Love Thy Neighbour

VII

Bilbo slammed his door forcefully then collapsed against it, breathing ragged and heart pounding forcefully in his chest. How could have been so stupid? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Sinking down to the floor with a sigh, he let his head fall into his hands.

Thorin just looked so perfect, face cast in shadow by the soft glow coming from the building and those blue, blue eyes were fixed on him, their gaze as soft as ever and he was not able to resist. Spurred on by the wine coursing through his veins, he leaned up and kissed those lips as he had wanted to for so long. Lord, how he wanted it. And that brief moment of contact was all it took; it terrified him how right it felt and so, like the utter coward he was, he fled.

The tinny sound of Help! cut through the silence like a knife, making Bilbo jump and he scrambled to pull his mobile from his pocket, raising it to his ear.

"Drogo?"

"Bilbo!" Drogo cried in relief, his voice filled with a mix of panic and excitement. "It's Prim, her waters have just broke!"

In an instant, Bilbo was on his feet and headed for his bedroom. He threw his small holdall onto the bed and began to fling in random items of clothing and various other necessities whilst Drogo continued to talk frantically.

"Drogo," Bilbo said in a tone much calmer than what he was feeling, "I know it's hard, but you need to calm down - get Prim to the hospital and I will be there as soon as I can. I think there's a train at around five, so I can be with you by seven in the morning, okay?"

He heard his cousin take a deep breath before speaking, "Yes, get Prim to hospital, and you will be here soon."

"You can do this," Bilbo said kindly.

"Yes," there was a pause, and when he spoke again, Bilbo could hear the grin his tone, "Bilbo, I'm going to be a father."

Once his suitcase was packed, he scrawled a quick note to Bofur on a post-it and went and stuck it on his door down the hall.

On his way back, he paused at his door, looking to Thorin's door, a thin strip of golden light glowing at the bottom, and went as if to knock but then stopped himself, grabbing his bag and keys from just inside his flat. Locking his door, he gave one last glance to Thorin's door before he carried on towards the lift and ignored the surge of longing in his chest.

Looked like he was running away again.

His footsteps echoed eerily in the empty lobby, loud against the distant sound of revelry downstairs. Despite it being New Year's Eve, it was still early, and so it only took Bilbo about ten minutes to hail a taxi to take him to Paddington station.

In the dim fluorescent lights, the station had a strange atmosphere that sent shivers down Bilbo's spine and he hurried over to one of the ticket machines. Thankfully, there was a train departing at twenty-past five and he quickly purchased a ticket, not really caring at the extortionate price and then shuffled to the lone open coffee counter and ordered a large coffee, hoping the caffeine would keep him awake until he had to board his train.

Dozing the entire journey, Bilbo was feeling mildly less groggy when the train pulled into the station at Gloucester. It took him almost half and hour to find a taxi and just as the car had pulled away from the kerb, his phone rang again.

"Bilbo? You here?" It was Saradoc - Drogo and Esme, the birth-partner, were probably in the room with Prim at that moment.

"Just in a taxi, I'll be there shortly. How's it going?"

"I could hear a lot of screaming. I thought I'd better ring you because Prim was shouting something about 'where the fuck is Bilbo?' in between cursing Drogo for doing this to her."

Bilbo chuckled, "I can well imagine."

"She's fully dilated now," Sara continued, his voice thick with discomfort. "Though there's been no moves towards… unloading yet."

Snorting incredulously, Bilbo repeated, "Unloading? God help us if you and Esme ever end up having kids."

"I won't be down the business end, that's for sure."

"So you'll be in arms reach instead?"

There was a sort of strangled alarmed squeal from the other end of the line. "Maybe I'll have a convenient fainting attack."

After telling him the ward number, Sara hung up and Bilbo passed the rest of the drive in silent anticipation, fingers drumming nervously upon his knee.

Practically bursting out of the taxi, he moved across the hospital lobby in a half-run, half-walk, completely failing in his vague attempt to look dignified.

The woman on the reception desk seemed to regard him with some degree of amusement.

"Maternity ward?"she prompted and he nodded.

"Bilbo Baggins, here to see Primula Baggins."

"Ah, yes, Mrs Baggins actually left a note for you." If possible the brunette looked even more entertained as she handed over what looked to be one of Drogo's handkerchiefs. In a barely legible scrawl across it, was, written in black permanent marker, 'Hurry the fuck up!'

