Compersion

by Etolia

6. Remnants

Viola stayed on the floor, head in her hooves for what seemed like hours. Even after Buffy finally left, she remained frozen on the floor, and her weeping refused to subside for several minutes.

She betrayed me, she thought, over and over again. I thought she could just keep our relationship strong while she dated those other nincompoops. But all she could do was run around and look for more love while she used "polyamory" as the reason. She'd always been a little concerned about how important she would be in this kind of relationship, where she was just one of multiple romantic partners. Little did she know she was exactly right. Polyamory was just an excuse for Buffy to "test out" multiple special someponies and find the ones she liked best. Leaving a trail of broken hearts in its wake.

Damn her.

Viola rarely cried, if ever. She could only recall one time in the past she had done the same. But Buffy had become such a significant part of her life, and for her to discover in this roundabout way that Buffy didn't care for her nearly as much anymore . . . it overwhelmed all the emotional stability she had.

I'm not a part of her life anymore . . . so she can't be a part of mine. She's betrayed me one too many times, and I won't let her do it again. Never again.

She originally took a vacation to Baltimare to get to know the city and spend time with her marefriend in her city. And Buffy insisted that she stay in her home. With everything that transpired and everything she knew about her marefriend—former marefriend—she wasn't comfortable staying.

Viola sighed, sniffled one last time, and slowly got to her feet. She needed to leave, so she headed to the bathroom and collected her toiletry supplies. That was when she saw her reflection in the wall mirror.

I look terrible, she thought. Her eyes were bloodshot, her signature eyeshadow was nearly rubbed off completely, and the curls in her bangs were jagged and uneven. She had just been weeping for Celestia-knows-how-long, and she was thoroughly unpresentable because of it. She sighed again and set to fixing her appearance. But even as she was doing that, a memory unbidden leapt into her mind.

"Aww, Vi, why won't you open the door? I wanna help you wash up!" Buffy called while knocking incessantly on the bathroom door. It was one of the (very) few times that she ever woke up at roughly the same time Viola did. And Buffy had apparently never seen this part of her morning ritual before.

"You know that I'm already done with that, Buffy. I'll be out in a moment once I finish my makeup," Viola said while closing one eye and applying her eyeshadow.

"Well, can I help you with that?"

"No. That would be disastrous."

Buffy said nothing more. Instead, the knob turned and she opened the door, much to Viola's shock. How did she forget to lock the bathroom door? "Ack!" she exclaimed, throwing a towel at her marefriend. "Buffy, get out! Give me some time after I wake up!"

Buffy, of course, did not listen. She caught the flying projectile and walked to Viola with it, a coy smile on her face. "Aww, was that what this was all about?" Buffy took another step forward, smiling wider. "Because you still look pretty cute like this!"

"Ah, wha—" Viola didn't have time to finish her exclamation of surprise. Her mouth was already being used for other purposes.

Viola was frozen, her hoof in the middle of applying her eyeshadow, in exactly the same place it was that time she was interrupted. But it froze for only a moment. The next, she was moving again, the hoof working on her other eye.

"That mare," she mused aloud, "being so disrespectful to barge in on me when I was still working. At least she didn't stumble in while I was bathing. Even though she did think I was . . . cute."

Viola grunted and shook off those thoughts. She couldn't have those anymore. As cute and compliment-filled Buffy could be, she was also a disrespectful brat who respected her little enough to find another mare when she lost interest in her. She could have no affection for that.

Viola took her time to make herself—at least—marginally presentable again before gathering her toiletry supplies and taking them with her. She brought only one pair of saddlebags with her, so she put her supplies back in them before gathering whatever other things she had brought with her when she first came here. Horseshoes, stationery, horsehair bow, perfume, jewelry, music stand.

She saw some loose leaves on the ground, marked with hoof-drawn staves and clefs. They were sitting next to her violin case. She crouched down to gather them up, but as she read a few of the notes on them, another memory resurfaced.

It was still a work in progress, honestly. She had written most of it over the span of an afternoon in a fit of passion. Inspiration struck her whenever it pleased, and it just so happened that the events of a few days ago had done just that.

