Chapter Text
The ride back to Base was largely lost to Bilbo. He would later remember pressing sea-salt kisses into Thorin’s bearded cheek, breathless with relief, but he would be unable to recall the mess of words that tumbled from his mouth, shaped by stress and gratitude. Flashes of emotions, sights and sounds were all blurred together indiscriminately; being hauled up into the waiting helicopter, the gentle hands of the medics looking them over, the flash of blue and brighter blue that made up sea and sky – this was all that Bilbo was left with in the wake of their rescue. But there was one tangible memory that seemed to thread all the rest together, a constant that settled Bilbo’s heart whenever he thought of it: the feel of Thorin’s hand in his own, their fingers interwoven, not parting for a second, not even when the medics began to assess their collective hurts.
But the toll of battle and his near-suffocation was too much for his aching body, and his jumbled-up memories came to a definite end when he passed out before they reached the Base, the sound of the helicopter’s engines following him even into unconsciousness.
His tired and overwhelmed mind could process little when he next awoke. The low lighting, the sharp, clinical smell of the medical wing, the scratch of the bed-sheets – these were all he knew for the first few minutes of his return to the waking world. His body ached with the dull and distant ache of pain being held in check by the really good kind of drugs. The medical teams must have removed his armour and circuitry suit at some point, to replace them with a lightweight t-shirt and trousers, and he felt strangely naked without its solid weight on his shoulders and limbs.
For a few moments he was content to do nothing more than lay there and listen to the beep of the monitors, his thought processes blunted by the drugs, the pain and the exhaustion. But he steadily became aware of a disquiet that reached right down to his bones, an itch in his mind he couldn’t scratch, and through his tiredness he registered that something was terribly wrong. He frowned, unable to understand why his breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps with every passing second.
And then, in a flash, he thought, Thorin.
The dwarf was still there, he realised, a dormant presence resting quietly at the back of his mind. Bilbo tilted his head instinctively to the right, and his whole body relaxed on a sigh. His co-pilot was laid out on the bed next to him, barely a foot away. But he still wasn’t close enough.
Driven by some unknown instinct he couldn’t explain, even if he had been blessed with a clear mind, Bilbo shuffled himself up onto his elbows, ignoring the flash of pain that shot through every muscle in his body at the movement. He shut his eyes against it as heaved himself up into a sitting position, and paused for a moment, taking a breath and collecting himself for the next stage. His IV drip was strung up onto a moveable hook, and the bag swung around wildly when Bilbo put his bare feet to the cold floor and pushed himself up and off the bed.
Thorin was just a step away. Bilbo concentrated on that above all else, above the aches of his recovering body and the endless tiredness. With shaky legs he shuffled forwards, and collapsed gratefully onto the bed next to Thorin.
The hospital beds were one-size-fits-all, designed to accommodate even the tallest of Elves. Bilbo was therefore afforded a great deal of space when he flumped down on Thorin’s bed, his IV bag trundling along obediently behind him. Bilbo could feel unconsciousness encroaching forcefully on his mind, but he resisted its pull to observe his co-pilot. Thorin’s face was slack in sleep, peaceful but lined with extreme exhaustion. Cuts littered his face, and a nasty bruise was blooming just along the edge of his jaw. One eye was hidden beneath a swathe of bandages, and Bilbo would find time later to worry about that.
Thorin was radiating nothing but the quiet calm of unconsciousness, not even dreams, and it was making Bilbo drowsy. The unease that had been beating away at the back of his perception slipped away. He breathed in Thorin’s distinctive scent, drank in his presence, and felt sleep begin to wash over him like the tide slowly claiming the shore. He reached out and clasped one hand around Thorin’s uncovered wrist, curling up onto one side to face his co-pilot, and let sleep claim him once more.
The first thing he saw upon waking for the second time was Lobelia’s face, hovering just above his. She had clearly been crying, her face splotchy and her eyes red. Bilbo would have liked to tell her this, just to see her scowl in that very particular way of hers, but he couldn’t seem to summon up the energy to do much more than blink at her.
‘Oh, Bilbo,’ she said, voice watery, ‘I don’t have long. I’m just, I’m just so glad you’re alive.’
Bilbo attempted to say how very glad he was about being alive, but all that came out when he tried to shape his mouth around the words was, ‘mfghhhg.’
