'You should eat something,' said Lobelia.

'I'm not hungry,' Bilbo said for the third time that morning. Lobelia was nothing if not persistent. Bilbo saw her scowl and open her mouth to try again. He scrambled for a topic to distract her from her campaign to get him to eat something, in spite of his insistence that his stomach was so bunched up with nerves it was unlikely to be able to hold anything at all.

'Where's your shadow, this morning?'

Lobelia's scowl darkened, and Bilbo knew he had been successful. Mentioning Bofur had always been a sure-fire way of redirecting her attention.

'He's not my shadow,' she said, 'if anything he'd be more like...like a bad smell that lingers, or-'

'He's not that bad, surely?' Bilbo protested, chuckling a little.

'You haven't had to share a lab with him, Bilbo. His experiments are ridiculous! I am certain he makes them extra smelly, extra repulsive, just to spite me.'

'I'm sure it's not to spite you,' Bilbo said, feeling like he had to stick up for the cheery scientist who had been nothing but welcoming to him when he'd first arrived at the base.

Lobelia let out a little hissed sigh through her teeth, 'sometimes I wonder. Scientific debate is one thing, but he seems to delight in arguing with me, and his ideas are just...just preposterous! Well,' she said, holding her head high, 'I've finally managed to get one up on him, after all these months.'

'You have?'

'Yes, I have. Marshall Dís chose my research – based on scientific reasoning and cold, hard data, I'll have you know – over his. He was sprouting some nonsense – something about the Kaiju all being clones and that they were being controlled. Related to Orcs, even. All conjecture. I stopped listening after the first ten seconds of rambling. So did the Marshall.'

If there was one thing that Lobelia could be counted on for, it was a nice, long rant about Bofur. Bilbo let her carry on, making sure to nod in the appropriate places. He was more than happy to hear about every single instance that Bofur had annoyed Lobelia if it meant that his mind was kept firmly off of the fact that he would soon be piloting a Jaeger. He laced his hands around his mug, breathing in the scent of the ordinary breakfast tea steeping away. He hadn't actually taken a single sip, but he had always found the smell alone soothing.

'If you're going to throw up, better do it now,' said a voice, 'throwing up in your helmet is not a pleasant experience.'

Thorin sat himself down on Bilbo's other side, placing his tray full of food down on the table. To Bilbo's left, Lobelia instantly quietened, cutting herself off midway through a sentence about Bofur's dirty socks.

'You sound like you're speaking from experience,' said Bilbo. His nerves had returned in a wave, making his stomach roll and buck.

'Not me,' said Thorin, 'Dís.'

'You're joking,' Lobelia said with wide eyes, 'I don't believe you. The Marshall?'

'I don't think she'll thank you for telling us that,' chuckled Bilbo.

'It's my privilege as her older brother. But really, Bilbo – you should at least drink something.'

'Not you too.' Bilbo shook his head firmly, 'I just don't think anything will stay down. I'm a...little nervous.'

'Oh, really? I couldn't tell.'

'The green tint to his face gave it away, didn't it?' said Lobelia with a nod.

Bilbo lowered his head. 'You're both so very supportive,' he muttered irritably into his rapidly-cooling tea.

Lobelia finally took pity on him, and gave his back a rub. 'You'll be fine, Bilbo,' she said. 'More than fine. You'll be brilliant.'

'Or I'll accidentally destroy the entire base.'

'You'll not be piloting alone,' Thorin reminded him, 'and it'll just be the basics. Here,' he picked up the spare juice box off of his tray and began to open it, 'drink this. It'll help.'

Bilbo eyed the juice suspiciously. 'Will I throw up in my helmet and be an embarrassment to all Rangers everywhere?'

Thorin looked like he was barely refraining from rolling his eyes. 'Drink it,' he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bilbo took it, and took a tiny sip. 'You didn't have to open it for me,' he grumbled, 'I'm not a child.'

'I know you're not,' said Thorin. Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw him smile, ever so slightly. 'I used to have to do that all the time for Fíli. He could never get the hang of them, when he was little.'

