//------------------------------// // The Floor // Story: Mine For The Taking // by forbloodysummer //------------------------------// Dreams gave way slowly as reality intruded, Spitfire at first shrugging off the disturbances to her sleep, but losing ground as they went on. Her eyes peeled themselves open, taking in the darkness of the room. No sign of morning lit the window yet, over which they'd never bothered to draw the curtains. Why am I awake? With a low groan, something moved on the bed beside her, an elbow pressing into her side. Oh. That's why. Pushing the elbow back where it belonged brought another restless grunt, followed by the movement of a whole body rolling over, limbs pushing out. In the darkness, Spitfire rolled her eyes. Adagio had been so dignified when awake! Still, the room was swelteringly hot, so the clamminess of Adagio's skin where it had pushed into Spitfire was understandable. As was the tossing and turning itself, she supposed. Even if she had managed to avoid that herself. Would opening the window help? Ordinarily she knew that would interfere with the air conditioning doing its job, but when the heatwave made the room feel like a jungle, it could probably use the assistance. Fine. In a minute. Laziness really wasn't something the nation's premier athlete often got to indulge in, but even with her decades of early morning exercises and training sessions, it wasn't as if she liked getting out of bed. She was just on the verge of unconsciousness again when a knee jammed into her thigh. Not hard enough to hurt, but with more than enough force to jolt her fully awake again. With a grunt of her own, Spitfire sat up, then glared down at Adagio, whose expression was impossible to make out in the darkness. At least it wasn't like Spitfire would miss the warmth of the covers when out of bed, since they'd been thrown from the bed long before and never sought again, in the natural heat of the night. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she dragged herself up as her feet hit the floor, tickled by the long-haired carpet when she padded over to the window. Drawing closer to it, the glow of the street lamps below shone through sheets of water, and she realised the constant drum of rain on the rooftop had been there since she awoke. By the time she reached the window, the light from outside was enough for her to spot the small key on the window sill, which she took and used to open the lock. With a push, the window swung outwards, suspended by its top edge, stiff from lack of use but luckily still well-oiled enough not to creak and wake Adagio. More noise than expected from outside flooded in, though. As well as the cascade of raindrops onto the tarmac below, the wind carried with it a whisper of music, like notes from far away were hanging in the air, echoing off the buildings. Spitfire grinned and rolled her eyes – somewhere nearby, in the heart of downtown Canterlot, someone was playing an electric guitar with their own windows open, at three in the morning. Maybe the noble city of white marble wasn't completely immune to rock & roll. Lightning flashed, and only a short moment later the high, delicate melody disappeared beneath a rumble of thunder almost overhead, the sound seeming to come from all around her. That brought her attention back to why she’d opened the window in the first place, and she took a moment to appreciate the cooler air that rolled in, welcome against her bare skin after so long feeling like she was living in a rainforest. After a minute or so of breathing in the night air, she glanced back at the bed, and frowned when she saw Adagio was still shifting around this way and that. If not just trying to get comfortable despite the heat, maybe she was having a nightmare? Spitfire was still looking in Adagio's direction when the lightning flashed again, thunder shortly behind, and the brief moment of brightness revealed a tormented look on Adagio's face. Definitely a nightmare. There was a wrongness about it, like someone whose features belonged on a statue should be sleeping as still as one too, apart from gentle breaths. What could something so beautiful be dreaming of to look so distressed? Spitfire found herself moving back towards the bed before she'd even thought about it. She curled around Adagio on the mattress protectively, slumping half-upright against the headboard to lean sideways over her. Cupping Adagio's cheek was met with a flinch, so Spitfire ran her fingers through Adagio's hair instead, starting at her temples and stroking backwards. It was so thick! But also not without its knots, following their evening of activities. Within a few moments, Adagio's eyes fluttered open, finding Spitfire's immediately despite the darkness. They held a tension bordering on panic, and her hands flew protectively to her chest and throat. As softly as she could, Spitfire whispered, “You should be sleeping, my love.” My love? Distantly she wondered