A/N: It's mentioned in The Hobbit that Hobbits play 'dart-throwing', among other games. I know there's a lot in The Hobbit that doesn't fit in with the Middle-earth we're shown in LotR, and arguably this is one of them, but I decided to try and incorporate this idea as best I could.

It was the first day of December that the Delvers received a not-unexpected knock at the door. Meg and her mother were washing dishes and didn't look up when they heard it, knowing someone else would be there to answer.

"It's Nick," Myrtle called from the hallway.

Meg and Mrs Delver exchanged glances.

"I'll just go an' see if there are any stray teacups about," Mrs Delver said, wiping her hands on her apron and leaving the kitchen.

Meg continued drying plates as though nothing was happening, and only gave Nick a cursory glance as he walked in. "Hello, stranger."

"Meg." He nodded at her and sat on the table. "Jack said you was angry with me."

"And why'd you reckon that is?" she said, putting a plate in the drying rack. "I've seen you once since you said you wanted to court me, an' that was weeks ago."

"I've been busy of late," Nick said. "I'm here now, ain't I?"

"Weeks."

He winced at this. "I know. I'm sorry. If you want to break with me I'd understand."

"I din't say that."

"Eh?"

Meg put another plate in the rack and turned around to face him properly. "I don't want to break with you." She laughed at his expression. His mouth was hung open in silent surprise. "D'you think I'm that high strung?"

Nick seemed to return to his senses a bit and closed his mouth. "I don't think it'd be high strung to want to break off now. You could do better than me."

"I could do worse." She smiled. "I've known you all my life, I know you're a good lad. There's naught better than one of them."

He still didn't seem to understand; he didn't look like a lad who'd just been let off a huge mistake. There was no relief in his face, only shock and confusion. Meg took his hands to try and reassure him.

"You're sorry. That means you mean well an' you deserve a chance. I want this to work, Nick." She chewed her lip as she awaited his reaction.

Nickon looked into her eyes for a moment before turning his gaze down to their hands. He sighed and put one of his over hers. "You're a good lass."

Meg did her best to keep smiling, and withdrew her hands. "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"

"Aye…"

"We don't have many tealeaves left, so you'll have to settle for a weak brew," she said mindlessly as she fussed with the kettle. "But it's the same for most people these days, I guess. Mind you, we don't have much water left neither, but I could run up to the pump if…"

"Don't put yourself to trouble. Here, let me help with the dishes."

"You shouldn't be doing that," Meg said as he picked up the dish rag and started to dry one of the plates she'd left in the rack. "You're a guest. And a lad."

Nick shrugged. "Least I can do." He put the dried plates in a stack with some others before heaving them up. He looked around the room, making his curls bounce. "Uh… Where'd these go?"

"Here…" Meg opened one of the cupboards and watched as he put them inside.

Nick stood back and put his hands on his waist, sighing. "I want to do right by you," he said.

Meg set her jaw and started to blink in the hope that this would hide her building emotions, which were threatening to escape through her tear ducts.

"What's wrong?" Nick said.

"Nothing." She reached into the cupboard to move the stack of plates. "We usually keep 'em on the right, with the bowls on the left. I'm not nagging, you weren't to know, but that's how we usually keep 'em."

"I din't mean to upset you."

"You've not upset me."

There was a creek as the door to the kitchen opened. "Everyone all right in here?" Mrs Delver said. "Sorry if I'm intruding, but I thought I'd better check."

Meg smiled brightly and turned to face her mother. "Aye. All sorted now. Nick was offering to help with the dishes but I was telling 'im it weren't necessary."

"Right…" Mrs Delver said, glancing from one to the other.

Nickon stayed in the Delvers smial a few hours, but remained in a state of guarded unease. Meg guessed that it was because he was still guilty about being so inattentive. But she knew that like all things, it would pass.

Nickon carefully scanned the assembled Hobbits in the Green Dragon. When he'd left the Delvers he hadn't had the nerve to ask where Jack might be. But the Dragon was his best chance, given that Jack obviously wasn't at home and realistically there were only so many other places he could be. On the other hand Jonson and Rob hadn't been at home either and Nick didn't fancy running into them, and there were also only so many places they could realistically be. He breathed a light sigh when he spotted Jack and Atkin Button playing darts in a corner. Satisfied that Jack was the only Delver on the premises, he carefully shifted through the crowd, trying not to draw attention to himself.

