"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she whimpers. "I'm just . . . You always said you couldn't love me anymore, and every time, I ended up alone. I was too scared to say anything when I woke up . . ."
I return the hug, one hoof on the back of her head, one on the small of her back. I turn my head away, trying not to weep myself. I can't bear to see Fluttershy cry. "Then tell me what's troubling you, and we will conquer your fears together."
Her chest heaves with silent sobs. "I'm such a coward."
"No, you're not. You just let your fears get the better of you." I lay my chin on the top of her head. "You don't need to be afraid anymore. I love you, and I will never leave you. That's all that needs to matter."
"A-are you sure?"
Does she really still need reassuring? Nevertheless, I say again, "I love you, and I will never leave you."
Another sniffle, then she nods against my chest. "I'm sorry."
"Shhh." I stroke her back and keep her in my embrace, lending her the companionship and love she needs. For however long she needs. It's a replay of what happened this morning; her happiness is all I need, all I want.
It's strange. When I arrived in Fluttershy's dream, it looked as if it was about to storm mightily. But the weather—if a dream could have weather—has calmed considerably. The sky, while still overcast, no longer threatens of rain or thunder; it's simply a blanket of low clouds. Beyond the weather, other things no longer appear quite as threatening: the grass around the cottage has grown back; the cottage is clean; and the river is calm. I don't need to guess at Fluttershy's mental state; I just need look around.
Even after I feel her breaths calm and her tears stop, Fluttershy keeps her face buried in my chest. I keep stroking her back, remaining patient.
Sure enough, eventually, she releases her hooves and brings her face up from my chest. After wiping her eyes one last time, she says, "Thank you."
"Of course, sweetheart. But do not thank me for love; it's yours. It's always yours." I take her hooves into my own so they rest between us.
"I . . . I'm feeling better now," she says, forcing a smile. "Can we just . . . can we just forget this happened? I'm sure I won't have bad dreams anymore."
I frown. After everything I've seen and heard in her dream, there's no path back. I can respect Fluttershy's need for secrecy, and I will if it's just a harmless secret. But I don't believe her when she implies, once again, that nothing is wrong. She is still insecure about our relationship.
I take a quick glance behind us. She's still here. Not-Rarity is still here. Conspicuously silent, but ever present: a sign that says that the fear that created not-Rarity still exists. Dormant now, perhaps, but left unchecked, that fear will give her a voice again. And Fluttershy's nightmares are sure to return.
"I . . . I'm sorry, Fluttershy, but I'm afraid not. We just can't have these things between us anymore. What will happen when something or someone implies that we shouldn't be together? I won't know how to help you, and I won't be able to talk to you about it. I know there's still something we need to talk about, something you're afraid of." I make a false-glance backwards. "We can defeat her, sweetheart; we can destroy that monster forever. She'll never again warp our relationship into something evil; the only Raritys that will appear in your dreams are the ones who love you." I lean forward and give her a kiss on the cheek. "Surely you can muster up the bravery to explain how we can get rid of her." I give her an encouraging smile.
She looks away and starts fidgeting nervously. She grips my hooves tightly with her own and pulls them closer to herself. Then she looks up to me, worry and fear still written on her face. "Can you . . . can you hold me?"
It's not beyond my notice that Fluttershy takes comfort in my physical affection; that's why I give it to her so often. But she's not one to ask for things for herself, so she never requests it of me—not even a hug. The fact that she's asking me now just tells me how very much she needs it—now more than ever, for so many reasons. Wordlessly, I get up and crawl behind her. There, I sit down carefully, flanking her with my hind hooves. I wrap my forehooves under her own and around her midsection, pressing my chest against her back. I rest my head on her shoulder and start rocking her gently side-to-side. "Is this better?" I whisper, the puffs of air from my words displacing a few hairs from her mane.
With nothing else to grip, Fluttershy brings down her forehooves to wrap around my own. She leans her head against mine and nods silently. It takes a few more patient minutes of sitting in this new position for her to finally speak again. When she does, her voice is quiet and reluctant.
