Chapter Text
Sam had just gotten back from the two weeks he’d spent visiting his sister Marigold and her husband a town over, who had just been blessed with a baby, when he’d first heard the rumours about a new arrival.
Poor Sam had arrived, pockets full of pictures of his lovely niece only to find the town in an absolute state.
When he’d made his way to Gamgees Grocery to start his shift it seemed to be the only thing anyone wanted to talk about. The town seemed to be of three minds about the whole affair. Most were completely affronted that some strange city slicker had just up and decided to move to their town with no warning, no present relatives and least of all permission to be there in the first place. A smaller group collectively recalled and gathered sinister stories of the house that had been moved into and were sure that only bad things would come from a new owner after the last had mysteriously vanished. The rest of the town, thankfully, were unconcerned with the newcomer and had far better things to do than concern themselves with a neighbour that only seemed to want to be left alone.
Unfortunately, that didn’t stop his customers, people he had known since he was a small child, from talking his ear off about the whole situation and indeed, the gossip had gotten so bad that Sam himself was struggling to discern fact from fiction. Since no one seemed be able to give him a straight answer about even the newcomers name, he decided to make no opinions on the matter until he got some definite answers. And until such a time, he’d be leaving the subject well-enough alone.
A reasoning his siblings did not share with him; from the voracious way they spoke about the stranger with their loyal patrons. Coming up with a few far-fetched rumours themselves. While they weren’t next door neighbours, they were probably the closest living inhabitants in the area, the newcomer’s distance in the outskirts of Shire only beaten by the Gamgee’s who had traditionally always lived furthest out from everybody else.
His Gaffer, the only person who seemed to have an intact memory of their old neighbour, stoically refused to speak on what he didn’t know, a quality Sam found himself exceptionally proud of as his sibling begged him for details on the subject. The most he said on the matter was that he remembered a man that had lived there previously but, just like everybody else, had forgotten the important details. He recalled there’d been some big scandal that’d forced the owner to leave town, but what the scandal was he couldn’t say, not that it stopped anyone from making their own creative guesses.
Just now he’d been in unfortune earshot as Pippin Took had conspiringly spoken with Daisy in the produce aisle, her face enraptured when she was supposed to sweeping, as she listened to Pippin explain that the newcomer was a man on the run from the FBI after committing a string of grisly murders, using their little town as a cover for their dastardly acts.
Sam ignored them all, but the mysteriousness of the stranger keeps the subject circling until it had been discussed to death and then some more for good measure.
It would seem that the newcomer rarely came into town except to buy essentials. Trips into their own grocery store have yet to coincide with Sam’s own shifts and sightings of the person continued to sound farfetched and completely varied from each other. Indeed, it got to such a crescendo that Sam, who had every reason to go up to the house and introduce himself being as he was their closest, sort-of neighbour, found himself too embarrassed to muster the task.
It was on a fine autumn morning, weeks after the initial arrival that Sam got his first glimpse of the stranger.
Sam had been walking along the dirt road from his house that would eventually lead to a more suitable road towards town, eager to enjoy the morning before he was expected to be at work when he’d spied someone walking down a path down ahead of him. It is with a start that he’d realized that this was his new neighbour painstakingly making their way down the steep hill to his right down to the old mailbox sticking out seemingly out of place by the dirt road.
Sam had panicked but his manners had kept him moving forward, keenly aware that the grassy hill unencumbered by any existing foliage would give the stranger an unimpeded view of Sam turning tail.
And so on he went, sweating a great deal more than the cool morning called for, only to intersect perfectly with the stranger at the mailbox.
It was Sam that gave the first greeting, a tad too hasty in his hurry to be as polite as possible. The stranger, a man by Sam’s reckoning, smiled wide and said hello back. There was a terribly awkward pause where the stranger struggled with the rusty mailbox while Sam stood and watched him. The awkwardness threatened to stretch unbearably as the man fastidiously fingered through his mail, obviously not wanting to turn his back on Sam when he was still lingering.
“My name is Samwise Gamgee; I live just down the road from here.” Sam hurriedly announced, pointing, just in case his honour was in question which was a moot point since when the man shielded his eyes against the morning light to look in the direction Sam was pointing there was obviously nothing to see, the house over and around the hill he had just walked over.
