Standing at her hospital room window, Spitfire relished in the ability to stretch her legs without supervision. Well, perhaps ‘standing’ wasn’t the right word. She swayed, shifting her weight from hoof to hoof, focused on the feeling of stretching muscles unused for days even in the most minor of ways. Any bed, no matter how comfortable, became unbearable after over a week spent in its confines; warm, cozy blankets and soft, plush pillows lost their comfort and felt more like shackles binding her to the mattress. The occasional reprieve for a trip down to the cafeteria or a walk around the grounds helped, but those were all scheduled around Nurse Redheart’s visits.
Nurse? No, just Redheart.
Spitfire’s tail swished and she watched a slow smile split her reflection’s face in the window. It was an odd sight, something tender, warm, and—dare she say it—loving. Celestia knew how much that nurse did for her, from taking care of her to talking about anything and nothing, to leading her on walks through the gardens until her legs ached. Then, after finding a wheelchair, she would take her back up to her room and with a little convincing would whittle away the late hours with The Last Alicorn propped up between them.
Now, though, as long as she was careful, Spitfire could freely stand and walk about her room to escape her bed and build up the strength of her legs again bit by bit. It seemed her little escapade around the hospital the other day proved she had healed enough for this much at least. She unfurled her wing, breathing in the faint scent of apples carried in on the wind as she pushed the window open. The breeze grazed her fur and the mid-morning sun warmed her coat and feathers.
Taking care of herself was a promise she intended to keep. Moreso, she was determined to find some way to return each of those gestures in kind. If what Doctor Horse said was true, her discharge was only a few days away. Soon, she would be free of this room, that bed, and the itchy, uncomfortable gown hanging off of her frame.
She would also be free to lavish her affections on Redheart properly. No more hospital regulations or red tape could stop her from wooing the mare as she so rightly deserved. Being the Captain of the Wonderbolts came with a fair few perks, included among them the fiscal and physical means to treat a special pony like royalty.
Spitfire’s eyes roamed over the hospital courtyard and apple orchards beyond, lingering over the entrance sign. The little hearts between the bars of the red cross, she realized with a quiet laugh, were the same shade of pink that Redheart’s cheeks turned when she blushed. It was a faint pink and would have been invisible on anypony else’s coat, but against such a pristine, snow-white backdrop, it was oh-so-noticeable.
If Spitfire played her cards right after her discharge, she might be graced with that sight more and more. And, if she was really lucky, she might even hear that voice crack again. Judging by how events unfolded last night, she was close. She saw it in the way Redheart looked at her when she kissed her hoof and heard it when she wished her a good night a few hours later.
There was a warmth in her eyes and in her voice. Well, there was always a warmth about Redheart, but this felt softer, more tender. It was something that, Spitfire hoped to believe, was not meant for others to feel.
A few more little pushes, and at long last she may yet have her Redheart fall into her open forelegs.
But, a nagging voice butt in, prickling at the back of her mind, how do you push a mare who so easily pushes back?
Spitfire’s smile fell to a frown and she lashed her tail to the side, banishing the voice away. Her muzzle scrunched as she braced herself on the windowsill. Wonderbolts relished a challenge, and she was no exception. Her eyes scanned the outside world, searching for anything to spark inspiration. A little push, a little gesture of romance and appreciation, was in order.
Below, a tall, imposing red earth pony stallion trotted up to the hospital doors. If he felt the weight of the apple-loaded carted hitched to his back, he didn’t show it as he smiled and shared a few words with the nurse that greeted him at the doors. At the same time, a pale grey pegasus colt rode out on the back of an older, stormcloud-black coated pegasus. The colt sulked on the older stallion’s back, rubbing his upper foreleg while the stick of a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. While Spitfire watched them start down the path to town, another pegasus flew by overhead. Her mane, a happy yellow matched by the sunflower cutie mark on her flank, flowed in the wind as she landed to one of the flower beds scattered around the hospital. She carried a watering can in her mouth and, as she landed, she prodded the dirt with a light cerulean hoof before tipping the can forward.
Spitfire blinked, staring as the mare set to work watering to the rest of the garden. She tended to the flowers, the smile on her face something simple, but content.
Like a bolt of lightning, an idea took root. At the same time, a wicked little grin quirked her lips.
From behind her, somepony cleared their throat. “Spitfire, is everything okay?”
Grimacing, Spitfire lowered her forelegs to the floor and turned around to face her visitor with a sheepish smile. That was the least she could do for ignoring royalty. “Yeah, um. I’m good.” She forced a chuckle and ran a hoof through her mane. “Sorry, Twilight. I spaced out there big time. You were saying?”
Perched on one of the two chairs in her room, Princess Twilight Sparkle regarded her with a frown that was more concerned than upset. “Are you sure? You looked pretty serious.”
