5. Healing Hooves
The throbbing of her wing was the first thing Spitfire knew when she stumbled back into the realm of the conscious. Soon after came the pounding in her head as she tried opening her eyes, only to be blinded by the light overhead. After a few moments, the rest of her body rushed in to file complaints. One message made itself clear: she was tired, she was battered, and she was bruised.
Slowly, she cracked open her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the light. The sun outside still hung high in the sky, dipping towards the western horizon. Judging from the sun’s position, only a couple hours must have passed since blacking out. That, or she blacked out clear until the next day. The memory of falling brought a fresh wave of pain from her wing, forcing her to clench her eyes shut and swallow down a hiss of renewed agony.
The events of her misadventure to the water pitcher coagulated in fuzzy memories distorted by the sensation of needles stabbing her broken limb and the spinning of her head. She remembered standing up well enough, as she did taking shaky steps away from the warm comfort of her hospital bed. Then, she knew, she fell.
Getting back to her bed, however, was fuzzier. Forcing her breaths into regular intervals, she cast her thoughts back, searching for details. Did she crawl across the floor? Stumble her way step by misfortunate step until she fell into the cool embrace of her bedsheets?
She remembered a white blob standing above her. Two bright and piercing eyes of blue shining with concern locked onto hers, guiding her to her pillows. Something soft—a hoof?—stroked her cheek. The blob’s voice spoke to her, the words unclear and garbled but soothing until everything turned to black.
There was also, upon further reflection, a swirl of pink topping the white blob.
Even in her condition, connecting the dots was easy enough for Spitfire.
A sickly, icy feeling rooted in her chest, numbing some of the pain while making her insides squirm. She wanted to curl into a ball as pressure built up behind her eyes until the feeling subsided or until she threw up, whichever came first. Through it all, she couldn’t put a hoof on exactly what she was feeling—guilt? It might have been guilt.
The image of the Redheart-blob floated before her, tending to her even after she disobeyed her, caring for her patient who spoke to her as a hot piece of flank and little more.
Spitfire’s insides revolted and she wanted nothing more than to sink deep into the mattress.
It was most definitely guilt. A tired, pained, and defeated groan escaped her lips at the revelation. She gripped at her covers, working to find the strength to pull them over her head.
“Ah, so you’re awake,” a voice said from off to her left. Spitfire froze at its tone, a few notches below livid and somewhere north of furious. “This should be good.”
Following the voice to its source, Spitfire swallowed, suddenly feeling very small and very foalish. If the tone sounded angered, then it had nothing on the look on Redheart’s face. Her brows met in the middle of her forehead, her lips pulled back in a snarl, and her wonderful blue eyes blazed with a fire that burned holes wherever they looked.
Currently, they were fixed on Spitfire and, though it may have been a trick of the light, steam seemed to billow out of her ears. In the distance, she swore she heard a train whistle.
Struggling to find her voice, she managed to croak out her name. “R-Redheart?”
“I’m here,” Redheart said, eyes narrowing to a focused stare of fury. “And now, thanks to your stunt, so are you for a while longer if I have any say in it. Somepony as reckless as you are clearly cannot be trusted to manage their own recovery! What do you have to say for yourself?”
Spitfire flinched, shrinking into her blankets. Her ears pinned back as her eyes skittered off the side, unable to meet Redheart’s gaze.
That answer was obvious. As she went through every sleazy line and every ogle of her rump, her ears drooped lower until they were plastered against the back of her head. A healthy dosage of guilt weighed on her shoulders, making her insides churn and at last grounding her to reality.
“Well? I don’t have all day, Captain. Believe it or not, I have other patients that need attending to. These ones actually listen to my instructions.”
Again, Spitfire flinched. She tugged on the edge of her bedsheets, resisting the urge to cower and hide beneath them where Redheart’s eyes wouldn’t find her.
A long second slowly ticked by, followed by another, and another. While Spitfire stared at her hooves, Redheart snorted and shook her head. “Unbelievable.” The springs beneath the chair’s cushion squeaked as the nurse shifted her weight. Hooves clicked on the linoleum floor. “Another nurse will be in to check on you in a while. Good day, Captain.”
Just as Redheart took her first step, Spitfire found her voice, imploring and weak as it may have been. “Wait.”
Redheart’s ear flicked and she paused, her foreleg half off the ground. She looked over her shoulder, expression carefully neutral, but something about the look on Spitfire’s face must have caught her eye. Slowly, she turned around and stood still, waiting. Her question, unvoiced, rang through the room:
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
To her credit, it was a good question. Memories of the last hoofful of days flashed through Spitfire’s mind as she fiddled with the hem of her sheets, feeling smaller and smaller and less like a Wonderbolt as the silence dragged on. Her thoughts shifted to the mare sitting across from her and her tail wrapped around her hind leg.
From the moment she woke up at Ponyville General, Redheart was there. Kind, caring, and dedicated to her patients to a fault, she watched over her. Throughout twisting Blaze’s ear, comforting her when the rest of the Wonderbolts left for the next stop on the tour, caring for her after disobeying orders, she had treated her with a softness and a kindness that put other ponies to shame, especially when she didn’t deserve it.
Strong and stern when necessary, but welcoming and warm when she could be, Nurse Redheart cared for her. As pain set in and Spitfire’s thoughts cleared, she glanced up.
Judging from how she sat with her hind legs tucked under her stomach when she came to, she had waited for Spitfire to wake up. Though the more cynical side of Spitfire would suggest she sat there, waiting to chew her out, she knew that wasn’t the kind of pony Redheart was. From what little she did know, her gut told her that she waited to make sure she would be okay.
For a brief second, her image crystallized in her mind as it swam with pain. Concern, not anger, shown in her eyes as she picked Spitfire up from the floor.
How have you repaid her for her kindness? a voice that sounded eerily like her mother whispered in her ear.
Spitfire’s wing ached in protest as she squared her shoulders and stared up at the ceiling. A resigned sigh left her lips.
Pain, she discovered, was quite sobering.
“Let me have it.”
A beat passed. Spitfire tried not to clench her hooves around the fabric of her bedding as she waited for the verbal lashing she knew Redheart had been stewing over for at least the last hour.
“Pardon?” Redheart asked, fury faltering from her voice.
Spitfire chanced a look over, finding Redheart’s brows still knit but her eyes wide. Licking her lips, she kept her tone steady. “Let me have it,” she said, looking back up at the ceiling. “Celestia knows I deserve it.”
A cautious tone guarded Redheart’s words, but she stayed. “And why’s that?”
“Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been a lousy excuse for a Wonderbolt.” Spitfire managed a light scoff and lolled her head to the side. The card her team left her sat propped up on her nightstand so that the little, cartoonish pegasus looked back at her with its face drawn in misery. “What I did, leaving my bed against your orders, was stupid. There’s no excuse for that—and there aren’t any excuses for my behaviour since waking up here, either. I’ve been an ass.”
