Hobbit or Us.

You didn’t really process what was coming out of her mouth, you just responded with “Mhm”s and “Uh-huh”s. When you hung up the phone, you extended your arm, and began reading your book again, still unable to process what you had just heard. You thought that maybe if you read, or kept reading, it would get the wheels in your head to start turning and you could understand what was said.

Eventually, you dropped the book to your chest, and stared at the ceiling, and that is when the floodgates unleashed. She was gone, your grandmother, and you were going to have to come to terms with not seeing her anymore, not being able to call her, or have one of her warm, totally enveloping hugs anymore.

When Niall got home, he found you huddled in a ball on the couch, your eyes puffy and red, your shirt wet from wiping away all the tears. He stood there a moment, taken aback by the situation, but then ran towards you, falling to the ground in front of you. He placed his hands on you carefully, turning you to face him, and when you did, you nearly fell of the couch in the attempt to pull him to you. You need his comfort, his smell, and his arms around your frame. You needed to hear his voice, ladened with the accent you loved so much, tell you that everything was going to be okay, that he would be there with you every step of the way.

“Y/N, oh Y/N,” he cooed, pulling you close to him, his strong arms pulling you closer and closer, your body melting in to his. “What is wrong? What happened?” He asked, concerned, but you couldn’t find the words. All you could muster was a simple name, the name of your grandmother.

And then he knew. He knew exactly what had happened. You both had known that she was sick, but what had happened, her death, it still came as a shock. You thought about how you’d never be able to bake Christmas cookies or listen to her tell stories about your late grandfather again. How she wouldn’t be there to brush back your hair from your eyes or scold you for going outside with your hair wet anymore. This just made you cry harder, and Niall pulled you from the couch, and cradled you in his arms like an infant. He peppered kisses to the top of your head, and rocked slightly, letting you get out all of the tears that you needed and wanted to shed from your eyes, before he pulled away a little bit to look down at you.

He reached down and ran his thumb under your eye, wiping away the tears that were the culprits for the swollen patches underneath them. “I’m so sorry, my snooks,” he whispered, pushing your hair from your face and tucking it behind your hear. “Do you want me to still hold you?” He asked in nothing more than a murmur, and you nodded instantly, causing him to smile sadly before he pulled you back to him. You rested your cheek against his chest and closed your eyes, inhaling his musky cologne, the one that you found intoxicating.

Your eyelids had become heavy with burden, and very soon enough, you had succumbed to sleep, the warmth of Niall radiating through him and in to you. And when you had awoke, you laid there a moment, now stretched out in your bed, Niall close to your side, the TV playing rather low. He must have turned the subtitles on, as he always had the TV on pretty loud to be able to hear. So many concerts and deafeningly loud noises had messed with his hearing. You took in where you were, who you were with, the warmth that you had felt, the rise and fall of his broad chest. When you opened your eyes, it was like a signal had went off, and he looked down at you, a kind smile on your face.

“How’s my girl?” He asked as you readjusted yourself to sit upright, reaching over for the glass of water on the nightstand next to you. You look a long sip of water, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, very similar to a child, and looked over at him. You shrugged your shoulders and looked down. He reached over and laced his fingers with yours, causing you to look up at him. “I just can’t believe she’s gone,” you whispered, tears pulling at the corner of your eyes, and you looked back down, sniffling slightly. “I just talked to her last week, and she said she was getting better. How does all of that change just like that?” You asked, more so rhetorically than anything else.

“Life has a way of doing that,” he stated eventually, a sadness in his voice that you had never heard before. “But there is a silver lining,” he added, and you picked your head up, looking at him, skepticism in your eyes. “Your grandmother has always been in love with your grandfather, and now she is with him again,” he stated slowly, a small smile on his face. You studied him, processing what he was saying, and then the same smile spread across your face. He reached up to put his hand on your cheek, and you leaned in to his touch, closing your eyes. “You’re my silver lining,” you whispered eventually, scooting closer to him. You rested your head in the crook of his arm, and he brought his arm up, wrapping it around your waist. “And you’re my forever,” he whispered back, kissing the top of your head, “I will be here, right beside you, every step of the way.” He pulled away a little, looking down at you, and you felt his fingers on your chin. He lifted your head so that you could look up at him, his eyes kind. “You can lean on me, now and always.” With that, he leaned forward and pressed his lips softly on to yours. You closed your eyes, and when he pulled away, the sad expression on your face was replaced with that of a small smile.

When you had finally gathered enough energy to make your way out of your car and up your front steps, it seemed like putting the key in the keyhole was too much effort, so you banged your fist on the door instead, calling out Harry’s name.

When he opened the door, a look of amusement plastered his face. “Forget your key again?” he mused, reaching down to take your purse out of your hand, but when you couldn’t even lift your arm to meet him halfway, his expression faltered and was replaced with concern. “Baby, what is it?” He ask, taking your hand to pull you in to the house. He knelt down, taking your shoe off of your foot, your hand resting on his should for balance. As he worked on the other sneaker, you answered, “Just because I’m not an old fart like the rest of them doesn’t mean I need to be worked like a mule.” You stopped your foot in frustrated, then looked down, happy that his hand was no longer there.

With that, he took your hand, leading your towards your shared bedroom. When you entered, he turned to face you and led you to sit on the bed, placing a kiss to your forehead. He then went in to the bathroom, and you could hear him turn on the bath, followed by the familiar smell of your favorite bath salts, the ones that smelled like lavender and vanilla.