“I—Yeah, I guess I was.” With a sigh, Spitfire shuffled over to her bed and climbed up on the mattress. She sat with her hind legs dangling off the side and her shoulders hunched. “I didn’t mean to ignore you or anything. I just have a lot on my mind.”
The frown carried into Twilight’s voice when she asked, “Did you want to talk about it?”
Spitfire shrugged. “I’m okay. Personal stuff. Now, seriously, what were you saying?”
When she glanced back up, she found the young alicorn looking at her with her brow furrowed. A question visibly danced on her lips, but Twilight held her tongue and shook her head. “I was saying how glad I am that you found something you like in the books I brought over.” A tendril of pink magic wrapped around the one book set aside from the rest on the nightstand. “The Last Alicorn. It’s a good read, but I didn’t think you were all that interested in fantasy.”
“To be honest, I’m not, but I’m really liking that one.” A small smile cracked Spitfire’s facade. “That’s one of the books that survived Tirek, right?”
At the mention of his name, Twilight’s eyes hardened and the pressure in the room seemed to tighten. For a scant second, Spitfire didn’t see ‘Twilight Sparkle’ her friend, but rather the alicorn princess who ruled alongside the likes of Celestia and Luna. “Yes,” she said, and then the moment passed. She exhaled as the hardness melted away in the presence of a rueful smile. “Before I finished moving into the castle, I went back to what was left of Golden Oaks. One of the bookshelves was overturned and mostly intact in the rubble. I took anything that was left home with me.”
Spitfire nodded, eyeing the outlines of faint scorch marks along the back cover of the book. Battered, beaten, but no less the book than it was before. “Did you ever read the inside cover?”
Tilting her head to the side, Twilight arched a brow as she opened the book. “No? Why would I—oh!”
The smile on Spitfire’s face grew, kindling an increasingly familiar warmth in her chest. “Yeah, you should have seen Redheart’s face when she saw that. Did you know it’s her favourite book?”
With a ginger touch, Twilight closed the book and ran her hoof down its cover. With a smile more commonplace that not on her muzzle, she enveloped the book in the mulberry glow of her magic. “I had no idea this was Nurse Redheart’s,” she said as the book bobbed through the air towards Spitfire. “If I had known, I would’ve given it back to her after Golden Oaks was destroyed. I could still give it back to her now.”
A small, fond little thing of a chuckle ruffled Spitfire’s feathers as she shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think that’s what she wants.” She took The Last Alicorn in her hooves, feeling its familiar weight settle into her forelegs as the tassel of a bookmark tickled her fur. Over halfway already? Where had the time gone?
“I should at least ask.” The chair springs squeaked as Twilight shifted her weight. When Spitfire looked up, she found the alicorn’s gaze lingering over each of the titles stacked up on the nightstands. “Judging by your reaction, I’m guessing that book means a lot to Nurse Redheart?”
“It does, but she donated it to the library when she was a foal so that other foals could read it. I think she’d like to keep it there so more can read it.”
Twilight nodded despite the contemplative frown that pulled on her lips. “Maybe I’ll ask her if she’d like it to be donated to the school, instead. Cheerilee, the schoolteacher, lends out books to her students all the time.”
“Maybe,” Spitfire said, swinging her legs back onto the bed to lean back against the pillows propped up on her headboard. Her mouth quirked into a smirk as she hugged the book to her chest. “But not until after she and I finish reading it.”
Both of Twilight’s ears perked up. “She’s been reading it with you?”
A giddy laugh bubbled up from Spitfire’s throat, one far too girlish for a mare of her stature. “Yup! You should see her. She gets this excited look in her eyes and it’s impossible to say no when she asks if I’m up for one more chapter.”
Twilight returned the giggle in kind. Her horn lit, pulling a small, green-covered book from the stacks. A tan-coated pegasus grinned up out at her, one hoof tangled around a vine while the other clutched a blue statuette. “I know the feeling. Don’t tell Rainbow I told you this, but when she first discovered Daring Do she begged me to let her stay for just ‘one more chapter!’ every night at the library for a week. One night I came down for a drink of water and found her passed out on the floor, drooling all over my copy of Daring Do and the Marked Thief of Marapore.”
For a second, Spitfire’s smile tugged upwards into a wicked smirk. “You really shouldn’t tell a mare’s boss these things, especially when that mare works with featherheads like the Wonderbolts.”
Twilight giggled and hid her smile behind the Daring Do book she held aloft in her magic. “You wouldn’t sell out one of your princesses, would you?”
“Probably not. It’s usually against protocol to do something like that. Although ...” Spitfire trailed off, her thoughts drifting back to flowers and a blushing Nurse Redheart. In her state, there was no way she could make it into town and back again. Even if she could somehow sneak out without being noticed, her body wasn’t recovered enough to make the journey. Though, nopony ever said she had to go.
“Although what?”
