(Disclaimer: Own nothing.)

What's Up Doc?

"Ugh," Dwalin grunted. "I forgot how bad these places smelled."

"Well, not taking your vehicle to a shop for twenty years will do that to you," Balin pointed out casually.

"Hey, they already got my five bucks," Dwalin defended. "I'm on to them, and I ain't trusting any of 'em with anything that cost more than my dishwasher."

"Can I be of help to you two sirs?" a wide-eyed, wide-girthed man asked awkwardly from behind him. Balin quickly stepped forward before his brother could shout out an answer for him.

"Yes, actually. My car went missing recently and the police said they saw a tow truck bring it here. It's a red mustang. License plate says "BD1–32K."

"Would that be the one with the 'I'm King Of Moria So You Can Kiss My Arse' bumper sticker?" the man asked.

"…Possibly."

"It's over here."

The man calmly led them across the room and through a wide doorway near the back of the shop. Dwalin glanced suspiciously into the corners and at any closed door, prepared for a possible sudden swarm and bombardment of air fresheners (or whatever those apprehensive little pine trees really were). He'd experienced so inhumane an incident more times than he would have liked, another reason he avoided the auto-shop.

Balin also looked around oddly, sniffing. "What's that smell?" he asked.

"Ah yes," the man said, then pointed. "Your car's sittin' right over that ways."

Following his direction, Balin looked to the left near the shop's side window. Sure enough, there stood the mustang, still cleaned, still waxed, still in perfect condition, but with one small difference.

No windshield.

"What the…" Balin came towards it, arms extended slightly as he tried to piece together an intelligent sentence. "What … what happened to it? Where's the windshield?"

"It was smashed when they brought it in. Quite a mess it was, and dangerous too. All the broken glass. We had to take the whole thing off. I know it ain't much of a sight without the windshield, but we're still waitin' for the payment for a replacement."

"Payment?" Balin echoed, looking up at the man. "Who's paying for it?"

The man shrugged. "Well, I've never actually seen the likes of 'im, but they say a strange lookin' little man with a big red beard's been comin' in and out for the last few days to check up on it. My boss says he's seen 'im out across the street from here singing and doing other things for money."

"Probably some homeless bum," Balin grumbled. "But why would he be paying for a windshield?"

"Ugh!" Dwalin wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"

"We don't know," the man said, exhausted from this frequently-asked question. "It keeps getting worse every day. We have to keep it in a separate room now!"

"Oh man!" Dwalin held his thick beard over his nose and fanned the air in front of him. "How could anything smell this bad?"

"How'd it get that way?" Balin commented, taking a closer sniff at the mustang. "It never smelled like this when I had it."

"We 'aven't got the slightest idea."

"You need a priest to get rid of this!" Dwalin commented loudly. "It smells like warm beer with rotten vegetables soaking in it!"

Balin nodded in agreement, then stopped. He looked over at his brother suddenly. "What was that?"

"What?"

"What you just said."

"Yeah. I said it smells like warm beer with rotten vegetables soaking in it."

Balin looked deep in thought. "Vegetables … vegetables … of course!"

"What?" the man asked.

"Vegetables!" Balin growled. "Cabagges! Cabbages!"

"Cabbages?"

"Where is he? I'm gonna kill him! I'll kill him!" The enraged dwarf spun around now, face beat-red, and ran out of the room. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"Hey wait!" Dwalin shouted and hurried after him. He stopped at the doorway and turned back to the man quickly. "You better get that smell out, burley man."

"It's pronounced Barlimen," the man corrected.

"Oh. …so it is," Dwalin observed, noticing the nametag. "Ok." He turned and ran. "Balin! Hey Balin! Wait up!"

"I'm gonna kill him!"

"Queer folk they are, those dwarves," Barlimen muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Queer folk indeed."

………………………………….

"More morphine?!" Frodo asked, shocked.

Sam nodded his head and went into the kitchen. "Yep. He just came into my office with it and told me I had to take it."

"Why you?"

"Because I," Sam pointed to himself with his thumb, "am the morphine guy. And the morphine guy has to keep all the morphine. The head doctor doesn't keep it. The owner of the hospital doesn't keep it. The morphine guy does!"

