By: Dana
Summary: If Merry has lost himself, Pippin is there to find him.
Characters: Merry, Pippin, Berilac Brandybuck, mention of others
Pairings:: Merry/Pippin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Angst, sexual content, slash
Author's Notes: Post-quest angst-fest. For Marigold's challenge.

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.

Pippin arrived at Brandy Hall, dusty and dry from a long ride, and met with Berilac in the courtyard as he led his pony to be stabled. Pippin had watched the day speed by him, and it had brought him to this place, at this time. It was nearing dusk.

"I left as soon as I could manage," said Pippin with a grin as they left the stables, crossing the yard, and Berilac nodded to him, but his face was mostly blank - there was something going on, the letter had said at least that, but Berilac wasn't giving anything away.

"Let's get you inside."

They did, and then they parted, meeting again once Pippin had had the chance to freshen up from his ride. It almost felt strange to be here, despite the fact that half of his childhood years had been spent roaming the corridors of Brandy Hall, because it simply felt that it had been years since he had last been here.

Since he had last thought himself welcome.

Pippin pushed those thoughts aside, though, when Berilac offered him a drink once they had reached Berilac's office. His cousin's eyes were shadowed, anxious, but he did not seem to be in any great rush. Taking his seat, Pippin kept his eyes on Berilac - and Berilac kept his eyes on the window that looked out over the yard.

Maybe it was already too late, and Berilac wasn't even sure why Pippin was here.

"Shall you tell me what brought me here, then?"

"A pony," was Berilac's first reply, and Pippin faintly grinned.

With a chuckle, Pippin continued on. "Your letter was vague."

"Not just that, Pippin, it was intentionally vague." Berilac sighed deeply, sinking down into his seat, folding his hands as he regarded Pippin with something Pippin could call the Brandybuck calm - a deceptive glance, as underneath, their passions ran strong. "It's Merry."

"Ah, yes, the letter said that." Pippin wryly grinned but his look quickly sobered. It had been long, too long, since he had spent any length of time at Brandy Hall, any length of time in Merry's presence. There had been Crickhollow, yes, when he and Merry had lived closer-than-skin; when they had first come back from afar, and they hadn't known how to live without the other. They had saved each other, often from the little things that now meant more than could be imaginable, in those first days. The end of something, where they were starting again.

But time had moved on and Pippin had married, in all honesty more for the sake of his father than for himself, and they had started out on their own. And he had grown happy, now, with Diamond and their son.

It had been four months, now, since Merry had taken on the responsibility of the Master, when Saradoc had passed away. Pippin had had no word from Merry since then, not since the funeral, and Pippin had not thought to send any word of his own. He could have sent word, himself. But that was not for this time, some other instead, when he could berate himself as was fitting.

"Has something happened? Is Merry well?"

Still deep shadows clouded Berilac's eyes. "We seem to lose him a bit, a little more each day. He's thrown himself into his work, seeing to the fall harvest. He's working too much, but he doesn't seem to care, doesn't eat half of the time, doesn't Ah, I'm not even sure when he finds time to sleep. It's just a whole lot of little, Pippin, but he just doesn't care and we don't know what to do."

Berilac's voice dropped. "I don't know what to do. Shall we have to strip him of his title? I think it's all too much for him, Pippin..."

Pippin nodded, putting a hand to his forehead before taking a long pull from his brandy, thinking on these thoughts. Merry loved the Buckland, of that Pippin could find no denial. But such seriousness was in Berilac's eyes, when Pippin could remember a laughing tween from years gone by. "I should have come sooner."

"We thought that oh, we thought that we could be some help. But now" Berilac's voice softened, his eyes focused on Pippin's, and Pippin could hardly look away.

"He misses you, I think. He misses you so terribly, and it's eating him inside."

"Oh. Oh ." Pippin looked away, watching the nothing that was painted against the background of faint dust motes drifting on sunlight through the air. His hand was shaking, so he clutched the arm of his chair, clutched his drink and drained the cup. "Oh."

Berilac chuckled softly. "So much, he doesn't know what to do with himself."

Pippin turned his head quickly, nearly laughed. "So you say, that if I'm not around, Merry loses himself?"

"Well, you spent such time together."

Berilac was right - so much before, and even after, they had gone away. Pippin gathered his breath, ran his finger over the rim of the glass. He sought out Berilac's gaze again, strengthened. It had been long, too long, but it was not the end.

"Well, if he has lost himself, I'll just have to find him."

"We had - oh, I had hoped."

"You're putting a lot on my shoulders, Berilac."

