Sensation (SFW Version)

by Vivid Syntax

Chapter 41 - Red Flags

There's no such thing as a single red flag. There are always a bunch of them, screaming at you to pay attention, but it doesn't take much effort to ignore them.

It could have been the guilt over the letters or knowing I wasn't any better than Bronze, but I wasn't attentive that week. I just… coasted, letting each day pass by without bringing up why I was so down. I embraced the numbness, and the rest of the week is foggy. The weird thing is, Braeburn didn't say anything about my mood. I guess that should have been my first warning.

The Wonderbolts had three shows in Manehattan that week: Friday night, Saturday matinee, and Saturday night. Braeburn came to all three, but after the last one, he didn't meet me outside the locker room. Instead, he went straight to the cab. As I stepped inside, I asked, "You doing okay, App–"

Braeburn practically jumped on me and gave me a kiss. "Glad to see you again, Big Blue. Pardon me – just I'm a little antsy to get outta here." He hugged me weakly.

"No problem, Applebutt." I tapped the front of the cab to signal the driver. "Let's go."

We didn't say much on the ride home. Braeburn settled into me, and I wrapped my wing around him, but we both kept looking out the window at the city lights below us. They seemed dimmer than usual, which didn't help the sinking feeling in my stomach. 'I have to do something for him,' I thought. Love or guilt? I still don't know.

But I knew I needed to do something, so after he went to bed, I got devious.

The next morning, I woke him up early with a kiss. He moaned at me and kept his eyes closed, so I poked him and whispered, "Hey! Hey, Braeburn!" I poked him again and put my face right next to his. "Guess where we're going?"

"Hwuh?" He rolled over. "Soarin'? Is the sun even up yet?"

"Nope," I whispered. Gently, I said, "But we need to go early. C'mon."

"How are you… Did you sleep last night?"

"Seven cups of coffee says no. C'mon!" I nudged him with my nose.

Braeburn staggered out of bed, and I helped guide him downstairs. The kitchen lights were on, and as we walked in, Braeburn's eyes went wide. "Oh, my!" On the table sat a woven picnic basket, stuffed to the top with sandwiches, bottles of juice and water, snacks, flowers, and fruit. "Blue, what's this?"

I fluttered over to the table and grabbed the basket. "Get your hat. The first balloon leaves in an hour."

Braeburn's chest swelled, and his eyes sparkled, and he looked taller than he had in weeks. "Are we headin'…" A smile worked its way across his face.

"Eeyup! We're spending the day on the ground."

Braeburn began trotting in place. "Well, what are we waitin' for? Yee-haw!"

I'd grabbed a late-night cab while I'd been gathering ingredients for the basket. Our ride was still outside, but Braeburn didn't even notice. He dashed past it, and he probably would have galloped all the way to the balloon stop if I'd let him.

We got the first balloon down to the ground. Yeah, we could have just taken the cab the whole way, but it was much more romantic to watch the sunrise together as we descended from Cloudsdale into the Equestrian countryside. Braeburn snuggled next to me the whole trip, shrugging off the morning chill with me, and we snacked on the fruit while the balloonist delivered us to our destination.

The weather turned out to be perfect for a day trip: warm and sunny, but the bugs hadn't come out yet. Flowers bloomed in the fields and along the river banks, and Braeburn galloped and cantered circles around me, taking it all in and laughing and bucking around like a foal who'd just gotten out of the hospital.

Admittedly, I hadn't thought through what we were actually going to do the whole day. We weren't too far away from Honeycrisp's farm, but picturing Braeburn taking an extended stay there gave me chills. There was a small city we could have toured around, but Braeburn kept insisting he just wanted to be outside, and he promised we wouldn't get bored.

And we didn't. We chased each other around the grassy hills – he made me promise not to fly, so it's not my fault he was so much faster than me – and when we got tired, he'd tell me about all the different types of grasses that were growing around us or what would be in season soon. We spent most of the morning just hanging out and being outside, barely noticing time pass as we bounced around in the idyllic hillsides, just the two of us. A little before noon, we settled in for a nap in the grass, lying next to each other with my neck across his and his middle wrapped up in my wing. His warm body and steady breathing were all I needed to drift asleep.

Though, honestly, the caffeine crash probably didn't hurt, either.

I woke up an hour or two later when Braeburn made a small whining noise. I cleared my throat and said with a raspy voice, "What's up, sexy?"

Braeburn sighed. "Eh, nothin'. Just thinkin'."

"Sounds awful."

He snickered. "Maybe if you tried it sometime, you wouldn't hate it so much."

"Nah. Thinking's your job. I'm just here to look pretty and pay the bills." I gently stroked his back with my hoof. "What are you thinking about?"

"Just…" Braeburn paused, then gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Heh. Maybe this week I'll finally try makin' Miss Holli's curry. If I can find decent spices, that is."

My mouth twisted to the side as I cracked an eye open. I knew he wasn't really thinking about curry, but I refused to break the illusion that everything was perfect. "C'mon, Applebutt. The stores in Cloudsdale aren't that bad."

"Well, then you don't know what good is." Braeburn rolled away from me and onto his back. He swished his tail quickly in the grass and twitched a little, eyes squeezing closed to avoid the sunlight. Some of the green chlorophyll had rubbed off on his flank, and he'd already promised not to wash it off. His legs hung stiffly in the air, and it made my chest tight.

I shook my head and brushed him with my wing. "Oh, yeah? So what is good?"

"Heh. This," he said, flipping on his stomach and gesturing at the field. "Actually…" He lowered his head and took a bite of the grass, breathing in the scent.

I snorted. "Ha! Going savage?" I gestured to a picnic basket I'd brought with us. "You know we have real food, right? I mean, as real as anything I'm able to make." Don't judge – I worked really hard on those sandwiches. They had fancy mustard and three kinds of cheese!

Braeburn swallowed. "See, but that ain't it, Soarin'. I'm not… Aw, never mind," he said, setting his head on the ground. "I don't wanna drag us through this again. No point."

