10. Operation Damage Control
Some time after Redheart had left, Blaze poked her head out from underneath the hospital bed. With a watchful eye and a twitching hoof ready to bring deliverance, Spitfire waited for her sister to crawl out into the open, stand up, and even brush the dust from her coat before she delivered on her promise.
“Ow!”
Hiding her smirk beneath a scowl, Spitfire shook out her foreleg while Blaze ducked her head and held her hooves over what was sure to be a second bump forming under her mane. Dark, muttered expletives neither of them ever spoke within earshot of their mother spilled forth from her mouth.
“Quit your whining,” Spitfire said, unfurling her uninjured wing. Nostrils flared, she bored holes in the back of her sister’s head. “Save it for later when you have something to really whine about.”
“What the hay, Spits?” Blaze shot something between a pout and a glare as she shuffled over to one of the open chairs. “Is that any way to treat your big sister?”
Spitfire wrinkled her muzzle at the comment and folded her forelegs over her chest. The beginnings of a growl rumbled in the back of her throat. “When she’s acting like a total heel? Yes. You’re lucky I’m stuck in this bed, otherwise I’d beat you with your own goggles.”
“Thin skin much?” Though she was only a few feet away, Spitfire chose not to hear any of the grumblings Blaze muttered to herself. Her hooves roamed through her fiery red mane over where she grew acquainted with Redheart’s clipboard and she massaged it in small circles. A hiss slipped past her lips and she winced. “Man, your mare hits way too hard. Are you two trying to give me a concussion? You know I have to fly in a show, like, tomorrow, right?”
Spitfire snorted. “Not my fault you keep looking for trouble.”
“Please.” Blowing a raspberry, Blaze mimicked Spitfire’s posture from the folded forelegs to the unfurled wings. She even furrowed her brow and lifted the corner of her mouth such that it felt almost like looking in a mirror—an aggravating, annoying, whappable mirror.
Spitfire’s brows flatlined, and so did Blaze’s. “Knock it off. You know I hate it when you do that.”
“And?” Blaze ruffled her feathers in time with Spitfire, and growled when she did. “This is what you get for smacking me upside the head when I was doing you a solid. How many big sisters do you know that would hire a singing telegram for their little, baby sisters?”
“None! And for a good reason!” Even though Spitfire’s tail was under her blanket, Blaze’s tail flicked at the same moment hers did. “Who even does that?”
“It’s called thinking outside the box.” Breaking face, Blaze wiggled her ears and smirked a wicked smirk that seemed to run in the family. “And you thought I never paid attention during those team planning meetings you make us all sit through.”
“If you mean thinking creatively about how to embarrass the feathers off of me, then yes, congratulations, you are Equestria’s biggest jerk. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Maybe you oughta consider being less fun to embarrass. Besides, I wasn’t just trying to make you squirm in front of Nurse Cutebutt, you know. That right there,” Blaze said, flicking a primary to the door, “was a genuine act of sisterly love.”
Oh, how Spitfire wished she had her aviator sunglasses with her. As scathing as her glare could be, without the right accessories it was incomplete, like a team stunt missing one of its fliers. “Explain.”
“Judging from how you and Nurse Fineflank there were reacting to all of that, I’m going to go ahead and guess that you’re no closer to landing her.” With a soft shake of her head, Blaze hopped off of the chair and patted Spitfire’s shoulder. “Somepony’s got to help you in your quest for love, and who better than your best big sister?”
The corner of Spitfire’s lips twitched. Otherwise, she held her stoney glare. “Uh huh. Sure. I hope you’re not attached to your toothbrush, because you’re officially scrubbing the stallion’s bathrooms with it for the next six months.”
“Personally,” Blaze started, showing her teeth in her smirk as her eyes twinkled with her own brand of troublemaking and completely unphased by Spitfire’s threat, “I thought the sunset bit was pretty inspired.”
An image of Redheart bubbled up to Spitfire’s mind’s eye, one of her enticing blue eyes wide with shock, her mouth agape, and her pristine, pearly white coat flushed a bright red. The image—the memory—stuck fast, sending her righteous anger into a tailspin. For the sake of her reputation, she resisted the urge to hug a pillow to her chest and sigh, similarly calling her mouth to attention before it could spread into a wobbly smile.
“Oh, wow. You’re way more smitten than I thought you were. Equestria to Spitfire?”
Blinking, Spitfire shook her head, filing that image away for later consideration. Just as quickly, she re-fixed her scowl over her muzzle. Judging by the look on Blaze’s face, it was too late. “Congratulations, you have a single romantic bone in your body, but that’s not the point!”
Tilting her head to the side, Blaze arched a brow. “Then what is?”
Spitfire opened her mouth to reply, then shut it. She repeated the process a few more times before relenting with a groan and falling back to her mattress with a soft thump. With quiet resignation, she dragged her hooves down her face. All of her years in the Wonderbolts taught her that no amount of threatening, punishment, or growling could shake that stupid smirk from Blaze’s lips.
Well, one thing could, but playing that card could backfire all too easily.
She peeked out from her hooves, her eyes burning slits of sisterly indignation. “Why are you here?”
A gleeful, wicked, girlish giggle reacher her ears. “I’m here to check in on my baby sister between stops on the tour, dummy, and currently fawning over how adorable you are. Who ever thought anypony’d live to see Spitty in love?”
Hot, burning tongues of a blush licked over Spitfire’s muzzle, drawing another bout of giggles from Blaze while she tried to melt through the bed and floor. No force in Equestria could shake the smirk from her muzzle, but another few months on locker room duty and playing team water pony for the rest of the season would at least make her think twice next time.
Another delighted, cackling giggle filled the room, and Spitfire sighed. Who was she kidding? “Sweet Celestia, has she seen you blush? You’re so cute I almost want to pinch your cheeks!”
