AN:

Wow. To paraphrase one wonderful reviewer, I am floored by the response I've received already. You guys made me grin like an idiot all week. But now that I know people are actually reading this, I'm feeling more pressure to make this story good!

Anyway, I'm thinking of starting regular updates on Mondays, but because I'm on winter break right now, I may throw in a few extra updates in the next few weeks. Or maybe not, because I sort of hate the next chapter and am thinking of rewriting it completely. So expect random updates for a little while, but eventually there will be a schedule.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3: A Hostile Welcome

"I influence anybody who is able to get through the chaos of my first impression."

–Gary Vaynerchuk

Everything was silent. Gemma stared into the man's eyes, and he into hers. She watched his face contort in surprise, and then watched his eyes travel down to her chest, focusing on the white letters on her bulletproof vest. His expression morphed to one of confusion. Odd. Surely he knew what the F.B.I was. Gemma scanned his body as well. He was rather short, but she could feel that his body was corded with muscles. He had long black hair with a few grey streaks and some thin braids throughout. And he wore the most ridiculously huge fur coat, over equally ridiculous clothing. The man looked like he was from a renaissance fair. Still, he was rather attractive. A strong jaw, piercing blue eyes... if her hands weren't preoccupied with holding the man down, she would have slapped herself. Focus.

Short renaissance-nerd terrorists. That was a first. In fact this probably had to be the weirdest case she'd ever had, which was saying something, because she'd been a street cop in New York for a few years. This was maybe even weirder than that guy who covered himself in whipped cream and… well maybe this wasn't quite as weird as that, but it was close. Not that it mattered. If these were the guys that were responsible for Patrick… well, if they made the bomb, she would rip them apart with her bare hands.

The man was beginning to overcome his initial shock, and it left anger in its wake. With his obvious strength, he could probably force her off of him. If he tried, her only option would be to snap his neck. In this position, with the right amount of pressure, it would be easy, but then he would be dead. She didn't want that, at least, not until she knew who he was, so she decided to switch positions. Besides, she'd never actually snapped someone's neck before, (she really wasn't a violent person normally) and it sounded rather gruesome and probably messy. The man's icy blue eyes briefly glanced to the left, to look at something behind her. Not something, someone, she thought.

Without allowing any time for him to resist, Gemma hauled them both to their feet, moving behind him while maintaining her choke hold and simultaneously removing her gun from its holster. She pointed the weapon in front of her and yelled, "F.B.I. Don't move."

Thorin didn't know what the F.B.I or the strange metal thing in her hand were, but he knew this woman was not the same one he had seen weeping. This woman was composed and controlled and strong. And most definitely insane.

He watched the rest of the Company appear slowly, and felt the woman tense.

"Put your weapons down," she commanded. They did. "Kick them away and place your hands behind your head." They did that too, reluctantly. Then they just stared at each other; the Company and the woman equally shocked by one another.

"Who are you? Are you part of the sleeper cell? Was that your warehouse?" The questions tumbled from the woman's mouth in rapid succession. Her voice was cold, low, and intimidating, but not altogether unpleasant, despite the fact it was still scratchy from sobbing.

"I'm sorry Miss, I think you're confused," Balin said cautiously. "I don't know what a sleeper cell is, but I can assure we are not one of them. We are but humble merchant dwarves."

The woman scoffed. "Dwarves? Do you think I'm an idiot?! Get down on your knees, terrorists."

They did not.

"Please my lady, I don't know who you think we are, but we are dwarves from Ered Luin. We mean you no harm. We wanted to help you, see if you were okay."

"Okay?!" she shrieked. Thorin jumped at the sudden change in her voice. He could feel her body begin to shake. He could probably escape now, but the woman was unstable, and he had no idea what her strange metal weapon (he assumed it was a weapon by the way she was holding it) could do. "You killed my partner! I almost died in that warehouse explosion! Do you think I'm okay?!"

Balin looked confused. "What warehouse?"

"What warehouse? The one you blew a fucking crater in!" Thorin was shocked by her language, but not for long, as she suddenly swung them both around to gesture at the open field behind. "Right there..." she trailed off, because there was nothing right there. "No, that doesn't make sense. A blast like that..." she swayed and her arms went slack. Thorin quickly ducked under her arm and ran to his Company, whirling around and drawing his sword in case she attacked. Instead, she looked around, and then straight at him with big, unfocused green eyes.

