Spitfire sat at her desk and glared at the piles of paperwork before her. The tower of forms stretched miles up unto an empty blackness, reaching for the ceiling beyond. The rays of late afternoon light forced their way through the office window behind her, taunting her. The cool breeze chased after through the opening. They called out for her to leave the desk and paperwork behind, and join them in experiencing the grandeurs that the crisp blue sky had to offer.
She sighed heavily in defeat as she picked up a form from the top of her pile and studied it with a wary eye. Somehow, she had been stuck looking over the applications sent in by hopeful recruits. This was supposed to be the job of the admissions department, not the team leader and commanding officer.
She briefly wondered if the entire admissions team’s “team building” retreat in the Gallopagos islands was part of some prank. No matter how hard she tried, she could not recollect anything she could have done to cause them to inflict such a plague upon her; nor could she cause the pile to disappear through sheer willpower and a cold stare.
A soft rapping at her door brought her back to reality. The taunting rays of light morphed into normal streaks of sunlight and the massive pile of registration forms shrank down to a more realistic pile of about fifty.
Thinking it was one of the several new recruits, she tried to make her voice sound imposing. “Enter,” her voice faltered. She silently cursed herself and hoped that whoever was behind the door had not noticed. It was best if the new members and recruits viewed their commanding officer as being strong and fearless.
She felt that it motivated them, and improved morale. She had learned the tactic from her brief stint with the Royal Guard before taking command of the Wonderbolts. She would never let anypony know that her time only consisted of boot camp, and that she did not retire so much as was asked to leave. Something about not following orders.
She was half surprised when her second-in-command slowly pushed open the door and shuffled inside her office, dragging his hooves. He seemed to flinch as the door closed behind him with a gentle CLICK.
“How was the checkup, Soarin? Or, was that just an excuse to go see that cute receptionist?” Her chuckle faulted. Normally saying something like that would elicit some kind of reaction from him. She took in his haphazard appearance for the first time.
His dress shirt was wrinkled and his rank epaulets were out of place. His flight-goggles hung lazily about his neck over a loosely knotted tie. His head hung low beneath a messy mane as he avoided her gaze. His pale form shook as he placed a pin on her desk.
She looked on in silence, not knowing how to react. She considered Soarin to be one of her closest friends. They had laughed and cried together, but she had never seen him like this; this was not the carefree Soarin, she knew. He always made sure to wear his uniform with pride, never allowing a single thread to fall out of place.
“Soarin?” she asked softly.
He sniffled once and tried to stand at attention, only for his shoulders to slump again. His already flimsy ears collapsed under their own weight and folded flat against his unruly mane.
She glanced once at the pin he had gently placed on the only clear spot of her desk. Her paperwork blurred into a meaningless frame for the wings. When a pony officially became a Wonderbolt, they were given a pin in the shape of a golden pair of outstretched wings. The wings were the most cherished thing a Wonderbolt possessed. Every current and former member treasured them more than the uniform.
She stood up and walked around the side of her desk until she stood beside her wingpony and placed a hoof gently on his shoulder. She felt him flinch, but kept her hoof firmly in place.
“You know that you can talk to me about anything,” she soothed. She kept her voice quiet and reassuring. She imagined the calm whisper like tone her mother used when she was a filly and needed reassuring after a bad dream or was sick.
“I-I know.” Soarin’s reply was quiet and half-hearted, scarcely above a whisper. He took a shaky breath and mumbled, “I’m resigning from the Wonderbolts.”
Despite how quiet his reply was, Spitfire heard him clearly. Her eyes grew wide before she regained control and replaced her shock with an expression of kindness and understanding. Even if she did not understand, she knew that she had to be there for him. There would be time for her overreactions later. Right now, he was sullen and in need of comforting.
“Why would you want to quit? You love being a Wonderbolt and are an integral part of this team. Of my team!” She exclaimed with pride and confusion. Well, there goes being gentle, and not overreacting.
He slowly looked up and finally saw his eyes. They were red, swollen, and puffy. Dry dirty streaks ran from the edges down his cheeks and muzzle. He clenched them in a tight blink as they began to grow moist.
“Soarin?” Her voice was soft once more.
“I can’t be a Wonderbolt anymore!”
Spitfire did not like the way he had said that. His voice was filled with pain and despair. Even she could taste the poison that he must have tasted when he said, “can’t”.
“W-why?” her voice began to shake as well.
“Remember when I told you about my grandpa?” He looked at his hooves again. “The one who kept trying to perform a Sonic-Rainboom,” his continued dejected, as if his mind wanted to be anywhere but where he was at that moment.
She nodded.
“He had a rare heart condition. By the time the doctors found it, it was too late and his final attempt was his last.”
His words faded into the breeze from the open office window. Spitfire’s mind knew what he implied, but a small portion of her mind blocked the thoughts. It told her that the rational part of her mind was wrong and that Soarin was going to explain some other reason for having to leave the team; or, that this was some sick prank; or, that her whole day was just some terrible nightmare.
Hope can only go so far.
She began to open her mouth, but could produce no words.