It was strange, but Bilbo thought he could imagine it – a tiny, blond-haired Fíli sitting in Thorin's lap, glaring at his juice box in what was the patented Durin scowl, chubby fingers fumbling with the straw.

'I bet you spoiled Kíli and Fíli rotten,' said Lobelia quietly, as if afraid she might disrupt Thorin's remembrance.

'We all did. They were hard to say no to.'

'They still are,' Lobelia pointed out, and Thorin tilted his head in agreement.

There was a question on the tip of Bilbo's tongue. What's changed? He wanted to ask. Why are they not happy to see you? But the query died in his throat as he realised that soon he wouldn't have to ask at all – soon he would simply know. His heart did a little back flip in his chest, and he took another sip of his juice.

There were wires all over the lab, and more than a few had tumbled over the line that bisected the room. Bofur paid them no mind, shuffling around them, stepping over great coils of wires and ducking under one as he worked and talked.

'Kaiju-Dwarf Drift experiment, take one,' he said aloud, knowing the recording device he had set up would catch it, 'I will attempt to Drift with the fragment of the Kaiju's brain. As my esteemed colleague says, this is no' possible, but to this assertion, I say-' and Bofur blew a raspberry as he hooked up another piece of equipment to the tank. 'Which I think sums up my thoughts nicely on tha' matter. Oh, and Lobelia, darlin' - if I'm alive and you're listening ta this, then, stick it up your nose, because I've to proved that I was right all along, and that means I've won.'

Bofur dashed to his keyboard, fingers flying over the console, programming in all of the necessary data. A low hum began issuing from the machine.

'Or, I suppose you could be listening to this and I'm dead,' Bofur mused, taking off his hat and putting it carefully to one side, 'in which case – I've hidden a sock in amongst your stuff and you'll never be able to find it. Which also means I've won,' he grinned to himself.

He took a seat, putting the salvaged parts of a Drivesuit helmet on the top of his head. He looked across the room at the Kaiju brain floating about in the tank, and stilled.

'Well,' he said quietly, 'here goes nothin''

Bofur slammed his hand down on the big red button, and tumbled sideways into the Drift.

Bilbo had never been in a Drivesuit room, not even in Lothlórien, when not a single part of the base had been unknown to him. The Drivesuit technicians were – with only one exception – all Dwarves, and they greeted Thorin and Bilbo enthusiastically when they stepped into the room.

'Come in, come in! Stand here, laddie,' said one of them to Bilbo, ushering him into place, 'that's it – that's your spot. Don't mind the boots, now, they'll clamp on in three, two, one-'

Bilbo's boots snapped into place over his circuitry suit, and he flinched as they clicked over his feet. Around him engineers were assembling the rest of his armour, and most of them were holding drills in their hands. It wasn't an entirely reassuring sight.

'Hold still, now – we've time to go through this slowly today. Hold your arms out,' the dwarf reminded him, and the front and back pieces of his chest armour were put in place by one dwarf and the screws tightened by another. Just a few feet away, Thorin was undergoing the same process. His skin-tight circuitry suit was black, just as Bilbo's was, and the gold lines of the electrical links were scattered across it like stars in the night sky. It was rapidly being covered up by fragments of his dark blue armour, smoothly assembled by his engineers.

It was strange, but Bilbo felt both constricted and protected at the same time. The strangest feeling of all came when a dwarf snapped his spinal circuits into place. It felt as though someone had poured water down the back of his shirt and it had all run down the length of his spine.

A circuitry cap was placed over the top of his head. 'Here,' said yet another technician, and Bilbo's vision was momentarily blocked out by his helmet, which was then fastened to his suit with a satisfying click.

'All set!' said Thorin's Dwarves a split second before Bilbo's team called out the same.

'Vital signs are good. No problems with the links.'

'This way, Mr. Baggins.'

A heavy door was opened, revealing the temporary passageway between the Drivesuit room and their Jaeger's cockpit. Bilbo turned to look at Thorin, only to find that he was already looking in his direction. Thorin's helmet afforded him a clear view of the dwarf's hard-eyed stare. No backing out now, he seemed to be saying. Bilbo's response was to stride forward, onto the passageway, taking the lead into the cockpit.

