By: Dana
Summary: When there is something that must be said, though no good can come of it.
Characters: Pippin, Merry, mention of Diamond
Pairings: Merry/Pippin, Pippin/Diamond
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst, slash
Author's Notes: As is most of what I write, this was written in a single sitting. It is post-quest, and it looks at things, I think, in a different way. Expect angst.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

He had thought to end the night in silence, wandering the halls of the Great Smials. It was something that he often did - after all, there was no greater silence than that which fell after the hobbits had turned to their beds for the night.

Pippin could not have known that his nightly pastime was shared by Merry - and to find his cousin wandering those same halls had been a great surprise. Yet it had been passed over with smiles and laughter, and Pippin confessed nervousness for the day to come. After that, they had made their way to the main kitchen.

There, they had sat, and they had drank, and they talked.

It was quiet again now, and Merry could feel the warmth of exhaustion as it began to cloud his mind. It had been a long day, and a longer night; the day to come would draw upon him even more.

Merry sighed into his empty mug, staring at the bottom; it had all drained clear away, and it felt empty, like old forgotten dreams. He was glad that he was not Pippin. He did not think that he could face the day.

And it was Pippin's voice that drew him from his thoughts.

"Here you are, Merry, have another mug. It's on me."

Merry laughed and accepted the mug, clapping Pippin on the shoulder with his free hand. "That it is, cousin. After all, you're to be the hobbit of the night."

Pippin grinned and leaned back, taking a long pull from his own mug. Merry watched him intently for a moment, the way that his eyes half-closed as he drank, the slight flare of his nostrils - just two of more things than Merry could count, that made Pippin Pippin. Merry sighed and shook his head then, and drank.

"I am, aren't I?" Pippin reflected.

"Well, you're the one who'll be getting married tomorrow night, cousin," Merry replied with a grin, licking the ale from his lips.

"You're quite right about that, Merry," Pippin replied, with a grin of his own. "Which means that I'll be the luckiest hobbit in the entire Shire, to have Diamond."

"I've got to agree with you, Pippin," said Merry softly. "After all, there isn't a lass out there that's quite like her."

"No, there's definitely not. There wouldn't be enough room for two of them, and the Shire is an awfully big place." Of course, it was not as big as the wide world beyond, but it was enough for them.

They shared a look and a laugh and then the silence of a drink. It was late enough in the evening that even with the festivities for the day to come, and the silence was almost more that the cavernous kitchen could bear. Pippin finished his mug and set it down with a deep sigh, and the thunk of glass against thick wood echoed. Pippin was glad that Merry had arrived early from Crickhollow - this was a last night that meant a lot, and he would not want to spend it alone.

It was that final step in growing up; to marry, to start a family. He would build for the next generation. And he wanted to marry, and he certainly loved Diamond. There wasn't a lass out there that could out match her, not in beauty, or in wit. Diamond, to Pippin, was a jewel like her name implied. There were hobbits who would give a leg and an arm just to have a kiss. And on the morrow, they would be wed.

He could not wait.

He wished that he could run.

He wished that he could tell Merry, that for all of his laughter and his grins, that this was something that he was not sure that he could face, because there was something that was left undone. And it would not be all right, if that something would be left like a wound to fester. It would eat him from the inside out.

Already, Pippin could feel its touch.

"Pippin?" Merry spoke as Pippin sighed again. Pippin looked to him and shook his head, grinning slightly.

"I think that I need another mug."

"Are you so certain?" Merry asked, though he was already moving to fill the mug again. "Here," he said, and the silence threatened to consume. He forced himself too speak again, and grin. "Drink up."

"I will."

"Pippin," Merry questioned him, as he brought the glass to his lips. "Is there something you need to tell me?"

Pippin laughed and took a deep swallow. "I don't see what you mean, Merry."

"Something seems to be the matter."

"Isn't it always?"

"Now Pippin, acting like you're seven isn't going to help," Merry commented wryly. Pippin snorted and looked away, losing himself in the reflection he found in his mug of ale. Merry sighed and watched his cousin, hoping for some sign of what it was that troubled him.

