By: Dana
Summary: One night in Minas Tirith, Pippin goes to Frodo, when they both need to talk.
Characters: Frodo, Pippin, mention of Merry, Sam, Estella and Rose
Pairings: Frodo/Pippin, unrequited Frodo/Sam and Pippin/Merry
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst, slash
Author's Notes: Because we all have secrets and so do Frodo and Pippin. Set during RotK. Beta thanks to Hyel. Title thanks to Nikki.
Sub Rosa: (as adj and adverb) happening or done in secret / (as adv.) the committee operates sub rosa / (as adj.) sub rosa inspections
ORIGIN Latin, literally 'under the rose', as an emblem of secrecy.
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.

It is a silly thing, to try and count the stars - but there isn't anything else that Frodo can do, in this place of tall towers and tall people, a place so different than his own memories of home. Home - now, nothing more than those same memories. Sitting here, on the long low steps, Frodo cannot help but feel that it has been a lifetime since he had last walked within the Shire. He is certainly a different hobbit, now, with his terrors and his scars. The stars, though - the stars are a constant. So, he counts.

It is only when he hears Pippin's voice that he loses track.

"Frodo?"

Frodo cranes his neck back to get a good look at his cousin - and there he is, the arms of his mail shirt glimmering faintly in the light of moon and stars, the insignia of the White Tree emblazoned on his chest. Frodo thinks for a moment, of Sam and Merry, tucked away safe in the warmth of their little house. He remembers, as well, the warmth of their fine dinner. More than enough for four hobbits, and nothing was left to spare. And then he is seeing only Pippin, and Frodo knows that Pippin has changed, as well. He still smiles, he still laughs, but this Pippin is not the Pippin that would have been before.

"I thought that I would find you here."

He looks away and Pippin moves closer to sit down beside Frodo on the steps. Frodo jerks his head back towards the stars, reaches for the bottle of spirits that he took at the ending of their dinner.

"What do you want of me, Pippin?" Frodo asks him, resigned to Pippin's presence - if there is one thing that he knows of the Took, it is that Pippin's stubborn resilience is legendary. Would his reputation only grow, now, when he should have died but chose not to instead?

Frodo could think the same of himself.

Pippin breaks the silence - though not for the sake of telling Frodo why he has come. "I've figured something out."

Frodo continues to watch the stars. "What are you talking about, now?"

Silence, again, and then Pippin's laugh. "Well, we all have secrets."

Curious, Frodo turns to look at Pippin - only to see that Pippin is not looking at him, instead watching their shadows as they stretch out in the white light of the night.

"Secrets?"

"Yes, cousin." A grin stretches wide on Pippin's lips. "Secrets."

Frodo cannot help but feel irritated at this game that Pippin has decided he must play. "What does this mean to me, Pippin? I've no time - "

Pippin's laugh, again, sharp like a knife. "No time, Frodo? It seems that there is an abundance of time, here. Shall we sit awhile, and talk?"

Pippin does look at him, then, and Frodo wonders how Pippin could stand his own gaze, if he were some other hobbit - his eyes are familiar, haunting and sad - too old for one who hasn't come of age. Pippin has seen too much, as much as he has, though Frodo knows that Pippin would always say that it is Frodo who has suffered the most.

In his heart, though it sickens him, Frodo knows that Pippin would be - is - right.

Pippin's sharp glance softens. "Shall we, then?"

Frodo sighs, presses his hand to the curve of Pippin's cheek, slides the pad of his thumb down to the point of Pippin's chin. "Yes," he says, wondering. He isn't sure of the why of it, but he knows that this is at least true. "Yes."

Pippin just grins, taking Frodo's hand in his as it falls away from his face. "We do. But not here." And Pippin isn't quite smiling, now, but Frodo can't quite call it a frown. Maybe its curiosity - his own look mirrored in one way or another on Pippin's face. Frodo guesses that he could at least call it that.

