Author's Notes:

And we're done.

In the end, fixing the problem took less time than Arthur had expected, but more than he might have liked. Which is a clumsy way of saying he figured it out and sorted it out in roughly enough time to finish when he normally did. Something about that was deeply unsatisfying.

Still, could have been much worse. The day was pleasant and bright, the afternoon was toddling towards the evening and he had an appointment to keep. Zipping up his boilersuit and casting a last glance around to make sure everything was in place for tomorrow (it was) he set off into Canterlot proper for the first time in his life.

Arthur knew where the place he was going was because he’d asked ATC where it was, and ATC knew where just about everything was, at least in Canterlot. Actually finding it was slightly harder and involved some wandering around and a mild dose of getting lost, but only a mild dose.

That Baker’s Dozen was sat in the window of where she’d said she’d be waiting helped, as it meant that when he wandered past and glanced in the right direction she spotted him instantly and leapt up, waving energetically. That made it (and her) a bit easier to find.

He approached, and she met him outside.

“You weren’t as long as I thought you’d be!” She said, trotting up happily.

“Finished sooner,” Arthur said, shrugging.

Put kind of a hitch in the conversation, but Baker’s Dozen was getting pretty good at pushing through them, she felt, getting a better handle on how to actually talk to Arthur.

“Soooo...where’d you wanna go?” She asked.

“Anywhere is good.”

The most unhelpful possible answer when trying to work out where to go to eat, close companion of ‘I don’t mind’ and about as infuriating. Baker’s Dozen took it in her stride, rubbing her chin thoughtfully and looking at him appraisingly.

“I don’t think anywhere will have your, uh, paste? I’m not sure how to describe your lunch,” she said in a calculated probe to test Arthur’s sense of humour and make sure he actually had one and all previous indications hadn’t just been flukes. Luckily for her he did, and she seemed to have fairly direct access to it. He even chuckled, albeit briefly.

“I’ll survive. Can I tell you a secret?” He said.

This was new! Baker’s Dozen was delighted!

“Ooh, a secret! Definitely.”

“I don’t actually like the, uh, paste all that much. It’s just easier.”

One less thing to worry about in a day. Baker’s Dozen pouted at him.

“Easier’s no fun!” She said.

“Is fun good? For eating?” Arthur asked. The thought had honestly never crossed his mind.

“Well it’s better to have fun than not to, isn’t it?” Baker’s Dozen asked.

Arthur wondered whether this was a trick question. He’d always thought the point of eating was to stop being hungry, but then again his experience was limited, so who knew? He then wondered whether he was overthinking it, and so just decided to give what he hoped was the correct answer:

“...yes.”

Seemed to work.

“Right! So, hmm, let’s see…” Baker’s Dozen said, rubbing her chin some more and peering into the distance as she tried to visualise the many and varied options they had available. Canterlot was nothing if not a hip and happening place packed to the gunwales with options.

Maybe too many options.

“Uh...oh! I know. Well, maybe. You might like it. It’s fun! And not far.”

Arthur practically crackled with trepidation but followed alongside as she led the way. They didn’t talk a whole lot as they went - or at all really, in fact - but it wasn’t actually as awkward as Arthur had dreaded it might be. It was less that they weren’t talking, more that they just weren’t talking yet, and were both waiting until they were somewhere quieter and more private.

The occasional swapped smile as they went along also helped. Neither could quite believe it was happening as easily as it was, albeit not believing it for slightly different reasons. Good reasons though, on the whole. The kind good reasons that put a flutter in your step.

Some minutes later they got to where Baker’s Dozen had had in mind. Somewhere with a lot of red and white stripes. It looked garish. Arthur supposed that was a way of marking the place as ‘fun’, much as other stripes might mark an animal as poisonous.

“Here we go! Unless you want to go somewhere else?” Baker’s Dozen asked. Arthur shook his head. He was sure she knew what she was doing, certainly better than he would.

“Here is good,” he said.

And so they went in.