"Where am I?" She asked, and then fainted before she could get an answer.

Gemma awoke to the smell of tea and the warmth of a soft blanket around her shoulders. She reluctantly cracked open her stiff eyelids to come face to face with a very old man with a long grey beard and a matching pointed hat. Everything came rushing back.

She scrambled backwards and reached for her hip, but her gun was not in her holster. "Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit!" she swore, and the old man/ medieval terrorist guy smiled.

"It's nice to see you're awake, my dear." He didn't sound cruel or taunting, but Gemma wasn't big on trusting people before they earned it.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she croaked.

"I am Gandalf the Grey, and you, my dear are in the forest just west of Bree." He looked at her and saw her confusion. "No? We're on the East-West road." She shook her head. "By the Shire. Come now, you must know the Shire. Most everyone on this side of Middle Earth has at least heard of it." Gandalf tried. She decided that maybe she was wrong. He seemed nice, and though everything in her training told her not to, she wanted to trust him. His words, however, confused her.

"Middle Earth?" She questioned. "I don't think that's anywhere in America that I've heard of."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "Curious."

"What is? What the hell is going on? Why did you say that you guys are dwarves?"

"Actually," Gandalf said calmly, "I am a wizard." He ignored her disbelief and continued on. "And I believe that you've come a long way from home."

Gemma listened intently as the old man, correction: old wizard, explained to her that she was in a world called Middle Earth, and that he believed she had been sent there by powerful magic, for he had felt a surge of power unlike anything he had experience when she arrived. She wanted to tell him he was crazy, or laugh hysterically, but the further he explained, the more it made sense. In a twisted crazy kind of way. Gemma figured her mind was screwed up enough that she could actually consider the possibility that this was real. Gandalf's theory explained why she suddenly found herself in a forest, no destroyed warehouse in sight. It explained why she didn't recognize any of the places Gandalf had listed. It could even explain the bright white light she saw during the explosion.

But hell, it was just too impossible. Half of her wanted to believe the story, while the other half was convinced that she had fallen into some sort of trauma-induced hallucination. With all the messed up things that had happened to her throughout her life, that second option actually had a pretty high probability. But Gemma figured it was probably best to just roll with the punches, and hope that she hadn't actually lost her mind completely.

"I...I'm supposed to be in Pennsylvania right now, Pittsburgh to be specific. I don't suppose you've heard of it?" she asked hopefully. Gandalf shook his head. "Jeez," she said, mostly to herself as she closed her eyes. "I've travelled to a completely different world. Sure, why not? Maybe next Captain Kirk and Spock will show up." She then realised that she had been thinking all this aloud. She opened her eyes to see Gandalf chuckling, though looking somewhat confused. He probably had no idea what she was talking about. No one in Middle Earth would, which completely sucked.

"Come, my dear, I'll introduce you to the Company." Gandalf extended a hand and helped her up. Her head still swam, but she felt much more stable than before. However, the blanket that had covered her before fell as she stood, and she gasped at what she saw. Someone must have cleaned it off her hands and face while she was unconscious, but her pants and the bottom of her shirt were still covered in blood, now stiff and brown. Patrick's blood, black-brown against her blue shirt. The sight made her sick, and she began to tremble.

"I… think I should change before I meet anyone else," she told Gandalf. "I have some extra clothes in my bag in the car." Seeing the confused expression on his weathered face, she chuckled and said "I mean that big scary metal thingy I crash into that boulder."

With Gandalf to keep her steady, she made her way to the vehicle, passing by the rest of the Company on her way. The looks they gave her were a collage of curiosity, horror, and anger. Mostly anger, especially from the one she had tackled and held at gunpoint. But that was somewhat understandable. She smirked and wiggled her fingers at him as she passes. He just shot her an icy glare and turned away. Gemma smiled to herself; she could already tell she would have fun getting on his nerves. She should probably try to be nice to these people. Being polite and apologetic would probably be the best idea. But she had tanked her first impression so badly that Gemma figured maybe what she really needed to do was build up an appearance of strength. She was probably overcompensating, but Gemma didn't like being weak.

