Safe
• • • •
White lines swirled in the bathroom sink as Joe scrubbed his mane clear of the last lingering streaks of sugar. He let the faucet run for a bit as he placed his brush aside, basking in the warmth of the steam as it curled across his muzzle and wrapped around his horn. A long, indulgent moment passed before Joe pressed shut the lever with the back of his hoof, staring distantly into the cloudy whirlpool of the sink. It felt good. It felt very, very good.
Quite slowly, Joe brought his gaze to his reflection in the mirror, and the long, jagged crack that ran the length of his horn. The fracture had grown another half-inch since the ordeal in the castle, winding further down the bone to disappear under his fur. He kept waiting for the throbbing pain to finally fade. It had been hours now.
Only once had Joe had felt pain as deep and bracing as that he'd endured in the royal palace that night. He’d been a colt, bandaged from hoof to horn in an overlarge hospital bed, staring at the wall as the throbbing headache consumed him like a storm. It colored every thought and want and feeling he had for weeks, letting nothing through. Long, pounding, miserable weeks.
A younger, angrier part of Joe stirred at the memory. Even after all this time, he was still forced to suffer for the tiniest, most pathetic sputter of magic. It wasn’t fair. He wanted to feel cheated for what the world had done to him. He wanted to resent the very elements for driving him mad, and leaving him broken. The thought took him someplace old, and ugly.
Joe met his eyes in the mirror, catching the faintest wisp of light drift along his peripherals. It was a small, invisibly dim little thing, but it was there, hanging listlessly in the air without weight or reflection. Words. Tiny little words, written flat across the face of reality. Joe blinked, half-expecting them to vanish, but there they stayed, patiently waiting for his attention.
Wasn’t fair.
Joe’s ears fell flat against his head. It couldn’t be. It had to be a trick of the light, or some exhaustion-fueled hallucination, or… or naked insanity, brought on by his superconscious frolic through Princess Pinkie's mind-bakery. Anything else. A dozen frenzied explanations ran through Joe’s head, and a dozen coiling words wound themselves to life before his eyes.
Trick of the light.
Imagining things.
Going nuts.
Joe's jaw clenched as a wave of dread washed across his stomach. The words were real. He wasn’t imaging that. He could literally see his own self-delusion stamped across the air, plain as Celestia’s sun. Just like in the old days. Just like little White Lie used to see.
Joe dipped his head, staring at the floor as he struggled to process the very possibility. There was no precedent for what White Lie had gone through. You weren’t supposed to survive a shattered horn, much less live with one. He shouldn’t have made it a day, but he’d made it a life, holding on to that little flicker until it was a flame, until he’d built something real and wonderful with ponies he trusted and cared for. He couldn’t lose that. He couldn’t go back to how it was.
The frazzled stallion glanced back into the mirror, then to the words, watching as each unraveled at his attention. Little White Lie had learned early that self-delusion wouldn't last when you could see it for what it was. It needed you blind, and ignorant. He watched with heart-wrenching clarity as the words faded, one after the other, washed away by the truth. Only the first remained.
Wasn’t fair.
Joe sighed, staring back into the sink. There was a will behind those words, he had learned. An impossible, invisible something that could pluck ideas out of the air and make them real. It ran through the dirt and the magic and the sky, beneath every one and every thing. Little White Lie had seen one, tiny, useless, insignificant little sliver of that living Harmony, every minute of every day. It had wants. It needed things done, and the world would tie itself in knots to make those wants a reality.
Joe stared at the words that hung in the air before him, feeling an old, familiar helplessness. The world wanted one thing from him, and he was built to give it up.
The truth.
The truth was that Joe didn’t feel cheated, or angry, or wronged by the world, he felt relieved. He felt blessed. He felt unbelievably, overwhelmingly, infuriatingly grateful toward the elemental will he'd spent his entire adult life resenting.
Sunny would have died if magic had not set aside the impossible to answer his desperate plea, back there in the castle. She would have fallen to her death, and Joe wouldn't have been able to do a single thing about it. For all the baker prided himself on living free of the guiding hoof of Harmony, he’d needed a miracle back in that castle. And he’d been given one.
