//------------------------------// // Chapter 48 - Skywise // Story: Sensation (SFW Version) // by Vivid Syntax //------------------------------// Mom and I promised to keep in touch one more time, and we believed each other. After a long, slow goodbye, Mom started digging in her purse again, and even if she didn't say so, I understood what she was doing: this time, I got to leave first. I dried my face, smiled, and walked out of the restaurant with my head held high. I tucked the folder with Dad's letters into my saddlebag, and I raced home. Even though my hooves throbbed and my brain kept telling me to sleep – or at least just chill for a few minutes – the folder kept calling me. I didn't even land when I got to my front door. Instead, I unlocked it, lugged myself up to my room, dropped the saddlebag next to my Braeburn pillow, and belly-flopped onto my bed with a groan and a sigh. My eyelids felt heavy, but before I could fall asleep, I rolled onto my back and fished a letter out of the folder. Mom had kept them in chronological order, and I took one from early on. I was out of breath, and I had to wait for my hooves to stop shaking before I could read it. Jet, Soarin's well. He got first place at the Junior Flier All-Star Division races today, and he hasn't taken his medal off since. I had to slip it off him when he went to bed so he wouldn't choke. I'm proud of him, but at times like this, who wouldn't be? I smiled. I remembered being upset when I'd found my medal on my dresser the next day, and I'd put it right back on. It's rare to see him smile so much these days. He's been acting out at school, and he hasn't been sleeping well. It's been rough on all of us, but he's just a colt. Given the shitty circumstances, I can't blame him for lashing out. Thank you for respecting Judge Gavel's decision. If nothing else, I admire you for that, and we can both take solace in the fact that Soarin' will get over it eventually. He's already asking about you less and less. My stomach turned. 'That's messed up, Dad.' He'll be okay, but I'll let you know if anything else comes up. –Sky I felt a pang in my heart. Dad never swore, and reading him jab at Mom like that, telling her how relieved he was that I wasn't asking about her, I… …I got angry at Mom. My face heated up, and my mane bristled. At first, all the rage over her leaving me bounded back, and even after I reminded myself that she'd had her reasons, my brain still defaulted to pinning everything on her. 'She made Dad swear. She pushed him so hard that he got petty.' How messed up is that? But after I read it again, the logic broke down. I shook my head and sneered at myself. "No. Stop it, Stormcloud." It wasn't her fault that Dad had written those things. She's just shown me another side of him, and I groaned, "What the fuck, Dad?" After a deep breath, I carefully folded the letter and put it back in its place. My lungs felt heavy, and I stared at the ceiling with knit eyebrows, my jaw tight. "Why would… what?" I felt too big for my skin, and my shoulders tensed. Dad was kind. He took care of me and encouraged me and took me stargazing and made me dinner and cheered louder than anypony in the world when I flew. He wouldn't have sworn at mom. He would never have been so vindictive. It couldn't have been real, and above everything else, it didn't sound like him. I rubbed my temples in little circles, trying to massage away a new headache. "That was just a one-off thing." Eyes wrenched closed, I spoke to Dad. "I get it. You were frustrated. It was still new for you. You weren't always like that." I looked back at the folder. "…right?" I lay there for a couple minutes, staring at the folder. It was bound tight, like a sleeping cobra. A few times, I moved my hoof, but I kept stopping myself, tilting my head when I couldn't decide whether to look or not. Finally, I sucked in a breath and grabbed another letter, one from a few months later. Jet, Soarin's been getting into fights at school lately. He's been moody, and I can't help but notice he's acting a lot like yo– I folded it up without finishing and quickly put it back, cursing when I accidently ripped a corner. I remembered what he was writing about, when I'd started picking on other ponies that couldn't fly as well as me. Dad had punished me, but never too hard, and I suddenly understood why: he'd always had somepony else to blame. With fire in my voice, I said, "Dad, that isn't you." No answer. My room felt giant and cold. I looked to the side to my closet-mirror and saw a big, blue expanse, and the emptiness unsettled me at my core. My breathing grew heavier. I tried to conjure up Dad, to hear his voice like I always had whenever I was upset, but when he started to say things like, "You're right, son. That's not me," it felt hollow and stiff. It didn't sound like him. And worse, the letters sounded more real the more I thought about them. I focused harder and tried again and again to talk with him, but I couldn't feel him. Every time, the conversation died a sentence or two in, and instead of feeling warm and safe, it felt like I was talking to a dead-eyed, unbreathing imposter with sharp teeth and a rigid grin. My mind spun, like that… doppelganger was edging me backwards towards a dark canyon with my wings tied to my sides. I felt the pit looming closer, but I kept thinking, 'So he made mistakes. Everypony does. He still did his best, and a few letters don't make it any less real.' Out loud, I said, "And we'll be back to normal soon, right?" Still, no answer. I felt like I'd taken another step back towards the cliff edge. My heart thumped hard in my chest, and my breathing became sharp and hot. I sat up, and it still felt like something unwelcome was there with me. My eyes darted around, and I caught a glimpse of the picture on my desk. It was still turned face-down. Without thinking, I hopped out of my bed, galloped the few steps to my dresser, and quickly turned the photo over. Hearth's Warming. All three of us. It didn't… It wasn't… I don't know how to describe what I was feeling when I looked at it. It sort of felt like everything was jumbled, like the words had been after my concussion. I knew all the parts, but I couldn't make sense of it. Whatever it was, though, it got the imposter to quiet down, and I set the picture up where I could see it from my bed. I felt dizzy, so I went back to lie down. I clutched my Braeburn pillow to my chest, then I groaned and hugged it tightly until I could fall asleep. Thankfully, I woke up later than I'd wanted to – too late to worry about my own issues – and I had to dash to get ready for the show. I threw on my uniform and was at the front door before the coldness could catch up with me. But I hesitated, and in