//------------------------------// // The Next Ten Minutes // Story: Feathers of Blue and Gold // by Ruirik //------------------------------// Fleetfoot lay in her bed, vaguely aware of the dawn chorus chirping just outside her window. Clutched above the staccato beat of her heart was her faithful teddy bear, though his soft fur did little to comfort her that morning. She nuzzled it, eyes closing for a few moments in an attempt to push the thoughts which had awoken her from an uncomfortable sleep. When that failed she let out a single sigh and gingerly tucked the bear into the safety of the saddlebag kept at the foot of her bed. Maybe a flight would do her some good. Moving from her bed, Fleetfoot pulled the window open and poked her head out. Earth pony windows were smaller than windows designed by pegasi, but there was just enough room for Fleetfoot to wriggle her way out of the cramped frame. “Ow,” she growled, her back hitting the top of the window. Falling more than jumping, Fleetfoot pumped her wings, fluttering up alongside the window which she regarded with a withering glare. “What was that for?” The window had no answer. Fleetfoot shook her hoof menacingly at the window, clearly at fault for the unpleasant bump. Twisting in the cool morning air, she flapped her powerful wings, surging up and over the tops of the apple trees. Her wings flared out, catching the air under her pale blue feathers and holding her aloft. On the horizon she could see the thin fog of morning collecting in the valleys, dew sparkling like diamonds on the leaves and grasses below, and the thin wisps of smoke from the chimneys of Ponyville’s bakery. She let gravity pull her down, angling her wings to carry her forward along the tops of the trees. Leaves tickled at her stomach as Fleetfoot skimmed low, only flapping her wings just enough to keep from a sudden and probably unpleasant arboreal stop. When she began to slow down and the soft leaves began to graze her belly, Fleetfoot flapped her wings to build more altitude. Her path followed the curve of the Apple orchard's steep hills and shallow valleys, an easy flight by her standards. For a moment, at least, it seemed to help her escape the thoughts that had driven her from sleep before the first light of morning had shone through her window. Lightning flashed in the back of her mind, and her heart began to palpitate uncomfortably. Gritting her teeth and shaking her head quickly, Fleetfoot pumped her wings until the muscles started to burn beneath her feathers. Faster and faster she flew, wanting nothing more than to outrun the terrible light. The Apple family house disappeared behind her, and Fleetfoot folded her left wing while angling the right to carry herself into a tight corkscrew along the incline of yet another hill. Flaring out both wings, she paused near the crest, a whiff of smoke catching her attention. It was a sickly sweet scent reminiscent of the apples that made the farming family’s livelihood yet with a heaviness that felt altogether different. For a moment she wondered if her nightmares were starting to get worse. When the smell persisted, and Fleetfoot had a moment to calm herself, she tucked her wings and dipped below the thick canopy of trees. Branches and leaves scraped her wings, hooves, and face, yet she pushed through the discomfort, the all too real concern of a fire at the forefront of her mind. Yet when she landed, Fleetfoot found no flames at the source of the smoky scent, only Big Macintosh, an old wooden pipe held firmly in his teeth. He startled at first, leaning away from Fleetfoot with a hoof held slightly aloft. Then, as though resigning himself to judgment, he relaxed and made a single, heavy sigh. A lone hoof moved up again to steady the bowl of the pipe while he waited for her to speak. “You know that junk is terrible for you, right?” Big Mac’s cheeks caved inwards, bringing a faint orange glow from the chamber. He let it out slowly, watching the wisps of smoke dance lazily in the still summer air. “Eeyup.” “So, why smoke it?” “Reasons,” came the simple answer. Fleetfoot arched an eyebrow and frowned. “What sort of reasons?” Another breath and more smoke blew out from the stallion’s lips. “Reasons.” “Fine, Red,” Fleetfoot said, flitting her wings as she moved beside him, upwind of the smoke, and sat down. “Be that way.” “What’s got a pony like you out here?” he countered, glancing over as though to study her reaction. Fleetfoot tensed, her lips compressed into a thin line. “Reasons.” The corner of the large stallion’s mouth twitched upwards and he