The Long Arm of Murphy's Law

by Posh

Drowned By Fireworks

Canterlot gleamed upon its faraway mountain perch, its whitewashed walls and gold-tipped spires a beacon in the night. Rarity stared at it through the wire mesh of the ferris wheel's cage, her breath misting the air. A little filly in her wanted to wave to the Princesses, and hope that they saw, but the sullen dragon seated opposite her quashed that frivolous impulse. Not by saying or doing anything in particular – his bad mood was just infectious. Left unchecked, Rarity feared that Spike could become patient zero in a gloominess outbreak that would turn all of Ponyville into a town of dour sad-sacks, one rivaling even the grimmest works of sturm-und-drang in the Equestrian literary canon.

...Well, alright, perhaps that was a tad hyperbolic, but who could blame her for fearing the worst when her every effort at drawing Spike out of his shell had fallen flat? Thrice since boarding the ride, Rarity had tried to strike up a conversation, and thrice, she'd failed.

"Have you ever been on a ferris wheel this tall before, Spike?"

"Goodness, the ponies below – they look like ants! Do they not look like ants, darling?"

"You know, I happen to think you would look dashing in sequins."

Yet despite her efforts, Spike kept his eyes on his nervously kicking and dangling feet, responding to each remark from Rarity with a monosyllabic, dispassionate grunt. It was frustrating. It was annoying.

Most of all, it hurt.

It pained Rarity to see him hurting; it pained her more that she was powerless to stop him from hurting. And, on top of everything else? He was hurting in the first place because he'd failed to stop her from hurting.

Deep down, he and I suffer for one another.

The cold helped matters little. Though the night was a pleasantly warm one, the temperature naturally dropped the higher up one went. The lights strung along the wheel provided a modicum of heat, but even so, the moisture that the dress had accumulated over the course of the night left Rarity susceptible to chilly air. Soon, she was huddling her limbs close to her body for warmth as frosty needles pricked and pierced her skin from head to hoof.

Spike didn't seem bothered by the temperature drop, though. Probably due to his dragon scales, or his dragon blood, or perhaps the fact that he could breath fire – there was surely some dragon-y at work. Watching Rarity move closer and closer to becoming a ponycicle with each passing moment seemed to have him concerned, however, until the jackhammer-esque noise of Rarity's teeth chattering finally prompted him to speak up.

"Are you okay?"

Rarity grinned shakily back. "C-c-c-c-copacetic, darling!"

The corners of Spike's mouth pulled down, just slightly. "Rarity..."

Rarity sighed, sending a cloud of mist curling through the air toward Spike. She huddled her forelegs closer to her body. "C-c-c-c-can't put anything past you, c-c-c-can I?"

Spike bit his lip. Slowly, he reached into his bag and drew out a scarf, a lovely thing of woven yarn, blue as the sea. He held it out to Rarity.

"We wouldn't be here if you could." His voice was ragged and tired. "Here. This should help."

Rarity, caught off guard by the gesture, stared dumbly at Spike's outstretched hand until a gust of air smacked her in the cheek like a snowball. With a sheepish laugh, she wrapped the scarf in the grip of her levitation and looped it around her neck. Immediately, a feeling of warmth coursed through her body, tingling and tickling and making her giggle.

"My goodness, it feels even better than it looks," she cooed. "So soft and snug. I feel warm... warm all over. Either this is a magical scarf, or I'm succumbing to hypothermia."

"I don't think it's quite that cold up here." A smirk broke through Spike's facade of gloom. "Seriously though, it's enchanted to keep your whole body warm as long as you wear it. Only when it's around your neck, though; the spell won't work if you, like, loop it around your hoof or something."

"An enchanted scarf?" Rarity gaped at him. "Spike, that must have cost a fortune! Where did you ever find something like this? To say nothing of the money to afford it!"

"Oh, it didn't come enchanted. Starlight Glimmer did that. When I bought it, it was just a regular old scarf." Spike looked at his feet. "I saw it in the market on Wednesday, and I thought it'd match your eyes, that's all."

