//------------------------------// // 13. Motherly Concern // Story: Worst Patient Ever // by Timaeus //------------------------------// The sun seemed to shine a little brighter as Spitfire strolled down the cobblestone pathways surrounding Ponyville General. Her feathers fluffed, soaking in the warmth, and she lifted her chin high, letting the breeze wash over her fur and tickle her nose with the sweet scent of apples. Though her muscles were stiff from lack of use, she reveled in how they stretched with each and every step. New life breathed into her, and now more than ever a deeper, instinctual part of her screamed to break into a gallop, to run and leap into the sky. A bigger, warmer, giddier part of her crooned. Perhaps it was more than her healing body. Perhaps it had more to do with what kept her up late last night, staring up at her hospital room ceiling with a pillow hugged to her chest and the taste of another on her lips. And perhaps this very same something walked alongside her, giving cause to the extra skip of her step that came as their shoulders brushed alongside each other. Perhaps each swishing of tails over the other’s haunches, and each traded knowing and glimmering smile made this walk through the gardens the best yet. Who knew? Anything was possible. Two weeks ago, Spitfire shuffled down this path. In her first walk through the gardens, her frame wobbled and shook before they passed the first bed of hydrangeas. She needed a steady, supporting hoof at her side; the same support she felt leaning ever-so-slightly into her side now, though perhaps a little closer than strictly necessary. Today, she walked with a long overdue air of confidence that carried her in a brisk stride. The mare—her mare, dare she think it—at her side raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as their trot led them away from the regular morning hospital crowd. She caught her glancing behind them every few steps, the slightest wrinkle furrowing her brow. When their eyes met, Spitfire simply smiled, and Redheart’s frown deepened, pursing her lips and drawing her eyebrows together in the middle of her forehead. Celestia, Redheart was adorable when she was worried. With the hospital crowd now behind them, Spitfire slowed her pace, bringing herself to a hospital-approved speed for recovering patients. The gardens, so she had observed, were almost always empty before noon. That granted her the freedom to fan her wing wide, basking as the morning sun warmed each of her feathers hovering dangerously close over her nurse’s back. Oh, how tempting it was to let her wing fall limp, draping over Redheart’s back in that moment. And now that she pressed ever-so-closer, bringing her shoulder under the crook of her wing, that temptation was almost impossible to ignore. Ponies could still look out their windows, after all, and a nagging, responsible voice in the back of Spitfire’s mind suggested that the newfound and more exciting facets of their relationship should be kept under wraps for now. As much as she might hate it, Spitfire knew it was right. But the temptation—oh the temptation—was there, a siren call only less potent than Redheart’s soft groans muffled into the darkness of her room until they at last bid each other goodnight. She had now felt her coat pressed flush against her own, run her hooves down her sleek, soft, and velvety back, and felt the quiet strength of her hooves as they gripped her chest. Those precious minutes were intoxicating. For a brief time, there were no walls, no stations of Wonderbolt Captain and Nurse, patient and caregiver, to separate them. That all came tumbling down as they danced, their foundations shaken by the exchange of flowers, and at last broken by the kiss she stole. Then, Spitfire got to drink Redheart in her entirety. Her heart swelled at the memory, beating a steady and exhilarating warmth through her body that made her feel as though she were walking on air. Until the discharge papers were signed, however, she would have to be a good girl. Behave, as her sister might say. Appearances and boundaries must be kept while in the hospital, after all, at least while the sun was in the sky. Though none of that stopped her from ducking her head and breathing in the lingering scent of cinnamon that followed Redheart around as she nuzzled her cheek and down along her neck. To her great delight, Redheart returned the nuzzle, and Spitfire felt her feathers ruffle without permission at the sensation. Overt displays of affection may have to wait, but quick little nuzzles and kisses under the shelter of the rose bushes were fair game, it seemed. Spitfire’s tail swished as they walked, grinning that same, stupid grin from last night. Oh, she could conjure the memories of a soft, velvety coat and the feeling of lips moving against hers, but why ever would she do that when she could focus on right now? As they rounded a bed of daisies and waded onto the grass, she felt Redheart pull away. Something