A/n: First of all- I'm sorry this took so long again. I was lacking inspiration. For some reason I found it now- 2:00AM, morning after Thanksgiving, everyone is STILL AWAKE I'm about to be driven mad by relatives who have flown in from random parts of the world and insist on pinching my cheeks, my shoulder now hurts like hell (which the doctors say means its getting better but why should getting better hurt so darned much!), I mauled my "good" hand, and my best friend- for a reason i currently can't explain but im sure its a good one- wont talk to me but he insists he isn't mad at me but i guess i really do deserve for him to be mad at me, and now im just rambling and I AM MISERABLE!
Sorry:(
Also- i heard reader responses are no longer allowed so i will no longer be writing them unless i find out otherwise
Disclaimer: don't own lotr! blah!
Though it was his own home, the face of Frodo Baggins was not one that Rosie Cotton would have expected to greet her from behind the round, green door as it slowly creaked open on that frozen March morning. But then again, the face of Frodo Baggins did not seem to be quite itself.
"Frodo!" She gasped. "Is something the matter- you look as though you seen a ghost." Or else become one. She shuddered. The skin that had always been so delicately fair now attained a sickly grey pallor, his glowing oceanic eyes swollen and overbright.
"He's gone, Rosie." Even his voice resonated a bitter emptiness. Pity darted as a fleeting shadow across the Hobbit-lass' worried face before it was masked by faint confusion.
"But he's alright? You're-"
"I don't know. He's gone home." His voice faded to a near- silent breath.
"And this isn't Sam's home?" A gentle smile graced her lips. "You know Frodo- he's not the only one who cares." A cautious gleam of thanks lit the older Hobbits eyes but quickly fled. "It isn't like Sam to leave you alone for even a moment." The solemn stare drifted away. "Frodo."
"We had... a... a disagreement." Rosie's kindly gaze turned stern.
"Frodo... I can't believe a silly disagreement, as you say, would make him go."
"I assure you lass, it's nothing more than the simple fact that he fails see eye to eye with myself."
"Oh, Frodo- even if you and him didn't see eye to eye he would make it seem you did. And when did you start blaming' Sam for anything?" She chided soundlessly. "Very well then, Master Baggins." She forced a grin. "I shall see you on a later day."
"Ah, Miss Cotton! My heart grows ever so cold when we must be parted." Frodo laughed. For a moment, Rosie was unsure of what to say. This court jester had but a moment ago been but the icy shell of a Hobbit.
"Don't let Sam hear you sayin' that!" But at the sound of his young friend's name Frodo's laughter ceased and breath-stealing sorrow settled upon the gentle-Hobbit's fragile soul.
"Good day, Rose." The door abruptly shut in the startled lass' face.
Frodo felt lost. So dreadfully bitter and alone- standing, staring at the door he had closed with tempered force.
Don't be an ass, Frodo Baggins. A voice scolded within his head. There's no loss to fret over. She doesn't really care. She only pretends because she thinks Sam cares... poor dear. But then we've all been deceived, haven't we...
His eyes stung.
I thought I could trust him...
Sam must hate him now.
But he left me here...
After all that had been said.
...alone.
After what he had done.
I've failed again...
Tried to do.
I need him... He wept guilt ridden in his heart.
He couldn't even manage to...
But he doesn't need me...
...finish it.
I couldn't even manage to...
He willed the world to disappear.
I stayed for Sam. I lived so he wouldn't hurt... but now I'm hurt even more deeply... and he thinks me a conceited fool... and doesn't care.
But it wouldn't obey.
I don't want to need...
He just...
I don't want to hurt...
...wanted...
I don't want to cause hurt...
...it to...
I don't want to be...
...end.
I want to end...
"Sam!" Rose beat the faded yellow door of Number Three, Bagshot Row until she feared it would splinter and crack beneath her fist. "Samwise Gamgee I know you're here!" There was still no answer. Has the Gaffer gone deaf at last or is Sam the only one at home? "SAM! Open the door THIS INSTANT!" She barely halted the course of her pounding hand as the door opened a sliver. "Sam...?"
