• Published 22nd Jan 2013
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School of Hard Knocks - Hoopy McGee



Big crimes go to big ponies to solve. Small crimes? Those are mine.

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The things that matter most

Sunday morning found me awake and lying on my back, staring at the ridiculous frilly canopy over my bed as the sun made its way up over the horizon. Time inched forward relentlessly, and I ignored it. There was nothing worth getting out of bed for. Since Tuesday, the days had crawled by with a drudging sameness that underscored the futility of my existence, and I didn’t see today being any different.

Still, I could only lie in bed staring at nothing for so long before my bladder made its presence known. With a sigh, I rolled out of bed and dragged my hooves to the bathroom. When finished, I went through my morning routine in a sort of autopilot, brushing my teeth and mane, and washing my face. During all of this, I caught my reflection in the mirror more than once. There was barely even a flutter of existential terror when I saw my new cutie mark, which I decided to accept as a definite sign of improvement.

It took me a few minutes to work up the resolve to head downstairs, especially when I smelled the intoxicating smell of freshly baked bread wafting up from the kitchen. It had been the same pattern every day since I’d gone home on Tuesday. Mom had suddenly decided to start cooking again, and now all of my old favorites were being trotted out. For breakfast, scrambled eggs and hash browns, or pancakes, or waffles. Lunch would get me grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, or any of a dozen other favorites. Dinner started turning into a parade of rich and savory dishes, each better than the last, and as much as I could eat.

I couldn’t deny that the change in menu was welcome, though I had my suspicions about her motivations. I gritted my teeth and went downstairs.

“Good morning, Cinnamon!” Mom’s cheerful greeting and brittle smile were a new addition, as well.

I grunted in reply as I sat down, digging into my breakfast of scrambled eggs and freshly baked bread without a word. I was being an ass, I knew. But being honest felt like it would cost too much, and playing along was too much of a lie.

“Weather is getting colder,” Mom said as her opening conversational gambit.

I grunted again in reply. The bread was thick, warm from the oven and loaded with butter. I spread raspberry jam over the top of it and ate it while the silence stretched out between us. Eventually, Mom tried again.

“You’re going out again, today?”

I grunted again, refusing to talk. Her eyes flickered with hurt, a small and spiteful part of me noted with satisfaction as I chewed in silence.

“Where do you go all day?” she finally asked me with a pleading note in her voice.

I scowled down at my plate. I suppose I could give her that much.

“The Pudding house,” I said.

She pulled her head back, frowning. “Why?”

“To check their mail,” I said, not mentioning that I was hoping for a package from Ponyville sometime soon. “To water their plants. To keep an eye on the place.”

To get out of this insane asylum. To get away from my mother, who was trying to buy my love with food and a sort of desperate kindness.

“I miss you,” she said, her voice soft.

And there it was. The guilt trip I’d been expecting since Tuesday night’s surprising dinner of spaghetti and homemade marinara, one of my absolute favorite dishes.

“I gotta go,” I said, hopping down off of my chair.

“You haven’t finished—”

“I’m not hungry anymore,” I said as I trotted to the door.

“Cinnamon!”

Mom got up from the table to come after me. I kept going, keeping my face a solid and expressionless mask. That is, until she scooped me up from behind and hugged me to her chest.

“I miss you so, so much,” she whispered into my mane.

“Put me down.”

She sobbed once against my neck, and I knew she wasn’t acting. She’s not that good of an actor. Didn’t make it any less of a guilt trip, though. And knowing it was a guilt trip didn’t make it any less effective. Anger rose to swamp the guilt I felt, the two emotions mixing and twisting in my gut before I mashed it down into the dull ache I was more used to.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Mom asked me.

It was a struggle to keep my voice even. “Let me go.”

“I just want to keep you safe, keep you with me. I love you so much, Cin—”

“I know you do, Mom.” I felt her legs tighten on either side of me. “But you know you’re being selfish.”

