The carcass of the Kaiju was huge, a small town in its own right, and it stank to high heaven. Teams of black-market workers, equipped with suspiciously hi-tech gear, were beginning to break down the Kaiju's body, like ants nibbling at the edges of an oliphant. It would be a slow and profitable process.

Bofur had expected an argument from Nori when he had shoved his way through Nori's bodyguards to stand before the dwarf, but Nori had merely glanced at him, snorted, and said,

'You're a lucky son of a bitch, aintcha?'

Nori had agreed with a shrug of his thin shoulders to hold up his end of his bet and try and extract the Kaiju brain. Perhaps he felt as if he couldn't back down from his deal with Bofur, perhaps he was impressed Bofur had survived and was crazy enough to try and cash in on the bet, perhaps he was morbidly fascinated in the results of Bofur's experiments – Bofur didn't care. He had what he wanted. A team had been sent deep into the recesses of Azog's body, traversing his organs in search for the pathway to the brain. Bofur was left waiting, watching, trying to keep his nerves and excitement contained. Whatever came out of Azog now, in whatever shape or condition, Bofur would have to try and Drift with it for the sake of the world. It was a thought that both thrilled and terrified him.

He had to admit, though, the baby Kaiju bursting – alive – out of Azog's body, was a bit of a shock.

It was a huge, writhing thing, a nightmare of an infant easily the size of a hill, and the workers scattered in the wake of its flailing limbs. Driven by some strange instinct it dove forwards, blind and squealing, and proceeded to close its great jaws around Nori, swallowing him whole, perfectly tailored purple suit and all. And then it turned its attention towards Bofur.

For the second time that night, Bofur ran for his life.

Umbilical cord, thought Bofur as he forced his aching legs faster, hadn't he seen an umbilical cord wrapped around its neck? For Durin's sake, how long was the cord?

Hot, stinking breath washed over Bofur's back, and he could almost feel the teeth closing around his neck, death moments away. He was going to be eaten alive. Lobelia would never let him hear the end of it.

But then a gunshot rang out, five more shots following in quick succession, and that was Bofur's limit – he all but threw himself to the asphalt, covering his head with his arms, trying to curl up on himself and create less of a target. The Kaiju roared one last time, too loud and too near, and then - nothing.

When it became apparent that Bofur was not about to be eaten, he lowered his arms and raised his head, breathing shallowly, stunned that he was still alive. He blinked, and figure came into focus: Lobelia, standing in a solid stance, feet firmly planted, both hands around the gun held out in front of her. Giddy with relief, Bofur leapt to his feet and began to grin wildly and unabashedly, ready to expound on Lobelia's virtues to the centre of the earth and back.

But then he caught sight of Lobelia's face, and his elation disappeared entirely.

'YOU HAD YOUR EYES CLOSED?' he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Lobelia opened her eyes hesitantly, opened her mouth, closed her mouth, opened it again, and finally her expression resolved into a very familiar scowl. Clearly, the fact that someone was shouting at her had registered through her terror. For Lobelia, the instinctual response was this: shout back.

'IT WAS SCARY!' She yelled, matching his volume and lowering the gun at last, 'I DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS GOING TO BE THAT LOUD!

Bofur gaped at her. 'It was scary for you? What about me?'

Lobelia gestured with the hand that still held the gun, and Bofur instinctively flinched.

'STOP WAVIN' IT AROUND FOR DURIN'S SAKE, WOMAN!'

'You could at least show some gratitude, I just saved you life!' snapped Lobelia, but she did, at least, lower the gun to her side.

'You could've hit me!'

Lobelia treated him to the frostiest glare in her repertoire. Bofur hadn't seen it in a while.

'Well I didn't, did I? You're alive and well and still shouting at me, might I add!'

Of course she couldn't even concede this point, of course, even when she was so clearly in the wrong. Bofur tore his hat from his head and threw it to the ground. He now knew exactly how it felt to be – quite literally – hopping mad.

'What are you even doing here?' he cried, hands clenching and opening rapidly in front of him, as though he would love nothing more than take Lobelia by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.

'I came to find you, you...you dolt! Because clearly you need help.'

'You were here durin' the Kaiju attack?' yelped Bofur, 'you coulda been killed!'

'Oh don't give me that,' Lobelia scoffed haughtily, brandishing her umbrella at him. 'You could have been killed too, you know. I wasn't about to stay behind at the Base, warm and dry and safe.' She lifted her chin and straightened her clothes. 'Now,' she snapped, 'this ridiculous conversation aside, what's the situation?'

Even as his outrage thrummed through Bofur's veins – that very particular kind of outrage that Lobelia always managed to inspire in him – he could admit to himself that he was so very glad to see Lobelia (as infuriating as she ever was) in this chaotic, awful situation. In this night of calamities and baby Kaiju, Lobelia, with her irritable looks and waspish, no-nonsense tone, was a beacon of familiarity. Even their argument had helped to soothe Bofur's nerves.

