Title: sometimes the wire must tense for the note

Author: boswellonthestreet

Rating: K+

Fandom: The Hobbit

Disclaimer: Not mine but I WISH IT WEREEEE

Summary: Kili wakes up after his healing and discovers that it wasn't a dream after all.

When Kili opened his eyes again, he was staring into the tangles of a giant fishing net. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming—he'd been thrashing around in the darkness for ages, drifting in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of faces and snatches of voices he wasn't sure he knew.

But then he realized he was lying on his back on Bard's kitchen table and looking up at the ceiling, and daylight was filtering gently in through the window.

Sitting up slowly, Kili scrubbed his eyes and inhaled. In. Out. He seemed to be in one piece. Then he froze and looked down.

His injured leg was now bare up to the middle of the thigh; someone had cut the dirtied cloth of his pant leg off it while he'd been sleeping. A thick bandage was secured around the wound, which was now cool and no longer throbbing angrily. Kili fingered the bandage experimentally and recognized the cloth—it had been cut from the bottom of Fili's tunic.

Fee. Glancing around, Kili searched the room for any sign of his brother—then realized he was lying on the floor a few steps away along with Oin and Bofur, all of them sound asleep. Bard's daughters were curled up beside them; Bofur's coat had been tucked around them, and the younger girl had one arm thrown across Fili's chest. The peaceful sight brought a pang to his chest.

Kili rolled over onto his good side, and using the edge of the table for support, slowly began to lower himself to the floor.

"You shouldn't be trying to walk," a familiar voice said sternly from behind him. In spite of the tone, hearing it sent a pleasant shiver licking all the way down his spine.

Swallowing, Kili turned. "Well, we dwarves have a fighting spirit," he croaked, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

The wood-elf was perched delicately on the edge of a weave-backed chair, her hands in her lap. Her bow and quiver rested against the back. She seemed out of place there in the Man's cluttered house, among the pots and pans and bits of tackle. It was like seeing a tulip underground, or a star in the morning sky.

"And we elves have a saying," Tauriel responded, rising to her feet. "He who rides the wildest horse is first into the ditch."

Obediently, Kili levered himself back onto the table, but remained sitting up, moving one of the cushions behind him. "I'd bet my mother's beard that's not an Elvish saying at all," he challenged her, once he was comfortable. "It's not flowery enough."

Tauriel laughed, crossing the room. "You're right. I made it up. Besides, I'm no flower."

Kili paused. "No. You're not," he agreed, and she looked surprised. "What I mean is—you're something stronger. Like a—like a..."

"Thistle?"

"A cedar tree," he said firmly. "Green in every season."

Tauriel started to say something, then glanced away quickly. Her gaze fell on Fili, sleeping on the floor. "Your brother is very devoted to you," she said. "He refused to leave your side, but Oin helped me assure him of the efficacy of Elvish medicine."

Kili grinned. "That's Fee for you. When I had my first axe lessons, he was standing three feet away with a medicine kit. Dwalin kept telling him to move back or he'd take his ear off." He chortled, then stopped when he realized Tauriel was staring in a slightly horrified way. "I—that—he was joking," he explained.

Bemusedly, she shook her head. "Dwarves. Look, I...I'm going to need to take another look at your wound now. So could you—"

"Oh. Right." Kili pulled his leg up onto the table and stretched it out gingerly, rubbing his knee.

Tauriel moved closer then and reached out to unwrap the bandage, and Kili suddenly felt like his heart was about to thump its way out of his ribcage. Her fingers were cool on his bare skin—but not smooth, he realized with admiration; the pads were scratchy and marked with old calluses.

As she bent to examine the wound, strands of her red-gold hair fell over her ear, and he caught a wisp of her scent. Even here, so far away from home, she smelled like the thick heart of the forest—sap and nectar, and something else all her own. He took a slow deep breath, quietly so that she wouldn't notice, and held onto it as long as he could before letting it go.

"I'm sorry about your—" She gestured at his ripped-up pant leg helplessly, apparently uncomfortable with using the word 'trousers.' "It would have gotten infected again if I had just left it." Clearing her throat, she refastened the bandage briskly. "Anyway, it seems to be healing well. The dressing will need to be changed, but not quite yet. Are you hungry?"

