"Why did you get that cat?" Thorin demands sourly as he hold his still bleeding hand under the faucet.
Bilbo is hovering worriedly behind Thorin, trying to see the extent of the damage. Bilbo had had been scratched many times during his time at the Shire Animal Shelter and Rehabilitation Center, but none of the scratches had been enough to bleed more than a few drops. "He has been there for over a year. I thought It would be nice to give him a home."
Thorin grunts.
"I'm sure that once he settles in it will be fine. You probably just startled him, is all," Bilbo pauses before teasingly adding, "You are quite big and scary after all."
Thorin does not take the bait. He just grumbles more before finally turning off the water to inspect his hand that is no longer bleeding quite so much. He peers at it, pulling at the edges to see how deep the cut went. "I bet he's a good mouser. Maybe he'll be able to clear out the cellar. None of my traps are working," Thorin grumbles.
"Here," Bilbo says taking Thorin's hand, "That needs a bandage. Sit," Bilbo orders before disappearing into the bathroom that is off the kitchen. He returns with gauze, medical tape, rubbing alcohol, and antibacterial salve.
Thorin looks at the supplies Bilbo is carrying with a frown. "It isn't as bad as all that," he insists. "It's just a scratch. See." Thorin holds his hand up to prove his point. However it is at the point that a drop of blood, that has been gather for a several moments rolls down Thorin's palm and drops to the floor. The bright red of the blood stark against the clean white kitchen tiles. He groans, knowing that he just lost his case for anything less than looking like he had gone to war.
Thorin sits down at the island and holds out his hand grudgingly. "Fine." He grumbles, looking away. Bilbo has to set the supplies down on counter before clambering up on the bar stool. When they had remodeled the kitchen, Bilbo had insisted the he could deal with the high level of the counters. While he was fine, it left him sometimes looking like a child standing at the tall counters.
Bilbo pours alcohol onto a cotton before taking Thorin's large hand in his.
Thorin hisses as Bilbo wipes the cotton ball across the cut. "Is this really necessary? It's just a scratch," Thorin whines.
"Don't whine," Bilbo orders, slapping Thorin's thigh. "He used a litter box at the shelter. That means his claws are a lot dirtier than if he did his business outside. We'll get him to do that, but for now there is good chance that there was fecal matter under his claws, which could lead to a nasty infection." Bilbo explains matter-of-factly as he tosses the cotton ball into the trashcan and smears some that antibacterial salve over the scratch; he firmly keeps Thorin's hand in place when he tries to twitch away.
"Lovely," Thorin says sarcastically.
Bilbo wraps Thorin's hand with the gauze. "There. All better," Bilbo says, pressing a kiss to Thorin's palm when he is finished.
"I look like I tried to cut my hand." Thorin holds up his hand to look at the bandage.
"If it makes you feel better you can always tell them that I did something to you," Bilbo says, the tips of his ears turning pink.
"I can only do that if you actually do something to me. I might need a few love bites to make my story believable." Thorin raises his eyebrows suggestively.
Bilbo snorts and hops down off the bar stool. "Enough of that. For now, I need to finish my butternut squash soup."
Despite Bilbo's assurances, things did not get better, but Smaug did not do anything in particular to upset Thorin. The cat, however, did other things to annoy Thorin and Bilbo, but in particular, Thorin. Bilbo was understanding about the cat adjusting to a new environment, a new home; Thorin was not. He does not understand how the cat could use a litterbox at the shelter, but could not figure out how to use one here even when it was placed where he was going. The cat liked to hide in inconvenient place, hiss, and swipe at Thorin when he passes or tries to sit down anywhere.
Thorin is almost glad that the company is sending him out of the Shire for a week or two. It would be a week or two where he can move about a private space and sit down on a chair or lay down on his bed without worrying about being startled onto the floor. Over the past few weeks, he has had an almost permanent bruise on his ass from all the times that Smaug has startled him onto the floor. "Damn cat," he mutters to himself.
Thorin stares at his duffle bag, running everything that he needs to take with him in his head as he checks for those items. 'Socks, underwear, pajamas, toiletries – toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, deodorant, face wash, ibuprofen (just in case) – dress shoes, dress socks, passport, kindle, suit, tie." Thorin riffles through the bag, and checks the garment bag that contains his suit for his tie. No tie. "Hmm…" Thorin goes back to his mental list. "Dress shirt, gym shoes, gym clothes, notebook, laptop, charging cords – laptop, kindle, phone – headphones." The only thing missing is his tie. He opens the garment bag and opens it pulling the suit out to check the bottom corners of the bag and in the sleeves of the suit. Nothing.
Thorin drops the open bag onto the bed, his suit spilling out and leaves the room. "Bilbo!"
"Yeah?" Bilbo sounds distracted.
Thorin sticks his head through the door into the library/office. "Have you seen my tie?
Bilbo looks up over the edge of his book. He raises a single eyebrow and looks skeptically at Thorin. He closes the book around a finger, placing it in his lap that is mostly filled with the large, orange fur ball that is Smaug. "Do you remember where you last had it?" Bilbo asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Bilbo's movement startles the cat. Smaug jumps down and shoots past Thorin and down the hall.
Thorin frowns. "If I knew that I wouldn't have lost it."
Bilbo smiles. "You really don't remember. I'm offended." He picks his book back up and pretends to go back to reading.
Thorin hangs on the doorjamb thinking for several long moments. He starts when he remembers. He sneaks a look at Bilbo, who has given up pretending to read and is watching him intently, whose eyes are dancing with mirth.
"I haven't moved it," Bilbo assures him.
Thorin looks away, a guilty look on his face.
Bilbo picks his book back up again.
Thorin walks across to Bilbo's desk, being overly careful to walk lightly even though he knows that Bilbo is paying close attention to him. Thorin quickly looks around the desk. Nothing. "Of course," he grumbles internally. He leans over the desk to behind the desk. Amid the dust and cobwebs is his blue tie. He has to stretch and fight to get his arm behind the desk and far enough to grab the tie. The tight space and the sharp edge of the desk scratch his arm up, but he is successful.
The tie is filthy; Thorin slaps it across his tie several times to knock some of the dust off. It leaves large streaks across the thigh of his jeans.
Thorin is almost out the door, he thinks that he has escaped any further commentary. He freezes when Bilbo speaks.
"Did you find it?" Bilbo asks, feigning complete disinterest.
"Shut up," Thorin rumbles, before disappearing down the hall to the bedroom.
Thorin shuts the door behind him. He glares down at the tie that is currently crumpled in his fist. He deftly folds the tie and turns around. He freezes. Smaug is laying right in the center of what used to be his clean suit.
"OUT!" Thorin shouts, flinging the door open. The door bangs off the wall and bounces back. "Out cat!" Thorin shouts again rushing forward and grabbing the suit, dumping the cat onto the ground.
Smaug hisses and the fur on his back raises, but retreats when Thorin takes a few steps towards him.
"Dammit," Thorin grumbles, trying to knock the bright orange hair off his navy blue suit. The hair seems to have almost fused to the wool of the suit in the few minutes that Smaug had been laying on it. He looks at the time on the alarm clock. 9:37pm. Far too late to get the suit to a dry cleaners. And the corner store that sold sticky rolls for animal fur and dust closed at 9:30 on Sunday evenings.
"Godammit, Smaug," Thorin rages flinging his suit down on the bed and stalking out of the bedroom.
