When Ink awoke, it was suddenly. She had been dreaming of the hospital, she initially thought, since the last thing she remembered was a white room and there being the sound of beeping. As she crawled out of the airbed, though, the memory was lost as her eyes fell upon her calendar and saw that today was this day. She froze in her tracks.

Braeburn.

Braeburn had been hinting that he wanted to do something today. He had been hinting it for a while, now. She wasn’t really sure why, since they weren’t much of a couple, or a couple at all, though she couldn’t say she didn’t enjoy his company when they went out. But Valentine’s Day had been far from her mind as of late, and she found herself wondering what it was that that boy was planning for her, if she could take it, if Mac would not throttle him before he had a chance to do what he wanted.

Mac.

Again she remembered him, and then her mind drifted to that fateful meeting at the bus station. To have met one of her idols in person, and to have received advice from him; she was still floored by it. And yet that did nothing to dissuade her ever-growing discontent with the situation. For what did she feel? What was her heart telling her?

If only this were easy; but, she supposed, when were matters of the heart ever such?

She stood up, stretching, her hair a curly mess. She yawned. The time was 7:30, early for a Saturday. The rest of the house seemed asleep, but she couldn’t be sure all of her senses were in full working order.

She went to the bathroom to wash up, and as she was drying her face, she saw Apple Bloom come sleepily in. She nearly ran into Ink, but stopped at the last moment, and Ink paused and took her by the arm and led her to the sink, where the girl proceeded to run her hand under the faucet, splash her face, and then gasp loudly. Ink smiled at the sight.

Both of them went downstairs afterwards, where they saw Applejack sitting at the table, a huge platter of pancakes stacked high in front of her. She grinned when she saw them. She appeared awake and ready and alert, as if she hadn’t just been asleep for only a few hours.

“Ah, there y’are!” Granny Smith called. She came in from the kitchen carrying yet another batch of pancakes. “Dig in, y’all. I made enough fer everyone!”

Ink looked over the food. “What’s the occasion?”

Applejack shrugged as she grabbed for a pancake, then two, then three. “Y’know Granny, Ink. She gets strange notions sometimes.”

“I do not get no strange notions,” Granny protested. Apple Bloom, meanwhile, took to her seat swiftly, and was already grabbing a huge stack of the pancakes onto her plate. Ink smiled a little, then sat down next to the younger girl.

When Mac came down, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair a sloppy mess which Ink found she could not mind, all activities momentarily ceased. While Granny returned to the kitchen, Mac sat down opposite of Ink. “Morning, everyone,” he rumbled. He was still not awake, and his voice was much deeper because of this.

“Morning, Mac,” Ink said quietly. She couldn’t look him in the eyes, not then; there was too much between them, or perhaps too much she had learned between them, for her to cast more than a sparing glance in his direction.

Yet he seemed surprised that she had spoken, and his eyes crinkled up as he smiled back at her. He said nothing. But Ink didn’t mind. She liked the way his eyes crinkled up.

“Y’got plans for Sugar Belle today?” Applejack asked, her voice tense and vibrating with barely constrained anger.

Mac did not take the bait, though his smile became a frown. “Actually, she’s the one who has plans,” he said, grabbing the remaining stack of pancakes from the platter.

“That so?”

“Eeyup.”

“Well.”

“Well, what?”

“Well nothin’.”

“Don’t sound like nothin’ to me, Applejack.” His voice was also angry, but also strangely subdued. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t fully awake yet, and he did sound tired—tired of the anger, perhaps.

Applejack seemed to take notice of this. She glanced at him, eyes narrowed, but did not push the matter any further.

“I hear Artifex and Adagio are going up to Manehattan to see a show,” Ink said, if only to keep the conversation flowing. “I forget which one.”

“Think Arty said it was The Phantom of the Opera. Or maybe Les Miserables.” Applejack nodded to herself. “Yeah, I think it’s that one. It’s, what, about the Prench Revolution?”

“It was also a book.”

“Well, I’m sure Adagio will love it. Artifex must have worked real hard to get those tickets.”

“Actually, I think Flash gave them to him over a lost bet.”

