True to her word, the next day Redheart returned. From where she sat in her bed, perusing one of the books left on her nightstand, Spitfire’s ear flicked at the sound of the doorknob turning and the squeaking of wheels entering her room. She looked up from Stunt Flying: A History as a small, black cart rolled its way through the doorway.
A gramophone sat on top, its brass cylinder shining in the light streaming through the open window. On the bottom shelf was an old, beaten up cardboard box. The edges of record cases poked out through the torn corners of the box, sending creases and wrinkles down the front and through the ‘RECORDS’ label written on it in large, black marker.
What made Spitfire smile, though, was the sight that immediately followed.
Painted by the light of the setting sun, Redheart walked into the hospital room. Her white coat seemed to glow a mesmerizing gold as she maneuvered her little black cart around the flowers still littering the floor to an empty spot against the wall nearest the bed. Spitfire was silent as the nurse adjusted the gramophone and checked the needle setting, more than content to watch. Her tail, silkier and smoother than she remembered, swished and shimmered as its owner worked, encouraging a wandering gaze up along the curve of her rump and the sleekness of her barrel.
Redheart hummed as she finished setting the needle and pulled the lid off of the box. There was a musical quality to it, one that brought both of Spitfire’s ears swiveling forward. The rhythm was slow and steady as she bobbed her head in time with the gentle swaying of her nurse’s hips—a slow dance. She hummed along with her, wing unfurling as their song filled the otherwise quiet hospital room. “Is that what we’re going to be dancing to?”
“Maybe,” Redheart said as she pulled the box off of the cart. She met Spitfire’s gaze with a half-grin, her eyes glowing from within and sending a now-familiar ruffle down the flier's feathers. “It depends on how nicely you ask.”
“A hundred flowers isn’t a nice enough ask?”
“It might be,” she started, rifling through the box, pulling out the odd record to examine before sliding it back in, “if you didn’t buy them all for me by accident.”
Spitfire frowned, then closed her eyes. Inhaling through her nose, she started to hum the same tune and lifted her hooves, one raised as if to clasp another’s and the other lower, as if to wrap around a partner’s waist. The song was familiar, one she had heard at many a gala. She moved with the music as she carried the song in its gentle rises and lower, sweeping adagios. A slow smile split her muzzle as she felt eyes watching her. “That song,” she said, opening her eyes to Redheart’s arched eyebrow. “It’s one of Clopin’s, isn’t it?”
The other eyebrow raised. “It is. How did you know?”
Rolling her hoof, Spitfire shrugged. “There was this pegasus I met at a fancy shindig a couple years ago.” An image of the mare floated to the forefront of her mind. Pretty, but not in the same league as the mare before her. “She was a pianist and she went on about her favourite composers after I got her a drink. Clopin was one of them.”
“Uh-huh.” Redheart nodded and tilted her head to the side. Though the smile she flashed was sly and knowing, the expression on her face tightened. “And how many more drinks before you ‘composed’ your way into her bed?”
“She had great wings. She played piano with them,” Spitfire said without missing a beat. She returned the smile in kind, but reached for the warmth she found so readily available in Redheart’s presence and let it seep over her muzzle. “They were very dexterous and precise, and the best part?”
“Are you sure you want to be telling me about your past conquests, Casanova?”
Chuckling, Spitfire unfurled her wing and flicked her primaries. “I picked up a few things from her. A little bit on some musicians, like Clopin, and a few other things. Care to find out what?”
Redheart rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “Oh, stop before I pack this all back up and leave you high and dry.”
“You know I love to tease, and I’m starting to think that you like to be teased.” Just as soon as she lidded her gaze, she dropped the look in favour of a slight frown. “Hey, this isn’t going to get you into trouble for breaking hospital protocol or anything, will it? Last I checked, nurses dancing with their patients isn’t exactly common practice.”
“It isn’t. And yes, technically this is breaking a few rules here and there.” Turning around, Redheart walked to the end of the bed, flicking Spitfire’s nose with the tip of her tail. The sharp scent of cinnamon tickled her senses, making her own tail lash to the side under the covers. “But there’s been worse done within these walls. What the chief of medicine doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
A low, approving chuckle rumbled past Spitfire’s lips. Her eyes followed Redheart as she walked away, lingering over the arc of her neck and the softness of her smile as she leaned down to sniff a bouquet of roses. “I like this side of you. I do have one question, though.”
Without looking at her, Redheart traced her hoof down the petals of a rose poking out from its bouquet. “Just one?”
Flashing a wicked little smirk, Spitfire swivelled around to face the mare. “Can you dance?”
Redheart looked at her out of the corner of her eye and grinned. “I can.”
“Can you really, though? I’m kind of a professional.” Rolling her shoulders, Spitfire fanned out her wing to its fullest, fluffing the feathers to draw attention to them and the well-defined muscles at their base. An old trick that nopony, not even Nurse Redheart, could resist. “There’s a whole shelf back home for dance contests I’ve won.”
“You would have something like that,” Redheart said, leaning in to sniff the rose. As she did, her bright, blue eyes flickered over to Spitfire’s wing and followed it to its base. The tip of her silky tail flicked at the sight. Perfect. “And I can.”
