A/N: Wow guys, thanks so much for the lovely response! To everyone who read/reviewed/favourited/followed, seriously, you're the best.

Love Thy Neighbour

II

Thorin had never been the most civil of people, and he was mature enough to accept it. What he couldn't quite figure out, was why he was quite so rude to Mr Baggins next door.

He was dazed, he would say to himself. The door that had smacked the chair back into his forehead had knocked him off kilter.

He also did not like it when people were polite for the sake of it; he was well aware that he was terse at best, but that was him and he felt no need to hide it.

However, if he was being well and truly honest with himself, he knew that there was something he couldn't quite name, something he didn't quite want to acknowledge that was making him behave worse around Mr Baggins.

And it was entirely the fault of his neighbour and those stupid bright eyes of his.

He did attempt to apologise for his rudeness once, well, he said attempted, it was more a case of the words gnarling up in his throat and entirely different ones coming out.

He'd just made the whole situation worse, not that it really mattered; the man seemed to disregard his usual enforced politeness around Thorin and grumble and glare away.

And what was it with the flowers?

He glared at said flora, their bright colours muted in the low light of dusk as he relished in the milder air that the evenings brought. The office was getting worse with each day.

"So does that fit with you?" prompted the voice at the other end of the line.

Thorin realised with a grimace that he had not been paying attention.

"Oh… erm, yeah fine."

His sister made an agitated sound in her throat, "You haven't been listening have you?"

He could almost picture her then, teeth gritted and slim fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. It was an image reminiscent of their mother and Thorin nearly chuckled, but reigned it in lest he further incur his sister's wrath.

"I'm sending the boys to you for the third week in July, I have a huge implementation at work, so I could really do with some peace. Plus they're dying to see you."

Thorin nodded, "Send them down on the Friday, I can take a half day and pick them up at the station."

"Perfect. Well I've got to go, it's time to get Kíli to bed. I'll speak to you in the week, okay?"

"Goodnight Dís," he said with a smile tugging at his lips.

"Night Thorin," he could tell she was grinning, "You old moron."

He stayed on his balcony for a while longer, thinking up things to do when his beloved nephews came to visit. He had no great love for the capital, but he knew Fíli and especially Kíli were excited, had been since he announced his move, to see the city for all the possibility it held.

Darkness had now fallen and the sky was tinged with the warm glow that came from the scattered orange streetlights that stretched as far as the eye could see and Thorin sighed heavily, tugging at his long hair where it joined his neck.

He would have to get it cut soon, it's length was almost unbearable and this blasted city would only get warmer as summer wore on.

Sometimes, he wished he could view the world with the same youthful optimism of his nephews, as opposed the jaded manner that came from being far too close to fifty for comfort.

Barely, it seemed, had he chance to nephew-proof his flat and prepare the guest room for arrival, then they were there, filling up his empty rooms with their boundless energy.

He had gone to pick them up at the station and found Fíli sat with his younger brother on a bench, scanning the bustling crowd whilst Kíli scowled at his game console in concentration. He looked up when his brother nudged him, and Thorin soon had his arms full of his dark haired nephew.

"Uncle Thorin!"

"Hey trouble," he set Kíli back down on the ground and turned to the elder. Fíli and he smiled at one another, and clasped hands (he had been greatly amused a few years earlier, when, with all the solemnity of a teen who took themselves too seriously, Fíli had insisted that he was too old to be embraced and would instead prefer a manly handshake) and then Thorin had affectionately pulled him into a (manly) hug.

As he led them over to the escalator that lead down to the Tube, Fíli smirked and pointed out the writing covering the back of Thorin's left hand.

"That explains why you weren't late to pick us up."

"Ooh let me see!" Kíli grabbed his uncle's hand excitedly and then giggled, "Directions for the Tube here. Please don't get us lost going back!"

Thorin tugged his hand back to himself, huffing, "That's simple, you just reverse it. I'm not that directionally challenged, you know."

The pair had just given him a look then evocative of their mother, that scrutinising mixture of amusement and incredulity that tempered much of Dís' interaction with her brother.

"Anyway, how hungry are you guys? I was thinking about ordering pizza for tea, but that will take a while."

"Pizza!" Kíli shouted happily, drawing an angry look from a man near them on the platform. Even Fíli allowed himself a grin, "We ate on the train, so we'll be fine until later."

Once they were sat on the Tube, Kíli started chattering immediately about one of his favourite authors who was doing a book signing the following morning. The boy was practically bouncing in his seat at the thought of meeting the guy and he was looking up at his uncle, his eyes wide and innocent, something both boys knew worked a charm on him.

And he knew it as well.

He glanced to Fíli who had been watching on in amusement, "Are you okay if we go?"