'I'll take the right side. Does that suit you?' asked Thorin as he stepped in, his voice filtering through the earpiece in Bilbo's helmet perfectly, as clear as if he had been standing next to Bilbo and directly speaking into his ear.

'That's fine,' said Bilbo, although he wasn't really listening. He wanted to look in all directions all at once, take in every inch of the cockpit. His feet found the clamps on the left side of the cockpit more by accident than design, and he barely noticed the mechanisms automatically clicking into place around his boots.

'Are you ready for this?'

Bilbo snapped his attention back to his co-pilot. His nerves were quickly being shouted down by his growing excitement.

'Are you?' Bilbo grinned at him.

Thorin said nothing, merely leant back, activating his harness, which smoothly attached itself to his suit. Still smiling, Bilbo did the same, and held out his left hand. The circular Jaeger hand controls flew up into his hand, settling onto his fingers like a knuckleduster. A blue display screen flared into life in front of him, and a smooth, professional voice started to speak into his headset.

'Good morning, Jaeger pilots,' it said, 'can you please confirm that you are in harness and ready for the Drop.'

'Good morning, Tauriel,' said Bilbo.

'Good morning,' said Thorin as he flicked through various controls on his own display, 'can we hurry this up? We're ready.'

'Your patience hasn't improved any in the time you were away,' a second voice said, 'would you not even like to hear the name of your new Jaeger? It's very rude to pilot a Jaeger without knowing its name, you know.'

Bilbo could sense Thorin on the verge of countering this – he cut him off before he could begin by saying, 'yes please, Marshall. I've wanted to know her name for a while, now.'

'At least one of you has some manners.'

'Dís,' said Thorin.

'She's called Orcrist Sting,' said Dís, finally heeding her brother's warning tone.

Thorin's snort was relayed through Bilbo's earpiece with perfect clarity.

'Are those...the names of swords?' asked Bilbo hesitantly.

'Yes, they are, Bilbo,' said Dís.

'Why is that funny?'

'My sister has a very strange sense of humour,' Thorin said.

'I do,' said Dís, 'but that's not what this is about. It was named for the two of you, as soon as I knew you were to be our new Rangers.'

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. 'And how long have you known that?'

He could almost hear her smiling, 'when my brother first arrived on base.'

'You are as scary as always, Dís. Nothing has changed,' Thorin said dryly. Then, more softly, 'it's a good name. It'll do us well.'

'I like it,' agreed Bilbo, 'even though I don't understand it.'

'You soon will,' said Thorin, and though there was no need, he turned as much as he was able in his harness to look at Bilbo. Bilbo felt every inch of the distance between them.

'Now we have a name, shall we get started?'

'Ready, Marshal,' said Bilbo.

'Ready.'

'Initiating the Drop,' Tauriel said, and Bilbo heard the creak and clank of the passageway being retracted and the door clamping shut, 'in three, two-'

Bilbo didn't hear the 'one' over the sound of the cockpit being freed of its lodgings. The cockpit plummeted downwards, Bilbo held in place only by his harness, and his stomach swooped and clenched. The cockpit fell smoothly onto the huge shoulders of Orcrist Sting,rotating until it was in place.

'Prepare for Neural Handshake,' said Tauriel.

Two brains appeared on their displays, showing the thousands upon thousands of neural links between them and their Jaeger. Bilbo tried to remember his training. He attempted to clear his racing mind of thoughts, putting aside his nerves and excitement. The calmer he was, the more open to the Drift, the easier it would be for the both of them.

'Initiating in ten...nine...'

In the Comms room, Dís stood up straight and put her hands behind her back. Her personnel were utterly silent. You could hear a pin drop.

'Eight...seven...'

In the Rec Room, Kíli stood up abruptly and said and left without a word. Fíli understood immediately, and followed on behind. Dwalin watched them both go, let out a sigh, and decided to follow them; Dís would likely need someone on hand to keep her boys from being too underfoot.

