* * * * *
Soarin' and I meander down streets of the Cloudsdale neighborhoods, flanked on either side by white houses and the occasional cul-de-sac. The narrow walkways aren't like roads back on the ground. Up here, they're just stretches of clouds that serve more as landing strips. The yards are small, but then again, how much of a yard do foals need to play in when they can fly?
I wonder how Braeburn managed.
We walk about one-and-a-half body lengths apart: not far enough to be awkward, but enough to keep me from getting hit by Soarin's wings. He's still technically walking, but he's flapping his wings erratically to stay upright about once every dozen steps. It's only gotten worse as the afternoon has drug on.
I take a loud breath. It's a great way to get somepony to pause without interrupting them. "Would you like to rest?"
Soarin' glares at me, but then grimaces. "Whaaaaat, you don't like watching me flail around like a drunk owl?" He forces himself to walk more normally, though he winces as he takes his first step. "It's okay. I'm fine."
"Really, it's…" I blow some air out of my lips. "Actually, I think I've learned not to tell you what to do."
He smiles. "Good."
* * * * *
I woke up the next morning when I felt Braeburn roll out of bed. With a flutter of my eyes, I cleared my throat and raised my head a little. The sun was barely up, and my curtains blocked out all but a tiny sliver of light.
Through squinted eyes, I saw a naked Braeburn grab an empty champagne bottle, the one we'd drained during the last night's celebratory cuddle. He picked up the two champagne flutes we'd used, and as they clinked together, his eyes locked onto me. When he saw me watching him, he whispered, "Aw, I was gonna surprise you with breakfast."
"No problem," I said as I dropped my head onto the pillow and fell back asleep.
Dreams are always the most vivid right before you wake up. This one was about Braeburn and me. We were both flying together high above a grassy plain and tightly wrapped in each other's forelegs. Braeburn didn't need wings, and I didn't need anything but Braeburn. We flew closer to the sun as it rose on the horizon, and our bodies started, like, melting together. Behind us, we were leaving a bright rainbow in four colors: yellow, orange, and light and dark blue. They stained the sky like oil paint, thick and textured, and everything smelled like peace.
A few minutes later, I woke up again, this time to more light, open curtains, and a blurry face that slowly formed into the most beautiful stallion in Equestria. He said, "Better get up, Big Blue. Breakfast ain't fancy, but it'll still get cold."
If heaven exists, I bet every day there starts just like that one.
I quickly put on one of my captain's uniforms and trotted downstairs. The warm, comforting smells of breakfast wafted to me as I climbed down the stairs: hot coffee served with fried hay and fried apples, since, like Braeburn said, "Butter was just about the only thing I could find to cook with."
Do I even have to mention how good it tasted?
We ate quickly, but we still made time to talk between bites. Braeburn insisted on it, and even though it was mostly fluff, I didn't mind. As long as I had that soothing voice to ease me back to consciousness, I was happy. As we finished eating, Braeburn said, "Dinner should be a little better. I'll get more ingredients today once I figure out where the store is. Shouldn't be too hard."
I slurped down the last of my coffee. "You know, I could probably hire somepony to deliver everything."
"Nah, I wouldn't want that." Braeburn leaned on the table and turned his head toward the kitchen window, his movements slow and fluid and comfortably groggy. "Whole lotta Cloudsdale out there to explore, and I don't do well when I'm all cooped up. I'm half-tempted to go without that escort the Wonderbolts are sendin' over for me. Think I should wait for 'em?"
I set down my mug and wiped my mouth with a cloth napkin that Braeburn had found tucked in a drawer somewhere. "Yeah, probably. You're still a P.O.I. – sorry, Pony of Interest – so the higher-ups will freak out if you go missing."
"Yeah, I suppose," he said, looking back at me. "Was hopin' it'd be Eagle Eye, but he said he was on assignment with you and that somepony else was gonna swing by for me."
I swiveled my ears towards Braeburn. "Wait, he's here?"
"Uh-huh. He's just waitin' outside." Braeburn jerked his head towards the door. "Invited him in for breakfast, but he was too stubborn. He told me he hadn't eaten, too. Can you believe it?"
I cocked my head back. "Ha! You've been here one day, and you're already bringing other stallions in when I'm not around. Nice." I narrowed my eyes and smirked. "Was it the uniform or the wings?"
Braeburn snickered. "Aw, I was just bein' polite. We've caused him enough trouble, and he deserves to be treated right." He lifted his coffee mug to his lips and mumbled, "Does have a nice pair on 'im, though."
I couldn't keep a straight face. "Heh heh. You're not leaving me already, are you?"
Braeburn set his mug down and smiled. "Well, I certainly ain't gotten bored of you yet, Big Blue."
Warmly, I said, "And you never will." I stood up, trotted over to him, and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. "Thanks for breakfast, babe. Mind if I leave you the dishes?"
