Having finally escaped the frenzy of the very unnecessary auction outside, Bilbo Baggins let himself sag against the door behind him. His last words still echoed in his mind, whirling around in a cacophony of guilt and pain.

He had been halfway in the door when the question had been asked. For some reason he had found his eyes straying to the mark carved into his door, that odd little symbol that had started it all. Then he had turned to face the auctioneer, who was still pointing with one chubby finger to the signature scrawled across the bottom of the page, and smiled softly.

"He was my friend."

Bilbo pushed himself off the door, peering around him. He inspected his belongings, or rather lack there-of. Nearly all that he'd owned had already been sold, leaving just dust gathered on his hard wood floors, a few trinkets laying here and there.

Inevitably, Bilbo found himself wandering through the house, reminiscing old memories. Here, at this door, he had greeted each member of the company, in the kitchen he had watched them drink, and had gotten his first taste of a dwarf's drinking song and had proceeded to be undeniably scandalized. The doorframe that led to the pantry still held gouges from where hard dwarf armor had scraped against it as they looted his food. Bilbo smiled sadly as he moved from room to room, tears filling his eyes but not venturing to drip down his cheeks.

In the living room, he frowned as he spotted something white on the floor, just before the fireplace. He stooped to take a look, and found himself laughing at what he saw. For there, before him, with the initials BB embroidered in the corner, was his handkerchief.

"Wait!"

Bilbo thundered through the grass, eyes trained on the line of ponies ahead. He thanked the Valar that he had woken up when he had, even another ten minutes later and surely he would have been too late. As it was, he had barely caught them.

"Wait!" His screech was far louder than he thought it would have been, somehow carrying all the way to the group moving slowly up the dirt path. They jerked their ponies to a halt as Bilbo stumbled to a stop before the pony that bore Balin, holding up his contract with trembling fingers.

"Here, I've got the contract. It's signed."

As Balin took the long strip of parchment Bilbo sagged where he stood, bracing his hands on his thighs as he struggled to catch his breath. He only glanced up when, with a rumbling voice, Balin had declared that everything was in order.

"Good," stated Thorin. Going by the dry tone to his voice, Bilbo thought that was the exact opposite of what the dwarf was thinking, but he chose not to say this. "Give him a pony," Thorin added impatiently.

Bilbo's attention caught at this. He was not liking that idea. "No, no, that's quite alright, I can walk," he insisted. Then he yelped as two hands yanked him up, and within moments he found himself clinging to the back of a chestnut colored pony, Fili and Kili grinning on either side of him.

It had been merely ten minutes later when Bilbo had anxiously called the company to a halt. "I forgot my handkerchief," he whined, though he would never admit to whining, his voice reaching a dangerously shrill volume.

"Here you go, use this." From in front of him Bofur had torn off a section of his shirt and tossed it back to a very disgruntled Bilbo, who held it between his thumb and middle finger like it was a soggy old sock. Immediately the company went into motion again, members of the company still counting out their gold from the bet they had engaged in. Beside him Gandalf had rolled his eyes.

"You'll have to go without a good deal more than handkerchiefs before this journey is done, Bilbo Baggins," the old wizard had warned.

And he had been right.

Bilbo laughed, tears rolling unbidden down his face as he chortled. He had gone days without food (an unimaginable thing for a hobbit), without water, without a warm fire or a proper bed. So many months without a proper bed. Handkerchiefs had become the least of his worries. Yet as his choked laughs became sobs, he buried his face in the handkerchief, allowing himself to crumple into a ball on the floor.

It took him days to get all of his belongings back. Many hobbits were reluctant to return the items they'd bought, and the Sackville-Bagginses had been downright nasty about the whole business, but after many headaches Bilbo had returned all his furniture to its rightful place, his chest of gold that he'd taken from a troll's cave considerably lighter than it had been before, not that he cared too much about that. Not now that he'd seen what gold could do to a person.