between a sigh and a chuckle followed, and then her presence returned, leaning into her shoulder. “Will you stop that?” Ear flicking, Spitfire looked at the mare beside her. The shrubs and flowerbeds did little to lift the flatlined eyebrows on Redheart’s brow, but they could not hide the small smile playing over her lips. Though they were in the relative privacy of the gardens, she still saw the slight tensing of her nurse’s jaw, the brisk, composed gait she carried herself with, and the slight cooling of her eyes. Tense, and not relaxed—a sight that made the corner of Spitfire’s mouth twitch. As much as she would have loved to kiss Redheart silly, something she might even get away with now, she knew she shouldn’t. She knew Redheart couldn’t relax and give herself entirely, not until the gown draped over Spitfire’s frame was gone for good. A line had to be drawn for now. Good for her that line got more and more blurred with every passing hour. Widening her grin, Spitfire stepped closer so that her feathers trailed ever-so-lightly down Redheart’s spine. “Stop what?” “Grinning like the cat who caught the canary.” Redheart’s eyes darted from left to right. The gardens were empty, save for them, but that didn’t stop her from placing her hoof on Spitfire’s shoulder. She didn’t push, but the message came through all the same. “Please? It’s bad enough that Sweetheart, Tenderheart, and Snowheart saw us. The last thing I need is for any of my other patients to see you looking so cursedly satisfied with yourself.” A small chuckle rumbled in Spitfire’s chest. “She says after nuzzling me in the middle of the gardens.” “That was different. We were out of sight of my patients’ rooms.” Redheart cast a furtive gaze up to the side. For a second, she chewed on the corner of her lip, and took another half-step away. “Now, if Junebug were to look out her window, she could very well see us.” Spitfire followed Redheart’s eyes up along the brick wall of Ponyville’s General medical ward. Over a dozen windows faced them. A good many had their blinds drawn, but there were enough open windows to weigh a frown over her muzzle. “Junebug’s a sweetheart, really, but she has a penchant for nosing into other's love lives.” A polite if strained cough sounded from Redheart’s throat. When Spitfire looked back to her side, she found her nurse’s gaze on the grass. And, even in the shade cast by the building towering over them, she could see the slightest bit of pink creeping over the mare’s cheeks. “She can sometimes, um, embellish certain details, and I’d rather my superiors and other colleagues not start gossiping quite yet.” “I know.” Spitfire’s shoulders heaved in a heavy sigh. A rueful smile played over her lips as their hooves led them to a spot by a bed of begonias. “I don’t want to get you into any trouble, so I’ll try to keep it under wraps. But, seriously.” As they sat in the cool grass, she retracted her wing—not quite to her side. That was one invitation she wasn’t ready to do away with quite yet. “Can you blame me?” “Yes,” Redheart said, matching Spitfire’s sigh as their hooves found each other. “I can. It’s one thing to do that in the relative privacy of your room, but out in the open like this?” A soft squeeze, and despite her words, she felt the earth pony mare draw in closer. “We have to be careful.” “Easy for you to say.” Spitfire grinned, shifting her gaze to the gardens and a bed of hyacinths just starting to bud. As Redheart leaned in, she did so, too, tail flicking as their shoulders touched. “You didn’t kiss the prettiest mare in Ponyville last night.” “Oh, hush.” Spitfire squeezed her hoof and flicked her tail over Redheart’s. A risk, yes, but well worth it. “No. I’m pretty sure you’re pretty much perfect, and I’m over the moon.” “You’re just lucky that the chief of medicine isn’t big into nature.” A beat of silence passed as they sat, content to enjoy the quiet gardens and each other’s presence. Eventually, Spitfire let her eyes droop closed and allowed herself a content hum, only to be drawn back to reality by Redheart’s shifting frame. “Spitfire?” Spitfire grunted, but opened her eyes. “Yeah?” “May I ask you a question?” Something about Redheart’s tone made Spitfire sit up a little straighter. Furrowing her brow, she glanced to her side. “Shoot.” Insecurity flickered over Redheart’s features, manifesting in how she chewed on the corner of her lip and looked down at their entwined hooves. “What’s your favourite colour?” Spitfire arched her brow. “My favourite colour?” “Yes.” Redheart nodded, glancing again up at the row of windows above them. “Don’t ask me why, just answer.” A dry chuckle slipped past Spitfire’s lips and she shook her head. Heedless of any onlookers, she fanned her feathers out just a little bit more and leaned her weight against Redheart’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’d believe me.” This time, Redheart arched a brow. The insecurity passed as she lifted her gaze and tilted her head to the