Jack stared out the window as the train rolled wearily to the station, slowing down with a high-pitched whine when the brakes were pressed, then coming to a shuddering halt. She yawned, the midday sun that shone through the cold November clouds doing nothing to counter the fatigue she had from the late night boarding.

The Hearth's-Warming meal was a big success. Ham, turkey, stuffing—only thing that was missing was some of her granny's apple pie. The woman had stayed in her room throughout the entire dinner, unable to even join the group. So, after they ate, Jack and the family went upstairs with a small plate of food. Her granny, while far from the keen mind Jack grew up with, seemed to have a sort of vague clarity that day, like looking through an almost opaque piece of plastic. Shades of the woman showed, through the veil of her mind. But it was just that. Shades. Ghosts from the mind of a near-death, delirious old woman.

“Yay!” Pinkie exclaimed from the seat behind Jack, snapping her away from her thoughts. “We're back!”

Jack stretched with a groan and rose, twisting a bit then smiling when she noticed Stephanie and Rarity sitting together, the younger of the two leaning against Rarity's shoulder and sleeping soundly. Girl must of tuckered herself out playing with Bloom and Luanne, Jack thought.

The trio were at it for almost three days solid. Playing, running around, getting into trouble. Jack wasn't sure how much Rarity approved of it, but it seemed that Stephanie had really enjoyed herself and had already asked when the next time she could visit was.

Pinkie giggled, slapping Jack on the back and skipping past her and out the door in seconds.

Rarity seemed focused, not even really acknowledging the girl leaning against her. Rather, she stared straight ahead, her left arm resting on top of her lap and the other in her pocket, playing with something.

Jack didn't need to guess what it was.

“Ya don't need ta be pressured 'bout that thing,” Jack quietly said.

Rarity pulled her hand out her pocket as if jolted by an electric current. “I-I know,” she replied promptly, giving a small glance the farmer's way. “It's just...” She grimaced, rubbing her temple. “It's still quite a bit to consider, I suppose.”

“Ain't no rush on it, sug,” Jack replied, reaching and grabbing a part of Rarity's luggage. “I already said, ya know?” She glanced behind her as she headed up the aisle. “I'll wait fer ya ta make up yer mind. Promise.”

Rarity smiled coyly. “You're sweet when you want to be.”

“I figure changin' from the norm ain't bad sometime,” she replied. Rarity shook her sister awake and ignored the small groan of protest Stephanie muttered out.

“Jack.”

The farmer paused, glancing back to Rarity.

“I have a favor.” She looked the farmer up and down. “I want you to model for me.”

“Rare...”

“It's not quite what you're thinking, darling.” She guided Stephanie up and grabbed what remained of her luggage, prodding her sister ahead. “No, the designs I want you in are practical attire. Field work clothing. I need someone with your build.” Rarity's tone turned haughty and she tilted her nose up walking down the aisle, though Jack didn't have to look behind her to know a ghost of a smile would be on the woman's lips. “Besides, I do believe you owe me after taking me to a bluegrass festival.”

“Yeah, but you liked it,” Jack countered.

“The music did have some charm to it, as did the dancing. But it is still my turn, dear. And I think I want to spend it on you posing for me.” Rarity winked. “Besides, I'll cook for you. I've yet to hear a complaint about that.”

“Ya do make some nice grub...” the farmer replied, rubbing at her chin. “Alright. But if it's anythin' too out there, I'm done.”

“Don't worry, I'll be sure no excessively frilly design comes your way.”

“Deal,” Jack agreed.

They got off the train and made their way through the station and outside. Jack grimaced.

“Cooler than I'd like.”

“Indeed,” Rarity agreed, moving and putting a hand on Stephanie's shoulder, guiding her along. “I'd say we're due for snow soon. You can feel the change in a way.”

The group followed on the heels of Pinkie, heading to the boutique. Diane threw open the door and let out in a singing call.

“Spikie! I'm back!”

The others got inside just as Spike appeared from the kitchen, wearing a pink apron and oven mitts. On seeing everyone come in he quickly blushed, tossing off the apron and gloves in one quick, desperate attempt to salvage his masculinity.

