• Published 26th Feb 2017
  • 4,028 Views, 264 Comments

Worst Patient Ever - Timaeus



Letting yourself be vulnerable is hard. For some ponies, like Spitfire, you need another's tender, guiding hoof to show you that it's okay to have a moment of weakness. Even if you fall head-over-hooves along the way.

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1. Crash and Burn

White.

Hospital room ceilings were always white—a specific shade of it that she had grown accustomed to. Not the kind of fluffy white that made a cloud on a midsummer afternoon look so inviting to lounge upon. No, hospital ceilings were a kind of off-white that made ponies’ skin crawl. The low hum of fluorescent lights, barely perceptible to a pegasus’ ears, and the starchy blankets pulled over her barrel confirmed it.

Spitfire was in a hospital.

She groaned. Already she could hear the Wonderbolts’ manager’s gruff, gravelly voice ringing in her ears. Or was that a concussion? Accidents happen to even the best athletes, there was no denying that, but that did not make them any less inconvenient when they happened in the middle of a tour. Nor did they soothe old Feather’s famous temper. Shows would have to be rescheduled, replacement fliers dug out from the reserves, and the press beaten back with a broom, if necessary.

Licking her dry lips, Spitfire blinked open her eyes, trying to clear the drug-induced fog from her mind. Only a few times in her career did she need the kind of anaesthetic to knock a pony out. The effect always left her feeling untethered from reality, as if she were floating somewhere above the clouds. With her thoughts muddled and her sense of orientation discombobulated, however, she would almost prefer to skip to the part where her team poked and prodded at their poor, bedridden captain.

Speaking of her team ...

Where is everypony? Spitfire lolled her head to the right. Sure enough, she was alone. Hers was the only bed in the small hospital room. The only other furniture she could see were a couple chairs by the bed and a nightstand within easy reach. The walls were painted a muted, calm blue only slightly more exciting than the ceiling. With the blinds shut, she could not see where she was or the time of day. For all she knew, it could have been the middle of the night with a smaller night-staff on duty.

“Hello?” she called, or tried to at least. The word came out more as a croak and she sputtered off into a small coughing fit. Ribbons of pain danced up and down her chest with each rush of breath, making her grit her teeth and wince.

Water.

She rolled her head over to the other side. The door to her room was shut but light seeped in under the crack and hooves trotted by on the other side. There, on her left, was a glass of water resting on a second nightstand. With nopony else in the room to help her, that left her with one option. She rolled over on her side, hoof reaching out for the glass.

Then, her vision went white—the blinding, reality-encompassing variety.

A strangled cry never made it past her lips as her back arched the second she put her weight on her wing. Fire, hotter than any she’d made in the air, lanced through her wing from the tip to its base as agony gripped her like a vice.

Somehow, she managed to roll onto her back in her convulsions and found herself staring up at the ceiling again. Her vision, blurred by tears, focused on counting how many tiles lined her ceiling, anything to try and distract herself from the pain.

As her head swam, awash in multiple levels of pain, the words of her old drill sergeant, Summer Breeze, floated to the surface. Check for injuries before trying to move after a crash, Cadet. Don’t go and make anything worse.

With heaving breaths, she closed her eyes. Once her breathing calmed and the pain receded from a wildfire to a more tolerable, stabbing sensation, she opened them again. Her gaze was unfocused as she stared at nothing and the ceiling in equal parts, feeling out every pinion of her wings to the ends of her hooves.

Judging by how each breath hurt, it was a safe bet that there was a cracked rib or two in there somewhere. She inhaled as deeply as her sides would allow and focused on the pain and where it came from. Her wing, for starters, but the thought of seeing her wing, twisted and mangled, sent her stomach into knots and made her feel lightheaded. How could it not be?

She would have to build up to that.

As she lifted her foreleg to rub her eyes, she noticed the bandages. They were stained a light pink, and wrapped around the length of her lower foreleg. Seeing as she could move it without too much discomfort, safe to say that wasn’t broken. At least one part of her wasn’t too badly mangled.