Lobelia smiled, seemingly bursting with happiness. But Bilbo could think more clearly, now, could remember the events that lead to him being in the hospital wing. One by one, they passed through his mind, each leaving him heavier in their wake. Grief was a physical weight, pushing down on his ribcage and constricting his lungs. How could Lobelia smile, when Kíli and Fíli were dead?
Something must have shown on his face, because Lobelia’s smile faltered, and she shook her head, brows furrowed in confusion.
‘Didn’t they tell you?’ she said.
Bilbo finally remembered how to speak. ‘Tell me what?’ he croaked.
Lobelia let out an unsteady breath. ‘They’re alive, Bilbo. They’re alive. We picked them up shortly after you and Thorin. They were complaining even as they were bundled into the helicopters. They only stopped when the medics sedated them.’
‘They’re alive?’ echoed Bilbo, and now it was his turn for his eyes to brim with tears.
‘Yes, they are. And you saved the world, Bilbo. Not a bad day, in all.’
‘I had a little help,’ said Bilbo, giving her a meaningful look, but Lobelia just grinned and shook her head, her expression becoming sly when she deliberately flicked her gaze over to the bed’s other occupant. Bilbo suddenly became aware of the gentle breaths ruffling the ends of his hair every few seconds. His body had apparently recovered enough to blush, his cheeks flooding with heat.
‘Good to see you took my advice,’ said Lobelia.
‘You do make sense occasionally,’ said Bilbo around a half-smile.
Lobelia’s grin widened, then shifted into a soft smile once more. Gently, she brushed back the lank hair lying across his forehead to press a kiss to the skin there.
‘Sleep,’ she commanded, and as always, Lobelia got her way.
The medical wing was strangely quiet, in spite of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Bilbo would have thought that every single personnel on the Base would have gotten drunk within an hour of the good news. But some of them still had a job to do, and the doctors and nurses went about their duties as usual, albeit with wide smiles and frequent bouts of spontaneous hugging.
One of them, a male elf, came to explain Thorin’s injuries to Bilbo. He should not worry about Thorin’s lack of consciousness, the elf said, as it was perfectly natural after all that Thorin had been through that his exhausted body would be in need of rest.
Thorin had sustained numerous injuries in the Breach, including two broken ribs and abdominal trauma, but the worst of it by far were the after-effects of his solo piloting of Orcrist Sting. The neural overload had damaged his right eye. They had no way of telling if Thorin would regain his vision in that eye.
Bilbo sat on the bed, unable to remove his hand from Thorin’s wrist, even though his fingers were cramping up.
‘I know this is hard to believe,’ said the doctor, whose name was Lindir, ‘but he has had a lucky escape.’
Bilbo said nothing, looking down at his sleeping co-pilot.
‘Bilbo,’ said Lindir, and he waited patiently for the hobbit to look at him. ‘Truly, he was lucky,’ the elf insisted. ‘This was his second attempt at piloting solo. By all accounts, he should be dead. No one can withstand that kind of neural overload even once, but twice-‘
‘Thorin could,’ said Bilbo softly.
Lindir smiled. ‘Evidently. He will recover. You may just have to be patient with him. Let him sleep for as long as his body needs to.’ Lindir paused to shuffle the files in his hands, bringing another to the top.
‘But Thorin wasn’t the only one who was injured,’ he added.
‘I’m fine, just a little tired,’ said Bilbo, but Lindir was already shaking his head.
‘You’re exhausted, which can be dealt with, but the burns on your arms and the damage to the muscles…‘ he trailed off.
‘Will it affect my dexterity?’ asked Bilbo bluntly, though he found he hardly cared one way or another.
‘We’re not sure,’ admitted Lindir. ‘We’ll have to wait and see, and perform some more tests over the next few days. In the meantime, I’m prescribing rest. It’s the best thing for you.’ The elf gave him a stern look, ‘and no alcohol, no matter how tempted you are to celebrate with all of the rest.’
Bilbo smiled. ‘I’ll try, doctor.’
‘See that you do,’ said Lindir, and took his leave.
Bilbo ran the pads of his fingers over the bandage that hid Thorin’s eye. His left arm lay by his side, strangely numb and weak, but he gave it no more than a passing thought. In the grand scheme of things, it hardly mattered.
