Pinkie has just given birth to three foals named Whiskey, Tango, and Foxtrot. She has no money, no job, no support, and no idea what she's doing. But still, she's determined to make it work.
It was a strange day for all of us when Pinkie Pie left Ponyville.
It was stranger still when she came back.
Pinkie gives birth to three little foals she names Whiskey, Tango, and Foxtrot. She has no money, no job, no support, and no idea what she's doing.
But she's determined to make it work. Because that's just what a good mama does.
It was a strange day for all of us when Pinkie Pie left Ponyville.
She left for good reason, of course—she was going to Canterlot for an extended dessert-making competition as a representative of Sugarcube Corner, and, to some extent, of all of us—of every citizen here in Ponyville. But it was still strange knowing that she, the one who wanted nothing more than to see all of us smile, was going to leave be leaving us for a week. Maybe longer. We saw her off at the train station, sending her with our best hopes and wishes, and we waved until the train pulled out of sight.
She won the first round, of course; by the time she’d won the second, and the third, and the fourth, we were so happy for her that we hardly noticed she’d been already been gone several weeks.
When Pinkie finally won the whole thing, we waited eagerly for her return. Every new whistle of the train was a new occasion for hope. But, every time, we were disappointed: for all our hoping, she never arrived.
It didn’t take long for us to start asking the Cakes when Pinkie would be coming back. They were as confused as the rest of us: they had expected her a few days before we had, in fact. Though, they added, it would be like her to suddenly turn a business trip into a vacation.
Soon, we started to get worried. We sent letters to the hotel she was staying at, but none of them came back—except for those marked “Recipient Moved.” One or two of us even considered writing the police, or even the Princesses, to make sure she was okay.
But, before we could, Rarity came back to Ponyville. She had moved to Canterlot a while ago, not long after opening her boutique there, and was just in town to check on things—but, while she was here, she mentioned, almost offhandedly, that she had met Pinkie Pie.
“Met?”
Yes, she said with a little sigh, “met” was the right word: she’d run into her one day, purely by accident, out in the streets. Rarity was so surprised she barely knew what to say; they chatted for just a moment, but, before she could ask Pinkie what she was doing in Canterlot, how long she would be staying, or any of the important details like that, Pinkie had bounced away. She seemed healthy and happy enough, Rarity said—but, beyond that, she had nothing to add.
And so, though we were worried, we contented ourselves with the knowledge that Pinkie was, apparently, okay—regardless of the reason she had decided to stay away.
Soon, weeks turned to months, and spring turned to summer, and, almost before we knew it, half a year had passed. Suddenly, the Cakes received a letter: Pinkie Pie was coming back to Ponyville! We were ecstatic—we had missed her so, and it would be so great to have her back again.
We pulled together a little welcome-home party for her. Nothing big; just a little banner, some punch, and some cookies. It wasn’t much—we didn’t have her to help out, after all—but it was something, and we were sure she’d appreciate it. We were all waiting for her when the train pulled up, all of us so excited to see her again, after so long. A few of us almost rushed the train as soon as it stopped, in fact.
After a moment, the compartment door slid open. Pinkie, holding her suitcase in her teeth, poked her head out. Her eyes were bright and shining, though her smile was strained. We saw her, and started to cheer: here was our pink party pony, back once again!
She smiled and waved a little, and stepped off the train. As she stepped into the light, our smiles froze. And we knew, suddenly, that everything in Ponyville was soon going to be very, very different.
Twilight Sparkle sat in the hospital waiting room, flipping idly through an eight-month-old issue of Popular Magic, her daughter Aurora asleep on her lap. On one side of her sat her husband, Flash Sentry, tapping his hoof nervously in that way he always did, and, on her other side sat Shining Armor, leaned back in his chair, a cap pulled low over his eyes.
After a moment, Flash leaned over to her. “Shouldn’t she be done by now?” he whispered. “I mean, when it was you and Rory, we didn’t have to wait nearly this long…”
Both of them looked up at him as he sat up a little and lifted the hat. “I mean, when Cadance had Flurry Heart,” he continued, “she came so quick, we barely made it to the hospital--but, when Skyla came…” he chuckled. “Well, seems she wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.”
Twilight nodded at Flash. “See?” she said. She turned back to Shiny. “Thanks for coming, by the way,” she said.
He shrugged. “Oh, you know—Cadance always loves being here for the birth... Watching mother and foal see each other for the first time is probably her favorite thing in the world. Purest form of love there is," he said with a faint sigh. "This isn’t the first time I’ve been in the waiting room for this long. And, it being Pinkie Pie, she had to be here.” His smile faltered a little. “Plus, y’know, without the daddy here to help…”
Twilight nodded. “I know,” she said, a note of sadness in her voice.
They sat in silence for a moment. Twilight was just about to turn back to her magazine, when the door swung open. The three of them looked up to see the doctor smiling back.
“All done,” he said.
Twilight smiled, took Aurora in one arm, and stood. “How is she?”
“Doing just fine,” he said with a sigh, as the two stallions stood to join her. “Healthy and happy—though tired, of course.”
Twilight nodded, then swallowed. “And, uh, the baby—what is it?”
The doctor smiled a little wider. “One of each,” he said brightly.
Shiny raised his eyebrows, Twilight smiled, and Flash’s eyes went wide.
“O-one of each?” Flash repeated. “So, twins? A boy and girl?”
The doctor hesitated. “No,” he said carefully, “One of each—unicorn, pegasus, and earth pony.”
All three of them froze.
“...are you serious?” Twilight asked.
The Doctor nodded. “Yep,” he said. “Doesn’t happen often—especially not all three like that—but it does happen.”
Twilight let out a long, slow breath, and Flash gulped audibly.
“...can we go on back?” Shiny asked.
“Sure,” the Doctor said, stepping aside.
Shiny nodded his thanks and took the lead. Twilight took a step or two to follow, but had to stop to smack Flash with her wing. He snapped to attention, then looked at her, eyes wide and staring.
It wasn’t hard to find Pinkie’s room—big shiny balloons spilled out the door into the hallway, forcing the nurses and doctors to walk around them. Shiny walked up, but hesitated on the threshold. He took a step back, then glanced back at Twilight. “Go on in,” he whispered to her with a nod.
Twilight handed Aurora to Flash, then ducked under the balloons and stepped inside. All was quiet, save for the soft beep of the heart monitor. Bright sunlight streamed through the window. Cadance sat in an armchair in the corner. She glanced up, sleepily, then nodded to the bed. Twilight turned, and her breath caught in her throat. After a moment of hesitation, she gingerly stepped forward.