“Stitches, then,” she said to herself in a hoarse whisper. “I can deal with stitches.”

When she brought her hoof to her head, she felt the familiar fabric of gauze wrapped around her forehead.

“Stitches and probably a concussion. Okay, I’ve had worse.” She swallowed, her entire left side throbbing and making it harder and harder to not think about it. Taking a deep breath, she peeked down to her left at her beloved wing.

The wing itself was bound in a splint. From what she could remember from her sports medicine and athletic therapy training, it was done exceptionally well and with great care. Her golden feathers were straightened and wrapped carefully against her wing. The whole cast was bound to her side to prevent her from moving, flapping, or otherwise doing anything to cause her more pain than necessary. Unless, of course, she rolled over on it. No kind of cast could stop that kind of agony.

Cast.

Spitfire blinked, her breath catching in her throat. For a second, she forgot how to breathe as a knot tightened in her chest.

Broken. She had broken her wing.

Her head rolled back on her pillow and she ignored the building pressure against the back of her eyes as best she could. Her breaths came in ragged gasps and her hooves twisted the blanket. She closed her eyes and put a lid on her emotions before they could overwhelm her and send her into shock.

Her other wing twitched and fluttered. At least that one was still working. She breathed in, filling her lungs with as much air as they would allow, and exhaled. Several minutes of this passed before the shock started to ebb away, leaving her feeling tired, sore, and miserable. Though sleep tried to claim her, she cast her thoughts to her memories.

Hopefully, somepony would be in with more painkillers by the time she was done.


The first thing Spitfire remembered was the train. By all accounts, it was a beautiful day, perfect for their performance later that afternoon. Ponyville, though a growing town, was still usually below the Wonderbolts’ radar on their tours. On international tours, they skipped over it entirely. Ponies there were only a hop, skip, and a jump from Canterlot if they were jonesing for a fix of the best aerial acrobats around.

When they were requested to perform for Equestrian royalty’s birthdays, however, they tended to make exceptions.

As the Wonderbolt private train chugged along from Manehattan to Ponyville, Spitfire drummed her hooves on the windowsill. A thoughtful frown creased her reflection’s brow and her amber eyes fixed on the sky.

“Looks like it’ll be nice weather. Clear skies, warm, and I don’t even see that much of a breeze.”

“What did you expect? Gale force winds and a downpour?” The pony sitting across from her smirked. Her goldenrod feathers, the same shade as Spitfire’s, ruffled and she flicked her tail, a streak of smooth hair a bright fiery red, over her flank and cutie mark. “It’s a princess’ birthday, Spits. I bet Ponytown hasn’t seen weather this good in ages.”

“Ponyville,” Spitfire corrected, eyes flicking to the mare. Amusement danced behind her twin sister’s amethyst eyes. Though she never looked up from the book splayed open on the seat she lounged on, Spitfire felt as if she were being watched.

“Ponytown, Ponyville, whatever. A town where ponies live. They could have been a bit more creative when they named it.”

Spitfire smirked. “Maybe, but you really should know the name of the town that Princess Twilight Sparkle calls home. Not to mention the home of our best new recruit since you and I enlisted in the Academy. What would mom say about her perfect Blazey-wazey?”

Blaze grimaced at the mention of their mother’s foal name for her and Spitfire’s smirk grew to predatory levels. Oh, how she lived for the moments when she ruffled her sister’s feathers.

“I don’t know, Spitsy-witsy,” she countered, mouth twisting into a matching grin at Spitfire’s own flinch. “What would she say about the Captain teasing her big sister all willy nilly? Shouldn’t you be setting a good example for Rapid?”

“Careful, sis, or you’ll have volunteered for locker room duty for the next two weeks.”

“Teasing unbecoming of a pony in her position and threats of unfounded punishments?” Blaze clicked her tongue and shook her head solemnly. “What have the ‘Bolts come to? If only April Showers didn’t retire.”

Wrinkling her snout, Spitfire stuck her tongue out. “You’re one to talk, Miss ‘Nopony-will-walk-in-on-us-in-the-showers-Fleetfoot!’ But fine. No locker room duty, but that’s only because I’m such a nice sister and generous captain.”

