With sheets slick with sweat and cold air washing over her shoulder, Rarity shot up in bed, panting hard.
Her chest was tight, restricting her paradoxically deep breaths, and she stared wide eyed into the unseen darkness in front of her. Something wasn't right, but she wasn't sure what or why or how.
But she's experienced this before, no? The trembling, the pain in her breast, the worry and dread over something deep and important. In the absence of knowing what it was exactly, she could only assume it was her life that was somehow in danger.
With a lot of shaking she managed to roll out of her bed, standing beside it on all four hooves. It was difficult, and she was also light headed, so she threw out a hoof to steady herself against her bed.
She stood there for a few seconds, still hyperventilating, listening to her heart thud in her ears. She had experienced this before. She was having a panic attack. Or she was dying. It was one of the two, and she dearly hoped it was the former.
After a few more rapid huffs Rarity forcefully brought her lungs to heel and her breathing to slow. What little of the world around she could see still spun, and the urge to swallow down large lungfuls of oxygen was still strong, but she kept it at bay as she left her room, hoof still held out against the wall.
Aside from the faintest moonlight and reflections of neighbour’s Hearthswarming decorations, the Boutique she lived in was dark. It felt sparse and lonely. The thought of Sweetie Belle sleeping in her room usually kept that loneliness at bay, and for a second the worry and dread subsided. Her sister was there, the little love of her life, the wonderful little filly she had the fondest memories of.
The anxiety came back when she thought about actually disturbing the girl, waking her up and ranting about her pain and worry. Rarity gasped and shut her eyes, shaking her head.
No, she couldn’t wake up Sweetie Belle. It wouldn’t do to make her panic over what was probably nothing. Nevermind the fact she was away from home with their parents for the impending holidays.
Rarity’s hooves fell on tile, bringing her thoughts back into focus.
She had walked to the kitchen without thinking, and likely just because the path of her home inevitably brought her here by following the outer walls.
Her chest still ached, albeit more faintly, low and deep. She drew in a breath and held it for a few moments, pushing the pain aside entirely, and she filled a tumbler with water before guzzling down the contents in seconds. She bowed her head, holding the glass to her forehead, beside her horn, and breathed again, slow and steady and counting each and every second.
She couldn’t sleep. She didn’t want to sleep, to be alone with her thoughts, to be without something to do. She could distract herself with work, but spooling up her sewing machine at this hour would be a disturbance, and she didn’t feel an ounce of inspiration through the tangled, binding anxiety. It would be work for work’s sake and nothing to show for it and she worried she’d feel exactly the same afterward as she did now.
Lifting her head, she looked out the window. The streets were empty, just a few lamps dimly lighting the paths and banks of snow piled up at the sides where they were cleared.
Thinning her lips, Rarity decided to go for a walk. It might be the dead of night, and even Ponyville wasn’t the safest town to wander at this hour, and if this wasn’t a panic attack—
Rarity shoved that errant thought back down. It was a panic attack. It was aimless dread, pointless worry, heedless adrenaline and energy she needed to burn off. A walk would do her good, she was certain.
And it wasn’t just to escape the lonely feeling of the Boutique.
Rarity walked aimlessly for at least half an hour. The icy air bit at her ears and burrowed into her joints and bones, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. The pain it caused was at least easily explainable, having a tangible source, and as she walked some of it faded away, fought off by the warmth brought on by activity and a scarf tied around her neck.
Rarely did she experience Ponyville at night. The only exception was during the Summer Sun Celebration, but then the streets were filled with ponies, merchants and entertainers and the crowds enjoying the festival.
The wee hours of this winter morning felt dramatically different. With the snow dampening the noise and the air so still, the sleepy town was deafeningly quiet, and without a soul to be seen Rarity felt like she had been transported elsewhere, to another Ponyville long abandoned.
Yet there were the odd things that kept the town from feeling too spooky. Enchanted decorations and powered lights still kept on overnight, the odd sounds of snoring, and once in a while the muffled voices of late night conversations. None of it fully calmed Rarity, but that all reminded her she was still in her lifelong home. It proved to be at least some comfort.