Viola played the hastily written notes. It wasn't the most elegant music; some of the notes seemed miswritten by a third or a fifth, and they occasionally necessitated some awkward string-jumping. But Viola could feel the emotion in the music, and judging by the swaying of her only audience member, she felt it, too.

It was fitting, perhaps. After all, it told the story of their relationship. How they were so different, how they rarely got along, but how they could still be together. It was truly a paradoxical arrangement, but one Viola couldn't be happier with. She wouldn't say that fact so frankly . . . but she would via music.

It was the first song she had played for Buffy since she arrived. And maybe the message would go right over her head. Actually, she was almost certain of it. Even so there was something she could certainly expect.

When she finished, Buffy launched herself towards her. "Viola that was amazing you're so talented and your songs are great and—"

"Buffy! What have I told you about tackling me after I finish playing?" There was mock-anger in those words—after all, she had just endangered her precious violin—but perhaps also a hint of hidden mirth. She had quietly shielded her violin with a hoof after she finished her song; her marefriend did this so often as to become predictable. Like a foal who never listened. An adorable, lovable foal who needed a slap on the fetlocks every so often.

Ummm, don't do it?

Because . . .

Because I could damage one of your instruments?

Exactly.

The memories rolled through her mind as she continued to stare at the sheets of music. Unbeknownst to her, Buffy had also doodled some purple and pink hearts on the music, also something she had chastised her marefriend for doing before.

"She's a foal. A stupid, irresponsible foal," she said to herself. "One who makes . . . mistakes?" she finished in a more uncertain voice.

She paused again. But angrily, she swept into motion again and swept the music away from her.

"This wasn't a mistake. And even if it was, I . . . I don't know if I can forgive her for it," she said. Ever since childhood, trust was something she kept in the highest honor, and it was something she only rarely gave to others because of the consequences if it was broken. To trust someone's love for you so implicitly as to become as dependable as the daily sunrise, but to later discover that that trust was misplaced . . .

What a mistake she made.

Viola had already gathered everything she needed, so she got ready to leave. But it seemed that Fate saw it fit to resurface one more memory before she left. Because on a dresser next to Buffy's front door was a picture of the two of them looking at each other, holding hooves, both smiling. It was one of the only pictures either of them had that had her flashing a genuine smile. And as Viola saw it out of the corner of her eye, the memory of how that picture came to be came to her mind.

Buffy pouted. "That's not a real smile, Vi! We can't save the picture if both of us aren't smiling!"

Viola frowned. "I don't know how much more you expect of me, Buffy. I smiled as I do in every photo shoot. I even laughed for you when you tickled me." She huffed. "I don't know why you want to do this one with me, either."

"And that's why I wanted to come here! That smile was fake, and they're all fake! And I don't want a laugh, either! I want to capture a moment with my partner that's sweet and memorable and happy and real! Don't you love me?" Buffy asked, pouting again.

Viola rolled her eyes. "I do, but I don't know what you want from me," she said, crossing her hooves.

Buffy dropped the pouting act and peeked her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, thinking. "I guess I need to bring out my secret weapon, then." She scampered to her saddlebags in the corner and retrieved a tiny wrapped parcel from them. A very poorly-wrapped parcel. "Happy birthday, Viola!"

Viola looked at the parcel but didn't react. "That's next week," she deadpanned.

"I know," Buffy said while shuffling her hooves, "but I got this early and we've been together for a long time now and is it okay if I give it to you now?"

Viola's expression did not change, though she was curious. She accepted the parcel, the wrapping paper more-or-less fell off, and she looked inside the box. There sat a pair of clip-on earrings, one adorned with a dangling treble clef, the other a bass clef. And as she looked at them, her eyes widened further and further.

These earrings weren't the tacky things clip-on earrings often were, and they weren't the tacky, juvenile kind of gift she expected from Buffy, either. They were, at the very least, gold plated, if not rolled gold or solid, and they looked like they cost at least a small sum. They were, by all accounts, intricate and real pieces of jewelry. It was beyond a mere token gesture, and far beyond what she expected from Buffy.

"Do you like them?" Buffy said, a hopeful look on her face.

Buffy was a fool. She was a silly, at times irresponsible, but squishy and lovable fool. And, as it turned out, she could be quite the thoughtful and romantic one as well. Viola took her eyes off the pieces and on her marefriend eyes. "I love them," she whispered.

