Part of Spike marveled at how easy it was to focus on something as irrelevant as the time when Tailspin was lying just two beds away. His brain didn't seem to want to come back to the present. It kept drifting outside, to the stars. Pencil Pusher had explained that, while the sun and the moon were both motionless, the stars still moved at a steady pace.
It had been almost the middle of the night when Colonel Reveille had come into the infirmary to see Spike for the first time. That had been why he wasn't wearing his uniform, Spike supposed; he'd been sleeping until someone had gone to fetch him about the dragon. By the time the debriefing had been organized, the administration center was filled with ponies rushing about to get the necessary reports on his arrival sent out to all the other fortresses, to get copies of Twilight's spellbook made, and to send word of what they had found in the Tangle.
Now it was what passed for night again, which meant that all the blinds were pulled and the sound of activity outside had been reduced to the occasional sound of hoofsteps passing by. Spike was back in bed, lying in silence like he had for most of the day. There wasn't much else to do, and nowhere else to go, even if he had the energy with the burning wounds in his gut sapping most of his strength.
Pith's bed was the next over, but it was empty. The earth pony was sitting next to Tailspin's, motionless, and had been since they got out of the meeting with Colonel Reveille. Spike had tried sitting beside him for a while, but the pegasus was utterly, absolutely still. The only motion she made was the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Spike hadn't thought it was possible for anyone to look worse than Compass Rose did after their escape from the changelings. Tailspin managed it. The cocoon had done something to her. Her flame-red coat had faded to a dull rust color. She had always been small and sleek, but now she was gaunt and skeletal, like someone had hollowed her out inside.
It hurt to look at her. It hurt worse to look at Pith's expression. It was one that he was far too familiar with.
After a while, when he couldn't take it any longer, he had moved to his own bed and tried to get some sleep. Now he was drifting in a haze of exhaustion, unsure whether he was half-asleep and remembering or fully asleep and dreaming. He was also unsure as to whether or not it made any difference. He simply lay there and let the images play through his mind, listening to the quiet, ragged sound of Tailspin's breathing.
The first real funeral he had attended, the first one for someone close to him, was Rarity's.
Spike, I'm so sorry.
Rainbow Dash's face came back to him. That expression, those words, the exact rhythm and inflection... that moment had burned itself into his memory. Rainbow Dash, one wing crumpled up underneath her at an unnatural angle, looking up at all of them with tears streaming down her face. She had been begging, pleading with them. She had wanted forgiveness, as if there were anything to forgive.
She sent me away. She used her magic, I couldn't-
He had screamed at her before running off into the hallways to search for Rarity. He wasn't proud of it, but at that moment, the emotions that had welled up in him had demanded release, and Rainbow Dash had been there. The perfect target. She was already blaming herself. It was easy for him to do the same.
He had found her, later, and apologized. She had forgiven him, and he knew she really had let it go, but he had never forgiven himself for that. Rainbow Dash, for all her teasing and attitude, had loved Rarity as much as anyone. He knew, and she knew, that she would have stayed with Rarity if she could have. Even if it had cost her life, she would have stayed.
That was why Rarity had magicked her away. She had given Rainbow Dash the opportunity to live a life that she never would. A final gift, and it was a gift, even if it hurt Rainbow that badly to receive it.
He remembered finding her, right in the center of it all. People had told him that the dead often looked as though they were sleeping. Rarity hadn't. Her eyes were open and glassy, staring at nothing, her mouth was hanging open dumbly, and the great, gaping hole in the center of her chest left no room for doubt. He had clutched her to his chest and begged her to wake up anyway.
There had been two funerals for her. One had been the memorial service in Canterlot. Ponies had traveled from all over Equestria to pay their respects to her, and to him. All four of the Equestrian princesses had stood with him, above the proceedings. They had offered him their support. None of them had seemed to understand that being there, forced to watch as other people mourned his wife, unable to do so himself because he had to appear strong and dignified, had hurt him almost as badly as finding her body.
The second funeral, and the one that he privately considered to be the only real one, had been several days later, back in Ponyville. Rarity's body had been buried in Canterlot, in the memorial cemetery that held all of Equestrian history's greatest heroes and heroines. Princess Celestia had insisted, and he hadn't had the strength to tell her he would have preferred to keep her in Ponyville.
Pinkie Pie had understood. She had always been strange, but she had always understood. So, after a few days had passed, she threw a party.
A wake, she had called it. It had been small, just their small circle of friends, with a picture of Rarity hung on one wall decorated by streamers. It was everything that Pinkie Pie's parties had always been: far too colorful, full of games and singing, loud, obnoxious, and absolutely, utterly perfect.