A light blush dusted Rarity's cheeks. To hide it, she buried her face in the yarn, marveling at its soft, smooth texture as she nuzzled it. "It's wonderful, Spike. Thank you."

Such a thoughtful gift – but then, I should expect no less from him. I ought to find a way to thank him properly. Starlight, too, since she—

A sudden thought made Rarity freeze mid-nuzzle and frown. She let the scarf slip from her hooves and dangle around her neck. "Spike... you bought this on Wednesday, you said? Why did you have it in your bag tonight?"

Spike winced at the question. His eyes met Rarity's for an instant before they screwed shut.

Then, from the outside, came an unsettling groan that made Rarity cringe and clench her teeth together. She looked outside, and saw the steady rotation of the world outside her window slowing. The lights flickered and dimmed, and, with a sinking feeling, she realized that the wheel was coming to a stop. Not a natural one, either – the ride was breaking down.

The wheel gradually halted, but momentum carried the cabin forward on its axis. It swung, flinging Rarity's body across the gap separating her from Spike, though the little gentledragon manged to scoot to the side before she could fall on top of him – which certainly wouldn't have made things between the two of them any less weird.

"Are you okay?" Spike asked as the cabin lurched again in the opposite direction.

Rarity nodded shakily, pulling herself into the seat beside Spike and bracing her hooves against any surface she could. Her muscles quivered and her legs shook from the effort of holding herself in place as the cabin peaked on another backswing. Rarity cursed her hooves – her gorgeous, yet digitless, hooves – for failing to give her enough leverage to properly hold herself in place. She could feel the bench beneath her bottom sliding away as gravity pulled her toward the other end of the cabin.

Then an arm encircled her middle and locked into place. Rarity looked, surprised, at Spike, and saw him loop the fingers of his free hand through gaps in the wire window. His mouth was set in a thin, tense line, his eyes diligently avoiding hers as he helped to keep her secure in her seat.

Right. Yes. Hands, of course. At least one of us can reap the evolutionary benefits of articulated digits.

Rarity wrapped a foreleg around Spike's shoulders and clung to him, absurdly gratified at the surprised widening of his eyes. She pressed her other hoof against her side of the cage, and her hind hooves found purchase against the shifting floor of the cabin. It was an awkward position, but it kept her secured as the two rode out the cabin's dying momentum, clinging as much to their surroundings as to one another.

They swung in silence as the outside world slid back and forth. The lights illuminating their cabin kept flickering and dimming, never quite reaching their previous brightness. Through their combined efforts, they resisted gravity's pull, but the effort was taxing both of them. Rarity could feel a slimy lather of sweat along her body, and Spike's arms shook noticeably. The corners of his grimace quivered, and the familiar scent of dragon perspiration was beginning to season the night air.

Well, at least we're actually interacting with one another again, Rarity begrudgingly thought. Which makes this a net improvement over before. And he doesn't look like he's about to burst into tears again. Perhaps he'll be more receptive to my efforts in this new situation.

Rarity cleared her throat primly. "Spike, it seems I owe you an apology."

Spike's neck swiveled toward her. "You? Owe me?" His voice was thin from the strain of his efforts.

"Yes." Rarity smirked. "It seems I made a mistake in choosing the ferris wheel."

For a moment, Spike just stared at her uncomprehendingly, before s a smile crept across his face. "I mean... it was either this or the tilt-a-whirl. I think that ride would've given us a whole different set of problems."

Rarity snickered – such a puerile joke, but it worked on her. Even a lady could be amused by a barf joke. "Does this mean that you forgive me?" she said, with an overdone pout.

The nascent smile on Spike's face withered, and he looked away with a sigh. His change in demeanor chilled Rarity to the bone, scarf or no scarf – she thought she'd had him that time, too.

"Spike, it was a joke," she said, squeezing his shoulder gently. "Admittedly, not a very good one, but—"

With a sudden crackle of electricity, the lights went out, immersing the cabin and its occupants in darkness.

Rarity laughed a high, brittle laugh. "Speaking of unfunny jokes, I do not appreciate the universe's sense of comic timing just now!"

