Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Thorin had never felt this awkward in his life. Not even when he had to appear in court. Community service. He had expected to sweep streets or something, not cleaning the house of an elderly person. Whoever thought up these services must be of a devious mind.

Reluctantly he raised his hand and rang the bell of the terraced house. Prepared for having to wait until the old lady arrived at the door, he was startled when he heard swift footsteps and found the door being opened quickly.

‘Oh, I am so glad you are here! I am very sorry since you’re new, but I promised I’d be early today, and I really should be going.’

Thorin gaped at the back of the short man walking away from him while he was putting on a long tailored coat. The man grabbed a small messenger bag from a sidetable and turned to him. He had a kind, rather handsome face, but he looked harried.

‘You will find everything in the kitchen. I have left a list of chores and a note with my number, but please use it only if really necessary.’ He frowned when he saw Thorin still gaping. ‘You have done this before, haven’t you?’

Slowly Thorin shook his head. He really didn’t know what to say.

‘Oh, bollocks,’ sighed the man. He dropped his bag on the floor, passed his hand over his face. ‘I’m sorry. I asked them to send only experienced domestic help.’

Thorin felt his face fall. He had himself all worked up, and now this.

‘I will call them,’ he said hesitantly. ‘They will find a different address for me to serve my... to work my hours.’

‘Serve... oh god, the community service! You’re the one from the community service! I asked them to send you on Friday afternoon when I can be here. When are they going to learn how to read a calendar!’ The man whipped his phone from his pocket and started to touch the screen, but then he lowered his hand. He looked very tired.

‘There really is no time,’ the man said. ‘I am going to be late again and Mr Brandybuck is going to yell at me all day and I’m not sure I can handle that right now.’

‘I could stay,’ Thorin hazarded. The man looked at him with rather fierce dark blue eyes. He had longish, curly, dark blond hair and Thorin couldn’t help noticing again that he was really pleasant to look at. The thought made his cheeks heat up. ‘I will try...’

‘Have you ever worked with people who have Alzheimer’s?’ the man asked.

‘A-alzheimer’s?’

The man smiled a sad smile.

‘Thought so. Look, it’s nothing personal, but I can’t just leave you alone with my mother when you have no experience at all.’ He stared at his phone. ‘Mrs Proudfoot can only be here at twelve, when your shift ends. Mrs Gamgee is staying with her daughter this week. Drogo and Primula are out of town too. There really is nobody to call.’ He looked thoroughly dejected and Thorin suddenly felt very sorry for him.

‘Is it very difficult?’ he asked. ‘Maybe if you call me a few times to see if things are alright? I’m really willing to try, sir.’ How hard could it be to clean a house in the presence of an old lady, even if she has Alzheimer’s? ‘I will give you my personal number.’ They weren’t supposed to give out their numbers, but if it would help this obviously rather desperate man, Thorin didn’t mind.

The man gazed at him again.

‘If it’s because of my sentence, that was only for drunk driving and it wasn’t really my fault and nobody was hurt, it was just a checkpoint. I-I’m a senior accountant with Erebor Accountancy.’ Thorin knew he was rambling and felt his cheeks become even redder.

The man smiled. His whole face lit up and suddenly Thorin’s belly felt very strange.

‘You didn’t have to tell me that,’ the man said. ‘I know that the sentences are for small transgressions only. They wouldn’t send criminals to do this work.’

‘You can check with Erebor Accountancy if you want,’ said Thorin. ‘I have been with them for twenty years now.’

The man was still smiling.

‘That is a very long time,’ he said. ‘I have only been with Took-Brandybuck for ten years and that seems like forever.’

‘Took-Brandybuck Men’s Wear?’ Thorin asked. His father used to buy his suits there. ‘Are they still in business?’

‘Oh yes,’ said the man. ‘Have been for 150 years now.’ He extended his hand. ‘I’m Bilbo Baggins,’ he said.

Thorin shook his hand.

‘Thorin Durin,’ he said.

‘Come with me, Thorin,’ Mr Baggins said. ‘Let me introduce you to my mother.’

***********

‘Would you like some tea?’ Mrs Baggins asked for the fifteenth time. Thorin looked up from the cabinet he was dusting. He gave her a small smile.

‘Not yet, Mrs Baggins. In about half an hour I will take a break and I will make us both a cup of tea.’ He went back to carefully removing all the knicknacks from the top and dusting under them, before putting them back exactly where he had found them.

‘You are really good.’

He nearly jumped when Mrs Baggins’ voice spoke near his ear.

‘Most of them just dust around everything, you know. Not like we were used to in my day.’ The old lady touched a small statue of a bird. At that moment Thorin’s mobile rang.

‘Bach!’ exclaimed Mrs Baggins. She started to hum the melody of ‘Jesus bleibet meine Freude’ while Thorin swiped the screen.

‘Durin,’ he said.

‘Hello Thorin, this is Bilbo. How are things going?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ Thorin said. Suddenly Mrs Baggins started to sing quite loudly.

Thorin turned around, astonished.

‘You know the German text?’ he exclaimed.

There was something strangely beautiful about the old, thin voice singing that wonderful melody. Mrs Baggins started anew, she hummed the instrumental parts in between the text. She was swaying around the room as if she was dancing, eyes closed. He watched her until a soft cough reminded him he was on the phone.

