14. Memory Lane
Minutes ticked by, each passing at a pace so glacial Spitfire couldn’t help but wonder if the universe truly delighted in her suffering. A pair of giggling voices reached her ears as if to answer her, an answer that drove her another inch under her blankets.
Redheart and Stormy sat huddled together in her bedside chairs. They had yet to move since her mother pulled out that cursed picture album from the depths of her saddlebags save for the occasional turning of the page. The grins they shot over their shoulders with every picture were sharp, wickedly delighted things. She couldn’t see them from under her sheets, but she knew they were there. She'd seen it enough times on her mother's face to know, and she was quickly realizing her girlfriend-to-be delighted in watching her squirm. The knowledge that with every photo her image cracked a little bit more while the other sent a kaleidoscope of butterflies aflutter in her stomach—a unique combination that left Spitfire squirming on her hospital bed.
At first, Spitfire had pushed herself to her haunches. Though she clutched her pillow to her stomach, she vowed to sit her tallest, every bit the Wonderbolt she knew she was. For a time, she focused on the gentle rising and falling of Redheart’s slender shoulders. She watched, feeling a knot in her stomach begin to loosen and unwind with each giggling chime of laughter.
Piercing, burning blue peeked over those shoulders, prompting Spitfire to squeeze her pillow just a little bit more. Embarrassing? Yes. Reputation ruining? Possibly. But would she take it all like the mare she presented herself as to the rest of the world? Definitely.
A Wonderbolt’s pride was infallible, after all. They were stalwart, commanded attention and respect, and held their chins high no matter the circumstance. A little stroll down memory lane could not and would not break a mare of Spitfire’s calibre.
It was a nice resolve, one that barely lasted past the inside cover.
A self-portrait. Why, oh sweet Celestia why, did her mother hang on to that of everything? She could still see the chalkboard in her mind’s eye, the same one mounted on the denser, packed cloud walls of her school in Cloudsdale. She could still see the assignment, written in the large, friendly letters of her old teacher, and remembered the little swell of pride burning in her chest as she took her crayon in her hoof.
‘What I Want To Be When I Grow Up.’
Could there have been an easier assignment for her? Ever since she saw her first show, and ever since she had seen the Captain Firefly in her prime, she knew what she was going to be. Spitfire the Wonderbolt. It had a nice ring to it then, and it still did now.
Oh, how she now hated her foalhood self, brimming with excitement and budding with a giddy energy as she buzzed home, her notebooks stuffed down into her saddlebags. She remembered her mother’s smile when she smoothed out the paper, felt a small, cocooning warmth as she heard Stormy’s words whispered into her ear.
“You can be anything you want to be,” Stormy said those many years ago. Her voice was hushed, but the look in her eye made Spitfire feel like she could be anything. “And I know you’re going to be the best Wonderbolt Equestria’s ever seen.”
For months, Spitfire woke up to see her self-portrait stuck up on the fridge. Foalish fantasies of her in a Wonderbolt uniform of own, flying over cheering and adoring crowds ran free through her head as she poured over her morning cereal.
Part of her wondered what happened to that drawing. Now that she knew, that same part of her wondered if it really would have been so bad if it was indeed thrown out.
But no, of course not. Here it was, and Spitfire’s resolve nearly crumpled then and there at Redheart’s first adoring coos. It lasted a few pictures longer, but at last the shameful, horrifying heat burning over her muzzle won out. Unable to bear the giggling laughter, the knowing, predatory looks, and the hushed words that passed between the two, she fell back against her mattress. With every photograph fawned over, she shrank just a little bit more into her bed until only the tip of her mane poked out from underneath her blanket.
Now, suffering the suffocating heat under her covers, all she could do was listen as Redheart and Stormy dug deeper and deeper into her foalhood.
“Oh, goodness,” Redheart said, her voice dripping with mirth. Though she could not see her, Spitfire could imagine the way her eyes must be twinkling—a thought almost tempting enough to draw her from the safety of her blanket. Almost. “Is this Spitfire and Blaze having a bath together?”
Were it not for the heat suffusing her muzzle, Spitfire would have sworn she felt the colour drain from her face.
“Oh, yes. Believe it or not, bath time was one of their favourite things as foals.” The tone Stormy spoke with drew a quiet groan from the back of Spitfire’s throat. Eyes shut, she dragged her hooves down her face, ignoring the little sigh that floated from her mother’s lips. “Look at how much fun they're having.”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.” A delighted giggle—Redheart’s giggle—perked Spitfire’s ears up. “Blaze certainly looks happy, but something tells me that’s because of the water she’s dumping over little Spitfire’s head. They’ve always been like that then, have they?”
Stormy clicked her tongue, and Spitfire heard her ruffle her feathers. “Quite the pair, aren’t they? Yes, they’ve always been like that.”