Spitfire slipped on a coy grin and waggled her ears. “I’d never sell out one of my princesses, but I’m not above a little blackmail.”
Twilight blanched, her eyes going wide. “Blackmail?”
“Relax, I’m just kidding,” Spitfire said, holding up her hooves. She let a glimmer of mischief, the same one her sister wore so often, enter her eye. “It’s more like a favour, really, and I’d really owe you one if you helped me out.”
Arching her brow, Twilight sat back in the chair. “Anything for a friend. What kind of favour?”
Grinning wide, Spitfire steepled her hooves. “Do you know any good flower shops in Ponyville?”
Spitfire stared, one eye twitching, at her hospital room. The fragrances of many dozens of flowers tickled her nose, creating a perfume so heady she felt her head begin to swim. Her eyes went from the bouquets of red, yellow, pink, orange, and purple roses sprawled out at the foot of her bed to focusing on nothing at all. It was all simply too much to process.
“So, um, I bought the flowers.”
Twilight’s voice prompted a flick of the ear. Then, lifting her head, Spitfire gawked at the princess rocking back and forth on her hooves on the other side of the room. Between them lay a garden’s worth of flowers. Arrangements of daffodils, columbines, tulips, begonias, lilacs, orchids, daisies, lilies, and flowers she couldn’t name covered most of the room.
From the sunflower set by the window to the wreaths of red columbines hung around the bedposts, to actual boxes filled with arrangements and single flowers, to a single poinsettia in the corner, everywhere Spitfire looked she was met with a floral onslaught to her senses. When the first delivery pony arrived, she greeted them with a smile and thanked him for his trouble.
She should have known something was amiss when he gave a toothy grin in response. “Oh, not a problem for our new number one customer,” he chirped as he trotted out the way he came in. Before she could question anything, another pony with a bouquet of tulips and daffodils in the crook of her foreleg came walking in followed by a unicorn with half a dozen more floating in her wake.
More and more came, and Spitfire could only stare as her hospital room was transformed into a makeshift greenhouse before her very eyes. As the last pony came in, shrugging before dropping the last bouquets of roses on the bed, Twilight shuffled through the door, her head down and her lip between her teeth. The younger mare mumbled a thank you to the last delivery pony as he left and closed the door behind him.
She scuttled to the furthest corner of the room, brown paper packaging crinkling as her hooves brushed against the few bouquets left on the floor. Purple feathers twitched, flicked, and ruffled while goldenrod ones hung limply at their owner’s side. Spitfire could only stare, though whether it was in horror, wonder, or disbelief she could not yet tell.
Twilight, for her part, seemed to take comfort in the menagerie around them as it provided plenty of other places to look other than Spitfire.
“Twilight,” Spitfire croaked out as the brown paper wrapping of a bouquet of white, pink, and purple astilbe she’d had handed to her creased and crinkled, “what did you do?”
“I told you.” Even from across the room, Spitfire could see the beads of sweat breaking out on Twilight’s brow. When she spoke, her voice was high-pitched, tinny, and shaking. “I, um, bought the flowers like you asked?”
“I didn’t ...” Spitfire started but found that her words had simply vanished. The question, as obvious as it was, lost itself somewhere between her mind and her mouth. Instead, she trailed her gaze around her room, searching between petals of every colour, shape, and size for what to say. When at last she spoke, her voice came out slowly, as if she were in a dream. “I didn’t ask you to buy the flower shop.”
“I didn’t!”
The squeak that defined Twilight’s voice shocked Spitfire from her stunned reverie. With a shake of her head, she brought her thoughts out of the floral perfume they were swimming in and rubbed her temples to ward off a headache bearing down on her like a raging manticore. “Then why does my room look like my fairy godmother waltzed on in and puked flowers everywhere?”
“You said you wanted a variety to pick from!” Twilight babbled, wings twitching as they threatened to unfurl even as the mare ducked her head. Two bright, pinkish dots coloured her cheeks as she sought refuge behind the safety of her feathers. “And they had a sale for buying in bulk! It’s a win-win!”
Spitfire wasn’t sure if she should laugh or groan. Something between the two burst from her throat, a choked, rasping sound that made Twilight jump.
Thoughts running a mile a minute, she stared at the astilbe in her lap and her eye started to twitch again. The only time she had seen this species of flower before was in her parents’ wedding photos. Her mother clutched a bouquet of them to her chest before throwing them to the gaggle of mares at the ceremony’s end. The very implication of that meaning kindled a slow, hot burn in her cheeks, especially when the obvious recipient floated before her mind’s eye, stunning and beautiful and—
Years of training and discipline were all that stopped her from flinching and tossing the bouquet across the room. Swallowing, she grasped onto her composure and gingerly slid the bouquet into a cardboard box of flowers at her bedside. “When I said variety,” she said, forcing her voice into line while losing the battle against the blush tingling in her cheeks, “I meant two or three different kinds. What am I supposed to do with all of these?”
