By: Dana
Summary: When emotions bottle up, they come out in a storm.
Characters: Pippin, Merry
Pairings: Merry/Pippin
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash, light sexual content implied
Author's Notes: Written for the 'shallow, tall, fire, tangle; aggressive' challenge on ringprov.
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.

It was early autumn and the dry heat of the day, heavy and sickeningly sweet like old ale, tasted more of summer, a too bright sun and dust thick in the air, than of the fall. There was fire in the west, down low in the sky, that tangle of red and gold, pink and grey, that heralded the end of the day.

In the east, dark clouds gathered; a storm was on its way.

There had been no welcome sweet breeze, only a heat that rose steadily over the course of the day. It was a sickening sort, sweet, and it covered all of Buckland, down from the river all the way up to the High Hay. At Crickhollow, in the middle of it all, the silence and the heat, all was still.

Pippin watched Merry, where he sat across the room, content in the heat that Pippin himself felt almost was too much to bear. But this was Buckland, and Buckland was in Merry's blood. Pippin tapped his fingers against the long arm of his chair, wanting, needing to hear something, anything.

And Merry looked up from the book that he read, a look of annoyance shining obvious enough, and Pippin fought back the urge to sneer. "Do you mind?"

Pippin forced a smile, instead. "Sorry."

Merry gave a nod and looked back to his book, slowly turning the page. Pippin felt frustrated tears burn in his eyes and he held then back, forced them back in, worried his lower lip as he closed his eyes tight.

The dark was nice, very nice, almost cool and somewhat sweet.

And they had gone through a lot, Pippin told himself, both together, and apart. But there had always been a something, through out, that had held them together. It was sad, then, that that something was gone, now, when it was needed most.

He didn't even know what it was.

All that he did know, was that it was right.

And he knew that he should trust Merry, but this was it, and that was that, and in the morning he would be gone. Back on his way to Tookland, and there would be no looking back. Oh, but he would, but there was little else that he could do. Run away, Pippin supposed, but he knew that no matter how far he went, in the end, he would be found.

He began to tap his fingers again, not so intentional as it had been before, and Merry looked up, that same annoyance stretching wide as he gave an exasperated sigh. "Honestly, Pippin," he said, lowering his book, "must you keep doing that? It's beginning to get on my nerves."

"Sorry," Pippin said again, setting his hand in his lap. Merry's lip twisted in a grimace and he gave another sigh, just as heavy. He lifted the book up, once again, burying himself in its depths, slowly turning the page. Pippin bit down hard on his lower lip, so hard that he could taste the copper hint of blood, then felt a surprisingly cool something rush up his spine. He gasped, blood on his lip, and Merry, ever-aware, did not look up.

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his sleeve, sinking back into the depths of his chair. Oh, it burned, and Pippin wanted to scream. He felt, for a moment, like a child teetering on the edge of a tantrum. He sucked on his lower lip, instead, sucking away the sharp taste of blood.

Oh, and this was important, but Merry didn't seem to care.

"That's it!" he said suddenly, rising up and throwing his hands up high. He felt charged, wound up tight, about to burst, just like a storm. "If you don't care, fine, then neither do I!" The tears were hot on his cheeks and Merry was watching him, wide eyed, numb with the shock of that surprise. Pippin turned on his heel and fled the parlour, leaving Merry in the wake of his silence, shallow like the waters of the Brandywine, after this summer-long drought.

Pippin was out the front door before Merry even began to follow, too stunned by Pippin's sudden out burst, and when he did manage, rising up to stumble to the front door, gaining back his footing with each step, Pippin was running out under the too-black clouds of the gathering storm.

Angry thunder crashed, caused the air to shake. Merry was reminded of the booming voices of the Ents, old as the earth itself, shaking the world down to it's roots. And this was different, but all the same, thick and primal, dizzy and intense. At the back of his mind, he pictured the Old Forest, and could picture the trees, expectant, waiting for the break of the storm.

It was hot, still, and the air was still. Merry shook off his memories, waded free of those thoughts, and began to run after Pippin, the song of the thunder out of control. He remembered a once before, Pippin running out into another storm, so many years ago. But the memory was foggy, far too dim. He couldn't remember, no, not completely.

He couldn't help but feel that he should.

But that was then and this was now, and here he had thought that Pippin had grown up.

"Pippin!" he shouted, surging forward, making a lunge and grabbing for his cousin's arm. He made contact and pulled Pippin back against him, hard. Pippin twisted in his hold, freed himself with a sneer. He stumbled back, hot tears in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you care now," Pippin hissed.

Merry held his hands up, confusion registering clearly in his eyes. "Pip, love, I don't know what you mean. What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

And Pippin hated it, hated the feel that he was being treated like a child, so he drew himself up tall, to his full height. His shadow stretched out, mingling with Merry's, and a gust of hot hair blew, tugging at their curls. "Don't you act like you don't know," Pippin whispered and Merry took a faltering step back. There it was, that grief, and Merry didn't know how he couldn't know. Maybe it's just that he had hoped for the best, perhaps that the day would never come. But here it was, sharp like a knife, and Merry fancied he could feel it cutting right into his skin.

