Chapter Text
"Thorin, I need you to do me a favour. You know we've managed to get Bilbo Baggins to join our little family here at Erebor."
Thorin very carefully did not roll his eyes. There was something about the way Gandalf said ‘family’ that made it clear that the old man really meant it. Unfortunately for him, while the people working in Erebor Hospital’s surgery department were perhaps dysfunctional enough a group of people needed more than that to be deserving of the title. Besides, as long as Azog remained head of the Otolaryngology department, Thorin would never consider them family. How someone who approached surgery like it was a battlefield (if the patient was still alive at the end it was considered a success) could become head of anything was beyond his comprehension. Thorin didn’t have any proof, but he suspected that Azog might have more than one tie to the hospital board of directors.
"I will not promise to behave myself," Thorin said and crossed his arms. "But only because I always behave myself. It's not my fault that -"
"Thorin, please," Gandalf interrupted. "Of course I trust you; in fact I wanted you to be the first one, apart from myself of course, to welcome Bilbo to Erebor. He'll be popping in around two o’clock today, just to say hello mind you. His contract with the Shire won’t be up for another month, and I'm afraid I somehow got involved in a meeting I can't reschedule."
Casting Gandalf an unimpressed look – it seemed that these impossible-to-move meetings always seemed to crop up when they best suited the old man – Thorin shook his head.
"Can't Bofur do it instead? He is actually -" Thorin paused.
"Available?" Gandalf asked. "I'm afraid not, he's going to be in surgery for at least two more hours."
"Friendly," Thorin finished flatly, not having been able to come up with a better word for it. "He actually likes people. I don't see why you think I would be the best option. I hardly think you want Doctor Baggins to turn tail and flee before he can even begin working here.”
The old man chuckled. "I think you will find that Bilbo does not scare that easily. He spent about a year working in Africa for one.” Gandalf thoughtfully tapped a finger against the side of his bearded jaw. “Ethiopia I think, or perhaps Rwanda. And while he complained something horrendously about the fact that he left all his handkerchiefs back home, he forgot to mention the times when he had to sleep at the hospital because it wasn’t safe for him to return to his flat.”
“I was not aware that you knew him personally,” Thorin said, silently hoping that this Bilbo Baggins wouldn’t be another Azog. Erebor needed skilled surgeons more than it needed people who knew people. He’d heard more than one person praise Doctor Baggins’ skills, but then again, one man could know a lot of people.
“His mother was an old friend of mine,” Gandalf said, and Thorin’s eyes widened at the careful way Gandalf said the word friend. Oh dear lord don’t let this person be some sort of illegitimate love child, Thorin prayed fervently. “I’ve tried to keep in touch with him over the years, but I’m afraid to say I’ve not always done such a good job of it.”
“But now you’ve hired him.”
“Now I have indeed,” Gandalf said with a nod, and a rather smug smile. “And I dare say that if looks could kill, I would not survive the next time I met any of the administrators over at the Shire. They thought he’d be happy there, doing nothing but routine work. Bah, what a waste. But never mind that, my dear boy.”
Like any man over 40, Thorin did not much appreciate being called a boy, but Gandalf merrily ignored the glare sent his way and instead continued speaking. “I’m glad you agreed to welcome Bilbo to the hospital. He’ll be down in the lobby around two pm as I’ve already said. I know you’ll do your very best to make him feel welcome.”
With that Gandalf gave a wide smile that made his blue-grey eyes almost disappear in a nest of wrinkles, and before Thorin could properly formulate a response, the old man had managed to disappear. Muttering, Thorin stalked down the corridor after him, but experience had already taught him that there would simply be no finding Gandalf until he wanted to be found.
-
Leaning against a stone pillar, Thorin sighed and lightly thumped his head against the hard rock. He’d realised when he’d gotten down to the lobby that despite knowing a bit about Doctor Baggins’ work, he’d never actually seen a photo of the man. Google had not been of any use what so ever, and he’d not been able to track Gandalf down to force a description out of him. Gandalf’s secretary claimed not to know where his boss had disappeared to which, considering that Gandalf was supposed to be in a meeting, seemed very unlikely. Still, Thorin had worked in Erebor for close to ten years now, and when Nori didn’t want to tell you something you’d best give up right away.