drew another breath from his pipe. “Still, up mighty early, eeyup.” he observed after another drag from his pipe. “Thought I’d go for a flight.” Big Mac nodded once and didn’t inquire further. Instead he turned the old pipe upside down, tapping it lightly on a rock beside his flank. Fleetfoot watched the ash tumble from the chamber where it filtered away on the gentle morning breeze. However, the sickly sweet odor seemed to linger in the air around them despite the breeze that danced across their coats. “I’m gonna stick around here a bit longer,” Big Mac said, seeming relaxed on the shallow hilltop under the shade of the trees. “Ya’ll enjoy the flyin’. I’ll meetcha at the barn in an hour or so.” He clamped his teeth back around the bit of his pipe and closed his eyes. Fleetfoot nodded, but stopped short of standing or spreading her wings. Instead her attention drifted to Big Macintosh, drawn by the soft morning light catching his muscular frame. He had a certain pulchritude that was plain to any mare who cared to look, broad chested with an unkempt ginger mane and green eyes that bore a tenderness to the large stallion. That he was soft-spoken and rarely if ever seemed to pass judgement on others didn’t hurt either, particularly when she could hardly look at her own reflection since that terrible day.With a sigh, Fleetfoot rubbed at the back of her neck and lowered her head. “Hey, um, Mac?” The quiet stallion tilted his head towards her, still smiling just a little bit. “Mind if I hang out here? Just for a bit.” A subtle arch crawled ever so slightly up his heavy brow. Big Mac smiled politely and nodded once. “Alright, Miss Fleetfoot.” She chuckled. “Please, just ‘Fleetfoot’.” Rainbow Dash glanced up at the wall, frowning with the metronomic tick of the clock. She along with Spitfire had arrived at Ponyville Hospital mid-morning where they had taken up a pair of seats in the waiting room that were flanked by abstract paintings. The so-called “art” could generously be described as colorful spillage on a canvas, if one were so inclined. Neither mare felt particularly generous. There were few other ponies loitering in the room while waiting for their names to be called, and those few sat with several empty seats between them. Most spent their time perusing through the months old magazines laid out on small corner tables, distracting themselves from the boredom or anxiety. No amount of distraction would have helped Spitfire or Rainbow Dash though. Rainbow's wing throbbed in the soft wrap that held it to her side. She glanced at it for a moment then sighed before grasping for Spitfire’s hoof. Spitfire glanced at her and offered a demure smile, which Rainbow returned before leaning her head against Spitfire’s shoulder. Rainbow felt Spitfire’s cheek, soft and warm, nuzzling at the top of her mane, and she tilted her head up so the top of her muzzle touched Spitfire’s jaw. “Spitfire and Rainbow Dash?” the nurse called, a rarely welcomed interruption to their private, yet public moment. Moving from their seats, Rainbow and Spitfire walked at their slow pace towards the waiting mare. She smiled politely then ushered them down the hall into one of the empty exam rooms. “Doctor Stable will be here in just a moment,” she said before closing the door, leaving the two alone. Together, they moved to a pair of floor cushions set out beside a counter and cabinets, no doubt full of all sorts of medical supplies. Spitfire’s good wing slipped around Rainbow’s shoulders while her foreleg hooked around her waist. Rainbow didn’t need much more encouragement to lean closer to her marefriend, and let out a quiet sigh as she settled against Spitfire. “Nervous?” Spitfire asked. “Yeah.” “Me too.” Nodding her head, Rainbow moved her own foreleg around Spitfire’s waist, which she gave a gentle squeeze to. Saying she was nervous was nothing if not an understatement. Rainbow was, in fact, utterly terrified of what news their check-up might deliver. Of course she wanted to hope for the best, but with her continued troubles breathing, the pain, and the difficulty sleeping, Rainbow was hard pressed to be optimistic. In some ways the sleeping issue had become the worst for Rainbow. Physical pain was real, something tangible. Something that she could understand and account for with a bit of will. The insomnia, on the other hoof, was not a problem she could just brute force away. An abstract sense of anxiety kept her awake, but she wasn’t sure what caused it. At times her heart would race and she’d feel a sense of panic build in the recesses of her mind, but