It's been much longer than I would have hoped (as usual) but at least it wasn't months. I was writing a different Frodo/Sam story, actually, which may take me forever to finish. But now I'm back to this one, which is a good thing.

I hope you like this chapter. It seems rather long, so maybe it will make up for the wait. Enjoy, and don't forget to review! I didn't mention that this is slash before, because it doesn't have to be viewed as slash, at least not until much later, and perhaps not at all. This could be pictured as the love between two close friends. Simply remember it was written as slash. Sorry if that's not your thing.

And thanks again to Oni for the encouragement! I hope your internet gets fixed soon:)

Oh, just a reminder that this doesn't really have chapters, so this may start abruptly and it might be a good idea to refresh your memory on what happened directly before this... it sort of jumps right into a scene.

Part Two

Cares forgotten, Frodo crawled into the warm embrace of his bed and the feathery softness made his eyelids fall, heavy. The sound of the winter wind was comforting, the simple sound moving in time with his thoughts. It wasn't long before he was taken by sleep.

And it was shorter still from the time his breathing slowed to the time the sun rose and its light flickered through the window into Frodo's sleep laden eyes. He stirred, barely moving, and rolled over in his warm haven of blankets and pillows. He wanted to stay like this forever: warm, naive, and happy.

His time of silence was cut short by a slight knock on the door. Almost inaudible, as if it were not meant to be heard. But Frodo knew it was, and answered it with a short "come in."

The door opened slowly, creaking in a high pitched good morning. Beyond it came the fair face of Sam. Frodo always took this time to let his gaze wander across the flawless face, memorizing every detail. His deep hazel eyes were complemented with his golden hair which hung in messy curls over his face and atop his head. The sun seemed to get caught in those curls, making them shine with the glow of morning.

His features were carved with a pale tone turned tan from many hours in the garden under the sun that painted his flesh. His nose was small and dotted with a few mottled freckles here and there. His lips were always curved into a delightful rosy smile, the epitome of happiness. It was a sight that stayed with Frodo always. Today was unlike any other, and Frodo again took this time to examine his friend's face.

But this was where the similarities ended. Sam looked different today, and not in a positive way. His usually lighted eyes were dulled by the heavy circles. His hair was dirtier than usual, and his lips paler. They were still curved into a smile, but it seemed somewhat forced, as if he was hiding something behind it. Why should Sam feel the need to hide from him?

Working his way down, Frodo noticed how Sam's body was even smaller than usual, as if he had been losing weight. Sam used to be a healthy sized hobbit. What was happening to his friend?

"Good morning, Mr. Frodo," said Sam in a singsong voice. It flowed like liquid wind, brushing against his sleepy form from across the room. His voice was soothing and calm, full of thought and spirit. Frodo knew this was something about Sam that could never change.

"Why good morning, Sam." His words were covered with a deep yawn that caused Sam's face to light up in a laugh.

Frodo snuggled down deeper into the warm abyss and Sam strode over to the side of his bed.

"Anything I can get for you, sir?" Sam asked, still chuckling. Frodo always noticed the tenderness in his friend's face, and was so glad that he could have a warm friendship like this. These were the moments that he treasured.

"You're right, Sam." A confused look crossed Sam's face, for he could not quite understand what his master meant by these words. "I should at least be out of bed by this hour! By the light in this room it must be almost time for second breakfast. If you hadn't been there to wake me up, I might have slept a perfectly good morning away."

The smile returned to Sam's face as he reached for Frodo's hand to help him out of bed. Frodo knew he didn't exactly need this sort of help, but if it made Sam happy Frodo was willing to go along with it.

As if in sudden remembrance, Sam's face lit up. 'So much could be told by his expressions', thought Frodo and he stifled a laugh. 'Ever since he was a young child I could always read his emotions right there on his face...' Frodo looked at the wrinkles forming at the corner of Sam's eyes and the dark grey tone creeping into his skin, and questioned the authenticity of the statement.

"I have a nice breakfast ready to be cooked if you'll be wanting any," said Sam, breaking Frodo's thoughtful silence.