“Um, Frodo Baggins. I wasn’t aware there was another house nearby. I thought I was all by myself out here.”
“Well, you’re close enough, we’re the only ones this far out.”
Frodo hummed, lowing his hand to look back at Sam, the irises of his eyes are pale disks in the early morning light. “Well, at least I know now which direction to go if I need to borrow some sugar.”
Sam didn’t want to imagine the interaction between Frodo and any of his siblings over a cup of sugar should his Gaffer not answer the door, but he smiles and nods, nonetheless.
“Do you plan on making your stay a permanent one?”
Sam knew he was keeping Frodo, he’d walked down the path already dressed despite the early hour, a bandana tied up around curly dark hair to keep it out his eyes. Dust has already settled over Frodo and there are patches of dirt already smearing his face. He's also noticed a tremor from the early morning chill, intermittingly running through his torso and yet he still answers, cordial as ever.
“Mmh, yes, I hope so. The house needs a little TLC but nothing beyond what I can handle. It’s not really the house I’m worried about.”
Silence falls again as they both take in the unspoken, Frodo embarrassed for mentioning it and Sam embarrassed to know what he was talking about. Sam can’t help but purse his lips in sympathy knowing the townsfolk hadn’t been nearly as subtle as they’d thought.
“Well, I don’t think I’ll keep you any longer. I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you, good luck with the house and…the rest of it, I suppose.” Sam finishes a little lamely.
“It was lovely to meet you Sam, and you didn’t keep me. That is, I am glad we got to chat. I enjoyed it.” Frodo assures, completely sincere, maintaining eye contact with a smile so lovely Sam nearly perspires on the spot.
With a wave heavy with mail Frodo takes his leave, turning to make the trek back up to the house, of which Sam cannot see at this distance. Sam stands for a second, wishing he had more to say, a reason to keep speaking.
Despite his own insistence of it, Sam had indeed built up his own conclusions of the new stranger and felt himself thrown completely off kilter and maybe a little ashamed of finding out their utter normalcy.
What they could all do, himself included, at some recollection of manners in the way of treating others. He had just started to walk again, slower than he would usually when he sees Frodo look at him over his shoulder. Happy to not have been caught staring, Sam watches from the corner of his eye, only slightly pleased as Frodo peeks back at him, only forced to turn back forward when he trips on something or other on the path.
The next few weeks continue as usual. The gossip finally dying out as babies are born and trees lose their leaves and people continue to drive with no regard for stop signs at all, much to the detriment of their sheriff.
Even so, Sam himself is happy for a reprieve from Shire as his time for a produce run comes. His trip there goes without a hitch, even as he eyes the angry clouds up above. It is, mercifully, only on his way back that the sky gives in and lets her rain fall.
Bill, the Gamgees’ loyal old Labrador mix, startles upright when a crack of lightning hits somewhere far besides them. He only re-pastes himself against Sam’s thigh after a couple reassuring head pats, while Sam himself is grateful for the abruptness of the lightning as he realizes he’d been half dozing with the methodical patter of the rain against the windshield.
He’s forced to increase the pace of the windshield wipers as the rain intensifies by the minute but can’t begrudge nature for having her way. He’s only glad he had the foresight to buy a covered delivery truck all those weeks ago when their old one had finally given her last wheezing, coughing breaths. When him and his Gaffer had looked at vehicle options for their vegetable deliveries the Gaffer had tried to insist that a good tarp would work just as well as a canopy shell but as Sam watches the heavy rain, thinking about how all his vegetables would fair under a measly tarp, he’s happy this had been one of his few moments to put his foot down. It’s no matter to them how their wares come in as long as they come in but the produce, vegetables and the like, are a matter of Gamgee pride. They prefer to sell what Shire itself grows, supporting local farms is the age-old Gamgee tradition they aren’t looking to quit any time soon, but there are things they’re forced to go out into the city to get.
It had been an effort and a half to get Gaffer to come around to the idea when Sam had first brought it up, but there are certain things that simply cannot be grown in the farms or backyards of Shire.