“Even as little foals.” A note of tenderness crept into Redheart’s voice, one that made Spitfire’s insides squirm with the force of the butterflies taking wing. “She’s so cute.”
Bringing her hooves down her face, Spitfire clasped them together in front of her chest. If there was any kindness in the universe, any mercy to be had, then her bed would swallow her whole, and be quick about it, too.
“A little rapscallion of a filly if I’ve ever seen one.” Spitfire all but heard Stormy shake her head in time with the dry chuckle that fell from her mouth. There was a certain look she wore, one that was both tired and loving, that carried into her voice. “These two wouldn’t get into a bath unless it was together, and they splashed around and squirmed so much it’s a wonder they got clean at all.”
Redheart tut-tutted. The giggle that followed sent Spitfire further under her blanket, mumbling desperate grumblings into the warm, scratchy fabric. “So she’s had trouble behaving from the start?”
The suddenness and force of Stormy’s laugh made Spitfire jump. “Oh, Redheart, my dear, that’s putting it lightly. Spitfire and Blaze were hooffuls on their own, and they only egged each other on when they were together.”
Spitfire felt Redheart’s eyes on her through her blanket, bright and piercing and breathtaking. “Always a little rebel.”
“If that’s what you think of her now,” Stormy said, dipping down into a lower, more foreboding register, “then you should see what she looked like at one of her birthday parties.”
Spitfire’s groan was something both keening and miserable. “Mom, noooo!”
Stormy Flare chuckled. It was warm and sweet like honey, and the sound of it brought Spitfire’s hooves back to her face. Her cheeks felt hot, driven up another degree by the chime of Redheart’s giggling laughter. “Did you hear something, Nurse Redheart?”
“Why, no, Missus Flare, I don’t believe I did.” The smirk was audible in Redheart’s voice, sharp and sending a shiver through Spitfire’s wing. “Everypony knows that blanket lumps can’t talk. It must have been the wind.”
Spitfire sputtered. That was almost enough for her to throw off her covers. Almost. Her last vestige of pride stilled her forelegs. She could not—would not—let her mare and her mother bask in the satisfaction of seeing her flushed muzzle, glowing a bright red, or the pouting scowl that made the corner of her lips twitch.
Another chuckle from Stormy bristled the hairs on the back of her neck. “My thoughts exactly. Now, where did that picture go?” Pages turned with a light thwap of photos and crinkle of paper. Her mother clicked her tongue, an old, familiar sound she made when in thought. “Ah, here it is. I wonder, can you guess which one is Spitfire?”
“Oh no.” Another giggle came from Redheart, and Spitfire could picture the way she hid her smile behind her hoof. “She’s not the little cutie with cake all over her face, is she?”
Of course.
Her groan went unheard as her mother tittered. She shrunk another inch under her blankets, pressing her back into the mattress and flattening her ears to her scalp. “She is. Blaze wasn’t quite as delighted, though. Why, Spitfire couldn’t even wait for me to finish singing ‘Happy Birthday’ before she dove in!”
Any other time, Redheart’s cooing croon would have made her knees quiver. Today, it made her thump her head back on her bed. “And is that little baby Rapidfire sitting on the table?”
“It is.” Stormy inhaled, and Spitfire couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the lofty sigh that came with the exhale. After so many years, it was a reflex. “He’s always been such a sweet colt. Always so well behaved.”
From the safety of her blankets, Spitfire blew a raspberry. Part of her dared to believe Redheart arched a brow at the very least.
“Has he?” Redheart asked. The skepticism in her tone warmed Spitfire’s heart and spread a small smile with the little rush of affection that came with it. “I must admit, he didn’t quite seem that way to me when he was here a couple weeks ago.”
“Yes, he can be a bit of a troublemaker, but I can guarantee that he’s a sweet, good-natured, well-behaved boy. It’s all part of the Wonderbolt act he puts on. Spitfire, however ...” Stormy trailed off, and Spitfire saw the wicked smirk pulling at her mother’s lips when she closed her eyes. “She never could resist when something sweet was put in front of her.”
“So she’s always been like that?” Something crept into Redheart’s tone. It was something lower, and something that perked one of Spitfire’s ears up. “Because I can assure you I’ve experienced that firsthand.”
“You have, are you?”
“Oh yes, quite.” A knowing edge cut into Stormy’s voice, something that Redheart must have heard, too. The nurse cleared her throat and when she next spoke, it was perhaps a little too quickly. “But look at her, though! She’s just adorable with all of that frosting in her fur. She looks much too satisfied with herself.”
“Like the cat who caught the canary,” Stormy supplied. “Again, she’s always been like that. I swear she got it from her father. And it is for precisely that reason I carry one picture in particular around with me. Did you know that for many young pegasi born in Cloudsdale, coming to the ground for the first time is like seeing the ocean for the first time?”
