Frodo was sitting on an old swing in the gardens that must have been put there when Bilbo was nought but a wee lad, for Frodo had been past the age where one enjoyed the simple pleasure of flying on a swing when he had come to Bag End. It was mostly forgotten now, except for when Frodo sat there to daydream, as he was doing now. The swing offered a good view of the gardens---and the gardener—none of which Frodo saw as he created scenes in his mind's eye, except maybe the gardener.

All of his daydreams included various ways to charm, ensnare, seduce or romantically woo his gardener. All the schemes in his head worked out well in the end, he always got Sam, no matter what happened in the middle, the end was always good. Several of these daydreams left him hot and bothered, as well as more frustrated than he already was. Logically he had no idea what to do about his affection for Sam, or was it an attraction? More like a distraction, he could not even decide upon that much, he felt hopeless. It was something Bilbo had certainly never taught him to handle. Nor would Frodo have really expected him to, Bilbo never seemed to understand that sort of love, for a lass or lad.

So he sat in his garden, creating his own misery as he watched Sam day after day with no applicable solution at hand until Sam married some pretty lass and was utterly out of reach. As it would happen, events set into motion circumstances Frodo had not foreseen.

He was in the habit of taking very long, very hot baths. One autumn day he lay soaking in the bathtub with his head pillowed on a folded towel. He closed his eyes for a moment, but woke hours later in a cold tub, shivering. Before those facts could register in his mind a towel was thrown around his shoulders and he was lifted clear of the water, wrapped from head to toe in the warmth of the towel and carried to his bedroom where he was placed in front of a roaring fire by some unknown force.

That unknown force turned out to be Sam, who disappeared soon after depositing Frodo on the hearth. He returned with a steaming mug which he gently put into Frodo's benumbed hands. He then sat on the floor next to Frodo and began toying with the edge of a rug.

"Are you all right sir?"

"Yes, thank you. I never meant to fall asleep in there." Frodo sipped from the mug, it was hot apple cider.

"Are you all right otherwise?"

"I suppose so, what do you mean?"

"You've just seemed distant lately, more'n usual I mean."

"I'm sorry. I-I've been trying to solve a puzzling problem."

"Might there be a way that I could help?"

"If only you knew," Frodo said distantly.

"There you go agin, your minds gone to some faraway place an' left me far behind."

Frodo turned his gaze away from the random spot on the wall it was fixed on to see the concern in Sam's face. "Have you ever been in love with someone?"

"Aye."

"Did it hurt?"

Sam blinked noticeably, "To be in love sir? Why, it's supposed to feel good."

"Not when it is not returned," Frodo said quietly, looking down at the mug and wrapped himself tighter in the towel.

"I never did say that my love was returned," Sam whispered.

Frodo looked up, "Did you lose the feeling for the person?"

"No, I still carry it with me, I always will."

"Did you approach the other person and tell them?" Frodo said cautiously.

"No, I never did know how, nor did I know what the other'd think."

Frodo smiled, "So I guess you can't give me any advice then."

"No sir."

They sat awhile in silence. Frodo studied the way the firelight lit up Sam's eyes and played around his features. Sam watched the way the light made Frodo's pale skin glow warmly.

"Maybe you could tell me more'n we'd find a solution t'gether."

"No, it's not that simple. It's complicated, I guess."

"How's that?"

"I-I don't know."

"How's that, you kin trust me mister Frodo."

"I'm a little unusual, strange even." Frodo drifted off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Sam reached out and drew Frodo into his side, "You make it sound as though it were wrong t'love mister Frodo."

"The way I do is. Oh Sam, I know what I want, but I don't know how to get it, I don't know how to begin. It's all so wrong."

"Mayhap I can help, negociate between you, if you'd intrust the name of the lass to me."

"That would be rather difficult for you to do. And therein lies the problem Sam. It's not a lass that's stolen my heart."

"Oh," said Sam, "Well, that's all right."

"It is?" Frodo twisted out of Sam's one armed embrace to look his friend in the eyes.

"Leastways, I think it is, others might not though."

Frodo studied Sam's expressionless face carefully. "You don't think it's wrong?"

"No, just different. But I'm no one t'be judging, you could say that I'm the same way."

"But what about the lasses I've seen you with?" Frodo sounded a little too eager for the answer, even to his own ears.

"They attached themselves to me sir, I was just being kind t' them, but they mean little t'me." They stared at one another, not moving their eyes from the others gaze.

"I still don't know where to begin."

"I could tell you a name an' you tell me one, sir." Sam sounded a little breathless.

"I don't need to tell you a name, Sam, there's one person I need and he's never far out of reach."

Sam swallowed, "Aye, tis the same for me." He reached forward to touch his finger tips to Frodo's face. Frodo closed his eyes at the light touch, but mimicked the action. Sam's hand slide into Frodo's hair, around the back of his neck. They drew together easily enough. Their lips brushed clumsily, sending sensations through the other at the touch. Then they pressed their lips together in a proper kiss. Frodo's towel fell off and he fell off of the swing into the hostas.

He had been dreaming, again. Damn those dreams for the little that they did. Sam came trundling up the garden path, pushing his barrow. This was the real Sam, not the odd version that lived in Frodo's head, and he was the real Frodo, not the bold, saucy creature of his own imaginings.

"Well there, mister Frodo, those hostas ain't goin' t'grow any faster if'n you sit on them, sir." There was a twinkle of amusement in Sam's eyes.

"No," said Frodo, rising to his feet, "I don't expect they will. I'm sorry for falling on your plants Sam, I must have dosed off."

"It's no bother, 'sides, they're your plants sir, an' you can sit on 'em all you like if'n it makes you happy."

Frodo smiled, a decision had been made, unconsciously and now he had to act on it, "Sam? Would you mind coming back over after dinner tonight, I know it is your sister's birthday, or I would ask you to dinner."

"Of course mister Frodo, I'll be over, you can be sure of it." Then Sam pushed his barrow away and Frodo returned to the smial.

"Time to close the distance between us." he mumbled to himself, now he just had to figure out how to do it.