Humans were a lot thinner on the ground now than they had been, but weren’t so outlandish that having one wander in accompanying a pony was any real cause to stop and stare. After all, it was widely known that some were still around and about doing something.

That said, it wasn’t every day one showed up, so it was Arthur who got most of the attention from the waitress who came bounding up to greet them.

“Hi there! Gosh, you’re a tall one!” She said, leaning back and making a magnificent show of shielding her eyes to peer up at the lofty heights of his face. Unsure whether this was a joke or an honest observation Arthur floundered.

“Yes,” he said.

“What can I do for you? Here to eat?” The waitress asked without missing a beat.

Seemed kind of obvious to Arthur, but he was far outside his comfort zone. Perhaps this was restaurant humour? Perhaps it was grade-A restaurant humour and he was engaged in a horrendous faux pas by not bursting into laughter immediately?

Or maybe he was overthinking again. He never usually had this problem.

“Um, two. Please,” he said, holding up two fingers in just to be clear.

“Table for two? Sure thing! Right this way,” the waitress chirped, grabbing two menus in her mouth and gaily clip-clopping off through the tables to the one she apparently felt suited the two of them best. Arthur followed dumbly, and Baker’s Dozen kept pace beside.

“You haven’t been to eat out in a while, have you?” She hissed up at him.

“Ever, uh, actually,” he said and she swung and hip and bumped into his side.

“I think you’re doing very well,” she said.

He doubted this, but it was nice that she felt the need to say it. Certainly made him feel better. She usually made him feel better, come to think of it, whenever she showed up. Odd thing to realise and gave him something of a jolt, but it was true.

The waitress led them to what turned out to be a booth of sorts, right in the back. Why she did this was unclear given that the place was basically empty, but she did, setting the menus down, briefly taking a drinks order (water for Arthur, something more interesting than water for Baker’s Dozen) and then trotting off to give them some time to browse what was on offer.

“Cosy, isn’t it?” Baker’s Dozen asked, quite snug in the booth, menu laid out in front of her. Arthur nodded. He found that the sheer amount of stuff nailed to the walls was kind of a bit much, but assumed that was an intentional aesthetic choice. And the booth was at least comfy. Kind of horseshoe-shaped, appropriately.

The menu though was a daunting and overwhelming array of options that he had no context for. He looked and just saw a lot of stuff. He had no idea where he was even meant to start. Starters? Would make sense, but they all looked so daunting. And why was there something before the starters? Shouldn’t those be the starters?

He dreaded doing something wrong.

In the end, when the waitress returned and the time came to make a decision, he just decided to forfeit responsibility:

“I’ll have what she’s having,” he said, Baker’s Dozen having ordered first.

Again, easier.

“You know…” Baker’s Dozen said once the waitress had disappeared, taking their menus and their orders with her. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you what it is you’re actually doing. With all the holes in the ground, I mean, and all the...stuff…”

She wasn’t sure how best to describe all of the equipment she always saw him standing around and frowning at. It looked expensive, whatever it was. And big and shiny and exotic.

“Oh, um, well…” Arthur said, wrongfooted.

He then gave a rather faltering, laconic run-down of what he was doing. He didn’t know the full extent of whatever various agreements the expedition had made with the locals so he stuck to just outlining the bit about wireless power, what he was personally doing and also bringing up Corin and her efforts to better explain the practical, day-to-day side of things.

Baker’s Dozen hung on his every word (not that there were many) and her earnest attention made Arthur’s face heat up alarmingly.

He wrapped up pretty quickly as a result.

“So yeah. That. It’s good to help. I hope it helps,” he said, looking at his hands laid flat on the table.

“I’m sure it will. It sounds exciting! I’ll have to, uh, see if I can find one of those things your friend runs!” Baker’s Dozen said.

Corin was more a colleague than a friend, but Arthur wasn’t going to correct her.

Baker’s Dozen, on something of a roll, continued:

“I heard that humans went to lots of places before they got here, do you do that everywhere you go? Set things up for who you meet? To help them out?”

