//------------------------------//
// By the Fire 
// Story: Property of West Wind 
// by OleGrayMane 
//------------------------------//

 
“He said he'd pay it back,” Tic Tock pleaded.
“With what?” Main Spring demanded. “Money that you'll give him? You hardly pay him anything anyway. Think, Uncle. That doesn't make any sense. It's… it's…” he sputtered. “It's like picking your own pocket.”
“He could do other chores or work for the neighbors.” The old unicorn sat in his chair by the fire, rubbing his hooves together while his nephew paced back and forth in the small study.
“We've talked about this before,” Spring said. “He doesn't belong here. He needs to go.”
“But he's done no harm. He's helped me all through the winter.”
“No harm?” Spring stopped pacing and thrust his hoof in the direction of the workshop. “And what do you call the broken glass?”
“It can be replaced—”
“Yes, but it's going to cost us money, and now the customer's order is delayed. They'll be angry.”
“You don't know that,” Tock shot back.
“I know I'd be angry if it was my clock.” Spring sat down in front of his uncle's chair. “Uncle, please. We've talked about this at length. This is no longer an issue for discussion. You have to get rid of him.”
“But what of him?” The old pony's lip quivered. “Where is he to go? He says he has nopony here in the city, or anywhere else for that matter. What is he to do when you throw him out into the street?”
“I'm sure he knows how to survive. His type always does.”
The muscles in Tock's jaw stiffened and his body shook.
“His type?” Tock stared back fiercely. “What type of callous bigot did my sister raise?”
“No. No I—I didn't mean—” Spring stammered. “I'm sorry—that came out wrong.” He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it. “I meant a pony like West knows how to survive in these situations. You or I, we wouldn't know the first thing to do, would we? You tell me he's been living like this for decades. If that's true, I'm sure he knows where to go.”
Tock's frown deepened. “You still haven't proved to me your heart isn't made of stone.” He repositioned himself in the chair, turning his back to his nephew and glaring into the fire.
Main Spring waited, then spoke softly. “Uncle…” The old pony paid him no heed. “Uncle, please,” he insisted.
Tock swiveled around, his face locked in a scowl.
“Uncle,” he said, “why do you think I'm here?”
“Why?” Tick Tock breathed in and out rapidly. “You're here because the family thinks I'm too worn out to run the shop! You're here to take over, to put me out to pasture. That's why you're here!”
Spring watched the old pony's chest rise and fall. He reached for his uncle's hoof, but it was snatched away. “No, Uncle Tock, that's not why I'm here.”
“Then why all this big talk?” Tock slammed his hoof into the padded arm of the chair with a thud. “Why all this talk of expanding the business? The family's not satisfied with how I run my shop? Listen”—he slid forward in the chair—“the shop makes enough bits for me to get by. That's all I need. I don't need your help. I can still do the work!”
“I know you can, Uncle.”
“Then why are you here?” he demanded, his gray muzzle quivering.
“I didn't come for any of those reasons.” Spring paused, and the old unicorn narrowed his eyes. “I came because Mother asked me to.”
Tick Tock sat motionless.
“I came because she was worried about her big brother.”
“Let her worry.” He snapped his head to the right, his glassy eyes watching the fire's dying flames.
“When she got your letters, she was so upset. At first, she was worried, well…” Spring paused and ran his hoof over his mane. “This is so hard. At first—well—she was worried your mind might be failing.”
Tock huffed in disgust.
“I told her she was wrong,” Spring continued. “I told her to look at your writing, your use of words, your wit. Those weren't letters from a failing mind. I told Mother it was the same old Uncle Tock I'd always known. I told her she'd nothing to worry about.
“But when you wrote that you'd taken in some pony off the streets, a drifter you didn't know anything about, how do you suppose she reacted? She cried for hours, Uncle. She thought it might be some con-pony trying to take advantage of you, or that maybe—”
“That maybe I'm a senile old fool?” Tock spun about and leaned forward. “You tell my sister, old or not, I've never been a fool. You try to do some good—some good for ponykind—and your damn family is ready to send you the old pony's home. My, what a fine reward.”
Spring looked down at his hooves.
“Listen here—” Tock shook his hoof at him. “If that's what you think of me, you can go back to Manehatten right now. There it is.” He pointed to the door. “Go ahead. Go home.”
“Mother thought,” Spring said, “that if you needed somepony to help out in the shop, or just to be with you, that it should be family.” He raised his head and gazed into his uncle's angry eyes. “Mother wanted me to be here for you, because she loves you, Uncle. She doesn't want you to be lonely anymore.”
Tock's eyes began to well up. He pulled his lips tight, but failed to stop his tears. When his nephew reached out for his hoof, he did not pull back.
“What of West?” he gasped. “He'll be the one that's alone. What of him?”
“I know it won't be easy.” Spring sighed. “But he's a resilient pony. You know that. I'm sure he's probably stronger than either of us. After all”—he wiped his eyes—“look at us two.”
They sat together in silence, interrupted only by a single pop from the fire. Occasionally, Spring put a bit more pressure on his uncle's hoof, gently nudging him.
After many minutes, Tock spoke. “When?”
“Waiting won't make it easier.”
For a long time, Tic Tock looked into the fireplace, watching the orange coals flicker.
“Tomorrow then,” he said.
Main Spring released his uncle's hoof and leaned back. The corner of his mouth crept up.
“I'll talk to him after breakfast,” Tock said. “I won't have him leave hungry.”