Baring her teeth, Spitfire slapped her hooves down on her mattress. “Try it and you’ll be flying sideways all the way to Trottingham and back!”
“I wish I brought my camera!”
“Shut up!” After a pause, she lifted her head and shot daggers at her sister with all the strength and precision years in the Wonderbolts could provide. “And don’t you even think about telling Mom.”
Something flashed behind Blaze’s eyes, something that made an icy dread set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. “Ooooh,” she purred, trailing off to a thoughtful hum. “Oh, now there’s an idea.”
Eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, Spitfire made a choking sound in the back of her throat. Strange how the slightest thing can snuff out even the most furious of flames. “Blaze. No.”
“Could you imagine how she’ll react? I bet it’d be great.”
“No!” Desperation, high and cracking, bled into Spitfire’s voice. “No, no, no! You can’t!”
“Say, do you think she still does that thing where she carries all of our foal pictures around in her purse with her?” There was wicked, and then there was Blaze. Spitfire’s desperation only seemed to fuel her as she smiled a timberwolf’s smile. “Don’t you think your girl would love to see those? Or how about that little rabbit plushie you wouldn't sleep without?”
Spitfire jolted upright, flaring her wing wide. “That is explicitly against the sisterhood code!”
“There’re oodles of those pictures,” Blaze said, fluffing her feathers with a show of pride as she perched back on the bedside chair. “Just oodles and oodles. You know how Mom is.”
“So help me, I will set your tail on fire and have you fly laps until your wings fall off!”
“Oh, fine, fine.” Waving one hoof, Blaze examined the other as she buffed it against her chest. Though her tone was thoughtful, the edge of the smirk peeking out from her muzzle suggested differently. “I guess I can think about not telling Mom.”
Lips pursed, Spitfire bit down on the inside of her cheek. “I won’t beg. Please.”
“Okaaaay, but only because I love you so much. I have a better idea, anyways.” Reclining back in her chair, Blaze flicked her tail over her flank and cutie mark and folded her wings back to her sides. “How about, while I’m here, I lay down some sisterly dating advice instead?”
Spitfire blinked and stared. One brow shot up her forehead while her lips parted. “What?”
“Don’t give me that.” Sticking out her tongue, Blaze pouted and flicked an ear. “I got together with Fleet ages ago. Between the two of us, who here actually has experience in the whole ‘commitment’ field? We’ve been going strong for a couple years now, and it looks to me like you desperately need some dating advice if a little peck on the lips like that sent your mare running.”
A frown marred Spitfire’s expression, furrowing her brow and pulling her lips down as she scratched at the sleeve of her hospital gown. Only a couple years? The time and torture they put her through felt longer. “I guess you have a point.”
“I can see you’re skeptical,” Blaze said, her tone unusually solemn and knowing. Her head bobbed in a slow nod. The relentless gleam of wicked and mischief threw off the picture, ringing alarm bells in Spitfire’s head as her sister patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll just give you one piece of advice. If worse comes to worse with Redheart and you’re not really getting anywhere, you can always try this little failsafe I used on Fleet when I was struggling to pony up and ask her to be my girl.”
A flick of the ear was the only physical reaction Spitfire gave. “Knowing you two, do I even really want to know?”
Blaze flashed her a grin in response. “Trust me. It’s good.”
Sticking with her frown, Spitfire held Blaze’s gaze, searching the other mare’s expression for any tells. Slowly, she said, “Okay.”
“Alright! Now, look, it’s really simple.”
Spitfire narrowed her eyes but nodded.
“All you have to do is roll over,” Blaze said, twirling her hoof in front of her. Then, the mischief in her eyes flared to life, making them dance a brilliant purple that promised no good. “Then, stick your butt in the air. Give it a little shake to really get her attention.”
A beat passed.
Blaze winked.
Then, quick as Fleetfoot out of the gate on derby day, Spitfire lunged forward, swinging her hoof at her sister’s fat head. But, despite her best effort, Blaze was quicker. It must have been the twitch of her eye that tipped her off.
Ducking under the blow, Blaze jumped back and, with a well-timed flap of her wings, caught enough of a boost to perch on the back of the bedside chair. “Ha! Too slow, Spitty dearest!”
Spitfire growled, her fur bristled, her feathers ruffled, and her cheeks hot. “Get over here and take your beating like a mare!”
In return, Blaze stuck out her tongue. “Fat chance! Besides, I think we both know why you’re all hot under the collar.” Retracting her tongue, Blaze slid down to the seat of the chair, her feathers fluffed and her grin smug. “A little nudge from me, and you’re closer to wrapping that nurse up in your wings than you’ve ever been.”
“I thought you said I needed to find a stable relationship,” Spitfire growled.
“You do. Play your cards right, and you might actually have a shot with this one.” For a quick, fleeting moment, Blaze’s expression fell to a cooler, more sombre smile. The purple of her eyes almost softened to a warmer, welcoming sheen. Then, as if it never happened, her lips twisted back into a smirk. “But how often do I get to tease you about being in love? C’mon, Spits, priorities.”
Lips peeled away from Spitfire’s teeth as her eyes narrowed to two amber slits that would have the most blockheaded of fliers knocking their knees. Again, as always, Blaze’s grin grew at the sight. Then, like the first lightning strike of a storm, revelation dawned. An ear flicked, but otherwise she kept her composure. If she couldn’t scare her sister into line, then perhaps somepony else could.
“Push one more button,” Spitfire said, flaring her nostrils. “Try it, and I will call Red and her retribution will be swift.”
The smarmy satisfaction wilted in Blaze’s eyes, replaced by a bead of fear that brought a quiver of her primaries. “I-I was just joking around!”
