"You could try online dating," Dwalin suggested over the phone.

Thorin clenched his jaw, stabbing the lift button harder than it necessitated, mobile pressed against his ear, a cup of coffee in hand. "I'm not desperate," he replied, noting the camera in the upper left hand corner of the lift as he entered it. He'd either have to erase the tape or just get rid of it.

As it was, the phone conversation was a rather good cover. No one would believe that a man receiving a personal phone call could be guilty of any crime. Rather good alibi. Thorin was proud of himself.

"I'm feeling all the desperation for you," Dwalin said. "Everytime I call you're working. Just once I'd like to catch you mid-shag."

"I've heard you get off too many times to want that," Thorin reminded him. "Last week, if I recall correctly."

Dwalin laughed. "It was a just a quick hand job. Don't have to get huffy."

"I don't like to hear you moaning in my ear while I'm trying to have a serious conversation," Thorin told him, rolling his eyes.

They had this conversation too many times to count. Ever since Dwalin had gotten together with the small man who ran the Erebor Gazette, he had become obsessed with Thorin finding a bloke of his own. That's all he seemed to talk about anymore.

The man was worse than his own sister.

The lift doors parted and Thorin made a beeline for Smaug Drake's secretary. "Hold for a second, yeah?" Thorin told Dwalin before switching on his Bluetooth and placing his phone in his pocket.

"Good morning," Thorin greeted with a smile, his stern features looking more boyish. "I'm here to see Mr. Drake."

The secretary blushed, no doubt rampant thoughts of what she wanted the rugged stranger to do to her the cause. "Name?"

"Oakland," Thorin answered. He knew he wasn't in the book. Not for today at least. He was scheduled for a meeting with the man tomorrow afternoon.

She checked her appointment book and frowned, pencil tapping on her desk anxiously. "I'm sorry Mr. Oakland, but you don't seem to have an appointment," she told him.

"Are you certain?" Thorin asked, making himself sound distraught. He bit his lip for added affect and he could see the secretary falling harder for the shy stranger. "I'm certain it's today – the 19th."

The secretary's eyes lit up, understanding beginning to dawn. "Today's the 18th, sir."

Thorin laughed, running a hand through his wavy locks, cheeks tinted pink. "Oh god, I'm an idiot. I could have sworn it was today. Must have been over anxious."

She once again shook her head in the negative and Thorin apologized, turning back the way he came, accidentally knocking over his coffee and spilling it all over his suit. "Shit," he cursed, coffee dripping off of him.

The secretary directed him to the bathroom and three minutes later, Thorin was removing the ventilation grate in the men's room. He climbed inside and took Dwalin off hold.

"Loads of folks have found love on the internet," Dwalin repeated.

"What am I going to write in my profile, Dwalin?" he grunted, the ventilation shaft being a little tighter than he expected. "I don't have hobbies. I'm a workaholic. And I haven't gotten laid in four years."

"Don't write in the last bit," Dwalin recommended. "Makes you sound desperate."

Thorin sighed. "Noted. I've got to go."

"Yeah, alright," Dwalin conceded. "But I'm not giving up."

"Goodbye." Thorin ended the call and took out his gun. Now he could actually get to work.

He crawled some thirty feet further until he saw a tall, lizard like man through the grate. Thorin took a deep breath and aimed his gun.

Thorin left the building about the same time the secretary found her employer's dead body sprawled over his desk, a bullet straight through his brain.

She never once suspected the handsome stranger who waved goodbye as he revealed that he had successfully gotten the coffee stain off of his shirt.

Thorin opened a bottle of beer and threw himself onto the sofa and threw himself onto the sofa, putting his feet up on the coffee table. God he was getting too old for this work. He downed the beer in one go and threw the bottle into the recycle bin.

"Online dating," he scoffed. As if he needed someone in his life. Telling him what to do. Fixing him meals and laughing at his unbearable jokes. Like he needed some man to make love to when the job was too much to stand.

Maybe Dwalin had a point.

But he sure as hell wasn't going to make an online dating profile. Like he told Dwalin, he wasn't that desperate.

He could make a dating video profile. That was a thing, wasn't it? What would he even say?

"Hello. I'm Thorin Durin. I'm fort – thirty nine and I'm a professional hit man. I also quite enjoy football."

Real classy. That'd bring everyone running to their nearest policeman. He'd just have to resign himself to a life of solitude.