The Old Ways were buried deep within Shire and her inhabitants, his Gaffer included, but the introduction of new things doesn’t always have to be scary, and Sam had first started out with small things in addition to vegetables, different brands of tobacco, chocolate and some spices that would be considered exotic to the older folk; but the effort paid off. His trips went from a monthly basis to an every two weeks event, his truck simply not big enough for the demands of certain products now an expected presence within their store, which was all the better for it. As long as his Gaffer doesn’t have to step into the city himself, he doesn’t care as long as it sells.
The rain continues throughout the night, seemingly falling harder and harder with every passing hour. Sam takes to driving ten down the road, his visibility taking its toll as his tired eyes try to peer through the thick blanket of water coming down. Bill is sitting up straight now, unable to sleep with all the jostling as Sam is forced to drive through what feels like every pothole on the way to Shire.
Indeed, so heavy is the rain that he straight drives by a whole person before realization has him hitting the breaks. He pauses for a good second, unsure exactly what he has even seen. Looking into the rearview mirror gives him no answers and he can’t help but let his nerves catch up to him as he imagines a large, dark figure hunching along the side of the road up to no good. But even so, unwilling to deny help when needed, he adjusts to reverse slowly back up the road, relying on his intuition and the hope that the person won’t be stupid enough to stand directly behind him until he pulls up besides someone.
Once his eyes see that it is in fact a completely drenched human being and not some sinister apparition Sam doesn’t hesitate to lean over to unlock and shove open the passenger door, the person climbing in gratefully.
“My God, are you alright?” Sam asks, shoving the least greasy napkins in his glovebox at the stranger and wishing he’d had the foresight to bring towels despite the fact he’d never had the need to before now.
“Oh, um, yes, quite alright.” The man replies mildly, dabbing delicately at his eyes and, astonishingly, the seat he’s dripping on.
He manages to strap his umbrella closed, which of course had probably been no help, and leans it carefully against the door.
“I am quite lucky you had been going this way, Sam.” He laughs, somewhat self-deprecatingly as he runs his hands through unruly, inky black hair; mortification coming off him in waves and it is only then that Sam realizes this is not just any sodden stranger, but Frodo Baggins his sodden somewhat next-door neighbour.
“Only lucky that I’d seen you at all through all this rain. You’d best fasten your seatbelt, otherwise you might risk being thrown right back out.” He attempts to joke to cover his shock at his initial lack of recognition. Though to his credit, Frodo looked a completely different person.
The rain has his hair falling limply down past his shoulders with little evidence of the curls he’d last seen tucked up and tied away from his face, and his eyes looked impossibly bluer compared to his deathly white skin. Sam leans forward to put the heater on as he watches Frodo do as he’s bid, only missing a couple of times due to his shaking hands before managing to buckle himself in.
“Thank you, all the same. Not a lot of people would stop for someone, at least at this time of night.” Frodo says softly, and Sam is hit with a sudden anger that anyone could have driven by Frodo without stopping.
“No trouble, happy to have been here,” Sam says instead, “though I’m having trouble guessing your presence out here, especially outside of a vehicle.”
Frodo chuckles at his phrasing, turning in his seat to explain himself, leaning slightly against the door to get comfortable.
“Well, I can assure you my journey did start in a vehicle.” He laughs, “I actually had to fly out a couple of days ago to attend a legal meeting. I’d been trying to avoid it but my…family finally strongarmed my presence. The signing of documents and the like, though I suspect they were all trying to get as much money out of me as possible.”
Sam tries not to make a strange face, but Frodo’s responding laugh is telling enough.
“It was really just a reading of a will, and as the named executor they pressured me to go. Though it was nothing that couldn’t have been said in a letter or an email.” He says, only somewhat bitterly. “Almost none of them had been at his funeral but I could count all of them to be there for his will.” There is barely concealed anger in his voice, the last bit muttered as if he hadn’t intended to say it outload, and Sam would feel bad for asking in the first place if he weren’t so intrigued.
There is a period of silence, as if Frodo were weighing the pros and cons of explaining himself further. At first Sam thinks Frodo has thought better of it, but he lets out a lengthy sigh, his face sad before starting up again.
“The will was my cousin’s,” he explains, “and although he might be more familiarly described as an uncle, he was like a father to me. He raised me, along with his husband when the rest of my family had treated me like an inconvenient orphan. He’d bequeathed unto me quite the dowry,” he says with a smile, his voice lilting up slightly as if he were quoting someone, “and he’d been quite clever in keeping it out of his family’s hands. If they thought they could get at it through me, they found themselves quite mistaken.” He smirks a little meanly, his face angled away as if recalling what must have been quite the outrage.
