“Do you ever stop working?”
	
I smiled as my hooves hit old bark. “Nope.”
	
Cheerilee sighed but the hint of a smile played on her lips too as she sat beneath another tree to watch. Its branches were clean except for leaves that fluttered lightly in the chill breeze, brown spot biting into the edges of a few along the furthest branches. Had little time to waste anymore.
	
She flipped her mane, shuffling as she tried to find a more comfortable position. The extra bulge in her stomach made it difficult, but she managed to finally find one, laying down on her side and peering at me through her bangs with a small grin.
	
“You know you could always ask for help,” she said.
	
“Yep.”
	
“But you won’t, will you?”
	
“Nope.”
	
“Mac, why do you always do this to yourself? Every year, there’s ponies who’d jump at the chance to help you get this done but you never let them. Why?”
	
I nosed an empty bucket under the next tree, glancing up to make sure most of the apples would land in it square on. When I was sure, I bucked and listened to the rain of apples hitting oaken planks with dull thuds.
	
“Last orchard of the season,” I said as I pulled another set of empty buckets to the next tree. She chuckled.
	
“And that always has to get bucked by an Apple and an Apple alone, right?”
	
“A pony should always pull twice whatever he asks somepony else to pull.”
	
She laughed again. Always liked that laugh: sweet with a little tartness around the edges that bit into your tongue. She rolled back onto her side and I saw her shiver as another chill breeze came and went. I stopped pushing the next bucket.
	
“You should probably get inside,” I said. “This won’t take long.”
	
“I’m fine,” she said, waving a hoof at me. “Just forgot my coat, is all.”
	
Another gust, another shiver. One of her hooves rubbed against a foreleg as she struggled to sit up again. I left my bucket and went to help her, letting her grab my mane in her teeth and pulling her upright. She spat out a few strands and smiled at me again. I smiled back. Before I could turn around though, she put a hoof on my side and said, “Sit with me a little while?”
	
I thought about it for a moment, then shrugged and sat beside her, pulling her in close with a foreleg. She settled her head on my shoulder, eyes closed, and neither of us moved or made a sound for what felt the longest time.
	
“Sorry I can’t help more,” she said after what must have been a century.
	
“Don’t be.” I brought one hoof and teasingly rubbed her swollen stomach. “You’ve got your own orchard to take care of.”
	
“Trade you?”
	
Now it was my turn to laugh. Not quite as good as hers, but it made her smile so I couldn’t complain. “Not in a million years.”
	
She shoved me, still smiling. “So much for ‘pull twice what you ask somepony else to pull’.”
	
“I’ll buck a hundred more orchards by myself next year. You can sit here and never do anything ever again. Sound fair?”
	
“Not in a million years,” she grumbled, and I got another playful shove.
	
There was also another gust of wind, but she didn’t shiver this time. Just pressed in closer to me, until I could feel every drop of blood pulsing under her skin. Got a bit of her frazzled mane caught in my lips as she brushed her head against my chin and sighed. Always did like cold weather.	
	
“I must look awful,” she mumbled.
	
“Nope,” I said.
	
She glanced up at me, eyebrow arched. “My mane’s still a mess and there’s bags under my eyes.”
	
“Yep.”
	
“I threw up today not once, not twice, but [i]four[/i] times today before lunch.”
	
“Yep.”
	
“One of which got on the bed.”
	
I grimaced a little. That’d been quite a wake-up call. “Yep”
	
She glanced down at her stomach, placing her hoof on top of mine. “And now I’m fat.”
	
I said nothing. She glanced back up at me, eyes narrowing.
	
“I said I’m fat.”

I continued saying nothing. Even when a bead of sweat stung one of my eyes. Her eyes were burning. Glinting.

“Am I fat?” she asked.
	
My lips stayed sealed.
	
“Big Mac, you’d better answer me right [i]now[/i]. Am. I. Fat?”
	
“Well…”