Rarity had always loved Pinkie's parties. She had been very loud and vocal in stating how uncouth and messy they were, but she had always loved them. They were loud and undignified, full of junk food and silly games, but, more than how to throw a party, Pinkie had always known when to throw a party. And she had always done it for all the right reasons. It was a release for all those desperate emotions that had no other outlet, and he and Rainbow Dash had danced like there was no tomorrow precisely because, deep down, they had hoped that there wouldn't be.
And when the party had gone on so long that they couldn't possibly go any longer, Pinkie had led them out to the backyard behind Carousel Boutique, and they had poured out a whole barrel of Applejack's best cider and just drank themselves into oblivion. They had left one mug out "for Rarity". Spike had poured it out over the dirt when he woke up the next morning.
The sound of quiet voices roused him out of his dozing. He blinked muzzily and lifted his head, peering around in the dimness. Pith was still sitting by Tailspin's bedside, holding one of her hooves between both of his like he was afraid to let go. Compass' bed was empty, and Spike could hear her whispering back and forth with Doc Grey behind one of the dividers. There was a soft rustling of papers, followed by the sound of the two ponies walking off to somewhere else.
Tailspin's breath hitched for a moment, and Pith's head jerked up. Spike could tell that he was hoping that she had woken up, but she hadn't. After a few seconds, her breath settled back into its former shallow rhythm. Spike lowered his head to the pillow again and let sleep claim him once more.
He had kept Carousel Boutique just as it was, or as close to it as he could manage, ever since the wake. Sweetie Belle had been wonderful about visiting him and helping him to keep the place clean, as had Rainbow Dash. The three of them had leaned on each other heavily during the initial shock of their joint loss, and they grew closer together in the years that followed.
As much as Spike knew that all of their friends had been deeply and irreparably hurt by Rarity's death, he only felt comfortable sharing his own pain with the two of them. Rainbow Dash had been there right until the end, and she was as utterly crushed by it as he had been. The bearer of the Element of Loyalty had been unable to even stay beside her friend when she needed to most. More than that, she had been actively sent away for her own protection. The crippling of her wing was a minor scrape compared to that pain.
Sweetie Belle had lost her older sister, the pony that she had looked up to and attempted to emulate for years. Spike was just grateful that Rarity had gotten to see her sister perform in Canterlot before it happened, and that she had taken the time to say how proud she was. If those words had gone unsaid, they would have regretted it forever.
They couldn't spend all their time together, of course. Even with her crippled wing, Rainbow had spent most of her time with the Wonderbolts. She acted as an instructor, then, rather than their star performer, but she was still recognized as one of the greatest athletes in the history of the organization, and remained one of its most respected members. Meanwhile, Sweetie Belle was spending most of her time on tour. But they always kept in touch. Rainbow Dash visited in person at least once a month, and Sweetie kept up a regular correspondence with him via mail for the rest of her life.
It was another thirty years before Spike had to attend any more funerals that painful. There were others, of course; Granny Smith had been the first, departing quietly in her sleep while surrounded by loving family members. Applejack had been utterly crushed by the loss, but had stepped up as head of the family regardless. It took several months before Spike realized that she had essentially lost her parents all over again, and his respect for her strength only grew with that realization.
Then there had Cranky and Matilda Donkey. Filthy Rich eventually succumbed to some sort of heart condition that was apparently common in his family; Diamond Tiara had thrown the biggest farewell party for him that money could buy, but Spike had seen the smaller ceremony afterward, the one that she hadn't planned for anyone to know about. Silver Spoon, Featherweight, Snips, Snails, Scootaloo, Apple Bloom, and Sweetie Belle all attended. They had never been close to one another before, but after that night, all of them were seen visiting one another regularly. Diamond Tiara even married Snails a few years later, and the two of them left Ponyville for the opportunity for him to work as a head chef in Canterlot. His escargot was the single most expensive dish on any menu in the city, and it still sold like mad.
There were other weddings, too. Spike's memory tripped over itself momentarily as it ran through a list of them. Rainbow Dash had married another member of the Wonderbolts, a stallion named Soarin. Big Macintosh and Cheerilee married a few years later, followed by Applejack and a scrawny-looking city colt named Inkwell. They had made for an odd couple, but they were obviously happy. Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie had never married, though Fluttershy had eventually moved in with a stallion from Appleloosa and married him in all but the most technical sense. Twilight had never even considered the notion, as far as he knew, though he had heard rumors - which she always emphatically denied - involving a member of the royal guard.
