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“You're sure you can handle this?” Bilbo asked for what he knew had to be the third or thirteenth time. Frodo was silent and, after rushing around the living room in search of his sweater for a few moments Bilbo stopped to turn his attention to his nephew. “Frodo?”
His nephew was standing by the door, expression bland, Bilbo’s sweater, a light jacket, and wallet in hand. Fili and Kili were standing just outside the door, snickering softly. . Bilbo blinked, hands going to pat down his pants pockets. How had Frodo gotten his wallet? Hadn't he already picked it up when he’d- well clearly not, as all he had in his pockets were his phone and, oh, some of his sleep aid tea sachets...huh. What in the world was he doing with those?
“I think I can manage.” Frodo quirked an eyebrow. “I’ve only been helping you in the restaurant since I was thirteen.”
“Oh yes, of course. When was that, last year?” He plucked the sweater from his nephew, pausing in pulling it on to ruffle dark curls. Frodo scowled darkly and batted at his hands while shooting a less than subtle look in Fili and Kili’s direction.
“Twenty years, uncle.” He corrected testily; Bilbo failed at hiding his laughter which only made Frodo look more cross. “I'm of age and-” Fili snickered. Frodo’s eye twitched; Bilbo could practically taste how frustrated his nephew was by Thorin’s nephews not seeing him as an adult. “I think I can manage the restaurant for a few hours. Sam will be in the kitchen with me and even you say he's ready to handle it.”
That was true enough. Sam was a natural in the kitchen though technically he was more of a Green Witch than a Kitchen one. Still he had a stronger will that just about anyone Bilbo had ever met (especially when it came to helping Frodo), and had trained alongside Frodo under his careful eye since he was a faunt. They had some years before they’d master the finer points or be able to look into customers to see to their needs as Bilbo had been taught by his mother to do, but they’d be able to man the kitchen well enough. They both had a knack for pushing emotion and intention into food, and knew how to cook everything on the relatively simply menu they’d decided on for the night.
With Fili and Kili manning the front everything looked good on paper. And yet...
“And we’ll be here to help!” Kili added. He was leaning over his brother’s shoulder, arms draped around the blond’s neck. They both smiled disarmingly when Bilbo glanced towards them.
Bilbo tugged at the hem of his sweater. “Maybe we should postpone.”
All three made noises of protest and, before Bilbo could begin to really consider it he was being tugged out of the apartment he and Frodo lived in above the restaurant and forces down the stairs. Frodo was leading the way with Kili and Fili flanking Bilbo, each taking an arm and toting him between them like a basket of groceries. He huffed in irritation. Ridiculous dwarfborne lads, always going around picking people up and flaunting that they were taller than Bilbo, fully grown and near middle age, was. As bloodlines became more mixed hobbitborne got taller but ‘taller’ meant ‘the height of a very short man’ for a lot of them, including Bilbo.
“Sorry Mr. Boggins.” Kili chirped as they marched along. “But you can't back out.”
“I wasn't backing-"
“Uncle has been planning this for weeks.” Fili said. “And I don't think he's been on a date since before we were born; this has to go perfectly.”
“Or he’ll give up and die alone.” Kili added solemnly. Bilbo scowled.
“Don't be ridiculous he...planning for weeks?”
“Weeks.” Fili repeated.
Bilbo's heart skipped a beat. Weeks!?! That had to be an exaggeration, didn’t it? Thorin had only asked him to dinner four days ago!
He liked Thorin, a lot, and getting to know him over the past two months had been...very nice. It mostly consisted of talking at the restaurant when Thorin came by after work (both of them pretending he didn't have to go nearly an hour out of his way to do so) or to drop Ori and his nephews off when Ori came by to check the wards and website, and that had been easy. It was Bilbo's restaurant after all, known territory, and talking to customers was a big part of how he did what he did; it came much more naturally than dealing with people outside of Bag End did.
Talking to Thorin was especially stimulating. Bilbo had quickly come to look forward to Thorin’s visits and maybe he tried a little extra hard when he was cooking for the detective and lingered around Thorin’s ‘seat’ at the counter more than he did anywhere else. Recently he’d started letting Thorin take up residence at a small table in the kitchen when he came by late on the weekends, so they could chat while he did prep and baked. He listened with rapt fascination to Thorin talk about his cases, as much as he could share with a civilian, and updates on the coven and spoke about Hobbiton and the Shire, topics he would have thought boring but Thorin always listened like the comings and goings of Bilbo’s neighbors were fascinating.
He’d been delighted to learn that Thorin was a fair hand at bread making, having spent many a long afternoon at his mother’s side kneading bread for coven meetings and rituals and even more delighted at the sight of the outwardly stoic, even harsh, detective leaving with flour streaking over his face and caught in his braids.
