//------------------------------//
// Chapter 6 
// Story: All In the Making 
// by Lapis-Lazuli and Stitch 
//------------------------------//


Chapter Six


When I crack open my pleasantly bleary eyes, the first thing I realize… I didn’t dream. Or, I have no memory of dreaming. It’s all just warm, soft feelings. I blink to clear away the morning fog in my eyes. Light is streaming in from a window on my right, and a breezy linen sheet is covering me. I blink again, this time just to get my bearings. 

I’m still in the Apple house, that much is obvious just from the smells; and from the dull clips and clops below me, I guess I must be somewhere on the second floor. I sit up and rub my eyes before flinging off the sheet and sliding off the bed. The room is sparse (my red barrette is sitting on the one and only inn-table), but so is the guest bedroom back at my place. I pace around for a bit, trying to remember if anything else happened during the evening, but I must have passed out fairly early.

“Well, futz,” I mutter to myself. There’s no attached bathroom in sight, so without anything else to distract myself, I wander into the hall and down the first flight of stairs I come to. I step into the familiar hallway leading to the kitchen and make my way toward sounds bouncing from the room. Applejack is there, washing the last of some bowls and plates. A single slice of jellied toast sits on the counter behind her, no doubt waiting to be inhaled. 

“Morning,” I say, taking a seat at the table. 

“Mornin’,” Applejack answers without turning around. “We got toast ‘n apples if yer hankerin’ for breakfast.”

“I’m good,” I wave it off. “I’ll just grab something on my way back to my hotel.”

“Mac’s workin’ tha Midwest Orchard today if’n ya wanted ta holler before ya took off,” Applejack tells me, drying her hooves before attacking the toast.

“Um… Applejack…” I say, hesitant even with the thought only in my head a few seconds. 

“Look, ya’ll may’s well jus’ start callin’ me AJ if ya’ll’s gonna be ‘round,” she tells me, sliding into the chair opposite me. 

“I mean… I would, but… AJ, you’re one of Rainbow Dash’s best friends, right?” I ask. 

“Sure as tha sun is shinin’,” she replies with a nod, shoveling the last of the toast into her mouth. 

“Then you know I won’t be around,” I say, a bit of anxiety creeping into my voice. “Hay, we’re in the process of headquarters transfer right now.”

“Whatcha gettin’ at?” Applejack asks, placing her chin in a hoof. 

“Macin-  Mac won’t leave the farm, will he?” I reply with another question, despite knowing the answer already. I’m no stranger to this. I watched Soarin’ and Spits go through countless significant others, all brought low by the ‘Bolts’ schedule. Nopony on the team was surprised when they got together (though those two fillies of theirs are walking embodiments of everything their parents aren’t). 

“Ain’t a chance, Fleetfoot,” Applejack says. “He watched me do it. Ah’d be surprised if his memory of me leavin’ don’t drive him a little.”

“You left?” I ask, intrigued and more than willing to digress from my current predicament.

“Sure as Luna’s moon,” Applejack says. “Went off ta live in Manehattan with an aunt and uncle. Got mah cutie mark after I came back to tha farm.”

“You don’t strike me as the type with wanderlust,” I half giggle. 

“I couldn’t give a rat’s tail now,” AJ chuckles with me, “but Ah was a different filly back then.” A space of silence fills the room. I brush my likely bedraggled mane out of my face, while Applejack just sits and waits. She either has the patience of a saint or a stubborn streak to match Spits. Probably a bit of both, actually. 

“I guess…” I swallow. The weight of reality is starting to get heavier. “I guess this is it then, huh?”

“Don’tchu go sayin’ bull puckey like that,” Applejack chastises me, and I crack a smile. She must have known I was going to say something along those lines and had been getting her response ready. It did sound good, I’ll admit. “You Wonderbolt types ain’t the ones ta give up are ya?”

I sigh. “No. No we’re not.”