The little spurt of warmth that took hold in Spitfire’s chest sputtered out in the wake of another long, loud, and low groan. “Not that one, too.”
“I think I’ve heard that from some of the pegasi around town.” There was a note of curiosity colouring Redheart’s words, one that ignored Spitfire’s plea. “I remember some of the weather team telling me how amazed they were.”
“As they should. If all anypony ever knew were clouds beneath their hooves, then you can imagine what something like solid ground would feel like.” A hoof, her mother’s hoof, tapped on the linoleum floor. “Blaze and Spitfire were born to fly. The sky and the clouds are their home. How do you think their first trip to the ground would have gone?”
The only word to describe Redheart’s next giggle was ‘wicked’. “I’m sure I can only imagine.”
“Just you wait. It’s my second-favourite picture, and only partially because I’m in it.”
Spitfire knocked her head back against her pillow. With each little thump she felt a little more of her ego, her cool, and her reputation bleed out of her. “No, no, no, no.”
“Aww, they look so scared!”
Amusement and motherly love rolled off of Stormy’s tongue as she chuckled. “They stayed huddled up on that little cloud we brought down for almost an hour before I convinced them to come down. Rapidfire had no trouble, naturally.”
“I was about to say. Look at him, he looks right at home pulling up all of that grass.”
Stormy snorted. “Meanwhile, his older sisters whimpered and sulked for ages before they even bothered to set a hoof down on the ground. Although ...” A wan warmth filled her voice, hushing it to a near-whisper that made Spitfire pause. “I suppose I really shouldn’t poke fun at my little darlings.”
Again, Spitfire almost sat up. The melancholy in her mother’s voice was unmistakable, but the fragile tenderness that clung to it kept her still.
“Missus Flare?”
“They ran off once they got their hooves on the ground. Took off like a couple of bolts shot from a crossbow,” Stormy said and, though it may truly have been a trick of the wind, the smallest of sniffles shook the sudden silence that fell over the room. “They ran and played and laughed until they could hardly walk anymore. I’d never seen them have so much fun before, and they wanted to get me something.” This time, there was a definite sniffle. It was small, barely more than a puff of air, but it jerked at Spitfire’s heartstrings all the same. “So they brought me this from the forest near where we landed.”
The crinkle of paper came with the turning of the page. Both ears standing on end, Spitfire listened as Redheart said, “A rock?”
“Yes. The little sweethearts.” Stormy’s laugh was watery in a way that both sent an aching pain through Spitfire’s chest but left a fragile warmth in its wake. “Rocks aren’t that common in Cloudsdale. They were fascinated by it, and wanted me to have it. I still have it, actually.”
“Sweethearts,” Redheart mumbled. For a moment, Spitfire felt eyes fall on her. Through the blanket, she felt the affection that brimmed from them, and then felt her cheeks warm for a very different reason. “Yes, that sounds like her.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, Stormy cleared her throat. “Yes, but, moving along, there are also a few personal photos of Spitfire in here. Like this one here. This is Spitfire after she won her first medal.”
The laugh that fell from Redheart’s lips was soft. “She looks very proud.”
“We all were. She bounced around the house for hours when we got home. I swear I’ve never lost so many vases in one day as I did that day. Now, Redheart, I’m afraid that Spitfire would not want this next picture seen by anypony, least of all you.”
An icy ball of dread started to build in Spitfire’s stomach, drawing a shiver as it replaced the warmth that began to swell in her chest. Her mind raced. How many moments were left to expose? How many more could she expose?
“Everypony struggles when they go through adolescence,” Stormy said, her voice growing with each word and sharpening back to the fine point that kept Spitfire’s back straight and her shoulders squared when in her presence. “My darling Spitfire was no exception. I’m quite sure you’re familiar with how ponies go through ‘phases’ at this time in their lives?”
Spitfire’s blood ran cold. No. No. She couldn’t have a picture of that. There was no way. Celestia above, the universe could not do this.
“I may have gone through one or two myself. Dare I ask what happened to that sweet little filly who brought you a rock?”
Spitfire could have said something. She should have said something. When she opened her mouth, however, all that came out was a strangled croak. Stunned into submission, her voice remained lodged firmly in her throat while her mother chuckled a dark, evil chuckle. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”
The page turned. For a moment, silence reigned in the hospital bedroom. All Spitfire could hear was the pounding of her heart in her ears and the quiet prayers she sent to stars above. All she could feel was her blanket weighing on her like lead, smothering and trapping her as heat coursed through her muzzle, burning her cheeks a fiery red.
Then, after a small eternity, Redheart made a sound. Not quite a laugh and not quite a gasp, Spitfire could only imagine the look on the mare’s face. “Oh,” she said. “Goodness.”