“Really? That’s news if I ever heard.”

“Yeah. Not sure what Flash is gonna do with Gaige, though. Not that she’d probably go for one of those plays.”

“Maybe they’ll just spend the day together,” Applejack suggested. Her face was hard. She was clearly thinking of Mac and Sugar Belle doing the same thing.

“Maybe.” Though, really, Ink wondered if that was all they’d be doing, if the bite mark she’d seen on Flash’s neck recently was any indication.

“Rarity’s probably gonna go out somewhere with Clyde,” Applejack continued, counting down her fingers, “Pinkie and Swift are gonna do something dangerous, or at least Pinkie is; Soul and Sunset, I heard they were going to a convention…”

“What about you, Applejack?”

“Me?” Applejack snorted. “Girl, I’m single. What do single people do on Valentine’s Day? Productive things, I tell you that!”

Ink smiled at that. Oh, never change, Applejack.

Then Apple Bloom piped up. “What about you, Ink? Doing anything special?”

Ah.

She cleared her throat, could feel Mac glancing her way questioningly. “Uh… well, Braeburn’s been saying he wanted to do something special today. Not sure what he meant, or what time, though.”

“Seems awfully vague of him,” Mac commented. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. She wasn’t sure if he could, either.

“Yes, well…”

There came a knock on the door. “I’ll get it!” Granny Smith yelled. She stomped over to the door, apron flaring about like a cape. “Who is it— LAND SAKES!”

In the next moment, the house was filled with rampant trumpeting and it shook as if struck by an earthquake. Ink covered her ears at the loudness, the pancakes falling over, the dishes clanging. A voice rose above the den: “HEAR YE, HEAR YE, ONE AND ALL! THE LORD BRAEBURN WOULD REQUEST AN IMMEDIATE AUDIENCE WITH HER LOVELINESS MISS INK QUILL!”

Suddenly, a procession of red-garbed, heavily uniformed guards marched in, their helmets white like ivory, their hands gripping what looked to be sabers. A short man came through between them with a lengthy scroll in his hands, and from beneath his helmet he appraised them all, before his eyes landed on Ink. “AH!” he thundered, and the trumpets sang again. “HER LOVELINESS IS INDEED AS LOVELY AS THE LORD BRAEBURN SAYS! WOULD YOU, MADAM, PLEASE JOIN US OUTSIDE?”

“What?!” she shouted back. “But—”

“THE LORD BRAEBURN HUMBLY REQUESTS IT!”

“Can’t I get dressed first—”

Her request fell on deaf ears, however, and the short man, quicker than he should have, grabbed her by the arm and practically dragged her, kicking and screaming, out through the front door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rest of the Apple family come running after her.

The sun was blinding out there and for a moment she could not see; then the moment passed and she was looking up at what appeared to be some sort of chariot. It was also white, with golden edges and knobs adorning its sides and front, and two thoroughbreds were strung together out front, kicking up dirt with their perfect hooves. The carriage door opened, revealing Braeburn, wearing his typical cowboy getup. His smile was as brilliant as the carriage itself.

“Good morning, Ink!” he said, tipping his hat to her. She gaped at him in silence.

“Braeburn!” Ink cried when she finally found her voice again. “What—what is this?”

“Oh, this?” He spread his arms. “Ah, I knew you’d love it! What’s more romantic— and I know you love yerself a good romance— than a carriage ride through the city streets? Nothing, I tell you!”

Love it? I don’t even know what to make of it!

“Braeburn!” Mac called. “How the hay did you afford all this?”

“I called in a few favors,” Braeburn replied. His smile was big and triumphant. “Helps having some rich distant relatives here, y’know?”

“But ain’t it expensive?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Oh, like multiple arms and legs!” He stepped out of the carriage and twirled in front, his arms out like a spinning top. He stopped, and looked at Ink. “But nothing’s too expensive for love, am I right?”

Ink’s face was burning. She fanned herself, so caught up in the moment. What the hell was going on? Was this Braeburn’s surprise?

For some reason, he took her motion as an invitation. He stepped close to her, took her hand, and kissed it; her face burned even more, and he laughed. Mac looked as though he might kill him, then and there.