'Six...five...'

'Orderly, you say,' said Thorin suddenly.

Bilbo blinked and shot him a look. 'Yes,' he said simply.

'Just don't try too hard,' Thorin said with a thread of urgency, 'a little chaos is good, sometimes.'

'Alright, Thorin,' said Bilbo, unsure as to what Thorin was trying to tell him, but it was too late to ask for clarification.

'Two... One.'

The glow of the forge fires lighting his father's face. The warm embers of the hearth fire making his mother's eyes sparkle with light. Come here, let me tell you a story, come closer, let me show you the way we bend metal to our will.

A meadow of swaying yellow cornflowers under a searing blue sky. Muddy feet, toes scrunching up in puddles, cooling hot soles, the rich smell of roast beef and herb dumplings – it's mine, cousin, give it back! – and blue-tipped fingers. Dad, why do you still write with a fountain pen? An ink-stained finger taps his nose gently. He is still not tall enough to see over the desk. Well, I'm a fuddy-duddy old hobbit. But sometimes the old ways are the-

-best. We have been swordsmiths for as long as there have been Dwarves in Erebor. Look closely, Thorin.

But she said a bad word to me! You told me to stand up for myself!

You made this?

You wrote this?

-We have protected the people of this mountain for twenty-five generations. I expect you to take on that legacy. Never forget-

No, don't you dare jump - it's too high, sweatpea was that an earthquake? Did you feel that, the ground-

A shower of sparks. A tall elf-woman with short cropped blonde hair, her back to him. He can't hear a thing, the blast took out his hearing, all he can do is watch as she hefts a rocket grenade launcher to her shoulder and-

His sister's face is too pale. His eyes take in the blunt ends of her newly-cut braid. The treatment shouldn't last long. What a birthday present. Don't give me that look.

A red coat in bright blue wrapping paper. I know it's not anyone's birthday, but I thought you'd like it all the same. We have something else for you, son-

Frerin, for Mahal's sake, stop bouncing up and down, you're making me want to throw up!

Then, fleetingly, the impression of Frerin's memories – ghostly images and the after-echoes of emotions.

How do you know that? I'm your big brother. I know everything.

A starburst of sudden light, terror and blind panic so raw that Bilbo flinches away from it altogether. Thorin reacts even as Bilbo steps back mentally, reaching out, flicking the direction of their thoughts on another tangent with startling ease. Breathe, he thinks at Bilbo. Just breathe.

Footsteps in the rain, a smile as he puts up his umbrella. Dís' brother is handsome, all purpose and power as he walks, and doesn't he need an umbrella?

– what a surprise, a hobbit, here on a Jaeger Base? His eyes automatically track up and down his figure. Best and brightest. He can believe it - the hobbit's blue eyes sparkle with intelligence, and isn't that strange - no beard, but Thorin thinks he could get used to this quick-witted addition to Dís' retinue.

Another flicker of a memory. Another all-nighter, sore eyes and cramped muscles, writing hand crooked into a stiff claw around his fountain pen. The shadow of another memory, layered on top. His mother brushing his curls (his braids) back from his face, tucking them behind one ear. Go to sleep, love. The stories can wait. The world doesn't need saving right this minute.

In the real world, their bond began to coalesce and form on their display screens, and Orcrist Sting's left hand came up to form a fist. Thorin completed the move even before the right hand was clenched tight, moving the right hand up to defend the body and shifting the right foot back into a fighting stance. He could feel Bilbo's elation as though it were his own, the hobbit's thoughts settling into a warm, steady presence in his mind like a heartbeat. I knew we could do it, thrilled Bilbo, and Thorin responded in kind, but with emotions rather than words.

It was so unlike Drifting with Frerin – his brother had been like a firework, his thoughts sparking off with leaps of logic that Thorin had sometimes struggled to keep up with, always laughing at Thorin's frustration at trying to follow his train of thought.

You must miss him, whispered Bilbo through their link, as though afraid to encroach on Thorin's memories.