‘Thorin?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Baggins, it’s just, your mother...’

‘She will go on for hours if you let her,’ the man chuckled. ‘Did you find the CD player then?’

‘Umm, no, my ringtone...’

‘Your ringtone is Bach? That’s...’ Mr Baggins’ voice trailed off. There was a short silence. ‘Look, I have to go back to work. Are you sure everything is alright?’

‘Quite alright, don’t worry, Mr Baggins.’

‘Bilbo, please.’

‘Bilbo,’ repeated Thorin.

‘I will call again in an hour.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Thorin stared at Mrs Baggins singing and swaying, before he set out to find the CD player.

When Mrs Proudfoot arrived at 12.15, she found the both of them sitting quietly in the living room, eyes closed, surrounded by the flowing melody of 'Air’.

******************

‘Thorin! Come in!’ Mr Baggins looked just as nice as he remembered. Thorin had steeled himself so he didn’t blush when the man smiled at him.

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said.

‘Bilbo, please. I’m not a sir.’ Bilbo chuckled.

‘Sorry, sir... I mean, Bilbo.’ Now of course he *was* blushing. Silently cursing himself for being such a stuffy old bore, Thorin divested of his coat and followed Bilbo to the living room, trying not to look at the man’s bottom, which filled out the expensive looking grey trousers quite nicely. He was sure his ears were red too by the time they entered the room.

‘It’s Thorin again today, mum,’ said Bilbo cheerfully.

‘I’m sorry, have we met?’ asked Mrs Baggins pleasantly. ‘I am sure I would have remembered such a handsome man.’ She turned to Bilbo. ‘He is very handsome, isn’t he, dear?’ She winked at her son. To Thorin’s surprise, small red patches appeared on Bilbo’s cheeks.

‘Mum!’ he said. ‘Behave!’

Mrs Baggins smiled wickedly, and this time she winked at Thorin, who didn’t know where to look from embarrasment.

‘I...I’ll start in the kitchen then?’ he stammered, hastily retreating there. He was rummaging in the cleaning closet when he heard music from the living room. Vivaldi. Humming along fragments of the Four Seasons quietly, he started to clear out the first kitchen cabinet he was supposed to clean.

‘Time for tea I think!’ The cheery voice interrupted Thorin’s work. He turned around. Bilbo Baggins stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, head tilted. Thorin’s breath hitched at the sight of him in his cream shirt and dark red waistcoat. Bilbo smiled, then walked to the stove to fill an old-fashioned kettle.

‘What have you managed to do so far?’ he asked.

Thorin pointed at the one cabinet he had finished and the second one he had just started with. Bilbo frowned. Thorin cast down his eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. Blast, he had fallen into his old trap again. He heard Bilbo open the cabinet doors.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘You are amazingly thorough.’ When Thorin looked up he saw Bilbo’s friendly face.

‘Sorry,’ said Thorin again. I tend to lose myself in the details, he wanted to say, but he never quite knew how to talk to people outside his job, especially people like Bilbo Baggins.

‘It’s fine,’ said Bilbo. He was putting three teacups and saucers on a tray. ‘There’s no hurry, really.’

Thorin sat down gingerly on the couch next to Mrs Baggins. She had insisted that he sit with her, and she immediately put her hand through his arm and cuddled against him. Thorin froze. As a general rule people didn’t touch him other than shaking his hand. He had no clue how to react.

‘Oh, you’re so big,’ crooned mrs Baggins. ‘Bagginses have always been small. Bilbo is small too.’ She looked at her son. ‘Well, short anyway.’

Bilbo choked on a sip of tea, turning red.

‘Mum!’

Thorin kept his gaze on his tea cup, trying to ignore Mrs Baggins’ touch. He thought Bilbo looked just fine, the fact that he was a little on the chubby side only added to his attractiveness. He tried desperately to keep from blushing again. Was he destined to have a red face in this house all the time? He tried to remember the last page of the books he had been working on this morning. Numbers always calmed him.

‘So nice of you to visit us,’ Mrs Baggins said. ‘I am afraid my husband is out at the moment, but when he returns you can have a glass of brandy with him.’

‘I don’t drink,’ Thorin said, without thinking. Of course he just had to catch Bilbo arching an eyebrow at him. ‘I don’t,’ he added defensively.

‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Baggins. ‘There’s nothing wrong with one small glass.’

Thorin released her hand from his arm, leaned forward and put his cup on the coffee table.

‘I better start working again,’ he said.

‘But you have only just arrived,’ complained Mrs Baggins. ‘Bungo will be so disappointed.’

Thorin stood up.

‘I’ll finish that second cupboard before I leave,’ he said in Bilbo’s direction, without looking at him.

But when he arrived in the kitchen and leaned on the sink for a moment to collect his thoughts, a soft voice suddenly said, quite close:

‘What happened?’

He turned around to find Bilbo standing in front of him.

‘I..’ He found it difficult to think with those eyes fixed upon him. Then they blinked rapidly.

‘Sorry, I have no right to ask. Please forgive me.’ Bilbo turned around to leave the kitchen.

‘Someone spiked my orange juice at an office party,’ Thorin blurted out. ‘The new secretary thought I needed to loosen up. I didn’t really notice, the music was so loud and there were so many people. I felt like I was going to be sick so I left. In my car.’ He tried to catch his breath. ‘I hate pop music,’ he added, not realising the non sequitur until he had said it.