He nuzzled my neck. "Consider 'em done. Now, you should get goin' before you're late. Love you, Soarin'."
"Love you, too, Applebutt."
We kissed, shared a long, warm hug, and kissed again before I left.
Outside stood Eagle Eye, looking sharp in a simple blue Wonderbolts uniform that complimented his dark brown fur and cream-colored mane. He stood rigid, keeping a vigil, but he eventually turned to me and saluted. "Good morning, captain." He looked very professional…
…except for the smear of apple on his lips and the empty plate next to him. He flickered his eyes between the plate and me, and I could see him barely chew on his lower lip. "I, uh… didn't want it to go to waste, sir. Mister Braeburn insisted."
I glowed. "He's a great cook, isn't he?"
"Damn straight, sir."
* * * * *
Soarin's walking has gotten a little easier, or at least he's not flapping as much.
I look down the road. I think I see that black-and-orange pony from this morning, but I stay focused. "Did you make it to work on time?"
"Ha! Barely."
* * * * *
By the time Eagle Eye and I had gotten past an extremely loud mob of reporters and onto Academy grounds, my jaw hurt from clenching it so much. I'd kept from saying anything, thankfully, because these were the B-list paparazzi, the ones that hadn't been invited to the press conference where I'd give my big speech. These assholes didn't have anything to lose, and their pushing and lewd questions showed it.
Eagle Eye did a great job, though, and we got onto the grounds safely. He'd told me another pony had been assigned to Braeburn's detail. "But hopefully this will all be short-term." After that, Eagle Eye left to check in with his commanding officer and told me he'd find me at the end of the day.
I reported to the Green Room, where Spitfire and Fire Streak were waiting for me. The hallway still felt too cold and sterile, but at least I had my family with me. Spitfire said, with a weird little bounce in her voice, "Good timing, Soarin'. Smart of you to show up before the other captains. Shows you really care."
I blushed a little. "Thanks, guys." We walked to Bottom Line's office, and I didn't waste any time. I knocked and went in first. "Captain Soarin' Windsong, sir!"
"Come in," Bottom Line said gruffly. Three stools were set up for us, and I sat in the middle. "Let's be quick. First, your checks. If you leave them again, I'm shredding them." He slid them to me, and I put them into my pocket. "Second, your briefing. You'll spend the day training with the stallion squad. You'll be visible to the media, so don't make an ass of yourself. At half past ten, we'll gather in the media room in Easyglider Hall, and you'll read this statement." He tapped a blue file folder on his desk. "Read it exactly. The rest of the meeting, fifteen minutes total, will be for answering questions." He looked at each of us in turn. "All of us here will be present. Understood?" We told him we did, and he slid the folder to me. "Good. Now, let's hear it."
I opened the folder and found a single piece of paper inside. The paragraph that was written on it was short and in Bottom Line's hoofwriting. It was small and crisp. Tiny, but clear. When I couldn't make it out, I squinted at it and brought it closer to my face.
…
The room was quiet.
"We don't have all day, Soarin'," Spitfire said flatly.
I shook out my mane and looked at the paper again.
The room was utterly silent. It was so quiet, I swear I could hear Fire Streak's ears go rigid. "Quit fooling around, bro," he mumbled.
I stared harder, and I felt my heart thump in my chest as my breathing picked up. My hoof tremored. "As… As you are all well… well aware, the lawn – no – last few weeks–"
Bottom Line roared, "Hurry up, Windsong!"
And… And I…
…
* * * * *
Soarin' looks like a wooden toy. His head and neck are rigid, and he walks mechanically. His eyes are on the horizon. He barely blinks. He's swallowing hard and taking quick, deep breaths.
I've seen this look. He's going to break down, but does that mean he's finally going to tell me? Is he even ready?
…
I need him to know it's okay. "Soarin'," I say as gently as I can manage. "Do you have–"
* * * * *
I-I shouted at him, "This doesn't sound like me at all!"
Bottom Line snorted. "Windsong, that verbiage has been officially approved by our legal team. You're going to read it exactly as written."
"It won't sound like me, a-and they'll know it!" I took a deep breath and stopped shaking. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, sir, but I never read anything during interviews. They'll know it's canned and start asking more questions. If I–"
Fire Streak cut me off. "I'll help him with it, sir!" He whipped his head at me and spoke quickly and tersely. "We'll rehearse. We'll rehearse and make it sound natural, and he'll read it exactly." With a quick head bob, he looked around me. "Captain Spitfire, do you mind leading the team alone for the morning?"
Spitfire stared at Fire Streak for a few seconds, her eyes slightly narrowed and her mouth formed into a slight frown. After a short pause, she responded with a colorless, "No problem, captain."
"Fine," Bottom Line grumbled. "We have a few hours until the press conference. Use the time wisely, and don't be late. Dismissed."
