Chapter Text
The thing of it was, he couldn't be in two places at once.
Heh, not even two places would be enough -- right now he was wanted in three, four, a dozen places, all over the Shire. But back home in Hobbiton, even in Bag End, he just couldn't be in two places at the same time.
Just thinking about it felt like pulling his heart near in two.
First there was Frodo -- and he was first, first in his life, first in his bed, and after following him near-literally to hell and back there was nothing he wouldn't do for him. And nothing he wouldn't be given in return, either, if it were in Frodo's power to give. He knew that.
And then there was Rosie. She'd called the business with the Ring "wasted time" -- well, and from her standpoint he supposed it was. Couldn't expect a lass who'd never set foot outside the Shire in her life to know or care of dark lords and crushing armies and all of that. The closest the Shire ever came to understanding about the fires of Isengard threatening Tuckborough and Buckland was when Sharkey's men had settled in and started pushing folk around. How to make them understand that the Battle of Bywater was nothing, a mere scuffle, when compared to Helm's Deep or the Pelennor Fields? No more deserving of the title of "battle" than a tavern brawl.
And it rankled, it did, to see how the hobbits admired Merry and Pippin for the fine accoutrements and airs picked up when away, and were impressed by the Travellers' combat skills against a smattering of untrained ruffians, but blew off the whole blasted purpose of the quest as stuff that was of no importance at all to the proper runnings of the Shire. The Ringbearer had the great and the wise kneeling at his feet in thanks for what he'd done, yet back home he was a no-account eccentric considered suspiciously apt to take up with unsavory companions and hare off for foreign parts that no proper hobbit had any business in. Because he'd been too worn and weary of strife to draw sword in that little scuffle against the interloping men, he was considered lazy at best and cowardly at worst by a bunch of silly folk who had never even heard of the king!
It was enough to make Sam want to shake some of the fools around him, who knew nothing outside their small country and were loud in their ignorance. He was definitely beginning to see why Frodo and Bilbo used to wish for a taste of mayhem to shake some sense into their neighbors -- but see, they'd had that, no thanks to Saruman, and it hadn't left the survivors any wiser for the experience after all.
Rosie, well -- she hadn't known. She hadn't yet been told what all had gone on while he and the master were away when she made that careless remark. He'd gotten around to telling her the story of what they'd seen and done, as much as he could bear to speak of, though he wasn't sure how much of it had sunk in. The parts about how important it really had been to get that cursed Ring dealt with proper-like, and how Mr. Frodo really had been incredibly brave and impressive, and all that -- well, he was no kind of a storyteller, not like Mr. Bilbo or Frodo himself, but maybe he'd been able to make it clear enough.
Maybe she'd even pick up a bit from Frodo himself. The two of them seemed inclined to get on together well, which was both a pleasure and a relief to Sam. She'd been kind to Frodo while the pair of them were staying with her family during the repairs to Bag End, and the offer of a fine hobbit hole to live in was more than enough wedding gift to make a lass well-disposed to the giver even if she hadn't already been anyway.
The thing was, the offer hadn't been made as a wedding gift. Not originally. Sam knew that. Frodo had originally expected Sam to move in with him and for it to be just the two of them. Just as it had been through Mordor. Just as it had been after, lazing about in Minas Tirith waiting to be ready for the long journey home. Whether alone on the plain of Gorgoroth or surrounded by thousands in Minas Tirith or crowded into the Cotton family hole, at the end of the day it was just Frodo and Sam tucked in together against the night.
There were things in the night, things much less harmless than any hunting owl or passing fox like you'd expect to find in the Shire. Sam and Frodo knew that now. And Sam knew that, even in safe and cozy Bag End, the night pressed in too ominously when you were in a room alone, even with a cheerful fire lit and a properly full belly. And if he found the dark a bit too unnerving to be gladly faced alone now, how much worse must it be for Frodo?
So. Frodo wanted a bit of company, help to fill that empty hobbit hole. A grand shame he'd never married -- though there'd been a lass or two he'd apparently had his eye on, it had never gone anywhere. A sad thing, the once-proud Baggins family thinning out the way it was, and those lovely eyes never to be passed on to any laughing curly-haired daughters to melt the lads' hearts in a few decades.
Sam mourned for the daughters Frodo would never have -- and the sons, too, who would never wreak havoc raiding farmers' fields and pranking the neighbors and tracking mud into the antique carpets of Bag End.
(When the thought occurred to him that Frodo himself might be too far gone, too burned out to even long for those never-born children, he banished it as quickly as it came. No good would come from dwelling on the worst things you could imagine.)