When there was just silence, he dared to look up. He couldn’t interpret the expression on Bilbo’s face, but it wasn’t anger, that he was sure of. Then the other man smiled.

‘You’re really...’

‘Odd, I know,’ said Thorin quickly. He didn’t want to hear Bilbo say it.

‘I was going to say... nice,’ said Bilbo, but his hesitation made Thorin think he had meant to say something else.

‘I’m sorry,’ Thorin said, wincing as he realised how often he had said those words to Bilbo already. ‘If you want, I will ask them to assign me to another house.’

‘No!’ The vehemence in those words took him by surprise. ‘No, umm, my mother really likes you and you work very neatly, if you want you can stay here for your whole sentence, I mean, do all your hours here. If you want.’ Bilbo inhaled audibly. ‘Do you do ironing? I bet you would be amazing at ironing. Nobody does ironing anymore it seems.’

‘I do,’ Thorin confessed. He liked ironing, he liked how he could remove all wrinkles from the garments, and make them all smooth and crisp.

‘I knew you would.’ The corners of Bilbo’s eyes crinkled in a very appealing way. ‘When is your next shift? Tuesday again? Could you do the ironing then?’

‘Of course,’ Thorin nodded. They stared at each other for a moment. There was that strange feeling in his belly again. ‘I better...’ he pointed at the kitchen cabinet.

‘Yes, sure,’ said Bilbo. ‘I’m ...’ He pointed his thumb in the direction of the living room.

Thorin nodded, turned around, went back to his cabinet. But he was very aware of the fact that it seemed Bilbo to take a little while to actually leave the kitchen.

***********************

On Tuesday, Thorin did the ironing, a large heap of it. He only saw Bilbo in passing when he arrived, receiving a tired smile from him. Why did he seem so tired? Bilbo hadn’t put anything but the ironing on his list of tasks, but Thorin hoovered the living room and cleaned the toilet anyway. He wasn’t quite finished when mrs Proudfoot arrived at ten minutes past twelve, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t have to be at the office until one o’clock, so there was still time. When he finally left at half past, he had to rush, and skipped his lunch.

On Friday afternoon he was disappointed to find that Bilbo didn’t have the afternoon off like he had last week. Mrs Gamgee, who had kept mrs Baggins company until Thorin arrived, left in a fluster of hurried goodbyes, shouting something about Bilbo probably being a little late today. Thorin stared at her back, then closed the door behind him.

It was already nearing five, Thorin was wistling along with the Pastoral Symphony which he had put in the CD player for mrs Baggins, while mopping the kitchen floor.

‘Beethoven, eh?’ said an amused voice behind him. Thorin turned around, spraying dirty soap water from the mop as he swirled it with him.

‘Watch it!’ Bilbo jumped aside, narrowly preventing his crisp beige trousers from being showered in filthy drops.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Thorin quickly put down the mop. God, did he always have to act like a stupid oaf around this man?

‘No harm done,’ said Bilbo. ‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting. Did mrs Gamgee say I might be a little later than half four?’

‘She did,’ Thorin said. His eyes darted between Bilbo and the mop. ‘I should have done this earlier,’ he said, realising that the kitchen floor was wet now, and Bilbo would probably like to cook.

‘I won’t cook as yet,’ Bilbo said, apparently knowing what he was thinking. ‘I would like some tea though, so ...’

‘There’s fresh tea in the pot in the living room,’ said Thorin.

‘There is?’

Thorin blushed.

‘I thought you might need it after work,’ he said awkwardly. ‘You always look so tired.’

Silence stretched between them.

‘I am tired,’ Bilbo said, suddenly sounding weary. ‘You have no idea how tired I am, Thorin.’

Thorin looked at him. The handsome face had sagged, no smile or crinkles to be seen. Thorin had to fight the sudden urge to put his arms around the man and hold him until he wasn’t so tired and sad anymore.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ he asked instead.

‘If you know of a way to find a large sum of money...’ said Bilbo with a small smile.

‘I am an accountant,’ said Thorin.

After a moment of surprise, Bilbo started to laugh, a real laugh. Thorin smiled at the idea that he had caused it. He would like to make him laugh more often.

‘What do you need it for?’ he asked, surprised by his own boldness.

Bilbo chuckled.

‘For a dream,’ he said. ‘Just a dream. Come and have a cuppa after you finished the floor.’

‘Alright,’ said Thorin. Bilbo seemed a little less weary, he was glad about it.

‘Here.’ Bilbo handed him a cup of tea and Thorin sat down. Luckily Bilbo was sitting next to his mother on the couch, so she wouldn’t be able to latch herself to his arm again. The old lady was dragging her finger over a page in a large notebook.

‘This is lovely handwriting,’ she murmured. ‘But where are the pictures?’

‘No pictures, mum,’ Bilbo said. ‘There is a new chapter though. I will read it to you after dinner.’

Thorin was curious, but he daren’t ask. He sipped his tea and took a bite from his biscuit. When he looked up, he saw Bilbo’s eyes on him.

‘This is part of the dream,’ he said, patting the notebook. ‘I.. I’m writing a book.’

Thorin lowered his teacup, looking at Bilbo in awe.

‘You are?’ he said.

‘It’s a children’s book. Well, for older children, like young teens. It’s an adventure.’