Not that she had a full grasp of it but, from what he’d said, she had to say she quite liked the idea. Imagine just setting off to whole other worlds to meet new friends and help them out! If that’s what it was, well, that did sound super.

Arthur assumed that with this question she meant humanity in general rather than him personally.

“Not everywhere. Some places we try not to stay in too long,” he said.

“Oh? Why’s that? I heard it was dangerous, but that’s just a rumour, really,” Baker’s Dozen said breezily, as one might say something you don’t really believe and are just passing on.

It was the sort of thing you heard from somepony who heard from somepony who swore they’d overheard somepony else talking about what they’d learnt from this or that human who’d come in that one time and said that one thing. Baker’s Dozen didn’t believe any part of it individually, but all of it did kind of add up to a vague picture she’d built in her head.

“It is dangerous,” Arthur said, nodding.

She hadn’t actually expected him to say that. Kind of expected those parts of those rumours to just be hyperbole - playing up the exotic and dangerous places that humans apparently came through on their way to here (and then beyond). Maybe they still were?

“Not, uh - not too dangerous though, right?” She asked.

“Sometimes. Better than home though, I think,” Arthur said.

This was a fantastic opportunity to change the subject.

“What’s your home like?” She asked.

Home was improving, honestly, but it really wasn’t something Arthur wanted to get into. He already felt like he’d talked about himself too much. He much preferred the sound of Baker’s Dozen’s voice over his.

“It’s fine. Haven’t been there in a while. Uh, I’d really - I’d much rather hear about you, though. And this place. I’ve been here a while but I haven’t...done much. Or been anywhere. Or talked to anyone…”

“You’re talking to me,” Baker’s Dozen pointed out.

Arthur couldn’t really deny this and gave her something of a lopsided smile across the table. She smiled back. A thoroughly encouraging sight to see.

“You’re the first,” he said.

“Have to start somewhere. But me? I’m not that interesting…” Baker’s Dozen said, digging at a knot in the wood of the table with her hoof, unsure how exactly the life of somepony who made cakes was meant to compare to someone from a whole other universe.

Wrongly, really.

Typically, everyone thought they weren’t that interesting. It was how things went. Whatever you did was familiar and the familiar isn’t interesting. Everyone was interesting to someone else, but fairly certain they themselves weren’t. Someone who is confident that they are interesting is rather like that person at the party who is confident they’re the only sober one.

But that’s by-the-by.

“I’m interested in you. I mean, I’m interested. I’ve never met a baker before,” Arthur said, biting his tongue briefly.

This was true though, what he’d said. Both parts.

“Not many human bakers?” Baker’s Dozen asked, looking up from the knot to see Arthur nodding again.

“Human bakers are exotic,” he said, which got a giggle out of her, which was, as it had been the last time it had happened, delightful.

Human bakers actually were rather exotic back home. There were a lot less of them now than there used to be. There was a lot less of everybody now than there used to be, according to what he’d heard, but Arthur didn’t feel like mentioning that.

“Well, if you’re sure. But stop me if I get boring!” Baker’s Dozen warned, pointing at him very seriously indeed.

“I will,” Arthur said.

He did not stop her, because as far as he was concerned she did not get boring. While what she described (basically her early life, what led her to come to Canterlot and what an average day for her was) came across as very tedious and low-key to her, to Arthur it was so alien to his own experiences as to be utterly fascinating.

As one of the many people who’d signed up for the expedition specifically to get away from home, the idea of explicitly moving from one place to another place entirely and only because you wanted to be in the place you were moving to was unusual. Not incomprehensible, just rare back home where there just wasn’t a lot of cause for it to happen.

Arthur had spent most of his youth moving away from things (sometimes at great speed, typically because being slow would have resulted in death). Picking something to go towards had never really been an option. It had been about leaving things behind. Baker’s Dozen had wanted to be in a certain place, doing a certain thing. So she’d done that, and was still doing that. And Arthur was amazed. He doubted he could ever have done that, even if he’d been able to.