Then she felt Spike's frantic squirming in her grip – in her moment of shock, she'd unintentionally clenched her hooves and crushed him harder against herself. With a sheepish apology, she slackened enough for him to relax, and lit her horn, painting the cabin in the pale blue tones of her aura. The world outside still gently rocked back and forth, but it didn't slide and shift as badly as before. If she tried hard enough, she could almost pretend she was on a luxury yacht, with waves gently stroking the hull.

A yacht that smells like a sweaty dragon... and, let's not kid ourselves, a sweaty mare, too.

Slowly, Rarity relaxed her hooves, drawing them closer to her body. She gathered her hind legs beneath herself to sit more comfortably on the bench, as Spike's fingers uncurled from the wire mesh. He sighed in relief as his muscles stopped straining, and an emerald-tinted puff of air glowed in front of his face, adding its light to Rarity's for just an instant.

His arm started to loosen around Rarity's middle.

"Uh-uh," said Rarity, pressing her hoof tighter against him.

Spike looked at her quizzically. "But..."

"I know. But you're fine. This is fine."

Rarity drew him closer, smiling to herself as she felt his arm return to its position – slowly, cautiously, as though he wasn't sure that she wouldn't yank herself away from him at the last moment if he showed too much eagerness.

He needn't have worried. She'd been pretending all night – pretending to be strong, to be happy, to be remotely hopeful about her future in matters of the heart. Pretending that Spike's personal style of gallantry and occasional shows of immaturity weren't secretly grinding away at her last thimbleful of patience. Pretending – for his sake – that she was fine.

But there was no artifice in the way she smiled, the way she held him, right then. She was wrapped in the embrace of someone she cared for, with a gorgeous view of the countryside unfolding before her, the world within and without the cabin lit only by starlight and the shimmering glow of her aura. There was a spark inside her chest, a light, where before there'd been only empty, festering darkness. No matter what her feelings toward him had been before, no matter what circumstances had brought them there, she felt warm. Peaceful. Even happy.

Happy with Spike.

Rarity laughed once, softly. Spike shifted, his cheek brushing against hers as he turned to regard her curiously. "What is it?" he asked.

"Just thinking. Our night has been difficult, for many, many reasons, and this situation is not one I would have asked for, not in a hundred years. And yet..." Rarity smiled at the little dragon, blushing when she realized just how close their faces were. "I think this is the best I've felt all night."

There was something in Spike's eyes – a hope, a light, a familiar spark of excitement that leaped into his countenance whenever she made even the slightest show of affection for him. His mouth opened, trembled, as his whole world danced on the edge of a knife.

And then Spike's arm uncurled from Rarity, and he pulled to the other side of the bench, once more out of her reach. "I can't. I can't keep doing this. This is all my fault, Rarity. All of it. Everything that's gone wrong tonight, everything that's happened to you – it's all because of me." He pressed his face into his hands.

Another swing, another miss. Rarity wondered if this was how Spike felt when that damn bottle pyramid failed to topple. "That's not true, Spike. You're being dramatic. I mean, far be it for me to criticize, but—"

"I knew you were gonna get stood up!" The words tumbled out of his mouth in a quick, anguished cry; he took a deep breath and let it out with a shudder, fingers clenching and relaxing nervously over and over again. "I've known all week, okay?

"What are you...?" Rarity, suddenly breathless, couldn't bring herself to finish her thought – surely, she'd misheard him. "Spike...?"

"I wasn't outside the restaurant because I was running errands for Twilight," the dragon said in a rush. "I was waiting for you to leave so I could talk to you, and the scarf was in my bag because I was gonna give it to you tonight. I was just... waiting for the right moment."

Icewater rushed through Rarity's veins. "How could you possibly have known?"

Spike clenched his arms and legs closer to his body. "Does it really matter?"

"Of course it matters," Rarity hissed. She fought to steady herself; she felt light-headed and airy, like she was trapped in a bodice drawn too tightly. "You can't simply say something like that and expect me to just accept it without comment. Explain yourself!"

Spike shook at the breathless fury in her words.

