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.
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Chapter 2
The one thing he had not planned ahead was his return home.
“Where the hell have you been? It’s almost six in the morning!”
Thorin took a deep breath before slowly turning around to meet the furious glare of his sister, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips and looking fully capable of murder.
“Good morning, Dís,” he answered, managing a weary smile that only seemed to further her indignation.
“Don’t you ‘good morning’ me, Thorin! You never came back to the office after the meeting or answered the phone when we tried to call you! Fíli and Kíli were waiting for you to join us for dinner for close to two hours before they finally resigned to eat without you, and Dwalin has been trying to reach you for hours! I thought he was going to have a stroke, and – is that a bloody police car pulling up from our lane?”
She had been trying to talk as quietly as possible to avoid waking the boys, but Thorin winced at the sudden shrillness of her voice when she stared after the retreating back lights of the car. He hung his coat on the coat rack, slipping past her into the living room.
“I’m sorry I made the boys wait, I’ll apologize to them over breakfast—“
“Apologize to me, you ungrateful piece of shit! Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Dís hissed, stepping in front of him and successfully preventing his further escape. “I was this close to calling the police! Dwalin was raving about assassination attempts and kidnapping and God knows what else, you’ll give him a heart attack one of these days with your idiotic tricks!”
“Assassination attempts?” Thorin snorted, giving her a disbelieving look. “He has been watching far too much TV.”
“Don’t try to blame this on him, brother dear,” she snapped, still thunderous. “And by the looks of it his fears weren’t entirely baseless, either. Would you perhaps care to explain to me why you were brought home at this hour in a police car, or do I have to beat the information out of you?”
“Got arrested,” Thorin said easily, pushing her aside as gently as possible and stepping into the kitchen. One quick look told him there was still coffee left in the coffee pot, a sure sign that Dís had been up all night waiting to skin him alive, and he poured himself a cup without paying too much attention to the shocked sputtering from his little sister.
“Arrested? What for?”
Thorin shrugged, sipping his lukewarm coffee. His nose wrinkled at the taste. “Trespassing. Just a minor misunderstanding, it’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? You were supposed to be home eight hours ago, you complete arse, how the hell is that a minor misunderstanding to you?”
“The matter has been settled already, there’s no need for you to worry.” He downed the rest of his coffee, grimacing at the bitterness, and placed his empty cup to join the dirty dishes in the washing machine. “And you should pour that coffee in the sink, it’s so old it could probably kill a lesser man.”
“Don’t change the subject,” she grumbled, still eyeing him suspiciously. “Call Dwalin and let him know you’re not being held hostage somewhere, will you? I wouldn’t put it past him to strangle you personally if you keep him waiting any longer.”
He stretched slowly, groaning when his joints popped. “Could you do that in my stead? Tell him I’ll see him at the office at 8:30, I’ve lost my phone—“
“Lost your phone? Thorin, what the hell have you been up to last night?” Dís asked, sounding exasperated. “And where do you think you’re going?” For Thorin was already walking out of the kitchen, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. She followed suit only a couple of steps behind him and at the bathroom door he looked over his shoulder, meeting her appalled glare.
“Shower,” he said wearily, tossing his tie on the floor and discarding the shirt into the laundry basket. His ears were ringing unpleasantly, and he had a nasty feeling a headache was building up in thanks for his restless all-nighter. “I have a meeting at nine o’clock, better sharpen up a bit.”
“We are not done talking, Thorin!”
“Let’s talk over breakfast, alright?” And with that he unceremoniously closed and locked the door to her face, ignoring the fact that she punched the door as soon as it had been shut and demanded him to get back where she could throttle him. He undressed swiftly, letting the rest of his garments join the shirt in the basket. The furious pounding at the door intensified and he quickly stepped into the shower, hoping the sound of running water would drown out the noise.
“You get your arse back here or I’m poisoning your morning coffee!”
“Mama, why are you shouting?”
It had taken couple of phone calls, a borrowed car and getting yelled at by Dwalin to arrange the discreet meeting in the mangy little pub two nights later, but Thorin had eventually managed to squeeze enough free time into his schedule to slip away for one evening without a single assistant or reporter tailing him. In that sense, the timing for taking over the company had been rather unfortunate; he’d never attracted more media attention than he did now and the phones had practically been ringing nonstop since the press conference.