When he came back, he knelt in front of you, and his hands went to the buttons on your work shirt. His fingers worked at them, sliding his hands up to your shoulders to push the shirt from your small frame. “You’re right,” he finally answered, looking up at you, before he took the hem of your undershirt, lifting it over your head. “They don’t appreciate you,” he added, his eyes slightly sad, “Not like I appreciate you.” He stood you up, helping you out of the rest of your clothing, before he shed his, as well. His hand laced with yours as he led you to the bathroom, and you watched the water well at the sides as he slid himself in to the hot water. His hand reached up, and you took it, allowing him to assist you in to the tub. You turned, and sat, leaned your aching body up against his frame, and his arms wrapped around you.

You felt water being moved to your head, his large hands cupping handfuls to make your hair wet, and as he did so, he hummed, making you close your eyes in perfect contentment. His fingers kneaded into your scalp as he lathered the soap in to your hair, careful to make sure he didn’t allow any of it to get in to your eyes.

You knew that he didn’t like where you worked: partly because he didn’t like how hard your new boss worked you, or how upset and tired you normally were when you got home, and partly because he wanted to take care of you so that you didn’t have to work. You felt like you needed to have a job to go to every day, mostly because you wanted to feel valued, needed. You didn’t want things handed to you from anyone, even Harry. You wanted to earn your own way, which was one of the reasons why Harry was so in love with you. You had a determined spirit, and he would write songs about that.

His hands worked up and down your tired body, lathering soap into the corners of your skin, and when he was done, he wrapped his arms around you, and leaned back, allowing you to rest on his chest. You turned in his arms, careful to not let the water lap over the sides of the tub, and placed your head on his chest. “I needed this,” you whispered, your eyes closing involuntarily.

“I know,” he whispered back, his fingers rubbing small circles in to your lower back, “I know how to take care of my baby girl.” You heard a smile in his voice, and he placed a kiss to the top of your head.

That was the last thing that you remembered. After that, you remembered waking up, curled in to him in your bed, your hair dry, his hands still rubbing shapes in to your sore muscles. You had no idea how he had managed to get you out of the tub and in to the bed without waking you, let alone how he carried you, but you didn’t mind. You let out a little sound, more like a dinosaur noise, as you stretched a little, and rested your chin on his chest, staring up at him lovingly.

“Are you hungry?” You asked him, giggling slightly when you heard his tummy rumble, and his eyes went wide, followed by a nod. “Why didn’t you get up and get food while I was sleeping?” You asked, concern and guilt in your voice, but he just smiled, shaking his head. “You were too damn cute to leave, even for a second.”

“Y/N?” He called, and you could hear him dropping his things, just like he always did. Was it that hard to hang his coat on the hook? You shook your head, telling yourself that it was not him that you were mad at, it was your friends. Harry had gotten back from tour not too long ago, but just for a short break. In a couple of days, he would be jetting off to another foreign place and you would be left alone. You friends were mad because you had not been spending time with them like you normally do, and they blamed Harry. They just didn’t understand; they didn’t have a boyfriend who was an international sensation, and that was no fault of their own. But it also meant that they didn’t understand your situation, and they didn’t seem to want to.

“Little bird?” He hummed, a smile stretching across his face when he saw you in the corner. You looked up at him, your best representation of a smile trying to come across your face to hide your annoyance. He wasn’t fooled though; that boy knew you, and your moods, like the back of his hand. “I didn’t do it,” he exclaimed, holding his hands in the air, and you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, shaking your head.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble, patting the space next to you on the small couch. When he sat, you leaned in to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You laced your fingers together, and looked up at him, studying his expression. “It Y/F/N and Y/O/F/N,” you sighed, looking away from him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t prompt you; instead, he just waited for your explanation.

“They’re mad that I don’t spend enough time with them when you’re home,” you mumbled eventually, chewing on your bottom lip to keep from letting the tears well in your eyes. “They just don’t understand.”

He sighed heavily, they pulled you closer than you already were, and planted a kiss to the top of your head. “You know you can hang out with them when I’m home, right?” He said slowly and you pulled away, looking up at him. “Are you siding with them?” You said, a little temper rising into your voice.

He shook his head calmly, and continued. “I’m just saying that I hate that you sit inside when I’m in town and wait for me to come home.” He leaned forward, kissing the tip of your nose, which made you shrivel your nose in response.

You pulled your knees to your chest and rested your chin on them, studying him. “I suppose you’re right,” you whispered eventually, then shook your head. “It’s just-I miss you so damn much when you’re gone. And I-I don’t know, maybe part of me thinks that if I’m not here when you get home then that’s just more time that I miss being with you.” You moved your face downwards to hide the expression on it, as a tear trickled down your cheek.

With that, you felt two soft hands reach forward and pick you up effortlessly. Harry cradles you in his lap and laces his arms around your middle, pulling you closer. “I know that me being gone is hard for you,” he whispers, “And I wish like hell I could change that,” he shakes his head slowly, “But I cant. Not now anyways. You know that. But whether you’re here or not when I come home, I will always come home.” He removed his hand from your waist, and used it to lift your chin to look at him, your eyes meeting his. “I will always come home to you.”

You hear a thumping like a giant stomping across the earth, followed by the same noise, except its barreling down the stairs. Louis comes running up to you, trapping you in a tight embrace. He leans forward, pressing a tight kiss to your lips, before he leans back, taking in the sight of you. It was your first awards show that you were to accompany him to, so you were a little nervous that maybe you were too dressed up, or maybe not enough; you didn’t really know. You had decided on a gray-scale dress, one with a see-through chest, mesh of sorts, and sequins. You had feel in love with it when you had seen it in the shop, and was astonished when it looked good off the mannequin too. “Ya know babe, we could just stay here” He says, winking, “You’re looking mighty enticing.” You laugh slightly, playfully tapping his arm. You reach down, taking his hand that has snaked across your waist, and lace your fingers with his, leading him towards the door. “It’s not every day your up for a “Top Pop Artist” nomination, babe, now come on.”

