//------------------------------// // Day 4 // Story: No Heroes: Life of Pie // by PaulAsaran //------------------------------// The first thing Fine noticed upon waking was the scroll on his bedside table. A sinking sensation made him feel as though he were being buried in his mattress. He’d been expecting a scroll from Luna, but this one was far too small. What kind of message might it hold? He found he didn’t want to look, so he forced his head to face the ceiling and let the chains of uncertainty hold him in place. Luna couldn’t take him from this place. Not now. Not when he was finally starting to… perhaps not understand Pinkie. But he had felt a connection yesterday. It was real, tangible. For the first time since he’d begun this strange journey, he saw potential. He couldn’t be ripped away from her when things were going so well! It was going well… wasn’t it? Maybe Pinkie didn’t feel the same connection yesterday he did. It could have been just another moment to her, perfectly interchangeable with all the others. She might be another Fluttershy, blissfully unaware of feelings stirred within him. In defiance of its illusory chains, his hoof went up to rub at his chest. The heart, where it had hurt the most. He doesn’t value life. What makes you think I would ever, ever choose to live my life with somepony so far removed from the very foundations of Harmony? No. He wasn’t going to have this argument with himself again. It helped nopony. He’d just have to temper his enthusiasm. Pinkie might not feel the same way. His own feelings might just be him getting his hopes up. He had to be ready for something going wrong. If he was ready, it wouldn’t hurt so much when Pinkie… The faintest of whimpers escaped his throat. His eyes found their way to the scroll without his help. Slowly, as if fearing some deadly trap, he took it up in his magic and floated it over his head. He felt so horribly hollow. No, Luna wouldn’t do that to you. I mean, Pinkie wouldn’t do that to you. I mean… He groaned and closed his eyes. “I don’t know what I mean.” Without looking, he ripped open the seal and unrolled the scroll. A second passed. Another. His chest stung… Because he was holding his breath. Feeling like a new potential recruit awaiting test results, he forced the tension from his shoulders and opened his eyes. Fine Crime, Your excitable friend’s dreams are not so happy of late. I entrust her recovery to you. He didn’t know whether to be relieved, disappointed, or alarmed. Pinkie was having nightmares? And Luna wanted him to deal with it? That wasn’t exactly his area of expertise. Come to think of it, his track record for dealing with his own nightmares was so crummy he almost dared to think Luna was neglecting her duties. Which was patently ridiculous; Luna took to her job with more gusto than Celestia did, and Celestia was the bona fide Princess of Workaholics. But Pinkie was having nightmares. Perhaps he should have seen that coming, all things considered. And it did explain her attempts in the early mornings to make things seem extra cheerful these last couple days. So the question now was: what would he do about it? Obviously, he couldn’t Dreamwalk, at least not without Luna’s help, and he doubted that was the solution she had in mind. Something in the waking world then. Now fully awake, he hopped out of the bed and made for the door. Best to nip this in the bud right… His aura faded from around the door handle. No. He couldn’t just ask Pinkie about it. She was clearly trying to hide this from him. The direct approach may make her clam up. She’d done that to Rainbow, hadn’t she? He groaned, rubbing his mane back and staring at the door. He could tell so many things about ponies within just a few minutes of talking to them, but Pinkie eluded him. It was one of her more charming aspects, something that had drawn him to her ages ago just by virtue of being unique, but now it only served to frustrate. He had no idea whatsoever how to approach her for this, or if he even should. No, he definitely should. The problem wouldn’t go away on its own. If Luna said Pinkie needed his help, then Pinkie needed his help. But how? Heaving a sigh, he muttered, “You can’t solve a Pinkie Pie problem by lingering on it, Fine. She needs to be confronted. You know this.” Even so, it took him almost a full minute to open that door. Once in the hall, he allowed himself a second to cast his life detection spell. The obvious expectation was for Pinkie to be up and about already, probably taking over the inn’s kitchen. Again. Which is why he was startled to find a life sign still in Pinkie’s room. He stared at her door, wondering why Pinkie would sleep in now. So far she’d always been out of bed at the same time or earlier than him, and he strongly suspected that had everything to do with her Pinkie Sense. Then again, he could be overthinking things. He lingered, caught between worry and anxiety. The worry seemed silly, as the odds of there being something wrong with Pinkie were low. The anxiety… What would he say if he opened the door and woke her up? How would he explain his silly little concerns? She’d probably be understanding. Still, it wasn’t proper to sneak into a mare’s room without her knowledge. That might not have bothered him in most cases, especially