"...I overheard him," he admitted. "I was in Sugarcube Corner on Monday, and he was talking to some other stallion about... stuff I didn't really understand. Work, I guess. They were trying to get some mare to do something. But I guess something came up, because he said he had to leave town suddenly and go back to Manehattan to close some deal. Said he'd have to skip out on a date he made for Saturday with a Ponyville mare."

He dared to look at her, though not in the eye. "The younger one asked if he'd like to just bring her up to for the weekend. But the guy said..."

"He said what?" Rarity's voice was a harsh, frozen dagger of a whisper.

Even in the dark, Rarity could see the pain in Spike's eyes – like he was falling on his sword in front of her.

"'I don't want to risk her running into the wife and kids.'"

Time stopped. Everything seemed to fall away, receding into the distance with all the feeling, all the emotion, in Rarity's being, until she was alone in a silent void. She recalled that state; she'd felt it before over the course of the night. Strange and ill-fitting as it may have been... it was growing quite familiar.

Indeed, the very thought of the injustice wrought upon her should have driven her into hysterics and melodrama. Her date didn't just stand her up, after all, he had no intention of showing up in the first place. And he wasn't just two-timing her. He was, if Spike was to be believed, an adulterer. Of all the sleazy, inconsiderate stallions she'd taken chances on over the years, the fact that he would break his vows with any mare made him the worst, the lowest, even more heinous than a thousand Bluebloods.

Yet she felt nothing toward him.

Perhaps she'd been wounded so often that she was just inoculated to the kind of despair this would normally have brought out of her. Perhaps, deep down, part of her expected this sort of thing all along, and prepared her for the worst. Perhaps that should have troubled her more than it did.

But no... before, in the moment, I felt it acutely. I was moments away from breaking down completely before Spike—

At that thought, her mind snapped back to the present. Everything rushed back into place – the ferris wheel, the cage, the scarf around her neck, the sweated-through dress... and the baby dragon seated beside her. The one who met her outside the restaurant, who convinced her to go to the carnival, held her hoof and played the role of the knight in shining scales... and all the while, he knew something that she didn't. A shard of anger lanced up from deep within Rarity's being, piercing her veil of numbness as the reality of the night came into focus.

A scowl twisted Rarity's mascara-stained, tear-streaked face as she glared at Spike. "How dare you do this to me."

Spike didn't move, didn't so much as look at her. "I know. I never should have kept that from you—"

"No, you shouldn't have. But that's not the only issue at hand here, Spike. For pony's sake, I could be stood up a hundred thousand times by a hundred thousand adulterers, and it wouldn't equate to how you've wronged me!" Rarity snapped. "Had you left well enough alone, I would have gone home miserable, gotten very drunk, regretted it in the morning, and gotten on with my life. And had you told me the harsh truth at any point between Monday and tonight, the same scenario would probably have played out. You might have spared me from a bit of drama and humiliation, but in the end, my heart would still be broken. A cruel dilemma, I agree."

She leaned forward, and he cringed away from her, shutting his eyes. "Except you found a third path, didn't you, Spike? You used your knowledge of how tonight would go to ambush me at a time when you knew I would be vulnerable. And all for what? So that you could swoop in and sweep me off my hooves with a night at the bloody carnival?"

Spike dug his claws into his thighs. "I wasn't trying to—"

"You lied to me. You played me. How could you do that to me? And to drag Starlight Glimmer into it?!" Rarity's voice rose as her rage boiled over. "Spike, I've come to expect behavior like that from stallions, but from you? Never, in a million years, would I have suspected that you could be capable of concocting such a faithless, duplicitous, deplorable deception! How dare you play with my heart; how dare you make me think you were putting my needs above your own! Tonight has never been about me – from the start, it's always been all about you!"

As if to punctuate it all, Rarity seized the scarf in her hooves, tore it off her neck, flung it to the floor of their cage, and turned her head away from Spike before she could catch a look at his reaction. She could still hear it, though – the quiet, muffled, half-suppressed sobs, the staggered breaths and sniffling. Rarity huddled her limbs closer to herself to conserve body heat, and did her best to ignore him.