As Nickon reached them Atkin was just pulling the darts out of the target; a small straw disc with inexpertly painted rings on it.

"You're still in one piece then," Jack said as Nick sidled up to their table. "Atkin's paying."

"Why do I always pay?" Atkin said.

"'Cus you're the only one with any money. It's a practical decision."

Nick put a hand in his pocket and put a handful of coins on the table. "Here. I'll get this round if you go an' fetch it."

Jack watched silently as Atkin left. "Meg give you what for, did she?"

"No…" Nickon pulled out a chair and sat heavily. "Jack," he whined, "I think I've done something stupid."

"Only the one thing?"

"Very bloody funny."

Jack rested the back of his head against the wall and decided to relent. "What's up, lad?"

"I was expecting her to give me what for," he said. "It was worse when she didn't. I thought she was going to say she wanted to break with me, but she didn't. She forgave me."

"Wasn't that what you wanted?" Jack said.

Nick looked at Jack with large brown eyes, like a dog that had just been kicked by its master. So he was breakable after all…

"I don't know what to do," Nickon said.

Jack turned away and pulled the last dart out of the target with a sharp yank. "Glad I'm not you, then."

Nickon groaned. "Please, Jack. Tell me what to do."

"Don't know what you're asking me for. I don't know nothing about lasses or courting."

"You're clever; you know things. You know Meg. You know me."

Jack folded his arms and fixed Nick with a hard, immovable stare. "I ain't obligated to humour you."

Nick winced as the memory of his own words came back to him. "You know all I wanted was—"

There was a thud as Atkin awkwardly set three frothing clay mugs on the table. Nickon turned away from Jack and sat glaring at the opposite wall. Atkin looked around at the tense scene like a rabbit that's just found itself surrounded by wolves. "What's going on?" he said, picking up one of the mugs in preparation.

"So Nick here," Jack said, nodding to the wheelwright, "is courting my sister, even though he's not got a taking for her. What d'you think he should do now?"

Atkin froze and looked from Nick to Jack and back again. "Why would you court someone you don't have affection for?" he said, bewildered.

Nickon looked plaintively at Jack. "I didn't mean to…"

"Which sister is it?" Atkin said.

"Nutmeg."

An odd look passed across Atkin's face. "She's the tall one with the blue eyes?"

"Aye," Jack said, frowning. He quickly brushed his puzzlement aside. "So now he don't know what to do."

"Right…?"

"I'm not helping him because he's been stupid, but you're softer than I am."

He shook his head and his fingers, wrapped resolutely around his mug, started to fidget anxiously. "I'm, uh, I'm not very knowledgeable with lasses and courtships and everything…"

Nick covered his eyes. "Bloody knowledgeable," he muttered. "You've gone really posh since your 'prenticeship."

"I'm just don't think I'm the person to—"

"Talking to lasses ain't hard, Atkin," he snapped. "You're not a bloody tweenager anymore."

Atkin flushed and downed some of his beer. "I suppose I'd think about what I'd want if I was in her place."

The next few seconds passed in silence, the words settling on them like snowflakes. Eventually Nickon drew in a deep breath, took a drink from a mug and reached for one of the darts. "Who's winning?"

They didn't speak of it again, sticking to small talk about families, work and the odd times. Eventually Jack took his cap and jacket. Nick desperately watched him go, waiting for Atkin to pause from talking about his father's health long enough for him to make an escape. After Jack was out the door he lost his patience and abruptly made his excuses so he could follow him. Already Jack was well ahead, walking swiftly and nearly lost to the gloom. Nick wrapped his jacket tight around him and did his best to catch up. "Jack!"

Jack turned around sharply. "What?" His perfectly formed black curls were being pushed down by the cap, and lay against his ears and forehead.

Nickon took a moment to get his breath back. "What do you want me to do?"

"That don't matter."

"It does." He sighed. "It does."

"It shouldn't." He paused, breathing heavily. "If I told you to keep leading her on, you'd do it, wouldn't you?"