"Yes, and there's no one that he loves, Pip, quite the way he loves you. He needs you, whether he admits it or not."

Whether you admit it or not, but that was unspoken. Instead, Berilac continued, with half of a grin. "And he won't admit it, Pippin, because he's stubborn as a Took."

Pippin laughed, then shook his head. "You're right, he is. I'll see him, then, see what I can do. See if there's even anything I can. "

"It's all I can ask."

Pippin found Merry sitting in the Master's study, the light of a candle sending shadows out to dance along the wall. He could only stand at the door, hand pressed against the flat hard wood of the frame. He felt the grains of the wood underneath, felt the silence weighing thick and heavy in the air; he could barely even breathe.

Here he was, and there was Merry; Pippin hadn't a clue at all what to say or do.

The responsibility of being Master was heavy on Merry's shoulders, now - Pippin could tell that, even from a look, remembering Berilac's words, a certain way that Merry now held his shoulders. But it was more than that, much more that, much like the silence, thick like molasses, that weighed him down.

Pippin looked back over the years, thought of the distance that had been growing between his cousin and himself. When had he last talked to Merry, really talked to him? It was strange enough, to be here, with Diamond and Faramir back in Tuckborough. But that was where they were meant to be. His wife, his son - they didn't belong here, not now, no, they were like trying to fit a square peg shaped into a hole shaped like a star.

Pippin took breath, continued to watch Merry. His head was bent over a stack of papers, his curls limp, and he was scanning through each before sliding it at the top of another stack, and going to the next. Merry didn't look up.

When was the last time they'd talked, he thought again. When had Pippin last admitted how much Merry meant to him? There had been a time, before, when they could have wasted the night, just talking, kissing, touching. Pippin remembered waking at Cormallen, and Merry was there, and finally, Pippin understood what Merry had tried to tell him at the Houses of Healing - what he'd thought when he'd found Merry wandering no more than half alive in the dark of Minas Tirith.

He was still in love.

And knowing that he was, hurt.

It hurt, as well, to look at Merry, now, to watch him as he folded in on himself.

Pippin shouldn't have waited so long, he thought, thinking of Frodo, but drawing back from that. He was here, now, and even if he couldn't place when he had last spoken with Merry, well, if that was his fault, so be it. He would not stop, now. If there was need for a fight, then he was willing and able.

And yet he cursed himself for Merry's state. "Merry?"

Merry didn't seem to hear him at first, and Pippin frowned, taking a step into the room, letting the door close behind him. Merry did look up at that soft click, frowning, but it seemed to fade as his face went out and then back into focus, replaced with a smile instead, when he spotted Pippin. Even at this distance, a light came to Merry's eyes, a tangible change that Pippin could feel in his bones.

"Pippin!"

Merry stood, rounded the desk and walked to Pippin. There was a moment where the silence seemed even more viscid than it had before, but Merry broke the moment, moving more quickly than he had before as he pulled Pippin into his arms. Pippin's arms were hanging at his sides, and it took all his strength to lift them up, and put them where they seemed to fit best - and that was around Merry.

He had to admit it, if only a little, if only to himself - it felt good.

"Ah, Pippin. Pippin. So good to see you, it's been too long."

It had been, and Pippin gave Merry a tight squeeze, felt Merry's face turn to press against the curve of his neck. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, Merry," Pippin replied, sighing softly. It had been too long. Ah, and now, he could feel Merry and his warmth, the tremor of his hands as he clung to Pippin's weskit. "I'm here now, though," he murmured, stroking Merry's hair back - when had he grown taller than his cousin? Pippin couldn't tell.

Merry tilted his head back, smiled tremulously. He was a pale shadow in Pippin's arm, and there were faded dark circles under his eyes.

"Have a seat, then. Let's have a drink."

Pippin nodded and it was Merry who untangled their arms, first, stepping to the cabinet behind the desk. He opened it, drew out a decanter of Brandy Hall's finest, along with two small glasses. Pippin eased himself into his seat, watching Merry.

Merry uncorked the top of the decanter, filled a glass first for Pippin, which he slid across the desk top, and then one for himself, before re-corking the bottle and settling down into his own high-backed chair. That chair had been there forever, for as long as Pippin could remember. Now, seeing Merry there - not to say he never had, and Pippin remembered games when they'd both been much-much younger, and Merry had played in that chair, acting the Master. But now, seeing him now, it was different. Pippin felt a lump of emotion wedge itself in his throat as he clutched his glass and took a long drink.