“Come on,” Braeburn said, pulling her. “We gotta get a move on if we wanna get through all I’ve planned today!”

“W-what? B-but, Braeburn!” She broke free of his grip and stepped back. “Braeburn, I— I haven’t even changed yet!”

His smile was so brilliant it hurt to look at. “Well? What are you waiting for, then? Get dressed and hurry on back, now, wouldja?”

“Now, hold on.” Mac stepped forward, raising a hand. “Braeburn, ya shouldn’t rush Ink.”

“What are you, her mother?” He didn’t seem to realize what he said, still smiling as Ink felt a sickening feeling rush into her stomach. “Besides, it ain’t your business what Ink wants to do, is it? Let her be, Mac.”

Mac hesitated. He turned to her, wincing. “He’s… got a point,” he murmured.

No, wait, it’s not—

“COME, LADY INK QUILL!” the short man shouted, cutting between the two of them. “I SHALL ASSIST YOU IN PREPARING YOURSELF!”

“W-what? No! I can do this myself—”

Too late. He grabbed her arm again and dragged her inside, kicking and screaming still. Mac made to grab her, but then the guard closed in, effectively blocking them from entering. Ink saw fists clench in all of the Apple siblings.

“W-wait!” she called. “It—it’s fine! I-I’ll be down in a bit!”

She hoped her smile made up for the lack of confidence her voice gave.

Braeburn’s smile was overpowering. “Great! I’ll see you soon, baby!” he yelled.

Her clothes were practically ripped from her. Then more were piled on her, and it was only through luck that she managed to pull on a half-decent outfit. This short man was in no mood to wait, muttering something (in a much quieter voice; why didn’t he use it more often) about not being paid “enough to deal with that wannabe cowboy and his silly ideas.” Regardless, they managed to fit Ink in clothes, before the short man brought her to the bathroom and roughly brushed her teeth and combed through her hair. She had tears in her eyes by the time they were done. “Come on, come on, he gets cranky the more he waits,” he was saying as they came back down.

When they went through the doors, the guards turned about face and separated from the Apples. Braeburn was still in the middle. “At ease, boys,” he called as the guards separated. “Ink. You. Look. Beautiful.”

She would have blushed if she wasn’t so confused. “Braeburn, what is going on?”

“What’s going on? Why, it’s Valentine’s Day! And I’m gonna show you how we give our girlfriends our love back home in Appleloosa! ‘Course, I gotta add in a few new flairs just to keep things interesting, hence the guardsmen—”

He was saying more, but Ink blocked him out as her eyes searched for Mac. Her rock, in a way, her anchor. She found him on the steps of the home, apparently having been moments from barging in, and he caught her gaze.

He started forward, intent on saying something.

“Hey, hey! Y’know, it’s rude to turn away when someone’s talking to you.”

“O-oh! Sorry, it’s just—I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“Good! Good, that’s good. Means yer lovin’ it all, right?”

She couldn’t lie and say yes, but she couldn’t say no, either. She was silent as she was led away into the carriage. But her eyes fell again on Mac, him coming out, something in his hands, in his wordless voice.

Braeburn shut the carriage door behind her, then ordered for them all to move out. And they did. Soon all that was left were hoofprints and boot marks in the dirt, and the Apple home began to grow distant and small.

In the carriage, Braeburn adopted something less explosive. He winced as he sat down opposite of her. “Sorry for the show,” he said, his smile no less brilliant than before. “But it’s important to show the competition all that you can be, y’know?”

Competition? “It… was a bit much,” she admitted. “N-not that I didn’t like it, or anything.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Well, Mac’s always been the bigger and better of us two. I guess I just wanted to show him there are other places where I can come out on top.”

“You certainly went all out,” she said. It was the nicest thing she could think to say.

“Gotta show ‘im who’s boss,” Braeburn said. “Don’t you worry, though. After that, nothing we have planned is gonna be that intense.”

Thank goodness. “What are we going to do today, Braeburn?”

A list. He pulled out a freaking list. If she wasn’t so flummoxed she might have been flattered, but still; a list. “Well, let’s see,” he said, and as he began to go through it, Ink felt her world spin.