so far she had managed to keep that at bay. Spitfire’s hooves, always wrapped around her waist, coupled with her steady breaths and heartbeat gave Rainbow something to focus on. It relaxed her to focus on those sensations, even if it didn’t help her sleep. Still, Rainbow was fairly sure she couldn’t handle going to bed alone anymore. Two knocks preceded the door’s opening with Doctor Stable and Nurse Redheart walking into the room a moment later. Doctor Stable, Rainbow’s general practitioner since moving to Ponyville, was a unicorn with an ochre coat and a light brown mane. He kept it well trimmed and combed to the left with his horn and kept the look in check throughout the day. While a very amiable stallion, Stable had a no-nonsense attitude that Rainbow had grown fond of over the years. It tended to make appointments short and to the point, which in the past had let her get right back to the skies. Her heart sank at the thought. It was always the little things that got to her the most. Nurse Redheart, in contrast, was a fine boned earth pony with a white coat and a long pink mane tied into a tight bun. She radiated a motherly warmth with a gift for making even the most troublesome patients relax. Yet underneath that serene appearance was a fire that Rainbow was convinced would make most dragons run screaming. “Good morning, ladies,” Stable greeted the pair after closing the door, a pair of charts held aloft in his blue magic. “Morning,” Rainbow and Spitfire answered, each forcing a pleasant smile to their lips. “Now, I already know the answer, but bear with me as I have to ask.” He smiled warmly to Spitfire and Rainbow Dash, watching them over the rims of his wire glasses. “Are you two comfortable with some tests and the results in the same room?” “Yes,” the answers came in tandem. “Well, that certainly settled that.” Stable bobbed his head and opened the chart. “Let’s start with you, Rainbow Dash.” He motioned her towards the door. “Up, and to the x-ray room with you. Nurse, if you’d be so kind as to run Miss Spitfire through her exam.” “Of course,” she answered with a smile. “Spitfire, if you would please climb up onto the exam table.” “Yes ma’am,” Spitfire said, withdrawing her hoof and wing from Rainbow before standing up. Their absence disappointed Dash, but she pushed it from her mind for the time being. With a bit of effort she stood and made her way to the door, which Stable held open with a hoof. “See you in a minute,” she shot to Spitfire. Spitfire chuckled, her tongue poking out at Rainbow. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “Take away all my fun.” “Yup, that’s me, Captain Funsucker.” Spitfire jutted her hoof in the air and sat up straight, striking a heroic pose that brought soft chuckles to the room. Rainbow scoffed, wisely keeping her retort to herself. That, after all, was private time talk. Leading them down the wide halls, Stable consulted his file, his eyes quickly skimming over pages of notes, charts, and scans. “So tell me, Rainbow, are you still having difficulty breathing?” “Sometimes, yeah.” Rainbow’s voice grew soft with the admission and her ears folded back. “Mostly when I move too quickly or if I try and shout. And…” She sighed, her head drooping. Rainbow stopped in her tracks and Stable paused as well, taking a step closer to her out of concern. “Are you alright, Rainbow?” “No,” she answered in scarcely more than a whisper. “I hate feeling like this.” “Is it about your breathing?” Stable asked before his eyes moved to the heavily wrapped wing. “Or your wing?” “Both.” Her lips curled back into a snarl. “I can’t even walk from here to my house without getting out of breath. Nodding, Stable made a note and motioned her on. “Let’s get you x-rayed, then we’ll talk about it and see what we can do, hm?” Rainbow nodded, though she took a few moments to collect herself before walking again. The X-ray room was cramped and cold with hard tile floors and a solitary wooden platform lined with a thin cushion for patients to lay on during the exam. Stable used his magic to easily remove the bandages around Rainbow’s wing, which he deposited into the trash bin as soon as they were off. Rainbow bit her lip, both from the discomfort of the unsupported wing drooping as well as the embarrassment at the state of her wing. Where months earlier had been immaculate feathers and toned, solid muscle, now her feathers were ragged and dull, though at least most had regrown to hide the scar that lined her flesh. It looked sickly, weak, and Rainbow could almost see her bones through what little