Rainbow Dash didn’t like being the center of attention--at least, not like this. Nor did she like retreating from a fight. And yet, here she was, starting up at her ceiling as she lay on her bed.
She knew she messed up, she didn’t need a livid little colt to scream the obvious right in her face. She certainly didn’t need to be scolded by a child to realize that her abandoning Scootaloo in favor of some irresponsible fun was nothing short of messed up.
She didn’t need it, but that’s exactly what she got.
“Really done it now, haven’t ya Dash?” Rainbow said bitterly. “Woulda been one thing if it had been one of the girls but… Rumble? Who does that little brat think he is, anyway?”
She flared her nostrils, as she angrily flipped her pillow to the cool, dry side.
“It’s not like anyone’s gonna believe me, anyway,” Rainbow continued. “I didn’t mean to forget about Scootaloo-- I spent hours looking for her!”
As much as she wanted quiet, the voices in her head would not allow it:
I’d hate to see the damage you would do as a mother...
You’re no hero, Rainbow Dash… You’re not even a friend…
Rainbow Dash pressed her hooves to her ears, as if somehow this would silence them.
Why weren’t you there for me?
Last I checked, Fluttershy didn’t let somepony down…
You promised!
“Shut up!” Rainbow pressed tighter, closing her eyes tight, “I’m not a bad pony. Shut up!”
I would be a good mother…. The best! That pint-size punk and that bookworm don’t know what they’re talking about….
Rainbow’s eyes shut one last time, a fresh crop of tears breaking free, rolling down her matted fur upon her tired body.
She was in high school again. Freshmen year at the Cloudsdale Junior Flight Academy. Only the best of the best made it through these doors; the photos of alumni that lined the halls practically doubled as a Wonderbolt museum.
Rainbow had done fairly well her first semester. By no means was she an A student, but she had a physical prowess, dedication, and determination to rise to the top of the heap. Even as a fourteen year-old, a scrawny little thing, she put the upperclassmen to shame… well, most of them anyway. She had friends, they’d practice routines and do mock Wonderbolts formations for fun. And, when the parents were gone, the party arrived, and so did the stallions.
So did the stallions…
Spitfire, a well-liked junior, one of the very few who could beat Rainbow in a race--barely--had invited her to a party. But not just any party, mind you, a “senior party”. This wasn’t just a loud stereo, some pizza, and pretty boys with shining smiles----this was a party for adults, where everyone played adult games, and said adult words, and passed around adult drinks. No fillies allowed.
Of course Rainbow Dash was going to go.
Spitfire’s house was more a mansion than anything, with it’s tall, imposing gates, colonial architecture, it was 34,000 square feet of filthy music, dirty dancing, and nasty stallions. She could hear all of the above as she rang the doorbell, flanked by a couple other students.
The foyer was packed, the music was thundering through the whole estate, with the melting pot of hoots, hollers, and heckling adding even more clatter to the commotion. All sorts of upperclassmen were there: the popular seniors, children of Wonderbolts, flaunting their designer saddlebags and bling; even some teachers from the academy--though less interested in the music and sundry, and more in the cigarettes and booze.
“Well, look who decided to show up?” It was Spitfire. Dash was now encircled by a gang of fillies and…
A drink was handed to her, a small shot glass, filled about ¾ full. The concoction seemed to be a brilliant orange-ish pink. It fizzled, it smelled like cherries. Without thinking, she shotgunned the tonic, sent the glass crashing to the ground, and reciprocated way too many hoof bumps and pats on the back to count.
There was some ping pong; water polo; musical chairs involving funnel clouds…
And then, things began to blend and blur. There was a stallion… That’s all she could really remember, a silhouette--a tall, handsome, goddamn sexy silhouette. She remembered she kissed this silhouette… more than once… They danced, too, lot’s of dirty dancing.
...the lights dim around the silhouette, the memory of the duvet… dirty talk, dirtier touching…
...they were alone. They could make out, make noise….make promises….
Saved by the bell. Or more appropriately, startled half to death by it.
She jerked awake as the clock in the hall chimed. The ghostly kaleidoscopes of fragmented memories wisped away, like the smoke… he had reeked of it. Ten years later, and she could still smell it. She’d curse him if she could remember his name.
Rainbow retched as she rubbed her eyes. The clock that had torn her from her recollection read one in the afternoon. She had conked out for two hours. Her headache had evolved into a migraine; where she wasn’t light-headed, she was hurting. With her heavy head and fluttery stomach, even the dim lighting of her kitchen came close to blinding her was she struggled towards the pills, then the sink, her shaking hooves barely able to grasp the faucet.
The pills washed it down like the drink from a decade before, Rainbow stumbled back to her bed, the cool side of the pillow shoved against her throbbing skull.