“Uh huh.” When it came to siblings, turnabout was always fair play. With satisfaction in equal measure, Spitfire leaned back against her bed’s headboard and folded her forelegs over her chest. “And I’m sure I’ll be laughing when you beg Red to be gentle as she drags your good-for-nothing rump out of here.”
Flinching, Blaze folded her ears back against her mane. “Fine, fine, I’ll be good! Quit calling your girlfriend to fight your battles for you.” A huff later, and the corner of Blaze’s mouth twitched upwards. “Jeez, you two aren’t even dating yet and you’re already hiding behind her.”
Some ponies never learn. Spitfire scrunched up her muzzle at the remark, ignoring the fitful flutter of wings, both of her own and of the butterflies that migrated up to her chest sometime before Redheart left the room. “What’s that supposed to mean, Sergeant?”
“Nothing at all, Captain.” Blaze shrugged, her tone much too light and sweet to be genuine. “In fact, I’m sure you’ll go down in Wonderbolt history as the only captain who needed her girlfriend to keep their fliers in line.”
Spitfire inhaled sharply through her flared nostrils. If that was the game she wanted to play, then she would more than meet her match. “Better than you hiding behind Mom all the time.”
That drew a blink from Blaze and then another as her lips fell into a neutral line. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Spitfire said, mimicking Blaze’s earlier tone. When she used it, however, it came across more gravelly and ear-grating. “It’s kind of endearing that one of the Wonderbolts’ best fliers is such a big mama’s filly. I hear that does wonders for our demographic.”
“What?” Sitting up, Blaze’s ears stood ramrod straight. Indignation coloured her voice, a sound second only to the roaring cheer of a crowd and Redheart’s giggling, honey-like laughter. “I am not a mama’s filly.”
Spitfire snorted and rolled her eyes. “You are, too.”
Blaze wrinkled her muzzle as her wings flicked. “Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not!”
With a smirk, Spitfire stared up at the ceiling. “Are too times infinity.”
The bedside chair squeaked as Blaze shifted her weight, drawing a flick of Spitfire’s ear. “Am not times infinity plus one.”
Cocking her head to the side, Spitfire regarded her sister and her narrowed, piercing glare with one eye open. “Are too times infinity to the power of infini—”
“Am not times infinity to the power of infinity plus two.”
Spitfire blinked. “What?”
“Ha!” Rolling back on her haunches, Blaze pumped a hoof. “I win! Blaze wins! Spitfire, zip!”
“Wha—hey, no! I’m not done yet! Times infinity the power of infinity plus infinity! Beat that, featherhead, and go sulk back to your girlfriend!”
“Too late! I’m already declared the winner.” Blaze made no attempt to conceal her snickering as she crossed one hind leg over the other and folded her forehooves behind her head. “Think on your hooves a little quicker next time. You might actually win one of these days.”
Spitfire stared for a long second. Then, puffing her cheeks out, she swallowed a snarl as she pushed herself up to her haunches. “Red!”
“See? You’re doing it again already!”
This time, Spitfire stuck her tongue out. “Go cry to Mom, why don’t you.”
“Don’t tempt me.” A pout lingered over Blaze’s expression as she pawed at the lime green fabric of the chair cushion. “Besides, are you really one to point hooves after that stunt you pulled on my six month anniversary with Fleetfoot?”
As much as she wanted to laugh at the memory, Spitfire had the decency to bite down on the inside of her cheek and slide her gaze to the side. “I told you,” she said, momentarily grateful for the state of her broken wing—one less tell was never a bad thing, “Mom wanted to go out for dinner and we just happened to fly over where you two were celebrating.”
The scowl Blaze wore furrowed her brow. They both knew ‘celebrating’ was putting it lightly. “You keep on telling yourself that and maybe you’ll be surprised when I get you back with interest. But you know what?” Sitting up, she spread her hooves and wings wide. “Water under the bridge, at least until I push you over the edge. I don’t have too long to hang out before my train leaves, and we have more important stuff to talk about.”
“Like what?”
“Like where you’re thinking of taking your scary nurse for your first date. So—” With a single pump of her wings, Blaze jumped from the chair to the bed. She landed on her stomach at the end of the bed, rolled onto her side, and propped her head up on her hoof. “—any ideas, lovergirl?”
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Spitfire regarding her sister with an equally flat stare. “Dunno. Dinner or something, probably.” With only a little effort, she sat up, pulling her hind legs in underneath her torso. “Why do you care?”
In return, Blaze offered a bemused look. She prodded Spitfire’s thigh with the tip of her wing, smiling crookedly at how the other pegasus pursed her lips as if she swallowed something sour. “‘Cause I want to see my baby sister happy? And, no offense, but seriously? You’re head over hooves for this mare, and the best you got is ‘dinner or something?’”
“Don’t know if you noticed,” Spitfire said, swatting Blaze with her uninjured wing, “but we’re not about to head out on any dates. I’ll work on that when I’m not her patient.”
Blaze returned the swat. “Aren’t you the one always lecturing us about knowing what stunt we’re going to do three stunts before we do it?”
“Yeah, well—” Spitfire held her tongue, glaring at Blaze as her feathers tickled at her chest through her hospital gown. A growl built up in her throat. One more swat, and she’ll be scrubbing the runway with a toothbrush for six months and cleaning everypony’s flight suits. She exhaled through her nose. Only one eye twitched when a feather poked her chin. “This isn’t a stunt.”
Puffing out her cheeks, Blaze blew a raspberry. “Same principle. Come on, Spitty, where’s the game plan? You’re the best at that kind of stuff.” A slight smirk was Spitfire’s only warning before she sprung forward, catching the downed flier off guard, and booped her nose. “Once you get her to say yes, where’re you taking her?”
