//------------------------------//
// White (Appleloosan Psychiatrist's "Pink, Blue and Ivory") 
// Story: Never The Final Word (Vol. 1) 
// by horizon 
//------------------------------//

The machine is still running when Celestia arrives.  Twilight had muted its continuous and plaintive wail, but the tiny dot of light is still sweeping from side to side in a perfectly flat line.

The alicorn glances at the display.  She glances at the body.  Then she unplugs the machine from the wall.

Then, and only then, she says: "I'm so sorry, Twilight."

Twilight is staring singlemindedly at Pinkie's body, lower jaw trembling.  At the sound of the voice, she looks up.  Then she bursts into a sob, staggering over to Celestia's side and leaning heavily against her.

Celestia holds her faithful student — three hooves braced against her dead weight, one around her withers.  Finally, she untucks a wing, cradling Twilight as a pegasus would, holding her in silence until the tears are spent.

"She," Twilight says through a raw throat, then stops to swallow.  "She was going to get better."

Celestia says nothing, letting the words pour out as the sobs did, knowing their equal importance.

Twilight's body tenses.  "I mean.  I thought she was getting better.  I really did.  All the signs."

Celestia curls her neck down, resting her head against Twilight's in a comforting gesture, and nods.

"B-but now she won't, n-not ever again, and, ahuh."  She gasps.  The sobs return.  "Ahuunh."

"Ssssh," Celestia says, holding her, an island against a battering ocean of tears.

As the tide recedes, Twilight pulls away.  "I'm sorry," she says, shrinking back into a little ball, sitting heavily on the floor.  "I need to tell everypony.  I've got to get the word out.  But I had to talk to you first.  I … I … I needed this."  Her ears flatten, and she wipes her cheeks.  "I'm sorry.  It just hurt so much."

Celestia herself sits.  Twilight has relit the fire, but the stone still feels like ice.

"Tell them what?" she says, cautiously, gently.

A moment of terror flits across Twilight's features.

"That … Pinkie died," she says, face a little too earnest.

"Mmmh," Celestia acknowledges, looking over at the body.

"That it drove him over the edge."

"Not unexpected."

"Then he snapped, and killed himself."

"I think," Celestia says gently, "everypony already knows that part."

Guilt smashes into Twilight's face.  "I should have been checking them more often.  I shouldn't have left them alone to go —"

"Twilight," Celestia interrupts.  "No."

"But —"

"Guilt is seductive.  It's only natural to choose failure over powerlessness.  But neither will help with what needs to be done now."

Twilight swallows.  "Yes.  Tell the others."

"Yes.  We'll discuss your feelings later.  I promise."

Twilight nods, numbly.  "It's weird.  Intellectually, I know it wasn't my fault."  She adds hurriedly, "Wasn't anypony's fault."

"Of course not."

The hiss and crackle of the fire is a thin gruel to fill the hungry silence.

"It wasn't his fault," Twilight says.

She stares at her hooves, then glances around the room.

"The original accident, I mean."

She hoofs at the floor.

"I mean.  Pinkie's death."

"How could it be?  They were both asleep.  He woke up to find this."

Twilight is instantly tense again.  She looks up, afraid.

Celestia is smiling, sadly, kindly.  Her horn is lit.

The light in the dim basement brightens.  

Twilight's head whips around.  A tasseled satin pillow is in the fireplace, flames licking across its surface, burning like the sun for a brief and silent moment.

When she turns, Celestia is already on her hooves, walking up the stairs.