But even with the new brain so neatly provided by the baby Kaiju, they had a problem: with Nori dead, there was no one to command his workers, and no guarantee that any one of his lieutenants would be sympathetic to Bofur's cause. After Bofur had explained the situation with a great amount of patience to a very impatient Lobelia, he voiced this concern, but he had barely gotten half of it out before Lobelia had turned on her heel, marched up to the nearest worker, hands on hips, and demanded to know why they just standing around when there was work to do.

No, thought Bofur, watching her work her magic on the legions of black market workers. It wouldn't be a problem at all.

Gimli found Legolas in the Mess, sitting at a table on his own. In one hand was a letter – printed on real, heavy-weight paper, unless Gimli's eyes were deceiving him – and there was an uneaten tray of food at his elbow.

The Mess was entirely empty, and the stillness unnerved Gimli – it was never empty, and never had been during Gimli's entire time on the Base. Every single crew member was hard at work in the hangar bay, and the only people not on duty at the moment were the pilots, who had been ordered to rest, eat and keep their strength up. Gimli was almost certain that Legolas and he could now be considered pilots – their summons to Dís' office was likely to assign them to the third, as-yet unnamed Jaeger.

Legolas was so focused on the letter, pale eyes moving quickly over the page, that he didn't notice Gimli's arrival until the dwarf sat down next to him.

'News from home?' prompted Gimli gently.

The letter was lowered and tilted away so that Gimli couldn't see the words.

'Not as such, no,' said Legolas, and his tone implied that that was all he had to say on the subject.

'Well,' Gimli said a little awkwardly, 'I shouldn't have pried-'

'No,' said Legolas quickly. He hesitated, and then continued, 'my father calls me home like some errant child.'

'Ah,' said Gimli.

'He does not approve of me being here,' said Legolas lightly, but Gimli sumised that the language had been far stronger than Legolas' words implied.

Gimli could almost – but not quite – understand the sentiment. His own father was extraordinarily proud of his son's accomplishments, as was his Uncle Óin, and, though undoubtedly terrified for his safety, they had yet to demand that he leave the front lines and return to what was left of Erebor's people.

Legolas' voice interrupted his thoughts. 'He would rather I go home and wait out the war behind walls,' he said, his usually cool voice touched with anger.

Gimli was on the verge of saying, at least you have a home to go back to, but he knew it would be unkind, and pointless besides, and so he held his tongue.

'You'll go home, I'm certain of that,' said Gimli, and Legolas titled his head to look at him, brow furrowed at the perceived insult and the implication that he was a coward. But before the hurt could go too deep, Gimli said, 'we'll both go home, after all this is over.'

Legolas' fine features cleared, becoming touched with sympathy and the shadow of sorrow. How Gimli had ever thought him expressionless was beyond him.

'But Erebor-'

Gimli shrugged. 'It can be rebuilt,' he said dismissively, and then smiled. 'Don't argue with me on this, you know how stubborn my kind are.'

'Yes,' said Legolas with a hint of a grin, 'these last few months have been quite the learning curve. But one dwarf in particular takes it to greater lengths than I have ever known.'

'Oh, so you've met Thorin, have you?' joked Gimli, and his heart lifted when a full-fledged grin bloomed over Legolas' face.

Time was ticking by, but Gimli knew Dís would allow them these few precious moments. They were, after all, going to step into one another's mind soon. From a practical point of view, this was all in aid of Drift cohesion.

Legolas' grin faded, and the letter in his hands was folded up carefully and precisely, Legolas' long fingers smoothing out every crease.

'I'm...I'm sorry about your friends,' said Gimli carefully. 'I think...I think I would have liked them both, had we more time.'

Gimli watched as a strange expression of distant grief shadowed Legolas' eyes. Elves were not acquainted with loss, Gimli reminded himself. Or, at least, they hadn't been until this war had begun. Gimli wondered how it affected them, how deeply that surface emotion ran.

Well. He would find out soon.

'I take it the Marshall would like to see us,' said Legolas, mirroring Gimli's own thoughts.

'Yes. She would.'

The elf graced him with one of his usual strange stares, and it always felt like he was taking account of Gimli each time they saw each other. Gimli was starting to find them comforting rather than intrusive, and stranger still, he found himself returning the look, as if they were already in the Drift and had no need of words.

'Let's not keep her waiting, then,' said Legolas, rising from his seat.

A grim-faced Marshall Dís welcomed Legolas and Gimli into her office.

'Gentlemen,' she said, 'please do come in. I'm sure you both know what this is about.'

'We do,' said Legolas, 'you want us to pilot the third Jaeger.'

'Straight to the point, then,' muttered Dís. 'Yes, I do.' She looked between them, eyes darting back and forth for a moment, and there was a sense of weariness about her, ingrained into the fine lines around her eyes and the way every expression that passed over her face was muted.

'I find myself forced to use every available resource to hand,' she said. 'That includes the two of you, and the spare Jaeger. Such as it is.'