‘Wow,’ said Thorin. It sounded so creative. He wished he could be creative sometimes. ‘What is it about?’

‘A group of dwarves on a quest to fight a dragon,’ Bilbo said, for some reason avoiding Thorin’s eyes.

‘Sounds nice,’ Thorin said, not entirely truthful. He was used to reading classic literature, not fantasy novels, though he had to admit that his eyes had strayed in that direction once or twice while browsing in the bookstore. But it seemed so silly to indulge in unrealistic stories.

‘You hate it,’ stated Bilbo.

‘No!’ said Thorin. ‘No, I just don’t know anything about it.’

‘About dwarves? Or dragons?’ Now Bilbo sounded as if he was about to laugh.

‘Either,’ answered Thorin seriously. Bilbo chuckled at that and Thorin felt his unavoidable blush come up again.

‘I want to write books and own a bookstore,’ said Bilbo suddenly. ‘That’s the dream.’

‘It’s a wonderful dream,’ said Thorin, completely truthfully this time. He stared at the notebook still cradled in mrs Baggins’ hands. His mind was beginning to turn. Of course first of all you would have to find a store to buy or rent. You would need to compare prices, and make a business plan. Would banks be willing to loan money for this? What if Bilbo could find an investor? How much money would be needed? Apart from the shop itself, he would need to buy books, a lot of books. You can’t have a bookstore with just a few books in it. Maybe he could buy an existing bookstore? Stormcrow Books was a nice old-fashioned bookstore and mr Grey wasn’t very young anymore...

‘How about Stormcrow Books?’ he said. ‘I don’t know how old mr Grey is, but maybe he is ready to retire. It’s a nice store, with wood and everything. And it already has a lot of books.’

He waited for Bilbo to start laughing, but all that happened was Bilbo staring at him with his mouth open.

‘I mean, it’s in the city centre, that’s a nice location, isn’t it? Though...’ Thorin looked up at the ceiling, frowning. ‘It doesn’t seem very busy usually. I don’t know why.’ He inhaled as he tought about the idea a bit more. ‘I don’t know if he owns the whole building or just the shop. Maybe he lives above it. Would you want to live above your shop?’

Bilbo shut his mouth. The corners of it were twitching suspiciously.

‘I haven’t thought about that,’ he said in a strained voice.

‘You haven’t?’ Thorin frowned. ‘But you’ve had this idea for some time, right? I suppose it has pros and cons to live above the shop. There’s no commuting, but also you never get away from work. Would you want to get away from work if your work is your dream? Oh!’ He turned to Bilbo with wide eyes. ‘You wouldn’t have to arrange all these people taking care of your mother if your home is at your work!’

‘I...’ Bilbo was staring at him again. ‘I... if you say it like that...’

‘How much would a bookstore cost? Could you sell this house? Or is it rented? I could do calculations if you give me the numbers. I know about mortgages and such. Bank loans are quite expensive a the moment though, it would be better if you could find a private investor, someone who is sympathetic about the idea and would give you some leeway to start things up.’

‘Thorin, Thorin, stop!’ Bilbo held up his hands, his face contorted halfway between laughing and astonishment.

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Bilbo waved his hands around in a rather silly way. It struck Thorin as adorable. And he promptly felt as if his tongue was paralyzed. ‘Because... because you make it sound ...’

‘Doable?’ Thorin managed to wring out around his paralyzed tongue. He had met young entrepreneurs before, people with dreams and all sorts of fears about actually realizing them. He had never completely understood about the dreams, but he knew a thing or two about possible ways to make them real.

‘Well... yes,’ said Bilbo, sounding a bit helpless.

‘There are people who can help you set things up. I can help with finances and calculations, other people can help with finding a building, and a business plan etcetera.’

‘Will you read to me now, Bilbo dear?’ asked mrs Baggins.

‘I can’t do that, Thorin,’ said Bilbo, glancing at his mother. ‘I have to work, and care for my mother, and organize the sitters, and dinner, and mr Brandybuck wants me to go to Italy in november to buy fabrics, and he won’t take no for an answer. I just don’t know where to get the time and the energy.’ He buried his face in his hands. Thorin was once again overcome by the urge to go over to him and hold him. What was happening to him? He ran his hand through his hair, wondering what Bilbo’s curls would feel like. No, don’t think about that.

‘I’ll cook dinner,’ he blurted out.

‘Oh!’ cried mrs Baggins. ‘We haven’t had shepherd’s pie in weeks!’

‘We had it yesterday, mum,’ said Bilbo absentmindedly, eying Thorin through his fingers.

‘I’m sure we didn’t,’ said mrs Baggins.

‘I can’t cook shepherd’s pie,’ said Thorin.

Suddenly Bilbo burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed and laughed until it sounded almost hysterical, tears streaming from his eyes. Thorin got up and crouched in front of Bilbo. He lifted his hand, wanting to touch, but lost the nerve to actually do it.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked uncertainly.

Bilbo’s face emerged from his hands, red and wet with tears.

‘I’m sitting here with my mother who has Alzheimer’s and a house cleaning accountant on community service, talking about shepherd’s pie and my plans for a bookstore,’ he choked out. ‘I feel like I’m in a surreal film!’

Thorin felt slapped in the face. He had gotten it all wrong again it seemed. He started to get up, but a hand gripped his wrist.

