“You know,” Spitfire said, drumming her hooves on her mattress, “this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been in the hospital more than a couple times.”
“That isn’t very surprising,” Redheart said without looking up from her chart. She stood by the end of the bed, eyes scanning down the clipboard. Pen in hoof, she made a few notes on the bottom of the page, then flipped it over and scribbled some more. “An athlete like yourself must be used to the kind of strain you put on your body and the consequences that can have.”
Spitfire snickered and waggled her eyebrows. Too easy. “Oh, so you’re interested in my body, huh?”
The briefest of sighs blew out of Redheart’s nostrils. “Technically, yes, but only in your wing and only because I’m the lucky nurse who gets to attend to you. Nurse Tenderheart tells me you were actually quite well-mannered with her when she came in during my lunch. I almost wasn’t sure we were talking about the same pegasus.”
A frown tugged at the pegasus’ lips at her tone. Two nights ago, that kind of comment would have wrought the fiery whip of Redheart’s tongue. Sure, it wasn’t the blushing or stammering she was used to when she ventured out into Canterlot’s nightlife, but what Wonderbolt didn’t like a challenge? Spitfire may not have been able to fly with her team or even cheer them on from the sidelines, but she could damn well seduce a pretty mare.
At that thought, a bitter voice whispered in the back of her mind, drawing her frown down into something more ugly for a fleeting second.
By now, her team would be in San Franciscolt, gearing up for their next show. Soarin would be overseeing preparations, no doubt without their manager's watchful eyes looking over his shoulder. Fire Streak would be running Rainbow Dash through the routine, and the others would watch and bet on how long she would last until she met the ground face-first. Blaze and Fleetfoot would be in a dark corner somewhere for their pre-show ritual—something Spitfire had learned about in the worst way possible an hour before a show in Stalliongrad. The team, she knew, would be fine. Probably. They couldn’t use her if she hobbled her way to the train anyways, not with the next stop in Cloudsdale. Wonderbolts had little use for a grounded pegasus.
Shifting her shoulders, Spitfire winced at the pinching pain at the base of her wing and shook her head, dispelling such thoughts. She straightened her ears before they could droop and picked up her smirk before it fell altogether.
Focus. Determination. Pride. Those were the ingredients that made a Wonderbolt. Though she may be grounded, she was still Spitfire. Wonderbolts, no matter how beaten down, did not wallow, especially not when a pretty mare was on the line. Above all, Wonderbolts kept their eyes on the prize.
With renewed focus, she flicked her eyes to Redheart and watched her as she switched out the IV bag for a new one. The passion she showed, even if it was anger directed at Spitfire, was gone. Now when she spoke, she sounded bored. Doused was the fire in her voice. In its place was a near monotone brought about by routine. Her eyes, so bright and vibrant the morning Blaze left, seemed duller as she went through the motions of checking up on a patient.
As she finished switching the IV bags, Redheart lifted a hoof to stifle a yawn. Smacking her lips, she walked back to her chart, her eyes listless.
This was a step in the wrong direction. Anger Spitfire could work with. Passion was passion, and there were ways to mold it into something more to her liking. Shouts of anger and shouts of desire and want were only so different, after all.
Routine meant that the fire had gone cold. Fanning the heat was only possible if there were flames to stoke. It had only taken two days for indignation to turn to exasperation.
I’ll just have to step it up a notch.
Fitting her casual smirk back over her face, Spitfire chuckled. “Misbehaving is so much fun with you, Red. I wouldn’t want to share that with anypony else.”
Redheart nodded without looking at Spitfire. “How considerate of you.”
Spitfire’s smirk began to strain. “Besides, that Nurse Tenderheart was cute and all, but she’s got nothing on you. There’s just something about you.” She hummed, eyeing Redheart up and down. “I don’t settle for anything less than the best. ‘Fraid that’s you, hon.”
“I’m flattered,” Redheart said in a most unflattered voice.
Spitfire’s smirk fell. “Seriously? Nothing?”
