Sorry for the delay guys, I actually wasn't even expecting this chapter to be up until Friday!

Fun fact, I have three tests this week, all of my normal weekly assignments, and also a concert to go to in the middle of it. Whew.

Luckily, I managed to get this out in the middle of it. Not sure when I'll manage the next one though...

There was a moment, short as it was, that Bilbo was sure he would faint. His vision tunneled in so he could only see the shadowed dwarf and he felt his head spin. He gripped the door frame to prevent himself from toppling over, but it did little to alleviate his condition.

Then, in another moment, he remembered to breathe and the world settled around him.

The ghost in front of him looked so pleased to see him, in that way that was so warm and gentle and achingly familiar, it would have sent butterflies fluttering about in his stomach on any other occasion. But Bilbo didn't really see that smile. All he could see was rent armor and blood soaked bandages and so many wounds...

Bilbo's breathing went from barely there to a sudden harsh gasp.

"Nope! No, not today, not ever!" The hobbit managed to choke out as he swung his big green door shut. He didn't miss the ghost's expression change, a raw hurt showing through. Bilbo locked the door and threw the deadbolt for good measure.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Bilbo?"

The hobbit let out a soft whimper and sagged against the door.

"Oh dear..."

"Bilbo!" Another thump followed the shout.

"Oh no, no, no, no..."

"Please... Let me in..." The voice was soft now, pleading, barely audible through the door. That scared the poor Halfling more than the shouting. "My burglar..."

"I'm trying you know..." Bilbo said after a moment, letting his head fall back against the wood. He wasn't sure if the ghost dwarf could hear him but he continued anyway. "I'm trying to move on. It's hard, this life. Dying was so much easier."

The spirit quieted for a moment and Bilbo took his opportunity. He pushed himself off of the door and fled silently down the hall into his room.

As quickly as he could, Bilbo yanked the curtains closed, nudged a heavy dresser part way in front of his door, and practically dove under the covers.

A dull thumping echoed into his room from the front door. He heard his name being called.

"It's happened! I knew it would!" Bilbo breathed curling up under his mother's quilt. He shivered despite the heat in the room. "I've snapped! It was all too much!"

Oh, he had suspected this might happen. He was perfectly aware of what his unorthodox emotional habits were doing to him. Once he had woken up, thinking he heard Thorin calling out for him. Of course, it had only been a dream, but the voice had rung in his ears as his eyes opened. Since then, he was sure he would, though he desperately hoped he wouldn't, start seeing his dear king in his waking hours.

The thumping continued down the hall and Bilbo pressed his head under his pillow, trembling fiercely. It did little to drown out the racket his unwanted memory brought to life was causing.

Desperately, the hobbit willed himself to sleep, hoping that it would bring reprieve from this torment. With the apprehension in his tiny form, sleep took a long time to find him. It was only when his exhaustion won out over his adrenaline, hours later, did he finally drift into blackness.

Bilbo woke slowly; the only light in his room a thin sliver of sun between his curtains that shone right into his eyes. Blearily, he uncurled himself, feeling sticky with his own sweat and sore across his lower back. It seemed that tucking into a ball under the sanctity of a mound of blankets with the windows shut on a summer night had been a bad idea.

"I suppose overheating is the least of my worries," he muttered to the floor. He was under no illusions that last night had been a dream. It had been the product of his finally broken mind, but it was no dream. He found it a blessing that his ghost dwarf had at least ceased his attack on the door at some point during the night.

Goodness knows when I'll see him again though, he thought. Bilbo considered diving back under the covers and hiding in his bed for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, the dryness in his throat demanded his attention and he set about pushing his dresser away from where it was blocking the exit. A few gentle shoves and he opened the door to his room. With all the silence and surefootedness of a hobbit, he padded down the hall in much the same manner as he had done one-year prior, the morning after dwarves had ransacked his home. He tried his best to shove that comparison back down in his mind.

Content that his home was empty of any figments of his imagination, Bilbo sought out the kitchen. He set up a pot of tea on the stove easily, finding comfort in the simple ritual of preparing it. He glanced at a tray of scones at the corner of the table, considered it for a moment, then decided against it as his stomach churned. Apparently he was forgoing first breakfast.

With the tea heating, Bilbo set one of his less loved teacups at the table (he didn't quite trust himself not to drop the china, mental as he was).

It was then, passing near the window that he caught a whiff of it. Someone was smoking in his garden. He recognized it at once and sighed. It was certainly not any weed of Shire make. He didn't think he could ever forget the overpowering stench of dwarven weed.

No peace, even during teatime, he groaned internally. He shot a longing look back at the ugly little cup he had set out for himself and sighed. There really was no helping it.

His footsteps unsure, the hobbit made his way toward the big green door to his home. Casting a glance down at the wayward mat, he saw it was rumpled from the previous night. He adjusted it briefly before his eyes locked back on the door.

"There's really just no helping it." He reminded himself softly as he undid the locks.

