No Heroes: Life of Pie

by PaulAsaran

Day 10

Pinkie awoke with a start, only years of practice keeping her from crying out. She lay on her back with a hoof to her chest, sucking down air in quick gulps as her heart pitter-pattered in its familiar dance. It hadn’t been such a bad one this time. She wondered if Princess Luna was somehow helping her out. It would be a first.

Gradually, her pulse eased and her breathing slowed. She glanced out the corner of her eye to see the faintest hints of morning light through the curtains. At least she could say she got a full night of sleep. Those were becoming rare commodities these days. Not quite ready to get up, she turned to her side and—

She was there. Pinkie felt her heart stop at the sight of that pale mane completely covering the face, half a head poking up from behind the bedside. Chills ran along her skin with the hideous awareness: She was watching.

Still as stone.

Trembles assaulted her body. She opened her mouth to speak, but could only manage a hoarse whistling through her clenched throat. She didn’t move.

Still as death.

Pinkie’s legs flopped against the sheets. Efforts to push herself away failed, her strength sapped away by the twisting emptiness in her guts. “F-F-Fine…”

She moved.

In a blink, Her face was in Pinkie’s, close enough their muzzles nearly touched. Close enough the chill radiating from her froze the mare’s living blood. Close enough her hissing throat could be heard straining to suck in the very air Pinkie breathed.

In the same blink, Pinkie found her strength, if not her voice. She scrambled back with a whimper that was meant to be a scream and went tumbling over the side of the bed… and the slumbering Fine Crime. She crashed to the floor and crawled into the corner. By the time she looked up Fine was on his hooves with his horn glowing a bloody red, the aura filling the room in shadow. She was nowhere to be seen, gone as fast as She’d appeared.

Fine’s head swiveled about in sharp motions, almost birdlike. His eyes held a fiery intensity she rarely saw, alert and focused as if he hadn’t been asleep five seconds ago. He turned to her and she flinched, hiding her face behind her hooves. “Pinkie, what happened?” His voice was as hard as his expression, intense and no-nonsense.

It wasn’t a dream. She’s here. She knows where I sleep at night. What am I going to say? H-he’ll make us leave. Not yet. Not yet. Oh, Celestia, she knows where I sleep!

“Pinkie?” His tone softened, Fine ran his fetlock along her foreleg. “Are you alright?”

She peeked at him from between her legs. His rosewood eyes had lost all their intensity, which had been replaced entirely by concern. He wasn’t upset with her? She glanced over his shoulder and felt the chill in her blood recede; She was gone. “J-just a nightmare,” she whispered. “That’s all. Just a really bad nightmare.”

His sigh was either in relief or in frustration. That she couldn’t tell which disturbed her considerably. Still, his smile was genuine enough. He ran a hoof through her messy mane and settled on his barrel in front of her. “Okay. Just a dream.”

Pinkie couldn’t help but think that he was really handsome just then, with his comforting eyes and red mane all akimbo. She was glad he’d stopped dying it black. After a slow breath, she lowered her legs from her face and allowed a weak smile. Not a fake one to hide her lingering fear. She would offer him no more of those. Just a little one to let him know how much she appreciated his patience.

He abruptly looked away, his cheeks turning rosy. He’d been doing that a lot lately. She didn’t know why, but it was certainly cute. Too bad she couldn’t stop glancing at the bed, half expecting to see that white mane on the other side.

She knows where I sleep.

The fact twisted its way through her brain, and her blood started to freeze again.

I need to get out of this room.

“I th-think…” She flinched at Fine’s glance. “I think we might as well get up. I mean, it’s almost morning.”

His eyes shifted to the window. He nodded. “Close enough. Not sure what we’ll do at this time, though. Petri’s not gonna show up for work for an hour at least.”

That, at least, was easy. It even warmed her a bit, especially in the cheeks. “We’ll just talk. I’m happy to spend the morning talking. If it’s with you.” Fine shot her a look, the fire in his face turning up an extra notch. Only then did Pinkie realize why, and suddenly the room felt like it was a furnace. “Oh. I said that last bit out loud, didn’t I?”

He gained what may have been the dopiest grin she’d ever seen on his features. Which wasn’t saying much, considering Fine wasn’t one for dopey grins. It was mind-bendingly endearing. He stood up and brushed himself off, then offered her a hoof. “I’m flattered you think so highly of my conversational skills.” Right. Conversational skills. That’s what she was thinking about right now. Not the way his rosewood eyes seemed to shimmer in the darkness, or how delightfully warm his hoof was as he helped her up. “I’ll wait while you get ready.”

The fuzziness of her mind cleared a bit. “Get ready?”

He nodded, not losing his grin as he patted her head. “No offense, Pinkie, but you look a mess. Rarity would probably faint.”

Oh. Right. Morning routine. She cast another glance at the bed. It was blessedly void of apparitions. “Okay. I’ll… be right back.” Then she turned to the bathroom.

And stood there, her thoughts swirling around how small the room would be, and how Fine wouldn’t be able to see her. If something happened and she cried for help, would he be able to get there before… Before what?

I have no idea what she’ll actually do to me.

But I sure as hay don’t want to find out.

“You okay?”

She jumped at Fine’s query. “I…” Chewing her lip, she struggled with herself. If she said anything, would he press her? This was the last thing she wanted to talk about. She was starting to hope she could skip it entirely. Yet her next attempt to approach the bathroom ended with hoof dangling in the air, unable to take that first step. The idea of being in that little room, alone, so easily cornered…

With a whimper, she stepped back. “C-can I use the one in your room?” Goddess, she felt like such a child.

“Of course you can.” The answer came without hesitation. He must have suspected the question was coming. He walked past, flashing her a soft smile as he did. “Let me get your things.”

With hooves glued to the floor, Pinkie waited for Fine to ask. He slipped into the bathroom, disappearing from sight. When he emerged mere seconds later he had Pinkie’s toiletries floating over his head. “Anything else you need me to grab?” He wasn’t going to ask? Her eyes flicked to the different items: toothbrush, mane brush, a bottle of her favorite shampoo (strawberry, of course), and… “I didn’t know you used turpentine.”

That was what had his attention? “Only sometimes.” She rubbed her foreleg and glanced away. “I move around a lot. Sometimes my hooves hurt. It helps.”

He hummed in apparent curiosity. “Makes sense. Don’t let Rarity see it, though.” At her questioning look, he smirked. “She’ll want to know why you’re doing it yourself instead of going to the spa.”

Pinkie shook her head hard. “No, no, no! Not a chance. If I did that, everypony in Ponyville would figure out that I’ve got soft hooves.”

He cocked his head to one side, brow furrowed. “And that’s… bad?”

She gasped at his ignorance. “It is! I’m a party pony. It’s my job to make everypony else happy. If ponies knew my hooves start hurting after a few hours of work, they’d be all concerned and suggest I take breaks and have less fun and then I’m a party pooper and there is no such thing as a party pooper party pony, no sir! And I’m not going to be the first.” She punctuated the claim with a stomp and her muzzled raised high. “I’ll go to the spa and get hooficures and mane therapy treatments and all those other things Rarity thinks are oh-so neat and nice, but Pinkie Pie takes care of her own hoofsies, thank you very much.”

Fine watched her, his expression deadpan and an eyebrow raised. He seemed to be waiting for her to continue. At last, he asked, “Isn’t getting a hooficure also considered ‘taking care of your hoofsies’?”

Sputtering for a moment, Pinkie stomped again in the hopes that it would make her look more confident than she suddenly felt. “It’s not the same thing.”

