Sensation (SFW Version)

by Vivid Syntax

Chapter 25 - The Monster

* * * * *

Soarin' looks uncomfortable, and as fluffy as this cloud is, I am, too. My right foreleg has fallen asleep, and my face is beginning to radiate with sunburn. My back is sweating, and I regret wearing the long-sleeved shirt. Hopefully my mane is still up. No matter, though. There's a story to tell.

I stretch my neck. "Did it get better after that? The pet name?"

"Yeah." Soarin' stretches out his wings. "I ended up saying 'Applebutt Applebutt Applebutt' over and over again until it stopped being weird."

That's one way to do it, I suppose.

The pang in my leg is getting worse. It's shooting up into my chest and could interfere with my ability to remember details. I should be careful, especially without my notepad. "Sorry to interrupt, but would it be all right to move around for a while? I'm getting sore."

Soarin' rotates his shoulder. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. The doc said something about blood flow at my last checkup."

We take it in turn to stand up and shake off the bits of cloud that cling to our bellies, and then we begin to amble around the park. It takes me a few steps to remember to slow my pace. The clouds are less crunchy than they were this morning. Do they lose their structural integrity in the sunlight? In any case, the air is clean as ever. I take a deep breath. "Did Cortland and Gala hear all the 'Applebutts'?"

"Ha! Nah, and even if they did, they didn't say anything."

* * * * *

Braeburn and I slept in pretty late. Braeburn groaned about it as we woke up with our morning cuddle. "Aw, I'll never hear the end of it. They're probably already thinkin' of ways to tease me."

"Weeeeeell, then there's no need to rush." I tackled him on the bed. He giggled underneath me, and we rolled around like a couple of roughhousing colts. I even got my mouth around his ear – the one without the stud, obviously – and he did this half-laugh, half-moan thing that sounded a little whiny. I macked on his ear a little harder, running my tongue along the inside.

His left hind leg kicked. "Ha-ha! Soarin', stop!"

"Nope!" I mumbled around the ear in my mouth. I started tickling him on top of everything else, and feeling his warm, sensitive body wiggle beneath me made me completely forget the previous night. His body was always great like that.

When we were both awake enough to realize we were dizzy from the headrush, Braeburn nuzzled up into my chest. "That's a fine good mornin'. You sleep well, Big Blue?"

"Yeah, I…" My smile faded as my eyes found Braeburn's nightstand. He'd locked the letter back inside, but I could still feel it there. It was like a punch to the chest, like a rush of cold air when you're expecting a warm thermal under your wings. It sucked the life out of me, and I started imagining Bronze on top of Braeburn, and Braeburn rubbing his face into Bronze instead of me. It felt cold.

Braeburn's words from the previous night rang in my head. 'He still loves him a little,' I thought. 'But how much is a little? Is it more than…' I realized how slack my body was getting. "Uh… yeah. Slept great."

I sank into Braeburn and held him close. He relaxed in my grip, but I couldn't fake my enthusiasm for long. I kept staring at the locked drawer.

Braeburn kissed my chest, which snapped me part of the way back to reality. He looked up at me with those big, beautiful eyes. "Ma and Pa'll be wonderin' what we're up to. Ready to go?"

"Sure," I replied lazily.

Braeburn cocked his head to the side. After a second, he added, "Uh, okay. Let's head down."

Braeburn led the way downstairs. As we rounded the corner to the kitchen, I was hit by the smells of oatmeal, fried hay, and cigar smoke. The room glowed in the morning light, which seemed to be fading just a bit as the clouds rolled in. I could feel it in my feathers – it was going to rain. Hard. For now, though, the room felt bright and warm.

Even with Cortland and Gala there, actually. They weren't as bright as the rest of the room, but they weren't as gloomy as I would have expected, either. Cortland sat at the table reading the paper and sipping from a mug while Gala finished dishing up breakfast. As we entered, they both turned their heads toward us, and after a beat, Cortland smiled, and then Gala, too.

I noticed they'd almost killed a pot of coffee between them. That must've helped.

Cortland lifted his mug to us. His voice was raspy, but relaxed. "Mornin', colts. Afraid y'all had gotten lost. Sleep alright?"

Braeburn rolled his eyes and sat down at the table. "Uh-huh! Hell– er, sorry, Ma. Heck of a lot better after I got everything off my chest. How 'bout you?"

Gala pulled some roasted pears out of the oven. "Well, to be honest, Braeby, we didn't sleep much. We had a lot on our minds." She sounded tired, too. "Plus, you had me wondering all morning what you were doing up there. Hope the sheets aren't too stained. Hm-hm!"

Braeburn shot me a flat 'told you so' look, but I was more weirded out that Gala was joking about Brae and me screwing in her house. Braeburn told me later that it was the country – ponies are more open about things like sex. "We tell it like it is," he said, but when I mentioned that that didn't seem to apply to their feelings, he didn't have an answer.

Gala still made me blush a little. Dad and I had never talked about sex too much. When I was little, he'd given me the story of the birds and the bees, and when I told him I didn't get it, he told me the story of the penises and the vaginas. And, yeah, the butts.