‘No, don’t.’ Suddenly Bilbo’s arms were around his neck, a wet cheek pressed against his beard. ‘Oh god, Thorin, you’re such a breath of fresh air.’

‘I am?’ Thorin was certain that nobody had ever considered him anything of the sort. But then he forgot this train of thought as it penetrated his brain that he was being hugged by Bilbo Baggins. And that his own arms had somehow found their way around Bilbo’s shoulders. And that it felt uncommonly good.

‘Aren’t you going to kiss?’ asked mrs Baggins.

They let go of each other immediately. Bilbo turned to his mother.

‘Oh, mum,’ he said, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek. Thorin couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see if it was as red as his own no doubt was. He scrambled unto his feet and retreated to his chair, burying his nose in his teacup.

If only.

‘I better leave,’ he said when he felt he could trust his voice again.

‘I thought you were going to cook.’ Surprisingly it was Bilbo’s voice, not mrs Baggins’.

‘I...’ Thorin looked up. Bilbo was rubbing his face with his hands, looking at him with a smile. ‘Do you want me to?’

‘We will do it together. Unless you’ve changed your mind?’

‘No, no I haven’t.’ He hadn’t, had he? He was a bit tired, but really, he would like to spend more time with Bilbo and mrs Baggins.

‘Come on, it’ll be fun. It’s vegetable lasagna.’

How could he resist that smile?

Bilbo had put a CD in the player and his mother was humming along with Mozart’s violin sonatas while Thorin and Bilbo chopped up vegetables in the kitchen. They didn’t talk much, Thorin had no idea what to talk about. His mind would only provide suggestions about Bilbo’s bookstore, and he wasn’t sure Bilbo would welcome that subject. Suddenly they heard the sound of the front door slapping shut.

‘Oh fig!’ exclaimed Bilbo. ‘Watch the stove, Thorin!’ And he dashed out of the kitchen.

It was only a few minutes before Thorin heard voices in the hallway. He glanced into the living room and saw Bilbo and his mother enter.

‘No, really mum, I bought the groceries yesterday, we have everything we need. Come see for yourself.’ He looked up at Thorin, his face tired once more.

‘Dinner is almost ready to go into the oven, Mrs Baggins,’ Thorin said. ‘All the vegetables have been cut, and there’s grated cheese and tomato sauce.’ He opened the fridge door. ‘If you’re very hungry, I could make you a few crackers with cheese.’

‘Well now, that’s a nice offer, isn’t it, mum?’

‘I’m not that hungry,’ stated Mrs Baggins haughtily. ‘I can wait until dinner is ready.’ With that she turned around. Bilbo followed her with his eyes until he was apparently satisfied. Then he turned to Thorin and smiled a sad little smile.

‘That’s why I can’t leave her alone, you know,’ he said. ‘Sometimes she goes outside. Last time I had to go pick her up at a bakery halfway through town. At least she remembered where I work so they could call me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Thorin said.

‘Nah,’ said Bilbo, straightening his back. ‘It’s just how it is. Let’s put that lasagna in the oven.’

***************

Thorin walked out of the conference room behind his boss and the new clients. He’d had trouble concentrating during the meeting. His thoughts kept straying back to the dinner he had shared with Bilbo and his mother. Somehow talk had come easy once they had sat down to eat. Mrs Baggins talked about her childhood, Bilbo made them laugh with stories about his year at a fashion academy in Milan and Thorin, when faced with two pairs of big, pleading blue eyes, shyly shared bits and pieces about growing up in the countryside.

‘My word, Durin, where on earth did you dig up the fairy?’ One of his least favourite colleagues, Dain, was staring at him with a mocking smile on his face.

‘Fairy?’ Thorin looked around, half expecting a lady in a ballgown and wings.

‘The pansy.’ Dain jerked his head in the direction of the client waiting room with its large windows. Thorin’s eyes opened wide when he saw the short man pacing there, muttering to himself and moving his arms around. It couldn’t be. Why on earth would Bilbo Baggins be here at Erebor Accountancy? Then he frowned.

‘Pansy?’ he asked.

Dain rolled his eyes.

‘God, Durin, sometimes I think you’re from another planet. The sissy. The homosexual.’ He said the word slowly, putting emphasis on each syllable.

‘You mean Mr Baggins?’

‘If that’s his name. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice. Even you can’t be this blind.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ said Thorin. Could people see from the outside if someone was gay? Could they see...

‘Incredible,’ sighed Dain. ‘The way he moves his hips, his hands, the way he talks. It’s obvious to anyone. Except you it seems.’ He chuckled. ‘Anyway, he asked specifically for you, so you better not keep him waiting any longer. He might faint.’ And with that he walked away, still laughing.

Thorin moved his shoulders, as if to remove something unpleasant from them, and hurried to the waiting room.

‘Bilbo?’

‘Thorin!’ Bilbo rushed to him, stopping only just in time not to collide with him. His arms were raised, but he let them fall to his sides again. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you here, but it’s mum.’

‘What is it?’ Thorin was immediately worried. ‘Is she ill?’

‘No, she’s gone and I can’t find her.’ Bilbo’s voice raised to a high note and then broke into a sob. ‘She’s been gone for at least three hours, and we’ve been looking everywhere, but she’s just gone. I...maybe I have to start calling the hospitals...’ He started waving his hands around.

