//------------------------------// // 17. Hearts Sent Aflutter // Story: Worst Patient Ever // by Timaeus //------------------------------// Spitfire hummed, looking herself over in the mirror. Though she’d spent the last few weeks bedridden, the lack of activity did little to harm her impeccable figure. Her shoulders, while not the slim and svelte things that most mares craved, were broad under the measured confines of her officer’s uniform. In her flight suit, each and every muscle would be cut and defined in a way that would make fanfillies and -colts swoon. Her uniform, however, came with its own advantages. The uniform jacket exposed the slender curve of her neck and the brilliant goldenrod hue of her coat that matched the waning afternoon sunlight filtering in through the open window. The light bounced off of the medals pinned to her chest and the crystalline floor of her room, basking Spitfire in a gentle golden glow. A shimmer of wildfire flickered in her reflection, matching the lashing of her tail—a smooth, silky little motion that would draw any the gaze of any passersby up along the eye-catching curve of her rump to her flame-adorned flank. Her mane, windswept and fiery, was brushed back, leaving the smoldering, molten warmth of her amber eyes bare. Tonight, and for many more nights to come, that warmth was meant for one mare only. And, Celestia as her witness, that mare would lose herself in them. She straightened her tie and, glancing at the clock on the wall, exhaled a long, slow breath. With one last look over in the mirror, from her mane, to her uniform, to her wings, to her coat, she nodded once and walked out into one of the many crystal hallways in Princess Twilight’s castle. Yes, she was ready. A low, contended hum resonated in her chest, weaving into the same tune Nurse Tenderheart loved to hum so. Its gentle rises and falls sounded against the backdrop of her hooves clip-clopping on the floor as she navigated the labyrinthine halls back to the foyer and study. It was nearly seven o’clock, and it wouldn’t do to be late for a first date. Spitfire’s tail swished lazily behind her with each step, and it was not until she caught her distorted reflection in the wall did she realize that she was smiling. The sight of it only made it grow and stir a light, airy laugh in the back of her throat. A first date, yes, but with Redheart. No more barriers, no more walls. Tonight, it would just be them, two ponies lost in each other. She couldn’t remember the number of times she’d whisked some mare to a restaurant or club before leading them by the tail to warm her bed. She’d had more first ‘dates’ than she cared to count, and how routine it had become. Tonight, though, was something different. Now, standing before her reflection, she felt a kaleidoscope of butterflies ready to take wing in her stomach at a moment’s notice. She saw the faintest tremor rustle her feathers in the castle walls in time with an almost constricting, electric buzzing in her chest. And, beneath it all, was a tender, familiar warmth that sparked to life with the thought of Redheart. Tonight was something special, something that made anticipation and impatience tug at her heart. It would be Spitfire’s first date in a long time and, if her gut told the truth, the last first date she’d have for an even longer time to come. The feathers on her uninjured wing ruffled and fluffed, eager to feel Redheart tucked underneath her. Spitfire allowed a small skip to enter her step, swaying her hips in time with her swishing tail as she trotted into the castle foyer. Through a set of open doors, she saw Twilight and Starlight lounging in the study. The unicorn lay on her back on a sofa facing the foyer with her head resting on the princess’ lap. Both mares wore gentle smiles on their muzzles as the afternoon slowly bled away into the early evening. An aquamarine glow surrounded a book hovering over Starlight’s face. It bobbed gently in the air while Twilight’s quill scratched away on a roll of parchment held aloft in the mulberry aura of her own magic. It would have been easy to slip out unnoticed, but as eager as Spitfire was to begin the first of many nights with her soon-to-be girlfriend, it would be remiss of her as a subject and a friend to not bid her host a good night. Clearing her throat, Spitfire came to a stop in the study doorway. Twilight’s ears flicked, and her smile lit up as she looked up from her parchment. “Heading out?” “You know it.” An easy grin played over Spitfire’s lips as she leaned against the doorframe. “Just wanted to say goodbye before leaving. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” “Oh, nonsense!” Waving her hoof, Twilight lowered her parchment and quill to the coffee table in front of her. “Starlight and I are just enjoying a little leisure reading before dinner. You’re hardly interrupting anything at all.” “Apparently ‘hang time’ is really important to friendship,” Starlight said without looking away from her book. A gentle laugh shook her shoulders as she craned her neck to look up at her princess and, as Spitfire understood it, teacher. “Can’t say I can complain, though.” Spitfire arched a brow, but shook her head. “Right. Anyways, I also wanted to thank you for giving me a room for the night, Twilight. I really appreciate it, even if I hopefully won’t be using it.” She felt her grin turn wicked, and chuckled a deep little chuckle. “But if I do, I’ll make sure we’re quiet.” Twilight coughed, and Spitfire couldn’t help but snicker at the light, rosy hue that coloured the princess’ cheeks a delicate pink. “Yes, well, of course. You’re always welcome here, Spitfire. Though maybe next time you come to visit you don’t have to check into the hospital first? I know Rainbow Dash would really like that.” “Oh, come on, you know as well as I do that the Rookie’s having the time of her life right now.” Torn between a scoff and a chuckle, Spitfire instead chose to smirk and buff her hoof against her chest. “But yeah, it’d be cool to hang out with her outside of practice and shows.” Flicking her eyes up to meet Twilight’s, Spitfire let her smirk soften. “It’d also be cool to get to know you and the rest of your friends better.” From her spot sprawled out on the sofa, Starlight laughed. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with a newfound interest in Ponyville, would it? Or a newfound interest in a certain Ponyville mare?” “Let’s just say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” A hum built to a purr in the back of Spitfire’s throat. Her tail flicked to the side as her gaze wandered to the door. “Or maybe you won’t. Depends on how often Red and I decide to come up for air.” While Starlight snickered, Twilight rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you talking about how you rediscovered this so-called ‘sweet Spitfire’ earlier?” “I’ve been waiting for something like tonight for days, Twilight.” There was no hesitation or stammer in Spitfire’s voice, only the kind of conviction her mother would be proud to hear. “I’m head over hooves for her, and I’m going to make sure she knows that every way possible.” “Looking like that, I think you’ve got a good shot,” Starlight said, slipping a bookmark into her book. The book lowered to the coffee table and she sat up, now shoulder-to-shoulder with Twilight as her eyes traced over Spitfire from nose to tail. “Nurse Redheart’s in for a treat when she shows up.” That brought a wicked little edge to Spitfire’s grin. “Oh, she has no idea.” “I don’t know.” Smirking a smirk far too devious for any unicorn, Starlight shared a knowing look with Twilight and giggled. “That’s assuming she’s not going to make you jelly-legged and swoon.” “It’s possible.” Twilight nodded, swishing her tail over the sofa cushion’s burgundy lining. “I’ve never known Nurse Redheart to take half-measures on anything.” Starlight waggled her ears. “Five bits she knocks Spitfire on her rump.” Three knocks sounded on the door, and Spitfire’s ears perked straight up. Wings aflutter, she let a giddy smile bounce over her lips. “Then what the heck am I still doing here?” Starlight snorted, lounging back on the sofa. “Exactly what I was about to say.” Sticking out her tongue, Spitfire turned and made for the front door. Twilight and Starlight giggled at how she skipped across the crystalline floor, but she paid them no mind. “See you two later! I’ve got to see a mare about my rump. If I’m lucky, we’ll see about her rump, too!” Spike made a face as he waddled out of the kitchen with a pink frilly apron around his waist and a baking sheet in his claws. “What does that even mean?” Throwing a grin over her shoulder, Spitfire skipped past him through the foyer. “When you’re older, kiddo. Don’t wait up!” The young dragon’s grumbling and the giggling from the study fell on deaf ears. Let them grumble, let them laugh! Spitfire had much more pressing concerns. Her primaries fluttered and fluffed, mirroring the swishing of the tip of her tail as she stood before the door. Licking her lips, she caught her distorted, warped reflection in the crystalline wall. She ran a hoof through her mane, smoothing it back, and straightened her uniform jacket over her shoulders. It was time. Pulling the door open, Spitfire found it easy to slide a smile onto her face—all she had to do was relax and let the warmth rising in her chest do its thing. And oh, how that warmth bubbled and blossomed at the sight waiting for her on the other side. The afternoon sun shone down, highlighting and caressing each one of Redheart’s curves in a way that Spitfire envied. Her coat, a bright, snowy white, seemed to glow in the light, a kind of glow that encouraged an admirer’s eye to meander around the curve of her hips, along the sleek, smooth frame of her barrel, over the gentle, slim arc of her shoulders and neck, to the real prize. Maybe it was the light catching in them, or a shared warmth and giddiness that she held, but Redheart’s eyes glittered a bright, breath-catching blue. They sparkled with delight as they met Spitfire’s gaze, and underneath that was a steady, smoldering warmth that stirred a ruffling in the Wonderbolt’s—no, pegasus’ feathers. Tonight, and for as long as Redheart wanted her, she wouldn’t be a Wonderbolt; she would be Spitfire, and Spitfire would be all Redheart’s. The uniform was just window dressing. They stood there for a long moment. Spitfire felt Redheart’s eyes wander along her frame much as hers had done. Hooves clip-clopped in a soft, delicate cadance on the floor behind her, and a prickling along the back of her neck told her that they had an audience. Redheart broke the silence first. Her mane, let down from its usual bob, hugged the arc of her neck and hung around her shoulder in a single braid. She fiddled with the tip of the braid as a smile warmed her face. “Hey.” A smirk was Spitfire’s reply. “Hey.” She arched her brow and stepped to the side, standing between their audience and her Redheart. “Not that you don’t look amazing, but I thought we were both supposed to get dressed up?” “Whatever gave you that idea?” Redheart’s tittering laugh had the effect of making her eyes sparkle and dance. “I just said that I liked to see a mare in uniform.” Taking one of the few steps that separated them, she leaned in and hummed, rubbing her neck along Spitfire’s. “And you more than delivered,” she said, her voice a hushed whisper meant for them and them alone. Tingles danced up along Spitfire’s neck at the contact, and she had to swallow down a trembling sigh as she leaned into the embrace. One day, she knew, she wouldn’t tremble and dance on pins and needles with every touch. For now, though, she was more than happy to bask in it all. “I gotta say though,” Spitfire said, licking her lips as she murmured in Redheart’s ear, “I’m a little disappointed. I like to work for my prizes.” Redheart’s scoff