Rarity sat blankly, staring at the rows of seats placed neatly across much of the room. She tapped at the purse in her lap, less out of impatience and more out of a need to break the oppressive silence that filled the room. Sparing a glance at the crowd of strangers, all dressed in formal wear and all absorbed in their own thoughts, Rarity bit her lip, briefly feeling all the more alone. A presence came to her side; she turned her head and glanced up. Macintosh stood beside her, a suit clung tightly to his tall body.

“Have a seat,” Rarity insisted, nodding to the empty chair next to her. Mac did just that, shifting awkwardly in his seat to give both Rarity and the woman next to him room.

Sitting silently, each staring straight ahead, Rarity decided to break the ice.

“Where's Zecora?” she asked quietly.

“Bloom wanted ta walk around some. Reckoned she might want someone a lil' better ta talk with than me.” He raised one of his massive hands, the callouses reminding Rarity of Jack, before letting it drop to his side. “I bet this is jus' eatin' her up, ya know?”

“Indeed,” the soul-folk answered.

Mac crossed his arms. Rarity faintly winced as she heard the fabric groan in protest, straining against his oversized frame.

He sat, silent once more, his thoughts miles away.

“How ya holdin' up?” he asked. Rarity wryly smiled, tucking her hair behind an ear.

“Things have been less than stellar, considering...”

“I know, we were there too.”

She sighed. “In between the police constantly harassing me and the dreams, it's...” She breathed out, leaning her head against the cream-colored wall. “They assume I did something to agitate Dmitri, or that Jack did.”

“Jack wouldn't—"

“You and I both know that,” Rarity quickly cut in. Mac slowly nodded in agreement.

“Excuse me,” a polite, demure voice addressed. Rarity and Mac both turned their attention right, where a motherly looking norfolk woman stood, towering over both of them. She pushed her glasses up her ebony face, then politely put her well-worn hands in front of her paunch stomach.

“Mr. Apple? Ms. Belle?” she questioned. On seeing their nods, she quickly turned. “Please follow me.”

Waiting only for them to rise and exchange glances, the norfolk was off, pushing easily through the crowds of people in the room and through the hallway, her black braided hair swishing left and right across her heavy shoulders with every step.

It was dark. Dark and silent. Not a single noise broke though the abyss, the quiet. She lay, oblivious to everything, wrapped in a cocoon of indifference. It had been like this for as long as she could remember.

Perhaps even longer.

Something changed though.

A quiet murmur at the very limits of her hearing went out across the empty black expanses. A foreign sound. Listening, it came to her. A sort of electric beep rang and rippled through the void, growing in volume. First one, then another came shortly after, only increasing in volume and pitch, keeping the same steady rhythm. A beep, a pause, then another beep.

She finally stirred in a vague sort of irritation, letting out a small displeased moan in protest at the infuriating noise. Reaching to her side to slap it off, she realized she couldn't. Giving up, she leaned back, the volume finally pulling her away from her rest. She opened her eyes and immediately winced, the room painfully bright to her. It was unfamiliar, yet, a small, insignificant part of her saw familiarity to its off-white ceilings, venetian blinds, a gap at the bottom that let her see a gray, rainy sky and not much else, and, when she turned her head, a strange, clunky device lined with cables and a screen like a television. Every few moments, a line would appear on the screen, travel horizontally across, suddenly spike towards the top with a beep, then crash towards the bottom like an inverse mountain before finally leveling out, only to repeat again with the same maddening noise.

As she licked her painfully dry lips, dumbly trying to comprehend what was happening, she caught a subtle shift of movement at the foot of the bed, just past the limits of her eye. She tightened her fist in surprise at the motion, the action letting a grunt of pain escape her lips as a numb hurt radiated like heat from her wrist.

Her wrist. Her broken wrist.

Her eyes widened and she took a small breath. The beeping from her side increased, the line on the machine increasing in speed, changing from a calming green to a worrisome yellow. She tried to rise, making it up a few agonizing inches from the bed, only to collapse again, sweating from the exertion and from the agony her entire body was in.

“Whoa,” a familiar woman's voice called out. “Calm down, Jack.”

There was another bit of movement, and a figure came into view, then another, shorter than the first. Jack let out a sigh of relief, leaning back onto the bed.

“Twi, Spike,” Jack addressed, her voice hoarse and no louder than a whisper. She weakly coughed, a raspy, nearly metallic sound.

“Let me get you some water.” She turned, leaving Jack's field of view, the telltale sound of a cane making its travels across a hard floor unmistakable to Jack.

“There should be a button to raise the bed's head,” the soul-folk offered. Jack glanced over. Twila was right. There was a button on the side of the bed, where a railing stood. She stared at it, then at the hand next to it in a full cast, set in place by a strap to the bed.

Twila returned, a tray with a water pitcher and a glass balanced on one hand. Sure enough, Jack's ears were right on the bits—in Twila's other hand was a cane. At its pommel was a golden bust that, strangely enough, seemed to be in the shape of the soul-folk's own face.

Jack crept her fingertips close to the glass and managed to pick it up in a trembling, weak hand. The water inside dripped and spilled over the blanket covering her body, but she finally brought it to her lips and drank deeply, Spike caught onto how weak she was and took the glass and handed it back to Twila. The farmer then expectantly looked at the pitcher.