“That’s one way to put it. There are ponies in the Royal Guard who would blush at what I said when she came home that day.” While her mother spoke, Spitfire stared up through her blankets at the ceiling. Her head swam, foggy and disoriented as the heat suffusing her muzzle battled with the icy dread that sat like a lump in her stomach.
“So, the mane?”
Spitfire’s voice slipped free in a quiet groan. Dear Celestia, her mane. It was bad enough she could never go to a carnival without Blaze, Rapidfire, Fleetfoot, and Soarin reminding her exactly of how poor her taste was as an adolescent, but to know that there was photographic proof?
What was she thinking? Cotton candy blue and bubblegum pink? It’s a wonder her mother let her leave the house like that.
“Oh, yes, her mane.” Stormy sighed in a way only a mother could. “She was so adamant that it wasn’t a phase. This was the ‘real her’ and I simply didn’t understand.”
Another pause long enough for Redheart to nod or lick her lips passed. “And the piercings?”
Spitfire’s blood froze. The piercings. How could she forget? If there is any justice in the world, she thought, then I’ll just catch fire now and be done with it.
“One couldn’t be hip with the punk rock crowd without them, or so I was told.” Clicking her tongue, Spitfire didn’t need to look to see the way Stormy shook her head. She could picture the way she pursed her lips, a look sent tendrils of guilt worming through her insides. “It was quite the craze that hit Cloudsdale back then. Nearly everypony was headbanging to Trot Punk, Pega Pistols, and Ponywise. My daughter included.”
“I can see.” The springs of the chair Redheart sat in squeaked as she shifted her weight. When she next spoke, there was a lighter inflection to her tone, one that dared Spitfire to believe in the small smile she pictured playing across her face. “There was bit of a punk rock movement in Ponyville around the same time, actually. I know those bands.”
“Don’t tell me you were a punk rocker when you younger?”
Redheart laughed, something that pinned Spitfire’s ears back against her head while sending her feathers aflutter. “Certainly nothing like how Spitfire was. My gosh, I can’t get over her mane.”
“Well, she did always love an audience.” The two shared a giggle, and the merciful clap of the photo album closing graced Spitfire’s ears. “But I think that’s a long enough stroll down memory lane for one day. It’s a good thing you’re in the room, actually.” A softer, satisfied puff of laughter sounded from Stormy’s mouth. “I fear that my daughter may have just died from embarrassment.”
Oh, if only. Letting out another groan—far too many for one day—Spitfire rolled onto her side and pressed her hooves over her ears.
It did little to stop the chime of Redheart’s giggle from reaching her, however. The sound brought a fresh heat to lick at her cheeks. “She’s a big girl. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“All the same!” Hooves clacked down on the floor, followed by the ruffling of feathers. “I think I’ll step outside for a moment to get some fresh air while you resuscitate her. I will leave the picture book here, though,” Stormy said as her steps carried her voice further away. “There are a few more in there worth a look. I’m sure Spitfire will be a good patient and answer any questions that you might have.”
Redheart hummed, a sound that made Spitfire squirm beneath her blanket. “Tempting.”
“As all good things in life are,” Stormy chimed in a sing-song tone. “Now, I’ll be back shortly. Behave yourself, Spitfire.”
Spitfire grunted, a response met with a chuckle as her mother left the room. A moment passed after the door clicked shut before she heard another set of hooves touch down on the floor. They walked softly, barely making a noise against the linoleum below as they walked around the side of the bed.
The mattress shifted, dipping down and squeaking as another climbed up to sit on its edge. The curves of a silhouetted Redheart appeared, close enough for Spitfire to feel her tail swish over her hindquarters.
Another moment crawled by, and still Spitfire said nothing. Heat coursed through her muzzle, an unrelenting force that only grew when she felt Redheart’s hoof trace a light trail down her shoulder, along her foreleg, and over the bump of the cast around her wing.
A soft, enticing laugh whispered close to her ear. “Am I going to have to coax you out of there again?” Spitfire heard Redheart’s hum reverberate in her throat as the mare nosed her cheek through the blanket. “After last night, I’m sure I could come up with a few more creative ways if I really had to.”
Wrinkling her snout, Spitfire grumbled under her breath and started to squirm out from under her covers. She cursed her mother for taking those pictures, cursed herself for letting those pictures survive this long, and cursed Redheart the damnable satisfaction that filled her voice.
When she poked her head up and met Redheart’s eyes, that last curse suddenly lost almost all meaning. Blue eyes sparkled and shone, bathing Spitfire in a very different kind of warmth and affection that nearly pulled the pouting scowl from her face.
Redheart’s giggle, however, brought her pout back in full force. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Tilting her head to the side, Redheart fixed Spitfire with a smile both demure and sly. Her hoof, snow-white and soft, brushed over the her cheek. Warm met warm, and the Wonderbolt could do little to repress the shiver that travelled down her spine. “You’re just cute when you blush, that’s all.”
