Under Surveillance
Bilbo is quite comfortable in his new job as a night guard. It's just the break from constant sitting behind a desk the doctor suggested for his aching back, with minimum personal risks and large amounts of quiet time for drinking tea involved in a quiet office building. That is, until a daring burglar breaks into the Brothers Ri, Inc. headquarters and turns Bilbo's pleasant nightly routines entirely upside-down - repeatedly and permanently.
Originally released January 8th 2015.
Navigation
Chapter 1
The fifth of September was the first time Bilbo had regretted accepting his post as a night guard.
The job had been quite pleasant in itself so far. After spending highly unpleasant ten minutes in the nurse’s office sometime in March being lectured about back pains, too much sitting and the unhealthiness of desk jobs Bilbo had decided that sitting behind a desk shuffling papers was not him after all. He had not expected the pile of resumes and applications he’d sent to yield results very quickly, what with the economy in such a poor state and all those other depressing things he used to read about from the Financial Times every morning before delivering the paper to the important management people upstairs, but he had been contacted by a security company less than two weeks after applying for a vacancy they had.
He had rather liked the first impressions the company had left him with; a jolly fellow by the name of Balin Fundin had conducted several standard questions over the phone and invited him to an interview the next week. The interview itself had been slightly tense, as Bilbo had found himself interviewed by four people in total over the course of an hour and he’d been asked to give the administration his permission for a basic background check procedure required by the police, but by the end of the month he had happily emptied his office desk and walked out of the building, anticipating the training session starting next Monday.
His short training period finished and all permits in order, mister Fundin had told him there was an opening for a night guard in one of the more prestigious office buildings located right in the centre of the city. Excellent connections by both train and bus, he had told him, pleasant clientelé and minimal amount of sitting required. “Rather ideal for your preferences, if you are not opposed to working in the night shift,” mister Fundin had said with a wink and Bilbo had accepted in a heart beat. He had never been a morning person in the least, and he rather liked the possibility of getting to patrol on foot in an empty, quiet building without anyone bothering him about taking copies and writing unnecessary e-mails he had already taken care of hours ago. It would be just the thing the nurse had recommended for him – a job where he would be on his feet as much as possible and get some much needed exercise to ease his stiff back.
Having started during the summer season had been the most pleasant possible way to get a smooth landing into his new duties. The old night guard, who retired just after passing on his knowledge to Bilbo, had been pleased to get some company for his last nights at work and had filled him in on his day-to-day chores in the relaxed, sleepy atmosphere of an office in the middle of a holiday season. While the job required vigilance and attention to detail, it was not at all as complicated as Bilbo had feared in the beginning, and he felt very confident when the old guard shook his hand and bid him farewell late in July, leaving him to survive on his own.
On the 5th of September he had arrived with thirty minutes to spare for his shift. He had briefly greeted the yawning day shift worker at the reception before taking the lift to the third floor to change into his uniform and have a quick supper in the empty office kitchen. He had placed his snacks and drinks in the fridge as usual, glad for the late hour that ensured his food was safe from any thieving hands, and had trudged down the stairs to clock in for his shift and have a short chat with Bofur before the man would go home.
“Nothing special today,” Bofur told him, yawning once again. “Couple a meetings still ongoing, should be over within the hour and you can lock the doors as usual. Make sure they all of ‘em scram from meeting room 830, that lot has been staying overtime all week.”
Bilbo nodded, going over the visitor lists for the day’s meetings. He would spend the next hour behind the reception desk, checking out the last visitors as they left and laying out next day’s meeting plans for Bofur, before it was time to lock the front doors and do a quick check on the meeting rooms to make sure all electronics were switched off and all guests were out. And the restrooms, too, for good measure, Bilbo thought to himself, it was not once or twice that he had found the odd businessman still washing is hands in a restroom when the host of the meeting had already evaporated and doors had already been locked.
“See you in the morrow, Bilbo,” Bofur said, picking up his bag hidden under the desk. “If you start dozing off, the radio’s stashed in the same cabinet with the office supplies.”
“I hardly think listening to the radio is appropriate behaviour for security personnel,” Bilbo replied dryly. “If I can’t hear the alarms going off over the night radio’s Best of Queen marathon when a burglar smashes a window somewhere, it’s not going to look good on the report.”
The other man snorted, shaking his head so vigorously that his ponytail flapped around. “Yeah, I knew you’d say that. Just make sure I don’t find you snoring on the desk next morning, or I’m force feeding you some tunes again one of these days!”
“Yes, yes, I’ll keep that in mind,” he answered, laughing. There had been an unforgettable occasion in which Bofur had set the reception cell phone to play extremely rude heavy metal at precisely two in the morning, and it had taken Bilbo a while to figure out how to undo the timer settings. The irritated note he’d left on the notebook for Bofur had only warranted him a winking smiley in return.
Bofur vanished, clocking out on the way to the lift, and Bilbo spent the next ten minutes mostly wishing the last employees good night and shuffling through the security cameras on the monitor. It was just a simple, large computer screen hidden from the eyes of visitors under the reception desk, the screen split into twelve small windows which each showed footage from different locations around the building. He flipped through each camera one by one, giving the footage a quick check and checking all monitor functions were working flawlessly, which they were – as least until he reached camera number nine, which was pointing straight towards the floor instead of the corridor it was supposed to be monitoring. Frowning, Bilbo adjusted it to the right direction again, only for it to slip back into its earlier position the moment his fingers lifted from the keys. He repeated the action again, then again and again, only to have the camera stubbornly return to its position each time.
The faint cling of the lift made him look up and Bofur pranced back into the reception hall, uniform replaced by jeans and a hoodie, and a large beanie pulled well past his ears.
“There you are,” Bilbo said, relieved. “There is something wrong with one of the cameras. It’s not recording in the correct angle and doesn’t let me readjust the position.”