The ball of feathers that was Twilight Sparkle flinched as a brief, keening whine sounded from within. “I don’t know!” A single eye poked out, and soon the rest of the princess followed. Her ears were folded flat against her scalp as she shuffled her hooves. “You could give them all to her?”
Spitfire’s eye twitched again. “What?”
“Maybe she’ll think it’s amazingly romantic?” Chewing on her lip, Twilight poked a begonia sticking out of one of the boxes she stood between. “It could sweep her off of her hooves. She wouldn’t be expecting it. That’s what ponies do when they’re in love, right?”
“Not so loud!” Spitfire hissed, clenching her jaw as her muzzle burned a few degrees brighter, no doubt flushing her face a red matching the deeper hues of roses on her bed. For a second, she said nothing. If the universe was as cruel as it had proven to be lately, that would have been the perfect cue for Redheart to open the door.
She glared at the door, daring the universe to take one last shot. When nopony came walking in, Spitfire exhaled. “Okay, maybe. That could work. But what’s she going to do with all of these flowers?”
“Eat them? Enjoy flower-themed meals for the next month?” Twilight’s tail lashed from side to side as her ears perked up, only to fold back down again. “Maybe two?”
Spitfire’s brows flatlined. “Yeah, right. Strike one.”
A look of consideration passed over Twilight’s face, arching one eyebrow high while she tilted her head to the side and tapped her chin. “What would Rarity say? Oh!” Clearing her throat, Twilight primly folded her wings at her sides and lifted her chin. “Why, Nurse Redheart would wake up every morning and think of you everywhere in her home she went with all these flowers.” Her posture relaxed and a hopeful, if nervous, smile took its place. “That’s romantic, right?”
Doomed to feeling hot for what felt like an eternity, Spitfire rubbed her hooves down her face. “I mean—well—I guess?” She stifled a groan and let her hooves fall to the mattress. “Apparently I’m not good at this romance stuff, either. How would you feel if you woke up and there were flowers everywhere? In your kitchen, your living room, your bedroom. Just—” She waved her hoof, gesturing to the floral armageddon around her. “—everywhere.”
Twilight opened her mouth and closed it with a grimace. Her lack of an answer spoke volumes.
“Yeah, I thought so.” With a slight frown, Spitfire ran the tip of her hoof down an orchid squeezed onto her nightstand. An entire flower store’s worth of flowers. If she wanted to put a show of her affections, it certainly helped to dazzle. How many mares had swooned when she showed off a little buccaneer blitz here and there?
The answer, she knew, was most. If she counted mares she had her eye on, all but one, in fact. For that mare—for Redheart—it was never about style or show. What counted for her was substance. Something smaller and more heartfelt would more easily chip down those walls she built around herself and offer her another, maybe even better glimpse at the mare beneath.
With the right flower, those walls might come down more permanently. She was close last night. So close, and one last little push and she might have a real chance and earning the heart of the mare who had so readily taken hers.
Or, she thought, perhaps I’m putting too much stock in a plant.
Sighing, Spitfire fell back to her pillows. “Why’d you buy so many, anyways?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Twilight mumbled, pawing the floor as her feathers ruffled. “It just kind of happened.”
The corner of Spitfire’s mouth pulled into a frown. She didn’t intend for her tone to be accusing, but it came out that way all the same. “How does this ‘just kind of happen?’”
“I don’t know!” Wings flaring, Twilight started to pace back and forth, weaving a circular path through the boxes and packages and bouquets surrounding her. The tips of her primaries twitched and flicked in time with her tail as she stared at her hooves. “You said to get flowers, so I did! But when I got there, there were so many flowers and Daisy, Lily, and Roseluck kept on suggesting more and more to give to my ‘super special somepony!’”
“Then why didn’t you just take their suggestions? They probably know what they’re doing when it comes to finding flowers for the right occasion!”
A whine built up in Twilight’s throat. “I should have, but I didn’t! There was a line behind me and everypony was watching me and then I panicked!”
The groan came unbidden from Spitfire’s lips. “So you bought some of everything?”
Spinning on her hoof, Twilight looked at Spitfire with big, wild eyes. “How should I have known what to get Nurse Redheart for you? I’m no good at flower shopping for this kind of thing! I’ve never been in love before!”
“What was that?”
This time, it would appear that the universe took its cue.
Both Spitfire and Twilight froze. The former had her head in her hooves and the latter’s mouth hung open with her wings unfurled and her hoof pointed squarely at the pegasus’ chest. They stared in silence as Redheart poked her head into the room.
It took only a second for Redheart’s mouth to slacken and for her eyes to widen as she walked through the doorway. Her gaze roamed from flower to flower and from bouquet to bouquet until it at last settled on Spitfire.