C'mon, it's not that weird. Mom's brother was gay, and I wanted to know.

When I was older, around the time I was in the Academy, he was more concerned with me staying safe and not getting anypony pregnant. We didn't talk much about relationships or what to look for in a significant other. I think he was nervous, and he probably felt guilty, like he wasn't in a position to tell me how to find a healthy relationship. Even at that age, I understood the subtext. He just wanted me to be happy, he said, and I believe him. I think he still does.

…

Gala set an empty pan in the sink. "Might be nodding off during bridge tonight, but that's just how it goes, I suppose."

Braeburn's head bowed just slightly. "Yeah, I'm sorry for–"

Cortland cut in and pointed to Braeburn with his cigar, the end glowing red. "Don't you go apologizin', Braeburn. We needed to hear it." He paused and cleared his throat. "And, uh, you don't ever gotta worry about botherin' us. We'll listen whenever you got somethin' to say."

I smiled. Cortland was fidgeting a little and stumbling over his words, but he was trying his best, and Braeburn was drinking in all the earnest warmth his dad gave off. The back-and-forth didn't last long – stallions, right? – but I think both of them were breathing a little easier by the end of the conversation.

All three, actually. Maybe Gala was just tired, or maybe whatever they'd talked about had gotten through to her, but she didn't seem so hostile. Maybe I'd just forgiven her for being a mom. I dunno. Point is, we had a good breakfast. I don't remember much of it, which I guess means that it felt normal.

We cleaned up, and I helped Gala with the dishes. We talked about the Wonderbolts' schedule and when I'd be in town again, and it seemed to align with their anniversary late in the fall. When Gala wasn't looking, I gave Cortland a sly wink.

Cortland smiled, then asked us, "Know where you're headin'?"

Setting a dish back into the worn-looking cabinets, I said, "Meh. Cloudsdale eventually. We might stop somewhere else if we wanna see the sights." I thought about Sunburst and Cobalt Breeze. "Maybe Fillydelphia?"

Gala's eyes widened. "Cloudsdale?" She blinked a few times. "Why would you go there?"

I looked over at Braeburn, who said, "Well… uh…" He fidgeted. "W-we don't know yet. Things have been so crazy, and, uh… heh-heh." He was playing with the towel in his hooves.

'You should stay with me,' I thought. I realized that the idea wasn't so crazy. "Braeburn can stay with me. It'd be great!"

"A-at least until the heat dies down."

Cortland raised an eyebrow. "Not much for farmin' up there, from what I hear. Any thoughts 'bout how you'd earn your keep?"

"Uh…" Braeburn scanned my face. "It…" He looked back to his parents. "It wouldn't need to be long-term." He glanced back to me. "But, uh… Well, we don't know yet. There's still a lot we need to figure out."

I chewed on my cheek a little, and my stomach sank. I wanted Braeburn to be excited – we could live together, and he wouldn't have to worry about a thing. Not Bronze, not the media, nothing. 'He'd be safe.' I think I understood on some level – not deep enough, of course – how much he cared about Appleloosa and how important his home was to him, but every time I thought about it, I remembered how Bronze had promised to wait there for him and how it would make Braeburn's life miserable. I promised myself I wouldn't let that happen.

Cortland asked, "Thought this through, though, Brae? Can't very well walk on clouds, and I don't want it raining Apples anytime soon."

I jumped in with, "It's totally safe. Don't worry. They've got shoes and enchantments and potions and whatever you need now."

Cortland mumbled, "Can't be cheap…"

Gala piped in, "But Braeby. I'm not trying to rain on your parade, and… and I know you're a grown stallion and that these choices are yours to make…" From her tone, I could tell that she was repeating something from their talk the previous night. "…but you've never been good at just sitting in one place with nothing to do. I just don't want you getting mopey or bored or anything."

"We'll figure it out," I said quickly.

Cortland said, "Well, wherever you go, might wanna stop by Ponyville and talk to your granny. Don't know how she's takin' the news, but I'm sure she's heard by now. Bet it'd mean a lot to her if you told her yourself."

"Of course!" Braeburn was leaning forward. "And I wanna see Big Mac and Applejack and Little Bloom, too!" He turned to me. "Oh! Uh… that all right, Soarin'?"

I nodded.

Gala was preheating the oven again. "Well, make sure Soarin's ready." She looked to me with a smile. "Cort's side can be a bit rough at times, especially for a… for somepony new." She grimaced at her husband. "Hearts of gold, though. Wouldn't trade them for a thing."

She didn't know how right she was, especially with Mac. Yeah, we were on good terms, I think, but I couldn't keep from shuddering when I remembered his hoof knocking my jaw shut and forcing me to look at him. Still, I had everything I needed. "I'll be fine." I put my hoof on Braeburn's. "You'll take care of me, right?"

Braeburn smiled and gave me a sly look. "No promises." When his parents weren't looking, though, he mouthed, "Always."

It had started raining pretty hard while we packed up our saddlebags. Cortland said something to Braeburn in private, and they went upstairs.