There, in the sunlight on the bed, lay Pinkie Pie, in a blue hospital gown, her mane matted with sweat. She lay on her side, facing away from Twilight, curled partially around something. Twilight took another step forward, and Pinkie looked over her shoulder at her. She looked exhausted, but she smiled. “Hey, you,” she said.
Twilight smiled back. “Congratulations,” she said. “Triplets?”
Pinkie nodded happily. “Yep,” she said, then side-nodded at her. “Come on, meet the family.”
Twilight tiptoed closer, and gasped. In Pinkie’s arms lay three tiny foals—so much tinier, even, than Rory had been. First was a chocolate-brown pegasus, with the lightest fuzz of hot-pink mane; as Twilight watched, she stirred in her sleep, flexing the awkward, naked arms on her back that were waiting for her feathers to grow in. Next to her slept the earth pony, his coat the color of chocolate milk, save for his markings—four white socks that went halfway to his knees. His dark mane was already starting to curl, and he slept with a contented smile. And the unicorn—she was pink, just like her mother, with a soft brown mane. She snuggled a little deeper into Pinkie’s side and gave a little sigh that made Twilight’s heart absolutely melt.
Twilight heard steps behind her on the linoleum. She turned and saw a nurse, bearing a clipboard, and, following close behind, both Flash and Shiny. Twilight stepped back to let the nurse pass.
“Miss Pie?” she asked.
“Mmm?” Pinkie murmured, looking up.
“Sorry, just—need to get some paperwork done,” the nurse replied. She consulted Pinkie’s chart. “Mother: Pinkamena D. Pie…” she read to herself, jotting something down on her forms.
“Pink-A-M-E-N-A,” Cadance spelled for her.
The nurse nodded her thanks. “And, um… Father?”
Pinkie sat up and bit her lip.
Twilight pricked up her ears. Cadance looked up. Shiny leaned a little closer. And Flash simply looked back and forth between Pinkie and the nurse. Everyone waited breathlessly in the sudden, tense silence, for what Pinkie would say next.
Pinkie stared back at them in silence, then set her jaw. “No,” she said.
Everyone stared.
The nurse raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
Pinkie nodded. “The father’s… not involved,” she said firmly.
The nurse watched her for a moment, then made a little mark on her clipboard. “Fair enough,” she said.
The audience let out the breath it had been holding. If Pinkie heard, she ignored it, and the nurse was too busy checking boxes to notice.
After a moment, the nurse cleared her throat. “Now—the little ones—what are their names? Oldest first.”
Pinkie smiled wide. She leaned down and kissed the pegasus on the forehead. “She’s Waltz Martha...” then the earth pony, “...he’s Tango Gene...” and then the unicorn... “And she’s Foxtrot Anna Pie.”
At the names, Twilight smiled. She turned back to glance at Flash—and saw him with a strange expression on his face. She raised an eyebrow.
“Waltz, Tango, Foxtrot?” he whispered. He looked around, then leaned closer. “W…T… F…?” He mouthed carefully.
Twilight’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. Shiny hissed at both of them to be quiet, and Cadance just rolled her eyes.
The nurse jotted down a few more things, then nodded carefully. “All done, I think,” she said. She turned to the others. “Now,” she said, “Miss Pie could use some rest. So, if you please, Your Highnesses, gentlecolts…?”
Cadance sighed, then stood. She leaned over and kissed Pinkie on the cheek. “Congratulations, again,” she said with a smile. Pinkie looked up and beamed.
One by one, they filed out. The nurse stayed behind a little, to ask if she needed anything else—water, blankets, whatever—then said she’d be back soon with bassinets for the little ones.
She left, and closed the door behind her. When the door clicked shut, Pinkie looked down at her little foals and sighed happily. It had been long and hard, but, finally, they were here—her three little treasures. To be sure, she wasn’t expecting three, but hey—the more the merrier, right?
Pinkie bent down and kissed them each one more time, letting out a little squeal of excitement. She’d been waiting for this day for a long time—a long time. True, it hadn’t come just as she expected, but it was here—and so were they. She leaned back and sighed again. All four of them had the rest of their lives in front of them.
And, if she had anything to do with it, those lives were all gonna be super-duperaweso-mazing.
The bell at the front of the grocery store dinged, and in walked Twilight and Aurora. Pinkie froze and looked up at her, eyes wild.
Pinkie wore a baby carrier strapped across her back. Waltz hung on one side of her, Tango on the other, and Foxtrot in a sling on her chest. Mercifully, all three of them slept peacefully, despite their mother’s agitation. Pinkie herself had bags under her eyes, her cheeks had sunk in ever-so-slightly, and her mane, always a little wild, was tangled and knotted. The manager of the grocery store stood across the counter from her, his expression a mix of boredom and barely-contained impatience.
Pinkie stared at Twilight, wide-eyed, for a moment, then looked away. “...Forget it,” she muttered to the manager, then quickly walked towards the door, carefully avoiding Twilight’s gaze.
Twilight hesitated, then looked back to the manager—and saw that Pinkie had left behind an almost-empty cart. Twilight peered inside: a single can of baby formula, a too-small package of diapers, three or four jars of baby food, and two packets of instant noodles.
Twilight’s eyes widened. “Is that all?” she asked, glancing up at the manager.
He sighed. “Yep,” he said. “That’s all she gets. Normally.”
Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Normally?” she repeated.
He nodded. “When she has the money for it,” he said.
“When she—” Twilight swallowed. “Oh, sweet Celestia. How long has this been going on?”
He shrugged. “A few months.”
Twilight stared at him, eyes wide. “Come on, Rory,” she said quietly, “we’re leaving.” She turned and strode out the door with another ding.
Aurora trailed behind her. “But Mommy,” she whined, “I wanted a candy…”
“Later, Rory,” she replied. “Right now, somepony needs our help.”
Twilight stepped out of the shop and glanced around, but Pinkie had already vanished. She bit her lip, then walked down the road a little, watching carefully for any sign of pink.
As she passed the alley alongside the store, she paused; she thought she had heard somepony crying. She glanced down the alley and stared—there, among the bags of garbage, broken-down boxes, and discarded pallets, a little tuft of Pinkie’s unmistakable tail poked out from behind a dumpster.
“Aurora, stay here,” she said, then swallowed and started down the alley.
She found Pinkie seated, facing the wall, crying. She looked up as Twilight rounded the corner, then tried to clean herself up a little—which only made things worse.
“Pinkie,” Twilight said gently, “What’s wrong?”
