Loose Ends

I open my eyes but there's not much to see. I'm in a small, rustic room, lying in a simple wooden bed. A lamp hung from a crossbeam above provides a dim, flickering light. One of the armored guards who'd accompanied me to the farm stands at attention in front of the door, and the same chestnut mare with the flaxen mane I'd seen earlier is sitting on the floor and watching me, a faint smile on her lips. Her hat sits on the dresser she's leaning against, and her mane is loose, cascading in long, silky waves down her neck.

I blink and look away before I can call it staring, but it's a close thing, and it's definitely not something I want to think about right now.

Yeah, I know. There's a lot of those kinds of things right now. There'll probably be a few more before I'm ready to deal with them.

I'll burn that bridge when I get to it.

"Welcome back, sugarcube," the chestnut mare says, noticing my movement and oblivious to my momentary distress as she stretches her neck. "Name's Applejack," she says, her voice a husky whisper in the quiet room. "Try to keep it hushed, it's late and the others are sleepin'."

I glance down at my arm, remembering what had put me to sleep so abruptly, but I find what I'd feared and not what I'd hoped. A hoof and a foreleg - healthy, strong and whole, but not a hand, not an arm.

Not a human.

Before I can think to stop myself, I swear softly, cursing my anger and my luck in equal measures.

Applejack hears my curse and nods once, understanding, her expression apologetic. "Ah'm sorry, Walker. Ya changed back right after ya fell asleep. Ah wish I had better news for ya," she whispered, getting stiffly to her feet. "Twi said ya'd feel okay after ya caught some Z's; she was here 'til an hour or so ago, but she was noddin' off so I sent her home. She's got a big day ahead of her." She peers at me then, squinting a bit. "You are okay, ain't'cha?"

"Okay is relative," I whispered back, a small, forced half-grin on my face, "but yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for watching over me. You should get some sleep now."

"Oh Ah'm okay -- relatively speakin'," she replies, matching my half-grin. "But you need some food in yer belly. Twi said ya'd be powerful hungry when ya finally came 'round."

She's right, I realize, and when I pat my belly it growls in agreement. "You buying?" I ask.

"Heck no, Ah'm cookin'!" she replies, then walks over to the foot of the bed and grins mischievously before grabbing the bedsheet with her teeth. Before I can voice an objection, she says "Lesh go!" in a loud stage whisper and pulls the top sheet off of me.

I flinch, briefly recalling my modesty, and then I catch a glance of my brown-furred body -- and I realize that I'm no more exposed than she is. I swish my tail in mild annoyance, more at myself than anything else.

She cocks a quizzical eyebrow at me, the sheet still hanging from her mouth. "Shmthn' wrong, shugarcuue?"

I snort, a little more literally than usual, and roll awkwardly out of the bed. "Nusshin at all, shugarcuue," I reply, briefly flashing her a grin before she tosses the sheet back over my head.

"I'll have to pass out in your orchard more often if I get fed like this," I say as I smell the pastries coming out of the oven. Apples aren't generally my thing, but Applejack had seemed so proud of her produce that it didn't seem right to pass on her offer. Besides, I can honestly say I'm pretty damned hungry by now, and I'm not likely to do much tasting anyway.

"Well Ah don't know much else about ya, but at least ya seem to have good taste," Applejack says, smiling at me as she lifts two racks of turnovers out of the oven. I hadn't thought hooves and cooking would go together, but the ponies here seem to have adapted to an awful lot of familiar technology, even if they're a bit behind the curve compared to home. That alone raises more questions than it answers, but for now I'm too hungry to care about the details.

She deftly deposits one rack of turnovers onto a plate, replaces it, and bumps the oven door shut again with a playful toss of her rump, depositing the plate on the table between us.

"A cook and a showman," I say, smiling despite myself at the display. "I'm impressed."

"That's showmare to you, and you can wait to be impressed 'til after you've had yourself a taste," she says, gesturing to the plate of pastries. "Go on now, don't be shy."