It didn't take me long to get my stuff together, and afterwards Gala pulled me aside to the living room. She set her shoulders and looked me in the eye, but there wasn't anything aggressive about her stance. She took a short breath. "You're going to take care of him, too, right?"

I did my best not to sound offended. "Sure. You don't need to worry, Gala. I won't let anything happen to him."

"He's really fallen for you, Soarin'." Her voice was soft but firm. "He cares, sometimes too much, I think, and he gets swept up so easily in work and… stallions and everything else." I appreciated that she at least tried to hide her discomfort. "And I worry that he'll get in over his head. It wouldn't be the first time. He just… He sees a nice, handsome pegasus, and, well…"

My eyes narrowed. "Gala, I'm not Bronze."

She looked me right in the eye. "Are you sure?"

Her stare set something off inside me. My chest felt tight, and my brain went nuts thinking of all the things I'd done wrong, all the times I'd yelled or embarrassed him. I told myself, though, that it was different. That I was different. 'I hope.'

After pausing for way too long, I nodded. "I'm sure."

"Good." And then, slowly, she leaned forward. I didn't realize what was happening until she wrapped a hoof around me. I tensed up, but it felt... nice. It didn't burn or sting or bring back any bad memories. It just felt nice. I hugged her back, and she said, barely above a whisper. "He's so precious, Soarin'. Please make him happy."

I whispered back. "I will."

We pulled away, and Braeburn and Cortland were staring at us. They both looked content, and Braeburn had these big, hopeful puppy-dog eyes. "We should hit the road."

I nodded. "Yeah."

Cortland cleared his throat. "Hope you don't mind, but we sent for the carriage this mornin'. It's waitin' outside."

Braeburn perked up. "Hold on a tick. It's been waitin' for us? Pa, that's expensive!"

"We want you two to be comfortable. 'Sides, should give you some privacy."

I smiled. "Thanks, Cortland."

We said our goodbyes – sweet Luna, earth ponies take forever to say goodbyes – and made our way outside. Sure enough, the carriage was right there waiting for us at the end of the walkway. This big, studly earth pony with a dark brown coat and black mane was hitched to the front under an awning. His hooves and legs were covered in mud, and he was standing with one leg crossed in front of the other and his head tilted back. His chest was massive, and he oozed confidence. I swear, he was hitting on us when he said, "Mornin'. Name's Broadside. You stallions ready for your ride?"

* * * * *

Soarin' cocks his head back and gives me a little smirk. "So, what do you go for?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

He shrugs. "You know, when you're checking somepony out. What do you like? What's hot?"

It's not unusual to be asked a question during the interview process. Doing so makes the interviewee feel more in control, especially when they're under distress. This doesn't feel like that, though. No, it feels comfortable, like there's no other motive behind it. Like with a friend.

I smile and ponder. "Well, it depends. For mares, nothing beats a soft, svelte unicorn. Not too dainty. She needs to know how to have a good time."

"Heh-heh. You got that right." A wide, stupid smile spreads across his face, and his eyes glaze over. "Especially when they know how to use that horn. Dude, remind me to tell you about this Minuette mare sometime. How about the stallions?"

I roll my tongue around my mouth. "Well, I like 'em big. The cab driver sounded pretty hot. Earth ponies are a hell of a time in bed." I cast a sideways glance at him. "Yeah. Earth ponies are definitely the best."

Soarin' raises an eyebrow. "Hey! What about pegasi?"

I stick out my lower lip and pretend to think. "Nah, the wings always get in the way."

"Well, not if you–"

"And they're too fast."

He sneers. "…dammit."

* * * * *

The rain was coming down in sheets, but we got our stuff into the carriage pretty quickly and without much trouble. Everything was a little wet, but nothing was damaged. Braeburn had picked up an extra saddlebag of stuff, what I thought was just stationary and clothes, and we set it all on the seat.

The inside of the carriage was pretty nice. It was lined with that deep crimson fabric that everypony associates with the rich life, and the curtains were heavy and dark enough to keep out the sunlight if there had been any. It wasn't drafty, and the padding only had a couple small holes in it. The cabin was big enough to seat four comfortably, even if they were chunky, and the seats were deep enough to lie down on. Pretty nice for being out in the sticks, even if it smelled like a train station at 2 AM: faint smells of a hundred ponies, but nothing too offensive.

Braeburn sat facing forward, and when I sat next to him, he said, "Aw, and here I figured I'd be able to catch a nap on the ride there."

I cuddled up and rubbed my face into his shoulder. "Nnnnope! I wanna be next to you." Luna, I sounded like a colt around him, didn't I?

He chuckled. "Heh heh. All right, you goof. But I'm kickin' that pretty ass of yours over to the next seat as soon as you fall asleep."

As we rolled away from the Apple house, we waved goodbye to Cortland and Gala. Even as they were getting soaked, they smiled. It seemed genuine, and that made me happy.

We pulled away, and I thought about what it would be like to celebrate the holidays with them. I pictured Braeburn and me back there for Hearth's Warming Eve, sitting around and chatting and getting tipsy on spiked eggnog. It felt warm. Warm and comfortable and happy. I'd spent the last few Hearth's Warmings getting hammered with the few other 'Bolts that didn't have families to go home to or whose families were just psychotic. It was always a good time, but I decided I wanted the nice version, not the puking-in-a-gutter version that I was used to.

