The new Daring Do book had arrived a whole week ago and, like every night since, Rainbow Dash was curled up on the library floor, absorbed in the book. It had been a long week—each day at work, on a week that would have been trying enough anyway, dragged all the more because Rainbow knew that she had to wait until the day ended before she could return to the story she loved. Most of her days were spent daydreaming, which had the unfortunate side-effect of making the work take longer.
It was only when she got back to the library that Rainbow could truly relax. After the first two nights, Twilight had ensured that there was a blanket and a pillow set up for her, and that she had some cushions to lie on. It was a kind thought and was very much appreciated.
That night, Rainbow had flown straight through the open door and landed in the pile of cushions. It was almost elegant, her landing—the way she practically glided onto the soft pile, picking up the corners of the blanket with her forehooves and throwing it around her shoulders as she came to rest. Spike caught her attention and rolled his eyes at her, returning her death glare with a sheepish look and a copy of the book, bookmark still in place. Thanking him with a sharp, brief nod, Rainbow tore through the pages hungrily until she reached her place, flicked the bookmark out of her way, and settled down onto the cushions for an evening of reading.
Around her, she could hear Spike dusting and cleaning and reshelving books, keeping the library in the cleanly state that the ponies of Ponyville were used to seeing. She could hear Owlowiscious hooting contentedly in the next room and the roar of the wind outside.
As she read, absorbed in the world of Daring Do, Rainbow Dash couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was missing.
It was something important, she knew. Just like Daring had failed to notice the pressure plate and was now watching the doors fall down with a dull thud (Spike had dropped a book again), so too was Rainbow sure she had missed something that should have been obvious. Something was wrong.
Rainbow leaned her head towards Twilight, hoping to give her marefriend an affectionate nuzzle. Twilight was certainly fond of affection, especially whilst she was relaxing, and if Rainbow was truly honest with herself she did, too. It was hard to admit it, what with her reputation and public image, but when she was alone with Twilight (and when Spike was around they were certainly alone enough to nuzzle, if only because Spike would soon leave, muttering something along the lines of ‘get a room’) she could allow herself to do things that she would otherwise be afraid to. Twilight had always been like that for her—it was one of the reasons she’d fallen for the egghead, after all.
Twilight’s head was not where Twilight’s head should be.
Rainbow leaned further, her head now well into the space that Twilight would usually occupy in their nightly reading sessions. Confused, Rainbow moved slightly, trying to find her marefriend with her head as she swung her neck slowly in wide circles. Eventually, somewhat disgruntled that she had to take a break from her book, Rainbow turned her head to look for Twilight, only to find that the librarian was nowhere to be seen.
“Spike,” she called out uncertainly. “Where’s Twilight?”
“Oh, Twi was spending the day in Canterlot,” Spike replied. “The Princess needed her for something. She should be back… well, by now, I guess.” Spike looked at the clock, a frown on his face. “She’s not usually late like this.”
Rainbow tried to turn back to her reading, but something didn’t feel right. It was almost as if reading without Twilight there would be wrong, that because it was an activity they always shared she would be betraying their relationship if she were to carry on. She knew it sounded silly, but she also couldn’t quite bring herself to let go of the idea.
Eventually, Rainbow grew tired of waiting and stood up. Stretching her limbs, she turned to Spike to see the young drake still working hard tidying the shelves of the library.
“Hey, Spike,” she asked. “I’m going to fix myself a daisy sandwich. D’ya want something to eat?” Spike looked up, his expression thoughtful.
“I think there are some hay fries in the fridge,” he replied. “Would you mind warming them through? There should be enough for both of us.”
Nodding, Rainbow made her way into the kitchen, shivering as the chilled air from the fridge wafted over her. Reaching in, she grabbed the packet of hay fries—it wasn’t hard to spot, since Twilight only seemed to have the barest of necessities in her kitchen—and closed the door in a rush. She’d had enough cold that day to last her a lifetime.
While the hay fries warmed in the oven, Rainbow sat down and simply watched through the oven door. The interior glowed with golden light, the fries lying still on their little metal tray. Nothing was burning yet. The room around her was filled with the whir of fans, the hum of the oven and the ticking of the little white timer that sat on the desk, and sitting this close to the door she found she was almost uncomfortably warm.
