> Pinkie and the Spy
>  by Guesswork
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1: Top Secret
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Introduction







The hive was always warm, always buzzing, always alive.  It was a strange place for a pony to be, but that's just what Mantid was: a pony, in disguise.  None of the changelings living and working around him knew it.  Nor did they suspect that with a combination of surgery, transmutation, and enchantment, Canterlot Intelligence had been giving the hive a little taste of its own medicine for three years now.

Mantid crawled out of his sleeping pod and stretched his chitinous forelegs, yawning wide and smacking his mouthparts together.  He scratched his bottom-plating and went to the porthole to look out into the rest of the hive.  

As usual, the workers flew to-and-fro, making deliveries and pickups.  The green glow of the walls and pods was already halfway to day-cycle brightness; the only way to tell time this far underground.  This was just one of a million things he'd had to get used to over the years.  Deep cover did not even begin to describe what he'd seen and done.

There was something else, too.  Something that Canterlot Intel had not forseen: the wide-spread effects of Queen Chrysalis's exposure to Shining Armor's supernaturally-powerful love.  In certain ways, it had changed the entire hive.

In the sleeping pod behind him, another black shape stirred.  "Click-click-chick-click-chitter," said a soft voice.  "Sweetheart, come back to bed.  It's your day off."

"Click-hiss-chick-chitter," replied Mantid.  "I have to go visit the Messaging Chamber in a few hours.  Figured I'd just get up now, since I can't sleep anyway."

"You never give yourself a break," said Cricket.  "It drives me nuts."

"You never give me a break, either," he said.  She offered him a sleepy grin, and Mantid leaped into the air, his diaphanous wings buzzing as he swooped away from the window and back into the sleeping-pod with her.  They looked into each others' eyes from inches away.  "Never ever," he said.

She reached up and pulled him into a gentle kiss.  Their mouths fit together perfectly, like puzzle-pieces.  Mantid and Cricket were made for each other.  "Our offspring are going to have great work ethic," she said when their kiss ended, "but such high blood-pressure!"

"We can worry about that some other day," he said with a chuckle.  Then he noticed that she'd suddenly gotten very serious.

"What?" he asked her.  "What is it?"

"Not some other day."  She rubbed her belly.

His compound eyes went wide.  "What are you saying?"

"We're pregnant."  Her face was a mixture of joy and nervousness.  "Mantid, we're pregnant!"

"By Chrysalis!" he exclaimed, then he laughed like he'd never laughed before, letting his soul pour out in a flood of happiness.  He kissed Cricket again and again, wrapped his forelegs around her smooth, cool body, feeling her twin-hearts beating with joy through her carapace.  Years and years with Canterlot Intel, deep undercover in this alien place, in this alien body, and for the first time in his life, he knew why he'd been born.  "I'm going to be a father," he breathed.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you too," he said, and if he were still a pony, he would have cried.  But changelings can't cry, so he just held her even tighter.




*   *   *




Mantid was still high on happiness as he buzzed into the Messaging Chamber later that day.  The changeling attendant sat behind a black-resin desk, bathed in light from the luminescent fungus growing overhead.

"Hey there Mantid," said the attendant.  "You look like you're in a good mood today."

"Hey Beetle," said Mantid with a huge, beaming grin.  "And yes, today is quite special."  He looked around to make sure nobody else was listening, then decided that he didn't care.  "The mate's pregnant!  We've got eggs on the way!"

"By Chrysalis, congratulations!!" exclaimed the attendant.  "Hold on, I think I've got just the thing."  It was his turn to look around surreptitiously.  Then he reached into a resinous compartment behind the desk and pulled out two transluscent, golden roll-ups.  "I can't smoke mine on duty, but you go right ahead."

"A royal jelly cigar?" exclaimed Mantid.  "You've got to be kidding!  I can't accept that."

"My friend, I will be so very pissed-off if you don't."

Mantid laughed, then leaned in to take the roll-up.  He placed it into his mouthparts and watched Beetle strike a crystal match.  Once the roll was lit, Mantid took a few puffs.  "Beetle, that is the stuff," he said, breathing the smoke out through his leg-holes.  "Sweet, crisp.  Amazing.  I can't thank you enough."

Beetle didn't light his royal-jelly, just chewed on the end.  "You kidding me, buddy?  Forget about it.  This is your day.  Picked out any names, yet?"

"I just found out this morning," he said.  "What a surprise, right?"

"My mate had eggs in her for three months before she told me.  I think she was just in denial."

"She's definitely risen to the occasion, though," noted Mantid.  "Ladybird is a fine mother."

"She sure is," said Beetle.  "And Cricket is going to be amazing, I just know it."  Then Beetle threw his claws in the air.  "Look at me, taking up your precious time like this.  You've actually got a message today.  Top priority, from somewhere up in the hierarchy."

"What??"

Beetle looked at him, concerned.  "Uh, you weren't expecting it?"

A million thoughts raced through Mantid's mind at once.  The royal jelly burned, forgotten.

"Hey, Mantid," said Beetle.  "Hive to Mantid, come in."

Mantid's face became serene and placid again, and he gave Beetle a calm smile.  "I'll take it in Vesicle One, please."

"You got it, pal.  And congratulations again!"

Mantid tried to say thank you, but the words stuck in his throat.  He waved instead, and walked in a daze towards the back of the Messaging Chamber.

Vesicle One was a tiny, spherical room with a green-resin stump to sit on.  Along one wall was a membrane stretched over a circular resin frame.  This was the viewscreen.

Mantid placed his claws into a recess under the screen and let the magic scan his carapace.  After a moment, fluids moved in the walls and the membrane rippled, dimpled, and began displaying the message.  He'd always marveled at how much more efficient this system was than the ponies' equivalent telegraph service.

Of course the message wasn't from the hierarchy, or anywhere near Chrysalis's office.  It had come from a line tap, somewhere in the hive.  Another pony spy.

Every Monday for three years, Mantid had stopped here at the Messaging Chamber to file his secret reports to Canterlot Intel, hiding them inside large amounts of outgoing files that he sent for his cover-job.  He'd never received a return-message.  It was just too risky.

But here it was.  And if they were contacting him now, that meant...

...that meant it was time to leave.

Mantid placed his claws against the frame as his world swayed with unreality.  

It's too soon.




*   *   *




"Will you come with me?"

Cricket just looked at him, overcome with shock past the point of words.  "How can you even ask me that??" she shrieked at last.  "You're a liar!  You lied to me this whole time!  This whole time!!  You treated me like a fool!"  Her beautiful, violet eyes filled with fury, and for a moment, Mantid thought she was going to start throwing things at him.  Then she stormed over to the wall and fell against it for support, her knees buckling, wings drooping like wilting flower petals.

How long has it been, thought Mantid, since I've seen a flower?

"Just go," she said.  "I'll... I'll have the eggs removed."

"No!" he screamed, his hearts pounding.  "Please... don't do that.  That's so horrible."

"How?  Why?"  She didn't even know what she was asking.  She groaned in agony, but no tears came, because changelings can't cry.

"None of this was on purpose," he said, realizing how brittle it sounded.  But it was the truth.  It had all just... happened.  Nopony gets to choose whom they love.  "You have to come with me.  We can raise our offspring on the surface.  I'll even stay like this for you.  I won't have them change me back.  I'm... I'm begging you, Cricket."

"I'd be a criminal in your society.  An outcast."

"Nobody would have to know what you were, don't you see?  What we were.  We could be anypony we wanted!"

"What about your Canterlot Intel buddies?  We're at war!  CI would put a blade in me as easily as shake my claw."

"You can request asylum.  Celestia will have to take you in.  You don't understand, she's not like Chrysalis--"

"Don't you dare say anything bad about the Queen," said Cricket.  "Don't you dare!  I don't even want to know what you've done to hurt my society.  To hurt my hive!"

He didn't say anything.  He couldn't.

"What about my work in the nursery chambers?" she continued.  "What about my family?  I have an entire life here!"

"I know."

"And so do you, Mantid, so do you!"

"That's... that's just an alias.  My real name is--"

"No.  Please, don't."

"Okay."

"Why can't you just stay here with me?  Just... forget that you were ever a pony?"

"If CI's back in town, my cover's blown.  The warrior caste is probably already closing in on my trail."

"You've led the warriors to me??" she asked with alarm.

"You'll be fine.  You can deny everything.  Tell them you were used, heartbroken, that you had no idea."

"Tell them the truth, in other words," she said in a flat tone.

"I'm so sorry," he said.  "Cricket, I'm so sorry I did this to us.  I never thought... I never thought we would... that I..."

"Just stop," she said.  "Stop and get out."

He looked at her one last time, unbearable amounts of every emotion killing him.  He felt like he was dying.  "I'll be at the place next-door to where we met.  I'll be there for twenty-five minutes."  Telling her this was a horrible risk.  Unconscionable.  But there was absolutely no alternative.  "Twenty-five minutes.  Then I'll be gone.  I love you.  If we don't see each other again, just please believe that I never lied to you about that."

Her breathing was ragged, like she was about to let out a sob or a scream of anger.  But she said nothing.

He tossed his silk satchel over his back and left.




*   *   *















Pinkie and the Spy 
















*   *   *




Chapter 1







Pinkie Pie snorted with fury, pawing a hoof at the ground.  Sweat poured in rivulets down her neck.  Her muscles-- unaccustomed to the rigors of physical combat-- were so wracked by fatigued that it took a conscious effort to remain standing.  But she had to win.  She just had to!

It was time for desperate measures.  

"Planning to attack anytime today?" taunted Rainbow Dash, bouncing on her hooves.  She was wearing her cap, but she'd removed her whistle for this exercise.  "'Cause if you just plan on eyeballing me, I'll mail you an 8x10 glossy and save us both the afternoon."

"Jeez, give me a second, Dashie!" puffed Pinkie.  "I'm thinking up a battle cry."

Dash arched an eyebrow.  "Do you really think Discord or Chrysalis would give you that chance?"

"Kawai-i-i-i-i-i-i-i!" screamed Pinkie Pie, launching herself forward.  She devoured the ten paces between them in two powerful gallops and leaped up into a flying back-kick.

Dash dodged to the side and grabbed Pinkie's ankle in midair, pivoting like a shot put thrower.  Pinkie flipped head-over-hooves and slammed down onto her back, rolling out on the gym floor.

"You telegraphed again," said Dash walking over to help her up.  But Pinkie wasn't there anymore, just a cardboard cutout of the smiling, waving pony.  The cutout tipped over and fell flat.  "You've got to be kidding me," growled Dash.  She turned to the apparently empty gym.  "No powers, Pinkie Pie!  That was the deal!"

"Oh, Dashie," came a voice from directly behind her.  "I don't have any powers, I'm just a pastry chef!"

Dash spun around.  "Pinkie!  Stand still for just one --whooop!"

Pinkie yanked a long rug out from underneath Dash, sending the blue pegasus flipping backwards to crash onto her head.  The rug had almost certainly not been there a moment before.

Dash leaped up into the air, snorting with fury, "You're not following the rules!  We're supposed to be practicing pure hoof-to-hoof combat."

"Okay, okay, sorry!" said Pinkie.  She put her dukes up.  "Come at me, sister!"

Dash landed on the ground and charged Pinkie at a gallop.  But just as Dash grew near, Pinkie held up a hoof and screamed, "Waaaaiit!"

The rainbow pegasus barely screeched to a halt.  "What??  What??"

"Got to put my hard-hat on," said Pinkie.  She placed a plastic yellow helmet on her head.  "Can't be too careful about rockslides and all."

"Pinkie..." said Dash in a warning tone.