They’d exchanged numbers a few weeks ago and Bilbo was only slightly embarrassed to admit he looked forward to the messages they exchanged, from the idle lunchtime questions about how things were going to checking in on the detective at night to remind him to sleep. And the simple good nights and good mornings that caused a downright childish fluttering in his stomach.
Speaking to Thorin, in whatever capacity he did, had become one of the highlights of his day so fast he’d scarcely realized it was happening until it had.
He hadn’t even hesitated in agreeing to go out with Thorin when he’d dangled the idea of getting something to eat that Bilbo hadn’t had to cook himself (unnecessary, Bilbo enjoyed cooking and, beyond that, watching Thorin enjoy his food was satisfying in a way he hadn’t known was possible. It was maybe a little *too* satisfying, in a way that wasn’t appropriate for the kitchen.) He hadn’t realized until hours later that he'd said yes to a date outside of the comfort of his restaurant.
Bilbo legitimately couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a date. Before Frodo had come to live with him, surely. Maybe not since his parents had died and left him the restaurant? He hadn't thought about it much, work and raising Frodo keeping him so busy he didn't imagine he had time for anything else. Not that he’d been completely chaste but never anything lasting or anyone worth spending his nonexistent free time on.
But Thorin was someone he wanted to make time for. Which was why he was leaving his restaurant in the care of his nephew, Samwise, Fili, and Kili tonight.
Maybe.
Now that the day of had arrived he found himself far less certain about the wisdom of it. He hadn't taken a day off for anything except Frodo being sick in years and in those instances he'd just closed the restaurant completely. The idea of leaving someone else running things was a hard one to swallow and, though he trusted in his nephew, anxiety was building in his stomach. Maybe this was a bad idea, Frodo was young and Sam even younger. Yes, they’d insisted they'd be fine, the Gamgees were nearby at their market, and they’d have help in Fili and Kili but were they really ready to be left alone?
And for something as frivolous as him going out for the evening. Maybe they could stay in instead, spend the night talking while he plied Thorin with food. It had worked well for them so far, hadn’t it? They were getting along, learning lots of about each other. It was good. What if it wasn’t so good once they were outside in the real world, away from the warm bubble of Bag End? Why would they want to mess-
They passed through the door at the bottom of the stairs, into the employee lounge-slash-Bilbo’s office and there was Thorin, sitting on the well worn couch, phone in hand. He looked up when they entered and Bilbo, frankly, forgot what he’d been concerned about.
He was used to seeing the detective in suits, long dark hair fixed back and away from his face, and while he certainly appreciated that he hadn’t put much thought into what a ‘casual’ Thorin might look like. Handsome, as it turned out, in dark jeans, a very well fitting dark blue shirt, and a long woolen coat with fur lining the collar. His hair was hanging free, braided in sections with metal clips binding the ends.
Thorin’s eyebrows jumped up like they intended to leave his face. “What are you two doing?”
“Delivering your date.” Fili said with far more serious than should have been allowed considering he had a hand in Bilbo’s armpit and was holding him inches off the floor. “Why, what does it look like we’re doing?”
Had there ever been such shameless boys in all of history? ...Pippin and Merry, perhaps.
It was a close thing. He was lucky that that Frodo’s cousins were busy tonight and couldn’t lend their aid to this potential disaster.
“Release him.” Thorin sounded, and looked, so tired it was nearly comical. “It’s not too late to remain here. I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to not leave Bag End in the care of these two.”
Fili and Kili set him carefully onto the his feet under Thorin’s unimpressed look. Bilbo took a moment to straighten his clothing, and to ignore the snickering coming from his right and left, before responding.
“No, we’re going. We’ll just have to trust Sam to keep them in line-” Frodo looked terribly offended. “And to not burn all I own and have in life to ash the one time I decide to take a night off.”
If nothing else he had insurance. Very good insurance.
Kili sniffed. “The lack of faith you two have in us is hurtful.”
That might have been more convincing if Kili wasn’t bouncing on the balls of his feet and didn’t look five seconds from bursting at the seams. Thorin looked every bit as skeptical as Bilbo felt, eyes narrowed.
“Mm. Call if you need anything..”
“All the emergency numbers are on the outside of the freezer.” Bilbo added, edge of his anxiety returning. “Hamfest and Bell are just down the road and they know you’re here without me so-”
“Uncle.”
“And keep your eyes on Gimli.” Thorin said.
Gimli, a younger cousin, had apparently been brought along as a last minute addition because there was no one else to keep an eye on him. He was, as far as Bilbo could tell (The beards threw him off; Gimli’s was thicker than Kili’s but Kili had insisted rather loudly that Gimli was in fact the younger of them) old enough to look after himself but the lad seemed to be magically void and that caused some concern in the coven.
Or so Bilbo had gleaned from Thorin’s mumbled explanation and pinched expression (And Gimli’s seemingly permanent sour face when he’d been shooed off to set up at a table in the front.)