“Let's wait for a moment before another glass,” she said. “According to a book I read earlier, overindulging in water after being dehydrated can make you sick.” She gave a smile, turning and once more leaving Jack's view.

“Granted, they did hook you up to an IV, so you're probably not going to get dehydrated anytime soon, but it's the principle. I'd think it'd still effect you.”

Jack didn't know what an IV was right offhand; her first guess was maybe something like a feeding tube like the one she had to use for sick calves back on the farm. A glance towards the beeping machine answered her. A bag, filled to about a quarter full of a murky translucent material, stood, suspended in the air by a hook connected to a metal stand. The bag had a tube that snaked its way along the side of the machine, leading up to her bed and vanishing underneath the cast on her wrist.

Twila returned, finally realizing where the bed operation buttons were. She held them down. The head of the bed rose slowly at an angle, not stopping until Jack gave a content nod of her head.

They looked at one-another for a moment, each measuring the other before Twila finally broke the silence.

“You have some questions, I guess.”

“A few, yeah,” Jack agreed. She shook her head. “Well, more than a few, I jus' don't know where ta start.”

Spike interjected, “Well, you're in a hospital in Southhearth. That's a good place to start.”

“Southhearth... that's that norfolk town a bit east-a—where's Rarity?” Jack quickly asked, tensing up and rising a bit off of the bed. “She make it—“

“She's alive and well. Don't worry about her right now, I'm sure she'll be here soon to see you. All of us had been taking shifts to watch you.” Twila smiled. “Guess me and Spike won the pot.”

“Shame we didn't make it a cash wager,” Spike said.

Jack leaned back, relaxing once more at Twila's reassurance. “Ya know,” she began after another long moment of collecting her muddled. slow thoughts. “I'm willin' ta chance gettin' sick. I'm mighty thirsty.”

Laughing, Twila turned, gesturing over to the tray she had sat down, enveloping it in an aura of her magic. “That's just like you, Jack. Something like this happens to you, and you're just worried about being thirsty.”

“Well, ya worry 'bout the lil' things bef...” she trailed off, her words lost to her.

As Twila channeled her magic, a pair of pure, dove-like wings appeared, growing out of her back. She herself seemed to carry a presence, an aura about her that drew Jack's attention to her, gluing her eyes at the woman in a sort of reverence. Twila turned as the tray floated towards her. She tilted her head in confusion at Jack's stare.

“Do I have something on my face?” she questioned.

“Jack doesn't know about the whole...” Spike gestured casually at her new appendages. Twila glanced to her side.

“Oh!” She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “That. W-well...” She grabbed the tray from the air and dispelled the aura around it. Her wings vanished, folding back into her body and disappearing, and that odd sensation of devotion Jack felt surrounding Twila faded away too after a moment, leaving the room like stuffiness being banished by an opened window. “That's been happening sometimes when I channel magic lately.”

Once her mouth could work again, Jack replied. “An' exactly what is it?”

“I...” She glanced down at the floor in quiet reflection. “After helping you find where Rarity was being taken to, I wasn't in the best shape. Celestia herself came to save me.” Jack could almost detect a sort of longing in Twila's voice, but dismissed it. “She used her magic on my body. It apparently worked well, better than she had anticipated, even. I inherited some of Celestia's power thanks to the transfer, so I guess I'm a...”

“An' all-folk now,” Jack finished. “Ain't that somethin'.” Weakly grinning, but grinning none the less, she looked down at Twila's cane. “An' ta honor it, ya got yerself a cane?”

“Not my plan at all, I swear,” she answered. “But the royal sculptor begged to do something to remind me of my—ascension, is what they called it—he wanted a bust. I wanted something practical. We compromised.” She sat the tray down on Jack's lap. “Soon as I'm fully healed up and can walk around without it? Straight to the closet.”

“But what are you gonna do with the life-sized painting the royal artist did for you?” Spike asked, grinning.

She paused. “You know, I forgot completely about that. E-even if it does take up almost all the wall space at my room in Camelot.”

Watching Jack take a drink of the water, Twila moved over, placing a gentle hand on the farmer's shoulder. “The doctor said that you should rest if you're feeling tired. Fighting sleep isn't wise in your condition.”

“I'll sleep when I'm feelin' like it, sug. Promise.”

“I'll believe you, Jack.” She turned, heading towards the door. “I need to step out for a moment, I'll be back shortly. Tell Spike if you need anything”

“Hey, Twi?” Jack called out quietly. The all-folk turned, waiting wordlessly for Jack to continue.

“I'm glad yer alright.”

“Same,” Twila answered fondly, opening the door. She paused as a familiar tuft of pink hair ducked under her arm and made its way to the side of Jack's bed.

“Hiya, Jackie!” Pinkie chirped, grinning so wide Jack's own face hurt and gesturing to a bag she held. “I was gonna just leave some snacks but it looks like you woke up! About time! Was starting to think I needed to maybe bring a rooster in to get you awake! So I tried to get a chicken in here, but the doctors around the hospital said it could contaminate the room and so I told 'em, 'no, he's house trained,' but they still wouldn't let me, so I bought a rooster suit and right when I was about to caw, they kicked me out.” An adorable pout crossed her face. “I swear, the nerve of some people, am I right?”

Jack let the words sink into her for a moment before nodding. “Eyup,” was all she could say.