Spitfire snorted and cocked her lips into an easy grin. “No way. Nopony’s that perfect.”
“Well, not many ponies were roommates with a dance student in college.” A wistful sigh floated past Redheart’s lips as she pulled away from the rose. “He was such a sweetheart, too. We tried dating for a little while, you know.”
“He? A stallion?” The grin fell from Spitfire’s face. “I thought you were into mares.”
Redheart giggled, low and titillating. “Oh, I am. Don’t you worry. I was in college, Spitfire, and what’s college for if not a little experimenting? So, I experimented.” Her smile faltered and dropped into a small frown. As she shifted her weight, the lower, more exciting qualities to her voice faded. “And it wasn’t too long before then that Raindrops and I broke up. She was more interested in stallions, and I, being the insecure and hormonally charged young mare that I was, thought I might be, too.”
“Oh.” A lame response, but the best one Spitfire could muster. She dropped her gaze and scratched the back of her neck. Feathers ruffled as her wing folded back up at her side, and she swung her legs over the edge of her bed. Patting the empty spot on the mattress, the corners of her mouth twitched. “What happened with him? Your, uh, boyfriend, I guess.”
“Gavotte.” A wan smile crossed Redheart’s face for a second before she shook her head and laughed, hardly more than pushing a little more air from her lungs. Her hooffalls were as soft as her voice as she walked back to the bed and hopped up next to Spitfire. “Like I said, he was a sweetheart. Strong, kind, quiet, and he always made sure I was well taken care of in every way. But, as time went on, we realized it wasn’t going anywhere, so we ended it.”
The tip of Spitfire’s tail twitched as the smooth softness of Redheart’s coat brushed against her own. Her eyes wandered over the slim curve of the nurse's shoulders to the crook of her jaw and oh-so-kissable lips. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes, he was so considerate.” Redheart laughed, this time more convincingly. The little smile she wore seemed more genuine, too, and reached her eyes. Goodness. How could any mare’s eyes do that? “So considerate and wanting to please me that we often left him unattended. I made a point to throw him a bone every now and then. Or, rather,” she said, dropping her voice back to that delicious lower register that made fur stand on end, “he threw me a bone, and I took care of it.”
Both of Spitfire’s ears stood on end and her wing threatened to flare out. The tip of a silky tail flicking and teasing over her haunches didn’t help matters any, either.
“And let me tell you,” Redheart said, her voice something throaty and purring that made Spitfire’s throat feel tight and her hospital gown stifling, “there’s nothing like a dancer’s body. I’d wager even a Wonderbolt’s body would have trouble measuring up.”
“I—um—” Spitfire swallowed, aware of a steadily growing warmth burning under her coat the longer she stayed transfixed under Redheart’s gaze. With their coats mingling, their tails touching, and the warm puffs of air against her fur, she found herself completely, utterly, and wonderfully helpless.
“Although, I admit, having seen you and your team in the air, I could be wrong. And you did say you were a dancer, so ...”
Redheart’s eyes were molten. The feathers of Spitfire’s uninjured wing twitched and fluttered without her permission, seeking refuge over her nurse’s back. Taking a breath, sat up taller and reigned in her wing. “Want to test that theory?”
A dangerous grin framed Redheart’s reply. “How about we start with a dance?” Hopping off the mattress, she turned and trotted around the bed to the gramophone. With a flick of her hoof, she pulled a record from the box. She brushed her hoof over the cover before sliding the record out and setting it on the gramophone. “Now, I thought we’d start with something slower. Your body is still healing, after all.”
Spitfire nodded and lowered herself to the ground. “Sounds good.”
Clicking her tongue as she inspected the record, Redheart said, “It’s been some time since I led a dance, but Gavotte was nothing if not an excellent teacher. As long as we both take it slow, I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Wait, lead?” Something like amusement bled into Spitfire’s voice before she could stop it. With a chuckle, she shook her head as her hooves touched down on the linoleum floor. “Sorry, Red. I don’t follow when it comes to dancing. I lead.”
Redheart arched a brow, but kept the sly smile on her face. “Not in your condition you don’t. Besides, between the two of us, I don’t think you could handle leading me.”
“Really? Well, fine then. If my ‘condition’ is too severe to stop me from leading—” Lifting her legs, Spitfire rolled and lay on her back, sprawling herself out sideways on her bed. “—then maybe I’m too tired to dance.” She stretched her mouth open wide and yawned. “See?”
“Oh, please.” Setting the record down, Redheart stepped over a bundle of flowers to Spitfire’s bedside. The pegasus, however, kept her gaze trained on the ceiling and didn’t budge, not even when she felt a hoof brush against her foreleg. “You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you?”
The top of a nurse’s cap bobbed overhead, and Spitfire knew if she craned her neck she’d be lost once more in Redheart’s gaze. “What was that? Sorry, I think I’m starting to doze off.”
Silence followed, but only for a moment. “I think I know what’s going on.” A peculiar puckish tone coloured Redheart’s voice, an extension of whatever delightfully wicked grin she no doubt wore. “Personally, I find it much more likely that you’re just sulky that you needed a singing telegram to physically push you into kissing a mare.”
