Sensation (SFW Version)

by Vivid Syntax

Chapter 12 - Fires

"The water felt... good." Soarin's eyebrows are knit. He growls and turns his head to me. His back is arched slightly, and he snaps, "I mean, what do you expect? It was a shower!"

Don't flinch, Syn. If he sees you react, he'll get angry, either at you or himself. Keep calm, and get his train of thought moving a different direction.

I smirk. "Well, you can have some fun in a shower, especially if you've got a friend with you."

He smirks back. It's a little unnerving. "Heh. Yeah." Soarin's head cocks to the side, then he leans in and narrows his eyes. "Are you coming on to me?"

Well, he's an eight and a half, but he said he doesn't– dammit! Professionalism! Story! Just play it off. "Eh, wouldn't you like to know?"

"Yes, I would." He stares me down.

Buck. I shake my head. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it." I look down at my notes. "You seemed so keen on reaching Braeburn right away. Why go back to the academy? Why not just get a few bits from the bank and head to Appleloosa?"

"I mean, I had to grab my check, you know?" Soarin' turns toward the parlor and scoops up his leg braces from the floor, then tucks them under his left foreleg and starts his awkward march. His right foreleg quivers, and his wings flap out wildly to help him keep balanced. I'm a little surprised he isn't just flying over. Doctor's orders, maybe?

I follow him, and we settle into the same spots as before – Soarin' on the couch with the screwed up forelegrest and me on the chair with the patched-up leg. He settles in and lets the braces clatter to the floor. His breathing's a little heavy. Can't be easy balancing like that, and he probably hasn't had much exercise since his hospital visit.

Okay. Fresh ink. Storyteller's settled in. Ready to go. "They would have held your check for you. They can't just keep your money."

He stretches out his shoulder. "Well, yeah, but it wasn't just the check."

* * * * *

After I toweled off, I refocused. Everything I did, I did with Braeburn on my mind, and the thought of seeing him again kept me motivated enough to put on another one of my uniforms. The fabric stung. I still didn't feel like I deserved to wear that uniform, and for a second, I thought about going to the academy without it.

But I’m better than that. I mumbled to myself, "No. No way is some stupid shirt keeping me down," and headed downstairs and out the front door.

After the storm the previous night, the skies were clear. The air felt clean in my lungs, and the wind was in my favor. It was... eerily like it had been the day before. If there were any fans watching me, though, I didn't stop for them. I didn't try to take in the scenery or keep my thoughts occupied. I just flew towards my goal.

Honestly, I was worried I'd chicken out. I wanted to be the cool, collected guy that handed off the reins gracefully, but I couldn't ignore how fast my heart was beating or how heavy my stomach felt. On the outside, though, I was totally stoic. You couldn't even tell how much I was shouting at myself inside my head.

As I coasted through the entrance, one of the guards asked, "You okay, Soarin'?" I didn't respond. I was too focused. He probably thought I was being a huge jerk.

I arrived around lunch time, and I knew Bottom Line would be in his office. With a little stealth and a lot of ignoring anypony that waved at me, I snuck into the Green Room and got to those big, imposing doors. I hesitated, took a moment to steel myself, and, after a deep breath, I knocked and went in.

I got pretty much what I expected. "Busy! What is it?" Bottom Line worked furiously, scratching his pencil against a piece of paper. It looked like he hadn't moved since the day before.

I saluted. "Captain Soarin' Windsong, sir!"

Bottom Line completely stopped what he was doing and looked up. He scowled, and the room suddenly shrank. Even a few meters apart, I could swear I felt his breath on my face. The cold metal décor bore down on me, but I was just as rigid and unmovable. I wasn't going to let him get the better of me.

And there were no fluffy pink sombreros with the little balls this time.

Bottom Line stared, unflinching. "And?"

My blood boiled. Oh, that ticked me off. After the way he'd blindsided me, I deserved more than a one-word answer. I wanted to lay into him. I wanted to have a shouting match about who the hell he thought he was treating one of his best fliers like an inconvenience and not discussing major decisions with me privately. I wanted to throw the first punch, damn the consequences, and let it all out.