And so he'd stayed there. In the confines of his hobbit hole Bilbo had hidden, not ready to face the world. For every time he ventured out of his room, he would see the ghosts of his friends in his house. True, the dirt that Kili had scraped off his boots was no longer caked on his mother's glory box, and the pantry was once more overflowing with cheese and bread, but it didn't seem right. For every time Bilbo looked to the front door, he couldn't help but think of one particular dwarf.

"He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." Thorin's voice was deep and smooth, and he spoke simply, as though discussing something as trivial as the weather, yet Bilbo could sense a hint of condemnation in the dwarf king's voice.

With Thorin's words still echoing through his mind, Bilbo had followed the dwarves back into the dining room, where they had all watched as Thorin slowly ate. At this point Bilbo had been thoroughly confused. Who was this dwarf that had the others, even Gandalf, so venerated by his mere presence? And what had he been going on about with burglars? He only piped in again when talk of dragons had started up, and of course the dwarves brought up the subject of burglars once more.

"You'll need a real good one for that; a professional," he'd commented, peering over Thorin's shoulder at the map spread out over his table. What creature was sneaky enough to get past a full grown dragon?

"And are you?"

Bilbo blinked rapidly at Thorin's words. "Me? What? No! I'm not a burglar! I've never stolen a thing in my life!"

And so the table had erupted into chaos, until Gandalf had stood and shouted "Enough! If I say that Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, than a burglar he is!" The wizard had turned to Thorin. "Thorin, you asked me to find the fourteenth member of your company, and I have chosen Bilbo. I believe he has a great deal to offer us, more than you think. More than he thinks," he added, peering with hooded eyes to a very flustered hobbit.

Bilbo smiled softly at the memory. Yes, he had doubted himself then; he had doubted himself until the very end of the quest. But he would never forget the moment that Thorin had stopped doubting him; that moment on the Carrock when the dwarf king had embraced him, apologizing fervently for his doubts. Bilbo had felt rather weak kneed at that point, and was glad he was leaning against a very firm muscled dwarf.

For it was at that moment that he had fallen in love with Thorin Oakenshield.

But from there it had all been downhill. As they got closer to the mountain Thorin began to change. At first it was subtle, a greater impatience to depart from camp in the mornings, more demanding in the hours they spent walking. In Mirkwood, Bilbo had hardly noticed any of Thorin's odd behaviors, knowing that the dark forest was making them all sick. But just how far Thorin had sunk became clear to him when Kili had been hurt. When Thorin had barely batted an eyelash, simply demanding that his nephew keep moving. The Thorin that Bilbo knew would have wrapped his nephew's injury himself, and, if necessary, carried him until they found a safe place to make camp.

He knew it to be true, for that was the man he had fallen in love with.

Bilbo had changed his focus at that point. No longer was his concern taking back Erebor, the mountain could cave in on itself for all he cared, he had a king to save. For even as he and Thorin had grown closer, Thorin had also moved away, until the man he'd fallen in love with was but a ghost, and he found himself standing behind a stranger as the men of Lake Town came begging for help.

So he had done what was necessary. Even as Thorin, or the dwarf that had once been Thorin, became dependent on Bilbo's support, Bilbo had betrayed him. He had given the Arkenstone to Thranduil and Bard the dragon slayer, and had advised them on how to use it against Thorin.

He had known the consequences of his actions, known then that there was no hope of a future for him with Thorin. But he also knew that he would much rather have Thorin alive and sane and hating him than dead. Bilbo hated that it hurt Thorin, but he could never regret it.

And he had thanked the Valar when Thorin had emerged, finally, from Erebor, joining the Battle of Five Armies. Bilbo had known that Thorin had been able to shake the gold sickness; that he was once more the dwarf that Bilbo loved. But he had thanked the Valar too soon. And he had watched from a distance as Thorin had died on Azog's sword.

He hadn't returned to Erebor. He was banned, even if he'd wanted to he couldn't. But he hadn't wanted to. He knew that he would hate the mountain now, the mountain that Thorin had died for. So he had snuck off in the night, and had only been slightly surprised to see Gandalf waiting for him past the city of Dale, his own bags packed and ready and a sad smile on the wizard's face. The journey back to the Shire had been quiet and uneventful, and the pair had avoided discussion of anything even resembling dwarves.