Merry was just watching him and Pippin felt the burn of the alcohol as it chased its way down his throat, felt it burning even brighter as it hit his stomach. "It just isn't the same, these days," Merry mumbled, shaking his head. He looked to his glasses, swished the contents. With a sigh, he drew it back, took a long drink.

Pippin knew what he meant. "No, no it's not. Everything changes a bit, a little each day. One day ah, well. We'll hardly be ourselves."

"No, you," and Merry was half-grinning, "you'll always be yourself, Pippin. I miss you, you know."

"Ah, Merry, I know," and Pippin's heart did a flip in his chest. He closed his eyes, the wedge in his throat continuing to grow, tighter and tighter. It was hard to breathe, again, even harder to force himself to speak. "I miss you too."

"But here we are," Merry commented, smiling, lifting his glass up. "Here's to us."

Pippin managed a bare smile, lifted up his own glass. "To us."

Merry gave a little nod of his head, then downed the contents of his glass, as Pippin did his own. He poured a fresh cup, then slid the decanter to Pippin. "Come this time next year, cousin, you'll be looking upon a happily married man."

Pippin's hand shook as he re-corked the bottle. "Married?"

"Aye, cousin. I've waited long enough. I'm getting no younger." Merry grinned, faintly, tipped his glass though he didn't take another drink. "It's time, you know, take the old plunge. You're far more respectable than I, Pip, you and your Diamond and your little son."

Pippin's heart was beating, hard, a hard tight pressure in his ears - drums of war that drowned out all other. "Ah, but Merry who?"

"Estella Bolger," Merry replied lightly, took another long drink. Pippin nodded, not knowing what to say, no, not at first. He lifted his glass up, felt like he could cry - and that was silly, so silly, because he was happily married, himself, and he did love Diamond, he did, madly, but he couldn't help but feel his heart being torn out, because he loved Merry, so much, so much more, and he went and let him go; now, sick with want, Pippin looked to Merry, and all that he had lost.

But no, he told himself, no. He couldn't love Merry, not now, not anymore.

"Ah, Merry, to you and Stella, then," Pippin replied, forcing a smile - it seemed smooth enough, and Pippin guessed that it would only become easier in time. "To a long and happy life. Together."

Merry tipped his glass up, and Pippin did the same, and they drained the contents in the same breath. Pippin poured another, not caring to re-cork the decanter, sliding it to Merry who nodded in thanks, filled his cup to the brim. They sat like that for a while, drinking, refilling, drinking again, until Merry laughed and set the empty decanter down on the desk top, grinning.

"It's empty."

"Ah, well, how did we ever manage that?"

"I'll never know!"

They shared a look, shared a laugh, and Pippin felt his stomach spinning sickly. He clutched the arm of his chair, steadied himself. He could feel Merry's eyes on his, and Pippin looked up, met Merry's gaze frankly as they watched each other with the desk as a barrier between.

"You never did tell me what brought you to Buckland, Pip," said Merry, and Pippin could hear a slight slur to his words - it was understandable, and Pippin had drunk enough that there was a slight blur to the world all around. And Pippin, right then, realized that this was not what Berilac had summoned him for.

Well, perhaps in a way. He was talking to Merry, and that was what mattered.

"Ah, well, it had been so long," he replied, and Merry nodded. Now that he was here, Pippin didn't know what to do. He wanted to make it all better, take them back in time - he wanted to see Merry smile, to not see the darkness clinging like old webs in his eyes.

But it was there, quiet, no, perhaps it was roaring, and Pippin was being dragged down. There was so much he should have done, could have done, couldn't, now, not with Diamond, and Merry to marry -

Ah, but couldn't he? Pippin picked his empty glass up, made to say something, but couldn't quite find the words as the glass dropped it hard against the table. He sucked his breath in, stood, stumbled to Merry. If he was to make a mistake, then it would be as no matter before. That, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop himself, this forward momentum that had been gained.

"Pip - "

"I miss you, Merry," Pippin said again, his hand reaching out to grasp Merry's shoulder - the fine cloth of his vest felt cool under his fingertips, and Pippin pulled against it, greedy and insistent, and Merry reached out, took his hand, wrapped his fingers tight about Pippin's wrist, pulled him close. Pippin grunted, falling against the side of the chair, somehow managing to support himself though his legs felt like water. "I miss you, Merry, miss knowing you, because it's been so long - I forget you, Merry, I forget you."