Buffy took hold of Viola's hooves and gave her a warm smile. Viola couldn't help but return it in kind.

And out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blinding strobe of a flashbulb.

Viola was on the ground, her eyes closed tightly. The last memory had very nearly defeated her. "Stop it, stop it, stop it! Stop making me love you more!" she said, voice shaking on the edge of tears.

She still had those earrings; they were in her jewelry box right now. And although she infrequently wore them, she still felt that same bloom in her heart she felt when Buffy first gave them to her every time she looked at them. Buffy was so very frequently a silly pony who took little seriously, so her times of genuineness were all the more tender and sweet because of it.

"It must be a lie. But-but how can it when she—I have to rid myself of—but she can't be—aargh!" she said, unable to find something she believed in any more. She wanted to believe that Buffy never really cared, but she knew that wasn't true. She must have made a mistake, but she didn't want to forgive her. And through it all, Viola still loved her. Yet she didn't know if she could give Buffy another chance. She couldn't be wrong again.

The only thing she knew for certain was that she couldn't stay in Buffy's apartment, a place where she knew both unquestionable anger and unrivaled joy. It was all too confusing to her. So she closed her eyes and refused to look at anything else, for fear that they would conjure more memories that would force her to stay. Without another moment in waiting, she walked out of Buffy's door.

Once out, she knew almost instantly where she wanted—even needed—to go. She needed someone she could trust with her emotions implicitly and confide in without reserve. For some time, Buffy had been that pony, but for clear reasons, she was out of the question. Viola had made several friends in recent times, many of which she felt comfortable in confiding in, but her first friend, one she had before she even knew she had her, was the one she wanted to confide in most.

She directed herself towards Baltimare's train station.

---

Octavia was tired. Days and days of consecutive travel were sure to do that to a mare, and all while carrying a heavy cello. Canterlot for a Canterlot Philharmonic Orchestra concert, Ponyville for a private party, Vanhoover to get her cello repaired, Baltimare for a jazz jam session with a couple friends . . . It was only natural for her to be exhausted.

The sun had only set about one hour ago, but she was still ready for a good night's sleep. But just as she laid herself down on her bed and closed her eyes, she heard a knock on the door.

At any other time, Octavia would have moved to answer the door, but today, she kept her eyes closed, opting to assume the visitor was some solicitor or mailpony with a parcel. She could deal with it later.

Until the knocks came again. And again. And again and again and again and again and—

"Okay, okay! Calm down, I'm coming," Octavia shouted. She groaned and roused herself from her bed. This had better be good, she thought to herself, irritated. She opened the door.

Her roommate was outside, looking all packed up to head for an extended trip—or to return from one. She had mentioned she was visiting her marefriend, Buffy, in Baltimare for a few weeks and never specified a return date, so she was expecting Viola to show up eventually. What she wasn't expecting was for her to show up so distraught.

It was nothing overt that told Octavia of this—Viola was nothing if not a subtle pony who spoke little but said much. But her eyeshadow was imperfect, as if it had been rubbed off and hastily repaired, and the whites of her eyes were pink on the side. She was also biting her lip, something Viola had admonished her about because it made her look nervous. Octavia was familiar enough with Viola's mask of neutrality to know that this was not that mask.

And naturally, the fact that Viola didn't have her violin and didn't appear to notice was of significant concern.

"Viola, are you alright?" Octavia asked.

Viola's thin façade slipped at that point, and Octavia saw the full measure of misery, anger, confusion, and even fear in her face. She launched herself at her, and Octavia found herself holding up her friend and roommate in their doorway.

"I don't know," Viola whispered. And it was the tremor in her voice and shoulders that told Octavia how little her surrogate big sister really knew.

---

There was a tea set between them. It wasn't so much for Viola to calm down—more for Octavia to wake up. Because there was a lot to talk about, and Octavia, bless her heart, agreed to listen to every word.

Viola spared her nothing: from the dates, to Azura, to the explosion, to the memories, she told her everything. And at the very end, she asked the only question she wanted answered. "What should I do, Octavia?"

Octavia sipped her tea and appeared to ignore the question for several minutes, though her brow was furrowed. Eventually, she put down her cup and said, "I really don't know, Viola. This really is a mess you got yourself into."

