The phone that Ink had was an old model. It could only hold so many photos, and, more importantly, so many contacts. There were three empty spaces for new contacts left on her phone, and these she had habitually kept empty, for no other reason than “just in case.”

She had used one of those contacts to input Mac’s number. And she had used another to contact Nurse Golding.

Nurse Golding was of middle-age, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. She had had twins long ago who had moved on to college. She had been a nurse for several decades and had no plans of retiring soon. She had told Ink all of this over the course of the days, and though it was perhaps pointless information to know, it was a welcome divergence from the typical, cold pieces of knowledge the other nurses and doctors would grunt unto Ink. She had quickly become something of a friend within that hospital, and had given Ink her number so as to keep in contact and to monitor her mother’s condition.

It was this number that Ink called the day she left her home for what would be a very long time.

Upon the third ring, Nurse Golding picked up. “Good morning, Ink!” she said cheerfully. Ink wondered if that was a guise, a habit that all nurses—at least, the good ones—picked up in training.

“Good morning, Nurse Golding,” Ink replied, keeping that thought to herself. “How are you today?”

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Though I guess that’s because it’s Monday.”

“How so?”

“Nothing interesting happens on Monday.”

Like my mother waking up. Ink bit her lip. That thought would have to be dealt with later, preferably with extreme prejudice. “Yeah, well, you know what they say. After Monday and Tuesday, even the calendar goes ‘WTF.’”

Nurse Golding’s laugh echoed electronically through the speaker, and Ink couldn’t help but smile a little. “Ah, Monday humor. Classic.”

Ink waited a moment to compose herself, before she asked the main question on her mind. “How’s my mother doing?”

“She’s doing fine,” Nurse Golding said. “She trembles less in her sleep. I think she was just cold, so we gave her a specialized, electric-heated blanket. It’s like a little cloud on her bed, just for her.”

“That’s good to hear. Is she… awake?”

“I’m sorry, Ink, but not yet. The doctor says that they’ll have to keep her in an induced comatose state for the time being—”

Ink nearly dropped her phone. “What?! They’re extending the coma?”

“Yes, but it’s for a good reason! They want to bring down the swelling of her brain.”

Ink gulped. “Oh. So…”

“So what we’re trying to do is minimize, healthily mind you, the amount of electrical activity as best we can, so that the medicine can work unhindered. Don’t worry, though!” she added, a bit unnecessarily. “The procedure is completely painless and harmless to the patient. Your mom will be fine.”

Will be fine. If only Ink could fully believe that. She tried to sound cheerful in response. “That’s… reassuring to hear. Thank you, Nurse Golding.”

They talked a little more, and then the nurse had to hang up. The phone beeped once, before it sent Ink back to the default home screen. She pocketed it.

Mac’s truck jostled as they hit a slight bump, and he let out a somewhat annoyed grunt. “When are they gonna fix that darn pothole?” he muttered. He glanced over at Ink. “Everything okay?”

“I guess,” she admitted. “I don’t really know.”

“Some would say no news is good news.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

He reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing her slightly. “Yer mom’s a strong woman, Ink. She’ll get through this.”

I want to believe that. Ink said nothing. Mac brought his hand back to the wheel.

They passed the familiar welcoming grove of trees, the orchard patch still barren and cold, and then they had entered Sweet Apple Acres. The little farmhouse was a familiar sight, standing proudly in the rapidly shortening distance. Mac drove the truck into the gravel driveway and put it in park, turning off the engine afterwards. He came out of the truck and went around to Ink’s side and opened the door and helped her out. Then he came around the back and popped the cargo hatch, where he took out Ink’s bags and began rolling them towards the home, Ink trailing slowly behind.

She had never had to pack so much, but then again, she had never had to effectively move homes in her life. She had grown up in Canterlot all of her life, and any vacation that she and her mother had taken had required only one, small bag of luggage in which they would place both of their sets of clothing. Mac was rolling two large suitcases, each filled with clothes for at least two seasons: winter and spring. There was no telling how long she would stay at the Apples, but it was better to be safe than sorry—overpacking be hanged.