“Oh, that one,” Bofur said knowingly, coming to lean against the desk. He peered towards the monitor beneath with a slight frown on his face. “Good thing you mentioned that. I called the maintenance earlier today, said they’ll be coming over tomorrow morning to take a look at it. Couldn’t spare anyone today by the looks of it.”
“Well, I guess we didn’t make the top of their priority list there,” Bilbo said with a sigh, switching to camera ten and finding it in perfect working condition, much to his relief. “At least it’s not located near any of the exits. It’s practically impossible for anyone to stray all the way up there without showing on the footage from the other cameras first.”
“Yeah, that’s what I told the maintenance guy, too,” Bofur grunted. “Should have kept my mouth shut, they might’ve come faster. Just keep an eye on that camera manually every now and then, aye?”
“Will do. Now, get going already, you look like you're falling asleep on your feet.”
Bofur barked a laugh, slapping his shoulder with such impact that Bilbo’s knees buckled. “Alright, alright, I get the message. Look sharp, Bilbo!”
“Goodnight, Bofur,” Bilbo called after him, watching him exit the building while his ponytail waved gleefully with each step. He suspected the man’s hairdo defied the very existence of the dress code but it did not seem to faze anyone; on the contrary, the managing director, mister Ri, had stopped by a week ago on his way upstairs to ask what conditioner the man used, and in all fairness Bilbo’s own curls had swept past his ears months ago already so he hardly had any right to criticise anyone’s haircuts.
The minutes ticked by uneventfully. He spent the time cleaning up the desk and arranging office tools into orderly fashion instead of the haphazard (and altogether unprofessional) manner that Bofur seemed to prefer. The last of the visitors filed out of the building one after the other, some escorted by their hosts, some familiar enough with the building from previous experience to take their leave by themselves. Many stopped at the reception to exchange polite greetings with Bilbo as they checked out, some simply tossed their visitor’s badges on the desk without so much as ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’ to run off to catch a taxi. It was five to nine when the last visitors were finally out of the building and Bilbo waved off their host the financial manager, happily locking the front doors for the night. In an hour the alarms would automatically turn on and the lights would be dimmed in most floors but before that, he had plenty of time for a short tour to the meeting rooms and to grab a snack from the fridge on his way back down.
Two and half hours later Bilbo was through his third mug of tea, the radio now on the desk and blaring a Diana Ross ballad, though he had kept the volume considerably low to ease his guilty conscious. The soothing lull of quiet music did help him remain more alert, though he would not have admitted that to Bofur; the man had a knack for mistaking ‘soothing’ for ‘outrageously loud’ and Bilbo had no particular wish for any more musical surprises during the quiet hours of the night.
He set aside the book he’d been reading in the meantime, standing up and stretching his limbs until his spine emitted a satisfying crack. He gave the empty lobby a sweeping glance, the lights dimmed so that most of the light now came from the street lamps outside and the fluorescent lamps above the reception desk. It was all in all rather cosy in Bilbo’s opinion, taking brisk tours on foot around the building every few hours and returning to the desk for a spot of tea, home-made biscuits and a chapter or two more on the novel he was reading now. “Definitely worth the trouble of switching jobs,” he said out loud, slowly rubbing the bridge of his nose. He reached for his mug again and took a large gulp of warm Earl Grey just as he stole a half-hearted glance at the monitor, and nearly spat the tea right back out.
There had been movement on the screen. It had been brief, a small flicker at the best, but he was certain he had seen it, somewhere in the dimly lit corridors above. He pushed the mug away and rushed to the monitor, leaning over to watch the footage carefully. Cameras from one to five showed nothing out of the ordinary; the usual views of the glass front doors, first floor hallways, the staircase, second floor entrance and staff exits. Camera number six was situated on the third floor and covered the corridor leading to the kitchen and the fridge where Bilbo’s remaining snacks waited. Seven pointed towards the deserted entrance and key card reader at the fourth floor; eight was pointing towards the less used staff entrance leading to the parking lot and the cargo lift.
Nine was still stubbornly refusing to function properly but manually checking the corridor showed nothing special, but when Bilbo switched to ten he saw it again, a human-shaped shadow walking out of a lit meeting room on the fifth floor and pausing to turn off the lights and close the door after themselves as they entered the dark corridor. He squinted, almost certain that he had spotted something else and yes, there it was, the person appeared to be carrying something. A coffee carafe, he understood, from one of the meeting rooms that had been in use very late in the evening.
He wondered whether one of the employees had sneaked back to work after hours like they sometimes did when a deadline was approaching; that would explain the lack of an alarm signal. He watched the figure come back to view once again, this time on camera number eleven, and much to his dismay it simply took seat in the lounge area where visitors sometimes waited and made no effort to approach the office cubicles beyond.
That has to be an intruder, Bilbo decided. Their behaviour was much too peculiar for an employee, and for that matter even if the person turned out to be an employee against all odds, they would still need to show some form of identification at this hour. Bilbo stared at the camera monitor, thinking hard. He could not fathom how an intruder could have entered the building without setting off the alarms. The only way to do that would have been to enter before the alarms turned on at 10 o’clock, but Bilbo had conducted a thorough search on the meeting rooms after the last remaining visitors and personnel had left at nine, and he was quite sure there had been no one on the fifth floor when he’d performed his check. He felt a cold chill down his spine. What if he’d been in the same building, on the same floor, with the intruder and not realised the potential danger he was in? That sobered him up, and he quickly felt for his belt to make sure the handcuffs were still fastened there. His position did not require the permission to carry any other tools, but having the handcuffs made him feel slightly safer nevertheless.
He gave one last check to the rest of the cameras, somewhat relieved to find the intruder still seated comfortably in the fifth floor lounge. Bilbo bit his lip, pondering how to go about this. He would have to confront the person and get them out, yes, that much was clear as daylight, but he had no way of knowing what the odds were for the intruder to come quietly.
