Chapter Text
Bilbo
It was a beautiful day in the Shire, but Bilbo scarcely noticed it—except to wonder when he and Frodo would enjoy a day like this together again. Bringing their books outside to read in the sun, making up stories about the few clouds that dotted the blue sky, exploring the less-trod paths when the cool evening came.
Bilbo headed straight for Number Three Bagshot Row. It was beyond clear: he needed help. And if there was anyone who knew anything about raising tweenagers, it was Bell Gamgee. Heavens knew she’d raised enough of her own, and about half the tweens on Bagshot Row grew up calling her “ma” as well.
He only hoped she might know what to do for his tween.
He knocked on the round front door, which opened to reveal wide brown eyes staring up at him.
“Master Baggins,” young Samwise said, very solemnly and with a pronounced lisp.
Bilbo felt some of his anxiety lessen. One could never remain upset around Sam Gamgee for long. Or perhaps that was just his particular effect on Bagginses; he certainly seemed to have no such effect on Mrs. Bolger, who had gone into hysterics not five days ago when Hamfast politely informed her that a few weeds from her garden were growing onto the Gamgee plot of land. Mrs. Bolger had refused to believe the evidence with her own two eyes, and Bilbo had eventually been required to mediate peace between the two neighbors. Samwise had stared up at Bilbo then just as he did now: with an expression of utter awe.
Despite his worries, Bilbo could not help but smile. “Good morning, Samwise. Is your mother about?”
A shy nod was his only answer before Samwise vanished—to fetch his mother, Bilbo could only hope.
His hope was not disappointed. Bell Gamgee rounded a corner of the front hallway mere moments later. Her hair was falling out of its bun as she wiped her hands on her stained apron, but her hazel eyes brightened as they fell upon him. “Good morning, Mister Baggins! What can I do for you? And how are you and the lad keeping? You know, just the other day I was telling Hamfast, I was, it seems that young Master Frodo’s already grown an inch just while living with you, though only upwards, as we all can see, begging your pardon.”
Bilbo’s smile was now rather forced. “Yes, well, young Frodo is actually what I had hoped to talk to you about, if you’d be so kind to share some of your wisdom.”
Bell blushed. “I’m sure I don’t have anything to say you don’t already know, Mister Baggins.”
“Bilbo, please,” Bilbo said, more out of habit than anything; they both knew Bell would never drop his title. “And I very much doubt that.”
“Would you like to come in?” Bell offered. “I can put on a pot of tea.”
“As long as…er…there aren’t too many youngsters about,” Bilbo said awkwardly. Some of the Gamgee children were close enough to Frodo’s age and he wished to avoid any gossip spreading.
Her eyes lit with curiosity, but not the cold sort of curiosity that so many other hobbits had: a curiosity that only cared about being satisfied by a tale, and not for the objects of the tale being told. Bell’s curiosity was warm and empathetic and Bilbo found himself more and more convinced that he had made the right choice in seeking her out.
“The young’uns are all busy inside,” she said. “Maybe we could step out into the garden, where no little ears will overhear?”
Bilbo couldn’t keep the relief from his voice. “Thank you very much.”
She led him through the smial, which was rather cramped, yet cozy, and smelled of the fresh apple pie setting on the kitchen counter. It had a well-lived-in feel that Bag End, with Bilbo’s perpetual bachelorhood, just could not quite match. The central hallway was significantly shorter than Bag End’s, and in no time at all, it ended in a backdoor that led out to a small but flourishing garden. Bees buzzed around the vegetables and flowers bobbed their heads in the small breeze.
A small table and chairs were set up, where a farmer could sit and keep an eye on things. Bilbo slumped down into the nearest chair, drained and yet also somehow feeling like he could melt into the comfortable atmosphere of the garden. It was so very different from the chilled air now permeating Bag End.
“Just a moment, and I’ll see about that tea,” Bell promised, and vanished back into the hole. True to her word, she returned only moments later to press a mug of tea into his hands. “Now, then.” She dropped into the chair opposite him. “Tell me the whole tale.”
Bilbo wrapped his fingers around the warm mug. “I don’t know that it’s a tale, exactly. But I’m at quite a loss. See…it’s young Frodo. He’s not been at Bag End long yet, but everything was fine at first. Exactly how I’d hoped it would be. Then things…changed. I can’t for the life of me figure out what might have caused it.”
“Changed how?” she asked shrewdly.
“He changed.”
She looked at him closely and repeated, “Changed how?”
~
Frodo
As soon as his ears caught the sound of the front door closing, Frodo pulled his hands out of his pockets to wrap his arms tightly around himself. He let out a shaky breath.
Had he really just said all that? To Bilbo, of all hobbits?
