Disclaimer: Peter Jackson's started filming the Hobbit! Yes! Maybe now he won't notice me . . . -sees Peter Jackson approaching with copyright lawyers- Dang it. Gotta run!

"We're in." Finley looked away from Sara. Listening intently to Rumil, he stared down at the remnants of his dinner. "We're at the Arby's on 121st and Sheridan. Uh huh. All right. We'll stay put, work the phones . . . see you in ten." The bartender clicked his phone shut and crumpled his sandwich wrappers into a tiny little ball. "You got a laptop in that bag of yours?"

"Yeah, sure." Slightly unnerved, Sara pulled a slender Macbook out of her messenger bag. She set it on the Formica table between them and hit the power button. "Finley? What exactly happened?"

"You'd better finish your dinner," he said absently, fiddling with the Mac. "There won't be time later. . . Blast, no Wi-Fi. Should've gone to Starbucks." He shut the laptop and passed it back over to her. "Haldir's missing, and they have a show in three hours."

"Ten o'clock? Late show."

"I think it's more of a dress rehearsal, actually. Anyway, the Cat's deserted except for, well, the cat, and he isn't answering his phone."

"Did they call Bernie?"

Finley snorted. "First thing. If she'd finally flipped and murdered Hal, let's just say not all of us would be surprised."

"Did she?"

"Murder him, you mean? I doubt it. Nah, she cursed them a blue streak and said she had no idea where that blasted effete elf was – in more colorful language, of course."

"Of course. Are you going to call Dean and Sam?"

Shaking his head, the bartender took a long, slow drink from his Dr. Pepper. "Elves and the Winchesters . . . they don't do too well on the best of days – which this is definitely not. Besides, there are other considerations."

"Personality differences?" Sara guessed.

"Hole in one. You finished eating?"

Sara stuffed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth and swallowed quickly. "Yeah."

Together they gathered up all the trash. While Fin went to dump it in the trashcan, Sara slurped her Jamocha shake. There had to be something they could do to find Haldir besides just blindly searching. Lost in thought, she barely saw Finley duck outside to make a phone call. Sara sat at the table, fingers drumming unconsciously against the side of her shake.

Sam and Dean? No, Finley had already vetoed that one. Besides, she had a feeling that all the Winchester brothers' tracking methods would fail them when it came to finding an elf – particularly if he didn't want to be found. Maybe Haldir had GPS on his phone? Now that could lead somewhere. Given their swanky penthouse apartment, the brothers Treegarth probably owned the best technology money could buy.

"Sara!"

Startled, the teenager looked up to see Finley waving wildly to her from the doorway. She abandoned her shake and hurried outside.

Finley turned, gesturing at a sleek silver sedan behind him. Its back door swung open.

"Hop in!" called Orophin from the backseat.

She didn't hesitate, just clambered in as Finley took shotgun. The second the doors were shut, Rumil hit the gas, and the car pelted out of the parking lot.

"Any news?" Fin asked, snapping his seat belt shut.

"Not yet," Orophin replied tensely.

"Did you turn on the GPS activator on his phone? I mean if it has one that you could use to track it?"

"Smart girl, Sara," Rumil's voice was dry as he carefully navigated a sharp right turn. "It does, and we're going to" –

"But it's kind of a last resort," his brother finished.

"Because . . . ?"

The elves exchanged a look with Finley.

"Might as well be hung for a cat as a kitten," Fin shrugged. "She's already in this. I don't see how it could get much worse."

"All right. You see, Sara, using GPS is a last resort for two reasons. One, Hal really doesn't like it – he feels like it infringes on his privacy."

"Two, in order to access the GPS data, we're going to have to go through some rather unpleasant people. Do you have the numbers, Orophin?"

The blue-eyed elf picked a thick manila envelope up off the floorboard and rifled through it until he pulled out a worn sheet of yellowed paper. "I've got them right here."

"Go ahead and call."

"Already on it." Orophin quickly dialed a number into his phone and held it to his ear.