He thought back on what the instructors had said about situations like this during initiation. “Know your environment,” the man in black training clothes had advised them while pacing in front of the class. “Know where the exits are located – always leave yourself a way out if the situation becomes too dangerous.”
Yes, that was it, Bilbo thought, brain working furiously, approach the person from the safest angle possible, keep close to an exit and… what had the next part been? He closed his eyes, brows furrowed into a tight line as he tried to remember. Approach in triangle formation if you are on the field with your partner… Well, that was just ridiculously unhelpful in his situation. Take out your baton, telescopic baton or pepper spray as discreetly as possible… But his post didn’t permit him to carry any of those on duty.
“Oh, this is bad, this is very, very bad,” he muttered to himself, but there was nothing to it. The person was still firmly seated on the fifth floor and Bilbo had to get them out one way or another; it was his job, after all, and he set off, squaring his shoulders as he went, and feeling none the braver for it.
The situation ruled out the use of lifts or the main staircase, that much even common sense could tell him, and he made for the less used staff entrance instead. It would be a lot of climbing to get to the fifth floor from that direction, but the inaccessibility of the tiny staircase without an authorized PIN code made it the safest option he had at the moment. If all else failed, he could at least barricade himself there and just call the police, he thought somberly. His legs were protesting the long climb and he drew a long, wheezy breath as he swiped his access badge over the card reader and entered the PIN code with shaking hands. Only the faintest click from the electronic lock told him he had been granted access, and he opened the door as quietly as possible before entering the fifth floor.
He stood at the very end of the dark corridor for a minute or two, letting his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. In retrospect, he should have brought a flashlight, but he had a nasty feeling it would have alerted the intruder - burglar, or whatever lay in wait in the lounge – of his presence much too early for his liking.
He skulked along the hallway, hardly daring to breathe though his forehead was damp with sweat and his heart still hammered erratically from the exertion of the climb. Bilbo peered carefully into each meeting room that he passed and found them all blissfully empty of unwanted night time visitors. Upon passing the small kitchen corner, however, he noted a dirty coffee cup and thermal carafe that had certainly not been on the table earlier.
“What on earth,” Bilbo whispered. If the intruder was indeed a burglar, they weren’t bothering to be very secretive about their presence.
The lounge lay now just around the corner and Bilbo felt his palms growing sweatier with each tentative step he took. The area beyond was better lit than the corridor and even that faint light stung his eyes as he stepped out of the comforting darkness to confront his burglar.
His first thought was one of instant relief to find the man in the same place he had been earlier. The bastard was sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, reading a newspaper as casually as if he belonged there, dressed in a suit so fine that he was more a gentleman thief than any common burglar. Bilbo cleared his throat, and the man looked up, seemingly not even mildly surprised by his sudden appearance.
“You. You right there,” Bilbo began and hated himself slightly for sounding so out of breath. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night? The office is closed, you know.”
The man considered him for a moment, his eyes serious under heavy eyebrows and Bilbo felt increasingly uncomfortable for his lack of reaction. The instructor’s voice went off in his head like a record player; ‘watch out for signs of aggression, such as clenching teeth, perspiring, shaking, clenching fists, staring…’ And then the man chuckled and leaned back on his seat, his body language much too relaxed for someone caught trespassing.
Bilbo found it irritated him greatly.
“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” he said, his voice mellow and his small smile too easy for Bilbo’s liking. The guard found this a very odd thing to say, and it only confirmed his suspicion that the man was indeed a trespasser.
“I would like to see some form of identification, please and thank you!” he said with all the authority he could muster, holding out his hand expectantly. The man only seemed more amused by his pompous tone but folded away the newspaper in any case and reached for his pocket.
“Would a driver’s license do?” he asked politely, holding out the card for Bilbo. He nodded and took the card, examining it closely while trying to make sure he didn’t let the man out of his sight. He brows knit into a small frown at the name.
“Thorin Durin,” he read aloud. “You are not one of our employees.”
“No, I am not,” the man admitted, still completely at ease. He made no attempt to get up from the couch, and something in Bilbo’s head snapped.
“No indeed, I should say!” he said indignantly, all but thrusting the driver’s license back into the man’s hand. “With all due respect, sir, you have no permission to be here, and I must ask you to leave at once!”
“Leave, you say?” Thorin replied, managing to look politely bewildered. “You would simply eject me from the building without searching me? How do you know I haven’t stolen anything?”
“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed. He had not thought about that, and to his horror felt his visage growing warm. “I… Yes, I was just about to come to that.”
“Were you?” said the trespasser, his voice almost dripping with humour.
“I was!” Bilbo said heatedly, and pointed a finger at him. “Right. You – you get up now, please, and turn around with your back to me. And put your hands behind your back, please, so that the backs of yours hands are pressed against one another. And please stay still.”
“As you wish,” Thorin replied politely, and did as he was told. Bilbo could not help noticing that he was tall, at least a head taller than Bilbo himself. This did nothing to make him feel better about the situation. His lack of resistance unnerved Bilbo even more, and with shaking hands he extracted the handcuffs from their holder, fidgeting with them nervously before inhaling sharply and stepping behind Thorin.
“Right, that’s good. Now, I’m going to handcuff you, so stand very still,” he instructed, and prayed to all that was good on God’s green earth that his voice came out sounding authoritative and impressive. “This is simply to ensure my safety – and yours, of course – while I conduct a security check on you.”
“Of course,” Thorin agreed nonchalantly. He stood remarkably still as Bilbo’s sweaty fingers curled around his forefingers, trying to keep a firm hold of him in case he started struggling, just as he’d practised before in a classroom situation. He racked his brain for whatever advice that he could still recall. When using handcuffs linked by a chain, make sure the locks on both hands are facing the same way. He pressed the cuff lightly against Thorin’s wrist, pushing the cold metal against his skin until the rotating arm shot around his wrist and clicked in place effortlessly. He switched hands and repeated the same procedure with the other wrist, tightening the cuffs carefully until he could just negotiate two fingers between Thorin’s skin and the metal. He pulled out the key from his belt, pushing the peg into the tiny holes that would double lock the cuffs securely before letting go of his now-prisoner’s hands.