"You're the first pony I've ever loved, Rarity. And the first pony I've ever shared so much with. And the first I've ever kissed, and ever went to bed with. And I was hoping you would be my last, too. I feel like I can be myself with you, and you'll still love me. You'll still hold me. You'll still care for me and make me happy. And I know that I'm so, so lucky that I have somepony as good as you in my life. I love you so much." She squeezes my hooves one more time and buries herself a little deeper in my arms.
"I don't want to let it go. I can't let it go. It's hard enough for me to ask for little things from our friends, and you're all my friends! I couldn't ask for so much more from somepony I liked. Even when we found each other, you did it for me. You're just so . . . perfect in every way. You mean so much to me. I don't know why you chose me when there are so many stronger ponies out there. But I still have you, somehow. If I l-lost you, I would never be able to find somepony like you again."
I cast my memory back to when Fluttershy mentioned much the same thing to Spike so many weeks ago: that she didn't know why I chose her. She interrupted me because Spike didn't need to hear the answer—but perhaps she did. Putting others ahead of herself as she always does . . .
"But then there's you and the stallions you keep talking with all the time. You keep . . . flirting with them. Maybe it's just because I can see clearer now, but when you do that . . . they look at you, Rarity. They look at you with those eyes that I looked at you with for years. They want you, and-and then you talk with them like you want them back."
My mouth hangs open for a moment. That . . . Who was he again? Acacia? "Sweetheart, I don't want them like that, not at all! It's just flirting. I like the effort they put into their character and their bodies. I think it would be nice for me to show them that mares like me are noticing and they like what they see."
"B-b-but that's the problem!" Fluttershy cries, gripping my forehooves a little harder. "You like it! And they like you, every one of them! Everypony thinks that you're so beautiful and amazing that some of them would b-bed you if they had the chance. And when they're boys, you talk about how sexy they are and how you like them, like you would give them that chance. You never do that with me! A-and when we tried tonight . . ." Fluttershy sputters to silence, unable to finish.
"Ah . . ." I know what she means; it's to my shame that I couldn't complete the dance Fluttershy was trying to lead me in. Even after going steady with her, I'm as straight as I ever was. She's right; I don't see her like I do stallions, and I’m not turned on by her beauty; I acknowledge it. As lovely and model-esque as she is, she doesn't light my fire. Nor can I just put a flame to it; I don’t enjoy it myself, and I get nervous.
It makes these things difficult; the sexual attraction in our relationship is asymmetric. Of course I still love her; it's so much more than her body that attracts me. But when she said "please don't give up on me," is this what she meant? . . .
I try to argue back. With the right tools, time, patience . . . "But Fluttershy, don't you remember? We did, on our first date."
"Of course I do, but that was once! How am I supposed to compete with those ponies if they're so attractive to you, and I'm not? If it's easy for you to imagine bedding them, but it's hard with me? I'm so, so happy that you chose me, but I feel like a blue jay trying to feed with a flock of ospreys." Her words come more and more quickly, so much so that I can't get a single word in. Her forehooves grip mine harder still. "You flirt with every boy you find, and every one of them finds you sexy. What happens when you like one of them back enough? What happens when . . . when one of them wins?"
I sputter for a moment, incredulous. "I'm with you, Fluttershy! They won't!"
"But one will! When will you get tired of me, tired of the timid, anxious, scared pony who can't even truly make you happy? I've never felt so loved before with you, and-and I don't even want to think of what it feels like to be alone again. I know it's so selfish and possessive of me to want to keep you all to myself when you should be able to choose who really makes you happy, b-but I just need to know I'll have you with me, that I won't be alone again, that I won't lose you to all the ponies out there who want you too. I can't lose you!"
"Fluttershy! Stop, please!" I insist, cutting off Fluttershy's panicked tirade. Her heart is pounding, and I can feel the sweat coming off her back and wetting my chest. I look to see her face, and she's looking back at me, breathing quickly, fear newly instilled back into her eyes. She whispers "I'm sorry" to me, and I shake my head in return. I start rocking her again while I think of something to say.