My heart beat faster, and my thoughts spun around like usual. 'He's not happy. He's not telling me he's not happy. He's supposed to tell me. But I trust him. He'd tell me if something was wrong, and he isn't, so he's doing okay. I'm not reading him right. He's okay. We're doing something he loves, and I'm being better than Bronze, and he's going to be okay.' It was a chain of thoughts that had gotten uncomfortably familiar, and I was getting faster and faster at cycling through it.

I nudged him. "You'll manage?"

He sighed. "Yeah. I'll manage."

I looked around the field. "Not feeling this anymore?"

"...Nope." His eyes closed, and he lifted his back up just slightly to sun himself, his tail still swishing back and forth. "Should be, but I'm just… not." He opened his eyes.

I scooted over and stroked his back. "You love this stuff, Braeburn. C'mon, just relax and enjoy it."

"Yeah, yeah, I will…" His tail had stopped moving.

He was doing that a lot in those days. He'd get quiet, and he would tell me he'd figure it out or just get through it. It kind of became his mantra, I guess. And mine kept playing in the back of my mind. 'Everything's okay.'

I turned to him again. "Wanna race to the lake? I'll let you pull me in again."

"There's not 'let' about it, Big Blue." He rolled onto his side and tilted his head back, speaking with a long drawl. "As I recall, somepony nearly drowned in chest-high water." He laughed again, but it felt hollow. "But naw, no thanks. Not really feelin' like runnin' right now."

"If you say so." I lay back down and told myself that it was sunny, after all, and that I liked being lazy after such a hard weekend. Most of all, I told myself I had all day to spend on the ground with Braeburn.

"And actually…" Braeburn's voice caught my attention, and our eyes met briefly before he looked down and pawed at the grass. "Would you mind if we headed back early? This trip is just makin' me homesick."

My ears drooped. "You sure, Applebutt? We've only been here for a few hours. You seemed really happy this morning."

"Yeah, well… I dunno." He sat up and looked around. "I don't wanna fight. This was real sweet of you, Big Blue, but I think I've had enough."

The wind took on a sudden chill. "Okay, but don't you think it'll be boring back–"

Braeburn stood up abruptly. "It's fine, Soarin'." He rubbed his eyes. "Sorry for raisin' my voice."

"It's okay." I took a deep breath of the clean air. "Let's walk around for a little while, though, okay? I think you need it."

Braeburn shrugged. "That's fair."

We chose a direction with some rolling hills and a worn path. As we walked, I tried to get into Braeburn's mindset: I paid attention to the cool dirt beneath my hooves, smelled the clear, slightly humid air, and turned my face towards the soothing breeze. Braeburn didn't say anything, so I finally bumped up against him and said, "You're not gonna let me be the better earth pony, are you?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Hm? What do you mean?"

"Well," I said with a smirk, "Maybe I've taken swimming lessons while you weren't looking." I narrowed my eyes. "Have you even met this 'Gentle Soul' guy? Maybe I'm already a world class swimmer, and you don't even know it. That lake from last time is just over this ridge."

Braeburn stifled a smile. "You're just askin' for it, now, mister. Don't forget who jumped in first last time. You were mighty slow, as I recall."

"Ha! You're the one that's gonna need the head start."

"Head start?" Braeburn stopped in his tracks, and I turned to face him. He rolled his eyes and said, "That's ridiculous, not to mention dishonorable. I would never ever accept a–" He bolted for the lake.

"Hey!" I took off after him, wings at my sides. He let me almost catch up, but he was the first to the edge of the dock. I didn't let him off easy, though. I tackled him into the water when he turned around to gloat, and for a few, wet minutes, everything was fine again. I drew that happy moment out as long as I could.

But by the time we were riding the balloon back up to Cloudsdale, Braeburn was slouching again, staring at the ground that grew further and further away. He only ate a few bites of his sandwich, and the whole ride back, he seemed totally zoned out.

I still kept telling myself, 'He'll be fine.'

But telling myself something and believing it are completely different. The next day at Doctor Soul's office, I couldn't focus on the comprehension exercise I was working through.

Gentle Soul leaned over, wearing a red sweater in the same style as the green one he'd worn the previous week. "You can take all the time you need, Soarin', but something tells me you weren't paying much attention to that last paragraph."

I looked up at him. "Hm? Oh, uh…" I ran my hoof along a few random lines until I saw an out-of-place sentence about the Wonderbolts. "Oh. Chickens. Heh. Nice." My wings were drooping, so I straightened them out.

Gentle Soul's expression flattened. "Let's put this one away for now."

More to myself, I said, "I should be working." Silently, I added, 'I shouldn't be worrying about Braeburn.'

Gentle Soul raised an eyebrow. "You're supposed to get quality care, but we need you to be here mentally. And as much as I want to believe my stunning body is distracting you, Radiant says I've already hit my self-delusion limit for the month. What's on your mind?"

I was silent for long moment, leaving a hoof on the worksheet. I didn't want him to take it away.

Gentle Soul sat back, his voice mellowing in a way I hadn't heard before. "You know, Soarin', I am a licensed psychiatrist, and therapy takes many different forms. Talking can be incredibly valuable. I can comp you for the time, if that's what you're worried about."

"It's not that. It's…" I sighed. 'Braeburn's going to be okay. Slate got him all the answers he needed for his report, and Long Reign probably got it in time. It's okay.' I looked up. "It'll be okay. I want to try reading again."

Gentle Soul said, "If you say so. I'm always available here if you want to talk. And I'll give you my personal address for after hours if you need. Feel free to bring Braeburn, too."

"No!" I shook my head and stretched out my wings, blushing. "Uh, I… I mean…" I paused and blinked, then used my sultriest voice. "...Was that a proposition?"

He smiled coyly. "Oh, certainly not, Soarin'. You'll know when it's a proposition, unless you think I'm a particularly subtle pony?"

I laughed once, then looked back down at my paper. "Let's just read again."

"Alright, but please remember that I'm here when you need me."

It… wasn't a great session, but I shook it off and focused during Wonderbolts practice, and my flying was on point. It needed to be – I'd been bumped back up to main squad for the following weekend. Monday practice went well, and the speech I gave on Tuesday wasn't too bad, either. When I got home on that day, I–

* * * * *

I stop Soarin' mid-sentence. "You mean your talk on safety?"