She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and looked up at her, “Oh, nothing,” she said, with a smile that cracked at the edges. “Just… just being a mom, y’know?”
“No, it’s not nothing,” she said sternly. “Pinkie, what’s going on?”
Pinkie shook her head. “Nope!” she said, her voice quavering, “everything’s fine! Just… just gonna go home, and…”
“Pinkie.”
Pinkie fell silent, and her bottom lip began to tremble.
“Pinkie,” Twilight said slowly, “I know.”
Pinkie seemed to shrink a little. “You do?” she whimpered.
Twilight nodded. “The Cakes told me to keep an eye out for you. They’re worried.”
Pinkie sagged. “That explains it,” she muttered.
Twilight cocked her head. Pinkie glanced at her, then continued.
“Mrs. Cake makes me a little lunch whenever I work the counter for them,” she said. “And, lately…” She sighed. “Well, they’ve been a little bigger than normal.”
Twilight raised her eyebrows. “You noticed? She thought she was being subtle about it.”
Pinkie nodded. “Of course I did. It’s… it’s about the only regular meal I can count on,” she said, looking away.
Twilight swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “How… how long have you been going without?”
Pinkie glanced away. “…Two weeks,” she said.
“Two weeks?”
“It’s okay!” Pinkie said quickly. “I’m still nursing, so the kids are okay. But…” She looked away again. “But I'm not giving enough milk for them, and formula adds up quick… a-and doctor said they should be eating actual food by now… and three sets of diapers are already so much, especially on a part-time salary… and, well…” She smiled crookedly. “Ramen goes a long way, if you mix some veggies in.”
Twilight took a step forward. “Pinkie…” she breathed.
“I can do it!” she said, glaring back at Twilight. “I can do it,” she repeated. “I have to. I got us into this mess, and I can get us out.” She took a deep breath. “The… the Cakes have some old furniture I’m sure they’d sell me… a-and maybe I can get a second job, too...” She looked away, and her shoulders sagged.
“Pinkie,” Twilight said carefully, “you need help.”
“I can do it,” she snapped, standing up, eyes flashing. “Don’t say I can’t. It’s already hard enough, and I don’t need you making it harder.” She glared at Twilight—and, suddenly the fire went out of her eyes. She hung her head, then sat again. “This isn’t like babysitting,” she said quietly. “I can’t just—” she gestured vaguely. “—give them back at the end of the day. I need to make it work, because… b-because, if I can’t…” She fell silent, then sobbed, once.
Twilight swallowed past the lump in her throat, feeling the tears well in her eyes. She took another step forward, and pulled Pinkie Pie in for a hug. “You’re right,” she said. “You do need to make it work—but you don’t need to do it alone.”
Pinkie began to weep into Twilight’s shoulder, her body shaking with the sobs. Twilight closed her eyes, and started to rub Pinkie’s back slowly, gently. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “We all need a little help, sometimes…”
Pinkie sniffled, and Twilight magicked a little handkerchief out from her own bag. She wiped away the tears, then smiled at her. “Feel any better?” she asked.
“A little,” Pinkie admitted.
“Good.” Twilight slipped the handkerchief back into her bag. “First things first: let’s get you out of this... garbage. That’s just…”
“Gross,” Pinkie finished with a smile. “I know, but…” she shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Twilight shook her head gently, then helped Pinkie to her hooves. “There’s a lot that does,” she said. She turned and started to walk back towards the street, and Pinkie followed her. “Now, let’s talk about where you can get some help. Have you talked to your family?”
She shook her head. “They wouldn’t understand,” she said quietly.
Twilight bit her lip. She’d only met them once or twice, but… she had to admit, she agreed. She swallowed. “What about Maud? She sent you something for your baby shower, didn’t she?”
“Rocks,” Pinkie replied bitterly. She hesitated, then sagged a little more. “I mean… they were good rocks… there were some shiny ones, and some rough ones, and some smooth ones… good for little kids. As much as rocks can be, I guess…” she sighed. “But you can’t pay the bills with rocks. And she’s still a student… she has so many other things she needs to pay for, I-I couldn't…”
Twilight nodded. She opened her mouth—hesitated—then decided to press forward anyways. “Have you, um… considered contacting the father—?”
“No.”
Twilight stopped and turned to look at Pinkie, and was surprised to see the hard edge in her glare. “I’m sorry?” she asked.
Pinkie shook her head firmly. “That’s not an option,” she said.
Twilight waited for her to continue, but Pinkie had said her piece. Finally, Twilight swallowed. “Well, what about the Cakes?”
Pinkie thought, then shook her head. “Things are already tight,” she said. “I work the register, trust me. They do alright, but they have little ones of their own, and they don’t have a ton to spare.” She paused, then sniffled. “And they’ve already done so much… I mean, Mrs. Cake even lets me borrow her curling iron…”
Twilight glanced at her mane. Now that she mentioned it, it did look like whoever had curled it had done so with shaky hooves…
Curling iron…
Suddenly, Twilight’s eyes went wide. “Pinkie,” she gasped. “You’ve been curling your mane by hoof?”
Slowly, she nodded. “I-it hasn’t been curly for… for a couple months now,” she said slowly. “And… I don’t want anypony to… to have to worry about me...”
Twilight closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was quiet for a moment. Finally, she turned and walked away. Pinkie hesitated a moment, then followed close behind.
Suddenly, Twilight spoke. “Then, I guess you only have one other option,” she said.
Pinkie looked up at her, her gaze trembling.
“You’ve got us,” Twilight finished.
“Us?” Pinkie repeated, uncomprehending.
Twilight nodded. “Us. Your friends.” She chuckled a little. “After all, it’s a friend’s job to worry about you, isn’t it?”
Pinkie was silent. Twilight glanced back at her; she was walking with her head down.
“So, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said. “We’re going to walk back into that store, and we’re going to get some proper shopping done. You’re going to get the diapers you need, and the formula, and…”
“No,” Pinkie said—this time, almost plaintively.
Twilight raised an eyebrow. “I insist—”
“No, please,” Pinkie repeated. “You don’t have—”
“I don’t,” she said. “but I want to.”
By now, they had reached the road. Twilight sat down on the grass at the side of the store, her back against the red brick wall, and Aurora snuggled wordlessly up to her. Twilight patted a patch of grass beside her. Pinkie stared, sighed heavily, then sat as well.
Pinkie sighed and drooped her head. “Please don’t,” she said.
Twilight frowned. “Pinkie,” she said, “what’s wrong?”