Honestly, I expect average. No hands, old equipment and a completely different culture should probably result in something I can barely swallow, so the fact that it smells edible is already more than I'd hoped for. And, honestly, it doesn't matter, because I need the food, so I clumsily grab a turnover with both hooves, blow on it to cool it off, and tear off a chunk.

She's watching me as I chew, so I try to get a taste in between wolfing bites down, and I smile at her when I slow down enough to briefly appreciate the turnover. On the one hand, the apples are -- well, apples. Good apples, but apples regardless, and I've never been a huge fan. On the other hand, though, the pastry itself is astonishingly good - light, crisp and airy with a hint of butter. Apples be damned, this pony can bake.

"Whatcha think, big fella?" she asks, a little hesitantly. "Did I cook this batch too long? Ah had to eyeball 'em, the timer woulda woke half the house --"

"Shuup," I say, my mouth still mostly full. "Besht affle turoover ever." Which makes her smile, and isn't a lie, either. I swallow the bite in my mouth and peer at her oven. "You ever try making croissants?"

Before she can answer, the door to the kitchen unexpectedly squeaks open; I expect one of the guards posted at the door, but instead it's a rumpled-looking, bleary-eyed Big Macintosh. "Turnovers," he blinks, taking a long whiff, then peering at Applejack. "Ya made turnovers, and ya didn't wake me?"

"Oh, keep yer voice down," Applejack whispers, mock-scolding him as she pushes the plate towards him. "Ya big turnover thief. Take that and give Twi's buddies some, they gotta be famished by now."

"Eeyup," Mac said, winking once at me slyly before taking the plate in his mouth and leaving the way he came.

"I like him," I say, swallowing another bite. "He's got style."

Applejack laughs, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight. "That's gotta be the first time Ah ever heard anyone say that about Mac."

"Well that's a shame," I say, munching on my turnover. "There's a lot of style in being straightforward and honest."

"Ah'm... glad to hear ya say that, big fella," she says, cocking her head thoughtfully at me. "Careful though, ya keep that kinda thinkin' up and ya might just lose them buddies of yours."

"I had a feeling they weren't for decoration," I grunt between bites. "Not that I could do a damned thing to anyone without my equipment even if I wanted to, but if they like your turnovers as much as Mac seems to I may never be able to get rid of them."

"Oh say, your equipment, that's right," Applejack says, eyebrows raised. "After we got you settled, me, Mac and Applebloom scoured the orchard again for ya. We found yer watch. It got stamped on a bit, but we sent it over to Fixie. She'll have it patched right up for ya in the mornin', I reckon."

I gulp. "Wait, what? Fixie? Someone's fixing that watch? Where is it?"

"Fixie! Quick Fix. Finest mechanic, tinker and engineer this side of Manehattan. Helps us out with the farm equipment whenever we have troubles. She's top-notch, lives right in Ponyville. Don't you worry none about --"

"You don't understand," I say, not completely able to keep the concern out of my voice. How can I explain how the Bureau 'safeguards' special-issue covert electronics without causing a panic or getting someone killed?

"Sugarcube?" Applejack says, her eyes narrowing at me.

"Get me to her," I say, standing and moving from the table. "She might be in danger."

"From a watch?" Her face scrunches up into a half-amused, half-bewildered look.

"No time for questions," I reply, and I head for the door. "We'll talk on the way."

To her credit, Applejack takes my word for it, and within a minute me and my entourage are galloping out of Sweet Apple Acres, Applejack in the lead. I'm right behind her, doing my best not to fall on my face as I attempt to gallop for the first time. Right behind me are the pair of unicorn guards Twilight left behind to keep tabs on me, their armor clanking harshly in the quiet night.

"You said dangerous," Applejack yells behind her. "But it's just a watch. You sure it can't wait 'til mornin?"

"Does Fixie like to work late?"

"Heck yeah! Sometimes she'll turn on them lights and they'll still be on when the sun comes up --"

"Then it can't wait," I yell. "Get us there as fast as you can!"