He let out a brief laugh and folded it away into the pocket of his dress trousers.

"Lifts are on your left," the receptionist directed, "Sixth floor, then you'll want to follow the corridor to your right and it's the fifth ward on the left."

Thanking her quickly, Bilbo was off again, near enough jumping on his feet in the lift and skidding slightly upon the polished floors in his haste. Saradoc was waiting for him outside the ward and he was pulled inside with barely enough chance to wash and disinfect his hands. In the corridor they waited on cool plastic seats, neither bothering to speak and listening to Primula's shouts and curses, some enough to make even a sailor blush.

At just after twenty past nine, a euphoric Drogo stumbled out, huge dark bags under his eyes, but a proud smile upon his face.

"I'm a dad," he said slowly, as if his mind were still processing the fact, "To a beautiful baby boy."

Bilbo pulled his cousin into a tight hug. "Congratulations."

Ignoring the protest of the nurse, Drogo pulled Bilbo and Sara into the delivery room where an exhausted Prim sat on the bed, her newborn child wrapped in a bundle in her arms.

Her hair hung in messy strands, clinging to the shiny rivulets of sweat on her brow, a small, genuine grin played on her lips and in her bright eyes; she was quite simply radiant.

"Bilbo," she half-whispered, "I'd like you to meet your nephew; Frodo."

The babe in her arms made a slight gurgling noise and opened his tiny eyes, the same warm blue as a summer sky.

"Hello Frodo."

A few days later, Prim and Frodo came home and she was incredibly amused when either her husband or her dear friend would hold the baby as both would hold him so gently, as if scared to break him, marvelling at the tiny life they held in their arms. Bilbo was too blown away each time a tiny pink hand curled around his finger to really care.

At that moment, Drogo was sitting with his son cradled in his arms, his eyes teary as he stared down, one finger stroking softly over Frodo's dark curls. Bilbo sat on the other side of the table, stockinged feet pulled up onto the chair away from the cold floor, and a warm cup of tea wrapped in his hands. He was worrying his bottom lip, his mind having drifted to Thorin in the quiet, back to that kiss and he wondered whether he should phone him.

And say what exactly?

'Sorry I kissed you, like I've wanted to do for months?'

He might as well throw caution to the wind and just call and say 'I love you' - he was fairly certain now that there was no going back to the way they were and he was even more certain that he didn't want to. His mother always told him that love should be entered into freely, with passion, with abandon, or not at all. And that there was nothing quite like it, being deeply, madly in love.

And there wasn't.

He could imagine her now, berating him for being such a coward, for running away from something wonderful, all because what? He was scared?

The man was probably worried - he had a tendency to do so when there was no need to - and Bilbo had left him and then run away without so much as a word. He should at least tell him where he was. That he was an uncle now too.

Boldness coursing through him at his resolution, Bilbo's fingers inched towards the phone resting on the table, jumping back as it rang suddenly. The sharp shrill sound ripped through the kitchen, shocking the poor baby Frodo to tears. Drogo glared at the phone and started to shush his bawling child and Bilbo picked up the handset, dashing from the kitchen before raising it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"What have you done to my brother?" the person of the other line began straightforwardly. Bilbo froze in place in the corridor.

"Dís?" he asked in bemusement, "Why are you calling me?"

"Thorin is in a terrible mood," she said plainly, he could almost picture shrugging her shoulders, "Have you two had a fight?"

Frowning, he began to worry at his bottom lip with his teeth and moved just inside one of the living rooms, perching on the arm of the sofa.

"No, no we haven't."

Dís gave a resigned sigh, "What's he done?"

"Nothing!" he protested. Goodness, did Thorin think he'd done something wrong? "It's more what I-" he cut himself off abruptly, not really wanting to admit to Thorin's sister just how much of a coward he'd been. She caught it though.

"What? You did something?"

Poor Thorin, she sounded so surprised.

"No...Maybe?" he tried evasively, silently berating himself for how it came out like a question.

"Bilbo."

He gulped at her tone, the no-nonsense one, with the underlying threat of anger she used whenever Fíli or Kíli, or Thorin for that matter, were being particularly obnoxious.

"I might have kissed him." He winced at the confession; it seemed wrong somehow, telling someone you'd kissed their sibling. "On New Year's, whilst drunk."