“I know ya’ll’s tryin’ ta look at this without goggles, but I ain’t never seen mah brother cuddle. And ya’ll’d be right, I ain’t never lettin’ him live it down,” AJ tells me with hints of amusement. “But! And you listen here, Miss Fleetfoot. Mah brother fancies ya. And that ain’t common.”

I feel the blush creeping into my cheeks with how direct AJ is being, but I keep listening. 

“If it really matters to ya, an’ I think it does, ya’ll can keep it alive,” she says. 

“And he’ll wait for me?” I ask, unable to keep the assault of thoughts down despite the comfort of AJ’s assurances. She only leans back in her chair, guffawing. 

“Mah brother could match Princess Celestia in a starin’ contest!” she continues to laugh. “ ‘side from gettin’ apple trees to grow, he’s got patience as a talent.” I smile, then break out into giggles with AJ. Sure, I’ll probably end up pacing in my room for the rest of day, but Applejack’s confidence will keep me from completely losing my marbles.

“Thank you, AJ,” I say. “Um… where’s your bathroom? I’d like to wash up before heading back.” 

“Ain’t a problem, and you’ll be fine, girl, I believe in both of ya,” Applejack says with a pat on my shoulder before leaving her seat. “Last room upstairs.” I nod, and she gives me a wink and smile before trotting out to the farm for the day. I sit alone for a while before I realize I won’t be sorting anything out surrounded by the very thing I need to get in order. I need to shower and head back to my hotel loft.      
______________________________________________________________________________

The mostly gliding flight back to my little loft was uneventful. I take it as a good sign my teammates are doing well. The lack of crowds clamoring for autographs is a bit unnerving, but I suppose when you have a princess as your neighbor, nopony else can really compete. The idle thought crosses through my head that, yes, I do like it here. I shake it out as I touch down on the small balcony. 

Of all the things to make sorting myself out of this… conundrum I’ve gotten myself in… Of all the things to make it worse, actually liking Ponyville objectively is the last thing I need. My first thought is to unclip my mane, grab a Strike, and stare into the horizon until I can think coherently. But with even just one hoof inside my room, I can already feel the pacing coming on. 

My red barrette stays in my mane, the cigarettes on the bed, and I give in to the circling wander. I think I pace for a good half hour, not thinking of anything; just trying to work out all the nervous energy that doesn’t seem like it’ll be leaving any time soon. I stop, throw my head back, and groan. “Why can’t you be honest with yourself?” I mutter to the air. “What’s so hard about admitting it?”

My brain refuses to give me an answer, which is my cue to try something else. I sidle into the tiny bathroom (compared to the one at the Apple house anyway) and stare into the mirror. “Just say it,” I tell my reflection. “Come on, Fleetfoot. Now’s about as good a time as any to just, move on.” I continue to stare, taking a deep breath. 

“You… you like Macintosh. And not just as a friend,” I force myself to say. I breathe again, and turn out of the bathroom. I go to start pacing again, but I wander onto the balcony and take a seat on the wooden planks. “Now what, Fleetfoot? Now what?” I ask the air. “I mean, he’s not going anywhere. I don’t even have to guess about that one. But you are. Probably tomorrow, come to think of it.” 

I can’t bring any of this up to Spitfire. I didn’t get a verbal beating before, thank Luna’s moon, but she gets wind of me thinking of not re-enlisting and not taking Soarin’s spot… phew, that would be a fit for the ages. And the subject matter wouldn’t help either. And hay… I might be scared of being made a full lieutenant in the Wonderbolts, but I still love flying. I love everyt- er… well, the press coverage could go stick it’s plot hole someplace else, but I love everything else about the team. 

And for the sake of my own mental argument, what else would I do? I think back to all the Wonderbolts who’ve come before me, and not one sticks out as having done something like a job after they left. Most retire, a good number get injured but are paid anyway as part of our contract, and the rest got booted for being morons in the pub… Ugh…

I run a hoof down my face. I really am lucky it didn’t turn out worse. I smack the side of my head. That mess has at least already been taken care of. No need to dwell. I’m in a rut. There’s nothing else for it. The brilliant Fleetfoot is stuck between a rock and her own… damn… preferences. I need somepony to talk to. Somepony - !