muscle tissue was left. Almost instantly she felt a knot form in her throat, the icy talons of pain, disgust, and regret clutching at her heart. “How far can you stretch your wing?” Stable asked, bracing the limb with his magic. Rainbow gritted her teeth and strained to move her wing. It trembled like a dry leaf in the autumn breeze, barely flexing halfway open. As hard as she tried, Rainbow couldn’t will it any further than that. “Th-that’s it,” she growled through gritted teeth. “Alright, Rainbow, that’s very good,” he assured her, his telekinetic grasp growing a little stronger to support her wing. “I’ll hold this while you get up on the table. Lay on your stomach, please.” With a few painful steps and more discomfort than she cared to admit, Rainbow got onto the table, biting back a groan when she laid flat. With great care, Stable laid her wing down and placed an iron skirt on Rainbow’s back, covering the mare from her hips down to the knees. He then disappeared behind a heavy brick wall for the first photo. The process repeated itself, with Rainbow moving into different positions and Stable posing her wing for more photos.By the end of it she wasn’t able to help the tears that stained her cheeks, nor the shiver of her flesh. “Sorry, Rainbow. We’re all done here,” he said after the seemingly interminable wait. “Would you like something for the pain?” “Please,” she mewled, defeated and unable to open her eyes. Rainbow was faintly aware of the sharp clop of Stable’s hooves fading into the distance until they disappeared out of the room. She focused on her breathing, trying her hardest to will away the pain, though it had no real impact. “Dammit,” she cursed softly and sniffled. Stable returned a few moments later and stopped beside the table. “Okay, Rainbow, can you sit up for me?” Nodding, the mare started to move, then immediately cringed from a spike of pain in her side. Stable was there instantly, his foreleg sliding under her head with another carefully over her waist. “Easy, easy. Nice deep breaths for me, Rainbow.” “Sorry,” she gasped. “It’s perfectly alright,” he reassured her. With Stable’s help, Rainbow was able to get up to a sitting position. He braced her shoulders with a foreleg, then, with a bit of magic, lifted a small plastic cup to her lips. It smelled faintly of cough syrup, though less pungent with a more watery appearance. “What’s that?” she asked in a raspy voice. “A drinkable version of your prescription.” “They make that?” Stable nodded. “Yes indeed. It’s usually prescribed for patients with difficulties swallowing, but it also acts more quickly than a pill does.” Rainbow mouthed a silent ‘oh’ and moved a hoof under the floating cup. Tilting it back she tasted the slightly cherry-like flavor splash over her tongue and swallowed the liquid down. Stable tossed the cup away, then gathered fresh wrappings for her wing. It took him a few minutes to bandage her and in that time Rainbow felt the familiar buzz of the narcotics building in her head. It numbed the pain in her wing, which she was grateful for as Stable presented her a black sling to help support it. With his help she was able to get the sling on and adjusted, and the sense of relief it provided her was both surprising and fulfilling. “Thanks.” “It’s what I do.” He smiled to her and offered a hoof. “Let’s get back to the room, shall we?” With a nod, Rainbow took his hoof and slipped off the table. Her steps were awkward, with the painkiller making her feel slightly drunk, but easier than before. Soon enough she was back in the exam room laying on the paper covered table while Spitfire disappeared for a test of her own. Nurse Redheart listened to her heart and lungs, then ran Rainbow through a small gauntlet of physical tests, between which she took copious notes in the stuffed manilla folder. Again Rainbow was grateful for Stable’s offered medication. Even with the drug she ached by the time Nurse Redheart finished and Stable returned with her marefriend. She didn’t want to think of how terrible it would have been without it. With the help of Spitfire and Doctor Stable, Rainbow got off the table and made her way back to the floor cushions. While the doctor read through both reports and listened to Redheart brief him on Rainbow’s details, the two pegasi exchanged an exhausted smile. “So Rainbow,” Stable began, levitating a pen and pointing it to the streak of white in her X-ray. “Here is the plate that the surgeons installed in Manehattan when you had your wing fixed. The smaller lines you see here,” he continued, motioning to four smaller