Sam had no intention of suffering the same fate, and there was no question of Frodo ever having expected him to, of course. Lads might make a habit of "seeing to" their closest friends when they were in their twenties and thirties, but they got married eventually. It didn't make their affections any less dearly held, that there would one day be wives and children to share them -- marrying would just cut down on the time they had available to spend with each other. (After all, it wasn't like their wives hadn't had a few romps themselves with their female friends before marrying -- or like their wives wouldn't be likely to chase them off to other beds when there was a new baby in the house and mum wanted a bit of a rest.)
Sam shouldn't have felt at all guilty about getting married -- he was of age, and she was the right age for it, and he had a position and all he needed to start feeding a family.
But.
But there had been that look in Frodo's eye, beneath the startlement, an emotion almost too fleeting to be named, when Sam told him about how he and Rosie had settled things between them. It had been barely a flicker, but after such long and close association Sam suspected he could put a name to it if he cared to.
He didn't care to.
The immediate counter-offer, for Sam and Rosie both to move in to Bag End, was both generosity and compromise. Generosity, to let them set up as newlyweds in comfort and with a roomy hobbit hole to fill with children in the years to come. Compromise, to put all Sam's responsibilities into one location and let him keep Frodo company while still fulfilling all the marital obligations he would be taking up.
But.
But that still left the nights, and that was what worried him the most.
Frodo was usually fine during the daylight hours -- and just as well, since most of Sam's duties tended to be out in the sunlight. Nights he had free to share with Frodo -- until he'd be married, and sharing them with Rosie as well.
Taking meals together, or sitting in front of the fire, were good things of an evening and just as well shared. But when the fire was banked and the lamps put out and people sought their beds -- well. In the wee hours of the morning, when the only other folk in the house were tucked away together in their own bed and you were far too polite to intrude on a married couple -- you might as well be the only person alive in the world, at that point. After all he'd seen and done, Sam knew that he wouldn't care to spend many nights like that -- not now, at least. (Maybe not ever -- another thought to be forgotten if at all possible.)
Getting married wouldn't stop him from sharing a bed with Frodo sometimes -- especially with them living under the same roof. With Frodo yet unmarried, it would be only courtesy even if they didn't already care for each other so. But -- newlyweds were expected to spend a great deal of time with each other -- and their single friends were expected to have to resign themselves to finding other partners for a while, until the novelty of the opposite sex wore off (or, more likely, until the first baby came along and created a pause in the bedroom antics for a few months). Though Sam hadn't quite thought of a way to raise the subject with Rosie yet, he rather feared she would be very much opposed to his even spending so many as half his nights with Frodo -- great affection or not, and Frodo's great generosity and lingering ill-health notwithstanding. Whereas Sam -- though he was looking forward to finally sharing a bed with Rosie (very much so, truth be told) -- hated the thought of Frodo spending even so many as half his nights all alone in the dark with his treacherous memories.
Sam definitely thought he could name what he'd seen in Frodo's eyes for a moment. It might have been hurt, or shock, or even jealousy, under the circumstances. But he rather thought it wasn't any of these.
It had looked far too much like fear.
Not that Frodo wasn't far braver than any other hobbit Sam knew -- and a great many folk of other types besides. But that little flicker, at learning that his one companion against the night wasn't going to always be there for him...
Being left alone was a kind of fear that Sam could understand.
In a way, it was a pity Frodo hadn't been keen on taking other lovers, since taking up with Sam all those years ago. (Not that Sam hadn't been flattered and more than flattered that his lovely master was so content to share a bed with his gardener that he turned down the many, many offers he no doubt got from other lads over the years!) Sam had heard rumors that Frodo had been in quite a few beds in Buckland before Bilbo adopted him and brought him home, and even now he wouldn't have had any trouble "making new friends" if he'd cared to. But only two others in the Shire apart from Sam had any grasp of what Frodo had been through in the past year or two, and even they hadn't been in Mordor for the very worst of it. (And were very much wrapped up in each other besides -- though Sam rather thought they'd be not only glad but eager to make room for their cousin.) It was no place of Sam's to go telling Frodo where he should be sleeping -- not as his friend, not as his more-than-occasional lover, certainly not as his servant. But it was certainly understandable, that he would rather have someone who understood everything that had happened and wouldn't ask uncomfortable questions about the scars, would know what allowances to make and what subjects to avoid at all costs. (Sam managed to keep from thinking too long on how inward Frodo had turned, that he neither made new friends nor allowed his older ones to regain their former closeness. The four of them had shared things that no one else in the Shire would understand or care about, and it was only natural for them to seek each others' company afterwards.)
