//------------------------------//
// 2 - The Morning After 
// Story: A Mare to Soar For 
// by Macharius 
//------------------------------//

A single ray of sunlight shined in through a crack in the curtains, falling upon the figure that lay huddled under the covers. Soarin groaned softly as the light roused him from his slumber - and straight into his latest hangover. An intense throbbing dominated his senses; as though a thousand tiny hammers were busy drumming on the inside of his skull. A fresh wave of pain crashed in as his bleary eyes greeted the sun. He swiftly slammed them shut, blocking out the baleful rays. Soarin groaned again, louder this time.

Hangovers were officially the worst thing.

Soarin threw the tangled, slightly sweaty sheets off of himself and rolled out of the bed, landing on all fours. He stumbled fowards in his post-binge haze, wings flaring out in a vain attempt at some semblence of balance. The pale pegasus stood for a moment, swaying gently as he waited for the walls to stop spinning. Princesses, he was a mess. Still, he could remember far worse 'morning afters' than the current sorry state of affairs. 

Soarin furrowed his brow as he tried to recall the night before. Concentrating with all his might, Soarin willed himself to break through the alcoholic miasma that clouded his memory. Blurry images and snippets of conversation faded in and out of focus, clarity always just beyond his grasping hooves. Beyond entering the Hoof and Wing with Spitfire, everything was a jumbled, hazy mess. "Come on Soarin," he grumbled to himself. "Think, think, think..." 

Nothing. Soarin groaned in frustration. Suddenly a familiar pressure in the stallion's loins made itself known. Soarin groaned. He had taken in a lot of fluids yesterday, after all. He stumbled awkwardly towards the door and the restroom beyond on unsteady legs. His brain told his limbs one thing, but, as limbs are wont to do when alcohol is involved, they didn't want to listen. Still, a minor problem like that was nothing to a seasoned Wonderbolt like himself. Probably...





The soft rushing noise of running water filled the small, white-tiled space. Soarin ran his soapy hooves together under the tap, washing the last remains of the lather away to leave them clean and fresh. Shutting off the tap with a metallic squeak, Soarin looked up to the mirror above the sink, taking  in the sorry image that the reflection showed him. His navy blue mane was tousled and matted in places; tufts of hair spread out in all directions in stark contrast to its usual ordered, swept-back style. His usually brilliant green eyes were dim and bloodshot, large black bags surrounded them, giving Soarin an appearance somewhat like a pale blue panda. At least, it would have done if pandas looked anything like ponies.

Soarin grimaced at his reflection, an act that he immediately regretted when the ugly face in the mirror grimaced as well - it was not a pleasant sight. Grabbing a nearby brush, Soarin attempted to bring some sort of order to his unruly mane. Soarin looked himself over in the mirror once more. His mane looked somewhat right, but still rough and knotted in places. "Close enough," Soarin muttered. Carelessly tossing the brush back where it belonged, he made his wobbly way out of the tiled room and towards the stairs.

One hair-raising, half-stumbled, half-fallen descent and a short trot later, Soarin emerged into the dwelling's spacious kitchen. Its cool blue and white tones contrasted starkly with the fiery yellow figure seated at the central counter, shoulders hunched and head hanging low. From the looks of her mane - which was just as messy and tousled as Soarin's own - Spitfire was clearly suffering the effects of last night as well. 

"Morning, Spits." Soarin rasped. Spitfire glanced up at him with a small smile, her face nowhere near as ragged as Soarin's own. The steaming mug of coffee clutched in her forehooves went a long way to explaining her disposition.

"Hey, Soar," Spitfire replied, her voice strained and scratchy. "Good to see you're still alive." Her golden eyes shimmered. "You look like a zombie, though."