Thorin berated himself, reeling the thought back in. It's alright, he said, it's in the past. How do you feel?

Bilbo grinned, and Thorin could feel the accompanying emotion. It's extraordinary, he said, I can sense every inch of Orcrist. It's like...it's like...

Waking up a part of yourself that you never knew existed?

Exactly!

In the Command Centre, Tauriel let out a long breath and announced, 'Bridge is holding steady, Marshall. They're doing fine.'

Dís' shoulders relaxed by half an inch. 'Good,' she said, 'let's walk them through this slowly, shall we? Start with some basic hand-eye co-ordination.'

'Yes, Marshall,' said Tauriel, and began to relay instructions to Thorin and Bilbo, monitoring the data that was being fed back into the Command Centre, keeping a close eye on their link.

'See?' said Fíli, knocking Kíli's shoulder, 'nothing to worry about, just like I told you. Bilbo's stronger than you-'

He was abruptly cut off by a wide-eyed Lobelia bursting into the room.

'Marshall! Marshall, something's happened to Bofur,' she said, completely out of breath but forcing her words out all the same.

'What is it, Lobelia?' Dís said, not turning from her observation of Orcrist Sting, 'can it not wait? We're undergoing-'

'Some extremely important tests, I know, and I apologise for the intrusion but Bofur has just Drifted with a Kaiju.'

'He what,' snapped Dwalin incredulously, 'is he alive?'

'He is, though I might decided to kill him myself next time I see him,' said Lobelia grimly, 'but Marshall, you need to hear what he has to say.'

Dís turned, took one look at Lobelia's too-pale face, and said, 'lead on, Miss Bracegirdle. Tauriel, you know what to do.'

Back in Drift Space, Bilbo was busy feeling out their link.

You're supposed to be concentrating on hand-eye co-ordination, Thorin rebuked teasingly, amused at Bilbo's fascination at the Drift..

I know, but it's just so fascinating. I'm not sure how my brain can manage it all at once – havingOrcrist Sting as an extension of myself, but also being aware of whatyou'reexperiencing.

You were right, you know.

A flare of surprise.

About you being capable. This is going far smoother than I had ever anticipated. It's quite extraordinary.

Well, I am quick-witted and sparkling with intelligence, laughed Bilbo.

There was no need for embarrassment, or shame. Such things only ever inhibited a set of pilot's ability to Drift; besides, Thorin was hardly unarmed.

And apparently I have nice shoulders, Thorin countered, perhaps I should make sure to wear my training gear more often, and it was an utter delight to feel Bilbo blushing through the link.

Perhaps we should go back to concentrating on this next manoeuvre, suggested Bilbo.

We can do two things at once, Thorin said, unable to resist the urge to press the point, you seem to be good at multitasking. You were apparently able to both ogle me and take notes during the tests.

I did not ogle! Bilbo all but shouted, but there was a melody of laugher running through it, a Baggins does not ogle, we merely...admire.

This time, it was Thorin who had to laugh. He could feel the emotion relaying to Bilbo, and the effect it had on the hobbit a feedback loop that went on and on, looping back and forth – pleasure at making Thorin laugh, a stirring of affection, accomplishment...laugher took on a whole new dimension in the Drift. It had always been so hard to explain to others who had never experienced it, but Frerin had once put it best – it was the difference between hearing music on the radio and seeing it for yourself, standing next to an orchestra or a band, so close that you could feel the beat of it in your chest, as though you were a part of the music itself.

But their steady, strong Drift was not to last. When it came, it slammed into them out of nowhere without a hint of warning, an explosion in their minds, and Thorin could do little to ward it off. A second in real life was the equivalent of a full minute in Drift Space. When the memories flooded in, Bilbo and Thorin were engulfed, washed away, and powerless to do anything more than simply hold on and hope it would end.