Soarin' grunts. "Yeah. That one."

I cast a sideways glance. He's doesn't want to bite. "I'd like to hear how it went, if you don't mind."

Soarin' pauses and looks out at the sun, which hangs low in the sky and tints it just the slightest bit orange. "I mean, I kind of do."

Navigate carefully. I wouldn't want to talk about, essentially, coming out to my coworkers, either. But why not? What drives a pony to want to avoid something so important, especially when they're opening up about other, potentially more sensitive topics?

And, more importantly, why the hell am I asking myself these questions? It's his job to answer. "Why do you want to brush over it?"

Soarin' takes a deep breath. "I guess… I'm stilling thinking about Braeburn. That's the part of the story I want to tell. The parts about me? I get those. I've processed them. But, the parts with Braeburn…" He shakes his head. He glances my way, then turns his head to face me. "I've never told this whole story before, you know that?"

I nod. "I suspected as much."

"There's so much of it that I still don't get. Why didn't I act sooner? Why didn't I pay more attention to all the red flags? Could I have fixed everything, or was Braeburn's loneliness and… isolation just unavoidable? I just want to know."

I strain to maintain eye contact. This might sound disingenuous. "Then you probably shouldn't skip over anything."

He smirks. "Heh. Because you need more material for the book?"

I shrug. "Because if it's painful enough to avoid, it's probably important enough to be honest with yourself about."

Soarin' looked back at the horizon, then back at me, then quickly away. "Makes sense. I guess. It's just…" He snorts. "It's tough, you know?" Soarin's head swivels to me. "It felt like a big intervention or something. There I was, standing in the Green Room…"

* * * * *

The storm was raging outside, right on schedule. The rest of the Wonderbolts were filing into the Green Room after lunch. The morning had been easy physically, but challenging mentally: Spitfire had given them the firing squad routine, and Streak and I had given them some encouraging commentary to help them bounce back. They'd spent the rest of the morning in the weight room, while I'd finished putting slides together for my presentation.

I tapped a hoof as I sat at the front, facing the back of the room. Spitfire and Streak sat on either side of me, all of us wearing our official military uniforms with not so much as a thread out of place. I sat up straight, but I felt light-headed.

From my left, Spitfire said, "Keep breathing, Soarin'."

I exhaled. "Thanks." When I turned to Streak, all I got were furrowed eyebrows and a forced smile that wavered with his short, shallow breaths. 'You're doing fine, Streak. This is on me.'

My mind was in limbo until Spitfire stood up and called out to the group, "Alright, Wonderbolts. Calm down." The room snapped to attention, and she walked towards the back of the room. "You may have noticed that it's a big crowd today and that we've invited several of the reserves. Well, that should tell you how important this is. I don't want any of you to ever doubt the importance of proper safety, no matter which uniform you're wearing." She turned around and hit the lights. "So we're all going to listen very, very carefully today. Take it away, captain."

I sighed and told myself, 'Here we go.' With my eyes closed, I stood up. My words came out slowly and deliberately, masking the tingling in my hooves and my jaw. "Wonderbolts. Today I'm going to talk to you about something serious." I opened my eyes and marched back and forth in front of my team. They sat up, but from the way some of their eyes had glazed over, I could tell a few had already checked out. "A lot of you are used to me making a joke at this point. Today, that's not going to happen." A few of the more experienced Wonderbolts widened their eyes – they knew I usually only got like that during an emergency. "I promise you'll understand soon."

I stopped in front of the projector and flipped it on. A blank card shone on the wall. Two heads involuntarily cocked to the side in the crowd – they'd still expected a jokey drawing on the first slide. I continued, standing tall and speaking clearly despite the heaviness in my heart and the hotness at the back of my neck. "Injuries are a reality of stunt flying. We live and work a hair's breadth away from disaster, and if we don't take the risks seriously, we become a danger to ourselves and each other. The first slide is an example of a pony who–" My voice caught in my throat, and my heart skipped a beat, but I quickly recovered. "–didn't pay attention. Brace yourselves. This could happen to anypony, even the best of fliers."

A few 'Bolts gasped when I flipped to next slide: an MRI of a brain with a red circle around a damaged Bucka's area. The name in the lower left corner had been blacked out.

I could feel half the audience roll their eyes. I mean, I would have, too. We'd all been through it before: a shocking image meant to scare us straight, but after so many presentations, it had lost its sting. But this time was different. Even as my heart leapt to my throat, I thought to myself, 'They don't suspect anything. Go in for the kill, Stormcloud. It could save their lives.'

I steeled myself and cleared my throat. "And I do mean anypony."

To this day, I'm proud of my stoicism. With a click of the projector, the slides switched. The next slide was nearly identical to the first except for one crucial difference, something that a keen-eyed Wonderbolt would never, ever miss: in the lower left corner read the words "Windsong, Soarin'."

Some breathed sharply in, some breathed quickly out, but everypony reacted. Fleetfoot mumbled, "That can't be real," while Wave Chill let out a much less subtle, "No fucking way!" I felt the heat of their eyes on me, but I stared straight ahead, and out of my periphery, I saw several of the 'Bolts look to Streak and Spitfire, who remained unflappable, a solemn admission that what they were seeing was real.

"Please don't make the same mistakes I have."

Questions erupted, and we fielded a few of them while I slogged through my presentation. Most of the team wasn't paying attention to the specifics, but that didn't matter as much. They'd gotten the message, and that lightened the weight of my responsibility somewhat. Turns out that Spitfire had been right: we ended up taking nearly three hours to get through all the questions, the tears, the anger, and the fear. We covered everything from official policy to practical examples to the fact that I couldn't read anymore, and by the end, the room was dead quiet. I'd made my point.

We dismissed everypony after the presentation, and most of them filed out with their heads hung and their wings stiff, and just like the day I'd gotten cut, I felt detached from every single one of them. It sucked, but I get it. I was a reminder of what could happen, and that made everypony nervous. But I'd done it, at least, and Streak and Spitfire were there to support me.