“Are we comfortable enough?” Bilbo asked, trying to sound confident, as though he handcuffed people every night.
“As comfortable as can be,” Thorin replied coolly, and if he found the situation amusing, he kept his expression neutral enough for Bilbo’s liking.
“Excellent, excellent,” he said, nodding vigorously even though the other man could not see it. “Right. Erm. I’ll just pat you down very quickly, alright?” Thorin gave him a small glance over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows quizzically, and Bilbo realised just how wrong that had come out. “I mean, as in checking that you are not carrying anything you shouldn’t, if that’s alright with you.”
He was incredibly thankful that the man did not make any further comments but simply nodded and consented with a plain ’absolutely’, resuming his staring of the wall ahead as though this was a perfectly normal situation to be in.
Keeping one hand on the cuffs, Bilbo started carefully patting him down, feeling for any objects that might be hidden beneath his clothes. He carefully lifted the lapel of his coat and patted the breadth of his back, grasping his shoulder and slowly dragging his hand down the man’s arm towards his bound wrist. He peered into his pocket and found it empty but for a slim, black cell phone. Well, I have nowhere to put that now and he can hardly use it as a weapon with his hands bound, Bilbo reasoned and placed the phone back into his pocket.
He felt the front of Thorin’s shirt as casually as he could, trying not to let his nervousness show when he felt the strong, athletic body underneath his palm nor the soft rising and falling of his remarkably flat stomach. It did nothing to ease his worries that the man apparently had precisely the sort of body built one would expect from a seasoned security guard whereas Bilbo, well, had not, his belt digging right into his soft belly and resulting in a little tell-tale roll above his waistband.
Patting down the small of his back yielded nothing out of the ordinary, and Bilbo’s hands moved to Thorin’s belt, tugging it lightly to slip his fingers underneath it. At this, the man glanced down at him, his expression rather blank. “Is that entirely necessary?” he asked, eyeing him curiously. Bilbo uttered a small, none too dignified sound before managing a flustered, “, it’s only a standard procedure, nothing more,” and he could have sworn the man’s lips twisted into a small smile before he looked away.
Abandoning the belt, he checked the pocket of his trousers, finding it quite empty. With a small, steadying breath that he very much hoped Thorin did not hear, he knelt to pat down his leg and found the length of it devoid of anything but more hard, unnervingly well-trained muscle. Bilbo swallowed, his mouth feeling strangely dry as he reached for the inseam of his trousers and made a long, quick sweep with the inner edge of his hand, trying to avoid going too close to his crotch and pulling his hand away as soon as possible. Perhaps the nervous tremor of his hands had showed, for Thorin’s voice was thick with amusement when he spoke again. “Are we alright down there, or is this a standard procedure as well?”
Bilbo gave him a sharp glare, the effect of which was considerably hindered by the blush that gave his cheeks the impression of round, red apples. “Oh, very funny,” he snapped, pretending not to notice the thrilled look the taller man gave him in return.
Grumbling, Bilbo got back to his feet and switched on the other side, searching him as quickly as he could and trying to still his shaking hands. Thorin made no further remarks, which the guard was very grateful for, and he found nothing suspicious on him beyond his keys, the driver’s license he’d presented earlier and a half-finished pack of mints.
“Find anything interesting?” Thorin asked him as Bilbo finished his search, glad to finally get his hands off him.
“Nothing that shouldn’t be there,” he replied. He placed his hands on his hips, eyeing Thorin questioningly. He had been expecting to find something, anything, that would explain his intrusion, but all he’d received had been a whole lot of personal embarrassment and a nasty feeling in his gut that the other man was pulling his leg. Well, if it turns out he’s an industrial spy, this has all been worth the trouble, he told himself firmly, and indeed, the man fit the image of a spy better than that of a mere burglar or thief with his expensive suit and neatly cut hair. “I am still going to have to call the police, however, I hope you understand that.”
“Perfectly,” Thorin nodded.
“Well then,” Bilbo hesitated, considering their surroundings. He knew that they could be in for a long wait when there was nothing particularly urgent about the situation, and he’d rather not stand like a fool on the fifth floor, feeling awkward and avoiding Thorin’s eyes. “Let’s just go down to the kitchen. We might as well get comfortable while waiting for the police.”
“Hello, emergency centre? This Bilbo Baggins calling from the Brothers Ri, Inc. Headquarters on Ravenhill Street 52...”
Thorin was sitting in the small third floor kitchen, his hands bound awkwardly behind his back while he listened to Bilbo explain the situation over the phone. He kept casting suspicious glances Thorin's way every now and then, as though expecting him to be scheming an escape plan of some kind. He was definitely a funny one for a security guard, Thorin decided. His nervous, fidgety demeanour would have reminded him of a small rabbit had it not been for the dirty looks he kept giving Thorin, and the stubborn determination with which he'd handled the capture.
“... yes, I apprehended a trespasser from this building some ten minutes ago, I'm not sure how he entered the building without setting off the alarm but he doesn't have a permit to be here... No, I did not find any visible signs of breaking and entering yet, but I couldn't conduct a thorough search of the entire building before I went to him.... Yes, that's right. Yes. Yes, you can reach me from this same number if need be.”
The kitchen did not have much in it. A small fridge adorned with magnets and postcards from remote tourist locations, a sink and dishwasher, a kettle, a coffee machine, a small dingy microwave and cupboards full of mugs in different sizes and colours, most of them heavily coffee-stained. The high windows were facing the almost pitch dark parking area below, completely empty but for a couple of unused company cars.