She wasn’t sure she was heading anywhere specific. She was merely traveling the streets and letting her legs follow some memory or another. She knew she was somewhere on the outskirts now; The homes were farther apart than in Ponyville proper, leaving space for fields for some of the hobbyist gardeners and wannabe farmers.
It dawned on Rarity where her legs were taking her when she passed over one another small hill, and she was looking at the entrance of Sweet Apple Acres. It was hard to make out the signage over the entrance in the dark, but she had been past it so many times it was hard to mistake it for anything else.
She stopped still before stepping onto the property. It was one thing to wander the town, but to wander the farm no matter the hour felt like trespassing. She had to have a reason to be here, to disturb their land, even if she didn’t disturb the ponies sleeping in the tall house. Even the fact Applejack and her were an item now didn’t shake that feeling.
Rarity paced side to side, from fence post to fence post, thinking over that point. Most days she would be there by invitation, or to invite Applejack to somewhere else. Occasionally she may even help the family with their harvest, though it certainly wasn’t Rarity’s favourite activity.
But she did suppose she had a reason to be there tonight. She wasn’t sure it was a good enough reason, being an involuntary product of anxiety, but it was a reason.
She stopped, turned to the farm, and put a hoof over the invisible line between Ponyville and Sweet Apple Acres.
It was a good enough reason.
Like the town, the farm had an otherworldly quality to it at night, though it lacked the features that reminded her she wasn’t in a dream. There were no decorations, no snoring, no conversations and laughter. Just the branches of dormant trees blotting out the stars and pointing her toward the house ahead.
Rarity paused at the bottom step of the porch, staring at the front door and idly rubbing one leg over the other. All she had to do was take a few more steps and knock. It was as simple as that. But…
What if nopony heard? What if she woke somepony else, like Apple Bloom or Granny Smith. She’d feel terrible disturbing them at this hour, making them worry when it wasn’t them she wanted to worry over her.
She began pacing again in front of the porch. She had to knock to get Applejack’s attention, though knocking on the door was clearly making her feel worse.
It wasn’t worth the stress, so Rarity decided a more direct way of getting Applejack’s attention was needed.
She made her way to the side of the house, and looked up to the second storey windows. She had been in the Apple family home enough times to know which window was which, and even in the near blackness she could make out the glass of Applejack’s room by the stars reflected off it.
In her magic she scooped up a bundle of snow and packed it tight, then wound it back beside her head.
She put aside the thought of this being more daft than simply knocking as she lobbed the ball up and struck the window dead centre. It made a dull but somewhat loud thunk, splattering snow across it, and half the snowball ball remained stuck to the glass.
Rarity waited a number of seconds, then nearly a full minute before getting another ball and aiming for the first. She missed the window entirely this time, hitting the wall beside it. No matter, it should still work, so she waited a short while again, before tossing yet another snowball
The window shot open the second after it connected, and somepony stuck their head out.
“Alright, who the hay thinks they're so funny?”
Rarity tensed, taking in a breath, feeling stupidly, unusually nervous. “Applejack?” she asked, not needing the answer. “I came to talk. I think I need some company, and I know it’s an awful hour, but…”
She couldn’t see Applejack’s eyes, but Rarity knew they were on her, staring for a few seconds. Then there came a sigh. “No sense in keeping you outside. I’ll unlock the door and get some cocoa on.”
The relief Rarity felt was palpable. It wasn’t total, she still felt stiff, but she was a little more relaxed all the same. A tenseness retreated from her shoulders and limbs, and it allowed her to tremble. She swallowed then muttered, “Thank you,” before turning back to the front door.
By the time she was there, a single lantern light shone through the windows and illuminated the cozy, rural living room. Beside the lamp stood Applejack, bent over the fireplace as she shoved a couple of logs inside. She lifted her head and turned to Rarity, smiling.
“I’m sorry, Applejack,” said Rarity, closing the door behind her. “I just—It’s silly to say I had a nightmare and needed you but—”
“Don’t apologise.” Applejack closed the gap and pulled Rarity against her, throwing her legs around her shoulders and neck. Rarity pressed her face into Applejack’s neck without skipping a beat, lifting her own leg to Applejack’s side. “It ain’t silly if it's got you this worked up. Let's get you comfortable and then you can talk about it if you want.”