Pinkie shook her head. “It… it’s not your responsibility,” she said, “It’s mine. And I don’t want to have to make you suffer, just because I—” She stopped suddenly, then swallowed. “Just because I made a mistake,” she finished quietly.
Twilight watched her carefully, then swallowed a lump in her throat. “No,” she said. “No, that’s not how this works. We’re friends. And friends help each other. Even when it’s hard.” She swallowed again. “Especially when it’s hard.”
Pinkie looked up at her from under her mane, but said nothing.
“Pinkie,” Twilight said, gently, “ever since I’ve known you, you’ve done your best to make everypony around you smile. Please,” she said, taking her by the hooves, “give me a chance to return the favor.”
A slow smile crept across Pinkie’s face, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She sniffled, then wiped it away. “Well,” she said, “when you put it that way…”
Twilight smiled, then stood and helped her to her hooves. “Come on,” she said, “let’s take care of you.”
Aurora stood and looked between them. “Does that mean I can get my candy now?”
Pinkie snorted. She smiled a little wider, then held a hoof to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Finally, she threw back her head and laughed—her first real, genuine laugh since she’d come back to Ponyville.
Twilight looked down at the piece of paper, then back up. This was the place, apparently… but it sure didn't look like it.
She stood in front of an old, empty storefront on the edge of town. The run-down picket fence and heart-shaped window in the door had an old-fashioned charm about them, but the weeds were thick in the yard, and many of the windows were still boarded up.
Twilight slipped the little piece of paper back into her bag. Pinkie had said this was her new place… and, if that was true, Twilight was right to be worried…
And then, as she looked again, she started to notice little touches of her—freshly planted wildflowers in the box under the window. Pink curtains in the upstairs window.... and, drifting out of the open front door, the unmistakable sound of her singing.
Twilight smiled, walked through the gate, and stepped inside—and immediately sneezed.
The air was thick with dust—and, in the center of it, stood Pinkie with a broom, sweeping and singing at the top of her voice: a jazzy old wartime ballad, sounded like. She wore a bright dustcloth covering her mane, which hung long and straight around her face.
Twilight watched her for a moment, then sneezed again. The dust lay thick, and, though Pinkie was working hard, she was only making the barest dent. Nevertheless, it was the happiest Twilight had seen her in a long time: as she watched, Pinkie slowly shifted from merely sweeping to actually dancing with the broom... and, yet, somehow still managing to clean. Just as she finished her song, she lowered the broom into a dip—then looked up and saw Twilight standing in the door.
“Twilight!” she squealed, dropping the broom. She ran over to her and wrapped her in a big, dusty hug. “So good to see you!”
Twilight gagged and hugged her back. “Good… to see… you…” she gasped.
Pinkie held her at arms’ length and smiled—before a sudden expression of panic swept across her face. She pawed at her long, straight mane, then began to awkwardly stuff it up under the dustcloth.
Twilight watched her for a moment. “Everything okay?” she asked carefully.
Pinkie half-nodded. “Things are… better,” she responded, just as carefully. “It still hasn’t started curling again, though.” She finished one side, and started on the other. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just planning on doing dirty work, a-and I wasn’t expecting company…”
Twilight smiled. “Please, don’t worry about it. I'm here to see you, not your mane.”
Pinkie smiled, and stopped fidgeting with her hair, leaving a single long strand hanging down by the side of her face. “How’d you find me, anyways?” she asked. “I haven’t told anyone I’ve moved yet.”
Twilight tried to dust herself off a little, making Pinkie grimace. “The Cakes told me,” she said. “They knew you'd moved, and I just wanted to check up on you. Make sure you’re doing okay.”
“We’re doing great!” Pinkie replied brightly. “Found this place for a song—and, well, it’s a bit of a fixer-upper, but, y’know…” she smiled. “Gives us something to look forward to.”
Twilight looked around nervously at the peeling paint and the creaky rafters. “That’s one way to put it…” she muttered. She cleared her throat, then said, a little louder, “Why this place, anyways?”
“Pinkie’s Pies,” Pinkie replied, without hesitation.
“Pardon?”
“Pinkie’s Pies,” she repeated. “Gonna make this a bakery. Sell some pies, maybe some bread, doughnuts, things like that—y’know, regular bakery stuff.” She smiled a little. “Maybe even rent out the place for parties or something."
Twilight raised an eyebrow. “That’s… really smart, actually. We don’t have a proper bakery in Ponyville.”
“Well,” Pinkie said carefully, “there is Sugarcube Corner—but they’re more of a cake shop than a bakery.” She started to nervously paw at her mane again. “I don’t want to have to compete with them,” she said. “They’re the best in the business, and…” she swallowed, her expression softening a little. “And they’ve been so good to us. I… I couldn’t do that to them.”
Pinkie remained pensive for a moment, then smiled and looked up. “Plus, like I said, I got this place cheap. Can’t complain about that.”
Twilight swallowed. “Where’d you get the money, any—”
“Oh,” Pinkie said, cutting her off, “Here and there. Buncha little loans. Don’t worry about it.”
Twilight hesitated. She knew Pinkie didn’t like discussing finances… but she could get in real trouble if she wasn’t careful…
Pinkie fidgeted a little. “Well, it was great to see you, Twilight,” she said, “but, if that’s all you needed… I have lots to do, still, and…”
Twilight widened her eyes. “Oh, no no no, I understand. I just wanted to bring something by. Just a little housewarming gift...”
She reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a lilac-colored gift bag. It really was nothing much: a few board books for the little ones, a flower vase to brighten things up, a few candy bars for everypony…
And, in the bottom of the bag, a check for a thousand bits.
Pinkie had gotten better at accepting charity, but she still didn’t like to admit that she actually needed it. So, they’d learned to be careful: Applejack dropped by with a couple jars of applesauce she was “just gonna throw away anyways,” Rarity asked if she could make the kids a set of jammies each, just to try out a new pattern, and, when Pinkie had a hard time feeding Gummy on top of everypony else, Fluttershy invited him over for a playdate, and then just… never brought him back (She’d felt guilty for a week or two—that is, until Pinkie brought by his heat lamp, and thanked her for the help). And Twilight—Twilight had learned to leave checks left in unobtrusive places. Places where Pinkie would very clearly find them, but not have to be seen actually taking them. And, it had apparently worked—she'd started cashing most of them, at least.
Pinkie glanced at the bag, and a flash of worry darted across her face. Twilight bit her lip—she probably already knew what was in the bag—but still, Pinkie smiled and took it. “Thanks so much,” she said gratefully.
