By: Dana
Summary: It had been raining since before morning had been morning...
Characters: Merry, Pippin, mention of others
Pairings: Merry/Pippin
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash
Author's Notes: Written a challenge. I wanted to write about rainfalls and puddles, so here you are. Pre-quest with a difference. Really! Don't look at me like that...
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 had been raining since before morning had been morning, or so Merry thinks. He wakes to a chill grey day, the world beyond the guestroom's little round window and its cheery blue drapes distorted by a heavy fall of rain.

It was late, but he only learns that when he goes down to breakfast, fresh faced and fresh dressed, as Pippin and his family are already well into their meal. Pippin flashes him a grin, then, and Merry puts a hand up over his mouth as he yawns.

"We wondered when you'd come and join us," says Pippin, as Merry wonders just how many hobbits could fit into so small a space, this warm cozy kitchen. But then Pervinca laughs, and he thinks instead of sitting in the space at Pippin's side. Pimpernel is there, too, snatching a scone back from Pervinca, the same one that Pervinca had just snatched away, as Pearl chides the both of them, "there's more than enough for all."

At the head of the table, an empty seat at her side, Eglantine is sipping her tea. Paladin is no where to be seen.

"Da went down to check on the stables," Pippin says, as if in explanation, as if he's able to read Merry's thoughts. "It won't do us any good if it leaks, and he wanted to check on the horses. Luckily, he thought it best for me to stay behind."

In that same breath he pushes Merry his plate, empty now, but there is tempting food laid out upon the table. Another yawn, and Merry can feel the rain down deep in his bones. He could have slept the whole day through, and now he wonders why he'd risen at all. There are answers enough that he could give to Pippin, and jokes, but instead he once again yawns.

"Good that you thought to join us, Merry," Pimpernel says with a grin, laughter suppressed in her bright eyes. "Pippin here had decided he'd be eating your share if you never came down."

Pippin sticks his tongue out at his sister, and Merry's stomach rumbles and growls. "Well," and Merry laughs, reaching to fill his plate, as that would be why he had risen from his bed, "he'll just have to look to filch food from some other place."

"Now Merry," and Pippin affects a hurt tone. "You know I'd not filch food from you."

"Yes," Merry's comment is dry, "that's what you say."

After that, with his cousins and his aunt all settled in to eat, there was little else said. They were a group of hobbits, after all, in a warm cozy kitchen on a cold dreary day, with a wide spread of food for them to enjoy. Pippin, after his thirds, was quick enough to excuse himself, asking for Merry to follow after. And Merry, only half-through with his seconds, is still a good amount asleep and finds himself reluctant to leave his plate.

"Finish it up, then," and Pippin flashes a grin. "I'll meet you down by the stream."

With a look of wonder, Merry half-follows Pippin's departure as he takes another bite of his eggs. His cousin stands at the door, taking his cloak down from its peg, pulling his cloak on about his shoulders. With one last look, and a nod of his head, he pulls the hood up over his head as he opens the front door, and heads out into the rain.

It's lightened, Merry can tell, since he rose from his bed.

"I just don't see how you put up with him," Pervinca laughs. "Pippin is well-suited to grating on one's nerves."

"I just don't know how I do it," Merry replies, finding a wide playful grin, then nods his head in thanks as Pearl takes away his now empty plate to fill it with thirds.

The rain has lightened, yes, and by the time that Merry, by then well-fed, could excuse himself to follow after Pippin, it had come to a complete stop. The sky is wide and grey, going on forever, and the air, while smelling damp, is otherwise dry. Merry fidgets with the clasp of his cloak as he takes the path from the Took farm. In time, it will lead him to the stream.

It would be a fair day, if the sky would only clear up, if the sun would only shine. He can see it now, though, a brighter spot behind the grey, burning with it's brightest if only it could manage to shine through. Spring is in the air, buried down deep, under various layers, of winter's lingering chill. But the cool air is brisk, and Merry is waking up, now, more than he had tucked away in a warm and comfortable home.

And there is thankfully no snow on the ground, now, for winter might linger but it is now gone, leaving wet new grass and slick mud underfoot.

He hears Pippin before he finds him, where water still runs in rivulets down the slope of the hill to merge with the now quickly-rushing stream. He hears Pippin, yes, though he isn't sure of what he says. But he turns a corner, so to say, rounding a copse, and there stands Pippin, grey light in copper-bright hair, his feet in the water. His cloak is pulled by the water, a steady tugging, where the edge hangs down in the rushing water.

"There you are," Merry says, and Pippin turns, grinning. The stream is flowing beyond its bounds, and there is mud up higher on the dark fabric of Pippin's cloak, too. He imagines it must be clinging to his legs.

"It took me long enough to find you."

Pippin laughs, stepping up from the swollen rush of water. Laughs, and grins, his hair and cloak still damp from his play. "You're getting slow in your old age."

A quick sharp bark of laughter, and Merry flicks wet hair back behind the tip of Pippin's right ear. "Quiet, you, or I will be made to defend my honor. It isn't as if I've yet to come of age."

Pippin rolls his eyes to the heavens, turning, and he walks back to the extended edge of the stream. "I don't really see what you could do."

And Merry, because he's waited since waking, even if he hadn't been so sure, walks up and wraps his arms around Pippin's shoulders, not caring for wet cloth or wet skin, and angles his neck so as to better kiss Pippin's cheek.

"I'm sure I'd figure something else."

Pippin laughs and leans back, turning his head. "You think so?"

"I know so," and Merry kisses the cool wet shape of Pippin's mouth.