So this is the kind of fear that Fluttershy has been living with. I knew she wasn't comfortable back at the flower stand this morning, but I thought it was because she saw Spike; that's what put me on edge. Of course, Acacia could have always been the culprit, but I didn't imagine she felt threatened by him. I can only guess so much if she's not willing to talk. I've never wanted to cause my sweetheart distress, and it pains me to realize that that distress has been building, and this is what it has culminated to. And I am, at least, somewhat responsible. Of course her fears would take my form; my actions are what started this. In hindsight, I should have known better. Fluttershy is sensitive.
"I know it's not fair to you," Fluttershy continues more quietly. Yet her voice still trembles with nerves or fear. "But after I knew what it was like to be with you, I couldn't let it go. I don't know what I would do if we were just friends again, but I still remembered the happiness you gave me when we were together. If I just hid my stupid insecurities like nothing was wrong . . ." Her breaths become irregular again. And why, oh why is she speaking in past tense? "But now . . . I'm scared, Rarity. You just mean so much to me. I need you."
Oh, sweetheart, please don't start crying again. "You won't lose me!" I insist, nuzzling the side of her face urgently. "I promise you, Fluttershy. You won't lose me," I say again. I keep nuzzling her until she backs away from the brink of tears.
I know she's always been scared, but it feels different when she tells me outright that she is. Her telling me implores me to protect her and chase away her fears. She is scared that other ponies will take me away from her. I'm the pony she wants to keep, so I'm the pony who must prove to her that she's under no threat other than her own.
"Fluttershy, I love you," I begin, a simple statement that can explain so many things. Just like this evening when we were awake. "I love you so much. Never, ever forget that. You will always be first in line; I will always help you with whatever you need; and your happiness is always my priority. No stallion, no pony is allowed to have those privileges, not even our friends; it's only you, and it will only ever be you. You are not a blue jay in a field of ospreys. We are a pair of phoenixes ruling the sky together, soaring over the lesser birds who can do naught but admire."
I think back to the dream I had before Fluttershy tore me from it. The mind does what the mind does; I can't control what it chooses to dream about in sleep. And yet, I don't regret having it. Because while that stallion was not real, the thoughts I had about him were. All my thoughts. Perhaps it's time that Fluttershy know about him.
"Before you called me here, sweetheart, I was having a delightful dream with this imaginary client who needed a custom suit. And oh, he was a gorgeous specimen: the strongest chest, legs like tree stumps, and a face so square, masculine, and yet gentlemanly, he would cut a figure in marble. He was a poet; he knew Prench; and he had money to spend. He was entirely, completely perfect—the kind of specimen I would have run after in days gone by."
Fluttershy stiffens against me and opens her mouth to start what would undoubtedly be another panicked apology, but I put a hoof to her mouth to stop her mouth and mind before it runs too far. "And not once did I ever consider chasing him. Not once did I think he would come close to replacing you. He would be another client, albeit a very nice-looking one, and nothing more. How could he ever replace you? The one who's carved out her own special spot in my heart?"
That tension goes away as quickly as it came, and her heartbeat against my chest slows and quiets. "I . . . R-really?" she says.
I nod, trusting Fluttershy will feel the gesture even if she doesn't see it. "You have a hold on my heart, and nopony else does. It is not a fluke that I chose you, so I won't let go so easily. There is a reason why I say everypony is a 'darling,' some are 'dear's, but only one is a 'sweetheart.' It's because you are special, Fluttershy.
"You are brave, strong-willed, forgiving, persistent, and more patient than anypony in Ponyville. You've taught me those things in friendship and in love. There is no other pony who can share in my life like you can. Who understands me, who forgives my foibles, who stops me from making terrible mistakes . . . or making those mistakes worse." We both know who I'm talking about in the last case. "Who brings me on wonderful dates and shows me things I would have never known about; who teaches me how to slow down in a life that seems to move so quickly; who gives me gifts I've never fathomed. How could anypony compete with that? Who else could give those things to me but you?"