We left the office. Out in the hallway, Spitfire stopped and raised an eyebrow at me, but she didn't say anything before she split off to go work with the team. Streak and I walked back to his office in silence. We stepped inside, and as Streak shut the door, he asked in a soft tone, "You okay, bro? That was… a little weird."
"I'm fine." I told myself it was true. I told myself that nothing was wrong and that Bottom Line had terrible hoofwriting. I told myself that I hadn't noticed anything strange at all, even though…
Okay, look. Officially, I didn't know that–
…
Sorry.
It's scary how easy it is to fool yourself. You see all the clues right in front of you, over and over, but you put them out of your mind. You brush over them completely. You think, no, that's not right, that can't be right. Everything's okay. It's all just a big coincidence. There's nothing going on, and if anything seems like it breaks the pattern, it must be an anomaly.
See, you've got this version of yourself inside your head. You want to believe that it's the real thing, that nothing could ever change it, and whenever something challenges that picture you have of yourself, your brain, just, I dunno… rejects it, I guess? And I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to think about anything.
But Streak looked stiff as he sat down behind his desk. "Let's practice. I'll, uh…" His lips pursed. "I'll read it to you the way I think it should sound, then you can try to make it flow. You never were a great actor, bro." He grimaced at me. I grimaced back.
We practiced, line-by-line, for half an hour. Streak would read part of it to me, and I'd repeat it several times over, trying to match his tone exactly. Once I had it mostly memorized, I was able to make it sound like myself, and I only tried to glance at the page a couple times each read-through.
But Streak was still acting weird. I asked him, "What's up?"
Fire Streak had this look on his face, like when you realize you have to tell a kid that their favorite comic book character isn't real. His nostrils were flaring with his quick breaths, which made his shoulders raise and lower as well. He was frowning. "Soarin', don't you think it's weird?"
Something burned at the back of my skull, but either by reflex or choice – I legit don't know which – I ignored it. "What's weird?"
More heavy breathing. He was staring right at me. "Bottom Line's hoofwriting–"
"Sucks, right?" I laughed. "You'd think somepony that sits on his ass all day could write a few decent lines of text."
Fire Streak didn't laugh. He put both his forehooves on his desk, then looked down. His voice was low, quiet. "You're flying in the show again. Friday." He was matter-of-fact. Flat. Lifeless. He didn't look up. He just kept staring at something in the middle of his desk, and his eyebrows were furrowed. "You're flying on Friday."
My eyes darted around. "Well… yeah, I am." I shrugged. "That's how it's supposed to work, right?" The back of my neck felt hot.
Streak shook his head. "Yes, it is. It's… very important for your career that you fly on Friday." He spoke a little faster, like he was forcing puzzle pieces together even though they didn't quite match up. "And it's better for the team. And the organization. We have no official reason to keep you off the roster. You're in the clear. We can figure everything else out after things stabilize." His head turned to the left. "As long as nothing…" It turned to the right. "No, you need–" He looked up at me. "Soarin', I need an honest answer. How much does this show mean to you?"
It was a question we got asked a lot as rookies. The right answer is "more than air" to show your captain that you'll do your absolute best. Fire Streak wasn't trying to inspire me, though. His voice had too much sadness in it. I just answered honestly, because I knew I could trust him. "Bro, if I can't fly again, I'm done. I wouldn't be able to support Brae and me, and… I'd have nothing. I'd have less than nothing, and I'd be worse off than when this whole shit show started." I turned my head to the side and stared at him. "Why?"
He cast his eyes down again, then back up. "Do you have the speech memorized?" He was using a very direct, captain-y voice.
I nodded and solemnly said, "Yeah. Of course. Thanks for your help."
Fire Streak let out a long breath. "Good. I'm going to crash at your place on Friday night, then take you out to brunch Saturday. Just the two of us, alright?"
"Uh…" I raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah. Sure! You… you just want to catch up or something?"
Fire Streak paused, took a breath, and looked me in the eye. He smiled as warmly as he could, letting his wings droop and cocking his head to the side. He was letting the tension – everything that had built up over the last few weeks, from problems with the team to me getting cut to the scandal with the media – he was letting it all dissipate into the air so I'd feel safe, so I'd know that things were going to be okay, so I'd know that he would always be there, through thick and thin. He wanted me to know that I could trust him.
Then, he lied to me. "Yeah," he said in his usual low-but-energetic voice. "To catch up. You're dismissed. Stay safe, bro."
And all that tension came rushing back. I saluted, and I left.
And…
And I know you were about to ask me something a second ago, but please don't. Not yet. I… I promise I'll tell you. Soon.