“You know you love me.”

Spitfire snorted, but smiled as she propped her head up on her hoof and stared back out the window. “Yeah, whatever.” Silence fell between the two pegasi, but not an uncomfortable one. The trees rolled by in a green blur, thinning out before giving way to an open plain.

“You nervous about us performing for Princess Twilight?”

Spitfire’s primaries twitched. A stolen glance showed that Blaze’s eyes still had yet to leave her book. The page turned with a casual flick of her wing as she waited for a response.

A few seconds longer, and Spitfire gave it. Her voice, rough and worn by years of cheering into the winds tearing through her mane and shouting herself hoarse at blundering cadets, was controlled and neutral. Her captain’s voice. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you seem nervous.”

“What makes you say that?”

Plucking a light blue feather from its spot behind her ear—a gift from Fleetfoot, no doubt—Blaze marked her place and folded her book shut. Calculating, amethyst eyes that burned bright with a fire that seemed to run in the family met hers. “Because you are.”

Spitfire’s ear twitched and a scowl wrinkled her muzzle. “Am not.”

“Yes, you are.” Sitting up, Blaze rested her head on her hoof, mimicking Spitfire’s pose.

Snorting, Spitfire straightened and crossed her forelegs over her chest. “That a fact, Sergeant?”

“Aye, Captain.” Blaze’s eyes never left Spitfire’s as she followed and crossed her forelegs. The briefest of smirks flickered over her face. “Want to know how I know?”

Spitfire’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll humour you.”

“You’re in here with me,” Blaze said without any ceremony. “When, any other trip, you’d be out there with the rest of the team, chumming it up with Soarin and Rapid, playing cards with Wave, chatting with Fleet and Misty, something. Yet, here you are.” Uncrossing her hooves, she spread them wide. “So, you’re nervous. How on the nose am I?”

Well, they did always say sisters knew best. Folding her ears back, Spitfire bowed her head. “Dead on.”

“Thought so. Want to talk about it?”

Spitfire sighed and rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “Not much to talk about. This is our first time performing for Princess Twilight, and on her birthday no less.”

Blaze arched a brow. “That’s got you nervous? We’ve performed for Celestia how many times now? Come on, Spits, it’s old hat.”

“Nerves are healthy, B. They keep us sharp.” Exhaling, Spitfire’s ears flicked at the sound of clattering hooves, a muted crash, and a chorus of laughter. “I just want to make sure we give this one our all. I know we will,” she said, holding up a hoof to forestall any argument. “But still. Just needed some time to think. You’re good for that.”

Blaze rolled her eyes, though her smile was more warm than teasing. That was new. “Anytime you need to talk, give me a shout. I know how the rest of the team can be. They can be a hoofful, but you’re the right pony to get them in line.”

No sooner did she utter those words did the compartment door slide open, admitting an icy blue pegasus with a windswept white mane. Fleetfoot’s fuchsia eyes gleamed and lidded when they landed on Blaze and she shut the door behind her.

“Speaking of a hoofful,” Spitfire muttered as Fleetfoot sauntered over to Blaze’s side with an extra sway to her hips and fluff of her wings.

“Hey there, hot stuff,” Fleetfoot purred, greeting Blaze with a chaste kiss. Her lips slid up to plant another one on her cheek and then another as she trailed her way up to her ear. “Anypony ever tell you how good you look out of uniform?”

Blaze hummed in evident approval, nuzzling cheeks and stealing her own quick kiss. “There was this one rapscallion of a mare.”

“Oh yeah?” Fleetfoot gave a throaty chuckle and Spitfire gagged. “Anypony I might know?”

“Maybe. She has these gorgeous wings, strong and powerful and soft as a cloud. She takes such good care of them,” Blaze said, lightly running the tips of her primaries down the side of Fleetfoot’s wing. It trembled and threatened to unfurl in response. “She was also so determined to convince me how good I look out of uniform that she made it her business to tear it off me one day.”