She couldn’t feel Twilight’s forelegs around her neck; she couldn’t feel her marefriend’s mane and coat pressed softly against her. She pressed her wings down against her sides, just gently, and waited.
Some time later (and time must have passed, though Rainbow was not entirely sure she noticed its passing) the ticking sound stopped and a thunderous chime filled the room. Springing up, Rainbow pulled open the oven, wincing at the blast of heat that slammed into her face and caused her coat to be drenched almost instantly in sweat, and reached in to grab the tray, only stopping herself a fraction of a second before she burnt her muzzle on the searing hot metal. Armed now with the softest oven gloves (Twilight’s hooves had been in them, she thought, so it was almost as if Twilight were holding hers), Rainbow pulled out the tray of fries and carefully poured them into two small bowls.
Dinner ready, she poked her head out into the library proper and smiled at Spike, who was still cleaning.
“You wanted hay fries?” Spike almost dropped the duster he was holding in surprise and excitement. Rainbow grinned at him. “Come on, they’re on the table.”
She was sitting herself down just as Spike got into the kitchen; seeing he was watching her, she very deliberately took her first fry and ate it, maintaining eye contact throughout, with a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Spike rolled his eyes again at her antics and pulled himself onto the chair, taking one of his own.
The fans were still whirring somewhere in the background. The oven might not have been humming, but there were plenty of other noises in that kitchen—the clock, ticking by slowly but steadily, and the fridge which could almost be heard gurgling. And, of course, the sound of chewing and swallowing, belching and crunching, crackling fire and…
The jet of green flame spread nearly as far as Rainbow’s nose, the two were sitting so close together. Spike caught the scroll in his hand and glanced briefly at the stamped seal.
“Hey, it’s from Twi!” he said, surprised. He pulled open the scroll quickly. “It’s for the two of us,” he added. “Do you want to hear it?”
Rainbow nodded, frowning. How did Twilight know she would be here?
“Dear Spike,” Spike began,
and Rainbow Dash too, I suppose. Chances are you’ve probably shown up to read some more Daring Do tonight.
I’m sorry I’m not back yet—Princess Celestia has required me for some really urgent business, and though I thought it would only take a few hours it looks like I’m probably going to have to stay here till the morning. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine (though probably very busy!)
Love you both,
Twilight
“And she says to give you this,” Spike added, handing Rainbow a small, folded note. “She said I wasn’t allowed to read that bit.”
Rainbow took the folded sheet of paper, turning it this way and that before gently pressing against the edges of the note. The paper was lightly springy, and she could feel the paper bulge and curve beneath her hooves, the way it was folded restricting its motion. And even though the book she had held in her hooves earlier was borrowed from a library, an act which Twilight had assured her meant a sacred vow to return free of damage, Rainbow couldn’t quite help but feel that she should be more careful with this note than she had been with the book.
Shaking her head almost imperceptibly (or so she hoped), Rainbow put her thoughts to one side and opened up the note as carefully as she could. She was almost disappointed to see that there was barely more than a sentence on the page, but when she read the words she could almost feel that the pressure on her sides really was Twilight holding her.
Even though I’ve only been gone a day and will be back in the morning, I already miss you more than I ever thought I could. I wish you were here.
Rainbow smiled, folded the paper up carefully and set it down on the table again. Spike was looking at her curiously.
“Twi’s just being sappy, Spike,” she said. “You know how she can get.”
Spike looked doubtful, but resumed eating his fries regardless. Rainbow picked up a hoofful and stuffed them in her mouth, hoping to satiate the growling void in her stomach.
“Hey, Rainbow?” It had been a few minutes since either of them had spoken. Spike was sitting forward in his chair, despite his bowl being empty, and looked slightly nervous. Rainbow frowned. “You and Twi are happy together, right?”
“Yeah,” Rainbow replied simply. “Why d’ya ask?”
“What’s that like?”
Spike’s voice was quiet and distant and soft, and Rainbow was not quite sure she had heard him—but when she looked at him and saw the barely-masked pain in his eyes, she knew he had spoken. She took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts and work out what she really ought to say.