"Uurgh." Soarin groaned, earning a giggle from Spitfire. He trotted stiffly over to the counter side where a pot of hangover remedy and a mug emblazoned with Soarin's cutie mark and the words 'Equestria's #2 Wonderbolt' were waiting for him. Soarin poured out a measure of the black liquid, returning to sit opposite Spitfire. Immediately he brought the mug to his lips, gulping down the contents with gusto; he didn't care that his mouth and throat were burning. Soarin gave an immense sigh of satisfaction, the tension in his muscles evaporating as the caffeine went to work on the pegasus' body.

"Better?" Spitfire enquired.

"Oh, you have no idea." Soarin took another sip. "I don't know how I'd cope after a night out  without it."

Spitfire smirked. "Says the stallion who never drinks coffee," she teased. "Are you being converted over there?"

"No, it's just sometimes a stallion needs a huge shot of caffeine to get him up in the morning," he replied.

Spitfire waved a yellow forehoof dismissively. "Yeah, whatever you say, Soar."

Soarin rolled his eyes at Spitfire's typical semi-serious stubborness. The pair sat in comfortable silence for a while, drinking deeply and letting the stresses of the morning wash away. But try as he might, Soarin was still completely unable to recall anything of the previous night after entering the bar. Memories proved stubbornly elusive as ever; glimpses and flashes of the night's antics taunted him relentlessly with the possibility of breaking through his hazy mind. Worse still, he had a nagging thought that something important happened last night, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was - not even the vaguest of notions.

"Uurgh," Soarin groaned in frustration. "You know what I could really go for right now, Spits?" he asked. Spitfire shook her head. "A nice, gentle flight around Cloudsdale to clear my head." He unfurled his wings, wincing slightly as the stretched appendages' joints popped and cracked. "Always works."

"Well, why not?" Spitfire asked with a grin, pushing away from the counter and standing on her hooves. She stretched her wings out also, leaning forwards to loosen up her stiff limbs. "It looks like a good morning for flying, anyway."

Soarin stood up from the counter. "I'll take you up on that, Spits," he said, matching his friend's grin with one of his own. "Let's fly."





The cool air washed over the pegasi like a wave as they stepped outside. Soarin shivered pleasantly at the sensation. Between the breeze and the soft cloud underhoof, he was starting to feel better already. He turned to Spitfire, who was busy shutting and locking the door behind them. "So, who's leading this time?" he asked.

"You can." Spitfire replied. "I do it all the time at work anyway." she chuckled.

"Being a Wonderbolt is hardly work when you're born to fly, Spits." Soarin crouched low, wings outstretched and ready for liftoff; Spitfire mirrored the stance to his side. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Soarin sprang into the air with all the power and precision of an elite flier, effortlessly sailing into the sky with strong pumps of his wings. He climbed upwards in a lazy spiral with Spitfire on his tail, ascending higher and higher above the city in the clouds. He stopped and hovered far above the pale architecture, steady wingbeats keeping him motionless against the pale blue sky. He closed his eyes, basking in the morning sunlight and the cooling air. Soarin was dimly aware of Spitfire's wing beats somewhere to his right, but he felt like it was just him and the vast, open sky just begging to be made his canvas. He opened his eyes again and turned to his golden yellow wingmare. "It's great up here, isn't it?" he said. He took a deep breath of the fresh morning air, smiling happily. "Nothing like flying to clear your head."

"Yep." Spitfire nodded. "So where to now, lead pony?"

Soarin looked down at Cloudsdale below. He could see the city from end to end from where he hovered, a patchwork of clouds, bridges and empty air. Ponies going about their morning business were small, multi-coloured blobs weaving in and around the pale buildings like ants with wings. At the far end of the city the Cloudsdale Weather Factory stood proudly, towering over the smaller cloud islands surrounding it. Fresh, fluffly clouds bursting with moisture billowed from the large chimneys, ready to be taken all over Equestria. Dark stormclouds crackled angrily above the large sphere resting atop one of the structure's many ornate columns; the iconic rainbow waterfalls glittered and shone in Celestia's morning sunlight, creating patterns of shimmering colour that danced over the surroundings. They would go there, Soarin decided.