where that had come from, not convinced she'd ever called someone that before. Adagio said nothing, but her eyes still frantically searched Spitfire's face. “Think you were having a nightmare,” she explained, continuing to try to soothe Adagio by stroking her hair. It showed no sign of working. Time for a different approach. “Do you want to tell me about it? What you were dreaming about?” A change washed over Adagio, the urgency of whatever frightened her draining away. The fear itself remained, though, still there despite the way her body sagged in Spitfire’s arms. “A hole in the sky,” Adagio said, voice surprisingly emotionless given her recent terror. “A great, spinning maw sucking everything in. And nothing can escape – not wind, not light, and certainly not me.” In a whisper, she added, “Or my sisters.” That is, uh, more apocalyptic than I expected. Certainly a long way from the traditional one about showing up to work naked. A metaphor for failure, perhaps? That if Adagio didn’t ‘make it’ as a singer she’d be swallowed up by a lifetime of nothingness, lost in obscurity? But she’d seemed so confident earlier, and the idea of her not being every bit the breakthrough success she wanted to seemed harder to believe than not. There wasn't exactly a lot Spitfire could do to allay fears like that. But maybe on a more literal level... “Come with me,” she said, taking Adagio's hand and slipping off the bed onto her feet again. Obvious reluctance to leave the bed kept Adagio in place, but Spitfire breathed easier with the thought that it was more likely to be down to being warm and comfortable there than from being afraid to leave, and so tugged on her arm a couple of times insistently. After a few seconds, Adagio complied, languidly rising, drawing an idle spark of jealousy at how even her first movement since waking could be with a cat's effortless grace. Still hand in hand, Spitfire led her over to the spot by the window she'd occupied minutes before. “See?” she said, turning to face Adagio from the side and then slipping arms around her waist. “No swirling vortex. The sky’s just fine.” She brushed Adagio’s cheek with a kiss, then bowed her head and rested it against the side of Adagio’s, eyes closed. Quiet, calming vibes would hopefully counter the adrenaline-charged pulse she could feel Adagio throbbing with. Naturally, the world had other ideas, and chose to shake that moment with a thunderclap through the downpour. “Ok, fine is relative,” Spitfire conceded, turning her face back to the window but leaving her head still resting against Adagio’s. “But it’s in one piece, at least.” That would have to do for now. Adagio said nothing, just gazing out at the city and the downpour. As the minutes stretched, Spitfire noticed Adagio breathing easily, and how the urgency had drained from her pulse. “It’s peaceful,” Adagio murmured at last. “Drama out there, but shelter here.” Giving Adagio a squeeze, Spitfire then let go of her waist and stood beside her again. Two naked women standing in the darkness, looking out at the storm. “Yeah.” She breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of rain in the night. Outside the window, Canterlot slept – aside from one guitarist – and if any others were also awake, sampling the smell and noticing how it mixed with that of the asphalt melted in the daytime heat, then they were just as anonymous and unseen as she. The world was only shadows and street lights, with the odd taxi meandering past from time to time as if to highlight how empty it was otherwise. Not a time for those who worked nine to five, or married couples with children. No, this was her time, the hours when the world belonged to those like her, who were different. Her, and Adagio, and no one to say otherwise. Our rules now. “Let’s get you back to bed,” she said, breaking the renewed quiet, arms turning Adagio away from the window and shepherding her back into the room. On reaching the foot of the bed, Adagio compliantly clambered up, with Spitfire a moment behind, and soon they were lying face to face again. This time they were beneath the thinnest of the covers despite the lingering heat, in an effort to make Adagio feel more secure, with Spitfire going as far as to lovingly tuck her into bed. “Dream of a thousand happy things,” Spitfire said quietly, leaning in to plant a delicate kiss on Adagio’s forehead. With the window still open, the rain became a blanket of background noise lulling them both back towards sleep, and Spitfire watched as Adagio’s eyes dipped closed. She looked serene, seeming to sink into her pillow as she drifted off and the last of her tension seeped away. For much longer than would have seemed natural under any other circumstances, Spitfire just lay there looking at Adagio. This beautiful creature who not only understood Spitfire’s life, but lived one compatible with it. Who managed to ooze sultriness, wit and wisdom at the same time… Nightmares would not touch her on