The blood drained from Spitfire’s face. It didn’t last, though, as it all came rushing back to her cheeks the longer Redheart held her captive in her gaze, no doubt flushing her goldenrod coat a deeper, more embarrassing reddish hue. The expression on the other mare’s muzzle was unreadable even as an unasked question hung from her lips.
Yet, despite that, something else shone behind her eyes. A brief flicker of realization lit up the bright blue of Redheart’s eyes, giving way to something warm that sent a flutter at the base of Spitfire’s wings.
“Spitfire,” she breathed, “what is all of this?” Then, at the sound of ruffling feathers, she lifted her gaze, freeing Spitfire from its hold as it found new prey in one Twilight Sparkle. The alicorn’s ears folded back as Redheart’s eyes narrowed. “Princess Twilight? What are you doing here?” Arching an eyebrow, she asked, “Did you have something to do with this?”
Twilight squeaked. Her horn lit up in a bright mulberry aura. A flash of light filled the room, blinding Spitfire, and a resounding crack made her flinch. Once she blinked her eyes of the spots dancing before them, she looked up at where the Princess of Friendship was standing seconds ago.
“Hey!” Bolting upright, Spitfire pointed an accusing hoof at where Twilight had stood. “Get back here! Don’t you leave me alone to explain this!”
When the alicorn did not return in another flash of light, Spitfire fell back on her mattress. Her head hit her pillows with a muted thump and she covered her eyes with her hooves. At the very least, that would hide her flushed muzzle from Redheart. Not that it would do anything to stop her from seeing the rest of the room and reaching her own conclusions, but perhaps some dignity could be saved. Maybe even a little.
The next few seconds passed by in an eternity until at last soft hooffalls approaching the bed broke the silence, as fragile and pregnant as it was. “Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice carrying in gentle, whisping tones, “what happened to your room?”
Tail lashing from side to side, Spitfire rubbed her hooves over her eyes and face. “Do I have to answer?”
“Yes,” Redheart said, though not without a trace of humour. Spitfire didn’t need to look to know that the other mare was smiling. If she were in her horseshoes, she had little doubt she’d milk the moment for everything it was worth. “I do need to know why your room has more flowers in it than the entirety of the hospital gardens. Were you assaulted by flower-themed assassins, perhaps? How very Daring Do.”
Though intended to be a groan, a whine sounded from Spitfire’s throat. By way of answering she reached for her covers and, with a sharp tug, pulled them up over her head. Maybe, she decided, she would resurface once she had her composure and words under better control. Or, perhaps even better, if she closed her eyes and thought really hard, she would wake up from whatever nightmare her subconscious had concocted.
Either way, she resolved to hide until Redheart left. Then, if this was real, which the steady throbbing at the base of her broken wing hinted that it was, she could come up with a plan. Favourably a plan that put her back on top as the smooth, debonair pegasus making the beautiful nurse blush instead of the other way around.
Granted, perhaps hiding under her covers wasn’t the best way to start.
A poke to her side made her squirm and her ears fold back against her scalp. “Spitfire, come out of there.” Redheart’s giggle chimed like a bell above her, barely muffled by the fabric of the blanket. The sound sent a strange flutter in Spitfire’s chest as it forced her lips into a wobbly line. “Come on, Spitfire, I promise I’m not mad.”
“There are no Spitfires here. Just us blanket lumps,” Spitfire said, sliding further under the covers. Foalish? Yes. Effective at avoiding embarrassing, reputation ending misfires?
“Oh, really?” Another poke, and another squirm. Since when did she squirm? Wonderbolt Captains weren’t supposed to squirm. “Okay, little blanket lump. Do you know where I can find Spitfire? There’s something I need to talk to her about.”
A third poke landed just under the base of her wing and Spitfire had to bite back a squeak. Goodbye, coolness and composure. Both would be sorely missed. “Can’t tell,” she said, her voice coming out higher than usual. “It’s a secret.”
“I see.” Redheart giggled and stroked her hoof down the side of Spitfire’s frame. The contact left a trail of warmth in its wake, and the confines of the blanket suddenly felt stuffy and hot. “Well, if you see her, could you tell her that she’s adorable when she’s flustered and embarrassed for me, then?”
First Blaze, and now this. Spitfire was way cooler than the universe was letting her be.
“But I understand if you can’t tell me where to find her,” Redheart continued with a theatrical sigh. “Oh well. I guess she won’t get to see her surprise after all.”
Despite herself, Spitfire’s ear flicked. “Surprise?”
“And a good one.” Redheart’s knowing smile carried over into her voice, perking up Spitfire’s other ear. “I was so looking forward to telling her, but if she’s not here then oh well. What a shame, though. She would have loved it.”
Spitfire fiddled with the corner of her bedsheets, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “What kind of surprise?”