Just the thought of eating made Kili feel queasy. He shook his head, and then wished he hadn't—the room was suddenly spinning.

"No," he said tightly, squeezing his eyes shut. "No food. But—sorry—I think—" He lurched forward and gripped the edge of the table to stop himself from falling, trying to fight the nausea.

But Tauriel was there before he could process the fact, holding out a bowl with one hand—and as he was sick into it, awkwardly patting his back with the other, murmuring something he couldn't understand. When he was done, she handed him a cup of water.

"I'm sorry," he managed to get out finally, gasping a little and rubbing his eyes on his sleeve. "You shouldn't be cleaning up after me."

"Nonsense. What with your injury and your journey here, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner." She sighed. "Besides, it's a good sign. It means the last of the poison is leaving your body. Don't lie down yet."

Kili stayed half-sitting on the edge of the table, his palms digging into the hard edge, his head hunched between his shoulders. It hurt too much to look at her just now, so he didn't.

"Why?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Do you want that water to come back up?"

"I mean, why are you here."

There was silence for a moment. "I learned of your injury after you had gone. I...defied orders."

"You would risk your honor like that?"

"I couldn't turn my back on someone whose life was in danger," said Tauriel defiantly. "A life is no small thing..." Then the tone of her voice changed. "Though it might belong to a small person."

He did look up then, and saw that Tauriel was mere inches away, and she was smiling at him. "I'm not sure whether to feel insulted or not," he said, feeling his chest expand. "I'm pretty tall for a dwarf, you know."

"'Thank you' would have sufficed," Tauriel countered lightly.

Kili pretended to look confused. "Thank...you? What is that? Some Elvish concept?" he asked, and she made a small amused noise. "Seriously, though...thank you. I—" He faltered, and looked back down at his feet, swinging them awkwardly like a child dabbling in a pond. "You've saved my life three times now. And third time pays for all. I..."

Trailing off, he shook his head in a small, contained motion. "Tell me what I can do to repay you, and I will do it."

That silence again. "What you said," she began finally, carefully, twisting her hands together, and was she—blushing? "Last night..."

Last night? Kili cast his thoughts back to his delirium, but all he could remember coming out of his own mouth were screams. He frowned with the effort of recollection, and then horror flooded his stomach. "I didn't swear at you, did I?"

Tauriel stared at him, and then burst out laughing—hard enough that Kili was taken slightly aback.

This, he realized, watching her struggle to collect herself. This was what he had been so drawn to—not the stars beneath her lashes or the way her every bone glowed with light, but her realness, all the fierceness and honesty and joy that bubbled to the surface. And not for the first time, Kili wondered.

"Never mind," Tauriel said finally, shaking her head. "If you're feeling better now, would you like me to brew you some—"

But he stopped her before she could finish her question. He lifted his hand and, before he knew what he was doing, held it gently against her cheek. Her skin was like silk, and the hair falling over her face that brushed his fingers was like the soft blade of a feather. Startled by his own boldness, he nearly drew back, but when she did not pull away herself, he left his palm there.

And it was in doing this that for the first time since he'd woken up, he saw the tense line of her jaw, the faint trembling of her chin, the dark circles under her eyes. She was of the Fair Folk—in everything she was completely without flaw, and she would be walking the earth long after his name had faded from memory—but she was tired. In that moment, Kili knew exactly what he wanted, in a way he never had before. He wanted to stay there looking at her, hearing her voice, letting her wreak havoc with his heartbeat for the rest of his life. But—

"Get some rest," he said quietly, and when he saw that she was about to protest, he added, "Please. I'm fine now, I'll watch the house until the others wake up. Count it towards what I have to do to repay you."

The surprise on Tauriel's face changed eventually to acceptance and gratitude. She lifted her hand to cover his briefly, just before he let her go and she moved back to her chair.

Later, Kili thought, as he reached down to the floor to pick up his bow, and shifted his body to face the door. There would be time for everything, later.

A sequel of sorts to like i've never seen the sky before, if only by virtue of its being set during the canon DoS timeline. Title is from "Atlas" by Coldplay because the lyrics actually kinda suit The Hobbit more than Catching Fire, and also is a cray cray.

Hope you all enjoyed; thank you to everyone who liked my first Kiliel oneshot, it means a lot! Cheers!