15. Learning to Fly
Ever since Spitfire was a small filly, Stormy Flare knew exactly how to make her squirm. Mothers always do.
She sat in the bedside chair across from her daughter with her shoulders squared, her wings tucked away neatly at her sides, and her hooves folded in her lap—the picture of perfect posture. Spitfire felt her gaze pierce through her. It didn’t matter how many medals she had pinned to her chest or how many trophies lined her shelves at home. Under that gaze, she would always be the same small, little foal with dreams of joining the ranks of Admiral Firefly; the same foal who had a penchant for breaking lamps flying laps around the house and stealing from the cookie jar.
It always went like this. Stormy would sit there, unmoving and impassive, and wear down Spitfire with each second that ticked by. Her lips were drawn into the same thin line and her rusty red eyes were inescapable. They watched her, catching every little detail with such focused intensity that anypony would start fiddling with the tips of their hooves.
A lifetime of exposure had built up Spitfire’s endurance, but only by a little. Minutes passed since Redheart’s departure. Only the gentle breathing of the two mares and the sounds of the hospital outside punctuated the silence that engulfed the room.
Sweat started to trickle down the back of her neck. She still felt the last, lingering warmth centered on her cheek where Redheart kissed her. While her mother sat still—was she even blinking?—Spitfire’s feathers started to ruffle and fluff up. At long last, she dropped her eyes to her hooves twiddling with her blanket. Her lips fell into a wobbly line and she heaved a sigh of defeat.
Spitfire was the first to break, as always.
The springs under the chair cushion squeaked as Stormy shifted her weight. Spitfire didn’t need to glance up to see that she had relaxed and reclined. Now that their little game was over, they could begin in earnest. “So,” she said, her voice as controlled and composed as her expression, “did you want to start, or shall I?”
Spitfire felt her ears pin back against her mane of their own accord. “Can I?”
A slender, well-trimmed eyebrow arched over Stormy’s brow. Her lips lifted into the slightest of smirks, almost as if she were impressed, and rolled her hoof. “Of course, dear.”
Spitfire nodded and bowed her head. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to bring some order of thought to the cacophony of feelings swirling about in her chest. There was giddiness mingling with the queasy, uncertain sensation of the unknown. They meshed and flowed through and into each other, making the tips of her pinions buzz and fluff while forging a pit deep in her stomach that squirmed and writhed.
But, most of all, there was warmth. It was the same warmth that radiated out from her cheek and the same warmth that swelled in her chest when she let her thoughts drift to Redheart, her smile, and her kiss. The fluttering of butterflies in her stomach stilled, soothed by its presence as it lifted a gentle smile over her lips.
Not even Stormy Flare could break her, not now. Not for long.
“I like her.” It was a simple statement, one that didn’t do her feelings justice. For now, though, it would have to do. As she lifted her head and met her mother’s eyes, she doubted she could ever find the right words. Even if she did, they would be saved for Redheart herself.
Stormy’s eyebrow remained firmly raised over her forehead. Amusement wavered over her expression, lightening the weight of her gaze. “I gathered.”
“No, you don’t get it. I really like her,” Spitfire pressed. As she spoke, she sat up taller, matching her mother’s posture. “More than any other mare I’ve met. I don’t regret daring her to kiss me.” That got Stormy’s other eyebrow to lift, but she didn’t make to interrupt. “And I fully intend on making good on my promise. She’s mine, I’m hers, and I’m going to fly her off into the sunset as soon as this cast comes off.”
A long, thoughtful hum sounded from the back of Stormy’s throat and she watched Spitfire for a moment longer. The Wonderbolt knew her mother well enough to know she was looking for any faltering of her smile or wavering conviction. It would never come.
The clock ticked, a pair of bluebirds flew by the window, and the sun continued its slow crawl through the sky. Soon enough, a small chuckle interrupted her hum. For a second, no matter how fleeting, Stormy’s hardened gaze softened, letting the font of love within spill forth. It was a sight that comforted Spitfire after every lost race as a foal and even now eased the tension in her shoulders.
