Chapter Seven
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Twilight Sparkle was waiting for him when he walked downstairs the next morning. She was sitting in the kitchen with her notebook open on the table and her half-moon glasses sliding off her nose.
She watched him silently as he trudged into the room, still in his pajamas (it was only eight o’clock, he reasoned. No need to get dressed yet.)
She watched him yawn and rub his eyes and glance around the kitchen like he’d forgotten why he’d come down here in the first place.
She watched as he opened the fridge, got out the milk, and drank straight from the carton (mostly just to spite her). And then she’d had enough.
“Spike, that is positively disgusting, you’re spreading germs. Put that down right now!” She scolded.
Spike put the milk down on the table, next to her notebook. He tried to see what she was writing in there, but she snapped it shut before he could. “Sorry, Twi.” He muttered, even though he wasn’t, actually. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m conducting important research.” She narrowed her eyes. “On moody adolescents, and why they insist on ignoring good advice given to them by their friends.”
Spike sighed, and ran his fingers through his spiky green hair. “Why exactly are you mad at me, Twi? Because I’m trying to help Rarity out?”
“No.” Twilight scoffed. “I think you’re getting too close to her. You’re bound to get hurt when she realizes you’re not doing this just because you’re nice. If she finds out you have this... this crush on her, she’s not going to like it.”
“You could’ve said.” Spike growled. “At any point in the last week, you could’ve said, ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to Rarity’s today.’”
“Would it have made any difference?” Twilight asked.
Spike thought for a moment, chin in his hands. He thought of Rarity’s smile, and her purple hair, and her fingernails tapping against the wood as she watched him walk away.
“No.” He said.
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“Spike!” Rarity said, opening the door. “Fantastic! It took me a while, but I’ve found a material for your suit. We can do measurements now, if you like.”
“O-okay.” Spike said nervously, following her inside the boutique.
“Stand just there, I’ll get the tape.” Rarity said, pointing him towards the three full-length mirrors that hung on the wall.
Spike stepped up onto the raised platform and stared at his reflection. Dark green hair that stuck up all over, green eyes (“They’re jade, really”), and eyelashes that were too long. Narrow framed body, tall for his age (which wasn’t saying much), skinny wrists. He scowled at his reflection.
Rarity’s heels clicked on the floor behind him. He watched as she came back into the room, her hips swaying as she walked, tape measure in hand.
She pushed a purple curl out of her eyes and smiled. “Arms out, please.”
Spike held up his arms. Rarity moved around him for the next few minutes, taking measurements and writing numbers down in perfect, curling script. (Spike had no idea how numbers could be pretty, but they were when Rarity wrote them.) He worked through Twilight’s math lessons from earlier in the week, in his head, to distract himself.
Expect for the moment when she took his waist measurement (Spike swallowed hard and tried desperately to remember what the Pythagorean theorem was. One side of the triangle is A, one side is... is... isthatherhandonmyhip what comes after A?), it passed without incident, and they were back to their normal ‘I’ll-fetch-the-coffee-you-start-the-paperwork’ routine.
Spike watched Rarity silently from across the room as she sketched designs and calculated prices (a lot of math going on around here today, he noticed). She sat sideways in her desk chair, her long (perfect) legs crossed neatly and pointing out towards him. She wore another of those pencil skirts, the ones that were so modern and workingwoman and stopped just above her knee, and a black belt with a big buckle. Spike didn’t know fashion like she did, (and he was biased) but she looked good. (She looked good in everything.)
His eyes followed the curve of her (perfect) knee down to her black pumps, out of which peeked purple toenails. He wondered how the hell she walked in those, but imagining her walking in them led to imagining her falling, and him catching her in his arms.
He made a soft growling noise in his throat (actually, he wanted to scream, but he doubted he could get away with it) and turned away. This was torture. Honestly, maybe Twilight was right. He was just getting hurt here, because Luna, all he wanted to do right now was get up out of his seat and walk over to Rarity and kiss her, so she could tell exactly how much he loved every little thing about her.
Suddenly, she looked up and met his eyes. He blushed, embarrassed at being caught. She just smiled. (What in Celestia’s name does that mean?)
“Spike, could you come over here for a second?” Rarity asked, spinning her chair so her legs were hidden under her desk.
Hey! I was admiring those... Spike walked over to her desk and looked over her shoulder at the color chart in front of her (a checkerboard of blues and greens).
“Which do you like best?” Rarity asked softly. “For your suit.”
Spike’s eyebrows furrowed. His tongue poked out of the side of his mouth as his gaze flitted from color to color. He couldn’t decide. The Emerald #3 was nice, but so was the Midnight River.
“Don’t think so hard, dear, you’ll hurt yourself.” Rarity laughed under her breath, watching his face.
He turned his head, and there she was, her face just inches from his, closer to her than he’d ever been. So close he could feel her warm breath on his cheek, could see the intense color of her eyes, the bluest blue he’d ever known. Her eyes were so blue it made him realize how disappointed he was in the sky.
“So?” Rarity breathed.
“So.” He murmured, uncomprehending, caught in watching the flutter of her long eyelashes.
“So which color, Spike?” The corners of Rarity’s perfect, pink mouth quirked up in amusement.
“Um. The... pretty... one?”
“You’re such a goof.” Rarity whispered.
I’m a goof? Is that a bad thing? Why are we whispering? Please kiss me.
He was fairly certain he hadn’t said that last one out loud, but Rarity kissed him anyway.
Her fingers ghosted across his cheek, and her lips touched his, warm and soft. Spike’s first thought was, she tastes like mint. His second thought was, holy bucking Celestia, I’m kissing Rarity.