Fortunately for me, the road between Ponyville and Sweet Apple Acres is well-maintained, at least from an equine point of view. The footing's solid but not packed too hard, the weather's been dry and the ruts aren't too deep, so we make good time despite my awkward gait. Moving quickly once we're in Ponyville, Applejack brings us directly to a mid-sized house on the outskirts of town. The yard is cluttered and a little overgrown, with several expensive-looking carriages lined up and apparently awaiting repair, but the way to the front door is clear enough, and there's definitely a light on inside the house.

"Fixie!" Applejack calls out, banging on the door. "Fixie! It's AJ!"

"Round back!" calls another feminine voice in reply, and Applejack leads us past the carriages to a massive garage and workspace connected to the side of the house. We enter without any further announcement, passing a trolley with an acetylene torch in one corner, a massive collection of spare parts, screws and assorted hardware, and something that looks suspiciously like an early combustion engine. A pair of folding metallic wings and a half-assembled control box hang on the far wall, beyond the workbench and above a huge clutter of empty cardboard parcel boxes.

And my watch. It's here, floating in mid-air above a workbench and surrounded by a dimly glowing aura, its color nearly identical to the coat of the chocolate-colored, vanilla-maned unicorn mare who's sitting at the bench and staring at it thoughtfully. Her horn glows dimly, the same deep rich brown hue surrounding the base of her horn. She doesn't turn to greet us, but she waves absently.

"AJ," she says, her voice a bit scratchy. "You brought company?"

"Sure did, Fixie," Applejack nods. "Walker, you had something to say about that watch of yours?"

"So you're the pony this belongs to, eh?" Fixie says, still not turning to look at us as she levitates a screwdriver up to tap the watch's bevel. "This is a piece of work, Walker. Where'd ya get it?"

My eyes widen as she does that. Most of the electronics are already dangling out of the watch, and the metal of the screwdriver comes dangerously close to an exposed contact point I recognize as one of the watch's three charge ignition triggers.

"Quick Fix," I start. "You --"

"Fixie," she corrects me, then turns and eyes me with a look I'm not sure how to interpret.

"Call me Fixie, handsome," she says, nodding once before turning her attention back to the watch.

I guess that takes the guesswork out of interpreting her expression, but I don't have time for it, and neither does she, even if she doesn't know it. "Fixie, please put the watch down. Very carefully."

She frowns then, looking offended. "Look pal, I see this watch is your baby, but relax, willya? I can take it from here. It's just a watch, not some metamagical doohickey."

"Look, you're --" I stop myself, taking a long breath. "I'm sure you're a very good mechanic --"

"Engineer," she corrects me, a bit of irritation bleeding into her voice. "I got my diploma. You wanna see it?"

"No. Okay. Look," I breathe, deciding to risk the truth. "You need to know there's a micro-charge in that watch. If you close that circuit --"

"Oh, ya mean this thingie?" she says, levitating her screwdriver near the exposed contact.

"NO!" I shout, reaching forward to try and pull the watch away, but before I can snatch it from her she moves the screwdriver and touches the contact.

Everything goes into slow motion then. I know I have less than a second before the charge detonates, and I know she's too close to survive the blast. It's my fault the watch is in her hands, not hers. My decision's clear.

I throw myself at her. I shut my eyes as I anticipate the explosion, trying to get her out of harm's way with the split second we have left. The nearest unicorn guard, ever vigilant, moves to intercept me, but he's too far away to stop me, or to get himself hurt. My aim is true, and I barrel into Fixie, knocking her off her stool as I wait for the blast to erase us both.

Unexpectedly, the loudest sound in the room is Fixie and I crashing into her jumble of empty delivery boxes. There's no explosion, no fire, no smell of charred flesh -- just the two of us, limbs wrapped awkwardly around each other, cradled by crumpled cardboard.

"You coulda just asked for a date, ya know," the chocolate-furred mare purrs mischievously, and softly enough that only I can hear her. Before I can even think to respond, though, I'm being moved, levitated, lifted out of her arms, and her cardboard boxes, by a pair of highly armored and unamused unicorn guards.