side. “What’s not to believe? It’s your favourite colour. It’s a fairly straightforward question.” “Alright.” Rolling her shoulder, Spitfire scratched at her neck. “And I promise I’m not making this up, but my favourite colour—” The faintest bit of heat trickled into her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “—is white.” Redheart stared at her, eyebrows raised. “No, seriously, hear me out.” Shifting to the side, Spitfire swiveled around to face Redheart. With their hooves still clasped together, she smiled and turned her gaze skywards. “Do you ever look up at the sky on a sunny day like this and see those little white clouds way up there? Check it, you can see a few right now.” Redheart followed her eyes, giving Spitfire the perfect opportunity to admire the mare before her. The pale morning sunlight caressed her frame, flowing along the soft arch of her neck, over her slim shoulders, and down her sleek barrel. A soft smile spread over her lips. Soon. “I see them,” Redheart said, dropping her gaze back down. Her mouth quirked at an odd angle, one that kickstarted the heart beating in Spitfire’s chest. Her eyes sparkled, curious and adoring. “What does that have to do with it?” “Those clouds are my favourite. You know why?” Without waiting, Spitfire squeezed Redheart’s hoof and brought it up to her lips. She brushed her lips over her mare’s ankle, smiling at the single flick of the ear it brought. “They’re far away from everypony else. Even pegasi don’t tend to fly up that high unless the forecast calls for a perfectly sunny day, so usually I can find one somewhere and just shrug off life for a little bit. When I see that kind of white, I feel safe for a bit, you know? Like I can stop worrying about everything.” An equally soft smile worked its way over Redheart’s muzzle. Slowly, she leaned forwards to rub her cheek against Spitfire’s. “That’s actually rather poetic,” she said, her voice low and quiet. It sent a tingle down the Wonderbolt’s spine. “I’m impressed.” “You know, your coat’s the same shade of white, Red. Maybe that’s one of the things that drew me to you from the start.” Speaking in tones just as dulcet, she leaned back and revelled in the sparkling blue of Redheart’s eyes that greeted her. “You make me feel safe, Red. You make me feel like I can be myself.” Leaning in again, Redheart risked a soft, chaste peck on the lips. Discretion was such a bothersome little thing. “Stop, you’ll make me blush.” Spitfire grinned. “I’ve also mentioned that you’re beautiful, right?” Redheart snorted and playfully shoved Spitfire away. “You’re milking it,” she said, grinning back at her. “And that’s all you’re going to get until you are officially no longer my patient.” “I know, I know.” Sighing, Spitfire scooched back to Redheart’s side. Stubborn to a fault, her grin remained. “I’m just glad that’s real soon. Us Wonderbolts aren’t known for our patience, you know.” Redheart chuckled. “So I’ve noticed.” Before Spitfire had a chance to respond, the sound of hooves on cobblestone caught her attention. She lifted her head in time to see Nurse Tenderheart trotting at a brisk pace down the garden path. When her eyes landed on them, they lit up and she smiled. “There you two are!” Drawing away an inch, Redheart returned the smile. “Tend, what brings you out here?” “You do. Or, well, your special patient does,” Tenderheart said, giggling as Redheart looked to the side while Spitfire found interest in a blade of grass. “Sweetheart thought you might be out here, so I thought I would check.” Spitfire cleared her throat, watching with some intrigue at the light shade of pink that creeped in around the edges of Redheart’s muzzle. “What’re you looking for me for?” “Oh, yes.” Tenderheart’s smile receded to a more common, polite smile Spitfire had seen nurses and doctors wear at hospitals Equestria-wide. “Your mother is here to see you.” Ears going rigid, Spitfire felt her heart stop beating for a second. All of that delightful warmth filling her being deflated, leaving her hoof trembling around Redheart’s. “What?” “She was just at the front desk asking for your room number,” Tenderheart said, her smile ever-kind as the blood started to drain from Spitfire’s face. “Doctor Horse escorted her to your room and is waiting there with him for you. I was passing by and he asked if I could track the two of you down. Poor Snowheart will be disappointed, though.” Redheart’s furrowed brow carried into her voice. “Why so?” “I really shouldn’t say.” Another girlish giggle slipped out from Tenderheart, one she poorly concealed behind her hoof. “But I think she was hoping for a reprise of last night.” “Tend!” Out of the corner of her eye, Spitfire watched the pink seep further across Redheart’s muzzle. “I would never!” “Yes, Redheart, we all know how much you adore hospital policy,” Tenderheart said, her smile taking on a wicked edge for a fleeting second. “Almost as much as you adore your little pegasus there. But you know how Snow can be, especially