Another beat passed. Her posture stiff, Redheart watched Spitfire with her lips pursed. “Go on.”
Spitfire swallowed, but nodded, even as her stomach knotted. “It’s been not cool to say the least. Everything from trying to flirt with you, tricking you into opening the window, and ignoring what you’ve had to say in favour of fantasizing about what I’d do to—” Those last words combined with the feeling of Redheart’s eyes on her neck brought a small warmth to her cheeks. She cleared her throat even as the words continued to tumble out. “—with you on a date.”
Redheart’s brow arched. “Do I want to know?”
Before those memories could bubble to the surface, Spitfire shut them down in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind. “Not really, and I feel like a heel for even thinking them now.”
The other brow raised. “Most mares would slap you right about now, Captain.”
But you’re not any other mare.
Spitfire bit her tongue, keeping any quips at bay. Behave. Once she trusted her mouth, she nodded. “You’re right, and they’d have every right to. Some captain I’ve turned out to be if this is how I treat the ponies looking after me.”
“Some might say that you lack the basic respect any mare deserves to consider picking up on your advances.”
“I—” Cutting herself off with a quick breath, Spitfire squeezed her eyes shut. She exhaled and lifted her chin. If she could work up the courage to apologize to Soarin after lying to get Rainbow Dash on their team, she could muster up something now.
Something, she realized, that required looking Redheart in the eyes.
Steel in her resolve, she met Redheart’s gaze. “You’re right. I haven’t.”
Redheart’s eyes narrowed, making Spitfire swallow. “Then why did you do it—any of it—in the first place?”
“I ... I don’t know.” Gaze faltering, Spitfire scratched at her foreleg. What was it that her mother said about Wonderbolts flying with their hooves in their mouths? “My mom would probably say it has something to do with my fat head. It wouldn’t be the first time my ego’s caused me trouble.”
Redheart’s tail flicked to the side.
“Back in Rainbow Falls for the tryouts for the Equestria Games,” Spitfire continued, muzzle wrinkling at the memory. “I wanted the best for my team, no matter what. I ended up hurting Soarin because I wanted to win instead of staying loyal to my friend. I was kind of a jerk.”
The corner of Redheart’s mouth twitched. “Mmhmm.”
"And I'm ..." Spitfire trailed off, the words dying on her tongue. Her cast loomed out of the corner of her eye. Grounded. Slowly, her ears fell back and her uninjured wing drooped to the mattress. "I'm ..."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Redheart's ear twitch. It may have been Spitfire's imagination, but her expression seemed to soften a bit.
Spitfire, for her part, opened and closed her mouth. Again, no words came. She dropped her chin to her chest and let out something between a sigh and a growl.
Silence fell over the little hospital room. Keeping her head bowed, Spitfire waited, but for what she wasn't quite sure. An eternity passed before the sound of hooves clicking on linoleum tile caught her attention. A shadow spilled over her bed, and she resisted the urge to swallow.
"I understand."
Spitfire blinked and lifted her head. Where she expected to see rage or, worse, disdain, she found a glimmer of the care and kindness she saw when she first woke after her crash. Her ears started to perk up. “What?”
“I’m not saying I’m excusing your behaviour,” Redheart said, some of the hardness bleeding away from her voice. With a sigh, she shook her head and rubbed the bridge of her muzzle. “You’re hurt, and you’re not acting like yourself. At least I hope you aren’t. A lot of patients go through that after a traumatic accident if they’re experiencing pain or grief. I’m not saying it’s okay, but I think I understand.”
A heavy breath later and Spitfire finally found her words. They were a simple two, but for once they were the right ones. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Redheart shook her head. When she opened her eyes, the fury burning behind them was gone. Without it they looked tired, but an ember of warm compassion shone through. A tiny, little smile quirked the corner of her lips. “I don’t know if this is any consolation, but after that little stunt you’ve made yourself my top priority. Not just because Princess Twilight asked. Even foals know better than to climb out of bed without supervision.”
Again, Spitfire’s ears pinned back. A heavy dose of shame would keep them there while making her cheeks run hot. “Smart foals around here,” she mumbled.
“Indeed.”
Another silence followed in her words. Spitfire stared at her blankets, listening to the click-clack of Redheart’s hooves on the floor, the rustle of paper as she flipped open her chart, and the scribble of pen as she no doubt jotted a note to the next doctor or nurse to come in.
Spitfire chanced a glance up. “Hey, Red—er, Nurse Redheart?”
Redheart’s ear flicked at the use of the nickname, but her expression didn’t change. With a polite half-smile and without looking up from her chart, she asked, “Yes?”
“Look, I know I probably don’t have any room to talk here,” Spitfire started, wrinkling her nose and forcing her wing tight by her side. Nervous though she may be, now was not the time to show the tremble making her feathers shake. “But do you think there’s any way we could start over?”
Redheart looked up from her chart. When she did, she tilted her head to the side. “Start over?”
“Yeah.” Sucking a breath in through her teeth, she braced her forelegs against the mattress as she pushed herself to sit up. She felt another’s presence, Redheart’s presence, by her side in a second and a hoof cup her shoulder, holding her steady.
“Take it slow. You’ve already pushed yourself much too far for one day,” Redheart said. Her voice carried with it a frown, but she didn’t push back.
Flashing a grateful smile, Spitfire finished sitting up and blinked hard to keep the room from spinning. Equilibrium achieved, she followed the pearly white hoof on her shoulder to its owner and licked her lips. “I’m pony enough to admit when I’m wrong. This isn’t the first time I’ve acted like a total heel to good ponies, and it probably won’t be the last.”
Redheart arched a brow and withdrew her hoof. “Your team obviously cares for you deeply, and Rainbow Dash speaks very highly of you. You’ve made mistakes and have acted horribly, but I don’t believe you are a bad pony.”
Nodding her head, Spitfire flicked her gaze down before forcing herself to meet and hold those brilliant blue eyes watching her. “Thanks. That might be more than I deserve, but thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, what does that have to do with this starting over business?”
“Just that,” Spitfire said, rubbing one foreleg with the other. That nauseating, icy feeling continued to bubble in her stomach, making her swallow and her head feel light. “I’d like to be the pony my team and Rainbow Dash respects and admires. I want to show you that I’m not just the mare I’ve been acting like the last couple days.”
Brow firmly arched, Redheart nodded once. “Which is why you want to start over.”
“Clean slate.”
Redheart hummed, drawing a flick of Spitfire’s ear as she felt the nurse’s gaze on her as if searching for something. “You said not just the mare you’ve been acting like,” she said, a note of caution weighing down her voice. “Does that mean I should prepare myself for anymore of the same?”