“I need you!” Warm, wet drops fell onto the nape of my neck, and I shuddered. “I’m cooped up in this house all the time, all alone! Cinnamon, please… I need you.”

My breath was coming in quick, short blasts, now. I clenched my jaw, refusing to get caught up in her emotions.

“You have five other sons,” I pointed out.

“None of them ever come to see me.” Her voice was dull and leaden. “I send letters, sometimes, but I almost never get replies back.”

“Then why not go visit one of them?”

“What?”

Her grip slackened and I wriggled out of it, turning to face her once I hit the floor. Mom’s face was puffy, her eyes red and watery. Guilt and resentment surged up, and once again I stomped the emotions back down.

“Leave this house,” I said, forcing my voice into a calm I didn’t feel. “Go visit your sons. Fudge only lives about thirty miles away. You could make a weekend trip out of it, or take the local train and make it a day trip.” I scowled as I looked around the cluttered house, boxes stacked on boxes, looming in the shadows like giants and threatening to topple over at the slightest pressure. “Getting out of this damned house for a while would do you some good.”

“I-I can’t…” Mom laid her ears back and shook her head, frowning. “Anyway, this is the family home. They should want to come and see me!”

I snorted, pawing at the dusty floor with a hoof.

“Why?” I asked, unable to keep the scorn out of my voice. “Why would anypony want to come to a place like this?”

Mom stood up, scowling, and once again she towered over me. I had to bend my neck just to keep eye contact.

“What does that mean?” she asked, and I could hear her own anger rising to meet mine.

“What do you think?” I waved a hoof around, taking in the entire room.

“It’s a little cluttered, sure,” Mom started, breaking off with narrowed eyes as I barked with laughter.

“‘Cluttered’ doesn’t cover it, Mom,” I said. “You’ve let this place fall apart. You don’t care enough to maintain it, but you’re too damned stubborn to let it go!”

Mom’s nostrils were flaring in time to her own rushed breathing. “Don’t care?” she repeated, voice harsh. “Don’t you dare say I don’t care! You have no idea what I’ve been through!”

“What, like losing someone you love?” I snorted mirthlessly. “I have some idea.”

“You lost your father, and that’s sad,” she grated as her eyes narrowed. “But I lost so much more—”

“I lost a mother, too!” I shouted back. “You’re not the mare I remember!”

“Ponies change!”

“You didn’t change, Mom. You shut down! There’s a difference!”

“You don’t have the right—”

I stomped my hoof and ran right over her. “You want to know why your sons don’t visit? Why I never visited? Because I hate seeing you like this! And so do the others!”

“What do you mean, ‘like this’?” Her face was a mask of hurt and fury.

“A broken shell of a mare in a run-down house. You think Dad would have wanted this for you?”

Even as angry as I was, I knew that bringing up Dad like that had been cruel. But I felt it was necessary. There was also an oddly calm part of me that wondered how hard I’d have to push her before she snapped, and whether or not I wanted to push that hard.

“Don’t you bring your father into this!” Her ears were laid flat back against her head and her tail was lashing in agitation.

“Why not? I loved him too, you know.”

“You think you know what love is?” Mom laughed bitterly. “You’ve never been married. You’ve never lost a child!”

“I’m not her, Mom,” I snapped. “I can’t replace her!”

“I never said I wanted you to!”

“Then why?” Even through the distorting haze of anger, this was a question I was desperately hoping would get an answer. “Why use me as a surrogate? You have me in frills and bows. You decorated my damned room like a wedding cake! Was this what you had planned for Strawberry?”

Don’t you say that name!” Mom shrieked. Tears were flooding down her face, but there was pure fury in her eyes.

“I’m sorry you never had a daughter for real, Mom,” I said, my own righteous fury putting a vicious twist on the statement. “But I can’t be her! You can’t have a stillborn foal and then expect me—”

SHUT UP!” Mom screamed loudly enough to rattle the teeth in my head. I stepped back, my eyes widening in shock at the sight of her. My mother was sitting down, her eyes clenched shut and her forehooves slapped over her ears. “Shut up! Shut up!”

