//------------------------------// // Rejuvenation // Story: Acceptance // by Achaian //------------------------------// Rejuvenation Twilight had turned and had left Spike. That dusky activity had dawned on Twilight as something very unsettling in the short period of unintentional introspection that had followed leaving him. Initially, she had dismissed it as an involuntary reaction to Spike’s disobedience. Usually he would never do something so defiant. Still, she did not consider that his actions might have been caused by a change in her, and her tired and selfish apathy kept charge of her for a moment longer. The despair that caused this was a strange breed to consider, but the most common: she could not imagine change. Twilight had been so warped in that moment that she did not see the intricate possibilities of the thousand paths that she could take to apologize to Ditzy. She had failed—as she was prone to do—to swallow her pride and see her own faultiness, her own stubbornness. So scared was she of failure, a fear disguised as and aided by tiredness, that she had failed to be a friend. Then she considered her actions, and abruptly stopped. What am I doing!? I can’t leave him! The prick of conscience touched her as she reached the end of the way. Twilight looked back in concern, eyes desperately glancing through the dark rain, and she saw Ditzy standing over Spike in the mud like a winged tiger over its prey. She was too far away to distinguish the hint of hopeful curiosity hidden in Ditzy’s expression. To her, it looked as if Ditzy had knocked Spike down, and she could only see the residual anger and pain on her face and the vulnerability of Spike. No! Panicked, all selfish thoughts flown, she cried through the rain and ran to intercept, although she could not think of a logical reason for the panic other than the memory of the cold eyes. Ditzy was no longer fixated on Spike, but was looking with a curious expression toward the impassioned Twilight. Arriving still in a heated state an instant later, Twilight seized Spike with her magic and dropped him behind her, breathing hard and in a battle-ready poise with a protective look in her eyes, her horn pointed at the now-retreating and on-guard Ditzy. “I won’t let you hurt him!” Twilight’s declaration flew on hot breath into the chilling rain. Spike pulled himself up, confused. “Twilight, what are—” But Twilight was full-forward now, all attention glaring at Ditzy, who had wisely and guardedly stepped back from the irrational mare. “You won’t... I won’t let you…” Words were failing Twilight, but coherent sentences would have made no difference now, for Ditzy had ceased to pay attention to Twilight and had a look of unfocused wide-eyed shock on her face. What am I… She’s not… “Twilight!” Spike was indignant, and more than a little embarrassed. “I was just starting to apologize, what are you doing?” Ditzy wasn’t seeing either of them. “I just… I couldn’t… You saw what happened when I apologized!” Twilight stopped, now confused to her own motivations for the spontaneous act. “No; I didn’t.” Spike replied. “I never invaded your privacy, Twilight.” “But then how did you…” Both of them stopped, realizing the quiet presence of Ditzy. “You can come in.” “What?” Twilight and Spike uttered simultaneously. “Come in, please.” Ditzy turned and entered her house, leaving the door wide open for them and disappearing from their sight around a corner. Spike and Twilight had curious expression, and exchanged them, but no exchange of expressions or words could help them understand what had just transpired in the mind of Ditzy. Instead, they trod carefully, tentatively, into the house, like two children without an idea of what to expect from the bizarre circumstance, keen on the previously angry presence that had left. And it was as Twilight entered that she realized that she had absolutely no plan. Normally, a violation of that magnitude would have caused Twilight to panic and become roughly spastic until she had a map to follow, but now all she could consider was the great foggy immediate future that was so suddenly bearing down on her. She had exclaimed it just yesterday, that all the ponies in this town were crazy, and now it seemed it was true for her as well: she had not the slightest idea what she was doing anymore, left with no right place to go but forward. She rued the irony, but only for a moment—the fog had rolled over her and now she was in Ditzy’s living room, alone with Ditzy; Spike had been asked to wait outside, and Ditzy was now waiting for her to speak. It was like looking in a mirror, looking at Ditzy—granted, a bit less parallel about the eyes, but she was just as unsure and off-kilter as Twilight was in that moment, uncomfortable in her own house. There they were, standing in front of the couch that Spike had spied, with nothing but