"Yes..." Sam's voice met her ears- a hoarse whisper.
"May I come in a moment?"
"I..." He croaked as she pushed past- assuming his reply. "I'll make some tea, if you'd like." He muttered heartlessly. You too? Oh Sam... She frowned as his reddened eyes met her steady gaze.
"Sam- do you use tea to get away from every question you don't want to answer?"
"Suppose so- least that's what Mister... Mister Frodo's always said...him having so many questions and all."
"Has he been asking too many questions, Sam?"
"I'll be in the kitchen." Sam ducked away, his raised, nervous voice slipping an octave.
What's happened to them? Rosie pondered. I've never seen Sam this way. And she never wanted to. "I'll keep you company."
"Please, sit down... wherever there's room." Sam gestured to the rectangular table whose chairs had been lost to clutter at the center of the small space. Rosie accepted his offer.
"Sam- Frodo said you'd had a... disagreement and exchanged some words." She made the first tentative attempt to coax from Sam the information she knew Frodo would not have been willing to part with.
"You spoke with Mister Frodo?" Sam's trembling hands set the battered copper kettle on the equally bruised stove as the young Hobbit paled at the sound of his masters name.
They can hardly hear each others names without seeming ill.
"Yes- I just came from Bag-End."
"You talked to him."
"Yes." Rosie frowned. "Sam... you forgot to put water in the kettle."
"Oh!" Sam swiped the kettle from the stove but couldn't control his hand. It clattered to the ground. "S-sorry, Miss Rosie." He stammered.
"But you've done nothing wron-"
"Is he... i-is he... a-alri-"
"No Sam. He's terrible. As bad as you, even."
"Oh..." Sam examined a new dent the kettle had acquired. "What?"
"Please, just tell me what's wrong."
"Nuthin's wrong."
"Sam..." She paused- restraining her frustration. "I can't help if I don't know."
"I... don't...need...help. Beggin' your pardon miss! But I don-"
"Frodo does." She murmured.
"He's made it clear to me that it's no use. He's too good for help." Sam spat.
"So something is the matter, though." She proclaimed in triumph. "Don't you even try to deny it Samwise Gamgee... Sam... what is that?" The other's hand had just removed from it's owners pocket what appeared to be a nearly destroyed sheaf of parchment folded into a tiny, precise square.
All rationale fled Frodo's frenzied mind. I can't put up with this... I WON'T put up with this... to hell with Sam- I don't CARE. I CAN'T care... I WON'T!
"I'M DONE!" He screamed to the deserted halls of the smial. "I CAN'T DO THIS, I CAN'T LIVE WITH THIS!" He stumbled from the entry-way. "ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?" He shouted to his accusing phantoms. "WILL YOU LEAVE ME ALONE NOW?" Back to his room. "CAN YOUREMEMBER NOW SAM? IS THIS WHAT IT TAKES? CAN I STOP RUINING YOUR LIFE NOW?" He choked and swiped in furious disgust at a framed sketch on his dresser and sent it flying. "DAMN THE AIR! I DON'T NEED IT!" The glass shattered as it struck the ground but he paid it no mind. "Where's Sting?" His hands sought frantically about the cold wooden floorboards. "For Eru's sake! WHERE'S THE DAMNED SWORD?" It played out- a tantalizing vision in his mind's eye. He would find it... and end it. Sam would find him but Frodo didn't care... he wanted him to hurt. He wanted to burden him with agony... to make him spend every moment riddled with guilt fit to make him ill. He grasped a handful of splintered glass in his fist, clenching it until he felt the shards bite his palm. Frodo gritted his teeth in a horrified grimace as the blood slid sickeningly between his remaining fingers and the world swam before his eyes.