when it comes to romance. Don’t worry, I’ll break the news to her. See you two!” As Tenderheart turned around and walked back the way she came, Spitfire stared, her gaze roaming and eventually finding purchase on a bare patch of dirt across the gardens. Suddenly feeling a little numb, she didn’t realize her hoof was pawing at the ground until Redheart’s found it again. Spitfire’s shoulders and back tensed at the contact. “Why is my Mom here?” Redheart, for her part, arched a brow. “Well,” she started, the beginnings of an amused smile on her face, “isn’t this a change.” Ruffling her feathers, Spitfire exhaled and looked at her soon-to-be girlfriend. “What is?” “You.” The amused smile angled into a smirk as Redheart eyed her up and down. “You’ve gone stiff as a board. Judging by the look on your face, I’d say you were just ordered to fight a dragon and a hydra at the same time.” Spitfire blinked and tilted her head to the side. Screwing her face up, she nodded. “That’s not too far off.” “Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s just your mother.” “No, no, no.” Shaking her head, Spitfire’s mane shook from side to side. “You haven’t met her. If she’s here, then somepony must have—” Something clicked and she gasped. Narrowing her eyes to slits, she grit her teeth and growled deep in her chest. “Blaze.” Redheart stared at her. “Blaze?” “Blaze,” Spitfire said with a snort. “That’s a new low, even for her. That’s totally against the sisterhood code.” Though she scoffed, Redheart squeezed Spitfire’s hoof, drawing the pegasus’ eyes back to her. “I think you’re exaggerating things just a little. It’s your mother, not your manager.” Blinking, Spitfire looked from their clasped hooves and followed the slender foreleg up to its owner. When her eyes met Redheart’s, some of the tension eased away from the base of her wings. Oh, how she would have loved to capture those lips in a real kiss, one to make this newfound wave of apprehension melt away, but she had to make her understand. “Think about it for a second,” she said, cupping the mare’s hoof with both of hers. “She’s not here because I’m hurt. It’s not life-or-death, and Blaze and Rapidfire would have told her about my crash as soon as it happened.” Laying her other hoof over Spitfire’s, Redheart said, “Okay, I’ll humour you. Why is she here, then?” Amusement flickered behind Redheart’s eyes, and Spitfire met her gaze dead on. “Somepony ratted me out.” Redheart rolled her eyes. “And,” Spitfire added, “I’m about to be the only daughter in the family once I get my hooves on my good-for-nothing sister.” Slipping her hooves away, Redheart shook her head. The smirk was still in place, though, as she tilted her head to the side, letting the sunlight catch in her eyes. “Spitfire, I hate to break it to you, but you’re being ridiculous.” Spitfire scrunched up her nose and stomped her hoof. “I’m not! If I know my sister, which I do, then my mom’s here to meet you,” she said, prodding Redheart in the chest with the tip of her wing. “She’s here to tease me about you, and pretty much do anything in her power to torment me while you watch. She did the exact same thing to Fleetfoot when she found out she was dating Blaze.” “As fun as that sounds, I think it’s far more likely she’s worried about you and your recovery after that crash.” Pushing Spitfire’s hoof away, Redheart shook her head. “Honestly, Spitfire. You’re being absolutely ridiculous. She's your mother. She's here because she loves you.” “And I’m telling you that she’s not worried!” A high, whining note cracked Spitfire’s voice and, despite herself, she pouted. “If she was, then she would have been here ages ago. Somepony tipped her off. Somepony told her I’m crazy about you.” An odd little grin quirked Redheart’s lips and she tugged on Spitfire’s hoof. “There’s no time like the present. How about we put this argument to rest and find out for ourselves?” As she made to stand, Spitfire tugged back. When Redheart looked back to her, one eyebrow raised, she ducked her head and put on a winning smile. “Do we have to?” Shuffling closer, she spread her wing, tracing the tips of her yellow feathers against white fur, the kind of touch that made many a pony’s legs quiver. “Can’t we just sit here? It’s a nice day, peaceful and quiet, and I have the prettiest mare in Ponyville under my wing.” Redheart looked from the feathers to Spitfire. The other brow raised as her lips drew into a thin line. Spitfire squirmed in place and cleared her throat. “I’m not above begging.” A groan turned into a giggle as Redheart shook her head and brushed the wing off. “Let’s go see your mother, you great big foal.” Folding her ears back, Spitfire bit back a whine. Then, narrowing her eyes, she sat up and slipped her wing around Redheart’s shoulders. Onlookers be damned, she was going to savour the moment while she could. “Fine,” she said, finding her smirk as she squeezed. “But if I’m right, and this whole visit is just to embarrass me and ruin