“... yes, thank you very much. Thank you. Goodnight.”
Bilbo came and sat down on the other side of the table, pocketing his cell phone. “Well, we might be in for a bit of a wait, I'm afraid. They couldn't say how long it would be, but they estimated it would take at least an hour.” His nose twitched in displeasure; he didn’t look even remotely happy about the idea. He missed his book and his mug downstairs, but there was no way he would trust this man enough to leave him unguarded for even ten seconds.
“Nothing I wasn't prepared for,” Thorin shrugged, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“Still, it's not exactly how I would have preferred to spend this night,” Bilbo said with a sigh and got back up again. “Do you mind if I make some tea? I'd fancy something to drink if we have to wait here anyway.”
“Suit yourself. Wouldn't it have been more beneficial to wait for the police on the first floor, though?”
“Perhaps, but there is nowhere in particular to wait down there unless we want to sit behind the reception desk, and that's hardly very comfortable for what could be a long wait,” Bilbo answered, rummaging the cupboard for tea bags and sugar. He would have to borrow someone else's mug, but that would have to do when his own was downstairs.
“That's very considerate of you.”
He was rewarded with an impatient smack of lips behind him, and Thorin turned to meet Bilbo's glare. “Well, I am hardly going to treat you like a criminal suspect when the only wrongdoing I have so far been able to prove is somehow entering the building unauthorized!” he said indignantly. “I mean, that's still not allowed, but it still gives me no right to act like you had killed someone – which I hope you haven’t, of course.”
For some reason, that drew another small smile from the taller man, and Bilbo found he was actually rather handsome now that Bilbo could see him as something more than an immediate threat. Though like Bofur, he seemed to have no interested for following the dress code too closely, and his silver-streaked hair was longer than what he had seen on most businessmen so far.
“Perhaps you are right,” Thorin answered smoothly. “Though in all fairness I wouldn't be very likely to tell you even if I had, would I?”
His voice was so carefully neutral that Bilbo almost took him seriously – almost, if it had not been for the wrinkles around his eyes that betrayed the laughter he was holding back. “Oh, you are terrible,” the guard said, shaking his head, but he smiled all the same. “That was not at all funny, you know.”
“On the contrary, I think it was very funny,” Thorin replied and Bilbo snorted. He filled the kettle with water and turned it on, waiting as the water began boiling slowly.
“Have you been the night guard here for long?” Thorin asked.
“No, I only started properly in May, though I spent the first two months training under the old guard before he retired.”
“Are you always on the night shift, or do you do daytime shifts, too?”
Bilbo shrugged, leaning against the sink. “No, not really,” he said. “Unless there's a shortage of some kind. I was hired specifically for the night shift.”
“Does it not get tiring, staying up the nights all the time?”
Bilbo raised an eyebrow, some of his suspicions flaring up anew. “Why do you ask?”
“Just making conversation,” Thorin said, shifting in his seat. “If we are to be here a while, I'd rather pass the time talking than sitting in silence.”
Fair point, Bilbo thought. The kettle gave its usual click, water ready to be taken, and he poured a liberal amount into the largest mug he had been able to find. He saw from the corner of his eye Thorin looking for a position where he could lean back without his wrists bending at an awkward angle but without much success. Really, it was a bit of a shame that he had to be wearing them in the first place, it did not look very comfortable at all but security reasons were security reasons...
Security reasons.
Bilbo blinked, another bit from his training period coming back to him. He remembered very clearly how the instructor had demonstrated the proper way to handcuff someone both standing and lying down; he was quite sure he had done that precisely as he'd been taught if one did not count his nervous fumbling.
Legally, handcuffing someone counted as using force. That much he recalled with perfect clarity, and also the fact that any occasion where force had been used had to be jotted down on the report. But what were the grounds for using force in the first place, he thought, for certainly that had been covered in the training as well. In threatening situations, certainly, and as means of self-defense if necessary. He closed his eyes, trying to remember. Necessary... Yes, that was it, he thought triumphantly. Use of force should be considered only when absolutely necessary to carry out your duty, the instructor inside his head cited seriously. Force is not to be used in situations that do not warrant it and that can be resolved by using your most important tool: communication skills. Only resort to using force as your last chance.
That made him drop his teaspoon with such clatter that Thorin looked up, frowning.
“Oh, no,” Bilbo exclaimed. “Oh, no. No, this is bad, this is very bad indeed.”
Thorin stared at him, brows high on his forehead. “It's not the end of the world. You can always just wash it,” he started hesitantly, not entirely sure what had upset him.
“It's not the spoon,” Bilbo groaned, shoulders slumping. “I've made a stupid, stupid mistake!”
Thorin watched him bury his face between his hands, much too taken aback by this sudden (and rather alarming) reaction to say anything.
Bilbo’s voice came out muffled behind his hands when he spoke. “I am so, so sorry.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He let his arms drop, looking quite miserable. “I only just realised that I may have done a considerable mistake before. You know, in handcuffing you,” he added when Thorin only gave him a blank stare.
“I was under the impression that I gave you the permission to do so,” he said carefully, still not entirely sure if he was following the guard’s train of thought or not. “If it’s about consent—“
”It’s not only about consent,” Bilbo all but groaned, feeling all the worse for having to explain this to Thorin when the man was staring at him with confused, uncomprehending eyes. “Just… just turn around, please. I’ll release you.”
”You’re not going to keep me cuffed until the police arrive?”
“I shouldn’t have handcuffed you in the first place,” Bilbo admitted with a sigh. “You were not resisting capture and you did not even so much as try to escape so really, I didn’t have any right to violate your privacy. I know it does not make up for it, but I’ll at least take off the handcuffs now, if you could just turn around for a while.”
If Thorin had any further questions he did not voice them and he turned his back to Bilbo obediently, holding out his bound hands for easier access.
