Obsolete

by Taialin


1. What's in a Dream?

Going to Carousel Boutique always gives me the shivers. In thinking about what could be there for me—a vicious Opal looking to scale me like a fish, a sea of fabric and scissors on the ground I could probably literally drown in, a figure scurrying around that seems more stress than pony—it's actually not really worth thinking about. But there's always this little hope in the back of my mind that she is looking for something special, and maybe she's looking for something special from me.

"Oh, Spike, I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to ask you, but would you be so kind as to take me out for a date to your favorite restaurant, Lover's Delight? It would be a wonderful opportunity to get to know my favorite dragon that much better, wouldn't it?" Rarity leans back and closes her eyes. "And perhaps, once it's dark, we could take a walk in Ponyville's parks under the full moon and enjoy each others' company." And she opens them just a little bit, like she's dozing. "And we could stop by the lake and fall asleep in each others' arms as the lush wind blows my mane and tickles your cheek just a little bit. Would you like—"

"Woah!" I exclaim as I trip on a tiny sinkhole full of muddy water. "Stupid puddle!" The hoofpaths of Ponyville are okay, I guess—and outside the castle, they're pristine, for obvious reasons—but the sinkholes that appear every so often are still as annoying as ever. I'm sure she finds it annoying too, hence why she never steps out when it's raining and muddy, at least not without an umbrella and a whole lot of complaining.

Anyhow, her being that romantic with me hasn't ever happened—but hey, a guy can hope, right? It's that little hope that adds a spring to my step and always makes me happy to stop by the Boutique. It's that hope that really gives me the shivers, not what I actually see most of the time.

And it's that hope that explains what I'm holding in my left hand (and what I thankfully saved from that puddle). I heard from one of Roseluck's assistants what Rarity's favorite flowers were, see, so I decided to get a dozen from her and wrap them up in a nice little bouquet. I feel like it would be a nice gesture. I know that she's not asking me for anything—she hasn't asked me for anything in a while, in fact—but maybe it will pique her interest?

"Those are just the most beautiful flowers in the world! And how did you know that dahlias were my favorites, Spike?" Rarity plucks a petal from one of the flowers and spins it in a dainty pirouette. "You are so thoughtful! In fact, I would love to wine and dine you a bit over these delicacies, if you'd be so inclined."

Yeah, I know Twilight would lambast me if she caught me with these flowers or dreaming too much about her, especially if it was in some other pony's company. She'd say I was wasting my time and not making a good impression. And Owlowlicious always gives that weird "hoo hoo" laugh he always does when he sees me do it. But that doesn't mean I've forgotten or that I don't think about her. It's kind of hard to forget when the first moment you ever saw this mare, she burned a hole in your heart and stayed there for the rest of time.

She paralyzed me when we arrived in Ponyville. With fear, longing, a burning infatuation? Probably all three. Fear that she'd be put off by my species, longing for something so beautiful and angelic as to seem unattainable . . . and her eyes. And her snout, her mane, her tail, her smell, her accent, her everything. She was perfection. She is perfection.

I get to see that perfection every time Rarity invites me over to her home. Just like today, for tea. I don't really drink tea, but that couldn't make a moment like this any less exciting.

"Oh, Spike, how I've so wanted to invite you for tea at my home! I'm sorry it's taken so long." She pours the tea, and a splendid sweet-smelling red liquid fills two cups. "It's made from rose petals, darling! Don't you think that's so very romantic? A perfect tea to start something special between the two of us, don't you think?" she says while smiling sweetly and fluttering her eyelashes.

"Oh. Whoops." I look back at Carousel Boutique, about ten paces behind me. I turn around and retrace my steps.

Gosh, it has been a while since my imagination's been this active. But it has been a while—a never, really—since Rarity's asked anything of me that's this . . . unique. There's only so many reasons why the lady of your dreams would invite you over for tea. Most likely, she just wants me to send a letter to the princesses—but if she wanted that, wouldn't she just come over to the castle and ask me there? I'm there almost every day. Or it could be the usual chores she normally has me do, like arrange some fabrics, or hold her pins, or be a hair dryer—but she would have asked me like she did in the past, not invited me for tea first. And she only said she wanted to have tea with me, not anything about anything she wanted me to do afterwards.