In defiance, Spitfire blew a raspberry right back at her and held her glare for a few seconds longer. Then, with a sigh, she let her shoulders slump. She chewed the inside of her cheek as her eyes wandered away from her sister. They passed over the doorway, half-expecting a pearly white hoof to poke into view, bringing with it the eyes she so adored, and lingered over The Last Alicorn waiting for tonight—or, perhaps not considering today—to be read.
The thought of Redheart curled up together once more, lost in the forests and fantasy of an ancient Equestria, and their coats pressed flush together as Spitfire’s wing loosely fell over her nurse’s back made her heart leap in a staccato rhythm.
Goodness, she had it bad. “Can we be real for a minute, B?”
Blaze arched a brow, but nodded. “Sure, Spits.” Sitting back at the foot of the bed, she tucked her wings in at her sides and curled her tail back around her flank. The mischief slipped from her expression as something like concern took its place. “What’s up?”
Spitfire opened her mouth, then closed it. A frown fell over her face as she found her eyes wandering to the window. Another beautiful day in Ponyville, though some grey clouds rolling in from the west might change that. “I don’t have a game plan. It’s not that I haven’t tried to think of one,” she said, following the specks of pegasi in the distance monitoring the incoming storm with her eyes.
When Blaze spoke, her voice was something softer, not looking to poke and prod at Spitfire’s buttons. “Then what is it?”
“Honestly? I have no idea what I’m doing. Picking up a mare or two at a club or after a show is a cakewalk.” A mirthless little chuckle sounded from Spitfire’s mouth. “Fluff your feathers, swish your tail, and give ‘em a little show when you walk away and they’re putty in your hooves.”
The tone of Spitfire’s voice was matched by the dry grin on Blaze’s face. “Not the same when it’s somepony you actually want to be with, huh?”
With a groan, Spitfire massaged her forehead. She fell back, staring up at the white ceiling above. “How am I supposed to have a game plan when I don’t know the rules or how to play?”
“That’s why even the best athletes have coaches, which is exactly what I’m here for.” The sound of Blaze giggling drew an arched brow from Spitfire. Her sister did a lot of things. Giggling wasn’t one of them. Yet, when she looked up, she was met with a bright smile. “You just keep on being you, Spits. She likes you, that much is obvious, and you’ll be putty in each other’s hooves soon enough.”
“Um.” Spitfire blinked even as her tail twitched under her blankets. “What?”
“I snuck a glance at you two lovebirds before I sent Pinkie Pie in.” Blaze wiggled her ears, cocking her head to the side. “It looks pretty obvious from where I stood. She’s into you bigtime.”
Spitfire’s muzzle scrunched as her thoughts reached back. “I didn’t see that.”
With a lopsided grin, Blaze gently punched Spitfire’s shoulder. “Welcome to love, little sister. Trust me, you two will be just fine. You keep up the good work and leave the rest to little old me.”
Suspicion rose up Spitfire’s chest like a sudden updraft rustling her feathers. “Blaze,” she said, her tone warning, “what are you up to?”
“I got a trick or two waiting in the wings. Just you wait.” Blaze winked. “The singing telegram bit went better than expected. I mean, did you see how she blushed? I think I’ll give the good Nurse Redheart another nudge on my way out, though.”
The moment passed, and Spitfire hardened her expression once more. “I can handle this on my own without more of your ‘help.’ Don’t you even dare.”
“Oh yeah? Then what’s the plan, sis?”
“I—well, when I think of something at least I won’t make her run out of the room! Do you have any idea how much damage control I have to do just to get her look me in the eye again?”
Blaze snickered and shook her head. “Didn’t you get a look at her face? Trust me, it’s in the bag if you make the right plays. She might have scared now, but she’ll think it over. By the time she decides to blame me for it, I’ll be long gone. Now,” she said, rustling her feathers as she sat up, “how about you stop worrying about being mad at me and worry about where you’re going to take her when you get out of here?”
The look on Spitfire’s face spoke volumes. Eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, she glared daggers at her twin sister. “I’ll say this one more time, B. Back off.”
With a sigh, Blaze held her hooves up. Disappointment coloured her voice when she said, “Alright. Loud and clear, chief. I’ll stay out of things. No singing telegrams or skywriting or anything.”
Spitfire’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Skywriting?”
“Hey, not happening. Who knew wanting your baby sister to be happy was such a crime?”
Underneath her blankets, Spitfire’s tail snapped to the side. She puffed out her cheeks and held her breath to the count of ten. When she finished counting she exhaled, though her features remained stony and hard. “It is when your twin sister, who is the same age as you, is a giant feathered butthead. Now, you promise to quit meddling?”
“Cross my heart,” Blaze said, crossing her hoof over her chest. With another sigh, she shook her head. She looked back to Spitfire with a softer, disarming smile. “At least think about where to take her, okay? Might give you something to look forward to when you’re out and about again.”
“Yeah, right.” Spitfire gave a soft snort and found her gaze drifting back to the window. “If she’ll go for it.”
The mattress shifted as Blaze slid to the floor. Her hooves sounded softly on the linoleum tiling before one rested on Spitfire’s shoulder with a reassuring, gentle squeeze. “You got this.”
Treetops, lush and in bloom, swayed in the wind just beyond Spitfire’s window. She watched them for a moment, following row after row of trees in a vast, green expanse. Somewhere out there, Spitfire knew, beyond the orchards of apple trees, lay the rest of Equestria. To the north, Canterlot sat on Mount Canterhorn, a gleaming city that could be seen from miles away. There, all lines of the Friendship Express connected, ready to take ponies to the farthest reaches of their world and everywhere in-between.