They heard a throat being cleared and both of them glanced over to Spike.

“Do you really think Jack needs this sort of thing right now?” Spike asked. Pinkie nodded exuberantly.

“Sure, Spikie! She needs to know this sort of thing! It'll help her look forward to things after all this icky-sicky stuff!” The woman winked at Jack. “When you get out of here, ol' auntie Pinkie is gonna have one heck of a show for you. The party to end all parties. Pizza, video games, movies, I might even bring Scrabble!”

Jack smiled back at Pinkie. Even if she couldn't understand the girl half the time, she knew her heart was in the right place, and right now having a bit of fun seemed important. “I'll look forward to it, Diane. A laugh or two is somethin' I need.”

“You want laughs? You came to the right gal! It's my second biggest export! The first being giggles. Third's guffaws, they're real popular where you and me are from!”

“Come on now, Pinkie. Tone it down a hair,” Spike said. “Jack can't have too much tension right now, doctor's orders.”

“But I'm not making her tense. Tense is what you are when I do something like this—“ Pinkie leaned towards the boy, ruffling his hair. As soon as he opened his mouth to protest, Pinkie turned down, pecking him on the lips. He stopped before he began, melting into a confused, reddening mush.

“See? That's how you make someone tense! And I don't wanna kiss Jackie, even if she does have that sort of amazon cute look going for her and even though seeing her with all the bandages makes me wanna kiss her like a mommy, like when you get a boo-boo.” She nodded, as if she just explained a complex algorithm to a group of freshmen.

“What,” Spike and Jack said in a monotone, confusion evident on their shared expressions.

With that Pinkie turned, heading towards the door. “Well, I'd better leave before Twila or a nurse gets me in trouble like last time.” Again she pouted. “This is the no-fun express, I swear.” She raised her hand in farewell. “I'll come see you again real soon! I promise!” Turning back to Jack, she ran over, hooking her pinkie finger into Jack's good hand. “Pinkie promise even!” With that, she headed towards the door once more, giving one last point and wink at Spike before closing it completely.

They looked at each-other. Right when it seemed like Spike was gonna say something, they each heard a metal clunk from outside the room.

“Told you she'd be fine!” Pinkie called out in triumph to the strangers outside.

Spike sighed in exasperation. Though Jack could see a humored smile cross his face that matched her own.

“Heck of a gal,” Jack said.

“She is,” Spike addressed, resting in his chair towards the foot of her bed, then once he adjusted a bit to get comfortable, Spike leaned onto a hand as he observed Jack.

“So, are you two...?”

“We're trying it out,” he replied diplomatically, far greater at neutral words than even some people Jack's age. “Started a couple of weeks back.”

“Well good.” She sized him up briefly. “Now, ya two ain't, uh... tryin' everythin' out, are ya?”

He blushed once more. “What kind of question is that?” Spike defensively remarked. Jack let out a wheezing laugh.

“Jus' givin' ya grief.” She yawned, exhausted even though she just woke up. “Though ya are still pretty young compared ta her.”

He rolled his eyes. “It's like five years, tops. And she acts how much younger than you guys?”

“Point taken.” Jack leaned her head back, slowly nodding, feeling an odd sense of weightlessness in her arms and legs.

“We're getting off topic,” Spike said, rubbing his arms through the sweatshirt he wore. He noticed her relaxed posture. “I figure you'll want to sleep soon. The painkillers they put you on are pretty high grade, and I wanted to talk real quick before you drifted off, so... uh...” He looked at her, a mature, knowing look that seemed strange from someone of his stature. “Thank you for keeping your word, Jack. Rarity's... even now, she's important to me. So the fact you were stupid enough to take on a Yggdrasil with just a sword for her? I'm glad you were more than just words.”

“It was pretty stupid, wasn't it?” she said quietly with a small smile.

“Completely,” Spike agreed.

“Know somethin'?” Jack closed her eyes as the room started to grow hazy, the medicine kicking in full force to where she couldn't focus. She leaned her head back on the suddenly welcoming bed and said in a near-drunk whisper what both he and her knew.

“I'd do it again.”

Jack woke up later. She wasn't sure how later, but she had been out long enough that Spike had left and Chylene took his place and the room was darker thanks to the drawn blinds. Chylene paced across the floor, biting at her thumb.

“I-I wonder if I should...?” the timid woman asked herself, shaking her head and glancing down at the ground. “W-well, they need it, so I should, but they also said she needed to sleep still. I don't know...”

“Somethin' up?” Jack drawled out, pleased to find her voice was slowly coming back, losing its weakness. She knew it still sounded tired, but it wasn't the grave rattle she had when she spoke to Spike. Chylene nearly jumped out of her skin, she gasped; clutching a hand to her heart and peering at Jack in panic.

“O-oh!” she called out. “I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“Nah, sug. Pop a squat.”

Chylene nodded, moving towards Jack.

“How ya doin', hon?”

“Alright. I've been helping here the last few days. There was an attack on a norfolk village north of here. Kabolds. The nurses and doctors have been swamped, so I volunteered.” She kicked at the tiled floor. “W-well, Isabelle may have volunteered me...” Looking up at Jack, she asked. “Can I draw a blood sample?'

Jack nodded. “I got enough, I reckon.”