Popping the trunk of the SUV, (to a symphony of awed gasps that some dwarves did better at concealing that others) she grabbed the overnight bag that she had brought with her when they went to interview that bank manager. Even the middle of nowhere had crappy motels, which was where she and Chang had to stay the night before. Had it really been only this yesterday that they were in that dusty old town? Without the thought of bombs, death, or other worlds even crossing their minds? No it couldn't have been. It had been weeks, months, years, or so it felt.

"I'll just be a moment," she told Gandalf as she clambered into the trunk and shut the hatch. Stripping down to her underwear, she ripped open the black canvas bag. There was a pair of stretchy black pants and a grey thermal shirt, which she pulled on. She strapped on her bulletproof vest again; in a strange land where wizards and dwarves existed, she figured any protection she could have would be useful. Delving deeper into her bag, she found her F.B.I wind breaker. She pulled that on over her vest, since her grey coat was now ruined. What else was in here? There were some extra socks and underwear, a pair of jeans, half a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush, a hairbrush, the tiny bottle of shampoo and conditioner that she'd snagged from the motel, and, hidden at the bottom of her bag, a silky red evening dress. She must have forgotten to take it out after her last case (that was a different story altogether). It wouldn't do her much good here, but she kept it in the bag. She barely paid attention to any of these items; she was looking for something specific. There it was, tucked in the bottom corner: a box of fifty bullets. She opened it up. Fifty tiny angels of death, sitting in rows in their golden casings. Gemma wasn't sure where her gun was; they must have taken it after she passed out. Gemma didn't like using her gun, despite being one of the best shots in her unit, but being unarmed made her jumpy, especially given the current situation. Ever since… well, she hadn't been unarmed in a long time. Maybe it made her paranoid, but she never wanted anyone to get the jump on her again.

She was about to open the hatch and get out when she remembered Patrick's bag. Knowing him, he'd have a full box of ammo as well. He certainly wouldn't need it anymore. As soon as she thought it she mentally slapped herself. What kind of sick person was she? Who thought things like that about their dead friends? Still, her twisted mind was right, and she needed the bullets. Sure enough, there was a full box in his bag, which she placed in her own. Then, adjusting the strap of her canvas bag across her chest to hold the bag against her back, she exited the car.

Gemma accepted Gandalf's helping hand as she climbed from the trunk. Together they made their way over to the rest of the dwarves, who were seated around a dwindling campfire. Gemma found the seat the farthest away from the fire, pretending not to notice the stares she received from the dwarves. Trying to act casual and comfortable, she busied herself with tying her hair into a messy bun. Gandalf approached the taller dwarf with the piercing blue eyes; the one she had held hostage. The two conversed in hushed tones, occasionally glancing at her or making gestures with their hands.

Though Gandalf seemed to have considerable authority, the dwarf appeared to be the leader of this "Company" as the wizard had called it. Just my luck, Gemma thought. Of course she had to attack the leader of the group. Clearly the universe, or whatever divine power existed in this world, wanted to make things as difficult as possible for her. As if it hadn't done that to her already. The universe really didn't like Gemma. Still watching the two of them talk, she felt... was she nervous? Gemma was usually quite confident, but the thought of the dwarves' judgement made her anxious. Would they send her away? She was in a whole new world, so she really had nowhere to go. Worse, they could deem her a threat and try to kill her. Despite her skills, she doubted she could take on all of them at once. No, her only hope was to convince them to help her. Or to pray that this was all a hallucination.

"If you don't mind, lass, we were wonderin', what is a febee?" a voice asked. Gemma looked up to find a dwarf wearing a completely ridiculous hat standing before her. He wore a friendly grin on his face, though he seemed a bit nervous of her.

After staring at him for an uncomfortable moment, the dwarf's words seemed to register. Febee? "Um...I'm sorry what do you...," then she realised he was looking at the letters on the front of her vest: F.B.I. "Oh! This," she pointed to the letters and the dwarf nodded. The others had stopped what they were doing now, even Gandalf and the leader; everyone was listening, staring. It just made her more nervous, especially one particular pair of bright blue eyes resting on her.