the phantasmagoric measureless masses of memory and thought and feeling between them. Both of the two ever-so-vulnerable states of mind were frozen hopelessly in the presence of the other. They looked at each other fearfully now, and Twilight was not the one most afraid, no—it was Ditzy. It was what Twilight had wrought and brought to mind that had scared Ditzy into hopefulness. ~~~~~~~~~ It had started with the shriek-slice into the rain that had been the call for Spike, but it had been a scream of terrible times past for Ditzy: a thread yanked from the stained fabric of her past, a reminder of concerns and fears that had paralyzed her—but only for an instant—the stage was set and the present would not allow her to remember the past, not fully. And Twilight had run up like a shepherd after sheep nearly devoured, like a master after her imperiled student… Like a mother after her child… Nonetheless, the doors of the past slammed upon, ripping off the hinges as visceral scenes of dark and evil places flooded Ditzy, drowning her, and she sank into the black and cold depths of forgotten memory as she swam to no avail. The last of her breath would soon escape her wracked form; it would only go an instant longer in the cold ocean depths, devoid of light and hope. At last something slipped into her eyes that was enough to break the titanic-tight grasp of her past, and it was Twilight, shielding Spike protectively, ready to fight the bleakest battle. And it reminded her of her past, too, but this time the memory wrought another change in her, a positive change, even as she backed away from. Twilight, who had so valiantly (if belatedly) displayed what love she had hidden behind the scholarly exterior, surprised Ditzy. Even the vague and indefinite promises of retribution she made were made with a fervor that touched something of the scarred pegasus. Because the firelight in Twilight had reminded Ditzy of a day that was suddenly so close to the present, thrust into reality by incandescent orbs that had shone with the barest hint of the Elements that bound them all, and the day that she was reminded of was not pleasant, but it gave Ditzy a chance… one chance she could leap at, blind faith all she had left, never an option she had preferred, but always one she had had to take. And she had said the words; she had phrased with her own lips the words that had been denied her everywhere, the very words that formed the sentiment that indicated the love that hadn’t been hers since she was a child and ever since had been denied her everywhere else. “You can come in.” What other words? What other words could have captured the infiniteness and depth and the harmony of the magnificent love that been ripped away from her, torn out of her chest bleeding? Because it wasn’t really just that the inhabitants of Ponyville had taken what had been seen as an offensive attitude toward Ditzy, it was the combined ignorance and—inadvertent or not—malice that Ditzy had ever encountered including them that she had been all too willing to portray on a canvas that had been handed to her clean. And Twilight—Ditzy had seen herself in her, and in a moment of merciful weakness had recognized the fear that had rejuvenated the love, and had for a single instant extended the sympathy that had fulfilled that love, the words that could bridge the divide and heal the wrongs and retrieve all the harmony that Ditzy had discarded and been denied. Anything else would be to succumb to misery. It was the hammer-blow to her mind, and Ditzy had turned out of numbing shock and surprise, the heightened reverberations capturing every feeling of the moment and the moment’s essence, lost and moving seemingly without a conscious current of nerves into the house, again repeating the sentiment. Ditzy moved with her mind in a blur, the world sharpened and dulled with the crescendo and decrescendo of the emotional explosion; she found it surprising that she had not stumbled, and numb catharsis flowed gently and commandingly through her like vibrant rivers of nerve-reaction, coursing like the lifeblood that brought tranquility to the mind, obliterating without reserve the grey draining death that had ensnared Ditzy until all she was left with a fuzzy feeling. She felt the minutest hint of warmth flow and a vague fear of it. Who am I anymore? The constricting armor of ignorant malice and pain had been thrown off, piece by piece, it lay scattered and broken on the mind’s eyes’ floor, and she was bare and defenseless, overwhelmingly vulnerable. And now Twilight was before her: less overwhelmed by emotion, but with the same uncertainty locked inside her. She was as still as the walls of the house, but she seemed to be gathering her strength to say something. “I wanted to say earlier that I was sorry for asking that question, but I didn’t get a chance to.” Twilight shifted, looking off to the side, not noticing the dramatic changes in Ditzy’s demeanor due to her own awkwardness. “I’m here to apologize for that, and also for Spike trying to spy on you. I’m not sure what—” Had she been able to take note of Ditzy, she would have seen the pain in her vulnerability. Twilight’s attention snapped back when she realized that Ditzy’s head was on her shoulder, and she was crying—saying something muffled, over and over again. “I’m sorry,” Ditzy was saying, muffled by sobs as she wept. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.” What is she— Twilight was confused beyond action, and it took effort for her to not draw back from the mare suddenly in her arms, but instead she drew Ditzy closer into her embrace, staring wildly at the ceiling as she tried to comprehend the insanity. A thousand thoughts flew through Twilight’s mind in that instant. Was this the same mare who had acted in cruel fury? The same who had slammed the door on her and Spike, and nearly crushed him? What had happened to the cold pegasus? For the entirety of her existence to Twilight, she had been a mysteriously cold, angry and set apart mare. She had done nothing but writhe in miserable pain and commit acts that only caused hurt. And she was here, in Twilight’s grasp—at her mercy—and she was weeping, nearly bawling, and Twilight could send her back into misery or bring her to happiness and comfort with the easiest glance, the least motion; all it would take for either would be the slightest sign, and for a moment her confusion and fear considered the darker path… And Twilight had to accept either all of her past and present now or none of it, for the other options only delayed the choice. The reconciliation or sundering had to be made; accept her all or nothing before she could be helped. But I didn’t turn her away, I’m holding her, why would I even think of a different… I’m already doing what they would want me to do. All that’s left is to go through with it. “It’s ok.” Twilight said to Ditzy, and pulled her as tight as she could. She had no idea what was wrong, but she was going to help. “I’m here to help you.” Ditzy didn’t stop heaving, but her sobbing convulsions were less vehement now. It was a minute or two in total, and the mutual heat that passed between was a comfort for Twilight, who had so recently ignorant of love, and Ditzy, who seemed to have broken down into a child herself—finding what was lost. In time, Ditzy drew back, and Twilight let her go with a reluctance that surprised herself. Ditzy looked wild, conflicted, hopeful—and fearful. “I’m sorry that I…” “I think you got that point across.” Twilight said with a warm and playful smile, sarcasm present but no hurt intended and none taken. “I—” “You don’t have to apologize for anything. It was my fault.” Ditzy sat down, unable to comprehend for a moment the selflessness, mind drawn into disarray but no longer in pain, confused at the world and bewildered at herself. Twilight was struggling in her mind now, Ditzy unaware, for Twilight had fulfilled the original purpose of her visit. Something in her hungered to get away now, go back to her library now and bury herself in books as was her desire. Something else, though—perhaps the sight of Ditzy’s tear-drying countenance—demanded that she stay, that she go the extra mile, follow the spirit of friendship that had taken her here. “Is there something I can help you with?” Ditzy was rapidly regaining her composure and emotional control, still in wonder and in shock of what had happened, but restrained as well. “I don’t deserve to ask anything of you.” Ditzy said, infinitely more in control now. “You can leave if you want to. I accept your apology.” “I don’t want to leave and even if I don’t owe you anything, I’d still like to talk to you,” Twilight replied. She knew she was on rocky ground with little knowledge of what to do in such a situation, but now she was immaculate, sure that she would find a way. Her confidence granted her an air of surety, and that surety granted Ditzy a sense of bravery, and unfortunately that bravery was tempered by the pains that had wrought the situation, and Ditzy did not move but drew inward into herself. Twilight sat down on Ditzy’s couch, leaving plenty of room for Ditzy to sit and to think. Ditzy did not move. “I’m not going to leave until I’m satisfied that you’re better.” “I said I’m fine.” Ditzy said, patience starting to evaporate as grieves forgotten crept back into her mind. Twilight’s stubbornness refused to let her leave, as she had promised, and soon Ditzy had a less than pleased look at she who was occupying half of her couch. Although Ditzy restrained herself from anger, she also restrained herself from sitting, and the stand-off soon reached several minutes. But Twilight was stubborn, stubborn and clever and brilliant—an