"That would be very nice, Sam," Frodo answered, and he suddenly became aware of his growling stomach.

"I'll go fetch that for you right away now." Sam bounded out of the bedroom leaving Frodo to marvel at his behavior. It was nothing out of the ordinary, yes, but coupled with the strange look of him Frodo began again to suspect that something was indeed wrong.

He let his mind wander while he dressed. If there was anything he could do for Sam, he would most definitely act upon it without the slightest hesitation.

After a nice breakfast of a fresh mushroom omelet Sam cooked for him, Frodo watched sadly as Sad went outside to work in the garden. Again Frodo had protested that Sam should stay inside. Besides, there are many chores that can be done in the warmth of the smial, he had said, but Sam insisted that he work outside.

As soon as the wooden front door closed behind Sam, Frodo scampered off into the study that had a clear view of the garden. He lit the fire with the extra wood Sam had collected on the previous day, and sat down in his soft chair. This time he wouldn't even pretend he was doing anything other than watching his gardener through the window; his books were closed on the table.

His eyes wandered past the path, past the plants, and past the fence to where Sam stood hunched over in the garden. The clouds blocked out the sun, so the light upon the land was a tinted grey. The colors seemed dim, changed from vivid hues of green and gold to blunt tones ranging from blue-grey to pale cream. All these helped intensify the presence of Sam, who seemed to evade the surrounding darkness.

Yesterday it had been cold, but today it seemed even colder just by looking at the way Sam was shivering. Frodo had told him to bring a warm coat and a hat, but Sam must have forgotten; Sam was wearing the same amount of clothes he had the day before. Frodo sighed, and worry threaded through his thoughts as he watched Sam.

Frodo wanted his friend to be healthy more than he wanted him to keep the garden in shape. Hadn't he told Sam that he would choose his health over the gardens well being? And wouldn't Sam know that anyway? Frodo needed to find out what was wrong with Sam, find out why he was acting the way he was.

"Maybe it's something that I'm doing..."

Frodo squashed the thought from his head before he had the time to develop it. He turned his gaze back to Sam and the lonely garden where he was working. Frodo squinted and tried to get a better view of what Sam was doing. He was on his hands and knees and seemed to be crawling around in the garden, reaching for something that Frodo could not see. Although he wasn't a complete failure, Frodo knew little about gardening. But from what he did know it seemed a bit strange to pull weeds in the winter when the ground was frozen.

After a few minutes of this action being repeated, Sam stood up and wiped the dirt from his pants. Frodo got a view of his hands which were chilled from being exposed to the cold air. Today there weren't even the rays of the sun to keep the cold at bay.

Sam continued to trot around the garden all day doing this and that, hardly noticing the bitter temperatures. Frodo had no trouble at all noticing them even inside, because they crept through the closed windows and through the rooms of Bag End. Frodo began to tire of watching Sam, for with each glance a fear for his health rooted in his stomach and refused to leave.

Frodo turned his head in order to find something useful to do, but he could come up with nothing in his preoccupied state of mind. His gaze fluttered back to Sam, and suddenly, he got an idea. He jumped up, almost knocking over his chair in the process. It swayed on two legs, before righting itself as Frodo bounded out of the room.

He grabbed his coat, scarf, and hat on his way to the deeper passages of Bag End. The path twisted and turned and rooms came and went on either side until Frodo found the room he was looking for. He opened the closet door, grabbed what he needed, and slammed it closed behind him.

"Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

Returning to the front of the smial, Frodo stopped to put on his warm clothes as well as catch his breath; the chambers of Bag End go back far into the hill. Soon enough, he grabbed his bundle and headed out into the cold of the early afternoon.

As he predicted, it was indeed colder outside than the day before. The wind nipped at Frodo's face and hands, and he had no idea how Sam could manage in this weather. "Any sensible hobbit would be inside," Frodo thought. "There must be a reason for this," he pondered as he walked down the steps. "Sam was normal as any self respecting hobbit, and used to take proper care of himself on all occasion. What has to change?"

