Celestia sighed, the exhalation of relief echoing lowly inside the stuffy interrogation room. She was the only color left in it, for everything else was either black-painted metal or grey concrete. She had never been fond of dungeons or prisons, and no matter how often she visited them she could never shake the feeling of the walls pressing in, making her wings itch in anticipation of leaving once more.
Though her guards had taken Mick Magnet away many moments ago, the Princess still had business to take care of here, much to her dismay. She had amazed her guards by ordering them not to return to Canterlot yet, and to relieve Mick of his shackles. Celestia had a firm grasp on his strange sense of honor now, and his need for atonement. In her many years spent sentencing prisoners to fates far grimmer than Mick's own, and witnessing heroic transformations of the soul in many of those individuals, it had been proven to her time and again that even the most unlikely creatures could be made to work good.
Mick Magnet, though once a villain, would not flee from his fate. After all, the shackles of his life spent stepping on others weighed heavier than any other kind.
She was glad to have questioned him first; a stroke of luck, or perhaps it was simply fate. Though many considered fate to be a naive notion, as an immortal creature Celestia believed in it firmly, despite the wonders of her years and the cold logical truths she had learned in her time. Fate was a very real thing to her, and everyone involved in this series of mishaps was fortunate to share in it. In time these events would lead to great good, or so she felt.
More worrisome to Celestia than anything concerning Magnet was Twilight's plight with Gearrick. Her love for him was clear to Celestia, for anytime she had mentioned him she immediately seemed more alive, more alert. She was so tired and so hurt, yet simply thinking of him was enough to dominate her spirit with pleasant thoughts and joy.
Celestia had little reason to doubt Gearrick's feelings for Twilight, after all she had heard in defense of his actions to save her student from her captors and reveal the truth about the guild. However, without meeting him herself, she could never know for certain. A mare's first love could be a beautiful and extraordinary thing in her life, or it could be a dangerous and damaging time. Celestia loved Twilight deeply, and she had to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this stallion was everything Twilight's bright eyes portrayed of him.
It was a selfish notion, but one that Celestia lacked the conviction to deny.
The two police ponies entered just as she had finished her musings, having led her guards out of the station for the time being. No sooner had they entered than Celestia fixed them with serious stares. She had to know for certain, for Twilight's sake.
"Release Myla Trellon," she ordered seriously, pointing to one of the guards. He saluted and was gone immediately. As she pointed to the other, he saluted and made to leave to release Gearrick, thinking those to be his orders and wasting no time. Gearrick's innocence had been placed on the official record as well after Mick had been taken away, and so it was only fitting that he would be released also.
"I want you to bring me Mr. Tinkermane for questioning," Celestia said, startling him out of his attempt to turn around and head for the door.
"Your Majesty...?" the guard inquired. In response Celestia only nodded once, signaling that she meant what she had said. "You said yourself that Mr. Tinkermane was allowed to leave..."
"Not yet," she said quietly, settling more comfortably in her chair. Unless she missed her guess, this was going to be a long talk. "He and I have certain matters to discuss still."
"Y-yes, your majesty," the police pony stammered, saluting once more and scooting out of the room through the door his partner had left open. The look on the Princess' face did not bode well for him if he asked many more question... or for Gearrick Tinkermane. He froze as she spoke up just as he was halfway out of the door.
"And send him in alone," she added simply.
The guard nodded and slowly closed the door behind him. This did not bode well for Mr. Tinkermane at all.
The morning outside was misty and oddly chill for late spring, the sunlight slightly dimmed like Gearrick was accustomed to as its rays fought their way through the particles of steam vapor and light coal-smoke that made up the Veil. Looking directly at it was like looking into a million mirrors, all bouncing the whitish light between them and into the eyes of onlookers. As always, Manehattan's morning was majestic, and beautiful.
Gearrick lay on his back, his hooves behind his head and eyes closed, admiring the spots on the insides of his eyelids as the Veil tried futilely to blind him. He took a deep breath and let it out, sighing heavily. He had made a habit of doing that often in the past three days. It was his best method for coping with the boredom, and the dark thoughts that lingered within the endless seconds of nothingness that he was made to live through in his imprisonment.
His first night of the three had been the worst by far. He had slept little, and thought of nothing pleasant. Images of his beautiful machine torn to shreds, of his humble home burnt and broken, had ached in his mind. All of his work had been ruined, all of his efforts and dreams little more than ashes and twisted metal.
But more than anything that night his mind had been filled with terrible worries surrounding Twilight. Worries for her, worries about her, and worries about himself. He had sat awake for many hours, consumed by dark thoughts that he had, regardless of his good intentions, destroyed her heart. That he had coaxed her into loving him, only to become the villain, and not her hero.
As the days had passed, his silent and uninterrupted hours of meditation had given him very different views on things. By the second day he had become more angry than sad at the loss of his home and his Nomad. His anger at those events faded to determination slowly as his thoughts had again shifted to Twilight. By the time night had fallen, he was certain that he had done the best for her. He believed that beautiful, kind, and intelligent Twilight would understand, though he hadn't the conviction to promise it to himself.
By the third morning, his mood and manner was nearly back to its original state. He had taken to treating the prison cell like the first few nights he had spent in Manehattan two years ago: homeless and out of bits for a hotel room. By comparison the cool, flat bench of a bed was miles better, and at least the ceiling kept the Veil from dripping on him.
His ears perked up and swiveled in the spiky reddish-brown nest of his mane as the jingling of keys outside his door echoed lamely throughout his cell. His muscles tensed slightly as he heard the key slide into his cell door, promising that this hour of reckoning was his, and not for whoever sat in the cell across the hall. He hadn't even realized it himself, but despite his best efforts to ready himself for his fate, he had subconsciously been dreading his trial.
He sat up as the door swung open, the hoofcuffs jingling lightly as the chain came to rest in his lap.
"Gearrick Tinkermane," the guard greeted simply, leaving him no time to greet back, though Gearrick had no idea what his name was anyways. "Come with me."
Sighing to himself, Gearrick closed his eyes for a brief second to compose himself. So this was it. For some reason, after everything he had been through recently, he had expected something more dramatic. He let that simple, humorous thought bring him some comfort, and the telltale signs of his usual smirk played at the corners of his lips, though the crooked smile never came on full-force.