And, really, the way she stopped being so self-conscious when she talked about her job was a delight, too. The obvious passion, coupled with her knowing what it was she was talking about top-to-bottom. Someone in love with their work and in full flow of explaining why. At least until she noticed him staring intently, at which point she went bright red and sputtered to a halt in embarrassment for having got so carried away.

He felt bad about that. Shouldn’t have been staring so hard.

Food arrived. There was an alarming amount of it as apparently it was standard operating procedures here to bring out all courses barring dessert all at once, and most of the table was hidden from view. Arthur was, appropriately enough, alarmed.

“I think the portions got bigger…” Baker’s Dozen said, fairly certain that the last time she’d been here what she’d ordered hadn’t amounted to this much. Then again, it had been a while ago.

“Wow,” Arthur said, at a loss.

“Uh...dig in!” Baker’s Dozen said, doing so herself.

Being as how he was human they’d brought cutlery with Arthur’s meal (something they’d learnt) so if nothing else he wasn’t going to have to eat with his hands, which was something. For a second or so he just watched Baker’s Dozen happily eating in the most direct way possible.

A strange thing to do, perhaps, but there was just something so delightfully unreserved in it. Suggested she felt comfortable around him, he felt. Not that he could guess why.

He then looked at his own (considerable) amount of food. It had been so long since he’d had such a meal he couldn’t for a moment or two remember how you were even supposed to go about it. He started at the left and worked his way right. It just seemed the thing to do.

“Better than the paste?” Baker’s Dozen asked once he and she both had cleared enough out of the way to be able to more easily see one another across the table.

Using his experience with Corin, Arthur guessed that this was a joke at his expense.

“Oh. Much,” he said.

“Told you!” She said gleefully, immediately getting stuck back in.

Arthur had to admit that she was very cute. The locals were all cute by default, of course, even he could see that, but Baker’s Dozen was another level of cute on top of that. And not just because of the big, arresting eyes and swishy tail and all that. It was in the way she was, and how she spoke, and what she spoke about, and what she did. It was her that was cute. And nice. And quite lovely.

He was staring again and didn’t know why, and this annoyed him. He concentrated on his food.

In defiance of moderation and against all good sense the pair of them managed to finish off every single they’d ordered. Though not without cost.

“That was significant,” Arthur said, leaning back in the booth and wincing, a hand on his belly. Baker’s Dozen did the same, though while looking more comically rotund than Arthur did.

“You’re telling me,” she said, only to rock forward and add with a grin: “Hope you left room for dessert!”

Arthur winced even more. Even the mere suggestion was uncomfortable.

“If the dessert portions are anything like the other portions we might not be walking out. Might need a wheelbarrow,” Arthur said in an unusual moment of levity. Being stuffed near to bursting did that to people. It got harder to stay reserved.

The line about the wheelbarrow got another giggle out of Baker’s Dozen, too.

“We could share one. A dessert I mean, not a wheelbarrow. Ooh, how about sharing an ice cream! I think you’d like it. Ice cream is kind of like a paste. Only better, really. In every way.”

Arthur, weighed down by food so not really able to respond with his whole body, rolled his eyes over to her.

“You’re really not letting the paste go, are you?” He asked and she hid her face behind the dessert menu she’d tortuously leant up to grab.

“Sorry! It’s just the more I think back to it the worse it gets! Just the texture and the, well, I’d say flavour but that bit was missing. You really eat that every day?” She asked, with what sounded like genuine concern.

Arthur actually laughed, and not just because he assumed he was supposed to. It just crept up on him. He didn’t even know why.

“Kind of feel like I should maybe broaden my horizons a bit, now,” he said.

Baker’s Dozen lowered the menu and waved a hoof at him.

“Good! I think that’s good. Even if you never want to see me again after this I can at least be happy knowing that you’re having something better for lunch, even a little bit better. I can live with that. I’ll sleep better!” She said, grinning, but Arthur was looking at her oddly.