The suitcases swiveled in the wet, snowy deluge before they came to a stop in front of the house. As Ink reached Mac, the door opened, revealing Granny Smith, who wore a terribly morose frown. No words were said. She simply nodded and opened the door more, allowing Mac and Ink to take the bags and go inside.

It was warm there. There was a fire going, smoke billowing up and out the chimney. They had not taken down all of the Christmas decorations so there lay littered about tinsel and unplugged lights. The radio was softly playing a nameless song.

As Granny Smith closed the door behind them, Ink heard some light stomping. A moment later, Apple Bloom emerged. She appeared to have just gotten up; she was still in her light-blue jammies. Her eyes widened at what she saw. “Ink?”

Ink tried to force a smile, but it felt shaky. “Mac?” Apple Bloom said. “What’s going on?”

“Ah… Ink’s gonna be stayin’ with us for a little while,” he said, straightening his back.

“Oh. Okay.” Apple Bloom seemed about to say more, but apparently thought better of it. “Um, so I guess you’ll be takin’ the spare room upstairs?”

“That seems to be the case,” Ink said.

“Here. Lemme help.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I can take—”

Apple Bloom took one of the suitcases before Ink could stop her, and she began pulling it and herself towards the stairs.

Mac grunted. “Don’t worry too much for her, Ink. Bloom’s strong in her own right.”

“You must be hungry, dear,” Granny Smith said. “Would you like me to cook you anything in particular? I’ve got pancakes on the stove already.”

Ink could smell the pancakes, too. Her stomach growled a little. “I’ll let you know,” she said.

Mac took the other bag and he and Ink walked to the stairs. Apple Bloom was at the top and was dragging her share to an unseen room. Ink stepped forward and began to climb, with Mac trailing behind her, the suitcase making thuds every step.

They reached the top and turned left, going down a short hallway. Apple Bloom had gone on ahead into a small compartment area down there. They all followed, and soon they had entered the spare room.

“Well, here it is,” Apple Bloom said.

It was a small, barren area, smaller than Ink’s bedroom, with naught a bed to be found. A single rug lay on the floor. The only piece of furniture was a dresser, old and wooden, that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. Next to it was a shuttered closet door. On the front wall was a window, revealing the orchard patch on the northern side of the home. From there she could see the strangely shaped tree that she and the rest of the Apple family had gathered around at Christmas. A memory of a far happier time…

“Here, lemme—” Mac walked over to the closet and opened it, and he then pulled out a large air mattress. He unfolded it and set about spreading it over the rug. “It, ah, ain’t much, but—”

“It’s fine, Mac,” Ink said.

“Um, I’ll go find ya a spare pillow,” Apple Bloom said, and left the two of them alone.

Mac plugged in the air mattress. The low humming as it filled was the only sound made. They stood and watched it, for a little while, before deciding to unpack. They unzipped Ink’s luggage and put the clothes in the old dresser. It was slow work. And quiet, too. All the talking that they had done earlier, for it all of it to suddenly fade away… it made Ink feel strange. Disconcerted, in a way.

She shook her head. Now wasn’t the time for that.

“Hey.”

Ink turned. Standing in the open doorway, leaning against the frame, was Applejack, dressed in her usual clothes, albeit with a winter theme in mind. She came off the frame and walked forward, approaching Ink. In a fluid motion, she wrapped her arms around the lilac-skinned girl and drew her in for a hug.

“Hey, girl,” Applejack murmured. “How’re ya holding up?”

“I’m okay,” Ink said. It was a lie and they both knew it, but Applejack didn’t seem intent on pursuing the lie.

“You’ll be staying with us, then.”

“Yes. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“ ‘Course it ain’t, girl. I bet Mac already gave you the whole spiel about how it’s the right thing to do.”

At that, Ink managed a tiny giggle. Mac harrumphed, though he didn’t seem too displeased by Applejack’s teasing.

Applejack stepped away from Ink, and she glanced around at the room. “Sorry ‘bout the space, there, Ink. If y’want, we can try an’ spruce it up a bit. Got a few festive rugs here and there—”

“No, it’s fine, Applejack,” Ink said, her hand coming up in a neutral manner. “Really. I don’t need much. Taking me in is generous enough as it is.”