“It’s… it’s like having a best friend,” Rainbow said, at last. “It’s funny, really, ‘cos it reminds me a lot of how I used to spend so much time with Gilda when we were younger. In both cases you’re sure that the other will always be there for you, you know? You just know that if you’re ever in trouble, if you ever need someone to talk to or to help you, that they’re the one you can just turn to and they’ll be there.
“But with Twi it’s even better, because I don’t have to pretend to be somepony else. All my life, every day I’ve had to pretend to be the pony everypony expects me to be, the daredevil and the hero and the one who knows what she’s doing. And I like that—I like ponies thinking I’m awesome, because that’s what makes somepony awesome in the first place.
“It’s just, I can’t be that confident all the time. Sometimes I need to let my guard down and Twilight is the only pony I could ever do that around—and maybe you and Scoots, I guess, but with you guys I’m trying to be a good role model.” She chuckled at that, a hollow laugh, and Spike snorted once, not quite smiling. “Twilight allows me to be me, though. She allows me to be the pony I’ve only ever let myself see, and in turn she lets me see parts of her I’m sure she’s never shared with anypony else, either. I’d trust Twi with anything. That’s the difference between a special somepony and a best friend, I guess.”
“That sounds really nice,” Spike said. “You’re really good for her, y’know?” Rainbow frowned and tilted her head to one side; Spike sighed. “She lets herself plan less when you’re around. I’m not saying that planning is a bad thing, because Celestia knows where we’d be right now if Twilight hadn’t been so well-prepared for just about anything, but sometimes Twilight just needs to let go of all the lists and control and stuff. You let her do that.”
Rainbow smiled. “I don’t let her do that—she’s learned a lot since she moved to Ponyville, Spike, and I’m sure this is one of them. It’s nice of you to say that, though, I guess.”
“I don’t think it is just that, though,” Spike insisted. “I’ve never seen her just go through her day without worrying about whether or not she had ticked off everything she had put on her To Do list; she only ever loosens up if it’s something to do with you. It’s just like her letting you open up—you let her stop worrying.”
Finishing the last of her hay fries, Rainbow sat back in her chair. She figured it was probably best to leave the issue for now; pressing Spike further would probably not end well and, besides, she would rather agree to disagree than go on in pointless argument. The fact was that Twilight was getting better at learning to relax and enjoy herself, and whether Rainbow was the cause of that or merely in the right place at the right time didn’t make any difference.
“Y’know, I saw some ice cream in the fridge earlier…” Spike’s eyes lit up with excitement at those words and Rainbow Dash couldn’t help but laugh at the young drake’s barely-contained excitement. Getting up and walking over to the fridge, Rainbow carried the ice-cold dessert back to the table, picking up the end of a scoop in her mouth as she passed.
“Should I bother getting clean bowls?” she asked, smirking. Spike laughed and shook his head. A flash of understanding shot between them in a look: Twilight wasn’t there.
Scooping the ice cream out of the tub and into the two bowls, Rainbow ran her hoof across the slip of paper on the table before picking up her spoon and grinning at Spike. The young drake returned the grin and the two tucked into their desserts, wincing occasionally at the hints of oil and salt that found their way onto their spoons.
“I wish I had somepony like that,” Spike said, his spoon clinking against the sides of the bowl. “Somepony I could spend time with, be myself around. Why can’t I have that?”
Rainbow didn’t quite know what to do. The warning signs had all appeared by now and her mind was yelling at her to get up and get out of there. Maybe it was her public image, maybe it was just her difficulty with putting emotions into words, or maybe it was her desperate desire not to be brought into another situation like that again, but Rainbow was paralyzed at the thought of even trying to help Spike talk through his problems.
But, at the same time, Rainbow knew she had a duty to Spike, just as she had had a duty to Scootaloo. She wasn’t just Rainbow Dash the awesome weather pony to him—she was a close friend, an advisor and a confidante. She had to face this for him, for both of them, so that they could know that it was okay to talk about things like this.
“I dunno, Spike,” she said. Spike’s expression darkened, falling into a bitter antipathy. “But you know what I think? I think you’re the kind of guy anypony would be proud to know and call their friend. I mean, I’m the freaking Element of Loyalty and I don’t think I could stand by Twilight through everything you guys have been through, not the way you have. You’re loyal and kind and generous; you make ponies laugh and you’re not afraid to tell them the truth when they need to hear it. Those are the qualities that have saved Equestria, time and time again.