“I’ll be fine,” he half chuckled as he trembled. He rubbed a hoof over one of her eyes, wiping away a lone tear she had not realized was there. “We caught it early enough that I should be fine after some minor surgery,” he hesitated; fear clouded his eyes for a moment. “Even with the surgery… Even with it I won’t be able to do any extraneous activity though…”
Spitfire nodded glumly. She glanced once more at Soarin’s wings on her desk and picked them up with up with an unsteady hoof. After studying them, she quickly polished them by rubbing them on her own dress uniform. She stood tall as she pinned them back into place on her friend’s dress shirt, and tried her best to rub out the wrinkles.
He stared at her with a look of confusion as she straitened his epaulets and retied his tie.
“Once a Wonderbolt, always a Wonderbolt.”
He could not hold back anymore and collapsed into her shoulder. She embraced him and patted his back as tears began to form in the corners of her own eyes.
~~~
Spitfire stood off to one side of the hospital bed and clasped Soarin’s hoof in her own.
“You don’t have to be here. I’ll be fine,” he stated. He fussed with his hospital gown, as if it was the most entertaining thing in the room.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” She began to lecture coldly with a sad smile. “I am your superior, and as such I have to make sure that you don’t try and desert us.”
“Desertion? I have a faulty heart. I don’t think I could get very far,” he smiled softly at that.
“Okay, maybe I’m only here to make sure you don’t fill up on all the great food you got here and ruin the surprise party we got planned for when you get out of here.”
He stopped playing with his gown and looked up at her. “Oh, now you didn’t have to do that.”
Spitfire raised a foreleg in mock shock, “Really!? You mean to tell me that you do not want an all you can eat apple pie buffet. Well, then. More for us I suppose.” She shot him a sly grin as she turned to face the door and began to leave the room.
Soarin nearly shot out of the bed. “Now let’s not be hasty. At least tell me where you got the pie from and I’ll think about following the great Captain Spitfire’s orders,” he offered as his small smile grew.
She studied her fore hoof, uninterested. “Oh, nopony special.” She let a small grin briefly escape before becoming stoic. “Just some random earth pony from Ponyville… Applesnack, or something,” she mumbled.
Soarin brightened and yanked the emergency cord dangling overhead with his teeth. Within seconds, several nursed rushed in and looked around for the source of the emergency.
“Tell the doc to cut me open and mend this ol’ heart of mine: I think I found a donor.”
The nurses glared darkly at him.
“I think he’s talking about his crush,” Spitfire laughed.
Soarin beamed cheerfully, while one of the nurses face-hoofed.
~~~
Spitfire paced impatiently in the waiting room. She paused to glare at the clock and attempted to will it to move faster. She was positive that it had just moved backward. Part of her wanted to launch up and give it a good buck. She knew that if she did, the clock would learn not to mess with the captain of the Wonderbolts, but then, she would probably be asked to leave. Thus, she resorted to giving the offending ticking machine the darkest glare she could muster.
She needed to be there for her friend when he awoke. They did not talk about it, but she was sure that the surgery was risky. She was no doctor, but she was sure operating on a pony’s heart was not easy. Even with the best doctors, and magic, and potions, it would be tough. She desperately prayed to the Great Matriarch above that he would be okay.
He needs to be okay, she mentally cried out. Do not do this for me: do it for him. All he needs is one chance. One chance to ask that mare out. She doesn’t need to say yes. He just needs the chance to say ‘hi’.
The infernal clock’s slow, deafening ticks mocked her as the hours passed.
“Spitfire?”
The voice pulled her mind away from alternating between prayer and threatening the clock as she looked toward its source. She quickly bolted over to the doctor, ready to barrage him with questions.
He held a hoof up to stop her. “The surgery went well. Now, all that is left is to give him time to rest.”
She opened her mouth to ask how long, and if he would be okay, but closed it when she found herself unable to utter a single sound.
She closed her eyes, and thanked the Great Matriarch. When she opened her eyes, she found herself curled up on one of the waiting room’s plush couches with a doctor smiling overtop of her.
She groggily blinked the sleep from her eyes. Her muscles and joints creaked as she stood up and stretched.
“Glad to see you’re finally awake, cause you are kinda my ride.”
She blinked again. The voice poked at her memories. She knew it, from somewhere. She blinked the remaining sleep free, and looked to see a familiar blue pegasus sitting in a wheelchair.
“Soarin!” She blitzed over to the incapacitated pegasus, and hugged him fiercely.
He flinched once and returned the hug.
“He’s all set to leave. Just remember: no flying for several days, and no intense-activities. We might have been able to fix your heart, but it will never be as strong as it once was.”
Spitfire and Soarin nodded.
“So… about that ride?” he asked.
Spitfire playfully punched his shoulder, eliciting a playful grin from him, as she wheeled him out of the hospital and toward a chariot waiting outside. The two Wonderbolts strapped to it stood at attention as they approached. Once aboard, she kicked the side of the chariot with one hind leg, and the ramp snapped shut behind them.
“To Ponyville, gentleman,” she grinned mischievously. “We got a party to attend, and I don’t know how long cupid is going to wait.”
“Cupid?” Soarin’s face blanked as they took off, leaving a contrail of thunderclouds in their wake.