The pub was a cramped little thing at the corner of the street with old concert posters of local garage bands taped to the windows and walls, and judging by the acrid smell of tobacco hanging heavily over the pub the owner wasn’t too strict about making sure his customers respected the no smoking signs. The paint on the door was peeling off and the interior had seen better days, but Thorin wasn’t there to enjoy the décor.
And frankly, he quite preferred it over the stuffy business dinners he was forced to frequent these days.
“There you are, Thorin,” came a greeting and a cheeky wave from a poorly lit corner table, and Thorin sat down opposite a brown-haired man smirking at him.
“Fashionably late, as usual.”
Thorin smiled, crossing his arms on the table. “Giving Dwalin a slip is getting more challenging by the day, Nori. He’s still not convinced I don’t need a bodyguard to tail me around the clock.”
Nori snorted, downing the last drops from the pint in front of him. “I don’t doubt that. The guy’s been a busybody for as long as I can remember.”
“He is, but that’s also the reason why he is so good at what he does. Excuse me,” he said, waving a nearby waiter to their table. “I’ll have a Guinness and a Jäger bomb, thank you. Nori?”
“I’ll have a Guinness, too, and some peanuts wouldn't hurt, either,” he answered and the waiter nodded, collecting the empty pint and rushing off to another waving customer a couple of tables away. “Jägermeister in the middle of the week? Work stress getting to you or what?”
“I need an alibi, Nori. My sister is sharp-eyed enough already as it is, and if I don’t come back home appropriately intoxicated and foul-smelling she’s going to suspect me more than she already does.”
“I wouldn’t want to make enemies of that woman, she's as clever as they come. Now,” Nori said, lowering his voice and leaning over conspiratorially. “Let’s cut the niceties, shall we? Why did you want to meet me all the hell away in here instead of the office?”
There was a glimmer in his eye that Thorin had long since learnt to associate with losing considerable amounts of money in exchange of extremely questionable and morally problematic services, something that Dori had tried in vain to suppress in his brother since they had been in high school.
“I have a favour to ask, and I’d rather your brother not hear about it.”
The brown-haired man quirked an eyebrow, his face breaking into an all-too knowing grin. “Am I about to find out why you were caught trespassing in our office building in the dead of the night?”
Thorin’s answering chuckle was an amused one. “I take it you received the report from the security company?”
“Nah, but I called Balin first thing in the morning anyway. Must admit your name coming up in that conversation was something of a surprise, though. You’ll give the old boy a heart attack one of these days.” He fixed Thorin a sharp look. “Judging by the data log my brother, or rather, someone using his keycard, entered the building from the staff entrance, entered the fifth floor through the back door, and never checked out using the same keycard. So you somehow, for reasons best known to yourself, stole my dear brother’s keys, broke into the building and got your ass arrested. Spill the beans. What the hell was that all about?”
“You could say there was someone I wanted to meet, and it would have been impossible under normal conditions.”
“And who exactly might that be? There isn't a single member of the staff that you could not reach through my or Dori's connections.”
Thorin smiled, lifting his pint to his lips and draining a large mouthful before answering. “There is one your connections do not reach in quite the same way. One who is there only during the small hours of the night,” he said, wiping foam from his moustache, and Nori scoffed.
“You’re being awfully enigmatic today and let me just tell you that it doesn't impress me,” he said dryly, following Thorin’s example and reaching for his own drink. “What is this? Are you planning on expanding to the shady sort of business? Trying to forge mafia connections? If that’s where you want my help, well, I’m not gonna turn down the request before hearing your offer, but I’d think you’d want to protect your reputation more carefully in your current position. And mind you, you’ll have to take those negotiations elsewhere, I’m not having them in our premises.”
“Oh, no, not quite. This has nothing to do with business, to be honest,” Thorin answered lightly, shaking his head.
“A private matter? Don’t tell me you’ve got your eye on someone and tried to break into their cubicle to steal their diary or something.” Nori’s grin wavered and died at the look on the other man’s face. “You’re shitting me.”
“I assure you, I’m completely serious – apart from the diary part, that is.”
“There’s no one in that building during the night except the guard. Boggins, or whatever his name is.”
“Baggins,” Thorin corrected.
“Baggins, yeah, he’s our new regular—“
He stopped suddenly and watched with wide eyes as Thorin grabbed the shot glass and emptied it in one go, and if his face had turned a shade more pink, well, Nori could always pretend he had been too drunk to remember anything of the sort.