When it was just the three of us, Spitfire took off her sunglasses and sighed. "I think you got through to them, Soarin'."

I shook my head. "Yeah. I just wish they'd pay attention without something serious happening."

Streak strode up next to me. "That's what it takes sometimes, bro. You need to be reminded how bad things can get before you finally do something about it."

"Yeah, I guess." My eyes didn't leave the back wall, which had grown blurry.

Spitfire saluted me. "You did a good thing today, Windsong. You should be proud, and as much as I'm sure you're about to start looking to me for support, I imagine a certain stallion might be better suited for the job."

I smiled. "Yeah."

I didn't bother showering – I needed to go see my Applebutt. After a quick goodbye, I flew straight home.

Nothing was cooking when I walked in the door. 'It's no big deal. I'm home early.' I heard the shower running upstairs, so I snuck up and cracked open the door. "Hey there, sexy!"

"Soarin'!" Braeburn jumped in the shower, and his hooves knocked around a few times before he regained his balance. "Hoo! Scared me. Sorry, I was gonna get dinner ready, but I got a little distracted." He didn't stop the shower cloud from raining on him, and he didn't slide the shower door open. All I saw was a yellow silhouette through the patterned glass. "Just felt a little funky, ya' know?"

I smirked to myself as I slid off my shirt. "Or maybe you just wanted to have some fun."

Braeburn paused. "Heh. Well, then, uh…" He jabbed the cloud above him, which slowed to a trickle. "Grab a hot one, and we'll get started."

With a quick turn, I grabbed a fresh raincloud and stepped into the shower, making bedroom eyes at Braeburn. As I stepped into the shower, he had one hoof crossed in front of the other, just the way I liked, and he bit his lower lip. His mane was sopping wet, so I didn't hesitate to start the hot water, which traced his square, masculine face. I moved in for a kiss, but he dodged to the side and rubbed his body all along mine. I didn't mind, of course, especially since his lips had other ideas.

It didn't take us long – he wasn't nearly as subtle or playful as usual – but I relished it all the same. I ended up on the floor of the shower, my body collapsing under the endorphins. Braeburn helped me up, still giggling. "Haha. Somepony had a good time."

"Oh, yeah," I said, nuzzling him in the hot water. "But I need to make you do, too." I moved my mouth to his, but he put a hoof to my face.

"Mind if I get some mouthwash first? Don't wanna spoil my taste buds for dinner." I agreed, and he quickly washed his mouth out while I warmed up again in the shower. He was only gone for a minute, and as soon as he returned, I took care of him. His breath was minty fresh when we finally kissed.

It wasn't just mint on his breath, though. I didn't realize what was off about it, because I'm… not good at picking up on subtleties.

For the rest of the week, we got to live our lives like normal. I got home early again on Friday, and Braeburn was just starting dinner, a light pesto dish that wouldn't weigh me down. He hadn't wanted to make the curry when we were in a rush, and he hadn't been up for it any other time during the week.

We skipped my pie after dinner, since Braeburn said he wasn't up for it. Instead, he preened me for about half an hour, so I was nice and relaxed before the performance. It was our last Manehattan show of the season before we began touring, and we killed it. Braeburn and I passed on Chill's after-party again, but this time, we had a real excuse: Sightseer invited us over to his place to meet his wife and kids.

And it went fine. Mostly. Sightseer's wife, Vapor Wave, doesn't drink, so neither did the rest of us. Their house was cozy, just a little bigger than my condo, but Sightseer said it wasn't too bad with the fillies sharing a room upstairs. We spent most of our time in the dining room, anyway, which had a high vaulted ceiling and some extra couches to one side. There were pictures of their family everywhere, running the gamut of holiday portraits to sports victories to family vacations. There were a lot with just Sightseer and Vapor Wave, too, and at the back of my mind, I wondered why Braeburn and I hadn't been taking more pictures lately.

Vapor Wave had made a big, fancy meal that included salad, appetizers, and several side dishes. Braeburn had brought pineapple cake for dessert, and while our hosts finished cleaning up, I talked to Sightseer's kids about being captain of the team. They loved hearing me, and Braeburn quietly sat on the couch, watching and smiling, until Sightseer finally said, "Okay, you two. It's bedtime."

I gave Sightseer wide eyes and a cartoonish frown. "Aw, but we're not tired." The fillies giggled, and before they could complain, Vapor Wave walked in from the kitchen and said, "I'll go read them their story, honey."

Sightseer picked one of his fillies up. "Aw, I can–"

Vapor bumped her nose into Sightseer's, and they closed their eyes and rubbed noses. When they finished, she took the foal into her hooves and said, "I'll take care of them. You always say you want more time to talk to your work friends." She turned to us. "There's some chamomile tea steeping right now. It should be good in a minute or two."

Sightseer smiled dreamily. "Thanks, lovely. I'll get it in a bit." They kissed, Vapor Wave gathered their kids, and Sightseer sighed dreamily as they left.

And I felt nauseous. I was happy for them, really, but here were two ponies that had their act together. They were raising foals and maintaining a house and working with Sightseer's crazy schedule, and through it all, they still found little moments to love each other and be warm to each other. Their life seemed perfect.

I turned and saw Braeburn sitting in the couch next to me, further away than usual. He hadn't cuddled up to me the whole time we'd been at Sightseer's, and I hadn't felt the same warmth from him that I was used to. I swallowed a lump in my throat and told myself, 'It's just a rough patch. We'll have a life like this someday.'

Sightseer watched his wife and two fillies disappear upstairs, smiling the way only dads can. When they'd finally left his field of vision, he turned to us and said, "I'll try not to be too annoying, but they really are great kids. I'm a very lucky stallion."

"Sure are," Braeburn said, looking towards the stairs.

"I know it's early, but have you ever thought about having some of your own? I hear there's a fertility clinic in Canterlot that has options for stallion couples."

Braeburn shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe…."

I nudged him. "C'mon, Brae. Remember what you said at Honeycrisp's? You said I'd be a good dad, and I know you'd be phenomenal. Heh." I nuzzled him. "The best, even. Any foal would be lucky to have you for a dad."

