3. rain
You stood by the window holding your mug of tea in both hands, staring out. There was little to see. The hill was a stretch of puddle-strewn grass, the sky a cheerless grey; the flowers in the garden drooped under the weight of the water. But something out there seemed to hold your gaze. I stood by your side, anxiously watching the deepening furrow between your eyebrows. What were you seeing, Frodo?
Were you seeing Bilbo? Out there in the rain?
You heaved a deep, ragged sigh and put your mug down on the windowsill. You could not drink it, could you, thinking that Bilbo could not have lit a fire to boil water to brew tea?
Your eyes were empty. The pale light of the rain-washed afternoon blurred the features of your face, robbing them of color and definition, while the glow of the fire in the kitchen bathed your back, and your dark hair had glints in it like little sparks set in the heart of midnight. Cloud grey and flame gold, you looked so distant, I did not know you, I could not reach you. The fear chilled me.
You did not stir when I left your side. You did not turn when I opened the door and stepped out of the smial.
The cold stunned me for a moment before the utter joy of finally being outside overrode the discomfort and I ran, yelling and skipping, to the first puddle, splashed in it, reveling in the delicious sound of wet grass under my feet. I ran around the gentle swell that housed the kitchen and back rooms of Bag End, knowing that if I scaled the hill from the other side you would be able to see me through the window in the kitchen.
I paused outside the window. It was a yellow red circle on the side of the hill and you were the shadow that cleaved the light. I thought I saw you tense for a second.
Did you think you were seeing Bilbo?
I waved cheerily, laughing and tasting rain in my mouth. In that instant you fled from the window, and the golden light that flowed from it was once again perfectly round. I heard the door slam shut. With a gleeful laugh, I started climbing the slippery hill, digging my fingers into the cold, soft earth to steady myself when the runneling rainwater made me lose my footing.
"Pip!" I heard you shout behind me, but I did not pause nor turn nor stop giggling…
"Pip! Come back here!"
Nearly at the top, I whirled and with a squeal threw myself on the ground, hugging my feet close so that I slid down like a muddy boulder…
…into your arms. You tumbled backward into a puddle.
"Peregrin Took!" you growled as you raised yourself up to dislodge me from your lap.
I knew you were mad when you started calling me by that name, but I only laughed as I grabbed a handful of mud and splattered it on your shirt. Your eyes widened, your jaws clenched, but before you could say anything, I wiped my muddy hand on your face then rose and ran away chortling. "The Baggins Bogey! Flee! Flee! It's the Baggins Bogey!"
You rose and chased me across the garden. I went to hide behind the raspberry bush and peppered you with more mud and you dove for the bush with a roar while I ran away squealing, letting you pursue me and laughing so hard when I saw you slip and fall into yet another puddle.
Finally, not even the warmth caused by all the running and laughing could subdue the cold that I began to feel in my bones, chilling me so that my teeth chattered. I hid behind the apple tree in the lower garden and when you came near, looking around warily and pushing back dark ribbons of wet hair from your dirty face, I ambushed you with a shrill scream and you were so taken aback that you staggered back under my weight and we both fell and rolled on the now mud-streaked grass.
"Cousin Frodo!" I cried as I looked down at your stunned face. "You're safe! The Baggins Bogey did not get you!"
"Peregrin!" you snarled threateningly. But when you laid your hands on my arms and felt me shiver you immediately stood and dragged me toward the smial. By then I was too chilled to protest. When I lurched, you stopped, took one look at me and quickly lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around your waist and held you tight, but you were no less cold and I could feel you shiver too. I lay my head on your shoulder, feeling suddenly empty. I had meant to get you out to play, to laugh and to forget the thought of Bilbo huddling miserably in the rain out in the wilderness. But I only made you cold; I only made you worry even more, not only for Bilbo, but for me as well. The sob came rather unexpectedly and you stilled briefly in your stride, before holding me even closer, one hand stroking the sticky mass that was my hair and mud.
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