Spitfire’s response was immediate. “No.” Then, feathers rustling, she wrapped a hoof around her wing, hugging it to her side. “Well, not really—maybe a little?” A hopeless little smile, one she hadn’t shown in ages, pulled over her muzzle. “I’ll stop acting like a jerk, but you’re insanely pretty. My eyes may want to wander, but there’s something to be said about a Wonderbolt’s discipline, right?”
Rolling her eyes, Redheart shook her head. There was no anger or indignation in her eyes, however. Though difficult to see through her guard, something maybe like amusement danced within. “I suppose we’ll see, and I suppose that’s the best I can hope for, isn’t it?”
“I’ll do better,” Spitfire said, pouring conviction into her tone. “I’ll be better. Promise.”
A small sigh pushed past Redheart’s lips. “Very well.” With an equally small smile, she offered her hoof. “A clean slate it is, Captain.”
“Just call me Spitfire,” Spitfire said, extending her own hoof to shake. “Hardly anypony calls me ‘Captain.’”
“Very well. I hope the next few weeks will be better than the last few days, Spitfire.” Redheart shook.
“Wonderbolt’s honour.”
Redheart arched her brow and her eyes twinkled, but only for a second. “Honour, huh? We’ll see. I do have other patients to attend to now. You’ve taken up quite a lot of my time today already.”
“Cool. I’ll be here, I guess. And thanks, Redheart.” Fluffing her wing, Spitfire felt her grin turn sheepish once more. “You know, for staying here and putting up with me until I knocked some sense into myself.”
Redheart allowed herself a smile. “And thank you for apologizing. I look forward to getting to know the rest of you.”
As she left, Spitfire sat where she was, upright despite the twinging of her muscles up and down her body. She stared after the last bit of pink tail long after it slipped out the door. Finally, after days of going nowhere, she got a smile. A small one at that, but a smile nonetheless and a clean slate to build up from.
But still, that prickling feeling buzzed away at the back of her mind. Her shoulders had yet to loosen. Her insides had yet to unknot and her conscience had yet to lighten.
Her broken wing throbbed, a constant reminder at her side.
There was still something to be done.
Hours passed, and boredom was quick to settle in. Spitfire’s body felt tense, aching to move and to fly. Being stationary was something other ponies did. Wonderbolts were born to fly, to be in constant motion. Adrenaline was an old friend, one she sorely missed as she lay in her bed.
Her hind leg twitched, but that was the only movement she’d allow. Screwing up her muzzle, she exhaled and counted to ten. One day she ought to take Wave Chill up on his offers to meditate. Learning how to do nothing, she began to realize, was a skill in its own right.
For now, though, she would just have to try and make do. A blanket of guilt weighed on her, keeping her hooves by her sides and her shoulders pinned to the mattress. Every ache and ounce of pain from her wing was enough of a reminder not to move, even if it was just around her room. Until she was given the okay, she would behave herself. At least, for now.
The click of the doorknob pulled her from her thoughts. The door opened soundlessly and Redheart’s head poked in after it. “You asked Nurse Tenderheart to fetch me?”
Spitfire nodded, beckoning her in further. When she spoke, she found her mouth dry. “Yeah. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Closing the door behind her, Redheart walked in and stood by the foot of the bed. “Now? It’s getting late, Spitfire. My shift’s almost over, actually.”
Sure enough, the day was coming to an end. One of the nice things about her hospital room, Spitfire had discovered, was that it offered a fantastic, westward facing view of town. As the sun set, it painted the thatched roofs and grassy green hills of Ponyville in blankets of light as gold as her coat. The sky above swirled in a mix of hues from a shining yellow to a fiery red, swallowing up the last of the day’s cheery blue.
It was one of the most captivating sights Spitfire had ever seen. The town seemed spellbound as the light was caught and danced off of the crystal castle walls in the distance, reflecting motes of every colour off of the streets and building walls.
Still, it was only one of the most captivating sights in Ponyville. From the sound of things, both it and the winning competition were about to leave for the day.
“It shouldn’t take that long.” Clearing her throat, Spitfire shuffled up, leaning her weight against her pillows as she pushed herself to her haunches. “But I get you wanting to clear out of here as fast as possible. It can wait for tomorrow if you want since it’s the end of your shift and all.”
“I’m here now.” Jaw set, Redheart scooted closer to Spitfire’s side. The look on her face brokered little room for argument, though her words were gentle. “Might as well make good use of my time. What did you want to talk about?”
Spitfire’s good wing twitched. The other one throbbed, making her shoulders tighten. “Well ... I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to send that letter to Doctor Hollow yet.”
Redheart’s lips fell into a thin line in time with her brows. “Oh, that.” She closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. “No, not yet. I’ve hardly had a chance to sit down for lunch today. I was going to send it on my way home. Don’t worry, though. He’ll have it with his morning coffee. Express delivery can get it to him overnight.”
“Okay.” Spitfire nodded, frowning down at her lap. Her wing shuddered and she pulled it in close. “Good.”
“Was that all you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Stroking her wing, she took a breath to ease her jangled nerves. “There was one other thing.”
Redheart arched a brow.
Timing. It was all about timing and delivery. If only her voice didn’t sound so wavery to her ears. “It’s a good thing you haven’t sent it yet,” Spitfire found the iron to her resolve and met Redheart’s eyes, “because I don’t want you to send it.”
That earned her a surprised blink and slight parting of lips. “I—pardon?”
“Don’t send it,” Spitfire said, her voice strengthening the more she spoke. Chest swelling as she inhaled, she sat up fully without the support of her pillows. “Tear it up, toss it, throw it in the fire—doesn’t matter.”
“Then who’s going to tend to your wing?” Redheart blinked again, then scowled. “You most certainly aren’t.”
A chuckle shook Spitfire’s frame, soon followed by a grimace as groaning aches rolled through her body. “Celestia, no. Preening and sprains are about as far as I get.” What passed for a coyish grin slipped over her face. That was enough wind-up. Time for the punchline. “And I was thinking you could look after my wing.”
Redheart froze, her eyes wide. “What?”
The corner of Spitfire’s mouth twitched as she fought down a smirk. “You heard me.”
Redheart’s brows tried to meet in the middle of her forehead, wrinkling her forehead in the process. “What happened to everything you said earlier? You made it very clear that only a few ponies can even touch them, let alone tend to them.”
“I know what I said.” Loosening her grip on her wing, Spitfire swallowed against her dry throat and chewed on the edge of her lip. “And I want you to look after my wing.”
A beat of silence passed. Beautiful blue eyes searched her face. “You’d trust me with your wing? Why?”
