//------------------------------//
// Day 18: Fluttershy/Spitfire (romance/uplifting) 
// Story: March-makers 
// by ObabScribbler 
//------------------------------//

Title: Shame and Cupcakes

Pairing: Fluttershy/Spitfire 





Spitfire had ever felt so ashamed.

I just stood there, she thought. They needed help … and I just stood there like some high and mighty –

“Um … Miss Spitfire?”

The breathy voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Hm? Oh. It’s you.”

The butter yellow pegasus approached on foot. That seemed rather fitting for her. Despite her valiant efforts, Spitfire had never seen any pegasus as incongruous in the sky as … what was her name again? 

“It’s Fluttershy, right?”

“Uh-huh. Um … would you … would you like to come to our celebration party?”

“What?” Spitfire’s neck snapped back a little, as though she had been slapped. 

Evidently taking the action as some measure of revulsion, Fluttershy cringed. “Sorry, I wouldn’t have asked – I’m sure you’re really busy – but, um, my f-friend … Rainbow Dash … she’s a really huge fan of yours and … and …” Her words devolved into a squeak.

Spitfire remembered Rainbow Dash. She wasn’t the kind of mare you couldn’t forget easily. Right now, however, that kind of blind adulation was the last thing she needed. “Maybe some other time. I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Oh.” Fluttershy looked around. “You’re leaving?”

“Not for another few hours.”

“Oh. Um, then what … um …?”

“Just accept that I’m busy, kid, okay?”

That squeak again. It was kind of cute, really. “Okay. But … um…” A deep breath. Something important coming next, eh? “I’m n-not a kid. I’d like to think that today I-I proved that to everypony.”

Spitfire arched an eyebrow. “I guess you did. Not everyone can claim that they were key to success or failure of a whole weather team operation when they’re not even a member of the weather team.”

Fluttershy nodded only a little shakily. “Right.”

Spitfire turned her back. “Okay not-a-kid. See you around.”

“Oh.” The deflation in Fluttershy’s tone was almost palpable. “You’re … really not coming?”

“I’m really not.” Spitfire tried to keep her tone casual and light. “See ya.”

“Oh.” So much emotion in a single syllable, it was kind of impressive, really. “Right. I was …hoping that we could … but never mind. You’re busy.”

“Yep.”

“Though just FYI … um … feeling sorry for yourself may keep you busy but it, um, doesn’t make you feel any better.”

Spitfire’s hackles raised. She didn’t turn back around until she had heard the hoofsteps retreat to several yards away. Then she twisted at the waist, craning for a look at the one pony who had noticed she wasn’t standing quite as proud anymore at the edge of the half-emptied lake.

“Hey, Fluttershy.”

The hoofsteps stopped. “Yes?”

“This celebration party. Where’s it at?”

“Sugar Cube Corner. The pony throwing it lives there.”

“Cool.” She knew that place. She and Flash used to go there before he expatriated for The Crystal Empire.  They served a huge rainbow assortment of great cupcakes. “I might drop in.”

“Really?”

“Maybe. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Hmm. Apparently squeaky giggles were way cuter than squeaks alone.