"Lead the way."

Pippin nods, picks up the bottle of wine, still holding Frodo's hand as they both rise to their feet. And then Pippin is darting into the shadows, and Frodo follows after. They walk for a while, quiet. The night is cool but not cold, and the sky is thankfully clear. Frodo is glad that Pippin is here, though he isn't certain why.

"What is on your mind, cousin?"

Frodo is surprised by Pippin's question, laughs and nods towards a park - not too far from their little house in the city, but far enough that Frodo can feel the weight of its separation - separation from Sam - burn like a brand. "What do you think about this little garden, Pippin?"

A thoughtful nod. "It would serve us well, I think." And then, a thoughtful gaze is turned on Frodo. "Well, Frodo? You never did give me an answer."

Frodo laughs faintly. "I am not so certain, Pippin. What of you, then? Is there anything on your mind?"

Pippin's eyes flash merrily in the light. "As little as there ever is, I'll have you know."

Frodo laughs, but it feels rather hollow. Its Frodo who's leading them, now, and he takes into the garden, a place that he has been a dozen times before - but always in the light of the day, never the dark of the night. It is not so terrible, though, and Frodo almost feels that he has treaded this same path, in this same darkness, before.

Pippin is close behind.

Frodo can hear the bubble of a little stream and he nods to a patch of moonlight. "This place is as good as any." Pippin nods, sits down cross-legged - careful, of course, and Frodo knows that it is because of cracked ribs. Pippin had seemed cheerful enough when he had recounted his encounter with the troll - and Frodo finds it hard to believe, to picture him bloody, all but crushed, all but dead. But then, he would find it hard to believe, as well, to picture his own path with Sam to the very edge of the end.

"Yes, this is a good place," says Pippin, and he sets the bottle of wine before him. He smiles to Frodo, nods.

"Well, have a seat."

Frodo does, and its then that he realises just how tired he truly is. He sighs and shakes his head - and it is Pippin's hand against his left shoulder that brings him out of those heavy dark thoughts.

"I could use a good long rest," he says, with a lame sort of smile. He takes the bottle, instead, takes a long drink. Pippin is watching him, and Frodo wishes that he could tell what was on Pippin's mind.

"A good talk shall have to do," Pippin replies, flashing a grin. He nods to Frodo, who nods back, and Pippin accepts the bottle of wine, tilts the mouth of it back to Frodo. "To talking."

Frodo laughs and Pippin takes a good long drink. He cringes as he draws the bottle away, sets it down on the grass. He blinks his eyes rapidly, laughs. "What a particular taste."

 "Some would just say it tastes too strong," Frodo says, and Pippin tilts his head, and Frodo notes that Pippin's hair seems longer, thicker. A pregnant pause, and Frodo speaks again. "You need your hair trimmed."

"Yes, well, Merry said much the same." Pippin's tone is fond, and he smiles, running one hand back through his hair as he rights himself. Frodo takes the wine bottle, takes a long pull of it then slams it back down on the grass.

"What do you want of me, Pippin?"

A wistful smile curves on Pippin's lips. "I've a secret, Frodo. You've a secret, as well."

Frodo nearly laughs. "Who doesn't?"

"Certainly not us." Pippin shifts closer, so close that when he leans forwards, Frodo can feel the warmth of his breath - can smell the harsh smell of the wine - can feel it, too, as Pippin exhales against the lobe of his ear. "No, definitely not us. We've our secrets, assuredly."

Frodo blinks, not certain what he should make of Pippin's closeness. And then, Pippin is speaking again, and nothing more matters.

"I am going to say something, Frodo, and I want you to know that I meant it - mean it with my everything, my heart and my soul - mean it, like I have never meant a something before."

Frodo turns, and they are nose to nose. Pippin's smile has softened, now, and those same shadows flit restlessly in the depths of his eyes. Oh, and Pippin is just so warm - Frodo can't help but wonder why he hadn't noticed it before.