Braeburn really had pulled out all the stops. It was as though the world had been reserved for just the two of them.

The guards were there just for show, thankfully, but that didn’t stop Ink from covering her face as they came out of the carriages on one of Braeburn’s numerous stops. Stores and shops opened their doors for them and they were flooded with various holiday offers. No stone was left unturned. No shop left unexplored. If Ink even dared glance in its general direction, Braeburn would call for a stop, and they’d be paraded out into the store, much to the bewilderment of the owners, and of course to Ink’s continued embarrassment.

That was just the outside spectacle. Inside it was much worse.

While the guards waited outside (with the short one still muttering about payment), Braeburn escorted Ink through each store as though it were a tour through his own private castle. Each store. He’d bring about the storeowner, usually some confused, or bewildered, or more often irritated individual, introduce them by way of looking at their name tag and proclaiming them his friend, and then spread his arms and insist anything in the store was Ink’s. She thought each time back to what he had said in the carriage, about wanting to show up Mac, and wondered if he realized that Mac was nowhere near them, because who in their right mind would?

She was just happy her friends were occupied with other things.

After this introduction, Braeburn would then take her around the store and point out every item there; it didn’t matter the size of the store, if there was room for the two of them to stand shoulder to shoulder, Braeburn holding her a bit too close for her liking, her trying to avoid the disapproving glares from the owners, or if there was only room for them to move single-file through the aisles, his hand locked around hers, her keeping her head down and wishing she was anywhere else but here. And if she even remotely looked for a second longer at something he pointed out:

“Oh! Eeyup, that’s a good one, Ink. Here, I’ll buy it—”

“No, Braeburn!”

Sometimes it worked, talking him down. But most of the time she ended up with bags full of clothes she didn’t want, jewelry she didn’t need, and a somewhat happier store owner at their heels, wishing for them to come again. Then they would enter the carriage again, Braeburn taking her there while she was torn between digging her heels or reprimanding him for his enthusiasm, and they would be off to plunder elsewhere.

Yes, plunder. She had thought first “explore,” but that was too nice. Then she thought “buy,” but that felt weak. She settled on “plunder” after their fourth stop—during which she had been saddled with two additional bags and so many receipts she was certain they’d need a new forest planted—when she gazed at him, eyes as wide as dinner plates, him and his cowboy getup, brilliant smile, wallet full of connections to his uncle and the other rich relatives he’d never name, like he was some swashbuckling land-pirate of some sort, with her being the unwilling maiden on the voyage.

A voyage in a carriage straight from a fairy tale, with two white steadfast horses to boot, too. Vaguely she began to form an idea of from where Braeburn might have been inspired.

The hour drew. Then another drew, and another, and another. Those early hours fell away and it became noon. But Braeburn didn’t seem ready for them to stop for lunch, and truthfully, Ink was still full from her pancakes. They drove past another boulevard and stopped suddenly in front of another shop.

“Come on, Ink! Time’s a-wastin’!” And he took her by the hand and pulled her in.

It was a milliner’s shop, full of hats, of trilbies and fedoras and flat and top hats, fezes and cloches. The store owner was a woman with the same smile as Braeburn, and she greeted them with just as much enthusiasm as she relayed the carbon-copy Valentine’s Day Special spiel Ink had heard so many times now. And of course that meant Braeburn rehashing the introduction, making good talk with her, and making the same insistence he had made all those other shops ago. The only difference was that the woman was of the same mind.

So she was pulled through the aisles, with Braeburn explaining everything as though he really knew all that was there. She might have believed him, too, if not for the fact that each explanation was generic and sodden with inconclusive claims.

Yet she still stopped at one of the displays. She might not have been a hat person, but she was still drawn to one anyway. It sat upon one of the shelves, adorned in white and crested by a pinkish ribbon. Braeburn stopped as well to see what she was looking at.

“Oh…” He sounded disappointed. “Oh, don’t worry ‘bout that one, Ink.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“It’s one of them ol’ hats. Only the elderly wear it. Heck, I think Granny Smith has one.”

Ink frowned at that.

