The crashing sounds coming from the kitchen were beginning to worry Frodo, though he knew better than to offer his help. Whenever Sam was upset he seemed to cook, cook for what seemed like a family of twelve or more hobbits. Sometimes Frodo wondered if he would actually reach proper hobbit weight after a period of Sam's distress.
The smells of the dinner cooking flowed from the kitchen almost with fingers to caress ones face. Frodo knew that Sam was preparing every one of his Gaffers favorite dishes. They both had hopes that it might soften the blow of the news they had to tell him.
Frodo shuddered to think of the fight they had had earlier that day, when he had told Sam about his dinner invitation. He thought he understood how Sam felt, and was almost glad he wasn't in that position.
Another clatter of pots and some well-chosen curses came from the kitchen. Wondering if he should chance walking around the corner to where Sam was working, Frodo listened for any sign he was needed. He had tried not to listen to Sam's muttering all day. Reading books, attempting to write a letter to his cousins, anything to keep his mind occupied and give Sam his space.
In all the years that he had known Sam, he had never seen him this upset. At first he was worried that he'd done some horrible wrong. Then it occurred to him that perhaps Sam was overreacting slightly, due to his fragile condition.
Frodo looked out the window. It was almost dinnertime, and the Gaffer would be arriving soon. He could tell that Sam knew this as well, as the sounds from the kitchen seemed to become more rushed and urgent. Frodo was about to put his book down and offer to help set the table, when he heard soft crying coming from the kitchen. With his heart aching, he went to see what was wrong.
"Sam?" he ventured cautiously.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, Frodo." Sam sobbed from his seat on the floor before the kitchen fire. His eyes red from crying for what seemed like a long time.
"Hush now, it's alright." Frodo comforted. "No harm done. I should have asked you before inviting your Gaffer like that. I was wrong, and I'm sorry for it." He laid his hands on Sam's shoulders, squeezing softly.
Sam looked up at him, wiping tears from his face. Frodo offered his hand, which Sam took, pulling himself to his feet. Embracing Frodo, Sam could feel the hot sting of tears threatening him once more.
"I just don't know why I'm crying so much. I don't rightly know why I was so angry with you either. I s'pose it's just that I feel so awful, I'm so hungry and yet the thought of food turns my stomach." Sam sniffed. "I don't think I'll be very good company tonight, I'm afraid. Especially not whilst I have this pit in my stomach over telling my Gaffer."
Frodo nodded in understanding. "Shall I help you set the table, love?" he asked softly, pulling back to look at Sam. "Then again, perhaps I might do it myself, and you, my dear, should go and freshen up! Do you really want to greet your Gaffer with food and grease spattered up your front?" Frodo joked.
Looking down at himself, Sam couldn't help but smile. "I s'pose you're right, me dear. I'll be quick." Frodo watched Sam march off into the bedroom, and released a loud sigh of relief.
All day he had felt as though he were walking on eggshells around Sam. The slightest little thing seeming to anger his lover. He knew that it was probably just hormones or some such, pregnant women seemed to be rather moody, so why wouldn't Sam? He just hoped that the evening would go well, not sure he could handle two cranky Gamgee's in the same room.
A soft knock on the door broke him from his musings. The Gaffer was early! Swallowing hard, Frodo straightened his weskit and went to the door.
"'Evenin' Mr. Frodo, sir." The Gaffer nodded when the door opened.
"Good Evening, Mr. Gamgee. Please! Come in." Frodo waved his hand towards the living room. "Sam'll be out in a minute, I'm sure."
Frodo sent up a silent prayer as the Gaffer passed him. He could tell that the old hobbit was already suspicious about why he was there. After all, he didn't quite approve of his youngest son living with another bachelor, alone. It just wasn't right, and he made a point of letting everyone know it.
"Da'!" Sam exclaimed, surprised to enter the living room to find his father already there. "I didn't hear you come in. Can I get you some tea? Port?"
"Tea, Samwise."