Rarity nodded and hummed affirmatively against Applejack’s shoulder, then let herself be guided to the sofa opposite the fireplace and settled in.
Applejack made her way back to the fireplace, where she tugged out a box of matches. Carefully, she struck one, then held it to the kindling partially pinned by the logs until it flared and burned, slowly filling the room with more and more light. It silhouetted Applejack, casting a harsh rim around her face when she turned back to Rarity, and it made her eyes and smile twinkle.
A few minutes later Applejack produced a blanket, pillow and a steaming mug for Rarity. Rarity pulled the mug in, holding it close to her, by her neck and under her chin, letting the aroma of chocolate and cinnamon fill her nose.
Applejack joined Rarity up on the sofa, tucking her legs under her with her face turned to the fire, watching and listening to it crackle and burn.
“So,” Applejack said, dragging the word out, “What was it about?”
“The nightmare?” Rarity asked, blinking. She lifted the mug to cover her mouth as she glanced aside. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just woke up feeling like I was going to die, but I can’t think what else could have affected me so strongly.”
Applejack nodded, ears turned to Rarity. “Must’a been something right terrifying to make you feel like that. You’re a pretty brave mare most of the time.” She glanced back to Rarity, the corner of her mouth twitching up a little higher in a teasing smirk. “Despite your dramatics.”
Rarity didn’t take the bait, not that she was offended. She simply didn’t feel in the mood for it.
“Are you familiar with panic attacks?” Rarity asked.
Applejack’s smirk vanished, and she turned to properly face Rarity. She nodded. “Sorta. I think Twilight has ‘em from time to time.”
“I do, too.” Rarity pressed a hoof to her chest. It didn’t hurt anymore, her heart calmed and stilled, but the memory of the sharp pain was still fresh. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I thought I was dying. They physically hurt, terribly and awfully.”
Applejack nodded again, and she pushed out a hoof to Rarity, touching her leg. “Is there something you can do about ‘em? Something I can do?”
Shrugging, Rarity unfurled her leg to then curl her ankle around Applejack’s. “Just knowing what it is often ends up being enough to ground me. Breathing exercises, too. It certainly mucks with my sleep, though.”
“If you wanna sleep over, you’re more’n welcome to.”
Rarity grinned, sipping her drink. It reminded her of the embrace when she first stepped inside minutes before.
“Thank you, Applejack. It might take me a while to doze off, but… Thank you.” She held the drink silently before her nose for a few seconds. “Will you stay with me?”
“O’course,” said Applejack, beaming as brightly as the fire. “I’ll stay with you as long as you want.”
With a dry blanket and the barest breeze tickling her ear, Rarity slowly opened her eyes and yawned.
The morning sun shone in through the easterly windows, casting the entire living room in a welcoming orange glow, and it illuminated the pony in front of her like a star.
Rarity smiled and shuffled forward, planting a kiss to Applejack’s nose. Applejack stirred, groaning and slowly peeling open her eyes, but the growing scowl on her lips and whatever protest she may have mustered up vanished completely.
“Good morning, Applejack,” Rarity said, her voice sleepily melodic
“G’morning, darlin’.”
“That’s my word,” said Rarity with a giggle. She pushed herself up, stretching out her back. It clicked in a few places, bringing relief and pleasure.
This morning felt right, and Rarity knew exactly why.
As she rolled her neck, looking side to side, she caught sight of a mass of red. She blinked at it, and it bobbed up a little.
“Is Sweetie Belle here?” it asked.
“I’m afraid she’s still out of town,” said Rarity after a few moments.
The voluminously messy red mane whined. “So you get to stay ‘round but she can’t? That don’t seem fair to me.”
“Bloom,” said Applejack as she sat up, “Be nice to our guest. Can you go start on gettin’ breakfast ready?”
Apple Bloom whined again.
“I’ll let ya have as much syrup as you want.”
