Letting yourself be vulnerable is hard. For some ponies, like Spitfire, you need another's tender, guiding hoof to show you that it's okay to have a moment of weakness. Even if you fall head-over-hooves along the way.
Appearance is everything, especially when you're a Wonderbolt. When you live your life in the spotlight, showing vulnerability will not do. There can be no cracks in your foundation, at least that's how it feels. But learning to bring those walls down can lead to surprising, wonderful revelations—even in the intensive care ward.
For some ponies, like Captain Spitfire, something needs to shake the foundations to bring the walls tumbling down. Then, with some help from the right pony, you can be led from the rubble.
Hospital room ceilings were always white—a specific shade of it that she had grown accustomed to. Not the kind of fluffy white that made a cloud on a midsummer afternoon look so inviting to lounge upon. No, hospital ceilings were a kind of off-white that made ponies’ skin crawl. The low hum of fluorescent lights, barely perceptible to a pegasus’ ears, and the starchy blankets pulled over her barrel confirmed it.
Spitfire was in a hospital.
She groaned. Already she could hear the Wonderbolts’ manager’s gruff, gravelly voice ringing in her ears. Or was that a concussion? Accidents happen to even the best athletes, there was no denying that, but that did not make them any less inconvenient when they happened in the middle of a tour. Nor did they soothe old Feather’s famous temper. Shows would have to be rescheduled, replacement fliers dug out from the reserves, and the press beaten back with a broom, if necessary.
Licking her dry lips, Spitfire blinked open her eyes, trying to clear the drug-induced fog from her mind. Only a few times in her career did she need the kind of anaesthetic to knock a pony out. The effect always left her feeling untethered from reality, as if she were floating somewhere above the clouds. With her thoughts muddled and her sense of orientation discombobulated, however, she would almost prefer to skip to the part where her team poked and prodded at their poor, bedridden captain.
Speaking of her team ...
Where is everypony? Spitfire lolled her head to the right. Sure enough, she was alone. Hers was the only bed in the small hospital room. The only other furniture she could see were a couple chairs by the bed and a nightstand within easy reach. The walls were painted a muted, calm blue only slightly more exciting than the ceiling. With the blinds shut, she could not see where she was or the time of day. For all she knew, it could have been the middle of the night with a smaller night-staff on duty.
“Hello?” she called, or tried to at least. The word came out more as a croak and she sputtered off into a small coughing fit. Ribbons of pain danced up and down her chest with each rush of breath, making her grit her teeth and wince.
Water.
She rolled her head over to the other side. The door to her room was shut but light seeped in under the crack and hooves trotted by on the other side. There, on her left, was a glass of water resting on a second nightstand. With nopony else in the room to help her, that left her with one option. She rolled over on her side, hoof reaching out for the glass.
Then, her vision went white—the blinding, reality-encompassing variety.
A strangled cry never made it past her lips as her back arched the second she put her weight on her wing. Fire, hotter than any she’d made in the air, lanced through her wing from the tip to its base as agony gripped her like a vice.
Somehow, she managed to roll onto her back in her convulsions and found herself staring up at the ceiling again. Her vision, blurred by tears, focused on counting how many tiles lined her ceiling, anything to try and distract herself from the pain.
As her head swam, awash in multiple levels of pain, the words of her old drill sergeant, Summer Breeze, floated to the surface. Check for injuries before trying to move after a crash, Cadet. Don’t go and make anything worse.
With heaving breaths, she closed her eyes. Once her breathing calmed and the pain receded from a wildfire to a more tolerable, stabbing sensation, she opened them again. Her gaze was unfocused as she stared at nothing and the ceiling in equal parts, feeling out every pinion of her wings to the ends of her hooves.
Judging by how each breath hurt, it was a safe bet that there was a cracked rib or two in there somewhere. She inhaled as deeply as her sides would allow and focused on the pain and where it came from. Her wing, for starters, but the thought of seeing her wing, twisted and mangled, sent her stomach into knots and made her feel lightheaded. How could it not be?
She would have to build up to that.
As she lifted her foreleg to rub her eyes, she noticed the bandages. They were stained a light pink, and wrapped around the length of her lower foreleg. Seeing as she could move it without too much discomfort, safe to say that wasn’t broken. At least one part of her wasn’t too badly mangled.
“Stitches, then,” she said to herself in a hoarse whisper. “I can deal with stitches.”
When she brought her hoof to her head, she felt the familiar fabric of gauze wrapped around her forehead.
“Stitches and probably a concussion. Okay, I’ve had worse.” She swallowed, her entire left side throbbing and making it harder and harder to not think about it. Taking a deep breath, she peeked down to her left at her beloved wing.
The wing itself was bound in a splint. From what she could remember from her sports medicine and athletic therapy training, it was done exceptionally well and with great care. Her golden feathers were straightened and wrapped carefully against her wing. The whole cast was bound to her side to prevent her from moving, flapping, or otherwise doing anything to cause her more pain than necessary. Unless, of course, she rolled over on it. No kind of cast could stop that kind of agony.
Cast.
Spitfire blinked, her breath catching in her throat. For a second, she forgot how to breathe as a knot tightened in her chest.
Broken. She had broken her wing.
Her head rolled back on her pillow and she ignored the building pressure against the back of her eyes as best she could. Her breaths came in ragged gasps and her hooves twisted the blanket. She closed her eyes and put a lid on her emotions before they could overwhelm her and send her into shock.
Her other wing twitched and fluttered. At least that one was still working. She breathed in, filling her lungs with as much air as they would allow, and exhaled. Several minutes of this passed before the shock started to ebb away, leaving her feeling tired, sore, and miserable. Though sleep tried to claim her, she cast her thoughts to her memories.
Hopefully, somepony would be in with more painkillers by the time she was done.
The first thing Spitfire remembered was the train. By all accounts, it was a beautiful day, perfect for their performance later that afternoon. Ponyville, though a growing town, was still usually below the Wonderbolts’ radar on their tours. On international tours, they skipped over it entirely. Ponies there were only a hop, skip, and a jump from Canterlot if they were jonesing for a fix of the best aerial acrobats around.
When they were requested to perform for Equestrian royalty’s birthdays, however, they tended to make exceptions.
As the Wonderbolt private train chugged along from Manehattan to Ponyville, Spitfire drummed her hooves on the windowsill. A thoughtful frown creased her reflection’s brow and her amber eyes fixed on the sky.
“Looks like it’ll be nice weather. Clear skies, warm, and I don’t even see that much of a breeze.”
“What did you expect? Gale force winds and a downpour?” The pony sitting across from her smirked. Her goldenrod feathers, the same shade as Spitfire’s, ruffled and she flicked her tail, a streak of smooth hair a bright fiery red, over her flank and cutie mark. “It’s a princess’ birthday, Spits. I bet Ponytown hasn’t seen weather this good in ages.”
“Ponyville,” Spitfire corrected, eyes flicking to the mare. Amusement danced behind her twin sister’s amethyst eyes. Though she never looked up from the book splayed open on the seat she lounged on, Spitfire felt as if she were being watched.
“Ponytown, Ponyville, whatever. A town where ponies live. They could have been a bit more creative when they named it.”
Spitfire smirked. “Maybe, but you really should know the name of the town that Princess Twilight Sparkle calls home. Not to mention the home of our best new recruit since you and I enlisted in the Academy. What would mom say about her perfect Blazey-wazey?”
Blaze grimaced at the mention of their mother’s foal name for her and Spitfire’s smirk grew to predatory levels. Oh, how she lived for the moments when she ruffled her sister’s feathers.
“I don’t know, Spitsy-witsy,” she countered, mouth twisting into a matching grin at Spitfire’s own flinch. “What would she say about the Captain teasing her big sister all willy nilly? Shouldn’t you be setting a good example for Rapid?”
“Careful, sis, or you’ll have volunteered for locker room duty for the next two weeks.”
“Teasing unbecoming of a pony in her position and threats of unfounded punishments?” Blaze clicked her tongue and shook her head solemnly. “What have the ‘Bolts come to? If only April Showers didn’t retire.”
Wrinkling her snout, Spitfire stuck her tongue out. “You’re one to talk, Miss ‘Nopony-will-walk-in-on-us-in-the-showers-Fleetfoot!’ But fine. No locker room duty, but that’s only because I’m such a nice sister and generous captain.”
“You know you love me.”
Spitfire snorted, but smiled as she propped her head up on her hoof and stared back out the window. “Yeah, whatever.” Silence fell between the two pegasi, but not an uncomfortable one. The trees rolled by in a green blur, thinning out before giving way to an open plain.
“You nervous about us performing for Princess Twilight?”
Spitfire’s primaries twitched. A stolen glance showed that Blaze’s eyes still had yet to leave her book. The page turned with a casual flick of her wing as she waited for a response.
A few seconds longer, and Spitfire gave it. Her voice, rough and worn by years of cheering into the winds tearing through her mane and shouting herself hoarse at blundering cadets, was controlled and neutral. Her captain’s voice. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you seem nervous.”
“What makes you say that?”
Plucking a light blue feather from its spot behind her ear—a gift from Fleetfoot, no doubt—Blaze marked her place and folded her book shut. Calculating, amethyst eyes that burned bright with a fire that seemed to run in the family met hers. “Because you are.”
Spitfire’s ear twitched and a scowl wrinkled her muzzle. “Am not.”