“You must like her,” Stormy murmured. “I haven’t seen you so passionate about anything since you decided to be a Wonderbolt.” The warmth vanished in an instant as her muzzle wrinkled into a disapproving frown. Her mane cast shadows over her features as she leaned forward and snorted. “But that doesn’t excuse your behaviour, young lady.”
The fact that Stormy kept her voice level made it almost worse than a good and proper yelling. Again, Spitfire’s ears folded back against her scalp.
“How many times to do I have to tell you not to be so reckless? Or to exercise a little caution?” The exasperation in Stormy’s voice was contrasted by acidic undertones of disappointment. “It’s not just you at risk if you aren’t careful! What if you hurt that sweet mare’s career because the wrong pony walked in on you two like that?”
Heat prickled up the length of Spitfire’s neck. It took the combined effort of years spent in the Wonderbolts to keep her sitting upright as her mother’s eyes flared to life and bore down on her. Drill sergeants could learn a thing or two, but still she did not buckle.
For Redheart, she wouldn’t.
“I know.” A sigh blew past Spitfire’s lips. Though she kept her shoulders squared, she hung her head, tracing the folds that creased over her blanket as it lay over her hindquarters. “It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I couldn’t help it. Redheart’s just—”
“You don’t have to say it.” Stormy sighed in turn. The smile that fell over her face was a worn but understanding thing. “I was young and in love once, too.”
Spitfire flickered her gaze up, meeting her mother’s eyes with the smallest of smiles. “It’s kinda like when I learned to fly, y’know?”
Warmth burbled through as Stormy chuckled. She slid from the chair. Her hooffalls were soft as she walked to her daughter’s side. “How so?”
“It’s amazing. Red’s amazing. Every time I do something with her, it’s like this big, exciting, huge rush.” Spitfire’s feathers fluffed and fluttered as she spoke. She knew the smile had slid over her face long before she felt it strain her cheeks. “And I have no idea what I’m doing or which way is up or down—just that I’ve gotta do more of it.”
A light, weightless sensation spread from hoof to tail and an airy giggle bubbled from her chest at that revelation.
Celestia and Luna above, what would her brother and sister say if they saw her now?
Stormy’s hoof rested on her foreleg, a comforting, grounding presence lest Spitfire lose her head in the clouds. “Well, maybe like when you were learning how to fly, don’t do it in the living room. Or in this case, the hospital.”
Spitfire giggled, a rare sound indeed. “Yes, Mama.”
A twinkle of mirth danced behind her mother’s eyes. Her smile was gentle and soft, just like her hoof as it brushed a strand of Spitfire’s mane away from her face and cupped her cheek. “There are certain things that can’t be kept safe locked in a cabinet with this, Spitfire. I’m happy for you, but tread with caution.” She poked her daughter in the chest with the tip of her wing. “A broken vase is one thing. A broken you-know-what is a different matter entirely. You know that, don’t you?”
The bitter, fantasy-souring taste of sobriety settled like an uneasy weight in the pit of Spitfire’s stomach. She nodded, meeting Stormy’s gaze without the smitten glee of a mare in love. Instead, she looked at her with a hardened determination lining the contours of her muzzle and a newfound flame lit in her chest that she carried into her voice. “Yes, Mama.”
“Good girl. Now then, I suspect I already know the answer to this, but a mother must ask regardless.” Slipping away from Spitfire, Stormy took measured, slow steps as she meandered to the end of the bed. “Are you as serious about this mare as she is about you?”
Without hesitation and with ironclad conviction, Spitfire nodded her head once. “I am. Just like when I told you I was going to be the best Wonderbolt Equestria’s ever seen, I mean it.”
Stormy’s low, thoughtful hum filled the room again as she plucked at bits of dust and lint on Spitfire’s blanket. “I think it might be best that you tell me everything.”
Spitfire’s ear twitched. “Everything?”