We saved the world, he thought, whispering at the still-sleeping presence of Thorin at the back of his mind. Thorin didn’t respond - Bilbo hadn’t expected him to, but he felt better for doing it anyway; the idea was too big for Bilbo to grapple with alone, far beyond his capacity to contemplate. He tried something a little smaller. We helped save Ered Luin. No, still too big.
We saved our friends. Our family, he thought, and a pleasant, warm weight settled over his heart. They were alive – battered and bruised, but alive. Even Kíli and Fíli, and wasn’t that unbelievable?
Bilbo could feel himself smiling, cheeks aching. It was, in fact, entirely unbelievable, and he needed to see it with his own eyes. Certain that Thorin wasn’t going anywhere, and with the link still reassuring him that his co-pilot was alive, Bilbo went in search of Kíli and Fíli. He was a little wobbly on his feet, but after a few steps his legs remembered what walking was and he managed to make it out onto the corridor without falling over, which Bilbo counted as a victory. A smiling nurse, with a balloon tied around her wrist, kindly pointed the way towards Kíli and Fíli’s room, which was just a little way down the corridor. She offered to help him walk there, but Bilbo assured her he could make it on his own.
On the television screen in the waiting room, Bilbo caught a glimpse of what he assumed was the news. A live feed displayed the packed streets of Ered Luin, but Bilbo could barely see the people through the confetti raining down on the celebrations. A group of doctors and nurses were gathered around, watching the feed avidly, and a couple of them looked to be on the brink of tears, all of them so engrossed that they didn’t even notice Bilbo shuffling past them.
Kíli and Fíli’s room was set out just as Bilbo and Thorin’s was, with the beds set close together, and no sound save for the steady beep of the monitors. But the boys were not alone.
‘Oh,’ said Bilbo, ‘I can come back later, if you-‘
‘Nonsense,’ said Dís from her place at Fíli’s bedside, ‘come in. You’re welcome, here, Bilbo.’ She smiled at him kindly. ‘You should know that.’
Bilbo didn’t know how to respond to that, so he merely shuffled into the room, standing at the foot of Fíli’s bed. It was quiet in their room, still in a way it never was around Kíli and Fíli, but Bilbo thought it a peaceful, settled sort of quiet. He took in the sight of them, and a tension he hadn’t known had been carrying lifted from his shoulders. Both Dwarves were all but hidden under swathes of blankets so that only their heads were visible, and their faces were pale but with a reassuring amount of colour high on their cheeks.
‘How are they?’ asked Bilbo, because he needed to hear it for himself.
‘They were suffering from hypothermia when the retrieval teams picked them up, Fíli broke his collarbone and Kíli all but shattered his wrist,’ said Dís, ‘along with numerous other injuries that will mean they will be tired and sore for a long while yet.’ She passed her hand over her mouth briefly, eyes full of bright relief that she scarcely knew what to do with. ‘But that aside, the doctors inform me that they will both make a full recovery. They’re exhausted, but.’
She broke off, and Bilbo could imagine what she had been about to say. But they’re both alive.
‘I’m so very glad,’ said Bilbo. Words could not do justice to how he felt, could not express the wad of emotion lodged at the back of his throat. ‘I’m so very glad,’ he said again, trying to hold back the hot tears. He put his good hand on Dís’ right shoulder, as much to comfort her as to support him. It was a move that he would never have dared to do before, but here, next to the sleeping forms of Kíli and Fíli, they were not commanding officer and Jaeger pilot, but simply friends reeling from their unexpected good fortune.
Dís put her own hand over his, squeezing it briefly.
‘I keep thinking I’m about to wake up,’ she said softly, ‘that this is all a dream. I can’t...I can’t seem to...’ she trailed off, and Bilbo pretended not to see the tears in her eyes. She gave a small chuckle. ‘Tauriel is probably knee-deep in work right now. I’m sure there’s something I should be doing, but she insisted I stay here. I think she’s staged a mutiny.’
‘If she has, it’s the most efficient, well-meaning mutiny in history,’ Bilbo said, and Dís smiled.
‘That practically sums Tauriel up in one sentence,’ she said.
She reached out and brushed back some of Fíli’s unruly golden hair from his face. The young dwarf didn’t stir, not even a twitch – he must have been very heavily sedated. Dís continued stroking Fíli’s hair, and with a pang Bilbo remembered his own mother doing the same to him, gently brushing back his curls from his face whenever he fell asleep next to the fire at Bag End, his head inevitably pillowed on a book.