“Yes, you are.” Sitting up, Blaze rested her head on her hoof, mimicking Spitfire’s pose.
Snorting, Spitfire straightened and crossed her forelegs over her chest. “That a fact, Sergeant?”
“Aye, Captain.” Blaze’s eyes never left Spitfire’s as she followed and crossed her forelegs. The briefest of smirks flickered over her face. “Want to know how I know?”
Spitfire’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll humour you.”
“You’re in here with me,” Blaze said without any ceremony. “When, any other trip, you’d be out there with the rest of the team, chumming it up with Soarin and Rapid, playing cards with Wave, chatting with Fleet and Misty, something. Yet, here you are.” Uncrossing her hooves, she spread them wide. “So, you’re nervous. How on the nose am I?”
Well, they did always say sisters knew best. Folding her ears back, Spitfire bowed her head. “Dead on.”
“Thought so. Want to talk about it?”
Spitfire sighed and rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “Not much to talk about. This is our first time performing for Princess Twilight, and on her birthday no less.”
Blaze arched a brow. “That’s got you nervous? We’ve performed for Celestia how many times now? Come on, Spits, it’s old hat.”
“Nerves are healthy, B. They keep us sharp.” Exhaling, Spitfire’s ears flicked at the sound of clattering hooves, a muted crash, and a chorus of laughter. “I just want to make sure we give this one our all. I know we will,” she said, holding up a hoof to forestall any argument. “But still. Just needed some time to think. You’re good for that.”
Blaze rolled her eyes, though her smile was more warm than teasing. That was new. “Anytime you need to talk, give me a shout. I know how the rest of the team can be. They can be a hoofful, but you’re the right pony to get them in line.”
No sooner did she utter those words did the compartment door slide open, admitting an icy blue pegasus with a windswept white mane. Fleetfoot’s fuchsia eyes gleamed and lidded when they landed on Blaze and she shut the door behind her.
“Speaking of a hoofful,” Spitfire muttered as Fleetfoot sauntered over to Blaze’s side with an extra sway to her hips and fluff of her wings.
“Hey there, hot stuff,” Fleetfoot purred, greeting Blaze with a chaste kiss. Her lips slid up to plant another one on her cheek and then another as she trailed her way up to her ear. “Anypony ever tell you how good you look out of uniform?”
Blaze hummed in evident approval, nuzzling cheeks and stealing her own quick kiss. “There was this one rapscallion of a mare.”
“Oh yeah?” Fleetfoot gave a throaty chuckle and Spitfire gagged. “Anypony I might know?”
“Maybe. She has these gorgeous wings, strong and powerful and soft as a cloud. She takes such good care of them,” Blaze said, lightly running the tips of her primaries down the side of Fleetfoot’s wing. It trembled and threatened to unfurl in response. “She was also so determined to convince me how good I look out of uniform that she made it her business to tear it off me one day.”
“She sounds like a keeper to me. Maybe you ought to show her you think she’s sexy, too.”
Blaze laughed a soft, heated laugh. “Maybe I should.”
They leaned in to close the distance and Spitfire averted her eyes. Tail flicking, she pretended to not notice them kissing only a few feet away. Some things ponies weren’t meant to see. One’s best friend and twin sister necking topped that list.
Unfortunately for Spitfire, it was something she was privy to much more often than she would like.
“Mmph,” Blaze groaned into the kiss, mustering the decency to push her girlfriend away enough to part their lips. The stare she fixed Fleetfoot with was enough to make the latter swish her tail and fluff her feathers. “Somepony’s feeling a little frisky.” She licked her lips and Spitfire’s eye twitched. So much for decency. “You know how I feel about frisky mares.”
“Maybe a backrub will calm this frisky mare down.” Unfurling her wings, Fleetfoot nuzzled down Blaze’s neck as she slid over with her back to the older twin. “My back has been so tense lately.”
Spitfire had to wonder if Fleetfoot really was ignorant to her presence as she cupped Blaze’s cheek and pulled her in for another brief kiss.
“I don’t know,” Blaze said, her voice low and husky as her hooves wandered over the base of Fleetfoot’s wings, lightly trailing up along her back, squeezing and kneading along the way. Gross. “Have you been good?”
Fleetfoot groaned and arched her back towards the touch. “Yes. So good. And I’ll return the favour!” Her wings fluttered fitfully. “I’ll do the thing with that spot between your wings that makes you—”
Okay, enough was enough. Spitfire cleared her throat, fixing both of them with her most devastating glare. Any recruit would cower and whimper with their wings drooped to the ground and their tails stuck between their legs. “Remember who’s in here with you, lovebirds. No funny business in front of your captain!”
Fleetfoot sighed as Blaze withdrew her hooves and only rolled her eyes at the stare. The both of them regarded her with mild annoyance that failed to hide matching gleams of mischief.
Celestia, these two were a match made specifically to torment me.
“Oh, hey, Cap,” Fleetfoot said with saccharine sweetness. “Didn’t see you there. Hope we didn’t make you too uncomfortable.” She leaned her head back into the silky embrace of Blaze’s tail. “Off duty, it’s hard for me to notice anything when Blaze is in the room. My bad.”
“And Fleetfoot is just so wonderfully distracting when she greets me with that delicious voice of hers.” Blaze’s wing tickled down Fleetfoot’s. “That, and you know how much I love to give backrubs.”
“The pair of you are disgusting.”
“Nah.” Blaze purred, taking Fleetfoot’s ear between her teeth and lightly nibbling. “We’re the hottest couple since Shining Armor and Princess Cadance. I bet the sex is better, too.”
A match made in Tartarus, just for me.
“One more push, just one, and you’ll both be flying so many laps you won’t have the energy to drag your feathery hides to the shower let alone enjoy each other’s company.”
Blaze relinquished Fleetfoot’s ear. The younger mare whined before frowning and crossing her forelegs. “Party pooper.”
“I fail to see how my best friend and sister going at it in front of me counts as a party.” Spitfire narrowed her eyes to bright, blazing orange slits. “Besides, if the rest of the team can wait until we check into a hotel before getting ‘distracted,’ the two of you can, too.”
Humming, an unnervingly wry smile twisted Blaze’s lips. “Maybe,” she said, her tone light and fluffy. That was never a good sign. She brought her head down, level with Fleetfoot’s. “Or maybe my sweet, baby sister just needs to find herself a little mare to get ‘distracted’ with herself.”
Feathers bristling, Spitfire fought to keep her hackles down. “I get ‘distracted’ plenty. Even if I didn’t, keep your nose out of my sex life! Celestia knows I really don’t want to know anything about yours.”
Fleetfoot rubbed her cheek against Blaze’s. “Your loss.”
“Easy there, tiger. There’ll be time to set some records later.” Blaze spared a lidded smile for Fleetfoot before dropping it in favour of a more serious, schooled expression—one that somepony might almost expect from a Wonderbolt Sergeant. “And those cute little numbers you bring back to your room don’t count, Spits. I meant more what Fleet and I have.”
Spitfire resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “A teammate to shag every other hour?”
“A long-term distraction. I’m gonna sound like Mom, but you need to hear it. Maybe it’s about time you found yourself a nice mare to start settling down with. Somepony who can help you with these nerves and relieve the tension from your back.”
Fleetfoot’s grin was predatory. “And to shag every time we’re in town.”
This time, Spitfire didn’t bother trying to stop her eyes from rolling. “Right, because I have so much time for commitment. I don’t know if you two noticed, but I’ve got the best flight team in Equestria to run here.” She smirked, her tail flicking. “The fact that cats are easier to coordinate than you lot notwithstanding, I’m not built for the slow life.”
Tisking, Blaze shook her head. “You’re never going to find a nice mare with that attitude. Do you think I expected to end up with Fleetfoot here?” Her wing unfurled and lay over her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Everypony told me how dangerous it would be dating a teammate—yourself included—but I did it anyways.”
“Oh, save me the speech, B.”
“You should listen to your older sister, you know, and the wisdom she’s gained in her life.”
“Older by like four minutes!”
With her smile showing teeth, Blaze buffed her hoof against her chest. “And don’t you forget it, munchkin.”
Spitfire’s glare would have sent any other pony that dared cross her running as if the hounds of Tartarus were nipping at their tails. On Blaze, it had no effect, though her wing tightened over Fleetfoot as the mare's ears pinned back. Stupid, dumb sisters.
“If you’re so wise,” Spitfire said, “shouldn’t you be telling Rapid all of this?”
Blaze gasped, her eyes flying a little too wide and her mouth dropping a smidgen too low. “You mean our adorable, innocent, and forever guiltless baby brother? For shame, Spitty.”
“Innocent my left hoof. Have you seen some of the ponies he brings back to our apartment?”
“You should be setting a good example for little Rapidfire, then,” she continued, undeterred by Spitfire’s comment. Twisting her head around, she caught Fleetfoot’s lips with her own and cupped her cheek. “Like me. How long have we been going on for, hon?”
Fleetfoot hummed and leaned in for another kiss, this one longer and deeper. At the first sign of tongue, Spitfire dropped her gaze. “Who cares? I just want more.”
“That’s it,” Spitfire said, standing up with a derisive snort and flap of her wings. “I’m out of here before my sisterly feelings compromise my good captain’s senses and have you both on latrine duty for the next two months.”