He hopped to his hooves and followed the guard out. As he walked away from his cell, with the door thrown wide, he couldn't help but feel, for that brief moment, as if he was finally free. It wasn't to last, though, as he passed through hallways filled with various other cell doors. The minutes dragged as he wandered after the guard at the best pace he could manage without the incredibly inconvenient hoofcuffs messing up the whole process.
At last he and his escort came to a door that rested ominously at the end of an otherwise empty hallway. Gearrick wasn't sure if the police had placed this room in such a way on purpose or not, but it certainly made it seem imposing. Being the only door in the dimly lit, grey-cement hallway made it seem like a portal to something incredibly unpleasant.
"Hooves," the guard said idly, holding up one of his own with a key in it.
Confused, Gearrick raised his shackled hooves, surprised to have the cuffs removed as the guard did his work. Near as he had ever known, most prisoners remained shackled during a trial. "Thanks," he muttered quietly, more simply to say something than out of actual gratitude.
"Good luck," the guard replied simply, giving Gearrick a look of pity before walking behind him and leaving him to open the door himself.
Even more confused than before, Gearrick again closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As he opened them again, he found himself on the other side of the door and shutting it behind him, unaware that he had entered during his moment of composure.
He lost all of it as he noticed who was sitting on the other side of the interrogation table. He rarely followed the news, didn't care much for being part of the public cycle of knowledge, but he would have to be a complete and total idiot not to recognize that mare.
"Princess Celestia..." he whispered quietly, his tone almost reverent. As the shock slowly subsided, his quick mind took stock of the situation more fully. Twilight's promise that the Princess would know what to do with Myla and Phyla three days ago echoed in his mind. No, if Twilight was safe, it made sense that the Princess would be here: Twilight would have called for her almost certainly, Gearrick knew.
"Gearrick Tinkermane," she replied simply, giving him a nod. Her look was stern, and it hinted that this meeting was not going to be overwhelmingly pleasant.
Gearrick took his seat quietly, mind still screaming along and piecing together what little it could. He had already been interrogated, and had explained everything in full. This was obviously a private trial, and the absence of anyone other than the Princess meant that the result of his trial, whatever it was, had already been decided upon.
"I've heard a great deal about you," Celestia said simply, placing her front hooves on the table, her expression unchanging.
Gearrick's eyes showed no fear as he fixed them on Celestia's own brilliant, purple orbs. He had never, in all his life surrounded by tinkers, teachers, and geniuses, seen such intelligent eyes. Nothing that this pony thought was ever idle; everything was calculated, analyzed. Yet, more than that, it was as if those eyes guaged it all without the slightest effort; as if, without a single conscious thought, she could pick reality itself apart and read it bit by bit.
Despite the overwhelming feeling that she knew so much already, Gearrick readied himself against that. He had spent his life as a tinker feeling inferior and looked down upon. Princess or not, he was no less a stallion before her, and no less himself.
"From who? The police? Or Twilight?" he asked skeptically, his tone and expression carefully neutral.
Celestia's scowl seemed to lessen slightly at that, though for what reason Gearrick could not be certain. "From both," she replied simply. "To be honest, it's a credit to your integrity that the both of them had the same things to say, at least in terms of what transpired. It would seem that you left nothing out in your report to the police," she finished quietly.
"I have nothing to hide," Gearrick admitted honestly. His expression turned curious as he went back through what she had said. "What do you mean 'at least in terms of what transpired'? What else could the police have possibly told you?" he asked.
"Nothing," she said flatly. "But Twilight had much to say about you that did not concern the events of her kidnapping and rescue," Celestia replied.
Gearrick stumbled over his reply, eventually simply going quiet. That name, her name, had a profound effect on him. The mention of things said to the Princess that had nothing to do with his trial especially so, for he had been wondering where her heart lay for many nights now. What had she told Celestia?
"Is she alright?" Gearrick asked quietly.
Celestia's stern look dissolved almost instantly much to his surprise. As if he had said something she had been waiting to hear.
"She's fine," Celestia said quietly. "She was released from the hospital this morning. The worst of it was a dislocated shoulder, which she put back into place herself before the paramedics retrieved her," she explained.
Gearrick smiled sadly to himself, then nodded as he readied his next words. "She's a strong mare... I'm not surprised. She never even mentioned it to me," he chuckled.
"Yes she is," Celestia said quietly, her tone warm and motherly. "One of the strongest I know." Many moments of silence followed, during which both of their smiles grew thinner and thinner.
"I never meant to hurt her," Gearrick said unexpectedly, unable to look Celestia in the eye as he said it. He had wanted so badly to say those words to someone over the last three days. They'd been locked up inside his head like a broken record for what felt like eons, just waiting to be heard. More than anything he wanted to say them to Twilight. To explain himself.
Celestia moved to say something, but fell silent as he continued. "It doesn't seem fair to say I committed the crimes I did for her sake. As if, somehow, I never would have done those things if I hadn't met her," he went on sadly. "But I did. I had the choice to save her. If it takes me months, years, or decades... I don't regret it. I lost my home, I lost my dream, and maybe, for a while, I've lost her too."
"But I wouldn't take any of it back. Not the good, not the bad," he finished with determination.
"You know what you stand accused of?" Celestia asked, her tone surprisingly tender.
"And you know that I've already admitted to all of it," he replied simply, fearlessly. He had already said as much to the police, so the Princess would already know. This was the part where she sentenced him.
"Gearrick Tinkermane... you're free to go," Celestia said quietly.
Gearrick's entire world came to a standstill, replaying those words over and over in his mind. His fearful nights, wondering how many years he would have to wait to see Twilight again. Wondering if she still loved him, if he could just ask her before he was taken away. Yet, despite all his fears, he was free to go.
"A pardon?" he asked breathlessly, then his countenance shifted suddenly to anger. "Twilight asked you for that, didn't she? You can't-" he began angrily, but Celestia cut him off.
"Twilight did ask me to pardon you, but even on her behalf I can't," she admitted flatly. "No, it was Mick Magnet who forced me to let you go," she explained.