Why? Why was he acting like this? All of it—not only his unpardonable rudeness, but all of it. Was any of it even a conscious choice? Had he broken the jar of raspberry jam, or had he simply…let it break? Had he chosen not to send Mrs. Hornblower’s letter, or had he simply…not sent it?
He couldn’t say. He only knew it all felt as natural (and as desperate) as eating when he was hungry.
The dear old hobbit really should turn him out. Closing his eyes, Frodo considered his familiar mental list of all his belongings and their locations. Yes, everything he owned was still in the bedroom Bilbo gave him, the one that was far too large and empty compared to the room in Brandy Hall that Frodo shared with three other boys. Oh, except for Frodo’s current book, which he had left in the study. He would have to fetch it. Just in case.
Well, there was nothing for it. It wouldn’t be long now before Bilbo sent him back. He should have known from the beginning how foolish it was to hope he could actually stay at Bag End. But he now knew better than to trust to hope again.
Honestly, he was looking forward to having the firm ground of Buckland under his feet once more. They couldn’t get rid of him there. At least, not until he came of age.
(And what then? He did his best not to think of it.)
After taking a moment to rub his eyes, he turned and escaped out the front door. His plan, as much as he had one, was to avoid every road and disappear into the nearest patch of uninhabited wood, and not return until Bilbo had made up his mind for good. But he had not even reached the gate when his ears caught Bilbo’s voice coming from the Gamgee garden—quiet, yet pained.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Bell. He’s not acting himself. Or maybe it’s just that he’s…not the hobbit I thought he was.”
Frodo froze. His stomach flipped guiltily. He was out of sight, hidden by the slope of the hill. It was wrong to eavesdrop like this. But such a concern seemed trivial when set against all the transgressions he had already committed against Bilbo.
“Now, what did you expect?” Bell’s soft voice answered. “He’s only a tween.”
“He’s better than this,” Bilbo insisted.
Frodo curled his toes uneasily in the grass.
“You misunderstand me, begging your pardon,” Bell said. “He knows better, I’m sure, and I’m sure he wants to be better. But some part of ’im’s decided he shouldn’t.”
“Whyever not?” Bilbo exploded.
Yes, whyever not? Frodo crept a little closer, darkly curious to hear Bell’s explanation.
“Now, Mr. Bilbo.” Bell sounded sort of patiently exasperated. “You have but to think it through. When you were a lad, where was your home?”
“Why, Bag End, of course,” Bilbo answered promptly.
“With?”
“With my parents, Bell. You know this.”
“Aye, but you seem to have forgotten, or else you’ve forgotten the importance of it,” she said bluntly, though not unkindly. “So you’re telling me you didn’t grow up getting moved about from place to place?”
“…No,” Bilbo said after a pause.
“And you didn’t grow up with different well-meanin’ adults stepping in and out of your life, all saying they love you until suddenly you’re not with them anymore—or they’re not with you?”
Frodo studied the blades of grass between his toes.
“I hear what you’re saying,” Bilbo said, “and you don’t need to remind me what Frodo’s been through. But why should that cause him to…to decide he shouldn’t behave properly, as you think?”
“Well, now…I shouldn’t wonder if young Frodo has seen how his life’s been naught but losing the places and people he loves, and now he thinks: better to just get it over with.”
Oh.
Oh, he had not expected Bell Gamgee to speak like that, to give shape to the fearful urge he had felt for so long but never dared put into words. How did she know?
Bilbo’s answering voice was slow and halting. “You’re saying he…he’s acting this way because he…what, he wants to drive me off?”
“Maybe,” she said frankly. “I don’t mean to offend and it’s not my place to comment, sir, but…well, you’ve asked my opinion, so I’ll give it. You’re always talkin’ about going off adventurin’ again, aren’t you?”
Frodo’s heart beat faster.
“But nothing permanent!” Bilbo protested. “And he can’t think I’d leave him alone when he’s just a tween!”
Bell’s silence seemed rather pointed.
“I…suppose I haven’t actually told him that,” Bilbo admitted.
She let that pass gracefully, without another word about it. “Or maybe he thinks he’ll drive you to get rid of him, if you take my meaning. Comes to the same thing either way.”
“Get rid of,” Bilbo echoed breathlessly.
“Seems clear to me loss is what he’s come to expect. And I’ve not seen much in my time, but it’s been my experience that folk always feel more comfortable when their expectations are met. Don’t they? And if the expectation is something painful…well, better to get it over and done with sooner than late.”
Spinning around, Frodo fled. He could not stand to listen to more; the shame of it was too great.
He raced back to Bag End and into the bedroom that contained his belongings. There he stood, panting for breath. What was he supposed to do now? Pack up all his things and run all the way back to Buckland? Prove Bell right? Abandon Bilbo, after everything he’d done? Without even a discussion?
