This is a full-length contemporary AU re-write of the Hobbit, mixing liberally both present-day normalities and the cultures of Middle-Earth, and effectively what happens when you re-read the book for the nth time and watch Ocean's 11 immediately after. Ingest with with caution.

Many thanks to my brilliant beta Jenny, who called me out on my atrocious treatment of tenses, and grumbled with me over the spelling of the word 'camaraderie'. I couldn't have made this worth posting without you.

There is a world some of you may find doubly familiar, and doubly strange.

It has elves, orcs, hobbits and dwarves.

It contains homo sapiens, mobile phones and 24-hour convenience stores.

It doesn't have magic, dragons or giant spiders (but what is magic beyond knowing one more extra fact?)

It is kinder, and it is also crueller.

And in it, on the outskirts of a city that is much like many other cities you might have visited except for the greater variation in its citizens' heights, there lived a hobbit in a traditional hole-in-the hill house. Those had been making a comeback these days with those who could afford them, but this one had been in his family for generations. The hobbit's name was Bilbo Baggins.

At quarter to nine every morning he got up, pulled on his dressing gown, and put the kettle on. He had breakfast (generally toast), and then maybe second breakfast if he was feeling peckish, and then he'd maybe read a book if it was raining, or, if it wasn't, he'd go out and see to his garden, where he grew vegetables and berries and flowers, and he truly did enjoy it. He exchanged polite greetings over the hedge with his neighbours, who wondered how me made a living because he didn't seem to work. But they were never so impolite as to ask, although his cousin (who lived far enough that they weren't forced to interact much) could sometimes be persuaded to mutter darkly about inheritance and strange money and why didn't she and Otho get a cut of it?

And most of his days passed in a sedate, comfortably respectable manner, and generally, nothing much happened.

And it was on a day just like that, when he was out in his garden seeing to his tomatoes, which were coming in nicely, that suddenly and unexpectedly, something interesting happened.

'My word,' said a voice above him with more than a hint of amusement. 'I haven't seen you since you were about the size of a bag of potatoes, Bilbo Baggins, and it seems that there I made a mistake.'

He looked up from where he was kneeling, and then somewhat further up again until his neck was craning to make out the person that had so rudely blocked out the sun. It took him some time to recognize the grey-haired man leaning on a cane wearing a slightly threadbare suit, although the man seemingly hadn't changed since he saw him last. Or maybe that was why.

'No, but… Gandalf?' he said. 'Gandalf Grey?' He stood up and pulled off his gardening gloves, and even then the man had more than a couple of feet on him. 'Why, I haven't seen you since…' he trailed off.

The old man's eyes twinkled. 'Since that ah, field trip, shall we say, you went with your mother on at that jewellery expo roughly thirty years ago.'

Bilbo's face went blank. 'Sure, let's call it that.' He looked about for something to say, and came up short. 'I didn't know you were still about.'

The old man raised an eyebrow. 'I must be somewhere, mustn't I?'

'Yes, well… If you're here to see her, I'm afraid she passed away several years ago.'

'Oh, I am aware.' Now in his eyes there was sadness, but nevertheless he went on. 'No, I came here for you, dear boy.' He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, 'I am in need of people that will help me pull of a heist.'

Bilbo hadn't realized he was still holding the trowel until he dropped it on his foot. 'W-what?' he stuttered indignantly.

'A heist, my friend, a heist!'

'Yes, yes alright!' Bilbo hissed, glancing nervously over the hedge at his next-door neighbour, who was eyeing them curiously. 'Not so loud, will you?' Seeing the amused look on Mister Grey's face, he said, 'Look, I don't do that stuff, okay? I never have, and I'm certainly not starting now. You'd be better off talking to just about anyone else but me, and that's not counting the fact that I might call the police on you!'

'Oh, I don't think you will,' said Mister Grey in what Bilbo considered an annoyingly breezy tone. 'But I feel I must ask you to reconsider. As I understand it, you would profit from the venture quite handsomely.'

'I don't care about money –'

'Did I say anything about money?' Mister Grey pulled an antique pocket watch from inside his jacket and flipped it open. 'My, my, look at the time. I can see there will be no convincing you, you truly are on the straight and narrow. It was quite interesting talking to you again. Enjoy your tomatoes.'

And suddenly he was gone, and Bilbo felt horribly off balance, like he had prepared to break down a door and then someone had opened it at the last moment, sending him hurtling through.

Blasted Gandalf, he thought. What right had he to show up out of the blue, turning over stones like no-ones business and the just leave? It would serve him right if someone put a stop to his little scheme, whatever it was.

And yet he somehow never got around to calling the police.