But I wanted to take care of business more. As much as I hated dealing with Bottom Line, I couldn't burn my bridges, not if I had any hope of coming back to the team. Spitfire was in my corner, but I needed every advantage I could get.

Plus, the sooner I told him I was leaving, the sooner I could find Braeburn. I imagined Braeburn waiting for me just outside the door, and that thought was the only reason I was able to keep my head clear and my voice even. "I'm requesting some time off, sir. Two weeks."

"Approved." He looked back down at his papers. "You'll get your back pay once you return."

I was kinda stunned. 'That was... easy.' I let out a breath and cracked a small smile. "Thank yo–" Something hit me. "–wait. I get paid time off?"

The lead on Bottom Line's pencil snapped. He put the pencil between his teeth, sat up, and rested his chin on two clopped hooves. He spoke with the pencil in his mouth. "Yes, when you actually manage to request it first instead of just skipping practice." He was biting down pretty hard on it. "You did read your contract, right?"

I turned my head slowly to the side and raised an eyebrow. "Maaaybeee–" My voice kept getting higher. "–eeeee?"

Something near his face snapped. I think it was his jaw. "Last week's check is under your office door. Anything else!?"

I snickered. Couldn't help it. The sombrero came back, and it was even fluffier this time. "No, sir!"

"Dismissed!" I didn't need to be told twice, and for once, I was happy Bottom Line was all business.

I dashed down the hall to my office, opened the door, and slipped inside. The inspection ponies didn't let me decorate the way I wanted, so I had the standard setup: a desk, some filing cabinets, and a few awards on the back wall. They did give me some discretion with the posters, though, so I had picked up some of those old propaganda posters for the EUP guard, the ones with the smoking hot mares and stallions posing in tight uniforms and telling you to enlist.

Seeing that my office was still intact made me smile. It had always been a safe place for me to chill, away from the eyes and questions and brown-nosing of my squadmates, but I didn't want to linger. Plus, I'd stepped on an envelope, so I wasn't really paying attention to the room. I pocketed the check and took a long look at what I hoped would still be my office when I got back. "Please?" I whispered to nopony in particular. I stepped out and locked the door. Hearing the deadbolt lock into place made me shudder a little.

I stood outside the door, staring down at the handle, thinking to myself that Bottom Line wasn't the only one who worked through lunch. I heard one set of wings flapping down the otherwise silent hall towards me, so that meant she had company. Without looking up, I loudly mumbled out, "Hey, Spitz."

Eight hooves landed a few doors down, and a familiar stallion's voice whispered, "How did he know it was you?"

Fire Streak. The sound of his voice sucked all the air out of my lungs. My mouth went dry, and I got all knotted up inside. Losing something to a friend is rough like that. You really want to feel happy for them, but in your heart it just feels like you've failed, like you've let yourself slip and get one-upped. You get this feeling inside you, like the most annoying itch you've ever had, and it tells you to take back what's yours, that it wasn't meant for him, and that he doesn't deserve your place.

I sucked it up and stood straight, turning towards them. A big, goofy, forced smile was plastered to my face, and I walked forward. "Lead fliers get hearing enhancements. Hasn't Spitfire gotten you yours yet?"

Fire Streak looked tense, but he relaxed a little. "Nah, she's been slacking." As soon as he realized what he'd said, his eyes went wide and his body went rigid, and he tried very, very hard not to look at the pony to his left.

Spitfire cast him a sideways glance. "Don't get cocky." Fire Streak shrunk a bit, and I caught Spitfire giving me a subtle smirk. When she spoke up, her voice had this weird mix of pleading and sarcasm. "You coming back to the team already?"

Fire Streak perked up and kept looking between Spitfire and me. He was blinking a lot.

I waved a hoof. "Nah, not for two weeks. Gotta give Streak a change to blow you guys away." I told myself I was doing a pretty good job of staying cheerful. Fire Streak jerked his head toward me and smiled, bright-eyed with extended wings. "Or crash and burn," I added. "Whatever." The sides of his eyes and mouth sank into a terrified grimace. It was great.