Fuck. Rainbow Dash spat, I hate this. I hate all of this….
Fifteen.
This birthday morning had been three straight hours of cramping, crying, and hunching over the toilet.
The last thing she wanted to think about was the shitty foal partying it up--the foal making her into a sorry mess. Rainbow hadn’t hung out with her usual posse in weeks; she had practically been a recluse for the last two. She had told everyone to leave her alone, to go away, and to mind their own damn business.
Fluttershy didn’t listen. She never listened.
This was the worst damn birthday Rainbow had ever had. When you turn fifteen, you’re supposed to get crap like dresses and shoes, not morning sickness.
But Flutters was here. And she’d bought a present: A big box, wrapped in old funny papers. She could tell right away it wasn’t a Wonderbolts poster or a dozen cupcakes, like she usually got from Fluttershy. She had no idea what it was--and, given the circumstances, she wasn’t sure she cared.
Fluttershy sat across from Rainbow in her living room. Both said nothing as Rainbow simply sat there and groaned. Just the sight of her bloated belly made her nauseous. It was Flutters though, she had to open this present.
She pulled off the wrapping paper, which revealed a nondescript cardboard box, which was filled with packing foam. After a couple hoofulls later, Rainbow stopped. All the color drained from her face.
Diapers.
Formula.
Blankets.
“We figured, you know…” Fluttershy looked away, “You could use-”
“Fuck you.” Rainbow groaned, then laid on her side, kicking the box away. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you… of all the things--”
Fluttershy did not react. “They still don’t know yet, do they?”
“Why would I tell them?” Rainbow hissed, “So I can get more wonderful shit like this? So I can get kicked out of the Academy?”
“That’s not a matter of ‘if’. Rainbow Dash. You’re three months pregnant. If they don’t know, they should have at least guessed.”
“Let them keep guessing, then.” Rainbow pouted. “I’m not telling them, and you aren’t, either.” She rolled over, facing the back of the couch. “Not like it’ll matter, anyway.”
Fluttershy hesitated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not keeping the stupid foal, Fluttershy,” she snapped. “I already talked to that doc you took me to down in Ponyville. I can give it to somepony else, come back to Cloudsdale, and get on with my life.”
Fluttershy simply sighed.
Rainbow continued, “I don’t need it; I don’t want it. I’ll just stay with you until I give birth, o-or whatever, and then be done with it.”
Fluttershy was silent for a moment, then spoke.
“You know,” she said, a sudden edge in her voice, “none of this would’ve happened if you had been a little more--”
Eyes open again.
Head still stuffed with cotton, and heavy as a heartbreak.
This time, it was nature calling. Nature didn’t leave a message.
The minute she got to the toilet, she lost the will to stand, or even crawl back to her bed. She simply lay hunched over the rim, the gray water casting back the reflection of a sad, sick, and sorry mare.
Scootaloo didn’t like being the center of attention--at least, not like this. Nor did she like retreating from a fight. And yet, here she was, starting up at her ceiling as she lay on her bed.
She cared not for the sounds of stallions moving furniture out of the house, she ignored the knocks on her door, and the occasional insistence that they needed to come in, she wasn’t hearing it. Not yet.
A good deal had happened today, and as if things at school weren't enough, there was one simple note on her calendar, four little words that made her sick every time she so much as thought about them.
Today is moving day.
Well, for Mrs. Harbour it was. Scootaloo on the other hand, was an uncertainty. Mrs. Harbour had worked out a deal: Scootaloo had a week to get something arranged, papers included, or she would be a ward of the state once more, and almost certainly be sent somewhere far from here; most likely Manehatten or Trottingham.
But Sweetie Belle and Rumble lived in Ponyville, which meant either city simply wasn’t an option.
Another kinder, gentler knock stirred Scootaloo from her melancholy. Curious, she trotted to the door, and opened it only slightly, just enough to see Mrs. Harbour.
Scootaloo returned to her bed, letting Harbour come in and close the door behind her.
Harbour sighed, “Look, Scootaloo, I know this is difficult, but it’s for the best, dear.”
Scootaloo didn’t move.
Harbour trotted to Scootaloo’s bedside, and tried to place a comforting hoof on her shoulder. Scootaloo pushed it away.
“Scootaloo, please…” Mrs. Harbour tried, “I don’t want what little time we have left together we have to be like this.”
Scootaloo still did not react. Mrs. Harbour sighed.
“You have to try to look at things positively,” Harbour said, sitting down beside her. “You get to live in a new home, with a new family. And you get the opportunity to create wonderful new memories with them.” She reached out her hoof again, hesitated, then pulled it back. “These last few years of your foalhood are some of the most memorable…”
She paused for a moment. Scootaloo’s ears remained flat, her tail unmoving. As she stared down at her, Mrs. Harbour felt her throat tighten, and tears begin to well up in her eyes.
