Later, Bilba wouldn't be able to say just how long she simply...stayed there, lying on her back, staring at the roof over her head.
She knew it was long enough to watch the shadows lift, for the first rays of sun to creep over the sill of the open window, for the crickets outside to fall silent as night gave way to day.
She didn't stay out of any confusion about where she was. It might have been decades since she'd last seen her home, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten it.
On particularly miserable days in the wild she could, with relative ease, conjure memories of every beam and floorboard. She'd trace them in her mind just as her eyes tracked them now, would fantasize about the press of an overstuffed mattress instead of the hardpacked earth, pretend her stomach was filled with delicious food from her larder instead of whatever, often meager, rations she'd managed to procure for that day.
No, it certainly wasn't confusion about where she was that kept her trapped in place for so long.
Rather, it was more surprise that the afterlife would resemble Bag End.
The chatter of distant voices caught her attention from outside her open window and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her heart gave a small jolt and adrenaline raced through her as the voices seemed to grow louder, closer, before fading again until they ultimately vanished entirely.
Still, they had managed to snap her out of her trance. Bilba pressed her hands, palms down, into the mattress beneath her and slowly began to push up into a seated position.
An area on her back protested, sharp pain radiating out from a central point, and she stopped mid-motion with a hiss of pain.
Wait...pain?
She might not know much about the afterlife, but it was generally accepted across all races that death afforded one a relative lack of pain, didn't it?
She pushed her blankets away from her legs and shivered as the cool air of the morning made its presence felt. She was dressed in what had once been her favorite nightgown; light yellow and long sleeved, it fell all the way to her feet in heavy cotton folds. It had originally belonged to her mother and, after her loss, Bilba had worn it to feel closer to her.
Speaking of which, butterflies started to act up in her stomach and Bilba took a deep breath to try and calm them. A smile, a mix of half nerves and half unbridled happiness pushed at her lips without her permission and she let out a second breath, fingers digging into the fabric of her gown where it draped across her legs.
"Mother?"
There was no answer so Bilba slid out of bed, only to grimace as her back once again protested. It wasn't as bad, however, the sharpness fading to a deep soreness, so she set it aside in favor of more important things.
"Mother?" She padded out of her room into the darkened hallway, toes curling instinctively as they transferred from the thick rug in her bedroom to cold floorboards. "Father?"
Silence was her only answer.
Her smile faded a bit, and she headed toward the room at the far end of the hall. After her parents had died, she'd shut the door and never opened it again. Not even when she'd left the first time, not knowing if she'd ever come back, or when she'd left the second time, when she knew she'd never be coming back.
Now she faced a flood of trepidation mixed with nervous anticipation as she closed her fingers around the doorknob, iron icy against her skin.
With a deep breath to try and calm the butterflies still dancing in her stomach, she pushed the door open. "Mother? Fath--"
![Starcrossed Losers - [A Kili X OC fic] by luna-writes-stuff](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/336285153-80-k175877.jpg)
The room was empty. Faint light shone dully through thick curtains and the smell of dust and age hung heavy in the air.
They weren't there and hadn't been for a very long time.
For the first time, a pulse of very real panic ran through Bilba.
With a frown, she spun on one heel and went to the nearest bedroom door. Perhaps they simply hadn't liked the room and had decided --
The second room was equally as empty, and clearly unlived in, as was the third and fourth. By then, Bilba was moving faster, throwing open doors and calling out for her parents with increasing urgency.
They had to be there. She wouldn't have been put into an afterlife without them. It'd just be too cruel, and it'd mean -- it'd mean --
She flew toward the front door and wrenched it open, barely reacting as rays from the still rising sun struck her in the eyes. She threw an arm up, shielding her vision as it adjusted, and darted outside.
"Mother? Father!"
The garden was empty, as was the small bench in the back of the house that overlooked the party field. Bilba darted around front again, taking the cobblestone steps two at a time down toward the picket fence that closed off Bag End from the rest of Hobbiton and its populace.
She managed to catch her foot against the final step and tripped, falling forward to land on her hands and knees, almost crashing into the gate as she did. Pain rippled through her hands, knee and stubbed toe and she bit her lip as tears threatened.
"Bilba?" a vaguely familiar voice asked suddenly from the other side of the gate. "Bilba Baggins, what on earth?"
Bilba raised her head. Her hair which, for some reason, had returned to the impractical, near waist length style she hadn't worn in decades had cascaded in auburn waves and curls about her face when she'd fallen, blocking a clear view of the person who'd spoken.
Bilba stood up slowly, favoring her stubbed toe, and shakily pulled her hair back from her face.
A hobbit woman dressed for market with a basket on her arm was standing on the other side of her fence, staring at her agape. She was older, about her parents' age perhaps, and, oh, Bilba knew she should know her. She should, and it made sense because she'd lived so much longer than she should have so there should be people she knew...everyone she knew in fact and if she could just place the name --
"Bilba?" the woman repeated, opening the gate and stepping forward. "Sweetheart, are you quite all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Aunt Linda," Bilba whispered, the name suddenly clicking into place, along with a faint memory of a woman who'd used to visit her mother for tea, the two of them chatting for hours while Bilba had played quietly in another room. The visits had stopped after her mother's death, as Bilba hadn't inherited her mother's hosting skills. Her mother could sit and chat forever about everything and nothing all at once, taking on any topic and happily following it through to the bitter end wherever that may be. Bilba had tried, she really had, but every attempt had ended in awkward silences and the overloud clink of teacups against china until, finally, she'd given up on trying.
Now she stepped forward to grab her aunt's arm. "Aunt Linda, have you seen my parents?"
Linda's eyes widened. "I'm sorry?"
"My parents," Bilba insisted. "I can't seem to find them. Did they go to the market?"
She spun away before the other woman could answer and started down the street toward the marketplace. Her parents had always loved going there in the mornings, how could she have forgotten? They must have left, and she'd arrived after they'd already gone and if she just headed down there --