It's fitting that Fluttershy says nothing to this; there is no answer. But I feel Fluttershy's muscles soften and her breathing calm, so I know she's listening. "But you are right about one thing, Fluttershy. Those stallions I flirt with, I do see them differently than I see you, and they do attract me in ways that you don’t . . . but believe these words as the truest I've ever spoken: that genuinely, truly does not matter. They don't have a chance, and this is why: If you were to ask me to explain what I liked about those boys, that would take me few seconds, maybe a minute if they were very nice. If you were to ask me the same question about yourself . . ."
I sigh and shake my head in mock-futility. When I feel the warmth on her cheek as a blush comes to her face, I know she knows the answer. "You want to know why I chose you? Oh goodness, how long do we have? Let me count the ways. We'll have long woken up by the time I was halfway through."
Against herself, Fluttershy tries not to giggle, albeit unsuccessfully, bringing some mirth to an otherwise stressful discussion. Her laugh is the combination of everything I love about her: her smile, her voice, her undiluted happiness. She's coming around. As Pinkie Pie well knows better than anypony else, laughter is truly the antidote to fear. I mirror her laugh myself. Time to kill her fear once and for all, I think.
"I love you in too many ways for something so small to rip us apart. Sexual attraction is not consummate love, and I love you, now and forever. I'm sorry if my flirting convinced you of anything different. I didn't know it bothered you so."
"It-it really . . . um . . ." She stops for a moment. "Nevermind."
She knows as well as I do that I don't believe her. And while she and I have been so earnest in this dream, perhaps it's time we should discuss everything on our minds while the walls are down. "But should we truly never mind it, sweetheart? Is there something else you want to tell me?" I've not moved from my embrace behind her, so I nuzzle her neck again, giving her the physical affection she would want, giving her the courage to open up again.
She does eventually, but her words are colored not with confidence, but guilt. "No, nothing. It's my fault. I shouldn't have overreacted to those stallions you see as so much stronger and more attractive than I am." Her voice devolves into a self-deprecating whisper by the end.
I frown and hide a sigh, releasing my hooves. Haven't we gone over this already? "Sweetheart . . ."
Fluttershy turns around so we're once again face-to-face. "I know, I know, you don't love them. I'm not doubting you, I promise. It's just . . ." She lets out a whine of frustration. "It's just that I'm gay and you're not, and we shouldn't be compatible. I know I shouldn't be worried about it, and I know I know why. I'm just . . . nervous." She hangs her head. "I'm sorry. You're disappointed that I can't . . ." She doesn't finish the sentence.
"Fluttershy . . . I am never disappointed in you," I say, raising her head with my hoof. I know that personal worries can't be completely dissolved overnight (in this case, literally). There will always be some worry that lingers. But is there anything else I say to further put her at ease? "Of course you are gay and I am not, but . . . does that not mean I should be equally concerned about you?" I turn away and mock-pout. "Surely you could find somepony who was more able to please you instead of a pony who has such problems just trying. You are a model; anypony would want you."
Her face freezes with mouth agape before turning incredulous. "What-what are you saying, Rarity? You're perfect! Why would I ever leave you for that?"
I turn back and smile wryly. "Indeed. And why would I ever leave you for that, either?"
Fluttershy's mouth remains half-open, but her expression tempers to surprise. I continue. "You don't need to do everything I've ever fantasized about to be perfect for me. That's why they're called fantasies." It's presumptuous to continue with what I want to say, but I want to ensure my marefriend's happiness. These words are for her. "Regardless of whatever shortcomings you think you have, if there is one truth I know, it's that my heart is yours. I bandy my words with ponies I like but never my love and never with you. For whatever may happen during the day . . . you will never find yourself without my hugs, kisses, and affection at day's end."
"Rarity . . ." The expression I see on Fluttershy's face is one I've seen a few times before; I'm getting better at recognizing what it means.
I lean in and offer her my lips, an invitation she takes hungrily. She throws her hooves around my neck and dives into my mouth as I attempt to match her passion. We kiss for several minutes; I reciprocate until Fluttershy breaks the liplock herself, though her arms are still around me. When she is satisfied, I whisper to her, "But if you wish, I'll not flirt with boys when you are around. Would you like that?"