With a chuckle, he raised a hoof in surrender. “Alright, if you say so. Come on, you’re not the only one who wants to freshen up for the morning.”

It was only when they were out of the room that Pinkie realized Fine may have set up that entire conversation to get her thinking about something other than her fears. She didn’t know that for sure, but it sounded like something he’d do. She cast one last glance at her closed bedroom door but saw nothing unusual about it. A shiver ran down her spine regardless.

Fine’s room. She’d not been in here… Had she ever? It seemed oddly dark, even considering the early hour and the closed curtains. She glanced around, nonplussed.

“Oh, right.” Horn glowing with his dark red aura, Fine turned to the center of the room and cast a spell. Gradually, like a fog fading away, the room brightened to normal levels. “There. Why don’t you take your shower first?” When he turned to her she was still eyeing their surroundings. “What? It’s just a shadow enchantment.”

A shadow enchantment. He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. But normal ponies didn’t take comfort in extra darkness, or so Pinkie thought. It made some sense, especially given Fine’s special talent and proclivity for secrecy, but to have darkness around as often as possible? Maybe it helped him sleep. Did that make her room uncomfortable for him? Should she have offered to let him do that to her room?

Realizing he was still watching, she shook off her hesitation and smiled. “Sorry. Just thinking. You sure I can go first? It’s your bathroom.”

With a handsome smile (as if he had any other kind), Fine waved his hoof and performed an extravagant bow. “Proper stallions never go before a lady.”

Pinkie’s heart played the drums with her ribs and she realized she was grinning. “What’s the rule about going at the same time?” An explosion of red flashed across his entire face, and she was sure hers looked similar. “Kidding! Th-that was just a joke. Ha. Haha?” She retreated hastily for the bathroom, banging her flank into the doorframe. “Oops. Um, yeah. This way.” Into the bathroom she went, hurrying to turn the water on for the shower. She paused halfway in, whimpered, then hurried back to the door. “Umm, shampoo, p-please?”

“Shampoo?” He blinked, then flinched. “Right! Shampoo.” He levitated the bottle her way, and she snatched it out of the air with her mouth before hurrying back to the shower.

That was stupid, Pinkie. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could you let something like that slip out? Now he’s gonna think you’re that kind of party pony. Oh, Celestia, what if he takes it as an invitation? That… might not be so bad, come to think of it. She froze, a dollop of shampoo on her hoof as she considered that possibility. Then she violently shook her head and began to wash her body. No, bad Pinkie Pie! You aren’t anywhere near at that level yet. Are we? We sure as hay aren’t going about this the normal way. Oh, Rarity, why aren’t you here to tell me what to do? No, wait, she’d just try to milk that aspect all the more. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you? No, wait, I’m sorry, come back! Dang it, why do I keep making her exit when I need her the most?

She snorted and tried to focus on her work. Then her hooves slipped over the now-familiar bumps and pits of her scars. Her stomach squirmed as she idly rubbed the spot along her barrel. Why can’t this be simple? Getting these scars was easier than talking to Fine. Which was dumb. Dumber than dumb. It was idiomoronipid, which she decided was now officially a word. How else could she fully describe the sheer amount of idiocy, stupidity, and… moronicity? Was that a word? Eh, it was now, just like idiomoronipid, because it was required to describe the problem. She spoke to Fine all the time. Why was it different whenever she tried to convey her…

Desire.

There was a distinct possibility that Pinkie’s cheeks were the prime cause of the shower’s steam. But she couldn’t ignore the word, could she? It was the most accurate right now. She desired him. His handsome features were one thing, but then there was the kind manner he put on display so freely. How he tried to be there for her even when he knew he couldn’t help. She’d already opened up to him in a way she’d never opened up to anypony. If he walked in right now and declared his intention to…

Oh, wow, the water was really getting hot. But you’d do it, wouldn’t you, Pinkie?

She shook her head hard enough to send water splashing against the shower curtain. Fine wasn’t like that. He never once spoke of sexuality. It wasn’t like he thought it improper, it was more like he just wasn’t interested. He’d told her once that he’d never felt attracted to Fluttershy on a sexual level. He wouldn’t lie about that… Would he? Rarity once implied that stallions lied about that kind of thing all the time, but Fine wouldn’t. Surely.

She paused in her scrubbing as her hoof drifted across another scar, this one on her hind leg. Who am I kidding? What stallion wanted to touch something like that? She was a mess of scars. True, they weren’t really visible unless a pony was trying to find them, but he’d be able to feel them. That would be enough. And she’d never been attractive to stallions anyway, so what was the point of thinking about sex? She’d need every advantage in the book to catch Fine’s eye that way. If Fluttershy couldn’t do it, she didn’t stand a chance.

There’s still the dress. She huffed a feeble laugh. As if that would help. But then, Rarity had made it, and she’d want to know Pinkie had at least tried. It was pointless. It had to be. Yet if she returned to Ponyville and had to tell Rarity she’d never even put the thing on…

It would have to be done, and soon. They had less than a week left. Maybe tonight? Or tomorrow. Or never. I’ll throw the suitcase in the river and pretend I lost it or something. The image of Rarity’s crestfallen face in her mind’s eye ended that idea with a whimper. Pinkie slumped to her haunches and pressed her hooves to her cheeks.

The water swirled down the drain. The droplets flowed off her mane like rivers around her face, splashing noisily on the tub’s floor. She let those splashes be her entire world, every drop an explosion at a miniature scale. She imagined it masking the beating of her heart, whittling it down until it was but a phantom of its former self. Every drip flowed into the small vortex, sucked into a dark abyss to who knew where. Pinkie wondered if she couldn’t go there, too. Anywhere was preferable to here right now.

Fine wouldn’t desire her. Fine wouldn’t love her. He would be her friend, her companion, her shoulder to cry on, but it would never go further than that. She wasn’t good enough. She was damaged. Baggage. Dead weight. And he was…

In the shower with her.

Pinkie went stiff as a board as his leg wrapped about her withers and he pressed the side of his head to hers. “F-F… F-F…” Her tongue flopped uselessly.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. It was the sultry sound she’d both longed for and dreaded. “I’m here, Pinkie. Whatever it is, I’m here. Okay?”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Both felt appropriate. The sound that tore itself from her throat was somewhere in between, a hiccupping sob of a giggle that tortured the ears. Her throbbing heart demanded she flee as fast as she could… but for how much she hurt, being this close to him was not something she could walk away from. So she pressed her body to his and tucked her head under his chin.

Time passed, only their quiet breathing and the pattering water to break the silence between them. Pinkie had so much she wanted to say and no idea how to say it. He was so warm. She watched out the corner of her eye while his coat gradually became soaked through, the rivulets of water shifting to new paths through his fur. She’d never seen him wet like this. It really accentuated his muscles. For such a lanky stallion, he was quite rugged.

As her pulse slowed and her fears retreated to prepare their next attack, she at last found her voice. “Were you watching me?” She’d meant it to sound teasing.

“You were taking a while,” he muttered in her ear. “I was starting to wonder.”

Coming to her rescue. It seemed they did that a lot for each other. She nuzzled against his chest with a smile. “Thanks.” Pulling back, she gave him a peck on the cheek. “My hero.”

His face turned red, but he didn’t display his usual anxiety this time. He touched his cheek with a gentle smile that matched his soft rosewood eyes. “Any time, Little Miss.” Oh, how that phrase made her heart flutter. Maybe it was pointless, but she’d follow the lie. Who could blame her for indulging?