A knock on my door. A hard, urgent one. I get myself together and race to it. More than likely, it’s Spits with news on the ground crew. And in that case, mentally frazzled or not, I need to be packed and ready to hit the air currents. I fling open the door… and it’s Soarin’. 

“ ‘Sup,” he says with that dopey smile of his. “You look better… and dressed up?”

“Oh, sorry!” I nearly squeak, hoof immediately going to my barrette. Even if most of the team doesn’t, Soarin’ and Spitfire both know who I got the thing from… and that I refuse to wear it. “Just - just come in,” I say, stepping out of the way while fumbling to get it out of my mane. Geewillikers, here come the questions… Soarin’ strides in and plops on the carpet, waiting for me. I shove my single mane accessory under my uniform and do my best to smile at him. Even I know it looks forced.

“So, um, this is awkward,” he states the obvious. “Thought you got rid of that thing a long time ago. Right after you broke up, actually.”

“I keep it as a reminder,” I say briskly. Soarin’ really is the pony I need to talk to. If I can just get him off the barrette, anyway.

“It was in your mane,” he says flatly, and I return his statement with my own flat glare.

“Thank you, sir,” I reply with as much sarcasm as I can muster.

“Wanna spill?” he asks, back to his concerned dad sincerity. 

“I… Soarin’, I met somepony,” I say, taking a seat opposite him.

“I mean, I got that far,” he replies with a nod. “But you’re not giggling like Searin’ Wren after finding out she can scream at an even higher pitch, so… what’s wrong?”

“We have to leave?” I offer, thinking it seems so obvious. “It feels so good and right, but that won’t last. I’ll just end up being that nice filly that was around a while.”

“Fleet,” Soarin’ chuckles, shaking my shoulder and me with it, “you do know there’s such a thing as long distance relationships?”

“I guess…” I scowl. The idea frankly feels cold to me. 

“You look better, but you actually okay? We’re here for you, remember,” Soarin’ says. I open my mouth to answer, but I stop. It’s a lie to say I’m okay, just not in the usual sense.

“I’m great actually,” I sigh, and for some reason, saying that lifts a lot of my anxious weight even more than admitting I really do like Mac. “Better than I’ve been in a while. Anxious, yeah, but good.”

“Guessin’ you just needed to tell somepony, eh?” Soarin’ asks, though I can tell he already knows the answer.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah.”

“Well, I actually came by for a reason, not just to drop in,” he carries on, the business tone coming right to the surface. Wonderbolt talk. “Ground crew got here a few minutes ago. We’re gonna give ‘em the night to recuperate, take inventory, you know the drill. But that means we hit the sky first thing in the morning. Zero eight hundred sharp.”

“I’ll be there,” I say, military mode cutting through all my worry like an old friend. 

“This is the new headquarters address,” Soarin’ grunts, pulling a notepad and pen from his workout hoodie pocket and scrawling the street name and house number. “In case you need to let anypony know where to find you before we leave tomorrow.” He stands up and winks before shutting my door behind him. 

I stare at the address for a while. Cold as I think it is, this is the best I can come up with for now. And… maybe it can be romantic… maybe... 
______________________________________________________________________________

I probably spend the next hour and a half continuing to pace. Just trying to figure out how I want to break this to Mac… Ugh… ‘Break’ is such a negative way of looking at it. If I want to make this go well, I can’t imagine it that way. Whatever. It will be what it is. 

Whether from actually being stumped, my hooves being sore, or being straight tired; I eventually curl up on the bed and open up my latest book. Since the end of last tour, I’ve been slogging through Sensible Pride’s books. Sure, they can be a bit dry sometimes and are definitely not easy reads, but as a mare who says she enjoys classic literature, I thought it was a bit hypocritical not to have read them. 