that moment of weakness, I dashed back upstairs to grab the folder. I don't know if I'm happy or sad that I was in the show that night. On the one hoof, I could have used more time to process everything I'd been through with Mom and what was happening with Dad, but on the other, I needed to keep moving before I got completely bogged down, and the exercise helped keep me from freaking out. The stadium was packed that night, and Fire Streak and I drilled into our team one more time how important every single show is. They delivered, and Sightseer did an amazing job, too. His turns were perfect, he never missed a cue by even a wingbeat, and his contrails were crisp and stunning. Granted, he'd been on the main squad in a temporary capacity before, so the routine was well understood, but I did catch him hyperventilating and laughing between acts. It's the only time I've seen him smile after getting a good-intentioned slap on the ass to get him refocused. And when the show was done, he had that look about him: wide-eyed, afraid to smile but unable to stop, and shaking like an over-caffeinated Reserve right before their time trials. It didn't stop his family from leaping onto him as soon as they got backstage, though, and his daughters beamed brighter than the show lights. Sightseer calmed down once he could cuddle his fillies for a few moments, more than my parents ever had in public. His wife Vapor Wave got in on it, too, and seeing them so happy made me think, 'Do Sightseer and Vapor Wave fight when the fillies are in bed?' Spitfire saw me staring and jabbed me back to reality. "You okay, Soarin'?" "Hm?" I blinked away the dryness in my eyes. "Uh yeah. Kinda." I cocked my head. "Actually…" I asked her and Streak to keep me from getting too far down the rabbit hole, and every time I started staring off into the distance, they joked with me and told me to hurry up and get ready for the big party at Wave Chill's. I got there in one piece, and once I was a couple drinks deep, I finally had a real conversation with ponies that were still alive. The party was a little milder than the one at–… my place had been, but that's mostly because Wave Chill's a great host. He kept the music to a dull roar, since Sightseer isn't huge on dancing or ultra-loud music, and besides, we were all mostly talking to Sightseer in the backyard, anyway. Everypony kept asking him how he was feeling and what his plans were and what he'd like to see out of the show, and even though he got flustered, he stayed on top of all our questions. At one point, he laughed and said, "This is nothing. I once had to explain all of flight dynamics to my fillies." The extra beers helped, even though he's not much of a drinker. Vapor Wave cut loose a little, too, since the foals were at Sightseer's parents'. Me, though? I danced. It was a lot less sexual and forward than usual, but I still lost myself in the beat and worked off whatever tension the show hadn't already burned through. It reminded me a lot of the parties from before Braeburn, with the one difference being that I was actually enjoying myself instead of trying to drown out the quiet. There was one other special thing, though. Late into the night, after everypony else had gone home, a small group of us lay on our backs on a big cloud above Chill's place. Streak, Spitfire, Chill, Fleetfoot, Sightseer, and I lay in a ring, our heads in the center, looking skyward. Some of us nursed the last bottles of the now-warm beers, while others just enjoyed the balmy, semi-humid nighttime. Nopony had gotten completely trashed. Wave Chill's marefriend had already gone home. Vapor Wave had, too, partly to give Sightseer's parents a break, but partly to give us space to just have team time. Spitfire and Sightseer talked idly about Sightseer's experience and what he wanted to strive for in the future. The rest of us just looked up at the endlessly deep, sparkling sky, quietly contemplating our place in the universe and thinking back on everything that had brought us to that moment. Then Wave Chill belched super loud. The rest of us shared a low, rumbling laugh, but a quick burst of electricity shot between all of us, and it was on. Fleetfoot, Streak, and I responded with gut-twisting belches of our own, and soon, a contest broke out, with everypony trying a bunch of different techniques that rattled all through the neighborhood and scared away at least a dozen high-flying birds. Sightseer and Spitfire even got in on it towards the end, and by the time we'd all run dry, we were laughing ourselves stupid. In the end, we agreed that Streak had taken the title, mostly for his impressive endurance. As we settled down, I snickered to myself and mumbled, "You doofuses." Wave Chill held a mostly empty bottle to the sky. "Yeah, but we're your doofuses, captain." Fleetfood chimed in. "We just follow your lead, Soarin'. We can't be held responsible if you set a bad example." We all laughed again, and Chill turned to Sightseer. "Welcome to the glamorous ranks of the Wonderdoofuses, Sights. It's not too late to back out." Sightseer laughed politely. "No thanks, Chill. I've worked hard to get here, and a belching contest isn't scaring me off. I plan on taking Streak down one of these days, anyway." Streak snickered, slurring his words just slightly. "Gooooood luck with that, Sights. Soarin' and I have been practicing since the Reserves." Fleetfoot craned her neck to look at Sightseer. "You sure you're ready? The critique gets a lot harder once you're at this level. Isn't that right, captain?" Spitfire spoke in her usual, strong voice. "Affirmative, Fleetfoot." She smirked at Sightseer. "Hope you're ready, newbie." Sightseer rolled onto his side to face her. "Hey, c'mon! I've been a Wonderbolt longer than you have, captain!" I smiled. "Yeah, but you're still a newbie. Don't sweat it, though. Just stay on long enough to razz the next guy." Streak stretched out his wings. "Yeah, we've all been there, Sights. You won't be th–" Sightseer laughed and waved a hoof. "Okay, okay, question: is 'Sights' a thing now? I've never been called that in my life." I puffed up my chest. "Damn straight it's a thing! You've earned it." I lifted my nearly-empty beer. "To Sights!" "To Sights!" came a chorus of Wonderdoofuses. Sights chuckled. "Won't my kids be proud. I'm finally cool enough to have a nickname." My chest felt heavy again, and my mood suffered from sudden whiplash. 'Stormcloud.' It echoed in my head a few times. Fleetfoot flicked her tail. "Eh, you seem like a pretty cool dad already. Maybe not cool cool, but the kind that they'll really appreciate on their wedding day. Y' know, after they've already made all their mistakes." My body went numb. 