But then, perhaps it was obvious.

"You're afraid."

"Now why do you say that?" Pippin replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Because it's obvious, Pip," Merry replied sharply. As an afterthought, he took a drink, then set the mug down upon the long table. "Now Pippin, I think that it would be best for the both of us if you'd just tell me what it is. Otherwise, I'll be forced to make assumptions, and you know as well as I that that's never good."

Pippin began to reply and then snorted and shook his head. He wiped a hand across his eyes and, as his own mug was empty, took Merry's mug by the handle and drained it, before setting it back down. "You just know me too well, don't you, Merry?" Pippin paused and took a deep breath, and Merry found him distracted, with the way that Pippin's lips moved as he breathed. "I think that I need another one, Merry."

"And I think that you've had enough, Pippin. After all, what's the fun of being married, if you're hung-over the day that you wed?"

"Pah," said Pippin. He rose and Merry reached for him, grabbing him around the wrist.

"Now Pippin..."

"Just let me enjoy myself, Merry," Pippin said, did not plead; Pippin was not a child anymore, and was not one to whine.

"See," and Merry sighed as he let Pippin go. "I knew you were afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Pippin snapped, and Merry couldn't remember Pippin ever having had that tone of voice, or that exact look upon his face - it did not seem to fit the Pippin that he knew, the Pippin that he had always known. It was loike looking into a mirror, and not knowing the face that looked back; because suddenly, after all those years of knowing yourself, you'd gone and changed and you never even knew.

"Pippin..." and Merry rose and reached for Pippin's hand. Pippin would have nothing of it and drew away.

"I'm not afraid," Pippin said again, then sighed and widened his eyes. "Oh, Merry, don't you see, this is it."

"This is... it's the last night that you'll be... oh, you'll make a fine husband, Pippin, I don't see why you worry."

Pippin seemed to be at a loss for words and closed his eyes. "This is just a dream, Merry. And I'm going t wake up. This can't be happening."

"But Pippin - Diamond..."

"Oh, Merry, I love her. I couldn't ask for a more loving lass... but there's something wrong with me, Merry. Something that's not quite natural." Pippin's throat was tight now and he reached out and grabbed Merry's hands, squeezing so hard that Merry could his fingers begin to go numb. "You know it, Merry. You know what I mean."

"I don't - Pippin, there's nothing wrong with you," Merry whispered in reply, finding those words harder than they should be. "There's nothing... and you should know..."

"Oh, but there is, Merry. And you should know. It's wrong with you, too."

"Pippin," Merry responded, startled. He was closer now and Merry backed up, hitting the table behind. The pain spread along his lower back and Pippin was right there, right in his face, and Merry could hardly breathe. "Pippin -"

"Oh, Merry, don't you see?" Pippin asked again, then paused. "You don't... oh, Merry, you don't." He reached out and cupped Merry's cheek, sighing. Merry shuddered, the warmth of Pippin's breath stirring against his lips.

"Pippin, please, you can't -"

"I've always known," Pippin whispered, soft, and Merry felt himself slamming into a wall. He lost his breath and nearly crumpled, but Pippin's hands were at his shoulders, supporting him. "I felt it too."

"Y-you... you what?"

"I've always known," and the heady warmth of Pippin's breath, sweet like the summer sun, made him weak in the knees. "Always, Merry. Always."

Merry had to remember how to breathe again, and it hurt, like nails in his lungs, and those first words were forced and choppy. "You... you've always... known?" and Pippin nodded slowly.

Knowing was that thing, indescribable, that had always been there between the two. That understanding, that friendship, that love, thicker than blood. And it had been there, always. From that time when Merry had seen little baby Pippin, and had decided that they would be the best of friends. And then, that change, when Pippin was older, a tween, and the love of cousins merged into something else. But he had never reached to take what could have been, and he had been happy. And up to this day, Merry had never had any regrets. But suddenly that was a lie, and all the years that he'd loved, and stood still, seemed faded and grey when he looked at them with his mind's eye.