He wasn't sure why he added that last bit, perhaps as some sort of excuse, though in his mind it made the whole thing a little worse.

"Why is that an issue?" She sounded confused though it was laced with a certain brightness and he bit his lip, dreading what he was to say next.

"Its more what I did afterwards that is an issue…" he began, trailing off with a heavy sigh.

"And what would be?" she prompted after he paused for slightly too long. The good humour had gone, replaced with something more dangerous, more protective.

"I ran away," he said plainly, wrinkling his nose in disgust at his own cowardice. "Then I had to come to Gloucester for my nephew's birth. And I didn't tell him."

Dís made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. He could see her in his mind, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to ward off a frustration induced headache. "No wonder he's been a broody cesspit of despair."

Bilbo felt his brow tighten into a frown because really, there was no way he could have that much of an effect on Thorin. "What on earth do you mean?

Dís was incredulous. "Do you really not know?"

"Know what?"

"You are both such idiots," she ground out, then she burst out, all bluster, her words only gentling at the end, "About Thorin's feelings for you! He'll think you regret it, that you don't want it, don't want him."

"He- Me- Huh- What?" Bilbo stammered out, his mind malfunctioning. Thorin? Thorin had feelings for him? Surely not! But then what reason would Dís have to lie? His chest swelling joyfully, a smile began to spread on his lips.

"God give me strength," she muttered, mostly to herself. "You're as bad a each other." After a moment she addressed again, her tone carefully empty, though it still held a slight note of pleading, of uncertainty. "Please, just tell me I'm not mistaken, tell me you feel the same."

"I do," he managed, tone oddly strangled as he was still staring at the carpet with a disbelieving smile.

Thorin's sister let out a breath in relief.

"Good," she paused momentarily, "And offer my congratulations to your cousins."

Then she hung up, abruptly and without so much as a 'goodbye' and leaving Bilbo in silence, phone still raised to his ear.

Thorin felt the same. It wasn't hopeless - quite the opposite in fact.

"Who was that?" Drogo asked, from where he was still sat at the table, a once again quiet Frodo nursed in his arms. Bilbo blinked, completely unaware that he had made the short journey back to the kitchen. Prim poked her head around the door of the fridge, somehow smirking at him around the apple in her mouth.

"Dís."

His friend raised her eyebrows, "Thorin's sister? What did she want?"

"She wanted to know what I'd done to him," he replied before he could think better of it, putting the phone back in it's cradle.

Both his cousin and his wife looked like the cat that got the cream, making his cheeks burn crimson.

"Oh so he didn't react well to the whole snog and skedaddle then?"

"...he loves me…" he murmured, quiet enough that he wasn't sure they heard him. Glancing at their expressions he could see that they had; Prim was looking at him carefully and Drogo's mouth opened into a small, amazed gape. "At least that's what Dís said," he added, with poorly feigned nonchalance.

"Then why the hell are you still here?" Surprisingly, that came from Drogo, though both were looking at him as if he were a few cards short of a whole deck.

"What?"

"Go Bilbo." Drogo smiled then, bright and reassuring. "Go get him."

He looked to Prim, who gave an encouraging nod, then turned on his heels, practically running down the hall to his room, slippers skidding slightly on the wood floor. Carelessly, he threw all his belongings back into the case, though not really minding if he were to miss anything. By the time he reached the hall, Drogo was already waiting in his shoes and coat, car keys in hand. He bestowed three quick kisses, one to each of Prim's cheeks and one to Frodo's tiny forehead before calling out a goodbye and a promise to return. During the drive to the station, Drogo regarding him in merriment as he fidgeted and babbled nonsensically.

When they parted, he reiterated his words of support in a whisper as he wrapped Bilbo in a bear hug.

"Go get your man Bilbo."

He sat, antsy, the entire train journey, foot jumping up and down and fingers drumming an staccato rhythm on the windowsill. All of a sudden, his phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to see an obnoxious message of good luck from Prim. With a sigh, he stared at the screen for a moment. He let his finger hover over Thorin's name for a moment, wanting nothing more than to speak to him, to hear that deep voice, but it seemed wrong somehow - this had to be done in person - and he scrolled to Bofur's name, typing a hurried message to his friend.