He was awoken by a pounding on his front door. The constant thud echoed into his bedroom and Thorin groaned. "Go away!" he yelled, grabbing the edge of his blanket and throwing it over his face. He burrowed beneath it, snuggling into his pillow.

The dreadful sound stopped and he breathed out a sigh of relief. He slowly pulled back his blanket only to find Gandalf staring down at him. Thorin cursed, pulling a gun from under his pillow, aiming it at the old man. Gandalf simply smiled.

"I could have killed you," Thorin growled, setting the gun down on the bed as he stared up at the ceiling. He really was quite tired.

"Nonsense," Gandalf replied, pulling up a chair and sitting down, his grey suit as drab as ever. "Sleeping in, are you?"

"Was the plan," Thorin admitted. "Think I deserve it."

Gandalf merely hummed. Thorin knew he wasn't actually going to be able to go back to sleep and sat up, his blankets pooled around his hips. "What do you want?"

"You didn't kill Smaug, did you?"

"Of course I did!" Thorin shouted. "You gave me the bloody orders yourself. You think I just think of them as suggestions?"

"No need to get shouty," Gandalf responded petulantly. He pulled a piece of lint off his trousers and frowned at Thorin. "Well then, there's nothing to be done," he said, nodding his head definitively. "You'll have to lay low for a while. They've put Azog after you."

Thorin really wished he was still sleeping. "You're going to explain this all to me, Gandalf," Thorin ordered. "Right now. I thought Azog was dead?"

Gandalf sighed, as if Thorin was the impossible one. But he had known Thorin long enough to know he wasn't going to do anything without clarification. Gandalf stood and pulled a tattered suitcase out of Thorin's closet.

"We've had a bit of a hostile takeover," Gandalf revealed.

"Bit of hostile takeover? How is it only a bit hostile?" Thorin asked, rolling out of bed and taking the suitcase from Gandalf and throwing it onto his mattress. "Where am I going?"

"We've been bought out. Only a few people died. Barely hostile, really," Gandalf reasoned. He opened drawers, throwing socks and pants into the open suitcase. He grabbed the few clothes hanging in Thorin's closet and shoved it into the suitcase as well. "Apparently Smaug was a friend of a higher up and he's not pleased. So as it is, a life for a life, if you will. Don't forget your toothbrush."

Thorin watched him with horrified amusement. The Istari was barely a legal company – after all you couldn't write in your taxes that your factory good was murder. It didn't look good. How they were able to actually have business dealings was something Thorin couldn't comprehend.

Higher up? Thorin thought Gandalf was the highest the ladder went. Apparently this new boss wasn't a forgiving sort, or the type to do his own dirty work.

"Perhaps you could visit your family," Gandalf smiled. He placed a comforting hand on Thorin's shoulder. "I'll even lend you a car."

"Gandalf," Thorin tried but the old man simply waved away his protests. Before Thorin knew what was happening, he was dressed and washed, a beat up suitcase in the back of a junker of a pickup truck. Gandalf happily handed him the keys.

"I'll call you when everything's settled," Gandalf reassured him, getting into his Bentley and driving off.

Thorin had no idea what had just happened, but he figured the right thing to do was to listen to Gandalf. After all, the old man barely steered him wrong.

He got into the truck and dialed his sister.

"Hello?"

"Dis," Thorin said a bit awkwardly. God, it'd been quite a few years since he saw her, let alone spoke to her on the phone. "Morning."

"Thorin?" she asked, shocked. "You piece of shit, is that really you?"

Ah yes. Thorin forgot what a beacon of female gentility she was. "Yeah."

"We all thought you were dead," she commented. "If Dwalin wasn't telling us what a whiny baby you were, we'd have sold your stuff and made a cash cow."

"I send you money every month!" Thorin shouted. Maybe he should just fly to Vegas or something. He could see himself getting drunk on sex and gambling. Much more reasonable than this.

"I'm only joking, you berk," Dis teased. "What's with the call? Finally deciding to visit?"

"Actually, yes."

The shriek Dis let out was making Thorin reconsider his plans. Vegas was beginning to sound really tempting.

Author's Note: Yes, I know I'm supposed to be writing the next chapter for Color by Numbers but I got sick and then I finally decided to write this AU because I've been wanting to write it forever.
The Baker is a very silly movie and I love it and this fic won't be like it at all. Only a little bit. Just general things are similar. So I hope you enjoy...
Aardvark!