“I win?” You ask, incredulous, mostly because you never win. After it kicked, however, you were elated. I win!” You yell, jumping up from your place on the carpet. You do a little victory dance, which ends up looking more like the dance from Napoleon Dynamite. Harry rolled around the carpet, laughing so hard his eyes were brimming with tears. In all honesty, you hadn’t realized how ridiculous you had looked until you stopped, rewinding the last minute in your head. Upon this realization, you laughed harder, nudging Harry slightly with your foot. “You’re such a weirdo!” He laughs, pushing himself to his feet. He starts walking towards the kitchen, and you grab his hand, pulling him back towards you. “Where are you going?” You ask, grinning wide at him. “To get food.” He chuckles slightly, leaning a little towards you, your faces just inches from each other, “You exhaust me.” Harry and you had been friends since you were children. You lived down the street from him growing up. Your parents were good friends and your sister and Gemma were inseparable; Gemma was even in your sister’s wedding. Hell, you were even with Anne when Harry had auditioned for the X-Factor. “I do, do I??” You smirked, looking down at his lips. You licked yours subconsciously, but when he started to lean in, you pulled away quickly. “The sandwiches await!” You exclaim, pointing towards the ceiling. You take him hand and pull him towards the kitchen. He laughs at you, but is rather quiet while he makes you both food. It’s not that you don’t have feelings for him: you always had. From the time you two pretended to be married when you were younger; you even had a ceremony, complete with a veil made out of toilet paper. To the time your high school boyfriend ditched you at the dance and Harry swooped in, making you completely forget about him. “I think I just wifed you,” You smirk when he hands you your favorite sandwich, “Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be making you sandwiches?” He laughs, taking a bite of his sandwich, taking some of the mustard the dripped at the corner of his mouth, and bopping it on your nose. You glare at him, but he just smiles and walks towards the couch. You wipe the mustard off of your nose, following after him, and pop your finger in to your mouth. You’re sitting on the edge of the couch, your toes stuck under Harry to keep them warm, when Niall walks in, along with Louis and Liam. “Niall!” You exclaim, jumping off the couch quickly. You run to him, wrapping your arms around his familiar frame. The boys had just gotten back in to town about a week ago, and while you had seen Harry almost every day, this is the first time you had seen the other boys. “Y/N!” He laughs, picking you up off your feet slightly, his arms wrapped around your waist. He twirls you in a circle quickly, then puts you down, kissing your forehead. “I’ve missed you!” You and Niall and clicked right away, becoming fast friends. He was also the only one who knew your true feelings for Harry. He was the one who you would message when Harry wasn’t acting quite himself: he was normally rather chipper on the phone, but when he became quiet and distant, you knew something was up. Niall would keep an extra eye on him for you and report back to you. You walk towards the couch, your arm linked with him, and you both plop down on the couch next to him, talking like rapid fire. You both had so much that you wanted to catch up on; just talking over the phone never quite did it. Eventually when your conversation died down, you looked around the room, the other three boys sitting on the floor, playing some card game, occasionally dipping a chip or two in some dip they had found. The boys had become so comfortable with you, and you with them, that they just helped themselves when they walked in to your house, and you loved it.

However, you would catch an occasional glare from Harry, out of the corner of your eyes or straight on. He would watch you and Niall, and you could feel a sudden jealousness coming from him. He always acts weird when you are with Niall, like he thinks that you two are going to have feelings for each other or something. But that wasn’t the case whatsoever. You two were just really close’ he had become like a brother to you, and you loved him, but nothing like the way you loved Harry. You were always just too scared to tell him out of fear that it would mess up the relationship that you had. “Don’t you dare,” you warn, holding up your finger, but despite the warning, Niall’s hands find the most ticklish parts of your stomach, sending you squealing. "Say you love me!” He yells, tickling you more and more. “I will, “ you inhale deeply, trying to gain your composure, “not,” you start to lose your resolve, “admit defeat!” “Say it!” He continues, his hands becoming more ferocious. “Fine!” You give in, pushing him away, “I love you!” He stops tickling you, and crosses him arms, looking smug as you try to gather yourself. "I knew it,” He laughs, leaning his head back on the couch. You scrunch your nose up at him and hit his arms, chuckling slightly. Harry grumbles and pushes himself up from the ground, and storms off towards the stairs, his long legs carrying him there quickly. “What was that about?” You asks, looking around confused. Liam just shrugs, but Louis looks at you and says, “I think you know. “ You look at him confused, a sudden pang in your heart from not knowing what happened. You slowly walk up the stairs, knowing that he went straight to your room. The door is closed and you knock on it softly, before opening it up. "What’s wrong?” You ask quietly. He is standing in front of the window, his arms crossed, and you walk up to him and put your hand on his back. “Nothing,” he grumbles, shrugging you off. “Something is.” You say softly, turning him to face you, his eyes not reaching yours. “Tell me,” you mumbled, squatting slightly so that you can make eye contact with him. "You,” he sighs, leveling his eyes with yours so that you could stand normal. “What did I do?” You ask, dropping your arms and instantly feeling guilty, hurt coming across your face. “Do you not think I see the way you and Niall act around each other?” He whispers, crossing his arms, exhaling. When you look confused, he quotes in an Irish accent, “Say you love me.” Sudden realization hits you, and you shake your head quickly. “Harry, Niall and I, w-were just friends,” you looked at him, your eyes sad. “You don’t act like it.” He sighs, and turns to sit on the bed. You sit next to him, taking his hand. “What is this really about?” You ask eventually, walking over to him. You stand in front of him, your body between his knees. You place your hands on his cheeks and pull his face up to look at you. “Y/N, I-” he pauses, and you give him a moment before nodding for him to continue. He takes a deep breath, then continues. “I love you. I-I’m in love with you. I always have been. But I’ve always been afraid to say something because I didn’t want it to ruin our relationship. But when I see you with Niall, the way you two laugh and act, it makes me jealous, because I know that we are never going to be more.“