A skim of guilt floated up on top of my anger, and I realized I’d gone too far. It didn’t make me any less angry, though.

“I’m going,” I said. Only the hitching of her breath answered me.

I opened the door, and my jaw clenched as I heard Mom sobbing behind me. I slammed the door shut hard enough to rattle the frame before fleeing the scene, feeling like a criminal.

~~*~~

I took the long way to Plum’s house. By which I mean I went by way of the park, which was in the completely wrong direction. I lay on my back on a hillside, making sure I was a good distance away from the playground.

I didn’t think I could stand the laughter of children right then.

The day was cloudy and grey without being too cold. I watched as some of the local pegasi led huge flocks of birds towards the south, and for a moment I wondered what it would be like to have a job like that. I’d always been a homebody, preferring to make a place for myself to call home and never ranging too far away. But as I watched the pegasi flying free through the sky, I couldn’t help but let my mind fly with them.

Great wedges of geese honked their way along with a single pegasi at the front of their formation, leading the way to warmer climes. Less organized flocks of smaller birds did the best they could, colorful teeming masses twittering and chirping their silly heads off with anywhere up to a half-dozen pegasi per flock acting as guides.

Plum would know each and every type of bird up there. I could identify maybe seven different kinds of them.

My nest on the hillside no longer felt comfortable. I ignored the aching I felt and rolled back onto my hooves. Even though there’d be no mail to check on a Sunday, I could still water the Puddings’ plants. And it was better to be on the move than sitting still, wallowing in my own thoughts.

I kept my head down as I walked the familiar streets towards the Pudding residence, avoiding being trampled by the larger traffic through a combination of sixth sense and sheer luck. When I arrived at the Pudding residence, some alarm went off in my head, causing me to stop.

Something was different. Something was wrong. It took a minute for the thoughts whirling around in my head to calm enough for me to figure out what it was, and then it was obvious.

There was a light on in the living room window that faced the street. I was positive that I’d left them all off when I’d left on Saturday, which meant that somepony was in the Pudding house. My heart surged at the thought that Mulberry and Plum might be back, my initial reluctance to explain my situation to the mare long gone. By this point, I’d be glad just to get it over with.

Then again, considering the events of the last week, I couldn’t deny a very real chance that some bad ponies were inside, up to no good. I set my muzzle into a thin line and moved swiftly to the window.

I had to rear up onto my back legs to see inside. Mulberry was there, sitting on her sofa with a look of wary surprise on her face. Across from her sat a figure that froze my heart for a few seconds. Dark grey and white striped, with piercing blue eyes. I stared at the zebra, my heart racing and my lips pulling back from my teeth in a feral snarl.

The illusion was broken when the zebra in question reached out a delicate hoof and picked up a teacup, and I saw the gold rings around the striped leg. I took a second look and noted that this zebra was not only younger than Mister Sunshine, but also a mare. The primal fury I’d felt earlier shattered and spun off in a wave of confusion.

And then darkness blotted out my sight as something was pressed over my eyes. I felt a presence behind me, and I froze in place as a chill spiked my heart. They had taken me unaware. I’d never even known they were there.

Whoever it was leaned down, their breath tickling my ear. The hair raised on the back of my neck all the way down to my withers.

“Guess who?” the mystery pony said softly.

Terror tapdanced its way all down my spine and back up again. I knew that voice. I had been having nightmares about it for weeks. My mouth opened, then closed so I could swallow against the sudden dryness on my tongue.

When I finally did speak, my voice came out as a hollow croak. “Pinkie Pie?”

The light came back to the world as she pulled her hooves away. I turned to find a grinning cloud of blinding pink sitting right behind me.

“You guessed it!” Pinkie squealed, grinning so widely I was faintly surprised that the top of her head was still attached.

I was extremely grateful that the resulting wave of dizziness didn’t make me faint again. Once a week was plenty, thanks. The gears in my head started clicking, and soon enough I was adding two and two together.

“You got my letter,” I said, not really allowing myself to hope.