Curious, Sara squinted over at the paper in his hand, but the faded print was too difficult to read in the dim light of the car.

"Who is he calling?" she whispered to Finley, leaning forward. "Dwarves?"

Rumil looked away from the road to grin at her. "Nah. We got over that centuries ago."

"And how many centuries before that did it take for you to work it out?"

"Fin, you humans are still fighting with one another. Don't listen to him, Sara. He's a psychology major; you can't believe a word he says."

Frowning, his brother waved a hand at the other three, signaling for them to be quiet. They heard a sharp voice on the other end of the line, and Orophin's face changed. He looked as if he were swallowing something bitter.

"Could you put the senior partner on the line, please?" he asked in a choked voice, as if being polite was causing him physical pain.

The voice on the other line said something unspeakable rude. Rumil sighed and shook his head. Fin muffled a chuckle. Sara raised her eyebrows, impressed. She hadn't thought that insult was even possible in the English language.

"Is that really how you feel about it?" The elf's tone was venomously sweet. "Because I'm sure Rumil would absolutely love to talk to you. You remember Rumil, don't you, Grolkar?"

Loud, panicked babbling emanated from the phone. The elves smirked slightly.

"That's what I thought," Orophin continued smoothly. "Now put me through to your boss." There was silence for a moment while he waited. Sara listened intently. She never got to overhear other people's conversations and was finding it to be highly exciting.

A new voice spoke, too low and deep for Sara to catch any of the words. Orophin's tone changed in response.

"How are you, Felix?" he said coolly. "Oh, it's Rupert now, is it? I hadn't realized a new name change was in order. Oh, we're all fine."

Sara thought Orophin had a very loose definition of the word "fine". They were driving through super-sketchy parts of town at breakneck speeds, looking for a missing elf of all things, and now it sounded like he was trying to get the Godfather on the line!

"You see, Rupert, Haldir went off on a date, and we have a show in a few hours, and Rumil and I were wondering if . . . " Rupert interrupted him with loud, raucous laughter that rang throughout the backseat.

"No, we did not lose him," replied the elf sharply. "We just need you to send us the GPS coordinates from his phone so we can find him . . . I know you're extremely busy, but you're the only person we thought could get the job done fast enough. If you'd rather, I can always take my business elsewhere or inform the sons of Elrond of your whereabouts. You wouldn't like that, would you, Rupert?"

The voice gabbled on for a moment, then Orophin nodded.

"That should be soon enough. Thank you, Rupert. A pleasure doing business with you, as always." The elf hung up the phone and dropped it into his lap distastefully.

"Rupert?" his brother sniggered. "Seriously, Rupert?"

"You know how he is."

"Sadly. What I don't understand is why we don't just turn him in."

"What are you talking about?" Sara demanded, confused. "Who is Rupert?"

"Goblin," Finley supplied.

"Orc," Rumil countered firmly. "Goblin's too nice a word."

Orophin nodded in agreement. "One of these days, gwador, I really am going to turn him in."

The teenager risked another guess. "Turn him in? To whom? Oh . . . Elladan and Elrohir. They still hunt orcs?"

Rumil's fingers tightened on the wheel. He replied in a strained voice, "We all hunt orcs, Sara. The sons of Elrond are just a bit more dedicated to the cause than we are."

"I can understand that. The orcs tortured their mother. That kind of emotional scarring doesn't heal overnight," Fin said contemplatively.

Snapping his head to the side, Rumil gave the bartender a fierce glare. "No, Finley. No. You are not using Elladan and Elrohir as subject matter for your dissertation."

Finley just laughed. "Havens, no. I was thinking of doing something more along the lines of the difference between friendship and romance and the various kinds of love. Why else would I be working for Bernie?"

"I dunno," Sara mumbled. "Her cooking's pretty darn good. Just saying."

The elves grinned at her. "And ours isn't?" Orophin teased.

Sara refused to commit herself. "Um . . . when is, er, Rupert supposed to call you back?"