He dashed the tears in his eyes, cursed them, cursed the brandy as well, and Merry reached a hand up to Pippin's neck, and tugged him close. Pippin could smell the brandy on their breath in between, and he closed his eyes, breathed it in. A part of his mind was screaming, but it felt like slow motion when compared to the rest of the world, and all Pippin could think about was Merry. Merry Merry Merry, and Pippin realized he was chanting that, too. He was drunk, drunk on the brandy, drunk with Merry's presence. This wasn't why he had come here but now that he had started, he didn't think that he could stop.

"Tell me to stop, Merry, I don't think I can stop," and Pippin's eyes snapped opened, the burn of Merry's lips a breath away, and Pippin was falling into Merry's eyes. "You have to tell me to stop."

But Merry didn't want that, didn't want Pippin to stop, and his grin was a faint dark curve in the dim, the shadows in his eyes too numerous to count. Pippin choked on his breath, under the weight of that gaze, the hold and pull of Merry. "Ah, but don't."

Pippin nearly laughed but faltered at the last. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," and Pippin wasn't even sure what he was sorry for, now.

They sort of fell together, as Pippin slid down off the arm of the chair and into Merry's lap, and Merry's arms were all around him, his hands all over, and Pippin tugged at his vest, his shirt underneath, and they kissed until Pippin's vision doubled, and even that wasn't enough - they kissed a little bit longer. Pippin was finding it hard, again, to breathe, so he kissed Merry again, kissed Merry as he whispered his name, threw clothing aside wildly until he felt flesh underneath, knowing this was wrong, so wrong, but not caring a moment that it was; or that which would come after. Because there was Merry, and the lines of a body that Pippin had once known as well as his own, and wanted to know again.

This couldn't help, but they didn't stop.

"I used to know you, used to know you, used to know you all over," said, kissing his way to Merry's shoulders, leaving marks on Merry's skin, lifted his hand up, kissed Merry's palm. "I used to know you, Merry, better than you even knew yourself. And look at us, now. We just don't know each other anymore."

"Ah, Pippin," and Merry drew their lips together, hungry, his hands sliding down Pippin's bare back, tugging at the edge of his trousers. Pippin tore away, though, sliding his hands all over, cupping Merry's face with his hands. He kissed him again, kissed him hard, and everything else seemed to blur between. "Ah, need to know you again, Merry," and Pippin tore away, once more, settled back, tugged at the edge of Merry's breeches - he lifted his hips up, as Pippin tugged the cloth down, and then he was down between Merry's legs, kneeling, and his breath was needy and hot against Merry's swelling erection. Pippin went for it, taking Merry in.

"Oh, Pippin, ohhhhhhhhPippin!" Merry groaned, jerked, but Pippin held him down with the force of his hands, sucked on the length of his arousal, from the tip, taking Merry into his mouth as far as he could. Salty sweet, and Pippin could feel tears on his cheeks. Too much, too much, but it was better than nothing at all. Sensory overload, maybe, when he could feel too much. And Merry's hands had tangled in his hair, and he could the tip of Merry's cock press against the far back of his throat, and Pippin nearly gagged. He drew back, instead, but did not relent this attack. Pippin was merciless, licking and sucking and twirling his tongue, massaging with his hands, and Merry was groaning and gasping and pleading like a hobbit gone mad. Pippin couldn't, wouldn't, draw away from this assault.

Merry gave a twitch, and Pippin could feel it coming, and then when it did, he took it all in, swallowing - the force of Merry's orgasm struck Pippin like a physical blow, and Merry wasn't the only one to be left reeling. Pippin was shaking, then, pulling himself back up to Merry's mouth, to Merry's kisses, and he could still feel Merry everywhere - and then they just fell back together, as Pippin was up again, slid back onto his lap. Pippin thought he saw stars.

Pippin was still crying, but he could hardly tell, and Merry drew him close, closer, driving their bodies together. They kissed until the world started to darken, and then Pippin felt Merry's hands, one steadying him at the small of his back, the other hard and real at fastenings of his breeches. Pippin groaned into Merry's mouth, kissed him harder, harder still, maybe tasting blood with salt, and if there was a point that shouldn't have been pushed, this was it. They'd long since the point where they could ever turn back.

Pippin hissed when he felt Merry's hand around him, the sensation of his trousers as they slid down his hips, and Pippin thrust against Merry, needing to feel more. He got all he could, and if Pippin was wild, then Merry was perfect control - he steadied Pippin, slowed him, and Pippin mewled in protest as Merry kissed him. Softer, a bit softer, a slow tangle of tongues, emotions, and Pippin's heart was thudding heavily in his ears. The slow stroke of Merry's hand, the fire he'd built, gone soft and steady, instead of raging - and he'd been close, so close, to raging out of control. Slower still, slower, soft and sweet. Pippin whimpered into Merry's mouth, and Merry feasted on that sound, and Pippin clung to him. He came, then, a strangled cry, what could have been Merry's name, but Pippin couldn't be sure. Shaking still, Pippin slumped against Merry, closed his eyes.