“She sounds like a keeper to me. Maybe you ought to show her you think she’s sexy, too.”

Blaze laughed a soft, heated laugh. “Maybe I should.”

They leaned in to close the distance and Spitfire averted her eyes. Tail flicking, she pretended to not notice them kissing only a few feet away. Some things ponies weren’t meant to see. One’s best friend and twin sister necking topped that list.

Unfortunately for Spitfire, it was something she was privy to much more often than she would like.

“Mmph,” Blaze groaned into the kiss, mustering the decency to push her girlfriend away enough to part their lips. The stare she fixed Fleetfoot with was enough to make the latter swish her tail and fluff her feathers. “Somepony’s feeling a little frisky.” She licked her lips and Spitfire’s eye twitched. So much for decency. “You know how I feel about frisky mares.”

“Maybe a backrub will calm this frisky mare down.” Unfurling her wings, Fleetfoot nuzzled down Blaze’s neck as she slid over with her back to the older twin. “My back has been so tense lately.”

Spitfire had to wonder if Fleetfoot really was ignorant to her presence as she cupped Blaze’s cheek and pulled her in for another brief kiss.

“I don’t know,” Blaze said, her voice low and husky as her hooves wandered over the base of Fleetfoot’s wings, lightly trailing up along her back, squeezing and kneading along the way. Gross. “Have you been good?”

Fleetfoot groaned and arched her back towards the touch. “Yes. So good. And I’ll return the favour!” Her wings fluttered fitfully. “I’ll do the thing with that spot between your wings that makes you—”

Okay, enough was enough. Spitfire cleared her throat, fixing both of them with her most devastating glare. Any recruit would cower and whimper with their wings drooped to the ground and their tails stuck between their legs. “Remember who’s in here with you, lovebirds. No funny business in front of your captain!”

Fleetfoot sighed as Blaze withdrew her hooves and only rolled her eyes at the stare. The both of them regarded her with mild annoyance that failed to hide matching gleams of mischief.

Celestia, these two were a match made specifically to torment me.

“Oh, hey, Cap,” Fleetfoot said with saccharine sweetness. “Didn’t see you there. Hope we didn’t make you too uncomfortable.” She leaned her head back into the silky embrace of Blaze’s tail. “Off duty, it’s hard for me to notice anything when Blaze is in the room. My bad.”

“And Fleetfoot is just so wonderfully distracting when she greets me with that delicious voice of hers.” Blaze’s wing tickled down Fleetfoot’s. “That, and you know how much I love to give backrubs.”

“The pair of you are disgusting.”

“Nah.” Blaze purred, taking Fleetfoot’s ear between her teeth and lightly nibbling. “We’re the hottest couple since Shining Armor and Princess Cadance. I bet the sex is better, too.”

A match made in Tartarus, just for me.

“One more push, just one, and you’ll both be flying so many laps you won’t have the energy to drag your feathery hides to the shower let alone enjoy each other’s company.”

Blaze relinquished Fleetfoot’s ear. The younger mare whined before frowning and crossing her forelegs. “Party pooper.”

“I fail to see how my best friend and sister going at it in front of me counts as a party.” Spitfire narrowed her eyes to bright, blazing orange slits. “Besides, if the rest of the team can wait until we check into a hotel before getting ‘distracted,’ the two of you can, too.”

Humming, an unnervingly wry smile twisted Blaze’s lips. “Maybe,” she said, her tone light and fluffy. That was never a good sign. She brought her head down, level with Fleetfoot’s. “Or maybe my sweet, baby sister just needs to find herself a little mare to get ‘distracted’ with herself.”

Feathers bristling, Spitfire fought to keep her hackles down. “I get ‘distracted’ plenty. Even if I didn’t, keep your nose out of my sex life! Celestia knows I really don’t want to know anything about yours.”

Fleetfoot rubbed her cheek against Blaze’s. “Your loss.”

“Easy there, tiger. There’ll be time to set some records later.” Blaze spared a lidded smile for Fleetfoot before dropping it in favour of a more serious, schooled expression—one that somepony might almost expect from a Wonderbolt Sergeant. “And those cute little numbers you bring back to your room don’t count, Spits. I meant more what Fleet and I have.”