"Aye," his nephew shrugged, "I quite like Took's stuff myself."

"Alright then, so we'll go to that in the afternoon and then in the evening I was going to take you boys out for dinner. How do burgers sound?"

Kíli responded with his usual bout of enthusiasm and the rest of the journey back to his flat was spent coming up with ideas of things to do.

Thorin hadn't even realised he'd spoken until there was a response,

"Mr Oakenshield?"

Three pairs of wide eyes stared at him and he was certain his own were just as disbelieving.

Then he felt a bit of annoyance, mainly at the fact that if fate was real, then it was certainly having great fun screwing with him, because really, there was no other reason why after queuing for bloody hours he was faced with his next door neighbour.

Fíli complained the entire time about the length of the queue and how they'd have been much quicker, if not for their uncle's incompetence on the London Underground. Thorin didn't consider it incompetence, it was too many lines and too many colours and too many changes and it made his head hurt.

Kíli had spent the entire time bouncing on his toes and talking endlessly about the books and the mysterious author. Apparently he didn't come out in public much.

Thorin had been expecting an ageing, eccentric man who wore too many colours and some kind of jaunty hat; someone befitting of the ridiculous name 'Tilion Took'.

He was certainly expecting someone far more impressive than fussy Mr Baggins.

"Uncle Thorin, you know him?" Kíli's eyes were wide in wonder and even the seventeen year old Fíli looked impressed.

"I'm his neighbour," Mr Baggins smiled, taking the book his younger nephew had clutched to his chest since they joined the queue. "And who might you boys be?"

"I'm Kíli," the dark haired boy declared proudly, puffing up his chest. "And this is my brother Fíli, he pretends he's too cool for your books but he likes them really."

The man laughed, raising his eyebrows at the blond, "Does he now?"

Fíli rolled his eyes, handing over his own book to be autographed. "Hardly. I'm just not obsessed like you."

Kíli pouted, "I'm not obsessed, Mr Took is just really good."

Mr Baggins flushed at the praise and the sight was not in any way endearing.

Then the irritating assistant was trying to shoo them away and Mr Baggins smiled at the boys and smirked Thorin, handing him a piece of paper he had quickly scrawled on.

Thorin had no chance to look at it before they left the bookshop, but once he was one the street, he glanced at the elegant cursive and what he saw had him torn between humour and annoyance.

'Told you: not a bartender.'

Thorin left his two nephews arguing playfully over the jar of Nutella and stepped outside into the cooler morning air, sipping at his mug of black coffee. Despite the light breeze, it was warm still and would only get hotter as the day wore on. He tugged at his ponytail that even now was uncomfortable on the nape of his neck; he would have to get it cut next week.

The loud sound of a bird call drew his attention to the very large pigeon perched on the railing of Mr Baggins' balcony. At its ankle was a yellow tag with 'SMAUG' marked upon it in black capitals. He supposed that was the bird he could hear most mornings as he left for work.

Just as he was about to retreat inside, driven by the irritating pigeon, he heard the door to Mr Baggins' flat open and the man himself appeared, crossing his arms and fixing the bird with a look one would give a misbehaving child.

Leaning over the railing that was about two foot from his neighbour's, he felt his lips tilt in amusement as Mr Baggins failed to notice him, locked in his staring match with the pigeon that cooed almost defiantly back.

"What are you doing?"

He turned his nonplussed gaze onto Thorin then gestured vaguely at the bird.

"Trying to scare off this infernal creature."

He quirked an eyebrow, "By what? Huffing at it?"

Mr Baggins scowled slightly, his lips pursing. It was strangely adorable.

"No, by intimidating it away."

At the light flush that coloured his cheeks, Thorin guessed the small man was aware of how ridiculous he sounded.

"Because you're just the most terrifying creature I've ever met," he teased.

Puffing his chest out proudly, Mr Baggins' eyes met Thorin's, blue blazing fiercely.

"I'll have you know, I was the most fearsome conkers player in the entirety of Little Bagshot."

Thorin could not help the snort of laughter that bubbled in his throat at that and soon Mr Baggins' look of indignation melted away into a small grin.

"What are you and the boys doing today?" he asked after a beat of silence.

"I think both of them are particularly keen to see the Science Museum."

"Well you may want to head there soon; when Bofur and I went there with his brother's brood last summer the queue went around the block."

Thorin nodded and mumbled a 'thanks', draining the rest of his coffee as he violently quashed the question that bubbled up in his mind as to the nature of his neighbour's relationship with the cheery man down the hall. It was none of his business.

Just as Thorin opened his mouth to speak, Mr Baggins turned back to the pigeon, jabbing his finger sharply in it's direction.