"Magnet?" Gearrick asked in disbelief.
"Yes. I admit, without shame, that he had beaten me at my own game. The law of this nation is a law I helped to design. Yet, because of his wit and will, he was able to outsmart even the law and set you free. You see, against individuals, and even companies, there is only so much sway I hold. I would violate the very tenets of the law itself to pardon you of crimes which you are fully guilty of."
She smiled at him, as if seeing clearly his confusion and shock. "Yet, Mick realized what I could not do. He knew that I could not free you, nor Myla and Phyla. I am bound as surely by the law as anyone. For Phyla's crimes, he himself took the blame," she explained. "And for yours, he dropped the charges. As head of the Gearbox Guild, whom all of your crimes were committed against, he has that right."
Gearrick was speechless. Magnet, the stallion who had made his life so difficult for two long years, who had denied him his every right and opportunity as a tinker, was responsible for his freedom.
"The only creature in this world who could have released you from the crimes you committed, no matter the good you have done, was Mick Magnet," she reiterated, as if sensing that Gearrick would need a statement to reply to in order to recover.
Gearrick let out a shuddering sigh, trying his best to understand. However, the answers eluded him. "Why?" he asked, unable to fathom it.
"Because you kept him from dying, Mick now lives knowing that his life was filled with darkness. Such is the darkness he saw in the beyond, the life after this one that all creatures move towards second after second. It is not rare for a creature's death to be prevented by some means," she went on quietly, "but it is unfathomably rare for a mortal to prevent another mortal's death so close to its completion. Gearrick Tinkermane, you saved Mick Magnet's life so close to its end that even fate was certain he was dead."
Gearrick was unable to deny a wordless breath of shock. That explained Mick's change in morality, despite his lack of change in overall character. Mick had been shown a glimpse of his terrible afterlife in the milliseconds before he had tumbled beyond Gearrick's magical reach.
More importantly, if Gearrick had hesitated even a second to save him, he would be experiencing the afterlife first-hoof that had so changed him.
"I don't know what to say," he explained quietly, his confusion based more in disbelief than lack of explanation.
"You need not say anything. Through your own actions you have been absolved of your crimes... and that is an exceptional gift," Celestia explained with a warm smile. "A gift that you have earned. It is clear to me now that your heart is full of a great passion which, no matter how you divide it, is overwhelming. Your love for Twilight, your instant aid in the last moments of Mick Magnet's existence... I didn't call you here to sentence you," Celestia said, warmth in her voice and expression for the first time Gearrick had heard or seen. "I called you here to judge you as a stallion. You were free the moment you saved my dear friend and student, though even I didn't know it then."
Tears welled in Gearrick's eyes, and he hadn't the slightest clue how to stop them. Everything was as only his most optimistic wishes would have it be. Yet it was beyond his dreams: this was reality. His salvation and Mick's were, by some twist of fate, one and the same.
Because of that, he would see Twilight again.
"Many ponies are waiting for you, not the least among them Twilight," Celestia said slyly, as if reading his very thoughts. The smile on her face showed that, though her timing was uncanny, she had known for many minutes that he would reach the conclusion he had about his beloved mare.
"And Mick?" Gearrick asked, surprising both himself and Celestia with his sincere question for the old stallion's fate.
"He has been dealt the hoof befitting his great sin, and great change," Celestia said simply. Yet her tone contained a note of warmth that promised Gearrick that that fate, however grim, was precisely as it was meant to be. "Now come," she said with a warm smile, rising from her chair. "I didn't have the guard remove your cuffs for no reason."
With a growing smirk and a ready nod, Gearrick followed suit as she left her seat, and the two of them made their way outside.
Twilight sat in the beautiful front lobby of town hall, her eyes fixated on one particularly pleasant-looking patch of tiles on the floor. She'd been released from the hospital earlier that morning, after the doctors had given her shoulder a thorough examination. Surprisingly, despite the dramatic cause of the injury and her less-than-professional job of repairing it, they hadn't found any lasting damage. Her shoulder would be bruised and stiff for a while, they had said, but that would clear up in just a few days' time.
Twilight hadn't paid much attention to any of it, though she knew her personal injuries should have been a bigger concern. When Celestia had come by to tell her the news about Gearrick's trial being a private one, she had argued long and hard to be able to go down to the precinct, all to no avail. Celestia had immediately, and non-negotiably, denied her wishes to see Gearrick before the entire matter was settled, one way or the other.
She'd been in the hall since very early that morning, after realizing she had nowhere to go after leaving the hospital. Her hotel stay had been cancelled, and the warehouse was completely destroyed. Twilight sighed to herself, closing her eyes as if it would ward off her unpleasant thoughts. She didn't see how sitting in the precinct, or in city hall, made any difference. She'd be anxious no matter what, especially since the Princess had more or less declared outright that there was nothing she could do for Gearrick. She shook her head and sighed once more, in another vain effort to push those thoughts away.
She'd gone in search of Old Jack at first, thinking to wait with him, but neither he nor his stall were anywhere to be found. She assumed, and even hoped, that maybe he was just asleep. Over the last three days, she had never seen him look more tired, or so old. He had been kind enough to bring her food as often as he could during her stay at the hospital, even shooing away the nurses who tried to bring her plates from the hospital kitchen, and cursing the "would-be meals" up and down the hallways while he did it.
His company had been great for her, but he and she both knew deep down that only one person would really bring a smile to her face.
She looked around, hoping to find something to distract her. The young lady at the lobby desk met her gaze, giving her a small, bittersweet smile. Twilight, despite herself, found some comfort in that smile. It looked so much like the one Gearrick had given her when the paramedics had carried her away. A smile that seemed to promise that something good was waiting, but for now it would be difficult.
The lobby girl had no real way of knowing why Twilight was there, or what was running through her head, and Twilight flushed and looked away slightly as she realized that it didn't matter. Even if nobody knew, the look on her face probably said it all; anypony could take one look at her and tell that she was worried, and frightened.
