set after BOTFA, Everyone lives

no beta, sorry my bad language

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Touch

.

.

.

He never actually realized how much he missed to be touched. He was a hobbit, a gentlehobbit, born and raised to class of hobbits whom were supposed to be above the rudeness and ill-manners and be gentle and take care of the others. He was grandson of the very great Thain ever lived, his favorite, and his uncle was now Thain. He was a Took, and now he had proved it, he had gone to adventure like his mother, who he missed so much, especially now of all the times. But he was Baggins, Mister Baggins of the Bag End. Holder of the great lands of Hobbitton and there was responsibilities what he had abandoned and he have to go back soon, very soon, though the journey would be hard and long and he was still ill and wounded.

But, he was a hobbit. He didn't belong at the under the hard rock and stone.

A hobbit who had been a misbehavior little brat in his younger days, always seeking elves and playing pranks. His shot arm with stones was unheard ability and usually when he stepped to the forest he never could see birds or squirrels anymore. It made him bit sad in his older days and some days he repented it.

He had been a leader of his Took cousins, and usually also his Baggins cousins too, but then his parents had died. First mother, then father couple of years later, Bilbo being only being twenty-eight, maybe too young to take over the responsibilities and that day had been the day when he lost it.

The touch of someone other.

He was Baggins of Bag End, gentlehobbit, he had his responsibilities, his home, his books, his garden, his lands, the vineyards and the tobacco field and his tenants. He had to be careful. No humbling with lads or lasses, not because there was no time but he had to keep his good reputation. Like that mattered anymore.

Because he had come to adventure with dwarves who had no limits or personal space if you weren't bonded to anyone. He had used to feel the touches again.

Dwalin's tight grip. Kili' and Fili's hugs and how they launched themselves on him, hanging around him. Bofur's boisterous slam on the back and laugh. Balin' and Ori's gentle touch on his arms. Oin's harshness when he made sure he was alright after trolls and goblins and wargs and elves. Nori's so light touch that it rivaled his own when he seek something from his pockets and he pretended not to notice because they all came back, eventually. Dori's too hard grip, not realizing his own strength sometimes. Bifur's tender, very fumble touch when they shared the pipe. Only Bombur and Gloin kept it themselves, their hearts longing their wives and children.

He was so used to them by now, their touches.

And then there was Thorin and his hug, the hand over his shoulder, the gentle touches, warm and careful and so fierce sometimes, protecting him. But then came the hand on his throat, squeezing the air out of his lungs and first time in his life he was afraid of the touch of someone else.

When Thorin apologized he had withdrawn automatically, not noticing it, but Thorin had and he had looked hurt and sad.

When he had screamed when Bofur had embraced him tightly, glad to see him again alive, he had realized that something was wrong.

Oin, the elves and Gandalf, all of them just wanted to see that he was alright, but he couldn't let them touch. Not anymore. He recoiled from everyone too near of him, like every touch was burning his skin.

So he was staying alone in his rooms, waiting a word from Gandalf that they could leave. There was always someone visiting him, but he kept himself at the other side of the room, and although he could see the worry and the pitying and concern on their eyes, he couldn't let them come near.

Then Thorin came, finally well enough to get up from bed.

"My official coronation is tomorrow."

Bilbo nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Balin told me. Told me that you're well enough now, almost healed."

"And you are leaving after that."

Bilbo sighed. "Yes, Gandalf is ready to leave. I… I want to go home. We may stay in Rivendell some time."

"Lord Elrond… Can he help you?" Thorin asked and Bilbo stared his hands.

"I… I don't know."

"I'm sorry." Thorin's voice was barely a whisper and Bilbo tried, he truly tried to raise his chin to look, but he couldn't. He sensed how the king moved closer and his eyes closed tightly and he was trembling.

"I'm sorry Bilbo." Thorin said again and now moved away and the door closed behind him and Bilbo could breathe again.

He cried.

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AN/

I'm not sure if I continue, it depends. I may move this to be part of Days of Bag End if I don't, like I originally though.

But if I do, this will be a short story, about two to five chapters. I think it depends of response of the readers.