“What? No!” The smart answer would have been to scoff. The collected answer would have been to shrug. Instead, as Spitfire’s eyes flew open, she bolted upright. She fixed Redheart with a glare, one that was returned with a playful batting of the eyes. “I don’t have any problems kissing mares.”
“Mmhmm.”
Huffing, Spitfire set her jaw and flapped her wing. “I’ll kiss anypony I want to kiss! In fact, if I really wanted to kiss you, I would. In a heartbeat.”
Something flashed behind Redheart’s eyes. “Oh? Then why haven’t you yet? Unless the ‘real’ Spitfire underneath all that bluster really doesn’t want anything to do with kissing.” A chime-like giggle punctuated her words. “Or with other, related subjects.”
“I—b-but—sh-shut up!” A bright blush burned across Spitfire’s muzzle, licking its way to the tips of her ears. At Redheart’s giggling, she couldn’t help but pout and glare at the wall to her right. “I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about this yesterday. Why are we talking about this?”
“That was then,” Redheart said, cupping a hoof under Spitfire’s chin and leading her eyes back to hers. The pout was quick to vanish at the smile that greeted her. “This is now. And, if this really makes you uncomfortable, a good way to shut me up would be to a good patient and follow as we dance.”
Scrunching her muzzle, Spitfire pushed Redheart’s hoof away. Then, her ears perked up as her smirk found solid grounding. “Or, you know, if you’re so keen, I could always kiss you to shut you up.”
Redheart tilted her head to the side as if to consider the notion. “Maybe, but I doubt you have the gumption for it.”
Spitfire lifted her nose and squared her shoulders. “That a fact, huh?”
“Until you prove me otherwise, yes.”
“Are you challenging me, Red?” Spitfire’s smirk took on a sudden wolfish quality. “Because if you are, then pucker up. I’ll kiss you silly.”
Redheart leaned in close, bringing herself snout-to-snout with Spitfire. The smirk died on her face as she felt warm puffs of air wash over her muzzle and as she was lured in by a lidded gaze. “Try it.”
“I—um—” Reduced to stuttering once more, all Spitfire could manage was a fitful flutter of her feathers. “Are you serious? Right now? Just like that?”
“Oh no, is the brave Captain Spitfire chickening out?” A playful pout flickered over Redheart’s muzzle as she pulled back, leaving Spitfire room to breathe. “Pity.”
“I-I’m so not chickening out!” Spitfire grimaced as her voice cracked and recoiled at the heavy thumping of her heart against her chest. “I just don’t want things to become, well, you know, awkward. With work.”
“Uh huh.” The smugness in Redheart’s smile rivaled that of the best Wonderbolts. “Because you haven’t made things awkward at all.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble for kissing one of your patients! That’s not chickening out, that’s more considering out.” Spitfire swallowed past a ball in her throat. Dimly, she felt the tip of her wing trembling. So close. Another inch, another little push, and she would have had it. “Unless you really want me to kiss you.”
“Too late!” Redheart chimed, turning around and walking away with a strut in her step that hiked her tail up just high enough to make Spitfire want to smack her head against the wall. “The moment’s passed,” she said as she started to clear a space in the mess of flowers. “Too bad. I might’ve actually let you.”
Groaning, Spitfire buried her head in her hooves. Her cheeks were warm to the touch. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I love to tease,” Redheart intoned, grinning over her shoulder. “And I think that you love to be teased deep down, don’t you?”
Spitfire sucked her lips in between her teeth in way of response. That way, she wouldn’t give Redheart the satisfaction of seeing her dumb, dopey grin two days in a row.
“Thought so.” Flicking her tail, Redheart pushed the last of the begonias against the wall. She nodded to herself and made her way back to the gramophone. “There’s no need to pout. You may have missed your chance to kiss me, but you can still dance with me. If,” she said, resting her hoof on the gramophone winding handle, “you behave and let me lead.”
Sighing, Spitfire dropped her hooves to her side. A defeat to be certain, but perhaps a more welcomed defeat than she wanted to admit. “What are we dancing to?”
A few minutes later, Spitfire stood at the centre of a space cleared in the middle of her hospital room. The sun’s descent over the horizon was nearly complete, bathing the room in the last vestiges of its light as she resisted the urge to shuffle her hooves. She flattened down the hem of her hospital gown and frowned. “Do I really have to wear this thing while we dance?”
“Hospital protocol, Spitfire. All patients are required to wear a hospital gown while they are still under our care.”
Brow furrowed, she looked up at where Redheart stood by the gramophone. Her expression flatlined as the nurse hummed the same, melodic tune as before. “Yeah, but didn’t you say we were already breaking a couple of those anyways?”
“All the more reason for us to observe what protocols we can.” As she started to crank the winding handle, Redheart shot a grin over her shoulder. “Besides, it’s fitting, isn’t it? If you’re following, then it only makes sense for you to wear the gown.”
Spitfire rolled her eyes, fighting back against the infectious quality Redheart’s smile seemed to have on her lips. “Har, har.”
“Quite.” With the gramophone wound, Redheart slipped a record out of its case and set it on the base. Once the needle was set, she turned and walked over to Spitfire. Her tail swished, a glimmering, silky pink wave as sunset turned to dusk. There was a noticeable, oh-so-enticing sway to her hips as the needle scratched and the record started to spin. “Okay, on your hooves.”