'I know," Viola replied. "I just . . . I love her, and I want to love her. But I can't trust her anymore. It feels like . . . it feels like my mother from so many years ago. After she . . . stopped caring for me." That was all the detail she cared to remember about the incident. She only ever chose to remember it now though a sad and angry dirge she wrote a while ago. The same exact song that first had Buffy approach her and ask her why she was playing it.

Perhaps it was time she forget the song as well.

Octavia stepped forward and gave her another hug, one Viola returned in kind. Octavia had been the one who helped her work through her quarrel with her mother so long ago, so Viola trusted her with matters of the heart like no one else. Before she brought those memories up with her, she had trouble making friends at all. "Do you think Buffy meant to do it?" Octavia murmured.

"I . . . I don't know," Viola said. A lot of words described Buffy, many of which were less than glowing. Irresponsible, stupid, dangerous, forgetful, loud . . . but "malicious" was not one of them. If she ever did something bad—like set the stove on fire—it was always the result of some coincidence or oversight or stupidity on Buffy's part. But still, it was hard not to cast Azura and Buffy into the role of "villain" with something this big.

"I don't know her that well, but even I think she wouldn't do this on purpose."

". . . Perhaps. But that doesn't make things any better. Why did she have to do it?"

Octavia sighed and gave Viola a few rubs before saying. "I don't know that, either. You said that she's polyamorous, right? I don't . . . get it, really, but isn't she allowed to date somepony else while she's dating you?"

"Yes," Viola conceded, "but I didn't think that meant she could outright abandon me while she went dating with somepony else! I felt like . . . I felt like I was being treated like a stranger. I felt like she didn't care anymore because she only ever talked about Azura, not me."

Octavia released Viola and went silent for several moments before responding. She shook her head. "Viola, I don't know enough about this polyamory stuff to know if that's okay or not. You'd really need to talk to your marefriend to get that sorted out."

"But I . . . did?" Viola thought back. To all the dates that Buffy had with Azura and not her. She was always rather annoyed—even angry at times—that she was going on them. But . . .

"I'm fine."

"It's . . . nice."

"I'm afraid I have a prior engagement with some bandmates today."

. . . did she ever really make that clear?

High society and her line of work dictated that she serve first and ask questions never. It could be rude and downright insulting to ask questions and state your mind in a situation where your only role was to provide music. She spoke through the music instead, and only the ponies privy to how she communicated, like fellow performers, listened.

Even in a romantic relationship unrelated to performance, Viola found it uncomfortable to voice things frankly. As evidenced by her current state, that strategy obviously didn't work, and it might not ever work with somepony like Buffy. Octavia was a good friend of many, many years, so she more-or-less knew what she was thinking and could easily read her music for hidden subtleties. Buffy, having known her for less time, and for being, well, Buffy . . . not so much.

Octavia, as ever, read her mind again. "I take it by your silence that you didn't?"

"I . . . No," Viola conceded. Was that it? Could they have avoided this whole mess if she had simply told Buffy how she felt before her envy grew out of control? If Buffy had simply asked or she had simply told? "Is this all just a misunderstanding?" she mused aloud.

Octavia took another sip of tea and suppressed a yawn. "Again, I really don't know, Viola. You know your relationship better than I do. But if it really is that simple, I don't want you to throw away your love over a misunderstanding. Maybe you've both made some mistakes." Then she asked solemnly, "But can you forgive Buffy for hers?"

It was such a simple question, but it resurfaced so many memories. Because she trusted her mother once, and when she broke it, it took nigh on a decade for Viola to finally forgive her. Trust, especially when it came to her, was hard to give. Even harder when it was already broken once.

Then again, this breach, if it could even be called one, was partially her fault. To hold against her marefriend something that she did and make them both miserable in the process was not kind or honest. It was bitter.

"I want to, Octavia. I know I still love her, and I guess she does too, but . . . what if I'm wrong? What if she doesn't listen, and what if she lets me down again?" Viola looked to her friend with frightened eyes, pleading for her to give her an answer.

There were, of course, no easy answers. Octavia only shook her head and opened her hooves for another hug. Once Viola was in her embrace again, she murmured, "Then you have friends to help you back up."