"Okay, I'm ready!  Attack if you really, really want to."

Rainbow Dash reared back a hoof to strike, then dove away, curling into a ball.  She peeked upwards with a single eye.  Nothing.  Alright, alright, she thought, leaping back to her hooves and charging at Pinkie.  Dash was less than a meter away from her target when a quarter-ton of rocks fell from above and crashed down upon her.  

One, last, tiny rock hit Pinkie's hard-hat with a clack.

"Wow!" said Pinkie.  "Good thing I put this on!"

Dash crawled out from under the rocks.  She was scuffed and bruised but otherwise okay.

"You..." she wheezed, "are a gosh-darn, dirty cheater."

"And you love me anyway!"

"Pinkie, this isn't some game," said Dash, standing up and dusting herself off.  "One of these days, the Elements are going to have to fight something that can take our magic away, or scramble it.  That's what Twilight said, anyway.  My pegasus magic, Twilight's unicorn magic, your... your... whatever it is that you have..."

"Attention Deficit Disorder?"

"Whatever.  The point is: we have to learn how to fight in all styles, including hoof-to-hoof."

"Easy for you to say, Dashie," said Pinkie Pie.  "You always win then."

"You're still doing better than Twilight.  She's just so small.  She has a lot of trouble matching even medium-weight mares like myself without her magic.  Celestia forbid she has to brawl with a griffon or a mule someday.  We have to be ready for anything."

"What about Rarity?"

"Rarity hates to get her mane messed-up," said Dash, "but she practices Tai-Chi to relax and she's taken a lot of dance lessons.  It's coming pretty naturally to her."

"Well, jeez!" said Pinkie.  "I must be doing better than Fluttershy at least!"

Dash glanced to the side and didn't answer.

"What?" asked Pinkie.

"Uh, she beat the stuffing out of me."

"What??"

"See, she's got this friend who's a bear--"

"I thought that was a lie!" said Pinkie.  "So that I wouldn't find out about my birthday party that time!"

"Nope," said Dash.  "She really knows a bear.  With a bad back.  A bear with a bad back.  So, she took this combat-chiropractic course through the mail--"

"She knows a bear??"

"Yes!" said Dash again.  "But you know what?  I don't really want to talk about it.  Let's just say that after my last training session with Fluttershy, I needed a real chiropractor.  Now help me clean up; we're all done for the day."

The mares set Dash's home-gym in order, then wandered back down the hallway of her cloud-house to the kitchen.  Dash poured herself a soy-protein booster and took a sip.  "Hey, want to go drinking with me and AJ tonight?"

"Where you going?"

"Some place called the Feed Trough.  I have to warn you, it's AJ's pick.  It has an actual spittoon."

"Sounds like fun, but I've already got plans.  Agent and I are taking the overnight train to Manehattan."

Dash cocked her head.  "You're still with that guy?"

"Three months on Friday!"

Dash whistled.  "That's pretty much the make-it-or-break-it point.  Either self-disclosure happens or it's time to move on."

Pinkie stared at her for a moment.  "Moose?"

"You should listen to me, wise-guy.  Self-disclosure.  Honesty.  You know, 'cause you're not on best-behavior anymore.  My book said it usually happens after three months."

"You're so nerdy now, Rainbow Dash.  Twilight made you into a big nerd!"

The cyan pegasus rolled her eyes.  "Oh yeah?  Well, your coltfriend has a weird name."

"You know it's not his name, it's his alias."

"Pinkie, if he doesn't have any other name, then Agent is his name."

"No," said Pinkie firmly.  "He has a real name.  It's a secret, and one of these days, I'll find out what it is."

"And then the magic will be gone!" said Dash.  "Poof!  Anyway, he's too old for you."

"He's only thirty-two!  You and I are twenty-seven, or did you forget again?"

"Every chance I get," said Dash, bemused.  "But I wasn't talking about age, I was talking about oldness.  And 'the Agent,' so-called, is nothing but a geezer in a young colt's body.  He's a starched suit, Pinkie!"

"He's a secret spy-pony is what he is!" said Pinkie, with a touch of real irritation.  "He's in great shape, he's really smart, and he could probably beat you in a hoof-to-hoof fight, even with your powers.  If all of that doesn't twirl your tail, then you must be holding out for the pony messiah or something."

Dash looked at her, surprised, then broke into a smug grin.  "You know, all this time I assumed this was just another one of your weird flings.  But Pinkie... you're sprung!!"

"Sprung?  I'm not sprung!  Who's sprung?  Not me!"

"You're sprung," said Dash.  "Holy crap.  Over a joyless government cog."

"Phooey on you," said Pinkie, waving a dismissive hoof.  "You're only bad-mouthing him because you're jealous you have to share me with somepony else now.  But don't worry, Dashie, you're still my best friend!"  Pinkie beamed at her.

Dash crossed her forelegs and didn't say anything for a moment.  Then she turned back to the sink and started washing the dishes.  "He really must be something special."

"He's nice to me," said Pinkie.  "He makes me feel good about myself."

Dash sighed.  "Well, if he breaks your heart, I'm going to zap him with my Element of Loyalty beam."

"We'll make it a double-barreled shot," said Pinkie.  "Okay?"

"Okay.  Have fun on your vacation."

"Oh, it's not a vacation, silly," said Pinkie.  "It's a top-secret mission!  So don't tell anypony, okay?"

Dash looked up at her.  "You're kidding."

"I am so not kidding," stated Pinkie for the record.  "We're going to investigate rumors of an enemy spy-ring operating in the city.  I'm officially his bodyguard!  Isn't that exciting?"

"I thought your super-spy could kill ponies with his bare-hooves."

"He says I'm a non-lethal solution."

"Then he must not know you very well, after all," said Dash with a snort.  "Have fun, don't get killed."

"Rules, rules, rules," grumbled Pinkie Pie.









------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Picture Credit:

http://img09.deviantart.net/02e2/i/2012/112/6/f/chrysalis_hive_wallpaper_by_purpletoad-d4x9oa4.png
http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/017/7/9/pinkiepie_heart_pony_set_by_sk8pants-d4mn0it.png
http://fc06.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2012/198/3/2/cb_pinkie_pie_wallpaper_by_internationaltck-d57nlzk.jpg
> Chapter 2:  Bad Mojo
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2







Pinkie lay on her back on a hotel bed, pressing a pillow over her face to stifle a groan.

"I," she said, "am so bored!!"

Nearby, the Agent swept a crystal sensor around the room, scanning each of the corners and vents, then underneath all of the furniture.  They had checked into the hotel under the cover of being tourists, and the Agent still wore a floppy, straw hat over his shock of white mane.  Behind him, the Manehattan skyline glittered in the afternoon sun.  The hotel room had a great view.

"Just another minute, Pinkie," said the Agent in his cultured Trottingham accent.  He adjusted a pair of owlish spectacles.  "We have to make sure nopony is listening in."  He went into the bathroom and waved the device around some more.

"Listening in?" said Pinkie.  She grinned to herself.  "Maybe you and I should just leave the bugs where they are."

"I've been on the other end of that scenario," he said with an arched eyebrow, as he scanned around the mirror and under the tub.  "It was awkward.  Interesting, but awkward."

"Awkward, but interesting!  Just like you."

A laugh-snort echoed from the bathroom.  After another minute, the Agent returned to the main room and tossed the crystal sensor into his saddlebag.  He frisbeed the straw hat over to Pinkie, and she caught it in midair.  

"Room's clean," said the Agent.  "No listening devices, magical or otherwise."  He brought out a folder of papers, walking over to spread its contents on the tiny hotel-table.

Pinkie hopped off the bed and came to take a look.  Inside the folder was a stack of crime-scene reports with accompanying photographs.

"Ew," said Pinkie Pie, peering over the Agent's shoulder.  "Dead bodies."

"Murder," said the Agent.  "They were eating lunch at a local bistro and ka-boom.  Three of Canterlot Intel's best ponies, and they died a peasant's death."

"What did the sciency ponies say?"

"That's just it," said the Agent, tapping his quill on the desk.  "Forensics found traces of trinitrotoluene embedded in the walls.  TNT.  Strange, right?  Changelings, griffons, they don't use that stuff, just us."

Pinkie could read the names of the dead: The Matchstick, The Boxer, The Prism.  All code-names, like the Agent.  Dead spies.

"It could just as easily have been me in that pile," said the Agent.  He brought out a magnifying glass, cross-checking photos with written records.  "Other than the TNT, the only thing suspicious about the evidence is the lack of it.  Whoever did this was a real pro."

He leafed through photo after photo, full-page, full-color, each one worse than the last.  After a few more moments, Pinkie got tired of looking at them.  This is the opposite of romantic, she thought.  She walked back to her travel bags, unpacking her evening clothes into the closet.

"Makes you wonder..." said the Agent under his breath.

"What?"

"What we're doing.  CI.  If we're really helping anypony, or if we're just throwing ourselves headfirst into the corn thresher for no reason."

"Whoah," said Pinkie, "next stop Dreary Lane!  I know a pony who lives there, but he only bakes muffins."

The Agent didn't respond.  He was staring at the photos.  "Headfirst into the thresher," he said.  The next picture was of a severed hoof on a sidewalk.

Pinkie lifted an evening dress out of her suitcase and wondered if she'd even need it while they were here.  "You knew them, didn't you?" she said, turning to look over her shoulder.  "The ponies who died."

"Well, they were my colleagues.  I worked with them sometimes."

"It's more than that," said Pinkie.  "They meant something to you.  I can see it in your shoulders."

The Agent didn't answer for a moment.  At last he said, "The details are all classified.  I can't rightly talk about it.  You weren't even supposed to see these photos."

"Lucky me," she said, rolling her eyes.  "I don't actually care about the case, anyway.  I'm asking about you."

"I'm fine, Pinkie.  I'm fine.  But very busy right now, so no more questions.  Find something else to do for a while."

"Jeez-louise, Agent, I'm just trying to help.  Tell me how you knew these ponies--"

"No!" he said, slapping the folder closed.  "Don't ask again!"

An expression of pain flashed across Pinkie's face, but then she arched a defiant eyebrow.  "Fine," she said.  "I'm going to get some ice."

"Uh-huh," he said.  He drew the curtains back for light and straightened his spectacles, shuffling through more papers.  He didn't even look up as Pinkie left.




*   *   *




The hotel-hallway scent mingled with the exaggerated freshness of air-conditioning.  Pinkie padded down the red and gold carpet to the ice machine.  A hum of frost magic from the device echoed through the alcove as she stood there with her forehead resting against the wall.  Eventually, the machine made a loud cha-kunk-whoosh, and the latest batch of ice-cubes dropped down into the bin.  She gave a great sigh.

Maybe this was a mistake, she thought, scooping ice into the bucket.  Maybe I should have just stayed home.

She'd seen it growing in his eyes as the train neared Manehattan this morning.  Darkness.  The shadows of war.  Now that they'd arrived, that shadow had fallen over him completely.  Only several hours into their day and she could barely reach him.

His work was bound to come between them occasionally.  He was a spy.  But the fact that he was so adamant about shutting her out now, all of a sudden, made her suspect the worst.  Something very personal about the case was dragging him down, and his instincts were to fight her rather than let her in.

Is it always going to be like this?  Can I put up with this sort of thing in the long term?  After three months together, they were staring a "real relationship" in the face.  Was this the kind of pony she really wanted to be with?  Somepony secretive, reticent?  Sometimes un-cheer-uppable?

Mares always think we can change our stallions, don't we!?  But all we can really change are our expectations.  They were too different; she needed more than he was willing to give.  He was probably the least appropriate candidate in the whole world for "Pinkie's first serious relationship" anyway.  Even the girls secretly scoffed at the idea.  Dash scoffed openly.