The corner of Redheart’s mouth twitched. “I’ve been treating Rainbow Dash for years, Captain. This isn’t my first rodeo either.” Flipping back to the first page of the chart, she regarded Spitfire with a stare filled with little emotion. “Now, there is something important regarding your recovery I need to talk to you about.”
Spitfire puffed out a breath and lay back, folding her hooves over her chest. She scowled up at the ceiling. “What does a mare have to do to get you even a little bit frisky?”
“As I’m sure Doctor Horse told you, everything looks like it should heal properly,” Redheart continued without missing a beat. “The break in your wing was clean, which means—”
“Throw me a bone here! Anything!” Spitfire blinked, then gasped. “Wait, is that it? You’re looking for a good bone? Well, I might be lacking some equipment organically, but ponies can buy anything nowadays.”
The corner of Redheart’s eye twitched and the brilliant blue sparked to life for a half-second. As her grip on the clipboard tightened, Spitfire allowed herself a mental pat on the back. Horrible, lecherous, arrogant, but better. There was something to be said about the direct route.
“The only bones we should be talking about are the broken ones in your wing,” Redheart said, keeping her tone flat as her brows. She took a breath and slid the clipboard back into place. “One more comment and you can say goodbye to your morning yogurt, too. I think you underestimate how miserable I can make your time here. Now, enough of your foalish behaviour and let me address your medical needs. Understood?”
Scrunching up her muzzle, Spitfire narrowed her eyes. Redheart met her gaze, unyielding. “Fine. What’s up?”
“Good. Keep that up, and you might actually enjoy your stay here.” The corner of Redheart’s mouth quirked up into a tiny, satisfied grin as she trotted around Spitfire’s bedside. “We need to discuss your wing.”
Despite herself, Spitfire stuck out her tongue. “First, uncool, Red. Flirting with you is one of the highlights of my day. I enjoy it immensely.”
Redheart snorted. “Flirting?”
“Second—” Spitfire shifted to the side, putting more of herself between Redheart and her broken wing. A swelling bubble of unease settled in her stomach, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “—what about my wing?”
“To put it simply, I’m going to need to examine it. Not now!” Redheart added, taking a step back as Spitfire hunched her shoulders. She raised a hoof and when she spoke it was in a slower, more calming voice. “But at some point soon, I will. It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow, but before the week is out I’ll need to give it a look.”
Narrowing her eyes a hair, Spitfire grit her teeth and pushed herself into a sitting position. With her expression guarded and her good wing half-unfolded, she brought herself to eye level with Redheart. The mare in question held her gaze and lowered her hoof.
“I know how pegasi are with their wings, Spitfire,” she said, keeping up the calm, reassuring quality to her voice, speaking to Spitfire as if she were a frightened animal. It was a tone she had yet to hear from the mare, but it unwound the knots forming in her gut. Slowly, she lowered her wing. “I understand what I’m asking. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”
“Why is it necessary? It’s already in a cast! What do you need to go poking around it for?”
“To make sure that the bone is still set correctly,” Redheart explained, taking a single step forward. A small smile caught Spitfire’s eye as she approached, stopping just out of hoof’s reach. The smile softened her features, loosening some of the tension in the pegasus’ shoulders. “Pegasus bones can be finicky, especially when it comes to abrasions to the wing.”
“Okay,” Spitfire said slowly, sliding her hoof down her shoulder. Her tail curled around over her hind leg and she found herself fiddling with her bedsheet. “I’m listening.”
“You want to get back up in the air as soon as possible without any complications, don’t you?” At Spitfire’s hesitant nod, Redheart inched forwards close enough to rest her hoof on the edge of the bed. “Then I need to make sure that the bone is healing well so that you can go back to wowing ponies and dazzling mares. If it’s offset by even a tiny bit, it could mean complications down the road.”
“There’s only one I got my eye on right now,” Spitfire more mumbled than said. “She doesn’t seem to be into dazzling, though.”