He had been sitting in a booth in front of you, and when you let out a sign of relief upon the contact of your mug, you heard him chuckle. You looked up, eying him with curiosity as he smirked at you. “You know what could better help that?” He asked, leaning forward on the table, nodding his head towards your hands. “Are you a doctor?” You retorted, the same smirk on his face now finding its way to yours. “No,” he countered, sliding from the bench he was on to the one opposite of you, “I just use my fingers a lot,” he winked. You coughed, taken aback slightly, and then tilted your head to the side. “And what is your solution?” you asked, gaining yourself quickly. “Apple pie,” he grinned wide at you, and called over the waitress, ordering two slices. “Apple pie and a little break. Mind if I join you?” He quirked, and that was that: you were hooked.

~.~.~

“So what do you think?” Harry asks, as you both lay on your shared bed, nuzzled into the mold of his body, his hand placed softly on your stomach. Occasionally he would jump, swearing that he felt the baby move, to which you would just giggle, shaking your head. It was too early for that.

“I think-” you pinch your chin with your thumb and forefinger, pondering, “I think it’s a boy.”

“Nuh-uh,” he grins, shaking his head no, “It’s a little girl.”

“What makes you so sure?” You ask, looking up at him, stark confidence in his face. Shrugging against you, he says, “I’ve just always wanted a little girl.”

“What if its both?!” You quirk, laughing slightly at his shocked expression.

Laughing, “That would be a handful,” he pulls you close, “But I’d still love them both more than life itself. Maybe the girl a little more though,” he adds jokingly, laughing when you hit his arm, shocked.

 ~.~.~

The next day, he gets up early, wiping the sleep slowly from his eyes as his long legs dangle from the side of the bed. He is careful not to wake you, thinking that you already worked too hard and you needed as much rest as you could get. After showering and getting ready, he heads to work.

You wake up eventually, frowning slightly as you roll over, feeling the cold radiating off of his side of the bed. You lay there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about all that had changed in the past year. The two of you had gotten married, closed on your house, and now you were pregnant. So much had changed, and yet you were so happy with the way your life had turned out.

Once you had made your way downstairs, a pot of tea being boiling on the stove, you remember that you have a doctor’s appointment, but not just any appointment: today you find out the sex of your baby. You hadn’t told Harry that you had an appointment today, which you knew that he would be upset about, but you also wanted to surprise him with the news. That’s why you had asked Louis to go with you. See, you knew that Harry would be upset if you went alone, but you also wanted to surprise him, so you made an agreement with Louis, who you had consulted on what you should do. He decided that he would go with you, and that very night, he would have a dinner at his place, where you would be able to tell Harry, in front of all of his friends who were like family, the sex of your baby.

 ~.~.~

“Well,” the doctor says, pointing to the screen, “That one is….a boy.” He answers smiling, as Louis looks at the screen, his eyes wide. “That Rorschach blob is a baby?” He asked, incredulous. You burst out laughing, and squeeze his hand, shushing him. “And that one,” the doctor moves the wand and points, “is a girl!”

“Wait, what?!” You shoot up, confused, the doctor taken aback. “There’s two?!” You almost yell, your eyes going wide. Louis takes a step back, his hand running through his hair.

He laughs, moving the wand to show two heartbeats. “Didn’t you wonder why you were getting so round at such an early date?” He asks, looking at you.

“Well…yeah. But I just thought it was a big baby! His daddy was a big baby too.” You state, laying back, staring at the ceiling. You had only been joking the night before, but now, now you really were having twins!

“At least Harrys getting his girl, right?” Louis asks, tilting his face to the side and shrugging.

You clean off your stomach while discussing with Louis how you should tell Harry. You pull your shirt down and, along with Lou, you make your way to his house to start cooking for that night.

 ~.~.~

They all arrive at different times, the boys and their girls. You stood in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the meal, when Harry comes in, lacing his hands around your stomach from behind. “How are my favorite girls today?” He asked, a dreamy look on his face, and you turn in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck. “So, so good,” you whisper, placing your lips softly on his.

~.~.~

Once dinner is over with, you all sit in the living room, beers dispersed throughout the company, all except for yourself. Niall's girlfriend gets up and heads to the kitchen, coming back with a wine glass. “T’s juice, but you can feel included,” she smiled sweetly. You laugh, thanking her for the kind gesture, and sip on the liquid.

“Y/N,” Louis asks from across the room, cocking his head to the side as his girl, sitting on the floor, leaning against his legs, looks up at him, “Don’t you have something you wanted to announce?”

“Well she’s already pregnant, so that ones out the window,” Harry jokes, and you shake your head, hitting his arm slightly.

“Yes, I did. I went to the doctors today,” you start, looking over at Harry, whose facial expression is nothing but confusion and alarm. “Louis went with me, don’t worry,” you add, squeezing his hand. “And I found out the sex of the baby.” You grinned wide, waiting for it to register to him before he jumped up excitedly, kneeling in front of you, his hands on your stomach. “What is it?” He practically yells, Louis laughing, the rest of the group leaning forwards a little.

You nod, smiling, and everyone around you starts asking what it is.

“Guess!” You say, sitting back as they all give their predictions: some saying girl, others saying boy.

Soon Harry begins to wine, impatient as to the results of his child’s gender, and you smile.

“Fine,” you pause, looking around. “Both,” you state, looking around at the expressions from the inhabitants of the room.

“Both?!” Liam yells, “Like twins?!”

You nod, laughing.