"This way, Spits," he said, suddenly folding his wings away and plummeting down towards earth like a blue dart. Spitfire followed, the pair of them blazing a yellow-and-blue trail through the sky. Flaring their wings they levelled out, soaring through the air above the city at high speeds. The familiar feeling of air rushing between his feathers and whipping at his mane eased Soarin's mind and body. He was in his element; flying was just as natural and easy as trotting along the ground to him - and he loved every minute of it. Never did he feel more alive than when he was in the air.

Soarin and Spitfire skimmed low along the streets, darting between houses and looping around cloud banks with all the practised ease of veteran Wonderbolts. The performance turned heads as they made their way through the city, turning heads with their effortless acrobatics. The weather factory loomed closer with every twist and loop, its intricate framework of cloud-walls becoming ever clearer and more defined to the pair's eyes.

"Hey, Soarin!" Spitfire called out from behind Soarin, practically yelling to be heard over the rushing wind. Soarin rolled over onto his back, eyes on Spitfire as he flew backwards and upside-down.

"Yeah?" He yelled back.

"Race you to the rainbows!" With that Spitfire shot fowards, rapidly widening the gap between Soarin and herself before he could react.

"What the-!" Soarin rolled back over, tracking the golden pegasus and rapidly assessing the situation. "Oh, it is on!" he muttered. With a great flap of his wings, Soarin propelled himself forwards with all the force he could muster. The wind whipped into a frenzy as he accelerated, the rushing in his ears reaching a roaring, deafening crescendo with his ever-increasing velocity. His eyes began to tear up with the wind - Soarin cursed his lack of goggles - but not once did he stop focusing on the fiery arrow ahead of him. Spitfire was fast, everypony knew that - especially Soarin. But if there was one thing that he loved just as much as simply flying, it was racing. And was this ever a race.

Manes and tails were blown out of shape in the wake of the pair's blazing trail, the sheer speed of their flight creating a vortex of air behind them that played havoc with nearby ponies, even causing some flying nearby to be tumbled about slightly. Spitfire looked back over her shoulders from her leading postion, grinny wildy. "Can't catch me!" she mouthed, sticking out her tongue for good measure before turning back to focus entirely on flight. The taunting galvanised Soarin; he reached deep inside himself for every last drop of power he could pour into his motions. His wings beat faster, harder, his legs flattened out just that tiny bit more. The began to close between the two. Soarin knew he could do it. The buildings and ponies around him merged into a blur as he rocketed past at speeds some would consider insane, even dangerous. But all Soarin cared about was reaching that yellow shape ahead of him. Slowly but surely, the gap closed between them.

As the daredevil pegasi blew out past the final city block and into the open air before the factory, Soarin drew up alongside Spitfire. His wings burned and his lungs screamed desperately for more oxgyen, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins kept him going, physical demands be damned. Spitfire's mane whipped about furiously in the wind as they flew, her face a mask of confident determination focused entirely on the finish line - straight betwen two of the shimmering rainbows pouring from the factory. She noticed the blue pegasus alongside him after a moment, shaking herself out of her tunnel vision. The grin on her face widened. She loved pushing ponies to their limits, and her best friend was no exception. Redoubling her efforts, Spitfire nosed out in front.

Oh no you don't, Spits! Soarin pulled forwards too, coming out ahead by a whisker. The two pegasi jostled for postion, neither Spitifre nor Soarin wanting to give the other the satisfaction of winning yet unable to gain any real lead. To his dismay, Soarin realised that the gap that was their finish line was too narrow for both of them to fith through; he saw two options before him: pull back and let Spitfire win, or get an impromptu coat-dye. Soarin's synapses fired into overdrive; the precious moments slipping by as the narrow corridor drew closer and closer. The race or his dignity - he needed to choose, now.