The frown evaporated from Spitfire’s muzzle, replaced by a small, toothy grin, and she eagerly complied. Rising to her hind legs, she met her partner halfway and found another’s hoof with her own. As she moved to rest her other hoof on the mare’s waist, Redheart’s other hoof clasped it and brought it higher up. “Ah, ah,” she said, clicking her tongue and grinning sweetly as she rested the wandering hoof on her shoulder. “I thought we agreed that you’d behave yourself?”
Cocking her lips into a well-worn smirk, Spitfire shrugged. “Can you blame a mare for trying?”
“Why yes, yes I can.” Trailing her the tip of her fetlock down the upper half of Spitfire’s foreleg, Redheart dropped her hoof and placed it on her hip, brushing along the toned frame underneath the hospital gown along the way. “Now, be a good patient and follow your nurse’s instructions.”
As she spoke, the first warbling notes of music sounded from the gramophone. The static passed, and once the first chime of piano keys reached them, Spitfire’s ears perked up. It was an old melody, one that she had heard played at galas and balls the country over. She also couldn’t stop herself from smiling or her tail from swishing to the side to brush over Redheart’s hind leg just so. “Clopin?”
Redheart’s smile was a gentle thing, warm and unguarded as the sharp, precise tones of piano music reached their ears. “I thought you earned it. It’s been some time since I’ve danced, so I may be a little rusty, but ...” She trailed off, lifting her hoof. White clasped around yellow and, with a slight push, Spitfire let herself be guided in a small circle.
The music began in earnest, and as the sound of piano filled the room, so too did they as Redheart led them in an easy, relaxed waltz around the space cleared of flowers. Spitfire’s ears flicked, catching her lead’s soft humming on the edge of her hearing. In the softest voice she could manage, she said, “Hey, Red?”
Redheart blinked, lifting her eyes to meet Spitfire’s. They were brimming with warmth, a warmth that enveloped her in an embrace every bit as tender and strong as the mare who held her. Though her hooves stumbled a step, she pushed through, carrying on the dance as the tempo of the music swelled and into a rising crescendo. “Yes?”
It took a moment for Spitfire to find her words, but when she did, she spoke them with a soft, smoldering smirk. “You’re doing great. That Gavotte guy must’ve been one heck of a teacher,” she said, flicking her tail of wildfire around so that its tip grazed Redheart’s thigh. “Think you can manage to spin me?”
Arching her eyebrow at the challenge, Redheart grinned. As they passed the bed, holding each other close as they danced in their circle, she pushed Spitfire away.
Moving with it, Spitfire twirled, balanced on her hind hooves, as Redheart lifted their hooves. Then, a quick tug later, the hoof was back on her waist. It squeezed, perhaps a few inches lower than before, and she rested her hoof back on her dance partner’s pearly white shoulder.
The faint scent of cinnamon tickled her senses as her sight was filled by the bright, thrilling blue of Redheart’s eyes. “How was that?”
Grinning, Spitfire inched a half-step closer until she felt the warmth of Redheart’s chest pressed up against her own. Their coats meshed, brushing against each other with each breath and step of their dance. “Not bad. I’ve never really been one for following,” she said, lidding her eyes as she felt the hoof on her hip give another gentle squeeze, “but you make it easy.”
“Don’t let your sister hear you say that.” Redheart’s eyes sparkled. Delight, affection, warmth, and something Spitfire only dared to believe shone within, honed to two breathtaking points—something meant only for her to see. “Or your brother, for that matter. They’d never let you live it down.”
“Let them hear,” Spitfire said, losing herself the longer her hoof clasped around Redheart’s, the longer she gazed into her eyes, and the longer she felt the faint, rhythmic thumping of her heartbeat against her chest. Maybe, at least for this moment, she could let herself drown in the mare holding her close. “I don’t care.”
“Since when?”
The music faded to the periphery of her hearing. Grateful for Redfire’s leading hoof, Spitfire found herself leaning in closer. There was hardly any space between them, she knew. Cinnamon and blue drew her in like a moth to the flame, and she gave in.
The moment—their moment—was now.
Without thinking she said, “Since you.”
Spitfire leaned forward, ready to close that distance entirely.
Their waltz brought them by the window. The last of dusk’s soft light spilled in, spilling over the contours of Redheart’s face in a gentle caress. The shining, bright blue of her eyes widened ever so slightly and a flickering of anticipation mingled with surprise brought a gasp silent to the ears but felt on the tip of Spitfire’s muzzle.
Just as Redheart surrendered, angling her head to the side, and just as their lips brushed together, Spitfire’s hoof caught on something sticking out from the wall. The magic shattered like so many pieces of glass. She heard her nurse’s breath catch as they stumbled backwards. Eyes widening, she flared out her wing, flapping it in a futile effort to right their balance. Gravity, on the other hand, had other things in mind.