There's just so much about this that seems different, and that tells me this is no ordinary favor she wants done. All that points to the fact that maybe—just maybe—today will be the time. There's that ember of hope in my chest that's always there—sometimes suppressed, never extinguished—but today, it burns almost as bright as the first time I saw her. Maybe this really is a date . . .

So as I put my fist up to the door of Carousel Boutique to knock and tuck the bouquet behind my back, I feel a shiver run down my spine once more and my heart flutter in my chest. Seconds pass when hundreds of images flash through my mind: images of what could have been, what could be, and maybe—if I'm lucky—what will be. They're too numerous to count or describe, but they warm my chest and make me sweat a little more. The images disappear when I finally hear hoofsteps approach the door. Her hoofsteps.

It all begins with a mysterious afternoon tea. My spines tingle in nervous anticipation of what's to come.

When she opens the door, she looks down at me with surprise for a split-second, like she wasn't expecting me here even though she must remember inviting me. But a moment later, that's gone, and all that's left is the beautiful mare whom I fell for so long ago. And when she smiles, she roots me to my spot. She just looks so lovely like that, and I can't do anything but stare back at her and smile dumbly.

"Hello, Spike," she says in her beautiful, unique accent. "It's very good that you were able to join us today."

Some phrase like "the pleasure is mine" wants to jump out of my mouth, but . . . Wait, "us"? Rarity didn't tell me there would be someone else at our tea. I thought this was supposed to be a private affair. That's what tea means, right? Who else would she invite?

Sweetie Belle, maybe? She bunks with Rarity some of the time, but I didn't think she was fond of tea. Besides Rarity, Twilight's the only one of our friends whom I know likes tea and coffee—again, for obvious reasons—and I know she's not here.

Come to think of it, it's probably Fluttershy. They've been spending a lot of time together. Like, a whole lot. Besides the fact that they're best friends, they've taken a liking to meditating in the forest together; that's what Twilight tells me, at least. Weird: I never took Rarity for the kind of pony who would willingly go anywhere near the forest—too much muck, I would think—but to each their own.

Fluttershy seems the type to enjoy quiet, peaceful stuff like tea, so it makes sense that she'd come over to Rarity's every so often and share some more time with her. Did it really have to be today, though? Fluttershy's great, don't get me wrong, but I was kind of hoping for a moment with Rarity alone to show my gift and talk with her. I guess we'll have an audience.

"The pleasure is—th-this is for you!" I stumble out, mangling my words and whipping the bouquet out from behind my back to present it to her.

Rarity takes a half-step back when she sees my flowers and glances back into darkness of the boutique. When she looks back, there's a touch of distress on her face, but her smile comes back so quickly that I'm not sure if it ever left. "Thank you, Spike. Would you care to step inside?" She glances back again before looking back to me. "We have . . . We have a few things talk about." She steps back to invite me in.

I step inside as Rarity closes the door with a wink of cerulean magic. I'm still holding the bouquet. I offered it to her as a gift, so why didn't she take it from me? She's still looking at me, but it doesn't seem like she wants to take them, in either hoof or magic. "Where do you want me to put the flowers?" I say instead.

She looks back again. Why does she keep doing that? "Oh, just in the vase right there," she says, gesturing vaguely to a side table with a vase on it. "I'll tend to them later."

I put the flowers in the vase as she wants, but there's no water in it. She'd better tend to them soon, otherwise they'll wilt quickly. "Are you sure this is the right one?" I ask, thinking she might have pointed me to the wrong place.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure," she says, retreating hoofsteps echoing after her.

I drop the flowers in the vase and arrange them as best I can. When I turn around, Rarity's already sitting at a wooden dining table, complete with a tea set and three settings. Close beside her is—as I guessed—Fluttershy, looking as shy as she always does. Maybe even a little bit more. Her eyes flick between me and the table.