Joe wiped his mane dry with a large dish towel and hung it over the doorknob, stepping quietly out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. He turned to climb a small set of stairs beside the trot-in freezer, hearing the loud saw of Gilda’s snoring as he popped his head into the tiny attic that sat atop the building. The cramped little space was more of a decorative touch to the Canterlot skyline than a proper room, but it was quiet, and warm, and just about the only part of the diner that didn’t smell of grease and donuts. With his apartment in spell-singed tatters, it would have to do for a place to sleep.
Across the floor lay every blanket and towel Joe had been able scare up from the storage basement, each set across the other in a muddled patchwork of bedding. Gilda lay just beyond the top of the staircase, draped in a tablecloth as her sizable body rose and fell with each heavy breath. Just opposite was Sunny, her side pressed tight against a rain-cooled window that ran the length of the inclined roof. There was room enough for one more, just between the two.
As quietly and delicately as the lumbering stallion could manage, Joe stepped between Gilda’s wing and her head, briefly rearing onto his forehooves to swivel his bulk over her body. He gently dropped his hind legs to the ground with nothing but a slight creak of the floorboard, turning an uneasy look to the slim space beneath his barrel. It would be tight.
With the grace of a blind, exhausted horse, Joe lowered himself onto his knees and dropped his big begobbled flank to the warm, inviting bedding below. He felt the soft blankets pull close against his chest, chasing away the chill of his fur in the most wonderful way. He reveled in the heavenly sensation with a wide grin, letting himself relax.
He felt his right hip press ever-so-slightly into Gilda’s side. With a lazy bat from her bushy lion tail, Gilda rolled from her side to flop onto her stomach, closing shut her beak with a loud smack. Joe held his breath and his gaze as she settled, her snoring grumbling into a low, rhythmic purring. He sighed with relief, turning his head forward and quietly lowering his chin to the floor.
Joe closed his eyes, letting his attention drift and wander until it stuck on the persistent discomfort of his side. If he had just the slightest bit of room between his flank and Gilda’s rump, he'd actually be comfortable. Joe scooched a half-hoof to the left.
Right into Sunny’s hip.
• • • •
Sunny’s eyes flew open with a sharp and sudden gasp, a flood of alarm washing across her body. For a single, heart-stopping moment, she was back in that frigid room, buried deep in a void of black. Something had her. Something was right here and it had her leg.
She jolted away from the sensation as quickly as she could, slamming her flank into the wall and banging her horn against the glass of the window. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried and failed to retreat further, finding only wood and glass and blinding black. There was nowhere else to go!
Panic gripped the minute mare’s heart as she frantically scanned the dark, her tail locking with tension and her fur standing on end. There was nothing, all around her. Then that nothing moved.
Sunny yelped as a large, looming figure drifted to life just beside her. It raised a limb, quite suddenly. Sunny tensed, frozen with shock.
“Oh goddess, Sunny, I’m sorry.”
She held her breath, not daring to blink as sharp panic crashed into scattered confusion. There was something familiar in that rough, weary voice. Something simple, and strong, and safe.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.”
She felt it come back to her, bit by bit. The party, the moon, the sealed room. This tiny little body.
His hold. His kiss.
Joe.
Sunny let out her breath, feeling her heart pound as she lowered herself onto her flank. She laid her cheek against the glass, feeling the push and pull of air steady her racing pulse. Her eyes began to adjust to the dim moonlight, bringing his features into view.
It’s just Joe.
The looming stallion put down his hoof, a mortified look set across his face. “I… look, I-I’m going to sleep downstairs. I thought I could squeeze between everypony and...” He turned to place a strategic step between Gilda’s wing and her head. “...I-I just forgot.”
Sunny moved as he rose his left leg, grasping his tail between her teeth to hold him in place. Joe jostled as a firm resistance halted his forward motion. He turned his head, hoof still in the air, bringing a confused look to Sunny. She let his tail fall from her mouth, looking to the floor. “Joe, I… didn’t mean anything by it. I was just startled. Really.” Her mane fell over her left eye, curling against the soft bedding below. “It’s just… I...” She looked away. “...It’s been a very long time since I’ve let somepony quite this close.”
Joe placed his hoof to the floor, cautiously backing into the middle of the room to sit beside Sunny. A healthy distance stood between them as he slowly offered his foreleg. She smiled, reaching out to grasp it with her own, and guide it to her cheek. Just as she had in the rain. She felt him stroke her fur, as gently as he could.