Rarity clad herself in her anger and fought down the instinct to comfort him. She hated herself for letting that part of her dominate any portion of her heart. She hated herself for not hating him.

Damn him, and whatever hold he had over her. She needed to be angry.

"Please don't be mad at Starlight," Spike said at last. With his nose stuffed up and his voice interrupted by intermittent sobs, Spike sounded more than ever like the boy he truly was. "She saw me with the scarf and offered to cast the spell on it. I'm sure she knew I bought it for you, but she didn't know about tonight, I swear."

Rarity scoffed and scooted even closer to her window, leaving an entire bench's worth of room between herself and Spike.

"Tonight's on me, Rarity. I know it. Everything you said..." Spike sniffed loudly and released a tremulous sigh. "But I wasn't trying to take advantage of you, I swear."

"So you just accidentally took advantage of me, then," Rarity growled. "Yes. That's much, much better."

"No. No, I... tonight wasn't supposed to be about me. I know I kinda made it that way, but... it was supposed to be for you. To help you make it through yet another..." A sob cut off the rest of his sentence. "Every time you meet somepony, something goes wrong. You get stood up, or the guy you like turns out to be a jerk. Or he likes Applejack instead of you, or he's just... not into mares after all. You play it off, but we can all tell how bad it hurts you. It keeps on happening, and hurts you worse and worse the more it happens."

"What are you even getting at with this, Spike?" Rarity sniffed. "You and the others know my heart better than I do, is that it? Poor Rarity needs to be shielded from the big scary world of grown-up dating – is that the group consensus?"

"I'm speaking for myself, Rarity. We all see it, but I'm the only one who'll say it." The dragon's voice steadied, his sobs flattening out into something resembling a grown-up's resolve. "When I heard that stallion say those things, I was just so... so angry about it. At him, for putting you through this again, at the fact that it was going to happen again... and at myself, most of all, for not being able to do anything about it. That's when I decided to—"

"Lie to me?"

"That was wrong, and I'm sorry; I can't begin to tell you how much. But I'm not lying to you now when I say this." Spike's voice dropped to a nearly lifeless whisper. "I didn't come out here hoping to sweep you off your hooves; I'm not stupid enough to think I ever could. And I wasn't trying to take advantage of you while you were vulnerable, I swear. All I really wanted to help you salvage the night – to give you a reason to smile. I just..."

Rarity heard Spike's head thunk against the wire mesh as the sniffles and sobs overtook whatever courage he'd mustered for his speech.

"...Just once, I wanted you to go home from a date happier than when you left. You deserve that much. Just one good night, at least..."

Rarity turned, and watched him weep contritely, in stark, bleak silence. Something in her heart moved for him... but she turned away from that instinct again, and laughed bitterly. "Well. A fine job you've done with that, Spike. Now, we're both crying messes instead of just me."

"...No less than I deserve," Spike said under his breath.

Rarity's ear twitched. "Say that again?"

Spike took a long, snotty sniff of air, and wiped his eyes on his flimsy wrists. "It's just something I've been thinking about... ever since we ran into Apple Bloom."

Ran into. A poor choice of words. Or, if he'd been aiming to annoy her, an excellent one.

Spike kept at it, heedless of how he'd misspoken. "I remember sitting with Pinkie Pie, in Sugarcube Corner, while she served up that first batch of fried ice cream for me to try. I remember tasting it, and thinking it was the greatest thing I'd ever eaten. I took that first bite, and right away, you were the first pony I thought of. I wanted to share it with you, to see your face light up when you tasted it, and that's exactly what happened tonight. For a moment, just for a moment... it was like, the world could've ended right there, and it would have been perfect."

"And then Apple Bloom came along with her balloon." Rarity blew a lock of curly, sweaty mane out of her face. "I suppose I'm with you up until that point."

Spike shook his head. "It wasn't even that, though – it wasn't her, or the mess she made. It was the way your face just... blanked... that made me realize I'd screwed up. I wanted to just go home and call it a night, but you insisted, and even though I knew it'd only get worse, I went along with it. Just took you at your word, because I just wanted to see you happy again, to get that feeling of perfection back. Then there was the crowd, messing up your dress even more, and that thing with Flim and Flam..."