Spitfire didn't notice. "We were just about to go over the modified list of stunts, but that can wait. Let's walk." She was in full-on leader mode, and that didn't stop once we were outside. "So. Two weeks. Think it'll be enough?"

I found myself looking down. "Nooooo idea." I was a little surprised at how candid I was being. I guess.... since I already knew I was off the roster and couldn't do anything about it for a while, the pressure was gone.

Well, not gone. Just loaded onto Fire Streak, and he wasn't handling it as well as I'd hoped. From behind us, he spoke up with a shaky, wooden voice. "So, uh, w-we've got weekend shows for the next month. You'll be ready to take over again, right?" He was speaking quickly, and while Spitz and I were walking side-by-side, he was lagging behind. "Two weeks off, then good as new, right?"

I mulled it over. "Bottom Line wouldn't let me." My head felt clear and, for a little while, strangely unburdened. It felt weird. Tingly. "I'll need at least one show as a squad pony to show I'm not going to screw up again."

He lagged a few more steps behind. "...Okay."

The three of us walked around the grounds, talking about logistics and how we were going to adjust the... how they were going to adjust the program. Spitfire's voice had just a little more edge than usual, but I couldn't decide if it was aimed at me or the added stress of all the extra planning. Fire Streak kept freaking out, and I tried to give as much helpful advice as I could, but my heart wasn't in it. I felt totally detached from the team at that point, and I kept casting glances at the sun and wondering when the last train would leave.

But I stayed to help. Roster or no, I took pride in my job. Spitfire was including me in planning my absence, and in her own way, it was how she showed she cared. I think. Maybe. The least I could do was show some professional courtesy. Celestia knows I needed to after a week of doing nothing but screwing up.

We came up to the mess hall. I could hear the uproar even from outside, but the noise died down left and right as we entered and made our way to the food line. A few ponies made obvious attempts to keep up their loud conversations, like they could convince themselves everything was fine and that their displaced captain wasn't just meters away, but for the most part, the eyes were on us, and the silence kept spreading. It was like a drop of blood in a pool of water, and all the fish were taking notice.

The other ponies gave us space as we grabbed some of the high-protein gruel they fed us most days. The murmurs started again when we sat down at one of the corner tables. A few 'Bolts almost sat near us, but I caught Spitfire shooting them death stares when they got too close. My chest felt tight, and that feeling of being cut off from the whole team came roaring back.

I looked over at a few stallions. They were trying to sneak glances and turn their ears to listen without us noticing, but Wonderbolts aren't exactly subtle. I sighed. "How'd they react?"

Spitfire and Streak talked over each other.

"They're fine."
"They're freaking out!"

Fire Streak leaned in, ignoring Spitfire's remark. "They saw how messed up you looked yesterday, and everypony knew what had happened, just like that." He looked up and to the side, deep in thought. "I mean, I don't blame you, dude. I probably woulda been the same way. Wonderbolts aren't exactly subtle...." I love that guy. "...but everypony's worried they're next."

I paused and gave him a weird look. I hadn't expected that. With all the tension I'd caused, I thought they'd be excited to have me out of their manes. I'd always felt comfortable and safe at the top, and I guess I'd forgotten how unnerving it was not knowing if you'd fly that week. The others needed routine and stability, too.

If I was a better pony, I would have... I don't know. I would have done something. I should have jumped up on the table and gone off on some big, showy, motivating speech about pulling together. Instead, I just... abandoned them. I should have done better that day. Add that to the long list of regrets, I guess.

At the time, I didn't even think about it. I was having enough trouble balancing my energy between chasing Braeburn and helping Spitz and Streak get adjusted. In a way, the team was their issue that week, and it wasn't my place to get the stallions' act together. It was Fire Streak's, and after all the teasing about taking over for me, it kinda ticked me off that he seemed so unprepared.