washed over her fur, but Spitfire felt her smile into her coat all the same. “I think you’ve worked plenty hard for this already. We both have.” Spitfire chuckled, pulling back enough to stand almost snout-to-snout with Redheart. “I guess. So, ready to go?” An delightfully devilish edge honed Redheart’s smile. The sight of it, in tandem with the lightest feathering of a nuzzle, made Spitfire’s tail lash from side to side. “And deny our audience the show they’re so enraptured to see? I bet Princess Twilight would love to see the Captain Spitfire melt into a little pony puddle.” Another chime of giggles sounded from within the castle. Somewhere behind her, Spitfire knew Twilight and Starlight were watching and, judging from the devious glint in Redheart’s eye, escape was futile. “Um. I’m sure they’d much rather—” A gentle, but firm hoof on her chest kept Spitfire in place. “You’ve gone on and on about me,” Redheart said, loud enough for their ‘audience’ to hear. “Isn’t it only fair that I go on about you on our first date?” Feather’s flicked and fluffed while heat prickled up Spitfire’s neck. “Red—” “And you probably don’t hear it enough as it is, Captain.” Redheart pushed, and Spitfire found herself all-too-easily back on her haunches. Her girlfriend stalked closer, the grin on her face enough to spread the prickling heat to her ears. “But so much about you is beautiful.” “Oh, c’mon, Red.” “Hush, now,” Redheart said, lifting her hoof from Spitfire’s chest to her lips. “Be a good girl and let your girlfriend flatter and embarrass you in front of royalty.” The blush streaked across Spitfire’s muzzle. Chimes of giggles echoed in her ears, but Celestia help her, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Redheart’s eyes. “How about I start with your wings?” Ever so slowly, Redheart’s hoof crept from Spitfire’s muzzle to her wing and grazed along its edge. “Soft, powerful, and the thought of being wrapped up in them could make a mare melt. I should know, I’ve had my hooves on them. Oh, but then there’s your mane, and I’m perhaps a little curious to see what that flank looks like now that it’s out of a hospital gown.” Spitfire opened her mouth, but no sound came out save for a small, barely audible croak. She felt Redheart’s gaze roam along every facet of her figure with a salacious intent that stole her voice away. “But perhaps most of all is everything here,” Redheart said, dropping her voice to a smokier, warmer, and more enticing octave. Her eyes found Spitfire’s, low and smoldering. “Were I a more artistic pony, I could spend days here. Your voice and your eyes.” Leaning in, their lips met in a chaste peck that still dislodged a butterfly from her chest. “I don’t know if I have the words. You’re beautiful, Spitfire. Not just ‘hot’, but beautiful. I want you to know that.” There was no denying the heat that burned across Spitfire’s muzzle. Nor was there any denying the loose, wobbly smile that split her lips and only grew as Redheart held her gaze. Their ‘audience’ giggled and cooed, but she didn’t care. The only giggle that mattered was Redheart’s, as bright and clear as the day she first heard it. “No Wonderbolt-approved quips?” Spitfire shook her head with a soft laugh, bringing their foreheads together. “No,” she said, awash in Redheart and the warmth that filled her to her core. “None of that. Not right now, at least.” Smiling, Redheart nuzzled her nose to Spitfire’s before pulling away. “Then in that case, babe, it’s long past time for our date.” The tip of Redheart’s tail flicked Spitfire’s nose and, with nothing more than a smile and fluff of her feathers, she followed her mare to whatever lay in wait. “Oh,” Redheart said as Spitfire fell in line with her stride, “and do be a dear and carry the basket, will you? I don’t think we’d have much of a date without it.” Ponyville, Spitfire had learned, was a quaint little town between monster attacks, friendship problems, and any other oddity that rolled in seemingly every other week. Or at least, that’s what she had been told. Now, though, with the sun beaming down as the afternoon waned to the evening, everything and everypony was at peace. Smiles came to the faces of townsfolk a little brighter and a little easier than Spitfire was accustomed to. Many waved at her and Redheart wandering down the cobblestone streets, and those that paused to exchange pleasantries were quick to shuffle away as their hooves neared each other’s. More than one pony waggled their ears or smiled into their hooves, whispering words to each other with sharp, knowing grins. Ten minutes into their first date, and they were already the talk of the town, not that Spitfire minded any. Ponies would talk, and with each one talking, Redheart’s cheeks burned just a little bit brighter and her shoulder pressed in just a little bit closer. “I thought you said you were eager to show me off,” Spitfire said, her voice low, hushed, and laced with only the slightest bit of saccharine sweetness. “Don’t tell me you have stage fright after that little show with Twilight.” The pout Redheart looked at her with only sharpened Spitfire’s grin. “I didn’t expect there to be so many ponies out and about,” she said in a hissed whisper. “And I didn’t expect so many of them to care.” “Maybe I oughta be showing you off instead.” Feathers fluffed, Spitfire stretched her wing over Redheart’s back. A low, rumbling sigh dripped from her lips at the feeling of the nurse’s coat, softer than velvet, pressed flush against her side and rippled over and between her feathers. It warmed her wing from below while the sun warmed it from above. She breathed in, humming at the scent of lilac mingling with the trace of apple that hung over the town. Her tail swished to the side, flicking over Redheart’s leg and drawing a flick in return. A soft chuckle drew a flick from Spitfire’s ear, and she glanced to the side at the mare under her wing. “What’s up?” “You seem to be enjoying yourself already,” Redheart said, looking up at Spitfire with eyes that sparkled a brighter blue than the sky above. The pout was gone, and in its place was the kind of smile that knocked one or two of those butterflies loose. “We haven’t even really started yet.” Spitfire grinned in reply, fluttering her feathers over Redheart’s withers while she kept the basket kept balanced carefully on her back. “A walk could be the date and I wouldn’t care. Unless you want to tell me where we’re going with this basket?” Redheart giggled and looked back at the road ahead of them. “Oh, I have somewhere special in mind.” Drawing closer to the scent of lilac, Spitfire nuzzled the crook of Redheart’s jaw. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in me prying?” The grin that Redheart wore was almost as saccharine as her voice. “Nope.” Spitfire hummed, flexing her wing and pulling Redheart that all-important centimeter closer until their shoulders brushed together with each step they took. “I think I can live with that.” “That’s it?” Out of the corner of her eye, Spitfire watched Redheart turn to her with a pitiful, playful pout. “What happened to all of the fight in you? I was looking forward to that.” Hum revving up to a delicate purr, Spitfire stretched out her feathers to wrap around and touch as much of Redheart as possible. “Nope. You’re going to get a good girl tonight.” The smile she faced her former nurse with was something small, warm, and now almost as familiar to her as her smirk. “I’m going to behave. Maybe it’ll just be this once, and maybe it’s just for you, but after everything, I maybe couldn’t care less where we go as long as I have this.” The tips of their snouts touched, sending a flicker of wildfire behind them, and another followed as Redheart nosed her way under her chin. “I think I like this sweet Spitfire.” Spitfire couldn’t help but smirk. “Only think?” “Now, Spitfire,” Redheart said, drawing her head up to meet the Wonderbolt’s gaze, “you might be used to living in the fast lane, but the first date is hardly the time to confess any deeper feelings.” A hoof drew up Spitfire’s foreleg, coming to rest over her chest and her heart beating beneath. “No matter how inclined one might be to do so.” Primaries flickering, Spitfire licked her lips. Their pace slowed to a near crawl as her hoof found Redheart’s and wound around it. “I dunno, Red, I’m feeling pretty inclined. How about you?” Redheart’s tail flicked over, swatting Spitfire right over her cutie mark. “Ask me again after our date, and we’ll see, paramour.” A delightful shivering sensation rippled up and down the length of Spitfire’s spine at the words. “Paramour?” “It’s something a friend of mine said when I went to her for advice about my mane,” Redheart said, lifting her head to purr in Spitfire’s ear. “I thought it was fitting, don’t you?” Perhaps she wouldn’t be the one doing much sweeping at all tonight. And, perhaps, she was more than okay with that. Despite the butterflies that threatened to flutter free in Spitfire’s chest and the licking, lingering motes of warmth that buzzed over her figure whenever their coats touched, they were in no hurry to get to wherever it was that they were going. They meandered at a slow, relaxed pace through the cobblestone streets, paying little mind to the few ponies that wandered the streets around them. Spitfire, to her fortune, found she could simply bask in the peace of their own little world. Even her mother couldn’t admonish her for being selfish now. Sometime, and sometime soon at that, she knew she would have to wake up and deal with reality. Oh, that it would be a reality with Redheart was no doubt, but there would be details and compromises and all of those other things that made a relationship less and less of a fairytale and more real. How long would Spitfire stay in Ponyville? Would Spitfire always travel to see Redheart, or would Redheart travel to see Spitfire? Could they handle distance in their relationship? Could they handle that distance for months at a time? Could Redheart read Spitfire’s mouthwriting? For that matter, could Spitfire read Redheart’s? If they got far enough, where would they live? These questions and more echoed in the back of Spitfire’s mind, but for today, she felt no guilt in drowning them out in Redheart’s scent, the sound of Redheart’s voice, the blueness of Redheart’s eyes, and the feeling of Redheart moulded against her. They had both earned a little time living a fairytale. Everything that came with reality—the good, the bad, the difficult, and the beautiful—could wait for a few precious hours. Wing outstretched, Spitfire shifted her shoulders, keeping the basket balanced on her back, and let Redheart lead them over the hump of a stone bridge. A brook babbled below, twisting and winding along Ponyville’s outskirts and through an open expanse of green. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees that dotted the park and rolled over the grass in waves. The cobblestone road gave way to a well-trodden dirt path, and it was on this path that they walked, leaving the shingled roofs of the town proper behind. “A picnic in the park, huh?” Spitfire asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. A soft chuckle shook her shoulders as they moved from the path to the grass. “Classy, Red.” “I thought it would be romantic. The setting sun, the two of us curled up under the shade of my favourite tree, all alone in the park.” Redheart’s voice, soft like velvet and sweet like honey, stirred those butterflies in Spitfire’s chest. “Nopony around to see or hear.” Tail flicking behind her, Spitfire cleared her throat, but didn’t bother to fight against the instinct to fluff her feathers over her mare. “So, is that an earth pony thing? Having a favourite tree?” A sound caught between a snort and a laugh burst from Redheart’s lips. “Oh, please, as if you pegasi don’t have your favourite clouds.” Spitfire flicked