By: Dana
Summary: Some people want to live their stories; others want to write them themselves.
Characters: Sammie, Del, Aster
Pairings: Sammie/Aster
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: And again, pointless fluff.
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.
This is fanfic based on another fanfic: Mary Borsellino (original fic series, Pretty Good Year)

There's ink on Sammie's fingers and when he rubs his cheek in thought, the ink spreads across pale skin like shadowy smudges. There's a funny look on Dels face as she watches Sammie, perched on the end of his bed, staring at him and the way his back is hunched over.

"Whats this one, Sam?" Aster asks, standing beside him and looking very much like she's meant to be there, pointing at one of the words that have leaked like liquid grace from Sammies quill, smiling at the dark smudges on his skin.

Sammie smiles; he has a nice smile and it makes Del frown. "This one is romen, and its Quenya, and this," he taps the paper with a finger, "is run. Its Sindarin, and they mean the same thing-sunrise."

Aster has a pretty smile, too, and Del can see why Sammie likes it as much as he does. She doesnt want to be here but she cant seem to get around the silence thats lodged in her throat.

"Whats the point of having two words for the same thing?"

"Well, theyre different languages, really, so I think its alright."

Aster nods, biting her lip. Shes grown up a lot, and it shows. Shes not the shy creature she once was, and shes growing into a girl wholl be turning heads of her own. But Aster only has eyes for Sam.

Sammie smiles back and bends to write more pointing out the words and the different variations on the two Elvish tongues. They fit together, Del supposes, but doesnt need to like it. She doubts she ever will.

"What are you up to, Sam?" Del asks, hopping down off the bed and padding over to lean in between the two of them, elbowing for space.

"Trying to brainstorm, a bit," he laughs. "I want to write a story."

"What sort of story?" Del asks, her hair curling down and tickling his shoulder. She doesnt push it away and Aster leans forward.

"Yes, Sammie, what kind?"

"I havent quite figured that out."

"Maybe," and Del takes his hand (he has such warm hands) and plucks the quill out of it, putting it back in its hold, "perhaps thats because youre not old enough to even have enough stories of your own, than to go creating them out of thin air."

Sammies gaze is serious. "And what do you suggest, Miss Grubb?"

"Why, lets go out and live a little," she laughs, and its sweet sounding and soft, something that shes not. She gives his hand a tight squeeze and he yelps, pulling his hand away.

"Brute," he grins, and Del smirks.

"Sometimes I forget my own strength."

She ruffles his hair, and then on second thought, Aster's too. "Come on, you two, dont sit about all day."

Del turns and heads to the door.

Sammie wants to create stories of his own, and she just wants to live them. There are lines that lie between them that cant be crossed. Sometimes, though, just sometimes, like now, she's not so sure. Del glances back and sees those smiling faces, and she wishes deep down she could create stories of her own; then, and only then, shed always have her hearts desire.

Because Sammie and Aster might fit together but Del doesnt fit between and Sammies happy ending wont be her own.