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you after this?” He asked.

That brought her up short.

“Uh, oh, well, you know, I just...didn’t wanna...assume…”

She trailed off into mumbles, but this still didn’t really answer anything for Arthur.

“Aren’t you having a good time?” He asked, worry uncoiling in his gut. No matter how full of food someone might be, there was always room for uncoiling worry. Baker’s Dozen sat bolt upright, despite the belly.

“No! I mean, yes, I am! Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Good! Good then. That’s good. Um, ice cream. Yes. Uh, guessing you don’t know what sort you’d like?” She asked, getting things back on track, browsing the menu again.

“Whatever your cake was. That flavour. If that comes as ice cream. Does it come as ice cream?” Arthur asked, realising almost as soon as he’d said it what a dumb question it was.

Chocolate ice cream was known to exist, after all.

“I think it can be arranged…” Baker’s Dozen said, grinning at him.

When the waitress returned to collect plates and ask how great everything had been, an order was placed for one ice cream and two spoons. Not long after this, the ice cream arrived.

The Earth Pony approach to eating ice cream was, as with most other Earth Pony approaches to eating, direct, and not especially conducive to sharing. Baker’s Dozen knew this, which was why she was fumbling about trying to use a spoon. She could use one if she had to, she knew, she just hadn’t had to for a while and was severely out of practise.

Which was why she dropped it.

“Fiddlesticks,” she said, trying with limited success to pick it back up from the table again. Arthur, watching this, took up his own spoon with the kind of ease that only truly came from having hands, scooped up some ice cream and then leant across the table towards her, proffering it.

He didn’t have to lean very far for this, incidentally, as at some point while waiting for dessert to arrive Baker’s Dozen had shifted further around the booth so she was closer to him. Useful, as it turned out.

“Time to put that practise with the paste to good use,” Arthur said, holding the spoon towards her.

“See? You’re making jokes about it now, too!” She said, moving in and opening her mouth.

Arthur’s spoon-hand then ‘slipped’ and a good amount of the ice cream that he’d had on the spoon somehow ended up on the tip of Baker’s Dozen’s nose. She did not look impressed.

“You did that on purpose,” she said.

“Not true at all,” Arthur said.

It was true, but Arthur’s poker face was such that for a split-second she actually believed him.

“And here was me thinking you didn’t know how to have fun…” she said, eyeing him closely as she went in for a second try. This time she actually got it, sitting back after to wipe her nose with a napkin while Arthur purloined her dropped spoon for his own use. He dual-wielded the things and continued doling out ice cream to her then to himself by turns, and in this way they whittled it down to nothing.

Worked rather well, all things considered.

“Better than-” Baker’s Dozen started, but Arthur, thoroughly comfortable with her now and dangerously close to enjoying himself openly, saw where this was going and cut her off:

“We’re past the paste now, thank you.”

She stuck her tongue out.

“Spoilsport.”

Dessert was then cleared away and, a moment later, the bill brought over. Both of them reached for it, but Arthur was the one who got there first.

“I’ll get this,” he said.

“No it’s okay, really,” Baker’s Dozen said, trying to swipe it from him and failing, feeling that (somehow) this whole thing had been her idea even though it hadn’t been, really.

“I have a stipend. Haven’t used it for anything. Might as well. Thank you for the cake.”

Arthur had been carrying around a bag of incongruously big golden coins for the entire duration of his time in Equestria (as the expedition guidelines stipulated he should) and had not once spent a single one of them. He was just like that.

“We could split it?” Baker’s Dozen ventured.

“No, honestly. I have nothing else to do with the money,” Arthur said. This actually was true. Baker’s Dozen did her best not to pout, so the pout that did slip out was only a small one.

“If you’re sure,” she said, though she herself was plainly unsure. To compensate she said: “I’ll get the next one!”

“If you insist,” Arthur said.

“I do!”