The lobby girl, for her part, gave Twilight her space and didn't say anything. Twilight wasn't sure why, but that simple smile had done wonders for her. Maybe it had just been too long since she had been encouraged, even in such a subtle way, or maybe it was simply because it was a smile, and not a worried scowl or a heavy sigh. Whatever the reason, she felt a little lighter as she focused on a potted plant, counting the leaves to keep herself busy, and to keep her mind from racing.
The numbers went abruptly from twenty-five to 'Gearrick Tinkermane', and she gave up.
She groaned and let her head drop into her hooves, rubbing her eyes slightly. At least she had been sleeping better, knowing that things were working towards a resolution, regardless of what kind it was.
Her ears perked up as the sound of light hoofsteps coming up the numerous stairs to city hall grew gradually louder. She recognized a voice outside immediately as Celestia, and her heart began to race. This meant that the trial was over, and that whatever had happened was finally done and over with.
She hopped off the couch she was sitting on abruptly, nerves buzzing with anticipation as Celestia pushed open the door to City Hall, and stepped inside. The seconds felt like hours while Twilight waited and prayed to whatever would listen that Gearrick would walk in behind her and end this nightmare.
Her heart sunk into her stomach as Celestia shut the door behind her, standing there alone. Celestia must have noted the look on her face already, because she looked hurt herself.
"What happened?" Twilight asked, her voice only half-there because of the tightness in her throat.
"It was as I was afraid it would be," Celestia admitted quietly, nodding to herself. "There was nothing I could do for him, Twilight."
Twilight's heart, low as it felt in her chest, sank even lower and stammered rather than beat.
"Luckily, I didn't need to do anything," the Princess continued, giving Twilight a slight smile.
Twilight's eyes, which were working up some serious tears, widened after a brief moment of confusion. She wiped away at her eyes hurriedly, giving Celestia the most hopeful look she had ever seen in her life. "You mean...?"
"He's free to go, though it had nothing to do with me," Celestia said with a wide smile.
A familiar laugh, one she had been missing for days, echoed from behind her where the other set of lobby doors rested. "You should see the look on your face," Gearrick continued, laughing warmly even while he spoke.
Twilight whirled around, unable to believe her ears until she saw him standing there. Smirking, as usual, and shutting the lobby doors behind him, as if nothing were wrong.
Her steps were slow at first, until suddenly she broke into a full run across the lobby floor, tears once more starting to fill up the rims of her eyes. The moisture immediately seeped into the coat on Gearrick's neck as he deftly caught her in her mad dash, lifting her from the floor in a hug and using her own momentum to spin her around, holding her close. She hugged him tight all the while, never noticing that her hooves left the floor, nor the circuit she spun. Everything felt like it was spinning anyways.
She opened her eyes and pulled her head away from his shoulder as she landed back on her rear hooves, her forelegs refusing to surrender their hold around his neck, keeping him close. A hoof on the back of her head brushed lightly through her mane, back and forth between her ears and her neck in a way that was still new, yet so familiar.
She hadn't lost him.
"You should see the look on your face," Gearrick said again, this time his tone more gentle, and less humorous. "It's beautiful."
Twilight looked him up and down slowly, as if still unsure he was real. Then, seemingly reading her mind, Gearrick kissed her lightly on the lips. Or at least he meant to, until she pulled him into a much deeper kiss.
Death-grip hug or not, Gearrick wouldn't have resisted.
Twilight gasped and pulled away suddenly, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she looked over her shoulder. Behind her stood Celestia, a hoof to her mouth to hide her smile, though her eyes revealed it clearly. As the initial shock began to wear off, Twilight replayed Celestia's words and mannerisms in her head just before Gearrick had entered... and through another door no less.
There was a scowl on her face when she turned back around to face Gearrick, still in her hug with him. She bopped him on the nose suddenly, glare still in place. "This was your idea, wasn't it?" she asked accusingly, referring to the way Celestia had led her to believe it all had gone poorly before he crept into the lobby another way. Behind her Celestia snickered, trying to hide her laughter and failing miserably.
"It's that obvious?" Gearrick asked, smiling even as he rubbed his nose. Twilight continued to glare and opened her mouth to say something else, but Gearrick took the hoof he was massaging his nose with and put it to her lips, silencing her. "Think you can find it in your heart to forgive me?" he asked teasingly, giving her that smirk that melted her heart.
Twilight, rolled her eyes, the scowl fading, and when Gearrick pulled his hoof away from her lips she was smiling. "I guess I can this once," she said quietly, kissing him once more on the lips gently. "But don't you ever, ever, do that again," she finished, referring to the entire series of events at large.
"I'll try not to," he promised with a warm laugh.
"Well, don't be too hard on him," Celestia piped in from behind them, ending their private moment. "After all, you really should have seen the look on your face," Celestia tittered, breaking into laughter and surprising everyone with how free and sincere her mirth was, tears of laughter brimming in her eyes.
Unable to help herself, Twilight started laughing too, and soon all three of them had it out of their system, the lady at the lobby desk looking thoroughly confused.
Twilight peeled herself away from Gearrick reluctantly, standing on her own four hooves again and smiling. However, the sudden good mood was abruptly dipped into confusion as the lobby doors behind Gearrick flew open with enough force to rattle the hinges, startling everyone.
Something rocketed through, skidding to a halt on the marble tile a short ways away from Gearrick and Twilight. Now that it wasn't moving so fast, Twilight could see it was an older unicorn mare. Pretty, for her age, with a very interesting copper-colored mane, cropped short. Her coat was a golden color, which made it difficult to see the three bronze-colored pegs that made up her cutie mark.
"Where is he?" she roared, hopping around in a small half-circle, looking at the opposite end of the lobby. "I'll kill him!" Her voice, though pretty and clearly female, was filled with anger and seemed uncharacteristically powerful for someone her size.
Confused, Twilight turned her attention to Gearrick.
He had a frightened look on his face as he eyed the newcomer, who was finally figuring out that that side of the lobby was empty. There was fire in her deep green eyes as they locked onto Gearrick, and he seemed to shrink as Twilight looked between the two.
"Gearrick Tinkermane..." the mare growled, her teeth clenched as she stalked, slowly at first, towards Gearrick, before breaking into a full run. But not the excited, happy kind Twilight had used on him earlier.