“I am sorry for your loss, whatever his relation it’s clear you were close.” Sam tells him, keeping his voice soft but saying nothing else. He remembers how he was when his ma had died. He appreciated everyone’s sympathies, but he never wished to talk about it at length, not when he was still so sore, when it always felt like he’s only just seen her.
Frodo turns to look at him again, his face soft before looking down, petting at Bill’s head who stares at the stranger in his car. “Thank you. It’s been a while now but…I still miss him very badly. It’s been hard on my other father too, Thorin. He refused to come entirely, had no interest in squabbling with extended family. But,” Frodo goes on to say, eyes wide, “He would have come, if I’d told him I was. He just…I didn’t want to–”
Frodo lapses into silence, struggling to pull his words together.
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” Sam says the, keeping his voice firm and his tone gentle. “We all mourn differently.”
“And I know that but he…he just left.” Frodo’s voice cracks a little but pushes on and Sam gets the impression that he needs to say it more than he needs Sam to listen. “He wanted me to come with him, overseas to his side of the family but…I would have had to leave behind everything Bilbo loved. I think he just doesn’t know what to do with himself now with Bilbo d–” he pauses, unable to say the word. “With Bilbo gone.” He says firmly.
“This was the place Bilbo loved most. He’s–he’d been talking about Shire and the house he left in it for as long as I’ve known him. Leaving this place was one of his biggest regrets. When I realized he’s left the place for me, it felt like where I needed to be. This is where he would have wanted me to go. Dad on the other hand,” he winces slightly, smiling as Bill pushes closer to lean against his shoulder, eyes sad and looking up imploringly up at Frodo as if sensing his upset. “He doesn’t want me here. Partly because he doesn’t want me so far away, but he remembers how this place treated Bilbo and doesn’t want a repeat of that happening to me.”
Sam’s heart breaks. He doesn’t need to guess why the townsfolk had treated poor Bilbo so poorly. To think Frodo had been going through all this, all while the town treated him with such rudeness. Sam had tried to distance himself from it all, but he’s hit with how little he’d done to stop such talk. He might not have contributed but he feels partly responsible for Frodo’s deplorable experience of Shire.
Sam squeezes his hands on the steering wheel, the plastic creaking a little under the pressure.
“Well, there’ll be no repeating of that. You let me know should anyone say anything to you.”
“I appreciate that Sam, but no one has said anything of the sort and anytime I’ve spoken to anyone they’ve been nothing but polite. I guess I’ve been lonelier than I thought I’d be.”
Sam shakes his head, heart clenching even as he keeps his anger in check. “Even so, you have the right to be here, same as everyone else. And” he darts a look at Frodo who is calmly petting Bill between his eyes, having effortlessly found his favourite spot, “I might not make the best of company, but I’m just around the corner should you require it.”
The answering smile he gives Sam is brilliant, his eyes squinting at the power of it.
“Thank you, Sam. And I believe you’ve proved yourself to be excellent company, to myself at least if I can’t speak for anyone else. Letting me go on as I have. Anyway,” he wipes at a few stray droplets, some seemingly dripping over his face as he blinks red eyes. “To end my long explanation, I flew back this afternoon, but I had to take the airport a couple of towns over. It was late by the time I was driving through here. The rain came down out of nowhere, my car hit a particularly deep pothole, and I ended up driving into a ditch.” Frodo laughs, which Sam suspects may be Frodo’s default in all matters concerning himself, unable to let himself be sad for too long, at least while in company. “I was perfectly alright and so was my car as far as I could tell, but try as I might, I just couldn’t drive out of it, lack of traction I suppose. I thought I was being clever taking my umbrella with me before starting to walk, only for the damn thing to be completely useless.” He gives the umbrella a little shake as if to chastise it before placing it back down against the door almost regretfully.
“But then you came out of nowhere and saved me even though I might have been a hitchhiking murderer, looking to take advantage of your old-school kindness.”
Sam can’t help but snort, happy to try match the jovial mood Frodo is trying to cultivate. “And what would you have held me up with? Your useless umbrella?”