And just like clockwork, I wondered if Bronze had spent any holidays with Braeburn's family. 'They didn't approve of Braeburn. But… Brae said they liked him, and he was comfortable enough to come over and drop off the letter, so…' And then I was thinking about the letter again, and that sinking feeling came back to my stomach, and I felt small. I wanted to talk to Braeburn about it, to tell him that it was really messing with me and that I needed to know again how much he cared about me, but I… I was afraid. Our talk the previous night hadn't gone well, and I was terrified that talking about it more would make Braeburn rethink everything, make him start wondering if maybe he'd had it better with Bronze. Smart? No, of course not, but that's the kind of thing that runs through your head when you've got something so important in your life. I told myself we'd talk it out eventually, before the carriage ride was over. 'I just… need time to figure out what I want to say.'

I cuddled up to Braeburn again and closed my eyes, listening to the loud pounding of the rain on the carriage roof. It rumbled like a steady, quiet drum. It felt right to be there with him, and it pushed Bronze a little further from my mind. I hoped Braeburn wouldn't notice how much I was fawning over him.

Braeburn noticed. "My, somepony's affectionate today. That's what I get for not takin' care of you last night, I suppose."

He was being sweet. I didn't know how to answer other than with a nuzzle under the chin. We stayed like that for a mile or two, just relaxing and keeping each other warm.

After a while, Braeburn shifted and said, "Heh heh. You know, I'm waitin' for you to ask if I've ever bucked in a carriage before." He stroked my mane. "Then I'll make some excuse about bein' too loud, and then you'll say that the rain is a lot louder than we'd ever be." He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "That about right?"

I looked up and smiled. He knew me so well. "Weeeeeell, we're almost out of lube, but if you really want me to go in dry, we–"

With a lurch, the carriage stopped suddenly, and Braeburn had to grab on to keep me from falling off the seat. I shook my head. "The buck was that?" I stuck my head out the window and shouted to the driver. "Dude! Little warning next time?"

Broadside peeked around the corner of the carriage with an awkward grimace on his face, and I could see the small, blue unicorn that was blocking his way. He was soaked, and his dark brown mane was covering most of his eyes. He was a small guy, and he shivered a little in the rain. He looked fairly young, too, a little younger than Braeburn or me. His luggage looked drenched, too.

I couldn't hear their hushed conversation over the rain, but eventually, the driver sighed and jerked his head back towards the carriage. I think I saw him mouth, "You gotta ask them."

The blue stallion perked up a little. He grabbed a heavy piece of luggage and struggled to carry it high enough to stay clean, but when he got back to the window of the carriage, it slipped out of his mouth and dropped into the mud.

"Oh, shoot!" he said in a small, exasperated voice. He brushed his mane out of his face and looked up at me. "Hello. I'm… I'm very sorry, but I'm running late, and I need to get to the train right away, and I didn't realize the carriage was reserved, so I had to run all the way here, and…"

'Ugh. We don't need this right now.' While he rambled on, I thought of all the ways he could get us noticed by the media, especially if he was meeting friends. 'It's not worth the risk.' I held up a hoof to stop him. "Sorry, buddy, but it's taken."

Don't look at me that way. We had someplace to be, and we didn't need any complications. Besides, I needed the time with Braeburn to talk about Bronze's letter. At least, that's what I told myself. 'We'll get to it eventually.'

He frowned up at me. "Please? I'm so sorry. I just need to get to the station as soon as possible!"

I rolled my eyes. "Look, dude. I already told you: it isn't happening."

But Braeburn was Braeburn. He poked his head out of the window next to me, right out into the rain, and bumped his flank into mine. "Oh, don't mind him. He didn't sleep well last night. Hop on in! There's plenty of room."

The stranger lit up. "R-really? You sure I won't be too much trouble."

Braeburn nodded. "Uh-huh! Just give yourself a good shake before you get in."

Our guest did as he was told, and Braeburn helped him hoist his luggage into the carriage. When we were settled in, Braeburn banged on the front to let the driver know he could go, and we were off.

The stranger grabbed a towel from his bag and dried off, and I fumed silently at him. 'The buck are we supposed to do now? There's no way he doesn't recognize us, and what if he tries to tag along at the train station? Salt Lick City's tough enough to navigate as it is.'

Braeburn was friendly, though. "Sorry you had to deal with the rain. Not many ponies take the carriage on a Sunday, but I suppose it happens. Hope we didn't inconvenience you too much."

He dried off his ear. "No, really, it's okay! I'm just grateful you're letting me come with you. I'll pay for the whole thing if you want."

Braeburn waved a hoof. "Naw, that wouldn't be fair. Besides, it's already covered. Our treat."

The stranger smiled. "Thank you, then. That's very generous."

"Our pleasure." Braeburn nodded at him. "Now, we haven't been properly introduced. You got a name, stranger?"

"Of course! My name's Tom. Tom Ink."

* * * * *

I skid to a stop, and my eyes open wide. "What?"