“Yup!”

“And you came here, after you got that letter,” I added.

“You got it!”

“And you brought your zebra friend,” I continued, licking my suddenly dry lips. “The one who knows the cure.”

“Three for three, CS!” Pinkie beamed at me as if I’d just solved the riddle of the sphinx or something.

“You brought the cure?” I said, finally allowing myself to feel a glimmer of hope.

“Nope!” The bottom dropped out of my stomach as Pinkie shook her head. “Zecora did!”

My heart, which had started crashing at the first part of Pinkie’s answer, jumped up into my throat. I couldn’t have stopped the grin that spread across my face even if I’d wanted to. And I didn’t want to.

My ears actually started ringing, and I found myself laughing. Pinkie, never one to let somepony laugh alone, joined me, giggling along merrily. That only made me laugh harder, euphoria bubbling up and crowding out every other thought, including my Mom.

“Cinnamon!”

I looked back over my shoulder towards the Pudding residence’s front door. Plum was standing there, staring at me with wide, shocked eyes. Her face split into a wide smile, and the next thing I knew I was on my back with a bundle of purple filly latched around my barrel in a vice-like hug.

“I missed you!” she mumbled into my chest.

“I missed you too, Plum,” I gasped. “But I’d like to breathe now?”

Plum squeaked and blushed before loosening her grip, smiling sheepishly at me as she did so. But she didn’t let go. Not that it was much of an option for her, since I was hugging her back.

“Awww….” I glanced over at the sound and saw Pinkie Pie staring at us hopefully with those big, blue eyes. “Can I get in on this hugging action, too?”

“You bet!” Plum said at the exact same moment that I shouted, “Hell, no!”

Pinkie Pie pouted while Plum frowned at me.

“You know she came all the way from Ponyville, right?” Plum asked archly. “She didn’t have to do that!”

“Well, yeah, but…” I looked over. Pinkie’s pout had actually increased in intensity, and she’d added in the woeful puppy-dog eyes to boot.

“Come on, Cinnamon,” Plum said, poking me in the ribs. “Don’t be a grump.”

“But… Ah, geeze, fine,” I grumbled. “Just knock it off with the soulful eyes routine.”

“Yay!” Pinkie bounded over to us and gathered us both into a big hug. “See? Isn’t this nice?”

Plum giggled. I counted to five.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said. I waited a few more seconds. “I said that’s enough. Pinkie? Pinkie!”

“Sooo… cuddly…” Pinkie crooned.

“Pinkie Pie!” I barked.

“Oh, fine!” Pinkie said with a pout, releasing us so suddenly that I stumbled and fell on my rump. She was unfazed by my death glare as I picked myself back up. “Still a grouch, huh?”

“And damned proud of it,” I said, dusting myself off.

“Come on, Cinnamon!” Plum said urgently. I glanced over to see that she was practically dancing in place. “You have to come in and talk to Zecora. She’s so cool! And she talks in rhymes!”

“In rhymes. Really?”

“Yupperoonie!” Pinkie said while bouncing in place. “It’s, like, a zebra thing, or something.”

I snorted as the three of us walked—or in Pinkie’s case, bounced—towards the front door.

“The last zebra I talked to didn’t rhyme all that much,” I said dryly.

“Well, Zecora sure does!” Pinkie chirped. Two minutes, and she was already getting on my nerves, but I could forgive a lot for the pony who had brought me the poison joke cure. “I keep trying to get her to end a sentence with ‘orange’ or ‘purple’, but she never falls for it.”

I grunted, the monosyllabic response temporarily silencing conversation until Plum sighed.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Cinnamon,” she said softly. “I was so worried when you fainted after you got your cutie mark, but Mom packed me up and brought me home before I could make sure you were okay.”

“Yeah,” I said with a grimace. “Not my proudest moment, I’ll admit…”

“Oh my gosh,” Pinkie said. I glanced back to see her staring wide-eyed at me. “You just got your cutie mark?!”