Without looking away from the oncoming mare, Gearrick pushed Twilight out of the way and closer to Celestia. No sooner had he done it than the mare tackled him full-tilt, the two of them bouncing away in a living ball of fluff and yelling. She shouted the whole time, though she was talking so fast that Twilight couldn't catch a word of it. All the while Gearrick shouted back, the mare swatting at him with her hooves whenever she could and otherwise rolling around in a death-lock.
Utterly confused, Twilight looked to Celestia, who by all appearances was exactly as vexxed and surprised as she was.
"Who is that?" Twilight asked, her tone worried. "Is he going to be okay?"
"That... is Brass Tacks," Celestia said quietly, watching the pony-ball with a look of concern.
Twilight's eyes widened with shock, her confusion deepening. She'd mentioned Tacks to Celestia during her long recounting of all things Gearrick, but prior to that the Princess had admitted to never having heard of her.
"I invited her here, thinking to have her oversee the remainder of the steamtech festival in Magnet's place," she admitted, as if following Twilight's train of thought. Without having called her here, Twilight could think of no reason she would have appeared. "And I knew that she would likely have some kind of confrontation with Gearrick, but I never expected this..."
The two combatants fell apart at long last, the both of them breathing heavily. Neither of them seemed to be hurt, despite the clear anger on Tacks' face. Gearrick's look was grim, hurt almost, though other than that he didn't appear to be in any pain.
"We need to talk," Brass Tacks growled, her tone still furious. "Alone."
Gearrick only nodded, saying nothing and looking very much like someone who knew he was in a great deal of trouble.
Gearrick sat across the table from his mentor, their physical tousle in the hall earlier all but forgotten. He had been dreading this moment since his construction of the RAD suit, dreaded telling Brass Tacks the one thing that would absolutely, without a doubt, disappoint her.
The two of them sat alone in a side-room of city hall, and Gearrick couldn't help but feel this was another interrogation.
He looked Tacks square in the eye, despite the anger he saw there. She had a right to be upset with him, and he had no right to look away or hide. To others, the ends had vastly overshadowed the means in Gearrick's one-night crusade to save Twilight from her captors. However, a tinker always knew that the process was just as important as the end result.
Tacks' scowl never faltered, and her tone remained biting, as she finally spoke up. "You lied to me," she accused simply.
Gearrick winced, looking away for just a brief moment of weakness before he sighed and fixed his eyes back on hers. She was angry, but more than that she was hurt.
"Yes, I did," Gearrick replied quietly, sadly.
For that one second her face softened somewhat, until her harsh look returned, her words strained to control their tone. "Why?" she asked slowly, her tone making it very clear that this answer was critical.
Gearrick clenched his jaw for a moment, steeling himself for the reaction he knew he would get. "Because I had no choice."
"Bullshit!" Tacks roared, slamming her hooves down on the table and rising up out of her chair. "You always-" she began, shouting at the top of her lungs, but Gearrick cut her off, shouting louder. His deep voice, so filled with anger and hurt, drowned her outcry out with its sheer force alone.
"I had no choice!" he roared violently, rising from his own chair, supporting himself with one hoof on the table while the other raised over his head, threatening to come down on the table in a fit of rage. The hoof hovering overhead never struck, though. It simply wavered, shaking with nerves, before descending to his side as he slumped back into his chair.
"I had no choice," he muttered again quietly, easily heard in the resulting shocked silence. He had never yelled at Tacks that way in all his years training under her. Never reacted violently, never been angry. Frustrated, maybe, but never so fierce.
Tacks sat down hard, her mouth clamped shut and unable to think of anything to say for many minutes. At last she simply sighed, and shook her head. "You're a tinker, Gearrick. There's always a choice, always some other way."
"Then maybe I'm not good enough!" he growled back, his anger from moments before still far from dying down. After everything he had done, after finally getting Twilight back, he stood to be accused of choosing to save her?
Tacks winced, but rather than looking away, her own temper flared up. It was in her nature; she had always been hot-blooded, passionate. She was quick to anger, quick to laugh, and in that way more than any other Gearrick respected her. She was dauntless, unafraid of anything. Anything except one thing.
"You made a weapon," she accused coldly.
"I made a weapon," Gearrick admitted, his own anger keeping his tone from faltering under her scathing glare. "And I would do it again, if it meant keeping the people I love safe." Tacks opened her mouth to retaliate, but Gearrick just held up a hoof, glaring unblinkingly behind it. "You don't understand."
That simple, cold statement seemed to take a much larger toll on her than Gearrick had anticipated. For ten years Brass Tacks had been his mentor, but more than that she had been like a sister. The older, overly forceful and protective kind. He had never had any siblings of his own, and so Gearrick had never questioned that relationship as it developed during his studies under her.
Unfortunately what he had said was the truth. She would never understand what had driven him to make a weapon.
Brass Tacks was an ace student. Always had been, but the professors at the academy had mixed feelings about her. While her grades were phenomenal, she showed an almost unreasonable ineptitude in a very small number of key subjects. Particularly in terms of her design classes, where she struggled to explain even her most basic engineering ideas, whether on paper or in a presentation.
Still, there was no denying her genius. Whether or not she could illustrate her invention prior to construction seemed to be almost entirely irrelevant to her. Most professors disagreed with her 'wayward tinkering', imagining it to be trial and error. However, on every test, and in every technical review, it was proven time and again that her skill was no fluke. She was the 'mad genius' of the university, a highly respected student and a sought-after tutor in a wide variety of subjects.
However, just like her tinkering, her personality could not be explained. One had to experience it first-hoof to even have an idea of what kind of creature she was. Everything was shrouded in her passion. Her laughter was boisterous, her speech animated, her temper fiery. She existed in an entirely different world altogether from the mild-mannered, reclusive students the institution swarmed with.
She knew exactly what she wanted to do with her degree from the school: the Royal Guard Research and Development Division was going to be her ticket to an exciting job. In the military, results were everything. Nobody would drone on about wanting to see a schematic, or her math. All the higher ups would want was results, and that was what Brass Tacks delivered. Making armor, making weapons, it didn't matter to her as long as she could be free to tinker her heart out.