Nick opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

"Aye. You should be better'n that." Jack turned away, tugging his ca further down his head and determined not to look back. "I'll not help you with this one."

It was the second day of December that the Delvers received an unexpected knock at the door.

"It's Nick Hobble," Hender called.

Meg perked up immediately. She was in the middle of hanging the washing on the indoor line, and dumped the remaining damp clothes in the basket.

"I wish you'd let 'im go," Mrs Delver said as she hung a pair of under-breeches. "I don't like how he's messing you about."

"But he's stepped up now, see?" Meg said as she untied her apron. "He listened to me."

"As you say…"

Meg ignored this and rushed out into the corridor to greet him. The lad that met her was far from the swaggering rascal she was expecting. Nick looked odd; guilty. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Hello, Meg."

"Hello. Nice to see you," she said, smiling.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Can we talk? In private, like."

"Uh… aye." She took him by the hand and started to lead him outside.

"That's not very private," Nick said uncertainly.

"More private than in here," Meg said, and attempted a laugh.

They stood awkwardly in the front garden, the chickens meandering between them.

"Tree's not grown back any?" Nick said, looking at the stump.

"Weren't really expecting it to."

"No…" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, that was a stupid question." There was further silence. "You look nice."

Meg knew she was sweaty and her dress was dirty from work, but said, "Thank you."

He put his hands in his pockets and half-heartedly kicked a chicken that started pecking at his foot hair.

Meg waited until the silence passed the point of awkwardness before speaking.

"You're not still feeling bad, are you?" she said. "I've forgiven you. Really."

At this Nick screwed up his face in discomfort.

"An' you've already started making amends," Meg said, desperate to make him feel better. "Look, you're here, without me even asking you. That's good!"

Even this didn't seem to give him any relief, as he sat on the tree stump with his head in his hands.

"Tell me what's wrong," Meg said, wringing her hands. "Please. I want to help."

His shoulders heaved as he took another deep breath. "I think we should break off," he said.

It hit Meg like a physical force: painful and disorientating.

"I don't," she said. It was all she could think to say.

Nickon raised his head to look at her. His expression was completely despondent.

"I don't think we should break," she said, going to kneel by him. "I was too harsh on you yesterday, I see that now, I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Just, please…" She grasped his sleeve with a tight hand.

"Lass…" He tugged his arm away and walked to the other end of the garden, leaving Meg kneeling in the dirt. "Look, it's naught to do with you, all right?"

Meg's mouth stayed open in abject silence.

"No, don't get upset," he said pathetically, and went to kneel beside her. "It's not your fault, see? It's mine. Only mine." He tried to smile. "You don't want a tomfool like me."

"I do…" she whimpered.

"You deserve better'n that. We can still be friends."

"But I've already got friends," Meg said, very quietly. "Nick, please, I'll try to be better…"

"I told you, it's not about that!"

Meg covered her eyes with her hand and took a deep breath to try and stay her sobs.

"Sorry… I shouldn't've snapped." He patted her awkwardly on the back. "I'm just… sorry. Here, let me take you inside." He put his hands on her shoulders to try and guide her to her feet, but she jerked away from him.

"No."

He stayed by her side she didn't know how long. He kept asking what he could do and there was no answer she could give that would satisfy both of them, so gave none. When it became obvious he wouldn't leave her like this she told him plainly that she didn't need his help or comfort, and he gave up.

Meg lifted her head from her hands to watch him leave through the gate.

She was back on the Common, the night of the festival, watching Winden walk away. She couldn't go with him. There was no ground beneath her feet, and she was falling, not knowing where she would land.

All alone…

She could see Poppy and Martin watching her from the window. Meg sniffed and stood up, giving them a brief smile as she went back inside. She returned to hanging the washing without saying a word to her mother.

"You were out there a while. All sorted?" Mrs Delver said cautiously.

Meg didn't trust herself to reply without making a fool of herself.

"You're upset," Mrs Delver said.

"I'm not."

"Meg!"

"Need to get this washing hung…" she murmured, pegging out a shift. "It'll take hours now it's gotten so cold."

Mrs Delver rolled her eyes. "All right. You're a grown-up, I won't pester you. But I would prefer if you'd tell me what's wrong."