He lifted a hand and uncurled three, stubby little dragon claws, counting off each humiliation in turn.

"Where are you going with this, Spike?" Rarity said. "Because, I'm sorry, but you're starting to lose me."

Spike looked Rarity in the eye, his wet cheeks catching the light from Rarity's aura. "I wanted to buy you a dessert, and it got all over your dress by accident. I wanted to win you a prize at a game, and instead we got humiliated by a couple of con artists. I wanted to take you on a carnival ride, and..." He beckoned around the cabin, and let his arm fall against his lap with a sigh of resignation. "This is fate, Rarity. Punishment, for what I did."

"...I can't believe this." Rarity leaned forward, pressing her weight against the hooves resting on the bench. "You're still thinking selfishly. For all your protestations and apologies, all your claims that this was all for my benefit, you're trapped in the mindset that it's all about you. Spike, look at me."

Rarity gestured at the stains coating her painstakingly sewn dress.

"Look at what's become of me over the course of this night. If this was all some sort of ironic punishment for your misdeed, why would so much of it be meted out onto me?"

Spike gulped. "Yeah, but... Flim and Flam—"

"Are con artists, Spike," Rarity cried, tossing her hooves flamboyantly in the air. "They would've gone after anypony, anyone, that they deemed an easy mark! Fate didn't push you toward them; fate didn't make you fall for their tricks and give them your money, any more than it drove you to lie to me about your intentions! You did that! You let yourself get played by them!"

Spike shrank away, staring back down at his lap – and Rarity, damn it all, felt that instinct return with even greater force, vying with her feelings of hurt and betrayal for priority.

"I understand why you made the choice that you did, Spike," she said, her voice straining to convey a sense of empathy that clashed against her anger. "Your heart may have been in the right place, but an honest mistake is still a mistake. And it was yours to make. Not fate's."

Spike looked at her, incredulous, even a little defensive. "You can't seriously look at everything that's happened tonight and not think fate had something to do with it all. You can't miss the pattern."

"There's no pattern to this, Spike. No grand scheme to make you and I pay for the mistakes that you made." A shiver crawled along Rarity's flesh, and she glanced down at the scarf, discarded, on the cabin floor. "You look at tonight, and you see a pattern of events that culminate in you feeling miserable, and you know what? I can relate. Because I do the same thing. It's a defense mechanism, one which keeps us from taking responsibility for our actions. We err, and we ascribe the error to something we cannot see, something that can't be held accountable."

Spike was quiet as he contemplated her words, folding his hands on his lap and playing his thumbs against one another.

"...But you gotta believe in fate, Rarity. You have to."

"I never said I didn't." She was growing exasperated with him again, and tried to modulate her voice to hide it. "Of course there's some kind of design to the universe, Spike. Look at us – look at how we met. Not just you and I, but Twilight, and the rest of the girls. We're all bound together by a single moment in time, and that can't be anything but fate. But I refuse to believe that the same force which gave us the most important people in our lives also conspired to make you and I miserable, all because of a mistake."

Rarity brought her front hooves together, and held them there, as she looked searchingly at Spike. "I believe fate is gentler than that. Stripped away of any defense mechanisms, any asinine thoughts of conspiracy... I believe that fate guides, rather than leads. Brings us to certain moments, but lets us make our own decisions... expecting us to face their consequences."

Like when you fall for the wrong pony, time and time again, Rarity thought. When you romanticize, idealize, and fall in love with an image that exists only in your head, one belied by reality. When that image runs up against the reality of the pony, and shatters along with your heart, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces and wonder if you'll ever be able to open yourself up again.

Spike was right. It got harder, and harder, after every time.

"Fate didn't bring us here, to this cabin, to this point in time." Rarity's voice softened. "We did, through our own mistakes. There's nothing for it, but to accept that we're here... and to try and learn from this whole situation. Because that's what..."

She almost swallowed her next words – but he needed to hear them, as much as she needed to hear herself say them.