Rarity's not having so much trouble, but the smile's gone from her face again—for sure, this time—and she has a solemn straight look on it instead. She's still as beautiful as ever—Rarity would never show herself to anyone if appearance wasn't perfect—but I like her better when she smiles. She gestures at the empty seat in front of the two of them, again, not smiling.

I climb up onto the chair, a little more nervous than I was before. Rarity's not normally like this, even when she's stressed. The only other time I can remember somepony telling me "we have a lot to talk about" was when Twilight sat me down to tell me where I came from. The hopes and visions I had while walking to the Boutique are far, far away now. Especially as Rarity still looks at me like that. Her eyes aren't not romantic or eager or dreamy like I imagined and hoped them to be. They're almost . . . joyless.

I shiver again, but I don't think it's for the same reason as before.

I look down at the tea, already served to me. It's a dull yellow, and it smells okay. A little earthy, maybe. "Why did you ask me to come, Rarity?" I ask, no longer certain of the answer.

Rarity takes a sip of her tea. "We . . . We have something that we need to tell you. Something we should have told you a long time ago."

"Long time ago? We? You mean the two of . . ." I trail off, gesturing vaguely at Fluttershy and Rarity. Fluttershy's looking at me now out of reluctant eyes, and she looks like she almost wants to cry. She hasn't spoken a single word to me yet, but I can tell from her eyes what she's saying: I'm sorry.

I'm really nervous now.

"Spike . . ." Rarity begins, but she stops there. She turns her head to Fluttershy, and Fluttershy looks back. It's just for a moment, and they don't say anything to each other. They nod simultaneously, and their next movements are equally simultaneous: Rarity and Fluttershy both reach out their forehooves to hold each other's, and they lean in so their foreheads touch.

No . . . That's not . . . That's not possible.

They're just best friends—they've always been best friends. It's been that way for years now! Holding hooves and touching heads, that's just something that good friends do, right? I know the two of them have been meditating together for a little bit, and they sleep over at each other's pretty often, and sometimes Rarity swaps places with Pinkie at the Map table so they're closer together, but that can't mean that they actually . . .

Rarity looks up and back at me, eyes sad, still holding Fluttershy's hooves. "Spike. Fluttershy and I, we . . . bonded. We dated each other—we're still dating each other . . . and we found love in each other."

Her words are halting, but every one strikes like a hammer, no matter the reluctance in how she delivers them. Because every word she says confirms what I'm seeing in front of me. The fact that I don't want to—can't—believe. That Rarity, that perfect, beautiful, angelic piece of work whom I admire, esteem, praise, adore, idolize, love . . . is spoken for.

I snap my eyes over to Fluttershy in a stunned daze, desperately looking for some sign that the two of them are just playing some mean prank on me and none of this is real. That I still have a chance, that I still have a license to hope and dream for that chance. But Fluttershy never plays pranks. She just looks at me with eyes even sadder than Rarity's and mouths the words I already know: I'm sorry.

"Oh goodness, I've already dined with her and fallen asleep in her arms, Spike; I don't need you as well."

"No, that's not—" My first words are strangled coming out of my throat as my wishes for what could be crumble to dust in front of my eyes. Instead, I point with a wavering claw at them and say, "H-how long?"

As if telepathically, Rarity and Fluttershy return their eyes to each other at the exact same moment, speaking with each other without making a sound. I feel a pang in my chest at the gesture. "A . . . A couple months, perhaps?" she says, looking back to me and releasing their hooves. "We should have told you earlier, I know, but we didn't know how you would react."

I hear her response, but I can't understand it. All I can think about is the two of them sitting together and giving each other strength to speak just by looking at each other. It's exactly what I wanted from her for so long, and it's exactly what's she's getting now from someone else.

"Oh, that rose tea? Don't be silly; that's for Fluttershy and me."

