Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur spring up faster than Bilbo would have expected, leaving Thorin sprawled on the ground, grumbling something in Khuzdul. Bofur introduces himself and his family members as Bifur helps haul Thorin to his feet. Bilbo can barely choke out a "Bilbo Baggins, at yours," in response.

When Thorin's eyes find his, Bilbo has his knuckles pressed to his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep the hysterical chuckles at bay. His eyes are so vivid, always were, and though Bilbo can't read them (rather out of practice, he supposes), it's enough to send his breath skittering.

And, oh yes, there's that wonderful feeling of his heart frantically trying to throw itself out of his chest and into Thorin's hands. The damn thing has always been too trusting.

Gandalf steps over the doorstep as gracefully he can, which means not at all; he barely ducks in time to avoid beaning his head on the outside of the door frame, and then bumbles straight into the chandelier. Once he's straightened the light fixture, Gandalf turns to scold the hobbit, "Really Bilbo, you ought to be more careful! Quite unlike you to keep friends waiting on the mat, and then open the door like a pop-gun!"

The laughter is threatening to bubble out through his very fingertips by this point, but Bilbo manages to reply, "Terribly sorry, Gandalf. And to you, Master...?"

"Ah, yes," Gandalf says, placing a hand on Thorin's shoulder, "This is Thorin Oakenshield, leader of our Company!"

Thorin is still staring intently, has not stopped since their eyes first met, and Bilbo is all a dither. Damn that dwarf, how is anyone supposed to think straight with that kind of a gaze weighing on them?

"Well met, I'm sure," The hilarity and momentary chaos of this arrival is beginning to wear off, and Bilbo sends a quick prayer to Eru that his voice sounds much steadier than it feels leaving his throat, "I am sorry about your fall; I can hardly think it was a pleasant feeling. I tripped over those stones often as a faunt...not that you are a faunt or walk like one or, oh I'm terribly sorry-"

"Pray, don't mention it," Thorin says, and Bilbo swears a smirk is tugging up on the corner of his mouth.

Damn him.

Bilbo watches as Thorin is mobbed by his nephews, and as the rest of the Company files out of the dining room to greet their leader. The sight of it, of his beloved dwarves all reunited and boisterous and confident, sends the hobbit scurrying to the shelter of the back guest room, muttering about getting more dishes; he's already used the pretense to get his emotions under control multiple times, though Fili and Kili's arrival forced him into locking himself in the washroom for several minutes.

Maybe he ought to do that this time.

Bilbo all but collapses on the ground, propping his back against the bed, hunching forward and hiding his face in his hands. He can feel those traitorous tears pooling, and he sharply reminds them that he has guests, he has a husband to force into loving him again-that's a great thought, it'll definitely force the tears away again.

Instead, he tries to seize on the confusion lingering on the corners of his mind; surely he would remember if Thorin had had such an...undignified entrance? Hadn't Thorin arrived by himself, and hadn't he said something vaguely unpleasant to him? It has, of course, been decades, but Bilbo hadn't thought his memory that spotty.

What could have changed? Had Gandalf talked Thorin into being polite? They'd arrived together, so it was plausible, but... How did that change? Something Bilbo did must have changed it all so that Gandalf ended up meeting with Thorin... and with the Úr trio...

Bilbo slides his hands into his curls, tugging slightly, and staring forward with wide eyes. There are just too many possibilities; he could have done something a week ago that changed this, for all he knows.

His eyes begin to moisten. How is he supposed to live like this? Go on an extremely dangerous quest like this? It would be impossible to calculate every possible outcome or effect of every possible action, and he doesn't trust himself to know what must be the same and what must be changed.

Bilbo can't do this alone. He just can't.

Footsteps approach the room, and Bilbo can't move, not even to shift into a position more conducive to fetching plates; he's not even on the same side of the room as the china cabinet.

"My dear hobbit," Gandalf begins as he rounds the corner; at the sight of Bilbo, however, he pulls up short.

"This-This isn't exactly what I meant by tea, my old friend," Bilbo says, brushing his hands over his cheeks. He smiles at the wizard, though he can feel how thin it is.

Gandalf's brow furrows.

Now or never, then.

"Gandalf... I'm afraid something terribly extraordinary has happened to me. Extraordinary and unbelievable and...bewildering." His eyes, having drifted to stare at the wall beside Gandalf, snap back to the wizard, and he adds, with a curling mouth, "And no, I'm not talking about the 13 dwarves eating me out of house and home."

"Then what are you talking about, Bilbo?"

Bilbo opens his mouth to respond, and a large, dwarven outburst cuts him off. Most of it is a roar of Khuzdul, but Bilbo hears a warning for care in Westron, and he knows Fili is walking on his table again.

Yes, and there's the sound of him kicking off a tankard.

"No no, nonono, NO."

He'll have to talk to Gandalf later. Heir of Durin or no, no one walks on his dining table.

The dishes are impeccably clean, of course, dwarves are actually quite fastidious about the business, but Bilbo is feeling rather contrary after that frankly insulting song (he doesn't hate it so much as he just feels uncomfortable with plates being thrown around everybody's heads, in no way is that unreasonable), and so he stands in the kitchen, stacking the dishes into the wash basin, a towel slung over his shoulder in the case of a missed spot.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Thorin standing in the doorway, but the incorrigible dwarf has been staring and flustering him all night, even laughing along with the song, looking right at home, and so Bilbo is even more cross with him.

Bilbo feels keenly both Thorin's gaze and his own foolishness.

He heaves a sigh, and turns to face his husband, "Can I help you, Master Dwarf?"

Thorin gives him a long look, "Gandalf gave you my name."

"And who says I remember it?"

Thorin grins, "Then allow me to introduce myself again." He sweeps into a bow, "Thorin Oakenshield, at your service."

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service and your family's."

Gandalf must have spoke to Thorin at some point; why would else he be so courteous?

Since when did Thorin listen to Gandalf?

"Well then, Mr. Baggins, I find myself very interested in the culture of your people. Perhaps, over the course of our journey, you would be so kind as to educate me?" Thorin's eyes are sparkling, he looks much too alive, and Bilbo is thoroughly confused.

And so he responds with the tool Bagginses have relied upon for generations when faced with impossible situations, relatives, or dwarves.

Superiority.

"Perhaps I will," Bilbo says, throwing the towel onto the counter, "if I join this adventure of yours."

He breezes past Thorin, leaving the dwarf alone in the kitchen and joining the ruckus across the hall.

author's note: a few of these lines are quoted directly from the book. hope you enjoyed!