A/N:  Thanks to my betas, Thuri and Mizz Marvel.

            Pippin awoke first the next morning, his head heavy and eyes feeling scratchy.  He turned over to regard Merry, who was sprawled on his stomach, still sleeping heavily.  Pippin noticed tear-tracks still visible on his face, and the little line between his eyes that always meant Merry was worried about something.

            Pippin bit his lip, fighting his own tears back, and he gently kissed the little line.  “I’m sorry, Merry.  I wish I could give you what you want,” he murmured, before dragging himself out of bed.  Shower first, and then breakfast, and then maybe he’d feel more human.  And then, maybe they’d talk.

            Pippin scrubbed the sweat and stickiness of the night before off quickly, and then just let the water pound the back of his head, running down his body.  The soothing feeling relaxed him, and if it carried a few tears away, no one needed to know.  Merry’s words last night had brought memories to the forefront that Pippin didn’t necessarily want there.  Memories of boys who’d said they loved him, and of a mother whose face turned ugly when she ordered him out of her sight.

            Not now, Pippin ordered himself.  Not now.  It’s past.  And he turned his mind to the beautiful man in the bedroom, and took a deep breath, and things were a little better, and stayed that way as he got out, toweled off, and dressed.

            Pippin, grateful again for the deli at the end of the block, soon returned to their room bearing a bag of goodies in one hand and two cups of coffee in the other.  He set everything down on the cluttered nightstand, shoving some battered Lovecraft novels aside.

            Merry had shifted to lie in the center of the bed, flat on the mattress and curled around Pippin’s pillow.  He mumbled something when Pippin crawled up onto the bed and curled himself closer around the pillow.

            Pippin reached out to stroke his hair, tangled in sleep, and tugged at it a little.  “Merry, my Merry, wake up,” he sang sweetly, and Merry did indeed crack an eye open.

            “Come on, I got us breakfast.  A treat, today!  Bagels with cream cheese, and lox.”  Pippin smiled encouragingly, but Merry’s eyes closed again, and he rolled over with his back to Pippin.  “Sleepy,” he mumbled.  “Jus’ lemme get a few more hours.”  His breathing deepened almost immediately, and Pippin sat and ate his breakfast quietly, watching Merry.  Once or twice, he tentatively reached a hand forward to touch Merry, or rub his back, but he pulled back each time.

            Finished eating, Pippin went out to the living room, feeling rather battered.  He felt sleepy and muzzy, despite the coffee, and almost instinctively reached for the acoustic guitar that rarely left the apartment.  Although he had a sweet electric for the band, this one was for working out songs, or when he needed to not think for a while.  This was for the old ballads he’d learned first on it, and the love songs he’d play for Merry every once in a long while.  His fingers flowed across the strings, following patterns that had been encoded into Pippin’s DNA.  He might have been born and raised in Pennsylvania Deutsch country, but the songs of the Welsh immigrants he was descended from sang in his soul, and the songs of the Irish and the Scots immigrants who had been their neighbors.  They had come to this new land looking for riches, and instead were sent into the mines, to work their lives out in the dark and the dust and the explosions.

            Pippin let the melancholy tunes follow each other, singing softly when he knew the words, and as he’d intended, the rest of the world flowed away.  The strings were comfortable underneath his fingers; familiar as the tunes he played.

            Eventually, he came back into himself, though still playing, and noticed Merry sitting on the other end of the futon, leaning against the back of it and smiling.  Pippin trailed off playing and smiled tentatively.  Merry gave a shy smile back, and spoke.

            “That was lovely, Pippin.  I wish you’d play at home more;  you’re very talented.”  His smiled widened at Pippin’s blush.

            “Thank you, Mer,” he said softly.  “I should, but I didn’t know if it bothered you.”

            “Not at all,” Merry said firmly.  “I wasn’t just flattering you, Pip--you are very good, and your voice is lovely.  It’s true!”  He laughed when Pippin ducked his head, trying to hide his blushes.  Merry leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, almost playfully, and Pippin put the guitar aside, taking Merry’s hands in his.

            “Let’s you and me have a lazy day, where we just fold out the futon and lie here, watching TV, Pip.  I’ve been working so hard, lately, and so have you.”  Merry’s voice was cajoling, and Pippin readily agreed.  Merry, especially, had been working a lot, and Pippin treasured the thought of a day with him.