The great problem here was that Frodo shouldn't be left alone for too long or too often -- and he didn't really want anyone's company but Sam's most of the time. Sam understood all too well, and he loved Frodo and wanted to spend as much time with him as he could, for all the years of their lives... but. But there was Rosie, all bright and lovely and -- not unlike Frodo -- more than Sam would have ever thought he could rightfully aspire to. And he wanted to spend as much time with her as he could, too, for all the years of their lives...
Sam just couldn't be in two places at once.
He knew of a way to fix it, though.
He just didn't quite know how to put the matter to them.
* * * * *
Rosie Cotton -- Rosie Gamgee, now, for the past two weeks -- knew that her husband loved his employer.
This was fine with her.
She hadn't been very pleased to have Mr. Baggins go running off into the great unknown dragging Sam along with him -- but at least they'd both come back safely. She wasn't pleased by the scars she'd found on Sam, once they began the gentle lifelong process of familiarizing themselves with each others' bodies after their wedding -- but there had been nothing too serious, and certainly Mr. Frodo seemed to have gotten the worst of whatever happened to the pair of them. (She didn't know how much to believe of that story Sam had told her about what they'd been up to. He had been so clearly trying to impress her with the importance of some trinket Mr. Bilbo had picked up, and convince her that he and Mr. Frodo had been doing necessary non-time-wasting things while away, that she suspected him of exaggerating a bit. Still, they'd seen and done things that she hadn't, that was clear enough.)
But that Sam and Mr. Frodo loved each other -- that was fine with her. Sam might have gone running off after his master for a bit, but at least he'd been done well by when he got back. Mr. Bilbo's gift of the gold was fine enough, but getting to come live in Bag End -- more, to treat the grand home like their own, Mr. Frodo being so very determined to ignore distinctions between social class and treat them all as equals in true eccentric Baggins fashion -- well, clearly Sam was getting as good in the exchange as he was giving. And Mr. Frodo could do with a bit of pampering -- she'd seen how ill he'd taken, that spring while Sam was away with his planting. Clearly the poor dear was better off not rattling around in that vast house all by himself.
A pity he seemed disinclined to marry -- though Sam had told her that Mr. Frodo had hinted about leaving everything he had to Sam, she thought this was unlikely. Surely there were some Baggins cousins still about, if he had no interest in taking a wife. And it wasn't like he didn't have a horde of relatives on his mother's side, Brandybucks being such a huge family and all. Still, it was a nice thought, and showed what a generous nature he had, and how devoted he was to Sam. At the very least he would be a kind employer and see that their family was well tended to, and that was enough for her.
He had treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy in all their prior dealings and even offered her a place in his home by extension of his offer to Sam. In return she would quite happily fuss over the overworn hobbit when Sam was about his duties -- whatever reckless and irresponsible things Mr. Frodo might have been off and doing, his gentle nature and generosity rated that much and more from her. Just as soon as he came home tomorrow -- for he had spent the weeks immediately following their wedding in Crickhollow with his cousins, letting the newlyweds have Bag End to themselves for a bit. Though she appreciated the time to get used to the idea of being Mrs. Gamgee and settle into their new home, Sam was fretting over Mr. Frodo's absence and by this point she was ready to have him back if only for Sam's sake.
In truth, Sam was the one who had insisted that Mr. Frodo be gone no more than two weeks -- the offer had been made to stay gone for at least a full month, but Sam wouldn't hear of it. Rosie might have been inclined to argue, had she been present for that discussion, that at least a month would be welcome -- but then again, she might not have, realizing how Sam fretted when Mr. Frodo wasn't where he could keep an eye on his master. She was quite happy to be alone with her Sam, and during the months he lived with her family she had learned to be almost comfortable around Mr. Frodo, however changed he might be from the laughing creature she remembered from before. But whenever she was in the room with Sam and Frodo together she had felt very much on the outside -- as though they were finishing a conversation she'd missed the beginning of. There were things between them that she knew nothing of. She had been almost frightened of intruding, at times.
She hoped that might have changed, now, with her and Sam sharing a bed like they hadn't been while he was living with her family before. Maybe it wouldn't be so much like the pair of them shared secrets that weren't any of her business.
Maybe she'd be on the inside now.
At the very least, she'd make an effort with Mr. Frodo, try to treat him as well as Sam would want him to be treated. Take some of the load off of Sam -- the poor dear, dividing his time between his gardens, his wife and his master. He wouldn't hear of her grubbing in the gardens along with him, but she could help take care of Mr. Frodo if the two of them would let her. She would try to cheer the other hobbit up a bit, maybe coax some of that old bubbling mischief back to the surface -- that would certainly make everyone in Bag End a bit easier with each other!
Maybe then it would feel more like "the three of us" and less like "the two of them -- and me."
* * * * *