And Merry knew that he knew, but he didn't want to know.

"Pippin, it's just..."

"It's just what?" Pippin demanded. "You're supposed to at least care, but you don't, and I leave Crickhollow in the morning. But that doesn't matter, does it? No, no, not at all." The thunder surged to it's peak, loud, echoing the flat heat of Pippin's anger. It continued to rumble, fading into the distance, only to swell again, discordant in it's melody.

"Pippin, I do -"

"You do what?" Pippin snapped, then turned away. He shook his head, buried his hands deep into his hair. "You don't care. Da's wanting me to return to the Smials, to meet my bride-to-be, and you don't care. I haven't even met her yet, Merry. This isn't fair, why don't you care?"

Merry felt that he would choke, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

"And here you are, acting like it's nothing, and it's everything. If you love me so much, it doesn't seem real." He looked to Merry again, a bitter grin seizing his lips. "Maybe it wasn't love that you wanted," Pippin whispered, and the way his lips twisted up, frightening, made Merry think that Pippin thought that he wanted nothing else but their bed to share.

The heavens crashed and the rain came down, mingling with the tears of shock that Merry didn't even know that he cried. He broke free of the moment, pulling his lips back in a sneer. He could feel the anger, so he embraced it; it was easier that way. "Shut up, Pippin. You don't know what you're talking about."

"That's a good one, Merry," Pippin scoffed, turning on his heel. Merry grabbed for him, again, hand closing around his upper arm, and Merry held Pippin still.

"Don't you dare turn away, Pippin, you don't say something like that, and act like it's nothing, then turn and walk away." And Merry held him fast, though Pippin struggled, and Pippin lifted his chin high as he turned to face his cousin. Anger boiled in his eyes, grief that was all-consuming, but then it all crumpled, in a hot rush of air, and Pippin didn't seem to be much of anything, now, just a shadow left over, of his moment ago rage.

"I don't want to lose you."

"You daft Took, you aren't going to lose me," Merry almost laughed, his fingers digging in tight. He might as well scream, shout it to the sky. "I'll be here forever."

"But I won't be by your side."

Merry sobered a bit, then, trying to see clear in the storm, and he felt the thankful cool of the rain, at last. It was refreshing, where the heat of the day had drained, and Merry smiled, which caused Pippin to frown.

"It's a new day, then."

"Merry, what -"

"It's a new day, perhaps the drought is through." Merry wouldn't let him speak, though Pippin tried to have his way. Pippin couldn't help but feel for his cousin's sanity, as it was anything but a new day, the end of one instead. "We've waited for this rain."

Pippin seemed to notice it then, at length, and he shook his head. He lifted his head up, felt the rain cool against his skin, and where Merry's hand gripped his arm, he began to go numb.

"I love you, oh, Pippin, I love you more and more each day. But we've responsibilities to live up to, and that's a something that can't be changed." Merry loosened his grip from around Pippin's arm, lifted both his hands up to cup Pippin's cheeks. They were bound together, then, eye to eye, and Pippin couldn't even feel his tears, where they mingled with the hard rain. "I'll love you forever."

"But my Da -"

"Uncle Paladin is doing what's best for you, Pippin," Merry said, sighing. He cracked a grin, then, leaning forwards so that their lips were a breath apart. It was good, just that, almost-but-not-quite, and it was more dizzy than the actual kiss, that expectation that caused his blood to burn. "And maybe she won't be so bad."

"I suppose she might not be," Pippin replied, letting his eyes close. The anger all seemed silly, now, standing in the cool of the rain. He felt that he could live forever, right then, and no matter what, Merry would always be there - even, and he echoed his earlier words, if he wasn't at his side.

But a little, Pippin knew, might not be a lot, but that didn't mean that he shouldn't love what he had, and take what he could make his own. And he would look back, one day, and he might just laugh and the childishness of it all. But it was real, and it was bitter, and it tasted like regret. And that was the first compromise, just the first of many.

"I'm sure she won't be," Merry whispered, letting the silence hover, then, and it was Pippin who pressed his lips close, just like it had been, that first time before. It was hard, like Pippin was hanging on to all that he had, and Merry pushed back as hard. Oh, and it was good, not slow and sweet like their first, so long ago, but it reached out and pulled them down into the flames.

And Pipp n guessed that for the time being, that was more than enough.

They stood for a time in the rain, soaked down to the bone, before heading back to the house. It was dark now, the night had come, and the sounds of the storm raged beyond the walls of the house. They stripped their sodden clothes in the front hall, and Pippin looked to Merry, and tried to hope for the best. Maybe his bride wouldn't be too bad, but she would never be Merry.

And perhaps they were a bit nervous, then, kissing like they hadn't before, touching more for the need to have something to remember, than anything else. And maybe that's what made it better, like it was new again, not a path that they had already traveled down.

The next morning, the sun rose in a swell of colour, pink and red and gold, up into a sky that was clear and cool and blue. In their room, Merry and Pippin lay tangled together amidst the covers. It was the beginning of a new day, tasting of hope, fresh and sweet like the finest elven wine.

And the storm was gone, but not for good.