“Him?”
Thorin merely raised his eyebrows, fixing a challenging look at his friend as though daring him to laugh, and Nori decided to let it drop for now. And depending on the payment, he might even let it go completely and not make fun of Thorin the next time they got drunk together at a company party.
Well, not too much, anyway.
“I ain’t playing matchmaker for you, Thorin, that’s for sure.”
Thorin gave him a lopsided smile. “Don’t worry, I’d pay you to not get involved in that.”
“So what is it that you want, exactly?”
“I want a copy of your brother’s keycard.”
Nori stared at him for a short, stunned moment and broke down laughing, chortling so loudly that the barman frowned at him. “Of course you do. And you’ll be paying generously, I’m sure? An arrangement like this, well, hushing it up so nothing reaches the honest businessman's ears isn't cheap.”
“I wouldn't dream otherwise, friend. Trust me, you'll get a good reward for doing this little favour for me. On one condition, though.”
His now-partner-in-crime-and-fellow-conspirator grinned. “Name it.”
“You get paid, you don't ask questions afterwards.”
“Deal.”
They shook hands briefly, sealing another satisfactory business deal, though Thorin rather suspected the monetary blow on his bank account would be more than enough to make him wince.
“Well then,” Nori said cheerfully, rubbing his palms together. “Buy me another beer and let’s get negotiating.”
A week after the 'incident' (as Bilbo liked to call it in his head to avoid pondering on that odd night any further) work had slipped back into its usual and altogether unremarkable routines. Bilbo did not mind this in the slightest; he was quite fond of routines, in fact, and though the instructors had warned him that being too accustomed to one's habits was dangerous in the way that it tended to make one lose their vigilance after a time, he still favoured the quiet, slow nights when nothing out of the ordinary happened. Of course, there had been the phone call the very next day from poor distressed mister Fundin, and while nothing unusual had been discussed and no one had said anything to Bilbo, he still suspected deep down whether that wretched mister Durin had gone and told the police about the handcuffing.
He did try to tell himself that he was being paranoid and that he would have been contacted about the said mishap already had that been the case, but the way mister Durin had continued to act suggested otherwise. Bilbo had seen him a grand total of three times afterwards, everytime leaving from a late night meeting with apparent haste. Well, haste that apparently lasted only until he reached the reception hall and laid his eyes on Bilbo, and Bilbo was starting to find it rather irritating. For all his reassurances that he had no intention of blackmailing him, he still made the point of lingering at the reception desk long enough for the other visitors to exit and leave him alone with Bilbo. Oh, he was perfectly polite, but the fact that he never had anything in particular to say beyond asking him how he was doing and wishing him a goodnight was becoming unnerving. He didn’t really need to resort to blackmail when his presence alone was intimidating enough, Bilbo thought gloomily.
That particular night had passed in cosy, uneventful silence, exactly the way he liked it. He’d busied himself on filing and organizing all the documents from the past month that Bofur had left lying around with a vague “I’ll get back to ‘em eventually”, and had been happy to notice two hours had flown by just like that. He’d even risked turning on the radio while he had been doing paperwork, which had made the prospect downright enjoyable and drove the latest awkward meeting with mister Durin several hours before effectively out of his mind.
Checking the time, he decided it was time to take another slow walk around the building. He turned off the radio and the camera monitor, patting his pocket gently to make sure the keys were still safely there, and took his mug with him. It felt like it might be a good time to enjoy another cup of tea once he was done with the check-up, and he did have some excellent chamomile infusion waiting upstairs, a gift from his father to “soothe your nerves after that stressful incident you had, laddie”. His mother, on the other hand, had found the whole affair hilarious and insisted that such things only did him good and prevented him from becoming lazy.
Bilbo took the elevator right up to the topmost floor, slowly going over each floor room by room. He was in no particular hurry and thus he took his time walking around and stretching his limbs as he went, enjoying being on his feet after a couple hours’ idleness.
As he approached the kitchen in the third floor he concluded that he must have once again forgotten to turn off the lights during his last visit for the kitchen was brightly lit. As he stepped over the threshold, however, he found someone sitting there and Bilbo very nearly dropped his mug in fright.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
Thorin lifted his gaze from the newspaper on his lap, scowling. “What on earth kept you? I’ve been here for nearly two hours already.”