lines which were pointed into her bone, “are the screws holding the plate.” “They showed me the x-ray in Manehattan,” Rainbow said, leaning on Spitfire. “I guess the break was pretty gnarly.” “Indeed it was,” he agreed, changing the picture to one with a different angle. “You’re quite the lucky mare, Rainbow Dash.” “It doesn’t feel like it,” Rainbow said. Spitfire feigned a gasp. “Well gee, thanks, Dash.” “Shut up,” the younger mare giggled. “Your breathing has improved, and your ribs look to be mostly healed as well. That said I’m concerned about the continued problems you display. So for the time being I want you to keep walking a little every day and take a journal of about how long you walked and how your breathing was during the process.” He flicked the light off on the lightboard and turned his attention fully to the listening mares. “Also note any instances you have of pain or difficulties breathing, and obviously seek emergency attention if it lasts for more than a few minutes. Spitfire, I trust you to keep an eye on her for the meantime.” “I’ll keep two eyes on her,” Spitfire said with a casual smirk. “What about her wing though? Should she be trying therapy or what?” “Yes, about that. I would like to schedule her for surgery. We can remove the plate and screws, and after a week or two you should begin physical therapy.” “H-how soon?” Rainbow asked, shrinking into Spitfire’s embrace with her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. “I’ll speak with our surgeons and they’ll get in touch with you for a solid date.” After making a note in her folder, Stable set the pen down and regarded the weather mare with a serious expression. “I would recommend sooner than later, Rainbow. The longer we keep your wing immobile the harder it will be to rehabilitate you.” “But she’ll fly again, right?” Spitfire interrupted, her foreleg holding Rainbow tighter. Stable pursed his lips, picking his words carefully. “I’m optimistic that, with a bit more treatment, we can rehabilitate your wing, Rainbow.” His sentiment did little to comfort Rainbow, though she nodded for the sake of acknowledgement. She felt Spitfire’s hoof rub at her back in an effort to comfort her, and leaned closer to the older mare to feel her warmth. “Spitfire,” Stable continued, turning his attention to the Wonderbolt. His pause seemed deliberate which made Rainbow uneasy, and once more her hoof reached for Spitfire’s. “Your range of motion shows limited recovery, muscle atrophy is significant, and your pain has remained fairly constant, yes?” “Yeah.” Spitfire nodded, her voice sounding fragile to Rainbow. “On average, how many pills are you taking every day?” Spitfire hesitated before answering and glanced to Rainbow with a sorrowful look. “Six... maybe seven.” Rainbow’s eyebrows shot up, but she said nothing. “I see.” Another note was scrawled into her file. “Spitfire…” Spitfire raised her hoof to cut him off “Please, just tell me straight. Am I gonna fly again?” The doctor cleared his throat and took a moment to fix the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “I need to consult with a specialist, but at this moment I don’t have the confidence to tell you either way.” A silence filled the room. and Rainbow could only watch helplessly as the look of heartbreak spread over Spitfire’s features. She let out a trembling breath and swallowed heavily. Rainbow could see moisture building in her eyes that she blinked away quickly. “I see.” “There are possibilities,” Stable continued, not wishing to quash Spitfire’s heart. “Intensive physical therapy, water training, maybe more surgical options. I’d like write to a specialist in Cloudsdale and get a second opinion before making a recommendation though.” This time it was Rainbow’s ears that perked. “What would surgery do?” “That depends on the issue,” Stable answered. “If your problem, Spitfire, is muscular, then I’m not sure what we could do. A tendon issue can be repaired surgically to a degree, but more tests are required first.” “But there’s hope, right?” Rainbow asked, feeling a sense of desperation as her foreleg wrapped around Spitfire’s waist. “Somepony can fix her wing?” “We will certainly do every last thing in our power,” Stable answered. “I’ll have a letter sent up to your home, Rainbow, when we have some news. And I’d like to see you again next week to schedule your surgery.” “Would that be done here?” Rainbow asked, feeling squeamish about being under the knife again. The stallion nodded his head while closing both their files. “Yes. We’d admit you overnight for the