Canterlot General Hospital is a goliath of a building. It and its associated medical offices squat belligerently over better than a dozen city blocks due north of the heart of downtown and the main hospital towers ten stories up and another four down.

The sleep clinic occupies a set of three adjacent offices on the first basement level of the hospital, and while it’s lively enough in the daytime, the night consists pretty much entirely of me, and a janitor who swings in every couple of hours to bitch about whoever was the last patient to shit the bed.

Literally.

Honestly, the custodial staff of the hospital do not get paid enough, in my humble opinion.

“—so I tell the nurse, if you’re gonna prescribe the poor bitch laxatives don’t put’er back in bed, just glue’r to the goddamn commode!” Wiseline barks as he leans against the wall, and a laugh escapes me against my better judgment.

Laughing at Wiseline’s raunchy stories only encourages him. I can't really help it, though. He's genuinely a funny guy. Maybe not conventionally attractive; being short and stout, with ashen blonde hair and a pastel-green complexion, but I can tell how he’s stayed married for twelve years. A girl can fall for a lot worse than a guy who makes her laugh.

Plus, he's smarter than most people give him credit for. I asked him once why he stuck around as a janitor rather than doing something more fulfilling and his answer was about what you’d expect.

‘Cuz I got a union, kid.’

“I know I just got in, but I’m supposed to eat at some point tonight,” I say. “I’d rather not go back to my girlfriend starving because of all the code browns I had to hear about.”

“Lemme tell ya, Scar,” Wiseline smirks around his reply, “never get inta my line’a work, you’ll never look at corn the same way again.”

“A~nd that’s me tapping out.” I turn pointedly back to my desk and ignore the laughter that spills out from Wiseline as he leaves me to my own devices.

I chuckle quietly as I boot up the computer and wait for it to slowly chug to life, then type in my credentials and wait another agonising ten minutes for that to load. There aren’t usually more than one or two appointments to keep, but I still wish we still had a paper ledger I could look over rather than having to wait the near half-hour it takes for the technological dinosaur I’m forced to use to rouse itself.

“Alright, let’s see who’s on the docket.”

Either a perk or danger of working alone for eight hours at a time in the dead of night is that I end up talking to myself a lot.

It’s just as I open the scheduling software that I’m distracted by two sounds. The first is a light and slightly nervous knocking at the door, and the second is a voice.

“Uh, pardon me, but is this the sleep clinic?” A tired but familiar drawl sends a chill up my spine as I read the one name on the schedule for tonight.

Jacqueline Apple

It takes all of my considerable skill as an actress not to sprint for literally anywhere but here. Instead, I stare straight forward at the screen and school my voice to a slightly lower register.

“This is the right place, Miss Apple, come on in,” I say in a passable alto. “Just take a seat on the couch and I’ll get your check-in papers.”

“Uhm, much obliged.”

The heavy tread of Applejack's work boots thud against the floor as she makes her way over to the waiting couch to sit down. I dare a glance up at her the moment I think it’s safe, just enough to examine her critically for a moment, at least, and I’m surprised by what I see. The lines of her face are drawn tight, there are awful bags under her candy-apple green eyes, and her face is far paler than I remember.

There’s also a weight to her I don’t recall being there two years ago. Her shoulders hang like they’re bearing full saddlebags across them, and her familiar, straight-backed pride is bent somewhat, and it shows in her posture.

Other than that, though, she looks much like I remember. Her long golden hair the color of buckwheat is kept in line by a hair tie and a beat up old cowboy hat that belonged to her father. I know it’s the same one because I recognise some of the little knicks and scuffs that have probably been on it since rocks were soft. She’s wearing faded jeans that line up with grunge fashion circa twenty-oh-two, except I know they’re just old and worn in, and she has a thick flannel button-up over a solid-color red sweater to keep out the chill of the Canterlot evening.

I bite my lip and focus, putting on the professional facade of ‘Scarlet Dream’ as I stand, pick up the requisite forms, and walk over to Applejack. Time to find out how well my disguise holds up under scrutiny.

It’s been better than two years since we’ve seen each other, and memories are shaky things. Hopefully, that's enough, and if it’s not I can always put her to sleep and make a few… adjustments.

I’d rather not, though.

“Fill these out before we begin,” I say without inflection as I pass her the clipboard. “If you have any questions I’m happy to explain.”

“Thanks, I—”

The words choke into silence and the clipboard drops from her fingers to clatter onto the floor as she stares up at me in blank horror for a moment.

‘Steady, Sunset… steady…’ I don’t bolt, I just stand there and give her a confused look, as if I’m not sure what she thinks she’s seeing.