And yet, there was something good about him.  Something kind, buried under the layers of ash and rock.  He was so dedicated to his mission.  She had to admire that kind of single-mindedness, since she possessed nothing of the sort.  He made her laugh, too, with a black sense of humor tuned to a perfect counterpoint with her cotton-candy schtick.

And he really cared about her.  He worried about her, and took care of her.  She suspected that he loved her.  Why was it so hard to get him to show it?  He could be as blank as his flank, sometimes.

She returned to the room, feeling confused.  When she opened the door, the Agent was sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her.  The file folder was gone.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"Look, uh," he said, scratching behind his ear, "sorry about that.  I shouldn't have pulled those crime-scene pictures out like they were nothing.  I'm so jaded by now that I forget how stuff like that looks to civilians."

"I'm not a civilian," Pinkie said carefully.  "I'm an Element of Harmony.  I've seen dead bodies before."

"It's different seeing them every day," said the Agent.  His eyes moved out the window to the city skyline.  "Every damn day."

"You're doing it again!" she stormed.

"What?" he said, looking back at her in surprise.

"You're bringing yourself down!  Knock it off!!"

He tilted his head and his face relaxed a little.  "I'm just being realistic about the case.  You don't understand what's at stake here."

"Because you won't tell me!" she said, bonking him on the forehead.  "You've got to tell me what's bothering you or I can't help!  And don't pull the whole 'confidentialityness' business on me, either.  Celestia said we Elements can know things about secret government stuff, and if something is bothering you, I want you to share it with me.  If you don't share it, it's because you don't want to!"

"Sharing can get the attention of the wrong sort," said the Agent.  "Loose lips sink ships and all that."

"This ship isn't sinking, and neither are these lips," said Pinkie.  

"Not now, I suppose," said the Agent, looking at her sideways.

"You know what I mean!  Bad guys always have a tough time with me."

He snorted.  "How very true."

"So?"

"So," he replied with a sigh.  

"Is it the ponies who got killed?" she asked.  "Is that what's bothering you so much?"

"Yes," he answered.

"They were your friends?"

Hesitation.  "Yes."

She grabbed him by the shoulders and started shaking vigorously.  "Well!?"

"Look," he said, grasping at her forehooves.  He couldn't help but crack a smile at her antics.  "Look, look, I'll tell you the rest later.  I promise.  Just... let me think on it for a while.  You may be an Element of Harmony, but that doesn't mean we can bust the whole secrets-pinata right open just because we're dating."

Pinkie pursed her lips and cast him a suspicious look.  "Secrets pinata, huh?  Well, I don't like you saying 'no' to me, but I do like the way you're saying 'no.'  It just seems like you're getting really emotional about it.  Princess Luna says that makes ponies predictable.  She says predictable ponies walk into traps.  And I'm supposed to be your bodyguard, after all."

The Agent regarded her.  He stroked his chin then glanced at the ground in embarrassment.  "You're right."

"I know!"

"I've been disrespectful.  I can see you're only trying to help."

"Yeah, duh!"

He gave her a bemused look.

"I can still leave, if that's what you want," she said.

"No, don't do that," he said, putting his hooves up.  "I want you to stay, please.  I'm sorry if it seemed like I didn't.  I do need you here, and I promise that once we're done with this mess, we can make some time just for each other.  We can take a real vacation-- the Sun Keys, or the Crystal Kingdom.  Or we can just bust jaywalkers in Ponyville for a while."

This almost got a smile out of her.  "Well, I hear spies are good liars."

"Not me.  I always look up and to the left."

Pinkie sat down on the bed and leaned against him.  He tucked his chin over the top of her head.  For a few moments, neither of them spoke.  Then she sighed against his chest.  "Say nice things to me?"

"Of course," he said, throwing his foreleg around her shoulders.  "Okay, okay, first of all, you're beautiful.  Right proper peng, in fact.  But that's obvious."

Pinkie giggled.  "Peng.  Traveling's got me all bloated, though."

"Then it's a good thing I'm just as attracted to your heart as I am to your heart-shaped ass."

"Nice," she said, bemused.

"You're gorgeous, Pinkie, really.  Those eyes, that coat.  Right perfect, hotter than hay-on-fire."

She arched an eyebrow with guarded affection and pursed her lips.  "Do my personality now?"

"Oh alright, if I must," he said with mock exasperation.  "Look, it's easy to assume that you've lived a charmed life, Pinkie, because of your cheerful nature.  It's what most ponies think about you.  But having to make it on your own at such a young age; what you've endured as an Element...  All that, and you've managed somehow to retain your innocence.  You're a role model to the rest of us, and that's helped me get some of my faith back.  More than some.  A lot, really.  And I can use all I can get."

"Okay," she said, and she kissed him on the cheek.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said with a huff.  She wasn't angry anymore.

"Good, 'cause I was running out of sappy things to say."

She gave him another bemused look.  "I only make this face around you," she said.

"That's because you actually care what I think," said the Agent.  "But I care what you think about me, too."  He looked around with nonchalance.  "Hint, hint, as you might say."

"Okay," she said.  "You're the best listener I've ever met, but I wish you'd talk more!"

He arched an eyebrow.  "That's all!?  I wrote you a bloody sonnet just now!"

"That's 'cause it was an apology-sonnet."

"Mare logic at it's finest."  He tickled her so that she squealed, then he kissed her for real.  They lingered there for more than a moment.

At last, she pulled back and ruffled his mane with her hoof.  "Are you really going to be okay, Agent?"

"Yeah, I think so.  Thanks for reminding me to take a step back.  I am getting emotional about the details of this case, and I knew I would.  I guess I'm not really used to depending on other ponies.  I asked you to come along because I hoped that you'd keep me grounded.  "

"If any of the girls heard you say that, they'd laugh their cutie marks right off."

He cocked a half-smile.  "Look, do you want to go dancing tonight?"

Pinkie's eyebrows went up.  "Yes?"

"How about dinner?  On the Princess's private credit account?"

"Uh, yes!?"

"We might as well enjoy ourselves, then," he said with a shrug.  "The lab geeks won't be in town until tomorrow, anyway.  I was just going to do some prelim tonight, take a few statements, but I guess it can wait until we've got more hooves on the ground."  He glanced over at the bedside clock.  "We'll have to make a pit-stop on the way back from the club, though.  It won't take more than a few minutes."

"A pit-stop?  Where?"

The Agent cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles.  "Uh, the city morgue."

Pinkie stared at him for a long moment.  Then she started laughing and couldn't stop.  He looked at her with surprise before erupting into his own laughter.  They fell onto their backs on the bed and guffawed until they were both out of breath.

"You are so yourself," said Pinkie.

"You are so yourself," said the Agent.  He put his forelegs out for a hug.

Pinkie rolled over into his embrace, breathing in the scent of his cologne as he enveloped her.  

I really do like this guy, she thought, feeling the threads of uncertainty tug at her heart.  Whatever dark side there is to him...  I've always had flings, but this is different.  This is real.  It scared her a little.

So she giggled.




*   *   *




Pinkie and the Agent asked the desk clerk at the hotel to recommend the most expensive restaurants in the city, and finally decided on an upscale pasta place.  After a short carriage ride, they arrived at their destination, and Pinkie squee'd with delight to see the indoor fountain and chamber quartet.

"Fancy!" she exclaimed as they walked in, then giggled as the other guests eyed her with irritation.  "Cranky," she whispered to the Agent, and they both laughed behind their hooves as they waited for their table.

Dinner was incredible, especially with Canterlot Intelligence picking up the tab.  After a pair of delectable entree salads, Pinkie got to try all the various desserts on the cart.

"So?" asked the Agent, once Pinkie had eaten a bite of everything and gone back for seconds on her favorites.

"Meh," said Pinkie, chewing and shrugging.  "Under-impressive!"

The Agent arched an eyebrow.  "You're the best cook I've ever met, but are you telling me you're better than this?"

"Better baker for sure," she said, mouth half-full of tiramisu.  She washed it down with the rest of her champagne.  "I couldn't do the entrees like they do 'em, though.  My squash-lasagna has never been a fan-favorite."

The Agent squinted at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Just trying to resist making a dirty joke.  Whew, almost slipped out."

"You should have just said it."

"Nah, it would have been too obvious."

"It's not in the substance, silly pony," said Pinkie, bonking him gently on the forehead.  "It's in the delivery.  For example, 'That's funny, Pinkie, I heard the Canterlot hoofball team greatly enjoyed your squash-lasagna, although they did say it was a little too loose and sloppy for their tastes."

"I heard the party was over when you told them the green stuff wasn't pesto," said the Agent.

"Now you're getting it!" she said.  "Gross!"

"I love you."

Pinkie dropped her fork on her plate with a tremendous clatter.  Everypony in the restaurant turned to look at her.  She smiled and waved at them, until one-by-one they'd all turned back around.  

The Agent was fumbling with his napkin.  "Horseradish," he said, not looking at her.  "That was a mistake."

"You didn't mean it?" asked Pinkie with a pained look.

"No, no, I did!  I do.  I mean, I just... I thought it was a good time to tell you, but... it wasn't, was it?"

"It's okay," said Pinkie, putting her hoof out to stop his nervous napkin-wringing.  "It's okay.  You know what's crazy?  I love you too!"  She was already laughing, and then she had another thought which got her laughing even harder.

"Is something funny?" asked the Agent with a wary smile.

"Three months!" she said, "Self-disclosure!  Dashie was right!  She was right!"

The Agent loosened his tie and dabbed at his forehead with the napkin.  "Sweet Celestia, I thought I'd blown it."

"No, you said the right thing.  I'll admit, I was kind of having some doubts back at the hotel.  I... I thought maybe I was barking up the wrong tree."

"You've got the right tree," said the Agent with a crooked grin.  "And you can play in my branches anytime."  They looked at each other.  "Yeah," said the Agent, "That analogy doesn't--"

"--yeah, it doesn't really work," finished Pinkie.  "Oh, well.  But I still love you, even though you're ridiculous."  Then she erupted into giggles again and stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth.  "What the hay are we doing together?  We're such opposites, Agent."

"Opposites attract."

"Sometimes," said Pinkie.  "But sometimes they're like, you know, bleach and ammonia.  Then you pass out on the kitchen floor for an hour until Twilight opens a window."

"That...," said the Agent.  "You mixed...!?  Pinkie, that creates chlorine gas!  You were lucky to survive!  When did this happen?"

"Oh, a while ago.  I'm fine now!  And it taught me a very valuable lesson."

The Agent waited, staring at her.

"But I forget what it was.  Oh, well!  More dessert?"

"Uh--" said the Agent.

"Bring the tray around again," said Pinkie to the waiter.




*   *   *
	







An hour later, they found themselves engulfed in a strobe-light gloom, immersed in a sea of ponykind.  They thrashed their bodies to the pounding bass, the music vibrating down to their bones.

Pinkie danced her heart out, and the Agent had quite a repertoire of moves himself.  He had once explained that dance-instruction had been part of his cover-identity training.  Pinkie found it hilarious to watch her normally-staid stallion cut loose, even knowing that he'd only learned to dance so that he could be a better killer.

After a while, the fast trance mix gave way to a slower, more methodical dubstep, and Pinkie and the Agent made their way over to the bar.  The only place to stand was right next to a speaker.

"I gotta pee!" said Pinkie.

"What!?" he asked, putting a hoof to his ear.

"I have to pee!!"

"Wha-at?"

"I said--"

Just then, the techno beat in the song behind them dropped, leaving the entire club in one second of silence.