He took the third option. He banked left and upwards, slotting in above Spitfire. The gap may have been narrow, but it was most certainly tall. Spitfire and Soarin were neck and neck, both athletes firing every cylinder they had, squeezing every last drop of power from their wings in the crucial seconds before the line. Spitfire focused forwards intensely, blocking out anything and everything outside the race. Even Soarin was ignored, forced behind her because of the narrow gap.

Or so she thought.

She glanced upwards when a shadow passed over her eyes, getting an eyeful of her blue friend flying directly above her. Spitfire started in shock at the sight of Soarin, her tunnel vision shattered by his supposedly impossible position. Dumbstruck, her wings spasmed out of their pattern for but a single beat - but that was all it took. In the split-second Spitfire fumbled for Soarin pulled ahead, blasting through the prismatic gate with half a body length to spare. And just like that, Spitfire, captain of the most prestigious flight group in the world, lost the race.

Seeing Spitfire behind him, Soarin broke out into a massive grin. "Oh, yeah!" Soarin whooped, riding high on the adrenaline that coursed through his system. "Now that's what I call flying!" If there was one thing in Equestria Soarin loved more than flying, it was flying and winning. Against Spitfire, of all ponies!

Spitfire flared her wings and slowed to a halt, watching as her friend zoomed on ahead and broke into a series of extravagant loops and spins. Crossing her forelegs across her chest, she took several deep breaths to calm her adrenaline-soaked body before calling out to the jubilant stallion. "You just got lucky, Soar!" She yelled. "If that was on the derby track I'd have left your tail in the dust!"

"Ha!" Soarin laughed. "It's alright, Spits," he yelled back, arcing through the air on his back, "you can admit your old buddy Soarin beat you in - argh!" Intense pain lanced through Soarin's left wing, as if it had been struck by lightning. His flight muscles contracted and siezed up, leaving the feathery appendage half-furled and useless - right at the worst possible moment. Confusion then realisation flashed across Soarin's face in a heartbeat ash he began to tumble into a downwards spiral. Soarin knew there was nothing he could do to stop it, the angle, the speed, the complete uselessness of one of his wings... everything was just wrong, wrong, wrong. 

Whumph!

Soarin lay still, eyes clenched, wondering if he had just made close contact with the ground. He certainly felt like it; aches and pains covered his entire body and his left wing was still giving him no end of trouble. "But the ground never felt this soft before," he thought. An expanse of fluffy whiteness greeted a tentatively opened eye.  "A cloud!" Soarin exhaled heavily; releasing breath he didn't even realise he was holding. 

"Soarin!" he could hear his friend yelling from somewhere, panicked with an edge of fear. "Soarin! Are you alright!?"

"Urgh," Soarin groaned in reply, "I think so." He waved a forehoof in the air weakly. Spitfire's worried face popped into view over the rim of the cloud, her golden eyes scanning frantically for the injured stallion. The worry melted away instantly at the sight of Soarin's battered but intact form, replaced with an expression of sheer relief. She hopped up onto the cloud, shaking her head with a sigh.

"You had me worried for a second there, Soar."

"So you do care!" Soarin exclaimed, trademark grin adorning his beleaguered features. She rolled her eyes at him; practically an automatic response after years of contact with her friend's antics.

"Ever the goofball, eh?" Spitfire chuckled. "But come one, we need to get you out of that hole of yours." She held out a forehoof to her stricken friend, who grabbed it firmly with one of his own. "Alright - heave!" Spitfire pulled back hard, hauling Soarin's (suprisingly heavy) form up and out from the cloud. He collapsed onto his rump with a soft puff, groaning slightly. Spitfire sat herself down next to him, the soft, cool surface a blessing after such an intense flight.

"Thanks Spits," Soarin groaned appreciatively. He turned to Spitfire, a goofy grin spreading across his features. "I totally won that race, though."

"At least I managed to stay in the sky afterwards." Spitfire shot back with a smirk.