'They're out of alignment,' said Tauriel, her fingers flying over the control, 'Thorin, can you hear me? Thorin, you have to centre yourself again. Thorin-'

The cockpit is buckling. It shouldn't be buckling, that's Dwarven craft, designed and assembled by Ereboreans but it's happening anyway, ripping apart as though it were nothing more than paper to the Kaiju's claws. The beat of Frerin's terror is like the thudding of a drum in Thorin's mind and they need to do something right now,right now, but his left arm is all but crippled and the Kaiju's taken out their core and now he's coming for them, it knows where they areand it's too late. Thorin can see the moon through the gaping wound of the hull.

Frerin turns to him. Thorin can see the whites of his eyes through his helmet. 'Thorin,' he says, 'Thorin, you have to-'

He is ripped from his harness by a huge swipe of a claw. In his mind his brother's pure, undiluted fear has caused Thorin to forget how to breathe. He catches the edge of his train of thought –no, please, Mahal, no, Thorin, help me, help- and then he is gone, and there's a hole in his head where his brother should be, he's been torn in two, his whole soul is reaching out, searching for any trace of him but he is gone-

The memory was wrenched sideways, spiralling into another like a runaway train on a collision course.

Dís, standing at the edge of the rooftop, her pale blue dress swirling around her ankles, her lose and unbound hair glittering with snow, a radio in hand. Beyond her, in the distance, flares of blood-red light mark the on-going battle, the roar of it still not enough to drown out Dís' next words.

'Iron Avalanche, the city has been evacuated,' Dís says into the radio. Behind Thorin Tauriel is screaming at them toget in the helicopter, for Eru's sake!, but Thorin wants to hear Dís' next words –needsto hear them, and he wouldn't have been able to move even if he'd wanted to.

Dís' voice, her steady, commanding voice, breaks as she says, 'Iron Avalanche, you are clear to detonate at will,' and then, in a sob, 'goodbye, cousin.'

This is home, but home has been ripped from him, and why, why couldn't it have beenhimand not his baby brother, who's going to smile at Thorin's terrible puns and make stupid jokes for Dís when she's sad how much will they take from us, how much-

The city of Erebor lights up like a star going supernova. It is beautiful, and terrible, and he cannot bear to look away. He is gripping Dís' hand with all his strength, and she is gripping back just as hard, but he barely feels it. He is hollow. His heart and lungs and stomach have been carved out. There is nothing left, not even pain, just the glimmer of gold in the glass held in between his fingers, bitter laughter and Dís' kindness when he least deserves it and New Greenwood is nothing like home –

Ten seconds had passed since Thorin and Bilbo had been snapped forcibly out of alignment.

The backlash was instantaneous, and its impact devastating. In the real world, Thorin reeled back from the overflowing memories, his training reasserting order to the maelstrom that had flooded his mind. His heart was thudding in his chest, trying to break free of its cage. He took a sharp breath and concentrated fiercely with every fibre of his body – he had to reign it in, had to, for Bilbo's sake, and Thorin would find time to hate himself later for putting the hobbit through such an ordeal because he had allowed his concentration to slip.

'Are you-' he turned to his partner, and his words died in his throat. Bilbo was staring dead-ahead, eyes blank and unseeing, deathly still.

Thorin's heart clenched up in his chest. 'Bilbo, no, don't-'

-it's snowing, it's still snowing, and isn't that strange, after such a cataclysmic explosion that had torn apart earth and sky?

The white winter snow settles on Bilbo's arms. Not snow, he thinks, and it coalesces into a thin layer of dust, a film over his skin – but why is his skin exposed? – and it winds its way down into his lungs with every breath, sticks to the back of his throat. A boom echoes through the darkness, ricochets through the very core of him.

He is seventeen again, and he can barely think through his grief.

'Bilbo, Bilbo, can you hear me? Don't chase the R.A.B.I.T., do you hear? Bilbo.'

It was no use. In the Comms room, Bilbo's vital statistics were likely going haywire, but Thorin could feel the effect of it himself – distress was coming off of Bilbo in waves, an endless ocean of grief.

Thorin knew he had but one option left. He was still in his harness, and if he could not reach Bilbo physically, then he had to do so by other means. He was going to have to follow Bilbo into the memory, and trust to his own skill to get them both out again.

