“I don’t give horse apples about your job. If all you are is Captain, you’re not worth the uniform you’re wearing. I’m far more interested in Fletcher.”
Fletcher shot to his senses, bolting upright in bed. He rubbed his temple with a hoof. Caesura’s honeyed words hung thick in the moonlight, the saccharine afterglow of their memory stubbornly clinging to his mind’s ear. The captain flopped back onto his pillow and closed his eyes.
It didn’t take long for him to open them again and snarl exasperatedly into his pillow. Whenever Fletcher closed his eyes, he was back at the bar with her and that same sex-charged swagger. That same lush cream coat. That same luxurious auburn mane. That same sultry voice that melted inhibitions and corroded defenses like gentle acid.
Fletcher threw himself out of bed and onto his hooves. There would be no sleep tonight. He’d never lied to Ironwing about getting over Caesura. He’d just hoped that Ironwing would never think to ask. But that was wishful thinking. Ironwing was in the intel business. There was no way he wouldn’t notice.
The captain rolled out of bed and made a beeline for the liquor cabinet. It was a weekend. He could afford to self-medicate. The recipe was the same. Ice kept magically cold. Caballo's gin. A splash of tonic water for taste.
Bitter quinine rolled over Fletcher’s tongue, shallow comfort for the beginning of a long night of unrest. He planned to skip the tonic water for the next round. But that was quickly ended by a rapping from the front door. Fletcher glanced at the clock.
“What the hell? It’s ten at night.”
He trotted to the front door, curiosity competing with paranoia for first billing on the stage of the mind. Ironwing’s visit had set him on edge. What could it possibly be at this hour of night? Fletcher threw the door open.
Whatever he was expecting, it was not this.
“My darling Fletcher. It’s been a very long time.”
Before him stood a cream-colored unicorn mare, her green eyes framed by an auburn mane kept short but well-coiffed. Her emerald gaze met Fletcher’s and a wistful smile tugged at her lips. Fletcher froze.
He couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t possible. It was fake. It was a hallucination. He was drunk. He was stressed. He wasn’t seeing what he was seeing. Fletcher tried with all his might to convince himself that his senses were lying. But every facet of his ability to perceive screamed in protest.
Caesura was very much real and very much standing in front of him.
“Are you going to let a girl in or are you just going to stand there gawking?”
As if in a trance, Fletcher waved her in, shutting the front door behind her. He continued to stare in shock long after she had already sauntered on in and taken a seat on one of the couches in the living room. Finally Fletcher returned to his senses. Senses, however, did not enforce civility.
“You sound like you’ve got something on the tip of your tongue,” Caesura said.
Fletcher glared, refusing to sit and instead continuing to stare her down from standing position.
“I only have one question, Caesura.” The fire in Fletcher’s eyes as he asked the question could have ignited stone. “Why?”
Caesura hesitated for a split second, finally deflecting, “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all night.” Fletcher retorted.
“I don’t know how else to put this eloquently, so I’ll skip the smalltalk.” Caesura sighed. “I hurt you, Fletcher. For that I am well and truly sorry. I know you won’t take me back and I’m not asking you to.”
“Then why did you even bother coming?” Fletcher snapped. “Why not just stay away since I obviously wasn’t good enough for you?”
“That’s not why I left!” Caesura shot back. She immediately regretted her words, as the burning red of her cheeks and the anguished rub of hoof on forehead revealed. “I left because I couldn’t contain my wanderlust. I felt locked in, trapped. I thought that walking out would let me take care of that while leaving minimal fallout for you.”
“We both know how well that went.”
“I hurt you when I walked out. But it hurt me, too. I didn’t realize just how much it hurt until after I was long gone.”
Really? She was sorry now? What the hell kind of shitshow was this? Here she was, coming into his house and apologizing to someone whom she’d cut to the bone. What kind of cruel joke was this?
“Well that’s fan-fucking-tastic,” Fletcher growled, vitriol dripping from every word. “Now we’re two ponies who hurt each other more than we ever thought possible standing in the same room because someone on a whim decided it would be a good idea to show up at my house in the dead of night.”
“It was not a whim.” Caesura’s whisper was barely audible.
Fletcher wanted to pretend he didn’t hear it. He was conflicted. Part of him wanted to lash out; to punish her for her perceived insolence, especially under the circumstances. The other part of him read her body language and pitied her for what she must have suffered while she was away. Had he not suffered the same way? Perhaps he wasn’t the only one nursing a proverbial sucking wound?
Caesura continued, “I... I thought long and hard about this, for weeks -- months even. I kept putting it off because I was too proud to think of anypony than myself. But it kept bothering me. It was a feeling in my bones that wouldn’t go away. It --”
“Eats at you. Corrodes your soul,” Fletcher finished.
“Yes.”
The two sat and stood in silence for a moment, though the mood had noticeably changed. That tiny thread of connection, the linking of the same words between two ponies had gone leaps and bounds toward easing the tension that stretched between them. Fletcher was hurting, that much was certain. But he could not bear to throw his compassion away because of it. Perhaps the least that he could do was to listen.