"Very very?"
She closed her eyes, pressing back against his soft touch. "Very very."
Joe made a quiet sound. An abrupt end to an abrupt start to a question he couldn't bring himself to ask. He broke his gaze, falling silent.
Sunny's ears fell flat against her head. She knew she should be smart, and watch what she said, but it felt a lie. Joe had taken more on faith than she had any right to ask, and still he refused to push. How she must seem to him; a mess of nerves and fears and secrets.
“...Longer than I ever meant.” She felt the words tumble out of her mouth without a thought, but made no effort to stop them. “A century, at first. Then two." She drifted away, just the tiniest bit, breaking the touch. “I just… I didn’t feel like I had it in me to start it all over again. It didn't feel like I could make it new again.” She looked away. “There were days I wondered if I'd loved it all away, a thousand times over.”
Joe said nothing.
Sunny fixed her eyes on her hooves, not daring to sneak a glance. “...I don’t believe I’d ever felt quite so alone.”
Joe’s voice was almost a whisper. “What changed?”
She closed her eyes and smiled, calling to mind the beaming eyes of a small, eager purple unicorn. “A friend. A little filly.” Her eyes drifted open. “She needed guidance, from somepony strong and warm and kind. Somepony far better than I had become.” She distantly rubbed her bandage with her hoof. “I don’t believe she realizes what a wonderful thing that was for me.”
She saw Joe’s hoof edge beside her own. “I’d like to meet that little filly, one day.”
Sunny felt a knot in her throat. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t make a sound. How many nights had her little student spent at Donut Joe’s Diner, sharing dandelions and donuts with her little baby brother? How many cups of coffee had she brought to the rising of a new dawn, eager to share a grown-up drink with a grown-up friend?
Sunny brought her gaze slowly to Joe’s hoof, then to his leg, then to his chest. Her resolve wavered at his jaw. “Joe… please believe that I want to tell you everything, and… a-and I will, I promise I will. It’s just…” She pressed shut her eyes. “...There would be such a dreadful distance between us.”
Her voice faltered as she felt his fur brush along her jaw, light as a breeze. His touch trailed to the tip of her chin, gently lifting her head with the tip of his hoof. She felt his warm breath against her lips. He lingered, for a moment, breathing in, and out. In, and out. Letting her know he was there. Showing her where he wanted to be.
She heard the blankets rustle as he leaned forward, in rhythm of his breathing, to press his lips against hers. That scared, startled part of her mind was silent as she lost herself in a soft and expected touch. She opened her eyes, watching as he gently broke the kiss and lowered her chin. He grinned, staring at her with those big, smiling, emerald eyes. “Hundreds of years to choose, and you pick the shlub who runs the donut shop.” He shook his head. “You’ve gotta get out more, Sunbeam.”
She smiled, brushing her mane behind her ear as she lowered her gaze. “...They’re very good donuts.”
Joe’s grin grew wider, and wider. Sunny couldn’t help but do the same. She watched with growing calm as the rough-hewn stallion wiggled his flank against the back wall and laid on his side, facing the window. He glanced up at Sunny. “I’ll be careful, don’t worry.”
She looked to her hooves, feeling more than a little guilty for the trouble.
“I wasn’t thinking before.” He gently leaned his back against Gilda’s side, pushing up the blankets with his hooves to form a small barrier of bunched cloth between his spot and Sunny’s.
She stepped away from the window, looking to the blankets, then to Joe. She watched in silence as he tucked his legs under his barrel and let out a long, booming yawn. He laid his head to the ground, closed his eyes, and relaxed. Sunny wondered if he was always so still when he laid to rest, or if this was for her sake.
Sunny quietly settled into the bedding, turning her head to watch the rain patter against the glass. She listened for a time, letting the soft hum of white noise ease the tension from her body. There was one thing she wanted more than the world, at that moment. One thing she feared and needed with equal intensity. Experience told her that such things were rare, and precious, but she was afraid.
Sunny turned to look at Joe. His face was slack with the exhausted resignation of a long and trying day at an end. She watched his powerful chest rise and fall with a steady rhythm, his brown mane tussled over his horn and his cheek. She could feel the slightest hint of warm air against her ear with each breath he took.
She scooched to the right.