'We understand, Marshall,' said Gimli, 'it'd be an honour to join Orcrist and Rayade for the mission.'

'But I'm not sure you do understand the full weight of what I'm asking,' Dís said, frowning heavily. 'The Jaeger is not complete. The armour – if you can call it armour – hasn't been tested, and in some places the technicians have expressed concerns it might-'

Legolas dared to interrupt her.

'Marshall,' he said, politely but firmly, 'we understand.'

Dís lowered her eyes. 'I'm beginning to see that you do,' she said, and raised her gaze once more. 'Do you understand the mission parameters?'

'We're to protect Rayade for as long as we can,' said Gimli, 'against whatever comes out of the Breach, so they can drop the bomb.'

'That's about the gist of it,' said Dís. 'Though I'll give you both the file so you can look over the finer details. You'll be working defence withOrcrist. Thorin is extremely experienced – follow his lead on the battlefield and listen to his instructions. He's a grumpy sod, but he's right, most of the time.'

'Perhaps he will be less grumpy with Bilbo in the cockpit with him,' said Legolas in a tone so casual he could have been talking about the weather. Dís narrowed her eyes at him.

'What do you know?' she said, and then thought better of it, holding up a hand to forestall Legolas' answer, 'never mind. I don't have time for idle gossip. Let's just hope they sort themselves out before they Drift and save us all from their significant looks and unresolved sexual tension.'

Gimli had to cover his resulting laugh with a cough. Legolas obligingly reached over to pat him on the back.

Dís, as unflappable as ever, continued as though nothing had happened.

'Now, I want you to run some tests before we deploy you...'

There was a knock at the door.

A warm, half-asleep Bilbo stirred under his nest of blankets. He scrubbed a hand over his face and shrugged off the covers, only half-aware of what he was doing. The need to answer the door - just in case he was being summoned to his post - was hardwired into him, and so on automatic he stumbled upright and out of his bed, eyes at half-mast and unfocused.

He swung open the heavy door, leaning his whole body weight into it, and blinked when he found Thorin standing on the other side of the threshold. The dwarf had one arm leant against the doorframe, and was staring at Bilbo with an intensity that swept aside the remaining vestiges of sleep clinging to Bilbo's mind.

'Thorin?' said Bilbo tentatively, when Thorin said nothing. He couldn't read Thorin's look, and he shifted nervously on his feet.

Without a word, and with his eyes never leaving Bilbo's face for a moment, Thorin stepped into Bilbo's room, leaving Bilbo with no choice but to step backwards.

'Did you...did you sleep...well?' attempted Bilbo, eyes widening when Thorin shut the door behind him. His heart was now beating so fast he was afraid Thorin could hear it.

'I did,' said Thorin, taking another step forward. Bilbo's room was tiny, and, although there was still space enough for him to scoot back, he found himself holding his ground all the same, unable to look away from Thorin's bright eyes gone dark with intent. Bilbo licked his lips nervously, and when Thorin's eyes dropped down to his mouth, Bilbo's heart lurched in his chest.

'Bilbo,' started Thorin, close enough now that he surely, surely could see the resulting shiver his voice evoked in Bilbo.

'Yes?'

'May I-'

'Yes,' Bilbo managed to say, scarcely even aware of what Thorin was asking.

A smile flicked up the corners of Thorin's mouth, and that was all the warning Bilbo had before Thorin closed the remaining scant few centimetres between and claimed Bilbo's mouth in a searing kiss.

The first touch of chapped lips was like a shock running through him. Bilbo gasped, arching up into it, and his reward was Thorin reaching out to draw Bilbo close, pressing him against his chest as he licked his way into Bilbo's mouth with such delicious heat that all thought left Bilbo beyond the need to get closer. With fumbling hands he reached up to dig his fingers deep into Thorin's dark hair, groaning, clumsily returning the press of lips and teeth and tongue as best he could, intensely aware of every point that they were connected.

Thorin's hands slid down the length of Bilbo's back, leaving wildfire in their wake, grasping Bilbo's waist in a firm grip. Bilbo yelped in surprise as he was all but lifted against his feet, Thorin reversing their positions to press Bilbo against the door and bring their bodies flush together until there was not an inch between them, Thorin groaning so deeply Bilbo felt the reverberations in his chest. With no more than a moment to collect himself, Thorin descended on Bilbo once more as though he couldn't bear to be apart from him for a moment. But he did not return to Bilbo's kiss-swollen lips, instead tilting his head to press kisses across Bilbo's cheek, over his chin and down the vulnerable column of his neck, the rasp of his beard setting Bilbo's blood alight and leaving his skin tingling in the wake of Thorin's attentions. Thorin paused in his descent only to lightly bite at the juncture between neck and shoulder, Bilbo's whole body jolting at the feel of teeth against his thrumming pulse point, breath stuttering around a moan, feeling rather than seeing Thorin's resulting grin.