Finally, Caesura spoke again. “So I have a proposal.”
“Shoot.”
“I want this to be our last night together. Forever. We do what we need to do, say what we need to say, and come morning we part ways and move on.”
“What good would that do?”
“Closure. We could properly mourn times past instead of forlornly wishing for times we’d never have. It’s healthy.”
Were it anypony else, Fletcher would have thought it a cheap grab for sex. But he knew Caesura. While the sex they had was definitely fantastic, there was far more to her than a simple piece of ass. She was erudite and inquisitive, somepony who craved intellectual stimulation just as much as she did physical. An offer to talk and love-make it out was completely within her character.
Still, Fletcher was torn. Walking out was not easily forgiven, even less so when that was followed by two years of sequestration before materializing out of nowhere. Yet deep inside, Fletcher knew this was the very moment he had been waiting for. It was a second chance to say goodbye, to finally hash out the differences between them, and move on.
As Caesura had said, closure.
Finally done staring at his drink, Fletcher looked up, meeting his ex-wife’s gaze. “Would you like a drink?”
“Caballo’s,” she said with a smile.
“And tonic, on the rocks,” Fletcher finished, putting together the drink between them in the glow of his magic.
Caesura gently accepted the glass with her own aura before lifting it in toast, “To us. To our past together and our future apart. May we be ever stronger for it.”
“Tak skazat', vse my.” Fletcher assented in Stallian.
“You and your Stallian,” she said with mock derision, waving her hoof as a cat would bat away an unwanted toy with a paw.
“It’s nearly second nature to me now. Spend enough time in Stalliongrad and it starts to rub off on you.”
“Do you even remember what you were like before you were assigned to frontier operations?”
A hell of a question to be sure. The assignment to Stalliongrad had eaten a chunk of his life recently and the tempo of operations had been so high intensity that it was easy to forget he had once been stationed in a garrison in Canterlot. But there were some things to garrison life that weren’t so bad.
“I remember what you were like!”
“Do tell,” she cooed, batting her eyes in anticipation of flattery.
“You were flirtatious, manipulative, and your impropriety knew no bounds.” Fletcher smirked at his own barb.
Caesura gasped in feigned offense before breaking out into laughter. “Oh come now, Fletcher! If I weren’t any of that you wouldn’t have paid me any mind.”
“Really? I never really thought needy conservatory fillies were my type!”
“Good thing I’m all that and more,” she nickered happily. “I was always glad to see you weren’t of the pseudo-intellectual machismo officership ilk. All talk and no brains and not even proper fun to make up for it. So boring.”
“Should have gone into masonry instead of music if you’d wanted to talk to bricks all day.”
“Rude. Almost as rude as your little tirade to the officer’s club.”
“I’m fantastic and hilarious.” Fletcher smirked before taking another drink from his glass. “Somepony had to help that poor griffon explain democracy to the peanut gallery.”
“It’s actually pretty amazing how democracy is such a foreign concept to so many in the military when they are first and foremost the tools of the state,” Caesura mused between sips. “Then again I suppose it makes sense, given that Equestria has had monarchy of some form or another for the past two millenia.”
“Your history is pretty good for a needy conservatory filly.”
“I’m not your average airheaded conservatory filly, captain.”
“I think some of the other officers at the Ponyland or the Veridian would have preferred that.”
“Tch! Of all the other eligible stallions at the Veridian, why do you think I chose you?”
“I don’t know,” Fletcher chuckled. “Because I’m better-looking and infinitely more charming?”
The same words that were spoken all those years ago echoed in his head. Familiarity embraced Fletcher with soft, fuzzy warmth. His cheeks flushed a bit as the memories warmed his chest and allowed him to finally relax. Fletcher moved as if under a spell, putting a fresh vinyl record onto the player and letting it run even as he set down his drink and offered a hoof to Caesura to dance.
It took only a moment before he was back at the Veridian, the smooth notes of the bass and jazz trumpet floating by while he slowly danced cheek to cheek with the mare before him. Awareness vanished into euphoria-fueled fugue. The background noise of patrons faded to muted babbling, the slow strobe of the ceiling fan blades against the café lights blurred to mottled watercolors, and the once sharp clip-clops of his hooves on hardwood flooring echoed against the aether around them.
“Well I certainly wasn’t expecting this...” The hot breath from Caesura’s lips gently caressed his cheek as they continued their slow dance to the tune emanating from the record player. Fletcher said nothing, instead pulling her closer.
Together they spun, their bodies becoming entwined and their lips sliding from brushing to locking. Caesura tugged and Fletcher followed. The dancers drifted down the hall and through the bedroom door, coming to rest upon the bed in preparation for passions fulfilled.
******
“Why do you think we ever stopped, Fletcher?”
Fletcher heard her loud and clear, despite the fact that Caesura’s face was pressed against his barrel as they basked in passion’s afterglow. Truthfully, Fletcher didn’t have the answer. If their marriage had always been like they were tonight, then why had it ever failed?