            They got settled on the makeshift bed, but Pippin stopped Merry before he could flip the TV on.

            “Merry, please, I need to know--are you angry about what I said last night?”  Pippin’s voice was a little higher than usual, but steady, and his eyes were calm when they met Merry’s.

            “Oh, Pippin, I’m not,” Merry said, but his voice was heavy.  “Not with you, anyway.”  He smiled and reached out, lifting one of Pippin’s hands to kiss the knuckles.  “I’m angry with those who hurt you, so you couldn’t trust to words.  I’m so angry with them, for tossing you aside.  Maybe I’m a little hurt, that you can’t trust me, though.”

            “I’m sorry, Merry.”  Pippin’s voice cracked a little, but cleared for his next question.  “When did you know, though?  When did you start to think we were forever?”

            Merry smiled then, lighting his whole face, and he reached for Pippin’s other hand, holding them both in his and rubbing Pippin’s knuckles with his thumb.

            “It wasn’t very long ago, love.  It was--it was the night you got hurt.  When I got that call from Frodo that you’d been beaten up, and they were taking you to Aragorn so he could look at you and would I meet you there.  Pippin, I went so cold, because that was the phone call I never wanted to get.  And then I got there, and you were still covered in blood, and Aragorn was stitching a cut just above your eyes, and you looked so scared and confused.”  Merry’s breathing became ragged for a moment and he bent his head, closing his eyes against tears that threatened to fall.  Pippin squeezed his hands back, tightly, and Merry continued.

            “And I saw you there, and knew that I couldn’t ever, ever let you be taken from me.  I knew I’d spend the rest of my life with you, Pip, because I couldn’t bear to give you up.”  Merry gently kissed the backs of Pippin’s hands, letting tears fall at last.

            “Oh, sweetheart,” Pippin breathed, and took Merry in his arms.  “Oh, Mer.  Oh, I love you so.”  Merry held him tight and Pippin rubbed his back for a moment. 

            “You do understand, I’d really rather not come to that realization in the same way.  I think that’d be best for both of us, hmm?”  Pippin leaned back to look Merry in the eye, and grinned a little at him, causing the tear-streaked blond to laugh.

            “I really think it would be, Pippin,” he gasped out, continuing to laugh, and Pippin joined in, feeling some of the tension flow away.

            They fell back, still giggling weakly minutes later, and wound up in each other’s arms.

            “I love you, Merry Brandybuck,” Pippin said firmly.  “No matter what, always remember that.  I hurt you badly last night, I think, and I want to make up for that.”

            Merry kissed Pippin right between the eyes, holding him close.  “I love you too.  And if I said I wasn’t hurt, I’d be lying.  But we’ll help each other, okay?  We have lots of talking to do, but not right now, lovely.”

            Pippin nodded firmly, and moved pillows around until Merry was comfortably propped up, and Pippin was snuggled up against him, his head on Merry’s chest.  They stayed like that, happily in each other’s arms, for the rest of the day, gleefully watching a Brat Pack marathon.  Pippin dozed off and on, usually waking up with a sleepy kiss for Merry, sometimes just rearranging himself to doze back off more comfortably. 

            Dinner was called for with cries for pizza, and a mushroom pizza was, indeed, shortly delivered and eaten with much gusto.  Music replaced the television, and Pippin was snuggled back against Merry, lying between his knees with his back to Merry’s chest this time.  Merry ran his hand through Pippin’s curls, teasing a little about their springiness, and Pippin stretched and smiled luxuriantly, looking entirely like a pleased cat.  Merry told him so, and got a quick nip on the nose for his troubles. 

            Pippin rolled over so that he was on his side, face-to-face with Merry.  He reached out to cup Merry’s cheek in one hand, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and serious.

            “Merry-mine, I never meant to hurt you, and I did.  I picked the worst time possible, and I’m so sorry.”

            Merry covered Pippin’s hand with his own, sliding it around to kiss the palm.  “Love, you’ve apologized at least twice today for that, and I’ve forgiven you.  And I’ll forgive you again, and every other time you ask.  We’ve gotten in fights before, and hurt each other, and we make up each time, Pip.  Why is this different?”