“You’ve made my life so much better…” she said quietly. “Good times and bad; your optimism, resilience… Why, anypony would be blessed to have a foal with such personality, such heart...”
She felt her lip quiver, and a tear run down her cheek.
“This is difficult for me, too, Scootaloo,” she said.
Scootaloo’s ear twitched.
“Is it really?” Scootaloo hissed. “You seem just fine with getting out of here and leaving me.”
Mrs. Harbour sat up straight. “Scootaloo, how could you--”
“Why did you try to hide it from me?” Scootaloo snapped, rolling over. “Why did I have to sneak into your room just to find out you were going to just move away? Gonna move away and leave me to… to them?” she said, gesturing angrily out the door.
“I--I didn’t have a choice, Scootaloo,” Mrs. Harbour said quietly.
“You always had a choice,” she shot back. “You could’ve bought a house, rented a place… We could’ve stayed here in Ponyville, just the two of us. But no, you’re going to go to some fancy old ponies’ home in Canterlot… live it up with all the other old nags.”
“Scootaloo,” she said carefully, “this is important for you. You need to experience life outside of a foster home--life with a proper family. It’d be good for you.”
Scootaloo looked up at her, eyes filled with hatred, and a snarl on her llips.
“Good for me?” she spat. “You know what’s good for me? Somepony who isn’t going to just pretend they love me, and care about me, and then just go and leave me!”
Mrs. Harbour’s mouth fell open. She tried to speak but no sound came out.
“That was it all along, wasn’t it?” Scootaloo snarled. “You just had to wait until your ball and chain was old enough to get thrown out!”
Mrs. Harbour stared at her, then closed her mouth. Set her jaw, and looked over her glasses at Scootaloo. “You’re wrong, ” she said, her voice cold and level. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
Scootaloo stared up at her, eyes wide. Mrs. Harbour had done many things--but never before had she gotten angry. Not like this.
“I’m disappointed you think that this is any easier for me than it is for you,” Mrs. Harbour continued. Every syllable dripped acid. “You think getting stabled with those nags will be fun?” she shook her head. “It’s not a vacation--that’s where they send ponies to die. You think your life is a shithole? Try living in a madhouse.”
Scootaloo shrank back, but Mrs. Harbour stared down at her, trembling , righteous fury in her eyes. “Nothing you say, nothing you do, is going to make this go away, Scootaloo. You need to accept it. The sooner you do, the sooner you can…”
Something boiled up inside Scootaloo. “No!” she screamed, leaping to her hooves. Mrs. Harbour shrank back, the fire going out of her eyes. “I’m not going to accept this!” Scootaloo roared. “This isn’t fair, this isn’t right! I thought you loved me!”
“I do, Scootaloo,” Mrs. Harbour protested weakly.
“Liar!” Scootaloo spat. She flared her wings, then advanced on Mrs. Harbour, who backed away, sudden fear in her eyes. “Stop pretending like you ever gave a shit about me,” Scootaloo snarled, “because you don’t!”
Even as Mrs. Harbour scrambled away from Scootaloo, her heart broke for her; there was anger in her eyes, to be sure, but so much more--all her pent up rage, confusion, uncertainty and heartache; her betrayal and heartache at the abandonment at the hooves of her idol; the humiliation of her disability; her fear and anxiety of losing every last pony she loved and cared about. All of it was tearing her little heart into shreds, aching with every step she took.
Mrs. Harbour swallowed as she realized that this could very well be the last time she would see Scootaloo.. This would be the last memory they shared, and she didn’t want it to end like this…
Closing her eyes, Mrs. Harbour lunged forward and pulled Scootaloo into a tight embrace. She felt Scootaloo thrash against her and try and push away.
“Let go of me!” Scootaloo screeched. “I hate you! I don’t want…! Want…”
And then, Scootaloo went limp. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Scootaloo wrapped her arms around her. Scootaloo buried her face into Mrs. Harbour’s side, and she began to sob--deep, gasping sobs of worthless rage and bottomless sorrow.
Mrs. Harbour squeezed her tighter and buried her face in Scootaloo’s mane. She breathed in her scent--the smell of the child that she had raised from birth into very nearly a mare--and wept like a foal.
Scootaloo bit her lip, stifling her sobs. She looked up at Mrs. Harbour. “I…” she gasped. “I… I love you…” She buried her face in Mrs. Harbour again. “...Momma.”
Scootaloo could feel Mrs. Harbour quiver, then give her a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“I love you too, Scootaloo… I’ll always love you.”
Mrs. Harbour held her there for a moment. “I want you to remember something,” she said finally. “No matter what life throws you way, what trials you face, what heartbreak you endure--always remember… that no matter what…” she pulled Scootaloo a little closer. “...Somepony still loves you.