Despite everything, Spitfire managed to huff. Barely more than a puff of air, she closed her eyes and forced her pout into a small scowl even as she nuzzled into Redheart’s touch. “Well, great for you, ‘cause I think it’s permanent.”
A soft little thing of a laugh slipped from Redheart’s lips. Her hoof dropped from Spitfire’s cheek to trace around her chest in little circles. “Lucky me.”
This time, flaring her nostrils, Spitfire managed a good and proper huff.
“Oh, hush, you.” Something sly twisted Redheart’s smile as she batted at Spitfire’s foreleg. “Don’t act like such a great, big foal. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Not that bad? Not that bad?” Spitfire echoed. Muzzle wrinkled, she sat up, narrowing her eyes to specks of burning amber as she brought herself snout-to-snout with her nurse. “After all of that? She just laid out every single embarrassing moment from my foalhood!” Goldenrod feathers ruffled as her wing flared out. “We’re not even dating and she’s already ruined any chance I had at sweeping you off of your hooves!”
To her surprise, aggravation, and delight, Redheart laughed in reply. Hot breath washed over Spitfire’s muzzle as bright blue eyes lidded. “I did tell you I was going to get you back for last night, didn’t ?”
“This is worse,” Spitfire said, pressing the tip of her nose to Redheart’s. “So, so much worse, and you know it.”
“Maybe I do.” A smirk that would have made any Wonderbolt proud flickered over the mare’s face. “And maybe I’ll just have to do the sweeping, hmm?” With a languid slowness that made her feathers twitch and tremble, Redheart nosed and nuzzled her way up Spitfire’s jaw to her ear. A quick, gentle nip at the base made her breath catch and her nurse laugh a breathy chuckle. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it? My little punk rocker.”
Ears folded down, Spitfire fell back away from Redheart. She groaned as she hit her pillows and dragged her hooves down her face. “Really?”
The mattress bent and shifted as Redheart stretched over it. A hoof brushed her side, and a tail not her own swished over her hind leg. “Come now. It’s not that bad, is it?”
With a snort, Spitfire glanced down her chest, retort ready on the tip of her tongue. It never made it past that, however, as she found her gaze locked with Redheart’s. The blue of her eyes blazed to life, glowing with a desire so naked she felt her blush renew itself over her muzzle.
A small, croaking noise was all she could manage as Redheart ducked down to plant a light, feathering kiss on her hoof. “Even if it was,” she said, never looking away as she crawled up Spitfire’s form and planting another kiss down on the crook of Spitfire’s foreleg, “I’m sure there must be some way I can make it better.”
The tip of Spitfire’s tail twitched and lashed from side to side under her blanket. Her wing gave a fitful flutter as Redheart crawled the rest of the way up her body, bringing their noses together again before leaving a long, lingering kiss on the corner of her lips. “What do you think?”
Spitfire opened her mouth, but all that escaped was a squeak as something hot and wet licked over her cheek. Redheart loomed over her, eyes captivating and a satisfied, victorious smile splitting her lips, and she couldn’t help the shiver that tingled her every nerve from head to tail. “M-maybe.”
“And there she is.” Leaning in close, all Spitfire could see was Redheart. “My little punk rocker.”
Like so many pieces of glass, the moment shattered. Rolling her eyes, Spitfire lolled her head back and forced her gaze to stay on the much less interesting white-tiled ceiling above. “Ugh,” she groaned, blanching as though she swallowed something sour, “do you have to?”
“And why wouldn’t I?” Bedsprings creaked once more as Redheart pulled away. Hooves clicked down on the floor, but Spitfire still felt her presence at her side. A hoof, as white as the clouds in the sky, brought their eyes back together and brushed a loose strand of mane away. “It only told me more of what I’ve come to know about you and what I like about you.”
Despite the soft, affectionate smile on Redheart’s muzzle, Spitfire scrunched up her muzzle. “Like what?”
“That underneath that flight uniform, you’re sweet,” Redheart said without missing a beat. “That you’re passionate, adorable, funny, charming, and with just enough of a rebellious flare—” A sudden heat filled her eyes, bringing the blue to a bright, smoldering light as she leaned in to give a little lick to the tip of Spitfire’s snout. “—to drive even the most stalwart of mares a little wild.”
Warmth bloomed out over Spitfire’s face, emanating from where Redheart licked her. Swallowing and wetting her suddenly dry lips, she found herself quite unable to look away. “A-and what about you?”
“Me?” Angling her head to the side, Redheart leaned in closer and closer until each and every whispered word washed over Spitfire’s fur. “I’m not the most stalwart of mares.”