"I have to pee!!!" screamed Pinkie Pie into room.  Then the beat started up and, and the steady pulse of the club music thundered back.

The Agent was howling with laughter.  She rolled her eyes and turned his chin towards her, pulling him into a deep kiss.  She shot him a double-dose of her crystal-blues as she backed away.  "Get us drinks," Pinkie said with a wink, then turned away and began to push around the edge of the club towards the restroom.  She knew he watched her until she was out of sight.

For once, she found an empty stall right away.  Pinkie went in and did her business, listening to mares entering and leaving the bathroom.  The heavy bass from the dance floor thumped through the walls, echoing in warbling tones off the glass and tile.

At last, she slung her purse around her neck, and exited the stall into the main bathroom area.  It was empty.  Good, she thought.  Pinkie wasn't a shy girl, but she still felt a little weird about walking out into a crowd of mares right after they'd heard her watering the flowers.

She approached the sink.  I look cute tonight, she thought with some satisfaction.  She made moon eyes at herself in the mirror.  Her tail began to twitch.

A blur of motion burst from the stall directly behind her, and two forehooves slipped a rope garrote down over her face, yanking Pinkie off her forelegs as the weapon constricted around her neck.  Pinkie's vision exploded into spots of light as her airway squeezed shut, and she felt herself and her attacker slam backwards into one of the metal partitions.

Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh! she thought in a blind panic.  The rope pressed even further, and a hoof crushed into the small of her back for leverage, allowing the attacker to close off her windpipe entirely.  Pinkie clawed at the rope with her hooves, but to no avail.  Her vision narrowed to a point and her lungs burned for air.  With her last thoughts, she pulled herself back together.  Wait a second.  What the hay am I doing?  Silly Pinkie!

The assailant pulled on the garrote with all of her might, aiming for a point between unconsciousness and death, feeling cartilage creaking like old wood.  But then a hoof tapped her on the shoulder, startling her out of her wits.

The assailant whipped around to look into the stall that had been empty seconds before.  Pinkie Pie was sitting there, looking cheerful as ever.

"Whatcha' doin?" asked the pink pony.

With surreal shock, the assailant, who was a blue earth-pony mare, turned back to the body she had supposedly garroted.  There was nothing there but thin air.

The assailant spun and leaped for Pinkie, teeth bared, iron-shod hooves flashing with deadly intent.  Pinkie kicked the stall-door shut right in her face.  There was a significant impact on the other side, causing the metal to dent in exactly the shape of the assailant's mug.  Pinkie heard a body hit the floor on the other side.  She turned the stall-door's latch closed.

The assailant scrambled back on her hooves, dazed and bloodied.  She reached into her saddlebag and drew a dagger, turning sideways to buck the stall-door off its hinges.  Bam!  The door flew to the back of the stall, crashing against the toilet and shattering the porcelain.  Clean water from the reservoir tank poured out onto the floor.

The stall was empty.

The assailant moved over to the next stall, found it locked, and kicked that door off its hinges as well.  Bam!

Also empty.

Only one stall left.  The assailant gritted her teeth as she prepared for the final attack.

Bam!  The door folded in half, as its moorings splintered.  It crashed all the way to the back of an empty stall.

"Where the... hay?" said the blue mare.  That was when she noticed the big, yellow sign stuck to the wall of the last stall.

RAILROAD XING.

A clanging bell sounded, and then, out of nowhere, a full-sized freight train came roaring across the space of the bathroom, defying every law of physics by what some might call "a healthy margin."  The locomotive slammed into the knife-wielding assailant at a hundred kilometers-per-hour, and should very rightly have liquified her.  But instead, the assassin bounced around the room like a pinball, eventually crashing head-down into the sink as the caboose passed out-of-frame. 

Pinkie stepped out from behind the back-partition next to the wall, rubbing her throat painfully as she approached the unconscious mare.  She grabbed her would-be captor by the scruff of her neck and dragged her out of the sink onto the floor, then reached down and turned her over.  Nopony she knew.

For a moment, Pinkie was furious.  Visions of butcher's-knives danced in her mind's eye.  "I ought to make cupcakes out of you," she said in a black tone, and a few locks of her curly hair fell straight.  She only said things like this when she was sure nopony would hear her.  After another few, deep breaths, however, she started calming down and thinking a little more clearly.

What would Agent do?? she wondered.  Dig around in her pockets!  Look for ID.

She started searching the unconscious mare, but was interrupted by a sudden pounding on the door.  Pinkie propped the mare against the wall, then ran over to the bathroom's entrance.  Her assailant had apparently locked the door on her way in, and Pinkie undid the bolt.

She opened the door to greet a pair of huge bouncers.

"Hi there!" said Pinkie with an excess of cheerful charm.  "Sorry, my dumb, drunk friend locked the door, then passed out while I was trying to help her pee.  If you just let us through to the exit, I'll take her out of here and you'll never have to see us silly mares again."

"Your friend looks unconscious," said one of the bouncers, whose cutie-mark was a broken pool-cue.  "She might have alcohol poisoning."

"Nah," said Pinkie, waving a hoof.  "She does this all the time.  Narco... narco..."

"Narcoleptic?" said the other bouncer in a voice so deep it was practically seismic.  "You'd better not be trying to saying 'narcotics.'"

"Narcoleptic, yeah," said Pinkie.

"I think we'd better call an ambulance anyway," said the first bouncer.  "Insurance purposes and all."

"Excuse me," said a voice off to the side.  The Agent stepped out of the crowd and walked up next to them.  He held up a police badge.  "Hi, the name is Gold Shield, Manehattan PD, off-duty.  If you want, I'll drive this young lady to County General myself."

The bouncer took the Agent's ID and examined it.  He looked like the kind of pony who knew how to spot a fake.  After a moment, the bouncer looked to the other and nodded.

"Okay," said the second bouncer.  "Thanks, guy."

"No problem at all," said the Agent.  "You fellows have a good night."

Once he and Pinkie had carried the blue mare out onto the street and down a little ways, the Agent turned to Pinkie and finally let his sense of alarm reach his face.  "Who is this??" he whispered to her.

"Good question!" said Pinkie.  "She tried to strangle me with a rope, but it's okay.  A train hit her."

"What the hay??  A train??  Look, never mind.  We have to get--"

The blue mare started struggling, waking up, mumbling and rolling her head.  With a single, smooth motion, the Agent pulled a syrette of morphine from his vest pocket and hit her in the leg with it.  Pinkie and the Agent both watched in nervous anticipation, but it only took a few seconds for the sedative to make the mare's head loll and then she was out like a lantern again.

The Agent looked up.  "Are you okay?" he asked.  "Really?"

"I'm fine," said Pinkie, waving him off.  "Probably won't be doing any singing for a little while, but I've gotten hurt worse than this wearing a scarf in a wind-tunnel.  Don't do that by the way.  Ba-a-a-ad mojo."

The Agent didn't look like he was satisfied with her answer, but they couldn't exactly stand around on the street with an unconscious enemy assassin between them.  He hailed a carriage and together, Pinkie and the Agent wrestled the blue earth-pony mare through the door and laid her across one bench.

"Party hard?" asked the driver with a wink.

"You have no idea," said Pinkie.

The moment they were in motion, the Agent inspected her bruised neck with a pen-light.  A fire ignited in his dark-blue eyes.  His mouth became a hard line.  "Where's the weapon?"

"Here," said Pinkie, retrieving it from her purse and handing it to him.

He held it up.  "This is a capture-garrote, not a kill-wire.  They were trying to take you prisoner.  Good thing they didn't know who they were dealing with.  It looks like you fairly cleaned this mare's clock."

"I almost didn't," said Pinkie.  Now that her adrenalin high was coming down, she was starting to feel a little dizzy and emotional.  The shakes rolled over her and her teeth chattered.

The Agent placed his foreleg around her shoulders.  "I know how you feel," he said, meeting her eyes.  "But you survived.  You're okay.  And we've both got to maintain our focus now.  There will be plenty of time to dwell on all of this later."

"Why would they want to capture me, anyway?  Because of my Harmony Gem?"

For a moment, the Agent's spectacles caught the glare from the carriage lantern, totally obscuring his eyes.  "No," he said.  "They wanted you for bait. "









-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Picture Credit:

http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2012/212/c/2/sweetie_pinkie_pie_remix_by_guesswork00-d598v6l.png
http://hqwallpapers.eu/wallpaper/portal_my_little_pony_pinkie_pie_desktop_1920x1200_wallpaper-1084639.png
http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SOzvtAQdQWk/UDN1IoaST7I/AAAAAAAAAM4/ZBbzY2HSSHM/s1600/Train.jpg

> Chapter 3: Lucky Seven
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3







From the outside, the CI safe house looked like just another run-down, pay-by-the-week apartment building.  The white, stucco walls of the four-story walk-up were streaked by decades of dirt and soot.  Not only did the ground-floor windows have heavy bars, but many of them looked like they'd been glassless for years.  A rusted sign promised, "Prefurnished!"

The carriage pulled to a stop in front of the place and Pinkie paid the driver what was owed, plus a sizable tip for his discretion.  Then she and the Agent wrestled the blue earth-pony assassin through the front doors into the vestibule.

Pinkie wouldn't have thought it possible, but the building looked even worse on the inside.  Rats, roaches, and cracked tiles greeted them as they entered.  Mold grew along every inch of grouting, and the bare gas-lamp in the ceiling was an open buffet for a lively insect ecosystem.

The Agent rang the bell for number seven.

"Lucky seven," commented Pinkie.

"Let's hope so," said the Agent.

After a moment, a female voice came back through the speaker.  "We don't accept salesmen!"

"Of course not, ma'am," said the Agent, "but I am offering a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here.  Do yourself a favor and take a look at our great deal on Encyclopedia Canterlotia.  Everypony should be informed."

A pause.  Then the tinny voice again: "I'm not interested in volume Q.  I already own volume Q."

"That's okay, our set was never printed with a volume Q.  We offer two volume R's instead."

Another long pause.

"Are they going to let us in?" whispered Pinkie.

"Either that or release the poison gas."

Pinkie giggled, but her laughter faded when she realized he was serious.  She wondered how quickly she could get to one of her emergency stashes of gas-masks.

After another tense minute, the inner-door buzzed at last.  The Agent lifted the blue mare onto his back and pushed into the building proper with Pinkie following close behind.

The stairwell interior was spartan and not much better maintained than the vestibule.  They passed a few shabby-looking residents on their way up the stairs.  It was the kind of place where the sight of a pony carrying an unconscious mare went essentially unnoticed.

"This place has real ponies living in it?" said Pinkie.

"Yes," said the Agent.  "Our destination is only one of four floors.  The other tenants add that certain je ne sais quois that has kept this place hidden for more than a century."

They passed a wino, drunk in a corner.  His cutie mark was a tan jug with three X's on it.  "Spare a bit?" he wheezed.

Pinkie tossed him a few coins.

"Celestia bless you!" he said.

After they'd walked up another flight, the Agent glanced at her sideways.  "He's just going to spend it on booze."

"So was I," said Pinkie with a shrug.

At last, they reached apartment seven.  There was a broken gas-lamp in the hallway just outside the door.  The Agent rolled the blue mare off his back and propped her up against the wall.  He knocked three times, then twice, then once.

"Secret knock?" asked Pinkie.

"More of an inside joke.  Spies playing spy, you know?"

A number of hollow clicks sounded from the door as multiple locks disengaged on the other side.  Then the door flew open, revealing a middle-aged, silver-haired, orange mare.  She took one look at the Agent and whistled.

"Well, well!" she said.  "Look who's come crawling back!"