Chylene said nothing, but tensed up all the same. She stopped, turning towards the cabinet on the other side of the room.

“I got you something,” she said. Reaching into the cabinet, Chylene pulled out a beaten and worn thing that made Jack smile.

“Care ta bring it on over here?” she asked. Chylene complied, walking to the side of the woman's bed, next to a try filled with medical tools, and passed it to Jack's good hand.

The farmer clasped the stetson in her palm, bringing it up to her face—catching the faintest hint of Rarity's perfume along the way—and then rested it atop her head, where it sat like a proud crown.

Jack's thoughts turned to the perfume.

“Chylene?”

The pink-haired woman glanced at Jack's eyes to let her know she was listening, but kept her focus on dabbing Jack's tender forearm with an alcohol-soaked cotton-ball.

“When's Rare gonna come by?”

She took a syringe from the tray nearby, pulling it out of a seal plastic baggie. “She's tried a few times. You've been asleep the last ones she's tried, and the earlier ones you were in no state to talk.”

Jack quirked a brow. “Yer makin' it sound like I've been here a—“ She winced as the syringe needle pierced her skin and Chylene pulled the plunger up, filling the vial with a bit of Jack's blood.

“I know Dash should be back soon. She has something important to discuss. B-but after that, I can let Rarity know you wanted to see her.” She glanced over at the machine Jack was hooked up to. “But I'm not sure how much longer you'll be up. The doctors said to administer your pain medication through your IV. It's in your bloodstream now.”

Jack didn't feel any different, but if it was like earlier, it would hit her like a thief in the night, suddenly and without warning.

“Gettin' tired of sittin' in bed an' sleepin' the day away,” she complained.

“It's better than staying awake and hurting,” Chylene reasoned, wiping the small drop of blood on Jack's arm and then putting a bandage on it.

Jack let out a breath, glancing at the ceiling. “Hurtin' is what let me know I was alive, back when I went ta get Rare. What scared me was when I couldn't hurt, ya know? If I'm gonna be honest with ya, it scares me now, even when I'm sittin' here safe an' sound. There any way ya can...?”

“Lower the dosage? I don't think we should,” Chylene said. “Your body needs to recover, and you won't sleep hurting. I-I've seen the reports and your medical charts. You would hurt.”

“But it's gotta be better than this... cottony feelin' I got right now.” She licked her lips, once more dry. “It's kinda hard thinkin' straight.”

“Which is why you should just sleep more, Jack.”

The door opened before they could continue. Jack glanced over to see Isabelle walk in. Gilda came into view moments later, an introspective expression on her face as she took in Jack's appearance.

“I-I should go,” the timid sky-folk stammered out, rising and clutching the syringe protectively in her palm. She tightened her grip noticeably as she passed Gilda. The griffon-folk opened her mouth, then shut it, watching Chylene leave. She returned her attention to Jack.

“Hella tight digs, bro,” Dash said, trying to break the ice as she took to looking around the room.

“The off-white ceilin' really complements the floor,” Jack answered dryly.

Dash nodded, the room turning silent for a long, long time as she stood in thought. Finally, she spoke up again, moving to the end of Jack's bed and resting her hands at the footrest.

“Shit,” Dash said, looking over at Gilda, then at the floor. “I expected you to get pissed seeing her again.” Dash cocked her head at Gilda. “But you're just kinda laying there.”

“What they got me on? I don't think I could get angry if I tried.” She looked over at the griffon-folk. “Jus' confused, mostly.”

“It's a confusing time, bro,” Dash admitted, clasping her hands behind her back. She walked to the window, pulling down a part of the blind to peak through a crack outside. “Half of the council has been arrested thanks to suspicious activities on their end.”

“Suspicious?” Jack repeated, Isabelle's tone off. Conspiratorial.

“On record to the public, the arrests were a sting to disrupt a large slave trafficking gig in India.”

Jack shifted on her bed, looking over the woman. “But that ain't the truth, is it?”

“They had ties with Dmitri. Them having a common connection with a man ready to usurp the throne by ballot is a sign enough for me.”

“But why not jus' tell the public the truth?”

Dash wryly smiled. “You don't know how the game is played, hayseed. How people react to news like this. As we're standing, Dmitri's dead, killed by Cabello's heroine, Jack the Ripper, the country's saved. You tell people that anything Dmitri touched over the years can't be trusted, that their neighbors might be trying to rot the country from the inside out?” She shrugged easily. “The truth can set you free. Or it can send a lot of people on a witch hunt.”

“But...” Jack grimaced. “I dunno, Dash. Somethin' jus' don't set right with me on this.”

“And a lot of crap I did for you didn't either,” Isabelle countered. “Look. I love this country and want what's best for it, even if what I know is the best isn't always the easiest thing to do.” She ran her fingers through her hair and glanced over to Gilda. “And I want what's best for my friends too.”

“I know where you're heading with this, Isabelle,” Gilda finally spoke up. “Can you give me a sec alone with her?”

Dash looked over the woman. After a moment, she nodded. “I'll be right out in the hall,” she told Jack, stepping past them. When the door shut, Gilda took to pacing, not sure where to begin.

“How the hell did you stop that guy?” she finally settled on asking, blurting the question out.

“Luck, I reckon. Luck an' he toyed with me at the start.”

“It would have taken more than luck, hick.”

“I dunno,” she admitted.