They stilled, quietly, just breathing, holding each other, and Pippin drew his breath in sharply. He rested his head against Merry's shoulder, nuzzled him softly. He was all wrapped up in Merry, now, and Merry was music, a song, and Pippin wanted to sing him out on high.

"Merry. Merry. Oh." A breath and then another. "Merry."

Merry could only laugh faintly, a disjointed sound, buried his face into the crook of Pippin's neck. They were silent a bit longer, and then Pippin was laughing and Merry was, too. Pippin looked to Merry, tear streaks still on his cheeks.

He wasn't the only one who cried.

"Ah, Merry," and he wiped at Merry's tears, the salty moisture cool under the tips of his fingers, and Merry wrapped his arms around Pippin's neck, drew him near. He kissed Pippin's tears, and Pippin sighed.

They were still moving, and he'd been so sure that they'd stilled.

He wasn't sure that they had, still softly sighing, touching, kissing, until Pippin felt the dull thud of his heart fade away, and he could hear again - but the hum of Merry, a sharp buzz, still sang in his veins. "Oh, Merry," and he couldn't do much more than that, just watching each other, as the tears dried on their faces.

So they held each other, until they next had to move, dressing and then embracing again, kissing, touching, and Pippin sighed, drew Merry against him, sharply.

"Ah, love you, love you."

Merry buried his face in Pippin's damp curls, his voice soft; he still seemed to be a bit shaky, like he hadn't quite managed to gather himself back. Pippin understood. He felt it himself.

"Love you so much."

To hear it from Merry - that was like a blow.

Pippin didn't know where it could get them - after all, where could they go? Pippin was married, had a wife, a son - Merry would be married, he'd have a family of his own. It didn't seem right. To live a life simply because it is expected, but not to take what they both want the most.

Merry, it seemed, could almost read his mind.

"I'll never stop, Pippin, never stop," and Merry's words were half in focus, half from a point far away. He caressed Pippin's cheeks, pressed up against him to kiss his brow. "I'll love you no matter what. I missed too much, already."

Pippin smiled, nearly overcome, kissed Merry's cheek. "We'll never stop."

So maybe there was at least that, and Pippin smiled. The silence settled back around them, dark and heavy, but with Merry in his arms, Pippin could push aside the doubt, the worry, the world around, and simply hold Merry, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was.

When Pippin could speak again, he did. He might have slept for a while, slept together with Merry, curled on the sofa in his study, but he wasn't very sure. He ran his fingers back through Merry's hair, simply stroking. He kissed Merry's brow. "Berilac was the one that sent for me."

"I thought as much." Merry was quiet, rubbing idle patterns on Pippin's back.

Pippin sighed softly, pressed his lips to Merry's ear. "He's been worried." Pippin cupped Merry's cheeks, frowned. "You haven't been sleeping, he says you haven't been eating, he says - "

"All he says is true, Pip," and Merry took one of Pippin's hands, gently kissed his palm. He didn't stop there, kissing his way to Pippin's wrist. Pippin sighed, looped one arm back around Merry's neck.

"You'll stay for a while, won't you?"

"As long as you need me here, Merry."

"Then I might just keep you here forever," and Merry's laugh was somewhat subdued, stroking small circles with his thumb on Pippin's cheek. "Oh, Pip."

"Ah, Merry." Pippin bent to kiss him, and they were quiet for a while. When Pippin drew back, he was smiling faintly. "I shall send word to Diamond, then - though, I suspect that she thought that I would be away, a while. But first, we shall straighten ourselves up, and we will have a bite or two to eat."

Merry laughed very softly, unable to stop touching Pippin. "Or maybe even three?"

Pippin thought for a moment, then kissed him once more, and the world fell into that, soft sighs and softer tongues, and Pippin drew back. Maybe Merry wasn't all better, right away, but Pippin could tell that he would be all right. "Oh. I forget what I was going to say."

Merry laughed. "Let us have our supper, then."

Pippin nodded, but feasted first on Merry's lips, and it was a long moment until they parted again. Pippin looked into Merry's eyes, and Merry into Pippin's. Pippin smiled, faintly, let his fingers rub over the shape of Merry's mouth.

"I have found you again. I won't be letting you go."

Merry smiled against Pippin's fingertips, kissed them one by one. And there were no words, in any world, that could speak with more force than the shape of his smile.