They lurched as their hooves stepped and fumbled over each other. The shock on Redheart’s muzzle mirrored the few racing thoughts that found purchase in Spitfire’s mind. Acting on instinct, she gripped the shoulder under her hoof and pulled, bringing them chest-to-chest as their legs fell out from underneath them. Her vision went white—or was that just Redheart’s coat?—as something hard connected to her forehead with a solid, bony whack.
Stars sparkled before Spitfire’s vision and she was only vaguely aware of them hitting the floor. A long, low, pained groan echoed from her throat as her head swam. That same groan turned to a hiss as she reached for a thumping, sore, aching point on her forehead. Her wing fluttered, useless at her side, as she tried to summon the energy to move. Pain flared from her broken wing, draining the strength from her legs and collapsing her back on top of the soft, warm, and fuzzy surface she landed on.
Gritting her teeth, she rode out the pain until it softened to the occasional, angry throb. A matching groan from above drew a flick of her ear. She inhaled, breathing in the faint, delicious scent of cinnamon, and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, blinking away the world swimming before them, the white blob lying off to her right focused into Redheart’s hoof.
The breath caught in her throat. The skilled and precise piano hoofwork Clopin was famous for played as a backdrop to the heartbeat of the mare she lay on. The rhythmic thump-thump did little to calm her as a thousand thoughts raced to the same, horrifying conclusion. A glance down showed her tail draped over one of bright pink. A glance up showed Redheart’s chin bob as the mare worked her jaw and groaned again.
A box of tulips, jutting out from the wall and sitting at an odd angle, caught her eye. Realization settled in, a heavy, unwanted treacle that dropped her heart somewhere in her stomach.
The last words she spoke floated to the surface in the fog of her mind. Combined with the slip itself and the headbutt that followed, Spitfire found herself rendered immobile. Her muscles locked up, frozen as she stared up Redheart’s barrel, trying to find the right words. Or, at this point, any words at all would suffice. The longer she stared, the more she felt a fresh, blooming, burning heat blossom over her cheeks, down her neck, and up to the tip of her ears. A strangled breath escaped her mouth, forced free from the rest of her voice choked in her throat.
When Redheart lifted her head and looked down at Spitfire, it wasn’t with anger, confusion, or surprise. Instead, she greeted her with a bemused, crooked smile. There was a certain fondness gracing her muzzle, one that threatened to draw a whine from the pegasus.
It turned out that Spitfire didn’t need to say anything. Redheart managed to speak exactly what she was thinking, joined by a low, throaty chuckle. “How very smooth of you, Spitfire.”
Mortified, Spitfire squeaked—squeaked, a sound only her mother and sister heard her make when she was a toddler. Heedless of her broken wing, her other wing flared and flapped as she scrambled to push herself off. In her haste, she swayed to the left and hit her cast against the windowsill. Though she yelped, nothing could stop her hooves in their mission to carry her off of Redheart and far, far away.
She only stopped squirming when a pair of strong but soft hooves grasped her by the shoulders and a pair of bright blue eyes captured her gaze. Once more, she froze, held by the tender concern that drew her back in a welcome embrace. “Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice cutting through the haze in her mind, “calm down before you hurt yourself.”
As her heart beat a staccato rhythm, fueled by a cocktail of the humiliation that plagued her thoughts, the scent of Redheart that flooded her senses, and the feeling of hooves rubbing down her shoulders and back. Through it all, Spitfire nodded and took several deep breaths. As she did, she felt hooves coax her to lean against the frame supporting her and heard a gently shushing, soothing voice whisper in her ear.
When at last her heart steadied, she pinned her ears back and pulled away from Redheart’s embrace. With yet another groan she turned and thumped her head against the wall.
“Are you okay?” She felt Redheart’s eyes on her broken wing and heard the concern bleeding into her voice. “Is your wing in any pain?”
“Can’t you just kill me now, please?”
There was a sigh at her side, one more of relief than exasperation. A giggled followed, prompting Spitfire to put her head in her hooves, safe from the mare that she’d happily make a fool of herself for. “I’m afraid not,” Redheart said, her voice sweet and lilting, “I do think that’s enough dancing for one night, though. We should stop before we both end up hospitalized.”
Spitfire felt Redheart’s presence slip away and she shrunk against the wall, letting defeat drag her down closer and closer to the floor. Hooves clacked on linoleum tiles, and a second later the music cut out, plunging the room into an unbearable silence.
Chewing her lip, Spitfire fiddled with the hem of her hospital gown and watched out of the corner of her eyes as Redheart turned around and trotted back over. When she felt her hoof touch her shoulder, she flinched.
A note of hesitation carried into Redheart’s voice. “Spitfire?”
“I’m sorry!” Caught between a groan and a whine, Spitfire thumped her head back against the wall. Staring at the ceiling, she resisted the urge to slap herself and settled on mentally kicking herself instead. “That was so, so not cool of me.”
“This is a hospital,” Redheart said, her tone gentle and soothing. “You’re allowed to be uncool here.”
“But your head!” Flicking her gaze down, Spitfire searched Redheart’s muzzle for any sign of blood or bruising. Though she saw none, it did little to unpin her ears from her scalp. “Are you okay?”
