It took him a few moments to realize:

A, he was awake. B, he was cold. C, the faint blue light coming from the window didn't specify the time but indicated it was an ungodly hour. D, he was making a list, which had to be a new low, right?

His hand shifted, searching for bygone warmth, when his mind, finally, reached the only conclusion that mattered.

Thorin.

Bilbo yawned, opened his eyes, stared blankly at the ceiling, then rose from his bed. He donned his robe and waddled downstairs, trying not to run into any walls in the process. Granted, there was a good chance Thorin had already left, but perhaps it was early enough…

"…thought I'd find you here…."

Muffled voices from the kitchen.

"I Didn't. This place is damn confusing. Spent the whole night searching, or what was left of it after you left."

A soft chuckle. Or maybe a coughed yawn? Bilbo wasn't sure. He also didn't hear the mumbled reply, so he kept sneaking, heart hammering and oh God please make one of the speakers Thorin. Please?

His telephone was in the kitchen. Damn it.

"Found your car, you bastard. And acorn's."

Oh thank the heavens, that was Dwalin. Bilbo stopped tiptoeing and walked to the kitchen. It was his kitchen, after all. He had the right to walk there. Probably.

Dwalin carried on, or perhaps Thorin's response was too quiet for him to catch? "He's sitting, you know."

Bilbo mustered the courage necessary to join the conversation. Since, well, the other option would be eavesdropping, and that was plain rude. "Who's sitting?"

Dwalin and Thorin turned to face him. Thorin managed to grimace a sober smile in his direction, Dwalin – a grim nod. Dwalin leaned against the sink, Thorin against the counter, both in uniform and grim expressions to match. Bilbo moved to stand next to Thorin, close but not too close, and sent a concerned look to both men that was left unanswered. He wanted to erase all residue of misery from Thorin's hunched, burdened shoulders, but the ice lining his stomach told him that this wasn't the time for intimacy.

Dwalin looked as massive as ever, even in – or especially – in uniform. Bilbo almost wished he would leave so that he could give Thorin a proper good morning kiss. Thorin, on the other hand, just looked tired. No. Exhausted. His face became a labyrinth of worry lines and sharp edges, tight muscles and aching red eyes. He parted his lips, swallowed with difficulty, and remained silent.

Dwalin nodded at Bilbo. "Morning. Sorry I barged in. Been looking for this fella here."

Bilbo snuck his hand and gave Thorin a reassuring squeeze.

Thorin's returning squeeze was crushing. He then withdrew his hand and curled it into a fist.

Bilbo's answering smile was forced. "No harm done. Can I get you anything to drink? Eat? Maybe a cup of coffee and some eggs and bacon before you… leave?"

Dwalin's eyes sharpened, then rolled in their sockets when Bilbo flinched. "Coffee would be great, aye. And breakfast, I suppose. Something fast. No bacon, though."

Thorin may have grumbled something.

Bilbo looked around, yet could not decode the stares the men used instead of verbal communication. He shuffled his feet, feeling incredibly out of place. "All… all right. Eggs and sausage, then? I got a kidney pie – "

"You're making the coffee with milk, right? No meat," Dwalin ordered.

Thorin sighed audibly this time. "Bilbo, don't worry about it. We don't need anything. I think we need to go, so – "

"No, no, no, not a problem at all!" Bilbo hurried to the refrigerator and took out four eggs and lit the gas burner and filled a kettle with water. If cooking breakfast would mean he could have Thorin for just a little longer…

He turned around, but the men were busy glaring – Dwalin at Thorin, Thorin at his shoes.

"He knows you're here?" Dwalin muttered.

Thorin scoffed. "Unlikely. He wouldn't bother."

Dwalin growled something that sounded like a begrudged agreement. "Dis panicked. Dori came rushing to tell her that Thrain bought Yahrzeit candles…." Dwalin didn't finish the sentence.

Thorin raked a hand through his hair, sliding closer and closer to the floor.

Bilbo had never fried eggs so quickly in his life before. He had to know what on earth was going on. He kept shooting quick, anxious glances at the pair, but the two seemed to have forgotten about him.

Dwalin opened the cookie jar and munched on a cookie with unnecessary strength. "You shouldn't have left like that. It took Balin forever to calm her. Gloin had to come and pick up the boys to stay at his place. And I had to go looking for you."

Thorin's knuckles burned white. "Well, forgive me for not thinking this through. It's one thing to… I almost walked into my own Shiva, goddammit." He rubbed his face, as if to clean them from emotions and yesterday's memories. "I heard the Hesped, coming from Father's house, and I thought… I thought it was him. I thought it was him. That he, that somehow…."