“Miss Apple?” I say softly, forcing concern into my tone.

Applejack clenches her eyes shut and takes a long, shuddering breath, then turns away from me and leans on her knees, burying her face in her hands in a full body expression of bone-deep weariness.

“Dagnabbit, Ah’m awful sorry ‘bout that, Doc,” Applejack says through her fingers before pulling her hands away from her face and reaching down to pick up the clipboard.

Her cheeks are wet.

“Y’all just…” Applejack starts only to clam up and shake her head. “Sorry, Doc, weren’t nothin’ you did.”

She pulls the pen from the board’s clasp and starts filling out the form.

Her handwriting hasn’t gotten much better. It’s still the same chicken-scratch she wrote all of her essays in back when we shared English Lit class under Miss Harshwhinny. Something wells up in me as I watch her scrawl out her answers on the form. Pity, maybe, or maybe it’s just good old fashioned empathy.

“Are you alright?” I ask, careful to keep my voice modulated.

The pen scrapes to a halt for a moment before continuing on its meandering path across the page, and Applejack lets out a bitter little chuckle that turns into a sigh.

“Ah’m fine,” she replies. “Couple years back a friend’a mine… she uh… she took’er own life, and for a second there Ah thought Ah was starin’ at’er ghost.”

Applejack sits up straighter and hands me the completed form with the pen pinned between her thumb and the clipboard, and I take it from her. I give it a perfunctory glance, making sure there’s at least an answer in every slot, before tucking it under my arm.

“Threw me for a loop,” Applejack continued. “But then Ah took a closer look’n felt like a damn fool… ya look a little like’er is all, and Ah ain’t gonna lie, Ah’m awful tired, too.”

“Well, they say everyone has a doppelganger, right?” I reply with a forced laugh, and if anything Applejack’s answering laughter sounds even moreso.

“Y’all got no idea,” Applejack says finally as she stands up.

I bite back a chuckle at that as I turn to my desk and file away the paper before tapping through the system and bringing up her chart. I scan the notes, frowning as I do, then turn back to her.

“I understand you’re here for night terrors, then?” I say as I sift through the notes. “Doctor Wellborn wants to have some hard data for your charts… hmm…”

I look back up at Applejack who certainly looks bedraggled enough to be plagued with regular night terrors.

“You know,” I start. “From the look of things, I’d say you’re a farmer? Or something in the area, right?”

“Ayup,” Applejack replies.

“Maybe it’s just the stereotype but don’t farmers usually follow the whole ‘early to bed, early to rise’ rule?” I ask. “It’s ten at night, and generally patients show up an hour or two before they usually go to bed, meaning your usual bedtime is…”

“Uh, yeah, ‘round eleven or midnight, lately,” Applejack says. “Ah’m gonna be honest with ya Doc, Ah don’t get much sleep at the best’a times, and these nightmares’re takin’ what little Ah do get.”

I let out a small hum as I turn back to the charts and look over them.

She’s not wrong. If her self-report is right she gets maybe four hours of sleep a night at most, and that’s when she sleeps at all. She has a prescription for a pretty strong sleep aid, but I’d be willing to wager that she doesn’t take it very often if she's the still the same stubborn Applejack that I knew.

“You do have pajamas right?” I ask, suddenly realising she wasn’t carrying an overnight bag. “I can’t recommend sleeping in jeans, and I’m afraid we don’t allow sleeping in the nude.”

Applejack’s cheeks turn cherry red for a moment, then she laughs weakly.

“Uh, yeah, Ah got a uh… a friend bringin’em down,” Applejack replies. “She dropped me near the entrance before goin’ t’park her car is all, she should be here in no time.”

Oh good.

It's probably Pinkie or Rarity, which means my disguise will have to stand up to another round of scrutiny. If I’m lucky, maybe it will be Fluttershy. She's polite enough not to say anything even if she gets suspicious. Rarity is probably the worst-case scenario since she might recognise the dye job in my hair or the cosmetic lenses.

I'm not really sure what I'll do if it's Rainbow Dash.

Another knock sounds at the door, and I brace myself for what might be the start of a seriously bad night.

“Come in,” I say as we both turn to the door.

It creaks open and the young woman that steps through the door puts my heart into my throat. Her hair is a dark shade of sapphire shot through with strands of rosy pink and purple. She’s wearing a thick coat and unfashionable jeans, and her eyes are a little weary-looking, even familiar as they are.

Twilight Sparkle

I almost say her name on reflex, but I bite down on my tongue before the sound gets out as I school my face to a neutral expression of disinterest while I look her over.