Spitfire’s ear flicked and a soft, slow smile spread on her lips as her eyes traced the outlines of the mountains on the horizon. “She told me a while ago that she’s never gotten to travel.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s her job. Says it keeps her here most of the time. She goes up to Canterlot or Manehattan every now and then if she can, but other than that, nothing. Did you know she’s always wanted to go to San Franciscolt?”
“Nope, but it sounds like it’d make for a pretty great date to me.”
“Yeah, it might do the trick.” Spitfire’s smile shifted into a smirk she shared with Blaze. “You heading out?”
“I probably should. My train leaves pretty soon, and I got an errand to take care of first.”
Spitfire squeezed Blaze’s foreleg before pushing it off of her shoulder. With her good wing she poked and prodded at her sister, nudging her away from the bed and closer to the door. “Then get out of here and go do some skywriting for your own girlfriend. I got this covered here.”
Swatting her wing away, Blaze returned fire by sidestepping in closer and tousling Spitfire’s mane. “Yeah, you’re probably good. When in doubt, just remember my advice. Butt in the air, and give it a little shake!” She cackled as she ducked a well-deserved whap and skittered to the door. “Catch you later, Spitty! I’ll definitely do that skywriting thing for Fleet and be sure to send you all the juicy details after!”
“Get back here and take your whaps like a mare!”
“Nope! Later!”
With one last cackle, Blaze darted out of the room. Once the tip of her fiery red tail disappeared down the hallway, Spitfire fell back on her pillows. Sighing, then growling, then grumbling, she smoothed out her mane and stared up at the ceiling.
She stared at the off-white ceiling panels for a good few minutes, mulling over the last hour. Then, schooling her expression, she sat up.
Celestia knew how much damage Blaze might have done, but there was only one way to find out. Swinging her hind legs off of the bed, Spitfire took care to brace herself on the wall as she slid to the floor. Once she was certain her balance wouldn’t fail her, she fluffed her feathers and started for the door.
“Commence operation damage control,” she said to herself as she reached the door and stepped out into the hallway. Sure, Redheart might very well chain her to her bed later, but not until after Spitfire found her.
Though not as big as some of the hospitals in Canterlot or Manehattan, Ponyville General was still a large, sprawling complex. The more Spitfire wandered, the more she found, from the Intensive Care Unit, to the cafeteria, to a lecture and demonstration theatre, to the maternity ward and everything in-between. Easily the largest building in Ponyville, save for the castle, navigating her way through the halls and wards would have proven near impossible if not for the painted lines helping guide ponies to each wing.
A little bit of prodding and poking at the nurse’s station produced some information. Just as she said before fleeing from her room, Redheart was due at the foal’s ward and was scheduled to be there for another half-hour before her break.
The only problem was that the foal’s ward was on the other side of the hospital.
And so, fifteen minutes later, Spitfire trudged down the blue-painted halls, following a happy, cheery yellow line on the floor. Some of the other nurses and doctors spared her passing glances as she walked by, head held high, but apart from the occasional check-in she was left alone.
As she walked, she ignored the glances and whispers from doctors, nurses, and patients around her and focused on putting one hoof in front of the other. Remarkably, given her last unattended walk-about, she found her legs only beginning to wobble as she crossed the doorway between the maternity ward and the foal’s ward. A particularly violent tremble made her pause and lean against the wall to catch her breath.
A glance up at a clock on the wall later, Spitfire pushed herself off and shuffled down the hall. She ignored the slight wavering of her balance and ground her teeth. A few bumps, scrapes, and broken bones wouldn’t stop Commander Hurricane from seeking out Clover the Clever in the crystal caves below Canterlot, and they wouldn’t stop her now. If the nurses at the station were right, Redheart would have another ten or so minutes before her break.
At last, as Spitfire rounded a corner at a t-intersection, she found her.
Halfway down the hall, with her back to Spitfire, Redheart stood in front of a whiteboard. Her lips moved as she muttered to herself and flitted her eyes between the board and the clipboard in the crook of her foreleg. Her soft pink tail flicked to the side as she wrote something down and her coat seemed to glow just as softly in the fluorescent hospital lighting.
Spitfire swallowed a lump in her throat, holding herself steady as butterflies took wing in her stomach. The feeling of Redheart’s lips brushing against hers surfaced, bringing with it a buzzing feeling that sent the butterflies aflutter. After a steadying breath, she pushed that memory aside and strode down the hall with all the composure she could muster.
Spitfire’s feathers shook the closer she got. The last, stuttered words Redheart spoke before fleeing her room bubbled up, echoing in her head as she came to a stop a bare few feet from her nurse. No level of pride could bring her to deny that her legs trembled, though whether it was from exertion or anticipation she could not tell.
Celestia knew what went through Redheart’s mind in those last few seconds before she fled. The look on her face—did it betray fear? Revulsion? Surprise? Something else Spitfire only dare to hope for?
Her tail flicked. Redheart, oblivious to her presence, frowned at her clipboard. The action furrowed the fur of her brow and deepened when she looked to the whiteboard and back. Muttering under her breath, she plucked the brush and erased something on the board.
The sight brought a calm to Spitfire’s chest, coaxing the butterflies to roost and her wing to settle. Even after Blaze and Pinkie Pie’s little stunt, Redheart soldiered on, the same as ever. Dedicated. Devoted. Beautiful. Any sign of the blush that flowed over her muzzle long since vanished and she stood now firm and sure of herself.
An exhale later, Spitfire cleared her throat. “Hey.”
Redheart’s ear twitched and she paused, marker on the whiteboard. “Spitfire?” When she looked at her, blinking owlishly, Spitfire put on a practiced, but easy smile. The other mare opened her mouth, confusion bringing her eyebrows together. Before she voiced the question on her lips, her eyes flashed a bright, dangerous, stunning blue and she closed the distance between them. Her gaze was a narrowed, piercing thing and the look on her face would have cowed a griffon. “What are you doing out of bed?”