With an eager smile, Fleetfoot crawled up onto the bench and guided Blaze down to her back. “Sounds good to me, Cap.” Laying down belly-to-belly with her girlfriend, she looped her hooves around that mane of fire and ground her hips. “Lock the door on your way out, will you? I’ll owe you one.”
The back of her throat burning with bile, Spitfire turned and stomped out of the compartment. “I hate both of you.”
The rest of the train ride was, to Spitfire’s memory, unremarkable.
By the time they reached Ponyville, she still could not bring herself out of her own head. One of the other Wonderbolts—Wave Chill—snapped a quick salute with his wing as Spitfire marched past, her tail snapping behind her. She spared him little more than a grunt.
“Find myself a mare,” Spitfire grumbled. Her wings twitched and ruffled as she tugged at her flight suit’s neckline. She stopped to peer over the cliff where they planned to launch from to start the show off properly: with a thundering roar as the entire team took wing to dazzle their audience. Down below, a sizeable crowd had gathered around the bleachers set up behind the castle, a rather magnificent backdrop for the show. The way the afternoon sun caught and reflected off of the crystal walls made the whole town seem to glow as brightly as any gem in Canterlot.
From her spot on the cliff, Spitfire could see that the mare of the hour—the birthday girl and Princess of Friendship herself—was already seated on an actual throne of birthday presents. With a party hat lopsidedly perched on her head, she smiled and laughed as she talked with her friends. Each of them was easily recognizable from the brief interactions Spitfire had with them over the past few years. Even if they weren’t, they were the spitting images of how Rainbow Dash described them.
“Oof!” Spitfire was dragged back to reality when a heavy, bulky, and teeth-grindingly familiar weight unceremoniously dropped on her back. Yellow feathers tickled her nose and hooves covered by the Wonderbolts uniform stretched out before draping over either one of her shoulders.
“‘Sup, sis,” Rapidfire said in his ever-cheery voice, sunny as his coat.
Spitfire sighed.
He squirmed about on her back, resting his chin right between her ears. “Anypony tell you that you’re not the most comfortable pillow around?”
“I hate you.”
He chuckled and ruffled her mane. “Love you, too. And, like, I mean the pillow thing in the best way possible. You’re no cloud, don’t get me wrong, but you’re better than—whoa!”
With a flare of her wings, toss of her mane, and buck of her hindlegs, Spitfire smirked as Rapidfire found himself flat on his back. His eyes rolled in their sockets and his primaries twitched. “Better than the ground? Hope you get used to it. Try that again, and I’ll mount your wings over my desk.”
He groaned and sat up on his elbows. A pout soured his expression. “Jerkface.”
“That’s ‘Captain’ to you, little brother.”
The pout disappeared in favour of a cat-like grin. “Captain Jerkface, then.”
“Ugh, why me?” Spitfire sat on her haunches, lifting a hoof to massage the bridge of her muzzle. Just gotta keep that migraine at bay for a little longer, Spits. Once they were all on the train for Baltimare, she could lock herself in her cabin and sleep the whole way there away from sisters with no sense of decency and annoying younger brothers.
“Because you’re just so lucky!” Rapidfire chirped, sitting up and patting his sister’s shoulder. Though he stood a good head taller than her, nopony could ever mistake the childish naivety that shone in his deep blue eyes. Many a night were whittled away, wondering if he would ever really grow up.
“Yeah, right.” She leveled Rapidfire with a glare. If anything, his smile broadened in response. “Why, oh why, did I ever agree to being captain when you and Blaze were on the squad? I must be some sort of masochist.”
“Nah.” Rapidfire’s eyes gleamed and his tail swished. “You just have terrible foresight.”
Spitfire’s brows flatlined. “Gee, thanks.”
“Like, really terrible. The worst.”
“If you say that’s why I haven’t been able to hold on to a mare, so help me you’ll spend the entire ride to Baltimare tied to the roof of the train.”
Rapidfire blinked, then comprehension dawned behind his eyes. Laughing, he waggled his eyebrows and leaned in to rub their shoulders together. “Aw, did Blaze get to you again? I know how her and Fleetfoot love to get under your skin.”
Spitfire bristled at the contact. “Rapid.”
“I swear, it’s a turn on for them! How weird is that, right? Maybe they ought to go see a therapist or something.”
Inhaling deeply through her nose, Spitfire bit her tongue in an effort to keep her temper in check. After a moment, she brought her hoof to her chest and exhaled, pushing her hoof and the building storm of thoughts clustering in her mind away.
Rapidfire, for his part, smiled brightly. His sun-streaked mane bobbed in the breeze.
Spitfire smiled and bumped his shoulder. “You’re lucky I really do love you, you cloud-for-brains colt.”
He wiggled his ears, wisely choosing not to spoil the moment.
The flapping of wings and rustling of grass drew both of their attention. Coming to a cantering stop a few steps away, Soarin stretched out his large wings, the envy of pegasi everywhere, and pushed his goggles to his forehead. “Spitfire, Rapid, you two ready?”
“Pieface!” Rapidfire cheered, abandoning Spitfire’s side to loop a foreleg around Soarin’s shoulder and noogie his mane. “Somepony’s looking ready to wow a crowd! You get that suit ironed for this one, big guy?” He prodded his chest. “Hey, you been working out?”
Enduring the assault, Soarin got his hooves on Rapidfire’s chest and pushed the younger stallion away, though he couldn’t keep the chuckle out of his voice. “For your information, it’s not everyday we perform for the newest Princess of Equestria. Some of us are looking to impress. And,” he said, flicking his wing at Rapid’s snout, “it’s Lieutenant Soarin to you, Private.”
Rapidfire crossed his eyes and wrinkled his nose. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. Wings half-unfurled, his left eye twitched before he reared his head back and sneezed so hard he fell to his haunches. “Well,” he said with a sniffle, “in that case, Private Rapidfire ready for flight duty Lieutenant Pieface and Captain Jerkface!”
Both Spitfire and Soarin groaned.
“Thank you, thank you,” Rapidfire preened. “I’ll be here all week.”
Green eyes met amber as Soarin dragged his hoof down his face. “Captain?”
“Yes, Soarin?”
“Permission to cuff the Private around the head?”
Rapidfire blinked. “Wha—hey!”
Spitfire hummed, considering it for a second. Then, with a devious smile, she nodded. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”
Gaping, Rapidfire backpedaled with his wings fluttering right into Soarin’s broad chest. Tall as he was, Soarin stood a few inches higher, which made all the difference as the younger stallion looked between the two of them. “Come on now, I was only—ow!”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Soarin.”
Soarin folded his wing with a satisfied smile. “My pleasure, Captain Spitfire.”
Rapidfire let out a low whine as he rubbed the back of his head. “That hurt.”
“Walk it off, you big baby,” Soarin chided, a teasing edge to his voice. “We’ve got a show to put on for the good ponies of Ponyville! Don’t tell me a little slap is going to put out our best long-distance flier?”
“Fine.” Rapidfire pouted. “But you’re buying me drinks after.”
“One drink. Maybe. If you behave and stop tormenting your big sister."
Spitfire smiled and nodded appreciatively. There was a reason Soarin was her oldest friend and lieutenant.
“Who slipped vinegar in your apple pie?” Rapidfire sulked. It only lasted for a second before his usual sunny smile washed over his features. “Ah, who am I kidding. I can’t stay mad at my Pieface! Let’s get this show on the rooooooad.”
As he made to stand up, Rapidfire’s legs wobbled beneath him and he stumbled forward a few steps. “Urk.” A pained look made him clench his eyes shut and curl a hoof around his stomach.
In an instant, the elder pegasi were at his side, steadying him as she wavered uncertainly. They shared a look and Spitfire lifted Rapidfire’s chin to meet her gaze while Soarin kept a strong hoof on his shoulder. “Rapid, what’s wrong?”
He was silent for a second, then he shook his head. “Ugh, nothing,” he said, curling and uncurling his wings as he shrugged off Soarin’s hoof. A second later, he smiled again. “Sorry for the scare, Spits. Think it was something in that sandwich I had last night. Don’t worry about it, though. Let me run to the little colt’s room and I’ll be right as rain.”
Spitfire’s gaze was piercing and refused to be disarmed by her little brother’s charm. “Are you sure? Look at me when you answer, Rapid. Unless you’re at one-hundred percent, I don’t want you flying. Got it?”
“Loud and clear, Spits.” He saluted, chest puffed out. “And I’m good, I swear. Just a moment of indigestion, that’s all.”
Sharing a look with Soarin, Spitfire resisted the urge to chew her lower lip. On the one hoof, if Rapidfire was bluffing and she let him fly, Blaze would never let her hear the end of it. Nothing happened to their baby brother without tempers flaring to the surface.
On the other, if she benched him and he was being honest, they would be down a flier for Princess Twilight’s birthday show. She met Soarin’s eyes, imploring. He shook his head and shrugged. In other words, her call.
“Promise me, Rapid. Promise me you’re really good, otherwise you’ll have to sit this one out. We’ll make do if you have to, just be honest.”
Rapidfire glanced away, sucking his lip between his teeth. Several long seconds passed as he shifted his weight from hoof to hoof. “Yes,” he said at length. “I promise, I’m good. Let’s fly.”
Nodding, Spitfire slipped her goggles over her eyes and, her Captain’s voice at the ready, said, “Then hop to it, Wonderbolts! This show isn’t going to perform itself!”