I ducked into the locker room in Purple Dart Hall across the campus. It was strange seeing it so empty, but walking in there and smelling the familiar stench of my teammates filled me with electricity. I hung my captain's uniform in my locker and grabbed one of the folded training suits from a pile near the door. It fit me snugly and clung to my fur, and feeling that tight blue material with the lightning bolt decals was the last piece I needed to get back in the zone.
One thing gave me pause, though. As I walked past the mirror, I saw a little gleam of yellow on my ear: the stud that I'd gotten in Las Pegasus to remind me of Braeburn. I turned my head to look at it, and I felt myself smile. 'He's still with me. Things are finally getting better, and I've got my Appelbutt waiting for me at home. He's always with me.' Was it against Wonderbolt policy to fly with jewelry on? Of course. There was no way that they were going to let me keep it in during the show, but with everything going on during practice that day… "Meh, I'll chance it."
I dashed out onto the training grounds. The main team – all twelve of them, plus Spitfire – was on the plateau, and Spitfire was laying into them about a slow finish to the obstacle course. "The Wonderbolts are under massive scrutiny right now!" she shouted, pointing to a group of media ponies that had been corralled a few dozen meters to the side. Most of them were focusing on my entrance, but plenty were still taking picture of the team. "And my best recruits can't even power through a basic training exercise!" A few teammates flashed glances at me, careful not to move their heads away from Spitfire, but she caught them anyway. "Pay attention! Since you all need a lesson in endurance…" She whipped around to me, just before I caught up to the group. "Windsong!"
I landed crisply, puffed out my chest, and saluted. "Yes, ma'am!"
In a way, it felt good to be on the other side again. I could sense everypony on the team agonizing not to stare at me either out of shock at seeing me back or just to see if I'd get what was coming to me. But you know what they didn't want? For once, they didn't want to be in my position, and as twisted as it was, that felt sweet.
"Eighty laps! Now!"
Sweet for a moment, at least.
Without hesitation, I leapt into the air and started my laps, and the rest of the team lined up as Spitfire critiqued my form. Loudly. She described how I wasn't flapping at maximum efficiency, but she did point out that my stability was top-notch. "Keep it reined in, Windsong! It's not a race!" It was still tough not going at full speed, and having all eyes on me distracted me enough to take a few wide turns, but I was focused. I was going to do it. I would persevere.
And I didn't have to do it alone. As I rounded the last corner of lap twenty-seven, right as the burn settled into my wings, I saw the 'Bolts lining up beside the track on Spitfire's order. Lap twenty-eight, they were in position in the Sunspot takeoff formation. Lap twenty-nine, they had crouched down, all eyes on me.
And as I finished lap thirty, I was met with a swarm of Wonderbolts, Spitfire included, launching and falling into formation in a large ring with me at the center.
I felt all of them. I felt them in front of me and behind me and beside me, and for the first time in week, we flew together as a team. I was already wore-out, but I didn't let up. After ten laps, Spitfire gave the order to break formation, and without that guideline, all we had to go on was each other.
We never stopped pushing. Wave Chill would pull in for a tight turn when somepony wobbled, Fleetfoot would force us to go faster on the straightaways, and Silver Lining expertly maneuvered through the tight spaces between our bodies. It didn't take words. All it took was a slight nod or an extra powerful flap from the pony beside me, and I pushed harder. Spitfire stayed near the front of the pack – she wasn't afraid to remind us that she was the best – and everything clicked.
I knew what Spitfire was doing. She's clever like that. That extra thirty laps? That was my punishment for putting the rest of the team through the scandal, but when it was done, when I'd atoned in front of everypony, she made sure that the whole team moved on, made sure that they knew we soared or plummeted together, as a group. She made sure that they knew: no matter what, if we had the skill and the competitive spirit, we had a place on the team.
The rest of the laps absolutely sucked, though. Those last dozen were the worst, and I felt them in every bone in my body, but we finished. Nopony collapsed at the finish line – we're trained to maintain poise, especially with the media watching – but each of us looked like a stiff breeze could knock us over. Spitfire shouted a ragged, "Great work, team. Workouts are on the usual rotation, and your trainers will tell you about any changes. We'll reconvene at four to go over the modified roster." There must have been some internal screaming at the words "modified roster," but nopony flinched. "Until then, dismissed!"
Shoulders and wings relaxed, and a lot of us allowed ourselves to breathe more heavily. Wave Chill and Misty Fly made a bee-line for the canopied water station, where they guzzled water by the pitcher. Soon, there was a long line behind them that included just about everypony on the team, and we started to bullshit each other while we waited.
Blaze was in front of me. She looked over her shoulder to say, "So, you didn't feel like retiring yet, old mare?"
I snorted a small laugh. "Dude! I'm, like, two years older than you."
"I dunno," came Silver Lining's voice behind me. "Seemed kinda slow on those last few laps." I bit the inside of my cheek, but he gave my ass a bro-slap as we took a step forward in the line. "Nah, just playin', Soarin'. We're glad you're back. Streak won't let us party after the shows like you did."