Spitfire resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “A teammate to shag every other hour?”

“A long-term distraction. I’m gonna sound like Mom, but you need to hear it. Maybe it’s about time you found yourself a nice mare to start settling down with. Somepony who can help you with these nerves and relieve the tension from your back.”

Fleetfoot’s grin was predatory. “And to shag every time we’re in town.”

This time, Spitfire didn’t bother trying to stop her eyes from rolling. “Right, because I have so much time for commitment. I don’t know if you two noticed, but I’ve got the best flight team in Equestria to run here.” She smirked, her tail flicking. “The fact that cats are easier to coordinate than you lot notwithstanding, I’m not built for the slow life.”

Tisking, Blaze shook her head. “You’re never going to find a nice mare with that attitude. Do you think I expected to end up with Fleetfoot here?” Her wing unfurled and lay over her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Everypony told me how dangerous it would be dating a teammate—yourself included—but I did it anyways.”

“Oh, save me the speech, B.”

“You should listen to your older sister, you know, and the wisdom she’s gained in her life.”

“Older by like four minutes!”

With her smile showing teeth, Blaze buffed her hoof against her chest. “And don’t you forget it, munchkin.”

Spitfire’s glare would have sent any other pony that dared cross her running as if the hounds of Tartarus were nipping at their tails. On Blaze, it had no effect, though her wing tightened over Fleetfoot as the mare's ears pinned back. Stupid, dumb sisters.

“If you’re so wise,” Spitfire said, “shouldn’t you be telling Rapid all of this?”

Blaze gasped, her eyes flying a little too wide and her mouth dropping a smidgen too low. “You mean our adorable, innocent, and forever guiltless baby brother? For shame, Spitty.”

“Innocent my left hoof. Have you seen some of the ponies he brings back to our apartment?”

“You should be setting a good example for little Rapidfire, then,” she continued, undeterred by Spitfire’s comment. Twisting her head around, she caught Fleetfoot’s lips with her own and cupped her cheek. “Like me. How long have we been going on for, hon?”

Fleetfoot hummed and leaned in for another kiss, this one longer and deeper. At the first sign of tongue, Spitfire dropped her gaze. “Who cares? I just want more.”

“That’s it,” Spitfire said, standing up with a derisive snort and flap of her wings. “I’m out of here before my sisterly feelings compromise my good captain’s senses and have you both on latrine duty for the next two months.”

With an eager smile, Fleetfoot crawled up onto the bench and guided Blaze down to her back. “Sounds good to me, Cap.” Laying down belly-to-belly with her girlfriend, she looped her hooves around that mane of fire and ground her hips. “Lock the door on your way out, will you? I’ll owe you one.”

The back of her throat burning with bile, Spitfire turned and stomped out of the compartment. “I hate both of you.”


The rest of the train ride was, to Spitfire’s memory, unremarkable.

By the time they reached Ponyville, she still could not bring herself out of her own head. One of the other Wonderbolts—Wave Chill—snapped a quick salute with his wing as Spitfire marched past, her tail snapping behind her. She spared him little more than a grunt.

“Find myself a mare,” Spitfire grumbled. Her wings twitched and ruffled as she tugged at her flight suit’s neckline. She stopped to peer over the cliff where they planned to launch from to start the show off properly: with a thundering roar as the entire team took wing to dazzle their audience. Down below, a sizeable crowd had gathered around the bleachers set up behind the castle, a rather magnificent backdrop for the show. The way the afternoon sun caught and reflected off of the crystal walls made the whole town seem to glow as brightly as any gem in Canterlot.

From her spot on the cliff, Spitfire could see that the mare of the hour—the birthday girl and Princess of Friendship herself—was already seated on an actual throne of birthday presents. With a party hat lopsidedly perched on her head, she smiled and laughed as she talked with her friends. Each of them was easily recognizable from the brief interactions Spitfire had with them over the past few years. Even if they weren’t, they were the spitting images of how Rainbow Dash described them.