After a long period of meditative silence, Fine spoke. “Are you going to be alright?”

I have no idea. “Yeah, I think so. Um, we should probably go before we get all pruny.”

“And use up the entire town’s hot water.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I have no intention of breaking Spike’s seven hour bubble bath record.”

“It’s eight hours now,” she pointed out with a grin. “He realized he could use his own breath to heat the water, which is why nopony noticed.” There was a pause, brief but awkward. “I can’t get out. There’s a stud in my way.”

“Message delivered.” He stepped away, and they shivered in unison with the loss of one another’s body heat. Pinkie planted her hooves firmly on the tiles and adamantly denied the urge to press up against him some more. Pulling some towels from the linen closet, Fine began drying himself and offered her one in the process. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

The warmth in her heart shriveled. Pinkie buried her face in the towel to buy herself time to work up the courage. When she at last came up for air, she replied, “Back to the farm.”

Fine, now halfway backed out of the room, cast a wary glance her way. “Are you sure? We just went there yesterday.”

She muscled her way past the hesitation, muzzle held high in what she hoped was a confident pose. “I’m sure. There’s not much time left to do this and I want to get it over with.” Working the towel along her back, she adamantly avoided looking at him.

“Alright, then.”

Pinkie blinked and turned to him just as he was tossing his towel on a rung. Magic made the drying process so much faster. “Aren’t you gonna try and stop me?”

He shook his head. “If you say this has to be done, then it has to be done. Besides, I’m eager to end this so you don’t have to suffer through it anymore.” He pawed at the tile and averted his eyes. “I don’t like watching you struggle through this.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks, Fine.” Then, on afterthought, “You need a nickname.”

His head rose along with his eyebrows. “A nickname? Why?”

Now running the towel along her barrel, she replied, “You call me Little Miss. I gotta call you something back. I’m not gonna hog the pet names.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m not sure there’s a pet name that works with me, Pinkie.”

“Spotty!”

He blinked, face deadpan, then glanced at his leg and the many brown splotches that made up his appearance. “Is that supposed to be in relation to my dappled coat?”

Pinkie’s ears perked, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Broody. Moody. Dude-y! No, wait, Redhead. Red… dude? Red Skull? Red Eye? A-ha, Fireball! Firestarter? Flaming Flamey McFlamerson. Wait, what about Shadow and Interceptor? Oh, no, I’ve already got a nickname. Duh, Pinkie Pie. Ooh, Rapscallion!” She growled playfully and waved her hooves like a manticore.

“I think I’m fine being Fine,” he replied with a roll of his eyes.

They couldn’t fool her, though; Pinkie knew smiles like the back of her hoof, and there was such a thing as smiling without smiling. An open book, that’s what he was. She smirked as the towel moved on to her hind legs. “Don’t be such a party pooper, you—wait! That’s it! Peepee!”

Fine’s eyebrows would have hit the ceiling were they not attached to his face, which had gone a shade paler than normal. “W-what?”

“Peepee.” Tossing the towel aside at last – it landed perfectly folded by the sink – Pinkie nodded firmly. “For Party Pooper, because that is what you most definitely are. I’m not sure even Cranky is as much of a party pooper as you are. Which makes Peepee perfect, Peepee.”

“Oh, Luna, no.” He shook his head frantically. “Do you have any idea what ponies with the wrong kind of mind would do with that?”

Pinkie scoffed and waved her hoof dismissively, maintaining a regal air. “Pish-posh, Peepee. Nicknames are supposed to be embarrassing.”

Fine narrowed his eyes at her. “Little Miss isn’t.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Stallion nicknames are supposed to be embarrassing.”

He threw his hooves up high. “That’s not even remotely fair.”

“Tough. Them be the rules.” She strutted past him, flicking her tail under his chin as she did. “Now come on, Peepee, it’s time to blow this balloon stand.”

He snorted and swatted her tail away. “Oh, hay, no, Sugarflanks.”

The name jolted through Pinkie with enough force to send her stumbling and tumbling to the floor. She shot back up and spun to face him. “W-what did you call me?” Seeing his smarmy grin, she growled and scrapped the floor. “Funny. Now you’re calling me fat.”

He waved his hoof in a near-perfect imitation of her earlier disdain. “You’ve been on a medically-induced diet for months, there’s nothing fat about you. I can’t help the way other ponies might interpret a mere nickname, though. Hmm…” Smiling down on her, he rubbed his chin as if in thought. “I do wonder what a pony with the wrong kind of mind would do with that, Sugarflanks.”

She frowned before glancing at her flanks, her eyes drifting along her curves. Her stomach flipped as she imagined less refined stallions doing the same thing. Only one stallion was allowed to do that. “No fair.” Wait, why am I letting this get to me? We’ve already established I’m not attractive.

Fine strolled to her side and gestured with his head to the door with all the confidence of Princess Celestia at the Sun Court. “Well, Sugarflanks, shall we?”

Attractive or not, it bugs me. Well played, Peepee. She pouted at him and nodded. “Fine, we’ll keep them private. Party pooper.” At his gracious bow and flamboyant wave, she led the way out of the room. “You win this round, but just wait until we’re back in Ponyville and I’ve got Dashy to back me up! You’ll rue this day, Verity Fine, oh yes, you will rue it so hard.”

He trotted at her side and a step behind, grinning like a schoolcolt. “Do you even know what that word means?”

“Don’t get cute with me, Peepee.”

He scoffed and moved on ahead. “I can’t. You’ve got a monopoly on cuteness.”

For the second time that morning, Pinkie stumbled over his words. Her eyes darted to the door of her room, her thoughts leaping to the suitcase beneath the bed.

---

Pinkie was beginning to hate this hill. She’d intentionally wasted five hours of their morning visiting with the soon-to-leave REGAL workers, talking to Sunflower, and taking her precious time eating her bowl of breakfast soup, all for the sake of postponing having to stand in this spot. For all her fretting and procrastination, none of which Fine objected to, here she was. The farmhouse in the distance, Holder’s Boulder barely visible over the barn that she adamantly refused to look at, the gorge like a massive crack in the world itself. Her heart was heavy, as always… but not quite so heavy as usual. The thought gave her hope that maybe all this was helping after all.

“Do you need a push?”

She glanced at Fine. He glanced back, concern in his eyes. She allowed herself a moment to focus and consider her situation, flexing her legs one at a time and taking in her slow, calm breaths. “No. I think I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“But of course.” He nodded, then turned his gaze forward once more. “So. Where to today?”

She sighed, directing her attention to the farmhouse. “There’s not much left. Home. I-I haven’t set hoof in the old farmhouse in so long…” She swore there were worms squirming in her insides, but she pushed down her nausea and began to walk. The first few steps were trembling, but soon they were firm and steady. The farmhouse pulled her forward, and she knew that there could be no turning back now. “Let’s finish the story.”

There were no voices, no haunting glimpses. Even She was absent this morning. Pinkie knew better than to think she was getting a break. The pervading silence, broken only by the soft sounds of their hooves on the path, loomed over her like an apparition unto itself. Pinkie held her head high, though even that display of bravado was taxing.

At their sedate pace it was some minutes before they reached the fence. Tempting though it was to stop and take the old house in, Pinkie forced her legs to keep going. The last thing she needed now was a pause to let hesitation sink in. She passed through the place the gate once stood and marched for the front door, trying her best to not acknowledge the trembling in her knees. She could hear Fine walking close behind, ever ready to help should she falter. A firm reminder that she couldn’t do so now. Her hoof rose. She twisted the rusted door handle and pushed.