Harry just stands kneels there, staring up at you, flabbergasted. “Both?” He whispered, tears in his eyes. “We're having a boy a-and a girl?” He asked, and you nod excitedly, placing your hands on his cheeks.

“I thought we were just having a big baby,” you laugh, “But nuh-uh,” you shake your head, and Harry starts laughing, peppering kisses on your protruding tummy.

“We’re having twins!” He yells, standing, pulling you up as he does. He envelops you in his arms, kissing your cheek, then the tip of your nose, and finally your lips.

That morning, you had received an excited phone call from Liam; it was afternoon where he was, but early morning for you, so it took a minute for his words to actually make sense, but after they did, the squeals that escaped your lips alarmed Bruno. The promotional tour had ended earlier than expected and Liam was coming home! After getting off the phone, you laid there, a smile on your lips, thinking about all the things you wanted to do with him once he got home. But most of all, you just wanted his long, muscular arms wrapped around you in that blanket of warmth and protection you loved so much.

~The next day~

You stand outside the building, waiting for the van to arrive bringing the boys back home. You wore your hair down, hoping it would hide your face a little, as it was public knowledge that Liam and you were dating, and you weren’t really interested in anything other than Liam at that moment.

You look down at your phone as it chirps, an, “Almost there! xx” text popping up on your phone, and you smile, stepping forward a little. Unintentionally, you bump in to a girl who was waiting there for the van as well, presumably, and you quickly apologize. The girl looks up at you, and immediately recognizes who you are. She started asking you a lot of questions about your relationship, when the boys were going to be there, etc., but you don’t really answer any of them. You weren’t rude; you were kind, but you also just wanted to see Liam, not be interrogated. She gets mad and stalks off, to which you just shrug and look back at your phone, timing the last text and the current time, thinking he should be there any moment.

All of a sudden, there is a screech of a set of tires, and you look up excitedly, a large smile visible on your face, but in stead of the familiar van, there is a little red car racing your way, the face of the girl who you bumped in to driving the car. You feet feel like cement, and before you are able to hurl yourself out of the way, you feel the car collide with your body. The last thing you remember is landing on the ground, a scream escaping your lips, and then darkness.

~A Week Later~

A beeping noise vibrates off the wall in the room, and you wake groggily, placing your hand on your head to try and ease yourself out of your sleep. Opening your eyes, you look around beige-colored room to see it filled with people, people you didn’t recognize. Some were sitting on the floor, others asleep in uncomfortable-looking positions on random pieces of furniture.

“She’s awake!” You hear a thick, Irish-accented boy say excitedly and instantly the room is alive with chatter, the spaces around your bed becoming quickly inhabited.

“Y/N,” A tall boy with auburn hair says soothingly, staring down at you, hope in his eyes, “Y/N, please, can you hear me?”

You look at him confused, not recollecting who he is. Why were all these people here? And why were you here? And why the hell do all of them have accents?

“Where am I?” You look around, from face to face, trying to find some sort of familiarity in one of them. “W-Who are you?” You ask, dazed, your eyes closing as your hand find it way back to your forehead, trying to steady some of the dizziness you were feeling.

The same boy looks at you, shaking his head, a little taken-aback. “I-It’s Liam, Y/N. Please tell me you remember me,” his voice starts to break, his hand reaching out for you other hand in your lap.

You pull your hand away from his, hugging yourself, you knees finding their way to your chest and you whisper, “Get out. All of you. Just please, get out.”

“What? Y/N, you know us.” A tall, curly haired boy asks as everyone in the room stares at you, baffled by your reaction to them.

A little louder, you say, “Get out! I don’t know who any of you are!” Your fists slam down on the bed, your head pounding like a drum. Your voice gets louder,  “Why are you here? Who are you? You am I? Why am I here?” Your questions start to flood your mind, and the more you scream, the more you find your body thrashing around in the bed.

Suddenly there are multiple people at the entrance to the room. They all look like nurses, and the one that seems to be in charge looks around the room, assessing the situation quickly, before saying, “I think its time you all leave. Y/N needs some space; she’s just very confused.”

Liam looks at you, hurt, but grabs his jacket, slowly exciting the room as the last tenant, looking back at you once before he disappears.

You curl into a ball on the side of your bed, turning your back from the nurse, violent sobs wracking through your body. What is going on? You can’t remember anything; nothing at all. What your name is, where you’re from, nothing. It’s like your mind was a chalkboard, but all of the notes had been erased.

You sob uncontrollably, completely lost in your bewilderment. The nurse comes over and gently tries to soothe you, but as if your body was not your own, you whip around, accidentally hitting her. She stubbles backwards, but as if she expected that to happen, she grabs something off the cart, a sad expression on her face. “Leave me alone! Just get away from me!” you scream, thrashing about even more. You feel your body becoming weak, the pounding in your head making your stomach flip with nausea, and suddenly, as the nurse inserts a clear liquid in to your I.V., you feel your body start to relax, your eyes become heavy, and then the world was black, just like your memory.

~Two Weeks Later~

Your parents flew from the States to London to be with you. They were always afraid of you going to school in a country so far away, but it had been your dream to attend University in London, and that you achieved. This is what they were afraid of: you being hurt and them not being able to get to you.

But as they entered the room, their faces sad, you cant help but question who they really are. Are they really your parents? People that you had known your whole life should trigger some sort of familiarity…but they don’t. They aren’t familiar at all, even as they try to revive your memory, telling you stories about when you were younger. Like when your father and yourself entered a fishing competition when you were four and you caught the largest fish and won a bike, your mother showing you a tattoo of a fish on her foot in commemoration. Or how you had been dating a tall, auburn-hair boy named Liam for almost a year, and how he came home for Thanksgiving with you last year and almost burned the turkey. Unfortunately, you didn’t remember any of it.