This time, Redheart didn’t snort or snipe back with a sharp-tongued retort. Neither did she respond with the colourless tone she employed earlier. “Your wing will also need preening and proper care,” she continued, smile in place and her words low. “I’ve got a certificate in pegasus physiology. You will be in good hooves, I promise.”
Inhaling, Spitfire broke away from those twin pools of luminescent blue. Her broken wing throbbed and her tail flicked higher around her waist. “Sorry, Red,” she said, exhaling. “Wing privileges are a fifth date deal.”
Redheart frowned. “Spitfire—”
“It’s not that I doubt you,” Spitfire said with a shake of her head. Her fire doused, tension built back up between her shoulders and she lay back, wrapping her forelegs around her barrel. “You’ve kept Rainbow Dash up in the air this long. That takes some serious skill, and I’ve seen how hard the rookie can wipe out. It’s like she’s got bones made of rubber or something.”
Redheart pursed her lips. “Then what is it?”
Shifting her weight, Spitfire found a small divot in the wall to look at. “Look, it’s just ...” The pink of Redheart’s mane bobbed in the corner of her eye and she heard her hoof click back down on the linoleum floor. “My wings are kind of a big deal for me, alright? I’m not cool with other ponies messing around with them.”
“I understand and respect that.” Redheart’s face appeared in her vision, beautiful eyes drawing attention away from the wall faster than any Academy record. “But the reality of the situation is that if you want to ensure you getting back in the air at your best, somepony needs to examine your wing.”
Spitfire sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth. “I can probably count on my primaries how many ponies have had their hooves in my feathers.”
“Spitfire—”
“It’s not that I haven’t been hurt before,” she continued, her healthy wing twitching and fluffing at her side. Reproach washed over Redheart’s features and Spitfire felt her insides churn. Deep within the nurse’s eyes was care, lighting her core despite everything. All she could do was look away. “But the ponies who helped me with my wing were ponies I could trust with everything. My mom, some of my team, the team physio. It’s a short list.”
“Spitfire, please.”
“And I just don’t know you well enough, I guess.” Spitfire shrugged and stared down at her hooves gripping the bedsheets.
“None of those ponies you mentioned are here, Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice imploring. It made Spitfire squirm, but not in the fun way.
Part of her was tempted, there was no doubt about that. Any excuse to have her hooves in her feathers should be something to jump at, but still she bit her tongue.
A slight shiver travelled down the length of Spitfire’s form at that thought, ending at the tip of her wing. She followed that shiver to her yellow feathers and softly ran a hoof down them. Then, her ears drooping, she turned and did the same down the cast around her other wing. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re super cute and I’m sure you’re amazing at what you do, but I’m putting my hoof down.”
Redheart sighed and shook her head. When she looked up at Spitfire, a weight seemed to settle over her muzzle, pulling her lips down into a frown. “I can’t force you, but I think you’re making a mistake. Somepony needs to examine your wing.”
Spitfire nodded and chewed the inside of her cheek. “My family doctor,” she said. “He lives in Cloudsdale—Doctor Hollow. He looked after me, Blaze, and Rapid growing up. His contact information should be in my file. You have that, right?”
With a resigned nod, Redheart backed away from the bed. She sighed before she spoke. “We do. I’ll see if we can ask for him to come pay Ponyville General a visit.”
“I’ll pay for his room and board,” Spitfire said, failing to meet Redheart’s eyes as she made for the hospital room door. Right now she didn’t much feel like watching her go.
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Princess Twilight made it clear that all medical-related fees were to be covered by the crown in this case. At any rate, I’ll see about having a letter sent off to him. With any luck, he'll be in before the week is out to examine your wing.”
“Sure. Um.” Spitfire eased her way back down to the mattress and lolled her head to the side. It looked like a beautiful day outside. “Thanks, Nurse Redheart.”
“I have other patients to attend to. I’ll be back later to check in on you. No more exercising.”
And with that, the door opened and closed, leaving Spitfire alone again in her room. A sigh turned to a growl halfway out her mouth and she thumped her head back against her pillow a good five or six times.
Great progress today, Spits.