when he knew that most mares wouldn’t notice he’d ever been there, but this was Pinkie. She’d notice. And even if she didn’t, it felt wrong. Then, the solution came to him. A rather obvious one, really. Sure, it counted as eavesdropping, but that was nothing compared to just walking in there unannounced. Mostly satisfied with that conclusion, Fine stepped up to the wall and cast a simple listening spell. If Pinkie were asleep, he’d simply cancel it and— Pinkie wasn’t asleep. Fine’s ears folded back as a piteous sound hit them. Sharp, whistling breaths, as if a pony were in pain. Light whimpers, and a quiet sob. The sound had Fine’s hackles rising and his heart throbbing. Without so much as a second thought, he teleported into the room in a billowing cloud of smoke. His first instinct was to look for Pinkie. He spotted her instantly, still lying in bed and curled into a tight, shivering ball. He started for her, barely pausing to check the room for potential threats. “Pinkie?” He brought his forelegs onto the bed and brushed her mane back, revealing a face coated in fresh tears. “Pinkie! What’s wrong?” Her eyes, originally closed tight, somehow managed to open a sliver. Wet and slow, they settled upon him, and the expression she offered was probably meant to be a smile. It was more like a gruesome scowl, marred even further when she let out a soft sob. Sniffing, she spoke in a voice he could barely hear. “I th-think I might have had some badjacks.” He blinked, cocked his head. “Badjacks?” His eyes followed hers down her body, to where her trembling forehooves were rubbing her barrel. Then he remembered: they’d had pancakes yesterday morning. “Shit.” A surging energy rose up from some unknown depths, its impact robbing him of breath. He took Pinkie’s cheeks in his hooves and looked her in the eyes. “Don’t worry, Pinkie. I’ll get help. Just bear with it a little longer. Can you do that?” Her eye clenched closed once more, she gave a weak nod. “P-please hurry.” He did, teleporting directly downstairs into the dining room. As soon as the smoke cleared he rushed into the kitchen. Sure enough, Mr. Collate was setting out ingredients for whatever breakfast he’d had planned for them. “Ah, Mr… Sorry, ‘Fine.’ Just you this morning?” Fine wasted no time with pleasantries. “Does this town have a unicorn doctor trained in internal examination?” Mr. Collate’s brow furrowed. “What in Celestia’s Mane would you need to know that for?” “Because we have a medical emergency?” Fine growled, stomping forward until he was practically in the stallion’s face. “Pinkie needs a doctor, now. Tell me this town has a unicorn surgeon!” At last catching on to Fine’s urgency, the inn’s proprietor sobered in an instant. “Not a practicing one, but Dr. Sawbones only retired two years ago and still lives in town. Tell me what’s wrong.” “No time!” Fine grabbed Mr. Collate and began dragging him to the exit. “Pinkie needs that doctor!” Mr. Collate didn’t resist, but he spoke firmly. “Calm down. The doctor can be better prepared if she knows what she needs to be looking for.” Fine let the words seep into him. He had to for them to make any sense through the blood pounding in his ears. Sucking air between his teeth, he managed a calmer tone. “Right. Y-you’re right. Of course.” With great effort, he spoke slowly, making sure to enunciate every word as clearly as he could. “Pinkie had surgery months back. Intestinal. She’s not supposed to eat anything but liquids. Yesterday, she had pancakes. Now she’s in pain.” After letting out a slow breath of his own, Mr. Collate nodded. “Okay. You stay with her. I’ll have Dr. Sawbones here as soon as I can.” He left without another word. As much as Fine wanted to go see Pinkie, he forced himself to stand still and reflect. His eyes stared at a bag of flour on the counter, but his mind’s eye was aimed inward. He understood now that he’d been panicking. No, not had been. Legs weak, stomach churning, shoulders tense. He had to make a conscious effort to control his breathing, and even then it came a little faster than normal. Fear. For Pinkie. It was only the second time he’d felt that. He couldn’t return to Pinkie visibly afraid. He had to keep it in. She needed him to be strong right now. But he couldn’t waste time fighting his own emotions either. Pinkie needed him now. The longer he lingered, the longer she as alone with her pain. So, with one last deep breath, he lit his horn and teleported back into her room. His ears folded back as the quiet weeping resumed. Pinkie had rolled over and now faced away from him. He approached, barely keeping control of his hooves and avoiding a short gallop. Licking his lips failed to moisten his throat. He watched her back, observing the shake of her shoulders. Her mane was flat, splayed out on the bed like a brilliant pink carpet. It was surprisingly long when not all curled up. Distracting himself. Not wise. He reached forward to touch her shoulder. “Pinkie? Mr. Collate’s gone to get a doctor.” She turned her head, revealing a watery blue eye. She whispered something, but it came out as an indecipherable rasp. Fine leaned closer, taking her head in his hooves and gently raising it towards him. “I’m s-sorry,” she managed. “I spoiled our d-day.” “You haven’t spoiled anything.” He forced his lips into a quivering smile. “Nothing at all.” “Liar.” She closed her eyes tight and squirmed, eventually rolling onto her back. “I w-was supposed to… to bring you home today. I p-promised.” “It wasn’t a Pinkie Promise,” he countered softly. “I think I can forgive you. Besides, I didn’t feel like going today anyway.” She tried to smile for him. Instead she moaned and curled into a shivering pink ball. Any attempt to speak was ruined by a fresh sob. Fine stepped back, worry gnawing at his insides. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t make her feel better. He was supposed to, wasn’t he? A proper friend would find a way. But her condition was beyond basic field medicine, which was the scope of his healing knowledge! He opened his mouth to say something but could find no words. In that moment Pinkie seemed so far away. This was her area of expertise. He didn’t know how to cheer her up. Was that even what was required? Why hadn’t that stupid doctor arrived yet? His thoughts froze as she strained to take her hoof away from her barrel. The shaking appendage reached for him, and he hurried to grasp it in both of his. Though she didn’t look at him, Pinkie pulled, and he found his chest pressed against the side of the bed. She held his fetlock tight against her stomach, and she whispered into his ear. “Talk to me.” He looked down. Though her chin pressed against her collarbone, her eyes pleaded with him. He leaned a little closer. “I don’t know what to say.” “T-talk to me,” she pleaded. “Distract me.” Saying no was not an option, so he scoured his brain for something to say. “W-well, I… I guess… I guess I could tell you a story?” Her lips trembled into an ugly simulacrum of a smile. “A f-funny one?” She tensed, a shaky gasp escaping her throat. “A funny one?” He glanced aside, once again trying to find something. “I… yes. I guess I can do that. I just need…” Something came to mind. He grasped it without hesitation and looked to her once more. “Did I ever tell you about the time I kissed a bull?” She made a sound somewhere between a giggle and a whine, gritting her teeth as she did. “Th-that sounds funny.” “Yeah.” He nodded, using his free hoof to brush her mane back from her face. “I was in Cowedonia. I was supposed to stop a griffon assassin from killing the Count of Glascow. Otherwise the Gallopeans and Cowedonia would cut trade ties. Archons didn’t want that.” He cringed at her quiet whimper. Was this working at all? “O-one day I was following the trail of the assassin, which brought me to a small pub in a similarly small town.” She managed to force a query with her raspy voice. “What was the town’s name?” “Name?” He chuckled, an expulsion of nerves that did little to settle them. They hung in the air like wasps eager to sting. “It was, uh, Longhorngrind.” Continuing to pet her mane, he settled his forward body onto the bed and gave her forelegs a squeeze. “Little place. About the size of Ponyville before Silma showed up.” “Hmm.” Pinkie took a slow breath. “So the p-pub?” “Right.” He closed his eyes and thought back to the scene. It was enough to make him smile a little. “The griffon had gone into this pub, the Belle of Angus. He apparently knew I was following him, because he chose that moment to spread around some rumors and outright lies, mostly involving me insulting every sow and calf in town. By the time I got to the place, he had half the town ready to smash me flatter than a pancake.” He barely resisted a grimace at his own word choice. Pancakes probably weren’t the best thing to mention right about now. If Pinkie felt any displeasure at the mention, however, she didn’t show it. Maybe because she was too busy trying to control her breathing. Don’t think about that. The story, Verity, focus on the story. “So I walk into the pub, already aware that the locals didn’t seem to care for me. I barely had time to sit down at the bar when these three heifers start crowding me and demanding an apology. Of course, I tell them I have no idea what they’re talking about. They tell me if I won’t apologize with words, they’ll pull it out my throat by force.” “S-sounds like they could have used a hug,” Pinkie suggested, her eyes barely open. She watched him, fighting to keep the pain from making her close them. “Pretty sure they were interested in more violent methods of dealing with the problem,” he replied with a wan smile. “Anyway, the heifers were each at least four times my size, and not a single cow in the place looked interested in saving my skin. Aye, I think they were trying to decide whether to join in. The smallest of them accused me of calling the lot of their species oxen.” Pinkie let out a low “oooooh,” which was accompanied by a faint whistle in her throat. “L-low blow.” “I know, right?” He grinned, happy that she was at least trying to get into the story. “I didn’t know my teleporting spell yet, so I had to find a way to get out of there real quick. A few more cows were starting to crowd the bar, looking to get in on the action. It’s hard to say ‘you’ve got the wrong pony’ in a place full of cattle, especially when you’ve got my coloration.” “I th-thought you were the master of disguise.” Pinkie twitched, her forehooves tightening around his fetlock as another tremor ran through her. Fine was almost certain he