“Relax, Spitfire.” With a smile as gentle as her voice, Redheart scooched closer to Spitfire until their shoulders touched. “I’m fine. My jaw’s a little sore, but I’ve had much worse.” A coat like velvet mingled with her own and another’s hoof rested on her foreleg, smoothing down the fur in soft, small strokes. “If it will make you feel better, I won’t even talk about what you said to me before your little stunt there.”
Spitfire felt some of the colour drain from her muzzle, replaced all too quickly by the heat infusing her face a fiery red. Stunt—the kiss or the trip? More importantly, which was worse? “I’d much rather you just put me out of my misery.”
“Hospital regulations frown on that, I’m afraid.” Giggling to herself, Redheart brushed a stray lock of pink mane out of her face. When it fell back down in the company of a few more strands, she frowned. Trailing her eyes upwards, Spitfire grimaced again.
The impact and fall, it would seem, not only knocked Redheart’s nurse’s cap off, but also shook some of her mane loose from her bun.
“Oh, to Tartarus with it,” Redheart said, reaching for her mane. “I’m off my shift, anyways.”
Her hooves fumbled with her mane until a small, black bobby pin slid loose. As it came undone, so too did Redheart’s mane. Long, silky pink tresses tumbled down and spilled around her shoulders, framing her face as they seemed to glow in the fading light of dusk.
Spitfire, for her part, stared as Redheart’s mane curled around her shoulders. Her jaw slackened, mortification forgotten as she pushed herself up against the wall. “Whoa.”
Redheart glanced at Spitfire out of the corner of her eye as she ran her hooves through her mane. “Whoa what?”
“You,” Spitfire said, feeling the corner of her mouth lift up in a goofy half-grin. She shifted her weight on her haunches, craning her neck as she memorized every detail, every contour of the mare at her side. Lifting a gentle hoof, she pushed a lock of pink out of Redheart’s face. “I’ve never seen you with your mane down before.”
“Oh.” The lightest hue of pink crept into Redheart’s cheeks, warm to the touch and spreading in the wake of the hoof that traced over it. While she adjusted her mane, Spitfire was content to watch, letting her lips spread in a wide grin. Lovestruck, if that’s what this was, didn’t feel too bad after all. As the seconds ticked by, the pink spilled across the nurse’s muzzle and burned brighter. “Shut up.”
A crooked, loving, adoring smirk took place of Spitfire’s smile. “But I’m not saying anything.”
Fiddling with her bobby pin, Redheart wrinkled her nose. The tip of her tail twitched and her shoulders shifted under the glow of Spitfire’s smirk. “Then stop staring.”
Spitfire felt her grin grow. “No.”
“Why not?”
An old spark flickered to life in Spitfire’s core, quickly building into a flame that would set her amber eyes aglow. Embarrassment ebbed away, leaving a near-burning want in its wake. It felt somehow new, and something beyond a baser, more primal desire.“Because,” she said, flicking her tail over Redheart’s, “you’re amazing.”
“Oh, stop.” She may have rolled her eyes, but Redheart didn’t pull her tail away, nor did she push away the hoof that cupped her cheek. “I think that stumble knocked a few more of your screws loose.”
Spitfire nodded, rubbing her hoof over Redheart’s cheek. The fur there was soft, softer than she imagined. “That, or you’re just gorgeous.”
A quick, playful shove to the shoulder came in reply. Redheart’s giggling laughter, though, was unmistakable. “You’re lucky you’re kind of cute when you’re being sappy, Sapfire.”
Propping herself up on her foreleg, Spitfire offered a winning smile. “Only kind of?”
“That’s all you’ll get out of me.” Turning her nose up, Redheart huffed and tossed her mane. “You’re a devious, horrible influence of a mare, Spitfire.”
“I am,” Spitfire said, crawling back up to Redheart’s side and spreading her wing loosely over her shoulder. “And don’t you love it.”
Redheart’s eyes flickered between the the wing and Spitfire. When their gazes met, she cocked a brow. “Love is such a strong word. Exciting? Yes. Addicting? Very possibly. But a nurse has to set certain boundaries.” Her attempt to brush off her wing was halfhearted at best. “For example, instead of indulging your wicked behaviour, why don’t we focus on what to do with all of these flowers? It would be a shame if another accident were to happen because of them.”
“Oh, that? Believe it or not,” Spitfire started, leaning her weight on Redheart’s shoulder, “I’ve been thinking about that, and I have an idea.”
“Well, then.” The tips of her her ears tickled Spitfire’s neck as she ducked her head and leaned into the embrace. Warm breath spilled over her fur and the lightest of nuzzles drew an unavoidable flutter of feathers. “I’m all ears.”
Swallowing against the sudden dryness of her throat, Spitfire looked down at the mare all but nestled into her chest. Her wing fanned out, spreading out over more of Redheart’s back as she focused her gaze on the flowers scattered around her hospital room. “There’s no way you can cart all of these to your house, and there’s no way you can eat them all before they wilt. That’d be a waste.”
Redheart nodded against her neck. “Agreed. What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about a lot of things while I’ve been here. I’m no stranger to being stuck in a hospital, and I know it’s not the best feeling in the world,” Spitfire added, squeezing her wing around Redheart’s side. The scent of cinnamon came off stronger from her mane, making her heart leap somewhere into her throat. She cleared it and gestured to the room around her with her hoof. “So I thought, why not make ponies’ lives a little brighter while they’re here?”