Soarin' drifts slowly away and drags his hooves down his face. "I know I know I KNOW!!!"

I blink a few times and try to restart my brain with a good shake. "And you threw him out immediately, right?"

"I was… distracted. I didn't realize who it was."

"Oh no…" A thought strikes me. Reflexively, I grab my saddlebag from my back and plop it onto the cloud with a puff. Rifling through a few papers inside – mostly reference materials for the interview – I find an early-summer copy of The National Equinerer and rip it out. I hold it right in front of my face and stare at the slightly blurry image of two ponies huddled behind Soarin's wing, framed by a scarlet red background that looks suspiciously like the interior of a carriage.

Stay calm. "This is the 'Trouble in Paradise' story, isn't it?"

"Ugh…" Soarin' sulks in midair. "Yeah, it is. Do you really need me to go over it?"

I sit down and stare at the headline again: Trouble in Paradise, by Tom Ink. Through gritted teeth, I say, "Tell me everything."

* * * * *

"Nice to meet you, Tom! I'm Braeburn!" Ugh. I don't know if it was the country hospitality or not wanting to be all pink again or if he just forgot, but our cover was immediately blown. Not that either of us knew, of course. Yeah, I was a little ticked he wasn't being more careful, but while Tom and Braeburn went off with these stupidly long introductions, my mind wandered.

The conversation from the previous night kept playing over and over in my head. I know Braeburn said it would be okay, but it's not that simple. I'd read how sure Bronze was that Braeburn would come back to him, how much he believed that I was just Braeburn's fling, and I couldn't stop picturing that same scene, over and over and over again: the three of us in Appleloosa, and Braeburn throws himself at Bronze. Over and over and over.

"C'mon, now, don't be a stranger."

"Huh?" I looked back at Tom. "Oh. Yeah. Fine. I'm Soarin'."

Tom bowed politely. "Very nice to… Hey!" Tom sat up and flicked a hoof at me. To his credit, he had the dirty liar thing down. "Soarin' Windsong? Like, captain of the Wonderbolts Soarin' Windsong?" He looked me up and down with way too much interest. "Wow, it is you! Wow! Holy… Wow, thanks for letting me bum a ride. This is awesome! Oh! I promise I won't be too annoying. Let me know if I'm too annoying."

I narrowed my gaze.

He pretended not to notice. "I gotta ask, though: what are you doing way out here? The Wonderbolts aren't performing anywhere nearby, at least from what I've heard."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously?" I asked flatly.

Tom shrunk back a little. "Oh, uh… sorry. Is there something I should know about?"

I ground my teeth. Even if he'd really been ignorant, just thinking about having to explain everything again was ticking me off. I snorted. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, so… not a fun vacation then, I guess?"

Before I could yell at him, Braeburn cut in. "We've been travelin' a bunch lately, and life's been a little hectic. Plus, like I said, we haven't slept much. Sorry if we're a little short."

"It's fine, it's fine." He waved a hoof, and I was naïve enough to think he just couldn't take a hint. "I travel with my family a bunch, too."

Family.

Those freaking parasites always know how to phrase things just right, how to be just annoying enough to get you to volunteer information to shut them up. They buzz around you, needling you a little bit at a time until you snap, all without you suspecting a thing.

And he got me. I rolled my eyes, thinking he was a complete dope. I didn't know if I was annoyed or angry or relieved or anxious or what, but whatever it was, I was exhausted, and my emotions were a freaking mess.

When I looked at Braeburn, though, I started melting at the thought of calling him "family" one day, whatever that would mean. I focused on that, since he was the only thing in my life that made sense. My shoulders relaxed, and my guard was down. "Nah," I said with a sigh and a little smile. "He's my coltfriend."

Saying it out loud helped calm me down. 'Yeah, he's my coltfriend. He's not Bronze's or anypony else's. It's him and me against the world. Yeah.'

"Oh, s-sorry to presume." Fake stutter. Classic move to convince somepony you're star-struck. "I wouldn't have guessed, though. No offense, but you two don't seem like coltfriends."

Aaaaand that was the end of my little moment of serenity. I whipped towards him, and my wings flared out. "The fuck is that supposed to mean!?"

His eyes went wide. That part, I think, was real. "Nothing, just…"

"What!?"

"Geez, Soarin'!" Braeburn yelled. "He's a fan. Cut him some slack."

I forced my wings down and slumped. "Fine."

Braeburn looked back at Tom. "I'm really, really sorry. There's no excuse for this hostility."

"It's… It's okay. It's just that you guys seem tense, like there's something wrong." He was fishing. They teach us all about it at the Academy: the reporters will say something vague but barely specific enough to get you to fill in the blanks yourself, and if you're in an emotionally weak position, things just slip out. "Like there's something on your mind."

Braeburn looked back at me. "Uh, I don't think so. Soarin', is there something botherin' you?"

Me and my big, beautiful, stupid mouth. "Feh. No, not something. Somepony."

I swear to you, that leech started smiling. I just know it. "Somepony? Yeah, my coworkers can be pretty rough sometimes, too."