She'd been seeing someone since her sophomore year: Calvin Clock, a witty and clever stallion with an uncommon sense of humor. The two were in the same class, and had hit it off easily. Calvin never seemed to be put off by her abrasive, forward nature. If anything it seemed to attract him more, and it had only been a matter of time before the two had started going steady.
Calvin wanted to be a railway engineer, putting nearly all of his focus into locomotive studies. However, by their senior year together, his outlook on his relationship with Tacks had changed. It was no longer something that seemed like it would end with their degrees in hoof. More than anything he wanted to know where her life would take her, wanted to be a part of it. After two years together, he proposed, and she accepted.
Calvin decided to follow Tacks into the military, though it meant completely reworking his senior schedule. Together the two of them enrolled in the most brutal course the academy could offer, the prime prerequisite for entry into the R&D division of the Royal Guard: Warfare Mechanics and Theory.
The year flew by, the engaged couple closer than ever. The two were allowed a partnership thesis, and chose Warfare Mechanics as their subject at Tacks' prodding. With Clocks' amazing design expertise and his unique ability to understand Tacks better than anyone else, they made a perfect team. He handled all of the schematics, designing them based on what she constructed, rather than the other way around. Their project, a steamtech powered rifle, was highly lauded by the academy. The military caught wind of the project long before it was even completed.
Tacks and Clock were promised positions in R&D upon completion of their thesis. The couple had never been happier in their lives, and that night they celebrated the way those in love often do for the first... and only time.
That weekend they were to present their thesis project, the steamtech rifle, to not only the university board but to representatives from the R&D division as well. Tacks and Clock worked late that night, making sure that everything would be perfect for the review the following day. Tacks had been working harder than anyone else in the class, helping other groups with their projects when she had the time and making sure that all of them would stand the best chances to get into the R&D division as well. After all, she was already promised a position, and it had always been in her nature to help others do their damnedest.
Clock waved her on her way, staying behind to finish a few final touches to a very important diagram for the presentation. She argued he could do that at home, in the cozy apartment they had been sharing since their engagement. He promised it wouldn't take long, and insisted she needed her rest. After all, with her vibrant personality and compelling tone, she would be the one delivering the presentation. She had to be at the top of her game.
He stayed another hour in the lab, his drawings finalized at long last. With a heavy yawn and a look at his watch, he decided it was finally time for bed himself. He put the lights out and locked the door behind him automatically, used to being the last one out of the lab. He was at the stairs to the bottom floor of the lab building when a loud crash from back down the hall stole his attention. Fearing that someone had left something running and caused a pressure accident, he hurried back the way he had come, looking into the windows of each lab as he went.
When he came to the Warfare Mechanics lab, he could see something moving behind the smoked glass. Ever the worrier, he fished out his key and threw the door to the lab open without hesitation. There was a stallion standing there in front of his schematics and the steamtech rifle, a gaping hole in the windows between the Warfare Mechanics lab and the Energy Solutions lab where he had broken in.
The stallion whirled on Clock, and he recognized him as a student in the Warfare Mechanics class. One who was not doing well, and who would likely fail the course. But failing the course would mean his expulsion, for he had never been a good student and had too many black marks on his record. Clock didn't know it, but the stallion's family was not doing well. His mother was sick, and his father had left. He needed his degree, needed an engineering job to take care of her. One that would pay enough to relieve her condition, put her in care. No job would pay out harder than an R&D division position, and the steamtech rifle was a promised voucher of entry.
Clock asked the stallion what he was doing. The stallion stammered, refused to answer. Clock, understanding what was going on, tried to talk to him. Explained that he would be expelled if he got caught here doing this. Promised not to tell anyone, as long as he left right away. He would tell the professors that the shattered glass was just an accident from a machine left running.
The stallion got agitated. Started yelling, accusing Clock of not understanding. Claiming that nobody could understand. Clock tried to calm him down, but he only grew more hysterical. He accused Clock of lying, saying that he knew Clock would report this. Clock swore that he would never do that, that he was being unreasonable. Clock told him he was a good student, with great potential, and that he just needed to calm down. If he talked to the professors, explained what was going on, he was sure they would understand. Let him retake the course.
Clock stepped closer, closing the door behind him. The other stallion reacted negatively, felt trapped. He pulled the rifle from its stand, holding it in shaking hooves. Clock's heart felt cold, his stomach churned. He sighed in relief as he remembered the rifle was not loaded. That the magazine had never been inserted, and the large, metal slugs were not in the chamber.
Clock continued moving forward, talking him down. The stallion shook his head and retaliated, shouting. Clock gave him a calm smile and kept on drawing closer. The stallion panicked, and reached behind him. Papers shuffled and fell from the table in front of the rifle stand, littering the floor with Clock's precious designs. He paid them no mind, because time stopped as the stallion brought his hoof forward and slammed the magazine into place under the rifle stock.
He shot Clock seven times, eyes blank as he pulled the trigger lever over and over.
Tacks found out that morning when she went to the lab. There were already police and professors everywhere. Clock's body was under a white sheet, preventing her from seeing him. Police pushed her out of the lab while she screamed and called out for Clock, trying to force her way inside. She lashed out at the officers in front of her, knocking one out cold. The other got out of her way, wouldn't dare stand between her and Clock's body after that. Couldn't bear to, with the tears in her eyes.
She pulled the sheet back, saw the holes in his chest and legs. The same holes her rifle punched into everything in tests. She covered him back up, unable to see anything through her tears as she looked around for the rifle. She found it where the stallion who shot Clock had dropped it in panic before he fled. She picked it up and ran, the police behind her chasing and yelling for her to stop, that the rifle was crucial evidence. She never heard them.
She ran to the board office. Despite the terrible event that morning, the Military representatives had already come to town. They were discussing the incident with the board when Tacks barged in, crying and holding the rifle in her hooves. The board recoiled as she hoisted the weapon, not knowing it was empty and knowing full-well what it could do. The military representatives rushed to apprehend her, until she leveled it at them, backing them off.
She asked them if they knew what this was. All in attendance nodded fearfully as her eyes shifted from sad and heartbroken to angry; furious, murderous. She asked if they knew what it could do. If they knew what it had done. She asked if they planned to use it to do that to other creatures. If they would kill someone like Clock.