felt the pain himself. “The invisib-ble pony. The master of m-mystery.” Resting his free hoof on her cheek, he muttered, “Even I can’t be perfect all the time. But you didn’t hear that from me.” She nuzzled his hoof with a strained smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Her cheek was so soft, but also so wet. He set to work cleaning her face of tears, even as she added a few more to the rivers on her face. He considered using his magic to do it, but couldn’t bring himself to try. Doing it by hoof felt more… appropriate. Or perhaps ‘intimate’ would be the right word. “S-so how did you get out of there?” she asked. Not pausing in his slow, careful cleaning, Fine replied, “I told them I could prove I had nothing against cattle. They laughed, said I was bluffing. I forget how it went, something like…” He paused to focus on getting the Cowedonian accent just right. “We aren’t going tae believe such an obvious lie unless ye pucker up an kiss a bull full on the lips, ye geit ma meaning?” Pinkie laughed. Actually laughed! Fine felt a wave of euphoria, which crashed an instant later when Pinkie let out a cry and curled a little more tightly around her stomach. He brought his lips to her ears and began whispering. “It’s okay. It’s alright. Just stay strong, Pinkie. The doctor’s coming.” Her reply was little more than a hiss. “Don’t stop.” He tried to meet her eyes, but she couldn’t seem to open them. Her face was scrunched up in a mask of pain. “Pinkie?” “D-don’t stop.” She gasped, took a few heavy breaths. “Finish the st-tory. Please…” How do I make it stop hurting? Why can’t I help her? I’m supposed to be more useful than this! “Right. O-okay.” Cradling her head atop his elbow, he fought to push out the panicked thoughts flitting through his mind and focused instead on where he was in the story. “Well, it just so happened there was a bull sitting next to me. Big guy. Longhorn. Looked like he had half a mind to give the heifers a hoof in smashing me.” Pinkie moaned, but her eyes finally came open and met his. They pleaded with him, but her real intent eluded him. He hoped she was asking him to keep going. “So, I did the first thing that came to mind and kissed that bull. I grabbed him by the horns, jerked his head down, and gave him one full on the lips.” “Wow.” It was more groan than word, but Pinkie’s meaning was clear. “I didn’t know y-you had a thing for cattle.” “I certainly had a stunned audience.” Fine closed his eyes, clearly recalling the expression on every cow’s face despite how long ago the event had been. “The bull shoved me back and cursed up a storm. And me? I played the spurned lover, whining about how he saw me as nothing but a toy to play with when his girl wasn’t around.” He winked, and took a measure of pride that the motion earned him a giggle. “Turned out his girlfriend was one of the heifers threatening me.” Pinkie gasped, and for once he suspected it had nothing to do with the pain she was in. “What did she do?” He brought his eyes up to the window, vividly recalling what happened next. “She tossed me over the bar. Smashed two dozen bottles. Then she went to town on her bull, her and her friends, for being a two-timing cheat. Once Luna’s stars stopped dancing around my head I took the opportunity to high-tail it out of there with my skin intact. But I did get one last look at the bull before I went out through the kitchen.” He smirked down at Pinkie. “I’ve never seen a full-grown longhorn look so scared.” Pinkie’s body shook as she fell into a painful-looking fit of laughter and crying. Fine held her steady throughout, struggling to hold onto his smile as he watched her. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her something like that. Was it possible to die from bad physical combinations like amusement and agony? Oh, Goddess, but that idea made him feel even worse! At last, her spasms faded. She lay back against his leg, wheezing as if she’d just ran a marathon. “Owie.” His worry must have shown, for she said, “Thanks for the story. It was a good one.” He studied her face for some hint of deception. “I’m, uh, glad I helped?” “You d-did. I might want to hear another.” She reached up and brushed his cheek with her hoof. “And now I know you’ve got a thing for cows.” Fine groaned. “I do not have a thing for cows.” “You’re the one that k-kissed a bull.” She gave him a strained pout, one hoof still clutching his at her barrel as she squirmed. “Am I n-not big and b-bulky enough for you? Not masculine enough?” He blinked, chuckled, laughed. To know she could still act so silly despite being in so much pain was a huge relief. A bit of a mystery too, but being an enigma was part of her charm. “You’re better than any lumbering cow. Don’t you worry about that.” “What’s this about cows? That’s not my specialty.” Fine turned to find a small, stubby yellow mare in the doorway of Pinkie’s room, her short-cropped mane nearly white with age. She had on a simple collar that held a black bag under her neck. The mare peered at Pinkie through a pair of round spectacles. “So what’s all this, then? I hear somepony ate something she shouldn’t?” Pinkie nodded with what was probably the most enthusiasm she could muster under the circumstances, which wasn’t much. “It r-really hurts.” Some of the tension left