“The best kind. Well, maybe not quite that.” For a second, Redheart’s voice dipped into something more throaty that sent a tingle up and down the length of Spitfire’s spine. “But it’s a close second.”
There was no way out. Cheeks still prickling with the heat of her blush, Spitfire slowly pulled the covers down. First, the tips of her ears poked out from under her blanket, swivelling towards the sound of giggling muffled by a hoof, and when the rest of her head followed, Redheart gasped. “Spitfire! Where in Equestria did you come from?”
Embarrassing, mortifying, and an unspoken promise to never hear the end of it, but the combination of Redheart’s smile and the dancing glee twinkling in her eyes might have made the whole ordeal worth it. Regardless, Spitfire’s muzzle felt as if it were on fire while the earth pony mare did a poor job of hiding her laughter behind her hoof. She twisted her blankets in her hooves as the tips of her ears started to burn. “Shut up.”
Redheart’s response was more giggling laughter, the kind that brought with it a skipping of Spitfire’s beating heart.
Crossing her forelegs over her chest, Spitfire huffed. She glared at the bouquets of roses at the foot of the bed, twisting her lips into a pout only seen in her foal pictures. “You said you had a surprise for me?”
Once the giggling stilled, Redheart lowered her hoof. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, bringing a twinkle to her eye and making the pout falter from Spitfire’s muzzle. The universe seemed to have it in for her today. First, she wasn’t allowed to be her usual cool, collected self, and now she couldn’t even hold on to her regular fire of indignation?
As Redheart fluttered her eyes, a new kind of fire took its place, one that tugged on the corners of Spitfire’s lips. She forced her mouth into a thin line and glared at a naked patch of wall lest a smitten smile take hold.
“I did say that, and I do.” The mattress shifted and a soft, gentle hoof stroked down her shoulder. “But before you get it, you have some explaining to do.”
Spitfire’s ears drooped and her pout returned in full force. “Aw, come on, Red.”
“As fun as it is to tease you and watch you squirm—”
Spitfire’s pout dropped to scowl. Willing her eyes to flash with life, she whipped her head back around to Redheart. “I do not squirm.”
“—and even though it’s just adorable,” Redheart continued, treating Spitfire to a coy smile as she emphasized the last word, “I do need to know why there are so many flowers in your room. Is this your sister’s doing? It seems like something she might do.”
Biting her lip, Spitfire ran a hoof through her messy, flame-licked mane. Blaze. An obvious scapegoat if she took it, but a tugging in her gut made her hesitate. She watched Redheart’s hoof leave her shoulder to caress the bulb of a daffodil. Her hoof brushed along the flower’s goldenrod petals, gentle and caring and with a smile so serene it brought pegasus’ lips together into something she prayed to Celestia wasn’t as smitten as it felt.
Though it pained her, Spitfire lightly shook her head. “No, Blaze didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Redheart nodded, running her hoof from one daffodil to the next. “Then maybe it has something to do with what you and Princess Twilight were talking about so emphatically?”
Spitfire’s mouth felt dry as she chewed over her words. “Yeah, it did.” A quick puff of air was forced from her nostrils as she looked Redheart dead in the eye. “They’re for you.”
“Oh?” Redheart closed her eyes and hummed as she sniffed the daffodil. When she looked back at Spitfire, it was through a lidded gaze. “How many of them are for me?”
Wonderbolts gave their all in every facet of their lives. Romance included. Spitfire swallowed, but held her ground. “All of them.”
Redheart blinked and, to Spitfire’s surprise, sputtered. The coy grin washed away from her features as she swiveled her head, panning her gaze around the room. “A-all of them? But why—”
“I asked Twilight to go out and buy some flowers for me to give you. I’m paying her back for every bit.” The tip of Spitfire’s wing trembled. Flirting used to be easy. When did it get hard? “The only problem was that neither of us knew what kind of flower you liked, so I asked her to pick up a couple different kinds. And, well,” she spread her hooves, smiling hopelessly as Redheart started to sway on the spot, “here we are.”
“But ...” Redheart trailed off, her eyes roving over every bouquet, every flower, and every arrangement in the room. When her gaze returned to the daffodil she still cupped in her hoof, she yanked her foreleg away and rubbed it as if it shocked her. “But there’re so many!”
“Yeah, Twilight had a bit of a mix-up at the flower shop and I think she bought all of the flowers they had. I’m pretty sure they don’t have a good return policy, either so, well, yeah.” Spitfire cleared her throat, grasping at straws for the old, confident, downright cocky stride she carried herself with through many clubs and many galas. “Surprise?”
