//------------------------------// // Age 1 // Story: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Part 1: What's the Use of Crying? // by brokenimage321 //------------------------------// “No, you don’t understand, I—” The bell at the front of the grocery store dinged, and in walked Twilight and Aurora. Pinkie froze and looked up at her, eyes wild. Pinkie wore a baby carrier strapped across her back. Waltz hung on one side of her, Tango on the other, and Foxtrot in a sling on her chest. Mercifully, all three of them slept peacefully, despite their mother’s agitation. Pinkie herself had bags under her eyes, her cheeks had sunk in ever-so-slightly, and her mane, always a little wild, was tangled and knotted. The manager of the grocery store stood across the counter from her, his expression a mix of boredom and barely-contained impatience. Pinkie stared at Twilight, wide-eyed, for a moment, then looked away. “...Forget it,” she muttered to the manager, then quickly walked towards the door, carefully avoiding Twilight’s gaze. Twilight hesitated, then looked back to the manager—and saw that Pinkie had left behind an almost-empty cart. Twilight peered inside: a single can of baby formula, a too-small package of diapers, three or four jars of baby food, and two packets of instant noodles. Twilight’s eyes widened. “Is that all?” she asked, glancing up at the manager. He sighed. “Yep,” he said. “That’s all she gets. Normally.” Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Normally?” she repeated. He nodded. “When she has the money for it,” he said. “When she—” Twilight swallowed. “Oh, sweet Celestia. How long has this been going on?” He shrugged. “A few months.” Twilight stared at him, eyes wide. “Come on, Rory,” she said quietly, “we’re leaving.” She turned and strode out the door with another ding. Aurora trailed behind her. “But Mommy,” she whined, “I wanted a candy…” “Later, Rory,” she replied. “Right now, somepony needs our help.” Twilight stepped out of the shop and glanced around, but Pinkie had already vanished. She bit her lip, then walked down the road a little, watching carefully for any sign of pink. As she passed the alley alongside the store, she paused; she thought she had heard somepony crying. She glanced down the alley and stared—there, among the bags of garbage, broken-down boxes, and discarded pallets, a little tuft of Pinkie’s unmistakable tail poked out from behind a dumpster. “Aurora, stay here,” she said, then swallowed and started down the alley. She found Pinkie seated, facing the wall, crying. She looked up as Twilight rounded the corner, then tried to clean herself up a little—which only made things worse. “Pinkie,” Twilight said gently, “What’s wrong?” She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and looked up at her, “Oh, nothing,” she said, with a smile that cracked at the edges. “Just… just being a mom, y’know?” “No, it’s not nothing,” she said sternly. “Pinkie, what’s going on?” Pinkie shook her head. “Nope!” she said, her voice quavering, “everything’s fine! Just… just gonna go home, and…” “Pinkie.” Pinkie fell silent, and her bottom lip began to tremble.   “Pinkie,” Twilight said slowly, “I know.” Pinkie seemed to shrink a little. “You do?” she whimpered. Twilight nodded. “The Cakes told me to keep an eye out for you. They’re worried.” Pinkie sagged. “That explains it,” she muttered. Twilight cocked her head. Pinkie glanced at her, then continued. “Mrs. Cake makes me a little lunch whenever I work the counter for them,” she said. “And, lately…” She sighed. “Well, they’ve been a little bigger than normal.” Twilight raised her eyebrows. “You noticed? She thought she was being subtle about it.” Pinkie nodded. “Of course I did. It’s… it’s about the only regular meal I can count on,” she said, looking away. Twilight swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “How… how long have you been going without?” Pinkie glanced away. “…Two weeks,” she said. “Two weeks?” “It’s okay!” Pinkie said quickly. “I’m still nursing, so the kids are okay. But…” She looked away again. “But I'm not giving enough milk for them, and formula adds up quick… a-and doctor said they should be eating actual food by now… and three sets of diapers are already so much, especially on a part-time salary… and, well…” She smiled crookedly. “Ramen goes a long way, if you mix some veggies in.” Twilight took a step forward. “Pinkie…” she breathed. “I can do it!” she said, glaring back at Twilight. “I can do it,” she repeated. “I have to. I got us into this mess, and I can get us out.” She took a deep breath. “The… the Cakes have some old furniture I’m sure they’d sell me… a-and maybe I can get a second job, too...” She looked away, and her shoulders sagged. “Pinkie,” Twilight said carefully, “you need help.” “I can do it,” she snapped, standing up, eyes flashing. “Don’t say I can’t. It’s already hard enough, and I don’t need you making it harder.” She glared at Twilight—and, suddenly the fire went out of her eyes. She hung her head, then sat again. “This isn’t like babysitting,” she said quietly. “I can’t just—” she gestured vaguely. “—give them back at the end of the day. I need to make it work, because… b-because, if I can’t…” She fell silent, then sobbed, once. Twilight swallowed past the lump in her throat, feeling the tears well in her eyes. She took another step forward, and pulled Pinkie Pie in for a hug. “You’re right,” she said. “You do need to make it work—but you don’t need to do it alone.” Pinkie began to weep into Twilight’s shoulder, her body shaking with the sobs. Twilight closed her eyes, and started to rub Pinkie’s back slowly, gently. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “We all need a little help, sometimes…” Pinkie sniffled, and Twilight magicked a little handkerchief out from her own bag. She wiped away the tears, then smiled at her. “Feel any better?” she asked. “A little,” Pinkie admitted. “Good.” Twilight slipped the handkerchief back into her bag. “First things first: let’s get you out of this... garbage. That’s just…” “Gross,” Pinkie finished with a smile. “I know, but…” she shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” Twilight shook her head gently, then helped Pinkie to her hooves. “There’s a lot that does,” she said. She turned and started to walk back towards the street, and Pinkie followed her. “Now, let’s talk about where you can get some help. Have you talked to your family?” She shook her head. “They wouldn’t understand,” she said quietly. Twilight bit her lip. She’d only met them once or twice, but… she had to admit, she agreed. She swallowed. “What about Maud? She sent you something for your baby shower, didn’t she?” “Rocks,” Pinkie replied bitterly. She hesitated, then sagged a little more. “I mean… they were good rocks… there were some shiny ones, and some rough ones, and some smooth ones… good for little kids. As much as rocks can be, I guess…” she sighed. “But you can’t pay the bills with rocks. And she’s still a student… she has so many other things she needs to pay for, I-I couldn't…” Twilight nodded. She opened her mouth—hesitated—then decided to press forward anyways. “Have you, um… considered contacting the father—?” “No.” Twilight stopped and turned to look at Pinkie, and was surprised to see the hard edge in her glare. “I’m sorry?” she asked. “No,” Pinkie repeated. “No?” Twilight repeated. “But, it’s law—he owes you—” Pinkie shook her head firmly. “That’s not an option,” she said. Twilight waited for her to continue, but Pinkie had said her piece. Finally, Twilight swallowed. “Well, what about the Cakes?” Pinkie thought, then shook her head. “Things are already tight,” she said. “I work the register, trust me. They do alright, but they have little ones of their own, and they don’t have a ton to spare.” She paused, then sniffled. “And they’ve already done so much… I mean, Mrs. Cake even lets me borrow her curling iron…” Twilight glanced at her mane. Now that she mentioned it, it did look like whoever had curled it had done so with shaky hooves… Curling iron… Suddenly, Twilight’s eyes went wide. “Pinkie,” she gasped. “You’ve been curling your mane by hoof?” Slowly, she nodded. “I-it hasn’t been curly for… for a couple months now,” she said slowly. “And… I don’t want anypony to… to have to worry about me...” Twilight closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was quiet for a moment. Finally, she turned and walked away. Pinkie hesitated a moment, then followed close behind. Suddenly, Twilight spoke. “Then, I guess you only have one other option,” she said. Pinkie looked up at her, her gaze trembling. “You’ve got us,” Twilight finished. “Us?” Pinkie repeated, uncomprehending. Twilight nodded. “Us. Your friends.” She chuckled a little. “After all, it’s a friend’s job to worry about you, isn’t it?” Pinkie was silent. Twilight glanced back at her; she was walking with her head down. “So, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said. “We’re going to walk back into that store, and we’re going to get some proper shopping done. You’re going to get the diapers you need, and the formula, and…” “No,” Pinkie said—this time, almost plaintively. Twilight raised an eyebrow. “I insist—” “No, please,” Pinkie repeated. “You don’t have—” “I don’t,” she said. “but I want to.” By now, they had reached the road. Twilight sat down on the grass at the side of the store, her back against the red brick wall, and Aurora snuggled wordlessly up to her. Twilight patted a patch of grass beside her. Pinkie stared, sighed heavily, then sat as well. Pinkie sighed and drooped her head. “Please don’t,” she said. Twilight frowned. “Pinkie,” she said, “what’s wrong?” Pinkie shook her head. “It… it’s not your responsibility,” she said, “It’s mine. And I don’t want to have to make you suffer, just because I—” She stopped suddenly, then swallowed. “Just because I made a mistake,” she finished quietly. Twilight watched her carefully, then swallowed a lump in her throat. “No,” she said. “No, that’s not how this works. We’re friends. And friends help each other. Even when it’s hard.” She swallowed again. “Especially when it’s hard.” Pinkie looked up at her from under her mane, but said nothing. “Pinkie,” Twilight said, gently, “ever since I’ve known you, you’ve done your best to make everypony around you smile. Please,” she said, taking her by the hooves, “give me a chance to return the favor.” A slow smile crept across Pinkie’s face, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffled, then wiped it away. “Well,” she said, “when you put it that way…” Twilight smiled, then stood and helped her to her hooves. “Come on,” she said, “let’s take care of you.” Aurora stood and looked between them. “Does that mean I can get my candy now?” Pinkie snorted. She smiled a little wider, then held a hoof to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Finally, she threw back her head and laughed—her first real, genuine laugh since she’d come back to Ponyville.