Meg said nothing, and Mrs Delver didn't ask anything more. When they were finished with the washing Mrs Delver went to the parlour with the rest of the family, but Meg couldn't rest. She tried sitting with the others, but she couldn't stop her hands from twitching.

So she had gone to the kitchen and set about cleaning the floor. She lost all sense of time, and when she heard Jack's voice say her name it felt like she'd been cleaning for both too long and not long enough.

"It's a bit late to be scrubbing the floors, ain't it?" he said.

"No."

He went to stand over her. "Blimey, Meg, yours hands!"

Her hands had started bleeding a while ago—a side-effect of the lye—but she hadn't cared enough to tend them. The stinging was memorable.

"You need to stop," he said.

She didn't stop. She couldn't stop. "In a minute. When I'm done."

Jack crouched beside her. "Nick break with you?" he said.

This shocked Meg into halting. She sat back and wondered when the room had gotten so dark. "I wasn't expecting it so soon. So soon after…" She wiped her nose with a forearm.

"Why don't you cry, Meg?" Jack said softly. "You used to be able to."

"I don't need to cry." She knelt over again and went back to scrubbing the floor.

"I'm going to get Mum, you're worrying me."

"No, don't." She went to grab his arm but he flinched out of the way.

She looked down at her hands. "Sorry." She smiled at him as best she could. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm all right."

Jack's expression was stony. She sighed.

"Well, mayhap I'm not as all right as I could be. I'm just a little sad, that's all. Everyone is when they lose a sweetheart." Her demeanour changed very suddenly, like a shadow passing over a field. She stood up straight. "But you're right, there's no point in moping." She brushed passed him as she moved to the hallway. "How'd you fancy going down the Dragon?"

Meg had asked Jack to go with her because normal, respectable people (especially ladies) didn't go to taverns by themselves. But when she arrived she found herself automatically looking over who was there, in particular which lads were there. They had been there maybe half an hour when Winden arrived with a group of his friends. She kept a watch over him while she was sat with Jack.

"Oi!"

Meg winced as Jack flicked the side of her head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You weren't listening to me."

"I was," she said, looking at him resentfully and rubbing her stinging temple.

"What did I say, then?"

She hesitated. "My old ears couldn't hear you over the din in here," she said.

"Well, that don't surprise me," he said dryly. "I was asking if you felt better."

"Oh, aye. But I don't want you to worry about me."

"'Worry' is a strong word. I was mildly concerned."

"Whichever. I can worry for both of us."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You honestly believe that's how it works?"

"I want it to. Don't you ever want to take the trouble from someone you love and carry it yourself?"

"No. I've got enough problems without taking up other people's troubles. Don't think you should try, neither. I mean—"

Meg was still glancing intermittently at Winden and now he had gotten up and was making his way to the bar. She got up automatically, not heeding what Jack was saying. Her window of opportunity wasn't big and she couldn't afford to wait.

"Where're you going?" Jack said.

"Nothing. Just a minute…"

Jack twisted around in his chair to see where she was going and groaned. "By the Elder King, Meg!"

She ignored this, and the many things he said after. Winden was close now but he still hadn't seen her. He was leaning against the bar, at ease with himself and the world. Meg's heart was rattling against her collarbone, but she was doing her best not to show it and put on her best smile.

"Hello, Winden."

He started, and looked at her like she was a waif. Then he looked away as though embarrassed, retreating into himself. "Meg."

"How've you been keeping?" she said, struggling to keep on her sunny demeanour.

"Well enough."

"Funny old times, eh? Your parents keeping well?"

"Aye."

She had expected him to play along with the exchange of pleasantries, but he didn't want to so she decided to skip straight to the important matters. "I got everything sorted," she said.

He looked at her properly for the first time, and nodded gently. "Right. That's good. For you, I mean."

"Aye." She chewed her bottom lip. "So does that mean we could have another go, maybe?" He looked away again and Meg started to panic. "I know you're not ready for getting wed and… all that. But I was just thinking maybe we could just start courting again, see what happens…"

He stood up properly and cleared his throat, turning to face her in full. In the candlelight he looked just as he had when Meg had first spoken to him in that very tavern. Well built, with a strong chin and rich, dark brown hair that fell about in glossy, tantalizing curls. "Uh… no, sorry. I'm walking out with Lavinia Yardley these days…"

"Ah." The smile suddenly became a lot more difficult to maintain. "Right. That's good. Really good. I'm happy for you."

