Archive of Our Own ^beta

The doorbell rings and Rarity feels an (unfortunately familiar) utterly awful wave of every need she was neglecting hit her like a full cart of apples. She’s got a tight deadline and as per usual she has found herself so focused on her work that she forgot to eat, drink, sleep, and stretch. “Just a moment,” she calls towards the door, “I’ll be there in jiffy.”

Rarity almost topples off of her stool but manages to keep herself on her hooves. She quickly works the stiffness out of her legs by extending the opposite front and rear hooves out as far as she can reach then switching to the other pair. She adjusts her mane in a mirror as she passes it on the way to the door. Finally, she opens up the front door of Carousel Boutique and is greeted by Applejack and the purple-orange majesty of a Ponyville sunrise. She must’ve worked all through the night. Well, nothing a quick nap won’t fix. Behind Applejack is a serving cart of food. Rarity has to swallow quickly to keep herself from drooling at the smell of fresh apple fritters.

“Why, good morning Applejack. What brings you here so early?”

Applejack looks up at the sky, brow furrowed. Rarity peeks her head out a little further and spots the sun opposite where she expected it. This is not a sunrise but a sunset that she’s opened the door to. How long was she working, again? No wonder her hooves are aching and her stomach is trying to make a meal of itself. Still, she’s absolutely certain all she needs is a nap… Well, that and one of the absolutely delightful smelling pastries Applejack has in tow.

“Erm… Good evening, I mean.”

“Yeah, evenin’.” Applejack grabs the cart and drives it inside, Rarity helps her get it over the step-up by floating the front wheels when they reach the precipice. “I had a feelin’ you were workin’ yourself half to death again,” Applejack chastises. “How long has it been since you ate?”

“Well, I’m… Not entirely sure, admittedly. But I always work extra hard at deadlines, it’s perfectly normal,” Rarity defends. “I’ll take a nice, long rest as soon as I’ve finished this order. A week’s vacation, minimum. Promise.”

“You’re gonna take a rest now before I find you passed out with your mane sewn into a dress. Again.”

Rarity huffs and protectively strokes her mane. The memory of split ends and lost inches haunts her. “That only happened once, you can’t hold it over me forever, Darling.”

“I can and I will,” she retorts. “You can’t be workin’ yourself this hard, Rares. Your eyes get tired, your hooves get shaky. You just end up re-doing the work you already did because you mess it up. Take a break and then I’ll help you with the rest, okay?”

Applejack’s completely correct, of course. But, before Rarity can muster up a response, Applejack’s stomach audibly growls. “Oh, Applejack, you didn’t work through dinner again, did you,” Rarity asks, knowing the answer, eating up the chance to turn the tables on her. Applejack is just as big of a workaholic as Rarity is. She doesn’t have a hoof to stand on, chastising Rarity for a teensy tiny bit of self-negligence.

Applejack blushes and looks away, then gives an awkward cough. “I… Might’ve forgotten.” She sighs and sits down at Rarity’s table. “Well, I brought enough for both of us, anyway. We should both take a break.”

Rarity snags a fritter with her magic and takes a quick (only slightly desperate) bite. It tastes like sugary, buttery heaven and when she swallows she can practically feel it drop into her stomach. “Of course, dear. Let me put on some tea.” She fills her kettle and sets it on the burner, then fetches a metal canister of tea bags. “Do you want to stay over tonight?”

When she looks back at the table Applejack is holding up her second fritter. The second, because it’s clear she’s eating the first one whole- her cheeks puffed out from the effort. She has this nagging feeling that Applejack might’ve skipped more meals than dinner, but she doesn’t pipe up with the accusation. Applejack hastily swallows and nods. “I reckon that’s for the best. I’ll make sure you don’t get up in the night to start sewing again, you can make sure I don’t run off to tend to the orchard again.”

“Is that what you were doing? I thought you had family over to help with the harvest this time.”

“We do- more than enough help. Just… I like to do things myself, I guess.”

“At least you’re honest about it,” Rarity teases. Applejack snorts in response, then gets back to her pastries. “Did you only bring sweets? I can ‘rustle up some grub’, as you’d call it.”

“I made some of those ‘tea sandwiches’ you seem to like so much.”

Applejack pulls a red-gingham tea-towel off of a basket on the tray, revealing perfectly stacked, perfectly cut half-sandwiches. They’re filled with daisies, hay, and delicate, fluffy cream cheese. Technically a little on the sweet side, still, but Rarity can deal with a slightly unbalanced meal. Especially one that Applejack apparently worked so hard on.

Rarity comes over to the basket and coos with delight. The corners are sharp, the cream cheese distributed equally with the other fillings. “You really made these yourself? They’re truly impressive, Darling. Where did you find the time?”

Applejack chuckles. She rubs the back of her head with a hoof awkwardly. “Well, I skipped dinner. That’s how I found the time,” she admits. “I guess that was a little silly. I shoulda just come over then and we could’ve stopped somewhere for dinner.”

“Well, next time.”

“Next time you won’t be working yourself that hard, right?”

“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Applejack gives her a sour look that only lasts a few moments before she cracks a tired grin and chuckles. “Well, it’s the same for me, I guess. I can want to stop and try to stop until the cows come home and I’ll still find myself bucking at the break of dawn.”

The kettle whistles and Rarity peels herself away from the picture perfect pile of sandwiches long enough to get them both set up with a cup of warm herbal tea. They finish their meal in relative silence; too tired to keep scolding one another. When they finish and have readied for bed, they both climb into Rarity’s together. Rarity has a spare room, but sleeping side by side has been their habit since that inadvertent slumber party at Twilight’s. If one of them is visiting for a night, it’s just wordlessly agreed that they’ll close their eyes cuddled under the same duvet.

Applejack lays a hoof out for Rarity to rest her head on. Rarity settles against Applejack’s chest. As she starts to drift off, Rarity idly thinks that this is what it will feel like in her marital bed. Snuggled close to a warm, sturdy pony that smells like hay and apples. Her eyes shoot open, though all she can see is the inside of her eye mask. A pony that smells like hay and apples? That’s a little too specific for comfort. Worse is the sudden, vivid image of Applejack in a well-tailored tux in a deep, subdued apple-red that is unfortunately paired with a bolo tie of all things. But she looks happy and… Loving. Perhaps it’s okay to make a slight fashion concession to a pony you truly love…

Rarity turns to face away and pulls the covers up to her nose so that all that’s peeking out of her face is covered by her sleep-mask. Unfortunately all that accomplishes is flooding her senses with the mingling scents of her floral detergent and Applejack’s earthy, apple-orchard fragrance. This is ridiculous. It’s not like she’d have those kinds of feelings for strong, dependable Applejack. They’re just friends, close friends, and she wouldn’t want to jeopardize that for some flight of fancy little, tiny, insignificant crush.

Applejack groggily puts her other hoof over Rarity’s side and snuggles in closer. Her face is pressed against the top of Rarity’s mane. Rarity muffles a little frustrated squeal into the comforter. It’s fine. This is fine. She can deal with this. She just has to get right back to work tomorrow and keep her mind focused on thread counts and stitch work and embellishments. She’ll forget about these feelings in no time at all.