Soarin and Rapidfire saluted and said in unison, “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”
The soft sound of hooves clacking on the linoleum floor of her hospital room woke Spitfire from her doze. A low groan slid out past her lips as her groggy mind trudged back to reality. She smacked her lips, cracked open her eyes, heavy with sleep, and found herself staring back up at the white ceiling. It was just as unnerving as before.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” a mare’s voice said from somewhere off to her left. “Your teammates were starting to get worried and wouldn’t stop trying to sneak in until I promised to check up on you every few minutes.”
As Spitfire’s mind dragged itself to full wakefulness, the throbbing of her wing and other injuries served as a happy reminder of her condition. She sucked a breath in through her teeth and bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from hissing in pain. Whoever this mare was, she hoped she could administer more pain medication.
“How are you feeling?” the voice asked, smooth, gentle, and calming. Spitfire’s ears flicked as she kept on talking, latching onto anything that offered a distraction from her body. “I know it’s a silly question. You must be in a lot of pain, Captain, but I need you to tell me how much so I can help you.”
Spitfire opened her mouth but all that came out was a pained moan.
“I’ll administer some more pain medications,” she said, and Spitfire silently cheered as she heard hooves bustling through a medical kit. An earth pony or a pegasus, then. “Just hold tight for a minute or two, okay? It’s rather remarkable that you’re even awake now. Most ponies would be in even worse shape after the crash you had.”
Crash?
That’s right. Of course there was a crash. Why else would she be in the hospital? It must have happened during their show for Princess Twilight. Spitfire bit back a snort at that thought. Happy birthday, Princess.
She cast her thoughts back, delving once more into her memories. After her chat with Soarin and Rapidfire, all she could remember was the feeling of the wind beneath her wings and running through her mane. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as her team claimed the skies as their own, and then everything went white. And pain, there was definitely pain.
“Captain Spitfire?”
Sighing, Spitfire lolled her head to the right. Again, she opened her mouth, and this time a croaked word stumbled out. “Yeah?”
“I understand this must be a lot to take in. Your teammates are in the waiting room and they’ve been driving each other up the walls, especially your brother and sister. If you’d like, I can show Sergeant Blaze and Private Rapidfire in.” Spitfire’s ear flicked again. The concern and empathy in the mare’s voice sounded genuine. “I’m sure they would like that.”
Between Rapidfire’s constant joking and Blaze’s quiet judging and promise of future teasing, Spitfire wasn’t sure which she wanted less. Wasn’t one kind of torture enough?
At the same time, they were her family. With another sigh, she nodded. “Yeah, show ‘em in.”
“I would be happy to, but first I need to do a quick check-up on you. It will only take a few minutes.” The mare giggled, and Spitfire’s ear flicked for a third time. “I suppose I should also welcome you to Ponyville General, Captain.”
“Ponyville?” This time, Spitfire couldn’t stop the snort before it flew out. She rolled her head to the other side, facing her nurse. “Listen, I appreciate all you ponies have done for me, but—uhh ...”
Whatever else Spitfire wanted to say died on her tongue as her gaze met the nurse’s eyes. They didn’t linger there for too long, though, as she drank in the rest of her.
A soft, white coat that seemed to shine even in the hospital’s poor lighting lent itself nicely to the shapely curves and subtle musculature of her back and hips. A pink mane, done up in a little bob under a nurse’s cap caught her gaze for a second before it trailed down to the red cross with small hearts floating out from the top adorning either side of her flanks. Though it was rude to stare, she couldn't help watching them move in the most fascinating ways as the nurse shifted her weight.
“I suppose I should introduce myself, too,” the nurse said, drawing Spitfire’s eyes back to hers. They were the brightest and bluest she had ever seen. “Hello, Captain Spitfire. My name is Nurse Redheart.”
Spitfire continued to stare. She gawked, her mouth open and her eyes wide. “Whoa.”
Those stunning blue eyes shifted to the side and got closer. “Captain? Is everything alright?”
Blinking, Spitfire’s thoughts gelled back into something cohesive. She shut her jaw with a click and shook her head, an action she regretted as the pressure building behind her eyes erupted into a steady, painful throbbing. She brought her hooves up to her forehead, a more strenuous task than expected, and rubbed her forehead in small circles.
“Captain,” the nurse—Redheart—said with a little more urgency colouring her tone. Spitfire’s ears flicked again at its sound. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing.” Spitfire groaned. Her voice came out in a dry rasp and her throat tickled with each word. “Spaced out a little. Head hurts.” She swallowed against her dry throat. “Thirsty.”
A soft, strong hoof gently tilted her head forward, bringing her lips to the rim of a styrofoam cup. “Here, drink this. Slowly,” Redheart added as Spitfire felt the cool water trickle past her chapped lips. She swallowed the small mouthful, then another, and another. After a few swallows more, the cup was taken away and she reclined her head, exhaling in relief.
Nurse Redheart stood by her bedside through it all, a patient and kind smile on her face. When Spitfire looked her way, the smile grew. “Better?”
Giving a tired smile in response, she nodded. “Yeah, thanks. Nice to meet you, Redheart,” she said, her throat still sore but her voice smoother. Well, as smooth as it was going to get. “And sorry for, um, staring. Not the best introduction.”
Tittering, Redheart trotted over to the end of the bed and picked up the chart hanging there. “Don’t worry, I won’t be bringing anything up to pony resources.” She winked and flipped through the chart. “I’m honestly surprised you’re as lucid as you are right now. Most ponies would be hardly as coherent, given what happened.”
A familiar smirk danced its way over Spitfire’s features, the same kind she saved for pretty mares loitering alone by a bar counter. “Maybe, but I’m not nine ponies out of ten.” She returned the wink. “I’m one of a kind.”
“I’m sure you must be. Why else would you be the captain of the Wonderbolts?” Redheart plucked the pen from the top of the clipboard and scribbled something on the chart. “You seem to be taking this all in stride. Not your first rodeo?”
Spitfire chuckled, then winced as hot fingerlings of pain curled up her chest. Cracked ribs. Laughing was going to hurt for a little while. “You could say that,” she said, letting her eyes droop into a lidded stare. “You could also say I’m used to giving a wild ride.”
“I’m not sure I want to see the kind of medical history a Wonderbolt veteran like yourself has.” Setting down her chart, Redheart flashed her another brief smile that made those pretty little eyes of hers shine before moving back to Spitfire’s bedside. “Though if it’s anything like Rainbow Dash’s, I think I have a pretty good idea.”
“That sounds like the rookie,” Spitfire said, trying and failing to stop her eyes from travelling down the earth pony’s frame. It was impossible not to with how her coat seemed to glow, inviting wandering gazes to take everything in from the softness of her face, to the smooth, velvet-like texture of her fur, to the little swishes of her pink tail that drew eyes to her red cross cutie mark. Those invited a different train of thought altogether, one that her mother would twist her ear for ever entertaining.
“To be perfectly honest, I’m the teensiest bit starstruck.” The shiest of smiles graced Redheart’s face as she checked Spitfire’s IV. Warm puffs of breath tickled her foreleg as the mare unwound the bandage to inspect the work. “I haven’t been to a Wonderbolt show in years. When I heard you were coming to Ponyville, I hoped I could take the time off of work to see you perform.” She sighed. “But, with the hospital being as understaffed as it is right now, that just wasn’t a possibility.”
In the darkest corners of her mind, a low and smoky voice whispered in her ear. I’m sure a private show could be arranged.
“That sucks,” Spitfire said, only half paying attention to what she said. The other half of her was trying desperately not to notice the subtle ways the muscles in Redheart’s flank moved as she worked. “We have another show coming up in Baltimare in a week and a bit.”
Another sigh, and Redheart straightened to check the IV bag. “I’d never get the time off on such short notice.”
The voice purred in her mind’s ear, and only after a second did Spitfire realize she had licked her lips. I bet I could get her of—
Shaking her head, Spitfire wrinkled her muzzle and dispelled such thoughts. Injured or not, she was a high-ranking officer in the Equestrian military, holder of multiple Academy records, and the youngest captain in Wonderbolt history. Behave.
“Yet here you are now! I guess dreams have a funny way of working out sometimes.” Redheart finished with her examination of the IV line and slowly began wrapping the bandage back up. As her hoof brushed Spitfire’s foreleg, she discovered it was indeed as soft as velvet. “Rainbow Dash speaks very highly of you, you know. I wish we got to meet under better circumstances.”
“Mmm,” Spitfire hummed, watching her work. Her hooves moved with a confidence only experience could bring, though that same experience didn’t deter her from glancing to the side to offer a reassuring smile and a glimpse at those sparkling eyes. Care, warmth, and calm shone from within.
The rest of her was really nothing to scoff at, either.
Celestia, do they make all the nurses out here like this, or am I just that lucky?
Redheart’s ear flicked, and she looked up. “What?”
Spitfire blinked. Then, the blood drained from her face as she registered the faint look of shock on Redheart’s face. Bad mouth. Bad, stupid mouth. “I—uh—”
“Captain Spitfire, did you just say what I think you said?”
“Uh.” There was no anger reflected in her eyes. Neither was there any disgust, or outrage. Besides the surprise that washed out of her features in mere seconds, there was nothing there at all.
The smoky voice reared its head, and Spitfire had to admit it had a point. In for a penny. “You mean that somepony upstairs must be looking out for me if I got a nurse like you at my bedside?”
Straightening slowly, Redheart’s expression grew more guarded. Her smile chilled and the twinkling died in her eyes. “Excuse me?”