You just sit there, your eyes roaming from one of them to the other as they talked, subconsciously listening to them as you try to remember something, anything.

Eventually the doctor comes in, and you exhale in relief, knowing that for a moment you wouldn’t have to listen to these people trying to convince you of things you had no recollection of. He checks your paperwork, your vitals; he runs some tests on you, like tracking and eye motion, and then tells you that you are free to go.

Your parents leave the room, allowing you to change in clothes that Liam had brought to the hospital for you. Upon finishing, you slowly walk out of the hospital room, tears flooding your eyes as you leave the only place you have ever known, the only place that is the least bit familiar. Your parents meet you and there is a slow procession to the car.

Eventually the vehicle pulls up to a tall apartment building with a light pink front door, flower boxes outside the windows, various flowers and plants cascading out of them. It was like it was a picture taken out of a magazine. You slowly step out of the car, looking around at the peaceful suburban neighborhood in which you have no memory of.

You’re guided through the front door and into a decent sized apartment. You are met instantly by a dog, a dog you didn’t recognize, and even though he was just another example of your lost memory, you instantly found comfort in him. You father jumped in front of you, thinking it might be too much to have this dog all over you, but you drop down to your knees, allowing him to go around your father and you envelope him in your arms.

Eventually you stand and look around the quaint apartment, seeing pictures hanging all over the walls. It was like a wall in a gallery covered in frame filled with people who looked happy. You slowly walk up to them, recognizing yourself in some of them with the boy they call Liam. You both look so happy, engulfed in each other’s arms, smiling doe-eyed at the camera. There’s one where you’re at a carnival, your arms in the air and a look of excitement on your face as Liam hands you a stuffed bear he had just won at a quarter tent. You see pictures of you and the other boys that were in the room when you woke up, the curly haired one, the blonde Irish one, the one with the anchor tattoo and the tall, darker-skinned one. You all look so happy, and you are suddenly angered because you cant remember it; any of it. How could you have been so happy yet remember none of it?

You run up the stairs, the dog following close at your heels, and you look around frantically for an escape, a room that you can just cuddle into and forget your troubles. You fumble with the doorknobs, opening the first door you come to, and rush inside, slamming the door hard, locking it. You throw yourself on to the bed, your head hiding in a pillow and sob. The dog whines and you look up, him placing a couple licks to your face to try and sooth you.

There is a knock on the door a moment later, with a voice that sounds like your mothers. “Y/N, baby, please. Open up.” You hear her plead, but you don’t answer, and instead bury your face in the neck of the dog and cry further, muffling the noises so she can’t hear.

Eventually she leaves, and you wake up groggy from an uncomfortable sleep. You slowly rise, looking in the mirror. You stare back at yourself in contempt as you fix your hair and wipe away from tear tracks from your cheeks. You slowly walk over to the door, unlocking it, and find your way to the kitchen, which is right at the bottle of the stairs. Your father is sitting at the table, a newspaper laid across the table. When he sees you, he stands, but instead of walking towards you, he stays in his spot, afraid that you will be alarmed and run off again if he tries to embrace you.

“Y/N. A-are you hungry?” He asks, eyes downcast, apparent stress and sadness in them. You nod slowly, and sit at the table, anxiously waiting for him to return with food. When he places a bowl of macaroni and cheese in front of you, you eat quickly, forgetting how hungry you truly were. When you finish, you look up at him, and he chuckles, having watched you. You look down, blushing, and smile slightly, shaking your head.

“Would you like some more?” You hear an accented-voice ask, and you look up to see Liam, standing in the corner of the kitchen, in front of what seems to be the back door. His eyes are puffy, his hair a mess, and it seems like he hasn’t slept in awhile.

You nod, looking down, and he comes and retrieves your bowl. As he fills the bowl, your father nods at Liam, slowly standing. He kneels down beside you, and whispers, “I know you don’t remember me, Y/N, but I love you, so very much. Eventually, you will remember. J-Just give us a chance.” He stands upright, placing a small kiss on your forehead, and you smile slightly, nodding.

Liam puts the bowl in front of you and sits where your father did. You pull the bowl towards you, eating slowly this time. You look out of the corner of your eyes at him while you eat, and he stares in to his lap, nervously wiggling his fingers round and round themselves. You eat half of the contents of the bowl, and then place your fork down, running your hand across your face sleepily.

“It was your favorite,” he whispers, still looking down. “I made it for when you woke up.”

“I can see why,” you whisper, looking over at him, “That was-“ you pause slightly, finishing, “That was sweet of you.”

“I-I’m sorry, Liam…for the way I reacted. I was confused” You tear up, “I still am. I don’t know who I am. None of this looks familiar,” you look around the room, and then back down at your lap. You cry now, not holding back the tears any longer. “I don’t remember you. I don’t remember anyone; no matter how hard I try. We looked so-so happy. And now here I am, and I’m tearing this apart.”

He slowly reaches his hand up, taking yours in his. At his touch, you jump slightly, the warmth in his grip sending a bolt of energy through you. And suddenly, you remember sand, lots of sand. And your feet tangled with another’s on a blanket in that sand. You remember water, a beach, and then you remember Liam. You remember sitting there on the blanket, laughing as the boy with the anchor tattoo (Louis? Is that his name?) tries to do a cartwheel, the Irish one falling on his bum laughing.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Y/N,” your memory is interrupted, and you lock eye contact with him, “I’ll make you remember.” He looks at you intensely, as if willing you to believe so, and you nod.

Eventually you look up at him, still finding comfort in his hand in yours. “Liam …” You state.

“Hm?” He mumbled, his eyebrows arching.

“Did we…did we ever go to a beach?” You ask, looking up at him.

Nodding, he replies, “We did. We went all the time. You, the boys and I. We spent so much time there…” He trails off, smiling, recollecting.