"Heh, yeah," Soarin chuckled. "You always were better at this flying thing than me." He turned away, gazing out at the weather factory beyond. A small smile played across his lips as he watched the great torrents of rainbow shimmer in the morning light.  They filled his senses, their vibrant hues and clear sky beyond them merging into visions of her. The world around him faded, leaving naught but the image of Rainbow Dash dancing across his mind's eye, twirling and cavorting through the air on a still, moonlit night. Her sky-blue coat and technicolour mane practically glowed in the pale light, magenta eyes gleaming and scratchy, adorable laugh floating across the cool, breezeless air... A soft, pleasant sigh escaped the stallion. He didn't care what anypony else thought, to him Rainbow Dash was the single most beautiful mare in all creation.

"Soarin? Equestria to Soarin, can you hear me?"

"Gah!" Soarin started, his reverie shattered by Spitfire's words. His wings abruptly flared out behind him while his face did its best impression of a strawberry. "Uh, yeah, Spits?" he responded sputtered, rubbing a foreleg coyly. Spitfire cocked her head, looking over Soarin curiously.

"Come on Soarin, you zone out all the time!" she laughed. "What's the big deal about it now?" Soarin pointedly avoided her eyes, looking every which way until finally settling on something. Spitfire followed her friend's gaze and found herself peering out at the nearby weather factory. She furrowed her brow in concentration. The weather factory was hardly the most embarrassing thing she'd caught Soarin staring at. Spitfire's keen eyes swept across the structure, scanning it for anything - or anypony - that could possibly set him off like that. Suddenly realisation struck like a bolt of lightning straight into her brain.

The rainbows!

The wall sealing off her memory, weakened and under siege from caffeiene and fresh air, finally crumbled and collapsed under fresh multichromatic assault. Images from the night before flooded into her mind - an image of an empt beer bottle spinning lazily leapt out at her from the deluge, followed by a thoroughly flustered Soarin - and the reason for it.

"So..." Spitfire began, grinning like the cat that got the cream. "Dreaming about Rainbow Dash, Soar?"

Soarin nodded meekly. "Yeah," he sighed. "No sense in hiding it now the cat's out of the bag."

Spitfire smirked. "You know, Soar', she was just about the last mare I'd have thought you'd end up chasing."

Soarin turned to face her. "Really?" he asked, confused.

"We both know you could pull any mare in all of Equestria with your rugged good looks and fame, Soar'."

"Flatterer!" Soarin laughed, giving his friend a light punch in the withers. "But what's that got to do with anything?"

Spitfire rubbed the back of her neck with a nervous cough. "Well, uh, don't take this the wrong way, Soar', but I though you'd go for somepony a little bit, um, less colt-like. Soarin's eyes narrowed accusingly, putting her under a withering glare. "Not that there's anything wrong with that! I just thought you'd be into prettier mares!" Spitfire froze, realising that indirectly insulting the object of her best friend's affections was probably not one of her best ideas. Now it was her turn to flush with embarrassment. "Ugh, I'm just gonna stop talking now," Spitfire sighed. "I'm sorry, Soar', I didn't mean anything by that." She hung her head, awaiting the incoming verbal lashing. But instead of harsh words, the sound of Soarin laughing greeted her ears. Spitfire looked up, confused.

"Oh, wow," Soarin breathed between chuckles. "You should have seen your face, Spits, I haven't seen you get that worked up in ages!"

Spitfire perked up. "Really? You're not ticked off after that?"

Soarin shook his head happily. "Nah, of course not. Why would I let something petty like that come between us, anyway?" His words struck a chord with Spitfire, reverberating inside her skull. Thoughts of the Equestrian Games qualifier, of how she abandoned Soarin with hardly a second thought, came back to her. All to shave a little bit off of their time. Soarin hadn't said anything about it afterwards, never getting angry or accusing her of any wrong-doing. A sudden pang of guilt struck Spitfire, followed by a distinct feeling of inadequacy. She knew Soarin had spoken to Rainbow Dash in the infirmary, she knew that Soarin was aware of what she did to him, how she had lied to his face. 