“Listen, whatever you want, I’ll buy it, really. But you don’t need to get something this cheap! Trust me, I can afford it.” And he beat on his chest in a salute.

The store owner came over, her eyes lighting up when she saw Ink by the hat. “Oh? So you’re Ink!”

Ink blinked at her. “Yes?”

“You know, it’s rather funny! Just the other day, another man was in here, looking at this kind of hat. He mentioned you! Wow, you must be so lucky, having two men wanting to buy you things!” She cast a sidelong glance at Braeburn. “But this one certainly means it!”

She walked away, then, and so she never got to see the crestfallen expression come over Braeburn.

“I don’t think I want anything,” Ink said quietly. And for once, Braeburn didn’t insist on getting anything either. They left, the woman still smiling as brightly as ever.

When they got into the carriage and had the horses head on, Braeburn was quiet. The bags jostled around Ink like little children. There was little room there in the carriage. She pushed a few out to the side, hoping to get some more room. But they blocked the windows and so she didn’t know where they were really going. Braeburn was quiet still and all throughout for the better part of ten minutes.

She watched him, carefully. She hoped he was not about to call for them to stop, or to return to the shop and give the owner a piece of his mind. She hoped, too, that he wouldn’t think to head back to the house to find Mac and challenge him to some test of manhood or whatever.

He sat there, silence coming off of him like sweat.

Then, he let out a breath. He closed his eyes. He opened them. They were clear, now. His smile returned, but it was shaky. It had lost some of its gleam. “Well,” he said. “Well. He’s not here, so ain’t no point in making a show of things, heh…”

He looked away, withdrawing somewhere. Ink watched him. Her heart was all twisted, now. Twisted and confused like winding tunnels to the soul’s home.

They continued on, but the energy from before was lost.

They stopped for a quick bite to eat at one of the diners, and it really was a quick bite. Ink had barely finished her meal when Braeburn insisted they get going. Piling into the carriage again, they took off, stomachs full and their energy a little bit replenished. They had eaten late. The hour was drawing down to the evening, and then it would night soon. It was nearing three-o’-clock and this was on Ink’s mind.

She felt the carriage sharply turn left, and then the road became bumpy and ill-terrain. Gradually she lost sight, or what little of it, of the buildings along the road, and her heart fell, for she thought they were going back to the home, and that dreadful confrontation would happen. She looked at Braeburn, thinking to make a desperate plea for him to let things go.

But he was smiling. “There’s this place I wanna show you,” he said. They were not going back home, she realized, and she almost let out a sigh of relief.

For a long while they rode on in silence, turning when they turned, slowing where they slowed. From behind the massive amount of bags, Ink saw the sun passing by, hanging lower in the sky. Braeburn must have noticed it, too, because he was looking where the window should have been but where instead another bag stood.

Ink felt the carriage slow to a stop. “We’re here,” Braeburn said. He opened the door and they crawled out. This time, he didn’t take her arm.

They emerged on a flat stretch of land, grassy knolls stretching as far as the eye could see. They must have been far from the city, and turning, she saw it in the distance, bumpy squares on the horizon. Braeburn led the way. He took a dirt path that seemed innocent enough and followed it, and Ink trailed after him. They left the bags inside.

“It’s nice, ain’t it?” he said when she caught up.

“Oh. Yes. It’s very nice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this plain before.”

“It hides behind some of the trees around Canterlot, that’s why. But it’s kinda popular, from what I gather.”

The land curved, and that was when Ink saw it. A sprawling lake was set before them, its waters cool and reflective beneath the slowly setting sun. A forest sprang up on its eastern side, while a bridge crossed over it to hills that went even further. She could picture it as a fantasy setting—the fantasy setting—with a castle standing to the north end, rising up nobly.

“This is…” She could say no more.

“Takes your breath away, don’t it?” Braeburn was smiling again, nodding his head.

They kept walking, drawing closer to the bridge. There was a breeze. It was cool and gentle, like the water. She heard a few birds chirping. There were some in the lake swimming about, white and long-necked, looking at them with black, curious eyes, but not startled by their appearance.