"Ugh, no!" I forced my voice back down. "No, it's not the Wonderbolts. Everything's fine…"

Screw me with a rusty spoon.

"…mostly."

Tom put on a very calm, understanding voice. "Oh… I'm sorry things aren't working out."

Braeburn shook his head. "It's okay, Tom. Things are just stressful right now."

"Yeah." His head hung low. "I think us fans like to imagine that everything is great behind the scenes and that you're all best friends all the time, like–."

…

Scratch that. Screw me a jagged soup ladle.

I scoffed.

Tom let his shoulders sink. "They're all pretty awful, aren't they?" He moped. "That'll show me to idolize them, I guess…"

See what he was doing? He was playing both sides of it: the knowing, savvy, casual fan that understands the business and tries to relate to you and the squealing fancolt that just got his dreams crushed. Plus, he'd overcorrected and painted the Wonderbolts in a really bad light, so of course I felt compelled to correct him.

I sighed. "No, most of them are fine. Fire Streak's great, and even if Spitfire's hard on everypony, she does a good job. It's just…"

…

You know what? Just screw me with every freaking piece of kitchenware you got. The rolling pin will make a great strap-on.

"I wish we wouldn't tear ourselves apart so much. I mean, yeah, I get it, competitive nature and everything. You need that killer ins– that competitive drive. But give 'em an opportunity, and any one of them would sell you out for two seconds in the spotlight. Sorry, Tom, but no, it's not all glamor and teamwork and friendship. The business gets nasty, and the ponies can be even nastier."

Braeburn put a hoof on my shoulder. "It'll be all right, Soarin'. We'll get everything sorted out."

Tom's eyes went wide. I thought he was just surprised, but no. He was counting his bits. "Get what sorted out?"

I griped, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well… th-then you don't have to, but I hope everything's okay." He knew when not to push, and it's a lot easier to keep somepony off their game if you rapidly change subjects. "But you said that the Wonderbolts weren't the big problem. And if that's not the pony that's… It's not an ex giving you trouble, is it?"

Braeburn took his hoof back. I glanced over his way, and he was sitting up a little straighter. When I slumped and scooted away, he whined. His lips parted, and the sides of his eyes drooped as it dawned on him. With a quiet voice, he asked, "Is… is that what's got you all bent outta shape, Soarin'?"

I mumbled, "It's fine." I didn't want to talk anymore. It was always words. Words make things worse and put ideas in your head and make you feel insecure. Words can poison you and ruin your life. I didn't want more words. "It's fine."

"Soarin', I don't want somethin' in the air between us. That sort of thing only breeds resentment."

I'd had it, but for Braeburn's sake and because a fan was watching, I kept it under control. Sort of. "Okay. Yeah. Fine, it's bothering the fuck out of me, okay? We'll talk about it later."

"I…" Braeburn slumped and looked at the floor. "I was just bein' honest, Big Blue. You deserve to know." He gulped. "I-I shouldn't have said anything."

My back straightened and I turned to him. 'Dammit! No, that's just going to keep him from talking again, and right after he opened up to his parents. Dammit. I'm such a dumbass.' I scooted closer to him and wrapped a wing around us for some privacy. We stayed there for a moment, and I didn't hear Tom rustling around in his bag.

We both took a deep breath, and even though the fire still burned in my chest, I just wanted it to be done. 'The letter can wait.' I was sick of it. "I'm sorry. I want to talk about stuff. Let's just wait until we're alone, okay?"

*Click*

"Okay." He looked up into my eyes. "Promise?"

"Promise." I let my wings down and saw Tom quickly stuff his towel back into his bag.

With wide eyes, he jerked his head to face us. He grimaced and waved a hoof. "Don't mind me. If you need to talk about something, I can just sit here and read the paper again or something."

There was a long pause, and Braeburn tensed up just a little.

I didn't notice. I said, "Nah, it's okay. We'll deal with it on the train."

"Oh, yeah! I didn't even ask. Where you heading?"

I didn't want to be specific, but Braeburn had told me to be nice, so I planned to mumble something about going east. "Out to–"

"Back to Las Pegasus!" Braeburn jumped in. "We're gonna lie low for a bit until the heat dies down. Figure they won't suspect us there twice. How about you?"

Tom paused for just moment. "Actually, I'm heading that way, too! Don't know why you need to keep out of sight, but as long as it's not drugs… It's not drugs, is it? Ha!"

"What? No!" Braeburn was on edge. I could hear it.

"Well, if you're trying to stay out of sight, I could get your ticket for you."

Of course he could. And of course there wouldn't be much room left, so of course he would get us a cabin together, all three of us. And of course the questions would continue.

I was going to tell him no, but Braeburn said, "Maybe." He kept interrupting me, steering the conversation. "I'd need a pillow, though." He turned to me, and his voice suddenly had a lot of weird emphasis. "You got a throw pillow on you, Soarin'? I think we might need it."

He'd figured it out. Braeburn had realized that Tom was with the media, and he was trying to let me know without tipping his cards. Throw pillow, like the pillow I'd thrown at the reporter outside our window in Appleloosa. Pretty clever of him, right? It was the perfect signal.