Braeburn stiffened. "Yeah, I suppose, but…" He looked at Sightseer and abruptly said, "But what kind of life is that for a foal? You gotta travel all the time, Sightseer. How do you manage? Don't they miss you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh, Braeburn? Maybe not appropriate."

"…Sorry," Braeburn said, blushing and looking down. "Sorry, that was outta line. Pardon me, but one of my best friends is havin' another foal soon, and I won't be there to greet them when they arrive. Just missin' it all, I guess."

Sightseer shifted uncomfortably but waved a hoof. "It's okay, Soarin'. I don't mind. And you're right, Braeburn: it is hard. I don't get to see them nearly as much as I want to, of course, but I make the most of the time I have. But you're right. I always worry that it's not enough or that they won't get to really know their daddy."

Braeburn hung his head. "That's what I was afraid of."

It was quiet.

Sightseer stood up and said, "I'll, uh… go get that tea. One moment." He sped to the kitchen.

I wrapped a wing around Braeburn. "Applebutt, it'll be okay."

He collapsed sideways into a hug. "I love you, Big Blue. More than anything."

I blinked a few times. "Love you, too. What's–"

Braeburn said, "I'll be better. Sorry for bein' a downer."

I rested my chin on his head. "Applebutt, you don't need to apologize."

He took in a shaky breath. "I really do. And I need to be better. I'm sorry."

With a shift of my head, I tried to make eye contact, but Braeburn avoided me. "What do you mean?"

Braeburn started to speak. His voice shook. "Some days, I've been–" He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm… I'm tryin'. Some days are just hard."

Braeburn bucked up by the time Sightseer came back, and the rest of the evening went smoothly. I was distracted the whole time, though, figuring out my next move. 'That day on the ground wasn't enough. He needs something else. Something bigger.' By the time we left Sightseer's, I had my answer. 'Just hang on, Brae. I'll make it better. We'll be okay.'

I was being naïve, thinking all I had to do was perform some big act of kindness. Can you blame me, though? I couldn't let him go, and what else was there?

That Monday, I asked Gentle Soul to help me write a letter. I'd snuck into Braeburn' office again – for the right reasons this time – and grabbed Slate's mailing address. Gentle Soul, wearing a blue sweater that was the exact freaking style as the others, helped me write a long letter and put the address on the envelope. It freaking sucked to write that much, but Soul made me dictate the full message to him beforehoof, and he didn't let me finish until I'd written it all out exactly. I wasn't allowed to shorten it, and whenever I screwed up, I started over until I got it perfect. It took most of the session and a major headache, but I did it, and my heart swelled when I read it out loud to Gentle Soul at the end.

I had a lot to say, too. I wrote to Slate about how Braeburn and I were doing well, but that he was homesick. I focused on all the good things I was trying to do for him and the fun stuff we'd done, even if I needed a little more help to make him happy. In the end, I asked Slate to get some of the Appleloosans to write a few letters to Braeburn, so he'd have a piece of home that he could spend some time with.

And the whole time, I was thinking, 'I'm sorry, Braeburn. I'll make it better. I'll be better than Bronze.'

I felt giddy the whole day after my therapy, and my flying at practice showed it. I was freaking spotless that day.

And I felt that same giddiness all the way home. I burst through the condo door and said, "Goooood evening, Applebutt! Guess who's been thinking about you all day?" No answer. I cocked an eyebrow. "Uh, Applebutt?" I peeked into the silent kitchen. "Sexy stallion?" I looked into the parlor. "Super Ass?" Upstairs office. "Dick Princess?" Bedroom. "...Braeburn?" His hat was on the bed. I tensed up only to hear the door open downstairs. I rushed down and saw Braeburn walk in, and I threw myself at him. "Dude, Braeburn! I thought something had happened to you."

"Aw, sorry, Big Blue. Thought I'd be back in plenty of time." He had a book sticking out of his saddlebag. "Moseyed down to that café for the afternoon. Never thought I'd be one for those frou-frou drinks, but they're damn tasty. Must be all the sugar."

I paused and raised an eyebrow at him. 'I wouldn't have pegged him for a frou-frou coffee guy either. He's not–' I stopped that train of thought with a headshake and another hug. "Yeah. Sorry for freaking out."

"Ha! You're fine, Big Blue." He kissed me. His breath was heavy with a rich coffee scent, but it had something else barely hiding underneath it, something I should have been able to pick up on, something I would have noticed if I were a better coltfriend. "Now, let's make dinner. It'll help settle my stomach."

I didn't spill the beans about the letters all week, and on Friday, I got an initial response from Slate. He'd mailed it to my office address at the Academy, like I'd asked, and I skipped lunch to read it:

Hey there, Soarin',

Brae says he's letting you in on his mail, and while it's a little odd, I get it. Mighty kind of you to do this for him. I know he'd like a piece of home, and I'm a bit embarrassed I didn't think to do it first. I'll send them out on Monday, and I'll hassle the rest of town to write a little bit if they can.

I'm trusting they'll reach their destination, Soarin'. I've got that faith in you. Don't betray it.

Slate

That last part stung, but I understood how suspicious it must have all seemed.

But Slate delivered the next week. The 'Bolts had Friday night, Saturday Night, and Sunday matinee shows in Baltimare, so Braeburn and I got to explore a tiny bit of the city. It wasn't much more than a walk on Saturday afternoon, though, since Braeburn wasn't interested in "another big city."

After that, we returned to life as normal back at home.

Mostly normal.

Mostly.

…

Just…

…

We'd stopped having sex.

Like, we didn't totally stop. We just… didn't do it as much as we'd gotten used to. We'd banged once or twice between the last Manehattan show and the Baltimare show, but the rest of the nights just kind of rolled on without it. Braeburn usually said he just wasn't in the mood or that he wasn't feeling well, and when we did do it, it wasn't the same. There was less cuddling. It happened faster, and it finished with us each retreating to our own corners of the condo. We didn't use the scarf or any of the fun stuff, and we said a lot less to each other, too.

I didn't think it meant anything. I didn't want it to mean anything. I told myself that I was tired, and I had a lot of worksheets for Gentle Soul and tons of work to do for the Wonderbolts, and Braeburn really wanted to have more, but he just physically couldn't.