“Two hours? I… Why are you…? How did you – is that my sandwich, you arse?” Bilbo sputtered, gesturing wildly at what looked like the remains of the smoked salmon and mayonnaise he had lovingly prepared for himself.
Thorin shrugged, snatching another bite-sized piece from the saucer. “I was hungry.”
“You were hungry,” Bilbo repeated weakly. He very much wanted someone to pinch him awake and assure him he was still sleeping in his warm bed, but then again he didn’t want to know why his brain would have chosen to torment him with even more mister Durin than he already had to endure during his waking time.
“It took you a while to appear and I brought nothing to eat,” Thorin said in a tone that suggested this was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
“I don’t care why you ate my food. I want to know how you got here again!”
“Through the door,” he offered helpfully. Bilbo glared daggers at him but the man managed to look so totally unconcerned that remaining angry with him seemed a wasted effort.
Bilbo went straight for the kettle, deciding he should at least get the tea he’d been craving. “Actually, never mind. I just came to get myself a cup of tea and I am going to get it and enjoy it in peace before I throw you out.”
“The water’s still hot, I just boiled it,” Thorin answered, turning back to his reading.
“Oh, lucky me,” Bilbo said sarcastically, slapping the other man to the back of his head as though scolding a misbehaving child, and Thorin grunted in surprise. “Don’t you have a company to run, you scoundrel?”
“You’re starting to sound like my sister,” he said. “And just so you know, I don’t generally work in the middle of the night unlike certain others.”
“Don’t you dare criticise my job, food thief, you just ate my last sandwich.”
“I may not have been as well-prepared for the wait as I thought,” Thorin said with a shrug.
“And yet, mister Durin, you still apparently bothered to go home and get changed after the meeting,” Bilbo said dryly. The suit he’d donned earlier had been replaced by jeans and a navy blue pullover, and he looked rather more handsome this way than Bilbo was entirely willing to admit.
“Thorin, please.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just call me Thorin, please.”
Bilbo frowned. “Well, I think that’s hardly appropriate. You’re in charge of one of the most influential partnership companies that the Brothers Ri have and I’m just a simple security guard.”
“They are just jobs, mister Baggins. And for that matter, how exactly is yours less important than mine?”
“You’re the head of a multi-million security business, for goodness’ sake.”
“Exactly, and I’m tired of formalities,” Thorin said. “It gets exhausting after a time.”
“Well then… Thorin,” Bilbo said hesitantly, the idea of suddenly being on first name basis decidedly odd after months of ‘mister this’ and ‘mister that’, especially with someone of such high standing. Even if that someone had been caught trespassing again. “In that case call me Bilbo – though don’t start getting any ideas, I’m still throwing you out once I’ve had my tea.”
Thorin laughed, his face relaxing. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Bilbo,” he replied, offering the guard his hand, and after a short pause Bilbo took it, shaking it briefly. Thorin's grasp was firm and warm, just like he would have expected from someone who shook hands with important people all the time. For once the stern crease between his brows had vanished, and Bilbo was quite surprised to find he didn’t look half as intimidating now. To be completely honest, it made him look positively amicable, something Bilbo found alarming rather than reassuring.
“The pleasure is all mine, I suppose,” he sighed, very nearly rolling his eyes. “Do you want another cup of tea before I kick you on the street, or are you satisfied with just the spoils of your thievery?”
It turned out that Thorin did indeed, and fifteen minutes later he’d also cleared out more than half of the secret block of chocolate Bilbo had dug out from a cupboard, despite his valiant efforts to defend it.
“Alright, that’s enough,” he said irritably, slapping Thorin’s hand away as he stole another piece of chocolate. “I’m not letting you take all my snacks, managing director or not!”
“Why are you so bothered by what I do for a living?” Thorin asked around a mouthful of chocolate. “I assure you, it’s not as impressive as anything they write in the papers makes it out to seem.”
“I’ve seen your name on the visitor list much too often to be completely casual about titles.”
“I would think that hardly matters when I’m here without permission in the first place. Doesn’t that automatically put you in a position of power above mine, regardless of who I am?”
Bilbo made an impatient sound, standing up abruptly. “Thanks for reminding me. We were in the middle something before.”
“Indeed?” Thorin said, sounding amused.