"Hey, Maple," said the Agent.  "It's darn good to see you.  Can we come in?"

"Yes, yes, of course, dear!" said the old mare, stepping back to clear a path into the apartment.  The Agent bent down and hefted the blue assassin onto his back again.  Maple's eyes grew wide.

"Gracious!" she said.  "I thought she was just another hallway junkie!"

"She's on drugs, alright," said the Agent, pushing through the door.  "But not by choice."

"If you know what he means," added Pinkie.  She noticed that Maple was a blank-flank, too.

Maple locked and barred the door behind them as they entered the safe house.  The apartment was cozy and well-tended, unlike the rest of the building, and there were a number of rooms branching from the central living area that looked to be stocked with specialized workshops.  One, for example, sported a miniature printing press and other materials for faking documents.  Another seemed to have a lab of some kind, and yet another room housed a miniature hospital with two beds.

"Pinkie, this is The Maple Leaf, espionage extraordinaire," said the Agent.  "Maple, this is Pinkie Pie, the Element of Laughter."

"I've seen you in the newspaper," said the older pony, shaking Pinkie's hoof.  "You're even prettier in the flesh!"

"Thanks!" said Pinkie.  She sniffed the air.  "Uh, do I smell carrot-cake?  With pineapples and a cream-cheese ribbon?  That's clever, you'll have to give me the recipe."

Maple laughed.  "This girl knows her cakes!  Ten minutes, sweetie."  She turned to consider the blue mare and arched an eyebrow.  "Can I assume this one is a foe?"

"Yes, and let's get her tied up before the morphine wears off."

The old spy-master led Pinkie and the Agent through the archway to the medical-room, where they lifted the blue earth-pony assassin onto one of the mattresses.  The Agent shackled each one of the blue mare's legs and secured them to the frame, which seemed specially designed for this purpose.  He double-checked each of the restraints, then sat down on his haunches.

"So, what happened?" asked Maple.

"She put a rope around Pinkie's neck in a public restroom about half an hour ago."

Pinkie showed Maple her bruised throat.

"Oh, you poor thing!" Maple gasped.  Then she shot the Agent a withering look.  The Agent glanced away.  "It's such a shame when civilians get hurt, isn't it?" she said.

"I'm not a civilian!" said Pinkie.  "Celestia said that Elements have the diplomatic rank of Colonels.  But I don't know what the hay we have to do with popcorn!"

"And how many years of combat training have you had, sweetie?"

"Uh, none?  But it's okay, I still do good in a fight."

"Pinkie," said the Agent.  "Tell her what happened to this assassin."

"Well, she was about to win, but then a train hit her."

"In a public restroom, Maple."

Maple considered Pinkie for a long moment.  Then she shrugged and turned back to the Agent.  "What are you even doing in Manehattan?  You'd better not be investigating the you-know-what."

"I'm here to see the Wonderbolts perform," said the Agent.  "I just love those guys.  Front row tickets and I didn't even have to buy them from a scalper!"

"You're not supposed to be anywhere near this case, Agent."

"To hay with that, Maple!" he said, slamming a hoof on the ground.  "Prism, Match, and Boxer in one hit?  This is personal, and you and I are next in line.  I'm surprised you haven't looked into it yourself."

Maple shook her head.  "You've got to let CI take care of this, dear.  No kidding it's personal, but that doesn't mean you can break policy.  I chose to remain at my post, but if you think you're in danger, let the shop bring you in.  "

"The shop thinks I'm on vacation.  Are you going to tattle on me?"

She just arched an eyebrow at him.

"I can't let this go, Maple," said the Agent.  "I'm sorry.  I've got to find out who killed Match, and I can do it a lot faster than CI's monster-of-the-week team."

Maple let out a sigh.  "Well, it's obvious you've got your mind made up."  She turned to Pinkie.  "I'm so sorry you got caught up in all of this."  Maple lifted her own chin, showing Pinkie where a thin scar sliced horizontally across her pale-orange coat.  "Nasty weapons, garrotes," she said.  "Although I guess all weapons are nasty in their own right."

"Go get some cake, Pinkie," said the Agent.  "I'm not leaving this mare's side until we've gotten everything we can out of her."

"If you're not going to take my advice," said Maple, "will you at least eat something?  You always push yourself so hard."

"He does," Pinkie agreed.

The Agent didn't answer Maple's question.  Instead, he reached into his saddlebag, retrieved a tightly-rolled velvet cloth, and undid the tie holding it shut.  The black fabric opened itself on the floor.  Attached were a number of metal instruments that looked like tools a dentist might use to treat a dragon's toothache.  The Agent doubled-checked that the tools were all there, then leaned against the wall and stared at the blue mare with a cold, all-business expression.  "If she doesn't wake up on her own in twenty minutes," he said, "I'll need access to your pharmacy to speed up the process."

"Of course," said Maple with a nod.

Pinkie stared for a moment at the would-be assassin mare in the bed.  Then she looked down at the black-velvet roll of tools.  She remembered her own brief fantasy, concerning the carving knives.  "I don't know about this, Agent," she said quietly.  "I don't know if I want you to hurt her like that."

The Agent glanced up at Pinkie, and Pinkie took a step back.  There was something in his eyes.  Something cold...

Maple approached Pinkie from behind and put a gentle hoof on her shoulder.  "Come along, sweetheart," she said.  "Let the Agent do his work.  We should take five and get some dessert, yes?  I can tell you've had a hard night."  

Pinkie followed Maple across the apartment, into the kitchen.  She glanced behind her as she did, and saw the Agent slowly running his hoof over the steel implements.  Then he was out of sight.




*   *   *




The carrot cake was delicious, and after a second slice, Pinkie started feeling like herself again.

"You love him," said Maple.

"Yeah," said Pinkie with a sigh.

"But you're afraid of him, too."

Pinkie glanced up, then nodded.

"Loving a spy is one of the hardest things in the world," said Maple, sipping her steaming-hot tea.  "But loving as a spy is even harder.  Remember that when things get tough for you two."

Pinkie looked at her for a few moments before nodding again.  "Okey-dokey-lokey."  Then she said: "You've known Agent for a long time, haven't you?"

"Honey, I knew him before he was called 'the Agent.'  And let me tell you, he was handsome even as a rough-and-tumble colt."

"Was he born gray?"

Maple's eyes sparkled with mystery, but she only sipped her tea again.

Pinkie raised both her eyebrows.  "Well?  What colors was he?  What was his cutie mark?"

"Sweetie, don't take this the wrong way, but in this business, it's quite a faux pas to ask questions like that."

"How am I supposed to love him if I don't even know who he is?"

"You already know who he is, dear," said Maple.  "You just want to know who he was.  And maybe it's better that you not know.  Not if you feel this way about him."

Pinkie didn't say anything.

Maple laughed.  "Then again, I can see you've got that same spark of curiosity that he does.  You'll never rest until you know."

"I guess not," said Pinkie, looking over as if she could see the Agent through the wall.

"Then maybe one day, he'll tell you," said Maple, getting up and taking her dish to the sink.  "It's not my business to reveal his secrets to you, though.  As much as I'd like to."  She winked and Pinkie giggled.

They were interrupted by the sound of an alarm, coming from elsewhere inside the apartment.

Pinkie Pie was up on her hooves in a second, fully expecting enemy spies to come smashing through the windows.  "Are we under attack??"

"No," said Maple, "that's the medical alarm."  She cantered out of the room and towards the hospital bay.  Pinkie followed close behind.

They arrived to find the Agent performing CPR on the blue mare.

"What did you do??" asked Pinkie.

"Nothing, yet!" said the Agent.  "She just started coding out of nowhere.  Get the crash-cart!"

Maple ran over to the corner and hauled back a wheeled-trolley stacked with medical equipment.  

"What can I do?" asked Pinkie.

"Just stay out of the way, sweetie," said Maple, handing the Agent the defibrillator paddles.

Pinkie backpedaled until she hit the wall, then slipped into the doorway.  She watched the Agent place the paddles on the blue mare's chest, while Maple adjusted the dials.

"Three-hundred, Agent," said Maple.  She started preparing a syringe.  "Atropine?"

"Stick her," he said, and Maple made the injection.  "Clear!" said the Agent.

Zap!

Nothing.  

The Agent continued compressions, then squeezed the respirator bulb.  "Four-hundred," he said.  Maple adjusted the dials again.  "Clear!"

Zap!!  The pony convulsed on the bed, then fell back again and lay still.  The EKG ran a flat line.

More compressions; a squeeze of the respirator bulb.  "Five mils of epinephrine," said the Agent.  "Charge to six-hundred."

Maple just looked at him.

"Five mil EPI!" repeated the Agent.  "Charge to six-hundred!"

"It's over," said Maple.  "We've both seen enough to know."

The Agent's voice was like ice.  "Charge the damned machine, Maple."

The old spymaster regarded him calmly.  Then she administered the second injection and turned the dials on the defibrillator.  "EPI in.  Six-hundred and ready."

"Clear!"

Zap!!  The pony's back arched and she strained against her shackles, dragging the metal cuffs across the bedframe.  Then, once again, she fell back and lay still.

No pulse, no breathing.

The Agent glowered for a moment, breathing heavily.  Then with both hooves, he pried open the blue assassin's mouth, dug around inside for a moment, and fished out what looked like a tooth.

"Cyanide capsule," said Maple grimly.

"Horseradish!!" thundered the Agent, and he bucked a hole in the wall.








*   *   *




Twenty minutes later, Pinkie sat on the edge of the bed in one of the safe house's sleeping quarters.  The Agent was standing before the full-length mirror, strapping on a black-bladed dagger and loading a pump-action crossbow.  He screwed a sniper-scope onto the weapon's accessory rail, then aimed at the floor and peered through the lens.

"What do we do now?" asked Pinkie.

"I've got a few leads to investigate," he said, loading a magazine of quarrels into the bottom of his weapon.  He racked the pump-action with a cha-chuk!  "I want you on the first train back to Canterlot Castle."

"No way!" said Pinkie, leaping to her hooves.  "Somepony's got to watch your back if you're planning on going all crazed-berserker out there tonight.  I'm supposed to be your bodyguard for pudding's sake!"

"I can't have you in the line of fire anymore," said the Agent, not looking at her.  "I have to know you're safe.  I'll send an advance request to have the Night Guard place you in protective custody until this is all over.  Let Commander Oatmeal and the rest of his bats handle things; you'll be okay."

"I don't need a guard," said Pinkie, starting to get angry.  She got up in his face and he took a step back.  "I don't need to go back to the castle.  I don't need you to make me safe.  I'm an Element of Harmony!  I've fought and beat worse bad-guys than some lame pony assassin.  Nightmare, Discord, Lord Smooze--"

"You almost got garroted tonight!"

"She took me by surprise," said Pinkie, waving a hoof.  "If I'd seen her coming, she never woulda' touched me."

"Why don't you just do as I say!??" thundered the Agent.

Pinkie Pie crossed her forelegs and arched her eyebrow at him.  She tapped her rear-hoof on the floor impatiently.

The Agent groaned and turned away.

"You're not acting right," said Pinkie.  "You're not like this."

He slung the crossbow and sat down heavily on the bed next to her.  He didn't say anything for a long time.

She could tell he was about to reveal something big.  For once in her life, Pinkie willed her mouth to stay closed.  She needed to hear this.

"I'm sorry I raised my voice at you," he said at last.  "Look... I'm about to divulge some seriously classified information here, but you have a right to know what's going on.  One of the ponies who was killed in the bomb attack last week, The Matchstick.  He trained me.  Eight years.  If I'm any kind of spy now, it's because of him."

