Title: Suicide Notes and Butterfly Kisses Author: Laeriel Author's Email: laeriel@hotmail.com Pairings: Frodo/Sam Rating: R Summary: Sam finds Frodo in his room after... never mind. Read and find out. Warnings: Masochism | Suicide Attempt | Bad Writing | Author’s Note: Somewhere in the seventeen years before the quest. For the record, Sam doesn’t live with Frodo, although he will stay the night. No, sadly, not like that. And I know this story probably isn’t all in one tense. Anyways....Hobbits are good... except the ones in this story are a bit out of character. This story was inspired partially by the goth side of me that lives in my music, and most days my clothes, and partially by song lyrics from A.F.I., one of my favorite bands. Here they are: “There are no flowers, no not this time. There will be no angels gracing the lines, just these stark words I find. I’d show a smile, but I’m too weak. I’d share with you, could I only speak, just how much this hurts me.” And the title, ‘Suicide Notes and Butterfly Kisses’, comes from the name of an Atreyu CD. The titles of the chapter’s are A.F.I.’s lyrics and song names. Disclaimer: I don’t own Lord of the Rings, so I cry. I also don’t own any of the afore mentioned bands, so I just listen to their music. While I cry. At the same time. At the same time as listening to the music. So ha! I’m multi-tasking! Oh, and I own the lullaby that Sam sings later. But it’s nothing to be proud of... Warnings: Masochism | Suicide Attempt | Bad Writing | Suicide Notes and Butterfly Kisses, Act One-Silver and Cold Sam had made his way to Bag End. It was a fine sunny day outside in Hobbiton, with just a chill of fall. The garden was in bloom, and butterflies were fluttering about the flowers. Nothing seemed ot be wrong, Sam noticed that there was no smoke coming from the main chimney, or any for that matter. This was odd, since Frodo was usually up in the kitchen by now with his morning tea. He rarely slept late, only when he was ill. And if Frodo was ailing, Sam was going to make sure he was tended to. He quickened his pace and entered the hole. As he cut some bread for breakfast, he noticed one of the knives were missing from the kitchen. It was a small knife, with a silver handle, and very sharp. He frowned, that knife had been one of Bilbo’s treasures, and rather valuable. He might miss it, if he ever did return. Which reminded him, he had meant to check on Frodo. He lit the fireplace in the kitchen before he left. It was unusually cold. He hoped Frodo hadn’t slept like this. Sometimes Frodo didn’t take care of himself as well as he could’ve, lost in a book or some of Bilbo’s translations. Sam was reminded of that winter morning when he found Frodo asleep on an armchair; with a book in his lap and naught but his nightshirt on. And now, recently, Frodo had been acting oddly. He never came outside to read anymore, and shut himself in his study for long periods of time. IT was all Sam could do to get him out for meals. He knocked on the bedroom door, expecting a response. When he didn’t get one, he opened the door, the shock of what he saw was like a stab in the heart. There lay Frodo on the bed, half-conscious, eyes still open. There was fresh blood on the sheets, and it was coming from his wrists. Even from a distance, Sam could see that the cuts were deep. In one hand was the missing knife. Sam could do nothing but stare, horrified until he heard his gaffer’s voice ring sharply in his head. What are you doing you fool of a Gamgee? Go take care of your master! Sam was jolted back to reality. He rushed to the bathroom, and filled the tub with water. Rushing back to the bedroom, he gingerly picked up his shivering master, holding him close as he carried him to the bathroom. He stripped Frodo down and gently let him into the water. Frodo had been fading in and out of consciousness, but he jumped as the hot water hit his icy skin and grabbed Sam. His grip loosened helplessly. He was too weak... “It’s alright now Mr. Frodo, your Sam’s here,” he said as he coaxed Frodo into the tub. When Frodo was in the tub at last, Sam began to clean the wounds. Frodo tried to pull his arms away from Sam, but Sam held them tightly until he had a good look at them. They were deep, as he had suspected. They would take a while to heal, and when they did they would leave scars. Quickly, he finished cleaning off the dried blood off the rest of Frodo’s body. As much as he wanted to leave Frodo in the tub to relax, Sam knew the wounds would not close up if they were left in water. He dressed Frodo in clean clothes, and bandaged his wrists. As he did so, Frodo behaved like a child. He tried to escape Sam’s caring touch by sliding his arms out of Sam’s grasp. Sam thought for a moment to scold Frodo, but as he looked into his amazingly blue eyes, he saw nothing but pain and sorrow. How he longed to kiss away his master’s grief, he thought as he attempted once more to dress Frodo’s cuts. He knew it was wrong to love another lad, truly, what would his Gaffer say? But it seemed that his desire for Frodo was like a candle that wouldn’t go out. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------- Suicide Notes and Butterfly Kisses, Act Two- This Nature, So Unnatural Sam sat Frodo down in the kitchen with a weak herbal tea and then went to bedroom to gather all of the laundry. When he stood over the bed, stripping off the sheets, Sam noticed something that he hadn’t seen before. It was a note to him, in Frodo’s handwriting. He was curious to read it but, remembering his duties, he stuffed the note in his pocket and went back to the kitchen to see how Frodo was doing, which wasn’t very well at all. Frodo sat at the table crying, his tears drowning in a half finished cup of tea. He had managed to undo some of the bandages on one arm, it was all his condition would allow. Sam rushed over to him, and pulled over a chair. He took Frodo into his arms, and softly sang to him a Shire lullaby as he fixed the bandages. Frodo had stopped crying, for now, and he was calm enough for Sam to try to talk to him. “Will you be wanting to finish your tea, Mr. Frodo?” Frodo shook his head. He made as to undo his bandages again, but Sam gripped his had tightly. At this, Frodo began to weep again. “Why didn’t you let me bleed Sam? Why didn’t you let me die?” At that last word, Frodo gave a great sob and his chest heaved with tears. He hid his face from Sam again. The words sounded clearly in Sam’s. He bit his lip, afraid to stay anything until the right words came to mind. “Because Mr. Frodo, you are meant for greater things,” he said simply. Frodo shook his head, batting the words away like butterflies. “No Sam, I am not. I am a horrible, unnatural person, who doesn’t deserve to be alive. I need to just… go away.” Sam brushed away the dark curls from Frodo’s forehead so he could look into his eyes. Such bright blue eyes… even in his misery, Frodo’s eyes seemed to dance in place, his piercing gaze seemed to be looking right through Sam. Frodo took the hand that Sam had free, and tried to give it a squeeze. He winced and closed his eyes in pain, wearing a tight, grim smile. Sam gently gripped Frodo’s hand as to stop him from hurting himself again. “I don’t see you as unnatural or horrible in any way at all.” Frodo looked down at the hand Sam was holding. “I love a lad Sam. More to the point-” he paused. It was a long pause, and Sam thought it meant he was finished, and began to say his part. “Well, then, I suppose that makes me unnatural as well, because-” “You didn’t let me finish Sam.” Frodo said, cutting Sam off. “The person I love is,” Frodo stopped, and Sam momentarily tightened his grip on Frodo’s hand in reassurance. “It’s you Sam. But you love Rose Cotton, and it breaks my heart.” Frodo buried his head in Sam’s chest and began to sob silently. “But Mr. Frodo, you didn’t let me finish either. I love you too.” At this Frodo raised his head, and looked into Sam’s eyes, His blue eyes shone with question and tears, and he smiled at the truth and love he found in the brown depths. “So please, stop crying now.” Sam said as he began to weep himself. Through his tears, he picked up Frodo’s hand, and grazed his lips over the fingertips. He opened it up, and kissed the hand. When he looked back up at Frodo, wetness still glistened on his cheeks, but his lips formed a slight smile. Sam leaned in and kissed Frodo’s lips, no more than a few butterfly kisses. Frodo reached up with a frail hand and traced a finger down Sam’s face and neck. He kissed away some tears from around Sam’s eyes. “Oh my beautiful one,” he whispered as he pulled Sam in for a deep and thorough kiss. Sam allowed him to lick and probe with his tongue in every corner of his mouth, and for this Frodo was grateful. Sam tasted pleasant, sweet and tempting, like nectar to a butterfly. Frodo undid the first button of Sam’s weskit before he felt Sam’s hand upon his, telling him that now was not the time nor place. After Sam pulled away from the kiss, he saw the look of disappointment on Frodo’s face, and kissed his brow to assure him that nothing was wrong. To Sam, Frodo was a delicate as a butterfly, so fragile, so easily broken. Not any longer, Sam thought. Not while I’m here to protect him. That night, Sam sat by the fireplace in Frodo’s bedroom, watching him sleep. He pulled the note out of his pocket. After reading the first few lines, he knew what was coming, and didn’t want to read on. He began to crumple the paper, but remembered what a light sleeper Frodo was. Not wanting to wake him, Sam placed the letter into the fire, watching it burn until there was no more. ~ End I don’t want to kill the mood by saying something stupid, so just send some feedback. It would be greatly appreciated. Please?