            Pippin sighed deeply, and suddenly looked much older than his years.  “Because--I don’t know.  Because I’ve had my heart broken enough times that I never, ever wanted you to go through that, and then I went and hurt you myself.  Because I woke to see tearstains on your face.  Because I want so, so badly to believe that you’ll never leave me,” he finished in a whisper.

            Merry held Pippin close as he shook with emotions too strong for tears, and petted his hair, dropping secret kisses among the curls.  “Calm, my Pippin, be calm.  Be well, love, my lover, my heart.  Shh, no, it’s all right,” he murmured.  “I know you love me, and I am patient.  My dearest, you’ve been hurt so, of course you’ll be slow to trust.  All will be well, Pippin, I love you and will hold you close and safe for--for as long as you want me to.”  Merry bit back the ‘forever’, reminding himself he’d promised not to say it until Pippin could believe it.  He felt a surge of white-hot anger at everyone who’d hurt his lad and scarred his heart so that he couldn’t trust Merry completely, even after three years of loving and living together.

            Eventually, though, Pippin’s shaking stopped, and he relaxed in Merry’s arms, his face still tightly pressed against Merry’s chest.

            “Do you want to talk, sweeting?”  Merry asked gently, stroking Pippin’s hair.  A sigh emerged, and Pippin moved back to face Merry.

            “Not really,” he said, making a face.  “But I should.  You know pretty much everything.  My Mum caught me necking with one of the Stolzfus brothers, and my Dad kicked me out of the house.  I was fourteen, then.”

            Merry’s breath caught in his throat.  “Oh, Pip,” he murmured.  “I didn’t know you were that young.  You grew up so fast.”

            Pippin smiled a little at that.  “Not really.  I lived with my sister Pearl after that--you’ll meet her eventually, she’s really great.  According to her, though, I was your average teenager.”  Merry smiled and kissed Pippin on the nose.

            “I would like to meet her.  I would love to meet your parents, and tell them what I think of them disowning their own child--but I won’t,” he finished, teasing with his pout, but there was real anger in his eyes, which took Pippin aback a little.  Merry’s relationship with his own parents was strained a little, but they still spoke, more or less.  He’d never shown any real anger towards them, or Pippin’s parents either.

            Pippin shrugged.  “It’s how they were raised.  Mennonites aren’t the most liberal people, Mer.  They grew up on a farm, and their families knew each other for hundreds of years, and they didn’t really move outside of that conservative, old-fashioned sphere.  That’s how I was raised, pretty much.”

            “I don’t care who raised them, or how,” Merry growled, softening his voice when Pippin looked up, startled.  “They’re supposed to love you, Pippin, no matter what.  They’re not supposed to put conditions on that!  You’re their child, love, not a lamp that went out of style!  Please, please, don’t think that they were ever right to do what they did.”  He hugged Pippin hard, and Pippin hugged back just as hard.

            “I know, Mer.  I guess.  I don’t know--I haven’t thought about it very much.”  He voice shook a little from strain, and he rubbed his temples a little, trying to relieve the headache that was coming on.

            “Ah, love.  They brought you into this world, for which I will be forever grateful, but I can’t think much of them, I’m afraid.  You’re right, you did grow up there--but you’re also the one who was necking with some guy.”

            Pippin smiled a little at that, and Merry noticed he was looking a bit pale, his eyes huge and bright.

            “Wait here, lovely one,” he said with a smooch to Pippin’s forehead.  “I’ll be right back.”  Pippin curled up, taking Merry’s place on the pillow, and snuggled into the warm spot that lingered.  Merry returned quickly, though, with an open bottle of wine and two glasses.

            “Just take the comfy spot, Pip,” he teased, and sat down, cross-legged, next to his lover.  “Now, this is hardly sanctioned by the American Psychiatric Association, but you need to relax, m’dear.  Drink up!”  And Merry filled both of their glasses, raising his in a toast.  Pippin followed suite, and took a large mouthful, half-draining the glass.  He lay back again, moving over to make room for Merry, still with his glass in hand, although Merry had put his on the floor next to the wine.

            “My turn to cuddle!” he declared, hoping to lighten the mood as much as possible.  Pippin managed a smile as Merry lay his head down on Pippin’s stomach, playfully kissing it.  Pippin was suddenly grateful for the teasing and the jokes, even more so than the comforting sounding board Merry was being, and leaned down, tugging him up for a long kiss.