Twilight smiled back. Pinkie walked over to the counter, brushed off a bit of dust and put the bag down. As she did, Twilight took another look around—at the thick dust, the cobwebs in every corner, the peeling paint, the broken, boarded windows—and sighed. “Pinkie—” she began.
Pinkie turned to back to face her. Twilight swallowed. What she wanted to do was ask her if she could help... and make her accept it. She was Pinkie, to be sure, but this was a little much, even for her. Renovating a home? Starting a business? Raising three toddlers? All at once? It was madness.
“Pinkie,” she repeated, “I—”
And then, a mighty crash from upstairs shook the rafters. Twilight looked up at the ceiling, eyes wide. Pinkie sighed. “Gotta love 'em,” she murmured, then sprinted for the stairs.
Twilight watched her go, then slowly walked to the fallen broom, picked it up, and started to sweep. It was madness, she thought to herself.
But, then again, madness was one of Pinkie Pie’s specialties.
The mid-morning sun streamed through the windows as the old, antique radio played another soulful old ballad. Pinkie listened for a while, then smiled, turned up the volume a little, and turned back to the task at hoof.
She stood by her big new mixer, almost as tall as she was, and proudly watched the dough swirl around in the deep, silver bowl. Well—new to her. The Cakes had needed an upgrade, and Pinkie had bought the old one off them. It wasn’t as nice as the newer, fancier models, but it worked, and it was hers. Plus, she’d been using this one for years; it was a little like meeting an old friend. She had only paid the down payment yesterday, but she was already thinking of how to decorate it. Would powder-pink, with some balloons stenciled on the side be too much…?
She smirked. Probably.
As she stared at the mixer, she felt a sudden pang of guilt. Though this mixer was big, in multiple senses of the word, she was going to miss hoof-making her product. It had been hard and slow, of course, but she had loved knowing that each cookie, each doughnut, each loaf of bread that she passed over the counter had been something special. Something unique. And, though this mixer might finally help her keep up with demand… well, she was still going to miss that special feeling.
Maybe she could start one of those Artisan lines that she’d been hearing about: fancy, hoof-crafted breads, with cinnamon and raisins, or rosemary and olive oil… or colored sugar and sprinkles…
She chuckled to herself, then turned back to the mixer.
As the soft music filled the air, and as Pinkie watched the dough go around, and around, and around, slowly, her eyes began to flutter closed. She dozed for a half-second, then jerked awake with a gasp. She yawned, then began to jog in place. Gotta keep the blood pumping. Gotta stay awake.
She had been right—she was making it work. But Twilight had been right, too—it was harder than she’d ever expected. With the little ones being so, well, little, on top of trying to run her own business…
Well, at least she’d finally figured out how she liked her coffee.
Pinkie stopped her jogging, and turned back to watching the dough. She blinked once or twice—long, slow blinks—then, slowly, her head began to droop.
Suddenly, she stood bolt upright, eyes wide. She’d felt it—a little tic, at the base of her tail—a small, insistent tug. And there it was again.
“Twitch-a-twitch,” she said aloud.
She switched the mixer off with a snap, then sprinted up the stairs.
She skidded to a halt in her own kitchen and stared, eyes wide. Three sets of eyes stared back at her.
She saw the kitchen, just as she had left it—child locks on all the cupboards, dirty dishes piled in the sink, half of a loaf of bread under glass—but with one, important exception: one of the wooden chairs from the table now stood by the refrigerator. And, on top of that chair, stood Waltzie; and, on Waltzie’s shoulders, stood Tango; and, on Tango’s shoulders, stood Foxie, one arm outstretched towards the cookie jar balanced on top of the refrigerator.
Pinkie and the kids stared at each other in silence for another moment before Pinkie leapt into action. “Get down from there!” she shrieked, rushing towards them. She grabbed Foxtrot off the top and set her down; almost as soon as she touched the ground, Foxie ran and hid behind her legs. Next was Tango; he came willingly, looking strangely pleased with himself. Finally, she grabbed Waltz, who groaned as Pinkie lifted her. She was only three, but Pinkie was still surprised at just how muscled she was for her age; she was going to be a holy terror on the playground when she got old enough. When Pinkie set her down, Waltzie stormed out of the room—but, a moment later, peered back around the doorframe.
Pinkie pushed the chair back into place, then leaned heavily on it and sighed. Slowly, she knelt, then spread her arms wide. "Come here, you," she said, beckoning.
Foxie was first into her arms; she reached in and hugged her Mama tight. Tango sauntered over next, and even Waltzie slunk back into the room. She pulled the three of them close, and rocked back and forth a little.
"You guys," she whispered, finally, "you can't be doing that sort of thing, you know? If you fell, then you'd get hurt, and I'd be..." She swallowed, trying to keep the tears from coming. "I'd be really sad," she choked out, finally. "Can you promise not to scare me like that again?"
She felt the three of them nod against her, one by one. "Yes, Mama," Foxie volunteered for the three of them.
Even as Foxie said it, Pinkie felt her heart sink; she knew it was a lie. They would be having this same discussion by this time next week. They always did. They were good kids, somewhere deep down--and you couldn't really blame them for their age and all--but, more often than not, they almost seemed proud of running her ragged. Like that time last month where Foxie had distracted her by pretending to be hurt, while Waltzie and Tango had made off with a five-pound bag of sugar; she'd finally just had to lock them in their room and pray there was something left after the sugar rush wore off. Or that time she'd gone to the bathroom and come back to see they'd spilled an almost-full bin of flour, and were making flour angels on the floor, and having flour-fights with hoof-fulls of loose powder. Though part of her wanted to join in--she remembered all too well the joy of a little flour--her mommy-brain would only let her think of all the time and the money they'd just wasted. And, well--their attempt to scale the fridge hadn't been the first time they'd almost killed themselves this month...
Her Pinkie Sense helped out, of course, but it didn't kick in every single time--not to mention, it kept on throwing her new signals that she had to interpret on the fly (if the frog in her right-front hoof itched, did it mean Whiskey was about to try flying from the again? Or was that the one that meant Foxie had accidentally poked someone in the eye with her horn?). It had gotten to the point that any ping of the ol' Pinkie Sense sent her scrambling for the kids, often arriving just in the nick of time.
Pinkie grimaced. Thinking about her kids like that made her sound heartless and uncaring. She loved them, more than she had words for--but that love didn't make the day-to-day any easier. If only they weren't so hard on her all the time... if... if only if he was still around to help out--
She squeezed her eyes shut. No. Don't think about him like that. You know better, Pinkie...