He nodded. Four mugs were placed in front of him by the landlord and he took them up. "I'm glad things worked out all right. Take care of yourself, Meg."

Meg pursed her lips and nodded as he walked away.

Jack had been watching the exchange through his fingers, though he was too far away to hear what was being said. He'd agreed to go to the inn less out of any expectation of enjoying himself, and more out of a sense that someone should be there to supervise Meg. When she had returned to his table and said she'd like to go home he didn't hesitate, not least of all because Nick was staring at him from across the inn, Meg hadn't realised and Jack didn't want to find out what would happen if she did.

This is what comes of living in a village that only has one bloody inn, he thought.

On the return home Meg walked a little ahead of him, silent and stoic.

"You want to talk about it?" Jack said.

"No. There's nothing to talk about."

He didn't try again, but when he happened to glance behind he could just pick out the shape of Nickon Hobble following them in the dark. Jack sighed, stopped and patted his pockets. "I've left my dice behind. You go on, I won't be a minute."

Meg looked at him like she wasn't sure this was true, but her better nature must have won out because she said, "All right," and carried on back to the house.

Jack turned around and started to make his way back to the inn. He carried on a few paces, glancing behind him every so often. When he was sure Meg couldn't see him anymore he stopped and stood in the middle of the dirt road, arms folded, waiting for Nick to come to him. When Nick finally reached him he stood dumb and awkward, like he wasn't sure what to do with Jack now that he'd finally caught him.

"You should stop doing this," Jack said.

"You're still upset with me."

Jack shrugged.

"Did Meg not tell you? I broke with her."

"I guessed."

Nickon frowned, as though trying to get his head around this. "Then why're you upset? I did the right thing."

"The right thing? Upsetting my sister is the right thing? You shouldn't've been courting her in the first place."

Nick looked down and sighed. He put his hands in his pockets as he stepped closer to Jack. "I can't undo what happened. I can only try and fix it. I have tried, Caften."

Jack looked down. Nick was standing very close to him now. They were exactly the same height and he couldn't bear how Nickon's eyes were looking directly into his own. "I wish you hadn't done it."

"I know." Nick took one of Jack's hands and gently ran a thumb over his knuckles. "I'm sorry."

Jack sighed, and inclined his head downwards. Nick leaned forward and brushed his lips against Jack's. Jack's skin tingled as Nickon's breath tickled his neck and for a moment his anger dissolved and there was nothing between them. Then—

"No." He pushed Nick away with a rough shove.

Nickon stood back, confused and hurt. "Sorry. I thought…"

"Well, I can't. Not now." Jack seized Nickon by the braces and tugged him forward. "Because using my kind, stupid sister to make me jealous is a bloody horrible thing to do. To both of us."

Jack scowled at him as hard as he could. There wasn't any way for him to express the spectrum of feelings going on in his head. "We're not friends," he said. "Never friends." He turned away, furious and failing. He was angry with Nickon, for his stupidity and the fact that he cared. He was angry with Meg a little. But mostly he was just angry with himself. Angry that he couldn't stop thinking about how Nick was now stood on the dirt road watching him go; alone in the dark.

A/N: Okay.

So I've been writing this fic for a while now and as time's passed I've become increasingly aware that there are a lot of elements that are problematic. The way I handled Nick and Jack's relationship thread is one of them, and I really regret the way I've portrayed them for a number of reasons. Unfortunately didn't I realise how many issues there are with this plotline (and others) until had written over 100,000 words. At that point I felt like my only options were to re-write the whole thing or scrap it entirely. I really don't want to do the latter and the former would be too much of a commitment at this point. Overhauling my 170,000 word fanfic manuscript is not something I have time for.

So I'd just like to say sorry if you're LGBTQ+ (or a cishet ally) and were offended my bad depiction of a gay relationship. I need to learn to think about the implications of things, there is no excuse and am doing my best to minimise the damage as I draft new chapters, though it's still not enough. Keep safe, and enjoy my silly Hobbit-based soap opera if you still can.