“Meaning you are leaving now or I’m calling the police again!” He gestured at the door expectantly. “Get up. I’m escorting you to the front door.”
“I am very touched that you’d see me off personally,” Thorin replied and got up, stepping aside easily and avoiding the elbow aimed at his ribs.
“You are not funny.”
“On the contrary, I am very funny,” he said. “And I’m quite surprised you didn’t call the police this time.”
“That would have been a waste of their time when I can just throw you out myself,” Bilbo grumbled as they descended down the stairs. “And I have no wish to wait another four hours for them to show up.”
“Oh, but I could turn out to be a terribly dangerous criminal.”
“My guess would have been a corporate spy, but the jury’s still out on that one.”
They clambered down to the first floor, Bilbo pushing the taller man ahead of him. Thorin’s eyes widened in surprise when he felt Bilbo’s hand at the small of his back and the other at his arm, steering him very firmly towards the door.
“You certainly seem adamant enough to get me out of here,” he said. He heard a small huff from behind him.
“I’m very keen on enjoying the rest of my shift in peace and quiet, thank you very much.”
“Could you at least call me a taxi?”
“What for?”
Thorin shrugged. “I didn’t bring a jacket.”
“You didn’t…? It’s already September, are you trying to get sick?” Bilbo said, but picked up the phone and called the taxi centre nevertheless.
It didn’t take more than five minutes for a car to arrive and Bilbo unlocked the front door hastily, ushering Thorin towards the street. “Alright, your ride is here. Off you go, and keep your hands off my snacks next time.”
Thorin offered him a small smile. “Next time? Was that an invitation?”
“I— No, that’s not what I meant—“
Thorin patted his cheek kindly, startling him into silence. “Goodnight, Bilbo.”
“G-goodnight,” he stammered in response, taken aback. He still wasn’t entirely convinced that the man wasn’t going to turn out to be a bloodthirsty nutcase, no matter what the papers said, but even Bilbo had to admit the gesture had been altogether too endearing to fit any part of that mental image.
“Why did you even come here?” he exclaimed desperately, just as Thorin was getting into the car.
”To see you, of course.”
“What?”
But Thorin closed the door without another word and the taxi backed away from the building, leaving Bilbo standing alone and flustered into the cold, dark night.
He hadn't expected to see the last of Thorin that night, not with the man dropping by for meetings several times a week, but he certainly had expected the man would have tired of whatever he was trying to accomplish by now.
Couple of days later, however, when Bilbo had thrown him out twice more, on the latest occasion finding him in the second floor bathrooms just a little after eleven in the evening, his exasperation was starting to make way for honest bewilderment. He still could not understand how Thorin could possibly be entering the building, and he had conducted a thorough search to all entryways for signs of breaking and entering, without any mention-worthy results. Unless the man was able to walk through solid doors or had somehow scaled the walls and entered through an open seventh floor window, he shouldn't, logically thinking, be able to enter without someone assisting him from inside the building.
“It's impossible to find out how he does that unless you somehow got your hands on the security tapes,” Bofur said sympathetically to him one evening. “Why don't you tell the cops about him and get it over and done with, anyway, if it bothers you so much?”
“I don't know myself,” Bilbo confessed with shrug. “I admit the whole thing with him is odd, but he doesn't really seem to have any malicious intent, no matter what it is that he wants, and no real harm has been done to property or office personnel, so technically I can't do much more than just remove him from the area. That, and...”
“And?”
Bilbo grimaced. “If I told the police I'd have to confess I've been just letting him go all those times.”
He had a nasty feeling that particular interrogation would have been highly unpleasant, and he felt no particular desire to experience it when Thorin's behaviour, while strange, wasn't exactly dangerous or harmful. If anything it only grated on Bilbo's nerves but in the light of nothing being reported missing or broken, being irritating truly wasn't a great enough offense to warrant an arrest.
Well, if one did not count his stolen sandwich.
On the evening of the twenty-second of September Bilbo arrived in the reception with a steaming cup of tea and found Bofur waving frantically at him.
“Hey, happy birthday, man!” he called over the counter, grinning from ear to ear.
“Why, thank you,” Bilbo said, sounding puzzled. “How did you find out today's my birthday, though? I can't really recall telling you when it was, to be completely honest.”
“Nah, but by the looks of it you had told someone.” And without further ado he ducked behind the desk, holding a small, colourful paper bag as he re-emerged.