Spitfire held her breath as she lifted both her hind legs and her chest, bringing them as close together as she could manage over her midsection. Muscles aching in protest, she grit her teeth through the discomfort and held her curled position to the count of ten. Hospitalized or not, a little pain was no excuse not to keep her body working.
And, if her old drill sergeant was to be believed, a lot of pain was no excuse, either.
Once she reached ten, she resisted the temptation to flop back down. Instead, she forced herself to ease down every excruciating inch to the welcome embrace of her mattress. She let her forelegs relax as soon as her head hit the pillow, splaying out on either side of her, and released the breath she was holding. Several more were quick to follow as her body reported a stream of messages regarding aches, pains, and stiffness that radiated out from her core, to her shoulders, and to down her haunches.
A few hours after Redheart’s last visit, Spitfire found herself left to her own devices. The orderly poked his head in to bring her lunch, sans pudding, and ducked out with only a few words passing between them. The food, as she had discovered her first morning in Ponyville General, was surprisingly tasty, a far cry from the mush she had been served elsewhere. From what little she gleaned from the orderly who visited whenever his duties dictated it—a lanky, mauve unicorn stallion—it was all locally grown.
And it occupied Spitfire’s time for the twenty minutes she took to eat it.
The rest of the hours that passed were filled only by her thoughts and the tick-tock of the clock on the wall. Her bed, while comfortable, started to feel more and more like confinement. She tossed her blankets off, but the way she sunk into the mattress left that feeling simmering in the back of her mind.
Her thoughts, cycling around a vicious circle of supple white curves with dazzling blue eyes and pegasi performing death-defying stunts to a crowd of awestruck ponies in cities far away, did little to settle her mind. If anything, they added to the building tension in her legs and wings.
Her mind seemed content to play a repeating loop of her earlier conversation with Redheart. The look of disappointment, bordering on hurt, that cracked through the mask she wore made her insides squirm. The genuine concern in her voice echoed in her mind. Despite everything and every pass Spitfire made, she wanted to see her heal. She wanted to see her better. An unsettling, nauseating feeling sunk down her chest. It was a feeling she couldn’t shake off.
When she closed her eyes and tried to shift gears to something else, she found herself looking out the window. Outside was a clear blue sky and local pegasi flying in the distance. As one of the pegasi did a loop-de-loop, her team’s farewell came bubbling to the surface. The mixture of pity and worry over Soarin and Fleetfoot’s faces, the guilt worn in Rapidfire’s usually cheery and sunny features, and the uncertainty that reigned Blaze’s expression sent her insides squirming for a completely different reason.
Neither were particularly pleasant.
Every twitch of her wing brought with it a longing to feel the wind in her mane and to free herself from her bed and her room. Wandering her thoughts proved an endless maze, leading her around in circles. The longer she lay in bed the more the stiffness in her muscles became apparent to her.
Spitfire needed to do something.
Spitfire needed to move. The simple act of moving her muscles took her mind off of whatever weighed upon it, letting her breathe. Though given how she huffed and puffed after a few sets of crunches, that notion may be more metaphorical than practical.
Sucking in her breath, she set her shoulders. Bringing her hooves to either side of her head, she lifted her hind legs and upper half. Her cheeks puffed out from the effort of holding the crunch and what felt like fire burned her muscles.
With her eyes scrunched shut, fighting down the pain, she failed to hear the door swing open or the swiftly approaching hoofsteps until a voice, raw with fury, made her lose focus.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Even after her slip, Spitfire managed to hold her pose. Opening an eye showed Redheart standing beside her bed and beside herself with outrage. Her eyes, so dull and bored a few hours ago, blazed to life as she bared her teeth in an unconcealed snarl.
If there was ever a time to play it cool, it was now. With a tedious slowness, Spitfire relaxed her muscles and lowered herself down to her mattress. Though her head felt light from the exertion and though her forelegs felt like lead weights, she managed a strained smile. “Hey, Red. What’s up?”