With a crack of ancient hinges, the whole door fell backwards into the house. The resulting bang made her jump, and she had to cover her face against the cloud of dust that swept over her. It did little good, and soon she was coughing at the grainy texture in her throat. Even distracted as she was, she soon realized Fine wasn’t doing the same. When she looked back, she saw a face of stoic concentration and closed eyes. It took her a few hacks to realize he wasn’t breathing at all.

The air cleared and she shook the dust from her coat. Fine did the same, and only afterwards did he open his eyes and start breathing again. Pinkie wanted to ask him how he’d learned to do that but had more pressing matters on her mind. Matters like the deathly quiet room just beyond the doorway.

The worms were back with a vengeance. Pinkie cringed and tried to think of pancakes. Even that unpleasant memory did little to help. Swallowing failed to moisten her throat, but whether that was because of the dust or something else she couldn’t say. At last, trembling, she stepped into the room.

The furniture was gone. Half the floorboards were warped and splintered. Mold and fungus grew on the walls and the ceiling had collapsed in one corner. The looming silence had returned, only this time Pinkie felt it like a physical weight pressing down on her back and shoulders. It took all she had not to drop to her knees. Her eyes traced the cracks in the wall, stopping at every door, then settling on the a spot in the corner. Breathing becoming erratic, she approached. The spot was covered in dirt and debris, but she kicked some aside with ease. Sure enough, there was the old scratch on the floor. She raised her eyes to where ancient memory guided them and muttered, “I’m home.”

She collapsed.

Fine was at her side in an instant, kneeling on the floor and pressing tight against her. He said nothing, and for that she was grateful. She pushed back, wishing his warmth would ease the shivers away. It didn’t, but she kept trying. “D-Dad’s chair,” she mumbled, idly running her hoof along the faint impression in the wood. “R-right here. He liked to be w-where he could see the door. Something about always being ready to guard the family. Dad was protective like that.”

Resting her head on her crossed fetlocks, she tried to fight back the tears. From this angle she could see the chair in her mind’s eye, tall and imposing. To her filly self, it had been like a throne. The fact it was a threadbare hand-me-down that had been in the family for three generations had done nothing to stop her foal-like imagination. And there sat her father, looking down on her with his brilliant amber eyes boring into her heart. For an instant she was five years old again, and nothing was so scary as his narrowed gaze. He never needed to raise a hoof against his children when a single disappointed glance did the job for him.

Her moment of regression popped when Fine spoke up, though his voice was timidly soft. “What was he like?”

Her father? She closed her eyes and tried to think of all she knew. “He was… like a rock.” The comparison made her smile through her sniffle. “Dad had one of those hard faces. Y-you know how everypony has a ‘neutral’ expression? Like, a pony might appear happy all the time, but she’s really not, she just looks it. She could be having a terrible day and be totally miserable, but you wouldn’t know it because her neutral face had a smile. Dad was like that, except he wasn’t smiling. He always had this stony frown. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was always angry at something.”

Her smile broadened. She rubbed the tears from her eyes and pressed tighter against Fine’s side. “But Dad wasn’t mad, not really. He just didn’t know how to show his emotions on the outside. He didn’t smile much, but I knew when he was happy anyway. He was really a nice guy. Me and… and…” A shudder ran through her. Don’t think of Her. A breath. Another. Her pulse steadied.

Opening her eyes at last, she lifted her head to free her leg and run circles in the floor with the tip of her hoof. “My sisters and I would play games, and our favorite was the ‘Make Dad Smile’ game. He liked to play that one. Then he’d be frowning on purpose, and making him stop was so hard. But we always won in the end. S-sometimes I think he let us, but we’d always end the game laughing and happy. I remember when I threw my first party, and he… h-he…”

The worms were back, and they’d brought friends. A shudder rushed through her as memories of trembling lips speared her very soul. “My c-cutie mark. I n-never saw him smile so much. He smiled for my party!” The wave came unexpectedly, and it hit hard. She was sobbing before she knew it, face buried in her legs as a force impossible to resist took hold. “I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry!”

She could see him in his chair, lying back and reading, unaware of her climbing onto the headrest. The shift in his body as he noticed. The way he tensed, ready to catch her, probably thinking she intended to pounce on him. He never saw the knife. When she slit his throat, the gurgling sound… The way his head rolled back and his shocked eyes met hers. The way they seemed to ask the obvious questions. Even then, he never so much as raised a hoof to stop her.

That only made her heart twist even more, and a new wave of tears crashed onto her forelegs.

But she could only cry for so long. Eventually the tears stopped, and though her throat burned and her eyes stung, she knew it wasn’t really over. She started to rise on shaky legs. Fine helped her up. “You don’t have to—”

“I slit his throat.” The words burst out, a band-aid being ripped off. They silenced Fine as effectively as any muzzle. “D-don’t try to stop me. It’s almost done. L-let’s get it over with.” She moved past him, stumbling and wobbly. The doorway to the kitchen. This time her stomach didn’t twist. But it did do something, and the sensation nearly toppled her. She leaned heavily against the wall by the doorframe, head hanging low, and took slow, shaky breaths. Saliva dripped from her lips. She pressed a hoof to her stomach and willed it to end the swirling, nauseating shifts. Her breakfast threatened to escape at any second.

“Pinkie?”

She shushed him. Now was not the time for interruptions. She focused on the mold between her hooves, centering her attention on it. Calm. Control. Don’t think about the sickness. Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do this, Pinkamena.

Though her stomach never really settled, it calmed enough that she was at last able to stand on her own once more. That changed the instant she stepped into the kitchen proper. Though the table and chairs were gone, as well as all the decorations, the cabinets remained in place, broken doors and all. When her eyes settled upon the rusted oven with its missing door, she lost the battle and spilled her breakfast all over the floor.

“Pinkie!” Fine just managed to keep her from collapsing in her own mess. He pulled her back, and she could feel the tremble in his forelegs. “This was a mistake. We should—”

“No!” She shoved him away and tripped towards the oven. Her legs were like jelly, but somehow they got her there. Only when she reached the derelict appliance did she give up the fight, collapsing with one leg inside it. A ghost of a scent raided her nostrils, there and not there at the same time, and she gagged for lack of any contents in her stomach. “Momma. Oh, Momma! I stabbed you and stabbed you and burned you a-and I was such a bad filly!”

“Pinkie, I don’t think—”

“It’s too late! I’m here!” She looked up at the brown and red blur that was Fine and felt all her energy evaporating. She felt weaker than a newborn foal, and made no attempt to wipe away her fresh tears. “Why, Fine? Why did it have to happen? What made me do it? I never wanted to be a murderer!”

Suddenly, her face went rigid, as if some ghostly apparition had caught her cheeks in its hooves. She squirmed but couldn’t dislodge it, and her face drew closer to Fine’s. She sobbed, not sure what was happening, but when she wiped her eyes free of tears she found his rosewood eyes glaring into her own with nothing short of ferocity. “F-Fine?”

“Look into my eyes.”

“I d-don’t—”

“Look!”

Look she did, though she wasn’t sure what she was meant to get out of doing so. His fierce glare held her as steady as his magic. She hiccuped and wiggled, finally realizing that her face was being held level with his with nothing but his horn. It was extremely uncomfortable, but it took several seconds of mewling and whining for her to remember to put her hooves down. They touched the floor, and he blinked.

In the instant it took for his eyes to close and open again, his expression morphed from vicious anger to a gentle, handsome smile. His warm breath, with the faintest scent of pears, tickled her nostrils. In, out. She recognized his slow, rhythmic breathing pattern and started to consciously mimic it. Her heart went from pounding to thrumming to a normal, quiet pitter-patter. After a time, she realized the tension that had run through every muscle of her body had faded.