Nerves, Spitfire thought, were her forte. Standing in front of a crowd of thousands thrilled her. Shooting the breeze with royalty was old hat. She even kept a straight face when Rapidfire got the ‘brilliant’ idea to slip green hair dye into her shampoo the night before she was officially made captain.
When it came to her wings, however—her most prized possessions, the things that gave her the sky she loved—she felt very much like that small filly she used to be, hiding behind her mother’s feathers. Doctor Hollow got a pass for looking after her since she was a baby. He was like an uncle to her and her siblings. Several months of excuses passed with Splint, the Wonderbolt’s team physician, before Spitfire trusted her with her wings.
She nearly jumped when something nudged her shoulder. At some point, she must have dropped her gaze. Now, raising her head, she found herself captured by Redheart’s eyes. Warmth and reassurance radiated out from within in waves, calming the roiling in Spitfire’s stomach and settling her nerves.
She felt her body, tense and taut, start to relax as she bathed in their warmth.
“You don’t have to do this out of guilt, Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice soothing and smooth. “It’s not a problem asking Doctor Hollow to make the trip. What’s most important right now is getting you healthy.”
“You’re totally right,” Spitfire said, giving an easy smile. “Which is why I want you to take care of it. I think you’ve more than earned it. Maybe it is a little bit out of guilt, but that doesn’t change my answer.”
Redheart stared at her for a moment longer, her brows slowly unknitting. “Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.” Grunting with the effort, Spitfire pushed herself forwards. With delicate motions, she shifted and started to ease herself down to her stomach, granting Redheart easier access to her wing. Once the soft, somewhat scratchy fabric of the comforter itched her belly, she rested her chin on her foreleg. “Whenever you’re ready.”
It took Redheart a second to start moving. “I’ll be right back with fresh bandages,” she said, stumbling over the words. Then, shaking her head, she backed out to the door. “Try to relax in the meantime.”
The few minutes it took for Redheart to return stretched out for what felt like hours. As she waited, Spitfire did her best to do as she was told. Going through breathing exercises usually meant for calming pre-show jitters, she tried to smooth over the building anticipation that gurgled in her stomach. She was proud to say that she seldom needed them, but now wished they were somewhat more effective.
Soon she was going to have somepony else’s hooves in her feathers. With every second that passed, it grew more difficult to ignore her increasing hyperawareness of her wing. Every breath, it seemed, shook it more than it should, rustling the feathers wrapped under the cast and bandages. The blanket itched and her tail twitched and flicked behind her. The primaries on her good wing rustled, fluttering as her wing threatened to unfurl.
The door opened, and Redheart walked back into the room, pushing a small cart. Surgical scissors, bottles of disinfectant, and rolls of gauze covered its surface as the wheels squeaked across the smooth floor.
Redheart, for her part, looked to have gotten over her shock. Returned was her smile, bringing with it a sense of calm and peace that Spitfire eagerly let wash over her. As blue eyes fell on her, she slowly felt her wing relax and lay at rest by her side.
She was also, Spitfire noticed, wearing pink latex surgical stockings that stretched over her forelegs to her elbows.
For a minute, her nerves vanished. In their absence, they left plenty of room for a tingling sense of anticipation to swell in her chest and spread throughout her body. Her uninjured wing threatened to unfurl as her eyes lingered over the stockings. How long had it been since she let another mare have a go at her wings?
Redheart must have caught Spitfire’s wandering eye as she pushed the cart to the foot of her bed. Clearing her throat, she frowned. “Not a peep out of you. I brought plenty of anaesthetic, so mind your tongue.”
Spitfire choked back a comment that would have surely come back to bite her in the flank later. Biting the inside of her cheek instead, she said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Redheart rolled her eyes but sat down on her haunches. “Are you ready?”
What felt like a lead weight reformed in Spitfire’s gut. Clenching her jaw, she nodded anyways. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Offering a small, warm smile, Redheart picked up the scissors. “I’ll be careful.” Nerves came crashing back as latex-adorned hooves reached the base of her wing. They stopped just at the end of the bandaging, ready to cut and unravel. Blue eyes met amber. “Try to be as still as possible. This will be over before you know it.”
“Yeah, right.” Spitfire swallowed, resting her head on the crook of her foreleg. The shearing of scissors made her ears pin back, followed soon by the cutting of fabric. As she felt Redheart begin to undo the wrapping, the fur along her back bristled. “You do know what you’re doing, right?”
“Of course. All of the nurses here have gotten training and certification in pegasus anatomy,” Redheart said, her tone casual but not flippant. “Besides, I’ve treated Rainbow Dash so many times that I’ve become somewhat of an expert.”
“Right. Cool.”
Redheart’s hooves moved in slow but fluid movements. Gradually the pressure binding her wing loosened. As the bandages were lifted away, the first of Spitfire’s wing near the base was met with the cooler hospital air and her blanket twisted under her hoof.
“This Doctor Hollow you asked me to send for,” Redheart said as she worked. “It said in your file that he lives in Cloudsdale. Is he a pegasus?”
“No, he’s a unicorn.” Spitfire focused on the little potted plant on the windowsill on the other side of the room. If she left a crater in the Princess’ castle, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see what that kind of impact had on her wing. “He’s got these enchanted horseshoes so he can get around.”
“I thought so. There aren’t many pegasi doctors or nurses around. It’s mostly earth ponies and unicorns in my line of work, even in places like Cloudsdale that are mostly pegasi.”
Hooves brushed against feathers of gold. A shudder traveled the length of Spitfire’s spine and she bit her lip to stifle a whine.
“Do you know why that is, Spitfire?”
Spitfire shook her head. “N-no.”
“It’s the same reason why you don’t see many earth ponies or unicorns involved with weather management. Medicine simply isn’t usually predisposed to pegasi the same way it is to earth ponies and unicorns.”
After licking her dry lips, Spitfire couldn’t take it anymore. Her eyes flicked to her left, and she caught sight of her wing. What she saw was swollen and mangled and she only managed a fleeting second before she snapped her gaze back to the window.
Think a happy thought.
Redheart’s ministrations paused. “Do you know what I mean by that?” she asked, moving one of her hooves between Spitfire’s shoulderblades.
The contact made her freeze, but even through the latex the hoof was warm. After a few seconds, it started to rub her back in small circles and she found herself exhaling. Her haunches unclenched and her healthy wing lowered back to the bed, leaving Spitfire wondering when it had flared.
A light chuckle brought her attention back to Redheart. “Unicorns are better able to diagnose ponies with their magic. It’s so precise and adaptable that there’s hardly anything they can’t do with it.”
Laying her head back down, Spitfire grunted her understanding into her foreleg. “And earth ponies?”