Why would I let something petty like that come between us?

Why indeed, Spitfire asked herself. Soarin had stuck by her for longer than anypony else, and she repaid him for it how? By brushing him aside to make herself look better on some scoreboard? No. That was unacceptable. Spitfire knew it. Soarin knew it, but, as always, he was so infuriatingly forgiving about it all. That was the worst part; his unquestioning forgiveness just made her feel empty inside, like she wasn't good enough to call herself Soarin's friend. But now, with Soarin confessing his feelings towards Rainbow Dash to her, she could finally see a way to make it up to him - and hopefully rid herself of the guilt in the process.

"Uh, Spits? You ok?"

Spitfire jumped slightly, ruffling her wings. "Uh, yeah, Soar', I'm fine," Spitfire said dumbly, suddenly keenly aware that she'd completely zoned out - probably with a worrying look plastered across her muzzle to boot. "I was just thinking, that's all."

"Huh, ok then." Soarin nodded, seemingly content with Spitfire's feeble explanation.

"So, Soar'..."

"Yeah?"

"Why do you like Rainbow Dash?"  Soarin was silent for a moment before responding.

"Uh, she's just a really great mare, you know?" he answered, his cheeks flushing again. "I guess I really started feeling it after the thing at Rainbow Falls, when she saved me after my stupid mistake and got me back onto the team," he explained. A small, dumb smile spread across his face as he gazed across at the great rainbow-waterfalls cascading from the weather factory nearby. "After we left for Cloudsdale I just couldn't get her out of my mind. Couldn't figure out why to begin with, but when I started to come up with reasons for it like 'she has the most adorable laugh' and 'her eyes are so beautiful', well... It was pretty obvious after that." Soarin pawed at the cloud self-conciously as he continued: "But she really is beatiful! I mean, I've never seen another pony like her in all my life, she's just so eye-catching and her mane compliments her coat perfectly and those big magenta eyes, I could stare into those all day and be the happiest stallion in Equestria. And you've seen the way she flies, right? Rainbow Dash is like, I don't know, everything I love all rolled into one." During his rambling, Soarin's wings had slowly unfurled to stand stiff on his back, combining with the smile on his lips and the blush adorning his cheeks to make him the very picture of a love-struck pegasus.

Spitfire whistled appreciatively. "Sounds like you've fallen pretty hard for her, Soarin!"

"Huh?" Soarin responded, shaken out of a trance for the second time that morning. "Yeah, I guess I have."

"You picked a hell of a mare to fall for, too." Spitfire chuckled, giving Soarin a light punch on the withers. "Fiery and with a competitive streak a mile wide, eh?"

"Just my type," Soarin replied with a grin. After a moment it began to falter, worry showing through the cracks. "But, uh, I'm not good with mares..."

Spitfire cocked an eyebrow. "Oh come on Soarin, you handle all those fanfillies like a pro, and the magazines seem to think you're some sort of mare-killer!"

Soarin threw his hooves up in frustration. "I really wish they wouldn't, because I'm not!" He sighed heavily, his withers sagging. "It's just... The fans are easy, right? I don't know why, but it's almost like they're an extension of the show, of the flying, and I'm so completely in my element up there on tour that it all sort of comes naturally to Soarin the Wonderbolt." Spitfire nodded, a look of understanding on her face. Soarin continued. "But away from the crowds and the cheering I'm just Soarin. It's like the spectacle of it all turns you into a whole different pony."

Spitfire threw a yellow hoof around her friend's withers, drawing him close. "You know, I completely understand where you're coming from," she said, her voice reassuring the worried stallion.

"Really?" Spitfire nodded.