As Bilbo busied himself on unlocking the cuffs, Thorin interrupted his churning thoughts. “You could always tell the police you acted in self-defense.”
“Excuse me?”
“I am much taller and very likely stronger than you. You could always claim that you felt threatened and feared you would not be able to restrain me in any other way should I resist aggressively.”
Bilbo stared at the back of his head, hardly believing his ears. “Are you suggesting that I should lie to the police?” he asked, sounding flabbergasted.
”I was merely saying that—“
“Because I most certainly will not!” he huffed. “I have made a mistake and I intend to take full responsibility for it, thank you very much!”
With a final click the handcuffs came off and Thorin massaged his wrists, turning to look at Bilbo. “I meant no offense.”
”And none taken,” he rushed to say. “And for that matter, there is no need for you to apologize.”
“There is no need for you to apologize, either,” Thorin said sternly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. “Let’s just agree it never happened, and neither of us will make any mention of it to the police, shall we?”
”Are you sure?” Bilbo asked uncertainly.
”Completely sure.”
“Well,” Bilbo stammered, torn between relief and hesitation. “At least let me make it up to you somehow. Would you like a cup of tea while we’re waiting?”
“I would, thank you.”
Bilbo pulled another mug from the cupboard, dumping a teabag inside it. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Two cubes, but no milk.”
Bilbo busied himself on their tea, and for a while the clinking of a spoon was the only sound in the small kitchen. He placed Thorin’s mug in front of him and sat back down on the other side of the table, stirring his own drink for a bit until he was sure the sugar had melted.
“So, what’s your story?” Bilbo asked, blowing into his drink.
“Pardon?”
“How did you end up on the fifth floor after the lock down?”
“Long story,” Thorin said, shrugging. “Why do you ask?”
“Making conversation?” Bilbo suggested and the taller man snorted.
“Well, let’s just put it this way; I’ll tell the police the whole story when they arrive, and you don’t have to bother with it.”
“Oh, come off it,” he laughed and barely even wondered what had happened to his sense of propriety. “I’m sure it’s a thrilling tale.”
“You’d be disappointed to know just how far from extraordinary and exciting the truth is.”
“Don’t tell me it’s the dull and old-fashioned ‘at the wrong place at the wrong time’ excuse.”
Thorin smirked, taking a tentative sip of his steaming hot tea. “At the right place at the right time, as a matter of fact, but I’m afraid it’s precisely just as dull.”
Bilbo shot him a quizzical look and received nothing but amused silence in return, but he couldn’t be bothered to be offended. It was nothing particularly new, he knew, for suspects to refuse discussion point blank, and quite truthfully Thorin was under no legal obligation to tell Bilbo anything, so he decided to let the interrogation drop altogether.
“The newspaper.”
“Sorry?”
“Could you pass me the newspaper?” Thorin gestured and Bilbo obliged with a quick nod, passing him the topmost one from the teetering pile of read newspapers and magazines stacked in one corner.
“Anything of interest there?”
“Greenwood, Inc. rose by 1.2% in the market today,” Thorin provided, though if his scowl was anything to go by, he wasn’t too enthusiastic about it.
“Jolly good,” Bilbo replied and he was genuinely gladdened, thinking about the small number of shares he’d invested in last year. It may not be worth all that much at the present, but he hoped it would result in a goodly amount of extra savings in the future.
Thorin only harrumphed in answer.
“You don’t seem too excited about it, though.”
“Their managing director is hardly what you would call an innovative leader,” he grunted. “He insists on defying change in all sectors yet his business shows no signs of declining. It reeks of dishonesty and scheming, if you ask me.”
“Well, isn't their slogan 'endurance through focus and tradition'? Mister Greenleaf has always struck me as a man aiming to maintain a steady hold in business by focusing solely on developing their services.”
"Focusing indeed, and thus blatantly ignoring any grounds for profitable expansion. If they spread out into other fields of security, they could offer their customers something that would actually meet their needs."
"My, I take it someone disagrees with Greenwood's leadership policies," Bilbo said, grinning.
"I am merely offering my professional opinion, that's all."
"Since when are burglars interested in companies providing more comprehensive security solutions? Is it a matter of personal pride?”
“Precisely that, mister Baggins,” Thorin said, and his gaze was oddly warm when his eyes flicked quickly from Bilbo’s name tag and back to his face.
It was odd, Bilbo thought half an hour and his second mug of tea later, decidedly odd how freely the conversation flowed between them. Odd and all sorts of improper, he supposed, taken how awkward their little game of cat and mouse should have made the situation, though how inexpertly he’d handled the said game did not truly bear repeating. As nightly company went, Thorin was not of the unpleasant sort. Bilbo might have gone even as far as to suggest he enjoyed their easy banter. He had been very consciously aware of the uncomfortable silences that ought to have followed a trespassing that the other party gave no explanation whatsoever for, but as thirty minutes turned into an hour and an hour into two, Bilbo found the cramped little kitchen space much more comfortable in the present company than he had anticipated.
It was 3:25 in the morning when his phone finally rang, and they were almost through the box of biscuits that had somehow made its way on the table.
“Hello? Yes, this is Baggins. Ah, you’re coming now? Yes, we’ll come right downstairs.”
Thorin snatched the last biscuit, throwing the now empty box into the waste basket and placing their mugs in the sink while Bilbo was busy on the phone.
“They’re finally coming, thank goodness,” Bilbo huffed, pocketing his phone. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“I would appreciate it,” Thorin replied wryly. “I don’t think I can stomach any more tea tonight.”
“Thank you very much for your cooperation, sir, ma’am.”
“Oh, not at all,” the young officer said. “We’re sorry to have kept you waiting for so long.”
“It happens,” Bilbo replied, shaking hands briefly with his partner, a young woman with shoulder length red hair. “Busy night, I expect?”
“Afraid so,” she laughed, apparently completely unfazed by the lateness of the hour. “Been on the move ceaselessly for the past few hours, could definitely use a little break.”