Sam rushed off into the kitchen, flashing a pleading look at Frodo as he passed. Excusing himself, Frodo joined Sam in the kitchen.
"He knows somethin's up, Frodo. Oh, this isn't going to go well, is it?" Sam closed his eyes in an effort to regain his composure. He hated letting his father down, and he knew tonight was going to be the worst of it. All day he'd been attempting to rehearse what he would say, and how he would explain. The only problem was that it was as much a mystery to him as it was sure to be to his Gaffer.
Taking the cup of tea out to his father, Sam tried to act as normal as possible.
"Here's your tea, Da'. I'll just go set out dinner and then we can eat."
Dinner had gone well. The conversation had stayed light, never straying to anything too upsetting. Mostly gossip about the neighbors on BagShot Row. Though as the meal came to a close, Sam could feel himself beginning to tense, knowing that soon he would have to tell his father why he was really here. But his father beat him to it. Before the dishes were cleared away Sam was startled to hear his father ask the question he wished would never come up.
"Alright, lads. Why is that I'm here? Samwise, are you sick? I noticed you've not touched your dinner, tha's not like you, lad." The Gaffer asked gruffly.
Sam could feel himself begin to sweat. He actually thought about lying to his father, something he'd never done in his life. How was he to tell his father that he was with child? He looked to Frodo, who seemed to be slightly paler than usual, for support. At least he wasn't the only one who was nervous at the table. He could feel his Gaffer's eyes upon him, burning into him as if they were branding irons.
"No Da', I'm not sick. Well, not really anyways." Sam was able to choke out. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. He could see the confusion on his father's face, and knew he would just have to jump in.
"Frodo and I asked you here tonight, because we've something to tell you, sir." Sam could feel his stomach lurch, and hoped he would not be sick right now. He was about to continue when the Gaffer cut him off.
"If it's about you two, I know already. Half the Shire knows! Honestly, Samwise! I'd hoped better for you, no offence to Mr. Frodo, here, of course." He nodded towards Frodo. "It's just I thought you might marry a nice lass, someday. That nice Cotton lass who's had her eye on you, mayhap?"
Sam could feel his heart drop. Not only was he some unnatural being, but he was also a disappointment. This was not going well at all. Squeezing Frodo's hand under the table, he jumped in with both feet.
"Da', it's true that Frodo and I are . together." He took a deep breath. "But there's more to it than that. I haven't been feeling quite well for a couple a days now. Yesterday the Healer came to see me." Sam paused, not sure he was truly ready to do this.
The Gaffer seemed interested suddenly. Had his youngest fallen ill? "And?? Spit it out, lad!"
"I'm pregnant, Da'." There. It was out there. He'd done it! Feeling relief wash over him, Sam was unprepared for what happened next.
"Pregnant?!? My dear Samwise! At your age? Believing such things? My! Mr. Frodo, what have you been filling my boy's head with? Only lasses can be pregnant, son, you know that." The Gaffer said, laughing in disbelief.
Feeling near tears, Sam continued. "I know. But the Healer confirmed it, yesterday. Frodo and I are to be parents sometime in January, Da'."
Frodo could see the anger rising in the Gaffer's face. This was about to turn to a yelling match, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Though he was going to try.
"It is the truth, Mr. Gamgee. I can even give you the name of the Healer, if you wish to confirm it yourself. We know not how it has come about, but we ask your blessing, Sir." Frodo used the most diplomatic voice he could muster.
The Gaffer was furious. "What are you two trying to pull? He's a lad he can't get pregnant! Who was the crackpot who tol' you both this? I bet twas that ol' wizard, Gandalf, or whatever. Next time I see him."
"No, Da'! I'm really pregnant! Why can't you just believe me? I'm not a child no more. I've been and done more things than you'll ever do, and you still insist on treating me as a love-sick tweenager!" Sam bellowed, crying.
"If you don't believe me, tha's fine! I don't need you. You can let yourself out!" Sam cried and ran from the room, leaving Frodo and his dumbstruck father sitting at the table in silence.