"Where'd they get the second one from?" Merry asked, getting up from the couch.

"They ordered in late and they couldn't cancel it." Sam flung open the freezer door and reached in to clear a spot. "They had nowhere else to put it."

"Did they say how long you're keeping it?" Frodo asked.

"They think the storage rooms'll be ready in a few days." He pulled out an ice tray, which appeared to be filled with frozen mushrooms rather than ice; each one decked off with a tiny Hawaiian drink umbrella sticking out of the top.

"Can I take these out?" he asked Pippin.

"Sure." Pippin got up quickly and went over to Sam, taking the tray and sitting it on the table.

"And this?" Sam held up a large yellow action figure.

"Mr. Peanut!" Merry exclaimed, recognizing the trademark top hat and monocle. He hurried over and took it from Sam. "I was wondering what happened to him!"

"Exactly how long is a few days?" Frodo asked.

"A few days," Sam said, and squared his shoulders as he prepared to shove the morphine into its limited freezer space. "Maybe two. Or three. I tried to get out of taking it, but Hama gave me some big speech about how it'd be over real soon. I would've felt like a jerk all day if I'd told him no, so now I'm stuck with this thing!"

Pippin frowned and looked down in thought.

"It's not that bad, Sam," Merry tried to convince him. "I mean, nothing's happened to the first one. I'd say it's in pretty good hands."

Sam sighed. "I guess so. But It just kills me how every time something happens, I can never just sit back and say 'at least it can't get any worse' and really be sure about it. For all I know, I'll walk out the door tomorrow and find ten more liters sitting in the hallway. It always can get worse!"

"What're hobbitses yelling about, Precious?" Gollum asked as his head emerged from the little hallway. "Did nasty Fat Hobbit have a bad day, my Precious? Comes home and yells and curses and is mean to nice Master, is it? So rude, oh yes, so very rude and not nice it is indeed! Gollum! Gollum!"

"I rest my case," Sam said, pointing at the skinny creature. He pushed the new case of morphine inside, then shut the freezer door and made his way to his chair. "So how'd it go with you guys today?"

Frodo exchanged wary glances with Merry and Pippin before speaking.

"Oh … you know… same old thing," he said indifferently.

………………………………..

Pippin pulled the last "Shroom-sickle" off of its umbrella and popped it into his mouth, chewing it carefully and sticking the tiny blue decoration into his hair alongside five others. He picked his flashlight back up and began scanning over the next page of his newspaper.

"I think I found something, Pip," Merry whispered from the bottom bunk.

Pippin looked like some strange robotic creature with six brightly colored satellites growing out of its head as he squatted on all fours to looked down at his cousin below him.

"What?" he asked, squinting down through the darkness.

"There's a big flea market going on all this week," Merry explained. "Looks like some school carnival or whatever. Open 8: 00 in the morning to 10: 00 at night. All household items, appliances and furniture welcome for sale."

"So they'll take the microwave?"

"It says 'all appliances.'"

Pippin let out a mental sigh of relief. "Where's the flea market at?"

Merry frowned. "Uh … up town. Really up town. I don't know how I'd get up there without the C-Bird."

"What about the subway?" Pippin asked.

"I don't know. I try to avoid it."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know. It just turns me off. All those big people, all the yelling and the running, and I keep hearing about orcs mugging people down there."

"You want Sam to find the microwave?" Pippin asked.

"…Ah heck," Merry sat up. "I've killed plenty of orcs before. I guess I can take 'em on."

"Ok. What about sneaking it out of the apartment?"

Merry shrugged. "Sam doesn't usually get up until 5: 00. I can at least get two hours of sleep in and leave a little before then."

Pippin clapped his hands together softly. "Great. So it's all taken care of. I'll just do both our routes in the morning."

"Good luck with that," Merry said and tossed his papers aside as he lay down. "Let's get some sleep. We've gotta be on our feet if we wanna pull this off."

"Yeah. Night, Merry."

"Night." Merry said and pulled the sheets up over his shoulders.

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was a muffled "Ow!" from Pippin, followed by a shower of tiny drink umbrellas onto the floor beside him.

……………………………..

Soon to be updated…

(Disclaimer: Own nothing.)

What's Up Doc?

"I think that's it over there," Dwalin said, pointing.