Bilbo didn't know when he would be ready to face the world. He kept his garden in order, planted the acorn he'd taken from Beorn's garden, and finally took a red leather bound book from his shelves. There he had poured out the details of his quest to reclaim the mountain, every tear, every laugh. He poured his heart into that book, laying down all the things he'd never said that he wished above all that he had.

He felt oddly at peace when he'd finished. Empty, and oddly happy about it. And so, for the first time in four years, Bilbo Baggins ventured down the old pub that sat at the center of the Shire.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the bar, and when they had he found that the pub had fallen utterly silent, every pair of eyes in the place trained on him. He gulped loudly, wishing he had brought Sting with him, as he had grown to expect when so many eyes were trained on him for there to be trouble. He shook his head- this was a Shire pub, he was no longer on the road- then raised his head and made his way silently to a booth in the corner. Within moments a tankard of ale had been set before him, and Bilbo gratefully buried his head in it.

Soon he found himself peering over the rim of the mug, studying the inhabitants of the bar. Of course there were hobbits, the small creatures with large hairy feet waddling this way and that. But there were also dwarves.

Bilbo smacked himself mentally. Well of course there are dwarves, he thought. He knew that not long after he had returned to the Shire a trading network had been set up between the Shire and the dwarves of Erebor. The mayor of the Shire had come to Bilbo's house, personally asking him if he'd like to handle the transactions, since he was so familiar with dwarves. Bilbo had politely declined, knowing that there was no way he would be able to face a dwarf at any point in the future. Besides, he doubted the dwarves would want to work with someone who had betrayed their fallen king.

But now Bilbo found himself paying attention to the dwarves that stumbled around the pub. Their braids swung as they moved, their cheeks ruddy with alcohol consumption- yes, all dwarves, Bilbo knew, loved their ale. Even Thorin, when the occasion struck and they found themselves in a safe place, enjoyed engorging himself. Bilbo had loved that about him, his ability to distance himself enough to lead without distancing himself so much that he couldn't enjoy himself. In the quiet night of their camps, Thorin had taught Bilbo several dwarf drinking tunes.

Now a hint of conversation at the next table caught Bilbo's attention.

"She is a pretty lass," admitted one hobbit. He shook his head sadly, then tilted his head back to take a sip of his ale. "Still no excuse though."

The hobbit sitting across from him snorted. "Well it's hardly surprising," he commented. "She's a Took! I'm surprised the same hasn't happened to more of them."

Bilbo frowned. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good. He scooted down the bench, straining his ears to pick up the conversation.

"Which one of them is the father?" asked the second hobbit. "Will she tell him?"

The first hobbit shook his head. "I doubt it," he commented dryly. "No good would come of it. It's not like he'd ever be a part of the child's life. She'll just raise the child quietly on her own."

Bilbo felt confusion stir inside him. A hobbit had gotten pregnant out of marriage. Such a thing was relatively rare in the Shire, but it did happen occasionally. No, Bilbo knew there was something else going on here. And he had a nagging feeling he knew what.

So he turned his head back, neatly draining his ale as he had learned how to do and stood, moving to stand over the table.

"Forgive me," he stated. "But I couldn't help but wonder what you two were discussing. What on earth has happened?"

The two hobbits gazed up at him, mouths agape and eyes wide.

"Bilbo Baggins," observed the first. "So, you've finally come out of hiding, have ya?"

Bilbo waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes," he stated, not bothering to contradict the hobbit's statement. He had been hiding after all. "Now, what were you talking about?"

"You know Josie Took, right?" asked the second hobbit. Bilbo nodded slowly; he remembered her. She had always been a very pretty hobbit, with rosy cheeks, bouncing curls, and a streak for mischief that had never let up. A second cousin of his if he remembered correctly.

"Aye," he confirmed. "What trouble has she gotten herself into now?"

The two hobbits smiled lightly, evidently pleased that Bilbo hadn't lost his hobbit culturing on his trip. A trip that he still hadn't told anyone about.