“Yes, dear,” Stormy said as she climbed on the end of the bed. Folding her legs underneath her, she lay across from Spitfire. The hardness had long since softened from her expression, leaving the genuine concern, love, and inquisitiveness bare. “Everything. When did this start?”
“I dunno really. Ever since I saw her, I knew she was ho—attractive.” Spitfire cleared her throat. Feathers ruffled and pinned themselves against her wing at the memories the question invoked. “I was stuck here, and there was this beautiful mare tending to me. How do you think that went down?”
Though her smile was warm, Stormy’s words rang with the gentle bite of sarcasm. “Splendidly, I assume.”
“But that was just me eyeing up a pretty mare. When did it really start?” Spitfire’s hooves gripped and fiddled with the hem of her hospital gown. The fabric was paper-thin to the touch and crumpled and folded easily as her gaze wandered to her nightstand and to the lilac sitting in a small glass of water on top of it.
In that moment, the feelings of Redheart pressed up against her, held in her forelegs as the softness of her lips brushing over her ear rushed to the forefront of her mind. She remembered the blush that dusted her muzzle a bright pink and the feeling of her hooves spreading warmth wherever they touched.
Spitfire’s grin took on an almost rueful edge. “Probably when I messed up. I wasn’t a great patient when I showed up here,” she said, exhaling a sigh as she faced her mother. “Even though I didn’t show Red the respect she deserved, she still looked after me after I almost really hurt myself. I get that it’s her job, but it felt different. Red felt different.” She licked her lips, wetting the sudden dryness she found there, and offered a helpless shrug. “I guess it all went downhill from there.”
A certain coyness, one that must have run in the family, sharpened Stormy’s smile. “So it seems.” The older mare’s wings flicked as she held her gaze steady on her daughter. “But I admit I am curious. Perhaps this is something I should ask Redheart herself, but when did that sweet young mare fall for my little Spitfire?”
The question carried with it the slightest frown that marred Spitfire’s expression. Her brow wrinkled as she sifted through memory after memory. “I don’t really know.” The white lilac sat in the corner of her vision, glowing gently in the afternoon light. “Maybe it was after the whole flowers thing?”
Stormy shook her head with a soft chuckle. She leaned forward and patted her daughter’s hoof, treating her with a warmth she shared with none other than her children. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. What does matter is that you’re happy.” The hoof trailed upwards, cupping and lifting Spitfire’s chin. Fire met fire, and for a moment there was nothing between them.
It wasn’t Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts, and Stormy Flare, esteemed publicist of the Cloudsdale Post that sat across from each other. They were simply a mother concerned for her daughter newly in love.
Stormy’s smile was a gentle thing, the kind Spitfire only saw in pictures after she and her siblings were born. “You are happy, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Spitfire returned the smile, but only for a second. Even now, even with her mother, status quo had to be met. At least a little. She pushed Stormy’s hoof aside and quirked her lips into a half-grin. An old favourite. “But maybe I’ll be a bit happier when Red and I don’t need to hide behind closed doors.”
That earned her a little chuckle from Stormy. “Of course. From what your doctor said that should be any day now.” She withdrew her hoof and regarded Spitfire with a tired but motherly smile that creased the corners of her eyes. “Do your mother proud and treat this mare of yours properly. If she doesn’t treat you well, then ...” A shadow passed over her face, darkening her features as her eyes flashed with a dangerous luminescence. “I’m not entirely convinced an earth pony town like Ponyville really understands a mother pegasus’ fury.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think that’ll happen.” A familiar, bubbling warmth rose through her stomach and trembled the tips of her wings. “Redheart’s the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Knowing me, if anypony messes this up it’ll be me, and I don’t plan on letting that happen.”
Again, Stormy chuckled. This time, though, it was a heavy, watery sound that came from deep within her chest. “Goodness, me,” she said, watching Spitfire with a foreign, unfitting sadness creeping into her eyes. A sweet, almost whimsical smile flitted over her muzzle. “You really have fallen for her, haven’t you?”