He was not proud of his behavior over the last few days, and he could not bring himself to hurt Bilbo in this new way. He had never wanted to hurt Bilbo. He had only wanted…well, he had only wanted to identify the limits of Bilbo’s love.
It remained to be seen whether he had succeeded.
He did not reach for the battered trunks and knapsack he had owned ever since it was decided he would move into Brandy Hall. But he could not stay in this room, this too-big room that was not his as it held no memories yet.
He turned on his heel and escaped out into the hall. But he did not go far before his eyes landed on a closet. Just a small closet, only a little taller than a fully-grown hobbit. Bilbo kept extra blankets there.
If asked why, he could not explain. He only knew that this closet felt safer than anywhere else. As he pulled open the door, he could not help wondering, with a muddle of varied emotion, whether Bell might be able to tell him exactly why the closet was so appealing in this moment.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, he pulled blankets from the top shelves and wrapped them around himself. Moments later, he had wiggled down into the space beneath the lowest shelf, curled in a nest of warm blankets. One hand reached out and managed to pull the door shut.
Darkness surrounded him. He squeezed the eyes shut and rubbed the edge of a blanket between his fingers, feeling the difference between the soft center and the silky edging.
Minutes passed. Finally, his heartbeat began to slow. His breathing evened out. His closed eyes relaxed. Many terrible things might still come to pass, but not right now. Here in this place, here in this moment, he was insulated from the future’s unknowns.
Sleep took him gently. He faded into dreamless, comforting nothingness where nothing and no one would change.
~
A voice pulled him from sleep. He woke sluggishly, like a cookie pulled from thick molasses, and did not immediately realize the sound that had awoken him was Bilbo’s voice calling his name.
Then he tried to get up, only to realize his limbs were entangled in heavy blankets. At last, he gave up on freeing himself, and simply called back: “I’m here, Uncle!”
Bilbo’s voice paused. Then footsteps approached. Suddenly, the door opened, and Frodo blinked owlishly as warm light poured into the closet.
Bilbo stared down at him in astonishment. “Whatever are you doing here?”
The closet abruptly felt like a very childish place to sleep. “It…seemed nice, I suppose.”
With a disbelieving look, Bilbo sat down cross-legged on the floor. Then he drew a deep breath.
Frodo tugged one of the blankets up to his chin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered before his uncle could speak. “I’ll sweep the floors today, I promise.”
Bilbo held his gaze. “Come now. We both know this isn’t about the floors.”
Frodo averted his eyes.
“You know,” Bilbo remarked conversationally, “I had a rather eye-opening chat with Bell Gamgee not so long ago. It seems I’ve been rather blind to some things.”
Glancing up, Frodo shook his head. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I’ve been terribly ungrateful. Even if you leave one day, I will never forget the kindness you’ve shown me.”
“If I leave one day?” Bilbo repeated, looking at him carefully. “Frodo, were you eavesdropping on me?”
Frodo flushed and attempted to disappear into the blankets. “Not—not for all of it.”
“But you heard enough.” Bilbo sighed, and reached out to arrange the blankets more securely around his nephew. “I don’t know how to convince you that this life with me isn’t something you need to fear losing.”
Frodo felt the tears stinging his eyes. He kept his gaze downwards. If Bilbo was asking for guidance, he had none.
“I suppose it will take time, won’t it?”
As if any amount of time could make a difference. But Frodo offered a nod, just to reassure Bilbo.
Bilbo hesitated. “You know…when I couldn’t find you just now, I thought you might’ve up and left already. Then I thought to myself: now, he wouldn’t leave his books behind, would he? And I looked in your bedroom, and there they were. So I still had hope.” He let out a long, weary breath. “But I think, if you could only feel what I felt when I thought you were gone…the panic, the grief…well, maybe that would go a way towards convincing you.”
Frodo was doubtful.
Bilbo laughed quietly and ruefully. “But then, that’s what Bell told me: life is the one that’s taught you this lesson, and life will have to be the one to un-teach it. It’s not something I can change for you, is it? No matter how much I wish I could.”
Frodo searched for the words to encourage him, but found none. Bell was right. He could not imagine anything Bilbo might do or say to steady the ground beneath his feet.
“So I am just going to have to accept my job for what it is,” Bilbo went on.
“And what’s that?” Frodo asked hesitantly.
Bilbo’s face softened. “Not to teach anything. Not to fix anything. Just to be here for you.” He smiled. “Through whatever surprises you may throw at me.” Now he reached out again, this time to lightly touch the back of his hand to Frodo’s cheek. “And for however long it may take before you trust that life will be good to you.”