“Unicorns weave their spells and pegasi control the weather and take to the sky—all of it kind of flashy, really,” Redheart said, her voice soothing and all-encompassing. As her hooves returned to their work, Spitfire found herself flicking her ears, straining to catch every word spoken. “Earth pony magic is much more subtle.”
“Yeah?”
Redheart hummed as her hooves moved over Spitfire’s back, unwrapping more of her wing with delicate and gentle motions. “Our magic is worked through our hooves. It’s why earth ponies make the best farmers.” The snipping of scissors interspersed among her words brought a shudder down Spitfire’s spine. “Ponies like Applejack and Golden Harvest here in Ponyville work the soil with their hooves, imbuing the earth with their nurturing magic and making the most bountiful harvests around.
“Other earth ponies use their magic in different ways. The way our magic works is why most masseuses are ponies like Aloe and Lotus, who help ponies relax. Saying they have the ‘magic touch’ is actually quite apt.”
Spitfire nodded, licking her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw strips of gauze fall into a metal pan. “And you?”
Another chime of laughter flowed out of Redheart’s mouth. “Earth ponies who find their calling in medicine are said to have healing hooves, which is partially true.” Again she rubbed between Spitfire’s shoulders, drawing a sigh from the pegasus. Warmth seeped into them, unknotting the muscles and sinking her deeper into her mattress. “My magic is nurturing, furthering your healing process.”
“Feels good,” Spitfire grunted.
Redheart hummed. “I bet it does. You’re doing very well, by the way.” Her hooves brushed over a bent primary, and Spitfire winced, clenching her jaw tight. The hooves stopped. “How much does it hurt, Spitfire?”
“Just a bit,” Spitfire said through gritted teeth. Without the support of her cast holding her wing in place, fresh waves of pain coursed through her body with every stuttering breath. Instinctively, she tried to ruffle her feathers only to bite down on her tongue at the first twitch.
“It’ll be over soon, I promise.” Redheaert’s voice was as warm and steady as her hoof on Spitfire’s back. “You’re being very brave right now.”
If Spitfire hadn’t squeezed her eyes shut to block out the pain, she would have snorted. “I’m always brave.”
“That you are. Not many pegasi would fly right at a dragon the size of a small mountain, even if that dragon turned out to be little Spike.”
“Wonderbolt’s gotta do what a Wonderbolt’s gotta do.” Cracking an eye open, she couldn’t help but smirk. One little flirt couldn’t hurt. “But I think you’ll find me especially brave when I get you flat on your—ow!”
Nevermind, it could hurt a lot.
“Sorry, I might have pinched a nerve a little bit there.” The words were as saccharine as her smile.
Spitfire huffed, then hissed as Redheart’s hooves went back to work. “Okay, I’ll behave.” No matter how gently they moved, it was impossible to avoid all of the discomfort. Every time their movements caused the slightest jostle, what felt like needles stabbed all over her wing. “Can you blame a mare for trying to distract herself?”
A beat passed as Redheart’s hooves worked, drawing another hiss-turned-groan from Spitfire. “No, not really. Would you like me to tell you a story to distract you?”
A whimper bubbled up in Spitfire’s throat. “Anything.”
“How about I tell you how I got my cutie mark? I should be all finished with your wing by the time it’s over.”
Spitfire felt herself nod. “Go for it.”
“Okay, well, when I was a filly in elementary school our class went on a field trip to Rainbow Falls.” The hoof left Spitfire’s back, joining the other hovering around her wing. As she felt the brush of latex on her fur or nearing her feathers, she pinned her ears back. “We went to learn about the history of the Equestria Games and to explore some of the caves in the area.”
“Rainbow Falls is pretty far,” Spitfire mumbled.
“We were there for a few days,” Redheart replied. Her voice was steady, soothing, and Spitfire found it easy to focus on. “It was supposed to be a camping trip for the week. Most of us were so excited to go exploring like real adventurers, but our teacher, Miss Penny Whistle, wasn’t having any of it.”
“Exploring, huh?” The picture of a miniature Redheart, eyes bright and alive in a way that only a foal’s could, small saddlebags stuffed full and her tail swishing behind her came to mind. Spitfire’s heart melted a little. “A regular little Daring Do.”
“It was exciting! Being away from home for the first time, feeling like you could do anything without the dreaded parental ‘no’ reigning over you.” Redheart’s smile carried into her voice, bringing it to life. “Everypony kept on trying to slip away to follow a rainbow creek astray from the path or search under rocks for some amazing secret. My friends and I were convinced that there was treasure buried somewhere. Miss Penny Whistle got so angry with the four of us when we snuck off in the middle of her lectures.”
Spitfire allowed herself a chuckle, wincing as the slight movement shook her wing. “So you’re telling me that you were adorable before you were hot?”
“Careful now, Spitfire. Sympathy will only get you so far.” The shearing sound of the scissors cutting away the last of the gauze punctuated her words. “Even then, I’ll have you know I was quite the troublemaker in my school days.”
“You? Troublemaker? Please, it sounds like you took after your teacher pretty well.”
“It’s called maturing, Captain.” Redheart chuckled, making Spitfire’s ear flick. “No, back then I was a little rapscallion. In my college days I would have had you wrapped around my hoof.”
Spitfire returned the chuckle, a lazy smirk pulling at her lips. “Naughty.”
“Once upon a time, maybe. Or maybe I’ve always been the upstanding mare I am now. Who’s to say for sure?”
A frown creased Spitfire’s lips. “Are you—did you just play coy with me?”
“Maybe.” The scissors clanged as they were dropped back on the cart. Out of the corner of her eye, Spitfire watched Redheart pick up a bottle of disinfectant and a cotton swab. “Anyways, on one of the last days of the trip, Miss Penny Whistle left us to fill out some paperwork for safety releases and told us all to stay put. Naturally, a few of us didn’t listen.
“One of my friends, who actually works on the weather team here in Ponyville now, led us deeper into the forest, down where the streams of liquid rainbow started to fall in cascading waterfalls.” Redheart dabbed the cotton swab to the disinfectant, eyes flicking between it and Spitfire. “She had only just learned how to fly properly before the trip and was showing off every chance she could.”
That sounds familiar. Spitfire nodded, sliding her eyes closed as foalhood memories of her first races brought a smile to her face. “Flying’s what pegasi are all about. Blaze and I used to race all around the house when we first started flying. Ma would tan our hides when we broke anything—if she could catch us. We hid out in the shed a couple times when we broke the living room lamp.”
Redheart giggled. “Now who’s adorable?”
“And proud. It’s all part of my charm.” Unwilling to risk catching sight of her wing with a wink over the shoulder, she settled for smirking into her folded hooves. “But anyways, you were saying?”