excellent combination. “I used to have a lot of doubts about friends.” Twilight began, speaking to the wall and doing her best not to look at Ditzy. It would only make her uncomfortable. “All I used to have were assumptions, really. I didn’t actually know anything about them because I never bothered. I assumed they were a waste of time, a pain in the flank, and that most ponies were crazy—and sometimes I was right. Sometimes, it was better for them to be studying or improving themselves when they were off gallivanting around town late at night. Sometimes, they were a big pain: they had drama and problems and things that normally I wouldn’t even call concerns that consumed all of their attention, sometimes to the point that they became obsessed about things that I thought were trivial. And I was definitely right about them being crazy.” Twilight had Ditzy’s attention, full and direct, whether she wanted to give it or not—but Twilight wasn’t really talking to her, not anymore. “But they turned out to be real.” “It turned out, a lot of the things that I called a waste of time weren’t actually wastes. I used to think that the best way to learn something was in a book, and sometimes it is. But that was irrational of me—I neglected the rest of the world! These past few days, I realized that there are moments that can never be captured in words, never be expressed in a song, some things that can only be felt rather than expressed. I wouldn’t trade that for any collection of books, or for anything in the world.” “Sometimes, they hurt me or caused me a lot of frustration, like during the party. Some of them aren’t very nice, but there are some who care, and it can take time to distinguish between who is really causing you pain and who is actually trying to be your friend, and it takes them time too sometimes to figure out if they want to be your friend. It is absolutely the most difficult thing I have ever experienced… but it was worth it. Even all the pain that came with it. And I know now that if I had to do it all again with it being ten times harder, I would still do it.” “And I was completely wrong, without a doubt, about the craziness.” Ditzy was enraptured by her speech, and now confused. Hadn’t she just contradicted herself? Twilight let a grinning smile come over her face, still looking at the wall. “Oh yes, they are definitely crazy. But friends are supposed to be like that sometimes—and in some cases, all of the time. I misunderstood the point of the craziness and dismissed it as a waste. Even when they seem so different and so strange, that’s just their way of expressing their experiences, and it is absolutely wonderful.” Twilight suddenly turned to face Ditzy, and Ditzy whirled around in fear. She couldn’t let Twilight catch the glimpse of hope on her face, couldn’t show weakness, couldn’t let her in. “You look hurt, and I want to help you.” Ditzy shook her head no, inadvertently, doing her best not to betray her sorrow. She would still not turn around to face Twilight. “And there is…” Twilight’s tone shifted, a curiosity that intrigued Ditzy. “Still something that bothers me, one thing that I don’t understand.” Ditzy delved into her analytical side, trying to understand why Twilight’s tone had shifted, what it meant. “Last night, when I was in the castle and we had turned Princess Luna back from Nightmare Moon…” Twilight stopped, and Ditzy’s unseen eyes went wide. “The first thing that Princess Luna did was go up and apologize to Princess Celestia, who’s actually her sister, crazily enough. There was something… well, that Celestia didn’t do… that has been bugging me ever since.” Is she... Ditzy wouldn’t believe it. “Luna apologized to Celestia quite a bit, but I don’t remember Celestia ever apologizing to Luna.” Twilight shifted in her seat; her gaze was again upon the wall. “I mean, it couldn’t be entirely Luna’s fault, no matter what the story said. There had to be something that Celestia could apologize for, and as uncomfortable for me to think about it, it was probably at least a little Celestia’s fault, so she should have apologized too, and I…” Twilight squirmed. She opened… Twilight had revealed her pain to Ditzy. Twilight owed her nothing! Ditzy was the monster here, at least in her own mind, and the revelation that Twilight would reveal herself to Ditzy after all that had been done to Twilight upset the order of her mind so abruptly that she could not move nor breathe nor think coherent thoughts for several seconds. After every last atrocious thing that Ditzy had done to Twilight, she had still made the conscious decision to open up and be vulnerable—to lay herself bare at Ditzy’s mercy. She had thrown herself at the hooves of one who had shown no sign of redemption, a move of staggering faith in the belief of Ditzy’s hidden better nature. “But we both apologized.” Twilight