'I didn't have a nickname for Dad. I should have. Why didn't I?' Sightseer whimpered. "Aw, don't do that to me yet! They're already growing up too fast. I don't want to think about that." I remembered Cyclone and Twister. And, well, me and Mom. 'Did she do better with them?' My heart fluttered. Mom hadn't shown me any pictures of them, but I imagined talking to them at one of the school shows. I could see every detail, and I wondered if I'd be able to pick them out the next time. 'Do they look like me?' She'd worked hard not to expose her kids to the celebrity life, and that must have meant she was at least more attentive, right? But where did that leave Dad? He was the most attentive pony I knew, but then again, what did I really have to compare him with? I'd turned out pretty messed up by the time he'd passed away, and I sucked in a quick breath as I thought, 'Maybe he wasn't great?' My head shook away that thought immediately, and my left eye watered just slightly. 'No. No, don't think that way. I love him. He loved me, even if he wasn't…' I don't know how long I was lost in my head, and I'd completely lost track of the conversation when I timidly interjected, "Hey, Sights? How… do you know whether you're a good parent?" The night went deathly quiet, and I shrank, quickly bending my neck to see everypony staring at me. "…What?" Five sets of wide eyes. A little louder, I asked, "What?" Chill was the first to say anything. "Uh, dude? The last time you got all serious, you told us you have brain damage." There was another beat. Sightseer craned to look at me and cleared his throat. "Yeah, did something happen?" Fleetfoot laughed. "Did you finally get a fan pregnant?" 'They're worried about me.' I shook my head, and whether it was the beer or the camaraderie, I casually responded, "Nah. I just…" I mumbled, "…talked to my mom today." "Woah," Chill said, sitting halfway up and turning around to face me. "Really? I thought you didn't talk to her anymore since, like, ever." "Yeah," I sighed. A little louder, I fake-chuckled and said, "First time I've even seen her since I was a colt." Fleetfoot grunted. "This is one of those things Spitfire and Streak already knew about, isn't it?" "Mm-hm." "Yep." Sightseer fiddled with his hooves and asked, "So… how'd it go?" I gave them the short version, about why she'd stayed away and what I'd gotten off my chest. It exhausted me all over again, and by the time I was done, I thought I'd pass out on the cloud. But as it turned out, the other 'Bolts all had plenty of stories about how their parents had messed them up, too. For years, Spitfire never felt good enough for her mom, and she still feels inadequate sometimes. Fire Streak's parents were pretty supportive, but they worked all the time, and he felt like he always had to compete for their attention. Wave Chill's parents started buying him beer when he was barely an adolescent, and Fleetfoot thinks she developed her lisp because of how hard it was to talk to her mom. Even Sightseer didn't completely trust his parents to set decent boundaries, and it still terrified him to let them watch the fillies. I listened and spoke honestly with them for hours. Some of the 'Bolts used to say that Spitz was the brains of the team and that I was the heart, but that night, I think we all were a piece of both, and I realized that my family might have been even bigger than just the three of us captains. We talked until the first hints of sunlight peeked over the horizon. Chill had fallen asleep on the cloud, but Sightseer roused him and got him back to his place. I stayed over at Streak's that night, but before I curled up on the couch, I dug out another letter from Dad. Jet, Soarin's away at summer camp for the next week, the same one we both went to as foals. Hopefully he likes it more than you or I did. I told him to make lots of new friends, but he blew me off. He knows that he probably won't ever see any of them again, and even though I'm impressed by how worldly he is, I'm worried he's already too cynical for somepony his age. He's making friends okay, at least around at school. He's falling in with the other athletic colts, which is no surprise. I just hope they turn out to be a good bunch. He still refuses to play airball after what happened last season, but he's taken to the speed track well. I really hope he makes friends, Jet. There are so few ponies you can count on in this world, and he needs them more than anypony else I know. I can only do so much, especially with the extra hours I've been picking up lately. Wish us both luck, Sky … I breathed. 'Did you have friends, Dad, or was I the only one?' The paper crinkled as I folded it back up and looked out the window. The light was getting stronger, and I knew if I didn't sleep soon, I wouldn't be able to. I looked around the room and saw that Streak had framed a copy of his hometown paper, where he'd made the front page after his debut as captain. He'd gotten his parents to sign it, and he had a picture of the three of them from after the show. I don't think I've ever seen him smile so wide. Next to that was a picture of his first day as a Wonderbolt on the main squad, as well as a few other random photos. One picture of him and Spitfire had snuck in, both of them looking content but frazzled. I think it was their first after-sex picture, but it was tasteful enough that you might not guess what it was. And of course, there were several of us as a whole team. I smiled and looked back at the folder. "I made some pretty good friends, Dad. You didn't need to worry." Still no response, so I lay down, pulled a pillow over my head, and fell asleep. The group was up by a little after noon. Sightseer tried to leave, but Wave Chill pulled his "Screw you, we're still partying" routine and got him to agree to brunch. The group was looking for suggestions, and while I was still feeling the same warmth I had felt the previous night, I blurted out, "How about Bad Sun Rising?" Streak and Sightseer were the only ones that had been there before. I'd avoided bringing the team – it was my special place, after all – but that morning, it felt right, and they all agreed. Our entourage flew over in a tight formation. We weren't trying to perform or anything, but you can't get six Wonderbolts to fly together without the instinct kicking in. We got a few stares and enthusiastic waves on the way over, which we returned with some crisp salutes of our own. Before long, we were downtown and the second group in line for a table. I wanted to enjoy brunch, but as we waited to be seated, I remembered the last time I was there. Holli had tried to warn me that Braeburn wasn't doing well, but I'd still been in denial and had stormed off. We hadn't spoken since. There was a different hostess at the front, but Holli was cleaning up tables and taking care of checks. Her smile faltered a little when we made eye contact, and I swallowed a lump, idly wondering if she was still mad at me. 