By: Dana
Summary: A day stuck indoors.
Characters: Pippin, Frodo
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: Written for the 'balance, list, hollow, rumor; thoughtful' challenge on ringprov, because Bella told me to write it, and then Bree went and betaed it and shinied it up.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

The parlor was quiet - too quiet - interrupted only the sound of breathing (both of theirs) and the steady rapping of Pippin's fingers against the long arm of the sofa. The curtains were drawn and the parlor was half shadow, half flickering candlelight. Motes of dust drifted in the air, and Pippin wondered in that way of his, if Bag End was due for another cleaning, and if he would be one of the poor souls Frodo would be drafting into service to clean. Well, and this was a pleasant thought, maybe he'd be asked to clean the pantries. That wouldn't be a bother at all.

With a sigh, he let go of those thoughts, turning his gaze in search of his elder cousin. There stood Frodo, by one of his bookshelves (there were more books in Bag End than in the whole of the Great Smial, or at least that was what Pippin thought), Frodo in his good dark weskit and his long chestnut trousers, Frodo with his nose in a book and his head in the clouds, but Pippin knew that that was hardly anything new.

He rather liked Frodo this way, and hoped he wouldn't change.

Another sigh, then, and he rested his cheek against the palm of his hand, elbow propped on the arm of the couch. "Are you sure they're still out there?" he asked, and Frodo quirked one eyebrow and Pippin felt the weight of his gaze even before Frodo had fully half-turned (a funny sounding phrase, if ever there had been).

"Trust me, Pippin," and here, Frodo laughed, that unfunny sort of laugh that Frodo would laugh when he was nervous or tired. "The S-B's are nothing if not persistent."

"Yes, well," and Pippin pushed himself up off of the sofa, kicking at the air and scuffing his heel against the rug and shoving his hands down deep into his pockets, "It's just if they plan on lurking about Bag End all day, then I'll miss Merry for sure."

"Yes, Pip, but think of it this way," and Frodo closed his book, a folded page marking his place. For loving his books so much, Frodo certainly had a way with handling them, and he could almost be brutal. He pushed it back into the place on the shelf third from the floor, and gave a smart nod, "this way, I get to spend more time with you and your charming personality."

"That's not funny, Frodo."

"It isn't meant to be, Pippin. Come on, lad, let's get luncheon started. Lobelia will be trampling the rose bushes til evening "

"- and you know the mood that'll put Sam in," Pippin added, mournful but with a grin, and Frodo gave a sharp nod of his head, an old, tired smile, and they headed out of the parlor and down the short walk that would lead them into the kitchen.

" and I know just the mood that that'll put Sam in, you know, and my stomach isn't going to wait for Lobelia to pick up the hint that I am not at home, so its luncheon that I'm needing. I suppose you might just be feeling the same, Pippin."

"Yes," Pippin said, and they had entered the kitchen, where the curtains were drawn, too, and the dust motes were drifting here, as well, on soft slants of sunlight that peeked in from where the curtains had been pulled shut. Peeked in, danced across the floorboards, and pooled in soft spots at their feet.

"I suppose I do."

Luncheon was a simple enough fare, cold meats and bread that Marigold Gamgee (dear, sweet, Marigold Gamgee) had brought just that morning, with soft butter and Frodo's apple crumble (left over from the night before, but how it had been left over, Pippin couldn't tell) and good hot tea to wash it all down. "You see to the washing, Pip I'll see if our uninvited guest is still snooping about."

Pippin nodded and by the time that he had the table cleared, the dishes washed and dried and put away, he found Frodo standing in the front hall, hands in his pockets, scowling at Bag End's closed and locked front door.

"Shouldn't need locks here in Hobbiton," Frodo muttered and Pippin came up to him, hands in pockets, once more, and a similar look of irritation on his face.

"How goes it, then?"

"I can't see how I put up with this, Pippin, that's how it goes. Bag End's mine, Bilbo left it to me, and there's no way I'll see it in Lobelia Sackville-Bagginses hands. She should understand, as I've spoken it plain and simple, but I don't think plain and simple is something that old Lobelia can understand." A soft sigh, and Frodo shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand back at his side. "Out and about, stirring this rumor and that. I don't think she knows how to be happy, Pippin, and that is a startling thought."

He wasn't as frustrated, or as angry, as Pippin thought he should be, judging from his words. There was a thoughtful look on Frodo's brow and his eyes were almost hollow, grey in the dim light, and Pippin felt something tugging in his chest, something that he couldn't quite place.

It was a bothersome something, though, and Pippin turned and looked back at the front door. "So, then."

"So, yes. Come on, Pippin, pick a book and I'll read to you. The day is still long."

"Why don't you let me read to you, instead, cousin Frodo?"

"I suppose I could."

" and then the Eagles came swooping, and Bilbo and Thorin and all of the other dwarves, and even old Gandalf, too, were saved, and they went flying off. They left those Goblins behind, at least for the while."

"I should have known you'd tell that one, Pippin," Frodo laughed, but he was comfortable (more so than he had been, and maybe Pippin was certain that there was no worry troubling his cousin's dark eyes), sitting in the old chair at the fireplace (though there was no fire on the hearth, only the dancing of the candle's flame), and Pippin was sitting at his feet.

"Yes, well, I'd love a chance to meet them."

"I know, Pip, I know."

And Pippin, looking up at his cousin, wrapped his arms around his knees, his chin resting against them, and kept his attention focused on Frodo. Frodo, with one hand on the arm of the old chair, the other in his right pocket, Frodo, who was watching the hearth where the fire should have been laid, only it was too early, and too warm, and there were dead and half-burned logs sitting there instead.

"Sometimes"

"Sometimes, what?"

Light battled with dark (the swaying of uncertain light) in Frodo's eyes, seeking some balance, and if Pippin was thinking straight (and sometimes he didn't), then Frodo might just have been rubbing something in his pocket, a soft and uncertain motion like the play of light, and Pippin couldn't be sure.

But maybe it was a trick of the shadow now Frodo was still and his hands were both curling at the ending of the armchair's knobby arms.

"Things could have been diferent, is all."

"I suppose so," Pippin replied, as if he didn't quite get it, but he knew that Frodo was saying something important, and he sat back and stretched his feet out, one of his touching Frodo's, and he smiled up at his cousin, and hoped that that smile would touch Frodo's face, too. He wondered if it was Bilbo that Frodo was missing, or his parents, or Merry (and drat, but it was a bother that he would be missing Merry's departure from the Smials, but if he was lucky, then Merry would end up at Bag End before his journey homewards was through), and if it was Bilbo, or Merry, or whatever or whoever else it might be, Pippin hoped that he could be a proper substitute. He had good enough qualities, didn't he? Pippin was certain (and he was modest, too), that he could sit and list them til the morning light came.

And when Frodo's smile did show, tentative, tired, worn, it quirked and spread on Frodo's lips.

"Shall you tell me the Battle of the Five Armies, Pippin?"

"If you're wanting me to, Frodo," Pippin replied, and seconds later, the day was put in order; shadows lurking at the windows, a good meal and better stories and the very best company, too, and Pippin had launched back into the telling of the tale.