Bilbo finished the coffee and the eggs and cutting the bread and melting the cheese. He couldn't move. Thorin's pain engraved each word into his stomach and burned through his chest.

"I thought I killed him, understand? Just like – " He looked away, tried to swallow and failed. "But it was me. It was me."

Dwalin growled, "Don't tell me you still believe that horseshit. Frerin -" He ate another cookie, crushing it with his teeth, and did not complete that sentence, either.

Thorin sank a bit lower. "You don't know."

"Thorin – "

"You. Don't. Know!"

In the silence that reigned, it was impossible to ignore the sound of Bilbo vigorously scrubbing his skillet.

Thorin closed his eyes on leaned on the counter; his chest heaved, but it sounded like he was barely breathing.

Dwalin closed the cookie jar. He placed both mugs in Bilbo's hands, then carried the two plates in one of his and stirred Bilbo away from the kitchen with more force than necessary.

Away from Thorin.

"Well – wait – will you – hey – "

"Leave him be, lad. He needs a moment."

Bilbo discovered that protesting without spilling the mugs' contents was difficult. "Yes, but – "

Dwalin just directed him away and farther away and too far away until he spotted a table. He placed the plates down and grabbed Bilbo's shoulders, peering into his eyes. "Listen, acorn. I know you care for Thorin, but lad just discovered his dad declared him dead. Sitting Shiva, understand? That means dead. Let him deal with this."

Bilbo tried – in vain – to free himself from Dwalin's iron grip. "Yes, all right. I understand. I mean, this hasn't happened to me, personally, but I don't think Thorin should be alone right now, so – "

Dwalin scoffed. "What do you know, eh? About Thorin – or about us? You have been dating Thorin for… how long? Three months? And you don't even know we don't eat pork? Or that Judaism doesn't mix meat and milk? Hell, man, you know what I call declarations without proof?" he growled, "Bullshit!"

The word stood between them as if hammered to its spot.

Bilbo gasped, but no words sprung to fill the void. He stopped resisting. His eyes shifted to focus on his bare, frozen toes. "I just want to help him."

Dwalin deflated – his shoulders slumped, his eyes faded, and his hands, which clasped Bilbo's shoulders with enough strength to bruise, fell to rest at his sides. "I know you've been doing a lot for him, and I – we all appreciate that, that you're making him happy, but you… if you aren't gonna try for him, don't… don't lead him on."

And Bilbo wanted to say something, to protest to explain, to –

But Thorin marched from the kitchen, army boots and all, and Dwalin quickly left Bilbo so he could wolf down the breakfast with inhuman speed, and Bilbo… he had no idea what to do. What to say.

Thorin stopped in front of him, probably as uncertain, though Bilbo wasn't' sure; he didn't look up.

Instead, he looped his finger with Thorin's, watching as each of their fingers stumbled, drunk and lonely, until it finally met its partner. Until Bilbo and Thorin managed to hold each other's hand.

"I have to go soon," he whispered.

Bilbo shuddered when he Thorin's warm breath caressed his forehead. He must have been standing really close, bowing his head… or maybe it was just too difficult for him to hold it up any longer.

"I know. Come back here. I'll… I'll give you a key."

"Bilbo…."

"You don't have to. But you also don't have to… don't have to go where you are unwelcome." He found the courage to look up, stubborn valor born of sheer determination, and the vulnerable, wounded blue that met his gaze was wrong, wrong on the man's harsh, sharp features.

Bilbo tiptoed and kissed his lips, seared his conviction into Thorin's lips and melt the hesitation from the clenched jaw. His hand held Thorin's, really held it, while his other hand rested on Thorin's chest, as if seeking to calm the rapidly beating heart underneath. Thorin's hand regained its strength and held his while his fingers stumbled and drowned in Bilbo's curls, then traced paths on his cheek.

Dwalin coughed.

Bilbo's cheeks burned as he detached himself from Thorin. "Finish your breakfast, and I'll give you a slice of cake, hmm?" he mumbled against his lips.

"Hey!" Dwalin protested.

Bilbo, somehow, found the strength to look away from Thorin and scowl at Dwalin. "You had two cookies, if I'm not mistaken." And you had the audacity to cough.

"Four," Thorin corrected, then sat on the chair opposite Dwalin and ate his breakfast, though with less appetite than Dwalin.

The latter kicked him. "Traitor," he hissed.

Bilbo rolled his eyes when Thorin returned the kick. "An extra slice, then," he conceded and left in search of his spare key. Let the men bicker. It was better than watching Thorin crumble, seeing the strong structure of muscle and bone collapse like a tree after the fire. He could not – no – refused to let him break.