Applejack chuckled. “Generous, huh? Guess Rarity’s starting to rub off on me.”

They heard Apple Bloom coming back, and saw a fluffy pillow in her arms. She beamed at the three of them before settling the pillow on the now-fully inflated bed. “There ya go!” she exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. “I gotcha the comfiest pillow in all the house! Well, ‘sides mine, of course.”

Ink couldn’t help but smile a little. “Thank you, Apple Bloom. Really.”

The two other girls nodded, and then began walking away. “Come join us for breakfast, why don’tcha?” Applejack called over her shoulder as she left.

Ink caught herself about to wave goodbye. It was an action that would not go unnoticed by Big Mac. He offered a chuckle as she lit up. “Ya ain’t leaving just yet, I hope,” he said as he, too, walked out.

He turned at the last second and flashed Ink a smile, of the same variety that he had flashed back at her house. “Welcome to our home, Ink.”

Welcome, indeed.

It was night, now. Night and dark. There was music playing again throughout the house, but this Ink easily and willingly ignored. Like memories undone. Or lives lost in forever. Gone, gone, not to be returned, not to be wanted. Push back against that endless tide and wish for nothing but nothing itself.

The hours had passed into that nothing, too; passed without her noticing. The time after breakfast seemed like a blur of mixed conversation and muted feelings. She recalled barely helping out around the house, cleaning and sweeping, trying to do everything she could to make up for her sudden intrusion upon their lives. If that had meant anything, it was lost. It was as if she suddenly jumped forward in time, from helping out to sitting on the inflatable bed.

She couldn’t even recall taking out her phone. She was scrolling through it, looking for maybe a message from Nurse Golding she might have missed. She looked through her text messages and found nothing left unread. Her heart stopped on the last conversation she had had with her mother, and then she was scrolling again, past and quickly, moving further from it, hitting the end, the barrier, pushing still, pushing it away.

The moonbeams drifted through the window and lounged across her legs. She stared out. The moon was full. The stars were out, too. The sky was the same as ever. Had nothing changed there?

“Hrgh!”

“Mm? Mac? That you?”

“Eeyup.”

Ink turned over to look at the door. She blinked slowly. “What are you doing lugging that desk around for?”

“Ergh!” He put the desk down for a moment, glancing over at her. In the darkness of the room she couldn’t see much of his face or what he wore, but what stood continuously out were the emeralds of his eyes. “Just, ah…”

Here he paused, rubbing the nape of his neck, looking away. Ink stared at him, intrigued. “Well?” she said.

“It was a thought,” he murmured.

“We’ve been having a lot of those as of late.”

His laugh lit up the room for a split second. “Well, I was hoping it’d be a good one, too.”

“Okay?”

He grabbed the desk again and walked into the room. He headed past Ink and towards the window. He placed the desk there, then went over to the door again and came back moments later with a matching chair. Throughout, Ink watched him.

“It’s for your writing,” he said once he had finished. She sat up a little at that. “I don’t know much about yer habits or whatnot, but I figure if you have a comfortable place to set your laptop and stuff up, you’ll be able to write.”

“Oh.”

He turned to her, and even in the darkness, she knew he was frowning. “That’s… not pushing too much, is it?”

“Oh, no!” She shook her head. “It’s just… well, I haven’t thought about writing in some time.”

He nodded. He understood, she figured, and that was that.

She slipped out of the bed and walked over to the desk and chair to inspect them. Her laptop was with the rest of her belongings, tossed carelessly to the side of the bed. Perhaps tomorrow she would put it there and get to work. Perhaps tomorrow she would continue.

“It’s lovely, Mac,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. She was thinking, now, thinking like she was flying, flying above the clouds and moon and stars. Distant but still close enough to the world to see his little smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Ink,” he said.

They hugged, wishing each other good night, before Mac slipped out of her arms and into the kind comforts of his own room, where he would turn out the light in a moment and lumber off to the Sandman’s realm. Yet as he left and once he was gone, Ink gripped her arms to herself. She felt like she was missing something.

She glanced outside once more, then down at the desk, where the moonbeams glided across.

She went to bed after that, in a home that wasn’t really hers.