“Don’t you ‘hey, what’s up’ me!” Stomping the last few steps forward, Redheart stared down with a glare that would make any drill sergeant proud. She prodded a hoof none-too-gently at Spitfire’s shoulder. “I leave for a few hours and come back to find you exercising in your bed? In your condition? Just how irresponsible are you?”
Lying in bed as she was, Spitfire felt very small under the earth pony. Suddenly, she understood why Blaze cowered behind Fleetfoot a few nights before. Swallowing, she tried to push Redheart’s hoof off. It didn’t budge. “I-it was just a few crunches!”
“That doesn’t matter,” Redheart barked, drawing a wince. “You should know better!”
“I know my limits!” Spitfire matched glares. Hers felt oddly less intimidating. “I wasn’t doing anything stupid—I just needed to do something instead of lying here!”
“Then you should have said something and I would have brought something for you to do,” Redheart said, her tone hot. “The last thing you should be doing is adding more strain to your body! It’s fragile enough right now as it is.”
Spitfire’s glare faltered. The squirming of her insides returned, making her want to draw in on herself. With her ears pinned back, she opened her mouth, but found no words to say.
Redheart’s nostrils flared as she exhaled. Every flash of anger or indignation Spitfire had seen over the last two days came pouring back in one long, overdue torrent. “And, before you even think about trying to slide by with one of your horrid comments, I will warn you that I’ve had enough. One more unwarranted pass at me, and I will drop you from my care. I don’t care if Twilight, Luna, or even Celestia herself begs me to reconsider. I think I’ve suffered quite enough, don’t you?”
Spitfire flinched. Shrinking down under her blankets, she nodded. “Yes, Nurse Redheart.”
“Good. I came back in to tell you that I found your family doctor’s information.” The fire burning behind her eyes tempered, and with it Redheart’s tone. When she spoke again, her words came out calmer and more soothing. “I’m going to stop by the post office on the way home this afternoon and send him an overnight letter. With any luck, he’ll be here in the next couple days.”
“Oh.” Shifting her shoulders, Spitfire looked to the side. The intensity of Redheart’s stare made the fur on her neck stand on end. Words continued to escape her, flirty or otherwise. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Redheart said tartly. “If I catch you exercising or doing anything like that again without supervision or my explicit permission, so help me I will restrain you to your bed until you are healed to my satisfaction.”
The intent behind that threat was as sharp and as real as Spitfire’s tongue on orientation day. She bit back the first thought that jumped to mind and instead nodded again, looking more at her hooves than at Redheart. “Understood.”
“I have other duties to attend to, Captain,” Redheart said, spinning around to the door. Without so much as a threatening glare over her shoulder, she left the room, pink tail snapping from side to side behind her.
Spitfire only winced a little when the door slammed shut and sighed, head lolling back to her pillow.
Boredom or fury. Spitfire wasn’t sure which was worse.
Behave, a voice that sounded a little too similar to Blaze’s said in the corner of her mind.
With a snort, she pushed that voice away and tried to ignore the creeping feeling clawing at the back of her mind. Lifting her head, she perked her ears and listened. A set of hoofsteps trotted by her hospital room door and the murmuring of voices from further down the hall were just barely perceptible. Another voice—one that sounded like Redheart’s—travelled by. Its tone was nothing short of irritated.
Otherwise, Spitfire was alone once more.
And already her aching muscles twitched and groaned. The ones in her calves started to cramp up and her wing yearned to spread and fly.
Rubbing her forelegs together, she cast her gaze around the room. On a little cart the orderly left in her room in his haste to clean up somepony’s “accident” a few rooms down was a pitcher of water and three glasses.
Spitfire licked her lips, finding them dry. Flicking an ear, she strained her hearing for any noise. Beyond the faded murmuring of the rest of the hospital beyond the door, there was nothing. Redheart would be attending to her other duties. Nopony would be by for some time.