I did feel a little pang in my heart when we left the mess hall. The other 'Bolts had stayed out of our way, and it felt like I was getting cut all over again. The mess hall was just one more part of the academy that I worried I'd never see again.

We headed back to the Green Room after lunch, and Spitfire told Fire Streak to go prep the teams for the afternoon workouts. He hesitated and gave me a big-eyed pleading look, but he fluttered slowly away once he glanced back to Spitfire.

I followed Spitfire into her office. She didn't waste a second. "Smart move, taking time off. It'll be good for you." Her tone was flat by most standards, but to me, she sounded almost bouncy. "Looks like my little talk got through to you."

She wasn't quite right. "Actually, it made me freak out and smash all my stuff."

Spitfire stopped dead in her tracks and cranked her head toward me. I caught her eyeing all the breakables in the room.

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "I'm better now."

She sighed as she moved around to sit behind her desk. "For what it's worth, I'll try to keep you on Bottom Line's good side." Always business. "Stepping away for a while is a good start."

"Thanks." I didn't sit down. I had someplace I needed to be, and I really wanted to get going, but something hung in the air. "Aaaaaaand..." I shifted my weight around. "I'm sorry. For what I said. For freaking out." It took a lot of effort to look at her. "I... you really are a friend. One of the best."

She leaned back in her chair, and her gaze dropped to her desk. I couldn't see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but I didn't need to. Spitfire always speaks clearly, but this time, her words came out mumbled. "You hurt my feelings, Soarin'."

Okay. I swear I'm not a huge jerk, but you need to understand something: Spitfire and I get each other. I'm sure she was having some big, emotional moment, but when was I going to get that chance again?

I pretended to sneeze. "ACHOO!" I deadpanned, "Sorry, what was that?"

She took a shaky breath and spoke a little louder. I think she shivered a little. "I said, you hurt my feeling–"

"AAAACHOO!!! Oh, dude, I'm super sorry. One more time?"

"You're fired."

"What!?" I instinctively went rigid, and I felt my cheeks blush as I relaxed a second later.

Spitfire looked up, cocked an eyebrow, and grinned. "Jeez, Soarin', you don't need to be so uptight." There was a short pause. She recoiled a little bit, and her eyes went wide. "Wow. There's a first." After a quick shake of her head, she turned back to me. "You're doing the right thing. I'll see you in two weeks. You going to stay out of trouble?"

I danced a little in place. "Iiiiiiis my name Soarin' HCCCCCCCWAREZ Windsong?"

She chuckled and looked down, starting to fill out some forms. "See you in the papers."

* * * * *

I take an involuntary sharp breath, and Soarin' stops his story. I look up from my notes and blink a few times. "Well. That was prophetic."

Soarin' cocks his head to the side. "What was?" I can see the gears turning. Any second now. "Wait..." There it is. His eyes go wide, and his voice is low and monotone. "Whaaaat." He shudders. "How the hell does she do that?"

He's expressive again. Good. After asking about Bronze, I was worried he'd want to quit.

Might as well get a few more details since we're here. "While we're off topic..." Soarin' turns his attention back to me. "Do you even have a middle name?"

Huh. Is he okay?

There's a moment of silence. Soarin's eyes glaze over, and he giggles to himself. He looks sedated, content all of a sudden. His wings are folded in, and his tail isn't even flicking. Neither are his ears. He takes a deep breath, and his smile gets broader. "No, but if I did it would be 'Bucking'."

My body sinks and my eyes half-close. I give him a flat, "Really? Soarin' Bucki–"

He rears up on the couch, throws his head back, and flails his forelegs in the air, a huge smile on his face. "SOARIN' BUCKIIIIIIING WINDSONG!!!"

* * * * *

I gave Spitfire a hoof bump and left the office, a little surprised to see Fire Streak sitting on one of the perfectly polished benches in the hallway. He perked up as soon as he heard me coming. His momevements were jerky, he spoke too fast, and he was frowning. "Dude, I am so, so sorry about this! Bottom Line didn't tell me, and I swear – I swear – I didn't, like, ask him to cut you or anything, and I don't think Spitfire even knew about it either! And okay, so you're taking some time off, but you're still gonna be at the show on Friday, right!?" He stood really close to me.

