Calling Out to You

by Arbarano

The Red Workhorse

Big Macintosh quietly pulled the door closed. He brought his head back up to its proper height, before stretching his neck even further to get rid of the tight knot at its base. As it loosened, he smiled.

Even by his own standards, it had been a long day today: up before the crack of dawn; feeding the pigs; making sure they actually did get through them old apples this time; cooking breakfast with Granny; making sure that Apple Bloom got to school on time; bucking half the south orchard with AJ; finalising the payments on their new plough; heading out into Ponyville to work the apple stand; making sure his voice still worked when customers came; coming back and watching the balance sheets tip back into the black; rebuilding that bit of the fence by the Everfree; washing up after supper; getting AB and her friends down from the roof; taking Sweetie Belle back home; showering; tucking AB in even if she said she didn’t want it…

And now… bed…

Macintosh slipped out of his yoke and hung it on its spot on the wall, the corners of it finding their usual ridges. He trotted over and drew the curtains, before blowing a quick puff at the candle on his bedside.

His room now comfortably dim, Macintosh pulled back the blanket and lay down on his bed. The old frame creaked a little and the mattress sagged under him, but Macintosh wasn’t worried. This bed was Apple Family craftsponyship. It had been his Pa’s, back before he had met his Ma, and Pappy Johnagold had been just as big a pony as he was. Just the other week, when Apple Bloom had been looking through those old photo albums again, Granny had said that there wasn’t even an inch between he and his Pa in height.

Then again, Macintosh remembered, eyebrow rising, didn’t Granny say Apple Fritter has the same blue mane as AJ this morning?

Macintosh smiled, and dragged the blanket back over him. Its cool softness washed over his aching legs. The old mattress’ lumps pressed against his back in their familiar way.

And all around him, Sweet Apple Acres was nice and quiet.

His smile stretched further than its normal crease, and he let his head fall into the wide valley in the pillow. Gently, Machintosh closed his eyes…

“Oh, Macintooosh!”

Macintosh’s smile vanished.

Eeyup?

“Oh, come on, Macintosh. There’s no need for that tone.”

Sure seems like it.

“Oh, really! You know I wouldn’t bother you for no reason, don’t you Macintosh? I can tell that something is troubling you.”

Macintosh cracked an eye open, glaring at his pillow. Nope.

“You mean there isn’t anything bothering you.”

Eeyup.

“Well… there may not be anything bothering you now, Macintosh, but you know as well as I do what will happen.”

Macintosh snorted, and rolled over.

“Either we can get think about this now, Macintosh, or it’ll just bubble up as you’re finally drifting off and you’ll spend the whole night thinking about it. Now, which do you think sounds better, hmm?”

Macintosh pursed his lips and sighed. That voice was right. It was always right.

It was at market, today.

“Yes…? Go on…”

Ms Twilight came over as I was closing up.

“Twilight? That lovely purple mare who’s friends with Applejack? Surely she didn’t say anything that would trouble you. Unless she came over to apologise again for giving your sister that book.”

Macintosh shook his head.

“So what did she say then?”

It weren’t what she said.

“Oh…”

Macintosh bit his lip. She kept looking at the ground when she was talking to me, and she blushed when she did look at me.

“Ah… Another mare falls victim to your charms, Macintosh. Why, you must be proud—”

You know I’m spoken for.

“Yes… I know… And surely you could tell Twilight that.”

Macintosh shifted back across the pillow, screwing his eyes shut. I know, but… It’s Ms Twilight, for Celestia’s sake. If it weren’t for her, I’d still take all day to write a legible tax return. And she’s got that little smile of hers, and she’s just so nice… I can’t say no to her…

“Why, Macintosh! I didn’t realise you were that insatiable… Then again, I suppose there is plenty of you to go around—”

You know what I mean.

“Of course I do. We went through this only last week, did we not?”

Macintosh sighed again. I know, but it was like the days before Hearts and Hooves Day all over again. There isn’t a mare in this village who isn’t sweet, or kind, or special in her own way, and they all deserve to have somepony special. And when they come up with those big doe-eyes and those smiles like it means the whole world to them, I… I just feel awful…

Macintosh’s eyes shot open. Narrowing them, he stared at the ceiling and huffed. What the hay am I thinking? Like I’m that important…

“Hmm, I wouldn’t discredit yourself too much, Macintosh. I can think of somepony who thinks that way about you.”

Macintosh flipped over, burying his face in the pillow. Not helping.

“Yes; I don’t think she’ll be too happy if she hears that other mares are making passes at her beau, and that he did nothing about it.”

Macintosh stayed still. Eeyup.

“Do you remember how you acted with the last mare who blushed when she tried to bat her eyes at you?”

Eeyup.

“Well, I think you’ve got nothing to worry about, then. Just let Twilight down gently. If she’s as nice as she sounds, then I don’t think there’ll be too much of a problem.”

Macintosh had a sudden vision of a little clearing in Whitetail Wood. Of a world where the low sun scattered through the leaves and tinged everything gold. Of the remains of a nice, quiet picnic with a lovely mare. Of the same lovely mare wrapped gently in his hooves, smiling weakly. Of a light dampness building on his chest. Of his voice mumbling, “M’sorry.”

If you say so…

“Oh, come now, Macintosh! She hasn’t held it against you.”

That was true. When their paths crossed these days, she still greeted him with the same smile as before, but without the blush. And the day after their picnic, she was the one who asked if they could still be friends.

“You’ll see, Macintosh. This will work out, in the end…”

Macintosh slowly wriggled his head deeper into the pillow, turning to face sideways.

Eeyup…

He closed his eyes again, and those thoughts soon faded into the warmth of his bed. His breaths deepened to a comfortable, slow rhythm.

“Oh, and, Macintosh?”

Macintosh didn’t open his eyes. Eeyup?

“When will your wonderful companion be staying over again? Soon?”

…

“Maybe this time you can surprise her by arriving via the back passage?”

…

“Or perhaps you can slip into something from her most private collection of velve—”

Shut up.