Sucking in a breath through her mouth, she clenched her forehooves as she pushed herself to her haunches. Water would help clear her head. Getting it would give her something else to focus on other than the last few minutes and the cacophony of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
Her good wing fluttered in the corner of her eyes and she tenderly ran a hoof through its feathers, grimacing at the contact. Whatever doctors they had on staff were not skilled in the art of preening if the state of misaligned and broken feathers along her wing was anything to go by.
Can’t wait to see what the other one looks like.
Her wing curled up at her side, recoiling at the thought.
“One disaster at a time, Spits,” she told herself, her voice coming out shaky and strained from the effort of sitting up. The room spun for a few seconds and she braced herself on the bed’s headboard. “Come on, it was just a few crunches. You’ve dealt with worse. Stop being a baby and ‘Bolt up.”
Once the room settled down, she clenched her jaw and braced herself for action. The water pitcher was only a few feet away. Though it risked a verbal lashing by Redheart, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. The longer she lay in bed doing nothing, the more she felt like a bird in a cage.
However, given how her muscles complained with a renewed vigour at the simple action of sitting up, what was best for her was more than a little foggy.
All she knew was that she could not bear lying there, useless to the world for much longer. That, and that she was thirsty.
“It’s not exercising,” she reasoned, starting the agonizingly slow process of sliding off of her mattress to the floor. Gingerly, her hoof touched the cold linoleum tiles below, making her shiver. “It’s just getting a glass of water. Nopony’s here to do it for you.”
Two hooves touched down. Shaking her head, she took a few laboured breaths before easing her other two hooves to the floor. “There, easy,” she said, legs wobbling underneath her. Her wing fanned out, flapping haphazardly in effort to balance her as she swayed in place. “Besides, Red never said I couldn’t stretch my legs a little. Stretching isn't exercise.”
She chuckled, a loose smile splitting her lips. She raised a foreleg, but the trembling from the other three brought it back down. Letting out a soft groan, she stood there beside her bed, trying to ignore the building pressure in her head and the throbbing of her broken wing.
One step at a time. Opening her eyes, she focused on her target. Ten, maybe twelve little shuffles and she would be there. She lifted her foreleg again and moved it a couple inches forward. That’s it. Left hoof, right hoof. Left hoof, right hoof.
Again, with almost painful slowness, she lifted her other hoof and stepped forward. Her hind legs shuffled forward.
“There we go,” she said as she took another, bigger step forwards. “I can do this.” Another step, another few inches closer to her goal. No injury could keep her down for long. Pride, worthy of Commander Hurricane, swelled in her chest and lifted her chin. Standing tall if uncertainly, she stepped forward. “Easy. And Red was worr—”
Her breath caught as her hoof slipped out from under her. A cry never made it past her throat as she scrambled, trying to right herself. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate with her brain and Spitfire watched as the floor fast approached, aided by the flapping of her good wing.
A second but an eternity later, she hit the floor.
She landed on her broken wing.
Stars exploded in her eyes and everything went white with pain. Fire spread along her wing and body. She was vaguely aware of a scream tearing past her lips as her hooves fumbled about, useless and flailing. The room began to blur, shapes melding into undefined blobs as fuzzy as her hearing.
Then, she felt a pair of hooves on her shoulder. A voice, low, gentle, and beckoning, spoke in her ear. She couldn’t make out the words, but the warm puffs of breath on her cheek drew a pitiful whimper.
The hooves on her shoulder, steady and strong, worked her upright. Her undamaged wing fell over something soft and warm pressed against her side and Spitfire leaned into it. Her hooves, stumbling and slipping, were guided across the floor. Somepony came. Somepony heard her. Somepony was helping her.
Whoever held her eased her back down into her bed. A sharp pain stabbed her foreleg, just above the elbow. Seconds that felt like eternities later, a blissful numbness spread over her body, dousing the fire raging all over. Her eyelids felt heavy and her thoughts sluggish.
All the while, that sweet, gentle voice continued to whisper reassurances to her, calming her until her breathing regulated and the pain ebbed.
Just before everything faded to black, she saw a blob of white looking down at her through two pools of the brightest blue she had seen. Something soft stroked her cheek, and Spitfire fell into a dreamless sleep.