Instinctively Thorin grabbed those hands, forcing him to go still.

‘Calm down,’ he said, his voice low. ‘Don’t panic. I will come with you.’

Bilbo’s frightened eyes went up to his face, tears were threatening to fall out.

‘Really?’

‘Of course. Let me take my coat.’

‘But your work...’

‘It can wait.’ Thorin walked to his office, grabbed his coat and personal things, and headed back to the waiting room. Bilbo was still standing there, as if he hadn’t moved at all.

‘Let’s go,’ Thorin said. Bilbo followed him through the dark oak-panelled hall.

‘Going somewhere, Durin?’ called out Dain.

‘Yes,’ he answered curtly. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back.’ He held the door open so Bilbo could pass through.

‘Have fun!’ said Dain in a sing-song voice.

Outside Thorin took a deep breath to adapt to the brightness of the sun and the fact that something quite outside the normal routine was happening.

‘Okay,’ he said, turning to Bilbo. ‘Tell me.’

‘Mrs Gamgee was sitting with mum, but she was tired and dozed off. When she woke up, my mother was gone. She phoned Mrs Proudfoot and they walked around the immediate neighbourhood and when they couldn’t find her, they called me. I took my mother’s bike and went around in increasingly wider circles but she is nowhere!’ Bilbo rand both hands through his very messed-up curls. Without thinking Thorin put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.

‘Where does she normally go?’

‘Uhm,’ Bilbo closed his eyes. He seemed to lean into Thorin’s touch slightly. ‘There are a number of shops, she wasn’t there and they promised to call if she shows up.’

‘So, she tends to go shopping? Are there any shops further away that she likes? Could she have gone to Took-Brandybuck to visit you?’

Bibo frowned.

‘That seems unlikely. Besides, they would call me.’ He dug up his mobile and checked to see if he had missed any messages. Apparently he hadn’t.

‘Alright,’ said Thorin. ‘Let me think.’ Thinking was something he could do. Think logically. Where would someone like mrs Baggins go? ‘She likes music, could she have gone to a music store, or a concert or something?’

‘It’s possible, I suppose.’ Bilbo sounded unconvinced. ‘She used to like the theatre but hasn’t been there in ages.’

‘What else is on her mind?’ asked Thorin. ‘Generally speaking, and specifically lately?’

‘Uh, my father, her mother, umm, shepherd’s pie for some reason, my story, uh, you.’

‘Me?’

Bilbo nodded, cheeks more flushed than before.

‘She seems to like you a lot.’

‘Well, she isn’t here,’ said Thorin, looking back at the building, frowning. ‘Assuming she even knows I work here.’

‘I don’t think she does,’ said Bilbo. He looked up at Thorin expectantly. Thorin realized his hand was still on Bilbo’s shoulder. For a moment he considered removing it, but then decided not to. Bilbo didn’t seem to mind.

‘So, shepherd’s pie. Well, I don’t think that helps, she wasn’t at the shops. How about your book?’

‘What about it? Do you think she’s gone to find a dragon?’ Bilbo’s eyes flashed a shimmer of humour.

‘Would she?’ asked Thorin seriously.

‘I don’t know.’ Bilbo looked at him curiously.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. You take her so seriously.’

Thorin frowned.

‘Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?’

‘Not many people do,’ said Bilbo quietly. ‘Even the neighbours...’

‘Let’s not dwell on that now,’ said Thorin, squeezing his shoulder lightly. ‘We need to find her first. What does she say about your book?’

‘She says it should be a proper book with pictures.’ He smiled. ‘She said I should sell it in my shop.’

‘Your shop?’

‘Yes. Oh, that’s another thing she’s been talking about since the other day, when I told you about it.’

‘Hmm.’ Something niggled on Thorin’s brain. Suddenly an idea came to him. ‘Does she know Stormcrow Books?’

‘Yes,’ said Bilbo slowly. ‘Yes! We used to buy children’s books there when I was young. Do you think...?’

‘It’s worth a try.’

Bilbo nodded, grabbed his phone, found the number on the internet and called the bookstore. After only a few words with Mr Grey, he looked up at Thorin with a blinding smile.

A cab brought them to Stormcrow Books at the other side of town in twenty minutes. Bilbo dashed out, leaving Thorin to pay the cabby, but he didn’t mind. When he entered the shop a minute later, he found Bilbo hugging his mother while Mr Grey looked at them with a smile.

‘Well, hello Mr Durin,’ the elderly shopkeeper greeted him. ‘Are you acqainted with this charming lady?’

‘You watch it, young man,’ said mrs Baggins sternly, removing herself from Bilbo’s embrace and shaking a finger at mr Grey. ‘Giving me tea and biscuits does not mean you are allowed to take liberties.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear lady.’

‘We were talking about your book, sweetheart,’ said Mrs Baggins, turning around to Bilbo and catching sight of Thorin. ‘Oh, there you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘You handsome thing! How good of you to come!’ She extended her hand to him and he felt obliged to take it. She pulled both men in mr Grey’s direction.

‘This is my son, the writer,’ she said, ‘and this is his boyfriend. Aren’t they a handsome couple?’

Thorin opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Mr Grey nodded smiling.

‘Very handsome,’ he said.