The whining ceased with a little gasp, and then the frizzy haired filly bolted off to the kitchen. Rarity rubbed her flushed cheek and smiled, turning back to Applejack.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” said Applejack after a sigh. “You know how she and your sister can be.”
“It’s quite alright. It’s actually comforting in its own way.” Rarity yawned again, then stepped off the sofa. “I’ll go freshen up, and then I can help you and Apple Bloom.”
Applejack nodded. “Lemme go find you a brush. Downstairs bathroom is opposite the kitchen.”
Rarity watched Applejack disappear and listen to the muffled sound of her hooves traveling upstairs. She herself entered the bathroom and pushed the door to, then examined herself in the mirror.
She looked tired, despite how rested she felt. Without the benefit of makeup she had visible bags under her eyes, and her hair was a little limp and messy. Nothing a shower and a good wash couldn’t fix up, but she wasn’t sure she could muster the mental effort of drying and styling her hair for the moment.
At the very least, Rarity washed her face, filling the basin with hot water and splashing it over her. Just like everything else Applejack had given her so far since she arrived, it was a comfort, and it left her feeling content in the moment.
There was a knock on the door as Rarity dried her face off. “You good in there, Rarity?” asked Applejack from the other side.
Without stepping away from the sink, Rarity tugged the door open with her magic and shot a quick smile Applejack’s way. “You could have told me how awful I looked.”
Applejack snorted and shook her head. “You don’t look awful. Tired as all Tartarus, but pretty as the day I met you.” She took the brush from under her leg in her mouth, then got to work combing through Rarity’s mane.
Rarity opened her mouth, nearly protesting, but then decided to sit where she was and let Applejack neaten her up.
“I would rather try and style my mane properly,” said Rarity, “but that would take a curling iron and an hour.”
Applejack snorted. “Ain’ doin’ tha’,” she said around the brush. It wasn’t like Applejack was doing any harm, anyway. Rarity might lack her signature curls today, but at the very least any knots could be taken care of.
What was a bit of a surprise was when Applejack took one of the red bands out of her own mane and tied back Rarity’s with it. It was a little tighter and more to the side to account for the way it flowed, but it was tied up all the same.
Rarity blinked, touching the hair laying over her shoulder. “Thank you,” she said.
“Not a problem,” said Applejack in return. “After breakfast, I was thinking of doing some baking. Wanna give me a helping hoof?”
As Rarity stood and brushed her flank against Applejack’s, she nodded. “I’d love to,” she said, adding a quick kiss to the corner of Applejack’s mouth.
Rarity didn’t wake up this time. Her sheets were dry, and she was warm, but she couldn’t sleep. Being alone with her thoughts, back in the Boutique once more, she could not get herself to close her eyes and drift off.
She sighed, tossing and turning, bunching up the sheets around her legs and abdomen. There was no panic this time, though the anxiety was there. No dread, but there was worry. The fluttering memory of pain and breathlessness were a mild threat in her head and heart, but she reminded herself it was all in her mind.
She couldn’t just stay in bed reminding herself of the fact over and over, though. She had to do something. Work was, as usual, out of the question, and this time she hadn’t the energy to go walking the streets early in the morning. Besides, she’d only wake Applejack again.
Rolling out of bed, Rarity tied up the sheets around her torso and trudged slowly through her home to the kitchen. Every step reminded her of the intensity of the night before, now muddled through memory and exhaustion. Of the loneliness of her home. Of the biting cold outside its walls.
But as she neared the kitchen, she remembered she wasn’t alone, not really. She might have no family in the Boutique for now, no friends awake, but she would have Applejack again tomorrow. She would visit after a good long shower, and promise to do something fun with Applejack’s mane.
She thought about this as she poured herself a drink, filling a tumbler with water and sipping at the contents. She thought about Applejack’s touch, the brush in her mane affectionately removing the knots and tangles of a restless night as she pulled out a cloth covered tin from the fridge.
Rarity thought of Applejack’s smile as she plated a slice of pie, and she thought of Applejack’s lips to hers as she took a forkful and chewed.
She was neither dying nor alone. Rarity was alive and had all the company she could want, just a short walk away.