She could almost hear Redheart rolling her eyes and shake her head, saying, “We wandered off, searching high and low for our treasure. My pegasus friend was flying around everywhere, between the tree branches and betting that she could fly up a waterfall.” A wistful sigh floated past her lips, tickling Spitfire’s shoulder. “You might know her, actually. Does the name Raindrops ring a bell?”
Spitfire frowned. A couple of recruits from the last batch accepted to the Academy came to mind. A mare, disciplined and diligent, with three raindrops on her flanks, making googly eyes at her partner—a black coated stallion with a mane the colour of rumbling storm clouds—stood out. “Think so. Light blue mane, yellow coat?”
“That’s her.”
“Huh. Hard to imagine her being reckless.” Wrinkling her snout, Spitfire reached back into what few details she remembered about the mare. “Or into mares, for that matter. She was a little clumsy in the air, but she was dedicated.”
“That sounds like Raindrops today.” A keen edge sharpened Redheart’s words. “But, just like me, she was a little troublemaker when she was younger.”
Spitfire’s ear flicked as her eyes wandered over the pale blue hospital room wall. It was a quiet, peaceful, and boring blue. “Oh yeah? What kind of trouble did the little scamp get into?”
“Enough trouble that she hurt herself when we snuck off that day.”
Both of her ears perked up at that. “What happened?”
“While we were exploring, we came across a waterfall. It was beautiful, cascading down the rocks and making the whole clearing look alive with colour.” Hooves, gentle and delicate, attended to her wing and Redheart’s voice like honey rolled over her. Eyelids heavy, she kept her ears on end as she blinked long and slow, succumbing to the flowing warmth. “Raindrops was convinced that there must have been something good at the top, so she tried to fly up. I tried to tell her it was a bad idea, but even then she was, as you said, determined.”
Letting her eyes slide closed as she listened, Spitfire hummed. “Sounds to me like she was trying to impress somepony.” A brief exhale of a chuckle and lazy grin followed. “Wonder who that could’ve been?”
“Regardless of the reason,” Redheart said, rolling over Spitfire’s mumbled words, “she tried, but couldn’t make it. She fell on her wing and we all heard it snap. When she tried to get up, she fell back over. Can you imagine being such a young filly and fracturing your wing?”
Spitfire shuddered at the thought. Breaking her wing was traumatizing enough now, but as a foal, so soon after discovering the freedom and wonder flight granted?
“She was bawling. She was in so much pain and so scared.” As Spitfire’s throat tightened, Redheart’s hooves slowed. “Our friends were too busy being terrified over how much trouble we were all going to get in to do anything. Something just clicked inside of me and I took charge. The next thing I knew, I was at Raindrops’ side.”
“How come that doesn’t surprise me?”
“It sure surprised the others when I ordered them to go back and find Miss Penny Whistle. I think I surprised myself more though when I stuck by Raindrops’ side.” Redheart chuckled. Her hooves felt warm through the latex, ebbing the pain in Spitfire’s wing away. “I propped her up and made a makeshift splint the best I could from one time my father was in the hospital with a broken leg.”
Spitfire smiled, flicking her tail. “You found your calling.”
“Took me a little while to realize it. When Miss Penny Whistle found us, I was holding Raindrops and drying her tears. I stayed by her side all the way to the hospital. I was later accused of growling at any of the adults who tried to pull me away.”
“Cute, caring, and feisty?” Spitfire purred in approval, forgetting herself as she nestled into the crook of her foreleg. “You’re really the complete package.”
Another broken feather was plucked from her wing, making her yelp. “Manners, Spitfire,” Redheart said. “Eventually I collapsed and slept. It wasn’t until after I woke up and went to check on Raindrops that I realized I had gotten my cutie mark.”
“Wow, that’s ... pretty incredible, actually. No joke.” Spitfire let the words hang there for a moment, savouring the feeling of Redheart’s hooves tending to her wing as the sharp, stinging pain faded. At some point during the story, she must have started re-bandaging without her noticing. The more her thoughts cleared, the more she felt the tension seep out of her muscles. “You’re really an amazing pony, Redheart.”
Dismissal coloured Redheart’s voice as she chuckled and said, “Do you flatter all of your nurses so, Spitfire?”
“I mean it.” Cracking one eye open, Spitfire flicked her gaze in Redheart’s direction. The top of her nurse’s cap poked out from over her shoulder. “I have to ask, though, what happened after that? Did you and Raindrops stay close?”
“Closer than close for a while, actually. Not too long after she was discharged, she asked me out on a date.” The hooves tending to her wing hesitated in their motions, drawing a frown down Spitfire’s face. “She ended up being my first girlfriend.”
Spitfire’s eyes flew open. Goodbye, relaxation. “Girlfriend?”
Redheart hummed as her hooves started to move again. “She was so sweet to me. I think she had some kind of saviour complex built up for me, though.”
“Had?” Spitfire’s ears stood ramrod straight. “As in past tense, meaning you two aren’t together anymore?”
“I said she was my first girlfriend, Spitfire.” Redheart tittered. Bright blue peeked over her shoulder as she lifted her head. “And try to hold yourself still. I’m almost done, but if you keep on fidgeting then I might need to start over.”
“Right, sorry.” Holding herself still save for her flicking tail, Spitfire chewed the inside of her cheek. “So that’s a no?”
“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Redheart said. “But yes, we aren’t together anymore. We only dated for a couple months before we realized that I was attracted to mares and she was attracted to stallions. We’re still friends and try to see each other once a week for lunch, though.”
“Good,” Spitfire said, laying her head back down. She exhaled, letting out a breath she didn’t know she held. “Very good.”
“And it looks like I’m all done here!” Trotting into view, Spitfire watched with rapt attention as Redheart peeled one of the latex surgical socks off of her forelegs. The sight of her snowy white fur revealing itself was perhaps more titillating than the socks in the first place. “Congratulations, your little fall hasn’t made anything worse that I can see.”
Behave.
As she threw the first sock off and moved to the other, she smiled a pretty smile at Spitfire, who had to remember to close her mouth. She cleared her throat and focused her eyes on a spot on the wall. “Finished? Already?”
“I told you I’d be done by the time I finished my story.” Redheart winked before her face softened. Taking a step closer to the bed and to Spitfire, she kneeled down so that the two ponies were eye-to-eye. “Thank you for trusting me with your wing, Spitfire. I know that wasn’t an easy thing for you to do.”
Spitfire licked her lips. “I’m sorry for not trusting you earlier. And thanks for telling me that story. It was pretty amazing. You’re pretty amazing.”
Laughing, Redheart mussed Spitfire’s mane, making the pegasus’ eyes go crossed. “Careful, Spitfire. You’re starting to recycle your lines.”
Wrinkling her snout, Spitfire pouted—pouted. “I mean it!”