Fine now that he knew the doctor had arrived. He nodded his thanks to Mr. Collate, who stood behind the aged mare. As Dr. Sawbones approached Pinkie, he carefully extracted his hoof from Pinkie’s grip. She let go on her own, but only after a moment’s hesitation. “She had surgery months back,” Fine explained. “The doctors in Canterlot said she couldn’t eat anything solid.” “Yes, I did listen to Petri on the way here, thank you.” The doctor pushed Fine aside roughly and reared up to place her forelegs on the bed. “I swear to Celestia, it’s ponies like you that made me so happy to retire, assuming I don’t know nothing.” With a far gentler tone, she told Pinkie, “I’m gonna take a look at your scars to help pinpoint the most likely location of the problem, alright?” Pinkie, face pale, nodded and closed her eyes tight. “F-Fine.” “Good. Now don’t you worry, I—” “Fine.” Pinkie raised a shaky hoof, and Fine realized she was calling for him. He hurried to the other side of the bed and took her hoof in both of his. “I’m here, Pinkie,” he whispered, giving Dr. Sawbones a nod. The doctor snorted and shook her head. “The nonsense names some ponies have.” She focused her attention on Pinkie’s stomach, gently running her hooves over it to part the fur and feel for the scars. Pinkie squirmed, only to go still when Dr. Sawbones shot a raised eyebrow and a scowl her way. Fine frowned in turn, but said nothing. “Okay, found the scars,” the doctor announced to the room. “Now let’s just take a looksee.” Her horn lit up a dark orange and her eyes gained a pale white sheen. She stood still over Pinkie, humming on occasion. Her lips pursed into a thin line. Pinkie’s grip on Fine’s hoof tightened, and he leaned down to nuzzle her. Her breathing had grown heavier since the examination started. Her eyes had opened wide and threatened to produce more tears. Fine could only try to maintain a stoic expression. If only he had some idea of what to say. Anything that might help her be brave through this. At last, Dr. Sawbones’ horn faded and her eyes returned to normal. “Well, I have good news: you didn’t break anything.” “I didn’t?” Pinkie seemed to forget her pain for a moment, her brow furrowing as confusion washed over her features. Then she cringed and almost doubled over with a whine. “Th-then why does it hurt so much?” Dr. Sawbones started rummaging through her medical bag. “Your intestines haven’t fully healed and weren’t ready for anything solid. They’ll hold, the fella who stitched you up did a bang up job, but you’re putting some serious strain on them right now. Of course they’re gonna hurt, you silly filly. Next time a doctor tells you to not eat solids, I would recommend you listen to him.” Fine at last allowed himself to relax. Patting Pinkie’s hoof, he said, “There, you see? It’ll go away with time.” “That it will, once you’ve gotten enough of the food digested and out of your system.” At last, Dr. Sawbones pulled out a small notebook and pencil. She scribbled something on it, ripped out a page, then levitated it over to Mr. Collate. “Here, Petri. Go see Gentle Touch and get these. They should help deaden the pain a bit.” As Mr. Collate left the room, the doctor pointed at Fine. “You I want to see outside for a moment.” Pinkie raised her head. “I-is something wrong?” “Hush, child. The only thing wrong is that you did something stupid. That’s nothing new; I find most patients are stupid. Thank Celestia I’m retired.” Ignoring Fine’s scowl, the doctor gestured for him to follow as she went to the door. Fine looked to Pinkie, who was chewing her lip in worry. “I’ll be right back,” he said, adding in a whisper, “Maybe I can get tips on improving my bedside manner.” That won him a nervous titter, at least. He followed the doctor into the hall and closed the door. He resolved not to snap at the old mare. She had helped, after all, and besides that she’d probably earned her grumpiness given her profession. “Okay, Doctor. Please tell me that wasn’t a white lie to keep her from panicking.” Dr. Sawbones lost her grim countenance for an expression of wide-eyed alarm. “By Luna’s fine flanks. Her insides look like a timberwolf had its way with them. What did she do?” Her quiet exclamation brought his ears down. He shivered as he recalled the sensation of digging claws into Pinkie's belly. “Y-you’re not far from the truth. A… Let’s say a ‘monster’. A monster tried to gut her. Princess Luna herself had to intervene to save her.” He didn’t dare mention that the monster was technically him. Dr. Sawbones released a long, slow breath. “I’ve seen a lot in my time, but that definitely ranks among the worst of them. Probably top five.” She shook her head and muttered to herself for a time. “The medicine Petri is getting is potent stuff, should deaden the pain, but she needs to stay in bed for the next twenty-four hours. I don’t advise letting her eat anything during that time, and I mean anything. Water should be fine, but not food, not even soups. She puts her insides under any more strain than they already are and she’ll be needing lots more than some pain pills.” Fine cringed; that was going to be hard to explain to Pinkie Pie. “I… got it.” “You better!” The doctor shot him a glare. “From what I understand, this is at least partially your fault. Aren’t you two