Either way and despite them being excellent books, just stopping and forcing myself to do something calm and collected cures my anxiety. Well… not cures. If I stop and think about all the implications of a potential relationship, I can’t help but shiver a little, but reading really does keep me from dwelling. My only regret is not having a glass of wine. I will definitely have to indulge once everything gets unpacked. 

Eventually, I get a bit mentally exhausted reading (Pride’s books have that effect), and wander downstairs. The elder pony isn’t there, instead replaced by somepony who is most likely his grandson. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. Not as bad as some though. I ask him to order me a pizza to my room and flip him a more than generous tip of bits and head back. 

I stare at the scrawl of a Baltimare address while waiting on my pizza and start work on a letter to Mac. The pizza pony interrupts before I can get anything substantial written down, but far better that than him coming in when I’m pouring out my heart. I munch on the… meh… slices and keep on. And as I write, I wonder if I should start keeping a journal. Just in detailing how I feel, I can sense something therapeutic about it. I very nearly finish it, deciding not to address the thing and just deliver it to Applejack before I leave… when I get my second knock on the door. 

I tense. Please let it not be somepony from the team. It’s around eighteen, and already dark out. As a rule, I as a Wonderbolt put little to no… I put zero stock in general support staff to not muck things up right when things are supposed to be happening. If somepony from the team is behind the door whose handle I have my hoof on, who knows what might have happened. And worse, how I’ll keep my sanity still being here with the chance of being ordered away at any second is anypony’s guess.

I stiffen and open the door. And… I nearly squeak. Instead I do worse and just giggle like a schoolfilly. Mac is standing in my hotel doorway. And he’s holding… Oh hay… He’s holding flowers. I put a hoof over my mouth and point at the bouquet, doing my best to blink too fast for the tears to gain a hoofhold. And what’s more, they’re clearly recently picked apple blossoms. He probably grabbed them himself. “Too much?” Mac asks me, holding the bundle out. 

“N-n-no…” I stutter, taking them and forgetting I still need to blink. I feel the streaks of water running down my face, but can’t wipe them away and take the bouquet at the same time. I opt for taking the flowers. “You -” I sniff. “You picked them yourself?”

“Eeyup,” Mac says. “Didn’t mean to make ya cry…” 

“Nonsense!” I say with a baited laugh. “You know you’ve done well when a lady cries over flowers!”

“Was just tryin’ ta be nice,” Mac says. “Heard ya’ll was leavin’ since ya’ll’s ponies got in…”

“They are very pretty,” I say, glad my sniffles don’t stick around even if the tears do. And it’s only after deciding to gently place the blossoms on an inn table that I notice Macintosh still standing in the doorway. With our roles of ‘most awkward’ reversed for a change, I feel a bite of boldness in my chest. And only half-regret what I do with it… 

I flutter up and lightly peck Mac’s cheek before being unable to hold my composure and tittering. “You can come in,” I say, smiling.

He steps inside slowly, shutting the door behind him, and eyes the place for a bit. “Not very fancy for a Wonderbolt,” he tells me. 

“I know,” I reply, wandering to kitchen for a glass of water (and wishing I had something else to offer). “I avoid the highlight places on principle,” I say, returning with the water. “Too much press.”

“Mm,” Mac agrees, sipping at the water. “Nice balcony though.”

I nod and… I can’t let the silence drag. The question, as terrible as it feels and as much as I fear what one of the answers could be, is going to drive me crazy if I don’t ask. “Did…” Hoo, I swallow and take a breath. “Did you really come to say good-bye?” I ask, hoping it didn’t sound too pleading.

“Ah… guess?” Mac replies, and my eyes widen. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him say anything without the utmost confidence. My heart flutters with hope.

“Which means…?” I try to coax it out. 

“Ah wish Ah didn’ have ta, honest,” Mac replies. He shrugs with a kind of resignation, and it dawns on me. 

I hop up to my bed and curl my tail around myself while resting my head on one of the pillows. I’m facing away from him, but I don’t think I can look at him and say it aloud at the same time. 