"B-but I didn't think that you—Blueblood and Trenderhoof—you weren't really—Fluttershy?" My words are scrambled and nonsensical, mind spinning faster than my mouth can keep up with. She likes guys! Blueblood and Trenderhoof, those are the types she's interested in. And she still flirts with stallions in the marketplace all the time! Why would Fluttershy, of all ponies, be her choice? She's a mare, and she's not famous or powerful or anything. She's nice, of course, but . . . she's just Fluttershy!

"The wedding? Of course you're invited."

"It wasn't planned at all," Rarity said. "I never had an eye for mares. I still don't, really. It just happened when . . ." She trails off.

Fluttershy moves closer to Rarity and extends a wing over her back. "When I was feeling very sad, and when she was there when I needed her," she finishes. Rarity lets out a breath and nods slowly.

"Fluttershy's and mine, of course."

Those tiny moments—like sharing a glance or holding hooves—tell me beyond any doubt that this is real love. And it's those tiny, romantic moments that hurt more than anything else. They have them, and I don't and never did. The words, the closeness, and even the tiny things—especially the tiny things—that I never thought or even dreamed about but are just so romantic and so very real . . . It's all happening in front of me. It's already happened.

Stop dreaming, Spike.

I don't know if I can. But it's more vivid than I imagined, more fantastic than I dreamed. That's what they're doing, but it's not what I wished for. It's not what I am.

I can barely breathe with the weight pressing down on my chest, and I don't know what to do. But my body decides for me when all of a sudden, my breath hitches and teardrops billow out of my eyes. I . . . I don't know why. I didn't want to cry in front of her.

But just moments later, Rarity is there, next to me, her hooves around me and her breast at my face. She's . . . hugging me?

"Oh, Spike, I'm so sorry. Just cry, dear. It's alright."

I can feel how perfect her coat is against my cheek. Silky, flawless. It's exactly what I wanted from her but fulfilled for all the wrong reasons. This isn't how I wanted us to embrace. I can't help it—it just makes me feel even worse. I cry into Rarity's breast, my arms pathetically wrapped halfway around her barrel. She feels so nice, so warm . . . but all she's doing is reminding me of what I spent years hoping for. My dreams and imaginings fracture more with every second she stays close.

It's just so unfair that I can only have what I want when it's already gone.

Her hoof rubs me between the head and shoulders, where there aren't any spines. "I know you have feelings for me."

I just want to scream so badly right now. How am I even supposed to wake up tomorrow? When that button-eyed Rarity on my bed is taunting me with dreams made over so long, now nothing more than that: a dream.

Of course I don't dream about her all the time, but Rarity is pretty and winsome and perfect and attractive . . . of course I would make one every now and again. Every time I saw something romantic, like a couple giving flowers, or feeding each other, or exchanging a goodnight kiss, I started imagining how it would be if it were me and Rarity. Because maybe tomorrow . . . maybe tomorrow would be different. I can't wake up tomorrow because there is no tomorrow. It's just her. She and her.

I can feel her chest sing with vibrations as her words sing to me. "I just thought that perhaps . . ."

I cough up another sob and hug her a little more, the last hope of a future with us in it gone, now nothing more than nothing.

". . . perhaps your feelings would have subsided a bit by now."

"Sub-sub . . . what?" I can't help those words fall out of me. Subsided? Why does she think that? My feelings have never subsided since she gave them to me; if anything, they're a little stronger.

"Well, you made it clear your attractions to me long ago," Rarity murmurs. "I recognize those eyes from miles away, and I saw them the moment you and Twilight came to Ponyville. But the more time went by, the less I saw them. I know you're still rather fond of me, and I thought you'd be saddened by the news." She nuzzles me, but that only makes me feel worse. "I just didn't think you would take it this badly."

I sniffle again. I couldn't rip her out of my heart any more than I could rip the scales off my hide. "Just because you need me to do something important doesn't mean I don't think about you when I'm doing it. You're busy. And it's . . . it's improper." Heh. Improper. Rarity would like that. I guess I've learned from the best.