The tone of Stormy’s voice was quiet. Not quite brittle, but not strong either. The sound of it drew Spitfire out from under her blankets with slow, careful movements. “Mom?”
“First Blaze found Fleetfoot after years spent dancing around each other, and now you’ve found your Redheart.” Stormy blinked, but Spitfire saw how they wetted. “Almost all of my little ones have fallen in love. It’s almost enough to make a mother start to feel old.”
Without a word and without hesitation, Spitfire slid out from under her blankets. She nosed her way under her mother’s chin and wrapped her hooves around her in a tight embrace, one that was fiercely returned as she felt Stormy’s forelegs squeeze her back.
They sat together for a long moment. Spitfire nuzzled into her mother’s neck, breathing in the scent of the mare that raised her, cared for her, and taught her to be the Wonderbolt and pony she was today. In return she felt Stormy’s hooves stroke her mane in long, slow, familiar movements and said nothing at the few sniffled breaths she heard echo in the older mare’s chest.
When the last of Stormy’s shaking breaths smoothed over, Spitfire squeezed and pulled out of the hug enough to meet her mother’s eyes. “You? Old?” She fed the warmth growing in her chest into her smirk. “Never.”
The laugh that tumbled from Stormy’s lips was only a little watery as she delicately wiped at the corner of her eyes. “I’ve missed this side of you.” Her smile grew, warm and proud and filled with love. “The sweet little filly who brought a rock back for her mother. I’m so glad that Redheart’s managed to bring that back out of you.
“I’ll always be proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished,” Stormy said, brushing her hoof over Spitfire’s cheek. “But it’s good to know that sweet little filly is still there behind the sunglasses and the medals.”
A tiny little smile fixed itself on Spitfire’s muzzle. “I guess I needed somepony to help me remember that she’s there. I think she’s here to stay now, too.”
“Good.” Stormy pulled her in closer, leaving her with a fleeting embrace before the gentleness of her smile was barricaded behind a grin as fierce as any timberwolf’s. “Now, you be a good girl and make good on what you said earlier.” Fire blazed forth in her eyes, egging Spitfire on to match her grin. “You carry that filly off into the sunset and make her heart melt.”
The smirk Spitfire wore was the same she had on the day of the Equestria Games—fiery and unwavering. “Somepony’s gotta do it,” she said, taking her mother’s hoof in her own and squeezing, “and I’m going to make sure that pony is me.”
This time, Stormy’s laugh was light and lively. “I’d expect nothing less from a daughter of mine.” The fierceness washed away from her features, exposing the constant warmth that lay beneath. She hugged Spitfire once more, rubbing her hoof along her daughter’s mane, before at last slipping off of the bed. “And now that I know that you’re okay, I think I should take my leave. I expect Redheart will be eager to return to check up on you.”
The thought stirred a rousing in Spitfire’s feathers. She flattened her wing against her side and cleared her throat, ignoring the knowing grin that played over Stormy’s lips. “Okay. It was really good to see you, Mom.” She met her mother’s eyes and smiled her little smile. “Really. I miss you sometimes when I’m out on tour.”
“Only sometimes? Well, I do seem to have some new, stiff competition.” A slender, well-trimmed eyebrow rose over Stormy’s forehead. She snorted a light puff of air through her nose. “I suppose I’ll have to do better, then. For the record, though—” In return to Spitfire’s smile, she offered her grin filled with warmth.” —I miss you, too. And Blaze. And Rapidfire. The three of you should come over for dinner when this tour is over with your mares.”
“Done deal. I’ll drag Fleetfoot over by the ear if I have to.”
“Such a sweetheart. Thank you, dear.” Stormy looked to the side and took a breath. When she faced Spitfire again, it was with all of the composure gained through a lifetime of practice she wore so well. “But I’ll be going now. Say goodbye to Redheart for me.”