Then there were the children. Applejack, Big Macintosh, and, eventually, even Apple Bloom all had multiple foals during their lives. Apple Bloom had eventually married Snips, and the two of them had built a barber shop together. Scootaloo and Featherweight had a foal as well, a young colt who surprised both his parents by becoming one of the best flyers the Wonderbolts ever saw. Spike had never seen Rainbow Dash as proud as the day her "nephew" had won the gold for cross-country flying in the Equestria Games, breaking the record she had set more than a decade previously. It probably helped that she was the one who trained him.
And so the years had passed. But then there had been the day where Fluttershy had been hospitalized. She had never been the most physically fit pegasus. Despite her healthy eating habits and exercise, she had always been frail and small. In Spike's head, the memory of the way she had looked in that hospital bed mingled with Tailspin's appearance now, until the two were nearly indistinguishable. She had looked almost as grey as Tailspin, and just as diminished. She had smiled at them all and talked about how it was only natural, how she knew that she was getting older, how she could see the grey in her mane and how she couldn't fly even as well as she used to. The calm sweetness with which she said it, the way she tried to offer comfort to everyone else without flinching from the inevitable, only made them all feel worse.
They had spent the day in the hospital room with her, talking and laughing, trying and failing to hide the fact that their happiness was forced. Eventually, they had left for the night, leaving Fluttershy alone with her coltfriend. When the next morning came, she was gone.
The funeral was a subdued one. Rainbow Dash had talked about organizing a farewell performance by the Wonderbolts, but in the end, they had settled for having Sweetie Belle sing at the ceremony. Spike had never heard the song before, but Scootaloo and Apple Bloom had broken down entirely by the time the first verse was over. He vaguely remembered the first line - something about "it's time to lay your sleepy head". No matter how hard he tried, he could never find a recording of Sweetie Belle performing it.
The tune played through his head. Despite its grim association, it was soothing, calm and beautiful. The words were gone, but he remembered all of his friends gathered together and listening to it, and he smiled in his sleep.
There were more voices now. Spike shook himself awake and looked back over to Tailspin's bed. Pith was standing now. Compass Rose and Doctor Grey were on the other side of the bed, flanked by a pair of unicorn nurses. Compass was holding a collection of papers, still looking as exhausted as before. He realized, with a twinge of shared pain, that she was holding them in her mouth rather than with her magic.
"...But we'll need privacy," Doctor Grey was saying. "And quiet. If this is going to work, which we can make no guarantees of, it will have to be done perfectly. There is no room for distractions."
Spike sat up sharply, which provoked another lance of agony from his wounds. He hissed and swung off the bed to stand beside Pith.
The earth pony wasn't paying attention to him. No one was, except for a few brief glances from the nurses. "How much of a chance?" Pith said. It had a slow, steady cadence to it that suggested it wasn't the first time he'd asked the question.
Doctor Grey frowned. "More than she has now," she said. "But getting less so with every moment that you refuse to leave and let us work. I understand your desire to be here, but you cannot help her right now."
Pith opened his mouth to say something in reply, but Spike reached out and set one clawed hand on his shoulder. "We'll leave you to it, then," he said, cutting off anything that the stallion might have wanted to say. Then, very gently, he steered Pith out into the corridor between the rows of beds.
After a few moments, the two of them emerged from the door of the infirmary and into the perpetual half-light outside. Spike blinked slowly; a part of him had still been expecting to have a full night sky overhead, but the sun was still hanging overhead. It was a disorienting feeling.
Behind him, Pith had put one hoof against the wall of the post-op for support and was taking deep, steadying breaths. Spike strode over to lean against the wall next to him. He would have preferred to be on all fours, to look the stallion more easily in the eye, but his chest still hurt too much to do that. He settled for letting out a deep, rumbling sigh and saying, "I know how you feel."
"I know." Pith was staring at the dirt, not lifting his head to look at Spike. His voice was quiet and shook slightly as he spoke.
Spike raised a brow. "I'll be honest," he said, "I was expecting you to start berating me about how I couldn't possibly understand."
Now Pith raised his head. His expression hurt to look at. It was one Spike recognized. It was the same one he had seen in the mirror when he found Rarity.
"Of course you do," Pith said flatly. "You lost your wife. And she's... she's mine, in every way that matters." His voice hitched slightly as he said it.
The dragon nodded. "I knew a couple of ponies who had that sort of relationship," he said. "Fluttershy always said that the marriage wasn't as important as the feelings that go along with it. She even said it the same way you did. 'Every way that matters'."