"You've been waiting for that," Pippin says, after, when Merry lets him speak. Merry can't help but smirk as he ducks his head against the shivery damp chill of Pippin's neck. "You have," Pippin laughs, the tickle of Merry's hair against his skin, "oh, you have."

And neither complain when Pippin turns in Merry's arms and Merry is let to nuzzle and graze drops of cool water from Pippin's skin. "Merry," and Pippin laughs more often than he doesn't, joyous and resplendent in love. "Merry, please "

"Merry?"

Merry jerks his head up, eyes wide as he turns to look at Pippin, standing there in his cloak with a sw?rd belted at his side.

It had been raining since before morning had been morning, or so Merry thinks, like some long ago day. But that thought it not so distinct, and Pippin reaches out and takes his hand. This time, this long storm, there had been no comfortable warmth. They had been forced to take what cover they could.

"What are you looking at?" Pippin asks, and Merry looks back over Pippin's shoulder, squeezes Pippin's hand, sees Aragorn speaking with Gandalf, and Boromir near to where Legolas sits not so close to Gimli's side. He can hear Frodo, and he can hear Sam, and he can hear the cool rush of the wind.

"Nothing much," Merry says, looking back at Pippin, but there is a grave light in Pippin's eyes, no longer laughing, grey like the hard flat color of the sky. "I was just thinking."

"I can tell," and Pippin's one hand is joined by the other, as he squeezes Merry's hand tight with both of his own. "I don't think I've ever seen you so sad."

Merry blinks his eyes rapidly against sudden tears that he can't understand. "It isn't that I'm sad," he says, and he hopes he doesn't lie. He turns away from Pippin, back at the thing that had fascinated him so, the wide still puddle on the ground. Pippin's reflection looks up at him, now, alongside his own. A chill breeze blows, stirring their hair.

"You can tell me what it is," Pippin says, a conspirator's whisper, leaning against Merry's shoulder. "Whatever it is, Merry, you can tell me. And I promise I won't even laugh."

A grin has found its way to Merry's lips, at those words, and he turns back to look at Pippin, Pippin's and his ardent gold-flecked eyes and Pippin's ever-expressive lips. "Please, Merry. There's enough I've not been told, don't not tell me what it is."

With a sigh, Merry leans forward, wrapping one arm around Pippin's shoulder, with both of Pippin's hands still clasping Merry's one hand. He presses his cheek against Pippin's, breathes in the chill of the morning air and a certain something, that must be Pippin, and memory, of warm summer Shire days.

"I was just thinking about " how much it's all changed and how he hadn't seen it until he was looking into muddy puddles on the ground and how it will only change more "- that one day, you know the one, where it stormed all through the night and through the morning and then after breakfast you went out to, I suppose, play in the rain. I found you down at the stream, you know, the one that was near bursting from all of the rain. And you were wet, but I didn't care, and I kissed you, though I wasn't consciously aware of wanting to keep you warm."

A breath, Merry needs to catch his breath. A moment, and then he goes on, but his voice is lower, lower still than it had already been. "I didn't understand, Pippin, why you'd run off in the cold, but your sisters did, I think, and your mum did, too. It wasn't that I'd never thought that before, Pip. I didn't say it, I couldn't say it, but I found you so very difficult to understand."

Pippin laughs, soft and sad and sweet, turning so he can nose Merry's cheek, letting his lips follow after. "That's fully understandable, Merry," he says, leaning against Merry's arm, exhales against Merry's cheek. "I think it comes of being a Took. We are known for doing rather impractical things."

"But you're so much more than just that, Pip."

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"If it makes it better, I think I understand you now."

"Do you?"

"Yes," and Merry wets his dry lips. "And if I could talk to your sisters, now, well, I'd be able to tell them, with a clear conscience at last, just how it is I put up with you still."

Pippin could say something but he doesn't and Merry is glad when he stays silent instead.

Closing his eyes, Merry thinks for a long moment, but that moment passes and then he opens his eyes. One rainy day could almost fade into another, but there has been sunshine and light enough through the years and Merry can only hope that they are not on a path now that will be their end.

It might be winter, but spring will come, and after that, summer with all its glory of gold and green.

"You think too much, Merry," and Pippin kisses Merry's cheek.

"One of us has to, Pippin," and Merry turns his face against the cool pressure of Pippin's lips, until he feels the exaggerated stretch of his grin, pressing his mouth to Pippin's, needing to, not caring if they're seen.

And they kiss, blind to the world at large, with its dark riders and dark lords with their shadows and these quests or these rings. Merry wants the Shire back, to know that those he cares for the must are safe from the world that lies beyond their own. What he wants is Tuckburough in spring, Bag End at summer, Brandy Hall at Yule.

What he wants, what he wants most, is knowing that they can still go back. Each step they take into this darkness is just one more step they'll have to take back to find their way back home to the light.

Merry holds on to his light.

"I think it's time that we were going," Pippin says, when he has drawn away, and his gaze is thoughtful, as is the smile on his lips. "It seems that they've been waiting on us now for some time."

"I will apologize, then; we still have so far to go."

"Yes," Pippin nods. "At least they're giving us this."

Merry gives Pippin a look, hard, drinking him in. He can remember the first time he kissed him, the first time that they made love, and that, lover and best friend and cousin, is an almost summer-like warmth in Merry's heart and mind. If he can hold Pippin, now, then there can be no doubt in his mind that Pippin will always still be at his side.

He has to hold on to that.

"We wouldn't want them to leave us behind."

And Pippin says that it would be best not to give them reason to try.