'I wouldn't blame her.' I lagged behind the rest of the group as the hostess led us to the table. We turned a bunch of heads, of course. We were late enough to be past the peak Sunday brunch hours, but there were still plenty of eyes on us. Our table was on the opposite side of my usual booth, towards the back where it was at least slightly private, but we all shared knowing nods when we realized we'd have to be "on" for the rest of the meal. We ordered more than we could eat from a different waitress, and it didn't take long for one bold fan to open the floodgates and stop by the table. From there, a long line formed, and Spitfire quietly reminded the group to tip well for disrupting the restaurant's service. With all our fans watching, we couldn't bullshit the way we had the previous night, so a lot of the magic was lost, but it was okay. I was with my friends, my family, and it was comfortable. It's good for the soul to be recognized in public from time to time, or maybe we were just feeding our lifelong addiction to fame, but we were in it together, and we made damn sure Sightseer got his due most of all. We stayed until mid-afternoon, shoveling tepid food into our faces between posing for pictures and signing headshots. A few passers-by even came into the restaurant just to see us, and when it started becoming a problem for the wait staff, Spitfire called out, "Okay, Wonderbolts. I think I've got to head back. Streak and I need to finish paperwork for next week's show." Chill perked up and dropped his voice half an octave, the way he always did for the crowds. "Anypony going to the Horsemouth show next weekend?" A few ponies whooped in response. "Alright! We'll see you there!" Professionals, those Wonderdoofuses. We said our goodbyes, but I hung back. I needed to talk to Holli. …which gave the remaining spectators the chance to ask where Braeburn was. I'd prepared, of course, and I stuck to my plan. I imagined him surrounded by his own family, happy even though he missed me. I pictured him recovering from the Saturday night dances in Appleloosa and filling out paperwork with pristine hoofwriting. I knew he'd be happy, so when I smiled and answered their questions, it was sincere. "He's home." I managed to skirt by without too many more details, and thankfully, no paparazzi had found us by the time the crowds dispersed. There was one last pony at the very end of the line, though, her apron covered in stains and her mane just starting to show the effects of a full day of serving hungry customers. Despite that, she balanced two rosewater shakes on a tray with one hoof. She had a cream-colored coat, a yellow mane, and just a little twang to her tired, relaxed voice. "Hey, Sugar." She still looked gorgeous. I smiled at her, and my voice was soft and low. "Hey, Holli." I gave her a half-wave. "You look beat. Wanna sit down for a second?" "I thought you'd never ask." She sat down and set one shake in front of each of us. Her voice and her movements heavy, she said, "On the house." I grabbed it, said, "Thanks," and sipped through the wide straw. She looked on, and even though there was a long pause, my heart didn't feel heavy. Holli was waiting patiently, though, and after I swallowed a mouthful of shake, I let out a long, cold breath and looked up at her. My smile melted just a little. "You were right. About Braeburn." She nodded. "I know. I'm sorry I was." I played with the straw, bobbing it up and down in the shake. "And I'm sorry I didn't listen." I looked up. "I didn't want to lose him. I couldn't even imagine what it would be like, and I just… couldn't face it." I drooped, thinking of Dad again. "I've learned a lot about myself the past week or so." "Apology accepted, I guess." Holli looked out the window. "You two were good for each other." "I know." We both turned to face the restaurant, each sipping our shakes and avoiding eye contact. Pulling away, Holli laughed coldly and said, "First real conversation we've had in a while, isn't it? And we can't even keep it going." Injecting some artificial cheer into my voice, I said, "Well, can we catch up sometime? When neither of us are working?" There was a pause, and my ears itched. Holli sighed and looked back at me. "Don't know if I should. I'm in an awkward spot, Soarin'." I read her face, and my expression flattened. "You're still in contact with Braeburn, aren't you?" She nodded. "He's a true gentlecolt, that one. Sent me a letter after he left. He apologized five times for not saying it to my face, but he said he'd love to see me again. He even included an apple-onion stew recipe for me to try." I looked down at my rosewater shake and decided I'd better savor it. I took a short pull from it, just enough to fill my mouth with the creamy, floral taste without draining too much. "He's an amazing pony." Holli bit her lower lip. "Soarin', I don't want you to think I'm choosing him over you." I chuckled. "Holli, that's exactly what you're doing." I shrugged and smiled. "I get it, though. I'm not mad. You hit it off with him." Holli relaxed back in her seat, took another sip of her shake to buy time, and swallowed. "Soarin', I've known you for a long time, but it's never really gone anywhere, has it? The–" Holli looked around, remembering where she was, and lowered her voice. "The sex was great, and I liked seeing you on those rare occasions, but… it's been weird for a couple months now. I've seen parts of you that I'm not sure I like, and it'll just get weirder if I pretend everything is fine." She folded her hooves. "I'm sorry, Soarin'. You're always welcome here, but I don't think I can really see you like I have been anymore." My shoulders slumped, and I scratched the side of my face. "Heh. Plus, it'd just be a matter of time before Braeburn and I started asking about each other. I'd give it a month." "Right, exactly. Does it…" She frowned and slowly spun her shake. "Am I being terrible?" I thought back on our history. She was right that most of our relationship had been at the diner or in bed. I'd never wanted to date her, partly because she never stood up for herself or went after what she wanted. I smiled inwardly at the irony. She'd found a good friend in Braeburn, though, somepony she could share recipes and passions with, even if it was long-distance, and I couldn't take that away from her. Braeburn deserved to be appreciated by as many ponies as he could. I looked back up at her and smiled. "You're amazing, Holli. I understand." Holli smiled. "I'm pleasantly surprised." She laughed her cute, little laugh. "Shocked, really." I