Prompted by her question, Orophin glanced down at his phone. "Oh, yeah. He'll start texting me coordinates when he gets them. It might take a few minutes, though. He has to get past a couple of firewalls first. Only reason we go through him, really. For some reason, Rupert's the only one who can sweet talk that wretched security Balrog."

Sara's mouth dropped open. She leaned back against the seat limply. "Security Balrog?"

"All the major corporations have one. Drives Glorfindel absolutely crazy. He's taken up computer hacking, I think."

Still taken aback, Sara blinked at Orophin. Finley had been right. The world was so much bigger than she'd ever thought it was. Struggling to find her voice, she kept staring at the elf. Finally she shook her head in an effort to clear it. "Anybody else I should know about? Hobbits? Numenor? Legolas?"

Orophin looked at her pityingly. "Numenor is long gone. Even Elessar's kingdom, while it lasted a long, glorious time, came to an end, as all things must. We haven't heard from the Halflings for years uncounted – not since the last of the Old Took's line died out. As for Legolas . . ."

"He spends half of his time backpacking across the world and the other half hiding out in a sanitarium somewhere," Rumil said dismissively. "Ever since those blasted movies came out, life's been tough for our Legolas. He's become something of a recluse."

"I remember Bernie complaining once about how she'd never met him," Finley reminisced with a grin. "She always did take that personally."

"No one meets Legolas. Let me repeat that. No. One. So if you've been nurturing a secret crush on Orlando Bloom, best to let it go. Legolas is nothing like that, and he has a pathological fear of women under the age of fifty," Orophin told Sara flatly. "Ah! There's Rupert at last. I was beginning to think I'd need to light a fire under him."

Rumil followed his brother's terse direction through the dark streets. His turns were so sharp that Sara started to feel seasick. She clung to her seatbelt with white fingers.

Fifteen nerve-wracking minutes later, they pulled up in front of a shady-looking club. Cursing in some twisted form of Elvish, Rumil slammed on the brakes and double-parked. The thin elf jumped out of the car, closely followed by his brother and friends. Cool as a cucumber, he strode up the club's bouncer, a heavyset man with dark sweat stains under his armpits.

"Cover's ten apiece," said the bouncer, eyeing them speculatively. "Fifteen for the girl," he added, making it clear that he knew she was underage.

"We're not here to party." Orophin was shorter than the bouncer by a good two inches, and at least three times less broad, but somehow he still managed to be intimidating. Maybe it was his eyes, which glittered coldly like pale chunks of blue ice.

The taller elf pulled a picture out of his jacket pocket and showed it to the bouncer. "We're looking for this man. Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, he came in about an hour ago. I think he's over by the bar."

"Thank you." Finley ducked past him into the club with Sara, Rumil, and Orophin close behind.

"You're welcome," the bouncer replied absently, watching them go. "Hey, wait! You didn't pay your cover!"

Once inside, Finley and Rumil used their height to survey the crowd, looking for a familiar face or shape. Orophin boldly waded through the press of people. When anyone snapped at him, the elf just smiled, and all resistance faded. Totally overwhelmed by the loud music, Sara stood lost in the claustrophobic mess. Suddenly someone's hand claimed her own and dragged her through the crowd.

Sara found herself standing face to face with a very disheveled Haldir. He was surrounded by vapid, anorexic women who glared venomously at Sara for interrupting their tête-à-tête.

"'Ello, luv." Haldir pulled her closer and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "You look all shiny tonight."

"Are you drunk?" Sara asked curiously. She couldn't really smell alcohol on him, but maybe he was high.

"Not at all. Bernie and I worked out our issues. She gave me a glass of mead, and then she dropped me off here. But I'm not drunk. It takes more than mead to down me."

Whatever Haldir'd had, Sara felt sure it was rather more than one glass of mead. His eyes were rather glassed over, and she highly doubted that a sober Haldir would grasp her quite so proprietarily. The girl tried to shrug out of his grip, but he just pulled her back, tightening his hold.

"Don' go," the elf slurred.

Sara glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. If looks could kill, she would have been incinerated by the bevy of strumpets a hundred times over.