my reputation beyond all repair, then I want something in return.” Redheart’s eyes darted from left to right. A second passed before she leaned into the embrace and returned the smirk. She nosed her way under Spitfire’s chin, making the pegasus’ spine go rigid for very different reasons. “If you behave, maybe. What did you have in mind?” “A kiss. Tonight.” Licking her lips, Spitfire shook out her feathers against Redheart’s back. “With tongue.” “And whatever happened to those boundaries you said you understood?” “I’m crossing a line willingly letting my mom get her hooves on me with you around.” Spitfire waggled her ears and fumbled with her hooves until they nudged Redheart’s. “I think we can afford one kiss when nopony else is around.” Redheart hummed, grinning as she danced her hooves away from Spitfire’s. “We’ll see. It might be worth watching you squirm.” “No dice, Red. We go once this deal is made.” As she shifted her shoulders, she pulled Redheart in against her. Her fur was warm and soft. “Or else I’m just going to hold you right here and see what makes you squirm.” At that, Redheart lightly bonked her on the head. “May I remind you that I can call for the orderlies to escort you back to your room?” Spitfire’s grin only sharpened in response. With devilish intent, she leaned in to nose against Redheart’s cheek. “How do you expect to call for anypony when you’re too busy being kissed to yell?” “Oh, fine.” Heaving a sigh, Redheart rolled her eyes as she pushed Spitfire away and shrugged off her wing. She stood and fixed the nursing cap upon her head, the picture of a professional at work. “Anything if it means stopping your whining. But,” she said, shooting a smoldering if irritated look over her shoulder, “I will not be held responsible when you melt.” “I’ll be melting?” Spitfire asked, grinning wide as she hopped to her hooves. There was an extra skip to her step and swish to her tail as she pranced to Redheart’s side. “Excuse you, who held whom last night?” Redheart arched a single eyebrow. Her smirk spoke volumes. “As I said, I will not be held responsible. Now, come along.” There was considerably more space in Spitfire’s room once the last of the flowers had been cleared out—not that they went to waste, of course. Several ‘anonymous’ donations were made all over the hospital, from the foal’s ward to the ICU, bringing a little bit of joy and a smile to the patients of Ponyville General, or so Redheart told her. Now, the room was as bare as when she first woke up in it, save for one flower Spitfire kept on her nightstand. A few books had to be moved to the floor to make room, but the lilac Redheart chose her was a far prettier sight than the complete works of Hoofin’s A History of Ancient Roam. When they swung the door open to Spitfire’s room, Doctor Horse flashed his teeth in a grin. “Ah, there they are!” Chuckling to himself, he lifted his glasses off of his muzzle in the glow of his magic and pulled a handkerchief from his lab coat. A knowing edge honed his smile as he wiped the lenses of his glasses. “We were starting to wonder what was taking you two. Poor Missus Flare here had to endure my terrible sense of humour for far too long!” “We were out in the gardens, Doctor. Captain Spitfire likes to take her walks out there and wanted to linger a little longer than usual.” As Redheart spoke, Spitfire cast her a sidelong glance and arched her eyebrow. She flickered her feathers, the tips ghosting over pristine white coat and drawing a lazy swish from her pink tail. “Ah, I see. It’s good to hear Spitfire’s enjoying the nice weather.” Stuffing his handkerchief away, Doctor Horse replaced his glasses on his muzzle. The greenish-blue of his eyes twinkled as he peered over them at the pair in the doorway. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel as if he were casting one of his X-Ray spells. “Any particular reason why you were lingering?” Redheart cleared her throat, eyes flicking over to Spitfire. To most ponies, the flickering of feathers would have been an innocent, natural movement for a pegasus, but she knew better. Given how many ponies he treated, perhaps Doctor Horse did, too. “Not a clue.” “Call it motherly instinct,” the fourth pony in the room said, her voice flowing like warm honey. The sound of it simultaneously put Spitfire at ease while filling her with dread. Movement from one of the chairs in the room caught her eye, and she watched as her mother slid to her hooves. “But I have a feeling it had something to do with the company.” Raising three foals as troublemaking as Spitfire, Blaze, and Rapidfire put little grey into Stormy Flare’s mane of fire. She stood, her posture impeccable and her usual kind, motherly smile warming her pale yellow muzzle, but there was a certain familiar glint of mischief in her rusty red eyes that dried Spitfire’s mouth. How often had she seen that glint in her brother and sister’s eyes, or in her own reflection for that matter? Far too often, and in the eyes