See, he wasn't feeling great on most days. I'd come home, usually expecting Braeburn to greet me, but more and more, it had seemed like he was at the coffee shop or sleeping, and he complained about his stomach feeling sour or feeling lightheaded. There were a lot of naps. It was bad that next Tuesday, but when I told him I wanted to take the day off to take care of him, he refused and told me, "You've got a lot of Wonderbolts counting on you, Big Blue. I'll be okay, and havin' you around fussin' would just make me feel worse. You go ahead."

I couldn't accept what was happening, even if it seems so obvious in hindsight.

But I knew I'd be able to cheer him up as soon as Slate's letters came, and on Wednesday morning, they finally arrived at the Academy. The box from Appleloosa was huge, too big for my saddlebag, and it was awkward enough to slow me down when I flew with it in my hooves. I took the afternoon off to get some wrapping paper (I found some with cacti on it) and a card. I even wrote a short message inside, and I made damn sure every word was spelled perfectly:

"To my one and only Applebutt, the stallion I love more than anything in the world. I hope you feel at home, but until then, here's something to help. Love, Big Blue."

I started getting a headache after focusing so hard, but it was worth it.

Once it was wrapped, I carried it in my forehooves all the way home. I arrived safely, but a media pony managed to snap a picture as I got to the Estates. I didn't mind, though: my sole purpose was to make Braeburn feel better. I floated quietly into our house, grinning as I softly said, "Hey, Braeburn. You up?" When I didn't get an answer, I flew up to the bedroom, peeked in, and softly asked, "Hey, Applebutt. You still feeling sick?"

Braeburn was lying in bed. "Hm? Oh, hey, Big Blue." His voice was hoarse. "Yeah, still a little under the weather. I'll be out in a while."

I smiled. "Weeeeeell, I've got something to make you feel better." I hopped into the air and held up the box. "Ta-da!"

Braeburn chuckled and sat up. "Aw, what's that? You're a dream, Big Blue, but you didn't–"

"Oh no. I did. I wanted to." I fluttered over and sat on the bed next to him, stroking his sweaty mane. "You deserve to smile."

"Heh heh. Well, don't know how I could frown with you around." Braeburn extended his hooves to me. "C'mere, you."

I gently set the box on our bed and hugged him. He didn't feel any warmer than usual, but I noticed something else. "Heh." I gave him another squeeze around his stomach.

"Aw, what? I smell terrible, don't I?"

"Nah, you smell fine, Applebutt." I stuck my face in his mane and took a big whiff. When he flinched, I kissed him. His breath smelled like coffee and chocolate with a hint of sourness, like vomit. I lay down next to him and wrapped my hooves around his middle, which felt… bigger. "Heh heh."

"Hm? Oh! Uh… yeah…" He chuckled nervously and covered his face with a hoof. "I… should probably go easy on those chocolatey coffee drinks. Terrible for my belly. Leave me feelin' sluggish, too, I guess."

I laughed again, still holding on. "Did you go there again today?"

"Yeah, though I know I shouldn't. Wish I coulda kept it down." His face darkened, and he mumbled, "I… hope I'm not too off-puttin' for ya', Soarin'."

"Pfft! Nah." I hugged tighter. "More to love, right?"

"Yeah, well… I'd be happier with a little less strain on my fetlocks and a stomach that would quit complainin'." He didn't hug back.

"You think it's just the food?" I let go and looked at him.

He sighed. "Combination of things, really. Feels like all I do is eat sometimes. I should really exercise more."

"Only when you get better. Until then, I know how you can spend your time." We sat up, and I pushed the box towards him. "Go ahead."

Braeburn shook his head. "You're too good, Blue." He took the card, opened it, and read it a few times, smiling and shaking his head. "Don't know what I did to deserve you." He frowned and mumbled, "I really gotta try harder."

I kissed his forehead. "You're perfect, Applebutt."

"No, I'm really not, but you're a saint." He set the card aside and carefully removed the paper – extra slow to drive me nuts – until he saw the big box inside. He peeked inside the top flap and squinted. "What?" With a quick hoof, he threw the box open, eyebrows wrenched. Then, his expression brightened until his face was alight. He picked up two of the envelopes and looked between them. "Soarin'… Soarin'! Aw…" He set the letters down and tackled me onto the bed. "Thank you, Blue! This is too kind!"

I was pinned under him, and I wrapped him in my wings. "I'm sorry I fought with you about the letters, Braeburn, and I wanted you have a piece of Appleloosa. And I promise – these are all yours. I don't need to see them." To myself, I added, 'I'll do better this time, Applebutt.'

But Braeburn wouldn't take that. "Hell no. You're not gettin' outta readin' practice that easy." He scooted up the bed and reclined against the headrest. Tapping his belly, he said, "Might as well put this thing to good use. Come get comfy."

I grinned. "You're not gonna puke on me, are you?"

He blushed. "Heh heh. Not sure there's much left that can come up."

Laughing, I relaxed back into him. His stomach was noticeably larger, and the extra plumpness was actually kind of nice. At the time, at least.

Braeburn reached into the box and fished out a letter, and suddenly we both knew what we'd be doing for the rest of the night. I hadn't seen him smile that much since we'd visited the ground.

Braeburn was sick for the rest of the week, but he promised to go to the doctor on Saturday morning if he wasn't better. Fortunately, he was well enough for the weekend shows, which were in Cape Marey. He seemed perfectly fine on the train ride there – peppy, even – enough that I asked, "Your health turned around quickly."

He looked down at his hooves. "Well, it was nice seein' Holli again today. She's been comin' over on Fridays. We talked a bunch, and it was nice havin' some fresh blood in the house."

I nudged him. "Do I have to worry about you turning straight?"

"Ha!" He leaned in and lowered his voice. I could barely hear him above the rolling wheels of the train, but that meant that Misty Fly and Fleetfoot wouldn't be able to hear us from the next seat over. "Not as long as I get to tie you down and make a mare outta you every once in a while."