I blinked. "Uh, no? Why would I?"

Braeburn slapped a hoof to his face and sighed. "'Cuz now I have a headache."

Tom piped up. "Well, you can probably get some sleep on the train. It's a nice, long ride." He smiled.

Braeburn set his hoof down and narrowed his eyes at Tom. His voice got low and snippy. "Oh, go to hell, you fuckin' sumabitch."

I reeled back and shook my head rapidly. "Dude! What?"

Tom threw his hooves up in the air. "Hey, that's uncalled fo–"

Braeburn lowered his head and snorted. "No, what' uncalled for is lyin' yer' ass off in fronna two kind-hearted stallions tryin' to get on with their lives!" His country accent was stronger all of a sudden.

My eyes shot back and forth between them. "Braeburn, what that fu–"

"The Las Pegasus train don't leave 'til tonight, so he's got no need to hurry out into the rain, and for somepony that reads the paper multiple times, he's mighty misinformed about you and me, ain't he!"

"Wait…" It started to dawn on me. "Fuck." I slowly turned my head to see a smirking Tom. "Fuck!"

Tom shrugged and calmly fastened his luggage closed. "Well, I have what I need, so I'll just be heading out now."

I saw red. My wings flared out, and my hackles raised. My pulse picked up, from normal to five-mile sprint in no time flat. I could hear my heartbeat inside my skull. My skin itched. My muscles tensed. I forgot about everything else in the world.

Tom was annoyingly relaxed, and that was the last straw. "Thank you for the exclusive interv–"

I pounced. "I'M GONNA BEAT YOUR FUCKING FACE IN!!!"

Tom's smile disappeared, and he jumped back up on the seat. He stammered, "Th-there'll be assault charges!"

I didn't stop. My hooves wrapped around his scrawny little neck, and he gasped for breath as he struggled against me. He kicked me in the stomach, just short of my groin, and I couldn't breathe, but I didn't care. I wrapped a hindleg around him, and we tumbled into the small space between the two benches on the floor of the carriage.

My blood raged through my veins. I wanted him to bleed. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted to bash his head against the floor of the carriage and hear him scream and make him taste his own blood. I raised a hoof above his face to break his fucking nose. My muscles tensed to bring my hoof down on him, and…

"Soarin', stop!!"

My blood turned to ice. I looked to my left, chest heaving, to see Braeburn staring at me and shaking, tears in his eyes and taking quick, uneven breaths.

My raised foreleg when slack.

Tom sputtered, "Y-you really want more attention right now? Can't avoid the media if you're in a jail cell, can you?"

I could barely hear him. All my attention was on Braeburn: his down-turned ears and wide eyes, his gaping mouth, the way he kept leaning back, the way he kept his eyes trained on me, how he was careful to breathe quietly, how his legs shook, and worst of all, how he flinched every time I moved.

My body was numb. Automatically, mechanically, slowly so as to scare him as little as possible, I got up off of Tom. Braeburn and I never broke eye contact, and I set myself softly on the seat opposite him.

I hadn't even noticed the carriage had stopped. The door flew open, and the Broadside stuck his head in. "What the hell's going on back here!?"

I'd never seen Braeburn so scared. He didn't even blink at me, and his eyes… I kept searching them for that warmth, that life that was supposed to be there, but all I found was fear.

Tom crawled out of the carriage like the worm he is. "I'm going."

Broadside stepped out of the way, and Tom slinked off. Broadside looked back to us and said, "What happened? Are you all right?"

My words seemed cold and lifeless. "Drive."

"No. I need to make sure you're both–"

"Just… drive."

He paused for a few seconds, then quietly shut the door. A few moments later, I could hear him hitch himself back up to the car, and we started moving again. The rain had gotten lighter, and the squeak of the wheels was low and dull.

But it was quiet.

"Braeburn, I'm so, so sorry." I reached out a hoof, and Braeburn flinched, and my heart broke in half. Tears welled up in my eyes.

"It's fine," he said, not taking his eyes off me. His breathing went back to almost normal. "It's fine."

It wasn't.

We didn't speak for the rest of the carriage ride, and the whole time, all I could think was, 'No, Gala. I'm not sure.'

* * * * *

Soarin's eyes look heavy. He's landed and is walking slowly next to me. He hangs his head. "You, uh…" He clears his throat. "You get why I don't like the media now, right?"

My voice is caught in my throat, and for the first time, I'm not sure I want to hear the rest of the story. "I… I do."

We walk in silence for several minutes.

Keep him talking, Syn. He needs this. "At the very least, the Equinerer didn't print anything about the fight." Fight is probably too generous. "And it sounds like most of the details about your relationship were made up. He wasn't able to find Bronze's name, at least, and your comments on the Wonderbolts were buried on the second page." I look over to him. I'm not helping. "Sorry, it's–"

"I know you were a reporter."

…

Shit.

"I had my agent check you out. You used to work for the Pony Tribune."

Soarin' looks right at me. Does he have more to say? It looks like he's waiting. "Yes. I worked with Tom for a short while a few years ago. He's… very good at what he does."