procedure, then we’d ask that you stay groundside for the first ten days after. You’d come back here, get the stitches out, and we’d set up a physical therapy schedule to get your wing moving again.” Rainbow nodded once and glanced to Spitfire again. “What should she do for the pain?” “I would suggest that she continues her painkillers for now, but if they’re not providing a notable relief then we should look into alternative methods,” Stable answered. “Spitfire, I’d like to set you up with a pain management specialist. Would that be alright?” A simple shrug preceded the mare’s answer. “Sure.” “Very good. Nurse Redheart, would you go up front and let the desk know to set up an appointment for Spitfire?” “Of course, Doctor,” the mare answered. “I’ll get the next patient set up as well.” “Excellent, thank you.” With a polite nod, Nurse Redheart took her exit from the room. Doctor Stable waited for the door to close behind her before addressing Rainbow and Spitfire again. “Are there any other questions the two of you have?” Both mares said nothing, with Spitfire offering a slight shake of her head. “Alright,” he said, collecting their files in his telekinetic grasp. “I’ll head out then. When you two are ready just head down the hall to your left. Stop by the desk and set up your appointments and I’ll see you both soon.” “Thanks, Doc,” Rainbow said. “Sounds good,” added Spitfire. As he stepped out of the exam room, Stable craned his neck to look at them one last time. “You two take your time. And don’t hesitate to get in touch with me or Nurse Redheart if you need anything at all.” With that he slipped out into the hall, gently pulling the door shut behind him. Only a moment after the door closed Rainbow threw her forelegs around Spitfire’s chest and held her tightly. She nuzzled at the soft, golden fur, while her mouth strained to hold back her anguish. Spitfire’s hooves moved around Rainbow’s back and soft lips kissed at her forehead. “Dash?” Rainbow didn’t respond to her name. Instead she held Spitfire tighter, disregarding the ache in her chest. Her body trembled and shook yet she clung to the mare tighter still, as though she’d lose everything if she let go for even a moment. “Hey,” Spitfire’s hoof dipped under Rainbow’s chin, guiding her up until their eyes met. She smiled, though Rainbow could see the pain lingering in the back of her eyes. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, Dash. We’re gonna be alright.” Rainbow’s hoof moved, gingerly stroking at Spitfire’s bandaged wing. Her mouth opened and closed several times, yet no sounds came from her. Instead tears spilt from her eyes, drawing dark lines down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” came the first few words, choked out between gasped breaths. Spitfire recoiled just a little, confused. “Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for?” “It’s my fault,” she mewled, her eyes glancing from the wing to Spitfire’s own gaze. “I-If I—” “Stop.” Spitfire pressed her hoof to Rainbow’s lips. “Don’t you ever say that, Dash. Don’t you ever.” “But, I—” “You did nothing wrong,” Spitfire asserted once more. Her hooves moved up to cup Rainbow’s cheeks. “It was an accident.” “I was in charge! I was supposed to keep everypony safe!” Rainbow countered, her voice cracking with her face contorting from the spike of pain it caused. Dropping to a fragile quaver, she leaned her head forward, her brow resting on Spitfire’s neck. “I... I crippled you…” “No you didn’t, Dash,” Spitfire shot back, pulling Rainbow back up and kissing her lips. “You needed help, that’s all there was to it.” “It shouldn’t h-have taken away your wings,” Rainbow wept. “I love you, Rainbow Dash.” Spitfire’s voice trembled, the hooves on Rainbow’s cheeks moving up through her mane where they came to rest on the back of her head. “And if I had to make that choice again I’d still do it in a heartbeat.” She paused to sniffle, her forehead bumping tenderly to Rainbow’s. “Just like I know you would for me.” “All this,” Rainbow began quietly, “I couldn’t do this without you, Spitfire. I… I can’t...” The hooves around her waist squeezed tighter. “I’m never leaving you, Rainbow. Even if I’m a crippled old hag mopping floors in a bakery for the rest of my life.” Rainbow chuckled, but she hadn’t missed the tremor in Spitfire’s voice, the raw pain that her future could be tied forever to the cold, hard ground. Shuddering, she held Spitfire tightly, unable and unwilling to let go for even a moment. Nuzzling against Spitfire’s chest, Rainbow pressed her ear over the other mare’s heart, taking