“But you can’t leave with me, I know,” I say. The tears start coming down again. 

“I got a family that ain’t gonna take care of it-”

“I know!” I yell, and immediately regret it. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” I roll over to stare at the ceiling. “It’s just… here I am, finally finding a stallion I like… and -” I sit up to see him again. And instead of the hurt or upset expression I expect, he’s just sitting at my bedside, waiting patiently. He even has a quiet, small smile. “I do like you, Mac,” I say. 

“I ain’t tha type to muss with words,” he tells me, and reaches for one of my front hooves. I let him take it. “But Ah’d be lyin’ if Ah said I didn’t fancy ya, Fleetfoot. Ya’ll’s a very nice mare.”

“But… but how do we…” I try asking, except his face is coming closer to mine, and I just let myself forget for the few moments it takes to close my eyes and lean forward myself. Our lips meet, and even with my face flaring with warmth and my heart beating faster than my wings in a sprint, he keeps our kiss short and sweet. I linger on our touch as he pulls away, and when I open my eyes, I simply tug on his hoof and scoot over on my bed rather than say anything.

He joins me, lying on his back with the creaking protests of the bed. “What do we do with the relationship mess we’ve made for ourselves?” I ask, leaning my head on his side. I feel a leg wrap around my shoulders and pull me closer. It seems so much easier to be honest about what I’ve been thinking about all day with the touch of the very pony driving me romance crazy bringing me into a gentle embrace. 

“Wonderbolts get post right?” Mac asks, and I feel my eyes roll a bit.

“Soarin’ suggested that,” I say. “My soon-to-be-gone boss,” I elaborate.

“It ain’t a bad idea,” Mac replies.

“No, but it doesn’t help a mare when she wants a kiss,” I say with a small giggle, needling him with an elbow to his side.

“Ah wouldn’t know, but ya’ll do shows in tha winter?” he asks me.

“Noooo…” I drag out. “It’s just practice time and rehearsals and circuit and event planning. Air’s too thin in the winter to do the more dangerous stuff.”

“So ya’ll ain’t wanderin’ ‘round Equestria?” he continues on, and I sense I know where he’s going with it.

“And you have nothing to do during the winter?” I ask, getting a bit giddy.

“Other way ‘round,” Mac chuckles. “Apples’ll take care of ‘emselves durin’ tha summer. Winter’s got a load of prep work for next plantin’ season.”

“Oh…” I say, unable to hide my downcast voice. 

“That innit good?” Mac asks, clearly perplexed, which only serves to confuse me more than him.

“No?” I ask. 

“Ah can come ta ya’ll’s shows durin’ tha summer if they ain’t too far,” he tells me with a deep laugh, squeezing my shoulder. “An’ ya’ll got leave right?”

“I could save it for winter…” I catch on, slowly nodding and resituating myself to curl up against Mac. It feels so nice to cuddle again… 

“Ponyville’s Winter Wrap Up’s a treat,” Mac ponders to the ceiling. “Ya’ll could come ta that if ya wanted. More hooves ‘re always welcome.”

“Sounds just a teeny crazy with all the different ponies here,” I laugh. A huge sigh escapes me, and I didn’t know I could, but I feel lighter still. I don’t even think… he never wanted to make plans. And I never thought about doing it either. The ‘Bolts did it for me if there were plans to be made. I always thought it would be a constraining thing. Something that would hold me back and down.

But I like this. I like looking forward to something. And not just a Winter Wrap Up. The promise of visits makes having to leave almost exciting in its own way. And I’m certainly not eaten up over it anymore.  

“Ah like this plan,” Mac says matter-of-factly. 

“It’ll work,” I sigh, and between Mac’s firm side and the softness of the bed, my eyes begin to drift shut. And the last thing I remember before drifting to sleep is his chin resting on my head and hoof stroking my shoulder. A low breath escapes me. I’ll try anything to keep this. Yeah...