A/N: So, this is an extremely unusual fic for me for a lot of reasons, but mostly because I'm posting it as a multi-chap. I'm writing it for my sister (who has pneumonia) because she asked for this very specific, very strange mash-up. "Do The Heat with Legolas and Gimli. *wheezing cough* It would really cheer me up." Never let it be said that I'm not up for a challenge.


There was a pause.

For a timeless second, a moment between moments, fourteen agents of the Elven Bureau of Investigation thought that Legolas Greenleaf had made a mistake. The house he had brought them to was neither simple nor grand. They saw no signs of the tawdry opulence of Men who lived on tainted coin, no gold door knobs or tiger print welcome mats, no neon green Lamborghinis. But there were also no chain link fences, appliances in the front garden, or under-fed hounds trained to fight for scraps and snap their jaws at law and order. In short, it didn't look like the kind of places they usually found huge amounts of illegal narcotics and stolen weapons in.

But Legolas knew better. He could feel the house preparing itself. The windows burned with colourless rage, the door tightened on its hinges, the grass blades sharpened into slim razors beneath trees that whispered songs of warning. This was a place that thought it was clever, thought it had hidden itself among drudgery, but it was doing no such thing. I devour servants of justice. I can feel you coming, Agent Greenleaf.

Yes. This was definitely the right address.

He signaled to the infiltration team to move forward. They surround the house with the silence of a midnight snowfall, their steps quieter even than their breath. Of all agents present, only one did not hail from Rivendell, and that was Legolas himself. This was not unusual. A good two thirds of the Bureau had been raised in Imladris, and could trade stories of the Hall of Fire and the fickle moods of the Bruinen. They were excellent at Special Weapons and Tactical teams. They were also dicks, ninety percent of the time.

Legolas approached Elrohir, head of SWAT, and pointed with two fingers forward, then quickly to his left. He then spun his fingers clockwise twice, and pointed them right.

"What are you doing?" Asked Elrohir in hushed tones.

"Don't you know the signals of the hunt?"

"No. But I know how to bust down front doors and shoot meth addicts in the head, will that serve you?"

"…Yes." Legolas looked over his shoulder at the rest of the team, who were making no efforts to hide the rolls of their eyes. "We'll go on three. One. Two—"

The team advanced.

"Three."

The wood of the door shattered as the team battered it in, with Elrohir's loud cry:

"EBI! Nobody move! EBI!"

Two men sat upon a beige sofa, their hands in the air. They did not look surprised or frightened. Legolas had often heard that an innocent man should not seem afraid, but he knew that this was a fool's notion of wisdom. The innocent were often fearful, because the innocent were often confused. It was the people who didn't seem put-off by a sudden EBI raid that were worrisome. He waited patiently as the team searched the premises for contraband, and he sighed when one of his fellow agents shook his head.

"Place is clean. There's nothing here."

"Shit. Great lead, Little Leaf." Elrohir scoffed, "Alright. Let's clear out."

"Oh," Legolas folded his arms across his chest, "You don't think there's anything here? This place is clean and I made a mistake? I've been told that before. Last year. I don't know if you heard about the serial killer in Bree – the one I very publicly caught. The one nobody else could catch. Did you guys hear about that?"

"Yes. Everybody in the Bureau heard about that." The agent nodded.

"Did you guys hear about that?" Legolas asked the two suspects on the couch. They also nodded. "I was told that there wasn't evidence in his house, but then we opened up the cellar and found quite a few… unpleasantries."

"Here we go." Elrohir muttered.

Legolas paced the room, his eyes searching and his ears prickling with the sound of a thousand creaking whispers. He tried to suppress his grin.

"Funny thing about these houses of Men. They're built out of a little plaster and quite a bit of wood," he ran his fingers along the edge of a coffee table, "This used to be a tree, and I speak the language of trees."

He reached under the top of the table and ripped out a carefully wrapped brick of gold dust, which was of course not made of gold at all. It was slang for a particularly potent psychoactive chemical that happened to resemble actual gold dust, and so the Dwarves had nicknamed it and everyone else had gone along. The Elves had four official names for the substance, but no one who was not an elf could ever seem to pronounce them correctly. Legolas tossed the package to Elrohir and sauntered towards the hearth.

"You can forgive my colleagues for not finding that. If this house was made out of river water or moonlight or flute music, they'd have sewn this whole thing up. It's a matter of specialties." Legolas nodded at the mantle, the sides of which were decorated with simple runes and carvings of horses, "Did you know this entire neighbourhood was built by the horse-lords? They were training the local militia in cavalry tactics, about a century ago. I read up about it last night. The whole project was a massive failure, but the houses are still here. I suppose you know a lot about this sort of thing."

The men on the sofa exchanged confused looks.

"What's a cavalry?" Asked the one with sandy hair.

"Really?" Legolas asked.

"Really?" Elrohir echoed.

The man didn't seem to understand what all the disappointment was about.

"Now I'm sure you must not know about the Rohirrim's fun habit of hiding their valuables. Sometimes they put little switches around, but it's practically impossible to find them," Legolas leaned back in such a way that his elbow nudged against a square of the mantelpiece, and behind him a panel began to slide open. "Did anybody else hear a click? I thought I heard a click."

Elrohir's left eye began to twitch as he made a quick count and identification of the weapons that now appeared behind Legolas. Mostly submachine guns, a few handguns, two military grade sniper rifles, and all of them tagged with either pink, blue, green or orange forestry tape. It could have been to keep track of which weapons had been sold and to which buyers, but given the apparent intelligence of the suspects sitting on the couch, it was probably just so that they didn't forget what kind of bullets went in what kind of gun.

"Okay," Legolas smiled, still leaning against the mantle, "Now we can go."

He was still expecting the rush. The feeling he got watching a movie where the police officers quipped and busted perps the way Hobbits ate snacks, that sudden swelling of the heart and the deep desire to keep being amazing at his job. But he never actually got that rush. For the most part, all he got was annoyed side-glances and people whispering surprisingly catty things when he walked by. As he made his way out to the car, he was certain he heard a member of the SWAT team call him a whore. He told himself it didn't matter. His job was to annihilate corruption, and he had done a small piece of that.