Pinkie opened her eyes again. She looked down at the three little squirming bundles in her arms and forced a smile.
“If I give each of you a cookie, will you promise to be good?” she asked them.
Instantly, the three of them nodded. “Yes, Mama,” they said brightly, in unison.
Pinkie looked from one, to the other, to the other, and smiled. It was hard-- but those three silly little smiles...
Well. They made her remember why she tried so hard in the first place.
Pinkie let them go, then stood, reached up, and pulled down the cookie jar from the top of the refrigerator. She turned back around to see the three of them sitting in a row, smiling back up at her again. At the sight, a smile of her own flitted across her face.
She pulled the lid off the cookie jar, then gave one cookie to each of them. Waltzie took hers and immediately retreated to the corner. Her mane had grown in long, wavy and hot pink, and she tried to hide behind it, though she kept a careful eye on the rest of them. Waltzie, it seemed, had gotten a lot of Pinkie’s impulsiveness, but in all the wrong ways: it didn’t take much to make her mad, and, when she got out of sorts, she tended to stay that way for hours, if not days. She didn’t swing hard enough for her punches to really hurt, not yet, but Pinkie knew it was only a matter of time. She did so love to dance, though—even though she didn’t like to let anyone actually see…
Tango was next in line; he took his cookie with a “Thank you” and a satisfied little smirk. He trotted away, his dark, curly mane—curly, almost, as Pinkie’s used to be—bouncing as he did. He was smart, wicked smart; though he couldn’t read yet, he absolutely loved making Pinkie read the board books that Aunt Twilight still occasionally brought them, and he’d even started picking up the sounds the letters made. And, whenever the three of them got in trouble it was usually his idea. In fact, Pinkie realized with mixed irritation and pride, this had probably been his idea all along: to get her to get down the cookie jar herself.
“You little booger,” she said fondly under her breath.
Last was Foxtrot; she took her cookie in her mouth, then clambered up into her booster seat to eat it at the table. She was an odd one; she was shy, private, and proper, but could be quite the charmer when she wanted. More than once, Pinkie had just fallen apart for those big, green eyes of hers; thankfully, she hadn't realized her full potential yet. Her mane was short and brown, but she kept it back with a plastic hairband Pinkie had found somewhere on the cheap; she’d liked it so much, she'd even stolen the one Pinkie had bought for Waltzie. Of the three, Foxie was the closest to her Mama: she always liked to watch her work, though Pinkie had gotten fast enough with the bread that there wasn’t often much to see, and, whenever she had a quiet moment, Foxie would often as not appear from nowhere to snuggle up against her.
Pinkie let the three of them eat for a minute, then grabbed a cookie for herself and put the jar back on top of the fridge. “Come on, guys,” she said, “Mama’s got to get back to work.” She shooed the three of them out of the kitchen, and watched them scamper back down the hall to their shared bedroom. “And play nice, please!” she called after them.
“Oka-ay!” shouted Tango.
Pinkie took a bite of her cookie, then chewed thoughtfully as she walked back down to the bakery. She’d have to put a baby gate for the kitchen on the list… along with more baking trays, a bigger oven, a fresh tank of helium for all those balloons...
Rainbow Dash snorted into her soda, then coughed. “She did what?” she gasped.
“I know,” Rarity said to her. “I couldn’t believe it either, poor thing…”
“Poor thing?” Rainbow repeated. “Are you crazy—?”
“Rainbow, hush,” Fluttershy interjected, warningly. “You’ll wake up Merriweather.”
Rainbow glared at her, but closed her mouth. “I still don’t know what she’s thinking,” she muttered.
“No one does, dear,” Rarity assured her.
Twilight looked around the table and smiled. This was the first time in a long time that the six of them had managed to get together. Rainbow was so busy with her promotion in the Wonderbolts in Cloudsdale, and Rarity with her new boutique in Fillydelphia, that it was rare that either of them had a full weekend off—let alone at the same time. Twilight had managed to convince them both to come down to Ponyville, if only for lunch, and had invited the rest of the gang, too. Fluttershy had made it, though she had to bring newborn Merriweather with her. Applejack came too, sporting just the barest hint of a baby bump (her first; she tried to hide it, but Twilight had caught her more than once, when she thought no one was looking, absolutely beaming).
So much had changed in the past few years… they had all gotten busy—with work, with life, with weddings, with little ones—that they weren’t as close as they had once been. Though Twilight tried to make time for Fluttershy once or twice a month, Rarity was never home, and Rainbow so busy with the Wonderbolts—not to mention, Applejack had been away from home for so long—it was… hard.
And then, there was Pinkie Pie…
The bell over the doorjingled. “I’m here! I’m here!” Pinkie cried, jogging over and sliding into the seat beside Rarity. She gave Rarity a quick side-hug, then grabbed the menu in front of her. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, already scanning the menu. “Everyone already order?”
Twilight nodded. “Sorry,” she said.
“No, I’m sorry,” she replied, putting the menu down. “I had to take the little boogers over so the Cakes could watch them—and they were being especially rowdy today.” She sighed. “I just hope the Cakes can last the hour... I mean, Waltzie—”
Rarity jerked her head up from where she’d been cooing at little Merriweather. “Whiskey?” she said, horrified. “You named her Whiskey?”
Pinkie giggled. “No, silly,” she said, “Waltzie. Her name’s Waltz, but she's not a fan, so we call her Waltzie.”
“Oh.” Rarity said, squirming a little lower into her seat.
Pinkie chuckled again. “But,” she added, “I think she’d like Whiskey better, anyways. She's a little fireball, that one.”
Rarity flashed a weak smile.
Rainbow sat up a little straighter. “So, uh… Waltz is the pegasus, right? Who’s giving her flying lessons?”
Pinkie smiled. “Fluttershy, actually.”
Rainbow’s eyes went wide. “F-Fluttershy?” she sputtered.
Fluttershy smiled. “Well,” she said, adjusting Merriweather. “Not recently.”
“B-but—”
“Waltzie seems to like it,” Pinkie cut in. “She’s still too young to be real good at it, but she’s trying.”
“And I’ve been teaching Foxie to use her magic,” Twilight added.
“I tried to start a garden with Tango last month,” muttered Applejack, “but it didn’t take.”
Rarity frowned. “The garden?” she asked. “Or Tango?”
Applejack sighed. “Both.”
Pinkie winced. “By the way,” she said, “sorry again about that window.”
Applejack shook her head with a faint smile. “Don’t worry,” she said. “That poor old barn’s been through worse.”