Spitfire didn’t raise her guard. She kept the smile on her face as her mother slung her purse over her neck. “Okay, I will. Bye, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you, too.” Hooves clicked against the floor as Stormy walked to the door. She pulled it open, letting the sounds of the bustling hospital outside roll into the room. The low and constant murmur of a dozen conversations rose over the sharp squeaks of medical carts rolling up and down the hallways. Shapes of ponies passed by as she lingered inside the doorway. “One more thing before I go.”
Ears perked, Spitfire tilted her head to the side. “What’s up?”
When Stormy turned to look back at her, it was with the smirk she had seen on herself in the mirror. She had also seen it on Blaze’s and Rapidfire’s faces right before she had cause for a good and proper headache. “As much luck as I wish you with your Redheart, you are her patient for the time being. So remember,” she said, shaking out her feathers with a little ruffle, “behave.”
Spitfire groaned. She couldn’t help it. After everything was said and done, Stormy was still her mother and she was still her daughter. “Moooooom.”
“Afterwards, however,” Stormy continued, letting the words roll off her tongue with a low chuckle. She rolled her hoof as she trailed off. The way she wiggled her ears spoke volumes, enough to make Spitfire pucker her lips. “Just let me know how it all works out. Save all of the ‘details’ for your brother, sister, and friends.”
Spitfire blanched. “Mom! Can you please not make it sound so gross?”
“Can’t help it, daughter dearest.” Light, musical notes lilted Stormy’s tone as she walked out into the hospital proper. “Maybe you’ll understand one day. Until then, let your mother have her fun.”
Stormy disappeared into the hospital crowd with a swish of her tail. The door closed shut behind her, leaving Spitfire alone with her thoughts. A tingling warmth, one she suspected was there to stay, rooted itself in the base of her stomach. She sat in her bed, idly twiddling with the hem of her hospital gown as her gaze panned over the room. It travelled over the bare, blue walls, passed the window, to the lilac on her nightstand.
“I was young and in love once, too.”
Love.
Well, pluck her pinions and call her an earth pony.
Spitfire lay back, only letting her gaze wander from the lilac to rest on The Last Alicorn propped up against the stack of books next to it. A sigh floated by her lips, one that came from deep within her chest, and she found herself smiling.
“So this is what it feels like.”
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I can't believe you've done this.
8405276
Chapters should always be exactly the length they need to be. Word count doesn't factor into it.
Trying to cram any more into this chapter would have diluted its storytelling potential.
Two... t-two chapters left...
Nothing like this story to make me feel lonely
In truth though, congratulations, not everyday I look at my notifications and squeak with glee.
WOOO! HYPE! New chapter! Was good. "Patiently" waiting for the next one
8405441
B-but...
T-the word count...
I'd like to just say that this story is a blessing- the grammar is incredibly on point, the spelling impeccable, the fluff simply an absolute joy to read, and the updates so impressively frequent. Thank you for writing this, Timaeus
8405276
Wha-W-Where's the new chapter?
HALP!! I'm scared, I need my fluff intake! I need a story so fluffy it migh give you heart disease!
Seriously tho, everything well? Life or something happen?
8446706
Hello! There's no need to fear. All is well on my end.
I do apologize for the lack of updates. A few days after I posted the last chapter, I started my Masters program in graduate school, and it has consumed my life in many ways. This story isn't by the wayside, and I am planning on drafting the next chapter over the next week or so alongside another story that is nearing completion.
A chapter will come in the next week or two. I will just have to ask for a little patience until then.
M'kay. Yes. Good. Well done.
I just hope you're not planning on ending it with this story. Inside a few chapters, you made me totally ship this pairing, and I want to see their date in Cloudsdale. I want to see if Spitfire keeps a place in Ponyville, or if Redheart decides that home is wherever Spitfire is, pulls up roots and follows her on her tours. Or maybe Spitfire scales back her Wonderbolt schedule and moves in with Red so she can spend more time with her. And if they stay together, how will they meet the other hurdles in their lives together? They're both successful career mares, and I imagine it could be difficult for them to find a balance between their passions and one another.
Here's hoping there's a Part II in the pipeline.