‘Will you let me know when they wake up?’
‘I’m sure I won’t have the chance before they come bounding into your room,’ said Dís, ‘but yes, I will, if you’ll do the same for my brother.’
‘You’ll be the first to know, I promise,’ Bilbo assured, ‘though it might not be from me. When Lobelia told me that Kíli and Fíli were alive, I could scarcely believe it. I had to come here and see them for myself. If I had to see them with my own eyes, I dread to think what Thorin might be like.’
Dís snorted, tearing her eyes away from her sons long enough to share a look with Bilbo.
‘Then try at least to make sure that he doesn’t injure himself too much on the way over,’ she said.
‘I’ll try,’ promised Bilbo, though he privately thought that trying to stop Thorin was like trying to halt an unstoppable object in its tracks.
Bilbo turned to take his leave, but Dís’ voice stopped him in the doorway.
‘Bilbo,’ she said, and, there was something in her tone that caused Bilbo’s spine to straighten, as though they were standing in her office once more and not in a hospital ward.
‘When all the celebrations are over and done with, and all of us are conscious,’ Dís said, ‘we will have to have a chat. We will need to talk about what peace means - for all of us.’
Bilbo gave a half-nod, unsure as to what she meant, but too drained to think about it for the moment. He said his goodbyes, closed the door quietly, and hobbled back to his room.
Thorin was still unconscious, but Bilbo could be patient. He dropped into a chair by Thorin’s bedside and watched the hours of the day tick by, content to sit and think and process all that had happened. The battle was still too raw to recall, so Bilbo turned his mind instead to the days before the final assault on the Breach. If a week ago someone had told Bilbo that he would save the world and fall in love, all in the space of a few days, Bilbo would have laughed in their face and recommended them for a psych evaluation. And yet here he was, at the bedside of his Dwarven co-pilot, with newly-made scars to show for his deeds. Life was full of wonders.
And Bilbo was certain it was love, or something very close to it. There was no other way to describe the way he felt when he was around Thorin, the way Thorin’s half-smiles and dry humour and warm glances caused a bright bubbling in his heart, a soft glow that never dimmed.
But there was no rush to quantify it. They had time. His thoughts drifted to his and Thorin’s date, and he wondered what sort of food Thorin liked – in the Mess Thorin had eaten whatever was on offer, just as everyone else did. There was no room for pickiness during rationing. But Bilbo wanted their date to be perfect for the both of them, and he was half way through musing if Thorin would like the sweet pastries his mother used to make when Thorin’s mind began to stir.
Bilbo sat bolt upright in his seat, his breath caught in his throat, all of his focus narrowed into that spot in his brain where Thorin’s presence was uncurling like a cat waking up from a nap.
He lifted his hands to Thorin’s nearest arm, gripping as tightly as he could, even in his weakened, clumsy grip, watching the dwarf’s face intently.
Thorin’s one eye slid open, staring at the ceiling and blinking rapidly, clearly trying to focus his vision. Bilbo gently reached out trough their link, and had the pleasure of feeling Thorin’s mind slowly unfurl and awaken.
Thorin, Bilbo said, and Thorin’s eye flickered towards him. Recognition caused Thorin’s mind to light up like a candle set ablaze, and Bilbo gasped as emotions began to pour through the link – relief and adoration and amazement, and relief, but then grief dimmed them all, muting every emotion and casting a grey haze over Thorin’s very soul.
No, said Bilbo quickly, pushing back against the wall of numbness that was attempting to separate them, no, Thorin, they’re alive, they’re safe.
Thorin’s lips parted, his disbelief evident and warring with distress, so Bilbo brought the image of Kíli and Fíli in their hospital beds to the forefront of his mind. I swear to you, they’re alright.
Thorin stared at him for several long moments, then drew in a ragged breath, collapsing back onto the pillows.
‘I promise, they’re safe,’ soothed Bilbo, unable and unwilling to look away from Thorin.
The dwarf gave a tiny, infinitesimal shake of his head. Bilbo held the image in his mind’s eye, keeping it fixed there until Thorin’s breathing evened out.
Thorin licked his lips and said, in a rough whisper, ‘and you? Are you alright?’
As he said this he lifted his closest hand, running it over the bandage that was wound round Bilbo’s arm. Bilbo shivered at the touch, ghostly as it was through the wrappings, and took Thorin’s wandering hand in both of his own.