shrugged. "Hey, you can thank Braeburn for me when you see him." I started to sip my shake, but abruptly stopped. "I, uh… just did it, didn't I?" Holli waved a hoof and shook her head. "I'll give you a pass this time." "Thanks." I looked out the window. "I hope it works out for you. Be nice to Braeburn. If I hear you've made him cry, I'll buy this restaurant just so I can fire you." She chuckled. "I'm pretty sure I could call the cops on you for threatening me like that." "Heh. You'd be okay either way." I looked into her eyes, and a thought bubbled up in the back of my mind. "You should open your own restaurant, Holli." She rolled her eyes. "Soarin', you've been saying that for years." I nodded. "Yeah, and I mean it. You could do it. You can cook, you can manage, and everypony likes you. I'd stop by every day." Holli smiled. "Of course you would. I'd feed you rosewater shakes until it came out of your ears." She began to stand up. "I need to keep doing my job, but no goodbyes now, y' hear? I fully expect you to maintain that special booth of yours once the bruises have healed." I smiled. "I promise." I stood up with her and have her a big, warm hug. "You're special, Holli. Never forget that, and thank you for everything." She squeezed back. "You, too, Sugar. Take care of yourself." She moved on to another table, and I left her a big tip: my usual rate, plus just enough to cover the little bit I'd missed a few months before. Swallowing the first hint of a sob, I silently wished her and Braeburn a lifetime of friendship, and I savored the ringing of the bell above the door as I quietly made my exit. The rest of the day was pretty much a wash, but I managed to do the grocery shopping all on my own, and I spent a long, long time in the produce section. I could only remember a hoofful of the tips Braeburn had given me for telling when fruits and vegetables were ripe, but overall, I did pretty well, and the tomato and mozzarella salad I made for dinner tasted better than any other salad I'd ever made. It was one of Braeburn's recipes, of course. I went for a flight after dinner, but my lack of sleep quickly caught up to me, and I headed in shortly before the sun went down. Before I went to bed, I read another one of Dad's letters. Jet, Sorry it's been a while. Time keeps passing, you know? And I've been reeling for the past week or so. I think I told you Stormcloud broke up with Fire Lily a month ago. Well, he didn't waste any time. He brought a stallion home today, and he says he's bringing this Swanky Hank guy to the high school dance. I don't get it, Jet. Soarin's athletic, masculine, and all the young mares chase him. I just don't get it. I tried to hide my shock, but I swear Soarin' just wants to get a rise out of me sometimes. In any case, I ended up embarrassing him again, so at least that part was the same. Hank seems like a nice enough stallion, at least. Very polite. We'll see if it lasts. After he left, I talked to Soarin' about how it might affect his future in the military, but he said that it's not like that anymore. He's right about the policies and things, but we both know it's going to be harder for him, right? He'll get picked on. He might become isolated. I never want him to feel that way. But by the same token, he's my Stormcloud. He's never let anything stop him, and I'm going to support him to the last inch of my life. As long as he's happy, I'll be happy, even if it means I won't get any grandfoals. Maybe he needed a mare in his life after all. I just don't know. -Sky Dad eventually came around, of course, especially after I dropped Hank for another mare and he started to wrap his head around what bisexuality is. It helped, but reading his words years later, it left me unsatisfied. I know now that he would have loved having Braeburn as a son-in-law, but that morning, I was still questioning everything I knew about him. What if Dad had eventually grown resentful? What if continuing the bloodline was that important to him? Would I have had a kid just to satisfy him? Weakly, I tried to talk to him again, but it still didn't feel right. I tossed and turned that night thinking about it. The next day was Monday, my therapy day. Doctor Gentle Soul wasn't there to greet me in the lobby like he usually was. Instead, I checked in and walked back to his office myself. It was colorful and bright, like always, and that made his black sweater stand out all the more. He smiled a sad smile as I walked in. "Welcome back, darling." I stopped in place and smirked. "Heh. Hope told you?" Gentle Soul nodded. "He did. He's a good pony like that." I softened my expression. "Do you need a hug?" "Always, Soarin', and I've got extras if you need one, too." I chuckled. "Yeah, sure." He stood up and moved to me slowly, then gave me a big hug. For such a small pony, he was very good at it. "Thanks, Soul." "Pleasure's all mine," he said as he sat back down. "Would you like to get right into the homework, or would you like to talk about the breakup?" I looked out the window at the tree that Gentle Soul kept perfectly groomed. It reminded me of Braeburn, and the words came easily. "I love him. I always will, and most of all, I'm happy that he'll be happy." I turned back to him. "And I think that's what it comes down to." Gentle Soul smiled back at me. "Then that's good enough for me. Anything else you want to cover before we get started?" I could almost feel Dad's letters calling to me. I'd brought a few along, just in case. They were good reading material, right? "Yeah. Think you could help me work out some daddy issues?" "I'd love to!" he practically shouted. He leaned in and purred, "But just to be clear, are we talking leather and mustaches? Or actual fathers?" I snickered. "The latter. Sorry." "Ugh, it's never the good kind." He flashed a smile. "But I'm happy to listen all the same. What's on your mind?" We sat down, and I told him about Mom and the letters and how it was affecting me. And of course he latched onto the one about Hank. He asked. "Do you think your father approved of you?" "Heh. You kidding? He freaking loved me, and he came around, but… there's so much I want to ask him, you know?" Soul took down a couple notes and nodded. "You've mentioned that you talk to him sometimes, right?" I looked down at my hooves. "Yeah, but he hasn't been saying much these last few days. And it's… weird. Ever since I started reading the letters, it's tough to hear him. He sounds so different when he's talking to Mom, way different from what I remember. Or…" I mumbled. "…what I think I remember. Like, he seemed vindictive towards her, and he had this whole secret communication thing going on, but he kept her from me. And that's… not right, I guess?" Gentle Soul