My chest untwisted, and I found myself smiling as I reached the front of the line. "Meh, different styles. He's been good, though, right?" I grabbed a large bottle of water, opened my throat, and drained it.
Silver Lining stuck out his lip and looked up. "Mm… Yeah. This transition can't be easy on him. Shit's been a little–"
The whole group went silent as Fire Streak landed noiselessly on the grass near us. Ears swiveled towards him, everypony stood up straighter, and their eyes kept flashing between him and the pony that he'd locked his gaze onto: me. I set my empty bottle down on a bench.
Fire Streak marched up to me, tall and proud, his head held high. His medals – even if there weren't many – gleamed in the sunlight. He wore dark sunglasses, and if I had any doubts about whether he commanded respect, they melted away as the team lined up in front of him and on either side of me. He stopped and surveyed us, then paused and addressed the team with a smirk. "You all playing nice with our prodigal flier?"
The whole team shouted, "Sir, yes sir!"
"Good. At ease." The team relaxed. Fire Streak took off his sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket, then gave me a slight smile. He sauntered up to me, and I took a half-step forward. The team didn't blink. Some of them started whispering, and I heard mumbles of "demotion," but most just swished tails or twitched ears. Except for the cool breeze, it was deathly quiet.
I stood up straight. This moment wasn't for me and Streak. It was for the team. They needed to know where everything stood.
Fire Streak said, just loud enough for the team to hear, "You ready to be a team player again, Captain Windsong?" A few more murmurs from the rest of the 'Bolts.
I saluted him. "Sir, yes sir!"
Streak smiled. "Good, because you're a hell of a flier, and your team's missed you, captain." He panned around. "Isn't that right, team?"
They shouted, "Sir, yes sir!"
Streak nodded at me. "Welcome back, Soarin'." He began to stomp his approval, and my heart swelled as the rest of the team joined in. I looked around, and I saw a bunch of determined, tough faces, all of them ready to tackle whatever came next, all of them ready to welcome me back. Misty Fly, Lightning Streak, even Fleetfoot. Maybe they were just relieved that the scandal had seemed to crest, but I didn't care. I was back.
The hoofbeats died down, and so did the camera flashes from the media corral a few dozen meters away. Streak stood up straight again. "Huddle up, team." We came in close, and Streak addressed us in a direct but quiet voice. "This is your official reminder to keep your mouths shut around the reporters. We're handling everything through the official channels in a few minutes, and we'll have a debriefing session tomorrow morning once we've seen how they spin it. If anypony tries to get a quote from you, they've broken away from the group, and you need to call security. That clear?"
We erupted again. "Sir, yes sir!"
"Good. Make me proud, team." He hopped into the air. "Let's go, Windsong."
I saluted. "You got it, Captain."
We took off, and as soon as we were out of earshot of the others, I turned my head towards Streak and said, "You've got this authority thing down, Streak!"
"Learned from the best." He narrowed his eyes at me. "And you helped, too, I guess," he said with a chuckle. But then, he got all stiff again. "You, uh, you still have that speech memorized?"
"I got this, bro." I extended a hoof, and after a moment's hesitation, he bumped it.
We swung by the locker rooms again so I could quickly shower, and I changed back into my captain's uniform. From there, we headed over to Easyglider Hall through the back, and we soon stood outside the side entrance to the media room. Spitfire and Bottom Line were already there.
Bottom Line looked directly at me with furrowed eyebrows – thick, bushy, big-enough-to-knit-a-sweater eyebrows – and spat, "Exactly. As. Written. There's a copy at your seat. You and Captain Spitfire will be in the center. I'll be at your left, and Captain Streak will be at the far right. Clear?"
I nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Let's get this over with."
Streak led the way, and we all walked in, slowly and in single file as the cameras flashed at us. Between the spots in my vision, I could see the familiar media room: dark blue walls with yellow trim, the Wonderbolts' colors exactly. Our seal hung above the rear entrance: a trio of brass fliers and the words "Praemia Virtutis Honores." The room was small and cramped, and it had seats for about thirty ponies. Each of the seats had a reporter, and a few more stood in the back. The air was already getting hot and stale. Our table was draped with a big, velvety banner with our seal, this one trimmed with gold thread.
We took our seats, and Bottom Line put up a hoof. The cameras stopped flashing for just a moment, and Streak, Spitfire, and I remained stoic as Bottom Line started things off. "Thank you for coming. This will be brief. Captain Windsong–" Pencils furiously scribbled on paper as soon as he confirmed that I was still a captain. "–will read a prepared statement. We will then have a few minutes for questions." He turned to me, and I felt those dark eyes on the side of my skull. "Captain Windsong?"