The heat that carried over her voice made Spitfire take a reflexive step back. The smart thing to do would have been to look away and put on a sheepish smile, but the blazing blue of Redheart’s eyes drew her in like a moth to the flame. Instead, she felt her smile wobble and a nervous, unsteady chuckle tumble out her lips. She shuffled her hooves, leaning against the wall as they started to buckle and waver. “Looking for you?”
“You’re supposed to be resting,” Redheart said, pursing her lips. “Who gave you—oh, who am I kidding? You just waltzed out of your room without telling anypony, didn’t you?”
Her tone lashed over Spitfire, drawing a wince. “Yeah, maybe, but I really needed to talk to you. I wouldn’t have left my bed if it wasn’t important.”
Everything about Redheart was unyielding, from her stance, to the glare that enraptured Spitfire so, and to the tone of her voice that demanded compliance. “And you couldn’t wait for me to come back to check up on you later or ask one of the other nurses to fetch me?”
Steeling herself, Spitfire stood her tallest and puffed out her chest, every bit the image of a Wonderbolt Captain. She pushed back against Redheart’s gaze, willing fire into her amber eyes. “No. I wasn’t about to wait around, hoping you’d just come back after that stunt Blaze pulled.”
Redheart held strong for a couple long seconds. Then, dropping her gaze, she shook her head and sighed. “I have every right to be furious with you right now,” she said, the corners of her mouth lifting as she spoke. “But, knowing you, it would only encourage you even more. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I can’t be worried about you neglecting your rest on top of everything.”
The tension around Spitfire’s shoulders relaxed when Redheart lifted her head. Her smile washed a soothing sense of ease over the flier’s frame, allowing her legs to buckle and lower her to her haunches. The smile she gave in return was small in comparison, but every bit as warm and the slightest bit coy. “I’ve been told I have that effect on ponies I care about.”
“Well, alright. Since there’s no convincing you ...” Snorting softly, Redheart slid her clipboard into a plastic mailbox mounted on the wall. “What’s so important that you risked your health to tell me?”
“I wanted to apologize for my dumb twin sister.” Ears folding back, the feathers in Spitfire’s uninjured wing ruffled and shook while she ran a hoof through her mane. “She crossed a line. I know she thought she was helping me out, but getting Pinkie Pie to do any of that was so far out of line.” She cleared her throat, wrinkling her muzzle to avoid chewing on her lip. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry she put you through that and to let you know she’s going to pay for it.”
To her surprise, Redheart laughed. “Thank you, but I can guarantee that Pinkie Pie has done worse in these halls.” She tilted her head to the side, simultaneously catching Spitfire’s gaze while catching the light in her eyes. “And something tells me that Blaze has done worse to you.”
Spitfire blinked. Laughter? Where was the fire? Where was the embarrassment? “You’re not mad? At either of them?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Redheart said, her grin turning wicked as her eyes flickered with a dangerous light. “I’m going to give Pinkie Pie such a talking to the next time I see her. She’s going to think twice before pulling any stunts in this hospital ever again.”
Words, for the moment, failed Spitfire. She stared at Redheart, every bit as calm, content, and stunning as before, as though nothing had happened. Brow furrowed, she cocked her head to the side. “You seem pretty cool about all of this.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve had some time to think about it.” There was something almost too pleasant about Redheart’s smile. “They were having some fun at our expense. Now, was that all, or can I get you back to bed?”
“You’re really cool with it all? The singing and the, uh—” Once more, Spitfire cleared her throat. It did nothing to shake off the creeping heat crawling up her neck to her muzzle. She rolled her hoof, sliding her gaze to the wall. “—the kiss?”
“Ah. Yes. That.” Casting a furtive glance to the side, Spitfire caught the faint flushing of Redheart’s muzzle. When she crossed one foreleg over the other and ducked her head with her ears folded back it was oh-so-tempting to sidle up and nuzzle her way down that soft, alabaster coat.
Behave.
“I won’t lie that it took me by surprise,” Redheart said, her voice a low, quiet, fragile thing compared to a few moments ago. Yet, despite that, a small smile had worn its way over her muzzle. When her eyes flickered up to meet Spitfire’s it grew, if only a little bit. “I don’t know if I’d call it a kiss, per se, but, um. Well.”
A mirthless, stilted chuckle flowed from Redheart’s lips, one that Spitfire returned. “Yeah.”
“I don’t really know what to make of that quite yet. I’ve thought about it, and I think I need a little more time. I’m not angry with you or anything.” Soft hooffalls on linoleum brought a flick of Spitfire’s ear. “Though, if your sister tries anything like that again I will personally pluck every feather from her wings.”
The crooked smile Spitfire wore wasn’t quite as sharp as usual when she lifted her head and found Redheart standing a mere hoofstep away. “Only if I get to hold her down.”
Redheart giggled, the sound stirring a fluff of Spitfire’s feathers. “Deal. Now, what say we get you back to bed?” she asked, looping their hooves together. With a small tug, the pegasus stood to her hooves. “And how about we try to get back to normal?”
Normal? Normal was for everypony else. Redheart wasn’t normal, and neither was Spitfire. A little misbehaving couldn’t hurt, could it?
... Well, she’d already gotten off scot free so far, hadn’t she?
“I dunno.” A familiar thrill of mischief sharpened Spitfire’s grin as she let Redheart start leading her back down the hall. “Can we get you blushing a little more in our ‘normal?’ I think I’d like to see that more.”