‘I’m more worried about you,’ said Bilbo. ‘Just…try not to do any more solo piloting, would you? At least, not any time soon.’
‘I don’t think there’s any chance of that,’ Thorin said, ‘we lost Orcrist.’
‘Yes, we did. It’s a shame – I liked her.’ I liked piloting with you, whispered Bilbo’s traitorous, soppy mind before he could stop himself.
Thorin smiled, bringing up his other hand to cup Bilbo’s reddening cheek.
‘To see your face again…is a blessing I don’t think I deserve.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Bilbo briskly, his heart doing cartwheels in his chest at the way Thorin was looking at him, ‘you saved the world. I think that deserves a medal. A statue, at the very least.’
‘We saved the world,’ Thorin corrected.
‘Alright, two statues then.’
Thorin huffed a laugh, wincing as his bruised ribs contracted painfully. His hand slid away from Bilbo’s cheek to rest on top of his and Bilbo’s intertwined hands on the bed, as though the link in their head was not enough for him. Bilbo could understand the feeling.
‘How is everyone else?’
‘They’re all well, as far as I’ve heard. No casualties. Legolas and Gimli are in fine health, aside from some minor injuries.’
‘Good.’
‘Though there might be one if I don’t tell your sister you’ve woken up. She’s two doors down, watching over Kíli and Fíli.’
‘I wouldn’t expect her to be anywhere else.’ Thorin’s eye darted down to their joined hands, then up to Bilbo again. ‘And now I have a favour to ask you.’
‘Oh, no,’ Bilbo said, because he could see exactly what Thorin had planned. ‘Of course you do.’
‘I need to see them, Bilbo-‘
‘May I remind you this is not a good idea? That your body is bruised and hurt in a dozen different ways and it would be best if you just lay in bed for a while?’
Thorin merely looked at him solemnly, and Bilbo had his answer.
‘I’d say the Breach addled your mind, but I think you were already quite mad,’ sighed Bilbo.
‘Quite mad,’ agreed Thorin, ‘though you are madder for having stayed by my side. I could not ask for a kinder, braver, nor more steadfast co-pilot.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ muttered Bilbo, ignoring Thorin’s resulting smile. ‘Alright, alright. Just try not to crush me, would you?’
To say that the Base had been celebrating was to underestimate exactly the kind of revelry Elves, Dwarves, Humans and Hobbits could whip up when they put their heads together. The Mess had been completely taken over, three of the long tables and benches unscrewed from the floor and pushed to one side, and personnel were now dancing in the empty space to the music blasting out over the requisitioned comms system. The words, “APOCALYPSE: CANCELLED”, and “YEAR ZERO”, had been painted in huge letters across the far wall. Someone had clearly been hoarding party streamers, balloons and confetti; Bilbo could barely see the slate-grey floor of the Mess through the rainbow of colours littering the floor. Bilbo smelt good beer and roasting meats and all manner of cuisines, and his mouth began to water in moments, his eyes zeroing in on the buffet table set up near the back.
Unfortunately, he was apprehended before he got there. As soon as he and Thorin set foot in the Mess, they were descended on by a wave of well-wishers, the cheering so loud it even muffled the music for a few moments. Bilbo immediately latched on to Thorin’s arm, determined not to lose him in the swell of people, grateful that the staff were conscious of their wounds, and did not try and slap them on the back for their efforts.
Grinning and shaking people’s hands and accepting good wishes was a tiring affair, for all that it caused Bilbo’s very being to lift, and so he and Thorin stole away as soon as they could, sitting in one corner with a plateful of food each, content to watch the celebrations unfold. The food was far better than anything Bilbo had tasted while in the hospital wing, and Bilbo dug in with a gusto that was matched by Thorin. Where on earth such high-quality foodstuffs had come from, Bilbo had no idea, but he suspected Tauriel’s hand in it, wherever the elf may be. Bilbo had not seen real, fresh bread for a very long time, and he pointedly ignored Thorin’s raised eyebrows when he broke open a loaf just to smell the inside.
For a while they didn’t speak, allowing themselves to relax and let their eyes wander over the partying staff, who had all clearly been on edge for far too long if their current antics were anything to go by. Bilbo almost choked on his food when he saw Lobelia dancing on one of the tables, showing the dancers below a funny little jig that went to the beat of the music, and he almost choked again when she reached down into the crowd to drag a laughing Bofur up onto the table with her, using him to demonstrate the dance moves, berating him when he kept getting it wrong.