You get into a different mindset with meetings like that. You're a zombie. As long as you're careful not to say anything stupid, then the less you think, the better. The best thing you can do is be bored, so I let everything roll out of my mouth as easily as I could, thankful I didn't have to explicitly say anything about Braeburn. I pretended to read off the sheet of paper in front of me, but I had it memorized. Like, mostly. It was… Like…
I mean, I started out really well. "Thank you for coming today. As you are all well aware, the last few weeks have seen a lot of rumors regarding this organization." I tried not to think about how artificial those words tasted. "I'm here to put an end to them. First and foremost, I am not, nor have I ever been, discharged from the Wonderbolts." To myself, I thought, 'Not that some asshole didn't try,' but then I continued. "Per Wonderbolt policy, I have been taking paid vacation time, to be spent in a way that is pleasing but still upholds the honor of this organization. I am ashamed to say that my conduct has not been entirely professional, but the…"
* * * * *
Soarin's eye twitches as he trails off, and he says, "Look, I… I can skip this part. You know what happened. It's not important. Y-you saw it in the papers, right?"
I pause.
I did see it in the papers, and in fact, I have the clipping with me in my saddlebag. But I don't need it. I have the article memorized, down to the comma.
Soarin' appeared to stumble halfway through his obviously-vetted speech, and after almost thirty seconds of (admittedly very professional) awkward pausing, during which time the other Wonderbolts representatives appeared to stop breathing, Soarin' continued to reaffirm the Wonderbolts' commitment to excellence, to their performers, and to the civilians.
"…Yes." I swallow and shake out my mane. My face feels warm. "Your speech was pretty much what everypony expected. The… questions were fairly standard after that, though they did skew a little invasive regarding your relationship with Braeburn. You and the others were able to deflect them until time ran out." I can feel a lump in my chest that slowly grows larger. "However, you seemed visibly upset by a question about whether the relationship with him was… merely temporary." I flinch and turn my head towards him.
Soarin' stops walking and cocks an eyebrow at me. His eyes widen just a bit, and I have trouble meeting his gaze.
I guess it's my turn to answer an uncomfortable question.
Quietly, he asks, "You were there, weren't you?"
I look at the clouds beneath me. "I'm sorry I asked about Braeburn."
* * * * *
…Huh.
…
Well…
Well, like you said, the answers were pretty canned after that, and Bottom Line cut everything off right at the fifteen-minute mark, as promised. We left the media room, and after we were in the hallway, he pulled me aside. He stared at me for a moment, eyebrows still furrowed. "Adequate," he grunted. It's about as close to a compliment as I could have expected.
I grabbed a quick lunch with Spitfire and Streak in the mess hall. Streak didn't say much, and he seemed really distracted, but Fleetfoot came by to talk for a few minutes. We had to stuff that stupid high-protein muck into our faces as quickly as possible. The taste and texture hadn't ever really bothered me before, but I'd had enough of Braeburn's cooking to be spoiled. We finished eating, and I flew back to the locker room to get changed again. Sweet Luna, I hate when I have to change back and forth so much.
Practice was a breeze that day. Not, like, physically. Hell no. It's amazing how out of shape you can get in just a month or so. I was still an awesome flier, though, and I pushed through. The whole team did, and my exercise group made it through the precision courses, some take-off drills, and the Dizzy-Tron. There wasn't a lot of mental strain, which was a nice change, and I spent the whole day focused on being a better Wonderbolt, just like how it's supposed to be.
At the end of the day, Spitfire gathered us all to read off the roster. "Mares, no change from last week, but I don't want to see any more slacking in the second act. Stallions, one change." Our fur prickled. "Sightseer, we want you to rest this week after that clipped wing at the last show. Don't think we didn't notice."
"Aw," came a groan from somewhere behind me. "Captain, with all due respect, I completed all my stunts, and almost nopony noticed. I'm fine!"
Spitfire quickly picked him out of the crowd. "Unacceptable, Sightseer. Wonderbolts are only permitted to fly when they're at their best. You've been around long enough to know that. You're lucky we didn't take disciplinary action, so take the night off, heal up, and work on your spirals. When you can perform them better than a school-colt, we'll know you're good to fly."
"Yes, ma'am," Sightseer responded half-heartedly. I looked back at him. He frowned slightly, but he still had that fire in his eyes. It's that vigor that lets you know somepony hasn't given up yet. Sightseer was one of the older Wonderbolts. He had a gray coat that complimented his mane and tail, which were streaked with different shades of lavender. He was always willing to help out when we trained the new reserves, but he hadn't had many chances to fly in the main shows. Besides Streak, he'd probably benefitted most from my absence.
Spitfire nodded stiffly. "Soarin' will be taking your slot this week." I snapped to attention, and a few eyes shot to me. I could see out of my periphery, though, that Sightseer was unshaken. Spitfire continued. "Excellent work today, team. We'll go over the routines tomorrow morning. Dismissed!"