listened and nodded, and with a much calmer voice than I was used to, he asked, "Forgive a silly question, but what do you mean? What wasn't right?" I ran a hoof through my mane. "I could have had a mom my whole life. It wouldn't have been ideal, and maybe it would have messed me up in other ways, but… why did he think this would be better?" I stumbled over my own tongue as I tried to put it all out there. "Washe– Was he arrogant? What was he thinking? And maybe he was right and knew more than Mom did about what was happening with me. I dunno." Gentle Soul sighed. "It's tough having our perspectives changed, isn't it?" "Exactly! Dad wasn't perfect." I looked up at him. "It still feels weird to say that. I was defending him tooth and hoof just a couple days ago, like he could do no wrong, and now here I am trying to figure out who the hell he was and what made him a real pony instead of whatever I remember of him." Words flew out of my mouth, and I rocked back and forth. "And I went through the same but, like, opposite with Mom, where now maybe she's not as bad as I thought, but I can still talk to her if I want to, you know? Dad…" The room seemed to darken. "Dad's gone. I have these letters of him, but the more I read, the further away he seems. But I can't stop, because I want to know about him, and these are all I have left of that side of him. But he seems like a completely different pony." I felt a hole in my heart, and I suddenly slowed down. "And I… don't know which is real. I don't want to lose him again." Gentle Soul watched me, and only after I was quiet for a few beats, he asked, "Is it possible they're both real?" I sighed and counted a few breaths. "Maybe, but how the hell do I reconcile them?" He leaned in. "Maybe we can try together. Did you bring any examples today?" "Yeah. I don't know what's in them, though." I grabbed one from my bag. "Do you–" Gentle Soul shook his head. "No, it's good practice, especially under stress. You go on, dear." I took a few breaths. "Okay." I opened the letter and read. "Jet, I don't know if you read these anymore, but the Sunny Sun Cele–" I felt my cheeks flush and the heat rise to my neck. Gentle Soul didn't say anything, but I closed my eyes, took a breath, and mentally forgave myself for the mistake, just like he'd taught me. "–Summer Sun Celebration went well. Our son was spectacular, and I hope you're at least taking time to read the tables." I grunted, then went through the same exercise. "Tabloids. I don't expect much, though." I shook my head. There was a bunch left, and I seized up thinking that I might read another one where Dad sounded petty. I looked up at Gentle Soul. "Sorry, this is hard." Gentle Soul spoke with his usual bounciness. "No, no need to apologize! You're doing well. It sounds stressful, and you're keeping up your exercises." "But see! This is what I mean." I slapped the page down on the table. "Dad was always patient with me, and he would never let me snipe at other ponies like this. I've never heard him act like this in real life." Gentle Soul thought for a moment. "I think your father – what was his name?" "Skywise," I grumbled. It felt like giving up another piece of him. "Skywise had feelings, too, and if your mother left abruptly, it probably took a big bite out of him." He lowered his head. "Celestia knows I'm the last pony that should be lecturing about gender norms, but a lot of my stallion patients compartmentalize to an unhealthy degree. I've seen you do it, too, when you didn't want to talk about Braeburn, Soarin'. You wanted to keep that box away from all the others. And disclaimer: everypony does this, including a lot of mares and those that fall outside the binary, but I see it in stallions especially. Do you think your Dad might have done it, too?" I paused and thought. "He… always wanted to protect me. He never wanted me to be sad or feel alone. Or abandoned. It… makes sense, I guess. He wanted to keep all those things away from me." I shuddered. "But it doesn't work like that. Mom said he could be controlling and let his desires blind him to what was in front of him." I shook. "Dad couldn't protect me from that. Hell, if anything, he just reinforced it in me. I didn't fit neatly into one of his little boxes." Gentle Soul shook his head and pursed his lips. "I've never met a pony who does." I waited for more, and then I nickered when nothing came. "Doc," I said flatly, waving my hooves like I was trying to draw something out of him. "I'm looking for some kind of breakthrough here, but we're just talking about boxes. Got anything?" "Soarin', unless you want to know what look for in a marital aid, I don't know if I can give you any mountaintop moments of revelation." He leaned in and whispered, "Though if you do, I can blow your mind." He flashed a smile and settled his voice down, nodding back at the paper. "I sometimes guide my patients through speaking with their loved ones, but that's a technique I think you're already familiar with. When was the last time you tried talking to him? Really talking and listening?" I sighed. "Saturday. He… didn't say anything back. At least, it didn't seem real if he did." "Do you think you were ready to listen?" I thought back. "No. No way." "I can guide you through it again if you think you're ready now." I shuddered just thinking about it. "But… what if it won't work?" Gentle Soul nodded. "Then let's work on something else. But Soarin', if you find a quiet moment this week and it feels right, please try again." He put a hoof on mine. "I'm not making it homework, because I don't think you should force it, but be open to it." His voice was calm and smooth, so different from the clinical precision of his husband. I appreciated the gentleness. Heh. Yeah, I know. His parents picked a good name. I let that thought settle in my brain, and deep down, I believed I'd have my chance. "I will, Doc." I looked down at his hoof, then back up at him with a smile. "And thanks for everything, especially the borderline sexual harassment." He winked. "I'm good at what I do." We finished our session, and I got a few new activities to do. Plus, I told him I'd been reading more of Whitewing, and he was ecstatic. As I left, I bumped into Doctor Radiant Hope in the hallway, carrying a well-manicured picnic basket. "Oh, Soarin'! Happy to see you. Are you well?" I thought, then responded. "Yeah. I think I'll be okay. Your husband's right – he's good at what he does." "Isn't he, though?" Radiant said dreamily. "A little single-minded at times, I'm afraid. He didn't pack his lunch today, so I brought it for him." He held up the basket. I smiled. "I'm sure he'll love it. Take care, Doctor." He smiled back. "You, too, Soarin'." I watched him walk into Gentle Soul's