aiming to be a couple? A stallion should take better care of his mare.” He blinked, taken aback by her vehemence. “How did you—?” “Petri told me.” She waggled a hoof in his face. “And don’t change the subject! Keep an eye on her, make sure she does what she’s supposed to. Barring some coincidence on the streets, I don’t want to see either of you for the rest of your stay in Rockstead, you got me? I’m too old to be running around town fighting medical emergencies.” Shrinking back, he nodded hurriedly. “I got you. Luna’s honor.” “Good.” Adjusting her medical bag, she turned and started to walk away, but paused. “Oh, right. Tell her she shouldn’t eat solids for at least another three weeks. Might have gotten away with one, but after this mess better to be safe than sorry. And for Celestia’s sake, confirm she’s ready with her doctor first!” With a final flick of her tail, Dr. Sawbones marched off, grumbling and mumbling all the while. Her insides felt as if they’d gotten tangled in a Ferris Wheel and the conductor had gone off on break. Pinkie squirmed and whimpered and whined, knowing that none of it would help. This was almost the worst day ever. She’d put it at number three. How could she have forgotten about her condition like that? Eating those pancakes had been the stupidest thing she’d ever stupided, and she’d stupided a lot in her life. “Well, Pinkie Pie,” Fine said as he returned from the hall, “this is another fine mess I’ve gotten you into.” Oh, no, does he blame himself? “I did this,” she muttered. “We both did this,” he countered, returning to his place at her side and rubbing his hoof on her shoulder. “I’d say we’re both equally responsible this time.” She moaned as the Ferris Wheel gave another lurch, twisting her icky stomach bits nice and tight. “I’ll never eat pancakes again.” “You of all ponies know better than to make promises you can’t keep.” He began petting her mane. She didn’t have the stomach to say it – literally? – but it felt really nice when he did that. “The doctor extended your diet by two weeks.” “W-what?” She gaped at him, only to cringe at another fiery lurch in her belly. “Please tell me that’s some kind of cruel and tasteless joke.” He sighed and wouldn’t meet her gaze. He looked almost as pained as she felt. “I’m afraid not. I hope those pancakes were worth it, because you won’t be having anything solid for three weeks.” Three weeks. Three weeks of soups and water. Three more horrible, mind-numbingly boring weeks. She unleashed all her misery in a long, slow moan and let herself go limp. Even the regular churning of her insides kept her from doing much beyond staring at the ceiling. “I-I’m gonna go insane.” Fine raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were already there.” “This isn’t the same,” she monotoned. “This is… this is… I don’t know what it is, but I don’t think my taste buds will ever forgive me.” She hissed at another kick in the gut. “Or my stomach.” “Nonsense.” He smiled for her. It was forced, but she appreciated it anyway. “In a month we’ll look back on this and laugh.” She moaned and banged the back of her head against the pillow a few times, lamenting the fact that pillows were not the best things to bang a head against. Or maybe they were. Depends on the perspective, really. “I don’t suppose you know that fancy Starswirly time-travely spell, huh? I wanna be Future Pinkie now.” “Sorry, Princess. Even if I did I think I’d have to veto that idea.” “Poo.” Her eyes went back to the ceiling. She tried to focus on Fine’s hoof running through her mane. It really did feel good. Not good enough to distract from the pain, but she’d take it. “How long am I gonna be stuck here?” “Until tomorrow morning at least,” he replied apologetically. Another long moan. “Oh, cruel p-pancake, how could you betray me so? Was it because I didn’t use enough syrup?” She grit her teeth and held her stomach as her insides gave a cruel twist. “Well, fine. There won’t be any syrup, because I won’t eat you anymore, pancake! So you do your nasty little knife dance on my guts, ‘cause you’ll never get another chance.” “At least you still have your imagination.” She sniffed and glanced at Fine. “This is the worst…” The door opened before Fine could reply, and in walked Mr. Collate. “Got you some medicine,” he announced, holding up a small can. “One dose only. Doctor’s orders. Should last you through to tomorrow.” Pinkie promptly thrust her hooves out, waving them eagerly. “Gimme. Gimme, gimme, gimme.” He instead gave the small can to Fine. “Unicorn seal. Technically only doctors or nurses are meant to be able to open it.” Fine scoffed and tossed the can Pinkie’s way. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” “I’m telling you, only uni—” Pinkie snatched the can out of the air, flicked off the top, and downed the medicine in a single gulp. It tasted like rotten tomatoes, but she managed to avoid gagging by questioning how she knew what rotten tomatoes tasted like. “—corns… How did she do that?” “You learn not to question it.” Fine took the emptied can from Pinkie and set it on the nightstand. “Looks like we’re going to be trapped here for the day. Don’t worry about cooking us anything.” As alarming as that statement was, Pinkie had to take a moment to recover from the foulness in her mouth. She managed to rasp out a desperate “Water!”, which was fortunately answered by Mr. Collate only a second later. It wasn’t much, just a small sip, but it helped a little. At the very least she was able to work her jaw again. “Celestia’s mane, that was terrible.” Her attention jumped to Fine. “Why no cooking?” He sighed and patted Pinkie’s hoof. “More orders. No food until tomorrow morning. Anything—” “No food at all?” A pause, perhaps to see if she had anything more to add. Then Fine said, “No more. At all. If you eat anything, even soups, she was afraid you’d do real damage.” Pinkie wondered if it was possible to be fluent in moans. She banged her head against the pillow a few more times in frustration, then buried her face in her fetlocks. “So unfair…” So not only was she trapped in bed all day, she was also being punished with starvation. Never again. No pancakes for her! If she saw another one ever again, it would be too soon. She didn’t care how good they looked, from this point onwards pancakes disgusted her. It would be easy. Just remember the pain and the foul taste of rotten tomatoes. Maybe she should eat a bad tomato once a year, just as a reminder. That would teach those pancakes! Wait… she lowered her hooves to look to Fine, not surprised to find Mr. Collate had already left. “What about you?” Fine cocked his head. “What about me?” He raised a hoof as if to stop her from saying something. “I’m not joining you on an anti-pancake crusade.” She shook her head forcefully. “Food. Why did you tell Mr. Collate not to cook any? I mean, I get me, but you can still eat.” “Nope.” He sat down and crossed his forelegs, muzzle held high. “If you’re not eating, I’m not eating.” “W-what?” Pinkie shook her head again, this time with far more vehemence. She wasn’t sure how a headshake could look vehement, but it sounded right in her head. “You can’t do that! There’s no need for you to suffer with me.” “Oh, but there is.” Maneuvering himself so he was positioned closer to her head, he rested his forelegs and chin on the bed. Guilt washed over his face as he muttered, “This is at least partially my fault. I could have reminded you or something.” “But it was my responsibility to—” “Nope,” he repeated firmly. “It’s a cardinal rule: if she ain’t happy, ain’t nopony happy. I’ll be right here, Pinkie. If I can do nothing else, at least I can do this.” She had no idea how to feel about this. Bad, because she didn’t want him to starve? Yes, maybe. But that definite feeling was deadened by an appreciation that made her heart all warm and fuzzy, like it had become a home to sheep. A nice little woolly cubbyhole. She liked that feeling. It made her want to give Fine a big, cuddly hug. Then she remembered that he was going to starve himself for her, and the wool was sheared by the little Mini-Pinkies of Sadness and Frustration. Oh, there she was on that mental highway again. Except now there were a bunch of road blocks, all craftily placed by Fine and his stubborn determination to claim responsibility. But some of those Pinkie drivers took the Blame Lane because he was responsible. A little. Nowhere near as much as she was. Shame on those Pinkies for pointing hooves. “Please, don’t do this for me,” she whispered, reaching out to pat Fine’s head of red mane. “It’s nice you want to, but…” “What am I, Gummy?” Fine pulled her hoof away with a bemused look. “Petting me like a… well, a pet. I can bite like Gummy, if that’s what you’re after.” He promptly clamped his mouth around her fetlock, hard enough to require some effort to escape but not enough to cause any pain. She laughed, especially when his eyes took on a vacant, distant look and blinked a few times. “Gummy wouldn’t refuse to eat,” she told him between titters. “He gets cranky when he’s not had any food in him.” She wagged her hoof in a halfhearted attempt to dislodge him. He let go, chin flopping back to the bed. Then he grinned at her. “Well, you seem to be feeling better, at least.” Only then did she realize that, yes, she did feel better. There was still some pain, but it was like a shadow of what she’d been through earlier. “That stuff works fast. Hey, why don’t we—” Fine pushed her back onto the bed before she could get more than halfway up. “Sorry, Pinkie. Nothing but bedtime for you.” She let out a long whine, to which he shrugged. “I failed to be attentive of your health once. I’m not about to do it a second time. Stay.” “But—” “Stay.” “I just want to—” He pressed his hooves against her shoulders and gave her a narrow-eyed look. With a groan, she crossed her forelegs and pouted. “This is worse than when I had Applejack’s baked bads. I can’t just lay here all day doing nothing. I’ll explode!” Catching his smirk, she added, “I’m serious! Do you know how much energy a Pinkie Pie generates in just a few minutes? I’ve gotta vent it out or I’ll go kablooey. I’m too young to go kablooey!” Fine hummed, sat up and rubbed his chin. “Perhaps we can find some things for you to do while still in bed. Reading a book, perhaps?” “I dunno,” she replied warily. “Unless it’s all actiony I don’t see it getting rid of all the excess kablooeytastic energy in me.” Her eyes lit up. “Hey, did we bring any board games?” “I would not be surprised if you did. I, however, did not.” He glanced around the