“I’m sure you do,” Redheart said, walking around the bed to the little medical supply cart. As she did, Spitfire caught sight of her wing, freshly bandaged at her side. “Now, if you need anything, please don’t get up. There’s a bell there on your bedside table. Ring that and somepony will come by.”
A frown marred Spitfire’s expression as she watched the nurse rear up on her hind legs. “You’re leaving?”
“This is a hospital and I do have other patients to check in on before I get to go home.” Redheart flashed another smile at Spitfire. Her blue eyes sparkled, making the Wonderbolt thankful that she was lying down. “And to think, I promised Payroll I would stop clocking in so many overtime hours. Oh well, I’ll just have to explain to him that the Captain of the Wonderbolts needed some extra attention.”
“I’d be happy to pay for your overtime if it means I get more attention.”
Standing up on her hind legs, Redheart shook her head and started to push the cart towards the door. “I’ll be sure to mention that to him. Knowing how he likes to manage our finances, he’ll jump at the opportunity.”
“Hey,” Spitfire said, resisting the urge to chew on the corner of her lip as she pushed herself to her haunches. “Speaking of getting more attention, when are you going to stop by next?”
Redheart stopped with her hoof on the doorknob. Wordlessly, she turned around and raised an eyebrow.
“What?” Spitfire shrugged, then flitted her wing and donned her smirkiest smirk. Why did it feel sheepish? Bad smirk. “I like listening to you talk, and I want to get to know you better.”
“What did we say about flirting?” Gone was the humour from seconds ago, hidden behind a guarded expression and a familiar neutral tone.
Meeting her eyes, Spitfire found her fire and stoked it. Her smirk boldened and she sat up taller. “It’s not flirting if it’s the truth. You’re amazing, and maybe I want to find out more to like besides your body.”
Snorting, Redheart turned to the door and twisted the knob. “Good night, Spitfire.” She lingered in the doorway as she left, hooves gripping the cart handle. “I have a later shift tomorrow, so I’ll be in around at lunchtime. I’ll poke my head in every now and then to see how you’re doing.”
Redheart left, leaving Spitfire alone in her room with the last light of the day giving way to Princess Luna’s glorious night.
Spitfire lay down, hooves sprawled out on either side of her and a giddy smile on her face. Her wing throbbed in time with the beating of her heart.
Finally, progress.
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I think those ending words nicely sum up this chapter as a turning point: finally, progress.
Soon you'll be a real mare, spits! :)
This was... less fun. Had the story started off along the lines of the second half of this chapter, I'd be loving it, but having seen feisty Spitfire, I rather miss that. Not that there weren't lots of sweet moments. That apology scene, though; I'm not sure about that
I did appreciate the really long chapter - I'm mostly asleep today, so I sat here and spent a couple of hours reading through it slowly, which was nice 
When you mentioned the filly in the story now being on the Ponyville weather team, I was expecting it to be Derpy, revealing how she hurt her eyes, but it worked with Raindrops.
I noticed a few things in the text I wasn't quite sure about, if you don't mind me bringing them up:
I think there might be a word missing here, but I don't want to mess up your round number word counts - had done to her wing, perhaps?
I think either both of these should be continuous (rolling her eyes and shaking her head) or neither of them should be.
Sorry, I missed the context clue that led Spitfire to say this - was it Redheart's wistful sigh, suggesting a former love? I rather assumed that was more aimed at the innocence of childhood.
Well after finishing the last chapter, I realized that I really wanted to know what happened next.
I really enjoyed how you had Spits apologize for being hard headed. I also like how though Spitfire was hitting on Redheart she won't let her touch her wing. But after realizing her faults Spitfire desised to let her take care of her wing. I also like how you use some of Spits canon moments to develop her character. 
I also love the background story for Redheart. 
On another note, I love your theory on why earth ponies make great doctors. Healing whooves are awesome. 
8052279
I also miss fiery, feisty Spitfire. She's a lot of fun to write, and I'm glad you find her fun to read. For the time being, though, Spitfire does need to sober and serious up if she's going to have any chance with Redheart (friendship or otherwise). She'll be making her way back to her lovable, feisty self in due time, after a little more healing at Redheart's caring hooves. Until then, we'll just have to be patient while she recovers from that fall and blow to her ego and pride.
Raindrops is one of my favourite background ponies. I saw a chance to slide her into the story in some way, so I took it!
I'm also happy to look at those things you highlighted. Thank you for pointing them out!
Regarding this for a second, though, I'm curious. What about the scene aren't you sure about? o3o
8053290
Thank you! I'm super happy to hear you're enjoying the story so far. This chapter took the longest to write of any of the chapters so far, and most of that was trying to work on the apology scene. Redheart's cutie mark story was the icing on the cake.
8053496 I'm glad to hear she'll be heading back in that direction, instead of a permanent change
I'm afraid I haven't really noticed her before, but then I only had Blossomforth pointed out to me a month or two ago.
I don't really know what to say here, which I appreciate doesn't help!
"You're the one writing it, but that's not how I'd write it," perhaps? Which is neither a sensible or nice criticism to make.
8054665
No no, that's completely fine. I understand it's sometimes difficult to put that feeling into words, but I think I know what you mean.
Either here and PM (if you're comfortable), I'd ask to know how you might write it instead? I am proud of the way I wrote the scene here, don't get me wrong, but I am curious to hear feedback and how others might have approached it.
8054684 I've never tried that before, no idea how it will turn out, but, I can give it a go if you'd like?
I don't know for sure; some fragments here and there suggested themselves, so, to piece them together and see how it looks:
I liked the way you had her wake up, slowly returning to consciousness and working out what had happened, and what role Redheart had played. And then having Redheart sitting their off to the left, waiting angrily. So, to nab that and the opening line:
“Ah, so you’re awake,” a voice said from off to her left. Spitfire froze at its tone, a few notches below livid and somewhere north of furious. “This should be good.”
"Merciful Celestia, you're good at your job."
"Flattery won't get you nearly as far as you've been told. And it's not just a job, it's-"
"And you're a much better pony than I am."
<Long pause. Spitfire watches as Redheart gives her a calculating look, but still very angrily>
"A week ago, that would have seemed like such a compliment."
Spitfire starts laughing. It hurts.
"There's nothing funny about this, Spitfire." Stern, but also disappointed.
"Isn't there? That's gotta be the single stupidest thing I've ever done. The risk was obvious, and I did it anyway. And for what, a glass of water?"
"No argument from me there." Completely flat tone.
"Imagine the discharge papers: 'Wonderbolt at 17, captain at 22, Equestria Games gold medalist at 26, attacked Tirek a week later and lived to tell the tale. Defeated by glass of water."
"Please stop trying to turn this into a joke." More weary than angry.
"What else can I do?"
"Take this seriously. You nearly crippled yourself for life!"