office, and after the door closed, I peeked through a tiny gap in the frosted glass. I could feel the way they both lit up as they saw each other. Radiant Hope walked with more bounce in his step, and Gentle Soul moved with a fluid grace I'd never seen in him. I stayed just long enough to watch them kiss deeply, content that I'd gotten just a little bit of extra therapy. Thinking about Dad weighed on me all through Monday's practice. We were reusing most of our Cloudsdale routine for Horsemouth's show that weekend, so it was mostly a matter of core training and tightening up the harder stunts. Dad gnawed at me the whole time, of course, and I grabbed dinner with Streak and Spitfire that night, grateful to have the company. Tuesday was weight training, which as least allowed me to count my breathing out loud without seeming insane. I had my moment Tuesday night. I'd read half of a chapter of Whitewing – there were only about three-and-a-quarter left, plus an epilogue – and even though my head hurt a little from the strain, I closed the book, felt something in my chest, and nodded to nopony. Before I could hesitate, I grabbed another letter and sat in the parlor. Jetstream, First, congratulations to you and Nimbus. Twister is a great name. I don't really know why you're telling me, though. I plan on keeping Soarin' out of it. He's got plenty on his mind with the new promotion. I guess there's nothing else to say. I hope you're as proud of your foal as I am of mine. –Sky That was all there was to it. My wings drooped. "I'm her son, too, Dad," I spat. The air hung thick. I looked around, and more words bubbled up to my mouth. I held them in as I scanned everywhere, picked up the picture of Dad and me that I keep in the parlor, and thought, 'We're doing this now, aren't we?' I sat up and set the picture against the foreleg rest, then I sat on the opposite side of the couch and stared at it. My brows furrowed. "Yeah," I said with a rough voice. "We're doing this." The picture didn't say anything to me, but I was beyond waiting for him. Sitting up straight and brushing off the cold feeling of intimidation, I cleared my throat and said, "You've got a hell of a lot to answer for, Skywise. Mom told me about the custody battle." I looked away and sneered. "You just fucking knew what was best, didn't you?" When I realized I wasn't making eye contact with the picture, I jerked my head back to him. "But you didn't ask me what I wanted. You didn't consider Mom's feelings, either." I shrugged, and my face pulled in tighter. "I mean, I get it, Sky. You were probably tired too, right? Right? And you were being emotional and rash, but–" I threw my head back. "Ugh!" The picture hadn't moved. I put a hoof to my temple and mumbled, "This would be a hell of a lot easier if you were here, Dad." My fur prickled at the thought of me yelling at a piece of colorful paper behind some glass. I ran my hoof through my mane and pressed down on the back of my neck. I snarled, "So fucking say something!' He didn't. "Fine! Guess this is how you want it." I scoffed. "Feh. That's how it always was, though. I mean, controlling? Controlling?" I threw my hooves in the air. "Controlling! She said 'controlling,' specifically. Just like me. Like I was with Braeburn. I thought that was her fault, Dad! You let me think that." I wanted to puke. "Fuck, you wanted me to think that, didn't you? This was all part of the game, wasn't it?" My eyes watered, and my voice lost some of its power. "Wasn't it?" My back was stiff. I turned to the window. It was still sunny outside, but I could barely see it. "You're not even here to defend yourself. Not really." I shook my head. "We should have talked about this sooner. I should have asked, and you should have brought it up. We had millions of chances." My chest felt hollow. "Millions of them. But now we don't." My voice wavered. "We d-don't get to talk about it, ever. I'll never know what you were thinking." A few tears ran silently down my cheeks. I quickly dried them. "Never. Never." I looked back at the photo. Dad stood there, the same as always. My head shook, and again, I whispered, "Never." The air weighed down on me, and I thought, 'I don't want this to be our relationship, Dad.' I picked up the picture and lay on my back. I traced his face on the cool glass, and all the bile drained away from my words. "It hurt you, too, didn't it, Dad? Seeing her move on. Like we weren't good enough." Dad didn't move. He still looked so proud in the picture, but I felt like I could see beyond it, to the pony that felt inadequate and always worried that he'd screwed me up. "Why didn't you get it? You were good enough, Dad, even if you weren't perfect. You didn't need to shut her out. Or prove anything." I set the picture on my chest next to my heart and stared at the ceiling. Dad had always put on a strong face in front of me. I missed it, but even more, I missed seeing him when he wasn't so strong. I remembered the night we'd gone stargazing, when he'd talked about how scared he was that he'd messed me up, after he thought I'd fallen asleep. It was one of the few times I'd seen him like that, and I wondered just how often he'd worried about me when I wasn't looking. And I wondered how much he had blamed Mom. I shook my head. "I… don't think she was trying to be malicious, Dad. I talked to her. It didn't fix everything, but… I got to know her a little." My chest felt heavy. "Even though you didn't want me to." I still couldn't hear him. "You shouldn't have kept her away, Dad. She was trying to reach out and fix it, not rub it in our faces. You scared her." I shuddered when I remembered Mom describing the custody battle. "She was terrified, Dad. You… messed up." I pictured Mom trying to make contact with me and Dad blocking her at every turn. They were fighting all over again, but this time, it felt different. The heat rose in me, and I didn't hold it back. "You fucked up, Dad. I get that you wanted to protect me, but you waaaaay overcorrected." Braeburn flashed across my mind. "Because have you freaking seen me? Every time I meet a pony that gets me, I keep them at wing's length, just like you did for me, and now I have no freaking clue how to let them in, and the one time it almost worked, I completely fucked it up! That's what you taught me." I shook. "You didn't mean to, and I get that, but you did. You're a big part of the reason I'm like this! Braeburn and me splitting up wasn't all Mom's fault. You never taught me how to trust other ponies." I calmed just slightly. "And maybe you didn't know how. But you didn't need to put me in a box. I think I get why you tried, and like… I'm not blaming you for my mistakes, but… you shouldn't have done that. You made a