“We know.” Frodo spoke up, smiling faintly. “I promise, we can look after things for a few hours. Trust us.”
Bilbo looked from his nephew to Kili to Fili and back. Then sighed and nodded. He allowed himself to be pushed out the back door with no more protest and only two reminders to not hesitate to call if they needed anything. The door shut after them with a bit more force and finality than Bilbo thought strictly necessary.
It was chilly out and the sun was already setting. Autumn had finally settled into the Shire, later than it did in other parts of their huge, magically connected city, and it had done it with frigid winds and early morning frost. He breathed out and his breath misted in front of him.
He looked up at Thorin, worry about the restaurant giving away to an excited buzz in his chest. Worry too, yes, he would hate for this to go badly but mostly anticipation. The detective smiled, the barely there quirking of his lips Bilbo was coming to understand meant he was truly pleased with something, then inclined his head towards the mostly empty parking lot, only Thorin and his nephew’s cars sat there for now. Bag End wasn’t open for the dinner shift yet and Bilbo’s own car was in the garage on the side of the building.
“We should go. It’s a bit of a drive.”
Bilbo nodded, smile pulling at his lips as they fell into step with each other. “And where are you taking me Detective Durin? Your nephews tell me you’ve been planning this for weeks .”
“My nephews have very large mouths.” Blue eyes cut to the side. “It’s a new place, in Trollshaws. The Three Brothers.”
----
“I really had no idea it would be so...awful.” Thorin said, the same unhappy expression that had been on his face since they’d left the restaurant becoming, somehow, even more severe. “It was suggested by someone I work with.”
“It’s fine.” Bilbo said again. Honestly it hadn’t been...that bad.
A little loud and rocuous for Bilbo’s taste, as far as atmosphere went, but it had seemed to skew more towards a younger crowd of rowdy orcborne, dwarfborne, and men. He couldn’t fault it for not being his kind of establishment. Even if, after an unfortunate car ride that had involved almost an hour stuck in unmoving traffic, he’d been hoping for something a bit more...subdued. And personal. Still, that wasn’t the restaurants fault and he’d actually rather enjoyed the bawdy sounds and dancing of the other customers, even if some of it had been on his table.
That said he wasn’t so sure he saw the allure of having the three large, very sweaty troll descended chefs with what seemed to be questionable hygiene (what with one constantly blowing his nose) going about, smoking and swearing at each other as they tended the roasting pit in the middle of the sitting area and sliced off great hunks of still bloody meat for their patrons.
Not that Bilbo couldn’t appreciate things cooked rare but there was rare and then there was ‘may scream when cut into’ and the latter was not appealing.
The cigarette butt in his salad had been a rather low point, he had to confess. To say nothing of the small group of orcborne that had decided to start throwing their ale mugs, causing a fight to break out and the chefs had started running about, grabbing people and throwing them about. Bilbo had gotten caught in the whole affair and, after being sneezed on by one chef and nearly having his head squashed while the chef threatened to throw him into the cooking pit...well. He’d been all too happy to have the police show up and start corralling the crowd.
Especially with Thorin punching said chef in the eye and now sporting a rapidly forming bruise on his jaw in return. An officer named Aragorn had taken one look at Thorin, sighed deeply, and told them to ‘Please, just leave before I have to explain you getting in a fight with civilians to Thranduil.’
Thorin had grumbled a bit but escorted Bilbo out nonetheless.
After giving up his sweater as a lost cause and dropping it into a garbage can they’d started the walk back to the garage they’d parked in, cutting through a quiet park along the way.
“There was an eyeball in your chicken stew.”
“In some places eyeballs are a delicacy.” Bilbo said sagely.
“I’m fairly certain it wasn’t from a chicken.”
Bilbo choked on a bark of laughter because now that he thought about it he wasn’t so sure either. He didn’t think he wanted to know what it might have been and, ultimately, he was glad he had opted to not eat it.
Thorin chuckled, shadows on his face finally lightening. “I had something else planned, a show in the Central District, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Bilbo considered the bruise, split lip, and scraped up knuckles Thorin was now sporting. “Maybe not. I think it’s best we get back and get some ice on your face.”
“How about I take you back and then leave before Fili and Kili can see me?” Thorin suggested.
Bilbo quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Are you planning to avoid them until that heals up?”
“Yes.” Thorin didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll just spend more time at work.”
“So all day instead of three-quarters of it. I’m sure that will go over well and won’t end with your sister fetching you and dragging you home while your entire precinct watches.”
Thorin made an offended face that was so reminiscent of Kili’s Bilbo had to put a hand over his mouth to not laugh outright. The detective sighed, shaking his head.
“You aren’t wrong.”