“Could you take me?” You whisper eventually, hoping that he would say yes.

He looks up at you, a small smile forming at the corners of this mouth, and stands, pulling you to your feet. You both walk towards the front door, and he takes a coat off the rack for you, holding it out for you to slide your arms in to.

~~~

Stepping out onto the cool sand, you’re suddenly hit with a lifetime of memories, and you stumbled slightly, overwhelmed with the sudden remembrance; remembrance of everything. You recall running away from Liam, giggling, as he chases you with a water gun in the middle of the summer. You remember sitting around a fire, your toes buried in the sand, humming softly as Niall sings some song he’s made up on the fly. You recollect roasting hot dogs on an open fire, swimming in the ocean, entangled in Liam’s grasp. You remember. You remember all of it.

Liam comes around to help you out of the car, as you look at him, a large smile plastered on your face.

“Y/N? What?” He asks, smiling.

You grab his hand, pulling him towards a certain place towards the edge of the sand-line. “Liam.” You smile, “Remember that huge bonfire Harry and I built? Right about here? It was so big you could see it for miles,” your arms extended and you spun in a circle, and then stopped, staring at him, smiling.

Nodding, he replies, “Yeah, I do.” He laughs. “And when Nia-“ His face suddenly contorts, and he cocks his head to the side. He looks at you, flabbergasted, and stumbles over his words. “Y/N…y-you remember?” He asks, barely audible, scared that if he asks it too loud it wont be true.

In the past couple of months of the journey, yourself and Fili had become very close, close enough to where you could say that you loved him, but you only said that to yourself. It all started when you had met in a tavern on the edge of some random town you had forgotten the name of. You both had exchanged looks back and forth the entirety of your time there, but when a small pack of orcs made their way in to the tavern, assumingly looking for Thorin, you were one of the first to dislodge your weapon from your scabbard and attack them. That is how you found your way into the company, that and your dwarfen blood.

Before you could talk yourself out of the plan in your head, you started laughing loudly, making all of the attention divert from Thorin to yourself.

“What is this?!” The Goblin chief roared, leaning forward in his seat, the other dwarf’s faces a mix of confusion and horror.

You stepped forward, a smile on your face, despite the hushed protests of the Company. ”Oh nothing!” You exclaimed, locking eye contact with the king, “I only thought that a great, wise Goblin,” you paused, motioning to him, “such as yourself, would know about the magic,” you annunciated the “c” in magic, “that is Halfling blood.” You grinned, watching the wheels turning in his head.

It was true: you were a Halfling. Your mother was a hobbit, and your father was a dwarf. The truth was, you didn’t really know if there was such thing as magic when it came to Halfling blood, but you had a plan, and you were going to stick to it regardless of what happened. You had to try and get the Company out of those mountains, whether it meant you went with them or not.

“Carry on,” he mumbled, waving you on, watching your every move.

You continued, stepping forward slightly. “It is said that when the blood of a Hobbit, and the blood of a Dwarf is combined into another being, sometimes, the blood has magical tendencies.” You used your hands to annunciate what you were saying, while doing so, addressed the other goblins that were in the mountains, sparking their interests as well. The plan was going accordingly.

“This particular blood can heal, create, the cost of it insurmountable!” With the mention of cost, the Goblin’s attention was caught indefinitely, and he sat a little forward on his throne. “Throughout the years, however, this magical blood type has dwindled, become diluted,” you shrugged, as sad expression on your face. He shrunk in his chair a little, “Nevertheless, it so happens that I am a Halfling, a Halfling that happens to have the blood trait.” You had always been a charismatic little Halfling, which helped you further your cause. The Great Goblin, as well as all the others in attendance, were hanging on your every word.

With that, murmurs erupted throughout the inside of the mountain, goblin and dwarf alike.

“Why didn’t we know?”

“Blasphemy!”

“Prove it!”

You just grinned, keeping your eyes trained on the king, as his eyes wandered you up and down, trying to decide on what he should do, or if he should even trust you. But his lust for the riches that would come from this supposed “magical blood”.

“You heard him,” he grinned, his decaying brown teeth searing back at you. “Prove it.”

You nodded, bowing slightly to him, and stepped forward, then stopped, motioning to him. “Allow me to proceed,” you requested, and when he nodded, you walked forward, holding back the urge to gag from the smell that surrounded him. “Do you happen to have a blade that I could use?” You asked, smiling up at him, your eyes batting a little slower.

“Ha!” He exclaimed, throwing his head back, “Why would I willingly hand you a weapon, Halfling?!”

You chuckled, nodding your head knowingly, keeping your composure. “Oh wondrous chief, we, you and me, have to have trust, don’t we not?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. “Trust is the only way for this-, “ you paused slightly, thinking of the word you wanted to use, “this relationship to continue. Consider this a building block in our foundation.” You beamed, watching him turn over your words in his head, before he waved his hand to one of the Goblin guards next to him. He grunted in response, hesitant, and then handed you a blade, handle first.

“May I practice on myself, as well as yourself?” You questioned, your face becoming serious, yet slightly enticing as his anticipation grew. “Yes, fine,” he grumbled.

You leaned forward, making a small cut on the underneath of his arm, and as his blood started to bubble slightly, you wiped the blade on your pants, turning to yourself. You made sure that the finger that you cut was the middle one on your left hand, right near the tip.

You used your thumb to move the crimson blood around the tip of your finger, and then hovered it over the cut you had inflicted onto the Goblin, moving it around his cut. As you felt and heard the onlookers inching forward to see, you held your hand up to stop them, keeping your eyes trained on the cut.

In reality, you had no idea if this was going to work. You did not have any magic within you, not that you knew of. But when the cut on his arm suddenly grew together, leaving no trace of an infliction, your eyes widened, the shock on your face matching the shock on everyone else’s.

