Rainbow Dash woke; uncomfortable yet content, listening to the bellowing snores bellowing from Scootaloo’s boisterous little snout. It felt good to be home. After Spitfire had left, Dash and Storm had dropped down from the tower; via flying and teleporting respectively, and spent the next several hours perusing the gardens, mostly in silence.
She'd noticed his voice was considerably different from what it had been in the theater; but couldn't get him to tell her why. He didn’t say much about himself, and when he did talk teased most of her questions by saying she should be afraid to ask because he might tell her the truth.
He asked a few questions about her, the kind you’d expect on a first date… though not the ones she'd expected. He seriously didn’t seem to know what the Wonderbolts were until then; and the way he talked about other things gave the clear impression that he wasn’t from around here, or... anywhere that Dash knew of. It was an act; it had to be. All part of one big play on mystery to get her straining at the bits to find out more… but then he was doing a remarkably good job at faking genuine interest in things he already knew.
She tagged along, and let him play his game with her; waiting for the inevitable moment when he would ask if she wanted to shack up before he went on his totally secret mission that might or might not exist. She came up with a few good reasons why she shouldn’t repeat her past mistakes, but still wasn’t sure what she’d do when he did ask. Strangely, he never did.
After a few hours of pretty gardens spaced with intermediate conversation he asked once hesitantly about where she lived, and then said that he needed to go; and then he left. Rainbow Dash spent a few minutes wondering if she should have given him a kiss goodnight; and then realized that if she left now, she could reach Ponyville before it got ridiculously late.
Whether or not she was going wasn’t even a question now. First of all, she wanted to see Scootaloo. Secondly; there was no way she was heading back to the Wonderbolt Stables alone. Spitfire thought she was sleeping with Storm, and that Storm was some kind of special agent in the royal guard. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t; but the belief gave Dash respect with Spitfire, which meant leverage.
She left an intentionally brief note for Spitfire, saying she’d be spending the night ‘out’ and for Spitfire to meet her with the team for exercises at eight tomorrow about three quarters of the way to Ponyville. She arrived home just a few minutes before midnight, right when Scootaloo should have been going to bed and succeeded admirably in waking her up all over again.
An hour or so later, Scootaloo was drifting off happily into sleep, dreaming about whatever pre-pubescent fillies dreamed about when they finished middle school; as Rainbow Dash dragged the cloud couch from the living room to the other side of Scootaloo’s room to enjoy rather more mature rated dreams that involved a red unicorn.
He seemed different from the other guys she'd met... but then, at the time; Lightning Streak had seemed different to Silver Lining. She did not want to make the same mistakes over again... but she did want to see Storm. She wanted to see Storm again; but at the same time she was afraid she would make the same mistakes over and over again.
Besides, she wasn't even sure if he was stable. It was unlikely he could have seen the position of Derpy's wing from anywhere but the Wonderbolt's box, and he would have needed a lot of experience with pegasi to have known what that meant. So why did he go and beat up Trixie like he did?
She still wanted to see him again.
Dash stretched, shook last nights fantasies to the side and looked at the clock. She'd told Spitfire to meet her was right at the intersection of a series very wealthy country manors, whose gardens were bigger than most city parks. If Spitfire thought Storm was connected to that kind of money that would really get her mind flying through barrel rolls thought Dash with a grin that slowly faded with a feeling of ice water running over her.
Since when had she started thinking like Spitfire?
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Silent Storm rested on a bed of fresh hay where Shining Armor had lain the night before, too tired to move; wondering about the long trial that awaited him. Every inch of his body ached with constant, tearing pain, like he'd had after being been mauled by an ursa minor, only worse. Holding dark thoughts at bay was something he had vast experience in, but usually did this by focusing on the task at hand and ignoring any emotion that tried to get in the way. Here though, there was no task, except to wait and get better.
His thoughts drifted again to the rainbow-maned wonder he'd seen the night before; but he killed them before letting them go too far. He knew where that path led, he lived there; and knew better than to risk going deeper. Had she known what was really going on? He'd tried to ask her discretely several times when they were in the garden, and from her lack of answering had concluded that she didn't. But if that was the case, why had she helped him when all she would have known was that Trixie had done a lousy show, had made fun of a random pony’s eyes, and maybe if her vantage point was right, had seen Trixie try to push Derpy down the hole. That didn't sound like it even deserved a battle, unless... was there something she knew about the situation that he didn't?
He wanted to know and, try as he might, he wanted to see her again... but he wouldn't. Storm looked wearily at his saddlebag; void of anything interesting, exceept for his portgem. Portgems were useful little things—a recent invention from Celestia's school for gifted unicorns. After a blank portgem was made, it could be inscribed by a unicorn. Wherever it was inscribed, the portgem would become an anchor for one, infinite range, teleport, back to that location.
The cost of making one was rarely justified with only being able to use them once; and were mostly kept by soldiers who might need to evac a hot area, someone going on a long journey and wanted to save themselves the return trip, or someone who was wealthy enough to keep one so they could get home in case of an emergency. Storm would finish his mission, collect his armor, and then use his portgem immediately, without saying goodbye—one spell and Canterlot, and its inhabitants, would be only a distant memory.