Thorin's wide, big hands drifted lower, onto his hips, thumbs pressing into the skin just above Bilbo's trousers, hiking up Bilbo's shirt. In a move so sudden and swift that Bilbo gave up on rational thought altogether, Thorin dropped to his knees. White-hot heat began to pool in the bottom of Bilbo's stomach, fingers clumsily carding through Thorin's loose, dark hair. Thorin pressed a kiss into the hollows of Bilbo's hips, unhurried for the moment as if he had no idea how impatient he had made Bilbo for his touch.

Bilbo tipped his head back against the door, ignoring the little spark of pain when he hit it too hard. He could barely breathe through his arousal, breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. He felt as though his body was running away from him, the sensations wrecked on his body nearly overwhelming, but he desperately hoped Thorin wouldn't stop.

The sound of his belt being undone was startlingly loud-

And Bilbo flinched awake into the darkness of his room.

At first, his confusion was so great that his hands flailed out over his bed, searching for something, some point of contact that his body so desperately, instinctually needed. But after a few long moments, the world resolved, Bilbo's mind slowly making sense of what had happened and what was real, and he was left alone in the pitch-black, trying to catch his breath, his heart and body aching.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, his hands opening and closing. He couldn't seem to lay in one place, imbued with a restlessness, and an energy that he couldn't use. He stubbornly refused to acknowledge how hard he was.

A dream, then. Nothing more than a dream. But it had undoubtedly been the most realistic dream Bilbo had had in his entire life. Everything, from the way Thorin had looked at him to how the dwarf's hair felt under his hands, had felt so real, so tangible. He could still feel the burn of Thorin's beard against his chin, and when he licked his lips he swore he could taste Thorin on his tongue.

Bilbo slid his hand down from his forehead to cover his eyes. He groaned. He had no idea how he was going to be able to look Thorin in the eye in a couple of hour's time, let alone pilot a Jaeger with him. A little crush was one thing, and easily ignored or overlooked by Thorin, but this? Thorin would need nothing more than five minutes in the Drift with him to uncover this little secret.

There was a knock at the door.

Bilbo uncovered his eyes and reached out for his bedside light, flicking it on. He winced at the bright light of the lamp, too close to his face, and heaved himself up and out of the bed. Seeing another person was not something Bilbo was particularly keen on at that moment in time, but he couldn't ignore the knock. It was likely a summons to the Comms Room. His stomach twisted into knots as he realised they were probably only a couple of hours away from deployment.

Bilbo opened the door. He expected to see Ori, or Tauriel, perhaps. He was not expecting to see Thorin.

Bilbo could do nothing but gape at the dwarf standing in his doorway, his cheeks flooding with heat of their own accord. He noted, distantly, that there was colour enough on Thorin's cheekbones to match Bilbo's own.

And Thorin looked as lost as Bilbo felt, as unsure as Bilbo had ever seen him.

There was only one reason why Thorin would look like that, why Thorin would look as embarrassed as Bilbo felt, his eyes skittering over Bilbo's frame. Oh no. This was worse than Bilbo had first thought. Oh, no. Thorin's arm was leaning against the doorframe, just as it had been in the dream. Thorin realised this in the same moment Bilbo did, and hastily dropped his arm.

Bilbo's traitorous mind reminded him of the way Thorin's hands had run down the length of his spine and his fingers had so nimbly undone Bilbo's belt. He dearly hoped that they were no longer connected to such an extent that Thorin had picked up on the shiver of arousal winding its way through Bilbo's body. He sorely wished that the ground would suddenly open up beneath him, or that the Kaiju decided to put him out of his misery and attack the Base at that very moment. But neither of these things happened, and instead Bilbo and Thorin were left to stare hopelessly at one another.

'Bilbo-'

'Thorin-' said Bilbo at the same time, and he laughed nervously. What on Earth could he say?

But Thorin seemed to have the answer – he appeared to be preparing himself to ask something of Bilbo, his expression resolving itself into something altogether more in control, though the colour remained on his cheeks.

Thorin opened his mouth. Ori chose that moment to appear at the end of the corridor and say,

'Bilbo, Thorin – good, you're up!'

Ori faltered when they both turned to glare heatedly at him. The young dwarf grimaced at having interrupted what he now saw to be a very private conversation. But he persisted with his task, though his eyes flicked between them nervously as he did so.

'Marshall Dís would like you suited up and on deck in the hangar bay, please, as soon as you're...as soon as you're dressed,' said Ori with a gulp, and with that he fled. Bilbo had a strong suspicion that he would make a stop at the hangar bay on the way back to his post, to gossip about what he'd seen. The story would likely be shared, expanded on, distorted, and used for betting purposes by the time Thorin and Bilbo reached their Drivesuit room. Bilbo didn't blame Ori for this. It was just a simple fact of Base life.

'I'd better...' started Bilbo, gesturing behind him to his room, and oh, that was the wrong thing to do, because Thorin's eyes flicked over Bilbo's shoulder, into the room behind him, clearly recalling his most recent viewing of it.