And then, as quickly as he’d caught her, Fine let her go and stood back. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Shaking off a shiver that abruptly ran through her body, Pinkie marveled at how calm she now felt. “W-what was that? Did you cast some sort of calming spell?”

He shrugged, his smile turning sheepish. “No, no spells. I sorta made it up as I went. I, uh, didn’t know what else to do.” Lowering his head, he asked, “Feel better?”

She nodded, working to recall everything that had just happened between them. “I didn’t know you could do that.” Her ears perked. She gasped and pronked in tandem. “Did Fluttershy teach you how to Stare?”

Chuckling at her bubbling excitement, he replied, “I don’t think it can be taught. I just… You were panicking. I had to do something. I was getting scared.”

Those last words sobered her instantly. Now that she really paid attention, she saw how he meekly shuffled his hooves and kept looking her over from hoof to mane as if in search of some injury. “Oh…” Flicking her tail, she blushed and looked at her hooves. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She started to look away, but her eyes briefly landed on the oven. The hideous blackness returned to her insides and she promptly turned away, reeling from the sickening feeling. They were still in the kitchen. Though it was stripped nearly bare, it was familiar enough for her to have no doubts. She clenched her eyes closed and focused on her breathing once more.

“Pinkie?”

Her stomach settled, but only some. The longer she sat there, the harder it became to resist the nasty infection from spreading. She was starting to taste… “Fine,” she hissed through her teeth between hard breaths. “Get. Me. To the. Living room. Now.”

“Alright.” He pulled her by the withers and guided her. She didn’t dare open her eyes to know where they were going. A few seconds passed with naught but the sound of their hooves on the wood. Each step shocked her insides and brought her one step closer to hyperventilation. She started to gag on the iron flavor dancing on her tongue. “We’re here.”

Her eyes shot open. They stood near the front door, her gaze going out to the bright, cloudy outdoors. Her hind legs twitched in a desire to kick off and send her out there to freedom, but she stilled them through sheer willpower. It was enough to keep her from bolting, but it was like draining all her energy in a single tiny motion. She collapsed to the floor, gradually relaxing as the sick feeling faded. “Th-thank you.”

“Of course.” He sat beside her, tilting his head about as he inspected her with visible worry. “I would have teleported us, but you looked like you already had enough trouble with your stomach.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Her breathing even once more, she elected not to bother getting up. “I don’t ever want to see that room again.”

“I gathered.” He began running a hoof through her mane in that way she liked. She wished she could enjoy it, but terrible visions were swimming through her mind’s eye that prevented anything resembling pleasure. They remained that way for a while, Fine quietly petting her mane and her letting the foul thoughts run amok. Fighting them seemed pointless in this place.

But they weren’t helping matters, so she finally spoke. “I killed Dad first. A few weeks after I killed Maud. Mom was cooking dinner and had one of the knives out. I took it when she wasn’t looking, snuck up on Dad, and slit his throat from behind while he was reading.” Her ear flicked as she waited for Fine to ask a question. Apparently content to keep stroking her mane, he said nothing. She wasn’t sure whether to be glad for that or not. “At least he died quick. Relatively. Mom wasn’t so lucky.”

She moved closer to Fine, wrapping her tail around her flank as she did. “It was so easy. I was so small, and Mom so big, and she was too focused on cooking to see me coming. She had the oven open, getting a… pie? I think. I ran under her and stuck the knife in her from below. Then, while she was still reacting to the hit, I tripped her up. Didn’t even do it on purpose, I was just running too fast. I was so… excited.” The idea sent a fresh chill down her back. “She fell forward. Into the oven. Spilled the boiling hot pie all over herself. That and the burns from the oven itself…”

Closing her eyes, Pinkie recalled the gasps. No shrieking. No screaming. She watched, trembling and cold as ice, while her mother scrambled out of the oven and smashed backwards into the kitchen cabinets. “She never screamed. I th-think my first stab got one of her lungs or something. She was too busy being in shock from the pain to even see me coming. I pulled out the knife and just… started stabbing.”

Pinkie opened her eyes the moment her mother’s burned, ruined face tried to appear in her vision. Her stomach kept twisting, but otherwise she just felt… numb. “I don’t think she ever knew it was me. She got the sauce in her eyes. Couldn’t see. M-maybe she heard me. I hope not.” She leaned her head on Fine’s shoulder, voice dull. “Dad knew. The look in his eyes as he died… I really hope Mom never knew.” She glanced up at him. He was staring straight ahead, face hard but expressionless. “Limestone walked in on me before I finished Mom off.”

Fine remained silent, his eyes set on something a million miles away. Pinkie watch and waited, wondering if he might say something. She knew he wouldn’t condemn her. She probably should have been nervous or frightened, but instead she just felt exhausted. At last, she asked, “What are you thinking?”

It was several seconds before he answered. “Before my first kill, when I started having the visions, I still lived with my father. I was a teenager by then, and honestly thought I was going insane. I’d spend my nights sneaking around Las Pegasus, flitting among the shadows. I avoided my father. Didn’t think he could help me, and didn’t want him to know I kept daydreaming about murder. Then, one night, I had a really strong vision. I remember it vividly. I smothered my father in his sleep with a pillow, only removing it when he was too weak to do anything. And then… When I came to, I was standing over his bed. If the Vision had gone on for just a little longer, I might have…” He closed his eyes tight. “The thought of what I almost did rocked me to my very core. I ran away that night.”

He finally looked at her, and his eyes shined with barely contained tears. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get the same chance.”

Pinkie wanted to smile for him, if only to be reassuring. Her lips didn’t cooperate. She lowered her chin to her legs and sighed. “I… I came back home. After killing Limestone. The only pony left was Granny. I thought she was asleep. She’d taken to…” She shook her head. Context, Pinkamena. Might as well do it right. “Before, me and my sisters all shared one bed. Small house, y’know. After Surprise and Maud died, it was just me and Limestone. Limestone didn’t want to admit that she was having nightmares, but I heard her at night. So Granny Pie started sharing the bed with us. For comfort. The first thing I did when I got home was run to the bedroom. I just wanted to bury myself in the covers by Granny and cry myself to sleep. But Granny wasn’t there.”

Fine resumed stroking her mane. “So she knew.”

Nodding against his coat, she continued, “I woke up and she was in the bed with me. I… I think she knew what was happening. Like, about the Bloodmane and all that. She told me it wasn’t my fault, that I could still be a good filly.”

Fine shifted. His stroking paused for only a moment. “Could still be?”

Pinkie wished she could feel anything other than empty right about now. Even fear would be better than this cold numbness. “I don’t really know what she was thinking. She wouldn’t forgive me, but she didn’t get mad either. I just know that I hurt her so much, just by being me.” Staring out the door was easier than closing her eyes and seeing Granny Pie’s exhausted, haunted face. “She told me to stay in bed and she’d fix everything. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. Granny said she’d fix it, and I just wanted somepony to make it right again.”

“So you stayed in bed,” Fine muttered, nuzzling her behind the ear. It was a pleasant sensation. At any other time, she might have indulged in it.

But not today. “I heard her doing things. Hammering. Sawing. All sorts of things. Every once in a while she’d come into the bedroom to check on me. She fed me cookies once. She… She smiled, but it was a fake smile, the kind of smiles ponies give when they’re desperate. Even as a foal, I knew that smile. Night came and she kept working. That evening she came to the room, all dirty and sweaty. Gave me dinner, read me a bedtime story. Let me cry myself to sleep next to her.