            Merry, lying against Pippin again, reached up to run his fingers over Pippin’s lips.  “You’re very dear to me, Pippin,” was all he said, but it was enough, and Pippin was smiling as he kissed Merry’s fingertips.

            “Now finish your wine,” Merry chided, and Pippin complied.  After he’d moved the glass to the floor, they settled themselves again, Pippin lying against the pillows, with Merry’s head on his stomach.

            “So,” he continued, “I was living with Pearl while I was in high school.  She’s quite a bit older than me, far better traveled, and had chosen not to be Mennonite, so she was pretty cool with the whole gay thing.  I started dating this guy Benny when I was pretty young--I think I’d just turned fifteen.”

            Pippin paused, staring off into the distance for a while, remembering.  There were some things—he hadn’t liked living them much the first time around, and he didn’t fancy doing it a second time.  But the wine loosened his tongue, and he found it easier to recount the memories like this, relaxed and with Merry holding his hand and looking up at him, ready to listen and understand.

            “He wasn’t much older.  Maybe sixteen.  I fell in love with him.  I think I really did, Merry.  He was my whole wide world, maybe too much.  I don’t know;  I’d just lost most of my family, the land I grew up on, and just about everyone I knew.  But he said he loved me, and he made love to me with his body, but the heart wasn’t there, I don’t think.”

            Pippin took a deep breath before continuing.  “Then he said, one day, he didn’t like me anymore.  He wanted to try dating girls.  He said he wanted to be normal.”  Pippin spit out the last phrase with a vitriol that made Merry wrap both of his hands around Pippin’s, squeezing them hard.  Pippin was quiet for a long while, again, and Merry waited.  “He said he loved me,” Pippin said, in nearly a whisper.  “He made love to me, and then he said I meant nothing.  He called me a faggot, and disgusting, and never spoke to me again.”  Tears began to run down Pippin’s face, and Merry twisted around to gather Pippin close to him, aligning their bodies. 

            Pippin sobbed, and clung to Merry, letting out pain he’d kept inside too long.  It wasn’t his way to bottle up his emotions, but this had been too strong when it was happening, and he soaked the front of Merry’s shirt with the force of it.

            Merry held him close, murmuring the soothing things people always murmur at times like this, simply because it was something to do.

            Pippin’s breaths were still hitching, but the tears had stopped, after a while.  Merry still held him tight, rubbing his back, sometimes running his fingers through Pippin’s hair.  Pippin held him back just as tight, but made himself relax his grip when Merry gasped involuntarily at the pressure.

            “Oh, my Pippin,” Merry murmured, and Pippin released a long sigh before leaning back enough to meet Merry eye-to-eye.

            “No more tonight, Mer.  I really--just, not tonight.”  Pippin sniffed, tears gone at last, and he scrubbed at his eyes a little.

            “No more,” Merry agreed.  “No more until you’re ready, sweeting.  I’ll be here, waiting.”

            Pippin nodded quickly, giving Merry a watery smile.  “I love you,” he said softly, and reached for Merry again.  Snug in his arms once again, Pippin ran his hands up Merry’s back, underneath his shirt.

            They lay together, for a long while, wrapped up in their own thoughts, until Merry smooched the top of Pippin’s head.  “Shall we just stay here, Pip, or make our way to the bed?  You look exhausted, lovely, and I need to get up early to do some work.”

            Pippin stretched, and sat up.  “Mm.  Bed, I guess.  I could sleep for a week, right now.”  He yawned and rubbed his eyes until they were red, but at least they didn’t feel so scratchy.  “I should get a shower or something, I’m a mess.”

            Merry tugged Pippin upright, and walked him back to the bedroom with an arm around his shoulders.  “Wash your face tonight, and then crawl in with me.  We can take a shower together tomorrow.”  Pippin smiled a little at that, and leaned closer, wrapping an arm around Merry’s waist.

            Merry had stripped down and was already half asleep when Pippin crawled in next to him, feeling empty in a delicious sort of way.  Merry was sleeping splayed out on his stomach as usual, so Pippin just curled around one side of him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

            “’Night, Merry,” he called softly, and Merry mumbled something unintelligible in response, but pulled Pippin closer.  Pippin tucked his head against Merry’s shoulder, and breathing the smell of clean sweat, and soap and wine, fell into a deep sleep.

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