“Perhaps you’ll get to enjoy a cup of tea after this. Well then, I expect you’ll be taking him?”
“We will. Good evening, sir, if you would please come with us,” she said politely, turning to look at Thorin. Behind her, her partner’s eyebrows rose the moment Thorin stepped into the light as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“That I shall,” Thorin answered, tilting his head in greeting. “I daresay I have been trespassing on good mister Baggins’ hospitality far too long for one night.”
“You don’t say,” Bilbo said with a theatrical sigh and the female officer laughed again.
“Come now, let’s get you in the car. Legolas, open the back doors.”
The male officer complied, shooting another puzzled look Thorin’s way as he climbed inside the car and called, “, goodnight, mister Baggins, and thank you for the tea”.
“Good… Goodnight, and you’re quite welcome?”
And that was all he managed before the female officer pulled out a clipboard, pen at the ready in her hand.
“Now, let’s get the report over and done with, shall we?”
The next morning Bilbo was sitting behind the reception desk, very nearly nodding off while waiting for Bofur’s arrival, an unusual arrangement, but mister Fundin had called him shortly after the police had departed and asked him to remain until Bofur showed up. He had no idea how he had managed to stay awake the extra hours that slowly dragged towards sunrise, and suddenly it was 7:30 in the morning and the first workers of the day were beginning to turn in. Bilbo stifled a large yawn, reaching for his mug once more. He prayed the maintenance guy would not turn up before Bofur’s shift began, for Bilbo was much too tired to even consider another trip upstairs.
He had tried to entertain himself with typing out a report of the night’s events, and the more he thought about the whole incident the less sense it made. There was absolutely nothing right with it; no visible signs of intrusion, nothing broken, nothing stolen, not even so much as a tea cup was missing, and the man – had his name been Thorin or something? – had behaved so peculiarly that Bilbo was starting to suspect he whether he had been under the influence of drugs.
The sharp staccato of approaching footfalls made him look up blearily from the computer monitor, and he saw mister Ri, the managing directer and the eldest of the three brothers owning the company, running down the stairs.
“Good morning, mister Baggins!” he called airily, badly out of breath. “Glad to see I’m not the only one here at this hour. Had to come in earlier today, there was a bit of mix up in the meeting yesterday and the access control manager from IT had to come let me in.”
Bilbo frowned. “A mix up? Of what kind?”
The manager laughed, shrugging lightly. “Oh, it was unbelievably stupid, it was. One of my visitors had a coat exactly like mine, and can you believe they accidentally got mixed up as we were all leaving? I was already home by the time I noticed my cell and my keys were not in my pocket! Thank heavens my brothers were home already, I would’ve had to sleep on the terrace otherwise!”
Bilbo stared at him, blinking very slowly. “You… you lost your keys?”
“I did indeed,” he admitted, smiling embarrassedly. Bilbo noticed that he had a bundle that looked very much like a piece of clothing under his arm. “Luckily, the said visitor phoned me home almost immediately when he noticed the mix up, he’s coming to return my coat soon… Ah, there he is! Good morning, mister Durin!”
Bilbo’s eyes flicked from the manager to the main entrance and locked at the man striding indoors with his hand extended, and Bilbo felt his jaw drop.
It was Thorin.
“Morning, sir!” he answered, grasping the manager’s hand and shaking it firmly. He looked rather windswept, Bilbo noticed, but nothing about his appearance suggested a sleepless night or any form of police involvement. “Good thing I had your home number saved just in case.”
The manager laughed, slapping his shoulder amicably. “That seems to have been a smart move, mister Durin, otherwise we would both have gone about with rather ill-fitting coats for a while. Yours is a bit too big for me, I’m afraid.”
“Unfortunately so,” Thorin said with a small, sombre smile that deepened the creases around his eyes, and Bilbo could hardly believe his daring. He extracted a coat identical to the manager’s from the plastic bag he was carrying and gave it to him. “Here you go, sir. I’m extremely sorry for the mix up. I should have checked the pockets more thoroughly upon leaving.”
“Nothing to worry about, haste makes fools of us all,” mister Ri said jovially, handing Thorin his coat in return. “The keys are in this pocket still, and… Ah, my phone – nine missed calls, and I’ve only been parted from it for less than twelve hours!” He shook his head, thrusting the cell phone into the pocket of his trousers. “And quite the eventful night it has been, too. Did you hear that mister Baggins here,” he gestured at Bilbo and Thorin nodded politely at him, “, apprehended a trespasser from this very building last night and single-handedly handed him over to the police? To think there has never been a single case of breaking and entering in the history of our company, and he was able to rise up to the challenge just like that!”
“Did he indeed?” Thorin replied, managing to look very genuinely surprised. His demeanor was much more subdued and serious in the morning, Bilbo noted, but he could only assume it was the face he usually wore judging by mister Ri’s lack of concern. The said man positively beamed at Bilbo, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
“He did, indeed! And let me just say, quite an impressive feat that was, too. No damage to property whatsoever, he kept our losses at the very minimum! We couldn’t be any happier with his work, I shall definitely give his superior a call soon to praise mister Baggins’ services and demand they let us keep him from now on, too. Wouldn’t do to lose such valuable staff during these troubling times.”
“Aye, clinging to what has been gained is more than advisable,” Thorin said solemnly. “And you are quite right; I’ve always believed that a job well done deserves proper credit.”
“I agree with you there,” mister Ri said happily, pulling on his own coat with apparent enjoyment. “Well then, I won’t be keeping you any longer, mister Durin. Thank you ever so much, and I will be hearing from you soon, I believe.”
“Definitely, sir,” Thorin replied. “My assistant will be giving you a call about next week’s meeting today or tomorrow.”
“Most excellent,” the director said, making for the lifts. “Oh, that reminds me, let me offer you my most heartfelt congratulations. I just saw the Financial Times this morning and I must say that is big news, very big news indeed.”