After another thump, still careful not to knock his head too hard against the unforgiving stone - you didn’t get to become head of the Neurosurgery faculty by playing fast and loose with your own head (or with the head of someone else for that matter) -, Thorin admitted defeat and turned his gaze back to the people milling about in the room. No one looked particularly like Thorin imagined Bilbo Baggins would, but that could perhaps be blamed on the fact that his brain had convinced itself that this Bilbo was Gandalf’s son. (There was a surprising lack of long white beards in the crowd, and he couldn't see any shrewd grey-blue eyes either.)
Thorin nodded his head at Dwalin who stood by the front doors with another guard, someone Thorin didn't know by name. Perhaps Doctor Baggins would announce himself to Dwalin? It would help to know what exactly Gandalf had told Baggins, but alas, Thorin doubted that Gandalf was done with the ‘meeting’. He didn’t know why the meddling old schemer would not want to be the one to meet Bilbo, but whatever the reason it didn’t bode well.
Sighing Thorin pushed himself away from the pillar and began walking over to Dwalin. It couldn’t hurt asking his friend to keep an eye out for anyone who potentially looked like a fairly esteemed plastic surgeon specialising in paediatric surgery. (Baggins had written a few fairly interesting papers, some of which Thorin might have read. Some more than once...)
"Excuse me, Doctor Thorin Oakenshield?"
Thorin looked to the right as that was the direction from which the voice had come, then looked down. A curly haired man seemed to have materialised by his elbow.
"Yes?" he said, hoping that he hasn't been assigned an intern and forgotten about it on top of everything else. But then again, he wouldn’t be surprised if Gandalf had arranged it and then seen fit not to tell him. Or he could simply have forgotten about it. If the man wasn’t such a wizard when it came to fundraisers then Thorin would bet that he would not be allowed to even be in charge of his own wardrobe. (Didn’t the man know that there were colours other than grey?)
“Excellent!" The man's smile was what only could be described as radiant. "I'm Bilbo Baggins, very nice to meet you."
Thorin automatically shook the outstretched hand. This was Bilbo Baggins? Then it was quite possible that he wasn’t related to Gandalf at all.
Dirty blond curls flopped every which way and there was a distinct lack of anything remotely similar to a beard. Not to mention that Thorin wouldn’t have figured Gandalf to look so innocent and guileless, even as a new-born. If this was a man who had risen through the ranks due to talk instead of action, then he should have tried for an acting career and not one in the medical profession. It would also have fitted nicely with the man’s looks, because while not extraordinarily handsome he was definitely pleasing enough to look at, not to mention looking much too young to have been working as a surgeon for almost as long as Thorin had. Thorin had the grey hairs to show for it, but the mop of curls in front of him showed no signs of age. If it wasn't for the slight bags beneath Baggins eyes and the fine wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, Thorin would never have believed that he wasn't the intern he had first mistaken him for.
Thorin realised that he was still holding the other man's hand and quickly let it go.
"Thorin Oakenshield," he said, still on autopilot. "Oh, but of course you know that already. My apologies." He met smiling hazel eyes and did his best to respond in kind.
"Gandalf described you to me. That's how I recognised you.” A slight flush came to Baggins’ cheeks and his gaze flitted about a bit nervously. Thorin repressed a sigh. He could just imagine what Gandalf had told the other doctor. Probably beginning and ending with 'don't be offended if he growls at you.'
Not that Thorin growled at that many people. He just had little patience for people who stole his time. Dwalin was the one who growled, but then again, perhaps that was to be expected from someone working in security.
“Whatever he’s told you, don’t believe a word of it,” Thorin cautioned, shaking his head when it just made the other man laugh.