Pinkie reached over for his hoof.  He glanced up at her and released a shaking breath as he accepted her comfort.

"When Canterlot Intel picked me up as a teenager," he said, "I was... I wasn't a good pony.  I'd been in trouble for pretty much my whole life, hurt a lot of innocents.  A lot.  By the time CI approached me, I was looking at doing some really hard time.  But the day before my sentencing--"

"For what?" asked Pinkie.

He looked at the floor.  "Attempted murder of a police officer."

"Oh," said Pinkie.

"Anyway, the day before my sentencing I got a visitor, which was strange, since I didn't have any family.  That was the day I met Matchstick.  He offered me an alternative to prison: give my life over to CI.  They took my cutie-mark, my name, and my colors, but they gave me a purpose.  A good purpose, finally.  I don't just owe Matchstick my training, I owe him my entire life.  And now he's dead because someone blew him up, along with his boss, Prism, and his best friend, Boxer."

"Jeez," said Pinkie.  "That sucks."

"It does."  The Agent turned so that the lamp's orange glare in his glasses obscured his eyes.  "But I'm going to put things right even if--"

Pinkie giggled.

The Agent made a face.  "I don't see anything funny about this."

"Whenever you say serious stuff like that, you turn so that your glasses get all reflecty."

"You noticed?  I always thought it looked spontaneous."

"It does," she assured him, but she giggle some more.  "Sorry, sorry," she said.  "Ahem!  Serious."  She made her serious face.

He took her into his full embrace and kissed her on the forehead.  "I just found you, Pinkie.  I can't stand to lose you to this thing.  Matchstick was a spy, and in the end, he died a spy's death.  But Pinkie Pie, you... you're so..." he shook his head and found himself at a loss for words.  He squeezed her even tighter.

"This is never going to end, is it?" she said softly.  "Trouble follows you."

"It comes with being a blank-flank," said the Agent.  "But this one is personal."

She drew back and looked him in the eye.  "Because of Matchstick?"

"Because of a number of things," said the Agent.  "I don't know, it could just be coincidental to the case, but..."

"But you've got good instincts," said Pinkie.

The Agent nodded.  "What I'm smelling here is a vendetta.  There was no reason to blow up that meeting besides murder.  Trust me, I went through the diplomatic backlogs, and you know what they were doing there, at the restaurant that day?  Having lunch.  It wasn't even a spy-meet, it was just a few old professionals shooting the breeze.  And then boom."  He spread his hooves to simulate a bomb-blast.  "Personal, not political."

"Who, though?  Did Matchstick have any enemies?"

He just looked at her.

"Okay, silly question.  But who?  Do you have any idea?"

"Maple is working on the assassin's corpse right now in the forensics lab.  We'll just have to see what she comes up with."

"You're all armed to the teeth and stuff," observed Pinkie.

"Call it a hunch."

"A hunch of what?"

"I'm not sure yet."

Pinkie didn't say anything for a few moments.  Then she said:  "Why did she kill herself?"

"What?"

"The assassin.  Why did she kill herself with the cyanide thingie?  If this was somepony else's personal vendetta, I don't know why she'd be willing to die for it.  Try to escape, sure, but suicide?  That doesn't make a muffin's worth of sense."

"You're right," said the Agent.  "It doesn't."

At that moment, Maple knocked on the door.  The Agent moved to open it.

"Just got finished with the preliminary forensics," said Maple.

"And?"

"She's a griffin.  A transmuted griffin."

"I thought so," said the Agent.  "Let's go take a look."

They walked out into the main room.  Before they'd had a chance to turn down the hall to the lab, however, the Agent unslung his crossbow and aimed it directly at Maple's back. 

"That's far enough," he said.  "Sit on your haunches and put your forehooves behind your head."







----------------------------------------------------------------------
Picture Credit:

http://th02.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2012/165/0/c/pinkie_pie_cutie_mark_wallpaper_by_bigmacintosh7-d53fl9b.jpg
http://dentalefficiency.files.wordpress.com/2011/12/dental-xrays.jpg
http://th01.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2012/008/4/6/pinkie_pie_wallpaper_by_alanfernandoflores01-d4lrbir.png

> Chapter 4:  The Cat-Shaped Clock
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 4







Maple's face betrayed only a brief flash of shock before her brow furrowed.  She shook her head at him like a disappointed grandmother.  "Agent, you lower your weapon right this instant.  Just who do you think you are??"

"It's who you are that concerns me," said the Agent.

"Agent!" cried Pinkie.  "What are you doing?"

"He's acting like a paranoid lunatic, is what," said Maple.  "And I think I know why.  How naive do you have to be, Agent, to bring your marefriend on an op?  Didn't you already learn your lesson from Match?  Anypony could have told you that you'd start seeing threats everywhere!  When you first arrived, I was surprised to see you'd brought a plus-one, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt.  By Celestia, was I ever wrong."

"Liar," he said.  "I think you slipped the blue mare assassin that cyanide capsule."

"I already told you, she isn't a mare at all!" said Maple.  "She's a transmuted griffin.  I just finished testing her blood."

"So did I," said the Agent.  He reached into his vest-pocket and pulled out a vial of liquid.  "I took a sample, back when you were in the kitchen constructing a convenient alibi.  The reagent has been mixing with the blood for almost a half-hour now.  What color is the blood in this tube, Maple?"

"You're making a career-ending mistake," she warned him.  "Headquarters is going to put you out on your face."

He took an aggressive step towards the old mare.  "I said what color is it??"

"Red," said Pinkie Pie from the doorway.

"You're damned right it is," he said.  "That assassin is a pony, and you know what?  I think she's one of ours.  I think the only transmutation she was under was a color glamor to turn her blue and give her a cutie-mark.  I think she was tricked into attacking Pinkie so that we'd come here!"

"Are you even listening to yourself?" said Maple.  "Nobody knows about this place besides Canterlot Intel!"

"No more words," he said.  "Turn around, sit on your haunches, and put your hooves on your head.  You have five seconds to comply or the last thing you hear will be the twang of this bowstring."

Maple plopped down on her bony rear-end.  With a mixture of sadness and disgust, she turned her back to the Agent.  "You used to be one of the best operatives we had," she said, as she put her hooves behind her head.  "Maybe we should have just let you rot in that prison."

"Shut up," said the Agent.  "Pinkie Pie, there's a spare flex-cuff in my saddlebag.  Restrain her hooves with it while I cover you.  Be ready for anything."  He glanced over to see the pink pony slumped against the bedroom doorjamb, her eyes suddenly glassy.  "Pinkie!?"

"I don't..." said Pinkie Pie, "feel so good...  all of a sudden..."  She slid down the wall onto her haunches, breaking into a sweat.  Her breath became labored, her face flushed, then she collapsed all the way to the floor.

"Pinkie!" exclaimed the Agent.  The cake! he realized.  The cake was poisoned!  

He was distracted for only a half-second, but in that instant, Maple whipped around and a glint of metal left her hoof.

The Agent shoved the crossbow sideways and three shurikens thudded into the hardwood stock.  He brought the weapon back around, but Maple was already leaping for him.  She moved like lightning-- much too fast for an old mare.  The Agent pulled the trigger when she was less than two meters away.  In his adrenalin-soaked combat-trance, he watched the quarrel leave the bow in slow motion, just as a flaring ring of magic swept up around Maple's body, reverting her back into her true form.

She was a changeling, of course.

The quarrel shot harmlessly through one of the holes in her chitinous leg, and then she was tackling the Agent up against the wall, her insect-wings buzzing powerfully.  The two combatants locked into a grapple over control of the crossbow.  

The Agent let some slack into his grip, giving his opponent the impression that she was about to win the tug-o-war.  Just as the changeling was hauling back on the weapon with all of her strength, he suddenly swung the stock around and bashed her right in the face with it.

The changeling tumbled backwards, green slime oozing from her cracked facial-chitin.  She rolled on the all-weather carpet, back up to her feet, letting out an alien screech.

The Agent racked the pump-action again, but before he could loose the second quarrel, the changeling's mouth-parts spread wide and a spray of orange liquid exploded outwards in a cone.  The Agent tried to dive out of the way, but he was a second too late.  The mist was sticky, burning his eyes like acid, clogging his throat, choking him.  He landed stumbling, off-balance, blind.  There was the vibrating buzz of insect wings, a rush of air.  Then a claw smashed him in the face, knocking off his owl-spectacles.  Another yanked the crossbow out of his hooves.  A foot kicked him in the stomach and the Agent crashed down onto his side.

This wasn't just some ordinary changeling.  She was warrior caste.  She was like him.

"Click-click-chitter-click-chick!" said the changeling, and he heard her claws tighten around the trigger.

"Don't monologue at me," said the Agent.  "It's unprofessional."  He gritted his teeth and braced himself for the shot.




*   *   *




Pinkie's world swam with colors, and not in a good way.  "I don't..." she said, "feel so good...  all of a sudden..."  She slid down the doorjamb as freezing chills wracked through her body, and her vision went double, triple, narrowed to a tunnel.

"Pinkie!" she heard the Agent yell, then the rushes, thumps, and crashes of combat.

I'm just a baker, she thought as the light slipped away from her eyes.  I just make pastries.

She heard a hiss like a liquid-spray and the Agent cried out in pain.  Then a long scuffle, and at last, the unmistakable chittering of a changeling.  Everything seemed far away, like it was happening to some other pony.  But there was one last thread of consciousness that was still Pinkie Pie, and this thread realized instinctively that her stallion was losing the fight.  She knew that if she didn't do something quickly, he was dead, and so was she.  Her friends back in Ponyville would probably never even know what had happened to her.

I can't do that to them, thought Pinkie.  Even though she was delirious, even though her head felt like it weighed a million tons, she forced her eyes to open.  I can't do that to my friends!




*   *   *




The changeling's mouthparts turned up in an alien smile as she watched the blinded Agent grit his teeth, preparing for death.  Overall, this had been too easy.  The informant had been correct; the Agent and his airhead squeeze-toy had shown up right on time, trusting "Maple" implicitly.  They'd been duped by their own faith in their silly Canterlot Intelligence service.

And now, thought the changeling, It's time for a little payback for the Wedding Invasion.

"I've got a message from Queen Chrysalis," said the changeling in the efficient, clicking language of her race.  "'This is just a sign of things to come.'"

"Don't monologue at me," said the Agent.  "It's unprofessional."

"Suit yourself," replied the changeling.  "The message will be even more meaningful after I write it on your corpse."  Her claws tightened on the trigger.

"Hey," said a weak, wheezing voice off to the side.  "You know what time it is?"

The changeling looked over to see Pinkie Pie laying on the ground, having dragged herself out of the doorway by her forehooves.  Next to Pinkie was a massive, iron cannon, the yawning mouth of the device aimed squarely at the changeling's chest.

"Party time," whispered Pinkie.




*   *   *




The Agent heard a thunderous explosion, followed by a wet crack-splat on the opposite wall.  Then silence.

"Pinkie?" he called out.  "Pinkie, I'm blind.  Where are you?"

"Agent..." she said, then her head hit the floor with a thud.

He crawled over to her, putting his hooves on her to check her for injuries.  She was clammy and drenched in sweat, shivering, hyperventilating with short, shallow breaths.

What a fool I am, he thought.  For so many reasons...

He grabbed the doorjamb and pulled himself up to his hooves.  The acid from the changeling's mouth was releasing caustic fumes all up the front of his chest and face.  He stumbled into the bedroom and vomited on the floor, wiped the back of his mouth and kept going.