This is not the Equestrian Princess I knew once upon a time, I’m absolutely certain of that after only a second.

She’s wearing thick glasses for one, and her hair is tied up in a messy bun that would’ve driven Princess Twilight insane. There’s something else, too, though. Maybe just something in the way she holds herself that’s comfortably human. On a guess, I'd say this is probably the human version of Twilight… the one who belongs here.

“Hey, Jackie.” Twilight pulls a small kitbag into the room and holds it out. “I had to park on the second basement level, I can’t believe how many people are here this late.”

“The hospital never sleeps,” I say wryly, and Twilight laughs. It’s a kind of squeaky laugh that ends in a snort which is annoyingly cute.

It’s hard to keep a smile off of my face at the sound, but the change in Applejack’s demeanor is like night and day. One moment she's practically dragging her feet, the next her whole face has lit up as Twilight drags the kitbag over to her and sets it down.

“Thanks, sugarcube,” Applejack says warmly as she stands and pulls Twilight into her arms, hugging her tight.

Twilight returns the hug before pulling back and smiling up at Applejack.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning to pick you up, okay?” Twilight says softly. “Try and get some sleep.”

“Ah will,” Applejack promises.

“Good,” Twilight replies, then she reaches up and captures Applejack’s face in her hands and draws her down into a brief kiss.

My eyes widen at the sight. The kiss is short, sweet, and has all the casual softness of a familiar act. Applejack seems to breathe her in as their lips meet, and her hands go around the shorter woman’s hips with an intimate touch that tells me they’ve definitely been together for a while.

The way they act is quietly domestic, and it honestly makes me a little jealous. They didn’t have to worry about multi-dimensional murderers on pseudo-magical amphetamines. They're not afraid of slasher movie villains coming to life and butchering their way through half the city.

Insomnia and night terrors aside, they look… happy.

Twilight draws back for a moment before darting in and planting another kiss on Applejack’s cheek before stepping back.

“Love you,” Twilight chirps. “See you tomorrow.”

“Love ya too, Twi’,” Applejack says. “Don’t worry too much neither, Ah got Miss… uh…”

Applejack looks up at me sheepishly, and I realise that I never actually introduced myself.

“Scarlet Dream,” I say, tapping my ID badge. “My name is Scarlet Dream.”

“Miss Dream, here, lookin’ out for me.” Applejack finishes awkwardly.

Twilight crosses her arms and gives me a level look that goes up and down, then she purses her lips. “I don’t know how I feel about a pretty lady ogling you while you sleep, I’m pretty sure that’s my job.”

“Maybe so,” I reply casually. “But I have a degree and a certificate, which makes me a professional sleep ogler.”

There’s that laugh again. Squeaky and ending in a snort, and Applejack is smiling like a lovestruck dumbass. Honestly, though, I can see it. It’s a cute laugh, probably made all the more endearing because she’s in love with its owner. Hearing the person you love laugh should make you smile.

“Alright well, take care of her, okay?” Twilight says a little more seriously. “She really needs this, and it took months to convince her to see a doctor about it.”

That didn’t surprise me.

If Applejack is anything like I remember, then her stubborn streak is wider than Sweet Apple Acres itself.

“I’ll do my best,” I reply, “now, I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave so Miss Apple can get ready and I can get the machines set up.”

“Alright,” Twilight turns and gives Applejack one last hug, they share another kiss, and then the woman who has the face of someone I once called a friend steps out of the room.

“Changing room is there,” I point to a nearby door. “Bathroom is the first on your left once you’re through the door.”

“Much obliged,” Applejack bobs her head. “An’ Ah’m sorry ‘bout Twi’ back there, she’s an awful bit’ve a worrywart when it comes t’me.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” I reply.

“Reckon it ain’t,” Applejack agrees. “Dunno what I’d be like if it weren’t fer her… she keeps me honest, and keeps mah head on straight.”

“I think everyone needs someone like that,” I say quietly.

“Reckon so.” Applejack smiles at me before turning and heading back into the changing room.

I curse at myself silently. This is a bad scenario. Not worst-case, maybe, but still bad. As far as Applejack and the others know, I am very, very dead. Or worse than dead, possibly, but that’s neither here nor there.

It’s hard enough keeping myself focused when I’m around people I like.

Keeping the murderous, psychopathic instincts that currently make up about half of my brain from going hog-fucking-wild around the girls whom I still blamed for abandoning me when I needed them most is not an experiment I’m too keen on trying.

Even if I wanted to reconnect with them, I can’t afford to. The world can’t afford for me to do that.

