He got up from the couch. There was a certain peace in knowing he would soon rest, the weights on his chest and heart would soon be lifted and the slippery wetness of his brain that kept him from finding a mental foothold would evaporate. He went into the bathroom. His very thoughts themselves would evaporate into a place where nothing could harm them. He opened the medicine cabinet. He would be free. Not from the world, but form the one person and the truth he could not face; he was alone. In mind, body and essence, he was utterly alone. As he reached for the pills a cold hand rested on his shoulder blade. Bonelessly he fell to the floor, a gray mist fogging his vision before blackness conquered him. He was briefly aware of spontaneous time of Awakeness where Black would be chased away by the slightly lighter state of Gray. He had the feeling he was floating, like someone was rocking him back and forth slowly, and relaxed. He *did* notice a surface underneath him, which in reality was hard wood planks. Above him he occasionally spotted stars, piercing through the Gray with all the splendor and joy of heaven and filling him with a peace so he thought he might already be dead. When his head finally cleared enough for his eyes to stand the dawn without protesting, the first sight that filled them paralleled the sun so closely that his heart contracted with the beauty of it. "Sam...." Frodo said gently." Your awake..." ****** What else could he say? What else was he worthy of saying? Sam had been sleeping in his bed since his arrival, cared for the infamous Gandalf himself, recovering from the Sleep that must befall all mortals who cross over to the Havens. Every night Frodo would climb silently in bed beside him and gather the unresponsive body close. When he first say the still angry red scars on Sam's right arm, grief almost overcame him as he realized his nightmares had been true. In those days and nights when Sam lay sleeping, Frodo's pride died, replaced with such horrible guilt and terrible love that his own tears started to frighten him, as well as their source. Finally, this blessed morning, (conveniently right before he would have gone quite mad,) dark, chocolate brown eyes opened for him, looked his way, and *focused* on him. ***** Sam raised a shaking hand slowly, afraid that this vision would cease to exist if he acknowledged it too deeply. If he jinxed it. "F-F-" Why wouldn't his throat work correctly? Every muscle in his body was painfully stiff, as if he had lain in the same position for ages. Frodo caught his hand and gently laid it back down against his chest and kept his won warm hands atop Sam's. "Don't try to talk, this is normal. You're just sleepy in the bones still, and you'll be back to your old self in no time, I promise." If Sam could have laughed at that statement, he would have. ***** Seeing Sam laying there, with a horribly lost and shattered look in his eyes broke his heart. Sam's lips were trembling, from the effort to talk or whatever else, and he looked as if he were going to cry. Again. "Oh Sammy..." He leaned down and covered the soft skin with his own to calm both of them. But Sam continued to tremble till Frodo cautiously licked his lips... "F-Frodo..." he croaked out pitifully, "Frodo my dear...if you're real....do that again." |