When she first checked into the hospital, that kind of remark would have earned her a growl. Now, it earned her a roll of the eyes and a small, sweet giggle into a hoof. That was new. “Oh, please,” Redheart said, matching Spitfire’s grin with a lopsided smile. An impish gleam glittered behind her eyes. “You’re hardly one to talk. I never thought I’d see a Wonderbolt Captain look so flustered in my life. You must’ve kissed dozens of mares by now, knowing you.”
Heat billowed into Spitfire’s cheeks, prompting another rustle of feathers. “I—well—you didn’t look any better!”
“Spitfire, I’m already quite aware of how you think I look.” Through lidded eyes, Redheart regarded her with a coy grin. It sent Spitfire’s heart skipping a beat only to bring it to pound against her chest a mere second later. “And I know you’ve been trying for quite some time to get me to blush. I wonder how it makes you feel knowing that it took Pinkie Pie to finally get me there.”
Spitfire’s ears perked up and a new smile began to spread over her face as slowly as their progress out of the foal’s ward. “That’s the worst part of it,” she said, leaning very slightly against Redheart’s side. “As sorry as I am for my dumb sister sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, I’m even more sorry that Pinkie Pie said those things before I could.”
Both of Redheart’s ears twitched as she shot Spitfire a sidelong glance. Curiosity lifted one brow, while something else weighed over the rest of her features, equal parts anticipating and expectant.
In response, Spitfire wiggled her ears and grazed their shoulders together. “I’ve always believed in complementing a mare directly.”
Again, Redheart’s ears twitched. “Is that a fact? So, what you’re saying, then,” she said, pulling the corner of her mouth upwards into something decidedly smirk-like, “is if Pinkie didn’t come along under Blaze’s orders, you would have told me I have a ‘smile like a sunset’ yourself?”
The smirk on Spitfire’s muzzle died before it could form. “Er, well, kind of?” She coughed, folding one ear back against her scalp. “Maybe not exactly like that? I’m not the most poetic of ponies.”
“Oh, well, I see.” Disappointment laced Redheart’s words too thickly to be genuine. The pout on her muzzle, however, tugged on Spitfire’s heartstrings, no matter how false. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I suppose. Not all mares like poetry. I mean, I do, but not all mares.” With a sigh, she picked up the pace by a step or two. “I guess I might have my eye on the wrong pegasus, then.”
“Hang on, wait, that’s not what I—eye on a pegasus?” Spitfire blinked. For a second, her hooves stopped working. She stood rooted to the spot while Redheart walked ahead, her lips parting in a helpless gawk.
Then, as Redheart glanced over her shoulder and flicked her tail just enough to the side, Spitfire’s ears stood on end. Feathers fluttered fitfully as she scrambled back to the nurse’s side, heedless of her stitches or complaints from her muscles. The lethargy she felt sinking into her limbs from the walk through the hospital vanished. “You have your eye on a pegasus?”
“Hmm?” Redheart cocked her head to the side, but didn’t break her stride. She looked forward down the hallway even as Spitfire tried to catch her gaze. “Did I say that?”
“Yes!” A wide, toothy grin split Spitfire’s muzzle, one she had not let another pony see since her acceptance into the Wonderbolts. “You so did!”
Redheart hummed. “I am tired,” she said, hiding a tiny yawn behind her hoof. “It feels like I haven’t slept in days and my hooves ache from being on them all day. I must be going delirious, then.”
“No. No way.” Even with one wing in a splint at her side, Spitfire’s other wing was enough to flap and add a little bounce to her step. “You are not delirious. In fact, you’re the most lucid you’ve ever been!”
Clicking her tongue, Redheart shook her head and held her nose up high. “I’m pretty sure I am a little delirious. Why else would I say something like that, and to one of my patients no less?” Mischief twinkled in her eyes as stars did in the night sky. “Particularly to a patient walking around when she isn’t supposed to be? She might be the worst, most troublesome patient I’ve ever had. I have no idea why I’d share anything so personal or intimate with her.”
“Because,” Spitfire said, hesitating a step to walk along Redheart’s other side and ever-so-lightly trace her feathers down the earth pony mare’s shoulder and barrel, “you love the rebel in me.”
Redheart eyed the wing but didn’t move to knock it away. “I don’t know. That sounds like a bit of a stretch.”
Behaving could wait. “Oh, I can stretch.”
That earned Spitfire a gentle shove, one that she took with pride. “If you want to tear those stitches, then go for it.”
To that, Spitfire made a show of stretching out her foreleg and arching her back, swishing her tail to flick the hem of her hospital gown. “Will I get to have your hooves all over me again if I do?”
Rolling her eyes, Redheart snorted. “See? I must be delirious if you think I said anything about having my eye on a pegasus.”
“Drunk mind, sober thoughts. Same principle.”
“Well,” Redheart said, drawing out the word as she led Spitfire back into the maternity ward. “I suppose there’s no shame admitting somepony might have caught my eye.”
“Oh, somepony so has.” The butterflies took wing, spreading a buzzing, elating warmth to the tips of Spitfire’s hooves. “And I think I have a pretty good idea about who.”
Redheart’s smirk was a cold, cunning thing that cut through Spitfire’s warmth as a hot knife does butter. “You know Helia, too, then?”
Spitfire stopped mid-skip. “Helia?”
“She’s a pegasus and gardener by trade,” Redheart said, her voice tinged with whimsy. A wistful, tastelessly yearning sigh floated past her lips. “She volunteers at the hospital gardens from time to time, and she’s such a sweetheart.”
Despite herself, Spitfire felt her feathers ruffle and a frown threaten to mar her muzzle. “What does Helia have that I don’t?”
“A penchant for poetry, for one. She also reads to the foals sometimes, and she brings the most delightful poems. It’s almost enough to melt a mare’s heart.” Redheart closed her eyes as a content hum buzzed up from her throat. “I can almost hear her voice now.”