"Okay, Haldir. Okay." Standing on tiptoe, Sara craned her neck to survey the crowd. Thankfully, it didn't take long to spot a familiar head. "Oy, Finley!" she bellowed. "I've got him!"

"What are you talking about?" Haldir complained loudly. "Why are you yelling?"

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you don't got him." The alpha über-tramp stepped forward out of the pack to confront Sara. Examining the younger girl's face closely, she snorted in disdain. "Dressing like that, you probably don't got anything. I mean, how old are you? Five?"

Sara was prevented from punching the über-tramp in the face by the timely arrival of Finley. Rumil and Orophin weren't far behind. The three of them took one look at their brother and friend, then swore violently in their language of choice.

"Who let the Dwarves in?" wondered Haldir, wobbling unsteadily as he looked around, searching for short, bearded interlopers.

Frowning, Rumil took in his brother's appearance and sighed. "How we're going to do a show, I have no idea," the elf murmured to himself. "Hal, you are totally…" he paused, hunting for the best word, "zonked."

"Ru – Rumil! Orophin!" Haldir coughed as he rather belatedly caught sight of his siblings. "Finley! What are – hic – what are you all doing here?"

"Time to go, Hal," Fin said quietly. The bartender stepped closer to the inebriated elf. Surprisingly calm, he grasped Haldir's wrist and gently forced him to let go of Sara. "Easy. I know you've had a rough day. Come on, buddy." He put an arm around the elf's waist. Half-pulling, half-dragging him towards the door, Finley glanced over his shoulder at Haldir's circle of admirers and flashed them a dazzling smile.

Haldir's brothers followed right behind him, ushering Sara between them. As if by magic, the group of five found a clear path to the door. Sara turned to look at the elves questioningly.

Grinning, Orophin shook his head. "It isn't us."

They stepped out into the night, and Sara gulped down the clean air. She hadn't realized how nasty the club was until that moment. Ahead of them, Finley was ushering Haldir into the backseat of the car. Then he climbed in after.

"You take shotgun, Sara," offered Orophin. "I'll sit on the other side of Hal. In case he gets nauseous."

"He probably will. He looks drunker than Thranduil that one Yule" –

"When Elrond spiked the mead out of pique?" his brother snickered.

Rumil laughed. "Exactly." He turned to Sara, who was gazing after Finley quizzically. "Fin's got a magic with people," the tall elf explained, tearing a bright orange ticket off his windshield and pocketing it. "Got to remember to give that to Keredwel – her current boyfriend's a lawyer. Anyway, Fin can get people – especially drunk people – to do what he wants them to do. Maybe it's because he's a bartender, maybe because he studies psychology, or maybe it's just Fin."

"Huh." Sara's brain started buzzing as she considered the possibilities.

With a knowing look, he opened her car door. "Entrez-vous, milady."

This time through town, they drove at a slightly more legal speed. After a brief discussion and much dry heaving from the backseat, the elves and Fin decided to take Sara home first.

"You can come see the play later in the week," Orophin assured her. "Fin can take you on his night off."

Hoping no one could see her face in the darkness, Sara flushed. She could feel the heat creeping across her cheeks and mentally kicked herself for having hormones. To make matters worse, the next time Rumil glanced at her, there was a highly amused glint in his eye.

To Sara's great relief, soon they were pulling up outside her apartment building. Muttering a few awkward goodbyes, she hopped out of the car. The girl rushed up the stairwell to her apartment, digging in her messenger bag for the key. She let herself in, then collapsed on the sofa with a huge sigh. Sara stared up at the dark ceiling and wondered what on earth she was going to do next.

Back in the car, Rumil resumed his reckless driving. They only had an hour and the show, and Haldir needed to be sobered up. Fin could do it, provided they got home soon enough. The tall elf pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator.

"You know," he had to speak loudly to be heard over Haldir's dry heaving, "I think I'm starting to like that girl."

Author's Note: I am so sorry for the long hiatus! It won't happen again. As always, reviews are sincerely appreciated, and flames will be used to make Rupert hurry up.

AiH