“H-hey guys,” Spike stammered out. “Wha—“

Pinkie rushed him, grabbing the boy and squeezing him tightly, then hoisting him up and twirling him, oblivious to his surprised yelp. “Oh boy it's good to see you again Spike! I brought cookies my mom made! I think we could eat them with some cocoa and then I can show you the souvenir I brought for you! And I know people sometimes are like 'why get a souvenir when it's your hometown?' But then I'm like 'of course I'm getting one for my friend,' so I got you one.” She put him down and, in a flash, not only reached into the backpack she wore, but unzipped it, reached inside, and pulled out a clay figurine of a timberwolf. While showing imperfections, it was still a fairly respectable piece. “I made it in third grade!” She beamed.

Spike shook his head, trying to stop the room from spinning. He took the statue and looked up at the girl. “T-thanks?” he said, unsure. “I'm not sure if this counts as a souvenir, tho—“

Diane giggled, throwing her arm over the boy's shoulder. “Oh Spike, you and your silly-billy points of view.” She shook her head, halfway dragging him towards the kitchen. “They're funny.”

As soon as they left the room, Jack and Rarity shared a confused glance.

“Let's... leave them be for the moment. You can model for me upstairs in my room—I'll get the clothes.” Rarity gave a small, excited shake of her hands and skipped off, heading to the storage room.

“Alright, alright,” Jack replied with a roll of her eyes. Thinking for a beat, she cupped a hand to her mouth. ”Ya better not skimp out on lunch, tho'.”

The time passed quickly as Jack donned garment after garment for Rarity, the soul-folk commenting on every piece and making notes in a small journal. Finally, after about an hour and a half of it, Rarity stood up, taking off her glasses and putting them back in her breast pocket.

“Marvelous, darling.” She put a finger to her chin. “Be honest with me. Were any of them adequate enough to suit your needs?”

Thinking, Jack shrugged. “Reckon that, uh, third or fourth one did the job alright. Some of the others sagged at the knees a bit too much fer my likin'.”

“Third or fourth...” She snapped her fingers. “Ah. So the one with the insulated overalls, or the jumpsuit?”

“Overalls, sug.” The farmer stripped off the shirt she wore and walked over to Rarity's bed, where her normal plaid shirt lay in a crumpled heap. She grabbed it, smiling in a nostalgic thought on seeing the bed, then continued her explanation to Rarity. “While I'm sure Mac would love a jumpsuit, 'specially with the amount of pockets ya put on that, overalls are jus' a bit more practical fer someone like me. I get overheated a bit easier, so with overalls I can jus' roll the thing down ta my waist.” She thought again. “Though I reckon ya can do the same with a jumpsuit, it ain't quite the same.”

“Understandable,” Rarity nodded. “There would be an extra bit of baggage if you rolled down a jumpsuit.”

“Oh, an' I didn't like the color of those overalls. Other thing I reckoned I'd mention.”

“What's wrong with the color? I thought off-white would look quite dapper.”

“Dapper until ya get manure all over it. Then it's a nightmare an' a half cleanin'.”

“Well, maybe if y'all would watch—“ Rarity realized her mistake and quickly clamped her mouth shut, blushing in embarrassment. Jack quickly exploited her slip, grinning.

“'Y'all?'” she questioned in a perfect Camelot accent, putting a palm to her collar in shock. “Why I declare, of all the unsightly words I could hear, she uses 'y'all' like some... ruffian.”

“Oh haha.” Rarity dryly remarked. “Considering the fact I was around farmers constantly the past week, it's a miracle that I didn't fully adopt the language.”

Jack smiled, easily slipping back into her accent. “Almost a shame ya didn't... I reckon ya with a bit-a drawl, maybe some tight jeans...” She smirked, raising her brow and letting the rest of her words remain implied.

Rarity chuckled. “I see you're trying to get better at flirting. It's an improvement from when you first started at least.”

Jack finished buttoning up her shirt and shrugged. “Practice makes perfect. Lord knows I ain't no natural at it.”