“What is that?” Bilbo asked with a frown, setting down his cup.
Bofur's grin widened still. “I was told it's a birthday present and to give it to you when you showed up.”
“Told? By whom?”
Bofur snorted so loudly that a couple of workers on the other side of the reception hall turned to look. “Who else? Your stalker slash secret admirer, of course.”
“My what?”
“Mister Durin,” Bofur said with the air of explaining something self-explanatory to a four-year-old.
That gave Bilbo a pause. “What was that ‘secret admirer’ nonsense just now?”
“See for yourself if you don’t believe me, man.”
Bilbo took the paper bag from him, peering inside. The bag itself was hideous; decorated with diagonal stripes in ludicrously bright rainbow colours and glitter that scattered all over the desk and his clothes, it looked like something one might use for wrapping a kindergartener’s gift. He wondered if this was Thorin’s idea of a joke. Inside he found three huge blocks of chocolate, the exactly same kind that Thorin had destroyed during one of his nightly visits. A plain white business card had been tacked on the backside of one of the blocks and the contact information proved it was one of Thorin’s own. He had circled his mobile number with red magic marker and scrawled a short message in slightly disorderly handwriting on the other side.
‘Bilbo,’ it said. ‘It came to my attention that it’s your birthday on the 22nd. I hope this could be some compensation for eating your snacks the other night. Sorry I couldn’t deliver it in person. Signed, Thorin. PS. happy birthday.’
The postscript looked as though it had been added in a hurry and Bilbo couldn’t help chuckling, imagining the man’s prominent glower as he realized he’d forgotten to add the most important part of his greeting.
“Must be my lucky day,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “Look at all this free chocolate!”
Bofur continued eyeing him curiously, throwing questioning glances his way every now and then while gathering the last of his things. He felt eyes at the back of his head when he broke away pieces from the block of chocolate and stuffed them into his mouth, his happy chewing interrupted by the feeling of being closely watched. Bofur was not one to linger needlessly after work. On the contrary, he was usually all too glad to gallop out the door as soon and as quickly as possible and leave Bilbo to survive on his own. With a roll of his eyes Bilbo swallowed, turning around to face the other man.
"If you wanted some that bad, you only needed to ask," he said sweetly, summoning his most sincere smile as he offered the block to Bofur. The other smirked, his ponytail flapping from side to side as he shook his head.
"Nah, man, that ain't what I'm on about," he answered but helped himself to a piece of chocolate nevertheless. "All I wanna know is what your deal with mister Durin really is and what you planning to do about him."
Bilbo blinked, sucking on another piece. " I've no idea what you're talking about anymore."
"And I thought you were a smart one," Bofur said disbelievingly. "He's sweet on you, man, it's totally obvious!"
"That's ridiculous."
"Man, he only brought you frigging chocolate and gave you his number. The only thing that's missing is a bouquet of roses now."
"I'm telling you, Bofur, that makes no sense at all," Bilbo said. "I know he's pretty bloody weird but that's just way too far-fetched."
"Why?" he retorted. "You don't think he digs guys?"
"More like I'm still not entirely convinced he's not a spy nosing around. Not a very good one, mind you, but I can't rule it out, either."
"But you can rule out the possibility that he's into you? How do you know he's not into dudes? A guy like him is bound to be a bit private about stuff like that, being from a bigshot family an’ all, but you still can’t know unless you ask him."
Bofur's voice was just little too understanding and Bilbo found he wasn’t sure what to say. He was mortified to feel his visage growing warmer when the words really sank in and he stammered, ", I... well, no, I'm not saying that it's altogether impossible, but..."
"You don’t think he would fancy you, then?"
Bilbo swallowed, his mouth turned into sandpaper. He hadn't really given Thorin much thought in that sense, beyond recognising that he was definitely good-looking – at least when he abandoned the scowl that made him look like he had permanent tooth ache. The man was handsome enough on anybody's standards, yes, the touch of gray on his temples just accentuating his thick black hair, but he was still a customer, a visitor, and in Bilbo's position that would just make things awkward. It was ridiculous to even think too much of Bofur's suggestion, but turning the chocolate block around in his hands suddenly raised a hundred exciting what ifs at the back of his mind, most of which were immediately quelled when he considered what the chances of someone like Thorin fancying a person like him were. Less than a zero, he concluded gloomily. His voice was sceptical when he finally answered. "There is just no way, Bofur, I just can’t see it."