‘No, we’re not...’ Bilbo started to say. ‘I mean, Thorin...’ He looked at Thorin as if seeking help, but Thorin found he could only stare and think what it would be like to be Bilbo’s boyfriend and oh dear what was he thinking and his face was becoming hot and why was Bilbo looking at him like that? Bilbo coughed.

Thorin felt as if awakening from a dream.

‘No, no we’re not ... boyfriends,’ he said hastily. ‘I’m just...’

‘A friend,’ said Bilbo. ‘He’s a friend. Mr Grey, thank you so much for taking care of my mother, I was very worried.’

‘It’s nothing, dear boy. I believe this belongs to you?’ He handed Bilbo the large notebook that contained his story. ‘Your mother asked me to publish it but I’m afraid I’m just a bookseller.’

Thorin pursed his lips together to stop himself from asking if Mr Grey was thinking about retiring.

‘I have to return to work,’ he said instead. Bilbo turned to him, smiling

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I hope your boss won’t be angry.’

‘I hope so t...’ But Thorin’s words were cut off when Bilbo suddenly threw his arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.

‘Thank you so much,’ Bilbo whispered. Then he let go of Thorin after looking in his eyes for a moment as if searching for something.

Thorin was in a bit of a daze while he walked out and hailed a taxi to take him back to the office.

*********************

Although he saw Bilbo shortly when he arrived at the Baggins’ house the next morning, the rest of the week dragged on endlessly. Thorin found himself thinking about his new friend, and especially the hug and kiss, every moment his mind wasn’t occupied with his work. At night he sat in his flat, surrounded by his bookshelves and listening to Bach or Beethoven, not being able to concentrate on the book he was currently reading. ‘Oblomov’ seemed to have lost all its appeal in favour of blue eyes in a sweet face surrounded by dark blond curls. When Friday finally came, Thorin wasn’t sure if he was happy or apprehensive at the thought of Bilbo being home that afternoon. Until he realised that he wasn’t at all sure that Bilbo would be off today.

Bilbo was home. He opened the door to Thorin with a happy smile.

‘Come in, come in!’ he chanted. ‘Let me take your coat and go right in!’

A little bewildered, Thorin did as asked. In the living room he found Mrs Baggins sitting in her usual chair, beaming at him. On the coffee table in front of her was a large dish with a selection of pastry. The large tea pot was there too, surrounded by three cups.

‘Sit, sit,’ said Bilbo gesturing at the couch. Thorin sat down. Bilbo perched on the edge of the couch, taking a pastry dish in one hand and cocking his head at Thorin.

‘What do you like?’ he asked. ‘There’s apple pie, Bakewell pudding, Chorley cake, and strawberry pie.’

‘Bilbo baked the apple and strawberry pies,’ Mrs Baggins declared. Bilbo blushed.

‘I...I...’ Thorin stuttered. He wasn’t really very fond of pastry, it was too sweet for his taste. But how could he refuse without insulting Bilbo? He didn’t want to cause Bilbo any discomfort.

‘I’m guessing you’re not much of a sweet tooth, are you?’ asked Bilbo. When Thorin didn’t react, Bilbo nudged him with his elbow. ‘Am I right?’

Thorin nodded.

‘I made the apple pie with only half the amount of sugar,’ said Bilbo, sounding just a little smug. ‘But there are also sandwiches in the kitchen if you prefer that.’

‘There’s salmon and cheese,’ added mrs Baggins.

‘Apple pie,’ said Thorin. If Bilbo baked that especially for him, he was certainly going to try it, if only to make him happy. And when Bilbo flashed him a smile, he was glad he made that choice. It slowly sank in. Bilbo baked him apple pie. He realised he was smiling rather stupidly, but he didn’t seem able to stop doing it.

‘So,’ said Mrs Baggins when they were all sitting with their tea and pastry. ‘What’s the occasion? Is it your birthday, Tim?’

‘Thorin, mum,’ said Bilbo. ‘And no, it’s not his birthday. At least,’ he threw Thorin a look. ‘I don’t think so. Is it?’

Thorin shook his head, still smiling stupidly.

‘My birthday is in July,’ he said.

‘We’re thanking Thorin because he helped find you when you were lost, mum.’

‘Lost? I never get lost, thank you very much! I have lived in this town since I was born, I know every nook and cranny.’

‘Of course, mum.’

Mrs Baggins still looked cross. She had put her dish on the coffee table.

‘This apple pie is lovely,’ said Thorin, and he meant it. It was a little sour, not too sweet at all. It earned him another radiant smile from Bilbo and his heart jumped a little in his chest.

‘Did you teach Bilbo how to bake, Mrs Baggins?’

‘Of course I did!’ This set Mrs Baggins off on a tale of baking in the old days, her anger quite forgotten. Bilbo leaned back on the couch, sitting close enough for Thorin to feel the heat of his body. It was quite distracting.

What was even more distracting were the little glances Bilbo seemed to cast at him occasionally. Thorin had no idea how to react to that, so he ignored them, although his collar seemed at least a size too small at the moment.

When they had all finished their pastry and their second cup of tea, Thorin cleared his throat.

‘I should start my work,’ he said. ‘What do you want me to do today?’

‘Ironing,’ said Bilbo.