Changing the subject, Rarity gestured downstairs. “I suppose I owe you a meal. Anything in patic—“

“Steak?” the farmer asked, hopeful.

Rarity sighed, nodding. “Garlic mashed potatoes?”

“Ya know me so well.”

The tailor went to the door and ran a finger down the frame. “I'll get started then. I suppose it's only fair to hold up my end of the bargain.”

“Lookin' forward ta it, sug.”

Rarity made her way gracefully down the stars, nearly bumping into Spike on his way up them. The dragonchilde let out a small yelp, recoiling in surprise at her appearance.

“Oh, hello there, Spikey-Wikey,” Rarity said with a wink. “Were you looking for me?”

“A-actually,” he stammered out with a swallow. “Jack.”

She pointed upstairs. “Though I'd recommend waiting in the lounge, dear. She was changing.”

Spike nodded his thanks and went up, popping a seat on the piano bench. With a playful smirk, he turned around and started pressing notes, filling the room with an absentminded, slow blues song.

It wasn't long before he heard Jack's voice over his shoulder. “Didn't know ya played.”

“Just a little,” he replied, hitting a few more notes as he spoke. “You want someone good, talk to Twila. She taught me back when she was studying musical history.” He cocked his head towards the piano. “Despite being so large, the piano was one of the most favored instruments of the sky-folk in the early, pre-tribe days. Since it was harder to travel with, the piano forced them to slow down and establish towns and communities. You could easily say that most sky-folk communities, well, actually, you could even argue their civilization itself was founded on music.”

“That a fact? Huh. Can't say Dash seems like the piano type.”

“That she doesn't,” Spike agreed. He hesitantly stopped playing, his hands twitching over the keys before slumping to his sides. “You probably know I'm not here to just talk to you about history.”

Jack scratched at the scar on her cheek, doing her best to keep the gradually darkening mood light. “Ya have before. Heck, you've talked 'bout all kinds-a things with me an' the girls.”

“This is serious, Jack. It's about Rarity.” Spike shut the cover over the keys and turned, standing, only coming to just below Jack's breasts, but seeming taller thanks to the somber expression he carried. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large brown feather. Jack looked at it, feeling a distant alarm bell ring in her head. Finally, she returned her attention to Spike, rolling over the thoughts the feather brought her slowly, patiently. A fisher waiting on a bite.

“Someone or something broke in while you guys were on vacation.”

Jack narrowed her brow. “How long ago?” she asked, “Was anythin' stolen?”

“Thursday. As for items being stolen...” He shook his head. “I took inventory and looked around, but I didn't see anything missing.”

“So yer sure someone was...?”

“Front door lock was busted and I heard someone up in her room, Jack.” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I... just don't know what to do here. I was going to call the cops and report it, but as stressed as Rarity has been, police would just make things worse, so I'm coming to you.” He gave an unsure shrug. “Can you take care of her, Jack?”

She might have an idea where the feather came from. It struck her in a flash of inspiration that nearly buckled her knees. Gilda. It was the only thing that made sense to her. Unless magic was involved, it was the only thing that could make sense. Coming back from that sudden thought, Jack returned to Spike's question, mildly perturbed. “Of course I can, Spike.”

“The scar on your face says otherwise.” He paused after he said that, wincing as Jack seemed to flinch herself. “S-sorry. I just...” He bit at a thumb. “Rarity... I want her to be safe. Since you two are, you know, a thing, it's your job.”

Jack squatted down like she had so many times before with her sister to get eye-level. “I want her ta be safe too, sug. An' I'll say this: they're gonna have ta kill me 'fore they touch one strand-a hair on her.” She met his gaze. “Alright?”

He took a breath. After a long moment, he exhaled. “Alright.”

Jack spent the remainder of the day hunting for Gilda. Despite patrolling where she knew the girl had frequented beforehand and asking around, she had no luck finding her. She even checked the girl's dorm room after getting directions to it and still found nothing. It was like Gilda had disappeared off the face of the earth—it gave Jack an uneasy feeling about Rarity. If Gilda was a predator hiding in the bushes, then that made Rarity prey.