'Yes, you'd better,' said Thorin, 'and I'd better...' he trailed off, stepping back from Bilbo's door. He was still looking at Bilbo as though he had something else to say, but whatever it was he didn't seem to be able to give voice to it.

'I'll see you up there,' said Bilbo, and, coward that he was, he retreated back into his room and shut the door as quickly as was polite.

Every member of staff was on deck, the hangar bay once again packed to bursting. They all looked exhausted, clothes stained and faces drawn and pale, but they had done their duty. The crew of Base Zero had performed miracles in the last eight hours; all three Jaegers were now ready for deployment, and the bomb was strapped to Alpha Rayade's back, secure in its casing. Bilbo knew that they no longer had any resources left – everything they had had gone into the Jaegers. This was it. If they failed, the world would be left utterly defenceless.

Gimli and Legolas were undergoing pre-Drop checks in the cockpit of their Jaeger. Their technicians had wanted them to have as much time as possible to get used to each other in the Drift. They had named their Jaeger Whitegull Lockstar, and though Bilbo knew it was dangerous for them to deployed with Rayade and Orcrist, he felt better knowing that there was someone else watching Kíli and Fíli's back.

Dís and Thorin were off to one side, saying their goodbyes. Bilbo didn't want to intrude; he stood at the foot of Orcrist, watching as the roof of the Base steadily opened, layer after layer retracted like a flower coming into full bloom. It was an hour after dawn, and the sky was cloudless, that perfect shade of blue that comes only after a storm.

Kíli and Fíli appeared at either elbow. They cut dashing figures in their blue armour, edged with gold, with their hair drawn back from their young faces and clasped in matching clips.

'Well,' said Kíli a little awkwardly, 'this is it, then.'

'We wanted to say goodbye properly,' said Fíli, shooting Kíli a look, 'before we deploy.'

'You don't have to, I mean - this isn't the end,' said Bilbo. They looked so grim, the both of them. More than ever, they looked like their Uncle.

'Oh, no,' agreed Kíli, 'but best to have it all sorted, right?'

'Just in case,' nodded Fíli. 'I know we haven't seen...eye to eye, recently, but you're still our friend.'

Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. He was shorter than both of them, and so he had to rise to the tips of his toes when he dove forward to sweep the brothers up into a hug, their respective Drivesuits clinking as they met.

'This is how we say goodbye in the Shire, you see,' said Bilbo, feeling very silly, his voice slightly muffled in Kíli's shoulder.

Without a shred of hesitation, Fíli and Kíli brought their arms around to complete the gesture. Bilbo was thankful neither of them could see his face.

They stepped back after a moment, but the boys didn't go far. Fíli put his hands to Bilbo's shoulders and, very gently, tapped his forehead against Bilbo's. Kíli repeated the gesture, grinning at Bilbo's astonished expression.

'And that's how we Dwarves say goodbye,' said Fíli, smiling.

Bilbo let out a soft laugh, wishing they had more time. His eyes slid past Fíli, to where Dís and Thorin were talking quietly. Fíli and Kíli shared a look over Bilbo's head.

'We're...' started Kíli, but he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

'We're glad Thorin has you,' said Fíli.

Bilbo blinked, turning to look at them once more, embarrassment flooding him. 'I'm not, I mean, he's not. I mean, it's not like that!' he spluttered, inwardly despairing that he was being so obvious about his mooning.

A sly smile slid over Kíli's mouth, and he suddenly looked much more like himself. 'Why, Bilbo, whatever do you mean?'

'We just meant as friends,' said Fíli, who was doing a much better job at suppressing his mirth.

Bilbo glared at them, annoyed at himself for having been caught out. 'Oh, for goodness' sake,' he huffed.

'A remarkable comeback,' said Fíli dryly, and Kíli laughed outright.

Bilbo resolved to ignore both of them until Thorin had finished talking. He knew he was giving himself away, but he couldn't help the way his eyes tracked back to his co-pilot. But this time, he was not alone. Fíli and Kíli were looking in the direction of their Uncle and mother, too, and their expressions became touched with some manner of emotion Bilbo couldn't discern. Thorin and Dís embraced – it was difficult around Thorin's armour, but they managed it – and touched foreheads.

'Go over there,' said Bilbo gently, 'go on, I know you want to.'

Fíli and Kíli looked at him, and Bilbo nudged both of them with his elbows.

'Just in case,' Bilbo said.

The brothers didn't look at each other, but Bilbo knew some form of unspoken communication passed between them all the same. The seconds stretched out with the two of them as still as statues, and Bilbo feared that their pride would not even allow them this. But then Fíli started forwards, his stride hesitant until Kíli stepped forwards to join him, and Bilbo turned away with a small smile. He didn't want to intrude on what was about to take place. That was for the Durins alone.

A few minutes later, Dís strode through the crowd, coming to stand on Orcrist's foot. As ever, she cut a commanding figure in her smart uniform, unbowed by the mission ahead, her face clear and proud as she looked out at her officers and personnel.