Pith lowered his hoof to the ground. His entire body was shaking slightly, and Spike could hear the nervous energy in his voice when he asked, "And she was...?"
He knew that the stallion wasn't really that interested in who Fluttershy was, but he also knew that answering the question was important. It was the sort of question the mind came up with when it was looking for, when it desperately needed something, anything else to concentrate on.
"One of the six mares in that photo," he said. "The yellow pegasus." He smiled at the memory. "She was the pony who used the Element of Kindness. Never met anyone as sweet as her. She was always nice to everyone, no matter what." He laughed, a short puff of sound that died away too quickly. "It was almost sickening, sometimes."
Pith nodded. "Some ponies are like that," he muttered. And the two of them lapsed into that special kind of silence when all parties involved want desperately to say something, but know that there really isn't anything to be said.
After a while, the stallion asked, "How long?"
Spike blinked and looked back down to him. "How long what?"
"How long did you get with... her?" Pith lifted a hoof and pointed towards the necklace.
Without really thinking about it, Spike raised a claw and set it against the ruby. "Not long enough," he said. "I knew her for years before we married. I was just a kid when we met, and she was this gorgeous mare who owned her own store..." His eyes unfocused slightly at the memory. "It was just a crush at first, you know? Everypony knew about it, because I was terrible at keeping it a secret, and everypony thought it would go away. By the time I finally started to mature, I was convinced it would, too."
He shook his head. "It... didn't. She was still older than me, but we both started to realize that it was real, and it was worth trying." A smile played across his features as he continued, "So we did. And we got eight years together." He sighed, and his voice dropped to a low murmur. "The best years of my life."
Pith nodded slowly, looking away again. "We've been together since we were foals," he said. "Me and Tails. It's always been me and her, for almost sixteen years now." He snorted and stamped a hoof in the dirt. "And, you know, in all that time, neither of us ever said it. We never thought we needed to. I mean, when you're out there in the wild for weeks with nopony but each other, you kind of think it's not important to say."
He stamped again, harder. "I wish I had said it," he muttered, his voice becoming angry now. Spike could see the tears welling up. "I should have said it."
"Doctor Grey said she still has a chance," Spike said quietly.
"Don't give me that," Pith said. The anger was bubbling up in his words, and he kicked at the dirt now, a scowl creeping across his features. "The ponies who come out of those cocoons... even if they live, they're crippled for life. Or worse. They break inside. It sucks something out of you." Abruptly, he stopped, panting heavily, and muttered, "Something important."
Spike stared at him, frowning heavily, unable to make himself say the words drifting through his head. He remembered the talks he had with the others when Rarity had died, and especially when Rainbow Dash had gotten drunk at the wake.
It's never gonna be enough, you know, she had slurred. People talk about. About. About all the things they wanted to say. Or do. And even if you'd gotten to do all those things, even if you'd said - said everything, it wouldn't be enough. 'Cause they're still gone, and nothing can change that.
If anypony had tried to tell him that before then, before he was ready to hear it, he would have punched them. It wasn't what Pith needed to hear now. He pushed the thought down and began to search for something else to say instead.
The stallion beat him to it. "Kids?"
Spike blinked, temporarily caught off guard. "What?" He paused. "Oh. No. We thought about it, and we eventually decided we wanted them, but the only options were magic or adoption, and we never got around to either."
Pith nodded, but he was already looking away again, and Spike could tell that it had just been an attempt to get his own mind off of things. He could also tell that it hadn't worked.
The earth pony shook his head and kicked at the dirt again. The motion was made awkward by the splint on his opposite leg, but he did it again, and again, harder every time. Abruptly, he said, almost spitting the words, "I'd give anything to get her back."
Spike just nodded mutely. It was a phrase he'd heard a lot over his lifetime. Everypony said it, or words to that effect. But he had lain awake in bed at night, feeling the empty space where Rarity should have been, and wondered whether or not they really meant it.
Whether or not he did.
Pith was looking at him again, his face screwed up in pain, his eyes bloodshot and glistening. "How do you live with this?" he said. It was almost a demand, and again, Spike recognized the hopeless, hopeful look in the stallion's eyes.
He'd known it would have to be said eventually. It was what had to be said, because otherwise everypony would just lie down and die. He drew himself up, took a deep breath, and said, "It gets easier."
As Pith nodded and turned away, he looked back up to the sky and shut his eyes. Yes, it was something that needed to be said.
But that didn't make it any less of a lie.