Nobody knew how to react as she pulled the trigger over and over, sobbing as the weapon clicked emptily again and again. The point of the rifle sank lower and lower until, with a growl that rose into a roar of agony, Tacks raised the rifle and smashed it into the floor, so many times she lost count, shattering her prized work into pieces before falling down among them and weeping like a little girl.
The police released her days later. She never returned to the academy, except to attend Clock's funeral. For many years, nobody heard from her. She wandered from town to town, fixing things to make her way and getting over Clock's death. At long last she began to recover. She opened a small shop in a town south of Cloudsdale, and lived alone there. It was a quiet life until, one day, she received a letter. She recognized the name on the return as Gambit Tinkermane, a close childhood friend of Clock's. She hadn't spoken to him in many years, not since the event.
The letter was simple. It contained no pleasantries, Gambit knew they would be meaningless. Tacks had never liked such things. It simply asked for her to come back to Tackton, pleading for a favor. Without even a thought she closed up her shop and took the week off for the trip.
When she arrived, Gambit was there to meet her. The two went out to the bar, and Gambit explained the situation. His son had been in an accident. The academy wouldn't take him anymore, but Gearrick refused to give up on his dream. He wanted to be a tinker, but needed training. Otherwise, Gambit feared that this accident would repeat itself, and his son wouldn't be so lucky a second time. He wanted Tacks to apprentice him.
Tacks could hardly say no. Gambit had always been a good friend to Clock, and to her. Not to mention her life was lonely since her spirit had finally recovered from the loss. Her outgoing, fiery personality was wasted in solitude. With a show of minor reluctance for effect, she agreed to take him.
She met Gearrick for the first time the next morning. He was sulky, angry at the academy and at himself. Her promise of an education, one far more useful than the academy could provide, cheered him up. She laughed warmly as she got to know him better that week, his parents preparing him for the trip. For the next few years, he would live with Tacks, learning under her.
At last they arrived at her shop. Gearrick was animated, curious by nature. He astounded her by how much he knew, and what he saw in the things around her shop. Things she had made, and things that had never even been imagined before. She let him get used to the place that week while she worked, and often caught him sneaking parts from her workshop up to his room. She loved every moment of it, though she put on a show of being hard on him. He reminded her so much of herself, and yet so much of Clock, the way he handled himself. Calm, witty, and clever.
The night before his first day of training, the two of them had a quiet dinner as usual. Tacks set her fork down unexpectedly, drawing a curious look from Gearrick. She explained that he would start his official training the next day. That it would be hard work, and that he would have to do a lot of things he probably wasn't going to enjoy. He would be frustrated, he would struggle, but she would help him. Gearrick nodded, and was glad to accept these terms.
"But before I train you, you have to promise me one thing," she had told the twelve-year old Gearrick Tinkermane.
"Anything," he replied eagerly.
"Promise me that you will never make a weapon," she said darkly.
Sensing the gravity of the promise he was about to make, Gearrick had nodded only once. "I promise."
"Why?" Brass Tacks asked again, her voice now strained with hurt, the anger missing.
Gearrick wanted to say again that he had had no choice, but knew she would never accept that. Knew that if anyone deserved the truth it was her. "I did what I thought was right, to save Twilight," he explained quietly. "I know what I promised to you, and you know that I meant it all those years ago. You can't honestly believe that I would break that promise to you for anything less than life or death," he said pleadingly, his anger finally fading as well. He was one of the very few people close to Tacks who knew her dark history, who understood why she so hated weapons. He knew that, in the end, he could not stay angry with her, not hold her fear and anger against her.
"A weapon is always a matter of life or death," Tacks said quietly, her voice tender as if to say 'how many time have I told you' the way a worried mother would scold a child she loves with tears in her eyes.
"I didn't kill anyone," Gearrick said seriously, and he was relieved to see that her expression showed some relief. Barely noticeable, but it was there.
"You could have," she whispered, her lip quivering as tears welled in her eyes.
Those tears stung Gearrick's heart deeply. "I nearly did," he admitted quietly. "Without my magic, I would have killed someone."
She reeled back in shock, tears flecking away from the force of her withdrawal. Her worry was too thick a barrier for her anger to punch through anymore as she saw true, sincere remorse in Gearrick's expression. But, more than that, she could tell that he understood better than anyone the gravity of the damage he could have done. Understood it better than even Brass Tacks herself.
"They took the girl I loved away from me," he said firmly, his determined scowl never fading as he wound up his speech. "After everything else around me had been destroyed, I didn't even know if she was alive or dead," he growled, an admission he had given to no one, not even himself. He had needed hope in that terrible time, but deep down he had been afraid that he would never see her again, not after seeing what the pony who had taken her away was capable of. He had nearly died himself.
"And I knew that on my own, I couldn't stop them. Not without the right tools," he finished seriously.
"A weapon is not a tool!" Tacks retaliated, though her tone was more desperate than angry, begging him to understand.
"It is exactly that!" Gearrick shouted back, slamming his hooves down on the table and rising from his chair again, his determined look still there. "Don't you get it? It has nothing to do with the tool, and everything to do with who uses it! You've spent your entire life believing that having a weapon means someone will die on the other end of it!"
Brass Tacks took in a sharp breath, shocked into silence.
"But that's not true," Gearrick went on, his voice wavering and his determined expression softening somewhat, looking bittersweet. "A weapon is a tool like any other. You can use it to kill, or you can use it to save lives. When it's in your hooves, it all comes down to what you decide to do with it. More powerful than any other tool, maybe even so powerful that you can't control it," he said sadly. "I know that now. A weapon is dangerous. Anything with potential is. But at the end of the day, a gun or a sword isn't evil. The stallion who shoots it or swings it, and aims to kill... that's what you should really be afraid of."
"Gearrick," Brass Tacks whispered, watching with slightly teary eyes as he walked around the table, heading for her.
He hugged her tightly, squeezing her like he had used to on the nights where he'd had terrible dreams, or the days where he was so frustrated and needed her support. "I'm sorry," he said sadly, hugging her tightly. "For hurting you, but not for what I did. I did what I knew was right, and I can't change that. I hope for the rest of my life that I never have to make a weapon again, but if you ask me not to I can't make that promise. All I can promise is that, if I have to to save the people I love, I will do whatever it takes to protect them," he whispered, his voice pinching as he again squeezed her tightly, crying tears of apology into her shoulder.