“Then… morning. Granny was gone.”

Pinkie let her head drop once more, watching through the door as birds flew in the distance. She recalled a time when she couldn’t see such things. “She’d sealed up the house. Every window. Every exit. Boarded up and locked, made filly-proof. I couldn’t get out, and Granny was nowhere to be found.”

Fine let out a low hiss. His entire body tensed. “She… abandoned you?”

“I thought so, at first.” Pinkie nuzzled his leg. She lacked the energy needed to raise her head any more than that. “She was right outside. Sitting on the porch in her rocking chair. I begged her to let me out, but she said she couldn’t. Said she’d let me out when I got the bad stuff out. Told me to be strong.

“And that’s where I stayed,” she whispered, staring at her hooves so that she couldn’t see her old prison anymore. “Twelve weeks. Granny left enough canned food for me to survive, and she stayed outside the front door the whole time, talking to me and encouraging me. Sometimes she’d leave, but never for long. I think she was making sure nopony came close to the house and found out what was really happening. She… she left Mom and Dad in the house with me.”

Fine jolted. “She what?”

Pinkie nodded. The sickness formed again, like a lead weight in her guts. “I begged her to let me out. I screamed and cried and banged on the door. She wouldn’t do it. She said they would make it easier. And… and she was right.” The lead was worms again. Pinkie curled up, wrapped her forelegs around her barrel and shuddering. “When the visions came again, I… I used their bodies. I… I m-made…”

Holding her tight, Fine whispered in her ear. “It’s enough. Pinkie, please, you don’t have to—”

“I ate them,” she hissed. “I ate my p-parents. Not because I needed to, but because the v-visions…” Tears. She hadn’t thought she’d had any left. She pressed her forehead to the floorboards, sniveling and choking and trying to make her intestines stop wriggling. “I was in so much pain. I just wanted out, to get away, to not be a monster anymore. Granny wouldn’t let me out, no matter how much I screamed. She kept apologizing and t-telling me stories and saying she’d fix it and I started to hate her so much!” She gagged even as her throat constricted.

Her breathing became ragged. All the numbness and cold from before was gone, replaced by the searing memories of agony and the stench of rotting flesh. Her throat burned. Soon her lungs joined the chorus of pain, and Pinkie realized she couldn’t breathe.

“Pinkie? Pinkie!”

Fine’s voice was nearly overpowered by the ringing in her ears. Ringing, and a familiar old voice.

It’s okay, Pinkamena.

The pain is good.

Pain means you’re getting better.

Bad fillies can’t come out.

You’ll come out if you learn to be a good filly again.

“Pinkie, breathe!”

You want to be a good filly, don’t you?

Clouds filled her vision. The world shifted.

You’re a bad filly, but you can be good again.

You just have to hurt a whole lot.

Granny Pie knows, Pinkamena.

Bright light. “Come on, Pinkie. Look at me. Breathe!”

Granny Pie knows.

Air burst into Pinkie’s lungs, and with it her living nightmare exploded. The voice echoed in her ears again and again, gradually fading as she lay panting on her back, staring at a cloudy blue sky through a forest canopy.

Fine’s wide-eyed face popped into her view. “Oh, thank Celestia, Luna, and Cadance. Are you okay?”

Unable to answer for the pain in her lungs, Pinkie merely stared at the sky. Fine busied himself checking her over, but she hardly noticed. Her eyes stung from the tears. The sheer relief of being out of that house was impossible to describe, but it did little to bring her cheer. Only one thing was running through her head, and when she finally felt like her lungs wouldn’t collapse from the effort, she asked, “Why do we exist?”

Fine, seeming satisfied that she wasn’t going to die on him, sat by her head and looked down on her. “I… I’m not sure what you mean.”

Her eyes met his. He appeared so small. “Why do we become Bloodmanes? What made me into… into that?”

---

Fine stared at her. She stared right back, her eyes dull and joyless. He had witnessed many expressions in the past two weeks, but this was the one that least belonged on her face. She lay limp on the ground, her straightened mane splayed out among the dirt and rocks. Even her coat had lost its luster. He hated this look. Hated it more than he could describe. Not knowing what to do about it only made him feel worse.

Her question was an obvious one. So obvious he had to wonder why she hadn’t asked before. At one time in his life it had consumed his every waking moment. Perhaps it had for her as well. He settled down beside her, turning his gaze along the path towards the farmhouse. His teleport had been fast and sloppy, but it had done the job.

“There is no established reason for Bloodmanes, Pinkie. They’re so rare that the two of us meeting at all is something of a minor miracle, so studying them is not easy. But… there are theories. The standing one is that it’s a combination of genetics and circumstance.” And, with the story she’d just shared, it was entirely possible Pinkie had inherited hers from her Granny Pie. It made him wonder who in his family tree had had it before him. “Genetics is obvious, I suppose. Then something to do with a great trauma.”

“T-trauma?” Pinkie’s voice held an edge of alarm.

“Yes, trauma. Assuming the theory is accurate, I’ve always been of the belief that witnessing my mother’s death in the ocean was the cause for my Bloodmane. It didn’t manifest itself into the visions until many years later, so I can’t say for sure, but it seems the most likely candidate.” He looked over to see her staring at the sky, her face slightly pale and her eyes wide. “Did something happen to you? Before the murders started?”

Gradually, as if even that effort required a will of iron, she shifted her eyes to meet his. Her Adam’s apple bobbed as she swallowed. She licked her lips. “I d-don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

He blinked, taken aback by her words. “But I thought…” He looked in the direction of the farmhouse, invisible beyond the trees. “What more is there to do? We’ve covered everypony in your family.”

Her eyes flicked in the same direction, then went back to the sky. “Y-yeah… every…” She curled slightly, as if finishing the phrase physically hurt her.

The implications were clear. Fine thought back to what she’d told him so far. Surprise the pegasus, Maud and Limestone, the parents. Understanding struck. “What happened to Granny Pie?”

Pinkie shot him this funny look, like she didn’t understand what he was saying. Then her confusion cleared and she sighed. Rolling onto her stomach, she sat up properly and stared at her hooves. “She kept me trapped in that house for twelve weeks. Once she was sure I was… ‘normal’, she waited until I was asleep to clear the wood off the front door. Th-then she…” She shivered. “She killed herself. I f-found her the next morning in front of the house.”

“I… see.” Perhaps she felt like she was responsible for Pinkie’s problems. He should have known better than to think she had something to do with any presumed trauma beforehoof. “So what did you do then?”

Shaking her head, Pinkie stood and began to walk back towards Rockstead. “I didn’t understand that Granny had cured me. I was only seven, and I was afraid I’d kill anypony who came near me. S-so I just ran away. Didn’t pay any attention to where I was going, I just… went. I never came back, not until now.”

There was something more. There had to be. But gauging by Pinkie’s mood, pressing her for answers now would have been bad for her. So he caught up and the two made their way back to civilization, even as he tried to think of what was missing.

But Pinkie wasn’t finished speaking. “I was totally unprepared, y’know? Didn’t bring any food with me. Had no plan. I survived on grass, but I didn’t know what was good for me and what might be junk. Sometimes I’d go to a nearby town in search of ‘real’ food, but…” She bit her lip and turned her head away. “I wandered for two years. It was… I was miserable. Always hungry, always scared.”