whispered, visibly shaking. Twilight shifted about nervously in her seat for several seconds, waiting for Ditzy’s reaction to the fear that wouldn’t be finished. Ditzy turned around, and it was not joy on her face, but great fear, nervousness, and the scars of old pains—yet the slightest hint of bravery, too, and that heartened Twilight. Am I going to do this? Can I even do this? Ditzy shivered and her eyes were closed, but she sat next to Twilight. “I—I’m not really from here…” Ditzy began. It was slow, at first. Ditzy talked as if it was an awkward and uncertain confession; after long periods of time she started talking to Twilight more comfortably, telling her about her past and her troubles, the acceptance she had never found, the hope that Twilight had brought her so unintentionally and then brutally discarded, completely without her knowing, and the gratefulness that Ditzy now had for her. Twilight was remorseful as she realized the agony she had created and contributed to, even if it was unintentional, and the pains she took to extend her apologetic sympathy touched Ditzy. Twilight had felt the consequences of her own actions, and now Ditzy realized her own. Twilight had listened intently; she had heard every word. Ditzy was sure of her care now, and eventually she was comfortable in it, and Twilight in her. They were like the air that granted the reprieve to drowning and the water that healed the agony of dehydration and the rest and tranquility and peace of a dreamless sleep that bore away the pains of the day, and they both took their places in it. They learned to trust each other that night; they learned to accept each other that night, flaws and triumphs and all. They could melt away their problems with the help of each other once they had learned; their mutual healing became a profound occasion to them. It was dark outside, but it was warm and bright in the house, and it was warmest where the minds met and danced and learned again the joy of a friend’s love, even ones who had so recently scarred the other. They sat on that couch for a long, long time; long enough for Spike, who was tapping his claws impatiently outside, to become drowsy and threaten to fall asleep next to the door, and soon he did. He slept soundly and unmoved until the early hours of the morning, attention rapt on curious and alternatively dark and hopeful dreams. ~~~~~~~~~ Spike turned over, a yawn coming over him as he did. Eventually, he opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling of the library, and he lay in drowsiness. Birds were chirping shrill and deliberate melodies outside, warm light streaming in through windows that were best felt rather than seen on the blankets, floors and faces inside. It was a new dawn, the newest he could know—until the next one, of course. He took his time to enjoy it, something that Twilight could not seem to appreciate as much as he could. It took a rather lengthy amount of time for him to realize that wasn’t where he had fallen asleep. It took him longer to remember where he had fallen asleep, but once he did he veritably leaped out of bed and looked around wildly for Twilight. He rushed about, bursting through doors until he reached her study and found her buried in books. “Twilight!” “Yes, Spike?” Twilight asked with an even tone, pages turning. “How did your apology go?” Spike asked hurriedly, afraid he had missed something. “It went great.” Twilight turned another page, and Spike knew that she wasn’t listening to him. He put his claw to his forehead and sighed, turning to leave. Perhaps he wouldn’t figure this one out, and his heart and emotions drained at the thought. “Oh, and can you get the mail for me?” Twilight asked distractedly. “Sure.” Spike said, his mutter a color darker than usual, which Twilight missed entirely in her studiousness. Spike walked, down out of her study, into the foyer, passing as he saw in his mind the memories that had lead up to all of this. He was sorely disappointed that he wouldn’t know what had happened to the wall-eyed pegasus, and he wasn’t about to go running off again to find out. That would just be asking for Twilight to get angry at him right after he had made her extremely distressed, which was dangerous enough for him as it was; of course he also didn’t want to hurt her or her feelings. Out the door, onto the walk, down the path that clacked his claws, he made his way to the mailbox. He didn’t look when he opened it, only expecting the usual emptiness or piece of junk mail. Instead, his claw hit something more, and he with his curiosity engaged pulled out a plate of muffins. He was confused at first, but then he saw the tag attached, and his wonder was fulfilled as it read: from Ditzy, to Twilight. In surprise, he looked up into the sky, and with satisfaction he noticed—there she was, flying away on her route, smiling.