"She's gone and gotten herself pregnant with the child of one of them dwarf traders," supplied the second hobbit. Bilbo nodded slowly, his thoughts confirmed. He sighed. He was beginning to get an odd feeling in his stomach that his life was about the change- again.

"What on earth could she have possibly seen in a dwarf?" asked the first hobbit. "There's absolutely nothing to like. Their hair's too long, their feet are all wrong, and-"

Bilbo's fist hit him squarely in the jaw. As the hobbit crumpled onto his bench, Bilbo's rage was replaced with shock. Had he really just done that? Then the hobbit's words sounded in his ears again, and Bilbo struggled not to take another swing at him.

His companion was staring at Bilbo in shock, something that Bilbo was acutely aware of. Suddenly self-conscious, he hurried to grab his coat and stumble out of the bar. Outside he leaned against the wall, inhaling deeply the cool night air.

He took several minutes to collect his thoughts. Surely he hadn't needed to hit the fellow, he was only stating his opinion. Yet there was no reason for his distaste for dwarves. Bilbo shook his head, a curly mass of sandy hair flopping against his forehead. He had been less than pleased when the rag tag group of dwarves had first turned up at Bag-End. In fact, he had spent the night trying to convince the lot of them to leave.

Well, he had gotten over his aversion eventually. He had grown quite fond of his dwarves, and they of him. And Bilbo knew that it was a deep love, and even deeper loss, that had driven his fist that night. Groaning, he swore to himself to lay off the ale.

He sighed. He knew where he had to go now. He hoped he remembered the way. He moved down the dirt road, frowning as he struggled to remember which path lead to Josie Took's home.

Half an hour and several mistaken turns later, Bilbo approached Josie's home. His heart was pounding, unsure what to expect. He hadn't made a social call since several months before leaving on the quest to Erebor.

He stared at the door, which was rough and unpainted, and shook his head. He could do this. He had to do this. He suspected he was the only hobbit in the Shire who wouldn't begrudge Josie for her taste in lovers. So, with a shaking hand, he stepped up to the door and knocked.

The hobbit that answered the door was an inch or two shorter than Bilbo. She had a tangled mess of hair, the color of the freshly tilled earth, falling in unruly, wet curls over her shoulders. Hazel eyes sparkled with that Tookish glint, and she wore a sapphire blue night gown. At the sight of Bilbo her jaw fell open in shock, a small hand coming to hover over her stomach.

"Bilbo Baggins," she breathed. She quickly collected herself and stood back. "Please, come in," she offered. Bilbo stepped into the house with a smile of thanks, following Josie as she pattered into the living room.

"Please, make yourself cozy." She glanced at the fireplace, where the fire had gone out while she was in the bath, and frowned. "I'm so sorry, allow me to…"

She faded into silence as she struggled to get a fire going, and with a small chuckle Bilbo knelt beside her.

"Please, allow me," he offered. Within moments he had sparked a small flame to life, and he steadily added wood until a merry fire crackled in front of him. He ignored Josie's shocked gaze as he settled back into the armchair next to the fireplace. He had picked up a few things while on the road.

Soon the pair were sitting together with cups of tea, chatting quietly about childhood adventures. Bilbo found himself laughing more than he had in four years, recalling day long romps through the forest in search of elves. How simple things had been when he was a younger hobbit.

Eventually a comfortable silence fell over the pair, and Bilbo found himself contentedly sipping his tea as he gazed into the crackling flames. The sight was oddly comforting, reminding him of cheery nights on the road filled with laughter and Bofur's never ending stories. Of course that brought a twinge of sadness as well, but Bilbo was determined to not be sad again. No, it was time for him to move on.

His solitude was shattered as Josie gave as small sigh beside him. Glancing over, he found her watching him cautiously, hazel eyes dark.

"I know why you're really here," she said softly. "I think it's time to address the reason for your visit."

Bilbo nodded, his gaze travelling down to Josie's stomach, which was bulging ever so slightly. At his look, Josie's hand automatically went to cradle the small bump at her midsection, her head lifting ever so slightly and a dangerous gleam taking hold in her eyes.