“But—” Redheart gawked, blinking in quick succession as she looked from the daffodils, to Spitfire, to the bouquets of roses, back to Spitfire, to the orchid on the windowsill, and back to Spitfire again. “B-b-but—”
Sputterings and stammerings spurted from Redheart’s mouth. Where Spitfire hoped to see a glimmer of that adoration she saw the day before, she only saw shock and, very possibly, panic wading over the other mare’s muzzle. Sighing through her nose, she let her forelegs drop. An unpleasant feeling made her insides knot up, sapping a warmth she had started to grow accustom to from her chest. “Yeah, I know. Too much, right? I mean, look at them all.” A rueful, hollow chuckle fell from her mouth. “I don’t even know what half of these are.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“I wouldn’t, either.” Her brittle smile held firm, for about another five seconds. Then, as it fell, so did she, landing back on the mattress. “I’m sorry. This was a dumb idea.” Rolling over, she put her back to Redheart and a pillow over her head. “You can leave me to die of embarrassment now.”
Several long moments passed. Just when Spitfire started to think that Redheart slipped out without her hearing, her voice drifted out in a near whisper. It was quiet and, unless her ears deceived her, frightened. “They’re all for me?”
“I told you I’m not good at being poetic or anything,” Spitfire grumbled, pressing her pillow over her face. “I just wanted to get you something that was maybe kind of sweet or—or romantic.” Under the pillow, her face felt hot, not that that was anything new. “I don’t know. Do you even like flowers? I didn’t even think of that. Now you’ve got dozens.”
A pregnant, heavy silence hung over the room, more suffocating than the pillow covering Spitfire’s face.
“I like flowers,” Redheart said after a time. The words were still quiet, but gone was the fear. Now, as they rose in pitch, so too did something else—something that stirred hope. “I was just overwhelmed.”
Spitfire’s tail flicked under her blankets, but she said nothing.
“Could you roll over so I could talk to you properly, please?”
Spitfire punched the pillow over her head. “I think I’ve made a big enough doofus of myself for one day.”
Brown wrapping paper rustled and the bedsprings squeaked with a shift in weight. Spitfire felt another’s hoof rest on her hind leg a moment later. “Are you going to make me coax you out twice in one day?”
Feathers fluffed at the sensation of Redheart’s hoof rubbing in small circles up and down her leg, but still Spitfire hid. “Maybe.”
Redheart sighed, though it turned into an airy chuckle partway through. “Spitfire, you are one of the most impossible ponies I have ever met. Could you please roll over so I can thank you?”
“Thank me? For buying a greenhouse and sticking it in my hospital room? Can’t you just say ‘thanks’ and let me recover my dignity?”
A light snort and squeeze on her hoof was Redheart’s reply. “After all the mouthing off and misbehaving you’ve done, I think your dignity can stand to suffer for a little bit longer.”
Spitfire groaned, long and low. “I was trying to be good!”
“Then keep it up.” There was a definite edge of playfulness to Redheart’s voice, one that beckoned for Spitfire to listen. “Behave and roll over.”
Grumbling into her pillow, Spitfire said, “Yes, Nurse Redheart.” Relenting, she sat up. She met Redheart’s gaze with her brow flat and her pillow in her lap. “What?”
A slow smile spread over Redheart’s muzzle. With equal speed, she crawled up the bed, meshing the hairs of her coat and Spitfire’s together. Before the pegasus could question anything or dare to breathe, she felt a warm puff of air on her cheek. The next instant, she froze as a pair of lips touched and lingered there, flooding her sensations with the feelings of soft on soft and the scent of cinnamon tickling her nose. Warmth bloomed from where they touched, spreading out to the tips of her hooves and prompting her heart to leap somewhere into her throat, joining her breath as they both caught there and stayed.
Nuzzling her way up her jawline, Redheart lingered around her ear, releasing Spitfire’s breath in a shuddering gasp. “Thank you,” she whispered in her ear before at last pulling back.
“I—” Spitfire croaked, dimly aware of her uninjured wing spread out long and proud. With eyes as wide as dinner plates, she cupped her own cheek, savouring the addictive ways her head swam in the warmth. “Why?”
“To thank you for being thoughtful and for being sweet,” Redheart said, her eyes glowing a steady, warm, and inviting blue. “And for even being a little romantic. I’m only a pony, after all.”
Spitfire nodded, not trusting her tongue to form words in any coherent order.
“I thought that might make the big, pouty Wonderbolt feel better.” With a sly grin, Redheart traced her hoof down the length of a rose’s stem. “Now that I’ve thanked you, are you ready for your surprise?”
Without thinking, Spitfire asked, “You mean there’s more?”
“More kisses? No. If you’re a good patient and behave, well—” The smoldering warmth behind Redheart’s eyes flared to life, leaving Spitfire’s primaries trembling. “—we’ll see, won’t we?”
Spitfire’s heart thumped to a staccato rhythm in her chest and she swallowed. “S-so, what is my surprise, then?”