So when he returned, key in hand as well as three slices of rich chocolate cake, to find the two soldiers wash the dishes with military efficiency, he could not help but chuckle at the ridiculous sight. And then Dwalin, grumbling, muttered goodbye and left for the car and Thorin closed the distance, offering an 'almost-a-smile' and a shy kiss…

Bilbo's heart fluttered to the rhythm of Thorin's lips, caressing his. Gentle and frightened, yet full of longing. Bilbo wanted to collect him in his arms and shut the world away. Instead, he gave him the key and held his hand for just a few more seconds, oh so precious. "Come back to me, yes? Don't do anything dangerous."

Thorin's smile widened, just a little bit. "It's mostly office work, just in the field."

Bilbo smiled back, relief pooling in his stomach. "Don't let the staplers bite."

Thorin laughed – the sound was low and warm and Bilbo could have sworn it made him float – when an impatient car horn reminded both that the world kept a tighter schedule.

Thorin kissed his forehead, making him feel light and dizzy all over again, and left for the car.

Bilbo watched them drive away, uncertain what to make of it. Of them. Him and Thorin, Thorin and him.

He needed more time with Thorin so he could to help him, support him, learn about him. Dwalin's words, he had to admit, bit deeply. Just hours upon hours locked in the bedroom or cuddled next to a fire or baking brownies… Normal stuff.

Though, he thought as he entered his house and locked the door, there had to be some perks to being a bookshop owner, right? He didn't need Dwalin as a tutor.

But before that, breakfast.

Bilbo closed the book, counted to ten, and opened it again.

Judaism was not a religion. Nope. It was a set of laws, some of which made zero sense to him. For one thing, what did the poor pig ever do to earn such a terrible reputation? Tasted so good, too, so the animal couldn't have been this bad, right?

Bilbo leaned back, staring at the ceiling of his bookshop and doing his best to ignore the merry shouts of the children within. Granted, dyeing Easter eggs was his favorite holiday activity, but trying to balance that with getting a law degree in Judaism was too bloody difficult.

So apparently, he should own two sets of dishes, one for food containing milk and the other for meat. Well, at least that would give him an excuse to buy that beautiful china he saw just three days ago…

"Uncle!"

Bilbo looked up, smiling at the sight of his excited, paint-covered nephew.

Frodo balanced three eggs in his hand, each decorated with delicate spring flowers. "There's an old man searching for you!" the boy declared. Then he hid the eggs behind his back. "You can't look yet, they aren't finished!"

"Right." Bilbo smiled affectionately, then noticed fluffy white beard grazing the edge of his peripheral vision. "Oh, Balin." He offered a hesitant smile.

Frodo eyed them both curiously, then ran back to join the cluster of children sitting on the paper covered floor in the middle of the shop.

The old man smiled back, eyes warm, and sat with a small groan in the chair in front of Bilbo's desk.

Where Thorin sat, eyes so very blue, and smiled –

"Been busy, I see," Balin offered.

"Ah. Yes. Easter, you know," Bilbo managed, then offered half a smile to hid the wary edge. Balin looked like a religious man, and Bilbo did not want to him to think he was corrupting Thorin… in more than one way. He cringed.

Balin's expression softened. "I meant the book. You are learning how to be a Jew?"

Bilbo hushed him, then glanced around superstitiously. To Balin's frown, he answered, "No… not, not really? I want to learn more… for Thorin, for… to make him feel more, more at home. I suppose." Now that he can't go home, he thought but did not say. He tapped the book's cover. "Kashr- Kashrut? That's, ehhh. Hmm. Complicated."

Balin nodded. "No one ever said it was easy. Are you embarrassed about it?"

Bilbo waved his hand, trying to encompass the entire Shire in his gesture. "Just not fond of gossip. It's not… nice, usually."

"Lashon Hara." Balin nodded sagely.

Bilbo frowned. Looked around. Wondered if he missed something. Wondered if it would be rude to ask. Twitched his nose. "Excuse me?"

The old man chuckled. "You'll get there, I suppose." He opened his hands, then tapped the table. "I came to tell you I was leaving."

Bilbo blinked. "Leaving? What, the… the army?"

"Hmm, yes. That too." The warm brown darkened. "Thrain cast Thorin out, which was not something I could stomach." He sighed, the muffled exhale only a whisper of untold burdens. "Thrain is not a bad man, Bilbo. He is not. The Holocaust changed him. Changed all of us. We were a prominent family once, traded in gold and gems."

Balin paused or perhaps waited. Bilbo wasn't sure what for.