I smirked. "Tie me down, huh? So… when the 'Bolts want to go out after the show tonight…"

He narrowed his eyes and smiled. "I may have packed some special luggage for the weekend."

He had, and it was a hell of a lot better than a going to a bar with the team. We spent an hour cuddling after he'd had his fun with me, and as he fell asleep on my chest, I whispered to him, "Everything's okay, Braeburn. We're going to be okay."

The shows were great, the media interviews were fast and – mercifully – boring, and the weekend pulsed along like my heartbeat. I didn't get my pie on Sunday night, but I told myself… well, you know.

My therapy went well on Monday, and I was able to work through the whole session without any major incidents. I still had some trouble with reading comprehension, and a few times, I had to stop when I couldn't go as fast as I wanted with the reading exercises, but I finished strong by reading Dogs in Bogs with only a hoofful of errors. At the end of the session, I slumped into my chair with a satisfied sigh and a dopey smile.

Gentle Soul noticed. "Well done today, Soarin'! You did an excellent job managing your pace, especially."

I rolled my head towards him. "I mean, when I wasn't trying to go too fast."

Soul gathered the materials on the table and sorted them neatly. "You're a Wonderbolt. Fast is your style. You're not the first one who's tried to push his speed, and if anything, it's a sign that you're making progress. Speaking of which…" He shoved the papers into his saddle bag and looked at me. "Dr. Hope had me bent over a chair last night and asked me to schedule a follow-up MRI for you."

I snickered. "So, what, you were roleplaying Braeburn? Screaming my name?"

He deftly crossed his hooves and gave a wide smile. "Or maybe Radiant was Braeburn. You seem like you would enjoy getting your brains rutted out every now and then." He batted his eyes.

I laughed. "You got me. But yeah, can I go in next Monday during my regular therapy time?"

"I'll have the secretary set something up for you. Monday's aren't busy, especially after holiday weekends." His tone dropped. "Now, I know I'm prying, but may I ask: have things gotten better at home?"

I rolled my eyes and grunted, but then I shook my head and took a breath. 'He's just being nice. Chill.' With complete sincerity, I said, "Yeah, we've got everything under control. You were right. It was shaky, but now everything's fine."

"More open communication?"

"More blindfolds."

"Stupendous! I'm so happy to hear it. Again, if you ever want to chat, I'll set something up for one or both of you."

With a slight sneer, I waved a hoof. "Nah, we're good, but I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Gentle Soul looked up at the clock, then back to me. "It looks like we're about at our time. Any fun plans for the day?"

After a pause, I smiled. "You know, I'm gonna go to Bad Sun and see Holli. It's a good day for it."

"I have no idea what any of that means, but it sounds lovely! Enjoy yourself. I know I do."

I grabbed my bags and left. Eagle Eye hadn't accompanied me – no reason to, since the media had more or less relegated Braeburn and me to the "old news" pile – and the flight over to Bad Sun only took a few minutes.

As I walked in and heard the bell, I said, "Gooood morning, Holli! Is my table clean?"

Holli peeked up from behind the hostess' station. "Oh. Oh! Morning, Soarin'." Her eyes were… weird. Unfocused. "Haven't… seen you in a while. Welcome." She grimaced.

I raised an eyebrow. "It's… only been a week. I got you those tickets, remember?"

"Right. Thanks." She looked down at a menu to wipe something off it. "Go ahead and sit down. I'll be with you shortly. Usual today?" Her sentences were clipped, and she wasn't making eye contact.

"Uh… okay. Sure. That's fine." I slowly walked over to my usual booth.

The sky was overcast that day, so my booth didn't have the same bright energy I was used to. There were a few more customers finishing up a late breakfast, and even though they eyed me, none of them came over. Without the sunlight, the whole place seemed a little duller, and the sound of silverware clinking on plates and dishes being washed in the back made the building seem hollow. The air was heavy with a mix of foods, but the scents were becoming stale.

Holli didn't bring my food to me. She kept checking on the other tables, over and over again, to the point where the patrons started glaring a little. I thought, 'She's… trying to get them to leave?' It worked, and she quickly brought them the checks when their meals were finished. She still wore her smile, and none of the other ponies seemed angry or anything, but they didn't linger.

Holli worked on clearing the tables until the rest of them were all gone, and I felt a knot in my stomach. She trotted over to the door and flipped the sign to "closed," and then she slowly walked to my booth with her head hung low. She sat down across from me without looking at me. With heavy, forced cheeriness, she said, "Sorry for the slow service. The shake's on me today." There was a moment of silence while Holli played with her apron.

Leaning forward, I gently asked, "Holli? What's wrong? You okay?"

She wore a tight frown. "I'm worried about Braeburn."

"What?" I leaned back and blinked a few times. Holli had never been that direct before, and I felt it like a slap across the face. It took a second, but I shook it off. "It's okay. I talked to him last week. Everything's fine."

"I'm not so sure, Sugar." Her eyebrows drew together. "He's seemed so down lately. Has he talked to you about what's wrong?"

I put a hoof on the table. "Holli, nothing's wrong. He was feeling homesick, but we talked, and it's all fine. He loves it here."

It's terrifying to think how sincere I was trying to be. I wanted to buy into it. In my mind, the weight gain, the lack of sex, the weird behavior whenever I got home… it could all be explained away. It was all just him adjusting, or it was how he liked to spend his time. I didn't want it to mean anything to me. I couldn't let it. 'And it shouldn't mean anything to anypony else, either. What's her problem?'

"When did you talk to him?"

"Last week, when he was sick."

She put her hoof on mine. "Soarin', I was with him for a couple hours last Friday. He didn't want to do anything. Not bake, not go out… He barely talked to me."

I looked out the window and scowled. "He was feeling sick," I mumbled.

"That's not true at all, Soarin'." Her eyes glazed over as she looked out the window. "What I saw wasn't sick. At least, not like that. But he certainly didn't look healthy, either."

My head cranked to the side and my face twisted. "What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said, Sugar." Her gaze fell to the table. "Something's wrong, and it's only gonna get worse."

My teeth ground. "Holli, I get it, you're worried, but trust me." I tapped the table for emphasis. "There. Is. Nothing. Wrong. We talked about it. And even if there was, we'd figure it out."