Frodo laughs at that, clutching a happy Bill close to him. “You are underestimating me; I imagine I could have gotten a good whack or two out of old faithful here. I might’ve gotten you in the eye, have you thought of that?”
“What about Billy Boy here? He’s watching from a distance I suppose, not wanting to get wet.”
“Oh, poor darling would be unable to pick a side, I’m afraid. Though I feel he may be partial to my own victory, personally.” He lands a kiss smack between Bill’s eye; the dog has never looked happier.
Sam laughs outright, throwing his head back. “I’m willing to believe you are right on that account, I’ve never seen him look so besotted before.”
“The feeling is mutual.” Frodo agrees, his eyes darting briefly up to Sam’s own, seemingly unintentional, and almost making him swerve, before returning his attention to Bill, some colour having returned to his cheeks.
They’re silent for the rest of the ride, save for the quiet directions Frodo gives him when Sam struggles to find the entrance to a house he knew in theory, but I had never had to drive to before. He can hardly see it in the dark, but the shape is familiar enough. He remembers playing on the property as a child with his siblings. They’d been strictly forbidden from entering at threat if a hiding but to them the overgrown jungle of a garden had been free game.
They exit the vehicle at the same time, the rain having thankfully quieted to a drizzle, Sam grabbing his flashlight intending to lead Frodo to the front door. They make it halfway when a crack of lightning silhouettes the cottage, Frodo jumps back into him but not before Sam notices something strange about the house.
He lifts his flashlight up only for them to gasp in unison as the light illuminates a part of a tree embedded in the roof. The two rush forward, Frodo struggling to open the door before it swings open for them to step into a completely waterlogged house.
“Oh no.” Frodo bemoans, his feet splashing as he steps into his house. He pauses in the centre of the room as Sam stays by the door. His flashlight, directed at the ground, lights up the room somewhat as it reflects on the ripples made by Frodo’s steps. Frodo turns to look at him, and Sam can’t help being stunned by how beautiful Frodo looks with the lights throwing patterns over his devastated face.
There are no hotels in Shire, all due to their lack of hospitality towards strangers. And the few B&Bs they do host for the occasional visiting family or event won’t be open at such late hours.
Sam doesn’t hesitate to offer him a place for the night. He needs to drop off the produce, but he can make sure Frodo is dry and comfortable before then. Frodo, to his credit, doesn’t fight him. Simply thanks him quietly and climbs back into the delivery truck.
They drive to the Gamgee residence in silence, Sam making no attempt at conversation. The drive takes minutes before they’re down the driveway and Sam is parking a little way away from the house. When Frodo looks over in confusion, Sam throws his thumb over his shoulder, “I live in the granny cottage on the property. I share it with my brother Halfred, but he doesn’t work tomorrow so he’s probably gotten sloshed and slept over at one of his girlfriends.”
Frodo accepts the explanation blankly and Sam knows he needs some rest after the night he’s had. Morning now, as his little wristwatch informs him that it is currently almost two in the morning.
He opens his door and corrals Frodo inside. He turns a couple lights on to see that Halfred had left the place in one piece. He loves his older brother, but he could live like a right pig at times. He leads Frodo to his room, just as tidy as he had left it.
“You sleep here tonight; you should be comfortable enough in here.” He goes to his chest of drawers and pulls out a t-shirt and a threadbare pair of shorts. “Change out of your wet clothes. We can deal with it in the morning, well,” he smiles, “the later morning. I need to take the goods to the store, but I’ll be back soon. I’ll have my brother tow your car a little later this morning, we’ll worry about the rest later.”
Frodo looks at him, looking small and wet in his tidy bedroom, his given pyjamas held loosely in his hands. “Thank you.”
Sam gives a comforting smile before closing the door. He heads back to the truck, Bill following loyally as he always does. He’s never had to stay out this late, but the storm had really set him back, his slow and careful driving hadn’t done him any favours even without his little detour with Frodo. He’ll be tired, no doubt about it. His next shift is at six, he’ll be lucky to get a couple of hours before he’s right back out again.
He smiles as he gives a couple pats to his dog, nearly as tired as he is and yet fighting a losing battle with his eyelids. He can’t find it in himself to regret his night though. He’s grateful that out of all the people who could have picked Frodo up, it had been him.