"What is it, Pippin?"

"Just promise to hear me out."

Frodo nods, closes his eyes - it seems the right thing to do. "I promise - I will."

Pippin does not wait, not any more than he has already lingered. His breath is hot, his voice is thick. The very far recesses of Frodo's mind finds him wondering what else Pippin's mouth could be doing - could do to him.

And then, Pippin's words are in focus, what he's saying and not just how he's saying it, and Frodo finds it hard to breathe.

"I want to kiss you, Frodo - I want to kiss you, because I want to kiss Merry, and I can't. I want to kiss you, Frodo, because I know I'm not alone. You'd kiss Sam if you could, wouldn't you?"

The force of Pippin's words, the weight of that simple honestly, nearly knocks Frodo back to the ground. "Pippin?"

"It's rather silly, isn't it?" Pippin asks, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. He reaches up, touches Frodo's cheek - and Pippin's fingers are warm against Frodo's skin. "After all we've seen and done, we're so like a pair of lads just realising their first crush."

Frodo shakes his head. "No, no - you must be mistaken, Pippin. You are mistaken. I could not would not after it all, Pippin"

Pippin lets his fingers curl in the hair at the nape of Frodo's neck, moves a bit closer and then a little bit more, one leg over Frodo's, their feet pressed together, and Pippin is very close, now, so close that Frodo isn't sure if he can breathe. But this is Pippin, and Pippin gets what he wants - but if he got it all, then he would already have Merry.

That seals it, then. Frodo sighs, turns away, and Pippin rests his brow against his cousin's shoulder. "Is that your secret, then?"

"It is, and yours as well."

Frodo sighs again. "It is not that important, you know. He has his memories, as well as I."

"But there's no one back in the Shire, is there, who's waiting for your return?"

Frodo feels the pressure of Pippin's lips against his cheek, the steady cycle of Pippin's fingers as they rub small circles at the back of his neck. Frodo turns to Pippin, watches him. Pippin is watching him back.

And then, when Frodo is sure that the silence is certain to last forever, Pippin speaks. "Neither do I, of course." And then Pippin is smiling, as Frodo's mind rolls back to their conversation at dinner, of Sam and Merry speaking of their lasses, left behind in the Shire. Pippin exhales, shakes his head.

"They're lucky, aren't they? I've known Estella Bolger since forever, and I'd never have thought thatMerry would end up - well he'll marry her, some day."

Frodo frowns. "Now Pippin"

"And your Sam will have his Rose."

"Oh, Pip - "

"It's just the truth, Frodo." Pippin sighs, shakes his head. He knows the truth too well, after all. He lifts his gaze again, frowns, seeks out Frodo's. His hand is resting on Frodo's, then, steady and warm. "It's hardly my fault that the truth has a tendency to hurt."

Frodo is frowning, still. But Pippin is right - it isn't, and it's so much more than that. What Frodo would give to have Sam - or, in the least, to let Sam know the depth of how he feels.

But Sam will have his Rose. Frodo will see to it himself, if that is what it takes.

"I hate it when you're right."

Pippin grinned. "I don't often get told that, you know."

Frodo couldn't help but laugh.

Pippin's look was wistful, then, and he shook his head. "It's just so silly, isn't it? After everything through death and flame, and here we are. A pair of love-addled tweens - "

That's it.

And then, Frodo is kissing Pippin, and the moment is stretched thin, stands on the point of a knife. And then Pippin is falling, taking Frodo with him, and there is no more need for words, then, between the twist and tangle of their tongues. When the moment is undone, there's need for more, for touching as well - because a little bit more can't hurt, when you've already come so far. And in the very end, Frodo is at least aware of a few other things that Pippin's mouth is good for, and he gives back to Pippin all that he can in return. There's so little left.

Come the next day, they'll have their proper places.

For the time being, they share their secrets instead.