“Oof!” Spitfire was dragged back to reality when a heavy, bulky, and teeth-grindingly familiar weight unceremoniously dropped on her back. Yellow feathers tickled her nose and hooves covered by the Wonderbolts uniform stretched out before draping over either one of her shoulders.

“‘Sup, sis,” Rapidfire said in his ever-cheery voice, sunny as his coat.

Spitfire sighed.

He squirmed about on her back, resting his chin right between her ears. “Anypony tell you that you’re not the most comfortable pillow around?”

“I hate you.”

He chuckled and ruffled her mane. “Love you, too. And, like, I mean the pillow thing in the best way possible. You’re no cloud, don’t get me wrong, but you’re better than—whoa!”

With a flare of her wings, toss of her mane, and buck of her hindlegs, Spitfire smirked as Rapidfire found himself flat on his back. His eyes rolled in their sockets and his primaries twitched. “Better than the ground? Hope you get used to it. Try that again, and I’ll mount your wings over my desk.”

He groaned and sat up on his elbows. A pout soured his expression. “Jerkface.”

“That’s ‘Captain’ to you, little brother.”

The pout disappeared in favour of a cat-like grin. “Captain Jerkface, then.”

“Ugh, why me?” Spitfire sat on her haunches, lifting a hoof to massage the bridge of her muzzle. Just gotta keep that migraine at bay for a little longer, Spits. Once they were all on the train for Baltimare, she could lock herself in her cabin and sleep the whole way there away from sisters with no sense of decency and annoying younger brothers.

“Because you’re just so lucky!” Rapidfire chirped, sitting up and patting his sister’s shoulder. Though he stood a good head taller than her, nopony could ever mistake the childish naivety that shone in his deep blue eyes. Many a night were whittled away, wondering if he would ever really grow up.

“Yeah, right.” She leveled Rapidfire with a glare. If anything, his smile broadened in response. “Why, oh why, did I ever agree to being captain when you and Blaze were on the squad? I must be some sort of masochist.”

“Nah.” Rapidfire’s eyes gleamed and his tail swished. “You just have terrible foresight.”

Spitfire’s brows flatlined. “Gee, thanks.”

“Like, really terrible. The worst.”

“If you say that’s why I haven’t been able to hold on to a mare, so help me you’ll spend the entire ride to Baltimare tied to the roof of the train.”

Rapidfire blinked, then comprehension dawned behind his eyes. Laughing, he waggled his eyebrows and leaned in to rub their shoulders together. “Aw, did Blaze get to you again? I know how her and Fleetfoot love to get under your skin.”

Spitfire bristled at the contact. “Rapid.”

“I swear, it’s a turn on for them! How weird is that, right? Maybe they ought to go see a therapist or something.”

Inhaling deeply through her nose, Spitfire bit her tongue in an effort to keep her temper in check. After a moment, she brought her hoof to her chest and exhaled, pushing her hoof and the building storm of thoughts clustering in her mind away.

Rapidfire, for his part, smiled brightly. His sun-streaked mane bobbed in the breeze.

Spitfire smiled and bumped his shoulder. “You’re lucky I really do love you, you cloud-for-brains colt.”

He wiggled his ears, wisely choosing not to spoil the moment.

The flapping of wings and rustling of grass drew both of their attention. Coming to a cantering stop a few steps away, Soarin stretched out his large wings, the envy of pegasi everywhere, and pushed his goggles to his forehead. “Spitfire, Rapid, you two ready?”

“Pieface!” Rapidfire cheered, abandoning Spitfire’s side to loop a foreleg around Soarin’s shoulder and noogie his mane. “Somepony’s looking ready to wow a crowd! You get that suit ironed for this one, big guy?” He prodded his chest. “Hey, you been working out?”

Enduring the assault, Soarin got his hooves on Rapidfire’s chest and pushed the younger stallion away, though he couldn’t keep the chuckle out of his voice. “For your information, it’s not everyday we perform for the newest Princess of Equestria. Some of us are looking to impress. And,” he said, flicking his wing at Rapid’s snout, “it’s Lieutenant Soarin to you, Private.”