He closed his eyes, reached out towards that steady warm glow, and breathed in the tang of ozone.

He is in an alleyway. There is the wail of sirens in the distance, high and piecing and full of despair, and the sound of heavy ammunitions.

His focus snaps to the alleyway's entrance in time to see a small figure dash around the corner. Thorin only sees his face for half a moment before he turns back the way he came with terrified eyes, but Thorin would know Bilbo anywhere, in any form. His partner is but a child in this memory that has so ensnared him. Bilbo's bright red coat is decorated with dust, his curly hair far longer here than it is in the present. Thorin's heart aches for him, but his emotions are of no use to anyone unless they can be utilised to get them out of his mess.

A shudder runs through the ground, followed by the unearthly cry of a Kaiju. Bilbo screams, stumbles back a few steps, and flings up one hand as if to ward off a blow. The outstretched hand holds only a white handkerchief, but in the real world Thorin can feel the consequences – the Jaeger's plasma canon is powering up.

'Bilbo, it's okay, this isn't real,' Thorin attempts, but he feels foolish as soon as the words are out of the mouth. For Bilbo, this is terrifyingly real, and Thorin can feel the echo of it through their link, the fraying of Bilbo's consciousness.

There is a faint whisper in his ears, so soft Thorin cannot distinguish a single word. He ignores it.

Another shockwave. The Kaiju is moving closer. Where are they? Which city is this? But nothing matters save for the way Bilbo flinches and whimpers, cringing away. The noise becomes unbearable, and Bilbo breaks the hold his terror has over him and hides behind a garbage container, curling up into a ball. Thorin, with his dual, split perception, can still feel the plasma canon charging. He is running out of time.

'Clear the room!' Dwalin roared, and the personnel scrambled to obey.

'Pull the plug, now!' Tauriel cried, already in motion, unhooking wires from the back of the console, attempting to temper the backlash that would inevitably come from forcibly ripping Thorin and Bilbo out of the Drift. Kíli and Fíli all but leapt over the console to heave at the main plug, which tugged loose by a bare inch and no more until Dwalin rushed to help, and then it came free in a screech of protesting electronics.

'They're still connected,' said Fíli, shaking visibly. The glow from the plasma canon was lighting up the room. 'What do we do now?'

Thorin reaches out for the small, terrified form of his partner, mind racing. His heavy, gauntleted hand lands on Bilbo's thin shoulder, but the hobbit cannot feel it. Sobs wrack his frame, so violent that every limb shakes. The noise of the Kaiju is reaching a crescendo, so loud it threatens to overwhelm all of Thorin's senses until he can think of nothing but the roar of approaching danger. Claws tearing into concrete, the furious destruction of another obstacle being torn apart, the low growl of a predator stalking its prey, triggering something deep inside of Thorin, pressing on that most primal of fears. They are being hunted.

Bilbo screams, and now the whisper in Thorin's ears grows louder, loud enough for him to hear tumble of words.

It's my fault, it's my fault, they're dead and it's my fault, it's all my fault-

'No,' Thorin says, low and urgent, 'no it's not – Bilbo none of this is your fault, you are good and kind and just a child - for Durin's sake, please justlisten.'

It's no use. Bilbo is lost. But Thorin can reach him in other ways.

He remembers soft sunlight and a garden full of flowers, the way that his own heart had stirred at such peace and serenity, the way that it had drawn out of Thorin his own kinder, sweeter memories that he had believed had been buried under the weight of grief and anger.

Perhaps Thorin could now do the same for Bilbo, and kill this memory with kindness.

The background noise of the Kaiju has changed. Thorin barely registers the sight of a black Jaeger storming into battle. He is too busy concentrating, turning his focus inwards.

Fíli, so small he fits into the crook of Thorin's arm, and Thorin doesn't feel powerful at all – instead he feels weak in the face of this yawning, soft infant who is so reliant on his strength. Kíli, clinging to his trouser leg, looking up at him with big, dark eyes. I'm scared, Uncle, it went boom and Fíli said it was only thunder but- and Thorin draws him closer, sits him on his lap and wipes away his drying tears with his thumb, and how long has it been since he was called Uncle? They have every right to be angry – he disappeared for five years -

But no, he cannot think of that.