This is very surreal said Thorin through their link.
It is. I’m half afraid it’s all a hallucination from the drugs they gave me, replied Bilbo.
There’s going to be some very sore heads in the morning.
Lobelia with a hangover. Oh dear, said Bilbo, and laughed when Thorin blanched at the thought.
Perhaps you’d better- he began, but he broke off, and they were sitting so close that Bilbo felt it when Thorin's whole body tensed.
Bilbo turned to see Thorin’s attention firmly fixed on the entrance to the Mess, and he immediately understood why. Kíli and Fíli, supported by their mother and Tauriel respectively, were standing in the threshold, staring at the party with wide eyes, still dressed in their hospital clothes. They both looked as though they had just woken up, blinking slowly in the bright lights.
One by one, the party slowed and stopped, people turning to face the two newcomers. But no one approached as they had with Bilbo and Thorin – instead they stood tense and expectant, waiting for something to happen.
And that something was already in motion. Thorin stood unsteadily, gaze never leaving his nephews, and began to approach them. Bilbo’s tensed, fixed in place by the same strange sense that held sway over the rest of the personnel.
Kíli noticed Thorin first, turning to look at him, Fíli mirroring his brother a second later. Bilbo couldn’t read either of their expressions. Thorin stopped before them and looked them both over. For a moment long, expectant moment neither party did anything, then two things happened at once: Thorin stepped forwards to embrace them, and Tauriel and Dís pushed one brother in their back each, urging them forwards into the hug.
A great cheer went up, beer bottles and wine glasses raised in a toast. Bilbo swallowed around a lump in his throat, the wash of emotions from Thorin almost enough to bring him to tears. He watched as Thorin hugged Fíli and Kíli close, tight enough that it surely must hurt with all of their collective aches, and his nephews were returning the favour in kind, if their white-knuckled grip on the back of Thorin’s hospital shirt was anything to go by. If Bilbo had been unable to read their expressions before, he could now – no one could miss the way Kíli all but buried his head in Thorin’s shoulder, nor the way Fíli seemed to crumple and bow into the hug. Bilbo let out a sigh of relief. He had no doubt that the three of them still had a long way to go, but their reunion today would likely help a great deal.
Thorin released them both, stepping back to whisper something that made Kíli duck his head and Fíli stand up straighter. But the crowd’s patience was at an end, and Thorin had to step back and out of the way, lest he be crushed in the stampede as Kíli and Fíli were swept up in the same welcome as Thorin and Bilbo had received. Putting his food to one side, Bilbo went to join the rest, though he had to wait his turn to see them.
Bilbo quickly found himself swept up in a hug before he could even get out a ‘hello’. When they parted, Bilbo took his fill of looking at them.
‘Should you be up and about?’ he frowned, taking in Fíli’s arm in a sling and Kíli’s right wrist, set in a plaster cast.
Kíli groaned, ‘I knew that was going to be the first thing you asked us.’
‘We didn’t even get a, “glad you’re alive”,’ said Fíli mournfully.
Bilbo hit him on his good arm. ‘I’m very glad you’re both alive,’ he parroted.
‘We’re very glad you’re alive,’ Fíli said in the same tone, though he was fighting a smile.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Kíli, ‘we’re alive, but I’m sure there’s supposed be something vaguely bottle-ish in my hand,’ he said, looking down confusedly at his wiggling fingers.
‘Hmm, yes, I have the same feeling,’ chimed in Fíli, frowning at his own hand.
‘It seems strangely empty,’ said Kíli, brow furrowed.
‘And it’s going to stay empty,’ said Dís, suddenly appearing out of nowhere right next to Kíli. Both of her sons jumped, but Bilbo, who had seen her coming, merely tried to hold back his laughter.
‘No alcohol for either of you,’ she said sternly.
‘We weren’t talking about alcohol, were we?’ said Kíli, all innocence, looking at his brother with wide eyes.
‘No, of course not, what do you take us for? We were talking about water. Need to stay hydrated when after you’ve just saved all life on Middle Earth. Isn’t that in the rulebook, somewhere?’ said Fíli.