Where are you? he thought.  Come on... come on... there!  His saddlebag.  He thrust a hoof into the satchel and felt around for the tiny object in the bottom pouch.  After a terrifying couple of seconds, during which he wondered if he'd somehow lost it or forgotten to pack it, his hoof struck the object and he yanked it out of the bag triumphantly.  It was a mini aerosol can.

He sprayed the liquid all up and down his front.  Almost immediately, the changeling's acid dissolved and fumes cleared away.  He could breathe again.  He grabbed the bedsheet to wipe his face, and forced his stinging eyes back open.  Thank grace I can still see... he thought.  Pony-eyes were particularly vulnerable to attack, due to their size.

He rushed back to Pinkie's side.  She was barely conscious.

"Hold on, Pinkie, stay awake!"

In his saddlebag, he found a bottle of activated charcoal and sorbitol solution.  The Agent propped Pinkie up against the doorjamb, where she groaned in pain and tossed her head, almost falling over again.

"Pinkie, drink this," he said holding her clammy, shivering body against him.  Please... please...  "Come on, open your mouth."

She took a weak sip, made a face and coughed, spilling the black liquid out onto the floor.

"You've been poisoned, Pinkie," said the Agent.  "Drink this or you're going to die."

A tear ran down her cheek, but she drank the foul, gritty antidote without another complaint.  As last, the bottle was empty.

"Now... what..." she asked from the edge of consciousness.  Her stomach grumbled loudly and she winced.  "Unhhhh..."

"Now I'm going to take you over to the sink and we'll let nature do the rest."




*   *   *




An hour later, Pinkie Pie lay on her side on the kitchen floor.  She had a bucket next to her, but the Agent had emptied it fifteen minutes prior, and she hadn't needed it since then.

"Agent," she said, her weak voice barely above a whisper.

She heard water running in the sink and turned to look.  For a moment, her head exploded with pain, and she squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again.  The Agent was running his hooves under the water, washing off copious amount of blood.  Red blood.

"Agent," she repeated.

"I'm right here, Pinkie," he said, shutting off the water and coming over to sit beside her.  He set his crossbow down on the floor, drying his hooves with a towel.  "How are you feeling?"

She let out a small burp.  "No... more... carrot cake."

"You might not be able to look at another piece of carrot cake for the rest of your life.  Happened to me with some poisoned hay-fries on an op a while back."  He slipped a black, velcro cuff around her foreleg and repeatedly compressed the attached bulb, checking the clock on the wall to keep time.

The clock was shaped like a cat, with its tail for the pendulum.

"I like that clock," whispered Pinkie.

"It's yours, when this is all over," he said.

"Hoo-ra-a-ay," she cheered weakly.

After another moment, the Agent said: "Well, your blood-pressure is almost back to normal, but your body's been through Tartarus and back.  You need sleep and we can't stay here."

"That changeling we fought... she seemed different."

"That's because you've only faced the worker drones before," said the Agent.  "She was the result of Chrysalis's new pet project: the warrior caste.  Much deadlier breed."

"I killed her," said Pinkie.  Her eyes filled with tears and her voice took on a note of hysteria.  "I killed her!"

"Shhh," he said, cradling her.  He held her for a long time.

At last he said, "We have to get moving, Pinkie.  We've already been here too long."

"Okay," she sniffed and tried to sit up.

He helped her climb onto his back and they left the kitchen, heading for the front door.  Pinkie glanced over at the wall where the changeling had struck after the party cannon had gone off.  The eggshell-white surface was splattered with a shocking amount of green goop, confetti, and streamers.  Below the splat-mark was a bed-sheet laid over a crumple shape.  The bed-sheet was also soaked through with green.  The longer she looked, the more horrific detail she noticed.

"Don't," said the Agent.  "You can't unsee things like that."

Pinkie squeezed her eyes shut and didn't argue.







----------------------------------------------
Picture Credit:

http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2012/224/4/0/pinkamena_wallpaper_by_tzolkine-d5au1iu.png
http://www.thatguycharlie.com/uploads/green_splatter4rce.jpg


> Chapter 5:  A Tiny, White Light
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 5







In her dream, she was made of stars.

Pinkie woke up sometime later in a dark room, unsure of where she was.  She felt feverish.  All she had were scraps of memory-- the Agent taking her down the back stairwell of the apartment building, out through a side door.  The balmy Manehattan night.  A short, bumpy carriage ride through the city.  

They'd been in some building, too.  A hospital, maybe, although nopony had examined or treated her.  She'd slept there, laying across a bench while the Agent spoke to a pony in a lab-coat.  Then another bumpy carriage ride, and dreams about stars.  She had been so exhausted that she could barely distinguish reality from fantasy.

The Agent's muffled voice came drifting in from somewhere.  Pinkie tossed her head and groaned, peeling her eyes open.  It was almost pitch-black, except for a rectangle of light outlining a closed door across the room.  She felt around with her hooves and realized she was on a bed.

I'm back in the hotel room, she thought to herself, as the plastic-smell once again greeted her nostrils.  But who's Agent talking to in the hallway?

Pinkie sat straight up and instantly regretted it.  It felt like somepony had tried to drive a railroad spike through her skull, and her stomach did a rough somersault.  She held onto her gorge, rubbed her eyes with the back of her hoof, and carefully, painfully, stepped down onto the floor.

She padded across the carpeting to the rectangle of light.  It wasn't coming from the hotel-room door, as she'd first suspected, but the bathroom.  Pinkie placed her hoof on the handle and pushed the latch down, allowing the door to swing open.

"Cross-reference current data with all relevant data for winter, year 1004," said the Agent with his back to her.  He was speaking to the mirror.

"Agent?" said Pinkie 

He looked over, surprised.  "You shouldn't be out of bed," he said.

"Thirsty," she said.  "Who are you talking to?"

"Nopony," said the Agent.  "It's an information retrieval spell."

"In the mirror?"

"Uh-huh, take a look."

Pinkie stepped into the bathroom.  The Agent moved out of her way and started filling a cup for her from the sink.

There was a tiny gemstone attached to the mirror like a magnet.  The gem had been cleaned, but a few traces of blood remained.

"That came out of the assassin, didn't it?" asked Pinkie.  "You... removed it when we were back at the safe house.  That's why you were covered in red blood after I woke up."

"We'll make a spy out of you yet," he said.  "By the way, when this is over, I never showed you any of this, okay?  It's, like, ultra-top-secret."

"Like ultra?"  She couldn't help but grin.  "We're starting to sound the same, Agent."

"Perish the thought," he said.  Then he shook his head in relief.  "By grace, I'm glad you seem to be okay."

"I've been poisoned worse before.  Two words: baked bads.  Stay away.  No-o-o-o thank you."

"I have no idea what that means," he said, giving her the cup of water.  "But as usual, you're so cute I don't care."

"I get that a lot!" she said.  "There's nothing in the mirror, though, Agent.  Except a handsome gray pony and some pink nag who looks a hundred years old."

"You have to scoot over a few inches.  It's invisible unless you're in just the right--"

"Got it," said Pinkie.  Just a slight change of perspective revealed a scrolling neon text on the surface of the glass.  Most of it was just gibberish, though.  "I see words, lots and lots of words, but they don't mean anything."

"You've got to know the code," he said.  "Each of us elite CI ponies has a storage-gem implanted in our frontal cortex.  They record our coded memories, as pertaining to each job we do.  That way, there's a hard-copy record of our last few movements, just in case."

"You've got one?  One of the storage-thingies?"

"Yup.  Didn't feel so good going in, either."  He tapped his head.

"So... so if you... I mean, if they got a hold of your gem... they'd see us... doing it?"

"Only if I had been ordered to seduce you."  He smirked.

She thought about it.  "That's okay, I guess."  Pinkie stared into the mirror for another few moments.  "The text is moving so fast."

"I'm running a scan of her last set of orders, cross-referenced with an op she ran a few years ago, cross-referenced with DNA I got from a sample at the morgue.  Tiny little scraps were about all that was left of my compatriots after the bistro blew, but it's more than enough for our purposes."

"We were at the morgue?  I thought that was dream..."

"Nope.  Good thing I've still got a few friends in the Manehattan Coroner's office."

"What are you hoping to find?"

"When orders go out, they are coded according to the living DNA of the sender.  It's been the only way to ensure that changelings aren't giving out orders to our ponies.  I'm cross-referencing the DNA of the three victims from the bistro event with the order code to capture you."

"Why?"

"Call it a hunch."

"The last time you said that, you pulled a crossbow on a mare that could have been your grandmother."

He arched an eyebrow.  "I was right, though.  Yeah?"

"Maybe if you'd told me beforehoof," she said, "I could have saved you right away instead of at the last second."

"Or maybe you would have blown it by acting sweaty and nervous," he said.  "It was the right decision.  Sorry anyway."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him, but she wasn't really mad.

The text in the mirror stopped.

"It stopped," she said.

They traded spots.  The Agent readjusted his spectacles as he examined the text.

"I'll be damned," he said.

"Okay, now you've really got to tell me," she said.

"Nothing here is as it seems.  Absolutely nothing."  His jokey demeanor had changed completely.  He seemed furious, distraught, as he pounded a hoof on the sink, then stared at the floor.  "Horseradish.  Why?"  His jaw set.  "Well, I guess that's a stupid question."

"Talk," demanded Pinkie Pie.  "Agent, you're scaring me."

"He faked his own death... for this!"  His voice had a thread of despair in it.

"Agent!" she said.  "Tell me!  Please tell me."

"I know who did it," he said, looking at her.  His eyes were so cold and merciless that she took a step back.  "It's been him all along."




*   *   *









4 years earlier



Mantid sat in a booth at the local Dining Chamber, several blocks from his home pod.  Around the table with him were three other changelings.

"Retrieval order five-seven-alpha-zeta-six," said the first, a young male.

"Confirmed," said Mantid.

"Retrieval order three-three-gamma-four-nine," said the second, a middle-aged female.

"Confirmed," said Mantid.  He sat back heavily in the booth and took his claw off his dagger.  These changelings were CI, alright, as far as he could tell.  "ETD?"

"Extraction in one hour," rumbled the third.  This one was also male, but much larger than the other two, with broad shoulders that barely fit in the booth.

Mantid nodded.  If it was time to act, it was time to act fast.  None of them wanted to be a prisoner of Queen Chrysalis.

"Method?"

"We'll go up the East Chimney."  This was a vent used for removing excess heat from the hive.  The draft would make for a fast escape, as long as it didn't broil them alive first.

Mantid knew this plan well; he had created it and sent it along years ago.  There were solutions for nearly every contingency.  "Good," he said.  "I was hoping you'd say that.  I checked it myself last week, and it's clear all the way up to the surface.  If we time it right, they'll never even realize what's happening until we're already home free."

The youngest male breathed a sigh of relief.  "Nice," he said, "I was damned nervous about it on the way in.  Good to see you, by the way."

"You, too," Mantid lied.

"Disgusting creatures," said the elderly female, looking around.  She shuddered a little.  "Thank Celestia they usually look like something else, right?"

"Seriously," said the young male.

Mantid just looked at them.  He could remember a time when he had talked like that.  "So the hierarchy got word of my true form, huh?" he said at last.  "Good thing you got here in time to warn me."

The large one glanced at the old female.  

"Just tell him," said the female.  "I'd want to know."

"You weren't discovered," said the young male.  "The Prism is pulling the plug on your op.  He... he thinks you're in too deep."

All Mantid could hear was the blood pounding in his ears.  It was true, of course.  But for that reason, they had ended his entire life here.  He might have been able to hide out forever, otherwise.

Suddenly, another changeling melted out of the crowd and approached their booth.  All three of Mantid's compatriots placed their claws on hidden weapons, but Mantid waved them down.  He leaped up to greet her.