her ear, snapping the tip of her tail over Redheart’s haunches. “As if I’d do something that foalish.” The gesture was returned, and Spitfire couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve treated enough pegasi to know for a fact that you do, but maybe we should have a look through that picture album your mother brought, hmm?” Redheart’s voice edged on cloyingly sweet, and the way she nosed along the pegasus’ neck was enough to send an electric, tingling sensation up and down her spine. “I wonder what other little Spitfire pictures we’ll find.” “We could do that,” Spitfire said, squeezing her wing over Redheart’s back, “or we could lie down, eat whatever’s in this basket, and I could tell you everything that’s amazing about you after I finish kissing you silly.” Redheart hummed, and the vibrations rippled up along the arch of Spitfire’s neck, drawing a tremor of a shiver. “That does sound good.” “Doesn’t it?” “Very.” Their pace slowed, coming to a stop underneath an oak tree that sat on a hill overlooking the rest of the park. Redheart cleared her throat and Spitfire, like the proper, respectful, behaved mare that she was, only considered tightening her grip around her mare for a second before lifting her wing away. With a pretty little smile and nod, Redheart stepped out from under the shadow of Spitfire’s wing, hesitating only to lift the basket from the Wonderbolt’s back. Handle gripped in her teeth, she walked a few steps away, set the basket down, and set to work. The tip of her tail swished from side to side, catching and holding Spitfire’s attention while she pulled a red-and-white checkered blanket from within the basket. Though it was all too tempting to stand where she was and watch the way the setting sun played over the gentle, tantalizing curves of Redheart’s frame and set her coat aglow, her mother raised her to be better than that. The grass was soft underhoof as she joined her girlfriend and, with no more than a smile and a wink, grabbed one corner of the blanket between her teeth. Together, they spread the blanket out under the shade of the tree. While Redheart busied herself with weighing the blanket down against the light breeze that rolled over the grass, Spitfire lay down, her uninjured wing unfurled wide in an open invitation. It was an invitation the nurse all-too-eagerly accepted as she set the basket down next to them. The scent of lilac tickled Spitfire’s nose as Redheart pressed their sides together and, with a gentle, contented sigh, let her wing settle over her girlfriend’s back. A tail not her own swished over her rump, and she flicked her tail out to greet it. “So,” Spitfire said, entwining her tail around Redheart’s, “come here often?” Even in the quiet of the park, Redheart’s giggle was soft enough only for Spitfire to hear. “When I want to be alone at the end of a long day.” Their hooves found each other’s and looped around each other, mirroring their tails behind them. “It’s quiet, and the sunset’s always been beautiful from here.” A low, contemplative hum rumbled in the back of Spitfire’s throat. The sun was indeed setting, melting the bright, blue of the sky into swaths of orange, gold, and pink that mixed and bled into each other like wildfire. The light, a deeper, more golden yellow, seemed to make the entire park glow a surreal light as it reflected every colour of the rainbow off of Twilight’s castle. Though she knew that there were ponies still going about their days, for that one, surreal moment, the world felt quiet and still. Redheart rested her head on Spitfire’s shoulder, and she fluffed her feathers, bringing as much of her in contact with her mare as she could. Food was meant to be eaten, kisses were meant to be given, and affections were meant to be shared, but she found herself unable to shatter what settled over them. Her eyes roamed over Ponyville, caught in the sunset, and let a warmth steadily building in her chest spread with every second she held Redheart, every breath that tickled her fur, and every gentle rising and falling of her girlfriend’s shoulders. They lay together, watching as more and more of the sky’s bright blue shifted to molten golds. Spitfire didn’t know how much time had passed before Redheart stirred, shifting and squirming under the blanket of her wing. “What’re you thinking about?” “Not a lot, really,” Spitfire said, her gaze lingering on the squat, square shape of Ponyville General in the distance. A slow, rueful smile split her lips at the sight. “Just kinda reflecting, I guess.” Redheart’s ear twitched, flicking over Spitfire’s neck. “On what?” Rolling her head from side to side, Spitfire offered the smallest and least disruptive shrug she could. “Just on, I don’t know, everything that’s happened since I crashed?” A soft chuckle sounded from her throat and, tugging Redheart’s hoof closer, shifted that extra inch closer, meshing their coats flush together. “And how it all led here. Been a long time since I felt this content. Never thought it’d be right here in this little town, though.” The edge of a smirk poked up on the corner of her mouth. “Then again, I guess I didn’t think I’d find the mare of my dreams here, either.” Though she rolled her eyes, Redheart let out what Spitfire could only hope was a smitten little giggle. “I warned you,” the nurse said, resting her head on her Wonderbolt’s shoulder. “Ponyville has a way of drawing in wayward souls. If you’re not careful, you might find yourself stuck here.” Redheart’s mane, silky and smooth, tickled the tip of Spitfire’s nose, and like everything else it was a sensation she revelled in. “Depending on the circumstances, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It’s a neat little town.” “It is.” Those two words, unlike those that came before, sounded stiff to Spitfire’s ears. Redheart’s hoof squeezed hers, and an errant flick of a tail was enough cause to arch her brow. “I know that tonight’s supposed to be