of her mother, the sight was terrifying to anypony who knew her well. Spitfire swallowed and offered a smile. No matter her rank, station, or age, once her mother’s eyes fell on her, she felt no older than the filly who begged for permission to race the older ponies after school. “Hi, Mom.” Stormy smiled. Her feathers fluffed as she smoothed out the sleeves of her favourite purple blouse and adjusted the string of pearls she wore around her neck. “Hello, dear.” “Well, now that we found your daughter,” Doctor Horse started, straightening his tie and grinning another toothy smile, “I’ll leave you two be. Patients to see, physicals to give—you know how it goes! Nurse Redheart, shall we give them some time?” Before Redheart could answer, Stormy cut in, trotting over to where they stood by the door. “Actually, I’d like to speak with Nurse Redheart about my daughter.” As her mother’s eyes left her, Spitfire felt her shoulders begin to sag and relax. “A mother does have her concerns, after all.” Both of Spitfire’s ears stood on end. Instinct told her to run and she looked to Redheart with the slightest twitch in her eye. Redheart, for her part, looked from Doctor Horse, to Stormy, to Spitfire. The latter jerked her head, her own eyes flicking from her nurse to her mother. “Oh. Um, of course not.” Nodding, Doctor Horse spared each of them a smile before he cantered to the door. “In that case, I’ll leave you ladies be. It was a pleasure meeting you, Missus Flare.” “The pleasure was all mine, Doctor. And please, just Stormy is fine. ‘Missus Flare’ makes me sound so old!” “I’ll keep that in mind!” Doctor Horse’s eyes lingered on Redheart as his magic enveloped the doorknob. He raised one eyebrow, to which the earth pony mare bit her lip and looked away at in response. Chuckling softly, he shook his head and left, closing the door behind him. In the silence of his departure, Spitfire shuffled her weight from hoof to hoof. She resisted the urge to chew the inside of her cheek as the tips of her primaries twitched. “So, what brings you all the way out here, Mom?” “That kind of tone makes me think that you don’t believe I care when you get hurt, Spitfire.” The reproach in Stormy’s voice pinned Spitfire’s ears back, just like when she was caught stealing from the cookie jar as a foal. A familiar, motherly hoof rested on her shoulder, and she couldn’t help but duck her head at the weight that it carried. “Don’t you know that I love you?” “Of course I do. It’s just ...” Spitfire succumbed and chewed the inside of her cheek. “You don’t usually fly out for these things unless it’s really serious.” After a beat, she placed her hoof over her mother’s and added, “And I love you, too.” Clicking her tongue, Stormy lifted Spitfire’s chin with an outstretched wing. “Now, dear, I didn’t know how serious it was until I got Rapidfire’s letter in the mail.” That familiar, damned twinkle of mischief flickered behind her eyes. “Once I knew, I rushed out here as fast as I could.” Spitfire’s heart skipped a beat. Renewed dread poured over her, draining the colour from her face as her mother turned her eyes to Redheart. A subtle twitch of the eyebrows was all it took for her suspicions to be confirmed. Rapidfire. “Now,” Stormy said, stepping over to Redheart, her smile a little too kind, “Nurse Redheart, or may I just call you Redheart?” Redheart blinked, then smiled. “Redheart is fine.” The tip of Stormy’s tail flicked. “Excellent. It’s so nice to meet you, Redheart. I’ve heard so much about you, and it’s wonderful to be able to thank you in person for looking after my baby.” Blood rushed to Spitfire’s cheeks without permission. Acting on instinct, she flinched and heard herself say, “Mom! I’m not a baby anymore!” Beside her, Redheart hid her laughter behind her hoof. The smile she wore creased the corner of her lips though, and a twinkle that looked much too like Stormy’s shined in her eyes. “Of course, and I hope you’ve heard good things.” Stormy threw her head back and laughed. Waving her hoof, she batted the concern away. “Oh, naturally wonderful things!” The corner of her mouth twitched and Spitfire bit her lip as her mother’s smile shifted into something more wolfish. It was subtle, too subtle perhaps for Redheart to notice. “I also wanted to commend you for doing such a good job. I know from experience how big of a foal my daughter can be, especially when she’s sick or hurt.” Redheart giggled, her smile growing to a wicked, delightful little smirk. “Oh, really now?” It was too late, Spitfire knew, but that didn’t stop her ears from pinning back or from her voice to warble out in a whining, tinny tone, “Mooooooom!” “Hush now, sweetie. Redheart and I are talking.” Fire, indomitable and unquenchable, burned in Stormy’s eyes as they flicked over to Spitfire. “Go lie down like a good patient, now. So, Redheart, how have you managed to care for my daughter without throwing her out the window?” Spitfire grumbled, ducking her head low as she shuffled to