Spitfire’s watch. She would keep Adagio safe, whatever it took. Like that was the job a lifetime of Wonderbolt training had been preparing her for. Adagio would insist she could take care of herself, of course – who wouldn’t? But– ...no, in Adagio’s case, it was probably true. That way of holding herself, like she could take on whatever the world threw at her, couldn’t have come from nowhere. Actually, that was one of Adagio’s most attractive qualities, something that drew Spitfire to her in the first place, so why even suggest that it might be built on a lie? That would be taking someone strong and self-reliant and wishing them into a princess to be rescued! Wow, the glare Fleetfoot would give her for that if she found out. But the anguished look Adagio had worn was haunting. No one could protect themselves during their nightmares, even the strongest of those when awake. Would that make it ok, Fleet? It wouldn’t be insulting someone’s independence if it was something impossible for them to do themselves. After fifteen years of spending almost every day with someone, ever since the first day at the Academy, their internalised response was finely tuned and came easily. ‘How would you take it?’ Fleet would ask. There was a bristling as Spitfire’s mind clung to the platitudes from a moment ago. There was a tiny voice suggesting it might even be nice to have someone watching over her. And both of those fed into the main response of mentally backing up in distaste. She felt her face heating in the darkness, and rolled onto her back, away from Adagio. She might have been playing knight protector just the tiniest bit there! She laughed to herself quietly, forcing it out to override her embarrassment. Oh, and with someone she’d only met that evening. Laughter quickly turned to cringing. Swearing to watch over someone’s dreams on the first night? Damn. Coming in hot here, Spits. That was… that was so unlike her that even Fleetfoot and Soarin’s reactions were hard to imagine. They’d be taken aback, sure, and she’d never live it down, but Soarin might even think it sweet. Fleet would perhaps be impressed, in a morbid kind of way. They all tended to give Fleet props when she was drunk and did something stupid; well, Spitfire was apparently out-of-her-mind horny and making just as much of a fool of herself. She shook her head as she stared at the ceiling. What had she been thinking?! You should be sleeping, my love. Her words from earlier echoed in her head, only now the soft, caring tone made her eyes widen. She was sure now that she’d never called anyone that before. And she’d said it to Adagio within a few hours of knowing her. Blinking, she turned her head to look at Adagio again – slowly, as if her neck was half-frozen and refused to go any faster. When she was finally able to take in the view, she couldn’t look away again. Such a pretty face. A face she could be very happy waking up beside day after day. ... Spitfire edged away, eyes still locked on Adagio while backing out of the bed. That not-looking where she was going must have been why she almost stumbled in transferring her weight to her legs. And when she did manage to turn her face away, she moved to the door opposite the window quickly because she was flustered. Not worried, and definitely not scared. She just needed some space, that was all. A fumble with a key in a lock let her out onto the balcony, where a canopy kept her dry and left cascades of rain on three sides. Since the storm was one of those without much in the way of wind, she barely needed to cross her arms over her bare chest to stay warm out there, but did so anyway on the off-chance of paparazzi lurking somewhere below. The stone of the balcony was cool beneath her feet, and watching the rain from beneath her shelter soon calmed her, just as it had earlier for Adagio. Adagio. Everything throwing Spitfire for a loop in a single word. It couldn’t be as bad as she thought, could it? Maybe she’d just got caught up in the moment. It was easier to think clearly out here in the fresh air, to see things in perspective. She glanced behind her, to where she knew Adagio was sleeping, but the glass door showed only blackness and her own reflection. She’d got carried away, that was all. Distracted by a pretty face, and she’d lost herself to some shamefully not-her thoughts. And in the morning she and Adagio would go their separate ways, just as usual, and everything would be fine. She tried to simultaneously ignore and stamp down on the pang she felt at that plan. But, dammit, that was exactly what she was going to do. She would throw her bedfellow out, just as she always did, and the next time she wanted a fun night she’d go hunting for someone new, and then leave them behind in turn. She would not be tied down to commitments that might mean giving less than everything to her career, her passion. She was Spitfire, and a pretty girl having a bad dream had made her forget that for a moment. And