Spitfire rolled her eyes, resisting the urge to yawn. Before her sluggish mind could stop it, her mouth started making words without her permission. “You’re hot.”
Redheart stared at her, her brows flatlined. “Really now?”
Nodding was difficult, but Spitfire managed it anyways. Opening her eyes after blinking was likewise a challenge. Her head fell back against the pillow propped up there, feeling like lead. “So hot,” she said, her mouth somehow making her fumbling tongue work. “Am I dreaming? You’re a dream, aren’t you.”
It was a few seconds before she heard Redheart speak again. “No, you aren’t dreaming, but you will be soon,” she said from off to Spitfire’s left. Her words sounded distant, as if she were speaking from the other side of a tunnel. “It’s what’s best for you right now.”
“Sweet,” Spitfire mumbled. When did she close her eyes? “Not a dream. I can dig that.”
“For both our sakes, I’ll pretend this is the pain medication talking. Visiting hours are almost over anyways, so I’ll go tell your brother and sister that you woke up, but need to sleep before you’re ready to see anypony. Can’t have you making passes at your own sister in your state now, can we?”
A somewhat delirious giggle slipped past her lips. This hospital had comfortable pillows, she realized, as she snuggled her head into hers. Was she still talking? “Why would anypony with you in the room?”
That answered that question. That wasn’t a bad line, either. Sleep-flirting. Her hidden talent.
Another sigh came from her left. “Get your sleep, Captain Spitfire. Your team will be waiting to see you in the morning.”
Whatever quip that was on the tip of her tongue tumbled away with the rest of the thoughts as a blanket was pulled over her chest. A quiet grunt was all she managed before the temptation of sleep proved too strong.
Her breathing came in a slow, steady rhythm and she hoped to see white again when she woke.
When Spitfire woke up, she indeed saw the colour white. The off-white ceiling of her hospital room wasn’t quite what she had in mind, though. Supple curves, topped with a well-kept mane of pink was more up her alley.
She exhaled, running her tongue along the roof of her mouth. It tasted like a combination of sleep and hospital air. Yeuck.
“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice said from the end of her bed. A stallion’s voice, she noted. Today already seemed to be full of disappointments. “Good morning!”
Groaning, she lifted her head. A light brown unicorn with a chestnut mane smiled pleasantly over Spitfire’s chart held in the cyan glow of his magic. Pushing his glasses back up his snout, he watched her through his off-green eyes as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.
“Easy there, Captain,” he said in a rich voice. “You might be one of the best fliers around, but that won’t mean much if you push yourself too hard before you’re ready. A pony’s body—even your body—can only take so much.”
Judging from the dress shirt and tie he wore under his lab coat and the stethoscope hanging around his neck, this was her doctor. She swallowed a sigh as she sat up on her haunches. Guess they can’t all be knockouts.
His sigh didn’t have a problem coming through. “Well, if you’re going to insist on sitting up, at least take it slow.”
A dry, raspy chuckle escaped her lips. “Don’t worry about me, Doc. I know my limits. Too bad slow isn’t a speed I’m familiar with.”
He raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t comment. “Very well.” A tiny flashlight floated out of his lab coat pocket. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Spitfire sat still as he shined the light in her eyes. Apparently satisfied, he nodded, smiled, and jotted something down on her chart. She blinked, red dots swimming in her vision. “To be honest, not bad, all things considered.” With a clear head, she took a deep breath. Pricklings of pain burned her sides, but she had had worse. She ruffled her good wing as her stitches itched, trying to ignore her other wing all the while.
The cast that hovered in the corner of her eye made that part difficult.
“That’s good to hear. You gave the town quite a shock yesterday with that crash. The way I hear it, there’s a new crater on the side of Princess Twilight’s castle.”
Spitfire winced, ears pinning back. “It was that bad?”
“Well, judging from your x-rays ...” He trailed off, holding a semi-translucent square up to the light. Though she was no medical professional, Spitfire had seen enough x-rays and been involved in enough accidents to know a bad break when she saw one. A knot formed in her chest as she stared at what had to be her fractured humerus.
She may have seen worse, but she had also seen plenty better.
She swallowed a lump in her throat and felt a little light-headed. “Oh,” was all she could manage to say.
“Yes, though it’s better than it looks,” the doctor said, tucking the x-ray back into its folder. “Combine a pegasus’ natural ability to heal with our nurses’ healing touch, and your recovery time shouldn’t take that long at all.”
Nodding, she slumped back. “How long?”
He frowned, eyes scanning her chart. “Hard to say, but I’d wager a couple of weeks bedrest with another few weeks of no flying after that. Assuming you don’t push yourself too hard and follow our instructions, you should be back to your prime in no longer than two months!”
She buried her face in her hooves and groaned long and low.
“You were quite lucky, actually. It’s a good thing Wonderbolts are made of the toughest stuff in Equestria or else I might have been a little worried.” He chuckled, and Spitfire was pretty sure he winked, too. “You’ve made quite the impression on our little town, too, castle crater aside.”
Royal Sisters help her, her doctor was as bad with jokes as Rapidfire was with stallions.
“The way Nurse Redheart was talking this morning, you made quite the impression on her, too.”
Spitfire’s ears perked up and she lifted her head. “I did? Wait.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”
The doctor shrugged and went back to the chart, flipping through the pages. The way he waggled his ears didn’t go unnoticed, though. “That’s something for you and Nurse Redheart to decide, my good Captain.”
Spitfire huffed and crossed her forelegs over her hospital gown. “Seriously?”
He nodded and smiled. She had to admit, it was a pretty handsome smile. Maybe she judged too quickly. She made a mental note to ask Soarin about it later. “In any case, my name is Doctor Horse.”
Spitfire’s eyebrows raced up her forehead. “Seriously?”
Chuckling, he waved a hoof and set the chart down. “I know, I know. My parents had the creativity of a cardboard box when they named me.”
“No kidding. You poor stallion.”
“Ah well. C’est la vie.” Doctor Horse cleared his throat. “Now, if Nurse Redheart hasn’t already mentioned it to you, we're a little short staffed at the moment. Two of our physicians retired a few weeks ago, and our chief surgeon is on maternity leave. This means that the few of us left have many, many patients to attend to.”
Spitfire frowned and nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. And that sucks.”
The doctor chortled and pushed his glasses up his snout. “Yes, indeed it does. What this means for you is that while I will do my best to check up on you whenever I can, I’m afraid you will see relatively little of me.” At Spitfire’s nod, he continued, “However, we have taken the liberty of assigning you our best nurse. One whom you’ve already had the pleasure of meeting.”
That’s one way of putting it. Spitfire hid her grin behind her hoof and feigned a cough. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said with an unreadable smile. “Thank Princess Twilight Sparkle. She made sure we assigned Nurse Redheart to you after seeing you safely to the hospital. Hard to ignore an order straight from the royalty’s mouth.”
“I know the feeling,” Spitfire said, cheering on the inside. The Wonderbolts might just have gotten a new favourite princess. “And tell her thanks from me when you see her.”
“She said she would be coming by to visit in the next few days, actually. I have a good feeling that you’ll be able to tell her yourself. Now, if you don’t have any questions,” he said, wrapping the doorknob to her room in the pale cyan of his magic. “There are a couple ponies here who have been waiting very patiently to see you and I don’t think I can keep them waiting any longer in good conscience.”
The door swung open. Despite every sibling instinct telling her to groan, Spitfire couldn’t help but smile at the pair of ponies on the other side.
Both were out of uniform and looked like they had only gotten a few hours of sleep between them. Bags darkened their bloodshot eyes and their wings were a mess, though Spitfire could feel that hers were in no better condition.
They walked into the room, Blaze returning her smile with a warm and relieved one of her own. Rapidfire, however, looked green around the edges. His wings drooped low, primaries almost dragging along the floor, and guilt was etched in his features as he looked more at the floor than at Spitfire.
Clearing his throat, Doctor Horse nodded to the three of them. “I’ll take my leave. So many patients, so little time. Nurse Redheart will be in to check on you in a little while.” He lingered in the doorway, looking over his shoulder with a wary gaze. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell the two of you to not tax your sister too much?”
“‘Course not, Doc,” Blaze said, her voice rough and gravelly. Spitfire’s ears swivelled forward at it. It sounded like she had shouted herself hoarse. “We’ll make sure she gets plenty of rest.”
Giving a satisfied smile, Doctor Horse bowed his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Once it was closed, Blaze darted forward. Spitfire blinked as she found a pair of trembling forelegs wrapped around her shoulders, holding her gently as if she might crack and shatter. She was shocked even more when she felt a wetness on her shoulder.
“B?”
Blaze sniffed. “Don’t you ever do that again, you little punk of a sister.”
On any other day, Spitfire would leap at the opportunity to tease her over the way her voice broke. Today, she gingerly returned the embrace and nuzzled her sister’s neck. “Okay,” she whispered, “I won’t. Promise.”
“You darn near gave us all heart attacks, Spits.” Hiccoughing, Blaze pulled away and wiped her cheeks and eyes with the back of her hoof. “I saw you spinning out of control. Soarin and Fleetfoot were hot on your tail. When you hit—” She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. “When you crashed, Misty’s wings locked up and she dropped like a rock.”
Spitfire’s ears stood on end. “Is she okay?”