her bed. All the while, she felt Redheart’s eyes on her and heard devilish intent bleed into her voice, sending a wonderful chill down her spine while keeping her ears splayed back. “Patience, mostly. Patience and scotch.” Stormy giggled in return, but Spitfire knew that her smile wouldn’t have changed. She had a poker face that matched even the likes of Celestia, a mare with millennium of practice. “Ah, yes, a tried and true method when it comes to my Spitfire, I’m afraid. But—” A shift in tone made Spitfire freeze, one hoof on the mattress. “—there’s something to love despite it all, isn’t there?” “Oh. Um, well.” There was a note of hesitancy in Redheart’s voice, one that made Spitfire perk one ear up. Swivelling her head, she watched the corner of her mother’s lips twitch and spread into a smirk she had seen her sister wear countless times. The nurse, for her part, flicked both of her ears and glanced to the side. “I suppose she has a way of keeping things interesting.” The tips of Stormy’s wings twitched. “Really? How so?” “I can hardly remember a dull moment while she’s been under my care.” Though Redheart looked to her with a smile, Spitfire winced. Folding her ear back down, she crawled into bed. Phrasing it that way was generous, to say the least. “There were the times I caught her trying to wander around the hospital when she was supposed to be resting, for example.” A delightful, chime of a giggle gave cause for amber eyes to meet blue. They sparkled with an affection and care that would have spread a wide, goofy smile were it not for their visitor. “Or the flower shop I walked into the other day instead of a hospital room.” “Oho?” Flicking her eyes back to her daughter, Stormy’s smirked sharpened. Already, Spitfire felt a slow burn heat up under her fur. There was no escape. “And what was Spitfire doing with a flower shop in her room? It sounds almost like she was trying to impress somepony.” Finally, realization dawned in Redheart’s eyes at Stormy’s tone. Spitfire met her eyes and, with deliberate slowness, she took a single step back. Before she could take another, Stormy unfurled her wings and cantered around Redheart’s side. Her smile, a sweet thing, held a false promise of safety. “Do you know why my daughter might do such a thing, Nurse Redheart?” Redheart’s ears twitched as a soft pink bloomed on her cheeks. At the sight, Stormy’s grin grew. “U-um,” she stammered. Then, with a strained smile, she hopped to the side and out of the pegasus’ wingspan. “Maybe Spitfire could shed some light for us both! She did it, after all.” Spitfire stiffened as her mother’s eyes fell on her. “Don’t drag me into this!” “And don’t raise your voice to me!” Though she tutted, Redheart’s smile was a smidgen too wide. A bead of sweat built up on her forehead. “Answer your mother like a good filly.” “What?” Spitfire squawked. “She was asking you, not me!” “Maybe,” Stormy said, flicking her eyes between the two. With an air of ease, she walked over to one of the bedside chairs and slid into it, allowing her to watch both mares at the same time. “But I believe she has a point, dear. What were you doing with a flower shop in your room?” “I—um—” The feathers in Spitfire’s good wing ruffled and shook. Chewing her lip, she looked to Redheart, her eyes imploring. To her dismay, she only ducked her head in response and shuffled to the side. Stormy cleared her throat, amusement dancing in her eyes. Why, oh why couldn’t she have made Blaze and Fleetfoot suffer so? “I’m waiting, Spitfire.” “Um.” Flicking her tail, Spitfire fiddled with the hem of her gown before she looked up at her mother with a smile every bit as strained as Redheart’s. “I really like flowers? Uh, they make me feel better?” By the window, Redheart slapped her hoof to her face. Humming, Stormy nodded her head once. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said in a tone that suggested anything but. Then, as she lifted a hoof to adjust her earring, she released Spitfire from her gaze. “Well, whatever the reason, bless your heart, Nurse Redheart.” “Me?” Redheart blinked. “Why?” “For taking care of my daughter, of course!” A quiet, airy chuckle floated from Stormy’s lips as she leaned forward. The hoof that stroked Spitfire’s foreleg was soft, but the eyes that locked onto her burned just beneath the surface with a fire that made her pinions stand on end. “Now, Spitfire, have you been behaving yourself for this kind mare?” Even though Redheart was watching, Spitfire couldn’t help but wither and fold her ears back. “Yes, Mama.” Stormy clicked her tongue, a sound that always preceded a lecture. “Walking around the hospital when you’re not supposed to is behaving?” A mother’s disappointment rang true in her tone, sending Spitfire further down her bed to the safety of her blankets. “And lying to your mother about why you filled your room with flowers is behaving?” Spitfire slid down further while Redheart lifted her hoof to her mouth. Though she dare not risk looking