The team saluted again, and after a few more moments to recover from our workouts and to finish up conversations, everypony began to scatter. Something inside me tugged on me, though, and I found myself walking towards Sightseer, who was doing some post-workout stretches. "Hey, Sightseer?"
He stood up from his crouching position, folded his stretched-out wings, and turned to me. "Hm? Oh, uh, yes, captain?"
I shook my head. "Permission to speak freely, Sightseer. I'm not looking for formality."
"Got it," he said, nodding. He held out a hoof, which I shook. His voice was a low tenor and a little nasally, but I always admired the way he enunciated. "It's good to see you back, Soarin'. We were worried about you. Worried about the direction the team was heading, too, I suppose."
I looked away for a second. "Thanks. And hey, sorry about the switch in the lineup. I know how much it sucks to be cut at the last minute, and, like…" I was trying to come up with something sincere that didn't sound condescending. "I want you to know that you're a really great flier. I didn't want to–"
Sightseer held up a hoof. "Thanks, but let me stop you right there, Soarin'." His voice was gentler than I'd expected, and he was smiling. "You don't need to worry about me. I admit, I haven't had as many headliner shows as I've wanted, but I'm still proud of my accomplishments. Family is, too, and that's what matters." He shrugged. "And heck, Captain Spitfire's right: I broke the rules and flew when I knew I wasn't in the best condition. I made the decision to fly when it was dangerous, and it came back to bite me. These things usually do."
I laughed. "Ha! Yeah, they're pretty inevitable. You just gotta keep those mistakes from getting in your head. That'll really screw you up."
Sightseer took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. "But I'll get another shot, and I don't mind making way for you this week." He looked back at me. "It'll be good for everypony's morale, and I'll still be cheering from the stands. Heh. As long as I'm still invited to drink myself stupid at your place on Friday," he said with a wink.
My feathers tingled, and the sunlight felt warm on my face. "Dude, I wouldn't have it any other way. You're a great guy, and I think Braeburn will really like you, too. I hope you get a chance to talk to him."
"I'm looking forward to it. M' wife's sending her famous taco dip, and she's taking the fillies over to her parents' place for the weekend." He looked at something behind me for a second. "You know, I always shower at home. We're flying the same way, and if you don't mind the company, I'd love to catch up. Seems like forever since we've talked stallion to stallion."
It's amazing how the little things can really strike you and stop you dead in your tracks: a warm slice of pie after you crash in an orchard, a teammate wanting a friendly talk, or even just finding your lover napping again when you get home. I think there's a part of us that realizes how important these moments are. Otherwise, how would you ever notice them?
I smiled. "I'd like that."
We quickly found Eagle Eye – he was just waiting to the side while our conversation finished – and we took off. Eagle Eye let us know the media were gathering in the south for a few more pictures, so we left the grounds from the north. The flight was short, but it gave us enough time to catch up a little. I gave Sightseer a few more details about the scandal, and he told me what Bottom Line had left out of his version of the story. Sightseer talked about what it had been like for everypony at the Academy, and Eagle Eye chirped in every once in a while, too. Sightseer said Fire Streak had been doing a pretty good job, even if the first week had been pretty rocky. Then… he talked about his daughters for a while, and we had, like, a normal conversation. Maybe it was a mass attitude change – Sightseer said that seeing another 'Bolt get promoted gave everypony hope – or maybe it was just that I wasn't active captain that week, but it felt… nice. It was the kind of thing I wanted more of, the thing that I'd been missing at work for months. I realized that I could build back this type of relationship with Sightseer, Fleetfoot, and the rest of the 'Bolts, and I vowed to myself to see it through. For all those months that I'd been stuck in a rut, the only thing holding me back had been me, and it took meeting a yellow earth pony for me to get over myself.
Thanks, Braeburn.
Sightseer and Eagle Eye split off once we got to the Sunrise Estates. I spiraled down to our condo, landed right in front of the door, threw it open, and shouted, "Goooood evening, beautiful! Daddy's home!"
I'd fully expected to smell something cooking, but all I found was the musty air of my condo. A moment later, though, I heard an excited, "Soarin'!" from the parlor. As I wandered into the entrance hall, the couch squeaked, and Braeburn galloped over to me. "Aw, welcome home, Big Blue!" He ran his body against mine, and even though I was still in my flight suit, I could feel the warmth radiating from him. He kept nuzzling me and kissing me all over.
I chuckled. "Miss me much?"