"Man, you need to find yourself a boyfriend and lighten up a bit," Bofur sighed, slapping his shoulder. "What say you we go drinking next weekend? I have a friend or two who swing that way, could ask them to come along."
"Thanks, Bofur, but that won’t be necessary. Getting a drink sounds like a good idea, though."
Whatever the reason for the chocolate was, Bilbo did not complain. He was quite content knowing he now had a stash to turn to whenever his sweet tooth had cravings, and he faced the Friday night alone at work quite cheerfully with a book in his hand and a piece of chocolate in the other. He had affixed the little business card to the door of his fridge along with other cards he’d gotten, most of which were from overenthusiastic relatives and much more ornamental in comparison. He admitted it looked a bit shabby next to its impressive companions but Bilbo did not mind. Whatever the thought behind it was, it still beat the large one from grandpa Gerontius that sported a very rude cartoon and declared “you’re getting in on the years, old sport!” in violently orange letters.
Upon completing his second round around the building Bilbo came back to the reception hall whistling a jolly tune, only for the melody to be interrupted by a sudden ‘hello’. Bilbo slipped on the stairs and tumbled down the last steps before he managed to grab a hold of the railing, tea mug slipping free from his grasp and shattering against the floor with an ear-splitting crash.
“Are you alright?” Thorin asked, getting to his feet.
“What are you doing here again?” Bilbo sputtered, his expression sour as he dusted himself. “And on my chair, no less!”
But Thorin had vacated his seat already, making towards him with his hands full of paper towels. “Sorry about that. Here, let me help.” He started collecting the remains of his late mug, carefully mopping up the mess and avoiding kneeling on any sharp pieces. “Could you bring the waste basket?”
Bilbo shook his head, more out of exasperation than disagreement, but did as he was asked. He watched Thorin kneeling on the floor, hovering between annoyed and baffled and finally deciding on embarrassed when the man bent further down, shirt riding high enough to expose his rear.
Bilbo took the waste basket back to its proper place once the last pieces had been successfully scooped up. “I seem to lose something everytime you show up,” he muttered.
Thorin shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking remarkably out of place as he hung his head and avoided looking at Bilbo like a schoolboy caught in wrong-doing. “I’m sorry I startled you,” he said, and he looked it, too. “If you want, I’ll buy you a new one.”
“I grieve the tea more than the mug, to be honest.” It had been one of his favourite brews, apple and ginger, and the prospect of having to go back up to get a replacement quite saddened him. “What are you doing here, Thorin?” he asked for the umpteenth time, not really sure if he expected an answer anymore.
“You never called me.”
“Sorry?”
Thorin cast a furtive glance around the hall, trying to look anywhere but directly at Bilbo. It was impressive how he simultaneously managed to be so tall yet give the impression of shrinking right under the guard’s stare. “I left you my number but you never called me.”
Bilbo gaped at him. “You… you mean the card? The chocolate?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t see what you… Oh. Oh!” He could suddenly see Bofur’s stupid grin with his mind’s eye. He slumped against the desk, legs turned into water all of a sudden. “Oh dear.”
“Yeah.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you’ve been coming here all the time at night, though.”
Thorin scratched his beard absently, avoiding eye contact to his best ability. “I wanted to see you. I thought that would be obvious.”
“But you see me every now and then when you’re leaving from your meetings, don’t you?”
The look he gave Bilbo was so earnest that he could have sworn the temperature in the room had just risen by twenty degrees. “That’s not enough. You’re always in the night shift. I didn’t know how else I was supposed to get to see you more often.”
“So you’ve been trespassing all this time just to see me?” Bilbo asked weakly, wishing very dearly his face would stop feeling so damn warm.
Thorin's composure seemed to crumble even further still. He met Bilbo's gaze briefly before clearing his throat and averting his eyes again, the little speech he had been practicing in his head all but gone. Where Bilbo felt himself growing significantly warmer, Thorin looked much paler than usual underneath his beard. To Bilbo, he quite looked like he was about to get sick.
"Thorin?"
Thorin had not meant to buy him a present.