"And you," he growled. "Don't think this is over, I will destroy you."

Chuckling to himself, he returned inside.

Perhaps Mr Baggins wasn't quite the great, overly-polite stick-in-the-mud he'd first thought him to be.

The good thing, Thorin supposed, about living in London was that it rained far less frequently than it did in and around Glasgow (where, as his sister said; it either was raining, had just rained, or was about to rain), but that usually meant that when it did, it was unexpected which made the sudden rain shower he was in all the worse.

Which explained his displeasure as, looking like a drowned rat, he dragged two equally bedraggled nephews in, leaving a trail of water on the polished floor of Arda Court's lobby.

"Mr Thorin Oakenshield!" called the voice of his eccentric landlord from the lift. "Do hurry, I suppose you'll want to get inside and dry."

Thorin stepped into the lift and managed a grim smile, which turned into a scowl as Kíli insisted on shaking himself out like a wet dog, splashing his uncle, brother and the dry man who had nicely held the lift open for them. His scolding was cut off by a deep chuckle from Gandalf.

"Fíli and Kíli, my how big you've both grown. It must have been a good eight years since I saw you both."

Fíli smiled, "I remember, Mr Gandalf, Mum was so annoyed because you gave us a massive bag of popping candy and we ate it all and Kíli went crazy."

Gandalf grinned, "Yes your mother gave me quite the telling-off for that."

"Mum will jump at any chance to give a good telling-off," Kíli chimed in with a pout. "She tells me off all the time."

"She tells me off too," Thorin said, "So don't think you can escape it by growing up."

Gandalf stepped out on the third floor and turned to Thorin with a smile. "I was just about to join Bilbo for tea, I'm sure he'd be more than happy for you to join once you've dried off. Wouldn't you Bilbo?" he addressed his last question to the dark blond head that had poked out of Number 22.

Mr Baggins blinked for a moment then nodded, "Of course."

The man was probably just being polite, as always.

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"Nonsense, Mr Oakenshield, it's no trouble," he smiled warmly, "And anyway, there's no way Gandalf and I can finish all the cookies I made to ourselves."

Thorin suddenly found Kíli and even Fíli giving him the Innocent Pleading Eyes of Doom.

He sighed, "We'll be through in a moment, after we've dried off."

He ushered Fíli and Kíli into his flat, but lingered for a moment to offer a grateful smile.

"Thank you Mr Baggins."

Bilbo scoffed, swatting at the air dismissively, "Oh there'll be none of that. And please, call me Bilbo."

"Then you must call me Thorin. None of that Mr Oakenshield crap."

He didn't miss Gandalf's smirk or his wink as the two of them disappeared into Bilbo's flat.

Soon enough, he was sat at the small kitchen table, a warm mug of tea in his hands.

Poor Bilbo didn't seem quite to know what to do with himself when he was descended upon by Kíli who was chattering excitedly, firing off questions at a mile a minute. Fíli was watching his brother in amusement, trying to appear mature even as he stuffed his face with several of Bilbo's chocolate chip cookies.

It seemed his neighbour had no clue when it came to dealing with children outside the context of his stories.

Gandalf obviously had a similar idea, as he intervened, wondering if Bilbo would perhaps like to show Kíli his study where he did a lot of his writing.

The man visible relaxed as Kíli released his arm and led the boy into the small room, the equivalent of which Thorin had turned into his guestroom for the boys. Through the doorway he could see a large wooden desk and a huge floor to ceiling bookcase, all in the same dark wood as the rest of the other huge bookcases Bilbo had dotted about his flat. Apparently, the man liked his reading.

Almost reverently, Kíli stepped into the room and ran his fingers over the edge of the desk.

"This is where you write the Wardens of Rhûn?"

"A lot of the time, yes," Bilbo explained, "In here, or on the balcony, though it's mainly just the small bits and the tweaking. And all of the typing. Most of the first drafts get written back at my old home in Gloucestershire."

"Do you not write the first draft on your computer?"

Bilbo shook his head, pulling out one of the red leather bound books that filled up most of the study's bookshelves.

"I prefer writing by hand, I find it flows more easily. I write them in these, my father used to get his journals handmade at a shop here in London and the selfsame man creates all of mine for me."

Kíli looked as if he'd been handed the Holy Grail, opening it carefully and scanning the first page.

"This is the beginning," he breathed, the quietest Thorin had seen him in a long time.

Bilbo took the red leather book that had been sat on the desk, "And this is the one I'm currently using, I'm working on the final book."

"Does Eärendil win?"

"You'll have to wait," Bilbo said amusedly, placing the book back in it's spot on the desk.

Thorin didn't realise how closely he had been watching Bilbo and his nephew interact until a pointed cough from Gandalf pulled his attention back to the table. He did not like the twinkling look in the man's grey eyes.