Bilbo ignored it. "Do you know who the father is?" he asked softly.

Josie nodded. "Aye," she said. She sighed. "I doubt I'll ever see him again. He was young and foolish, and forced to go on a trading trip with his father. I doubt he'll be on another."

Bilbo nodded. "Are you planning on contacting him?" he asked. Josie thought for a moment, and then shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'm sure if I wished, one of the traders could seek him out, but I hardly see the point. He is too young to be a father, and his heart is too spirited to be tied down in the Shire."

Bilbo took a sip of his tea. He had thought as much. He made a decision then, and cleared his throat.

"I would like you to move in with me at Bag-End," he declared. Josie glanced up at him sharply, startled, and Bilbo pressed on. "You shouldn't have to raise this child by yourself, and I have no one else. Besides, I find myself with rather a soft spot for dwarves; I think a child such as yours would do me good."

His own words shocked him. Would the child be good for him? He knew that every day with the child, whether they be a boy or girl, would remind him of a certain king under the mountain, and a future that never had been. Yet the child would give him a small portion of that future, a portion that he had never expected, never dreamed of having to begin with. Yes, he realized. This child was exactly what he needed.

"You never did say what you did," Josie whispered. "Where did you go Bilbo? What did you see that's put such sadness in your eyes?"

Bilbo choked out a laugh. "Oh, that's quite a story," he warned.

Josie lifted her chin. "If I am to trust you to be around my child, the least you can do is to tell me where you disappeared to with thirteen dwarves and a wizard that has changed you so."

Bilbo sighed. He knew she was right. And he supposed it was time that he told someone about his quest. And so he nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said. He smiled softly. "It was quite an unexpected adventure."

And so he began to talk. He told her everything, beginning with Gandalf's appearance at Bag-End one pleasant morning, and ending with his return to his home so many months later. There was only one thing he left out, simplifying his endeavors in the tunnels under Goblin Town and leaving out who- and what- he'd found there.

Josie listened in rapt attention as he spoke, eyes wide and lips parted gently. By the time Bilbo finished his tale the sun had risen outside, and Bilbo's voice was cracking from having been used nonstop for so many hours. As he finished he faded into an uncomfortable silence as he waited for Josie to respond. Suddenly he found the sight of his feet very interesting, and promptly avoided looking at Josie's wide eyed stare as she processed his tale.

He glanced up as her arms wrapped around him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. Tears were in her voice and eyes as she pulled away, offering Bilbo a comforting smile.

Bilbo nodded and stood. He didn't want to see her pity, didn't need it. It was bringing back too many memories, and he had promised himself not to divulge himself those memories any longer.

"I should go," he said. "I'll let you think over my offer." Josie blinked and nodded, evidently having forgotten Bilbo's offer for her to move into Bag-End. He quickly slipped out the door, walking briskly home and ignoring the stares he got from the few hobbits who were outside. He didn't care what they thought.

He promptly fell asleep, snoring softly through the majority of the day. Then he spent the rest of the afternoon tending his garden, humming quietly to himself as he worked. He laughed silently to himself as he realized that the tune he was humming was a dwarf drinking song, ignoring the perplexed stare of the hobbit couple walking by his fence.

He had just sat down to supper when the knock came at the door. Frowning, he set down his fork and approached the door slowly, heart pounding. The last time such a thing had happened, there had been a heavily tattooed, fierce looking dwarf waiting impatiently at the entrance. And Bilbo had left the mark Gandalf had scratched in his front door in place, refusing to paint over it no matter how many times the Sackville-Bagginses insisted.

It wasn't Dwalin who stood at Bilbo's door however, though the sight that greeted him was nearly as welcome. Josie Took stood in the dim light of the moon, a large sac stuffed with clothes in one hand, the other hovering nervously over her stomach. She looked up at Bilbo beseechingly, smiling tentatively.

Bilbo returned her smile, feeling for the first time in many months a flicker of hope within him. "Please, come in," he stated. "I was just sitting down for supper."