'On my way home. Need to speak to Thorin.'

Barely, it seemed had he sent it that he received a reply. And it was, as Bofur always was, incredibly blunt.

'You do. I think you broke him.'

Bilbo bit his lip as the guilt surged in his chest once again.

He nearly dropped his phone again as it buzzed in his hand a few seconds later.

'I think he's been even grumpier than when he moved in. Seriously.'

Involuntarily, a smile twitched on his lips as he remembered ranting to Bofur about being on the receiving end of Thorin's initial surliness. Oh how far they had come; now, now Bilbo was in a mad dash across country to tell him he loved him.

A slightly mischievous smirk twisting at his lips, he typed out a reply.

'Hopefully I can fix that.'

'So should I knock at yours or his tomorrow?'

Bilbo could just picture Bofur's salacious grin at that, but he did not feel embarrassed.

'My bed's not made so I'm going to have to stay somewhere,' he wrote, then after a moment's pause, caved and added that suggestive winking face.

'Mr Baggins! I am appalled.'

'Shouldn't you be working?'

'Your sex life is far more interesting than people who are already drinking at this point on a Thursday.'

'I'm flattered.'

He put his phone away as there was announcement over the loudspeaker announcing their momentary arrival in London and he stood, pulling his bag from the overhead compartment and preparing himself to run for a taxi.

The slow drive through the busy streets of London abated his nervous energy somewhat so that when he stepped through the doors into the foyer of Arda Court, he felt oddly calm.

The lift was starting to close as he reached it and he dove through the doors, his bag almost becoming trapped in them. Thranduil, who lived up on the fifth floor, was looking at him in that detached manner of his that made Bilbo shift uncomfortably.

"In a hurry?" He arched one of his impressive eyebrows at him.

"I have something I need to sort out," he replied vaguely.

"Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?" Thranduil continued.

Bilbo frowned at him in confusion, "My boyfriend?"

"The tall, unpleasant one, scowls a lot."

Bilbo's eyes widened as understanding dawned, "Oh no, Thorin's not my-"

The lift arrived at the third floor, cutting him off and Bilbo backed out of the lift with a hurried goodbye before turning and bursting into his flat. With a quick glance at his watch, he realised Thorin would not be home yet and he felt his shoulders sink slightly as he deflated and his bag slipped, landing heavily on the floor.

Without really thinking about it, he ended up out on his balcony, leaning on the railing as he looked out across the city. The late afternoon sun had dropped behind him, the blue sky before him steadily deepening, streaked with wispy grey clouds. He was still in his coat so the cooling of the air as night fell did not bother him as it should have.

"Bilbo?" a surprised voice sounded, somewhere to his left and he turned to find Thorin in the doorway to his own flat, something akin to wonderment in his eyes.

And he saw it then, and wondered how he'd never seen it before, the incredible fondness, the affection in those blue, blue eyes.

Gosh, he had been an idiot hadn't he?

"You're back," the man murmured, still looking as if he couldn't quite believe Bilbo was there.

In a few short steps Bilbo was at his usual place on the balcony, facing Thorin, his apology whirling in his mind but not quite making the transformation into words.

"I have a nephew," he managed instead, "His name is Frodo."

Pulling out his phone, he flicked through to the photo of Frodo curled in his mother's arms and held it out for Thorin to take. A familiar heat sparked in his stomach at the brush of their fingers, only intensifying as Thorin gave a gentle smile at the picture.

"He's beautiful."

Bilbo took his phone back with an agreeing smile.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but Drogo rang just after," he swallowed thickly, hoping that the dim light would hide the flush prickling at his neck, "I came back here, and I left pretty much straightaway."

"It's fine," Thorin said, still with that slight smile. Then he gave a wry, humourless chuckle, the sound deep and beautiful and heartbreaking, coiling itself around Bilbo's chest and squeezing painfully. "I thought I had- That you did not-" He gave a frustrated sigh and raked his hand roughly through his hair. He had not cut it in a while, Bilbo noted, and it fell messily about his ears, one piece hanging in front of his eyes and the other man had to restrain himself from reaching across the gap and tucking it away. "You were he gone," he sighed, "And I thought…"

Dís had been right, he realised; Thorin had thought Bilbo's disappearance had somehow been his fault. And he still thought that, even now, if the way he looked almost hopeless, not quite meeting Bilbo's eyes, instead fixing his gaze just above his shoulder.

