Twilight Sparkle sighed. She could feel Fluttershy shaking beside her. If she listened hard enough, she could even hear her marefriend's shuddering sobs. Twilight wished she knew how to make her happy again, how to make her smile, but how could she? Laughter was gone, and nothing would ever be all right again.
Nuzzling Fluttershy gently, Twilight stood and stepped back into the subdued party, so calm—at least, by comparison with the parties Pinkie had once thrown. The whole thing barely felt like a party, only entitled to the name by virtue of the decorations, as though the concept itself had gone into mourning. Mr. and Mrs. Cake stood in a corner, quietly crying to themselves while the twins sobbed in front of a small table loaded with photographs, paintings and other assorted Pinkie Pie paraphernalia. A hoofull of other ponies roamed the room like planets bereft of a star, searching for a new orbit. She herself simply stood at the door, watching others express their grief, feeling nothing herself.
Well, technically speaking, that wasn't true. It wasn't sadness or grief she felt, but guilt, dogging her thoughts and turning her mind in endless circles. If they had just been a little less antagonistic towards each other, if they hadn't taken it out on their friends, if, if, if. She tried to remember the last time she had spoken to Pinkie, and her mind slipped back a week and a half, sitting outside the cottage, enjoying a crisp, cold day and a mug of cocoa.
Twilight's ears perked, and a series of slight steps reached her ears, followed by a coughing hiccup, like the kind of sound one makes when one doesn't want others to know that one is crying. She stood, ready to receive a guest, and a severely distraught one at that, before the pink mare stepped into view around the trees, eyes on the ground, mane disheveled and flat, almost lifeless. Twilight panicked—what should she do? She didn't want to talk to her, but she knew that Pinkie would need something.
Eventually settling on a course of action, Twilight blinked from her comfy chair into the cottage. "Fluttershy! Pinkie's here to see you again!"
Twilight frowned. No, that wasn't the last time they'd spoken. It was the last time she saw Pinkie, but it was not the last time they spoke. That would imply that one of the two of them had actually said something. So when had they last spoken? Certainly they spoke since... well, since that day, but when was the last time? She thought hard, and realized something terrifying—she didn't know. She couldn't remember when her last conversation—her last REAL conversation—with Pinkie had been. The only thing she did know is what must have happened—she tried something—maybe this time she was faking apology letters, thinking they would both simply apologize when she brought them together. Maybe she was staging another "therapy" session. Or, maybe, she was just begging her to forgive Applejack. Regardless of the means, though, Twilight knew what she did—She dismissed the filly out of hoof.
Oh, sure, she'd say she was busy, or she'd try to talk her out of these pointless attempts, and then they'd small talk for a while, though she only really wanted Pinkie to leave, and she knew Pinkie was busy plotting a new way of resolving the fight, a new way to push herself further from Twilight, and, likely, Applejack as well.
Twilight scowled. Even thinking that name was like swallowing a bitter pill, admitting that she had ever been friends with someone so hateful, so stubborn, so... homophobic. Oh, sure, Applejack tried to act like she was sorry, at least in public, but she could see the way Applejack glared at them when they were out in public, when they kissed, any sign of affection, really. It was a peculiar thing, the glare—part hatred, part disgust, and, she always noted, part fear. Fear, she assumed, of being revealed for what she was to the world.
As if she didn't do that well enough all on her own...
Twilight tried to analyze her emotions as their friends filtered in, sans Dash and Rarity. It really was too bad—Dash might not be too excited by it, but Rarity would be able to gush for HOURS about this. Still, if Spike did as she had asked him to, Rarity would hear at the same time as the others, and it wouldn't be long before Rarity made her feelings on the topic known, if she had to tear down the laws of physics and magic both to do so.
Pinkie stepped in, followed by Cheerilee and Applejack, all looking curious, and, in Pinkie's case, excited. Oh god, how would they react? Pinkie at least partially knew—they'd both unknowing confided in her, asking for advice, but, well, a formal announcement would be... different. Twilight stared at Pinkie, trying to guess what the enigma of a mare was thinking. She'd clearly already figured out what they were going to say, and her eyes were filled with almost unadulterated joy—almost, but not quite, a twinge of moroseness, or even melancholy hiding behind the oh-so-familiar Pinkie Pie sheen. She almost asked what was the matter, but then her other guests reminded her of their presence, and nervousness took away her ability for conscious thought. "Twi? Ya'll know Ah'd do anything for ya, but if'n ya'd hurry it up, I'd be mighty obliged. We've gotta lot of work ta do, what with applebuck season coming up."
Twilight froze, all her muscles going rigid as a thousand worries fought to have the highly contested position of "Thing Twilight panics over this week", mostly involving her friends reactions and those of the community at large. Suddenly a warm blanket seemed to envelope her back, and she snuggled back into Fluttershy's wing, taking comfort in the closeness before she had to face her friends, who were now showing utterly unique emotions—Cheerilee gasped, with the ghost of a smile slowly working it's way in, Pinkie was hoping up and down, grinning like the maniac she was, and Applejack was... Applejack was...
Twilight shook her head, clearing away the memories, and attracting a bit more attention than she would have liked. Applejack stared at her, and Twilight stared back, and she saw the same mix of emotions she imagined that Applejack could see written across her face—remorse, with just a twinge of guilt. She sighed, and decided that it was time to bury the hatchet, once and for all.