He had also not meant to dump it on the amused-looking day time receptionist or ask him to deliver it for him. Just like he had not meant to forget to buy an actual birthday card or leave the meeting an hour too early because he was too nervous to face Bilbo. And he absolutely, definitely had not meant to break into Brothers Ri, Inc. the following day and embarrass himself when the other man clearly had not understood Thorin’s meaning.
In the light of all this, Thorin just had to marvel at the cruelty of whatever gods were watching over him for putting him in this situation and under the watchful eyes of Bilbo Baggins.
“Thorin? Is everything alright?”
Thorin swallowed, the sound of his own name being spoken making him feel as though he had a huge lump stuck in his throat. He forced himself to meet the other man's questioning look and, with straining effort, decided he had to finish what he’d started. You owe him an explanation for inconveniencing him on the job all the time, he reminded himself, the thought surfacing with a pang of guilt.
“I wanted to ask you out,” he croaked. Why on earth did his voice have to revert back to adolescence right now? “On a date. With me. As my date. Only if you wanted to, that is.”
It had seemed much easier after three beers and a Jägerbomb, he recalled. He’d had plenty of dates before, but perhaps it had been so long since he’d last dated anyone that he was out of practice? That had to be it, Thorin decided. He was also fairly certain what he planned to say had been something much smoother and mature than this pathetic grade school level speech he had just blurted out.
There would be no end to her teasing if Dís were to ever hear about this.
To Thorin’s discomfort Bilbo only stared at him blankly, mouth hanging slightly open, and Thorin was painfully aware of how dry his lips and his mouth were, wishing more than ever that he had done this in broad daylight after all. His jaw was clenched tight for the fear of conjuring something even more idiotic if he opened his mouth again. His stomach had clenched into a tight knot of nerves and had it not been for Bilbo’s wide eyes on him he might have just backed out and locked himself in the bathroom until dawn. Or perhaps called the police himself this time, just to spare the guard the bother of replying. It only now dawned on him that he hadn’t the faintest clue if Bilbo even liked men or if the very idea repulsed him.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Bilbo found his voice again, so lost in his own jumbled thoughts that he had barely paid any attention to the other man. To his great surprise, Bilbo’s face had become unmistakeably red, even the tips of his ears flushed bright beneath his curls.
The guard took a steadying breath. "Look. You've got to stop sneaking here in the dead of the night or you'll get us both in trouble, okay?” Bilbo said in pacifying tones, his voice even if a bit breathless, and Thorin cursed the unfairness of the universe as he felt his heart sinking. Of course the man would have said that, what else had he expected? He was on duty, for crying out loud, it was his job to be polite and friendly with visitors.
Thorin nodded, keeping his eyes firmly fixed to the floor. “I understand, mister Baggins, I—“
“You’ve just asked me out and now you’re trying to go back to formalities?” he chided, but his voice was light, the same carefree tone Thorin had heard him use with his ponytailed colleague. “Just Bilbo, please. And you might want to give me some time to answer before jumping into conclusions, stupid.”
“I…” Thorin trailed off, feeling as though he should have felt offended if he had not been quite so nervous.
“Were you really that certain I’d decline?” he asked, and to Thorin’s further bemusement he smiled even as he blushed again. It looked quite attractive on him, Thorin decided, his rosy, round cheeks just complementing the golden brown of his hair. “Because the answer is yes. Yes, I’d like to go on a date with you, as your date.”
“You… you would?”
The guard laughed, and Thorin knew relief must have shown on his face. “Yes, I would. I think I would like it very much.”
Bilbo vanished behind the counter, tearing out a page from a notebook and jotting down something. He held it out for Thorin, who stepped closer and took it without a word. "This is my number. It's hard for me to know when you'll be available, so could you give me a call instead? As long as it's before 8 p.m. on working days, you can reach me."
Thorin seemed momentarily at a loss for words, merely staring at the number, and Bilbo laid his hand on top of his, closing it around the piece of paper.
"Call me, alright?" he said firmly, his eyes locking with Thorin’s. “You owe me that much for the tea mug.”
Thorin nodded stiffly, afraid to say anything while his insides were doing the conga. He barely heard anything over the sudden racing of his heart, fast and unrelenting as though he’d ran a marathon, picking up the moment he felt the pressure of Bilbo’s hand over his.
“I promise I will,” he heard himself say.
Bilbo hummed his contentment, giving his hand a light squeeze. “You might also owe me a dinner. For destroying my snacks the other night, you know.”
Thorin could do nothing but agree.