mistake, Dad." And through the quiet, in the back of my mind, I could hear him say, "I'm sorry, Stormcloud." It sounded like him, like I remembered, but it sounded tired and heavy and sad. But I couldn't just drop it. "I forgive you, Dad, but still, like, what the fuck?" I smirked at the picture. "And I'm not apologizing for swearing. I've earned this." With a sigh, I closed my eyes and counted a few breaths. "You did your best, and you did a pretty good job, I think." I looked back at the photo. "I just wish either of us knew how to actually solve relationship issues instead of ignoring them. Maybe I've started. I dunno." My head rolled to the side. "I guess I figured it out with Braeburn, more than you ever did with Mom. Heh. I think that means I beat your record, Dad." I shrugged. "Maybe that's all I can really expect, to do just a little better than you did." I let out a long groan and closed my eyes. The air felt a little fresher, like after a massive thunderstorm. It had that little bit of residual electricity that threatened to tear the sky open all over again, but breathing it in and out filled me with cautious ease. Dad sounded calm but reserved. "I'm proud of you for talking to her, Soarin'." I sighed. "Yeah, I'm proud of me, too. I know Braeburn is, too, wherever he is. I still don't know what's going to happen with Mom and me, but I'm going to try to make it work. Twister and Cyclone sound cool, too. I hope I get to meet them someday." I smiled. "Gimme time. I'll figure it out, even if I never find another pony like Braeburn. Or maybe I will. Who knows?" I smiled. "And I never got to ask: what did you think of him?" Dad didn't answer. I chuckled, "C'mon, what do you got?" Still nothing. The silence tugged at me as it drew out longer and longer. It grew into a heavy weight that pressed down hard on me. I mentally reached out, searching for his answer, but it never came, and I understood why. I hugged the picture to my chest. My voice was low. "I… guess I never get to know, do I?" The picture frame felt cold and small and inadequate. "You're already gone." I looked outside again and remembered all the good times with Dad. Flying lessons, school sports events, the Academy… He'd always been proud of me, always been patient with me. He'd always given me another chance. I could do the same for him. "I forgive you, Dad. For leaving. And for what happened with Mom." I smiled at the photo. "Just promise to never die again, 'kay?" At the back of my mind, I could hear him say, "You've grown into a fine, mature stallion, Soarin'." I chuckled and picked up the photo again. Dad's big, goofy smile was infectious. "Well, yeah. I had a good dad to teach me, even if he screwed up pretty majorly from time to time." I smiled and sat up. "Buuuuut I guess that just leaves me room to grow. Or something. I dunno. I should leave the metaphors to Gentle Soul." "Heh heh. You're the light of my life, Soarin'. I love you." I kissed the photo. "It's just like I said to Mom: I still love you, too, Dad." I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten the last word with Dad, but even if I couldn't hear him anymore, I could feel him again. I knew it would still be painful to go through the letters, but I felt ready. He was still there, supporting me, but for once, I felt like I was standing on my own, too, on his level instead of just looking up at him. I wasn't living in the shadow of my parents' disappearances. I felt like my own stallion, and I felt light as air. Setting the picture back in its place, I stood up and walked to the kitchen with my head held high. The sun was still out. The world felt okay, and even if all the changes in my life had come in incremental, incredibly painful bits, I felt good. And as I stared out into the calm twilight, I knew only one thing would make the evening perfect. I smiled to myself. And I went for a flight. Dashing out the door, I soared to the edge of Cloudsdale, dipped my wings down, and dive-bombed over the edge of a cloud. My wings pounded against the air, daring gravity to do its worst. I rocketed past terminal velocity, then rotated my wings back and caught the air like a parachute. Like I'd bounced off a trampoline, I shot back up, using my momentum to propel me higher and higher, beating my wings in perfect time with my heartbeat, which raced faster and faster with every passing second. With each flap, I felt the burn in my muscles burrow deeper and deeper into me, pushing me to fly higher. Heat radiated off of me, and I felt like a shooting star rising into the sky. The air grew thin as I raced the dimming sunlight, but even so, it didn't feel like enough. Something deep inside pushed me to keep going, inching me closer to that perfect moment, telling me I'd know when it was right. 'Higher. Higher! Almost there. Just a bit more…' And then, I found it: the perfect moment. It's the moment your whole body releases its tension at once, where your brain suddenly goes blank and your heartbeat settles, where every one of your senses drinks in all that it can. I found that moment, and I let go. Gravity released me. I became weightless, and this time, I felt like I would never come down. Every hair in my mane flowed freely. My muscles all relaxed, held up by nothing. No matter how my body twisted, it felt natural, like the whole sky was cradling me. And then, right at the zenith, the world was absolutely silent, and it was perfect. I felt free. I felt okay. I felt fresh and new, like I'd come out the other side of an ordeal and won it all. Dad, Mom, the 'Bolts… even Braeburn. Even if nothing had turned out how I'd wanted, I was content with all of it, with every part of me, for the first time in my life. That moment felt suspended in time, and as I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but cloudless blue skies all around me. I knew I wasn't invincible. It was the opposite – I knew how fragile everything in the world was, from the relationships I had to the ponies I cared about to even my own body, but that made everything all the more precious. I'd learned that the hard way, through so much pain and effort, but I felt it, suspended in the sky, with every fiber of my being. And in some ways, it still feels like I haven't come down. … … And… I guess… now you know the story. I hope you understand where I was at and what that moment meant to me. And I guess that means there's… just one more part to tell you. I think I'm ready. Yeah. Yeah, I am. Thanks for waiting. It was important to get it all off my chest, important that you understand everything that happened leading up to it, how I'd felt and how I'd grown, and why everything that happened next happened the way it did. You ready? I'm about to tell you how I broke my legs.