"Thorin was a newborn." A shadow of a smile ghosted his features. "We almost lost everything. Everyone. Lost my parents, my younger brothers, Thorin's grandfather… but it could have been so much worse. Thrain fought for us tooth and nail. When Thorin's mother became pregnant, we thought that this is going to be the end of both her and the child. We were already starving, Bilbo, how were we supposed to feed a baby?"

Bilbo tried to follow. He remembered learning something about the Holocaust in college, but he wasn't emotionally ready to – to actually hear about it. He clutched his hands, uncertain what to do, how to react, how to contain it. Too much sadness, his heart protested, too much pain for one family.

"But he survived, God bless the lad, he fought back then, and he is still fighting now. The Nazis took everything from us, Bilbo, our very humanity. We became… nothing, except for large noses, tangled beards, and greedy hearts."

Balin touched his rather large nose and winked. Bilbo grimaced in response.

The old man cocked his eyebrows and then waved his hand in front of his face, chasing away memories the way one would a pesky fly. "A cousin of ours joined a partisan group and smuggled us out." His chuckle was dry. "Our troubles didn't end then, of course. And Thrain, once and again, pulled us through. Belief in God helped him endure… endure the past, every loss – and he had suffered many. Every loss made him harder. Less forgiving. Less accepting. He believes those were all his fault, understand? His parents' death, his wife's suicide, then Frerin… and Thorin too, in a way. That maybe if he fed him better, escaped earlier – "

"Being gay is not a biological fuck-up, Balin," Bilbo hissed.

The old man nodded. "Nor am I saying it is. I thought you deserved an explanation for the… the reason for Thrain's behavior. I am not justifying, just explaining, Bilbo. Someone should, since the Durins aren't very good at expressing themselves," he said, voice weathered and veined. "And, as I said, I am leaving." He managed a smile, still as warm as before.

Bilbo frowned at the man, who came all this way to tell another man's story and yet still managed to smile, as if that story weren't horrible; as if he had no share in the horrors of the past. He shook his head and tried to focus on the conversation. "Oh. On… on vacation?"

Balin's smile widened. "Not quite. I am a Rabbi myself. Reform Judaism, which… well, slightly different. I am leaving to join a new community in Moria."

"Moria?" Bilbo tried to place it on a map.

"It's a four-hour drive from here," Balin supplied. "Used to be a flourishing Jewish community, back in the day. Come and visit anytime." He offered his hand for a shake and did not seem to mind the amount of time it took Bilbo to understand he was, in fact, leaving. "By the way, Thorin's favorite holiday is Passover, so why not start from there? Easier, I wager."

"Pass-over, right." Bilbo frowned, then smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

"Great!" Balin's eyes twinkled. "I shall inform the others. Who knows, I might even come myself. Good day, Bilbo!"

"Goo-good day!" Bilbo called, baffled.

Others.

Inform the others.

"W-wait, Balin – "

But the old man already closed the door behind him. He was gone.

Bilbo stumbled on an egg, then surrendered to the will of gravity and sank to the paper covered floor.

Others? What – who – when – oh dear God what on earth had he agreed to?

"Uncle?" A small hand pulled on his sleeve. "You are sitting in a puddle of paint."

"Huh." That would do well to explain the wetness biting his butt.

"Uncle?"

"Yes, Frodo?"

"Who was that?"

"A… a friend."

"He said weird things," the boy whispered conspiringly.

"Frodo, what did I tell you about eavesdropping?"

"That it is considered rude?"

"Right." Bilbo nodded, then frowned. He was supposed to reprimand him, right? Did that count?

"Uncle?"

"Yes?"

"Are you throwing a party?"

Bilbo sighed. "So it would appear."

Frodo looked up, eyes mischievously bright. "I wanna help! I won't tell Mom!"

Bilbo scoffed, then crunched his nose in silent agreement. Prim may be on a cruise, but she'd still be displeased to find he threw a party without her.

"Deal."

Translation:

Shiva – A Jewish tradition where you sit for seven days and mourn while other people come to comfort and support the mourners. It has a lot of other traditions included, but that's it, in a nutshell.

Yahrzeit candles – memorial candles

Hesped – a eulogy.

Lashon Hara - derogatory speech about another person, usually gossip.

Author's Note:

Err. Backstory. More Bagginshield next chapter, I promise! Also, digestion jokes. All of you who had the misfortune to eat too many matzot know what I mean 😉

Also – Kili and Fili discover the joys of Easter.

Also – Rabbits. Rabbits everywhere.

All right, enough spoilers (JK didn't write the chapter yet), hope you liked it! A bit morbid, I know, I'll try to keep it lighter next chapter. What'd you think? Share your thoughts! They really do mean a lot to me!