Plum and I exchanged a confused look.

“Uh, maybe not the one I was expecting, but yeah,” I replied.

“But that’s… I didn’t…” Pinkie gaped at me for a second before blurting, “I gotta go!”

Plum and I watched in disbelief as the pink pony ran off in the distance.

“What was that?” Plum asked.

I shrugged. “That was Pinkie Pie, I guess.”

We started walking again, making our way through Plum’s still open front door. I heard Zecora’s voice well before I saw her, a smooth and melodic voice that practically radiated self-confidence and tranquility. She was saying something to Mulberry that I couldn’t quite pick up, though I did hear Tapioca’s name.

The zebra broke off and looked over at us when we came in, a gentle smile on her exotic features. I gave her a respectful nod, but most of my attention was on Mulberry. Zecora hopefully had the cure, but I had made myself sick with guilt for the last few days thinking of what I’d say to Mulberry when I saw her next. She was looking at me, her face neutral and unreadable, and my mouth dried out as I started trying to talk to her.

“Mulberry,” I started saying, “I have a lot to explain—”

Mulberry held up a hoof. “I’ve heard most of the rest of it from Plum over the last few days,” she said. “So, I know about the poison joke, and I know you’re actually a police stallion from Ponyville.”

Even though her tone was perfectly level, I still flinched. Guilt can do that to a pony.

“That’s right,” I said.

“So, I just want to know why,” Mulberry said, a frown flickering across her muzzle. “Why pretend to be Plum’s friend? Why hide it all from me? What did you expect to get out of it?”

The fact that she sounded more curious than hurt or angry was a small comfort to me. I dredged the words up and forced them out as best I could.

“I wasn’t pretending to be her friend,” I said carefully. My stomach was churning like a hurricane and I felt like I was going to be sick. “And it wasn’t my intention to lie to you. It’s just… everypony treated me like I was crazy whenever I told them. I got tired of it.”

“I guess I can understand that,” she said, offering me a wan smile.

I sighed. “There’s more than just that.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve seen how my mother is,” I said, struggling to drag the right words out. “You’ve seen how she treats me.”

“Yes, I have,” she said, frowning. “I’m just realizing how weird it is that she was treating you like a little kid this whole time. She actually made you go to school?”

“She has… issues,” I hedged. “And… please, don’t think I’m crazy, but it was nice coming over here and…” This was even harder than I thought it would be. “And, it was nice pretending like I could be part of a normal family,” I finally admitted. “I haven’t had that since my dad died.”

“Not sure I’d consider us ‘normal’ after everything that just happened, but I suppose that makes sense.” Her shoulders relaxed visibly and she smiled with a little more life this time. “And you did risk your tail to try and get me out of that place. I guess I can forgive a lot for that.”

Relief washed over me in a rolling wave. I found myself smiling back at her.

“So, what now?” I asked.

Mulberry titled her head and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m hoping to turn back into a stallion soon,” I said. I couldn’t stop myself from fidgeting with my front hooves. “Will you still allow me to stop by? I’d like to consider all of you my friends.”

I waited, heart pounding, while Mulberry gave me a long and measuring look. Next to me, Plum was holding her breath, which she let out explosively when her mother gave a quick, sharp nod.

“After all you’ve done for us? Of course you’re a friend of this family!”

I sagged with relief. The last few days had made me realize how much I’d come to count on little Plum’s constant twittering to lift my spirits. Without her around, I didn’t know what I’d do. Fortunately, it seemed like I wouldn’t need to find out.

“Thank you,” I said softly as Plum hugged me. I couldn’t keep the stupid grin off of my face.

“I believe it is time I was introduced to you,” the zebra said from her chair. Mulberry blushed, probably realizing she’d never introduced us. “I am Zecora, maker of many a potion and brew.”

I turned and braced myself. This was it, the moment I had waited so long for.

“Hello, Zecora,” I said, trying to keep my eager impatience under control. “I understand that you’ve brought me something?”