that was hardly Adagio’s fault, either. She’d been innocently having a nightmare, and Spitfire had responded with compassion. Not something many people would freak out over. Although… The cold of the floor continued to seep up through her legs, as if it were personally bringing the sensation of a grip making its touch felt around her stomach. Adagio had been the one to drag the doors shut in the nightclub, taking charge of the situation despite being on Spitfire’s familiar ground. And then, once they’d been able to hear each other speak, Adagio had been the one with all the answers. The grip tightened. Spitfire had admitted the problems with her job. She’d tried to avoid it, but Adagio had left her no other way out of the conversation. Adagio hadn’t even said anything, just stayed silent until Spitfire came clean, despite not really wanting to. Shouting might have been Spitfire’s method of preference for team management, but she wasn’t above using the silent, expectant power play when she felt she had to. And she’d just fallen for it big time. And it had been Adagio to lead them out of the club through the middle of the packed dance floor. She had literally led Spitfire by the hand! And after talking her into autographing Adagio’s chest, too, then displayed for all the crowd to see. Again Spitfire turned to stare back into the hotel suite, at where she knew Adagio lay, and again she only saw her own reflection. But this time, even in the orange glow of the street lamps, her face was totally drained of colour. She’d been on the back foot the whole night, with Adagio calling all the shots. And Spitfire had hardly even realised. And when Adagio suggested stealing a car, for a brief second I... She grabbed for the balcony railing with both hands as she turned away from the door again, steadying herself on it against the wobble in her knees, barely noticing the cold bite of the rain-soaked metal beneath her fingers. And how had she responded? What was her answer to being the damsel for the evening, the one led around at another’s beck and call? “You should be sleeping, my love.” In that sweet, cloying voice. Like she was sharing her bed with someone she cared about, someone she’d share it with again. Like everything was different now. This wasn’t how it was meant to go. She was the captain of the Wonderbolts! She was supposed to be the huntress, they the prey! She surveyed them from her balcony and plucked them from obscurity, she had the confidence and the experience and that was just how things went. What had happened to make her so meek and pliable? She’d finally met someone just like her, and promptly turned into someone else. Adagio had shared those values, and then Spitfire had gone and betrayed them. Her hands stung with how hard she gripped the railing in front of her, raindrops running over her white knuckles. She was a Wonderbolt. She lived to win. It was always a competition, and she’d known Adagio would be hers just like all her predecessors. Known it from the second she’d looked over the crowd that night, right down to the gleam in Adagio’s eyes on catching sight of her. That was who Spitfire was. The contest wasn’t some hobby. It was something she lived, and breathed, and wouldn’t be right without. Maybe there’d been the tiniest little fantasy of seeing Adagio for more than one night, but Spitfire forgetting the competition entirely when with her was the surest sign of incompatibility there could be. No question about it. There was a question, though, and that was the most damning thing of all. A question she couldn’t escape, in a voice she couldn’t ignore, however quiet: if she hadn’t even noticed her need to win being pushed aside, then did it really matter? Adagio might be worth giving it up for. It had, she had to admit, been a very happy evening, up until now. So however much she might scream at the possibility for being the wrong one, she couldn’t help considering it. But how much would she be giving up? Her drive to win? Potentially her career? Her dream, which she’d given her life to? ...Herself? She snorted. Could any relationship ever be worth that price? Would someone even still be worth loving if they decided yes to it? Closing her eyes and bowing her head, Spitfire leaned forwards on the railing, exposing the back of her head to the elements. Rain drummed onto her skin through the close-cropped hair, cool, but not unpleasantly so, and ran in rivulets down her neck. A shower longer than strictly necessary after a show was her back-to-reality ritual, helping her wash off the crazy emotional turbulence she put herself through when competing and standing on the podium afterwards. And now, thankfully, the water had a similar effect, levelling her out. As she felt the intensity of it all receding, hard lines were exposed beneath: boundaries she would not cross. What to do remained unclear, but those lines brought increasing certainty of what not to do. She’d figure something out.