"Guys, guys, it's okay," Fixie says, standing up, shaking herself off and coming to my defense as I float in midair. "It's okay, put 'im down. He thought the watch was gonna blow me up."

"He what now?" asks Applejack, her eyes widening.

"That doohickey was attached at the sprocket here, see?" she says, explaining as she returns her attention to the watch, levitating it and rotating it in place to make her point. "So when you pop the sucker open, the circuit closes, that thingummer over there slides a hidden panel in this cylinder here, and lets some pretty potent stuff mix together -- and kaboom!" she said. "That's what happens if you're not that good, anyway. 'Course, I am that good." She tilts her head up to me and smirks.

I stare at Fixie with a combination of respect and amazement. Nobody at the bureau could disarm that watch with the kind of tools she had lying around here. "How did you piece all of that together without setting it off?" I ask.

"Some of this tech is pretty advanced -- see this thing here, acts like a level but there's no float! -- but you can't out-clever ol' Fixie when it comes to this stuff. Sensed the primary trigger mechanism even before I popped the hatch on this baby. Don't worry, it's harmless now."

"That doesn't explain why his watch was set to blow up in the first place," the first guard interrupts, keeping his stern look focused on my upside-down face. "He's obviously a risk. We need to bring him back to the Palace to --"

"Guys, really?" she asks, shaking her head. "You two are soldiers, he's a soldier. Celestia don't want your weapons falling into the enemy's hands, right? Well, neither do his people. They just didn't count on me being so darn good."

The second guard seems to waver a bit, but the first holds his ground. "You could have been killed."

"Not by Walker," Fixie says, walking over to my hovering form. "In case you didn't notice, he just finished tossing his own sorry butt on the ground trying to save me."

"That's the truth," Applejack says, backing Fixie up. "What's more, the second he heard what we did with his watch, he had to get here no matter what. You two heard it all, you were standin' guard right outside the kitchen."

Finally, the first guard relents, and he releases me to land roughly on my own feet. Hooves. Whatever.

"I'll be making a report to the Captain when I'm relieved of duty," he says, still watching me suspiciously.

"Sorry for the trouble," I say to him, finally allowing myself to breathe. "I never thought someone would try to take it apart. I never even thought I'd find it again."

He doesn't break his scowl, but he nods once at me in return, then moves with his companion to take up a position at the garage entrance.

"I'm gonna go have a quick chat with him," Applejack says, heading off towards the guards. "See if I can't cool him down a bit. And you, Fixie, you and your damned practical jokes -- you know you're just as bad as Dash sometimes."

"Sweet-talker," Fixie says, chortling to herself as Applejack heads off.

I frown as Applejack leaves, finally putting two and two together, and I turn my gaze back to Fixie. "You knew the watch was disarmed," I say to her.

"Yeah," she says, a slow grin edging her lips upwards.

"And you made me think you were going to set it off anyway."

"Yeah," she repeats, still grinning.

"You -- that -- that's a hell of a joke to pull," I say, shaking my head. "I thought you were going to die, you know that?"

"Yeah," she says again, her grin fading quickly. "It's almost as funny a joke as the time I got a watch to fix that had a bomb hidden in it."

I look away, and I know she's right to be angry about it. "Look, I'm sorry. If I'd known they were sending you that watch... I didn't think anyone would --"

"Shush," she said, putting a hoof to my snout. "Your watch tried to kill me, but you tried to save me. Sounds like we're even to me, and when those tightasses in the metal suits loosen up a bit, they might even see you're a pretty decent stallion."

"How is my making a fool of myself going to prove that?"

She smirks and shakes her long ivory-colored mane in an over-the-top attempt to look sexy. "Not everypony throws themselves in front of a beautiful young filly in distress to save her from a bomb, ya know?"

The penny drops, at last. "...and if I'd turned and run the other way, then --"

"Then we'd all know you weren't such a decent stallion after all," she says.

"You're good," I say after a moment, allowing her a small smile.

"You're damned right I am," she replies, matching my smile and raising me a wink.