"...That's what growing up is all about."

It was like he was falling on his sword for her all over again. The pain on Spike's face was palpable, and Rarity almost expected him to burst into tears once more. But he drew himself up, squared his shoulders, and looked her right back, fighting against his sobs.

"I understand, Rarity." Needle teeth clattered loudly together as he fought to keep his jaw from trembling. "And I'm sorry. For everything. I know I screwed up, and I'm just—"

Rarity silenced him by covering his hand with her hoof. And he looked away, his carefully composed facade of strength threatening to shatter with every passing moment.

Spike sat there, shriveled up in the dark, wearing his guilt out in the open for Rarity to see. His wet, tremulous voice and his shuddering shoulders spoke of his sincerity. He'd done wrong, and he was fully conscious of it. And he was sorry. Whatever he'd done, whatever he'd neglected to tell her, whatever he may have lied about, Spike was still Spike. Good, and noble, and, in the end... honest.

If he was acting, then his performance should've guaranteed him a lifetime of success in theater, and damned her as the softest mark on this side of the Everfree Forest. But Rarity couldn't watch his guilty display, couldn't hear his weeping contrition, and not believe him. It wasn't about whether or not he was telling her the truth about his motivations, or whether or not he truly understood and owned up to his mistakes. However flawed and ill-conceived tonight had been, he was genuinely trying to put her interests above his own. It wasn't a question of whether or not she understood that. It was a question of whether or not she could also accept his apology. Whether or not she could forgive him.

...Yes. Yes, I can.

Eventually.

There, in the moment, the wound was still fresh. Having been inflicted by a dear friend like Spike, it ran far deeper than it would have had it come from anypony else. Yet, even so, the voice inside of her that compelled her to comfort and forgive him wouldn't, and couldn't, be silenced.

Even if Spike is right, even if this is all the work of fate, I refuse to believe that it brought us here for the sole purpose of wounding us. Tears welled in Rarity's eyes. Fate cannot be so gentle as to give us one another, to let us build this friendship, and then be so cruel as to drive us apart and dash it all to pieces. He must come back from this. He needs a chance to make amends, and I, a chance to forgive him. Something good must good come of tonight.

She shut her eyes, and sniffled.

It can't end like this.

An explosion, from not so far off, made Rarity jump and open her eyes. She turned her face toward it, her mouth drooping in wonderment, as she beheld the pink flower blooming in the night sky.

"The fireworks have started," she murmured to Spike.

He said nothing. Did nothing. Rarity bit her lip, and lifted her eyes to the fireworks again.

The night sky crackled with brilliant hues. Green, blue, purple and gold and red – and pink, always pink – shattered the night, sparkled in midair, and winked out as quickly as they appeared. Their lights, their warmth, washed over the ferris wheel, as the air grew thick with the smokey haze they left behind.

A glimmer of light from town drew Rarity's attention, and she gasped.

"Spike, the castle!"

The crystal spire that towered over Ponyville shone with the light of every color painting the sky. They shifted and slid across its surface in an iridescent sheen – absent any moonlight, the castle's trunk and boughs and canopy of crystals were the brightest beacon in the night.

Rarity glanced at Spike – for the first time, he seemed to notice the fireworks as their glow washed over his home. His hand covered his mouth, the tears still beading in his eyes now forgotten. Rarity lifted her hoof to his face and wiped the tiny, salty droplets away, and Spike looked into her smiling face.

"Look at that," said Rarity softly. "You kept your promise, after all, darling."

They looked out at the castle again, at the show of lights upon its surface. Rarity lowered her hoof, and in moments, felt his fingers, soft and hesitant, curl gently around it. She smiled, making no move to stop him.

They sat together, in silence, as the lights on the castle and the thundering fireworks heralded the end of the night.

Author's Note:

I am so, so sorry.

Comments

[DragonRaiderX9]

My my, the plot thickens. You walked a fine line on that one, having Spike do something reprehensible and yet still maintain reader sympathy. I think you managed to pull off both characters brilliantly.

I am utterly thrilled to see this story return, and look forward to more.