Before so much as another thought had the time to cross Spitfire’s mind, she heard her breath catch once more. A weight settled over her upper torso, one complimented by a soft, strong hoof cupping her cheek and pulling her deeper into the kiss she found herself completely at her mercy to. For a moment, her entire world became Redheart.
Lost in the sensations of Redheart’s lips gently massaging her own, the biting scent of cinnamon tickling her nose, the hooves that held her, and the thumping of another’s heart against her chest, Spitfire did the only thing she could manage. Eyes fluttering shut, she moaned and let herself be guided back down to her bed.
With Redheart half-sprawled out over her, Spitfire let herself go limp. Guided by her mare’s lips, she returned the kiss just enough to let her drink everything in.
When at last they broke apart, Spitfire blinked hazily up at the ceiling. A purring laugh drew a flick of her ear and she soon found Redheart’s lips hovering hardly half an inch above her own. “A promise is a promise,” she said, her voice low and husky and oh-so-desirable. “Now that you’ve melted some, I’d better make good on the second half.”
The furrow of Spitfire’s brow barely held its ground for a second before it was washed away by Redheart’s lips. Another kiss, this one fueled by a hunger building behind the nurse’s eyes, had Spitfire’s hoof clutching at her bedsheets out of instinct.
When something hot and wet licked at her lower lip asking for entry, she nearly melted then and there on the spot. Just as she parted her lips and felt another’s tongue begin to explore her mouth, she felt Redheart stiffen above her.
The mare yelped into her mouth before her presence vanished altogether. Blinking, Spitfire glanced down. There, she saw Redheart’s face contorted in a grimace of pain and a hoof as orange as the sky at sunset twisting her ear. She followed the hoof up, over the sleeve of the purple blouse worn over it, to its owner.
Then, groaning long and low, Spitfire fell back to her pillows. “Moooooooom!”
“Don’t you ‘Mom’ me, young lady!” Stormy hissed, her voice level but with all the force of a whipcrack. The glare alone was enough to tuck Spitfire’s tail firmly between her legs as she scooted as far up against her headboard she could go.
“But—But—”
“I expected something to happen between you two after I slipped out,” Stormy said, snorting through flared nostrils at her daughter’s sputtering, “but I did not expect to walk in on you, Nurse Redheart, sticking your tongue down my daughter’s throat!”
A weight left Spitfire’s chest when her mother’s eyes slid from her to Redheart. Her shoulders stayed taut and tense, though, as her nurse winced under the force of Stormy’s glare. “Mom, I—”
Rusty, orange eyes flickered over to her, and Spitfire heard her jaw click shut. “Not a word, Spitfire. I’ll deal with you in a minute.”
Ears pinned back, Spitfire sunk against her pillows, mumbling to her blanket, “Yes, Mama.”
“M-Missus Flare!” Redheart squeaked. Her hooves reached up to Stormy’s clasped around her ear and gently tried to push away. The grimace on her face made Spitfire flinch in turn, helpless to watch as her soon-to-be girlfriend squirmed in the least enticing way. “I can explain!”
Wings, the kind that drew appreciative glances even to this day, unfurled and snapped as Stormy released Redheart’s ear. “Then you’d better explain right this second.” Her hoof came down on the floor with a clack that made both younger mares wince. “What if I was another nurse, hmm? Or perhaps a doctor or one of your superiors? Do they take kindly to their employees prench kissing their patients? I didn’t think those kinds of nurses were employed here!”
With each and every word, Redheart shrank back. Her ears folded back against her mane, taking a step back for every step Stormy took forward until her rump bumped into the nightstand. Her mouth opened and closed, throat bobbing as her eyes bounced around the room, no doubt searching in vain for an escape. “Th-they’re not! I was only—”
“Then explain.” In an instant, the heat vanished from Stormy’s voice. What was left was cooler, expectant, and in a way even more frightening. “Right this instant.”
“R-right. Well ...” Ever-so-slowly, a line of red spread over Redheart’s muzzle. On any other occasion, the sight would have warmed Spitfire’s smile. Now, under the watchful gaze of her mother, she couldn’t help but feel that blush was the beginning of their funeral pyre. “Um.”
Stormy’s brow arched high on her forehead. “I’m waiting, Nurse Redheart.”
Redheart shuffled her hooves. Her tail, a gossamer thing of pink that shimmered with every movement, twitched and flicked as she bit down on her lip. Their eyes met, hers wide and uncertain, before they flicked away. “W-well, you see—”
No. Nervous and squirming was something Spitfire hoped to see in her Redheart, something to be delighted in and perhaps encouraged with gentle teasing traces of her wing. This kind of nervous and squirming, however, could not stand.
And besides, what kind of Wonderbolt didn’t defend their mare?
Sitting up her tallest, Spitfire set her shoulders and squared her jaw. “It’s not Red’s fault, Mom.”