I feel Rarity nod. "That is very mature of you. It was my mistake. I thought that was you growing out of your crush."

I don't understand. I know that attraction I have is exactly how I phrased it—a crush—but it sounds so different when Rarity echoes it back to me. Even more when she says I should have grown out of it already. It's like I'm still a hatchling who hasn't seen his first winter and needs to be told how everything works. I don't want to be coddled. Maybe it is sort of a crush, but it's anything but an attraction that only lives in childhood and disappears as soon as someone else comes along. She must know that.

"I'm not a kid anymore," I say, probably more grumbly than I was intending.

Rarity stops hugging me and retreats half a step. She looks pained. "That was a poor choice of words, and I'm not saying that you are. You are not a kid, but you are quite young, and . . ." She looks up and to the side and trails off, pouting.

"And kids grow out of their childhood crushes?" I snap.

She looks back and takes a breath in like she wants to say something but lets it out again. When she finally does say something, she says, "But you are still young, Spike, and there are certain qualities in youth that . . ." She trails off again.

She's saying exactly the same thing by not saying anything at all. "It's not a childhood crush, Rarity," I say in a low voice. I drop out of my chair and start to pace. "How can it be one when I remember how beautiful I thought you were on that very first day I saw you, even today? And when I still have dreams about you and me every now and again? When I think about what a future between us could b—c-could have been?" When I say that, the lump in my throat almost bursts, but I keep going. "When I feel my heart warm up when I need to go to the Boutique for something? And when I was imagining us together when I thought you were inviting me for a private tea today?"

I'm almost yelling by the end, but I can't help it. I don't like it when ponies don't take me seriously because they still think I'm just a kid, and I can't stand the thought that one of them is Rarity. What does it mean for us if she didn't think my feelings were important? That I've been throwing my feelings against someone who thought she was above it? I could move the world, and she'd still think I was nothing more than a child . . . I can't believe that. Not Rarity.

I look back to her, and she looks shocked at my tirade. "Spike, you know that's not possible, and it's never been possible. Even if I were attracted, nothing could happen, especially not now!"

As if she needed to say any more—from the very beginning, I've always been a kid in her eyes. I was fantasizing all about us on my way here . . . but my none of my dreams ever stood a chance. "Then if you've never thought it was serious, why did you keep letting me believe that it was?" I shout, slamming my foot down. "Why did you keep winking at me and calling me your 'Spikey-Wikey'?"

She takes another step back from me. She stutters, starting to say something but ending it halfway through.

"Well?"

"It's—ah, well . . . I was just . . ."

It hurts to know that she and I couldn't be together, but it hurts even more to know that she's been letting me do this for so long. Encouraging it even, with her little winks and other gestures, attracting me to an illusion of something real. Why? So much of our relationship is built on that lie. What is there left if that's all it was?

I'm seething, and snorts escape from my nostrils so hot that they could light anything on fire. "And what if you and Fluttershy are just another 'silly little crush' that you'll grow out of, too? Did you make a shrine for her like you did with Trenderhoof?" I growl. I can't even bring myself to feel sorry for saying that.

Rarity gasps a brings a hoof to her chest. "Ah! Spike, how dare you! I love her!"

"And I love you!" I roar.

As if blown back, she staggers backwards and falls to a sit. Her face is a mix of shock, surprise . . . and fear.

I can barely bring myself to look at her anymore. It started with just a little afternoon tea, probably cold now. I was hoping—dreaming—that it would end in a "happily ever after." But she was probably hoping for some nice little conversation with me having already "gotten over it." Neither happened, just a truth for me worse than imagination, and little dragon throwing a little tantrum for her.

I can't stay any longer. With a growl and huff, I turn around and storm out of the Boutique, ignoring the noise the two ponies are making behind me. I don't care. I brush by the flowers I brought today, briefly contemplating whether I should take them with me or just burn them up in a breath of fire. But little good that would do me, and they'll die anyway. So I just leave, slamming the door as hard as I can.