room. “I can check your bags for you if you’d like. Where’d you put them?” He glanced down. “Under the bed?” He started to drop to his knees— “No!” —and shot right back up, eyes wide. “What?” Fire shot through her cheeks as she tried to think up something quick. What would Rarity do? “I… just… uh… You don’t go rooting through a mare’s things, Fine!” He cocked his head, one ear raised as the other folded back. “Uh… Why?” “I don’t know, you just don’t!” She was foundering. It didn’t really matter what words came out of her mouth right now, just so long as he did not check under the bed. “What if I had something private in my bags?” He blinked. Blinked again. “Like what?” She faltered, lips flapping soundlessly before she managed to reply. “Uh, private things?” Things got quiet as they stared at one another. Pinkie could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Would he press her? Oh, please, don’t press me! I have no idea what to say or do anymore. At last, Fine rubbed the back of his head. His furrowed brow broadcasted his perplexity plain as day. “I think I’ll just chalk this up to my lack of social grace. Plus the fact that I’ve spent practically my entire life having little care for the boundaries of personal property.” Now it was her turn to blink in confusion. “Did you just call yourself a thief?” “Yep.” This without any sign of guilt whatsoever. He abruptly clapped his hooves together with a grin. “I got it. This town’s gotta have some stores. I’ll ask Mr. Collate where I might go to buy some games to keep us occupied.” Latching onto this new direction, Pinkie nodded. “Yeah, that sound like a good idea. And buy yourself some food while you’re at it.” “Not happening.” He turned for the door, paused, turned back. His eyes narrowed. “You’re not gonna get out of bed while I’m gone, are you?” Hunching her shoulders, she huffed and blew a raspberry at him. “I’ll behave, Mr. Fussypants. Just don’t take too long. My kablooey risk factor goes up by the second.” He continued to peer at her, so she sighed and went through the sacred motions of a Pinkie Promise. “There.” No sooner had she finished the motions than he perked up and grinned. “Alright, some piping hot games coming right up! I’ll try to hurry this up.” He was gone. Pinkie didn’t move, instead listening to the quiet room, ears perked high and eyes drifting across the walls. She was so sure Fine would pop in again in a minute or two, just to make sure she kept her promise. Not that he’d need to. After all, she’d Pinkie Promised. Still, she remained tense, listening and ready for that moment when her Pinkie Sense told her he was about to appear. She waited. And waited. And waited some more. “Waiting is boring,” she mumbled, allowing her mane to fall flat once more. She glanced at the old limestone clock on the wall. Still early morning. And she was stuck like this all day. At least she wasn’t hurting anymore. Whatever Dr. Sawbones had prescribed her, it was potent stuff. Although… She let out a long yawn. “Does this stuff make me sleepy? I hope not.” She sat up and shook herself, trying to get a bit more energy in her. Despite all her suggestions of the need to be active, she did feel strangely lethargic. She found the bottle on the nightstand and read through it, groaning when she saw that sleepiness was indeed a side effect. That’s just great, Pinkamina. Fine’s going through all this trouble to buy games for you and not eat and drink anything and be miserable and you’re probably gonna sleep half the day away. And then the nightmares will come back... She shook her head vehemently, both in denial and to get a head start on fighting sleep. “No. I’ll stay awake all day! Fine won’t go through all that while I’m snoring worse than a Rainbow Dash.” Her eyes drifted back to the clock. Only two minutes had passed. With a whine that would have made Rarity proud, she flopped onto her back. Stupid time refusing to speed up when ponies were sad. Why did it have to move fast only when good things were happening? She glanced at the corner of the bed. The dress stored just underneath her came flitting into her thoughts. If he had found that too soon… would it have ruined everything? It certainly felt like it would mean something bad. Maybe that was just nerves, like Rarity had said. Dumb nerves, why couldn’t they leave her alone? She stared at the ceiling. Counted the boards. Counted them again, got a different number. Counted them a third time. Her thoughts drifted to home. A whole day wasted. I should be bringing Fine to see the farm. Telling him… stories. I wanted to do it slow. Now we’re more than halfway through the first week and I’ve only told him about Surprise. If we don’t do this soon, we’ll have to go home. Or extend the vacation, and Fine can’t do that. He’s got a busy super-Important Pony job. Oh, why did I eat those pancakes? She clenched her eyes tight and wallowed in her own pathetic nature. No more delays. Tomorrow, for sure. Come rain or high water or a whole mountain of Rockstead Stacks! I’ll tell Fine as much as I can. Delaying this will only make the situation worse. Her lip trembled at the thought. Worse? Worse… The only ‘worse’ was if she didn’t have a Fine Crime to help her through this. “Tomorrow,” she whispered to the ceiling. “Tomorrow, for sure.”