"Sam?" Sam crumpled the paper yet again and again. Smoothing it carefully only to repeat his thoughtless process.
"What's this?" He breathed. He wrinkled the folded paper with a vengeance as if it were some detestable foe.
"Yes... that." Slowly, reluctantly, Sam loosened his grip- dropping his questionable enemy by Rosie's arm and slowly she flattened it, carefully undoing it's flawless creases. It was a letter. Is this what's gotten between them? A letter!
"Just read it, please..." Sam's voice cracked. He sounded so like a child again- helpless, alone, scared- that an unwanted fear crept into Rosie's heart.
As the young Hobbit- lass turned her attention to the accused note, Rosie became immediately grateful she was one of the few folk of her standing that had been encouraged to learn as a child- for had she not known how to read, she would have needed Sam to do so for her. And should Sam have read it again... he would have broken.
She didn't know how to believe it. She didn't think she could. Frodo- the kind, wild eyed Master of Bag-End she had known as long as her memory allowed- had... written this.
"Sam... does he mean to..."
"He tried."
"But I just saw him-"
"H-he couldn't." Sam wavered.
"When?"
"L-l-last n-night." The Hobbit's face was sickly white.
"Oh... oh Sam!" Rosie was at a loss. "Here," She stood, gently grasping his arm as he swayed. "Careful, now. You need to lie down."
"No... no I don't." He sat heavily in another vacant chair.
"You do. Sam you're just hurting yourself."
"I just f-found it... not even three hours past. I-I got mad... I yelled... I don' know what all I said... I don' want t-to... but..."
"Sam-" Rosie said sternly. "You need to go back- now."
"But... but... he'll think-"
"Yes, but if you don't go he'll do something foolish- you know him- you know he will! Don't you lose him now Sam... not now." Sam winced as Rosie's words stirred a memory cast aside.
"Don' lose him..." Sam nodded rigidly. "I don' mean to... I don' mean to..."
Frodo watched- mesmerized- as thick crimson droplets struck the floor. He could feel splintered glass buried deep in his flesh but didn't dare unclench his hands.
Oh no...
It dawned slowly upon him, what he had again attempted.
Oh Sam...
But this time he would have succeeded- but for what? He curled his shaken body tightly about the injured hands, recollecting his disgusting motive.
All I wanted was to hurt you... I could never want to hurt you-this isn't your fault... It's me. You were right. And I'm sorry... I am... I am.
Sudden weariness overtook him as the whole of his actions settled heavy on his heart.
But I can't help that it hurts- I just wanted it to go away and I didn't know how. I don't know how to try... but I will.
His throat stung, threatened with prickling sobs.
But I can't do it alone... I don't know how to save myself.
He shut his tired eyes.
Sam... come back...
"Sam- it isn't locked is it?" Having refuse to knock, Sam's hand had hovered over the brass knob in the center of the green door far too long.
"I..." He grasped the knob and twisted. It didn't turn. "Yes." He said hoarsely, turning away with the full intention of walking straight back down to Bagshot Row.
"You have a key, remember." Rosie frowned in concern.
"I do." He produced from his pocket a small silver key. Rose promptly took it from him so that they might actually hope to get inside.
Frodo heard their voices. He felt their footsteps echoing through the floor. But he couldn't move- frozen stiff.
Sam?
He wanted to cry out. He needed to be found.
"Do you want me to wait here?" Rosie's hand gently brushed Sam's arm. He nodded. "Alright."
Sam felt his heart quicken its pace. He didn't want to be here. He couldn't face him- didn't know what he planned to do.
He knew where to find him.
I can't go in there.
But he had already opened the door.
Sam... Is that you? Please...
All Sam's eyes could find was the blood, streaming from an unseen source.
His wrists... no... he's done it...
A wave of nausea finally overpowered him. He couldn't see Frodo's eyes open in relief to greet he as he fainted dead away.
TBC...
THIS CHAPTER