Silence reigns for a good while. I know it's a difficult question. It's not a test, per se—I will always honor her desires, whatever they are—but it offers me a glimpse into how confident she is. Eventually, she whispers back, "No. I . . . I know you love me, Rarity. That's all I need." Then comes the first true, genuine smile I've yet seen from her.
I smile myself and give Fluttershy another kiss. I'm proud of you, sweetheart. "Then if you are amenable . . . I suppose we could start with a certain Vital Acacia," I continue. "I fear he"—and Fluttershy, it appears—"got the wrong idea in our conversation this morning. Perhaps he"—and Fluttershy—"should know that being your special somepony is a full-time endeavor. Would you like to come with me?"
She nods, her head so close it touches my horn as she does. "Of course, Rarity."
We kiss a final time before I return her to my previous embrace. Fluttershy finally melts into my arms as easily as butter and sighs in contentment. This is what we've been missing for so long, and it makes even our simplest moments passionate and lovely. Even if they do happen to occur in a dream. Speaking of which . . .
I look around. We're completely alone in Fluttershy's universe—just she and I sharing a quiet moment in her yard. With no other unwanted visitors to bother us. The storm, indeed, has passed.
I close my eyes. With Fluttershy's body so close and my arms wrapped around her, this is an embrace I could stay in forever. The only position I like more is when we spoon lying down.
Well. Right now, we may very well be doing both at the same time!
I sigh as well and give her a kiss on the neck. She coos her contentment and leans her head against mine. Fortunately, I don't think physical damage here is relayed to the real world, so the considerable passion with which I kiss her should go unnoticed. "I love you, Rarity," she says, the vibrations from her throat conducting to my lips.
I release her and return, "I lo—"
All of a sudden, I hear a loud and shrieking noise, one that drowns on the response I was going to give. I grimace as I feel my mind being ripped away from me. Not painfully, but insistently, incessantly. Away from my body and to another place. It feels like light is piercing my eyelids. I clench my eyes tighter, but that only makes the problem worse. Along with Fluttershy's coat and the dirt ground, I start to feel familiar blankets. I release my hooves and stagger backwards a short distance. Fluttershy's visage seems to grow out of focus, and I struggle to remain in perception of it.
Fluttershy's eyes grow faint to me, but I can see the contentment in them turn to panic as she tries to get closer to me. "Rarity! Wh-what's happening?"
"Ugh . . ." I look up and see a massive red glow, brighter than anything I've seen before. I can feel it trying to rip my consciousness to shreds. "I don't think I can stay here for much longer." I look back down, barely seeing Fluttershy at all. The glow is coming down quickly, taking everything away in light. But I manage to take her face in my hooves and whisper three words to her before she is lost to me:
"Wake with me."
Despite being so violently ripped from the oneiric realm, the transition from dozing to wakefulness happens lazily. The shrieking I heard tempers to the far more pleasant birdsong coming from the tree behind us. Fluttershy's visage is lost to me in a sea of light, and it's replaced with that same glow underneath my eyelids. I open my eyes slowly only to recoil and close my eyes again. The dawning sun's light shines right on my face; I suppose that's what woke me up.
I groan and rub my eyes, trying to put some life back into them. When I'm able to open my eyes, I notice that despite my last request and the sun shining on her face just as it did mine, Fluttershy is still sleeping soundly. A pity, that. I was hoping we could have woken together; how romantic that would have been. Perhaps she just needs a little help waking up. I crawl to her front, start drawing shapes on her chest, and sing a little to her.
The world is waking,
the day draws near,
Good morning, sweet Fluttershy,
Good morning, my dear.
Her eyelids twitch once, twice, then open slowly, revealing loving eyes of turquoise.
"Good morning, my dear," I say again.
Fluttershy yawns and gives me a lazy smile. "Can we go back to sleep? I liked it there."
I chuckle briefly and nuzzle her nose. "Why don't we just lay here for a little while?"
Fluttershy acquiesces by drawing me in with her hooves and returning the nuzzle. I return to kissing her cheek and neck wherever I can. It feels as if we never left the dream.