Redheart’s hoof rested on Spitfire’s chest as she lifted her gaze and blinked. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
The genuine surprise and, if Spitfire’s ears did not deceive her, adoration in Redheart’s voice made her chest swell. “Give them to the other patients. A bouquet or arrangement for everypony. And if there aren’t enough, go get some more from in town and put it on my tab.”
A beat passed as Redheart stared at Spitfire, unblinking. “You—you’re not just doing this to impress me, are you?”
“A little, maybe.” Features softening, Spitfire’s hoof snaked its way down to Redheart’s and wound around it for the second time that night. “But my job is to make ponies smile, Red. I’m grounded, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still do that.”
“All of them?”
“Yup. Every single one.” Squeezing her hoof, Spitfire forced her eyes away from Redheart’s to flicker over to a bouquet of flowers over the mare’s shoulder. Each flower reached to the ceiling with five red petals, each as flamelicked as the mark adorning her flanks. Simple compared to other specimens in the room, but for what she had in mind, perfect. “Well, almost. There’s one that nopony else is going to get.”
Redheart flicked her ear, but didn’t look away. “Oh?”
“Yup.” Extending her wing, Spitfire stretched her primaries out towards the bouquet. Target set, she leaned further into Redheart, nosing her way into her mane until she found her ear, and with a flick of her feathers snatched a single flower. As she wrapped her wing back around her nurse, she whisked the one, red flower to her muzzle between two of her primaries. Grinning at the way those entrancing blue eyes widened, Spitfire whispered into her ear, “This one is for you.”
Slowly, Redheart took the flower in her hoof. She traced her hoof down each of the five petals while Spitfire gently nuzzled her way around her ear in little circles. “A red columbine?”
“Uh-huh. Just for you.”
“I—” Redheart sucked in a quick breath, and Spitfire didn’t need to look to know she was blushing. Ever so slightly, she leaned into the pegasus’ touch as a soft, humming whine started up in the back of her throat. Then, the sound stopped. A hoof gripped her chest, twisting the thin fabric of the hospital gown before pushing away.
“Okay,” Redheart said, her voice breathy. “I’ll keep this one, but only if you keep one for yourself, too. That’s the deal.”
“Oh?” Spitfire cocked her head to the side, hoping to steal Redheart’s eyes away from the flower. The blush staining her coat a bright, pleasant red brought with it a soft smile and even softer chuckle. “Alright. Which one?”
“I’ll choose. Just wait here for a second, okay?”
Retracting her wing, Spitfire nodded. Without any further encouragement, Redheart stood. She fixed her red columbine behind her ear and flashed a quick, pretty smile. “Just one second.”
“I’ll be waiting.” As Redheart wandered around the room, eyes roving over each bouquet and arrangement, Spitfire leaned back against the wall. She watched, more than content to wait as the second ticked by into two, then ten, and then over a minute.
Throughout it all, she kept her wing spread, an open invitation for when Redheart made up her mind. Until then, she could watch, wait, and commit tonight’s events to memory—everything before and after tripping.
Another few seconds passed before Redheart’s ears perked up and swiveled forwards. Walking on the tips of her hooves over and around other sets of flowers, she waded through the room until she stopped at a small basket in the corner of the room. “Here.”
Spitfire sat up as Redheart took a single strand from the arrangement. “Did you find one?”
When Redheart looked back, there was a sparkle in her eye. She took her time as she sauntered back, letting her free-flowing mane spill around her face. By the time she returned to Spitfire’s side and nestled in under her wing, the Wonderbolt felt her heart—her own heart? Redheart’s? Both?—beating at a rapid pace that set off a slight trembling in the tips of her feathers.
A soft, gentle smile showed itself as Redheart brushed her mane out of her face, spreading around a strand of small, light purple flowers. Slowly, she reached up and, trailing her muzzle up along Spitfire’s jawline, she set the flower behind the pegasus’ ear. “There,” she said, drawing back. “Now you can give the others away.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Spitfire saw the gentle bobbing of the lilac as she breathed. “Um.” She swallowed, flicking her gaze down to where Redheart’s hooves rested on her chest. “Why this one?”
Redheart’s smile took on a coy edge. “I could ask you the same about this columbine, but I think I have a good idea.” One hoof left Spitfire’s chest to caress the flower behind her ear. “If you want to know, maybe you could ask Roseluck, Lily, or Daisy when you go to pay them for the rest of the flowers you’ll be buying.”
“Th-that so?” Wing curled around her back, tails entwined, and stars in her eyes—could she be any more ready? A few words more, that was all it would take. Licking her lips, Spitfire willed her forelegs to stay steady as she loosely looped them around Redheart’s waist. “Maybe you could be there when they tell me.”
“Really, now?” The way Redheart tilted her head to the side made her eyes shine. “And why would I be there?”
“I don’t know,” Spitfire said, taking a slow, calming breath through her nose. If she could defy death in front of thousands of ponies, then she could make a move on one that dared to steal her heart away. “Maybe we’d just be stopping by there on our way elsewhere.”
Redheart smiled. “Elsewhere?”