The farmer kept trying to argue against the idea, that this all was some kind of misunderstanding. But there wasn't nothing wrong with being cautious, especially after the close calls the year had already given them...

Even then, her caution didn't override her word. She wanted to talk to Dash about this, but Jack knew the woman wouldn't make the connection between Gilda and the feather Spike had found unless she told Dash about Gilda's... condition.

Jack made a promise she wouldn't rat out Gilda to anyone, and that was something she intended to keep at least until after she had a heart-to-heart with the griffon herself to see if the farmer could trust her. Though Jack tried to give Gilda the benefit of the doubt, she couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding she had for the woman that held her heart.

It was the reason why the blonde found herself laying in bed in the dead of night next to an already fast asleep Rarity. The tailor was pleased that Jack came back to the boutique, though Jack didn't have the heart to tell the girl that the real reason she returned wasn't just to spend more time with her.

Not that the time was wasted, being with the woman. While Jack always preferred having at least a bit of busy work to do, Rarity gave her an incentive to slow down and breath on occasion. And breath she did, listening to Rarity speak about arts, crafts, design. The future. Jack spoke where she could, listened patiently when she couldn't. Like most of their entire relationship, the conversations they had were creatures built on compromise. Compromise that let them both grow together and explore one another. Their drives and passions. Their hopes and fears. And even with the occasional dry remark from Rarity or the disinterested grunt from Jack, they both called it an evening feeling closer than ever.

Jack turned over on the bed, pressing herself into the tailor's curved back and resting her head on top of Rarity's own, listening to the woman's slow, content breaths, smelling her hair, feeling her heartbeat as she wrapped her arms around the tailor's chest.

The thoughts didn't come often to her—they came less and less with every day that passed actually—but there were times when Jack was acutely aware how much it scared her, being with Rarity. Even now, as Jack rested a hand against the woman's breast and once again focused on the faint, throbbing beat of Rarity's heart against her fingers, it just reminded the simple farmer how easily that beat could be extinguished. How easily it nearly had been for her, for Isabelle, how close all of them had came to dying this year. How close Trixie had come to ending her own life, the scar on her face a testament to the fact. How cold the freezer room was in that warehouse, the nightmares she found herself in on lonely nights a testament to that fact. Jack trembled at the thoughts, her breath shaking and for a brief, urgent moment; a wave a nausea took hold on her and she shifted, about ready to dash to the restroom to ride out the panic attack.

“...ck?” Rarity mumbled, freezing the farmer in place. She felt her dread die down as Rarity reached up and put her delicate hand over Jack's.

“Y-yeah, sug?” Jack whispered back, tilting her ear towards Rarity's mouth.

The woman turned, coming face to face with Jack and smiling weakly at the farmer. She kept her eyes shut, reaching up out of habit and resting a hand against Jack's cheek, brushing the blonde's hair behind her ear.

“I'm glad you're here.”

All the anxiety in the world left Jack in an instant just from that simple, loving touch of Rarity's. She felt a smile grace her lips as she relaxed, closing her eyes and pressing herself against her.

“Me too,” Jack said, after a long, quiet pause. She embraced sleep not much longer after.

It was just before dawn when the letter came. Jack woke with a start at the sound of a popping noise; she tensed up from the noise, then let out a breath on seeing a rolled up piece of parchment floating above the bed, waiting to be grabbed. The farmer uncoiled herself from Rarity, who remained blissfully asleep despite the noise. Jack reached up and grabbed the paper, already dreading what was inside—dragon delivery wasn't cheap by any means, it was only reserved for the biggest emergencies.

Just as Jack had feared, the letter was short and written in the scrawled sloppy chicken-scratch of her brother Mac's handwriting. On it contained seven words that punched a hole into her heart.

Granny's dying. Get on the next train.

The farmer rose, any trace of drowsiness vanished under the news, and threw on the shirt and jeans she wore yesterday, searching frantically until she found her socks scattered on the carpet next to Rarity's night robe. Grabbing her stetson off the corner of the bedpost, Jack spared one glance at Rarity's sleeping form before running off, quietly shutting the door behind her.