I reached out and pushed against his chest to give myself some breathing room. "Easy, Streak." He took the hint and moved back a couple steps. "But no, I don't think I'll be there."

"What!? That sucks!" He deflated. "I'm gonna need every cheer I can get."

I rolled my eyes and sat down on a bench, motioning for him to join me. "Streak, you've wanted this for months."

Fire Streak sat next to me. "Yeah, but not like this! Not just thrown into the saddle without my buddy there!" He waved his hooves out in front of him. "And it's all so complicated! Spitifre wants me to master all these new stunts for Friday and there's all these team logistics to take care of and everypony's flipping out and Bottom Line won't tell me a damn thing!" He gave me a look that felt like a punch to the chest. "And you won't even be there!"

I was blown back a little, and all I could do was slump back against the wall, looking at the ceiling. I could still feel his eyes on me, and I had to work to force out the words, "It's better if I'm not there."

He scoffed and spoke flatly. "No. It's not."

I matched his tone. "Yes. It is. Streak, everypony was already on edge before I got cut, and if I'm backstage at the show, it's only going to distract them from doing their job. It won't do them any good to keep thinking about me judging them – they'll just keep freaking out about every little mistake they make and wonder if it'll cost them their spot. Right now, I'd be bad for the show, bad for the fans, and bad for the 'Bolts." The words flowed out of me. I may be a complete dolt, but I have my moments. "The team needs focus. They need a leader that'll get them back on course, somepony they can respect that's going to give them support when they blow it, like you did with Cloudhoof last Saturday. I can't, and you know Spitfire won't be the supportive pony they need. Right now, it's on you."

I was glad I'd gotten so much sleep the previous night, or I wouldn't have been able to get it all out. 'Thanks, Braeburn.' The smell of that pillow came fluttering back to my mind.

Fire Streak still looked like someone had stomped on his birthday cake. "But... how do you do it?"

I snickered. "Fake it. Just smile and pretend you know what's going on. Spitz'll take care of the tough stuff." Fire Streak chuckled but still looked sad, so I punched him on the shoulder hard enough to make him flinch. "You'll be fine."

That got him to look my way, at least. He stood up, straightened out his uniform, and looked me in the eye, still frowning, and let out a small, "Thanks, Soarin'."

I stood up, too, and offered him a bro-hoof. "Any time, Number One."

Fire Streak's head pulled back a little, and it took a second for my words to register, but when they did, it was absolutely spectacular! His eyes lit up, and his wings sprung out, and his frown turned into the biggest grin I've ever seen on him. He let my words sink in before he reached out a hoof, but instead of a quick bump, he hooked my leg and brought me in for a hug. Fire Streak's not really a huggy guy, especially with other dudes, so I didn't mind that it went on an awkwardly long time. Not his fault.

When he finally let go, beaming, I gave him a smile and a nod. "Go get 'em."

He took a deep breath and saluted. "Take care, captain." With a quick hop, he was in the air and speeding outside, ready to lead the 'Bolts to a great show. Just as the door swung closed, he shouted back, "I'll keep your spot warm for you!"

Later, Sunburst and Cobalt Breeze would tell me that Fire Streak pulled off all his moves perfectly – including that new Pyre Spiral trick – even though Fire Streak's convinced he could have done it better. In any case, I was super proud of him. It was just too bad the media are so easily distracted.

Watching him fly out of the Green Room, I felt good for a second, but the hallway was quiet. 'He'll do great,' I thought, but the rest of the gang crept back into my mind. 'What if he's too great? What if I just signed my resignation notice!? Holy cow, that might have been my last pep talk!' My heart beat faster, but I wasn't going to wallow any more. I knew how to beat back those thoughts, and all I had to do was keep moving forward.

With my check in my pocket, I held my head high, trotted to the exit and stepped outside. "I'm coming, Brae."