Her side pressed lightly against Joe's chest, rousing him from near sleep. The rugged stallion opened his eyes a bit, looking down at her with surprise, then, slowly, contented delight. He didn’t budge. He just watched.
Sunny closed her eyes, leaning against the firm muscle of his chest. She felt the warmth of his soft fur flush across her body, chasing away the chill of the night and drawing her closer. She was smiling. She hadn’t noticed that until now. She was smiling ear to ear, more at peace than she’d been for a very long time.
She felt Joe’s jaw brush slightly against the base of her horn. That small, cross-shaped scar buzzed with sensitivity as his fur tickled across the tender skin. Her thoughts drifted as she watched the rain sleek down the glass, water gleaming against the moonlight. It brought to mind an image she'd been avoiding since first she saw it: shimmering blood, trickling slowly across the palace floor.
The strange, unsettling dream from Luna’s bedroom stuck in Sunny’s mind. It had been the first time in a thousand years she had seen her own blood. On any other day, she would have thought it some senseless abstraction of the mind. On any other day it would have been impossible. Today she’d learned to be cautious of that word.
“That dream, back in Luna’s room…” Sunny kept her eyes forward, staring through the window to the distant Canterlot castle. A thin arcing barrier of rainbow magic shimmered against the rainfall, keeping dry the roofless castle. She glanced upward, to the amber muzzle resting above her horn. “...have you had it before?”
Joe’s mouth flattened, then curved into a shaky smile. She felt him heat with a blush. “Hah… i-it was just the one time, I swear. I don’t... you know, think about you and the princess, like that, all the time...”
Sunny turned a little red as the mortifying scene flickered across her mind. “...Not that one.”
Joe’s smile faded, very slowly. He met her eyes, but couldn’t hold the look for long before glancing away. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened once more. “...Every now and again.” A little too quickly, his smile redoubled with a disarming look. “It’s just a dream, Sunny.”
Sunny’s ears flattened at the sight. She knew a practised smile when she saw one. Joe was far better at putting on a face than most, but the eyes gave him away. She felt a tinge of disappointment at the deception. “You’re a good liar.”
Joe’s smile dropped, inch by inch, until it was well and truly gone. He was quiet for a time, just laying still, listening to the rain. Long moments passed in silence before he spoke again. “Dad told me nopony had ever seen the princess bleed, before that night. Not ever.” His gaze set forward, staring through the window. She could see his eyes tracking streaks of glimmering rainwater as they wound down the glass. “I’m the first to ever really hurt her, in all the history there is. In all the wars she’s won and all the monsters she's fought, I’m the one that hurt her.” He turned his cheek into the blanket, covering his eye with stands of his mane. “When I’m dead and gone and nopony can remember a thing about me, she'll still have the scar I gave her.” His voice was steady, like he’d said it a thousand times before. "It's all she'll have to show for everything she’s given us.”
Sunny gently reached her hoof up to brush back his hair. His eyes were heavy and wet. She closed her eyes, nuzzling his jaw with her nose. "That was a long time ago. You would never hurt somepony like that." Her voice was almost a whisper. “Things change.”
She felt him take in a deep, steeling breath, pulling away just a bit. “Not her.”
She lowered her head against his neck, closing the distance once more. Not letting him retreat. “You think her so delicate.”
Joe was silent.
“Do you pity her?”
Joe’s chest rumbled with a low sigh. “Of course not. She’s a goddess.” His eyes closed. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
Sunny could feel the warmth radiating from his fur. “You matter.” She pressed her cheek against his neck. “You matter very much.”
Joe said nothing.
“Hold me.”
She felt a steady warmth against her shoulder as he exhaled, drawing his leg gently against her side. The touch was slow and expected, replacing the heat of his breath with the brush of his fur. She brought her hoof to lay atop his, hugging it snugly against her chest.
He drew her in, surrounding her tiny body completely. She could scarcely remember the last time she’d been held like this. When she was whole, there wasn’t a stallion in Equestria large enough to so envelop her. She wanted to stay there forever, wrapped tight in the safety of his strength.
It was the most ridiculous thing. She was as fragile and mortal as she’d ever been, run from her home and her city by an impossible god she couldn’t hope to defeat. In a single day, she’d faced true death twice. It had been the single most harrowing and vulnerable day of her three thousand year life, with the worst yet to come.
And she felt safe.