A.N.: From here on you might get more chapters of Kíli & Tilda instead of the usual toggle between them and Bilbo. The clues are there for who wants to see them, anyway.
Thanks for the continued support to salwyn77, Mizz Alec Volturi, Celebrisilweth and That Other Writer Girl, you're the best!

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Tilda was sorting through her healer satchel, assessing how many doses of willow bark and elderberry she still had. Kíli had acquired her same fever, seemingly, but was less affected by it, showing just some runny nose and higher temperature. Advantages of being a dwarf, the woman mused, half envying his sturdiness.

Said sturdiness was only matched by his stubbornness, as he only conceded feeling unwell when he couldn't hide his shivers at midday. She knew the signs, and if she weren't also recovering from her own illness she would have noticed them the night before, when she tried to wake him up from his nightmare. But it was so cozy to sleep snuggled to him that his higher temperature had been just a plus to her comfort.

The object of her musings just came back from some scouting, his bow ready at hand but no game in sight. The forest was better than when the Company first crossed it, but still not fully healed, and its fauna resented it.

"You should rest, not wander around, Kíli."

He smiled at her admonishment.

"You told me chicken soup is medicine for our fever, I just tried to collect some components for your potion, my favorite healer."

"I'm not your favorite healer, I'm the only one you have around, silly."

"It's Kíli, not silly…"

She whacked his arm at the recurrent joke. Tilda was sure she would miss their jokes if they ever had to tread separate ways.

"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" He grabbed his arm where she hit him and rolled on the ground as if in great pain. "Help! I'm mortally wounded! I need a healer!"

Tilda took advantage of his antics to whack him again.

"And now? What do you need, you little piece of mischief?"

"Ouch!" He cried again. "I need a healer! I need…"

One swift move and he pulled Tilda down to him, making her to lose balance and fall, allowing him to tickle her under her armpits and down her sides.

"Hah!" She cried, laughing. "Stop! You brat!"

"I'll show you the little piece of mischief, you little mischievous lady!"

Kíli continued to tickle her mercilessly, Tilda squirming on the ground until she was out of breath.

"Stop! Hahah!"

"Yield!" He demanded, trying to cross her defences, namely her arms and kicking legs.

"Never!" She managed to cry between surges of laughter.

Kíli stopped for a moment, wrists held by her defending hands.

"Does it mean I'll have to tickle you forever?"

"No!" She giggled, between gasping breaths. "You just have to state…" She breathed again. "What you do need but a healer!"

It was a strange question, but it was the only escapade that occurred to her, given how their little battle began.

"What do I need…"

Her question, now deprived from his previous antics, and despite their little tickling war, made Kíli stop and consider, wrists still held tight by Tilda.

He didn't need much. Hardship in the Blue Mountains taught him one could live with little, and he was very capable of obtaining the little he needed, be it by hunting, forging, or working for someone else as an escort.

He missed his family and friends, but a family that tried to force a marriage on him, he was better off without. His closest friends, the Company, were ass and pants with Thorin, so it excluded them as something needed.

A healer was someone everybody needed now and then. His recent fever was just the proof of it. Even if he was capable of gathering some herbs and concoct some teas, if he were really ill, a healer would have to do it for him. Or if he were wounded like he was in the Battle of Five. By then he really needed a healer, but he had to acknowledge it was not enough to keep him alive. To make him want to live.

There was Fíli. Of course he was healing too, his wound and fall bad enough that he would carry a limp for life. Yet, whenever they were awake at the same time, it was Fíli who anchored him, who didn't let him wander to the depths of his pain and forget himself there. Fíli was something apart from family. He was his brother, and despite suspecting he betrayed him as well, Kíli missed his brother dearly.

But is to miss the same as to need?

Besides Fíli, he had had another person who granted his sanity during his recovery. By then she was no healer, and she was no family either; actually, she wasn't even a dwarf. Kíli looked down at the same wide blue eyes that frequently greeted him in the healing house of Erebor during those excruciating days. Always eager to hear a story, yet bringing her own books to read him fairy tales. Unable to move him due to his heavy built, but fast in fetching everything – anything! – he needed or fancied. She even held his hand when Óin or Hilda had to perform something painful; and held him close when he needed to cry.

Ten years ago he found someone he needed more than his own brother, and didn't acknowledge her for what she was. Because then she was only a child, but now…

"Kíli? Are you all right?"

His long silence was disturbing, moreover in the awkward position they were. Tilda's voice brought him back to present time and space, and he blinked, assessing their current situation. Kíli couldn't recall when he had straddled her in their impromptu tickle fight. He looked at his wrists, to what Tilda let them go and laced her fingers to his instead, seemingly understanding something deeper was coursing his mind.

Words heard in his dreams the night before crossed his lips, taking a new meaning.

"I need to be healed. I need to be whole."

"Oh, Kíli…"

They disentangled their limbs from how their tickle was had left them, and Tilda held him close to muffle his sobs in her shoulder. There was no magic formula to deal with coping, but to be there for someone in grief never failed. The steady hand, the calming voice, and unjudging words.

When the wave of tears was over Tilda cupped his face with a hand whilst drying it with the brim of her cloak. His eyes were cast down, the old shame of crying as no grown up dwarf should, in his prejudiced culture. Her sudden chuckle had him looking up again.

"You know, maybe I should do as when you were recovering from the Battle of Five."

Kíli frowned, curious.

"Do what?"

"Kiss you better." She giggled and kissed his brow. "I was so silly then, didn't see how you and your brother made fun of me by claiming you were healing because I kissed you better each evening when I was leaving the healing house."

He couldn't supress a smile at the memory.

"It wasn't for fun, Tilda. To know there's someone who cares about you, about your well-being, as you did for us…" In his mind Kíli changed us for me, but wasn't bold enough to spell it out loud.

"Did it work?" She asked.

"We did our best to make you believe it did." He answered with a sheepish smile.

"No, not back then. Right now."

He was out of words for a moment, considering what it was she really meant with her question. Yet, actually, he was in no position to deny it, and whispered to her.

"Yes. It did."

"Great!" She smiled broadly, the human imp. "I shall kiss you better each night, then. Until you are healed and whole. This is a promise."