Bilbo couldn't breathe properly until he finished straightening the cuffs of his red jacket.
He'd finished his bath in record time, trying and failing to slow his shallow breaths. A heavy weight pinched his chest. He kept an eye out for approaching dwarves, though their bickering and splashing mostly covered up the sound of his ragged pants. Just as Bombur started to sidle over as inconspicuously as the huge dwarf could manage, Bilbo quickly retreated to the shore, snatching up his bundle of clothes and speed-walking a short distance into the woods.
He almost ripped his undershirt in his haste to pull it over his head. Then his white (well, more brown-ish now) button-up, but the long sleeves did little to relieve his chest pain. His weskit and jacket soon followed, the familiar weight reassuring Bilbo. His lungs eased with every button buttoned.
After a few deep breaths, Bilbo felt ridiculous. For one thing, he realized with a jolt, he was fully dressed on top and absolutely butt-naked on the bottom.
"Idiot," he muttered, cheeks burning, as he pulled on his underwear and trousers. You can't even get dressed properly, whispered a voice in his head. He didn't dare turn his head to look at the Company. From the sounds of it the dwarves were still cheerfully washing, so with any luck none had noticed his unbalanced outfit.
Then Bilbo realized he hadn't put his braces on over the button-up.
"Oh, for the love of Yavanna – " he growled, kicking at a clump of dirt. It fell apart limply. You can't do anything right. Bilbo lashed out again, heel smacking against a tree trunk with a resounding thump. The impact jarred his bones, and he drew back for another kick.
"Is now a bad time?"
Bilbo whirled, almost losing his balance. Ori stood in only his trousers, reaching forward to steady him, but Bilbo flinched back. He tried to disguise it as regaining his balance, but Ori's slight frown meant he didn't quite manage it. You've hurt his feelings.
"Er – no, not especially… I'm sorry you had to see that," Bilbo gestured towards the abused tree, slightly pink. Why had Ori clearly rushed out of his bath as well?
The dwarf blinked at the tree, nodding slowly. Then he whipped out a journal from Yavanna knows where. "Is that how hobbits fight, then? With their feet?"
"…What?"
"You do seem to have very tough soles," Ori mused, flipping the book open to an empty page, "and since you don't use weapons, that points to a hand-to-hand combat style – "
"Ori, what in the – hobbits don't fight!"
The scribe ignored his protest, plucking a pen from somewhere in his hair and starting to scribble. "And you've got scars, so you don't wear armor while you fight – "
Bilbo sagged. So that's what this was about. He'd been stupid to think he'd get more of a respite. So naïve, snickered the voice.
"So can you start by describing hobbit warrior training, and we can lead up to the battle?" Ori finally paused and looked up expectantly, pen poised.
"Ori…" Bilbo sighed. "There was no battle, and there certainly aren't any hobbit warriors."
Ori's eyes widened in confusion. "But… But Kili was saying…"
"Oh come now," Bilbo tried for a smile, "you know not to believe everything that rascal says."
The gullible dwarf looked away, embarrassed. "Oh."
In the awkward silence between them Bilbo registered the rest of the dwarves meandering back to the camp. Before he could think of something to say, Ori asked almost accusingly:
"Well, what about your scars? Bofur definitely saw those."
Bilbo blanched. "Old accident. I'd better go help Bombur with dinner, so if you'll just excuse me…" And with that he hurried away. But he couldn't help but feel like every step towards camp was a step closer to more questions from well-meaning dwarves.
How much longer could he keep his secret?