'Today we stand on the eve of the breaking of the world,' she said, her voice carrying far, the hangar bay going still and hushed as she spoke. The quiet was expectant, reverent, wanting to give their full attention to what Dís said next.

'There are monsters at our door and they would have this world end in blood and ruin,' said Dis, anger colouring her tone. 'But here, and now, we have chosen to stand together. Elves, Dwarves, Humans...Hobbits.' Dís' eyes alighted on Bilbo briefly, a smile causing her stoicism to falter, just for a second. 'We stand together. We will fight together. They have taken too much from us – but no more! It's time we face the monsters at our door and bring the fight to them. Today, we are cancelling the apocalypse!'

Her words were met with a wordless roar. Bilbo joined in, adding his voice to it, letting the sound wash over him and bolster his spirit. It was time. No going back now.

In the Comms room, Tauriel was overseeing the simultaneous readying of three different Jaegers, each one of which required into own unique preparations for the mission ahead.

There were two marks on the board, hovering just below the Breach. They'd spotted two energy readings four hours ago, and were still trying to collect as much information about the two new Kaiju as possible. They had been given the Codenames of Glaurung and Carcharoth, and if their scanners were correct, then they were the two biggest Cat-4s the world had ever seen. Neither Kaiju had moved an inch in all that time, as if they knew what the plan was and were guarding the Breach. So much for the element of surprise, then, but they would have to work with what they had.

At the very least, they had brought their Jaeger count up to three, and Orcrist wouldn't be alone in defending Rayade. Gimli and Legolas' Drift had been strong – very strong – during the initial tests, and they were now running through some last-minute preparations with their tech team. They would be re-entering the Drift any moment now. Kíli and Fíli were having the mechanics of the bomb explained to them, though they already knew most of it – they'd been briefed on this several times over the space of the last month. The bomb would surely alter the way their Jaeger moved, but Kíli and Fíli had always been extraordinarily gifted when it came to piloting, with an instinctual grasp of the way Alpha Rayade fought. They would be fine. They'd adapt to the extra weight within minutes of them setting off, Tauriel was sure.

Bilbo and Thorin were moments away from a Neural Handshake. Aside from running through the repaired damage to Orcrist Sting with them, Bilbo and Thorin had the fewest preparations to make. They would be the first pair to step into the Drift. They were also, currently, not responding to their Comms.

The officer who had been in charge of relaying the information to them was frowning confusedly at his monitor.

'Orcrist, do you read?' he said, 'do you read? Why have you turned off your Comms?

Tauriel saw him reach for the secondary Comms unit. Gently but firmly, she reached out and caught his hand before he could complete the transfer.

'Ma'am,' said the officer, surprised, 'they're not responding-'

'Just...give them a moment,' she said, with a small smile.

The quiet in the cockpit was deafening. To say that Bilbo and Thorin were acting awkwardly around one another would be an understatement. Bilbo wasn't quite sure how they'd gone from their easy banter, so in tune with each other's humour and moods, to this. They could barely look at each other, and Bilbo knew, with absolute certainty, that they needed to clear the air before they Drifted. The Dift wouldn't hold if they were each holding back like this. As loathe as he was to talk about his feelings, Bilbo summoned his courage and attempted to steel himself for the inevitable conversation.

Apparently Thorin had been thinking along the same lines. The officer who had been speaking to them from the Comms Room was cut off suddenly, mid-sentence, and Bilbo saw out of the corner of his eye Thorin retract his hand from the controls for Orcrist's Comms Unit.

Gingerly, Bilbo raised his eyes to look at Thorin. His co-pilot looked supremely uncomfortable. Good. That made two of them, then.

'Bilbo-' said Thorin in the same moment Bilbo said, 'I think-'

'Sorry,' said Bilbo reflexively.

For a moment they simply stood there, on either side of the cockpit with no idea what to say. This was so much easier in the Drift, despaired Bilbo as he hefted his helmet in one hand, squirming where he stood.

Thorin, who was clearly braver in this than Bilbo was, breached the silence, though he looked like he was swallowing glass with every word he spoke.

'What happened this morning-'

'It shouldn't have happened,' said Bilbo in a rush, so frustrated with himself that he didn't see the resulting, stricken expression that passed over Thorin's face. 'I'm sorry. My dream...I don't have any power over what I dream about, but I'm sorry that you-'

'Your dream?' cut in Thorin sharply.

Bilbo's brows knitted together in confusion. 'Yes, my dream, what do you mean-'

He broke off. They stared at each other, and Bilbo felt like he was tipping over the edge of a precipice, into freefall. A quiet, glorious moment of understanding passed between them, and Bilbo's heart swelled in his chest, fit to burst. He watched, stunned, as soft hope – mingled with joy – lit up Thorin's face.

'I see,' said Bilbo around a wide, wide smile.

'I think I do, too,' said Thorin, smiling that way that made Bilbo's stomach do cartwheels.