Without a word, Stormy shifted her gaze from Redheart to Spitfire. Her brow rose further, a look that would have had her feathers twitching and her head ducked between her shoulders as a foal. “Then whose was it, daughter dearest?”
Spitfire had faced dragons. She had faced manticores, ruthless drill sergeants, boar-headed fliers twice her weight, and reported to ponies powerful enough to move the sun and moon themselves. Even then, under her mother’s stare, she couldn’t help but swallow. “It’s my fault,” she said with only the slightest of wavers warbling her voice. “I made Redheart agree to a bet that if you were here to embarrass me in front of her, then she’d have to kiss me.”
Stormy’s other brow arched. The tip of her primaries twitched. It was hardly more than a quiver, but Spitfire’s ears pinned back all the same. “Is that so?”
Licking her lips, Spitfire nodded. “With tongue.”
“Well then.” Stormy’s gaze slid back to Redheart, and as Spitfire’s followed she found Redheart staring not at her mother, but at her. Her lips, soft and oh-so-kissable, were parted and her eyes wide. “Why would you agree to such a bet in the first place, Nurse Redheart?”
The beginning of a smile pulled at the corner of Redheart’s mouth. Something warm lit up behind her eyes, and she only blinked when Stormy cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, turning to face the elder mare, “to put it quite simply, because I wanted to.”
Both of Spitfire’s ears shot up. Well, yes, of course Redheart wanted to if she took the bet. Yet, hearing it out loud forced the pegasus to fight against the smile starting to wobble over her lips.
While they snuck smitten glances with each other, Stormy watched, silent and still. A good few seconds passed before Spitfire looked her way, and found her expression unreadable. The fur on the back of her neck tingled and stood on end. Solace in the form of Redheart’s eyes, twinkling and warm, kept her feathers unruffled and her tail stilled as her mother wrinkled her snout. “This is usually the part when the parent asks you what your intentions with my daughter are.”
Redheart tilted her head to the side. One ear perked up while the other lay flat against her scalp. “My intentions? Well ...” Trailing off, her smile spread with free reign over her muzzle. It was a soft, tender thing as she turned to Spitfire and closed the few hoofsteps that separated them. “I thought those would have been fairly obvious.”
It was Spitfire’s turn to cock her head to the side when Redheart rested her hoof over hers. “Red,” she whispered, brow furrowing as the mare chuckled, “what are you doing?”
For a moment, Redheart did nothing. Her eyes roamed over Spitfire, lidded and smoldering. When their gazes met, she felt her heart skip a beat. “Making my intentions perfectly clear, to both you and her.”
Then, without any other warning, Redheart leaned in. For the fourth time in half as many days, their lips found each other. The kiss itself was chaste, hardly longer than a few short seconds, but Spitfire felt her feathers fluff and her wing yearn to unfurl all the same. Her hoof twisted around and squeezed as they separated. As she blinked, she was only vaguely aware of her mother tapping her hoof a few feet away.
“Yes, Nurse Redheart,” Stormy said, impatience clipping her words. “I’ve seen this show once today already.”
With a soft, loving smile meant only meant for her to see, Redheart spun around. Spitfire sat up, flicking her eyes down to their entwined hooves before focusing back on her mother. “Then perhaps I should explain. To be frank, I’m taken with your daughter, Missus Flare.” Bright blue glanced over a slim, snow-white shoulder. “Almost entirely taken, as a matter of fact.”
Spitfire couldn’t stop her smile, not even if Rapidfire was promoted to captain while she was hospitalized. “Really?”
“Hush, Spitfire. I said I’d get to you in a minute.” Stormy squinted, her nose crinkled and her lips pressed into a thin line shrewder than any Saddle Arabian merchant’s. “Really?”
Redheart nodded, her smile growing as she squeezed Spitfire’s hoof. “I can say with absolute confidence that I fully intend to court your daughter as soon as she’s discharged from Ponyville General.”
Stormy hummed, a sound deep and rumbling like a building thunderstorm. Too often had it caused her to shrink down and wait for a scolding, but not today. Today, with Redheart’s words singing in her ears, Spitfire sat her tallest. Bolstered against her mother’s stare, she leaned forward and rubbed her cheek against her mare’s. Speaking out of the corner of her mouth, she said, “Not unless I court you first.”
Redheart’s ear flicked. Though she said nothing, the corner of her lips twitched and Spitfire felt the tip of her tail brush over her own before swishing away. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and the message came through, loud and clear. Challenge accepted.
A huff of air punctuated Stormy’s humming. “Still,” she said, wrinkling her nose at them, “it was very irresponsible to say the least to be snogging her like that when anypony could have walked in.” A well-trimmed eyebrow arched. “I thought you were better than that, Redheart.”