“You’re one of the best friends a pony could ever ask for. And I have no idea why you can’t find a special somepony, because the way I see it you would be the special-est somepony any mare could ask for… even if you’re not really somepony, y’know?”
Spike sighed, his head in his claws. “Even if you’re right, and I’m not sure I can believe you, it doesn’t matter. I don’t just want anypony, y’know?”
“I’m sorry, Spike,” Rainbow whispered. “I know how much it hurts to want to be with someone and think they don’t want you—”
“I don’t think,” Spike said forcefully. “I know. Rarity will never see me that way, so why can’t I just not have all these useless emotions?” Spike’s voice had risen almost to a yell, and Rainbow found herself leaning back in her seat involuntarily. As the young drake regained his breath, she sat up slowly and took a moment or two to think before she spoke.
“Emotions aren’t useless, Spike,” she said. “I know they can suck, and I know they can hurt, but I assure you you’re going to be a better dragon—a better person—because of it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
It was quiet for a long time after that. Spike sat and slowly ate the rest of his bowl of ice cream, occasionally slurping the melted dessert too loudly and causing the two of them to jump, just a little. Rainbow sat and tried to focus on the feeling of the spoon’s weight in her hoof, the strange twisting sensation that pulled both down and up at the same time. She caught her own gaze in the reflection on the curved, metal surface. She looked a mess, her hair wild and her expression taut. She looked almost as if her face was straining from the pressure of keeping everything she felt locked inside.
Twilight was the only pony she could truly be herself around. She might pretend to show some emotion, to be mushy, for Spike’s sake but she couldn’t let him see how she was really feeling. It was soon, too soon for time to clean and heal the wounds. And tonight she wouldn’t have the release she so desperately craved; she wouldn’t be able to curl up against Twilight and just lower her mask and cry, sobbing herself to sleep.
She didn’t want to cry, but she didn’t want to keep it all inside.
“Spike?” she asked, her voice hoarse and croaking. She winced at its sound, hoping it wouldn’t betray her, but she knew that the uneven pitch and shaky breaths would not go away this time. “Thanks for sharing your dinner with me.”
“Thanks for cooking it,” Spike replied, quiet but with a small smile. “And thanks for listening, and for trying to help.”
“Any time, Spike,” Rainbow said, painting a smile on her face. “I’m glad you feel you can talk to me about this. Makes me feel like I’m doing some good, y’know?” She coughed and looked around. She felt fidgety—her wings were twitching and she needed to be in the air. “I’m, uh, going to head out now, I guess,” she added lamely. “I could do with the fresh air. I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”
“See you, Rainbow Dash,” Spike said as she stood up, picking up Twilight’s note. She closed her eyes and exhaled gently, picturing Twilight beside her, before she walked out into the library.
That night, as Rainbow Dash flew home, she took the scenic route over Ponyville. She wasn’t quite feeling up to loops and tricks, but she needed to fly, to have the air under her wings and the wind in her mane. She flew in circles over the sleepy town, looking down at the streets below in the starlight. Couples walked along the streets, leaning into each other as they walked home from their nights out; Rainbow felt her heart lighten as she thought of spending time like that with Twilight. Some colts and fillies were still up (it looked as if somepony were having a camping sleepover in their back garden) and she could hear their laughter. She could see queues of ponies lining up at the doors of clubs, hear the blaring music from them as she flew low over them.
The night was alive, and Rainbow Dash couldn’t help but wonder what all the ponies in the stories of old had been doing to make Luna feel her night was so unloved—
Rainbow almost fell like a stone, suddenly filled with fright and pain and hurt. She didn’t know why—she didn’t care why, because she was too scared to think. Every thought, no matter how hard she tried to stop it, was of Scootaloo. Everything that she saw or heard was something Scootaloo had done, or said, or liked, or hated, or wanted.
When Rainbow Dash finally made it home, she collapsed on her bed and sobbed, holding the note from Twilight close against her chest, until the sounds of the tears and her sudden, jerking breaths faded and she melted into sleep.