just us, but since it’s come up . . .” Aha. That was it. A dose of reality, something unwelcome in their fairytale night, sunk into Redheart’s voice, bringing with it all of those nagging little things like responsibility and decision making. Spitfire exhaled, ruffling her feathers over her girlfriend’s back. Perhaps every fairytale needed a little reality, just enough to make it feel real amidst the warmth and butterflies. “You want to know when I’ll have to leave?” Nodding against her shoulder, Redheart sighed. “I know it’s something we should talk about later,” she said, brushing along Spitfire’s foreleg with her free hoof, “but I guess I want to know how much I should cherish this, and how much more of this I can plan for before it becomes a lot more rare.” “Yeah.” One word could say so much, especially when accompanied by a sigh of Spitfire’s own. “I’ve actually been thinking about that, too. Had a bit of time to myself at Twilight’s castle, and I ran through the numbers.” Redheart shifted in her embrace, squirming enough to distance herself. It was only by an inch, maybe less, but Spitfire felt her shoulders tense underneath her wing and watched her eyes drop to the ground. “And what do the numbers say?” “Well, I’m not going to be in flying shape for the ‘Bolts until next season,” Spitfire said, tugging Redheart back against her as a delicate, sly thing of a smile slid over her muzzle. Sometimes, reality could be every bit as pleasant as the fairytale. “And I’ve got some leave time to use up before I even need to think about flying up to the Academy.” The only thing stopping the feather-fluffing sensation of Redheart’s coat sliding against hers was the officer’s jacket she wore. “Oh?” “Yup.” A thoughtful, purring rumble reverberated in the back of Spitfire’s throat. With great delight, she followed the scent of lilac to its source, nuzzling into Redheart’s mane and drinking in her scent. “It’s a rough guess, but I’d hazard a couple of months.” Redheart’s ear flicked, grazing over Spitfire’s cheek. “Months?” “Probably. At least.” Spitfire nuzzled deeper into Redheart’s mane, nosing her way up to the same ear that flicked her. It twitched and fluttered as her breath washed over it, drawing the subtlest and most satisfying shivers from the mare under her wing. “Maybe more. And, while I could go to my apartment in Canterlot, Twilight did say I had a room at her castle whenever I wanted one. Staying in a castle sounds nicer than some apartment, doesn’t it?” Again her breath washed over Redheart’s ear, and again a tremor rippled up and down the earth pony’s frame. She leaned into the touch, pressing her face into Spitfire’s neck with a throaty hum. “I’d certainly hope so.” Warm puffs of air tickled Spitfire’s coat, and she returned the gesture with a light, feathering kiss at the base of Redheart’s ear. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, so don’t start getting weepy on me.” Another tremor followed the tip of Redheart’s tail flicking back and forth. “Are you sure I’d be the weepy one, Sapfire?” “I don’t know,” Spitfire said, grinning a grin equal parts foalish and impish. She exhaled over Redheart’s ear, drawing a longer, shuddering shiver from the mare. “Maybe it depends on how much I take advantage of this chink in my beautiful mare’s armour.” Redheart purred, a sound that made the feathers along Spitfire’s wing tremble and flutter. She nipped at her collarbone, catching the Wonderbolt’s breath in her throat. “Behave.” Spitfire’s purr was more akin to a growl as she returned the nip and licked along the base of Redheart’s ear. The nurse’s tail twitched and flicked at the touch, mingling pink and wildfire once more. “For now,” she said, planting a last, gentle kiss where she nipped, “and only for you.” “Good,” Redheart said, smoothing over the beginnings of a whine. She flicked her ear, swatting Spitfire’s snout before playfully pushing her away. “We’ve still got an entire picnic to enjoy.” The push loosened Spitfire’s grip over Redheart enough for the mare to flick the lid of the basket open with the tip of her hoof. The setting sun caught and glinted on something within, and, eyebrows arched, the pegasus watched a picnic unfold around her. Slowly, she inched to the side and draped her wing back over her mare’s back in a loose embrace, eyeing the apples, sandwiches, and blanket-wrapped plate that emerged from within the basket. “These are for dessert,” Redheart said, setting the plate down between them. The scent of apple, delightfully woven in between layers of sugar, fat, and cinnamon, wafted up to greet Spitfire’s nose, rousing a rumble in her stomach. “Applejack—you know her, don’t you?” Spitfire nodded, licking her lips as Redheart pulled the cloth away, revealing a plateful of apple fritters. Their glaze shone in the light, and her stomach yearned in another, keening growl. “Yeah, she’s one of Rainbow Dash’s friends, right? Big hat, made those pies Soarin kept on raving about?” “That’s her. She and her family make some of the best food around.” A chiming, bell-like giggle drew a flick from Spitfire’s ear. The moment she blinked, she found Redheart pushing the plate further away. “And she was kind enough to make us some of their fritters for dessert. They also slipped in a bottle of their family’s cider.” Glasses clinked as Redheart withdrew them and a bronze bottle from the basket. Setting them down on the blanket, she closed the basket lid, and Spitfire saw her chance. She chuckled deep in her chest, drawing a smirk over her lips and poking her glass with the tip of her hoof. “But Red,” she said, lidding her gaze once their eyes met, “if those are for dessert, then what am I going to do with you after?” Redheart hummed, hardly batting an eye as she poured cider into both of their glasses. When she finished, she looked up at Spitfire with smoldering, hooded eyes that wiped the smirk from her face. “It’s quite simple, Spitfire.” Her voice