The closer Frodo got to Sam, the more he began to shiver. "It must be getting colder by the second," Frodo though, although at the same time he wondered just how large a part the cold played in his reaction. "Am I nervous to be with Sam? I know he's been acting strange, but he's still the same Sam. Nothing can ever change that, I'm sure."

Frodo looked down at his feet, watching every step he took. Maybe everything would be better if he didn't look up, if he didn't see Sam's hidden pain up close.

"Hello Mr. Frodo," came the polite but forced greeting when Sam finally acknowledged his master's presence.

With much difficulty, Frodo raised his eyes to meet those of his gardener. His voice was shaky, but he managed to reply.

"We- well hello, Sam." Frodo's words stumbled, but Sam didn't seem to notice.

"It's very cold out, sir. A hobbit such as yourself should not be out in this weather."

Frodo stopped. Weren't those the exact words Sam had spoken yesterday? His eyes narrowed. Staring deeply into Sam's eyes, Frodo noticed that his gaze was not being returned. Sam seemed distant, as if his mind was sailing away with the cold wind. Frodo couldn't evade the question any longer.

"Sam, are you really all right?" His words were strong but his gaze revealed his true concern. A few moments of silence hung between them, until Sam formulated an answer.

"Mr. Frodo, I'm truly fine."

"But Sam, look at yourself!" His voice rose. "You haven't been acting like yourself for so long! You never take breaks from your work, you are always tired, and you hardly eat; I know you've lost weight. Even though you insist that you're fine, I know something's different. I know you, Sam. And this isn't you."

Frodo found himself panting, his breath coming hard in his chest. But he didn't seem to care; this is as good a reason as any to get worked up.

"Calm down, Mr. Frodo. It's the cold talking, I reckon. Now you better come inside and warm up. You look awful cold."

"You're avoiding the question." The retort shot out of his lips before Frodo had a chance to stop it.

Sam had no response. His gaze hardened and he turned away.

A cold confusion swept through Frodo's mind. "Why is he denying that anything is wrong? How can he pretend there is nothing strange going on? If he does then he will never let me set it right..." Frodo's thoughts echoed in his head.

There was nothing more to speak of. Frodo felt defeated, and he didn't know how to fix what had gone astray. His footsteps were heavy, and although the cold was ever present, it seemed dull and faded. His shoulders sagged, and the bundle he carried slumped in his hands.

"Oh!" His eyes flew open and he quickly turned back to Sam.

"I was going to lend these to you, Sam," said Frodo, holding out the package. "Because you didn't seem to bring warm enough clothes, I rummaged through my old closet and found some that would fit you nicely."

Sam's eyes were vacant.

"Here, take them. You'll work better if you are warm." He hopelessly held out the clothes, but Sam made no move to receive them.

"Thank you, Mr. Frodo. That is very kind of you. I know you feel the need to do this for me, but there ain't anything wrong with me. I'm awful warm as it is." Frodo raised his eyebrows at Sam's shivering form. "Save them for a day when you might need an extra coat."

"Sam, I insist. Please take them... For me." For a moment Sam stopped, his eyes lingering on Frodo's, but he shook his head.

"You shouldn't have to do this for me. I'm only your gardener."

"But you're my friend, Sam. And friends look out for each other. You would do the same for me, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, of course Mr. Frodo! I would never make you work in this dratted cold. You would be safe inside with a warm cup of t..." But Sam stopped as he realized what he was saying, and what Frodo was trying to do for him.

"At least take the hat, Sam. I don't like to see your head uncovered."

"A..all right." Sam reached a tentative hand out towards Frodo and took the hat in his fingers. He gingerly placed it on his head, pulling it over his frozen ears. The ghost of a smile graced Frodo's lips as he turned away, casting one last look at Sam.

The hat hung on his head almost sideways, making him look very young and very handsome indeed. His smile grew.

Almost immediately remembering the cold himself, Frodo began to quicken his pace until his was safely engulfed in the warmth of Bag End.