Zecora smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Indeed I have, Cinnamon Swirl, the stallion with the body of a girl. An herbal brew, lovely to behold. It will soon return you to the pony of old.”

My breath caught in my throat as she pulled something out of the saddlebags next to her chair. It was a small cloth bag, a delicate shade of purple with a familiar blue flower embroidered on the front. Zecora pulled it out by the drawstring and held it out to me.

I reached out with trembling hooves and took the bag away from her, crushing it to my chest. As I did, a whiff of floral scent puffed out into my nostrils. It was spicy, sweet and exotic. It smelled of fresh rain on a spring day. It smelled wonderful.

“The cure is quite the simple recipe to prepare, when all is told,” Zecora said, nodding at the pouch in my trembling hooves. “I’ve also made copies of the recipe for your spas, library and hospitals to hold. Simply upend the pouch into a bath of hot water, and soon you will no longer be your mother’s daughter.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. I caught Plum’s look out of the corner of my eye. “What? I thought you’d be happy for me!”

“I am,” she said, wiping away a tear. “I’m happy for you, I am! But I’m kind of sad for me. I’m going to miss playing with you, Cinnamon.”

“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Me too. But I have to do this. I have to fix my life!”

“I am afraid that is something the cure cannot provide,” Zecora said. I blinked and looked back at her. “Only the poison joke will be reversed once it is applied.”

I was at a loss. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

“The cure will return you to a stallion, it is true. But are there not other things that trouble you?”

My jaw clenched as my mind worked. Things that trouble me? Oh, my life is full of them. My mom immediately came to mind, banging around in that dusty and cluttered old house, driving away everyone she loved. I didn’t want to let that happen, but I was powerless to fix it. Then there was Vanilla Sweet and Ivy at school. If I were gone, what would happen to Plum?

And then there was the way my heart ached when I’d realized that I would never hang out with Plum again, at least not like we had been. That was a surprise.

“I can only fix what I can,” I said. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Only you can decide, my friend. But by using that brew, some options will end.”

“What, am I supposed to use being a filly to fix my mom, somehow?” To say I was skeptical would be an understatement. But even as I said it, an idea began to form. I held up a hoof to forestall any interruptions while I thought for a minute.

Finally, I turned to Mulberry, took a deep breath, and said, “Mulberry, I know you’ve been through a rough time lately, but would it be alright if I asked you for some advice?”

Mulberry’s initial startled look melted away into a smile.

“Of course,” she said.

And then I began laying out the foundations of my plan.

~~*~~

The house was eerily silent upon my return. The darker corners of my mind taunted me, replaying the earlier confrontation, taking special care to beat me over the head with the memories of Mom sobbing and crying like a heartbroken little filly. The house was so quiet, it was as if nopony was home. Nopony alive, at least.

I found Mom in her sewing room, her head down on the folding table she used as a workspace. She was incredibly still, and a spike of fear froze my heart before I saw an ear twitch. I sighed in relief and stepped inside.

“Mom?” I said. “We need to talk.”

Silence at first, drawing out between us and filling the room.

“Nothing to talk about,” she mumbled eventually.

“Sure there is,” I said. “I’ve got the cure to the poison joke.”

Silence again as she lifted her head to look down at me.

“Why are you still a filly?”

Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion. I had heard a voice like that before, back when I’d been a police officer. It had been a case that had haunted me for years. A mare with bruises on her face had said, in that same tone, “He promises he’ll stop drinking, this time.” He had lied.

I shook my head, trying to clear that image out of my mind, reminding myself that it was a different time, a different mare, and a completely different situation.

“Because there’s something I need from you.”

I took the drawstring in my teeth and pulled the pouch out of my saddlebags. Mom’s eyes followed it as I dropped it to the floor.

“I hereby declare our old Deal null and void,” I said. I gave it a few seconds to sink in. “In its place, I suggest a new Deal.”

Mom straightened out in her seat as confusion washed over her features.

“What? I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple,” I said. “A bargain. I have something you want. But in order to get it, you have to do something for me.”