They were silent once more, Jack frowning as she felt the familiar free-fall of the drugs starting to circulate in her, Gilda crossing her arms and shaking her head.

“You gotta hate me,” the griffon-folk said. “I know all your friends do.”

Jack let a small dry laugh out. “Ya ain't my favorite person in the world right now. But nah. I don't hate ya.”

Gilda blinked, then narrowed her brow, expecting a trap. “Why?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe it's 'cause ya seemed desperate when ya shot me like ya did.” Jack narrowed her own eyes. “'Sides. Ya coulda killed me back there instead of jus' clippin' me. I've seen ya shoot. I know ya coulda got it 'tween my ribs easy enough.”

“I figured the numbing poison I tipped it with would have kept you down long enough for us to get back with her.” She smirked bitterly. “I don't know what I would have done after that. Didn't think it through.”

The heat kicked on, coming through the radiator under the window like the ramblings of an old, raspy man. Gilda spoke once more.

“When I came to in the hospital, Isabelle said she had thought about dropping me and going back to help you.”

“Ya mean droppin' ya off?” Jack guessed.

“No. Just... letting go while she was carrying me here. First thing she told me when I woke up.”

Jack did her best to ignore the obvious hurt in Gilda's eyes.

“I-I mean, I know I'm an asshole and this is all my damn fault, but...” She turned, looking away from Jack for the moment as her frown deepened and trembled. “Even an asshole needs someone, you know?”

Another pause came, silencing the room, save for the constant noise of the machine Jack was hooked up to, before Gilda spoke once more.

“Look. I'm sorry. About everything. It's just... Dmitri was gonna show everyone everything about me. I couldn't have that.” A snort of laughter. “That worked out great, didn't it? Thanks to the doc visit, everyone knows now. I'm just waiting for my expulsion letter, waiting for Will to hang me out to dry, and...” She glanced at Jack. “And maybe jail time.” After a moment, she shook her head. “That's I guess where you come in.”

Jack measured the woman, for a second feeling very much like she was playing a game of chess with only half the pieces. “How so?”

“'How so?' Are you stu—“ Gilda caught herself, sighing and rubbing at her eyes with her fingers. “I mean...”

“Go on,” Jack prodded gently.

“Dash has spoken to everyone that knew I was involved in this. Which is, surprisingly, a small list, but she wanted to leave the final call to you.”

Jack adjusted herself a bit on the bed, letting a grunt of dull, barely-there pain that was freed from her mouth as she did so, the painkillers sending her not exactly to cloud nine, but at least cloud five.

“All it takes from you is telling the police when they ask for your side of the story is that I was involved. Say I shot you, say I kidnapped Rarity and was threatening her not to tell anyone else. Do that and it's a quick arrest, and I doubt you'll ever see me again.”

“An' if I don't?”

Gilda scratched at the back of her hand. “Don't and things stay more like they were. I doubt I'll stay in school, but I'll stay out of jail. As long as none of you guys nark on me, I guess.”

Before Jack could reply, Gilda pushed forward again.

“I don't deserve to get a pass, I know. I probably deserve my head on a pike for what I've done to you, to your girl. So whatever you decide, I just...”

Jack looked her dead in the eyes as Gilda's words died on her lips. “This a new leaf fer ya?”

She returned the same even stare. “I... I'd like to think so. Yeah.”

"Smart thing would be tellin' the police the truth,” Jack admitted. “An' I trusted ya once, look where it got me.”

As Gilda slowly nodded and took a few steps towards the door, Jack shook her head.

“Hold yer horses,” Jack ordered. Gilda froze mid-step, turning her head to look at the farmer. “I said it was the smart thing. How often do I do the smart thing, sug?”

It took a moment for the words to register with Gilda. When they did, she looked cautiously at Jack.

“You're... just like that?”

“Jus' like that,” Jack agreed. “I ain't a fan of keepin' secrets, but it's fer what I'm hopin' is a good cause.”

Gilda blinked a few times in surprise before the griffon-folk offered a genuine smile that was almost bizarre to see on her normally condescending and tough face.

“Thanks. I know I'm a sack of shit, but...”

“But nothin'.” She offered a smile of her own in return, the medicine giving her a headache she fought against. “Though get Dash back in here. I wanna hear how ya managed ta get Rare ta agree ta this lil' deal.”

Gilda nodded, reaching for the door. “She at least softened up a bit when it came to her that I didn't kill you. Hardest one to convince by far was Chylene. She can throw a pretty good left hook. Tore the stitches where Dmitri poked me at.”

Jack paused at those words. She reached down under the heavy blanket she wore and searched her abdomen for her own wound. Her fingers gently kissed a thick cloth-like bandage and she felt pain flare to life through the haze of her medication. Letting out a hiss, she bit her lip hard trying to keep her volume down. Gilda cocked a brow.

“Are you ok?”

“Jus' peachy,” she grit out. After a moment, the pain faded and she nodded, mostly to herself. “I'll be fine.”

And she hoped that was the truth.

Groaning, Jack looked over, ready to answer Gilda's question. She paused, realizing that Gilda and Dash both were gone from the room. She must have fallen asleep. Again.

An intelligent, regal woman's voice that could only belong to Luna proclaimed itself across the room.

“Sanguine summer sun. A cricket observes his world. And what we have wrought.”