comfort from the steady drumlike beat. Bit by bit the rhythm soothed her, and after a few minutes she at least felt some semblance of control once again. “What are we gonna do?” “Ten more minutes,” came the quiet answer. “Hm?” Spitfire adjusted her grip, her hooves rubbing along Rainbow’s back. “Think we can just sit here for ten minutes? I… I need...” Her voice cracked just as her nose touched Rainbow’s mane once again. “I just need a little longer…” Rainbow simply nodded, her hooves rubbing Spitfire’s back in return. “Anything for you.” For several moments after, neither mare dared to move nor speak. The only sounds between them being their breaths and muted sniffles. It was Spitfire who broke the silence, though her tone was defeated. “I don’t know what I’d do if I can’t fly.” “You’re gonna fly again.” Rainbow looked up so her gaze caught Spitfire’s. “We both are.” A humorless chuckle bubbled up from Spitfire. “But if I can’t—” Rainbow held her hoof up to Spitfire’s lips. “If you can’t fly,” she started, never once flinching away from Spitfire’s eyes. “Then I guess I’ll just have to learn to live like an earth pony.” Spitfire recoiled, but the wall stopped her from moving too far back. With her good wing flaring halfway out, she shook her head. “Dash, no, you’ve got—” “Maybe I could get into farming like Applejack does." Rainbow put on a stern face then leaned back, scrunching her mane up into a ponytail. "Hi, ahm Rainbow Dash. Ah sell raw apples, cooked apples, apple juices, apple ciders, apple pies, and apple accessories.” “...What's an apple accessory?" “You really don’t wanna know.” “Hey, you brought it up, little miss green hoof.” Spitfire grinned while lightly prodding Rainbow’s chest once. “Do you even know which end of a trowel goes in the dirt?” Rainbow giggled and poked Spitfire’s belly in retaliation. “I’ll have you know that my garden is the best garden in Ponyville.” “What?” Spitfire laughed. “You don’t even have a lawn, Dash!” ‘Pff, don’t need no stinkin’ lawn for an awesome garden.” Rainbow asserted with a wave of her hoof. “Okay, I’m gonna get the doc back in here,” Spitfire said, tapping her hoof against Rainbow’s temple. “Cause you’ve gone round the bend, sweetheart.” “Hey, the Ponyville Market is totally my garden.” Groaning, Spitfire shook her head, yet despite the terrible joke she couldn’t help a slight laugh. Making a content sigh she petted Rainbow’s mane and smiled. “What in the world am I gonna do with you?” Dash considered the quiet intimacy they shared for a moment, and decided it was time to capitalize. "Let's get a donut." She said with a quiet smile. Spitfire blinked and tilted her head. "Well, that was a bit out of nowhere. Not that I don't mind a good donut, but..." Dash laughed softly. "Of all the things my friends have taught me, Spits, one thing has always been true." She quietly took Spitfire's foreleg and draped it over her neck. "No matter how tough things seem, they always seem a bit easier on the other side of a donut." She felt a grin rise to her face. "You do remember what happened that one year at the Gala, right?" “Ummm…” Spitfire rubbed at the back of her head and flashed a grin at Rainbow. “Kinda?” “Ugh, hopeless,” Rainbow chided her with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re so hot.” “Heh, Sorry, Dash. I know we talked briefly, but I had a bunch of schmoozing to do that night as part of my job.” Spitfire offered in her own defense. “I figured, but that’s not my point,” Rainbow said. Together they stood up with Rainbow leaning heavily on Spitfire’s side. “That night looked like a total disaster. But after everything blew up we all went to this doughnut shop and talked.” Pausing just in front of the door, Rainbow smiled then turned so she could see Spitfire’s face. “We realized that even though the gala had gone horribly, together we could still make the night worth while.” Her smile shrank with sadness, but stubbornly refused to leave her lips. “I can’t do this anymore. Surgeries and therapy and...just...all of this. Not without you.” Spitfire smiled as well with her wing slipping protectively over Rainbow’s back. “Then you’ll have me Dash. Just so long as I’ve got you, too.” Her head lowered with her hears splaying shamefully outwards. “And… and I need you now more than ever.” Rainbow nodded and kissed Spitfire’s cheek. “Come on. Let’s get a doughnut. I can make it to Sugarcube corner, I think.” “I’ll just give you a ponyback ride if you get out of breath.” It was both a promise and a threat. “Yes ma’am,” Rainbow said while saluting with a hoof.