"Oh, yeah. That feeling you get when you perform for the crowd really is something else. I can totally see somepony riding it like that." She smiled wryly. "Besides, not being in the Wonderbolts didn't stop you from bagging that drop-dead gorgeous mare in flight school, did it?" Soarin attempted a scowl, a gesture that lacked impact because his heart just wasn't in it, and also because his cheek was smooshed up against Spitfire's neck in a most adorable manner.

"Yeah, you can stop tooting your own horn any time, Spits." Soarin drawled, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Spitfire released him from the hug and looked into his eyes.

"Ok, serious time. I'm guessing you want a way to get close to Rainbow Dash without just randomly showing up at her place and saying 'hey Rainbow, want to be my special somepony?' like some sort of creepy stalker dude, right?" Soarin nodded. "Well, remember last night when I said I had a plan to help you get your hoof in the door?" Another nod. Spitfire pointed at the weather factory. "You're looking at it."

Soarin looked to the factory then back to Spitfire, the confusion evident on his face. "Uh, could you explain what you mean, please?"

"Well, you've got a few weeks pretty much free now, and you'll never guess who I found was head of Ponyville Weather Team when I went there to supervise the weather factory's latest water transfer." Spitfire said, a gleam in her eye.

"Oh. Oh!" Soarin's eyes went wide with sudden realisation. "You're a genius, Spitfire! Celestia, how am I ever gonna repay you for this?"

Spitfire waved a hoof dismissively. "You don't have to. I'm the one repaying you." Soarin blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember that whole thing at Rainbow Falls?" she asked, incdredulous. "Where I lied to your face just to get a faster flier on the team and left you alone in hospital bed for narly two whole days?"

Soarin's gaze softened. "You know I already forgave you for that ages ago, right?"

"I know!  And that just makes it worse!" she practically yelled. "I've known you for over twenty years - pretty much my whole life - and not once have you done something like that to me! Y-you're always so understanding about everything and, and, it just made me feel like I didn't deserve you as a friend..." She hung her head, not able to look Soarin in the eye. Not after what she'd done.

"Oh, Spits..." Soarin said softly. He laid a hoof on Spitfire's withers. She flinched slightly at the contact. "Hey. Look at me, okay?" Slowly, Spitfire raised her head. Her large, golden eyes were full of sadness and guilt. Soarin met them with a warm smile, and moved his hoof to gently hold up her chin. "You said it yourself - twenty years! What's two bad days compared to that?"

Spitfire smiled weakly. "N-nothing..."

"Exactly! Now come here, you!" Soarin threw both hooves around Spitfire's neck, drawing her into a deep hug. "Don't you ever say that about yourself again, Spits. You mean the world to me, and we'll always be friends, no matter what. And I mean it." Spitfire hugged back, embracing her friend for all she was worth.

"You have no idea how much that means to hear you say that, Soar'," Spitfire murmured into his neck. Soarin released her from his embrace with a pat on the back, giving her a wry smile.

"Besides, if I hadn't been stuck in that hospital bed next to Rainbow then we might not be here today!"

"Ha!" Spitfire laughed. "I guess every cloud has a silver lining after all."

"And speaking of clouds..." Soarin motioned towards the factory. "How about we go sign me up for weather parol?"

Spitfire's confident smirk returned to her face. "Let's do it." With a brisk nod the pair took to the air, sailing away to join the multitude of tiny pegasi flying around the weather factory. Soarin was ecstatic, but also incredibly anxious as for what the future could hold. He was finally getting his shot at the mare of his dreams, courtesy of his friend's ingenuity, but what if it all went wrong? What then? Soarin pushed the doubts from his mind, focusing on the goal. Rainbow Dash was, in his eyes, worth any risk. His heart fluttered at the very thought of her; he couldn't even imagine what being in a relationship would feel like - though he wagered it was probably awesome. Soarin went to bed that night full of hope and longing, his dreams filled with visions of rainbows dancing across the skies accompanied by peals of slightly-scratchy laughter.

Tomorrow was going to be a big day.