Soarin's look could kill a minotaur, and his words drip with oily, black hatred. "How did you live with yourself?"

I look up the road. "I… couldn't, so I left. Your agent must have figured that out, too, right?"

Soarin' stops walking and sits down on the cloud, his expression suddenly blank and difficult to read. Or maybe I'm panicking and not picking up on the details.

I babble on. "I had wanted to make a positive impact, to help ponies uncover the truth. Hell, I still do."

He scowls. "And what, that means manipulating them? Getting them to spill everything until you wring out every detail and there's nothing left?"

I sigh. "I'm not proud of it."

"But you've done it to me today, haven't you?"

My body feels heavy, like I've got a cart strapped to my back. There's an answer he wants, and it's the truth, anyway. No use hiding it, I suppose. "Yes. I have."

Soarin' snorts. "I know."

I sit next to him.

The sun still feels warm on my mane, and the breeze weaves its way through my legs. Words are escaping me, and everything I manage to come up with seems like a defense of an utterly despicable craft. Up until today, I thought you had to be in the industry to see the worst of it. I was wrong, it seems.

But if he's seen how bad it gets, then… "Soarin', if you knew who I was and what I was doing, then why'd you let me interview you?"

There's a long pause, and the wind carries the sound of a group of foals playing on the opposite end of the park.

He stands and lazily flaps his wings to get himself aloft, staring again down the road. "We got to the train station that afternoon. It was–"

"Whoa, now." I catch up to him. "Soarin', that's an important question. You've been a complete recluse for months, and you've refused every other offer for an interview. What changed?"

His voice is gruff, and he quickly answers, "There are a lot of reasons."

"That's pretty vague." I could manipulate him. I could force an answer out of him. It wouldn't be hard, but dammit, I want to be able to sleep tonight. "And… I hope you can tell me at some point."

He sighs. "I hope so, too."

* * * * *

We got to the train station that afternoon. It was pretty busy for a Sunday, so we were able to get our tickets pretty anonymously. Just barely, though. We still hadn't said anything to each other, and if Braeburn was anything like me, it was taking everything he had not to break down in the middle of the station.

Tom didn't follow us. There was a sleeper car, and the train went all the way to Ponyville, so we had plenty of time to ourselves.

The sleeper car had room for four, but it was tight. Braeburn and I each crawled into separate beds and faced away from each other, and as soon as the door shut, everything flooded out. Braeburn was sobbing, and I was sobbing, and the distance between us felt like an ocean.

I felt like I'd lost him, like I'd scared him away and hurt him and shattered him completely. The tiny bed felt huge and empty, and every time he'd take a breath, I wished that he would just yell at me. I wanted him to curse at me and scream and throw a fit, just so he could feel something besides sadness. Just so I could feel like we could move on.

I couldn't take the quiet. I rolled over, and Braeburn had turned to look at me, too. His mane was frazzled, and his jaw hung slack, and his eyes were dull, not like they were supposed to be. It felt wrong.

I swallowed some snot. "Braeburn, I don't wanna be apart."

Without hesitation, Braeburn launched across the car at me and grappled me in a big hug. He mumbled into my chest, "I don't wanna either."

He squeezed tightly, so tightly that it hurt, but I wanted it to. It burned, and it stung, and it brought back that image of him in the carriage, terrified of me. It didn't feel nice.

I was still crying, and my voice came out barely above a whisper. "Why? I don't deserve you."

"Stop that. Just… stop that." He swallowed and kept mashing his face into me. "It's because you're good, Soarin'. You're a good stallion."

"No, I'm not. You're the good one, Brae." He was. I felt completely worthless next to him. "You're kind, and you're brave, and you're smart."

"You're the brave one, Soarin'. You keep me safe. You hold me, and when we're together, I feel like everything's right. And I'm sorry about what I said about Bronze. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

My chest heaved, and I thought I would turn to stone. He's seen what a monster I'd turned into, but he was the one apologizing. Just for telling me the truth.

Braeburn wrapped his hind legs around me. "I-I'd take it back if I could. Hell, I'd erase him if I could, but I can't. And I don't want to throw all this away, and I'm sorry I made you mad. I don't care about that reporter, Soarin'. I care about you, and I don't want you to go to jail. I'm sorry. Please don't go to jail. I don't know what I'd do. I want you to be happy, and I don't want to make you sad. I'm just an idiot. I'm sorry, Soarin'. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Hot tears ran down my face and my neck as I stroked him. "You're perfect, Braeburn. You're responsible, and you make me feel good. You make me feel happy. I keep screwing up, and you deserve somepony who won't, and I keep making everything worse, and I'm sorry." I squeezed him back. "I'm sorry I'm so fucked up. I am just so, so fucked up."

He nuzzled me. "We're both fucked up, Soarin'."

Our hug still felt wrong. For the first time, it felt like we weren't trying to share something special. We were clinging. I didn't want it to feel that way, but I couldn't let go, either. My tongue felt stuck inside my mouth as I tried to come up with something.

I gulped. "I want… I want to say something that will make it all better, Applebutt."

"Just shut up, Big Blue." He shuddered and sobbed into my chest. "Just shut up and hold me."