The Entity retooled my entire biology to be designed for one thing, and one thing only: killing. Out from under his control, I have my own mind back, but the instincts… they’re always there.

Adagio, Sonata, and I talk about them a lot, and it helps. We have a kind of an Ex-Murderers Anonymous, and I just got my one year chip, so I’m sort of sold on not falling off the wagon.

Especially since that would mean I murdered someone.

As my mind races, I go through the simple motions of prepping the room Applejack will be sleeping in. Tonight is not going to be fun, but at least it’s not Rainbow Dash in here. Applejack and I have always had a cool, sober relationship, and one that was based on a certain kind of mutual respect, even back when I was a rancid bitch. It won’t be too hard to keep my head on while she’s sleeping.

I hope.

A soft clearing of the throat draws my attention up as Applejack pokes her head in. She’s wearing simple, comfortable knit pants and a loose tee that strains against her broad shoulders and if she was anyone else I might find her attractive.

I can’t see it past the face of the girl who abandoned me, though.

“Ready for me?” Applejack asks.

“Mhm.” I nod and gesture at the bed. “Go ahead and lay down, I’m sure Doctor Wellborn went over what we’ll be doing, but I’ll go over it again just in case.”

Applejack nods and walks over to the bed, then lays down.

“I’m going to attach some sensors to you that will monitor your REM and NREM sleep patterns, they’re attached to this,” I gesture to the EEG next to the bed. “I’ll also attach a sensor that keeps track of blood pressure and oxygen levels, sometimes poor sleep can be the result of not getting enough oxygen during the night, which is usually—”

“Apnea, yeah,” Applejack nods. “Mah Uncle got that, he uses one’a those breathing machines when he sleeps.”

“CPAP machines, mhm,” I say. “I doubt that’s the case though, it’s usually the result of obesity, but there’s an outside chance it’s related to your heart. But once again, I doubt it.”

“Gotta say, Doc, I ain’t sure how Ah’m gonna get ta sleep wearin’ all those doodads,” Applejack says with a nervous hitch to her voice as she stares at the little white sensors.

I chuckle at that. “An actual full night of sleep isn’t the point, the information we gather is, but I guarantee you, you’ll fall asleep. Everyone does.”

At least, they do when I’m the one on shift.

Wellborn always comments on how I must have a particularly peaceful and inspiring presence, since everyone I watch over manages to actually sleep during the studies I’m involved in. The information I give him is always the purest, cleanest, and most accurate data of any we gather, to the point that he’s told me I’m his favorite sleep tech and if he could schedule me every single night, he would.

I wonder if he still would if he knew why they sleep.

I finish affixing the sensors to Applejack, and give a few more instructions in case she has to get up to use the bathroom or for some other reason, so as to disrupt the study as little as possible. She follows along, as dutiful and polite as ever, then thanks me and lays down.

“Hey, Doc?” Applejack calls out as I make to leave the room, and I sigh.

“Scarlet,” I say as I turn back to her, and she raises an eyebrow. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a polysomnographic technologist, but that’s a really long word and it doesn’t truncate well, so just… just call me Scarlet, or Scar, it’s what everyone else calls me.”

“Uh, S-Scar, then,” Applejack says with a weak laugh. “Sure thing, Ah just… Ah wanted t’thank ya.”

“Why?” I ask. “I’m just doing my job. I do this every night.”

“Yeah, but that don’t mean I ain’t supposed t’thank ya for tryin’ t’help me,” Applejack counters. “So thanks, Scar.”

I sigh quietly, and force myself to keep the grimace off of my face, schooling my expression to one of patient understanding.

“You’re welcome, Miss Apple.”

“Jackie,” Applejack replies, and I have to bite my lip to keep from groaning. “Fairs fair, if I’m callin’ ya Scar, then you can call me Jackie.”

“Jackie.” The name tastes familiar, like sour apples in a fall orchard. It’s nostalgic in a bad way, and it’s all I can do to keep the hurt in my chest from reaching my face. “Try and get some rest Miss—… Jackie.”

She smiles at me, and I mirror the expression before leaving to go to the observation room.

I have to remind myself that I can’t afford to be her friend again. Even if I was willing to, which I’m not, it’s not something I’m capable of.

There’s too much risk, and in more ways than one.

Instead, I sit down and wait a sixty count as I watch Applejack get settled, shift around, settle again. Just as she begins to relax I raise my hand, curl my fingers, and reach out for her tired mind, pressing into sleep as reflexive euphoria sends dark laughter bubbling past my lips.

Author's Note

I remember the days when the sun shone...

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