CHAPTER 1

The cliché of it all was unbearable. Hit by a bus. Hit by a freaking bus.

My boots pounded the deck as I hurried to work, running late for ward rounds after an impromptu little bender the evening before. Don't be fooled, doctors are not always the responsible and upstanding citizens you lay folk would like to believe. I definitely wasn't.

I was a bit dysfunctional, a little misanthropic, a hopeless cook, hated cleaning and abused substances more than what was acceptable, but I was a good doctor (I'd like to think). I had a knack for wheedling patient's secrets out of them. The deepest and darkest of a person's life not only tells you where the problem is, but where their priorities lie, so I would say that particular skill served me well.

I'm going off on a bloody tangent. The day of my rebirth, the beginning of my second life! I was running late, hungover, coffee in hand and in the process of bolting across the road to the hospital where I worked. I looked the wrong way down a one way street to check for oncoming traffic, realised my mistake a split second later and turned my head just in time for the bus to collide with my face.

No pain, of course. Adrenaline has a fast onset of action. Either that or there was not enough time for me to feel pain before my head hit the deck. That was it. My life didn't flash before my eyes and there were no tunnels with bright lights at the end, or whatever. I simply went into non-being, for god knows how long, before a most peculiar sensation of falling and hitting the deck a second time.

It knocked the wind right out of me, and I opened my eyes, gasping for air.

Odd, I had thought. The day back home was blustery and showery. Here the sun shone, and I lay face up under the canopy of a tall tree, with that glittery, irritating feeling of dappled light shining in my eyes. I had just registered the additional discomfort of lying with my bag wedged awkwardly under my back, when I heard a strangled voice.

'Oh, my dear! How did you…? You just…fell, out of nowhere. Are you all right?' The man came running up to me and began helping me up. I grumbled and winced and held my face. 'Oh my god, my head hurts.'

'I'm not in the least surprised,' said the man, 'you must have fallen at least six feet. Come with me at once, we must have you checked over.' The man was a little shorter than I, with a kind face and a mop of curly hair. He looked like a farmer from the Edwardian era – he wore breeches, a linen shirt folded up to his elbows, and suspenders.

'My name is Bilbo Baggins, at your service. What were you doing up that tree?'

'WHAT? Hold on a second…' I almost shouted at him. 'You're name is Bilbo Baggins?' He stared at me. I couldn't do anything more than just gape stupidly while my mind raced ahead.

Bilbo was the first to recover. 'Yes, Mr Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End.' He chuckled nervously. 'Might I have your name?'

'Oh, yeah, sorry. Bonnie Dunlap. Where are we? We aren't in the Shire, are we?' Impossible, it was impossible. I gazed around wildly, thinking it certainly looked like the green, undulating countryside I remember seeing in Lord of the Rings many years ago. I then remembered just who lived in the Shire…

I glanced down at Bilbo's feet. Yep, huge and hairy. Incredible. I let out a shocked, quick laugh, and looked back up at Bilbo's face, who was regarding me warily and looked rather worried.

'Yes, Ms Dunlap, this is The Shire.'

Holy Jesus…

Bilbo Baggins had led me around the corner along the cute little trodden path to Bag End, the Bag End. The round green door with the doorknob smack in the centre and the cottagey front garden were the most noticeable features. It was beautiful, peaceful. Farmers were working and children playing in the soft green fields below. I half-expected the classical music soundtrack of the films to start up in the background. I walked slowly and automatically, taking everything in, Bilbo's hand at my back, but my brain was still going at an alarming pace. Was I dead? It certainly didn't feel like it. Dead people don't get headaches. Although I remembered the bus, getting hit, hitting my head and everything going black.

I couldn't explain this. I'd built a life around science, about reasons for what happened to people. I hated not being able to explain it. So I just kept gaping, breathing quickly and shaking my head.

Bilbo sat me down in an armchair by the fire. 'Thankyou,' I said absently, looking around the room. It was as comfortable-looking as one would imagine, with wood panelling, furnishings and books, maps and writing implements scattered messily over a large, heavy-looking table.

'I'll make some tea,' he said, hurrying into the next room. I took the opportunity to stand back up and quickly sidle over to the mirror in the hallway. The first thing I noticed was the sideburns. Little short tufts of blonde hair growing down in front of my ears. My god, oh my fecking god. Sideburns! Gross. I yanked at them, horrified. No, I thought, definitely attached. How unfortunate! Things like this shouldn't happen unless you shelve a few too many roids.

Despite the sideburns (ew) I still looked like myself, although my nose looked a little larger, but not like a beak or anything, and my hair was longer. It was still blonde and almost curly, but now it hung past the middle of my back. My build was wider and sturdier. I didn't dwell on my altered features, but pulled my pen torch out of my pocket and began checking myself over.

Pupils equal and reactive to light and accommodation. GCS 15/15 (apparently. I certainly felt confused), eye movements, facial sensation, movements and power grossly intact. Nil obvious peripheral muscle weakness or sensory loss. Full, pain-free range of active c-spine movements. Ok, I'm boring you.

Hurrying back to the armchair, I plonked myself in it just in time for Bilbo to come bustling over with a tea tray, which he placed next to me on a small coffee table, and sat in the adjacent chair.

I was still amazed. Why I came here, I probably would never know, but hey, so far so good and now I get tea made for me. My best friend, who forced me to watch Lord of the Rings back when we were in medical school, would be insanely jealous right now. I'd had very little interest in the fantasy genre, but endured the movies because she was my best friend and I loved her, and she loved Lord of the Rings. In the end I actually quite enjoyed the movies. Not enough to go into raptures over them, though.

This version of Bilbo Baggins was younger than the one in the movies. This realisation created more questions than it answered.

Bilbo began to pour tea. 'How are you feeling, Ms Dunlap?'

'Ugh, just stick with Bonnie, would you? My mother is Ms Dunlap.' That might have come across a little unkindly. 'Sorry, that was rude. I'm still a bit shocked.'

He chuckled. 'Call me Bilbo. Sugar?'

'Yes, please. And a little milk, not too much! Good man.'

This was nice. I sipped on the tea, warming my hands and beginning to feel a bit better. The headache began to subside.

'Bilbo, I have a few questions.'

He settled back in the chair and looked at me with a wry smile. 'I surmised as much, since you appeared out of thin air and don't seem to know where you are.'

'The Shire, you said.' He nodded. 'How tall are you? And what year is it? Why have I got sideburns? I didn't have sideburns earlier today. And…' I hesitated. 'Do you know of Gandalf the Grey?'

Bilbo, bless him, remained impassive. 'Odd questions, I'll grant you, but to answer them. I am three feet four inches tall, the year is 2941 of the Third Age, the date being 26 Astron, and I would say you have sideburns because you are a dwarven lady. That and your wearing of boots would mean you certainly are not a hobbit. As for Gandalf the Grey, I have his acquaintance and I quite admire his fireworks. In fact, he stopped by here just yesterday and offered me a place on an adventure, but I have no use for such things. He would have moved on by now, I expect; being the wandering wizard means he seldom stops in one place for long.'

Wow. Ok. The year, of course, meant absolutely nothing to me. But now, here I was, an almost four foot dwarf, thrown into what I think to be a prequel to Lord of the Rings: A young Bilbo, hasn't yet been on any great adventure, no sign of Frodo Baggins, no lasting friendship with Gandalf the Grey. I felt a little put out. If anyone could explain why I was here, in short person form, and how I could get home, it was the wizard.

'Now, Bonnie, it's your turn.'

I'm so nervous about publishing this, as I've never written anything much before, but I just had to do this!

Kind reviews only, and thankyou in advance!