A hearty and deep tone Jack instantly recognized as Will grunted. “I know that one. Tokugawa Hideta.”

“Thine knowledge rings true, William. Wrote after the Hyabusa conflict with the island of China.”

“That battle just shows that larger numbers beats a smaller, trained and better armed group nine times out of ten.” Jack heard him laugh. “Not that a katana is a better arm compared to what we carry. Norfolk steel or viking steel. Only way to go.”

“Regale me with another poem, Will,” Luna asked.

“Well, since you did a haiku instead of the ABBA format I started off with...” He cleared his throat and spoke what Jack guessed was a poem, even though it didn't rhyme.

“The wind is different. Full of a promise of spring. Held in lovers' hearts.”

“A softer poem than anticipated from you, William,” Luna said affectionately.

“A man full of life is one that makes for the strongest warriors. They have everything to lose, after all.” He let out a boisterous laugh. “It's why I'm fighting better now than when I was swinging an axe as a young man.”

“If I may speak frankly to you, thine soft, lively side is an interesting creature.” She offered a feminine chuckle, so strong and out of character for what she knew of the princess that Jack raised a brow, even if she couldn't see the two thanks to her bed laying flat. Turning to reach for the bed's control with her good hand, Jack felt a bolt of pain shoot through her body. She let out a groan, gritting her teeth.

“The warrior awakens,” Luna commented, her voice once more back to its regal, almost guarded tone.

“About damn time,” Will agreed. “Like Rip van Winkle here.”

“I knew Ser Winkle when he awoke. Jack lacks the full silken beard upon her chin.”

Jack heard movement, and the two promptly came to the foot of her bed. Will looking what Jack would call respectably ratty in a beat-up, worn jacket and slacks, and Luna looking almost magical adorned in a shimmering and sleeveless black dress.

“How you holding up, Apple?” Will asked. “Or should I say, Jack the Ripper?”

“Can't say I like that,” Jack replied.

“Well, when you see a body your handiwork wrought, no other name makes sense,” Will replied. He reached into the pocket jacket he was dressed in, handing her a folded up newspaper. The headline read 'Jack the Ripper saves the country.'

“That seems like a lil' too much,” Jack replied as she skimmed the article, the name making her stomach churn.

“But 'tis true,” Luna encouraged. “Left to his own devices, the beast would have surely ravaged the lands, albeit in a less obvious fashion than militaristic conquest.”

Jack quickly shook her head. “I went there ta stop him fer Rarity. I didn't even really grasp what else he was doin', ta be honest. Jus' had a vague reckoning that he was up ta somethin' bigger.”

Will took the paper from her and pocketed it again. “Even so, you did well, child. Even I would have had some trouble against a beast like that.”

“Which begets the question,” Luna remarked. “Where did such a creature spring forth from? According to the records issued to me, the beast held a tremendous magical power. Something as potent as that I should of sensed.”

“Well,” Jack thought out. “He looked normal until I pissed him off.”

“I'm aware of that, daughter of Johnny. I ponder how he was able to do as such. Mayhaps a concealment spell?” Luna pondered.

Jack exchanged a look with Will, he shrugged in response.

“If you say so,” Will replied.

“That's impossible. That kind of magic could only come from an all-folk.”

Shrugging, Jack replied, “He said his pa was one, so may—“

Luna narrowed her brow, cutting off Jack. “Mine father's father was the first all-folk. Art thou suggesting...?”

“Dmitri did say his pa was a king. So, I'd say it's more than possible. 'Less yer wrong 'bout there bein' more than one all-folk branch.”

“I have my doubts about there being another branch of them. The only all-folk I know of are either of our royal bloodline, or men and women we selected to ascend, such as Twila.” She shook her head. “For an earth-folk to slay something so powerful...”

Jack adjusted herself a bit on the bed, she looked at Will, then at the damnable controls. Will understood, rising her headrest so she was at a sit.

“He underestimated me. An'...” Looking hard at the ceiling, she continued. “Sometimes men an' women, jus' regular folks, can get things done. Things that should be impossible.”

“Well, however you did it, you should feel proud,” Will beamed, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I told you you would make a fine warrior. Ronnel.”

Jack laughed once. “Ronnel.” She paused, then shrugged her hands weakly. “An' I thought 'bout it... 'bout the offer ya had ta me. My place in life is with my family, at home, but...” Sighing, she nodded at the norfolk. “But if yer offer of makin' me yer apprentice still stands, I'm in.”

Will brushed his nose with a thumb and smirked. “What made you change your mind?”

“I'm this strong fer a reason, I think. I lived through that fer a reason, I think. I gotta use it fer somethin', an' I'm thinkin' that somethin' might be bigger than the farm.”

He gave a tap to his temple with a meaty finger. “Three for three.”

“Come again?”

He gestured to the door with a palm. “Isabelle, Gilda, and you. My three best students all agreeing to be tutored under me.” He flashed a quick thumb's up. “On a roll!”

“Wait,” Jack looked at him from the corner of her eye, crossing her hand and laying it gently on her stomach, away from the spot that gave her a shot of pain every time it was grazed. “Gilda? But I thought ya—“

“I do,” he said. “Most griffons can burn for all I care. A few broken bones might make 'em humble.” He rubbed his chin. “But Gilda ain't a griffon to me. Gilda is Gilda. I've seen how she shoots. I just hope this whole getting kidnapped fiasco didn't hurt her too bad.”