Rarity raised an eyebrow. “So, they’re still giving you a hard time?”
Pinkie rolled her eyes. “Oh sweet Celestia, yes they are,” she said. “It’s what they were born for.” She threw out her chest a little. “But, of course, they’re up against the best prankster Ponyville has ever known—”
“So you’re getting what you deserve,” Rainbow cut in with a smile.
Pinkie giggled. “I guess so,” she said.
Just then, their waitress stepped up to their table. “Heya, Pinkie!” She beamed. “Long time, no see!”
Creamsicle nodded, then shrugged. “Eh, you know… senior year and all…”
Pinkie gaped. “You’re a senior already?”
Creamsicle nodded. “Mh-hm… crazy, huh?”
“Yeah,” she sighed.
Creamsicle dug in her apron for her pad of paper. "By the way," she said, "My folks still talk about that Hearth's Warming party that one time."
Pinkie smiled wide. "That was a ton of fun, wasn't it?"
Creamsicle nodded. "Do y'know when you'll be doing another one?"
Pinkie sighed. "I don't know," she said. "I mean, Hearthswarming's one of our busiest seasons..."
"I feel ya," Creamsicle said, finally surfacing with her pad. “So, what can I get you?” she asked.
“Let’s start with…” She glanced at the menu again. “Could I get, uh… an amarecano, with two ounces of cream, and a shot of hazelnut?” She scanned the menu again. “Then, uh… let’s do the dandelion sandwich, please, hold the mustard.”
Twilight opened her mouth to speak, but Pinkie shot a glance at her. "And separate checks, please," she cut in. Twilight sighed to herself.
“Sure thing!” Creamsicle made a note on her pad, then scampered off. Pinkie sighed, then leaned back in her seat.
Rarity raised an eyebrow. "Pinkie," she said, "did I hear that right? You don't do parties anymore?"
Pinkie shook her head. "Not as much, anyways. With the boogers, and the bakery, I don't have the time like I used to..."
"Though Aurora always loves when you host her birthdays," Twilight cut in quickly.
Pinkie nodded. "Me too. Birthdays are the best..."
Pinkie glanced over at Applejack and smiled. "Speaking of," she added, "How was your tour? I heard you had quite the adventure..."
Applejack giggled a little. "You could say that," she said. "Rara was fantastic, as always, and I kinda liked travellin' all over the place, seein' all those different ponies--" she smirked "--not to mention, the paycheck was nice... but..." She suddenly hesitated, then turned to look out the window. "I just wish I could be out there again... spendin' time with him." She sighed. "It was long, hard work, managin' all those ponies... but, havin' a shoulder to rest your head on at the end of the day... well, it made things a mite easier." She paused again, then glanced down at her swollen belly. "But, y'know," she shrugged, "all them concerts aren't good for a little one..." She swallowed, suddenly nervous. "...A-and I want to have my family around, for w-when it's time to... time to..." She swallowed again, then fell silent.
For a while, no one spoke. Finally, Pinkie sighed.
“You know, AJ,” Pinkie said quietly, making her glance over. “I’m happy for you. This is gonna be the hardest, scariest, time of your life…” she smiled. “And there’s nothing else in the world like it…”
Applejack hesitated. “Thank ya kindly,” she murmured, unsure how to respond.
Rainbow Dash looked back and forth between the two of them, then leaned forward. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” she said suddenly, “who’s the daddy?”
Applejack looked up eyes wide. “Who’s the daddy—?” She repeated. “How dare you. You know damn well—”
Rainbow shook her head. “No,” she said, “I wasn’t asking you—I was asking Pinkie.”
“Me?” Pinkie yelped, jerking back as if she’d been struck.
The table fell silent. Pinkie stared at Rainbow Dash, eyes wide; Rainbow glanced nervously around the group, her expression frozen. For a long moment, no one moved.
Suddenly, Pinkie chuckled. She leaned forward and rested her chin jauntily on a hoof. “Oh, come on, Dashie,” she said. “A lady doesn’t kiss and te-e-ell!” she sing-songed.
No one spoke. Pinkie said it with a smile, but she was trembling. Everyone at the table knew—despite the smile, despite the snark—that having to say that was killing her inside.
After a moment of silence, Twilight cleared her throat. “So, Rarity,” she said carefully, “How’s things in Fillydelphia?”
Her eyes grew wide. “O-oh!” she squeaked. “Fillydelphia—”
“Oh, yes,” Fluttershy said urgently. “Tell us about Fillydelphia.”
A chorus of Yes, pleases sounded from around the table.
Rarity sighed. “Well, there’s not much to tell…” she said, with a faint smile, “But, now that you ask…”
Twilight glanced at Pinkie. As everyone else listened to Rarity, Pinkie stayed frozen. Slowly, she took her arm off the table, then leaned back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath—and, when she opened them again, all was well. She forced a smile on her face, then turned to listen attentively to Rarity.
Twilight swallowed. Pinkie was good—very good—at what she did.
But Twilight could still see in her eye, no matter how deep she tried to bury it, a burning spark of nameless heartache.
Pinkie sighed heavily as she mounted the stairs. She blew a strand of wavy mane out of her face—it had been a valiant fight, but her curls were finally starting to fall. Ordinarily, she'd touch them up a bit, but the bakery was closed and the kids were asleep; no one was going to notice either way.
Pinkie walked past the door to the kids’ room—then paused, and walked back. She pushed the door open a little wider, poked her head inside, and watched them for a moment. Finally, she let out a happy little sigh.
The room was dark and quiet. The window was open to the late summer night, the sound of cricket song wafting in. The three little ones lay sprawled on the bed—her old bed, actually, turned sideways so all three could share it more-or-less comfortably.
The kids themselves were sprawled every which way, still sweaty, their blanket half-crumpled in a pile down by their hooves. They’d been especially rambunctious today, and almost driven Pinkie up the wall. Quite a feat, these days; any other circumstances, and she’d almost be proud of them.
But finally, they were asleep. Finally, she had a moment to herself, to take care of those things that she couldn’t do when they were awake.
And here she was, spending her time with them.
Pinkie tiptoed into the room and carefully rearranged them. She folded Whiskey’s wings closed (Pinkie smiled; she refused to be called anything else after Pinkie told her about Rarity’s mistake), brushed Tango’s mane out of his face, and straightened Foxie out so her neck wasn’t so kinked. Then, she covered them back up with the blanket, took another moment to smooth it out, and bent down and gave each of them a kiss.