Spitfire abruptly calms, but not at the thought of never flying again.
"And after I pushed you so far, you still care! You see my point? So good at your job. And so much better a pony than me."
Redheart looks away, weariness now tinged with bitterness.
"I won't let the worst of you tarnish the best of me."
<Another very long silence>
"...It wasn't really about the glass of water." Tiny voice.
"I know."
"Defiance is, uh, kind of a defining attribute. You say to stay in bed, so..."
"I know."
"My sister tells me to be nice...?"
"I know, Spitfire."
"I'm glad you do. Because I'm not sure I do. Gravity tells me to stay on the ground, and, if not for you, I'd have had to start listening."
Redheart sighs. Some of the anger and bitterness leaves, but only some.
"If that had happened, I'd never be rid of you."
Spitfire chuckles. It still hurts.
"I'm grateful. For everything."
"You're really bad at showing it."
"...I know."
And then Redheart would go off to make her rounds, and leave Spitfire to think about things for a while. And when they next speak several hours later, Spitfire makes a conscious effort to be a nicer, more civilised individual. And, in time, Redheart notices the effort and appreciates it, and their relations move back towards civil, and then cordial again. But no spoken apology is ever made, with Spitfire instead going with actions speaking louder than words, and trying to change her behaviour.
I don't know, looking at the dialogue on its own like that it appears cheesy and cliche. And if I saw what I'd just written in place of the scene you did, I don't know if I'd prefer it. It strikes me that Spitfire would find self-loathing easier than apologising, but I have no idea what I'm basing that on, and it's probably just me. Maybe my main issue was that it all happened so fast, going from feisty to apologetic to the sweet massage scene of them going a good way towards making up; I don't know.
That's what I'd have done, anyway, or tried to do, and I don't know how well it would have worked, or left them for scenes to follow. I'm glad that part of the story's over now, though, and look forward to the bits to come.
I can delete this and send it to you by PM if you would prefer?
8054863
No, no! There's no need to do that. I'm happy to let your input be seen by other readers.
I feel like the big difference here is different perceptions in Spitfire's character that we might have, which is something that's super okay to have. Let me give you a little insight into the way I approached writing Spitfire and Redheart.
In canon, we've seen Spitfire unafraid to stand up and apologize if she finds that she's been mean/unpleasant/a jerk or has messed up. I tried to carry that into the story here. She was a flirty jerk to Redheart in Chapter 3 (and going into Chapter 4), but she's now realized that she wasn't behaving properly, so she apologized right away, even if the words were hard to find.
Just to quickly address this part, first I want to say that's a fair perspective to have. Personally, I disagree (again, super okay!). After falling on her broken wing, Spitfire got a massive smack upside the head, so to speak, all thanks to her own stupidity. That finally got her through to where Blaze's advice could not get her—to behave. All things have ground to a halt and she's shown herself to be a big enough pony to apology when needed.
As for the them making up, Spitfire made such a big deal about her wings that letting Redheart work on them was her only main way of showing through action that something is different now. I wanted to try and impart that Redheart tending to her wing and telling her story was something that she's done time and time again with other jittery patients. The fact that it happens to factor into any budding romance is a bonus.
Regardless, I'm glad to hear you're still enjoying the story and are looking forward to the rest to come.
8055224
I take it all back
I think I'm finally able to put into words the thing I wasn't sure about, though, if you'd appreciate my attempt at a save too little and much too late?
Like I said, had Spitfire started out in this story as she is by the end of the chapter, I'd be completely down with it. I've never seen Spitfire portrayed as anything like this cocky (except in the often-terrible stories I try to avoid where she's an outright villain, usually mixed up in SoarinDash shipping), and while it was refreshing and fun to read, it's absolutely not how I naturally see the character or how I'd write her in my own stories (though, again, it absolutely works here and I've been loving it). My view of her from things like Firedance or Colfire tends to have her as surprisingly mature and down to Earth given her position.
But to have her be that feisty in the opening chapters, to then end up like this here, kind of feels like you set her up that way just to be humbled? Which is, you know, a legitimate story tactic and all that I'm sure has been done by legions of great authors, it just feels kind of... mean?
That was why I tried to avoid having her outright apologise, so that she could slide down the scale of cockiness a tiny bit more gracefully.
But <ahem> I am aware that having the integrity to apologise and admit when you're wrong is generally considered to be a good thing, and that she's therefore an ethically-better character the way you've written her, so I don't really have grounds to complain on (yeah, like I did in the first place!
).
I think the intent with the wing massage came through, by the way, and like the previous commenter I agree that the idea of Earth pony magic working through their hooves, especially for healing, is a great one.
8055326 I feel the need to jump in real quick! :3
So I actually agree with you to an extent. Spitfire is being humbled from how she acted before, but I don't think of it as mean in this story. If this was the end, and the entire point was for her to be taken down a few pegs, then that would certainly be mean and horrid! Certainly something I'd not want to read. But in this story, this is merely a step. It isn't "Spitfire is a jerk and deserves a comeuppance, the end," it's "Spitfire needs to stop being a jerk in order to build functional and healthy relationships with other ponies." It's not tearing her down for the fun of it, it's pulling back the cocky facade and rewarding (well eventually rewarding!) her for owning up to her mistakes and issues. So in that respect, it doesn't feel mean to me, though... I am a bit biased! :D
(Also I don't think you're wrong per se. From what others have commented, there's a lot of personal ideas on Spitfire's character, which seems to impact a lot of how they think she should act, which isn't necessarily compatible with this story's Spitfire. Just a difference, and nothing that's really 'wrong!' c: )
8055326
Dude, I think you need to go back and watch Wonderbolts Academy, Rainbow Falls, Newbie Dash, and Top Bolt before you make any more judgement calls about Spitfire's canon personality.
8055626 Very true!
And no doubt by the time of a few chapters later, it will all be smoothed down in the context of the whole, a minor trough in confidence next to the minor peak in the chapter before it.
It's my fault, I way overreacted. I read a lot of stories about villains, where forced situations to teach them humility are sadly commonplace, so I'm much too quick to respond to the first signs of anything like that, and I came in way too strong here.
I don't really think it's so much different views on the character, just trying to find some emergency brake between the level she was at and the level she fell to here, so I thought avoiding actually apologising might let her keep some shred of ego. But Tim's right, she's never above doing that in canon, so if I'd given it some more thought then my suggestion of how to approach it didn't make much sense.
8055895 Quite possibly! I didn't really mean to say she was out of character, I don't think she was, it was more about how the character was being treated. I phrased it very poorly, though, which was not at all helpful. So yeah, you're absolutely right.
8056205 Pshaw. You're just fine, peep. Nothing to apologize for, I think. Lord knows this is way more constructive and polite than previous.... discussions. >:3