away, a quick glance to the side showed mirth lighting up and twinkling in her eyes. “No, Mama.” If Stormy noticed Redheart’s reaction, she didn’t show it. Instead, she looked down at her daughter, one eyebrow raised. “Then why did you buy the flowers, Spitfire?” In the corner, a single, choked giggle escaped Redheart and Spitfire stared at her blankets. Wrinkling her snout and pinning her ears back, she mumbled to her chest. “Speak up, Spitfire. We can’t hear you.” “But Mom—” “I said speak up, young lady.” The edges of Redheart’s smile poked up from behind her hoof and she turned away, putting her back to the pair. As Spitfire whined, she saw the mare’s shoulders start to shake. “Okay!” Dragging her hooves down her face, she relented. “I got them all for Redheart!” The tiniest of smirks broke through Stormy’s mask. “Aha.” “But it was an accident!” Fire spread over Spitfire’s muzzle and she could picture her sunny yellow coat turning a dark shade of red. “It was only supposed to be a few, but then my friend who went to the flower store panicked and bought them all!” “There, doesn’t it feel better to let it all out?” Stormy reached out and patted Spitfire’s hoof, to which she pouted in reply. “Though that does lead me to another question.” Dismay coloured Spitfire’s voice. “What now?” “The question is why, Spitfire.” Stormy’s rusty red eyes lifted from Spitfire and honed in on Redheart’s back. “Why did you want to buy any flowers for this kind nurse? It can’t just be because of all of the care you’ve received. Plenty of nurses have endured your bellyaching and scandalous flirtatious ways in the past.” Both of Redheart’s ears stood on end and she turned back around, wiping the corners of her eyes. “What?” Now, Stormy’s grin resembled that of a timberwolf’s. “Oh yes, I’m well aware of how my little darling Spitfire can be sometimes. I’ve spoken to her nurses in the past and while they’ve all taken it in stride, I’ve never seen any of them walk away with a bouquet of roses before.” “It was a red columbine,” Spitfire muttered under her breath, drawing a flick of the ear and glance from her mother. For a brief second, the mischief disappeared, leaving the warmth and comfort she sought on a stormy summer night as a foal. “Be that as it may,” Stormy said, her voice once more smooth and warm, “it does make a mother wonder what else might be going on.” Spitfire bit her lip. As her eyes wandered off to the right, they found Redheart’s. Sunlight flooded in from the window behind her, bathing her in a bright, golden glow. She tilted her head to the side, a loose strand of her mane falling loose to curl around her face. Her fur, as white as the summer clouds pegasi so loved to lounge on, shone in the afternoon sun and only seemed to brighten at the soft smile she wore so well. Then, there were her eyes. Dear Celestia, her eyes. Slowly, Spitfire’s ears lifted from her scalp as an equally slow, warm smile spread over her muzzle. And, as the moment lingered, Redheart looked to the side, shuffling her hooves as she brushed the loose strand of pink back into place. A few weeks ago, it would have been the perfect opportunity to pounce, something Stormy knew too well. “Is something the matter, Redheart?” she asked, her voice making both other ponies jump. “You’re looking flushed. Are you feeling quite well?” “It’s nothing,” Redheart said a little too quickly. Though she looked to the side, her smile was still there, as stubborn as the mare who put it there. “I think I just need some water.” “Come now, you’re practically glowing!” And glowing she was. It would have been easy to comment, perhaps even easy to make her squirm, but Spitfire settled for keeping her smile and warmth flowing. “Maybe you ought to sit down?” “No, no, really, that’s not necessary.” “Are you sure?” A keen edge entered Stormy’s voice, sharpening it to a deadly point. “I brought some of Spitfire’s foal pictures along. Why don’t you sit down and took a look at them with me?” A sudden, icy cold brought the warmth and Spitfire’s smile to a sputtering halt. “What?” Redheart, her eyes wide and her ears swiveled forwards, echoed her. “What?” “I’ve made it a habit of carrying my brag books around with me,” Stormy said, reaching for her purse resting on the floor next to her chair. “You see, with all three of my wonderful foals in the Wonderbolts, I have a fair bit of bragging to do. And, as my marriage has taught me, plenty of ego that needs occasional deflating.” The dread on Spitfire’s face must have been comical as the warm, tender smile on Redheart’s face switched out for a wicked smirk. “I think I’m liking the sound of this, Missus Flare.” “Not you, too.” Flare clicked her tongue. “Just Stormy will do, Redheart. Now, why don’t you come sit down and we’ll see what kind of hummingbird my Spitfire was when she was little, hmm?” As Redheart cantered over, Spitfire fell back on her pillows and covered her face with her hooves. Somepony up there most certainly had it out for her.