“Thank you very much. We had been preparing for the press conference for a good long time.”
“I do not doubt that. Good day to you, mister Durin.”
“Good day to you, mister Ri.”
As soon as the lift doors closed and they were alone again, Bilbo got up from his chair and leaned over the desk to address Thorin. “I cannot believe your daring,” he huffed indignantly. “What on earth are you playing at?”
Thorin took his time pulling on his own coat and extracting his phone from his bag before answering. “I came to return my glass slipper,” he finally said, giving the guard what was in Bilbo’s opinion an irritatingly smug grin and did not suit the respectable businessman act at all.
“Excuse me?”
“It had outlived its usefulness. The magic wears off at midnight, remember?” the man replied. Bilbo took a long, steadying breath and prayed for whatever gods that were listening to grant him as much patience as it took to not start yelling at the man in the front lobby.
“You stole the good mister Ri’s keys and broke into the building before the lock down.” His voice shook with fury and to further his indignation, Thorin actually laughed.
“No, no, you have it all wrong, mister Baggins. Weren’t you listening just now? He took my coat, I took his. It was an honest mistake.”
“You lied to him between your teeth and right in front of me! What if he finds out it was you I removed from the building last night?”
“He won’t, unless either of us tells him,” Thorin reminded him, leaning against the desk and meeting Bilbo’s furious glare easily. “You know the identity of the trespasser won’t reach anyone’s ears beyond your superior and the police.”
“I would have told him immediately had I not been stunned into silence by your audacity!” Bilbo hissed.
Thorin lifted his eyebrows, looking increasingly amused by his towering temper. “We both know perfectly well you have no intention whatsoever to tell him about our little adventure, mister Baggins.”
Bilbo was suddenly painfully aware of just badly he had screwed up last night and could see in his mind’s eye the manager’s jovial smile evaporating upon hearing that his very favourite security guard was being charged with unnecessary use of force, and possibly false imprisonment if Thorin was influential enough to convince the police of that.
“Are you blackmailing me, sir?” he asked hoarsely, his anger withering away to make way for dread. Oh, he should have minded his tongue, he should have known that forgetting his good manners in front of someone of such high standing would lead to nothing but trouble!
“Blackmailing you?” Thorin ground out, his expression thunderous, and Bilbo was suddenly very aware of just how very tall and strongly built he was. “For God’s sake, no, absolutely not.” He looked positively repulsed by the idea.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I simply thought—“
“What I meant,” Thorin cut across him, “, was that if you would’ve had any inclination to reveal the trespasser’s identity to begin with, you would have done so already without hesitation when the opportunity presented itself. You are a decent person, mister Baggins, and decent people are easy to read.”
“Well, that is a bold declaration to make about someone you do not even know,” Bilbo said and his disbelief must have shown on his face for Thorin all but rolled his eyes.
“Mister Baggins, I had some three hours last night to get to know you, however superficially, and I have to say I have never met anyone who would straight out admit their mistakes – grave mistakes, even, for the consequences could have cost you your job, had I turned out to be the unreasonable kind of customer – and apologize for them, no less. That, my good man, is a telltale sign of an honest, decent person, and I mean that as a compliment.”
“I… Thank you?” Bilbo replied uncertainly. What on earth did this man want from him?
“No need to thank me,” Thorin said. “Just do me a favour.”
“Well, that depends entirely on what the said favour is.”
“You keep my secret and I keep yours.”
Bilbo stared at him. He didn’t know what to make of this man, didn’t know if there was some grand scheme driving his actions or whether he was just mad, but the serious look in his pale blue eyes looked much too earnest for the guy to be joking. Perhaps rich people were just peculiar.
“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”
Thorin’s tone was oddly warm when he spoke. “I knew you would agree.”
“Still, that does not answer the biggest question,” Bilbo said, frowning. “What were you even doing here in the middle of the night?”
Instead of answering, however, Thorin simply drew a folded newspaper from his bag and tossed it on the desk. “Here. Be good to have something to read for your troubles.” And with that, he whipped around and left Bilbo shouting to his retreating back.
“Hey! You did not answer my question yet! Mister Durin, sir—“
“Bilbo, buddy, what are you still doing here at this hour?”
Bofur had just come down the stairs with a cup of coffee in one hand, already dressed in his uniform and sporting a very questioning look on his face indeed.
“Oh, I… Hello there, Bofur,“ Bilbo managed, picking up the newspaper. “I guess no one’s filled you in yet, there was some disruption last night, I—“
He stole a brief glance the newspaper, the newest Financial Times, he noted, and was just about to toss it in the bin when a large photograph on the front page caught his attention. He frowned, taking in the image of two tall figures, talking to one another by the looks of it, walking out of a pair of glass doors of what seemed to be an office building of some kind, surrounded by reporters. There would have been nothing particularly interesting about the article if one of the people in the picture had not just walked out in the middle of Bilbo’s sentence a few seconds ago. He remembered mister Ri’s congratulations and something about big news, and his eyes automatically flickered to the headline above. ‘Thorin Durin to succeed his father as the CEO of Erebor, Inc.,’ it read, and something about the name clicked in place finally.
“The CEO of Erebor, Inc…” he read out loud, and Bofur snorted.
“Oh, yeah, that guy who just left? I saw ‘em interviewing him on TV this morning. Lucky bastard, after taking over as the company head he’s now listed among the fifty most wealthy people in the whole country, apparently. Some people have it made, man, no grunt jobs and low salaries to worry about for a single day of their lives.”
Bugger.
Bilbo looked up, and caught Thorin’s figure just outside of the building, about to step into a car. He gave a small wave upon noticing Bilbo’s stare, and the terrible sinking feeling of nerves settled right back at the bottom of Bilbo’s stomach as he gripped the newspaper.
Oh, bugger.