“Yeah, you know. Dinner? A walk in the park? Whatever ponies do around here? If you want to spend time after I’m released, I mean. No pressure or anything.” Her mouth cocked into a small, but warm smirk. “I just want to see you again once I’m out of here.”
Closing her eyes, Redheart hummed. When she opened them again, she inched closer, bringing the gap between them to what it was when they danced. “If you behave yourself for the rest of your stay, then I’ll consider it.”
Beha—oh, screw it.
Spitfire squeezed ever-so-slightly and lidded her eyes. “Why bother behaving when we’ll just be misbehaving all night long after?”
Redheart lifted her hoof to swat at her head. Spitfire saw it coming.
Ducking under her strike, Spitfire darted forwards. Before Redheart could react, she closed her eyes and found a pair of warm, inviting lips with her own.
The whole hospital seemed to stop. The continuous humming of fluorescent lights and hoofsteps of nurses and doctors outside were drowned out by a rising, buzzing warmth that filled every nook and cranny of Spitfire’s being. Her wing fluttered before it wrapped more tightly around Redheart, drawing her in closer.
When she pulled back, she blinked her eyes open to see Redheart looking back at her with a wide-eyed stare. Frozen, her mouth fell open into a little ‘o’ of surprise as her beautiful, white muzzle turned red.
Warmth spread to Spitfire’s smile as she took the opportunity to rub her nose in small circles around Redheart’s. “So, what do you say, Red?”
A giggle from the other end of the room ruined the moment.
Both mares blinked and, in unison, turned their heads. Three nurses hunkered down in the doorway, opened just enough for them to poke their heads in and watch. Two of them glared up at the third, Nurse Tenderheart, who held her hooves over her mouth.
A beat passed.
Redheart squeaked and scrambled against Spitfire’s hold, but her wing held strong around her back. “T-Tend! Sweet! Snow! I-I—this isn’t what it looks like!”
“Of course not,” the nurse in the middle drawled. A lazy smile spread over her muzzle. She brushed her two-toned blue mane, every bit as pale as the yellow of her coat, out of her face to show the twinkling of her green eyes. They sparkled, equal parts mischievous and knowing. “I’m glad the memo got sent out. I’m sure ponies will love our new snuggle-and-kiss policy for patients.”
“Oh, come on, now, Snowheart!” Tenderheart dropped her hooves and smiled at Spitfire and Redheart. “Let’s not embarrass these two. I’m sorry, that was just too cute and I couldn’t help myself!”
Any colour Redheart lost was more than made up for by the fierce blush burning under her coat. “Wh-what are you three even doing in here?”
“Checking in on our patient,” the last nurse—Nurse Sweetheart, said. Ever cheery, her smile looked even wider than usual as it wrinkled the freckles on her pink coat. Her purple-and-white striped mane bounced as she spoke with a decided note of glee lifting her tone. “You were supposed to go home ages ago, Redheart! So, when I came in to check on Captain Spitfire, imagine my surprise when I found you nestling under her wing and putting a flower behind her ear!”
Tenderheart pouted. “We missed that part.”
“And then I saw these two down the hall,” Sweetheart continued, showing her teeth in her smile. “I couldn’t help but wave them over so they could watch this budding hospital romance!”
“No!” Redheart cried, the desperation in her voice a delicious turnaround. “No romance! No watching! Leave!” Struggled as she did, Spitfire couldn’t help but grin and pull her in tighter. When her burning blue eyes turned on her, she grinned wider. “Spitfire, get your wing off me!”
“No.” Purring, Spitfire nuzzled her way up and down Redheart’s jawline, delighting in the giggling from their company and in the trembling from the pony in her hooves. “Let them watch if they want. I love an audience.”
“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little heads about us, dearies.” Nudging the mares on either side of her, Sweetheart slowly backed out of the room. “We’ll leave you two be.”
“Yes,” Snowheart said, her lazy smile taking on a keen edge. “But we’ll expect details tomorrow, Redheart.”
“Juicy, juicy details!” Tenderheart chirped before the door shut.
Once they left, Redheart groaned. “I can’t believe that just happened.” Wrinkling her snout, she glared up at Spitfire and prodded her chest. “And I can’t believe what you just did. ‘Let them watch?’ Are you trying to make me hurt you?”
“No,” Spitfire said, rubbing her hooves in circles around the small of Redheart’s back. “I just like watching you squirm. You’re cute when you squirm.”
Redheart huffed, but settled her hooves back over Spitfire’s chest. “You realize I’m going to make you pay dearly for that, don’t you?”
“Probably.” Lidding her eyes, Spitfire leaned in close enough to touch the tip of her snout to Redheart’s. “Might as well make the most of now while I can. In for a penny.”
“And in for a pounding.”
“Can’t wait.” With that, Spitfire tilted her head to the side and found Redheart’s lips for their second kiss.
This time, though it took a few more seconds, Redheart’s hooves squeezed Spitfire’s chest and pulled her in closer. She angled her head to the side, giving the pegasus all the incentive she needed to deepen the kiss.
Flying? Soaring? Neither quite fit. Whatever this feeling was, it was something new, something that beat the competition by leaps and bounds.