She frowned, not in anger but in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m offering to stay this way for a while. For a while,” I said, holding up a hoof as her eyes widened and her mouth opened. “Until I can’t deal with it anymore, at least. I’ll play your daughter, in public and even at home, but on my terms, not yours.”

She ran a shaking hoof through her mane. “Why would you do that? I thought you hated being a filly.”

I shrugged. “I hated not having a choice. I hated not having control over my life. I hated the loss of identity I felt. I hated… well, a lot of things, including being a filly. But I have this, now,” I said, pointing a hoof at the pouch with the cure. “Not only that, but Zecora, the zebra who gave me the cure, left another pouch over at the Pudding house. She also delivered a copy of the recipe to the hospital, the library, and several local spas. I can change back whenever I want.” I grinned at her. “That gives me the control I’ve been missing. It gives me a choice. And, while I’ve got that choice, it’s easier to deal with the rest.”

Almost a full minute went by while she parsed that, staring at the lavender pouch with its blue flower the whole time.

“And what do you want me to do?” she asked.

“I want my mom back,” I said. I held up a hoof again when she started talking. “No. Don’t say anything yet, just listen. You’ve spent almost two decades doing nothing but withdrawing from everypony who cared about you.”

And here was the part where everything could fall apart. It all came down to one question: Was having a little strawberry-colored filly in the house worth what I was going to ask of her? Would she pay my price?

“Mulberry gave me this,” I said before pulling a small card out of my saddlebags. “I think it might help you.”

I passed the card to Mom, who took it with a doubtful look that turned immediately hostile when she read what was printed on it.

“Therapy?!” The stool clattered across the floor as Mom shot to her hooves. “I don’t need therapy! That’s for crazy ponies! I’m not…” Her chest heaved, pushing a whimper out of her muzzle. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Crazy, no,” I said, shaking my head. “But you’re obviously not happy. I think you put off dealing with Dad dying, because you were focused on the foal you were carrying. And when you lost the foal—”

“If you have to talk about her, you can at least call her by her name!” Mom shouted, stomping a hoof. “Her name was Strawberry, not ‘the foal’.” Her face twisted, too many emotions to count flashing across her features. “She was your sister.”

“I know, Mom. I know.” I sighed. “And I can’t imagine how much that hurt, losing her.”

“No, you can’t!”

She was getting shrill, now. And I was amazed to note that I felt nothing but calm and in control.

“And that’s why I’m saying to go to therapy. This is something that nopony should have to deal with alone. There are support groups, too. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“And if I say no?”

I smiled sadly. The challenge in her voice told me that saying no was her current favored option.

“Then I go,” I say. “I give myself a bath, change back to the old me, and stay in the guest room at the Pudding house until I get a job and my own apartment again. And maybe I’ll stop by every now and then to visit you, but probably not very often, because seeing you like this hurts me, Mom. It hurts everyone who loves you.”

Her mouth worked silently for a few seconds, and I knew she was teetering.

“How about this,” I said, by way of nudging her. “Small steps. Don’t agree to the whole thing right now. Give it… let’s say, five sessions. If you can’t stand it, I won’t make you go back.”

She considered this for a moment. “But you’ll change back if I don’t go,” she said, following the train of thought to its logical conclusion.

“That’s right.”

Mom scowled at the card in her upturned hoof, and I gave her a minute to think.

“Can we even afford this?” she asked.

“Dad’s survivor benefits will cover it.” I managed to keep my face still while I wondered if I actually had managed to convinced her.

She grunted and went back to studying the card in her hoof. I gave her a few seconds, then decided I could give her some more time to think on it.

“I don’t need an answer right now,” I said eventually. “I’ll give you the rest of the day to think about it. Let me know by the end of today, so I know whether or not I have to get up for school in the morning.”

She blinked at me in surprise and I shrugged.

“One session,” she said finally. “I’ll agree to one.”

“Four,” I said, hiding the sudden burst of elation I felt by exercising a colossal amount of willpower. “You’ll most likely hate your first one. You’re gonna need to get used to it.”

