There were two sorts of people, Rosie decided. There were ones who slammed doors when they were angry, and there were ones who closed them gently, a soft snick as the latch fell into place. The second sort was worse. Sam had always been the second sort, and Rosie didn't entirely approve of it as a way of reacting. If you didn't have a chimney for smoke, the whole room ended up filthy and hard to breathe in.
So when she was hanging her hat up in the hall and finger-combing the wind tangles out of her hair, the sound of a door closing gently from down the hall made her sigh and roll her eyes up. What a wonderful way to start an evening, with some melodrama or another. And after such a nice day, too.
"Rosie? Where's Elanor?" Sam asked, coming up to give her a greeting hug.
"Tom and Marigold took her for the night. They're bickering about babies again, and wanted a loan of one to settle the argument." Rosie hugged him back. "Either you've been crying, Sam, or we're having onion pie and onion soup and onion salad for supper."
He nodded, pulling in a shaky breath. "I know it don't do any good, but I wish there was something more that could be done for him. He seemed so cheered this morning, but he's cold and weak again now. When I tried to get him to come outside and do his reading in the sunshine he said it hurt his eyes, but if he never gets any air how can he grow well again?"
"I don't think it's that simple, Sam." Rosie said sadly, tracing the curve of his eyebrow with her thumb, smoothing his hair back.
"Why not? Why can't it be? I don't understand." he began to cry again. "I carried him up a mountain, Rose, and now I can't even get him out of his room."
"Of course you can. What else can you do? This is worse than the mountain, you know that. You stayed by him then, and I know you wouldn't give up now just because it's not so clear what the right path is." she patted his shoulder. "Chin up. You Gamgees are made of stronger stuff than this, I wouldn't want you to father my babes if all you could do is wail and cry."
"You're my backbone, Rosie."
"Oh, I know that. Glad to be acknowledged for it. Now, do you want a bite to eat?"
Sam shook his head against her palm. "No, I'm going to go for a walk. Get away from thinking for a while."
"All right, I'll warm something for you when you get back." Rosie nodded. "And Sam?"
"Yes?"
"I love you. More with every day, if that's possible."
"I love thee too, Rosie-wife."
When he'd left, Rosie sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands, rubbing the start of a headache away. She loved mothering, but she'd only one child so far, and felt more every day that she was keeping three. Sam worried about Mr Frodo so much that he hardly ever put his hands on her lately, and Rosie didn't think that was fair, because mother and wife were words that went together and she was only getting half her due.
Everything was complicated, she cared for Frodo like a brother and a son and a lover all at once, and Sam was her husband and her best friend and the father of her child, and the two of them were locked in some old moment that wouldn't end. Sam was right to wish that things could be simple for once.
Rosie pushed her chair back and stood, nodding to herself as the decision was made. The past was a bleak thing for her, too, but the future was theirs to shape and own, and she wouldn't let them fritter more away with melancholy.
Frodo was in bed, not reading or sleeping or writing, just staring down at his damaged hands, flexing the fingers slowly. Rosie climbed in beside him, taking his hands in her own.
"You mustn't let dark thoughts haunt you so." she said, stroking the delicate lines of his wrists. "For when they hurt you, it hurts Sam, and me as well, and I know you don't want that."
"It isn't like I can choose to stop remembering, Rose." Frodo sighed, his fingertips stroking the pad of her thumb. "It's not that simple."
"Yes it is." Rosie whispered against his cheek, kissing his mouth before he could reply. Frodo made a small mew of surprise, Rosie doubted he'd known any touch but Sam's in his life. He wasn't as comfortable with her yet, but that was important and good. He needed to become better at doing things that made him uncomfortable, like going outside and laughing at jokes. She ran her hand up his thigh, wishing the muscles were stronger and firmer against her touch.
"You must promise me," she said, nipping at his earlobe with her teeth and guiding his hand to push up her skirt, "To come outside more. There's a gaggle of children from all around who've never heard a hero-story, they never knew Bilbo's wondrous tales. You have to promise me you'll sit with them in the fields for a morning and tell them of your adventures. If you don't, I'll climb out of this bed right now and set about doing some baking."
"I-" Frodo's breath hitched as his hand slid up under her petticoat. "I promise."
Rosie smiled against his skin. "I knew you would."
~
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