Oh good, he could blame his heated face on the iron the rest of the afternoon. And didn’t that come in handy, since Bilbo had decided to go through a number of drawers in the living room, which apparently required him to bend over quite a lot right in Thorin’s line of vision. It was excruciating. For some reason Mrs Baggins was in a particularly jolly mood. She was knitting a very brightly coloured scarf, looking up regularly at either Bilbo or Thorin and chuckling quietly.

‘I talked to Mr Grey,’ Bilbo said suddenly. ‘I called him this morning to ask if he had any advice on how to start my own bookshop.’

Thorin looked up sharply.

‘That is fantastic,’ he said enthousiastically. ‘What did he say?’

‘Well, it turns out he isn’t quite ready to retire yet.’

Thorin’s face fell.

‘But.’ Bilbo smirked at him. ‘He would not mind having a successor lined up and he is looking into the possibility to hire me for two or three mornings or afternoons a week. To learn the ropes so to say. And if it all works out, I might be able to buy him out in a few years.’

Thorin stared at Bilbo until he sensed a burning smell and Bilbo cried: ‘Watch it!’

He yanked the iron off the blouse he had been ironing. A brown burn marred the pretty flower pattern. Mortified, Thorin traced the spot with his finger.

‘It’s ruined,’ he said softly.

‘I guess it is,’ said Bilbo, unexpectedly close. When Bilbo’s hand, reaching down to touch the burned blouse, brushed against Thorin’s, Thorin jerked his hand away, startled. Bilbo froze. There was a short silence.

‘Nothing to be done about it,’ Bilbo said nonchalantly, moving away. ‘Don’t worry about it, mother has lots more.’

Thorin clenched his hands together, not wanting Bilbo to see that they were shaking slightly. He felt like a complete fool. He abandoned the ironing and fled to the kitchen to see if he could find something to do there. He leaned his hands on the cool granite counter, exhaling.

‘Thorin?’ Bilbo’s voice was quiet and uncertain. Thorin’s heart jumped in his chest. He turned slowly, to see Bilbo standing in the doorway. Thorin gave him a faint smile, but Bilbo looked unhappy. Sad maybe, or something else. As if making a decision, he straightened and walked toward Thorin until he was standing in front of him.

‘I am sorry, Thorin, but I have to know. It’s too difficult.’

Difficult? What could be difficult? Bilbo looked up at him with those deep blue eyes.

‘I suppose you have gathered that I am gay?’ Bilbo asked.

‘I... yes, I thought...’ Hoped. ‘... you might be.’

Bilbo eyed him intensely.

‘I apologize for being so blunt, but I am at a loss with your mixed signals,’ he said softly.

Signals? What was he talking about? Thorin had difficulty thinking with Bilbo’s gaze directed at him. He blinked.

‘Thorin,’ Bilbo hesitated for a moment. ‘Are you gay?’

Thorin swallowed.

‘Yes,’ he said. His voice sounded all wrong.

‘And are you ... okay with being gay?’

There was a rushing in his ears.

‘Yes.’ He was, but this was the first time he had ever said anything about it to anyone.

‘But why...’

‘I’m just really shy,’ blurted Thorin. ‘Really, ridiculously shy.’ And as if on command he blushed furiously.

Bilbo’s face seemed to melt into relaxation. He raised his hand and cupped Thorin’s jaw, rubbing his thumb across his beard.

‘Thorin.’ There were little brown specks in the blue of Bilbo’s eyes, it was beautiful.

‘I never know what to do,’ babbled Thorin. ‘With people and ... and things. I always get it wrong.’

Suddenly that thumb was pressed to his lips.

‘Shh,’ said Bilbo. ‘I would very much like to kiss you. Is that alright?’

The rushing in his ears became so loud that he couldn’t hear anything else. Dumbly he nodded. And then soft lips pressed against his, moist and warm. So lovely. He just let it happen. Until somehow his body knew what to do. As he closed his arms around Bilbo, a soft moan escaped his throat. The lips retreated, but before he could protest, they were back, more insistant this time. And he kissed back, tasting the warm wetness of Bilbo’s mouth, feeling his soft chubbiness against his own body, and a shudder overtook him from his head down to his toes.

‘Oh god, Bilbo,’ he managed to whisper when they parted for air. He tried not to crush him but he wasn’t sure he succeeded, the need to hold him close was so strong.

‘Oh you beautiful, beautiful man,’ sighed Bilbo. His embrace was tight and it made Thorin feel wanted.

They kissed again and again. Thorin wanted to stay there, in Bilbo’s kitchen, in Bilbo’s arms, forever.

‘Let me hold you,’ said Thorin when they stopped kissing. ‘Let me just hold you and make your sorrow go away.’

Bilbo removed his hands from Thorin’s waist. He felt lost for a moment, until they closed around his face. Bilbo looked up at him almost nose to nose.

‘You are such a sweetheart,’ Bilbo said softly. ‘Such an adorable sweetheart.’

Thorin didn’t think anyone had ever said something like that to him. He blinked, hardly able to believe what was happening. Bilbo chuckled.

‘You are, my dear,’ he said. ‘And you can hold me any day, as long as I get to hold you too.’

Thorin nodded. It seemed like a brilliant idea. Bilbo laughed and hid his face in the crook of Thorin’s neck. Thorin held him, thinking how he would help Bilbo realise his dream. He dared even admit to having his own dream now. A dream all about the lovely man in his arms.