Courting beads in Dís' hair. Gold twisted through her braids, silver bells and a crown of pure mithril. Are you sure I don't look silly? Of course not, Frerin says quickly, saying what Thorin could never express, you look lovely, Dís.

Bursting in on an important meeting, but his Grandfather doesn't mind the impropriety – he smiles behind his great big beard, presses a whiskery kiss to a protesting Thorin's cheek. Here, Thorin, sit on my right side. Who knows, my ministers might learn a thing or two from you.

Gently shifting from sleep to the waking world. He is safe and tired from playing hide and seek, and he doesn't even remember falling asleep. Dís is a warm weight, curled up at his side, and Frerin has all but collapsed on top of his stomach, golden hair spilling everywhere. The snap of a camera diverts his attention to the door – his mother is standing there, grinning at him, utterly beautiful, an old-fashioned camera in her hands.

On their way to the Durin's Day festival, and his formal clothes are pinching at his neck and wrists, but he is more interested in the way his entire family is spilling out of the family home – it's ordered chaos, everyone is chattering and bickering and arguing, and Grandmother is fussing over Grandfather's tie, and Frerin keeps knocking his clothes askew every time their father's back is turned, smiling merrily, and Dís is arm-in-arm with her husband, and Dain is rambling on about new ways of refining steel to Dwalin-

Thorin opens his eyes.

The world is quiet. The fight is over, and Bilbo stands before him fully grown once more.

Thorin, sobs Bilbo through their link, I'm sorry. It was my fault. I begged them to go. I nagged at them forweeks.

Thorin doesn't say,it's okay, because he knows that for Bilbo, it never will be.

You can't blame yourself for the evil the Kaiju bring, he says instead, I've done that for years, Bilbo. That way madness lies.

Bilbo looks so lost. His blue eyes are shadowed, and Thorin reaches out to him with all that he is.

But what you can do is come with me, and we'll face them, we'll beat them – together. I swear to you, we will destroy them all.

He offers out his hand to Bilbo. Bilbo takes one last look around the alleyway, sadness etched on his young face, and takes Thorin's hand.

'Plasma canon, powering down,' said the cool electronic voice of the computer.

Dwalin leant against the console and breathed deeply through his nose. Around him, the others were doing the same, attempting to regain their sense of equilibrium. But Tauriel moved swiftly back to her seat and took up her headpiece.

'Thorin, do you copy?' she said, 'Thorin, is Bilbo alright?'

'He's fine,' Thorin barely had time to say before he detached himself from his armour, rushing over to do the same to Bilbo just as the hobbit slumped like a puppet with his strings cut. Thorin had to physically catch him before he hit the floor. Bilbo's eyes fluttered, and his mouth was slack.

'Can you hear me?' Thorin tentatively asked, slumping down to the floor under Bilbo's weight. His partner was likely to lose unconsciousness after such an ordeal, but Thorin found himself hoping fervently that Bilbo would hold on to the waking world for just a few more moments so he could know for certain that his co-pilot was alright.

And as stubborn as ever, Bilbo did just that. Thorin watched as he blinked and visibly struggled to stay awake, before his eyes focused on Thorin's face. Thorin could feel the after-effects of their Drift fizzing around in his head, their connection still lingering.

'Thank you,' said Bilbo before Thorin could even attempt an apology.

'Whatever for?' Thorin said incredulously.

'For pulling me back.'

Thorin's heart skipped a beat, and a choked off gasp died in his throat. He had no idea how to respond. How on Arda could Bilbo thank him after the ordeal Thorin had put him through he would never know, no matter how many times they Drifted. If Bilbo ever wanted to Drift with him again, that is.

Bilbo's brows furrowed in puzzled indignation, interrupting Thorin's bleak line of thought. 'Why didn't you tell me you were a prince?' he said.

It was all too much. Bilbo was practically pouting, and Thorin's relieved, startled laughter echoed around the cockpit.