"Sugar, what the hell are you talking about? I'm trying to tell you what I'm afraid of, but instead of 'figuring it out,' you're just pretending–"

My wings flared out. "Didn't he show you the letters? He loved those! They made his day, and we read them together!"

She grunted and sighed. "Yes, he did, Soarin'. He showed them to me, and he certainly thought it was sweet, but ponies can't live just off of words. He needs more than that."

I spit acid. "How would you know what he needs?"

"I'm just telling you what I'm seeing." She shrunk back. "I'm not trying to make you upset."

I sneered. "Then maybe you should just stay out of my freaking business." I stood up and stormed off, and as I left, I ignored a weak plea to at least pay more attention.

That conversation knocked me off my game rest of the day. I spent afternoon practice grumbling to myself, thinking, 'Fuck. First Doctor Soul, and now Holli, too? Why don't they get it? What Braeburn and I have is special.'

My distraction showed. We were doing partner drills, and they weren't going well. Sightseer stopped us after a bungled set of spirals to ask, "What's on your mind, captain?"

I focused on the horizon and the weird itch in my wing. I scratched at my face. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," he mumbled. "If you're–"

"Ugh! Fine. A friend of mine tried to tell me that Braeburn isn't doing well. Like she would know! He's doing fine, and he'd tell me if he wasn't." Deep down, I must have known I was wrong, but it was so much easier to deny it. "He loves me, and we'll get it all figured out."

With a small voice, Sightseer fluttered in front of me. "Well, even ponies in love can disagree, Soarin'." He chuckled. "Heck, Vapor and I can fight about the silliest–"

I snapped, "We're not fighting!"

Sightseer shrunk. "Then… what's the problem?"

My mind swirled with answers, answers that I quickly beat back down. I was stifling him. He was lonely. He was bored. He didn't have the chance to shine. I was controlling him. But accepting any of that meant accepting how bad everything had gotten, and I… I couldn't. "There isn't one."

"…If you say so."

I grumbled to myself for the rest of the day. My wings ached from keeping them so tightly folded in. My neck hurt, I had a headache, and I had this low-level buzz in my head about how Soul and Holli and Sightseer and everypony else had no idea what they were talking about. But deep down, I knew, and I kept fighting that feeling all the way home.

The hardest part was the fear that I was hurting him. It seemed impossible – I love Braeburn, and I always will, and that made it impossible for me to do anything that would truly, deeply hurt him. That's how love is supposed to work, right? When you love somepony, and they love you back, then you grow together, build each other up. I needed him in my life, and he needed a strong pegasus, and we loved each other deeply, and that was supposed to make all the bad feelings disappear. But it didn't.

I nearly kicked the door open before walking in. No immediate sounds. No smells, either. Not even sugar-laced coffee. We hadn't made dinner together in over a week. We'd barely been having sex, especially at home. And instead of greeting me at the door, I had to strain to hear quiet, uneven snoring coming from the parlor. More red flags. More warning signs that I should have heeded.

And still, I told myself it was all okay. I needed it to be. I couldn't lose him. He was everything.

Snorting, I dropped my saddlebag in the hallway. 'I need a drink,' I thought. I beat my wings hard and flew to the kitchen, opening up the liquor cupboard and seeing a bunch of options. Nothing looked good. 'Ugh, dammit!' I didn't want to mix anything, and I didn't want to wake Braeburn up by clinking a bunch of bottle together. "Fuck it," I mumbled. I grabbed a vodka bottle, poured myself a shot, and tilted it into my mouth.

And I immediately spat it out into the sink.

Crinkling my nose, I growled, "The fuck?" I lifted the bottle to my nose. No smell, no burn. "What…" Slowly, I took a pull and swished it in my mouth. Water, with just a hint of leftover vodka.

My eyes widened, and I tried to beat back the tide of thoughts that came gushing forward. 'It's… probably just old. Old vodka. Yeah.' I quickly dumped it down the sink and set the empty bottle on the counter. It fell on its side with a moderately loud clink. My eyes darted to the parlor, but Braeburn hadn't woken up. He lay there, snoring, his eyes scrunched closed and rapidly moving behind his eyelids.

I wanted to vomit. Softly, I said, "Braeburn wouldn't be…" I couldn't finish, because I already knew. My throat felt tight, and I turned back to the liquor cupboard. With a shaky hoof, I picked up one of the bottles of whisky, the J.P. Signature with the brown bottle, and I took a drink.

Water.

Heart racing, I pivoted back to the cupboard and rapidly tried the other bottles, one after another. The rum, the gin, the tequila, the ouzo… nearly every bottle of clear liquor had been replaced with water.

Slowly, I set down the ouzo bottle. It rattled against the counter until I let go. My heart had stopped, and I took short, gasping breaths. My head pounded. I tried to walk, but I stumbled and caught myself on the table. I turned my head. Braeburn was passed out on the couch, snoring loudly now. He wore a frown and had furrowed eyebrows, and he lay in an uncomfortable position with his head on the foreleg rest. I silently wondered what his breath would smell like today. After all, he looked like he hadn't taken the time to cover it up.

I turned back to face the liquor. Or really, the water. The false liquor. The thing he'd been hiding from me. His way of coping with everything I'd been doing to him.

My face felt numb. I was hurting him, maybe slowly killing him, all because I couldn't face what was happening. I still pictured myself sitting alone in my condo, completely miserable without him, and I cursed myself for thinking about Mom and Dad and the 'Bolts all leaving me instead of focusing on what Braeburn needed.

'Braeburn is not fine.' He wasn't telling me how much he was hurting. I'd ignored all the red flags, and this is where it had gotten me. This is where it had gotten Braeburn, the pony that I'd said over and over how much I loved. I'd let this happen. I'd done this to him.

I slouched and hung my head, eyes squeezing tightly shut. "Braeburn… I'm sorry. I… don't know what to do." My head shook, and my eyes stung. "Oh, Braeburn…"

Art by SoarandBurn

Comments

[BeatenLover]

Very lovely, cant wait for the next chapter, it's getting really... interesting... to say the least.