“What? Oh.” Blaze shook her head and rubbed her face. “She’s fine. Surprise and Wave caught her before she fell too far. She was just so shocked that she froze up. Heck, I nearly did, too. You’ve never crashed that bad before.”
“Hey, look at me. B, come on.” It took a little goading, but Blaze’s amethyst eyes, made red by tears and a lack of sleep, met Spitfire’s. She went for the most reassuring smirk she knew and brushed a stray tear away with the tip of her good wing. “It’s going to take more than the crash of the century to clip my wings. I thought you knew that.”
A watery laugh tumbled down Blaze’s mouth to the floor. “Yeah, Celestia knows you’re too stubborn to let a dumb huge wall of crystal crack your skull.” She sniffled and sat down in one of the two chairs next to Spitfire’s bed. Her shoulders sagged as she did, looking more worn down than she had seen her since their Academy days. “You know I actually love you, thick skull and all, right?”
Snorting, Spitfire fluffed her wing, flicking the tear she collected on it away. “Jeez, I’m not dying or anything. Just a couple bumps and bruises, that’s all.”
“And a broken wing. You’re grounded, Spits. Heck, you’re lucky a broken wing’s all you got.”
“Temporarily grounded.” Spitfire rolled her eyes, but smiled. “I’ll be fine, Blaze. Before you know it, I’ll be whipping you slackers back into shape and flying circles around all of you.” Her grin took on a teasing edge as she said, “Best get as much with Fleet as you can, sis, because when this cast is off I’ll work you all so hard the two you won’t have the energy to crawl into bed to cuddle, let alone enjoy the sweeter things in life.”
Blaze stuck out her tongue. “I can’t believe I was worried about you. Jerkface.”
“Hey, I may be grounded but I’m still your Captain, Sergeant.”
She blew a raspberry. “Captain Jerkface.”
“That’s more like it.” Spitfire held out her hoof and allowed herself a small smile. After a second, Blaze returned it and squeezed her hoof lightly with her own. “Love you, too, you old nag.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I got a little fond of you over the years.”
Shaking her head, Spitfire gingerly laid back down, careful to avoid putting any weight on her wing. “Speaking of love, I’m not feeling much of it from you, Rapid. What, nothing for your grounded and bedridden beloved big sister?”
Spitfire’s teasing grin slipped away when she turned towards her little brother. He sat on his haunches by the foot of her bed, head hung low and tail wrapped around his flanks. His wings drooped to the floor and, with a painstriken look on his face, refused to meet her eyes.
That was a look Spitfire had seen all too often growing up on him and even more frequently at the Academy when new recruits were being disciplined. Guilt, plain and simple. A glance to her side showed Blaze looking his way, her expression guarded.
Hiding something from your sister was impossible, though. Spitfire saw the disappointment and sternness seldom directed towards their ‘baby brother’ slip through the cracks when the corner of her mouth twitched and when her tail flicked a little too sharply to the side. She looked between the two of them. “Okay, what aren’t you two telling me?”
Blaze jerked her head. “Go on, Rapidfire. Tell her.”
Uh oh, his full name. That wasn’t a good sign.
Rapidfire hunched his shoulders and made himself look as small as he could. The sheen of his sunny yellow coat seemed dull and grey around the edges.
“Rapidfire,” Blaze warned.
Spitfire bit her tongue as Rapidfire nodded in a short, jerky motion. Taking a deep breath, he edged closer to the bed but still well out of reach. A second or two later, he lifted his head, crumbling resolve in his eyes.
He opened his mouth, then his resolve fell apart entirely. A strangled whimper came out of the back of his throat.
“Rapid, come here.” Spitfire sighed and beckoned him closer. The reluctance in his eyes was plain as day, but he shuffled his hooves closer. Rolling her eyes, she beckoned again. “Closer.”
This time he stopped by her other bedside, putting the bed between himself and Blaze. He shifted his weight and his eyes looked everywhere except at the other two ponies in the room. “Now,” Spitfire said, resting her hoof on his chest. The contact made him freeze and go rigid. “Tell me what’s eating at you. I’m asking you as your sister, not ordering you as your Captain.” She smirked. “Make me order you as your Captain, and you’ll be telling me while doing fifty wing-ups, understood, Private?”
His ears pinned back. “Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled.
“Go on, then. The Doc said not to push myself, and I’m already feeling pretty beat. Hurry up or I’ll fall asleep on you.”
Nodding, he took a few more deep breaths. Then, after a couple failed attempts, he said, “It’s my fault.”
“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific. Lots of things are your fault, you flying turkey.”
“About the crash!” Rapidfire blurted, making Spitfire start. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, and then the words came tumbling out of his mouth. “It was all my fault and I lied to you! Something was definitely wrong with that stupid sandwich I ate the night before, and when you asked I lied and said I was fine!”
“Oh.” Spitfire reclined her head, staring up at the ceiling. White calmed her, even if she was too tired to be angry. “Rapid—”
“I should have said something! I shouldn’t have tried to fly, but I didn’t want to let the team down so close to our first performance in front of Princess Twilight!” He buried his face in his hooves. The sputtering of words slowed as more guilt and defeat entered his voice, weighing down each word until they fell apart to pained mumblings. “I thought I could make it through no problem, but when we got to into the routine, everything went all upside-down and woozy!”
“Rapid—”
“I spun out!” he cried. “I spun out and clipped your wing and the next thing I knew Firestreak was holding me aloft and you were—” he choked on his words. Hanging his head, he finished with a strangled sob. “I screwed up so bad. I’m so sorry, Spits. That was such a lame, rookie mistake.”
“Darn right it was.” Blaze grumbled from the other side of the bed. Her wings twitched and flicked. “But I’ve already chewed him out plenty over it. Your turn, sis.”
Spitfire sighed, the beginnings of a fresh, new headache building up pressure between her eyes. On the one hoof, Blaze was right. Any recruit who pulled a stunt as dumb as that would find themselves out of the Wonderbolts so fast their heads would spin. Any officer who did the same would be demoted and spend at least a season on suspended leave.
But this wasn’t any officer. She stared at Rapidfire, long and hard, and took in the anguish on his face and the way he sat before her, tense and waiting for a verbal lashing. He knew the consequences and braced himself for them.
Sometimes it was hard to tell where nepotism ended and being lenient began.
“Rapidfire,” she said, drawing a wince from the stallion. “You’ve got locker room duty for the next three months.”
Both he and Blaze blinked. “Um,” Rapidfire said. “What?”
“Fine, make it four.” Forcing herself to sit up was a challenge, but Spitfire managed nonetheless. She tousled Rapidfire’s mane and pulled him in with as much force as she could muster into a sideways hug. “And quit tearing yourself apart over it. That’s an order.”
“I—But—”
“I think Blaze and the rest of the squad have grilled you enough over it, and there’s not much more I can do that you haven’t done to yourself.” Smiling through the pain, she squeezed him gently. “Even the best fliers make mistakes sometimes, Rapid.”
“B-but your crash! Your wing!” Ducking out of the hug, his wings flared wide. “You should be making me wish the dogs of Tartarus were so kind!”
“Feh.” Spitfire shrugged, fighting back a yawn. “Too tired. Pretty sure the Doc and Nurse would burst a blood vessel, too. Also,” she said, swatting him with her good wing, “crashing is an occupational hazard.”
Chewing his lip, Rapidfire shuffled his hooves. “So, you’re really not mad?”
“Not really. It’s probably the meds talking and I’m probably going to pluck you myself when I get out of here, but for the moment—whoa!”
In an instant, Rapidfire had thrown his forelegs around Spitfire’s neck, squeezing none too softly and running his mouth off. She felt the tears running down his muzzle dampen her hospital gown. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again!”
Grimacing and gritting her teeth, Spitfire patted his back. “Yeah, okay. Please let go.”
The door to her room opened and a familiar voice laughed. “Aw, look at this, Fleet. A rare moment of tender sibling love and affection!” Soarin trotted into view over Rapidfire’s shoulder. His pale blue coat was matted in a few places and his feathers were a little out of sorts. Despite it, he managed his usual, easygoing smile. “Come on, Rapid, let her go. If you wanted to finish the job, then you should’ve at least waited until there were no witnesses.”
Rapidfire gave one last, thankfully softer squeeze and pulled back. He wiped his eyes with his feathers and stuck his tongue out at Soarin. “I’ll hug my sister all I want, Pieface!”
Grinning, Soarin unfurled his wings and looped a hoof around Rapidfire’s neck, using the other to deliver a thorough noogie. “Oh yeah? Maybe she’s had enough of you for one day, yellow-butt!”
“Ack! Hey! She’s already forgiven me, knock it off!” Struggling was useless when Soarin had you where he wanted you, but Rapidfire squirmed all the same. “And really? ‘Yellow-butt?’ That’s pathetic!”
“You’re both pathetic,” Fleetfoot said as she walked around the other side of the bed. She gave Spitfire a tired but relieved smile and curled up on the bedside chair with Blaze. “Hey, Cap. Glad you’re still with us.”
Like the rest of them, she looked like she had gotten little sleep as she closed her eyes and nosed her girlfriend’s cheek. Blaze returned the gesture and wrapped her wings around her. A bead of moisture built up in the corner of her eye before it was nuzzled and kissed away. The heat they usually liked to parade in front of Spitfire with wild abandon was gone, and in its place was warm affection and tenderness. Maybe they weren’t such a bad couple after all.