"Oh, like you wouldn't believe," he said with a sigh as we both meandered into the kitchen. "Jeez, sorry, I was really hopin' to have dinner ready for you right as you walked in. Musta dozed off. Sorry about that." He was talking quickly, and he seemed tense. His words were even more clipped than usual as we both sat at the kitchen table. "First day I'm able to contribute, and here I am, sleepin' it away. Pardon if I seem a little blunt. Bit of a headache." He started massaging his temples. A small patch of his mane was stuck to his forehead with sweat. "And now I'm sittin' here bitchin' about it. Sorry, Soarin'. Again. I should be hearin' about the Wonderbolts." He sat up and took a deep breath. "How'd it go? They welcomed you back, right?"
I consciously relaxed my wings and spoke slowly. "Yeah. My day was good. And Applebutt, you can bitch all you want." I rolled my eyes. "Luna knows I've done it enough to you."
He shook his head. "I'll be fine."
"Braeburn…" I glared and stiffened my lips, then touched my hoof to his. "It sounds like you're doing that thing where you're not telling me when you're not happy. Are you doing that thing where you're not telling me when you're not happy?"
He looked at my hoof, then paused. "Yeah. Sorry. Just didn't want to worry you."
I felt a little pang in my chest. "Applebutt, I can take it." I brought his hoof up to my lips and kissed it. "What's up?"
Braeburn searched my face for a few seconds, then began slowly. "Rough day. Head's still spinnin', actually." He looked down and flicked at the corner of the table with his free hoof. "Guess I just wasn't prepared for city livin'. I'll tell ya', things sure ain't as accessible for non-fliers as I'd hoped. Rainbow Drop's a nice pony." He looked up. "Sorry, Rainbow Drop's the escort that the Wonderbolts sent over. You know her?"
I nodded and squeezed his hoof. "Yeah. She's on and off the main squad, but she mostly sticks to the secondary team."
"Well, she was very nice, but she couldn't really do much once we'd stepped off the property and the paparazzi found us. She didn't really know a good way to the grocer, either. Not one for somepony that can't fly, at least, and it felt like it took a month of Sundays just to get there, especially through the swarm of cameras. It felt…" He thought for a moment and rolled his tongue around his mouth. "…belittling, I guess is the word. She had a sour look on her face, just full of pity, and I can't stand feelin' like such a burden, Soarin'." He was staring to pick up the pace again, and he gestured at nothing with his hooves, tearing one away from mine. His voice had gotten louder. "And then the produce wasn't any good, and they didn't have the herbs I wanted, and there were all these other ponies that kept asking if I was me once they saw all the paparazzi, and I-I just started lyin', saying I was somepony else – which I was mighty uncomfortable with – but nopony believed it, anyway, and then the manager had to come over, and she looked all annoyed like it was my fault that every customer in the store had gathered 'round, and it was so embarrassin', Soarin'! Big ol' crowd again, and I wished…" His lips pursed for a second, and he glanced away from me. "Not to make you feel guilty, but I wanted my Big Blue there to wrap me up in his wings and get the cameras off me."
My body wanted to freeze, but I forced myself to grab his hoof again. I wouldn't let him feel alone. "I'm sorry, Brae. I'm here now."
He shook his head and looked down again. "So there was that whole adventure, and then we tried to stop for a late lunch, but we couldn't find a place that was even remotely private, and sweet Celesita, Soarin'! Those fuckin' cameras! We ended up skippin' lunch altogether, and I was getting' frustrated because I was bein' stupid and had my heart set on this stir-fry recipe my granny always liked. I insisted Rainbow Drops take me to a better store to finish my shopping, and she did, bless her, but that was a whole ordeal, too! And by the time we were done with that, we had to head back, since she had to report in, and I didn't even find the hardware store, let alone get to fixin' your furniture." He took a shuddering breath. "It was just a lot of little things. Lotta fuckin' fuss over a lotta little things, and I didn't accomplish nearly what I'd hoped to," he said with a frown. "Just gotta get used to the pace of it all, I guess." He covered his face with his hooves and mumbled, "Gonna be a rough week or two."
I stood up, walked around the table, and wrapped him in a wing. I felt hollow. "Sorry, Applebutt," I said softly. There was a needling in my chest, a little feeling that told me I should give up flying and just stay with him forever. "How do I help? I'll make it better. Do you…" I gulped. "Do you want me to cook dinner? You can go back to sleep if you want."
Braeburn groaned. "You're sweet, but no. I wanna feel like I at least got somethin' done today, and it'd be miserable to just stew and think about all this anymore." He took a deep whiff of my chest, which tickled. "One thing comes to mind, though."
My eyes dropped to look at him as quickly as I could. "Name it."
"If you don't mind eatin' dinner a little later, well…" He looked up to me with big, glistening green eyes. "I really want my big, sweaty pegasus to carry me upstairs and make me forget all my troubles for a while. Think you could do that for me, love?"
I pulled back and gave him the brightest eyes and widest smile I could manage. He needed it, and for the first time in months, I had some extra happiness to give. I kissed his nose and said, "Just try and stop me."