“It’s funny,” Braeburn murmured. “I found this place a short time ago. Thought it looked familiar, wasn’t sure why. Until now.”

He looked over the lake. His face was a dark shadow beneath his hat. “Back then… when I was a kid, I’d come up here to play with Big Mac and Applejack. We were just tikes, then, and Apple Bloom had just barely been born.”

Ink let him talk as they drew closer to the bridge.

“One time, Mac and I were riding our bikes, and he decided to take a different route out of the city. You know, he was more adventurous back then. Anyway, he took us out down that different path and eventually we got onto a dirt one. It was… summer. Warmer. The sun was shining, the sky was this perfect blue like you would not believe, like, you’d never see that kind of blue ever again in yer lifetime, if y’ ever thought you could!” He chuckled a little at this. “Well, he took us out. And I wasn’t really sure ‘bout it, cuz it was so new and so different. But we went out down this path, turned a few times, and that’s when we came across this bee-yoo-tiful field. We went farther, and that’s when we found the lake.”

He nodded to the lake now. “We named it after some doll Mac had when he was a baby, loaned from a friend, I think. Lake Smarty Pants. I always called him that and he hated it because he didn’t like to remember he had a doll.”

Mac with a doll. The image brought a smile to Ink’s tired face.

“We never went back after that day, though. Not sure why. Guess we wanted to do other things, and so it kinda just… slipped on. Y’know?”

“I know.” Slipped on. Like regretful thoughts, things unsaid, things un-felt.

“I guess I really did forget all about it, and it’s only because I arrived in Canterlot and started coming out an’ exploring that I found this place, and I realized I found it again, that I’d been here before.”

His face hardened. “All because of Big Mac. Following like a big shadow.”

And he said no more for a time. They drew to the bridge and stopped at its foot. The lake was still and placid. The birds swam away and the breeze stopped, too.

Then, Braeburn began to cross. Ink followed slowly.

He stopped in the middle, and she stopped behind him. He looked down at the boards. All of them were ragged and worn with age and time, eroded by both. The lake was still. It was waiting.

“I like you.”

His voice was so soft Ink almost didn’t hear it, so focused on the water she had been. She looked sharply up when he had spoken. “W-what?”

“Ever since that Christmas party, well… it just happened to be that way. The right set of circumstances, the right timing.”

He turned to face her, smiling again. “Well, it ain’t like I tried to hide it. Mama never raised a boy who didn’t want to wear his heart on his sleeve. Better to be honest with yer feelings than run from them. And so I’m telling you this now. I like you.”

He rubbed the back of his head, his smile becoming sheepish. “Which is why I arranged all this. Got you all those things you were looking at. Cause, well, you know. I like you.”

Ink could say nothing.

But the breeze started back up and beneath them the waters were beginning to churn.

Braeburn’s smile remained, but it was shaky again. “But I guess that’s over and done with; never was one for confession, either in love or in church, haw. But… well, Ink, I gotta ask. Do you… would you ever like me back?”

… Oh.

She realized she was staring at him. She hoped it wasn’t an expression of horror. She hoped it was just surprise on her face, surprise that she had missed this somehow. Of course it was leading up to all this. It was how it was supposed to go. The girl gets lavished with gifts and then the suitor comes and admits his feelings and then they live happily ever after. It made sense.

She… what could she say? What did she feel? Did she feel anything?

Could she like him back? No; did she?

Vrrt. Vrrt. Vrrt.

They both heard it. It was Ink’s phone. She gave him an apologetic look. “Sounds like a call,” Braeburn said. “You’d better take it.”

Nodding gratefully, she took it out. It was Nurse Golding calling. She hit the answer button and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

Later, she would not remember what exactly Nurse Golding said. The conversation was short, too, and she barely had time to answer when the good nurse had to hang up to get back to work. When she pulled the phone away from her ear, though, her face gave it all away: it had gone stark white, dread coursing through her.

“Ink?” Braeburn called. He reached out.

She focused on him, eyes wide. “The hospital,” she said hoarsely. “I have to get to the hospital. Mom is… she’s…”

Nothing more was said. They piled into the carriage and sped off into the fading day.