She hugged him back, tears in her own eyes. She didn't know what to say, or how to say it. She had never been good with words, and in that department he had always out-tinkered her. She knew he was hurt over it, hurt over the promise he had made to her. She couldn't change her life, or how she felt about weapons, the things they could do, but he wasn't asking her to change. Only to understand that, if the time came, he would do what was right. To live his own life unburdened by a promise that might have cost him the life of someone he loved.
"It's alright," she whispered tearfully, sniffling a bit. "I understand. I can't order you around forever," she said with a sad laugh, wiping her eyes as she pulled away. "I still love you, you know" she said, choking up a bit at the end.
Gearrick just smiled, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his own eyes, his coat matted with twin streams that bled into the scars on his jaw. "I know. I love you too, Tacks," he replied warmly, hugging her once more. "I know."
Twilight sighed in relief as Gearrick and Tacks walked back out of the meeting room, their faces tear-stained but no longer furious. Gearrick gave Twilight a small, tired smile that further convinced her that whatever had happened had been necessary, if unpleasant. Tacks, too, gave the small gathering of ponies outside the meeting room a weary smile, ending the worries there once and for all.
That small group of waiting ponies now included Mayor Malter, who had been drawn out of his office by reports of a ruckus in the main lobby, only to find Princess Celestia in the middle of the rumored fuss. Celestia had confirmed that it was far from a rumor, and the mayor had joined her and Twilight in waiting outside the meeting room. Much angry shouting and raised voices had left the tensions high until at last things seemed peaceful once again.
"You must be Mayor Malter," Brass Tacks reasoned, her previously forward and fiery personality seeming much more like it was all back in place as she looked the pudgy pony up and down with a critical eye.
"Yes, I... well," he muttered, clearly flustered as she so openly sized him up.
"Rumor has it you need my help," Tacks continued, smirking in a way that was hauntingly familiar to Twilight's sensibilities.
Twilight's confusion about that statement only deepened as Mayor Malter, too, looked thoroughly puzzled.
"Malter, this is the mare I was telling you about. She used to be top of her class in the steamtech academy, and I'm sure she'd do a fine job as a judge for the final stage of the tournament," Celestia put in warmly.
"Ah yes, quite right," Malter chuckled, extending a hoof. "You must be miss Tacks. A pleasure, I assure you, though I wish you could visit under less pressing circumstances," he apologized while she shook his hoof, surprising him with the strength of her grip.
"Happy to help. I've always wanted to see the festival, but with Mick being the one behind the whole deal it never really felt that enticing," she admitted with a mischievous chuckle. "It's probably worth seeing now that he's not sticking his nose in every engine."
Twilight smiled as Gearrick let out a warm chuckle at that, pulling her close. "So the contest isn't over yet?" he inquired, having heard nothing about it during his incarceration. He was honestly surprised that things hadn't been moved along by now.
"Unfortunately not," Malter grumbled, his fat cheeks bouncing slightly as he shook his head. "Mick was quite frankly the only capable engineer left on the judges panel. The technical review stage is well behind us now, but even in the final stage I thought it would be pointless to appoint a winner without a true tinker's say in the matter. Why, what kind of steamtech festival would it be then?" he inquired loudly of no one in particular.
"Good point," Gearrick put in with a sigh. "Who are the four finalists?"
For the first time that Gearrick had ever seen, there was a mischievous smile on the mayor's pudgy face. "Five actually," he replied simply, though his tone, too, held a hint of something sly.
"Five?" Gearrick asked, thoroughly puzzled. "There're never more than four finalists. Was there a tie in the third stage?"
"Not at all," Malter chuckled, his belly rolling with his laughter. "No, my boy, it is simply because you have not yet been disqualified!"
Gearrick's eyes widened in surprise, and Twilight nudged him when she began to worry that he wasn't breathing. With her hoof in his ribs he gasped suddenly, all but proving her right as he fought for air and words. "Not... disqualified?" he asked in complete disbelief. "Why not?"
"Well, it's a bit of a complicated loophole you see. It falls to judges' rule to disqualify a participant in a stage, even in the event if the participant fails to attend. However, in the case of the technical review, the judges in question are not the same as the judges for the festival..." Malter let his words trail off, seeing the astounded expression on Gearrick's face.
"Right, because during the technical review the judicial committee is made up of engineers not belonging to the guild here in Manehattan. They come from all over to conduct the review. So what you're saying...?" he asked, as if he was almost afraid to believe it.
"That's right, my boy. The engineers who performed the technical review never deliberated on this topic, though myself and Mick did so most furiously. However, Mick and I were not the judges for stage three, and so you were technically never disqualified," he chuckled, his smile proving that he thought himself quite clever.
Gearrick thought so too, apparently, for he was beaming ear to ear. That was, of course, until he came to a new realization. "I still didn't pass the review, though. Technically that means I can't be a finalist," he pointed out. "Loopholes or not."
"Ah yes, quite right. Had almost forgotten all about that. After Magnet's arrest, I knew that something fishy had happened," he explained. "The police quite explained the destruction of your wonderful machine, and I will admit I have not been impressed by something so thoroughly in a very long time. I suppose you could say I was biased," he admitted. "Anyways, I did what any good mayor would do and I put it to a vote."
"A vote of what?" Gearrick asked, almost exasperated with how this was all being laid out.
"Why, I polled the whole city on whether or not you should be allowed to continue competing!" he guffawed. "And wouldn't you know it, everyone who voted voted in favor of it. We had a rough time of it... there were so many duplicate ballots that we could hardly believe it," he went on, a warm smile on his face.
"So then..." Gearrick whispered, shocked into speechlessness.
"Aye. best of luck in the final stage, Mr. Tinkermane. I should think that tomorrow will do nicely," the mayor finished, wandering away, and grabbing Tacks up in conversation on his way past her, the two of them wandering off.
Before she turned the corner, she gave Gearrick a look that made him wonder if he had been better off with Mick as a judge.