A thought passed through Bilbo's dazed mind, lifting his heart even further, if that were possible. He lifted his shoulders and his chin and said, 'Thorin, would you. I mean, would you consider-'

'Bilbo it's alright,' Thorin said with a shake of his head, eyes dark and fond. 'I'm beginning to understand-'

'No, I'd just like to say...to say...' Bilbo trailed off, courage faltering.

Thorin tried to come to his rescue. 'You don't have to say it out loud,' he said gently.

'But I do. I do,' insisted Bilbo firmly. Then, more gently, he said, 'I have to say it, because this deserves saying out loud.' He clenched his hands into fists, so tightly he heard the creak of his gloves. He made sure to look Thorin in the eye, though the warmth he found in Thorin's smile made his toes curl.

'Thorin, after all this is over...would you like to go to dinner with me?' said Bilbo in a rush.

Thorin closed his eyes and looked away. Bilbo saw that he was biting his lip so as not to grin too much. That wasn't a problem. Bilbo was grinning enough for the both of them. Thorin turned back to Bilbo and said, with bright eyes:

'Yes, I would like that very much.'

And it was easy, so very easy, for them to drift towards each other after that. They met in the middle. As Thorin leant down, Bilbo tilted his face upwards, letting out a shaky breath when Thorin's forehead came to rest against his own. A thumb ran over the swell of Bilbo's cheek, Thorin's hand cupping one side of his face. Bilbo's eyes fluttered shut.

Thorin bent down a little further, Bilbo stretched up a little more, and slowly, gently, they came together in a kiss.

It was better than the dream.

In the ruins of fallen skyscrapers and in the shadow of the carcass of Azog, Lobelia and Bofur were still working tirelessly to complete their task. Lobelia had, at some point, managed to radio back to the Base to ask for personnel, and Marshall Dís had obliged her request. Helicopters and vehicles had swooped in on the scene as soon as they could be spared, and Lobelia took it upon herself to bring them up to speed on the situation, organising and instructing, telling them what needed to be done and by what time. The Base staff easily deferred to Lobelia, despite the fact that she had no rank to speak of. But the Base officers were smart and competent, and they knew when they were speaking to someone who understood the situation better than they did – speed was of the essence, after all, and there was no time to pander to egos.

An uneasy peace had been drawn up between the Base officers and the blackmarket workers, the two sides bridged only by Lobelia, who marshalled everyone into work with a tone that brokered no argument, and everyone scrambled to carry out her orders, as though they couldn't bear to let her down – or they were afraid of what would happen if they did. Several of Nori's workers had found themselves setting up tents and equipment for the Base staff, all of them wearing confused looks on their faces, as if they weren't quite sure how they'd ended up helping.

Bofur, meanwhile, had been working on the young Kaiju for the last eight hours. He had spared a moment to ensure that the creature was well and truly dead before bringing out the drilling equipment, but thankfully there was no sign of life to be found in Azog's offspring. They would never know if it had died from suffocation or if one of Lobelia's wild shots had managed to pass through the maw of the Kaiju's mouth and hit the back of its throat. Either way, Bofur had what he wanted. He had laboured long into the night - with the occasional helping hand from one of Nori's people - to fit his relay device over the young Kaiju's brain. Bofur's equipment had been bolstered by instruments from his own labs, arriving with the Base choppers and vehicles. This must surely have been Lobelia's doing – Bofur had been far too engrossed in his task to think of such practicalities.

He was making the finishing touches of his device, checking over wires and switches, when Lobelia appeared at his side.

'Are you ready?'

'Nearly,' grunted Bofur, wiping his hands on an already filthy cloth, which served only to further smear the dirt over his skin. 'We're almost there, jus' a few more, minor adjustments to be made, and we're good to go.'

'We received word from the Base,' said Lobelia, 'they're ready to deploy.'

'Good luck to them,' said Bofur around a wire in his mouth, kneeling by his device.

'There are two Kaiju waiting for them in the Breach,' Lobelia continued, almost to herself. The one, small part of Bofur that was still listening, and was not concerned with numerous calculations and speculations, registered that she sounded distressed.

'Two. Not three.'

'So you got it wrong, then?'

'Seems so. I was so certain.'

Bofur finally stood up and turned to her. 'Anyone else would say tha's a good thing,' he said with a frown.

Lobelia tilted her head back, looking up at the scarred skyscrapers that had managed to escape the impact of Azog's carcass crashing to earth.

'It doesn't make any sense,' she muttered.

'Well, sense or no',' said Bofur, 'I've a job to do.' He stood back from his device and nodded. 'It's ready.'

Lobelia tore her eyes away from the broken city. She gave Bofur a fierce look.

'Bofur. It'll kill you.'

Bofur gave an odd little shrug. 'Maybe it will, maybe it won't,' he said jovially, 'but it's gotta happen.'

Lobelia stepped forwards, her glare sharpening. She was nearly a head shorter than Bofur, but when she was looking at him in the way that she was at that moment, the height difference didn't matter one bit.