“A little birdy let slip that a certain brave, dashing Captain of the Wonderbolts happens to like dancing.” A low, promising laugh sounded from deep in the back of Redheart’s throat. “That wouldn’t happen to be true, would it?”
Again, Spitfire found herself nodding. “Yeah, sure. I love dancing. But who—” It clicked. Clarity dawned on her, bringing her thoughts back into line and her wing back to her side. Her muzzle burned as if stained by a permanent blush, its epicenter where Redheart kissed her cheek, but she managed to scowl through it. “Blaze.”
“She mentioned it on her way out. I think she was trying to apologize for all the trouble she caused.” Redheart’s smile shifted, sliding from sly to bashful before it settled. Now, with a smaller, reserved, and hopeful smile, she looked up at Spitfire. “I think it could be fun, don’t you? I haven’t danced with anypony in a long time, and I thought it could make things less boring for you for your last few days here. And besides,” she said, glancing to the window, “it could help you exercise your leg muscles. It could help overcome any atrophy.”
As much as she wanted to say yes, Spitfire held her tongue. Whenever her sister was involved, trouble soon followed. Still, the chance to hold Redheart in her hooves, dancing chest to chest, made her tail swish under the blankets. “What else did she say?”
“Just that you loved dances like the salsa and rumba the most. The, ah, more intimate ones.” A light pink coloured Redheart’s cheeks, though her smile remained. “Not that we could do those with you in your condition,” she added, fiddling with a sepal on one of the roses. “Those would be much too stressful. Maybe later once you’re discharged? She also might have mentioned the Cloud Top Trot.”
Spitfire’s ears stood on end, swivelled forward towards Redheart. She blinked and lessened her grip on the pillow she only then realized she was hugging to her chest.
“Anyways, I have an old gramophone at home and a few records. If you like, I can bring it in with me tomorrow and we could try a slower dance or two.” Redheart’s tail flicked around her hind leg as the mare brought her hooves together. “I know you’re getting tired of walking up and down the hospital grounds. Even the garden loses its lustre after a while, doesn’t it?”
A warm, slow smile spread over Spitfire’s muzzle. “Are you saying you want to waltz with yours truly?”
“I said slower dances,” Redheart said. “Though I suppose that’s not out of the realm of possibilities.”
Scooching closer, Spitfire ignored the brief flicker of pain in her midsection as she leaned over and brought her muzzle closer to Redheart’s. There, it was easier to find and get lost in her eyes. “Right,” she said, sharpening her smile. “So, when I sweep you off your hooves, will I get a real kiss?”
Redheart scoffed, shoved Spitfire back, and giggled, in that order. “Not with that kind of attitude. And just when I thought I finally got rid of all of that, too.”
Looking down her barrel, Spitfire grinned a dopey grin. Smitten or not, it felt far too good to keep contained. “Yeah, but you love it.”
“Maybe I do.” The bed shifted as Redheart slid off. She stood silent for a moment and Spitfire felt her eyes on her. Then, with a slight smile, she leaned down and rubbed their cheeks together in a slow circle. “But I think I like the dorky, affectionate mare who accidentally bought me a flower shop more.”
Spitfire squeezed the pillow in her hooves, muzzle flushing again at the contact. “R-right.”
“There she is.” With a satisfied smile, Redheart straightened. “I still haven’t gotten an answer. Would you care to dance, Spitfire?”
“Yes,” Spitfire said, smiling back at Redheart. “I’d really, really like that.”
“Good. I’ll bring my gramophone tomorrow, then. Now, I do have to go. Try not to buy another hundred flowers while I’m gone, okay?”
That bought a snort from Spitfire. “Yes, Nurse Redheart.”
As Redheart made to leave, she lingered a step away from the door. “I guess it’s a little bit of a shame.”
Flicking her ear, Spitfire lifted her head. “What is?”
“That you only settled for a flower shop. If you went for, say, a jewellery store instead, well ...”
Spitfire’s other ear flicked. “What would that have gotten me?”
Through hooded eyes, Redheart looked over her shoulder with a sly, heated grin. “Why, Spitfire,” she said, swishing her tail just enough to the side to make Spitfire suck in a quick breath, “I would have made you sing.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, Redheart trotted out the door and left Spitfire with a multitude of thoughts flying through her head. None of them were particularly foal-friendly.
She rolled over to her back. Closing her eyes, she sifted through her racing mind to the memory of Redheart’s lips on her cheek. The scent of dozens of flowers filled her senses, bringing a slow calm to her mind as she inhaled and exhaled.
She thought back to the sound of Redheart’s voice, the look of her eyes, and the feeling of her breath on her ear and she let out a sigh. A dumb, goofy smile took over her features as she opened her eyes, hugged her pillow, and stared up at the ceiling.
If only Wonderbolts made a little bit more, and she might have well been singing to that same ceiling.
Then again, there’s always the Hearth’s Warming bonus.