Just like Sunflower. Fine could still recall finding the filly sleeping under a fallen sign in a park. To think of Pinkie in that same situation… hurt. “What made you decide to stay with the Cakes?”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. He could practically see the gears turning in her head. “I guess I just got tired of it all. I hadn’t hurt anypony in two years, and the nightmares weren’t as bad as they used to be. I didn’t know if I was better, but I didn’t want to live that life anymore. So I stopped at the first town I came across. I didn’t really know what I was going to do, but I knew that adult ponies used bits to buy things, so I needed to find a way to get them.”

Fine recalled a conversation with Mrs. Cake a few months ago. Just a few months. It seemed like an eternity. “Mrs. Cake told me you came to them when the shop had only been open for a month.”

The glance she gave him was full of questions, but she pressed on before he could offer any answers. “Yeah. I was drawn to the smell. What foal isn’t? I begged them on my knees to give me a chance.” Her chuckle was feeble. “Guess it was low of me. What adult pony can say no to a dirty waif of a filly like that? I didn’t understand money or that they couldn’t afford me, but they took me in anyway.”

Fine nodded, smiling for her when she cast another glance his way. “I’m glad they did. But what did a nine-year-old do for work in a place like that?”

Pinkie shrugged. “Cleaning, little chores here and there. At first. I think Mr. and Mrs. Cake intended to send me to an orphanage at first. But on the third day I started helping the customers all on my own. It was a holiday, Hearts n’ Hooves, I think, and the place was packed. The Cakes couldn’t keep up, so I stepped in without them even asking. I couldn’t work the register, but I could be a waitress, and it was real easy. Sugarcube Corner made enough bits that day to pay all their bills for the next month, or so Mr. Cake told me once.”

“And that was when they decided to keep you around?” Fine asked knowingly.

She paused, rubbing her chin as she thought. “I don’t think so. I don’t think they ever really ‘decided’. But…” Her smile turned warm. “I remember how I knew I’d found a home. It was right after me and Applejack competed in a baking contest. She won first place, but I got second. It’s how we became friends. And that night… w-well…” Her cheeks gained a few extra shades of pink. Fine could only stare and let his knees get wobbly as she timidly rubbed her foreleg. “That was the first time Mrs. Cake… tucked me in. The next day they started homeschooling me. I never worried about having a home again after that night.”

Fine wanted to say something. Not being able to was frustrating. He wasn’t sure he understood. Well, he understood being homeless. But that sense of belonging? He had similar events in his life, but couldn’t believe they were the same.

“Fine? You okay?”

Oh, she was watching him. Her little frown stung. “Yeah. I’m fine. I m-mean, I’m okay.” He offered her a smile, knowing it wouldn’t fool her. “I’m glad you found a family.”

She studied him with concern, and every second of it made it harder for him not to start fidgeting. At last, she smiled, though it was a sad one. “Yeah. Me too.”

And with that, they started back on the road to Rockstead in silence.

---

The rest of the day went comparatively well. They visited with Sunflower for a while (again) and acted as a test audience for her latest planned act, then had dinner at Scilla’s. Cotton attended, but PJ had to miss out due to a large order. Pinkie had a blast with Scilla’s kids Queue and Cue while Fine and Cotton talked writing. Scilla and her husband Backstage whipped up a cabbage and carrot soup that Fine and Pinkie agreed was delicious. The night ended with Fine telling everyone a story about a young colt and his pet bird’s adventures after being abandoned on an island. Cotton and Pinkie recognized the story as one of his recently published works, The Adventures of Kit and Caboose. Only Pinkie knew it was semi-autobiographical. The foals loved it, regardless. It might have had something to do with how he left out all the more ‘adult’ parts.

They got back to the Rock Bottom Inn an hour after sundown. The place was alive with activity, and Pinkie couldn’t ‘not’ say hello to everypony in the place. Fine ordered some hot chocolate and watched as she exchanged pleasantries and entertained for a bit. She was all smiles and bouncing around the room like always, but Fine could see that she wasn’t into it. It was in her eyes. She kept glancing his way, and every time she did there was a peculiar something he couldn’t place in them.

Barely fifteen minutes into the night, Pinkie sidled up to Fine at the bar and whispered into his ear. “Meet me in your room in fifteen minutes.” She said it so quickly he might have missed it were he not used to it. He’d had no time to acknowledge her words before she disappeared upstairs.

She was gone all of ten seconds before Petri was waggling his eyebrows opposite him at the bar. “Well, well. Somepony’s getting lucky tonight.”

Fine slowly turned to stare at him, letting the words roll through his mind. “Seriously? That’s the first thing you jump to?”

Petri didn’t lose his smarmy, cocked grin. “Don’t give me that. She’s always in here at least an hour riling up the guests. Her eye’s been on you all night.”

With a sigh, Fine looked into his half-empty mug. “I don’t think we’re that far along yet.”

“You willing to put a wager on that?”

Something unpleasant burned through Fine’s body. Head still bowed, he sent the inn’s owner a narrow-eyed scowl and spoke with a voice like ice. “I don’t gamble. Gamblers lose.” It was only after Petri shrank back that he realized just what he’d done. Shaking off the fire within, he sat up straight. “I’m sorry. That… I don’t…” Groaning, he downed another quarter of his hot chocolate, then slammed it on the table. “I’m not good with this subject.”

Sarcasm dripped from Petri’s voice. “I gathered.” He ran off to take care of another customer, but wasn’t gone long. He silently offered to top off Fine’s drink, but he declined. “Any idea why it bothers you?”

What was he supposed to say to that? He couldn’t very well explain that the few times he’d been with a mare had only been as part of a cover during Archon missions. Or that he had no idea what to do in that kind of situation. Or that he didn’t want Pinkie to think him a pervert. Or that he wasn’t sure she was interested in sex. Or… There were a lot of ‘or’s. “I don’t know.”

Petri nodded as if preparing to impart some sage wisdom. “You’d best figure it out soon. I doubt Pinkie’s going to accept an ‘I don’t know’ when you get up there.” He’d make for a very poor sage.

“That’s not what’s happening.” Fine emptied the last of his mug to hide his doubt. “Good chocolate. G’night.” He set the mug aside and started for the stairs.

“It’s okay to be nervous, y’know.”

He paused, but stopped himself from looking back. Was he nervous? After a moment’s hesitation, he headed up without a word. His thoughts, however, were an entirely different matter. He suddenly felt out of breath. Damn it, Petri, now you’ve got me thinking about it. There was nothing to be done now but continue onwards. Pinkie surely wasn’t planning something like that. They’d barely started being ‘together’ in the traditional sense. He wasn’t even sure if he…

No, don’t be stubborn, Fine. He paused in the hallway and shook his head firmly. You like her. You clearly do. And she likes you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s ready to take that step.

And if she is?

That doesn’t mean I’m ready to take that step.

Am I?

But Pinkie is… Pinkie is what?

He stared at the dark, heart using his ribs as a drum set and tail flicking in agitation.

There’s no time to think on this. Pinkie is waiting.

You make it sound like something bad’s going to happen if we’re late.

Idiot! What if Pinkie’s… waiting for you?

She isn’t. Not like that.

How can you be sure?

I can because she’s not.

You’re denying the possibility because it scares you shitless.

He swallowed. Had the room gotten hot?

What the hay do I do?

No answer came. He suddenly wished he hadn’t had that mug of hot chocolate. Now his throat was dry, and no amount of gulping would fix it. The door to his room loomed just a few feet ahead. The world was silent. Maybe I could use the eavesdropping spell to—No! He cracked a hoof across his jaw. Hard. The pain helped to clear his mind. A little. Have to do this proper. No being an Archon tonight. Pinkie trusts me enough to be straight with me, and I will extend her the same courtesy.