With a twitch of her wing, Spitfire glared at the floor. Then, right as she opened her mouth to retort, she hesitated. She exhaled and watched Redheart out of the corner of her eye as they passed a mare with a telling round bulge in her belly being escorted to a room opposite them. “Okay, so maybe I’m not poetic,” she said, giving a warmer, softer rendition of her usual smirk. “But, for the record, that’s only because I don’t need to hide behind fancy words and allegories and metaphors and stuff.”
Redheart arched her brow. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, really. In my professional experience,” Spitfire said, putting a hoof to her chest, “I’ve found another approach that works just as well.”
“Have you, now? What might this other approach entail?”
Wiggling her ears, Spitfire showed her teeth as she rested a hoof on Redheart’s shoulder, bringing them both to a stop. “I’m glad you asked. First, sit down in front of the mare.” As she spoke, she sat on her haunches. “Then, you look her in the eye.” And look her in the eye she did, ignoring the drying of her mouth as she pressed on. “Then, you say whatever.”
Something between a snort and a laugh slipped passed Redheart’s lips. “This sounds so romantic,” she deadpanned. “What would ‘whatever’ involve?”
Spitfire hummed, tilting her head to the side to better catch the light. “Well, it really depends on the mare. For you? I think I’d start with something simple, like ...” She trailed off, letting her eyes trail up and down Redheart’s figure. They lingered long enough to admire the curves partially concealed by her velvety coat, to the soft contours of her face, to the bright blue eyes that captivated her so. “You’re beautiful.”
Redheart blinked and her ear flicked. Otherwise, she didn’t react. “Direct, but I can see how that could be effective. Some mares, such as myself, appreciate the nuances of poetry, though.”
When she made to move away, Spitfire darted forward and grabbed her by the hoof. “Oh, I’m not done. That was the start, remember?”
A sigh heaved Redheart’s chest. “Here we go.”
“You sound done, but I don’t see you really trying to go anywhere.” Spitfire’s smirk took on a sharper edge as she squeezed Redheart’s hoof, drawing it in closer. “Don’t you want to hear what else I would say?”
Redheart’s eyes flitted up and down the hallway before she sat on her haunches, hoof clasped around Spitfire’s. “If it will get you back to bed faster, then I suppose I do.”
“Well,” Spitfire said, drawing the word, the cold linoleum against her flank an anchor to tether herself to lest she lose herself in Redheart’s eyes. “How about your eyes?”
“What about them?”
“How about that they’re stunning? Want in on a little secret, Red?” Without waiting for an answer, Spitfire leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratory whisper. “One of the reasons I’m so bad at following your rules is ‘cause I get too caught up staring at them and then I don’t listen.”
The other ear flicked, accompanied by a quick intake of breath. When Redheart spoke, however, her voice came out smooth and steady. “Will I have to get a blindfold to make you listen, then?”
“Sure,” Spitfire said, her grin turning wicked. “Didn’t know you were into that, though.”
A swift, none-too-gentle bonk on the head was Redheart’s response.
“Okay, okay! Kidding!” Spitfire’s other hoof flew to ward off any further blows. She peeked out of one eye, giggling at the flatlined expression Redheart wore. “Seriously, though, one more?”
Redheart huffed, and Spitfire was kind enough not to mention the blooming patches of pink that coloured her cheeks. “Fine.”
Dropping her smirk in favour of a small, warm smile, Spitfire lifted Redheart’s hoof and kissed her wrist, making sure to hold eye contact. “I don’t know much about poetry or the sunset thing,” she said, “but I’ve never seen any sunset that’s made me weak in the knees before.”
Now, both of Redheart’s ears twitched and stood on end. Before Spitfire could appreciate the spreading blush lighting up her muzzle, she tugged her hoof away and stood up. “O-okay!” she said, pushing the pegasus around and nudging her into walking. “I think that’s enough up-time for one pegasus! You’re starting to go off the deep end. Back to bed with you!”
Spitfire grinned, but said nothing as she fell into a leisurely, relaxed gait next to Redheart.
As they walked, she committed the sound of Redheart’s voice cracking to memory and relished in the way the other mare’s ears slowly turned a light shade of pink. Once they got back to her room, Spitfire made a mental note to search the books Twilight left for anything on poetry.
Then maybe, just maybe, she might swallow enough pride to write Blaze a little thank you note. Just like when pegasus foals learn to fly, sometimes a little push is all that’s needed.
Screw flying. As Spitfire walked back to her hospital room, side-by-side with Redheart, she felt as though she were soaring.
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Siblings are always the ones we love most. Blaze proves no exception to that fact. lol!
Good chapter overall, characters played off each other well, and the interactions came across quite smooth.
Redheart was on particularly fine form here. And hats off to Spitfire for dragging herself that far.
Hope everything's going well with the new job
Blaze remindes me a lot of my sibling, so it felt pretty relatable when they where going at it. And man has Spitfire gotten cheesy, I love it! Can't wait for the next chapter.
Yet another awsome chapter my guy!
Blaze is basically the equivalent to every sibling I've ever had! Not sure what that says about my family....
Gotta love how one of the only two bits of advice from someone claiming to be trying to help with a long-term relationship is to shake one's butt like a dime-store racehorse.
Apples and oranges, Blaze.
Flicking ears/10
It is always a pleasure to see this update.
I am still trying to think if Blaze's interference was necessary? 
From a story point it was perfectly fine. 
I just thinking from a reality point, would it be necessary. I prefer quality over quantity, so take as much time as you need.
8248376
When it comes to tormenting your beloved siblings, it is absolutely always necessary.
Spits, you totally just called yourself a giant, feathered butthead.