rolled from her tongue, sensuous and purring and like silk, and the Wonderbolt fought down the urge to fluff her feathers. “Good girls get two desserts.” Spitfire, for her part, swallowed. “Now,” Redheart said, moulding against Spitfire’s side, “I remember you saying how hard it was to find good cider. Sweet Apple Acres cider is quite popular around here. I think you’ll like it, and I also seem to remember promising to get you to try some.” With Redheart pressed flush against her side as she was, it was only natural for Spitfire’s wing to drape over her in an easy, blanketing embrace. A glass was pushed into her hooves and, bobbing her head in a nod, she lifted it to her lips and took a slow first sip. The drink, smooth as it ran over her tongue, perked her ears up. The smile that spread over Redheart’s face was satisfied, though whether it was because of Spitfire’s reaction, the embrace she seemed to relish in, or a combination of the two Spitfire couldn’t say. “What do you think?” Humming, Spitfire swallowed. She licked her lips, letting the taste of apples and alcohol linger and dance over her tongue. A content sigh floated from her mouth, and she set the glass back down. “I think I’m in love.” Redheart’s shoulders shook as she giggled. “I knew you’d like it.” Caught between a grin and a smirk, Spitfire rolled onto her side and, perching herself on one foreleg, she used the other to wrap around Redheart’s barrel and pull her in tight. “Who said anything about the cider?” Even with her back pressed against Spitfire’s chest, Redheart could not hide the pink that crept up around her cheeks. The Wonderbolt didn’t need to see it to know she rolled her eyes, nor did she need to see the small, smitten little smile peek up on her lips to know it was there. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, aren’t you?” Lowering to her shoulder, Spitfire snuck her other foreleg around Redheart’s side, looping her hooves together around her chest. Another hum turned into a sigh as she nuzzled up along the nurse’s neck. “Maybe, or maybe I’m just saying what I’ve been wanting to say for a while now? It’s kind of liberating, you know, not being ‘Captain Spitfire’ or worrying about hospital regulations.” She squeezed, and a pair of hooves not her own settled over hers. “I get to say however I feel about you now.” “Interesting,” Redheart said, rolling over in Spitfire’s embrace to bring them chest-to-chest and snout-to-snout. Where they lay, the sun’s golden light caught in the earth pony mare’s eyes, bringing them to a bright, enticing, and enrapturing blue. “I always thought you were a mare of action.” The edge of a sly grin perked up on the corner of her lips and her hoof settled over goldenrod fur. “Why waste time talking, when we can just . . .” Angling her head upwards, Redheart caught Spitfire’s lips in a soft, gentle kiss. Unlike the hospital room, though, there was no buzz. Electricity didn’t arc through Spitfire’s veins. She didn’t grope and squeeze Redheart’s cutie marks, desperate for more. Her feathers didn’t ruffle and her legs didn’t wobbly and weaken. The hoof over her chest didn’t grip and cling, but it was still there, and so was the warmth. Warmth blanketed over Spitfire, and she surrendered to the kiss. Eyes fluttering shut, she exhaled a single, relaxed breath, and moved her hoof up Redheart’s back to stroke her mane. Fire may not have roared between them, but she was content. The kiss, the warmth, and what she felt were genuine, and they were perfect. When at last they parted, Spitfire nuzzled around Redheart’s nose in a small circle. “Maybe I’ll let you do the talking from now on,” she said, her lips brushing over Redheart’s in a delicate murmur. No words may have been spoken, but the message came through loud and clear, and when Redheart looked at her with a kind tenderness only ever meant for a select few, Spitfire felt her heart sing. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this,” Redheart said, her voice no less delicate and no less meant for Spitfire and Spitfire alone. She lifted her hoof, brushing it over the pegasus’ cheek, and the smile she showed was enough to melt that pegasus’ singing heart to butter. “It’s been a long time since my last date, and even longer since I felt safe and wanted.” Spitfire did her best to return the smile with interest. “I think I know the feeling.” “I’ve never met a mare quite like you, and given everything that’s happened between us, I’d like to get to know you much more over the next few months.” Any reply Spitfire had was cut off by a chaste kiss on her nose and a hoof snaking down to wrap around her barrel. “Hush now, you had your turn to confess when we danced in your room. Now it’s my turn.” Eyes going crossed to look at the tip of her snout, Spitfire let a long, slow chuckle roll past her lips. “Yes, ma’am.” “Where to even begin?” Redheart’s hoof left Spitfire’s barrel, trailing a path up along her side to trace small circles over her chest. The earth pony hummed, watching her hoof brush over goldenrod fur. “I suppose I should start with the obvious.” Spitfire exhaled. It wasn’t quite a sigh, but she basked in the sensation of Redheart’s hoof over her chest all the same. “Yeah?” “Yes.” Redheart’s eyes flicked from Spitfire’s chest to meet her gaze. They twinkled and shone a bright, shimmering blue with an added gleam of mischief that bled over into her grin. “When we met, you were the biggest pain in my neck.” Perhaps she should have been offended, but instead Spitfire let out a snorting, barking laugh. “Worse than Rainbow Dash,” Redheart said, giggling to herself as she rested her head on Spitfire’s foreleg. “Worse than Pinkie Pie. Goodness, you might have been the absolute worst.” “And yet here we are.” “Once you got your head out of your butt, everything changed.” Redheart’s hoof stilled, coming to rest over Spitfire’s heart. Their gazes lost in each other, neither could help the small, content