“Beats the hell out of me. I mean, if you were any better at lovemaking they’d have to make you a princess!”
“Oh hush. You don’t have to flatter me to get me to ride you again,” Caesura chuckled. “Besides, we both know we were in it for more than the sex.”
“Jokes aside, I can’t put my hoof on it,” Fletcher sighed. “If everything was perfect, why did it all break down?”
“Hm.” Caesura paused in thought, the only sounds remaining being the distant, muffled tunes from the record player in the living room and the soft whispers of her breath beneath the sheets.
Luna’s moon now peeked through the window of the bedroom. Fletcher idly thought about all the lewd acts that Princess Luna would have to wade through while walking among dreams, the absurd humor being enough to make him chuckle inside. But the surreal suggestion left an impression he could not ignore.
“Maybe,” Fletcher began, “it was because we were perfect.”
“Too perfect to exist?”
“I mean we were perfect for each other in our minds’ eyes. When imperfections came to light, we glossed over them or buried them. But we both knew they were always there no matter how much we lied to ourselves. It created dissonance.”
“I love it when you talk nerdy to me, but I hate it when you’re right,” Caesura sighed.
“It makes sense,” Fletcher said before kissing Caesura’s muzzle. “We may have been in love, but we were ultimately incompatible. We loved the idea of each other more than the actual pony.”
“I guess it’s poetic in a way,” she whispered. “No matter how much love we give, we’re so full of ourselves that it’s all worthless in the end.”
“I wouldn’t say worthless. They were the best years of my life.”
“So far,” Caesura cooed, nuzzling his chest.
“What if there’s no more?” Fletcher wondered out loud.
“There will be more, Fletcher,” she said, pecking him on the cheek. “I promise you. There’s a whole wide world of Equestria for you to see. No sense in getting hung up on a needy conservatory filly.”
“You were always more than that. But I see your point.” The pensive mask melted into a mischievous smile. “Although I’m sure there’s something a certain needy conservatory filly wouldn’t mind being hung up on...”
Caesura purred happily, locking lips with Fletcher before forcefully rolling him over to straddle her.
“Shut up and love me, you miserable cur!”
******
Fletcher awoke to rays of golden sun stabbing into his eyes. Luna’s moon had been replaced with Celestia’s searing sun. By its position in the sky, dawn had broken long ago and the morning had already passed Fletcher by. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes with a hoof to clear the sleep from them. It was then that he realized Caesura’s absence.
The captain leaped out of bed, his eyes darting around the room for any signs of her. Had it all been a fever dream? Had he imagined the entire night? His fears were allayed with the squeak of the shower faucet turning off and the sound of the door opening. Fletcher bolted out of the bedroom to the entrance of the bathroom, almost knocking over Caesura as trotted out, mane still damp from the shower.
“Easy there, captain. I knew you were excited to see me, but I didn’t think you were that excited!”
Fletcher stiffened at the jab. They’d gone all night like that, exchanging light-hearted jabs cycling with more introspective discussions and bouts of intense lovemaking. Noticing his discomfort, Caesura stepped closer, giving him a quick peck on the muzzle.
“What’s on your mind, Fletcher?”
“Is this real?”
“How do you mean?”
“You’re here. I’m here. We’re here. We had drinks. We talked. We danced. We made love. Last night was real. I felt it with all of my senses that it was real. But I’m still afraid that it wasn’t.”
“It was real, Fletcher. It wasn’t some magic spell or Equestria imploding or you hallucinating from too much tonic. You’re you. I’m me. We talked. We drank. We danced. We made love. It happened and that’s life.”
It happened and that’s life. Her words echoed in Fletcher’s head. Those words could sum up the entire experience from start to finish: their engagement, their marriage, the adventures in Stalliongrad, the falling out, the lonely years, and the reunion. It happened and that was life.
“I think…” Caesura said after a long pause. “I think it might be time for me to go.”
Part of Fletcher wanted to beg her to stay, to try again, to make things work. But the other part, the part that had conversed long into the night with Caesura herself knew that the best option was for them to part ways. Though the lovemaking had been grand on all levels, the introspection between sessions had gradually highlighted everywhere they had fallen short.
“Yes,” Fletcher said sadly. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
The two trotted to the front door in silence. The walk was slow and deliberate, but at the same time burdened with a halting weight, a funerary air that seemed to cast a pall over the whole house. Fletcher gingerly opened the door, allowing the crisp Autumn breeze to gently ruffle his mane.
“It’s been wonderful, Fletcher,” Caesura said, her emerald eyes glistening. “I truly wish you the best in life. May war never find you unprepared and may those you keep forever hold you in regard.”
“Thank you, Caesura,” he rasped. “I don’t know what you’re looking for out there, but I sincerely hope you find it. May your wandering bring you ever closer to home. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Fletcher.” Caesura gave one last wan smile before stepping outside and gently closing the door behind her.