“I usually am.” Again their eyes met, and again the corner of Redheart’s mouth twitch as she fought to restrain the smile that Spitfire knew tried in vain to split her lips. Oh, what a sight it would be to see a smitten Nurse Redheart. “But, well ... I guess you could say your daughter has that kind of unusual effect on me.”
Stormy watched them for a long moment more. Her mouth twisted as her lips pursed and pulled to one side. A ruffling of feathers accompanied her ongoing hum that creased her muzzle while her gaze flicked from Spitfire, to Redheart, to their hooves clasped together. “And Spitfire, what are your intentions with this young lady?”
“My intentions?” Spitfire chuckled, flashing her mother an impish little grin. It was the same one she showed when she left for the Wonderbolt Academy, and the same one she wore when Stormy asked if she was sure she was ready to take on the mantle of Captain.
Both of Stormy’s ears swiveled forwards at the sight. Her brow furrowed as her eyes studied her daughter’s face. Through it all, Spitfire held her gaze, her smile, and Redheart’s hoof without even the faintest of tremors. Just like the day she joined the Academy and just like the day she took on her Captaincy, she knew one thing. This was what she wanted. Redheart was what she wanted, and nothing and nopony could stop her no matter how they tried.
She dipped her head and scooched closer to Redheart. When their shoulders met, she angled her smile into something a little more lopsided. “I’m going to date her. She’s going to be my girlfriend. And once this cast is off my wing,” she said, unfurling her uninjured wing over her mare’s withers, “I’m going to carry her off into the sunset.”
The smallest of smiles crept through Redheart’s composure, lighting up her eyes while Stormy’s soft laughter filled the room. “Of course you are.” Bit by bit, the hardness eschewed over the older mare’s face fell away, leaving the warmth and affection that comforted Spitfire and her two siblings through the stormiest of nights. “Celestia knows what a strange and fickle little creature love can be. Who would have thought it would have brought you two together?”
While Stormy closed her eyes and shook her head, Spitfire and Redheart traded glances.
Deep down, Spitfire knew that their mutual infatuation was something shiny and new, but alicorns above the glimmer of Redheart’s eyes made her feathers ruffle and her heart skip a beat.
“Alright.” Lifting her gaze, Stormy smiled at the two not quite wrapped up enough in each other to remember her presence. “Thank you for your honesty, Redheart. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I think I would like some time to speak with my daughter. Alone, thank you.”
For a second, Redheart said nothing. Then, at the squeezing on her hoof, she shifted her weight and nodded. “Okay. I have to do my rounds and check in on my other patients.” Her eyes found Spitfire’s and, after leaving one last soft kiss on her cheek, at last pulled away. “But I’ll be back later this afternoon. Promise.”
Spitfire’s hoof fell to the mattress, but she nodded in turn. “Counting on it.”
“I’ll leave you two be. If you need anything, one of the other nurses won’t be too far away.” Redheart lingered for a second or two longer than usual before, with a soft nudging from Spitfire’s wing, she started to walk towards the door. Her hooffalls were slow and heavy as she passed by Stormy, pausing only to smile and incline her head. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Stormy.”
“Likewise, Redheart. Though, I feel compelled as a mother to ask,” Stormy said, her lips twisting into an all-too-familiar smirk as her eyes flickered over to Spitfire, “please take care of my daughter, won’t you? I’m sure you know what a delicate creature she can be.”
And, just like that, Spitfire’s hooves found themselves on her forehead. “Mom!”
Redheart giggled her delightful, musical chime of a giggle. “I’ll do my best. She’s a lot tougher than you think though.” Her smile crept into her voice, sending a tingling sensation running down the back of Spitfire’s neck. “Little punk rockers always are.”
Redheart swept out of the hospital room, the bobbing of her tail and extra little sway in her hips enough to rouse Spitfire from her hooves. She lingered long enough to the doorway to smile over her shoulder before disappearing back into the hospital proper.
As soon as the door clicked, Stormy cleared her throat. “Now that we’re alone,” she said, trotting over and perching herself on the nearest chair, “I think we are long overdue for a little mother-daughter chat.”
Spitfire licked her lips and swallowed, trying to ignore the phantom sensations of Redheart’s lithe muscles pressed up against her side or the feeling of her lips moving against hers. Her feathers ruffled and shook while her mother reclined in the chair.
Perhaps Blaze and the singing telegram weren’t so bad, after all.
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Sorry, can you remind me how old Spitfire, Blaze and Redheart are in this story please? I can't remember if it said earlier, but I want to say around 25?
8370450
I never set an exact age for them, but probably around their mid to late twenties is a fair guess. In canon, it looks like Rainbow Dash is only a couple years younger than Spitfire/Soarin/Lightning Dust/Flitter/Cloudchaser, so likely closer to mid-twenties.
Oh no you were at BC and I missed you? Fak lol