‘Always have to stick to the rules,’ said Kíli, and Bilbo had no idea how he’d managed to say that with a straight face. ‘Come, brother, let’s go and get us some lovely, fresh water and food.’
Kíli slung his arm carefully over Fíli’s shoulders, and together they set off in the direction of the buffet table, noses in the air.
‘I am going to be taking beer bottles out of their hands all night,’ predicted Dís resignedly.
She was, as usual, quite right.
Bilbo and Thorin found each other again through the press of people, sitting back down side-by-side on the benches, and Kíli and Fíli came over to join them at their table with what looked like half of the buffet piled high on their plates, and Kíli was carrying a whole chicken leg in his mouth. They also each had a beer in hand.
Thorin gave the bottles a look, but he needn’t have bothered – Tauriel swooped in and stole both of them before Kíli or Fíli could take even a sip.
‘Oh, come on, Tauriel!’ Whined Kíli.
‘You can’t be planning to drink both of those yourself,’ protested Fíli.
‘I can and I will,’ said Tauriel with utmost seriousness.
Kíli blinked at her. ‘Tauriel are you…are you going to get drunk?’ he asked, as though such an idea was foreign and strange to him.
‘It’ll take more than a few beers for that,’ said Dís as she sat down next to Fíli, smiling when they groaned.
‘But we’re the saviours of the world! We're heroes!’ said Fíli.
‘Are we not allowed to have any fun?’ said Kíli.
‘No,’ chorused Dís, Tauriel and Thorin all at the same time.
Bilbo almost choked on his water from laughing so hard at their wounded expressions. Thorin gave him a few pats on the back, looking mildly concerned.
Fíli and Kíli did not stay down for long, though. The food alone was enough to lift their spirits, and the atmosphere in the Mess meant that no one could remain unhappy for long, so infectious was the prevailing good mood.
Their happiness was bolstered when Lobelia approached their table, her cheeks flushed either from alcohol or from dancing, or a mix of both. With a perfectly straight expression and without a word of hello, she dumped five bars of chocolate into Kíli and Fíli’s laps, a veritable treasure load of food. Kíli and Fíli all but leapt on her, hugging her as best they could, a stream of increasingly unbelievable compliments tumbling from their mouths. Lobelia laughed at their reaction, then shrieked as they lifted her – rather unsteadily – onto their shoulders, and proceeded to take her on a victory lap around the Mess.
Bilbo found himself alternating between laughter and worry at the spectacle, as Fíli and Kíli looked as though they were going to drop Lobelia several times during their lap. The staff raised their glasses as she passed, and Bofur, who was still stood on one of the tables, carefully placed a paper crown on her head of curls as she passed him.
Lobelia was set down on her feet safe and sound, and she appeared to be torn between laughter and indignation at her ordeal. Her paper crown was slightly lopsided, and she hurried to set it straight. Fíli winced and rubbed at his shoulder, but brushed off Lobelia’s resulting worried fussing with smiles and a suggestion that she could repay them by getting them some beer. Much to Bilbo’s surprise, Lobelia did exactly that, but the bottles did not even touch Kíli and Fíli’s hands before they were whisked away by Dís.
But the failed second attempt made Kíli and Fíli even more determined to outwit both Tauriel and Dís. Bilbo and Thorin were granted a great deal of entertainment simply from watching the their increasingly outlandish attempts at sneaking a drink, only to be thwarted at the last second by Dís or Tauriel, who both seemed to be able to appear and disappear at will. Round and round they went, and though Kíli and Fíli surely had to be exhausted, they seemed to have an endless supply of energy in their pursuit of alcohol, much to Dís and Tauriel's consternation.
Lobelia would not allow them to sit idly by as mere observers, though. She demanded that Bilbo and Thorin join her on the dance floor, at least for one song. 'Just because you're heroes, doesn't mean you get to laze about, you know,' was the way that she put it to them, arms crossed, her glare somewhat mitigated by the crown she still wore.
Bilbo's first response to her demand was hesitation. Kíli and Fíli might be energetic enough, but Bilbo was beginning to feel the effects of being awake for more than a few hours, his body not yet fully recovered from his exhaustion. He exchanged a look with Thorin, and the dwarf looked as reluctant as Bilbo felt.
'I'm not sure, Lobelia,' started Bilbo, 'I think I'd rather just sit here-'
'You should dance with him, Thorin,' said Dís, who had been unashamedly eavesdropping on their conversation, 'don't let those dance lessons we had as children go to waste.'