“I rarely am.” Bilbo flexed his fingers, wishing he’d thought to bring gloves. And a backup sweater, and perhaps a scarf (he eyed the one hanging, undone, around Thorin’s neck with a small amount of jealousy) as well. It was much colder outside of the Shire and, now that sun was gone and the moon was out and high overhead, the chill had begun to creep into his bones. He glanced up, catching Thorin’s flat look, and smiled again. “That’s part of my magic, being able to get things right, being in the right place at the right time and all of that. I’d be a very poor witch if I went around giving people the wrong thing or wasn’t there when they needed me, don’t you think?”
It was a bit more complex than all of that, old Took magic that had settled in Bilbo’s blood in rather odd ways, that his mother had spent years teaching him to channel through cooking but occasionally moved him to step outside of his home and do foolish things for reasons he could never quite put into words, but generally ended up very well.
And, he thought, perhaps it sometimes brought people to him as well. Had it not been a strange impulse that had made him take Frodo home with him so he and the faunt could make cookies, of all things, the day Drogo and Primula had been in that car crash, inadvertently saving his nephew from sharing the fate of his parents?
And an equally strange something that had made him hire Ori, a young and untried tech witch, to handle his website, wards, and inventory? Which had lead to Fili and Kili invading his life and, eventually, Thorin appearing in Bag End’s dining room. Bilbo could have hired anyone, really, but it was Ori’s ad that had caught his eye and refused to be moved past.
Thorin eyed him, silent for so long that Bilbo began to wonder if perhaps he’d said something wrong. Then the man reached for him and hands, larger than his own and shockingly warm, closed around one of his.
“You’re freezing.”
Heat crept into Bilbo’s face. “We can’t all be walking furnaces, can we?”
Thorin scoffed even as he reached for his other hand to bring them both together between his own. His fingers were rough, thick and knobby in places that Bilbo knew had to have come from breaking and healing multiple times. In spite of that his touch was careful, near gentle, as he rubbed circles into Bilbo’s skin then drifted down along the length of his fingers, bringing heat to...various places. The detective’s entire focus was on their joined hands, brows furrowed.
They stood there, in the middle of the cobblestone walking path with large trees all around them and bending overhead, leaves gone orange and brown and gold. The wind blew, moving the trees and making the silver moonlight shift around them. It ruffled Thorin’s hair as well; the metal in his hair clinked together softly.
The flush on Bilbo’s cheeks intensified.
This was getting-
“You should have said something.” Thorin said, letting his hands slip away. Bilbo opened his mouth then shut it, looking away and mumbling a ‘I’ll do that’, then jumped when something heavy dropped around his shoulders. He blinked, breath catching in his chest as Thorin pulled his coat tighter around him and followed it up with his scarf wrapped hastily around his neck. His hands lingered on the scarf, eyes locking onto Bilbo’s.
It wasn’t their first kiss but there was something different to this one, cool lips parting, tasting just a little of copper, and misty breath mingling, than to the quick ones shared in Bag End. A zing raced up Bilbo’s spine and his toes curled in his boots.
He needed to make baked french toast. With blueberries and sweetened cream cheese, and more than a little passion baked in.
When they broke apart Bilbo was very warm indeed, inside and out. He cleared his throat, hands pushing into the pockets of Thorin’s coat, and ducked his head. His fingers touched the edge of what he assumed was Thorin’s phone and, just as he went to pull away from it, it buzzed and shook. He jumped in surprise then stiffened when Thorin leaned closer to reach into the pocket and take it out. Bilbo watched through lowered lashes as Thorin thumbed at the screen, blue light illuminating his face as it shifted from concerned to amused to resigned.
“It’s Kili. It seems ‘watch Gimli’ has become ‘take pictures of Gimli flirting with an... elfborne . And send them to half the coven.’”
“An elf? At Bag End?” Bilbo rose up on his toes and leaned close to see the screen. Indeed there were pictures of young Gimli sitting at a table with a blond who, judging by the pointed ears and how much taller they were than the redhead, an elfborne. And was enjoying themselves quite a lot; one picture after the next showed them laughing. “Oh. That’s nice.”
Odd, he’d never had an elf come through before, but they made a cute pair.
Thorin’s expression strongly suggested it wasn’t nice and that he wouldn’t have appreciated Bilbo calling them cute. Bilbo patted him consolingly then hooked his arm into the detective’s elbow.
“Let’s go. There’s something I want to make you.”
Thorin looked torn. “The point was to keep you from cooking.”
Bilbo swayed closer and let his head rest on the other’s shoulder. “I like cooking for you. And, I’ll have you know, I have just the thing in mind. ...for breakfast. Tonight we’ll get take away.”
Just as soon as he'd sent Frodo off to the Gamgees for the night.
A moment of silence then Thorin was moving his arm to slide it around Bilbo’s shoulders. “I'm not sure I deserve breakfast after all of that, but I think I'll accept."
"I'm shocked."