The door to Bag End was well oiled and lovingly taken care of, so it made no sound as it opened several feet. Nonetheless, when Bilbo took a step out and peered down at his little bench by the front of the garden, there were already a set of eyes turned towards him intently. Those lovely blue orbs stared at him in a look that could only be described as hopeful.

"No." And Bilbo stepped back inside again, slamming the door shut.

Almost immediately, the door opened back up, Bilbo scrubbing a hand over his face.

"No, I mean... I wasn't..." The hobbit let out a frustrated sigh.

The ghost king sat patiently on his bench, torso twisted round to look back up at the entrance to the hobbit hole. The hopeful look had faltered, but was not extinguished completely.

"Obviously..." Bilbo started again, mounting up the last of his sanity. "Obviously, I won't be able to just get rid of you. This," he waved a hand toward the dwarf. "Is not just going to disappear anytime soon. So, you might as well come in. Better I know where you are than spend my day worrying where you might next turn up."

The ghost's expression fell, something akin to heartbreak flashing across those too handsome features.

"Bilbo..."

Oh, hearing that voice again... He tried to ignore the shivers it still drove through him.

"If you truly dislike my presence, I will go." His voice held all the command it had in life, though the tone was laced with misery.

"Don't be daft." Bilbo shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. "I couldn't get rid of you that easily and we both know it."

The dwarf's brow furrowed in confusion. "So you wish me to stay?"

"Oh, just come inside, will you? The tea's ready." Bilbo huffed and opened the door wider.

It took a moment before the ghost dwarf stamped the fire from his pipe, then he stood and walked up the stone path, looking all the while like he was struggling to say something. He gave pause in the doorway, close enough to the hobbit that he could have easily reached out and touched him. And oh how it looked like this living memory wanted to touch him. Bilbo would have been lying if he didn't admit that a very strong part of him wanted to throw his arms around this illusion and never let go.

Luckily for Bilbo, neither seemed quite ready to close the distance and they both stepped inside the hall. It was only now that he noticed how different the king looked from his memories. His clothes were simpler, the same deep blue that looked so good on him, but it held no exceptional patterns or decorations. He saw a hint of that familiar armor, but it was hidden beneath a simple brown leather jerkin.

"I didn't wish to be recognized on the road." The ghost said, catching Bilbo's stare.

"Right, of course. Can't have that, now can we?" Bilbo sighed, turning away to head back into the kitchen. Apparently his mind was so far gone, that he wasn't just seeing the dead king, but apparently creating a story for his presence here as well.

He heard the heavy footfalls as the dwarf followed him to the kitchen and he briefly considered whether ghosts drank tea.

I'm already crazy, no need to be rude as well, Bilbo concluded, pulling one of his other crap teacups from the pantry and setting it on the table across from his.

"Sit." He commanded.

The dwarf looked around awkwardly, regarding the kitchen and the resident hobbit with uncertainty, like he thought he should be doing something else. At the order, however, he seated himself at the table obediently.

Once Bilbo had served the tea, he gratefully sat down and took a sip. Due to the situation at hand, the sensation was heavenly. Odd as it was, he felt more at ease then he had in a long while. He wasn't putting on a show for anyone, his body was relaxed, and there wasn't a nagging sensation to think about his now dead fiancée because said dwarf was sitting across the table from him.

The ghost himself took a sip of the tea, managing to look regal despite the sad state of the small teacup. He set it down with a heavy exhale. "Bilbo..."

"Mmm?"

"You left me outside all night."

"I did."

"I can't help but wonder about that. As well as this morning."

Bilbo glanced at him around his tea. He wondered if perhaps he could eat a scone now. "What about it?" he asked distractedly, standing up from the table.

"I don't believe you want me here, despite your earlier words." The dwarf's gaze followed him as he moved around the kitchen, retrieving the plate of scones and bringing it back.

"Yes, well. I suppose I don't." Bilbo said, he picked up one and nibbled on the end of it experimentally.

"Then I will leave and you can be free of me." His voice sounded defensive now, though Bilbo was familiar enough with him to know that it was only a way of hiding the hurt.

There was a pregnant pause in which the hobbit stared at him almost cooly over his teacup. "Thorin, could you leave it? We both know you will not be going anywhere any time soon." Actually saying his name seemed strange then, like he was permanent, real. Somehow he found he liked it.

"Burglar, you are making no sense." Thorin replied, looking equal parts confused and frustrated.

"Oh you'd think I wouldn't have to spell it out for you..." Bilbo sighed. After all, this ghost was just an extension of his mind. Oh well, if his insanity thought to show the dwarf king to him, it might as well be in full, including his thick-headedness.

Thorin looked ready to spring from his seat in his own defense, but Bilbo held out a hand to silence him.

"Thorin Oakenshield, whether or not either of us like it, you have burrowed your way deeply into my heart, body, and mind. At this point, it really only makes sense for you to make yourself at home in Bag End as well."

Oops. I kind of accidentally made the plot longer.

I meant for this story to have two chapters of plot, then like 6 chapters of stupid fluff. Oops.

Whelp, hope you don't mind waiting on the fluff a bit longer...