Releasing Rapidfire, Soarin chuckled and sat on his haunches. “Yeah. I tried to tell everypony that you’d pull through no problem, but you know what these guys are like without their mama hen around to tuck them in and kiss them goodnight.”
A chorus of giggles surrounded Spitfire and she huffed. “A bunch of foals, the lot of you.”
“Yeah,” Rapidfire said, smoothing his mane down. Some of the cheer had returned to his voice and his feathers seemed brighter. “But we’re your foals!”
“Speak for yourself.” With one wing wrapping around Fleetfoot’s shoulder, Blaze pulled their bodies flush together and breathed in her girlfriend’s scent. A content sigh drifted past her lips as a white mane nuzzled under her chin. “Some of us are quite adult, and we prefer it that way.”
Fleetfoot hummed her agreement. “Amen.”
“Okay, seriously you two.” Spitfire blanched. “Save it until you’re out of my hospital room. Please tell me somepony brought a deck of cards to distract the shag-birds.”
Rapidfire’s ocean blue eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing. Soarin met it with a casual smirk. “You want to take your turn, sunbutt?”
Eyes narrowing to slits, Rapidfire studied the older stallion’s face with an intensity Spitfire wished he showed his schoolbooks.
“While we’re still young, if you don’t mind.”
Spitfire hid a yawn behind her hoof, her own gaze flitting to the cards in her hoof. A jack, a ten, a three, a two, and an ace. To her left, Fleetfoot and Blaze hid their calculating grins with their cards.
“Soarin,” Rapidfire said, licking his lips. “Do you have any fives?”
Soarin leaned forwards, his feathers fluffed. “Go. Fish.”
“Aw, come on!” Rapidfire pouted, drawing a card from the deck in the middle of the bed. “You’re not pulling a fast one on me, are you? Last I checked, you had a five when you asked Spits for one.”
“That was before I snagged it,” Blaze crowed, fanning herself with her remaining two cards. “Seriously, you guys all suck at this. It’s literally the easiest card game on the planet.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Fleetfoot groused, snout wrinkling at her cards. “Go Fish. Seriously? A deck of cards and all of the games in Equestria, and we play what has to be the most foal-friendly one of them all. At least with poker, we could have had some real fun.”
“Pretty sure gambling isn’t allowed in a hospital,” Spitfire mumbled, rubbing her eye with the back of her hoof. The sun was beginning to set outside, and after a couple hours of talking Soarin had gone and found some playing cards in the cafeteria when he went on a coffee run.
If she were an honest pony, she would say that she was tired. The throbbing in her wing was a constant reminder of her condition, and as time flew by it only seemed to get worse. Again, she found her thoughts coming through murky and muggy and she had to shake her head to refocus on what she held in her hoof.
“We wouldn’t have to bet money!” A smirk twisted Fleetfoot’s mouth and she waggled her eyebrows. “I was thinking we’d bet favours. Or, better yet, dares.”
“Come on, Fleet,” Soarin said, his voice stern. “We’re supposed to keep things chill for Spitfire. Let’s not over excite the old bird.”
That drew a snort from Spitfire. “I’ll remember this, I hope you realize.”
“Take your shots where you can get ‘em, Spits, that’s what Dad always said.”
Blaze clicked her tongue, then faced Fleetfoot with an unreadable expression. “Okay, I’ve got an idea.”
Whatever that look meant, Fleetfoot liked it. Her ears perked up and her feathers ruffled. “I’m listening.”
“You want to make this a little more interesting? Well, how about the first one of the two of us that gets out gets to ask a favour from the other.” A throaty chuckle slipped past Blaze’s lips and she extended a wing to trace along the other mare’s hind leg. “Anything. She. Wants.”
A noticeable shudder travelled down Fleetfoot’s spine. She swallowed. “A-anything?”
“Mmhmm. Name it, and it’s yours. What do you say, tiger?”
Spitfire rolled her eyes and propped her head up on her hoof, lazily looking over her cards. Here we go.
Fleetfoot licked her lips and grinned wide. “I say, got any sevens, ma’am?”
“Mmm, I love it when you get all competitive. Here you go.”
Her grin growing and her wings trembling, Fleetfoot set the pair of cards down. With two cards left in hoof, she turned on Spitfire. “Hey, Cap, please, please, please tell me you have a king.”
“Well ...” Spitfire looked down at her hoof. She knew very well she didn’t have a king, but watching her fastest sergeant squirm with anticipation was too tempting to pass up. Eventually, she grinned. “Go fish.”
“Which makes it my turn,” Blaze said, holding her single card between her primaries. She fixed Fleetfoot with a half-lidded stare and said without looking at him, “Rapid, hand me that five, will you?”
Fleetfoot’s jaw dropped as both Soarin and Rapidfire threw their heads back and laughed. “You got it! Enjoy Flatfoot!”
Flicking the card to the bed, Blaze leaned in so that her breath washed over Fleetfoot’s ear. “Looks like I win, tiger. Know what that means?” She leaned in closer and whispered something Spitfire couldn’t catch. All things considered, she was pretty confident that she didn’t want to know.
As Blaze pulled away, she nipped at Fleetfoot’s ear and sat back with a satisfied smile on her face.
Fleetfoot, for her part, didn’t look so unhappy at having lost.
Soarin cleared his throat. “Anyways, you know that doctor of yours, Spitfire?”
Spitfire’s ears perked, ready to pounce on the change in conversation. “Doctor Horse, yeah. What about him?”
“Well, Surprise and I bumped into him down in the cafeteria. He was sneaking in a cup of coffee and a muffin between patients. Nice guy, and you were totally right to ask me to check him out.”
Baring her teeth in a wicked little smile, Spitfire chuckled. “Oh yeah? What’s your report, Lieutenant?”
Soarin’s wings snapped to his sides as he stood to attention. “Surprise’s words were, and I quote, ‘if he wasn’t married with two foals, Captain, I would’ve been forced to abandon my post for the sake of tying him down to another one somewhere.’”
Spitfire snickered. “Really? That good? I thought he had a pretty cute smile, but the dangly bits are a pretty big turnoff for me.”
“Well, from what Surprise said, they were big enough to be a turn on for her when she snuck a peek.” Soarin winked and fluffed his feathers. “I don’t know what they put in the food around here, Captain. But whatever it is, for the good of Equestria I recommend we bring it with us to Cloudsdale and Canterlot. It’s simply unfair to the rest of the country.”
“That, and I’m pretty sure I saw Surprise’s knees knocking when the Doc smiled at her downstairs!” Rapidfire chirped. “She almost drooled all over the forms the secretary got us to fill out!”
“Speaking of drooling,” Spitfire said, eyes flitting back to Blaze and Fleetfoot. “Blaze, remember what you told me on the train?”
“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.” Setting Fleetfoot’s wings aflutter with a smoky glare, she swished her tail from side to side. “My memory’s a little hazy, especially after you left.”
Oh, for Celestia’s sake. Maybe Rapidfire had a point. Maybe these two did get off to her being in the room. “The stuff about me finding a mare.”
That caught Blaze’s attention. She blinked, eyes widening, and looked over to Spitfire. “Yeah, what about it?”
Spitfire smirked and waggled her eyebrows.
“No way.” Grinning, Blaze hopped off her chair. “Who? When?”
Smirk turning foxlike, Spitfire cocked her head to the side and addressed the stallions in the room. “Hey, Rapid, what would you peg that nurse as?”
Rapidfire scrunched up his muzzle and flicked one ear down. “Which one?”
“The white one. Earth pony, pink mane.” Spitfire hummed in the back of her throat. “Seven kinds of svelte and curvy with blue eyes with a red cross cutie mark. You’d have to be blind to miss her.”
“Nurse Redheart, right?” Rapidfire scratched his chin. “Yeah, she showed us to your room. Really gentle voice. I’d give her a solid eight out of ten on a bad day.”
“And on a good day?”
Rapidfire seemed to consider this for a moment.
“Woof?” Spitfire supplied.
“Yeah.” Rapidfire nodded, his grin matching Spitfire’s. “Woof.”
“She was a sight to wake up to, let me tell you.” And she did, all eyes in the room on her. “I think she’s a fan, too. That always helps break the ice. Also makes them a little more eager, wouldn’t you say, Soarin?”
“You know,” Blaze said, frowning. “When I told you to ‘find yourself a mare,’ I’m pretty sure I also said little flings and nights of fun didn’t count. You serious about this one or are you just looking for some Ponyville booty to score here, Spits?”
“I can tell you what I am serious about, and that’s—” Spitfire’s jaw clicked shut as the door opened. When she saw who entered, her mouth fell to a warm, sultry smile and she fluffed up the feathers on her good wing as much as possible. With a low purr accentuating her voice, she said, “Speak of the devil.”
“I’m sorry to break up the fun,” Nurse Redheart said as she walked into the room. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask all of you to leave and let Captain Spitfire get her rest.”
If she noticed the five pairs of eyes watching her trot over to the window, she didn’t show it. Instead, as she stood up on her hind legs to grab the drawstring in her teeth, Spitfire caught Rapidfire’s eye and nodded at the mare. He looked over, then back at his sister.
Spitfire tore her gaze away from the interesting ways the muscles of her flanks moved to raise an eyebrow.
Rapidfire nodded his consent. “Woof indeed,” he whispered. “Too late to call dibs?”
Spitfire raised the other eyebrow.