“Don’t worry,” Baggins said with a chuckle. “While I might not have been able to pick you out of a crowd on my own I must confess I’m something of an admirer of your work.” Again a hint of redness crept over the man’s face. “I especially enjoyed what you published about Parkinson’s disease. I never considered that particular use for the deep brain stimulators until you pointed it out.”
“Are you interested in neurosurgery then?” Thorin asked, a little intrigued against his will. To his surprise, his question caused Bilbo to look a bit stricken.
“Oh, I - I’m not here to try and take your job. Of course not. I’m perfectly happy with my field. Not to mention I don’t really fancy going back to med school at my age – seeing as before anyone would let me poke around in a brain that would simply have to be a prerequisite.”
Thorin raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t at all considered that his question could be interpreted like Bilbo had, but: “‘Poke around in a brain’?”
“God, I’m sorry,” Bilbo moaned and covered his face with his hands, which Thorin absently noted to be fairly small and dextrous looking. In other words pretty much the perfect hands for a surgeon. Not that Thorin’s own hands had ever let him down; but he didn’t have particularly fond memories of practicing to tie knots. Tiny knots, over and over again, just to be sure that he would be able to work with the precision needed.
“Gandalf didn’t happen to mention that I say stupid things when I’m nervous?” Bilbo asked, peeking out from behind his hand. “Because that’s true. And when I started working at the Shire there might have been some hard feelings from someone who had been aiming for the position. Fairly unpleasant business. Lobeli- oh, but I shouldn't mention any names. Did I mention that I talk too much when I'm nervous?”
If Thorin had been a kinder man he would have said something along the lines of there being nothing to be nervous about. But as it was, he simply raised a hand and gestured towards the row of elevators at the other end of the lobby.
“Shall we?”
-
“I didn’t scare him away,” Thorin said as soon as Gandalf walked into his office. Not looking up from his paperwork Thorin added: “And I do hope you had a good meeting.” There might have been a bit of sarcasm in his voice, but only in the same way as there was a bit of water in the ocean.
“A most excellent meeting,” Gandalf said brightly. “And I hear that the same can be said for you.”
“As I said, I didn’t scare him away,” Thorin said drily.
“Oh, I promise you, Bilbo was most enthusiastic.”
That Thorin could believe. The surgeon had seemed rather taken by most of what he’d been shown, and Thorin could admit that he liked seeing someone admire Erebor so openly. It was a fine hospital they worked in after all, and their surgery department was one of the best in the entire country.
“How wonderful,” Thorin said, still not looking up from the pile of papers he was going through.
“I was hoping that you wouldn’t mind -”
“I rather think I would.”
“Thorin,” Gandalf scolded. “You don’t even know what I am about to ask.”
“You’re going to ask me to make sure he gets settled all right when he actually begins working here,” Thorin said. “Have Bofur do it. As I said, he’s the friendly one.”
The silence radiating from Gandalf was reproachful. Thorin happily ignored it. “Or have Haldir do it. Or anyone but me. Anyone but Azog,” he added after a moments consideration. “If you let Azog get him settled I’ll tell you right now that I won’t be responsible for his safety.”
“Would that be Bilbo’s safety, or Azog’s?” Gandalf asked mildly. Thorin finally looked up from his desk to shoot him an unimpressed look.
“I think it’s safe to say I’d not be held responsible for the fate of either.”
“Understood,” Gandalf murmured. “But as I always say, life is full of surprises.”
“If there are any more surprises still left for today, please save them for someone else. And by the way,” Thorin added as Gandalf turned to leave. “Whatever you said to Doctor Baggins when you told him I’d be meeting him, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t the next time the occasion to describe me crops up.”
“I promise you I was nothing but complimentary,” Gandalf protested.
“Whatever you said caused him to have trouble meeting my eyes,” Thorin stated. “And as I prefer to make people uncomfortable on my own merits, I’d prefer it if you didn’t do it for me.”
Gandalf tilted his head and looked much too contemplative for Thorin’s peace of mind. But all the old man said was: “If Bofur would happen to be too busy, would you perhaps -”
“No.”