruise and making him flinch slightly.
Was that it, then? He was too much older…too strange, perhaps? Why would Sam want to be around someone fifteen years his senior, anyway?
Frodo sighed and let his hand drop back to his side. That was it, then, he thought. It had to be. Why else would Sam be so suddenly distant?
There was no other reason, and Frodo knew it. He swallowed hard against the sudden lump constricting his throat, and brushed awkwardly at his eyes. So he was once again friendless, all alone in this new place. Sam didn't like him, the Boffins deplored him, and no doubt the news of his fight would make any other children wary of him as well. So…that was it. He was alone.
He sighed again, shakier this time, and bowed his head wearily. Thought it was barely noon he suddenly felt strangely, achingly tired. Heart thumping painfully in his chest, he turned and walked slowly, sorrowfully back into Bag End.
* * *
a/n: "He crumbled then, his face scrunching with emotion as he reached for her." I stared at that sentence for like twenty minutes, trying to come up with a better way of describing it, but this is the best that happened. You know how when little kids are about to cry they kinda…well, scrunch up their faces (actually, anyone who's about to cry, I think…)? You know what I mean? *sighs* Well, hopefully…
Okay! Poor lads. :( *hugs them* Things are going to start really picking up in another chapter or two—for those of you getting bored. More action! :) LoL Sorry—anyway, thanks again for all the reviews! I just can't get enough of them!