[Flynt Coal]

I don't see why you're apologizing. Own this romantic angst-fest!

Really, the fact that you managed to end this chapter on a bittersweet note rather than a straight up depressing and make it believable despite all that was revealed is real good. 👌

[Pyro The Reader]

Yo! Not much of a drama kinda guy, but with characterization THAT good? The realism of this story truly makes it a rarity as far as Spairty goes.

[Posh]

8276053 derpicdn.net/img/2017/3/16/1388829/medium.gif

8275171 The apology isn't so much for the content of the chapter, as it is because the story's billed as a romance, and a Sparity romance at that. Except, well...

[Steadfast Hoof]

[Ekhidna]

I don't like this story.

I love it.

[Fido]

8276087
Condemned to the dreaded zone...

[KhaosBlade]

I feel like Rarity is projecting with Spike, since the things she accused him of doing, she's done to him.

[Tranquil Serenity]

If she doesn't have an issue with Spike not telling her she was going to be stood up, then I just don't get why Rarity's upset. So what if showing up to comfort her might be remotely construed as a chance of her returning his feelings? She hasn't given him her heart before, and she doesn't have to him her heart now. He showed up when he knew there was a chance he could make a despondent Rarity feel better. He could never trap an unwitting Rarity in a relationship she didn't want, and in a relationship or out of a relationship he only ever treats Rarity with kindness. Excuse his little starstruck heart for hoping against hope that she'd return his affection, while he showed up to comfort her as he likely would've done for any friend regardless.

And as for the lies he told to make it seem like he happened upon her by chance, she's been lying to him about little things all night. So it's rather unfair if it's on the principle of telling the truth.

If Rarity isn't mad that he simply didn't tell her the date would fall through in the first place, feeling that no matter what Spike did she would've been hurt anyways, then her anger just doesn't make any sense to me.

[Posh]

If she doesn't have an issue with Spike not telling her she was going to be stood up, then I just don't get why Rarity's upset. So what if showing up to comfort her might be remotely construed as a chance of her returning his feelings? She hasn't given him her heart before, and she doesn't have to him her heart now. He showed up when he knew there was a chance he could make a despondent Rarity feel better. He could never trap an unwitting Rarity in a relationship she didn't want, and in a relationship or out of a relationship he only ever treats Rarity with kindness. Excuse his little starstruck heart for hoping against hope that she'd return his affection, while he showed up to comfort her as he likely would've done for any friend regardless.

Rarity's anger with Spike stems from him putting his desire to make her feel better over what she actually needed to feel better, which was the time and the space to process her hurt. I mean, she is upset about being lied to; that's just not what she's primarily upset by. It's what he used the lie to do. It's not that he was in the wrong for wanting to comfort her.

She's angry because she felt like Spike exploited her vulnerability to get what he wanted. And even though his motives were altruistic (he did genuinely want to make Rarity feel better, and was under no illusions that she'd fall into his arms), that trip to the carnival was ultimately about him, and not her.

And as for the lies he told to make it seem like he happened upon her by chance, she's been lying to him about little things all night. So it's rather unfair if it's on the principle of telling the truth.

I mean, yeah, she was lying to spare his feelings, but I think it's a mistake to equate their lies to one another. "I'm okay being here at the carnival" is not on the same order of magnitude as "I didn't know you would get stood up by your date, and I was just hanging out here by coincidence."

If Rarity isn't mad that he simply didn't tell her the date would fall through in the first place, feeling that no matter what Spike did she would've been hurt anyways, then her anger just doesn't make any sense to me.

I refer you to my first response. Rarity needs to be shown that she still has friends who care for her, and being around Spike would serve as a good reminder that she's not only worthy of love, but actually loved. If he'd waited a few days and then invited her out to cheer her up, that would have been one thing. Instead, he struck right when the wound was at its freshest, urged her into a situation she wasn't really in the mood for, and didn't cut the most impressive or mature figure while they were there.

It comes down to a question of emotional maturity. Spike's mature enough to empathize with Rarity, but not mature enough to recognize what she really needed, which was time and space, not a grand gesture.