He nearly spilled his tea when Kíli tore out of Bilbo's study squealing, clutching something in his arms. Carefully, he laid it upon the table, dark eyes wide in wonder.

"Fíli, Bilbo gave me a manuscript of The Last Kings of Imladris."

Four sets of eyes snapped to the man lingering in the doorway.

"That's very kind of you Bilbo," Gandalf commented.

"I have no need of that extra copy," he shrugged. "I'm sorry I only have one spare Fíli so you'll have to share."

Fíli nodded, eyes wide as he gently touched the book, "It's not an issue, I just can't believe you're giving this to us."

"So long as you don't give that to anyone else. Oh and please do tell me what you think of it when you're done. That number on the cover is the number for Bag-End. I'm going there for the rest of summer."

"To write?" Thorin found himself asking.

"Yes, and just to forewarn you, Bofur will be dropping round to look after the flowers."

Thorin bit down his own offer because his annoyance was unfounded and really, he understood nothing of plants.

"Right, no ringing up the police to cry burglary."

The rest of their tea passed by in the gentle hum of conversation between the three adults and Fíli. Thorin would have been worried at the quiet and general lack of Kíli had he not found him ensconced in an armchair in the sitting room, nose already buried in the book. He sighed; it was going to be difficult to tear the boy away in order to get him packed and on the train tomorrow.

Thorin tried to tell himself that he enjoyed the quiet that enveloped his flat at Fíli and Kíli's departure, but it only served to remind them how solitary his life could feel, now that he lived so far from Scotland, where his closest friends and family resided.

He occasionally bumped into Bilbo in the hallway, or when they were both on the balconies and they would both exchange a small amount of light conversation before going about their business.

Busying himself with work made the week progress quicker and soon enough it was Saturday and he found himself facing a moment he had been dreading.

"You want it all off sir?" asked the friendly hairdresser, unaware of the appropriate gravitas she needed for such a moment.

He nodded mournfully. If it was bad, he supposed he could feasibly blame it on madness caused by the oppressive heat.

When it was all done, he sighed, running a hand over his new, short hair. It wasn't too bad, though he could already feel the strange absence of his long dark locks.

After paying, he went to the Green Dragon, where he had agreed to meet Dwalin in the pub garden.

His friend was already there, a cold pint of Tennant's waiting for him.

Dwalin took one look at him and laughed.

"Makes your grey more obvious," he said.

Thorin punched him in the arm, "Fuck off. You're just jealous that I still have hair."

"I have a better beard than you though."

Thorin snorted, "You wish."

The pair drank the remainder of the afternoon away, laughing and bickering much as they always did, only retreating indoors when the sparse white clouds turned into great ominous black ones and the air became heavy with the threat of rain.

By the time they were both on their tenth pints, Thorin was rather starting to feel the effects of the alcohol as was Dwalin, but found he didn't really care and instead challenged Dwalin to see who could finish their first.

As the loser (but only by a bit!), he wobbled over to the bar and gestured to the barman, Bofur, to serve him the next round.

Whilst he was fishing in his wallet, the door to the pub swung open and in marched a slightly damp Bilbo, brimming with barely restrained glee.

He let out a garbled array of sounds that Thorin guessed were meant to be words and launched himself across the bar to hug his friend.

He settled himself down after a moment, straightening his shirt and smiling up at Thorin, finally noticing his presence.

"What's got you so happy?"

At Thorin's question, the startlingly bright grin returned full force,

"New Line bought the rights to the entire Wardens series. They're making a film!"

Thorin grinned in return, "Congratulations!" he said, sweeping him up into an embrace of his own, an act that he would never have contemplated were it not for the sheer amounts of liquid courage coursing through his veins at that moment. He noticed Bilbo stiffen at the unexpected gesture, then he relaxed and patted the large man's back awkwardly.

"Thorin, you're kind of crushing me."

Hurriedly, he let go, turning to Bofur and furiously hoping that his burning cheeks weren't too apparent.

"You got your hair cut." Bilbo commented quietly, punctuating his statement with an awkward cough.

Thorin ran a hand through his hair; it had been combed back earlier, though not it had become dishevelled and there was one particular tendril that kept falling in his eyes.

"It was getting too long."

"Well, I..err...I think it looks nice."

"Thank you," he replied, smiling in part at the compliment and in part because Bilbo was blushing.

Once he had his drinks, that Bofur insisted were on the house in celebration, he left Bilbo and his friend at the bar and rejoined Dwalin at their table.

He did not like Dwalin's knowing smirk at that moment.

"Shut the fuck up," he grumbled.

"I didn't say anything, " was the far too innocent retort.