Rapidfire crossed his eyes and wrinkled his nose. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. Wings half-unfurled, his left eye twitched before he reared his head back and sneezed so hard he fell to his haunches. “Well,” he said with a sniffle, “in that case, Private Rapidfire ready for flight duty Lieutenant Pieface and Captain Jerkface!”

Both Spitfire and Soarin groaned.

“Thank you, thank you,” Rapidfire preened. “I’ll be here all week.”

Green eyes met amber as Soarin dragged his hoof down his face. “Captain?”

“Yes, Soarin?”

“Permission to cuff the Private around the head?”

Rapidfire blinked. “Wha—hey!”

Spitfire hummed, considering it for a second. Then, with a devious smile, she nodded. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”

Gaping, Rapidfire backpedaled with his wings fluttering right into Soarin’s broad chest. Tall as he was, Soarin stood a few inches higher, which made all the difference as the younger stallion looked between the two of them. “Come on now, I was only—ow!”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Soarin.”

Soarin folded his wing with a satisfied smile. “My pleasure, Captain Spitfire.”

Rapidfire let out a low whine as he rubbed the back of his head. “That hurt.”

“Walk it off, you big baby,” Soarin chided, a teasing edge to his voice. “We’ve got a show to put on for the good ponies of Ponyville! Don’t tell me a little slap is going to put out our best long-distance flier?”

“Fine.” Rapidfire pouted. “But you’re buying me drinks after.”

“One drink. Maybe. If you behave and stop tormenting your big sister."

Spitfire smiled and nodded appreciatively. There was a reason Soarin was her oldest friend and lieutenant.

“Who slipped vinegar in your apple pie?” Rapidfire sulked. It only lasted for a second before his usual sunny smile washed over his features. “Ah, who am I kidding. I can’t stay mad at my Pieface! Let’s get this show on the rooooooad.”

As he made to stand up, Rapidfire’s legs wobbled beneath him and he stumbled forward a few steps. “Urk.” A pained look made him clench his eyes shut and curl a hoof around his stomach.

In an instant, the elder pegasi were at his side, steadying him as she wavered uncertainly. They shared a look and Spitfire lifted Rapidfire’s chin to meet her gaze while Soarin kept a strong hoof on his shoulder. “Rapid, what’s wrong?”

He was silent for a second, then he shook his head. “Ugh, nothing,” he said, curling and uncurling his wings as he shrugged off Soarin’s hoof. A second later, he smiled again. “Sorry for the scare, Spits. Think it was something in that sandwich I had last night. Don’t worry about it, though. Let me run to the little colt’s room and I’ll be right as rain.”

Spitfire’s gaze was piercing and refused to be disarmed by her little brother’s charm. “Are you sure? Look at me when you answer, Rapid. Unless you’re at one-hundred percent, I don’t want you flying. Got it?”

“Loud and clear, Spits.” He saluted, chest puffed out. “And I’m good, I swear. Just a moment of indigestion, that’s all.”

Sharing a look with Soarin, Spitfire resisted the urge to chew her lower lip. On the one hoof, if Rapidfire was bluffing and she let him fly, Blaze would never let her hear the end of it. Nothing happened to their baby brother without tempers flaring to the surface.

On the other, if she benched him and he was being honest, they would be down a flier for Princess Twilight’s birthday show. She met Soarin’s eyes, imploring. He shook his head and shrugged. In other words, her call.

“Promise me, Rapid. Promise me you’re really good, otherwise you’ll have to sit this one out. We’ll make do if you have to, just be honest.”

Rapidfire glanced away, sucking his lip between his teeth. Several long seconds passed as he shifted his weight from hoof to hoof. “Yes,” he said at length. “I promise, I’m good. Let’s fly.”

Nodding, Spitfire slipped her goggles over her eyes and, her Captain’s voice at the ready, said, “Then hop to it, Wonderbolts! This show isn’t going to perform itself!”