Pinkie leaned back and watched them sleep—then had a thought and chuckled a little. She reached down and pushed Tango and Foxie apart, then slowly, carefully, laid down between them. After a moment, pulled the three of them in for a tight hug, then sighed contentedly.
Pinkie stayed quiet for a moment, looking up at the rafters above them, listening to the sound of her children breathing and to the cricket song outside.
“You know,” she said finally, to no one in particular, “this isn’t how I was expecting my life to go.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the crickets. “I’m not complaining,” she suddenly said to the darkness. “Just... “ she chuckled a little. “The three of you, about to go off to school… and me, by myself, doing my best to keep this family afloat…”
Pinkie shook her head. “I was just like all the other fillies growing up.” She paused. “Still kinda am, to be honest.” She swallowed. “I wanted a big, strong stallion to take care of me. I wanted to have a nice, big family, and we’d have fun, and games, and sing and dance and play all day. Life was going to be one big party,” she said with a sigh. “And, when I met your father, I thought it was all going to come true.”
She was quiet for a moment, remembering. “I met him in Canterlot,” she said. “Did I ever tell you that? I was there for a dessert competition… won first place and everything. The rounds were spaced a couple days apart, so I had a little time to play. I said ‘hi’ to some old friends, did the celebrity tours, and all that, and, when that got old, I went out dancing. That’s where I met your daddy, actually—one of the dance clubs. We must have danced for hours that first night—and just as long the second. He was such a dancer—he was so graceful, and he knew all the moves…” Pinkie blushed in the darkness. “And then, there were our private dances…”
She was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “For those first few months, we were happy. We worked hard all day, and every night was a party. We… we were even talking about getting married…” she paused, then sniffled. “And then we got into trouble.”
Pinkie was quiet for a moment. “That wasn’t the only thing, of course,” she said, finally. “Your father was… well, for everything he was, he wasn’t a good pony. I saw it, of course, but, I don’t know…” she shrugged. “When you’re in love like that, you overlook some things. And others, you think you can change.” She shook her head. “And, the funny thing is, somewhere deep down inside… I think I still love him." She hesitated. "Is that silly of me? After all that’s happened?”
No answer came, save for the singing of the crickets.
“After we got in trouble,” she said, finally, “I had a lot of growing up to do, fast. ‘Party Pony Pinkie’ was fun, but she couldn’t make for a good mama. I knew that already, but somehow, I thought… I thought I’d have a little more time...”
Pinkie was quiet for a long while.
“Whiskey, Foxtrot,” she said, her voice thick and trembling, “Don’t you dare get into trouble. And, if you do, don’t come crying to me—I still don’t know what the heck I’m doing half the time. And, Tango—if you get a mare in trouble, Celestia help me, I’ll skin you alive.”
She hesitated for the briefest instant, then sighed and closed her eyes. “No,” she said, “No, I don’t mean that… You three are the single best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s been hard—hardest thing I’ve ever done—but, knowing that your smiling little faces are always going to be there for me… well, it’s the only way I could’ve done it.”
Pinkie laid there, listening to the crickets for a while, then finally stood. She kissed each of them one more time. “I love you,” she said, “so much. Don’t ever forget that, okay?”
She walked from the room, paused on the threshold, and watched them sleep, a faint smile on her face. Finally, she stepped out, and closed the door.
As soon as the latch clicked shut, three sets of eyes snapped open. They listened hard for her hoofsteps—one two three four creeeeeak—good. She was going back downstairs.
Tango sat up first. “Did you hear?” he whispered excitedly. “She talked about Daddy!”
“Kinda,” Whiskey muttered. “Did she even say his name?”
Foxie shook her head. “I don’t think so…”
“But still,” Whiskey added, “Daddy liked to dance. Just like me!”
Foxie looked up shyly at her. “D’you think he liked to color, too?”
Whiskey scoffed. “Grownups don’t color, dummy.”
“I’m not a dummy!” Foxie whined.
“Oh, hush,” Whiskey said with an eye roll. She glanced over at Tango; he was looking thoughtful. “What are you thinkin’ ‘bout?” she asked suddenly, reaching out to muss his mane. He batted her hoof away, almost without looking.
“I dunno…” he said, carefully. “Mama told us about Daddy when she thought we were asleep… d’ya think…” he glanced around at them. “D'ya think if we’re good like that… that she might tell us… more?”
For a while, no one said anything. Then, Whiskey shrugged. “Dunno,” she said. “But maybe we can try?”
Foxie nodded, and Tango smiled and laid back.
They listened to the crickets outside for a moment.
“Um…” Foxie said, suddenly. “What do you think Mama meant by ‘trouble?’”
Whiskey shrugged again. “Dunno… maybe she got sent to her bedroom?”
Tango sniffed imperiously. “All I know is,” he said, “it has something to do with girls. And that means you really do have cooties.”
Whiskey snarled and slugged him, and he yelped. Whiskey pounced on top of him, but, quickly, their fight devolved into wrestling, with both of them giggling as they rolled around. Foxie shied away from them, pressing herself up against the headboard at her side. She watched them, eyes wide, then slipped out of the bed with a sigh. She tiptoed towards the door, and put a hoof on the knob.
“Hey,” Whiskey said, accusingly, looking up from the sloppy headlock she had Tango in, “Where are you going?”
“Potty,” she said, then opened the door and slipped out.
Foxie looked around the darkened hall and shivered. She paused, strained hard for a moment, then lit her horn, casting a pale green glow on everything in the hallway. She tiptoed to the top of the stairs, then started down into the bakery, careful to skip the creaky step.
As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she looked up. Below her was the bakery, with five or six tables for customers, chairs stacked carefully on top—and, at one of the tables, with a solitary light shining down on her, sat Pinkie. She wore thin reading glasses, and held a pencil crossways in her teeth, her brow creased with concentration and worry. Spread all across the table were stacks of forms and charts, and at her elbow, a steaming cup of coffee--brewed double-strong, as always.
Foxie put out her horn, then snuck the rest of the way down the steps and slipped under the little privacy chain across the stairs. She tiptoed through the darkened room, and up behind Pinkie. She hesitated, then clambered up into her lap.
Pinkie jumped in surprise, but quickly looked down and smiled. “Hey, boog,” she said, running a hoof through her mane. “What are you doing up?”
Foxie didn’t respond—instead, she wrapped her arms around Pinkie. “Mama,” she murmured, “I love you, too.”
Slowly, Pinkie smiled. She hugged her back, and squeezed tight. “Thanks,” she said.
And, as they held each other, a strand of Pinkie’s mane popped up into a curl with a quiet sproing.