So Dash said she was kidnapped. Makes sense, Jack thought, giving a weak, unconvincing nod. “I reckon she'll be alright.”

Will smiled over at Luna, then gave the same grin to Jack. “Well, me and the geezer should be off.”

“I mayhaps be the eldest within these halls, but I hardly deserve the title 'geezer,' William. Thou will have gray hairs long before mine shine though,” Luna countered.

Jack cocked her head, looking at Will. “What's the hurry? Ya'll don't need ta head so quick.”

“You've had reporters for weeks now asking day and night about how you were holding up. Figure we'd tell them you're still functioning.”

“Ta an extent,” Jack added on.

He chuckled. “Well, I don't expect you to be swinging a blade for a good, long while, Apple, but you're breathing on your own, so that's a start.” He turned, then paused, turning back. “And next time, do me a favor and clean the sword before you drop it somewhere. I had to hone that for hours to get the stains out.”

“Well, I'm hopin' I don't have ta drop it anywhere from now on.”

“Me too, Apple.”

Luna walked to Will's side and gave a deep, curious bow Jack's way. “Thou and thine friends have gone above and beyond for the country. Whatsoever thine wishes are in the coming years simply breath them, and I shall provide. I swear to this upon the Pendragon's namesake.”

Jack decided to take advantage of the offer right then and there. “Could ya get a nurse ta bring me some water? I'm parched.”

“So it shall be.” She bowed and snapped to attention. “Forsooth, William! We shall provide Lady Apple with a beverage.”

“Alright, alright. Don't need to yell it, woman,” Will grumbled, a smile still on his face regardless.

As the door shut, Jack leaned back once more upon the bed, rubbing at her eyes. She was more awake now, that was good. It seemed like before she drifted in and out like an ocean tide, no real way to control it. But now? Jack felt a faint, weak stirring in her. It wasn't much, actually standing made her hurt just thinking about it, but it was a start.

And a start was by far better than an end.

That word came back to her. End.

It hadn't really crossed her mind as much as it should have, maybe. It seemed like every time she woke up she had people around her, so there wasn't much time to reflect on it, but now?

She should have died there. She was bleeding out, battered, bruised and torn up. There was no way...

But she was here. Safe and sound. Looking back on it, at the sort of contentment she had as she lay dying, Jack realized it still didn't scare her how close she had came. She didn't have a death wish— far from it, she wanted to live. It was just the thought of death didn't scare her in the slightest. Like her grandma said. It wasn't a goodbye, it was a 'til next time. That thought helped her a lot.

The door opened; Jack glanced towards it, glad to be distracted from herself for the moment.

Mac stood in his usual, a comfortable pair of jeans and a shirt, a tray with a glass of water in his hand. Behind him came in Zecora, adorned in clothes far beyond her traditional getup, a pair of slacks and a low-cut blouse, and then, rounding past Zecora, was Bloom, dressed in a conservative skirt and shined black shoes. Jack smiled, it had to be killing Bloom to be wearing something like that. Without waiting for a moment, Bloom charged forward, wrapping her little arm tightly around Jack's torso. The woman grit her teeth, but couldn't be mad at the kid. Instead, she stroked the girl's cherry-red hair.

“Heya, sweet pea,” Jack said, smiling.

Bloom said nothing, squeezing Jack for all she was worth. Jack turned her attention to the others.

“Howdy, Mac, Zecora.”

Mac walked forward, handing the glass to Jack's good hand. Drinking deeply, Jack polished off the water in one pull, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“Granny never told me ya were part camel,” Mac said.

“Layin' in a bed all day is thirsty work. Haulin' hay ain't got nothin' on it.”

Zecora walked to Jack, smiling down at the woman. “It's good to see that you're awake. I'm glad you're alright, make no mistake.”

“Good seein' ya too.”

Bloom finally brought her head up to look at Jack. “Ya missed my birthday,” she blurted out, tearing up.

“Aw, I'm sorry, sug. How old ya now? Eight?”

“Twelve,” she huffed out in irritation.

“I know, sweet pea.” A thought crossed her mind. “But shoot, ain't yer birthday still like a month away?”

The three exchanged uncomfortable glances among themselves.

“Jack... ya been here fer a bit,” Mac slowly explained. “I'd reckon ya ain't heard 'bout it so ya wouldn't get upset.”

“How long we talkin'? Coupla weeks?”

“Four months.”

She paused, squinting at him. “Come again?”

“Ya been here four months, Jack.”

She looked towards the foot of her bed, unblinking. “But that's...”

“I know.”

“Four months... an' everyone's here.”

“We all have been off an' on,” Mac agreed. “We came when ya first got here, an' then came back 'bout a week or so ago when the docs said ya were finally a bit more lucid. Well, everyone 'cept fer Rarity. She rented a hotel room in town an' has been here since day one. Would hardly leave yer side 'cept ta sleep an' eat.”

Jack smiled tenderly. “Sounds like my girl. Cares too much, ya know?”

“Cares too much?” a familiar, welcome voice repeated from the doorway. Jack looked up and saw Rarity. Her hair disheveled and her jaw trembling. She swallowed her emotion and stepped into the room. “Coming from you, I find that rich.”