Bilbo whipped his head around so fast he thought he might get whiplash.
'Dancing lessons?' he exclaimed.
'Dancing lessons!' yelped Kíli, accidentally elbowing his brother in his side.
Thorin folded his arms, looking extremely defensive. He glared at Dís heatedly and said, 'they were mandatory. Our mother made us-'
'Come now, Thorin,' interrupted Dís, unholy glee lighting her eyes, 'don't lie to poor Bilbo. You liked dancing. You told me so yourself.'
There was a small, muffled sound, like someone desperately trying not to choke to death on their own laughter. Kíli and Fíli were both staring outright at their Uncle, food forgotten for the moment.
'Dís,' hissed Thorin warningly, looking like he might try and leap across the table at any moment and make a grab for his sister.
'Thor-in,' sing-songed Dís back at him, smiling sweetly.
'You can dance?' blinked Bilbo, who still felt like he wasn't quite up to speed. He flinched when Thorin's glare shifted to him. The dwarf searched Bilbo's face for any signs of teasing, his hard stare fading in surprise when he found nothing but honest curiosity. Bilbo was very glad that their link was no longer strong enough for Thorin to sense Bilbo’s deep sense of amusement, carefully hidden away.
'I can,' said Thorin through gritted teeth. 'I just chose not to.'
'You'll have to teach me sometime,' said Bilbo mildly, 'I've always wanted to learn.'
Perhaps it'll be a bit like piloting together, Bilbo thought, and Thorin's whole bearing softened.
'Oh, for goodness sake,' huffed Lobelia, 'enough of your sappiness, are you or aren't you dancing?'
'Dancing,' said Bilbo, looking away from Thorin at last to give her a nod. 'Are you sure you don't want to?'
Thorin shook his head. 'It's fine,' he said.
'And you two?' said Lobelia to Kíli and Fíli, 'can you tear yourselves away from your food long enough to dance?'
'I think we can,' replied Fíli, standing from the bench and pulling his brother - who was still staring at Thorin as though he had never seen him before - up and onto his feet.
'At last!' said Lobelia, and without warning she hooked her arm through Bilbo's and all but dragged him out onto the dance floor.
Bilbo was glad, in the end, that he took her up on her offer. There was nothing quite like dancing with your friends, singing along at the top of your voice to some goddawful cheesy pop song, surrounded on all sides by happy people doing exactly the same thing. Bofur joined them, attempting to dance the jig Lobelia had shown him earlier, but he kept getting it wrong, or missing out steps altogether, which caused Lobelia to shake her head and instruct him as to the proper way of doing it. Bilbo suspected Bofur was getting it wrong on purpose.
As enjoyable as it was, there was only so much Bilbo's worn out body could take, and he gracefully bowed out after just one song, slipping away from the dance floor to collapse into the seat beside Thorin, rosy cheeked and out of breath from his exertions.
'You've gone up in the world since I last saw you,' remarked Thorin.
Bilbo looked at him confusedly until Thorin gestured to his head. Patting his hair, Bilbo found that he was wearing Lobelia's crown, and, chuckling, he took it off and put it carefully on the table. Bilbo noted that Dís had disappeared off again to parts unknown, and they were thankfully alone again at last. It had been an enjoyable evening, a memory Bilbo would treasure for a very long time, he was sure, but he was also exhausted, and he found himself thinking longingly of his bed. He was relieved that, for the moment at least, he could simply sit in silence with Thorin.
For a while they did just that, and Bilbo was so completely at ease that he began to drift off. But his sleepiness all but evaporated when Thorin suddenly ducked his head towards one of Bilbo’s pointed ears and said, in a low rumble,
‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten our date. As soon as we’re both well enough, I should like to take you up on your offer.’
A shiver ran down Bilbo’s spine. There was a warm intent to Thorin’s voice that caused his stomach to tighten and his heart to beat faster. Bilbo tilted his head towards Thorin, the dwarf so close that their noses bumped when he turned.
‘If the offer still stands,’ added Thorin, eyes dropping down to Bilbo’s mouth.
‘It still stands, it definitely still stands,’ said Bilbo with a shudder, and he took his chance while no one was looking, closing the remaining distance to meet Thorin in a sweet kiss.