"I just had a very interesting conversation with your sister," he heard himself say, before he really had much chance to think on what to say, how to approach this.

Blue eyes had snapped to his then, wide and filled with an emotion somewhere between hope and trepidation.

"And she told me something," he continued, ignoring the stab of sadness in his gut as Thorin's head dropped so he was looking down at the space between them. "Something that made me jump on the next train to London."

"What did she say?"

Thorin's voice was tight and Bilbo's hand shot across to rest upon one of his fists as it clenched the railing.

"That you loved me, more or less." And now it was Bilbo's turn to avoid Thorin's gaze, not quite wanting to look into those eyes just yet, scared his resolve would crumble and he would kiss him before he got all he needed to say.

He gave a sigh, lacing his next words with fond exasperation,

"How could you not think I wanted you, loved you, you beautiful, impossible man?"

He dared meet Thorin's gaze then and his breath was almost knocked from him at the love in those eyes, at the brilliant smile dawning as Bilbo's words processed.

So Bilbo decided to cave and he leaned over and kissed those curved lips fiercely.

Thorin kissed back, pressing and insistent, his hand cupping Bilbo's neck, fingers curling in the short hairs at the nape. The bar of the railing was wedged uncomfortably in his stomach and he was balanced precariously on his toes but he found himself unable to care because it was perfect.

As Thorin's lips grazed his lower lip he forced himself to pull away, and he lowered himself so he was flat on his feet once more.

"Inside?" he offered, catching Thorin's shiver; the man was in one of his cotton button down shirts, just home from work.

Thorin smiled then and Bilbo ran through his flat and through the door, skidding to halt at his neighbour's door as it opened.

Bilbo was fairly certain that ridiculous smile was reflected on his own face. Reaching up, he slipped his arms around Thorin's neck, tugging him down to capture those lips in his own. It was pretty hard to kiss, he mused, when you were both grinning like idiots.

"I love you," Bilbo whispered tenderly, each word causing their lips to brush.

Thorin's arms, which held Bilbo snug to his warm chest, tightened infinitessimally and he moved his head to murmur his own reply in Bilbo's ear.

"I love you too."

They both seemed to realise they were half in the corridor then and, giggling slightly, Bilbo backed Thorin into his own flat before rejoining their lips once more.

Thorin shut the door and Bilbo found himself pressed against it as their kiss deepened, growing ever more intense that Bilbo was glad for the strong arms supporting him because he was pretty sure his knees would give out underneath him.

Thorin moaned, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest and it resonated in Bilbo's own. At some point, he broke away to fasten his mouth to Thorin's collarbone, enjoying the sounds his alternating kisses and grazes of teeth elicited from the taller man. Thorin's hand slipped under his coat and the hem of his jumper to trace searing circle on the bare skin at the small of his back.

The moment was broken then as Bilbo's stomach growled, loud and unbidden, and Bilbo could feel Thorin's quiet laugh more than he heard it. He managed a small, embarrassed smile against Thorin's neck before he pulled away.

"I… err… forgot dinner," he mumbled.

Thorin chuckled again and pecked Bilbo's nose once, then twice when he wrinkled it.

"You're ridiculous. I love you."

Bilbo would never tire of hearing that.

"You're worse, but I love you too."

He doubted he'd tire of saying it even less.

The following morning, when he awoke, it was curled into a warm side with light kisses being pressed to the shell of his ear. He was certain he could happily spend the rest of his days waking up to this. Not even the distant calls of Smaug could temper his beatific mood, their sound melting away to nothingness as he tilted his head up and he saw those wonderful blue eyes regarding him with a lazy sort of amazement.

"Good morning," Thorin greeted softly. "I think I could get used to this."

Bilbo smiled, "It is rather perfect."

And it was.

Because there was nothing quite like it; being madly, deeply in love.

FIN

A/N: It is done!

I just want to say a tremendous thank you to everyone who has read this, followed this story along the way, whose comments made me smile rather idiotically - you're all wonderful.

As always, I post updates on my tumblr: .com

I already have something new in the works, it's called 'And Straight On 'Til Morning' and hopefully I will be publishing the prologue in a week or two.

Once again, thank you all.

I'm going to miss writing this, the shameless fluff that it is.