"Cricket," he said, his hearts pounding so hard he could barely hear.  They embraced, holding onto each other tightly.

"I'll go," she said.

"What about your family?  What about your home?"

"This is my family," she said pointing to her womb.  "You're my home."

Their mouthparts fit together perfectly, like puzzle-pieces, like they were made for each other.

"Absolutely not," said the older female, once they'd sat down.

"Are you insane?" said the younger male.

"We take her with us, or I stay here and take my chances with the hierarchy."

"You can't do that.  They'll peel you like a shrimp!"

"I don't care," said Mantid.  "Cricket, say the words."

"I request... I request asylum."

"You don't sound so sure of yourself," said the young male.

"I am!" she said, frowning at him.  "It's just... I can't even really believe this is happening."

"Well, believe it, sister," said the big, burly one.

A few nearby walls changed their glow from green to yellow, signifying the turn of the hour.

The older female nodded to the others.  "Time's up.  We should leave before much longer."

"Come on, Cricket," said Mantid, taking her claw as their buzzed up, out of the booth.  All Cricket had with her was a small, silk satchel.  Everything else she was leaving behind; everything she had ever known.  In a way, it was like he was watching himself.




*   *   *




They swept into the Chimney Control Chamber undetected.  One particularly useful thing about being turned into a changeling was that a pony could use the creatures' own powers against them.  

The four ponies posed as a science-caste engineer, a warrior-caste guard, a worker-caste janitor, and a worker-caste repair tech.  Cricket waited in the hallway.  When each pony was in position, they all struck at once, and the room was clear.

"Nice," said the young male, giving the big, burly one a congratulatory high-claw.  He used a foot to push one of the guards off a control panel.  

"Hey," said Mantid, "show some respect.  They had families."

"Good," said the big one.  "Buck 'em.  They woulda' done the same to us."

Mantid just looked at him.

"What, Match?" the big one responded.  "The hay you lookin' at me like that for?"

"Matchstick," said the younger one coming up behind Mantid.  "Here, the technician over there had the master key-crystal."

"Just... call me Mantid until we're out of here."

"The buck?" asked the younger one.

"Just do it, Agent," said the Matchstick.  "Call me Mantid."

"No way," rumbled the large one.  "Belay that order.  I know what's wrong with Match.  He is in too deep.  Prism was right!  Matchstick, you're my best friend, and I can't believe how good it is to see you again.  But I do have one thing to say."  The giant suddenly slugged Matchstick across the face, knocking him down onto the dried-resin floor.  "Snap out of it!" he yelled.  "You're gonna' get us killed!"

"Mantid!" cried Cricket from the doorway.

"Horseradish," said the Agent, buzzing over to her and bringing her into the room.  "Keep your voice down."

"Don't touch me!" she chittered at him.

"Lady," said the elderly female, coming up behind her, "you are so supremely lucky we didn't leave your pretty little thorax back at the Dining Chamber, you just don't even know.  Your being here puts everypony at risk, so if I hear a single complaint out of you, you're history."

"How dare you speak to her like that!" thundered Matchstick, jumping between them.  He brandished a deadly, black resin-blade.  "And you," he turned to the large one, "Boxer, if you ever strike me again, I'll cut your bucking throat from ear to ear.  I swear to bucking Celestia, I will."

"In too deep," rumbled the Boxer, shaking his head.  "Sad.  Happens to the best of us, I guess."

"Come on, ponies, lay off him," said the Agent.  "We've got a job to do."

"Agreed," said the Maple Leaf.  "Get to it."

Each made their way over to their respective, assigned consoles, calling out orders and turning crystal keys, activating plasma switches, working in perfect synchronicity so that four ponies could do the work of ten changelings.  At last, they had reduced the airflow in the East Chimney to relatively safe levels, and jammed the ventilator hatches closed to keep it that way.

"We've got ten minutes before the pressure exceeds capacity," said the Boxer.  "Let's go!"




*   *   *




They ran out into a hail of fire.  Green bolts of energy whistled down the corridor at them.  Where they struck the wall, each left a shiny chitin spear.  Not just warrior-caste, but ranged fighters.

"Buckin' death-ray BS!" growled Boxer.

The Agent took a running leap and dove across the hallway, dodging a number of the projectiles by inches or less.  He rolled up on the other side with his pump-action crossbow in his claws, racked the pump, then made a signal over his head, claw flat-out.  I'll cover you.  He made a drifting motion with his claw.  Smoke.

Maple Leaf nodded and looked to Matchstick.  "Boxer first, then you two," she said.  

Match nodded.

"Smoke 'em if you got 'em," said Boxer, breaking out a number of pony-made smoke grenades.  They lit fuse after fuse and chucked the lot of them around the corner.  Within a few moments, the hallway was a sea of swirling, liquid mist.

"Go," said Maple.

Boxer put his forehooves together.  "Praise Celestia," he said.  "Save me from this bucking manure, amen."  He went diving into the hallway just as another hail of fire came flying down the corridor, and one of the green bolts struck him in the rear-calf.  He grunted with pain, and then he was lost in the smoke.

The Agent had his eye against his sniper-scope.  Twang.  Somewhere down the hall, a changeling screeched.  Cha-chuk.  He aimed.  Twang.  A gurgling noise, as if someone were drowning.

Match nodded to Cricket.  She looked into his eyes with fear and trust.  Her eyes were so deeply violet...

Claw-in-claw, they tore across the hallway.  Another hail of fire came flying down the corridor, but the shots were random, and neither of them got hit.  They skidded to safety on the smooth resin floor of the opposite corridor.

"Ow," said Boxer, tying a bandage around his ankle.  Green blood was leaking out of a crack in the chitin.  "Celestia's mane it hurts to get your exoskeleton broken."

"I know, kind of like breaking a bone, huh?" said Matchstick.

"Ow," he said again.  This was a statement of incredible pain, coming from him.  "I always thought we were at a disadvantage with our soft bits on the outside.  But... yeah, wow."

The Maple Leaf skidded to safety right behind them, and the Agent was close on her tail.  A look went around the group.

"So?" chirped Cricket.  "What's next?"

"The tunnel leads up to the Chimney floor," said Boxer.  "Come on."

They raced up the spiral slope for a number of revolutions, their wings buzzing furiously.  The warriors were right behind them, and the circular nature of the tunnel was all that kept them from getting shot in the back.

At last, they reached a diaphanous membrane.  This was a safety measure that they couldn't disable from the Control Chamber.  Agent started cutting through it with a resin blade.  Even the ponies on the surface were using these knives now, when they could get them.  The daggers could be sharpened to a monomolecular level.

Maple held up a stick of dynamite.  "Can a lady get a light?"

The five of them pushed their way through the slitted membrane and dove to the ground as the dynamite went off behind them.  The thunderous explosion vented down the spiral tunnel, aided by the reflective nature of the resin.  They could all imagine the crushing damage that the shockwave would inflict on their pursuers.

"Bet they weren't happy about that one," said Boxer with a grin.

Cricket looked over at Matchstick in fear.  He grabbed her claw.

"Fly, guys," said Maple Leaf.  "Into the great beyond.  Before they realize that all they have to do is open the vents and we cook in here."

The five of them took off into the air, each catching the residual heat under their insect-wings.  Soon they were coasting on invisible thermal waves at an accelerating pace.  For a moment, Match dared to think they'd made a clean getaway.

Then shapes above them sprouted from the walls, and they were beset upon by a patrol of warriors.

They fought, fired, slashed, kicked, and stabbed.  Green bolts lanced from the warriors' jagged, black horns, and they darted to-and-fro like giant wasps.  The ponies, for their own part, were like living weapons, blades slicing, claws raking, wire garrotes closing around throats.  The midair melee continued as they raced faster and faster up the narrower-and-narrower chute.  One by one, warrior changelings screamed in a spray of green blood and fell into the darkness below.

And then it wasn't dark below anymore.  It was glowing red.

"The vents are open!" screamed the Agent into the roaring wind.  "Unh!"  He barely blocked the hammer-blow strike from a changeling that had maneuvered above him.  When the changeling struck again, it stabbed its own claw on the Agent's dagger.  The Agent jerked the blade away, creating a spray of green, then swooped above him as he shrieked.  The changeling warrior moved the wrong way, the Agent moved the right way, and the pony-spy cut the warrior's throat.

"Fly faster!" ordered Maple, and they strained their wings to increase speed.  They could feel the air below them getting hotter and hotter.  If they were still in the Chimney when the wave hit, they would be toast.

Match could see it, far above.  A spot of light.  White light.  Nowhere in the entire hive had he ever seen a white light.  He suddenly realized how much he missed the sun, how much he missed the grass.  The grass!  THE GRASS!  Trees, birds, CLOUDS!  By Celestia, CLOUDS.  The surface...  And he would share it all with her and their--

A blur dropped down from above and a warrior crashed into them, sending them spinning, out-of-control downwards.

Matchstick righted himself in midair, and could see Cricket falling, unconscious.

Everything he loved was on its way into the fire.

He aimed his body like a torpedo, racing straight down, picking up more and more speed.  Just as he got to her, a warrior swooped in from the side and fired a spray of acid right into his face.  Match threw a claw over his compound eyes, but with his open respiratory system, the fumes from the goop were devastating, clogging his breathing holes, suffocating him.  Stupid, stupid! he thought, then more blurs of motions beset upon him, and he was kicked in the side, in the neck, and a blade skidded alongside his shoulder-plating.  Their blades were everywhere and he was about to die.

Boxer came screaming into the pack like a wrecking ball, bashing the warriors away with haymaker after haymaker blow.  They fell faster and faster, and Cricket was just out of reach...  just out of reach...

Then a huge claw was on him, and Boxer was shouting in his ear something about there being no time left, but Match didn't care.  He had one mission in life, and CI had nothing to do with it.  CI was the last thing he ever wanted to be again.  He just wanted to be a changeling and have his changeling mate and his changeling home and his stupid changeling job.  He just wanted to be Mantid.

Boxer tried to stop him, and Matchstick turned and jammed a blade into the big spy's shoulder, all the way down to the hilt.  Boxer's eyes flashed with rage, he bared his teeth and headbutted Match, sending him spinning away, head lolling.  Then the Agent was behind Match, forcing him into a triangle-lock, squeezing his neck-chitin until he was barely conscious.  The two of them, grabbing him, flying up as the inferno raced closer and closer below.  Up, up, up towards that spot of light.

Cricket, Cricket, our eggs...

Cricket...

But there were no tears.




*   *   *





Present




The white houseboat bobbed in the bay a quarter-mile off shore, anchored to the last strip of land before deep sea.  The smell of the ocean and the cry of the errant gull made this place seem almost serene as Pinkie and the Agent rowed up next to it, but there was the smell of a summer-storm coming on as well.  The air felt electric, saturated with tension.  The clouds thickened overhead.

"This is it," said the Agent, standing up and checking his saddlebags one last time.  "He's here.  If nothing else, Matchstick was always a stallion of habit.  We used to fish off this spot when he was training me.  Back when he was still a pony."

On the side of the houseboat was a name, painted in cursive.  Cricket.

"He named it after her," said Pinkie.

"Everything he's done has been for her," said the Agent.  "But it's time that ended, now."



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Picture Credit:

http://th08.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/f/2012/129/6/d/intergalactic_pinkie_pie_wallpaper_by_chingypants-d4z6e05.png
http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2012/204/5/3/deltablue_collab___changelings_by_ephemeralblue-d58azd2.png
http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs6/i/2005/104/b/e/heart_by_nauticalstar13.jpg