That was that settled, then.

The bill was paid, the eternally-chirpy waitress tipped (quite handsomely - Arthur really did have nothing else to do with that money) and Arthur and Baker’s Dozen then waddled out into the cooler sunshine of the evening.

“That was nice,” Arthur said once back outside. Unclear who he was saying it to, but he said it anyway. Baker’s Dozen beamed up at him.

“It was,” she said.

“I have a question though,” Arthur said as a follow up, which dimmed her beam somewhat.

“Oh?”

“Why did you come and talk to me the other day? And bring - make, even - the cake? I know you said it was because I looked sad but I can’t be the only sad-looking person you’ve seen. Do you spend a lot of time giving out cake?” He asked.

This had been nagging at him, and while in his head a voice was yelling the obvious answer at him (in the voice of Corin, appropriately enough) he felt that he should really up and ask. It had just been a question of building up the courage to do so, and it had taken a huge meal and a few jokes to get to that point.

Baker’s Dozen was caught off-guard. He’d got her there.

“Not...a lot of time…” She said, falteringly.

“Why me, then?” Arthur pressed.

Baker’s Dozen thought about this a second. She’d thought about it at greater length on her own before, in her quiet moments, but hadn’t thought about what to say to him and now, put on the spot, she wasn’t sure how best to sum up her motivations.

In the end she went with:

“You have a kind face.”

Which left Arthur completely baffled.

“I do?” He asked.

“Well I think so,” Baker’s Dozen said, shrugging, sheepish.

A very awkward pause, here, as Arthur’s brain struggled to make sense of this and Baker’s Dozen just felt very exposed. Arthur cleared his throat.

“You...too...also...have a kind...face…” he said, every word a Herculean effort. “And are also nice. And pick nice places to eat. Good cake too. Thank you.” He added in a blurt afterwards, a packet of thoughts rushing to catch up with the rest and coming in just under the wire - the conversational equivalent of a bold archeologist sliding in underneath the descending stone door.

Or something like that.

Baker’s Dozen felt considerably less exposed and embarrassed thanks to his well-meaning, bungled mess of an answer and smiled up at him, head held a little at an angle.

“Are you going to keep thanking me for that forever?” She asked.

“Yes,” Arthur said bluntly, which made her laugh.

“Guess I can’t complain,” she said, then gesturing for him to come closer. He wasn’t sure how to do this, really, so just clumsily sunk down onto one knee in the middle of the street, wondering what it was she might have in mind.

A hug, as it turns out.

She stood up on her back legs the better to wrap her front ones around him (and even then not getting all the way around) and gave him a squeeze. Arthur was frozen completely rock-solid by this and did not hug back, but she wasn’t hugely surprised.

It only lasted a moment or two anyway.

“So, see you tomorrow maybe?” She asked once it had broken and she’d stepped away again.

“Yes,” Arthur said.

“Maybe - if you can remember where you met me - you can come meet me for lunch? I usually got there, usually around the same time you have yours,” she said, not-so-subtly nudging him in a particular direction. Arthur picked up on this.

“Yes. Definitely,” he said.

Again she smiled. Oh, the smile. Arthur was getting quite reliant on it.

“Great. See you tomorrow, then,” she said.

And off she went. Arthur, rising to standing, watched her go, waving when she paused to turn and wave on a corner before disappearing off wherever it was she was going, leaving Arthur stood with his hand still mid-wave, utterly at a loss.

Some seconds later he lowered his hand and fished about in the pockets of his boilersuit for his small, pen-shaped terminal, bringing it up and pressing a button on it.

“ATC?” He asked.

“Yes Arthur?” Came the reply, thin and tinny from the tiny little device.

“...do I have a kind face?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, the kindest!” ATC replied without hesitation.

Not that Arthur had expected a negative answer, really, but still. He pocketed the terminal again, looked up and down the street and then headed in a direction opposite to the crawler, feeling in the mood to go for a wander.

It wasn’t so bad here, really.