"Well, um, it's my job. It stands for Federal Bureau of Investigations. We're um... we're like special guards, I guess," she said, trying to relate her job to things they'd understand. As far as she could tell, she'd stepped into some sort of medieval alternate universe. She didn't think they'd know what federal agents or police were. "But we don't protect a specific place, we protect people. We enforce the law, and we catch people who break it. My job specifically is to stop bad people we call terrorists. They're people who don't like our country or specific groups of people, and they attack us by creating terror. They cause chaos and panic and usually death. Sometimes they kill thousands." She had been looking past the dwarves, trying to ignore their stares, but now she looked at them; at him. The leader with the blue eyes. "It's my job to stop them. But they got us, and now my partner is dead. That's why I attacked you; I thought you were one of them. I am sorry." Gemma never liked apologizing; she was much too stubborn, but it had to be done. As she became more and more convinced that this might actually be real, she became more convinced that maybe she should try to make up for that awful first impression, if she could. Her gaze was still locked on his and she saw him nod, though the look in his eyes said that he still held some resentment. She had wounded his ego, and she was beginning to understand that pride meant everything to this man. Dwarf. Whatever.

"That sounds dangerous," an old dwarf with a long white beard said, causing Gemma to finally look away from the leader. "It doesn't sound like a job for a gentle woman such as you."

Gemma scoffed. Great, she was stuck with a bunch of sexists from the dark ages; literally. "Gentle? Please, I think Grumpy over there can confirm that I can take care of myself," she said, gesturing to the leader. She was fully aware that name-calling was a bad idea, but when she got nervous or riled up, she tended to lay on the sarcasm thickly. "Where I come from, women and men are considered equals. I am just as capable as you are."

The old dwarf looked like he wanted to reply, but a young blond dwarf beat him to it. "Where is that exactly? Where did you come from? And what is that thing that you came out of?"

Gemma looked to Gandalf, who stepped in. "As far as I can tell, she has come from a different world, one that somehow connected with ours briefly. I don't know how but I felt the strangest surge of energy right before we found her."

The dwarves took some time to process that. She could tell that many didn't believe Gandalf's words at first, but they were beginning to see the logic in them, despite their impossibility. "Well can you send her back?" her previous hostage asked gruffly. He gave Gandalf a look that clearly said he would not be pleased if the answer was no. Gemma was liking this guy less and less, but she was just as curious about Gandalf's answer. She needed to get back and warn her team. After all, what were the chances that the terrorists just happened to blow up the warehouse while they were inside? None. In her business, coincidences did not exist. They knew they'd be there. She had to get back to her team.

"Well perhaps I could just reverse the energy that I felt when she arrived. I suppose... But first I think food and introductions are in order, and we should look for the trolls' cave. There must be one nearby, and troll caves have troll hoards," Gandalf said, and that was that. Gemma wanted to protest –she just wanted to go home– but her stomach betrayed her at the mention of food. Nodding her head, she said, "Well then, I'm Special Agent Gemma LaRoche, but you can just call me Gemma. Or Agent LaRoche. Or just LaRoche. Whatever you want..." she was aware that she was rambling, but the unwavering stares of fifteen medieval men were making her uncomfortable.

Gandalf came to her rescue, passing her a mug full of thick green liquid. "Well my dear, you know I am Gandalf the Grey. To my right are Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur, then Fili and Kili, Oin and Gloin, Dori, Nori, Ori, Dwalin and Balin. The hobbit is Mister Bilbo Baggins, and this is the Company's leader, Master Thorin Oakenshield. But you two are already acquainted," he added, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Gemma tried to ignore this and took a large gulp of the liquid from her mug in an attempt to hide her blush. She couldn't tell if it was supposed to be tea or soup, but it warmed her insides and ebbed away the gnawing hunger in her stomach. Working her jaw, she stared back at the dwarves for a second before knitting her brows together in concentration. "Alright, that was Gandalf, Bofur, Bifur, Bombur, um... Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin," she paused for a breath then continued, counting with her fingers as she said their names. "Dori, Nori, Ori, Dwalin, Balin, Bilbo Baggins the erm... hobbit, and Thorin Oakenshield, the head honcho." Gemma could tell the dwarves, despite themselves, were impressed. She shrugged nonchalantly, taping her head, "Gotta have a good memory. It's part of my job."

She downed the rest of her drink and reclined back slightly, appearing completely at ease. These people had seen her at her absolute worst, but she refused to be considered weak. So she was throwing up her shields, putting on a facade of haughty confidence. It would keep her alive. She cocked her head to the side and smirked.

"Just one question; what the hell is a hobbit?"