smiles that found their place over their lips. “You made me feel like a pony, not just a nurse. So often I become my job. To most ponies here, I’m Nurse Redheart.” There was something about Redheart’s voice in that moment—something soft, and something vulnerable. Now, on this blanket and in this park, whatever walls and masks worn crumbled away. For at least this moment, everything that was Redheart peeked through. And she was breathtaking. Spitfire’s hoof left Redheart’s flank to brush a lock of pink mane out of her eyes. With a smile every bit as soft as her paramour’s voice, she said, “I think I know what you mean, Red.” “That’s exactly what I mean. You,” Redheart said, prodding Spitfire’s chest with the tip of her hoof, “made me remember who else I was. Not just Nurse Redheart, but Red. You made me feel comfortable being Red and sharing everything I have about myself.” Her hoof slid down Spitfire’s chest, winding down her barrel until Spitfire felt it snake around her own. Then, when Redheart brought their gazes together, a glimmer of fear, of uncertainty, flickered through the warmth that filled the blue of her eyes. “And I’d like to share more of myself. With you. I want to rediscover all of those little things I’ve forgotten, like dancing, or reading a book with somepony I care about, or realizing how much I never want to own a greenhouse.” A delicate thing of a giggle floated past her lips. “If all of this doesn’t scare you away first, that is.” A light, airy chuckle fueled by warmth and a want to lose herself to the mare in her forelegs was Spitfire’s reply. Her tail flicked over Redheart’s, slowly entwining together as she brought their foreheads together. “And here I was worried about scaring you away.” Though Spitfire couldn’t see Redheart’s smile itself, she saw how it lit up her eyes. “I like to think I’ve seen you at your worst.” “I don’t know, Red,” Spitfire said, grazing Redheart’s lips with a feathering kiss. “You know what ponies say about us Wonderbolts.” Redheart leaned forward, catching Spitfire’s retreating lips in a chaste, fleeting, but proper kiss. “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t fall for one of those troublemakers. I fell for Spitfire the pony, remember? Not Captain Spitfire the Wonderbolt.” This time, while Redheart withdrew, Spitfire pursued, rolling her girlfriend onto her back and lying belly-to-belly on top of her. There, trapped underneath her, she could only take in the tender, loving warmth that shone from Redheart’s eyes and the silky tresses of her mane that sprawled out around her. Spitfire grinned, feathers fluffing as she nuzzled along the crook of Redheart’s jaw until she found her ear. “Then I think I’d like that,” she said, tail swishing back and forth at the feeling of another’s hooves gripping her chest to pull her in closer. “It’s kind of surreal, though.” “Is it?” Redheart asked, hooves resting over the top button of Spitfire’s officer jacket. “I didn’t know I’d ever want something like this.” Spitfire pulled away just enough to lose herself in Redheart’s eyes once more. “I look at you, and it’s like when I was a foal and decided I wanted to be a Wonderbolt all over again. I looked at their posters and knew that’s what I was going to be, and I threw my heart into it every day. Now, I look at you, and I think I’m ready to do all of that with you.” Their lips met in a gentle, tender kiss, one that tugged at the yearning warmth that found a place in Spitfire’s chest. It lasted for little more than a few seconds, but still her heart fluttered. “I think I’m ready for that, too,” Redheart said, her voice a breath of a whisper in her ear. Hooves moved and fumbled, slowly unbuttoning Spitfire’s officer jacket. “Which means,” Redheart added with a delicate nip at the base of her ear, “that as dashing as you look, I’d like to spend the rest of my night with my girlfriend, not the Captain of the Wonderbolts.” It took a bit of doing, and a bit of gentle pulling and tugging to get the jacket over Spitfire’s cast, but as soon as she was free, they tossed the garment to the side, every bit as forgotten as their picnic. Fanning her wing out wide, she sat, straddling Redheart’s waist for only a moment to feel the last fingerlings of sunlight on her coat and feathers. Then, once the hooves cradling her sides tightened their grip and pulled, she only flashed a fleeting thing of a smirk before acquiescing. Free from her uniform, there was nothing separating their coats from mingling and meshing, and nothing to hinder the warmth that flowed between them. Laying atop Redheart, the sunset too faded from Spitfire’s mind as she embraced and lost herself to the first stars reflecting and twinkling in her girlfriend’s eyes. She drowned in the sensation of simply being together, of the touch of her coat on hers, the feeling of steady hooves resting over the small of her back, the silky feeling of their tails entwining, and the gentle electricity arcing from head to hoof as their lips met. As the sun faded from the horizon, so too did their fairytale evening inch ever-closer to its end. Reality waited for them when the sun returned. But with that reality came more picnics, more cider, more apple fritters, more dancing, more kissing, and more of The Last Alicorn. A cynic might say that reality also came with difficult questions, hard decisions, and many moments that might never match this first and last fairytale night. That cynic, however, didn’t have Redheart. The tip of Redheart’s tongue swiped over Spitfire’s lip, as if to ask permission—a permission that she was all too happy to give. It wouldn’t be easy, Spitfire knew, but maybe tomorrow’s reality could be better than tonight’s fairytale, but not as Captain Spitfire, the Wonderbolt. No, she would embrace reality in Redheart’s embrace as more than that. Such would be the life of Spitfire the pony, and Celestia damn her if that thought didn’t make her heart soar.