Merry had, for all that he was worth, loved Pippin with his everything for so long, that he had forgot that there was any other way to live. And Pippin, loving Diamond, had hurt. But it had been a hurt that he had managed and he had overcome.

And Pippin, always knowing, would be his end.

"How can you..." Merry gasped for breath. "How can you dare tell me this, Pippin," he hissed, and Pippin laughed sharply. And yet he did not move, invading any privacy that Merry still retained. Pippin exhaled and Merry breathed him in. "You're to be married tomorrow, Pippin. This is... how could you... it's nothing, Pippin, it's nothing, how could you do this, how could you say what you've said!"

His mind was spinning and Pippin was too real, too sharp, and Merry guessed that he was a knife. The world around him began to swirl, or maybe it was just him. The next thing that Merry knew, he was sitting, and Pippin was at his side.

"Just breathe, Merry," Pippin whispered, and Merry tried to. He was glad that he sat, as his knees had turned to water.

He wanted to scream and shout, he wanted to tell Pippin that this was not the way that it should be. He wanted to cry because there was a wasted life and a ruined love behind him. If what Pippin said was true, all that they had lost... All that could have been, and never would. He wanted to be mad and he could feel the slow burn of his temper. But there was something that doused that fire before it could even be. And it was Pippin and he could not hate him when he loved him so much.

"Pippin," and his words were choked, and Merry's sholders shook as he tried to hold it in.

"Breathe, Merry, breathe. Let it all out."

Merry wanted to say no, to keep it all to himself, to let it fester and eat at him from the inside out. It would be another darkness to face, to conquer or let be conquer. Merry shook his head and closed his eyes, rubbing his knuckles across the bridge of his nose. "This can't be, Pippin."

"I know," and Merry heard his own pain there, but it was subdued; it was something that Pippin had come to terms with. "We had a chance, Merry, but I... I couldn't bring myself to it, Merry. I couldn't let myself. And now... I love her, you know. And I'll always love you."

Merry wondered if that was supposed to make it all better.

"It's not... this isn't fair, Pippin."

Pippin laughed softly, bitter. "I know."

Merry laughed, too, and felt tears on his cheek. "Take it back," he pleaded. "Please, Pippin, take it back."

"Can't," Pippin replied lightly.

"You have to..."

"Can't..."

Merry groaned and fell into Pippin's waiting arms, crushing his face against his cousin's shoulders and wrapping his arms around him like it was the end of the world. So much that could have been, and would never be. So much, and so little, and now -

"You have to take it back, Pippin. I can't live knowing. It'll never be enough."

"Yes you can, Merry. It'll be all right."

"No, no, it never will be."

Pippin help onto him and wished that he could take it all back - but if Merry said he couldn't live knowing, then Pippin couldn't live without having told.

"It'll be all right," Pippin whispered, closing his eyes.

The next thing that was, was the feel of Merry's lips against his own. Ale and tears and broken dreams, blending together, and Pippin gasped as Merry pushed at his lips. What could be was still in reach, his mind seemed to say. But Pippin knew that it could not be.

It was sweet and it was soft and Pippin couldn't seem to find the heart to push or pull away. Merry breathed Pippin in, something to remember, something to hold onto. Just one something that could stay. Because that something would be better than the emptiness that not having nothing would leave.

Pippin's voice pierced the fog of Merry's mind, firm, and Merry blinked and saw the world through a haze. "Pippin?" he whispered, and saw Pippin's frown, and the shadows that flooded his eyes.

"It cannot be."

And everything that he'd had, and could have had, would have to be, because he couldn't think of not having Pippin there, his voice, his everything.

And Merry would live to learn.

"It's not the only thing."

And there it was, that smile that Merry had fallen in love with, and Pippin pushed a hand back through his curls. "Well," he said, and Merry chuckled.

"Here's to another round."

"I'll drink to that."

And he'd rather live knowing, than die without.