“Two,” she said. “The first one to get my hooves wet, and the second one to see if I can stand going.”

I shook my head. “I’m reluctantly willing to go down to three, but no less.”

Mom took in a deep breath and then released it in a long, shuddering exhale.

“Alright,” she said. “I agree to this new Deal.”

I let out a shaky sigh of my own.

“Alright,” I replied with a nod. “In that case, there are a few things I need to take care of.”

“Such as?” Mom asked.

“Such as heading back to the Plum’s house for a little while.” I grinned up at her. “Mulberry promised to take care of something for me.”

~~*~~

The bell rang, and dozens of students flooded the playground in a swirling, chaotic cacophony of youthful exuberance. Not me, though. I’d been asked to stay behind during recess.

“I don’t get it,” Persimmon said by way of an opening statement. “Why are you even here?”

“Am I not welcome?” I asked, putting on a hurt expression.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Persimmon’s reply was curt, and I couldn’t help chuckling.

Persimmon had trotted into class that morning with her mane tied back up in its usual bun. She hadn’t noticed me sitting there, at first. The stunned look on her face when she looked up and saw me grinning back at her first thing in the morning would be a treasured memory for the rest of my life.

“It’s something I worked out with my mom,” I said. “She gets professional help getting her life back together, and I stay like this to provide moral support.”

“What are you going to do when you get the cure, though?” she asked.

“Already got it,” I said, causing her to flick her tail in surprise. “I’ll use it when I’m ready. There’s no rush.”

Persimmon shook her head in blank astonishment.

“That’s a lot more caring and giving than I expected of you,” she admitted.

“I can be a pretty cool guy, when I want to be,” I said with a shrug.

“Alright, alright,” she said, laughing. “I guess you’re the one in charge of this situation, not me.”

“You’re damned right I am,” I said, grinning. “Mind if I head out? I promised Plum some playtime after what happened yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

I grimaced. “There was… kind of a disastrous attempt at a surprise cute-ceañera for me at the Pudding residence yesterday afternoon.”

Persimmon stared at me for a few seconds before breaking out laughing. “A cute-ceañera? Oh, boy, I bet that went over well!”

“Don’t blame me!” I said, waving my forehooves in protest. “That was all Pinkie Pie’s doing! Things got a little… interesting. It took Plum almost an hour to get the frosting out of her hair.”

“Who is Pinkie Pie?” Persimmon asked while tilting her head. .

“You don’t want to know,” I said with a shudder. “She came here from Ponyville with her friend, a zebra named Zecora, to give me the cure, and to see if Zecora could help Plum’s dad.”

“Oh!” Persimmon’s ears perked up at that. “How is he doing?”

“He’s not out of the woods, yet,” I said, “but he’s doing better already. Zecora said it could take weeks for him to be back on his hooves, but if he follows his rehab schedule, he should have a full recovery.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, I’m going to go hang out with Plum, and make sure Vanilla doesn’t mess with her.”

Persimmon shook her head. “Not much chance of that. Our staff has been told to make sure those two stay far apart.”

“Good to hear.”

I started walking to the door, stopping when I heard Persimmon call out my name.

“Cinnamon? One last thing.”

“Yes?” I said, looking back over my shoulder.

“I really like your new manestyle,” she said.

I grinned and ran a hoof through my newly cropped mane. It wasn’t exactly like what I’d had as a stallion, but it was good enough for now.

“Thanks,” I said. “Mulberry cut it for me. I think it suits me a lot better than ribbons.”

Persimmon smiled and nodded, and I went outside into what was surely one of the last nice days of autumn to join my friend.

Author's Note:

Stay tuned, there's more coming up tomorrow (a bonus chapter, epilogue and author's/editor's notes, which are still being tweaked).

Many thanks to my editing team, listed in no particular order
Ekevoo
Merlos the Mad
Brilliant Point
Coandco
And thanks to Ludicrous Lycan for his thoughts and suggestions while pre-reading.