This was enough to get him moving again. He tried to imagine it was with confidence, but he couldn’t ignore how his heart kept trying to climb into his throat. He raised his hoof for the handle. It isn’t that. And even if it is, I’ll— He stared at his shaking hoof.

What the hay do I do?

There was nothing left for it. He sent a prayer to Luna and opened the door.

The first thing he noticed was Pinkie’s gasp, a quiet sound of alarm. Instinct hurried him forward to see what had startled her. She stood by the bed, her suitcase opened and one leg folded to her chest. Their eyes met, and he saw… fear. Was something wrong? Was she hurt? He started to—

The dress was the pale blue of the noontime sky. White lace and frills decorated a shoulderless top with small decorative sleeves. Pink bows and a ribbon matching Pinkie’s straightened mane accented the dress. The skirt, accented by a pink, pleated underlining, fanned out from Pinkie’s hips like a blooming flower. Last but certainly not least was a thin pink collar with a bow and tiny bell. The ensemble fit snugly about the young mare’s small build, giving her a fragile appearance. Her meek posture only further promoted that image, and it all came together to stir something within Fine that he’d only felt a couple times in his entire life, both when around this particular mare.

She was lovely. She was radiant.

And yet…

Tears welled in Pinkie’s eyes. “I t-told Rarity it was stupid. I told her. Oh, why did I even bother?”

Fine blinked, his idling mind crashing back to reality as he took in her distraught face. “Pinkie, that dress is—”

“Don’t.” She turned away, covering her face behind her leg. Her stuttered breathing ripped at his heart. “Don’t lie to me. I know I’m not pretty. I’m sorry I p-put you in this situation at all.”

“Not—?” He took a step closer. “Pinkie, you’re the definition of loveliness. I can’t even—”

“I said don’t!” She thrust her hoof at him without turning to look. “I’m not pretty and you don’t need to try and make me feel better about it!”

Fine stared, listening as she fought against tears. His mind flew through a thousand plotlines before he repressed the urge to groan. “This is the part of the romance where the couple get into a series of misunderstandings and fail to talk out one another’s feelings, letting the whole scenario blow up into some overemotional climax that makes them think the relationship’s over when they’re really just being idiots.”

Pinkie’s ears perked and the sniffles stopped. With head low, she glanced around her legs at him. “What?”

He stomped and held his head high. “You are not an idiot, Pinkie Pie, and I will fight anypony who dares to say otherwise. And since you’re not stupid, I trust you to know that when I swear to the combined Princesses and perform a Pinkie Promise to the effect that you’re the prettiest mare that ever crossed my path, I mean it. So: cross my—”

“No!” She was in his face in an instant, her leg blocking his hoof from making the motions. “Y-you can’t promise something that isn’t true. That’s like breaking a Pinkie Promise before you even promise it!”

He narrowed his eyes. “And you’re going to stop me?”

Her eyes watered anew as she shoved his hoof down a second time. “Yes! Nopony breaks a Pinkie Promise, Fine. Nopony!”

“Do you really think I’d break a Pinkie Promise?” He stepped back. “Cross my—”

“You can’t!” She grabbed his hoof in both of hers with a grip only an earth pony could possess.

He merely switched to his other hoof. “—heart and hope—”

“Fine, no!” She blocked the motions, easily swatting both hooves down.

She couldn’t stop his recitation, however. “—to fly, stick a cupcake—”

Eyes wide, pupils small, tears streaking her cheeks, Pinkie did the one thing he couldn’t hope to escape: she leapt forward and kissed him on the lips. The act jolted through his brain and ended any thought of finishing the promise. As her legs wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace, his mind slid into a jumble of nonsense until finally settling on one bizarre conclusion: She even tastes like strawberries. Then he wrapped his arms around her and kissed back.

It wasn’t a wild act, but it retained all the passion a first kiss warranted. For a seeming eternity, he melted in the feel of her lips playing over his own, the cool cotton of her dress against his skin, and the soft silk of her mane over his hooves. The one time he finally managed to get a thought in, it was a mystified realization that romance stories just couldn’t capture what this was like. A million firecrackers going off in his skull? The sun going nova in his heart? The universes colliding in a chaotic symphony of apocalyptic bliss? Paltry words compared to the sensation of this merging of mortal shells.

Now Fine faced Elysium, and he knew he’d spend the rest of his life struggling to describe it in words.

And then it was over. The haze remained even as the world grew cold, and he slowly came to realize that that precious other half that he’d never known he needed was missing all over again. As his high began to crash, a ghost of a whisper shattered the last of his euphoria.

“Don’t lie to me.”

By the time Fine realized what was happening, Pinkie was gone, the door closing quietly behind her. Slowly, he turned to stare at it. The fog of his mind began to lift, and it finally dawned upon him that his ploy had somehow failed.

Perhaps he should have felt sad. Or guilty. Or even angry. That’d be easier if he could stop smiling. He reached up to touch his lips. The faint flavor of strawberry lingered, a tantalizing ghost. He wanted more. He needed more. But Pinkie…

Pinkie.

He hurried to the wall adjoining their rooms and cast his eavesdropping spell. Sobs reached his ears, muffled even through his magic. Cutting the spell off, he began to pace. She hadn’t run far, and she’d likely stay in her room for the rest of the night. Would she try to run away, perhaps back to Ponyville? Considering how much stress she was under, it was plausible. He couldn’t let her go, not until he helped her to understand. Understand…

His pacing ceased. He didn’t have to close his eyes to see her in that dress. Rarity – for whom else could have made it? – had done an astounding job. And Pinkie thought she wasn’t pretty. Which was patently absurd. He couldn’t permit her to have such a low opinion of herself, but she wouldn’t believe him if he just said so. Tonight proved that. And there was so much more. He hadn’t seen it earlier, hadn’t understood, but the more he considered Pinkie the more he realized…

Her independence.

Her dependence.

Her energy.

Her lethargy.

Her infectious laughter.

Her pained whimper.

Her lyrical skill.

Her physical grace.

Her confidence.

Her temerity.

Her spontaneity.

Her predictability.

Her everything.

He wanted her everything. Why did it take a kiss to make him see that? And how could he possibly explain it to her? But he needed to. Electricity ran through his every hair with a fierce eagerness to share this discovery. She wouldn’t listen now, but soon. It had to be soon! How? How how how? His prose wasn’t good enough. He needed more. He needed something she would hear. Something that Pinkie couldn’t ignore or deny or dodge! He needed…

His eyes landed on the small end table where he’d stored his scrolls and papers. His breath caught in his throat. It was stupid. It was ridiculous. It was desperate.

It was perfect.

Grinning like a mad pony, he pulled out his ink and quill and set to work. His heart wanted to sing. It only needed the lyrics.

Author's Note:

For all those wondering, Pinkie’s dress was inspired by this.

Comments

[Crimson Dawn]

Go get her tiger.

[Thought Prism]

Well, I'm on the edge of my seat.

[mustangdrew4]

I like how fine realized what was happening because of his literary background as an author. It really stuck out to me, ya know?

[BirdsBooksBrownies]

I might call Pinkie an idiot, but only ever in a friendly nudge in the ribs teasing manner.

She might not be a Twilight by any stretch of the imagination, but she's incredibly observant and has as Rarity noticed a surprising business acumen.

With that being said, wherever did she get the idea that she wasn't pretty? Lemme atem, I'll join Fine in "correcting" their misconceptions.