You quickly grinned, hiding the expression on your face before anyone noticed, and stepped back, crossing your arms.

The buzz around the room had grew louder and louder, amazement in its tone, but stopped when the Goblin held in hand up, a pin drop being able to be heard.

“You were talking about price,” he mumbled, his eyes leaving his arm to meet yours.

“One vial of my blood would have no comparison to the amount that that orc,” you practically spit out the word, “Azog is paying you for Thorin’s head.” Your expression changed suddenly, a serious look plastering itself across your face. “You can ask any of the dwarfs here,” you motioned backwards, “Right Dwalin?” Your eyes met with him, pleading with him, and he cleared his throat, “Aye,” he growled.

You turned back to the Goblin, your hands finding each other behind your back. “So let’s make a deal,” you tempted, and he nodded, telling you to go on. “You let Oakenshield leave, as well as the rest of the company,” you heard slight protests (“Not without you” and “To hell we will!”) from behind you, which ceased when the goblin held his hand up. You continued, “Unhurt, unfollowed, and alive,” you pointed at him sternly.

He laughed, the virility of it booming throughout the mountain. “And what do I get in return, nothing?!”

You just stood there, and shook your head. “You get me,” you smiled, putting your hands on your hips. “And the tremendous wealth that comes with it.”

He sat back in his seat, licking his lips, pinching his chin, “Why couldn’t I just kill you and have both?”

You shook your head, a sad look on your face, “That would be a waste of life, for magical blood has to come from a living source.” You looked up at him, then scrunched up your nose, whispering loudly, “Not a good shelf life.”

He seemed to roll over what you were saying in his head, before he waved over a couple of the goblins working as guards. “Show this company to the doors and,” but he was interrupted as you held up your hand, “Ah ah ah.” He looked at you, shocked that you would interrupt him, so you quickly continued. “You and I will follow them to the exit and I will watch them leave,” you said the last part slowly, the realization that you were being separated reverberating in your head, “Remember our trusting relationship?” You asked, studying his face, “Lets seal it.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“I’m not leaving without her!” Fili yelled aggressively, Kili holding one arm, Dwalin holding the other arm, in attempts to hold him back. The Goblin king had kept true to his word, following alongside you as the Company was led towards the opening. The look on Fili’s face as he looked back of you was on repeat in your head as you trampled down the mountain, hoping you were not too late.

“Wait!” You screamed simultaneously as you tripped over a tree root. Your body started rolling down the hill, and when you finally came to a stop, the Company was looking down at you.

“Y/N!” They all exclaimed, helping you up, Ori wiping all of the dirt and twigs from your body.

Thorin stepped forward, shock in his eyes. “H-How?” He stammered, looking you up and down as if you were some sort of mirage.

You leaned forward, resting your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breathe. “H-He never took his blade back,” you mumbled, gaining your composure. “When I turned back to Dwalin, I slid it in my sleeve.” You shook your head, wiping your hair from you face as Oin led you to a nearby rock, making you sit. “We started walking back towards his throne, and I-I sliced him.”

They all stared at you incredulously, Ori being the first one to speak up. “Why didn’t you tell us you had magical blood?” He asked, a couple of the others nodding. “Because I don’t,” you chuckled slightly, shaking your head. When his eyes urged a further explanation, you continued. “I cut my finger earlier today. Oin healed it with a salve. I haven’t washed my hands, so the salve was still on my finger. I took a chance,” you mumbled, looking down.

This time it was Fili’s voice that spoke up. “And what would have happened if it didn’t work?” His voice was rough, a mixture of hurt and betrayal in it.

You played with your fingers a moment, then looked up at him. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

He stared at you disbelievingly, shaking his head. “And what if you couldn’t get out of there?”

“Then I would have been killed,” you stated blatantly, looking up at him still as his body began to shake with anger. You understood why he was angry: after everything you two had been through, after all the promises you had made to each other in hushed tones underneath the night sky about what you would do after Erebor was reclaimed, you decided to offer up your life and leave him alone.

“How could you be so selfish?” He whispered, tears framing in his beautiful eyes. You stood, stepping closer to him, but not touching him. The rest of the Company stood there, watching the conversation transpire, but they didn’t say anything.

“I wasn’t being selfish,” you argued in a normal tone, “At least my motifs weren’t.” It was true: you knew that there was no way that you could all make it out of there alive. You all did, but it’s not something that would have happened without your interference. Your motifs were to get them out so they could continue the journey.

“And what motifs were they?” He scoffed, his anger and hurt clouding the obvious.

“You!” You demanded back, a little louder than you expected and he jumped slightly. “You were my motif!” The lump in your throat that you were trying to subside know rearing its ugly head, and tears started falling down your cheeks.

His eyes came up to meet yours, understanding not exactly reaching them. “I needed to know you were okay, Fili,” you mumbled, stepping forward and taking his hand, “I needed to know that you were alive and protected somewhere out there, and I couldn’t have known that if we were stuck in there.”

You took his hand, making his palm flat and placed it on your chest. “You’re in my heart, Fili,” you whispered as he reached up to dab away a tear on your cheek. “You always have been and I needed to protect you.”

You heard a sniffle from the Company around you, completely forgetting that they were still standing there.

“Well if you don’t kiss her Lad, I will!” exclaimed Bofur, and laughs erupted from every member of the company. You even, from the corner of your eye, saw Thorin chuckle and give Fili his nod of approval.

You shook your head, looking over at Bofur, and then felt a hand on the back of your head, pulling you forward, and before you knew it, your lips were perfectly intertwined with Fili’s.

When he pulled away, the love in his eyes was so overwhelming he didn’t even have to say those three words, but he did.