Once he reaches his family’s grocery store Sam is quick to unload his truck, telling himself his unusual speed is so he can get some sleep and because he’s distrustful of the break of rain they’re having, and not for any other reason.
He makes it back by three, a personal record, and watches as an exhausted Bill waddles inside – making a beeline for his bedroom. He pushes the door open with his snout before slinking inside. Frodo must have left it open after using the bathroom. Sam follows until he’s standing at the door quietly, listening outside for the telltale sound of Bill hefting himself on his bed, smacking his lips several times before himself comfortable. Sam listens but hears no signs that Bill had disturbed Frodo, his breaths soft and uninterrupted.
Backing away, Sam barely takes the time to remove his shoes before he collapses on his couch, fast asleep before he can even think about setting an alarm for himself. In what feels like a second later Sam is awake, severely disoriented as he peers around trying to figure out where he is. He has a second to feel the crick in his neck before his name is being shouted and he’s on the ground, mostly; his leg still caught on the couch and his arm stuck at a weird angle on the too close coffee table.
“Haaaaal.”
His brother cackles where he’s perched on the back of the couch. Sam manages to twist himself so he’s lying on the carpet, his back blissfully flat as he glares up at his older brother, who is looking down at him with a concerning amount of glee.
“Tell me, sweet baby brother,” he starts, resting his head on a bent wrist. “Why is it that when I went into your room just now to regale you with the details of last nights revelry, that instead of your ugly mug I find myself face to face with a dark-haired beauty?”
Sam shoots upward, his hand slipping on the rug in his haste and forcing him back down, his head hitting the coffee table on the way.
“Ugh, please tell me you didn’t wake him.” Sam moans, seeing stars even with his eyes open.
“That’s a dude?”
“Halfred!”
“Okay, okay. I didn’t, left as soon as I realized it wasn’t you. Damn, they must build them differently in the city; that’s the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen.” Sam doesn’t like the astonishment and thinly veiled interest in his brother’s voice. “So, why in the world,” he continues. “Is he in there and you’re out here. Whatever is you did, trust me bro, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with breakfast in bed and some dedicated grovelling.”
Sam lets out a long-suffering sigh as he tries to get up again, more carefully this go-round. He stretches, rubbing at the barely there sleep that managed to accumulate in his eyes as he explains himself.
“That’s the newcomer, I–”
“Well obviously,” Halfred interrupts him obnoxiously, “I think I would have noticed growing up with someone who looks like that.”
“I picked him up last night,” he continues, “He’d driven into a ditch, I picked him up on the way back from my produce pick-up.” His eye catches sight of the clock blinking from the oven and realizes he’s already late to work.
“It’s six thirty!” Sam hisses, barely remembering not to shout because of their houseguest. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“Oh, excuse me,” Halfred starts, voice unapologetic as he watches Sam rush around the room sniffing socks and searching for a button down from what he hopes is clean clothes in their laundry basket. “I didn’t realize I’d added alarm clock to my job description. And anyway, you still haven’t explained why you have a very hot stranger in your bed.”
“The storm damaged his house last night; he needed a place to sleep.”
“Oh! Our gallant, brave Samwise swooping in to save the day!” Sam rolls his eyes, hearing his brother’s continued swooning from the living room as he rushes to brush his teeth. He almost forgets to spit in the sink before he’s racing to the front door.
“Halfred, listen,” he knows he’s asking a lot, his brother’s attention not easily held but he has no other choice. “I need you to take your tow-truck down Hornblower and get Frodo’s car. Tell Frodo I’m at work but that my shift ends at noon, we can talk more than.
“Don’t,” he rushes to say, one foot already out the door, “Do anything else! This isn’t one of your little girlfriends you can mess around with.”
“You know Sammy, calling dibs is something a person usually grows out of after elementary.”
“Halfred–”
“I got it, no funny business. Tow the car, make pancakes, serenade with guitar; I’m on the case bro, don’t worry about it.”
Sam rubs at his face tiredly, locking the door on muscle memory without looking. Halfred might act like the youngest of the bunch instead of the second eldest, but Sam can rely on him not to do anything too inappropriate…mostly. Sam just hopes Frodo still has his sense of humour when he walks out his bedroom to Halfred burning pancakes and warbling out Wonderwall.