Soarin and Rapidfire saluted and said in unison, “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”


The soft sound of hooves clacking on the linoleum floor of her hospital room woke Spitfire from her doze. A low groan slid out past her lips as her groggy mind trudged back to reality. She smacked her lips, cracked open her eyes, heavy with sleep, and found herself staring back up at the white ceiling. It was just as unnerving as before.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a mare’s voice said from somewhere off to her left. “Your teammates were starting to get worried and wouldn’t stop trying to sneak in until I promised to check up on you every few minutes.”

As Spitfire’s mind dragged itself to full wakefulness, the throbbing of her wing and other injuries served as a happy reminder of her condition. She sucked a breath in through her teeth and bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from hissing in pain. Whoever this mare was, she hoped she could administer more pain medication.

“How are you feeling?” the voice asked, smooth, gentle, and calming. Spitfire’s ears flicked as she kept on talking, latching onto anything that offered a distraction from her body. “I know it’s a silly question. You must be in a lot of pain, Captain, but I need you to tell me how much so I can help you.”

Spitfire opened her mouth but all that came out was a pained moan.

“I’ll administer some more pain medications,” she said, and Spitfire silently cheered as she heard hooves bustling through a medical kit. An earth pony or a pegasus, then. “Just hold tight for a minute or two, okay? It’s rather remarkable that you’re even awake now. Most ponies would be in even worse shape after the crash you had.”

Crash?

That’s right. Of course there was a crash. Why else would she be in the hospital? It must have happened during their show for Princess Twilight. Spitfire bit back a snort at that thought. Happy birthday, Princess.

She cast her thoughts back, delving once more into her memories. After her chat with Soarin and Rapidfire, all she could remember was the feeling of the wind beneath her wings and running through her mane. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as her team claimed the skies as their own, and then everything went white. And pain, there was definitely pain.

“Captain Spitfire?”

Sighing, Spitfire lolled her head to the right. Again, she opened her mouth, and this time a croaked word stumbled out. “Yeah?”

“I understand this must be a lot to take in. Your teammates are in the waiting room and they’ve been driving each other up the walls, especially your brother and sister. If you’d like, I can show Sergeant Blaze and Private Rapidfire in.” Spitfire’s ear flicked again. The concern and empathy in the mare’s voice sounded genuine. “I’m sure they would like that.”

Between Rapidfire’s constant joking and Blaze’s quiet judging and promise of future teasing, Spitfire wasn’t sure which she wanted less. Wasn’t one kind of torture enough?

At the same time, they were her family. With another sigh, she nodded. “Yeah, show ‘em in.”

“I would be happy to, but first I need to do a quick check-up on you. It will only take a few minutes.” The mare giggled, and Spitfire’s ear flicked for a third time. “I suppose I should also welcome you to Ponyville General, Captain.”

“Ponyville?” This time, Spitfire couldn’t stop the snort before it flew out. She rolled her head to the other side, facing her nurse. “Listen, I appreciate all you ponies have done for me, but—uhh ...”

Whatever else Spitfire wanted to say died on her tongue as her gaze met the nurse’s eyes. They didn’t linger there for too long, though, as she drank in the rest of her.

A soft, white coat that seemed to shine even in the hospital’s poor lighting lent itself nicely to the shapely curves and subtle musculature of her back and hips. A pink mane, done up in a little bob under a nurse’s cap caught her gaze for a second before it trailed down to the red cross with small hearts floating out from the top adorning either side of her flanks. Though it was rude to stare, she couldn't help watching them move in the most fascinating ways as the nurse shifted her weight.

“I suppose I should introduce myself, too,” the nurse said, drawing Spitfire’s eyes back to hers. They were the brightest and bluest she had ever seen. “Hello, Captain Spitfire. My name is Nurse Redheart.”

Spitfire gaped.

Hello, nurse.

Author's Note:

Huzzah!

Originally having started brainstorming this story in June 2016, I am very excited to finally be posting it here now. While not complete, at the time of posting I do have a significant buffer built up of chapters with only a handful left to write.

If things go as planned, you can expect weekly updates until completion.

Inspired by this image found on derpibooru and drawn by yurinokensin.