'I'm going in with you.'

Bofur was so shocked that the remaining calculations he had been doing in his head scattered, leaving only his consternation.

'Lobelia,' he began, but he could see that she'd already made up her mind, and that there would be no reasoning with her. He tried anyway. 'You can't, that'll mean two of us-'

'It's what the pilots do, isn't it? Share the load?'

'Well, yes, but-'

'Then that's what we'll do, too. You know it makes sense, Bofur.'

Bofur let out a breath, glancing at the device. 'Alright then,' he said, 'let's do this.'

Lobelia's whole visage brightened. Bofur slapped her on the arm companionably, as he would one of his Dwarven friends, just to see the resulting flash of annoyance pass over her face. Bofur gently steered her to the spare seat near the device that would initiate the neural handshake.

Bofur began to place the neural cap on her head, watching as determination warred with fear on her face. She had seen him in the aftermath of the Drift, and that had been with a tiny portion of a Kaiju brain. This time they would be attempting it with a full, intact brain, and there was no telling what sort of backlash would some from Drifting with it. It might kill them both in an instant.

Bofur put a hand to her shoulder, stilling her movements as she fussed with the cap, clicking on the collar that held the headpiece in place and arranged herself to sit properly on the chair. He took a moment to lock gazes with her, unhindered by the glasses she had put to one side.

'Just...try an' hold on to who you are, alright?' he said.

Lobelia nodded, her bright green eyes shaded with worry.

Bofur took his own seat next to her, sliding the cap on his head and fastening the collar around his neck. Such a monumental task. He wished they were doing it with a bit ceremony.

'Here we go,' he said aloud. 'Initiating Drift in three...two...one-'

The Drift was not kind to either of them. The neural handshake was not designed to connect human and Kaiju brains, and their own consciousness resisted the imbalance and the intrusion of an alien presence. It was a struggle, even with Bofur's technology helping the process along. Bofur sensed Lobelia resisting, an automatic impulse that was understandable, but it caused them to wrench out of sync for a split second, the pain whipping over their respective minds before Lobelia adjusted and brought her mind back into alignment, her resistance easing away, though Bofur could sense how much it cost her.

The neural handshake initiated, and Lobelia and Bofur connected in the Drift.

Questions, questions, so many questions, why don't you go and sit quietly and read your book, dear? Don't bother your father while he's working but she needs to know, what makes the bread rise in the oven? How do fish breathe underwater? Why does ice turn back into liquid when you put it down the back of someone's shirt?

Bofur sees Erebor first as the train rounds the corner, and his heart is set a-flutter at the sight of the dark, glittering city. It's not for long, he tells his family, think of it like a holiday, and it's safer than Ered Luin. There's so many of them they're taking up two tables in the carriage, his nephews running riot and making the other passengers smile, and Bombur's wife just shakes her head passes him the nearest child to hold-

Look, mama, I made daddy's computer better, it works now! And yet no praise is forthcoming – mama's face is pale and she's flustered like Lobelia's teacher gets when Lobelia asks questions, and daddy is furious because how did she get into the tools, and this isn't what a young Hobbit lass is supposed to be interested in at her age why can't you be normal?

When she leaves they look at her like they don't recognise the young tween in front of them, and she slams the door shut on her way out even though she knows it's petty and pointless-

The young Kaiju's mind stirred, and in the space of a blink their world shifted from sharp memories to a blurry haze. Bofur knew they were now seeing through the Kaiju's eyes, the creature self-aware and knowing in the womb, hungry for blood and the world on fire, and then-

Then they saw its creator.

It's presence ripped across their mind, and Bofur was afforded a split second to mourn, knowing that Lobelia would never be the same again, because this changed you, now and forever, and the creator was looking right at them. It knew they were there. Across the expanse of space and time, it reached out to them.

You are dying it whispered, you are breathing your last breath, I am coming for you, I am coming for all that you love, I have taken your hope and now I will take yourworldand you know you cannot stop me

Bofur ripped off the device, pushing up and out of the chair. He was reaching for Lobelia even before his world had fully reasserted itself, helping her take off her own helmet. Lobelia's face had drained of all colour, and her right eye had bled red, just as Bofur's had. She took one look at Bofur, her expression stricken and eyes unseeing, and threw up. Bofur, who had seen this reaction coming, leapt out of the way just in time to save his boots from being splattered with half-digested food. He put a hand to her back and waited for her to stop vomiting, offering her a handkerchief when she had finished.

Lobelia took it gratefully, wiping at her mouth with a shaking hand.

'You carry a handkerchief?' was the first thing she said when she could speak.

'It's a habit I picked up from someone,' said Bofur mildly.

Lobelia took a few long gulps of air.

'Their plan,' she said, and didn't need to say a word more. They were still in each other's heads.

'I know,' hissed Bofur. 'We need to-'

'Yes.'

As soon as Lobelia was able to stand, they ran to the nearest tent to demand a helicopter.