“Rare...” Jack stared at her, feeling almost like the woman was a mirage, like if she looked away, Rarity would vanish once more.

“Come on, Bloom,” Mac quietly addressed. “We can talk with yer sister a lil' later on.”

“But,” Bloom protested, squeezing Jack's good hand.

“We'll be back, honey, I promise. They jus' got some adult things ta talk 'bout,” Mac replied. Zecora gave a bow to Jack, reaching over to brush a strand of the farmer's hair behind her ear with a mother-like tenderness, before heading out into the hall.

“But,” Bloom repeated, looking up at Jack with a pleading gaze.

Jack had gotten used to her puppy-dog eyes enough that she could easily shake her head.

“Listen ta yer brother. Yer welcome here any time. Jus' give me an' Rare a bit alone, alright?”

“Alright,” she agreed, dejected. She paused to once more hug Jack by the neck. The farmer flinched as she put pressure on the wound at her shoulder, but said nothing.

“Love ya, Jack.”

“Ya too, sweet pea.”

They left, Bloom pausing for a moment to wrap her arms tight around Rarity. She gave a brief stroke of Bloom's head, never taking her gaze off of Jack. When the door finally shut, Rarity took a hard breath.

“Do you realize how improper it is to keep a lady waiting, Jack Apple?” the woman huffed, clenching her teeth as her jaw once again quivered. “Do you realize how long I've... been...”

Completely disregarding her act, she took two steps forward and wrapped herself tightly against Jack, holding as much of the earth-folk as she could in her trembling hands.

“Jack... Jack,” she sobbed.

“Don't cry, girl. I'm alright, we're alright.” Jack wasn't sure who she was talking to there.

“Alright?” Rarity repeated, violently shaking her head. “You don't understand.” She took Jack's hand in both of her own, staring at her in an almost pleading expression. “You were so close to dying over the months. A-and all I could do was watch. Your family had a priest perform last rites, when we thought infection would take you. But somehow you made it though.”

Jack felt something odd about Rarity's hands. She looked down. There, on Rarity's ring finger was a familiar object. An orange gem in the shape of an apple. Her mother's ring. Looking up to the soul-folk's red, bloodshot eyes, Rarity managed to say one word before weeping.

“Yes,” she stammered out. Jack felt her lip tremble, her own eyes already starting to mist over and obscure the beautiful woman before her.

“Rare...” Jack choked out, snapping her arm forward and pulling the woman in close, Jack's injuries be damned. She rubbed Rarity's shoulder as they cried happy, joyous tears at their reunion.

“I'll try ta make ya happy. I swear ta ya. Swear ta God.”

They heard the door open and it was with great reluctance that Jack pried her gaze away from Rarity. Her fiancée, Jack thought with glee, and turned her attention to a norfolk woman with a slightly paunch stomach.

“I hope I'm not interrupting anything?” the norfolk asked in a professional tone.

“No, please, Dr. Oblanc, come in,” Rarity addressed, wiping at her eyes and rising off of Jack to turn to the doctor.

“Well,” Oblanc began, her tone a little more relaxed, “Ms. Apple, how are you feeling?”

“Like it's gonna be a good day,” the farmer instantly answered, smiling towards Rarity.

“Good. A positive attitude helps in the healing process. I assume Ms. Belle has already lectured you about your recklessness?”

Shrugging, Jack answered, ”Kinda. She said I cut it kinda close in here from an infection.”

“That's only part of it,” Oblanc replied. She looked down at a clipboard, donning a pair of no-nonsense black glasses. “Did she tell you about how you managed to live the day you were injured?”

“Ain't a story she told me, doc.”

“Well... you were lucky Rarity is a soul-folk, Ms. Apple.” She approached and gently took ahold of Jack's blanket. “If I may?”

Jack raised her arms and Oblanc pulled the blanket down to her waist, where a large bandage greeted her. Oblanc reached for it and gently pulled.

Jack flinched. At her stomach, where Dmitri had wounded her was a horrific burn mark the size of a palm, wrinkled and a lighter than the rest of her skin, almost an off-white.

“Ms. Belle showed life-saving decision making skills while you were unconscious, Ms. Apple. She used her magic to cauterize the wound.” Oblanc gave a shrug. “This did aggravate the intestinal damage you bore from your puncture wound, but it bought you enough time to be transported here.” She pushed up the glasses she wore, looking over the woman. “Between the puncture wound, severe lacerations across your shoulder, shock to your system and blood loss, I didn't think you'd make it through the night, yet somehow...” Looking down at her clipboard yet again, she continued. “We had to perform invasive surgery to repair the damage to your small intestine. Not to mention your collapsed lung, or the scarring on your fallopian tube. The infections to your body came when we discovered you were allergic to a medicine we were using as an antibiotic. But we fixed that and we repaired what we could. Provided you adhere to a strict diet of liquids and complete bedrest for another two months, I wouldn't be hard pressed to say you'll be on your way to making a full recovery.” Finally offering a smile, she looked over at Jack. “You're lucky, Ms. Apple. Most folks would have died long before we could even see them.”

“I don't believe in luck on somethin' that big. I believe in miracles.” She took Rarity's hand, the soul-folk stared down at her, smiling. A pure, honest, adorning smile that Jack knew would carry her through everything life could throw at her. “An' doc? I found me a miracle right here.”