“Can’t blame a stallion for trying.”
With the blinds closed, Redheart slipped between Soarin and Rapidfire to Spitfire’s bedside, offering a smile as she did so. “You’ve all been here long past regular visiting hours already, and I really must insist that you let the good Captain get the rest that she needs.”
A devious twinkle entered Rapidfire’s eye, one that Spitfire did not like one bit. “Aw, come on.” He whined, sticking out his lower lip and drooping his ears back. “Five more minutes?”
“No, no.” Redheart shook her head and rested a gentle hoof on Spitfire’s shoulder, sending a tingle down the pegasus’ foreleg. “I’ve already bent the rules enough so that you all could spend some more time with her. Now she needs to sleep.”
“Pretty please?” The corner of Rapidfire’s mouth twitched and his eyes flicked between the other Wonderbolts in the room. They blinked. Then, in unison, the same mischievous sheen sparkled in their eyes.
Spitfire’s eyes locked on to Soarin’s and she mouthed, “Don’t you dare.”
Soarin shrugged and waggled his ears. Take the hits where you can.
“No,” Redheart insisted. “She needs sleep, and the four of you need to go.”
“Just a few more minutes!” Soarin pouted, doing his best to look like a big, green-eyed puppy. “We like our pain in the ass captain!”
“Hey!” Fur bristling, Spitfire tried to sit up. “I’m sitting right here, you know!” Redheart’s hoof held firm, however, keeping her on her back. A glance from the nurse doused the fire in her voice and she found herself easing back on her bed.
“No, we should listen to the pretty nurse,” Fleetfoot said, leading Blaze around to stand with the stallions. Sighing, she held a hoof up to her forehead. “She must be so tired, but I can already hear her grating, raspy voice now.”
“I’m literally in the room with you good-for-nothing flying featherheads.” Spitfire grumbled, Redheart’s hoof gently squeezing her shoulder.
“Fleet’s right!” Tilting her head to the side, a smirk danced over Blaze’s face as mirth shone in her eyes. “It must be our close, sisterly bond, but I can hear her pining for us right this very moment.”
“Same here!” Rapidfire’s pout had long given way for a toothy grin. He cupped a hoof around his ear. “She’s saying, ‘No, don’t leave me, Rapidfire! How can I possibly go on without my amazingly talented and good-looking brother and sister?”
Soarin cleared his throat.
“I wasn’t done yet! I was just about to get to how she desperately needs her ruggedly handsome lieutenant to fix all her blunders and the always minxy Fleetfoot to inspire her to be the captain the team deserves!”
“Damn straight.” Chuckling, Blaze turned her head to nuzzle along Fleetfoot’s jawline. “What do you say, tiger, a kiss right here in loving memory of our forsaken Captain?”
“Mmm. Yes, ma’am.”
Blaze purred. “Then let’s make it a—yeowch!”
Perking her ears, Spitfire lifted her head and did nothing to stop the smile from flooding her face at the sight of Redheart twisting Blaze’s ear. The latter struggled and writhed with everything she could to wrench herself free.
“None of that!” Redheart scolded, letting her go just as she gave a sharp tug. With a stern, even glare that cowed even Blaze and Fleetfoot, she watched as the goldenrod mare stumbled a couple steps back. “This is a hospital, and Wonderbolt or not I will not allow you to cause any of my patients any discomfort. Is that understood?”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” Blaze squeaked, holding her ear.
Dear Luna, Spitfire thought, staring up at Redheart with a slacked jaw. I think I’m in love.
“Good.” Redheart exhaled, her glare softening. When she spoke, it was with the same tenderness that she had when Spitfire first woke up. “You’re all worried about her, I know. But, the best thing for her right now is sleep. She’ll be here in the morning and you can come back then.”
“Yeah,” Spitfire said, smirking at the varying looks of shock and awe on her teammates’ faces. “Besides, you’ll all get sick of my backseat flying when we're at the next arena. If you think I’m bad in the air, then wait until I start bellyaching from the ground.”
A beat of silence fell over the room. All of a sudden, none of her friends and teammates met her eyes, but instead found interest in the floor or the walls. Redheart looked over her shoulder at her, her expression confused. “Pardon?”
“You know,” Spitfire said, a little more wary as Rapidfire tried to edge closer to the door. “When I check out of here tomorrow and when we’re on the train to Baltimare?”
Fleetfoot coughed.
Blaze ruffled her wings.
“You didn’t tell her.” Redheart’s brows flatlined and she turned her piercing blue eyes on the four of them. Spitfire couldn’t deny her amusement as they all shrunk away like scolded foals. “After you insisted you be the ones to tell her and after all that time, you still haven’t told her.”
Soarin shuffled his hooves and scratched his neck. “Well, now that you’re here ...”
One of the necessary traits required by any Wonderbolts Captain is the ability to keep cool and maintain a level head in the face of any news, no matter how surprising or gut-wrenching. Ponies of that calibre were expected hold their emotions back so that rational thought could prevail.
Spitfire sucked in a breath and held it in her chest. She fought against her rising temper, trying to marshal her thoughts into order. She was a Wonderbolt Captain. Calmness, clarity of thought, and a steady hoof were only to be expected.
“What do you mean I’m stuck in Ponyville?!”
All around her, ponies winced. Rapidfire shrunk down, making himself as small as possible, while Blaze and Fleetfoot pinned their ears back and refused to meet her eyes. Even Soarin took a step back at the lashing fire that accented her voice like a whip.
“Well, just that, Spits,” Soarin said, looking to the side. “You’re not being discharged anytime soon.”
Resisting the urge to bare her teeth, Spitfire focused her glare on her Lieutenant. “And you were planning on telling me when?”
Soarin flinched. As close as they may be, when Spitfire meant it, she could still instill the fear of Tartarus in her ponies. He looked over to the others, his teammates, for help.
“It’s not that we weren’t going to tell you, Sis,” Blaze started, biting her lip and flicking her tail over Fleetfoot's. “We just weren’t sure how.”
“We figured you were going to freak out no matter what we did,” Fleetfoot added, ducking her head as Spitfire shifted her blazing eyes towards her. “And we didn’t want you to hurt yourself more or something by giving you a heart attack.”
“We’re sorry, Spits.” Rapidfire swallowed, shifting so that Soarin stood between him and Spitfire. “But your wings are clipped. You’re stuck here.”
“The hay I am! It’s one thing to be grounded, but there’s no way I’m sitting here while the rest of you try to finish the tour without me!” Growling, Spitfire pushed herself up, her healthy wing threatening to unfurl.
Or, at least she tried to. The second her hooves hit the mattress, a stronger hoof pressed down on her shoulder and pinned her back to the bed.
“Wha—hey!” Spitfire struggled, but as tired as she was her legs didn’t want to cooperate. The best she managed was a wiggle. “Let me go! If you think these featherheads will last a week without me, then you’ve got no idea what kind of foals I have to work with! I need to be there!”
“What you need is rest,” Redheart said, her hoof holding firm. Her tone was rigid, brokering no argument and her piercing blue eyes were just as unyielding. With just one sentence and that look, she doused the indignated fire fueling Spitfire's words. “And if you keep this up, then you’ll only prolong your recovery time.”
“But—but the routine!” Spitfire ceased her struggles and felt her ears pin back. The longer she stared into those brilliant eyes, the more she felt the fight seep out of her body. Fatigue settled in its wake as Redheart’s hoof eased her back down. “Who’re they going to get to replace me and train to do my part?”
What looked like a coy grin flickered across Redheart’s face for a second or two. “I’ll have to ask your teammates to confirm, but I believe one of my regular patients was recently accepted to the Wonderbolt reserves.”
“That’s right,” Soarin said, stepping into sight over the nurse’s shoulder. He chanced a look at Spitfire and met her gaze with a pained smile. “After I talked with Nurse Redheart, the Doc, and Princess Twilight about it, I went and found Rainbow Dash. It wasn’t hard; she was in the waiting room with the rest of the team.”
“The rookie?” Spitfire’s brows knit. “I—yeah, good call on that one, but who gave you the authority to make that decision without talking to me first?”
“We may not act like it all the time, but we are technically a branch of the military, Spits. With you out of commission, I take over.” His shoulders rolled as he sighed. “I hated signing off on benching you to Ponyville, but I needed to. If we’re getting you back, we can’t settle for anything less than you at your best, which means staying here to get better.”
“Lieutenant Soarin is right, Spitfire,” Redheart said with a small smile to the stallion. “Doctor Horse will tell you the same. Right now, it’s best that you stay here and don’t move around too much.” Her hoof brushed down Spitfire’s shoulder, a comforting gesture that threatened to flutter her feathers. “All the moving around and jostling of a train would likely make for complications.”
Moving cautiously, the rest of her friends drew in closer around her. “If you’re really looking for somepony to blame,” Fleetfoot said, hazarding a cheeky grin, “then blame Princess Twilight. She pretty much ordered that you stay here until you’re all patched up.”
Spitfire snorted. “Gee, thanks, Princess.”
“She just has your best interests at heart, Captain.” Redheart’s smile carried into her voice as she backed off to let the others file in around the bed. “Twilight actually feels personally responsible for your crash in a way. She wants to do anything and everything in her power to help in your recovery.”
Spitfire frowned. “That’s ridiculous. None of what happened was her fault.”
“That’s not the way she sees it.” An empathetic warmth radiated off of Redheart as she trotted around to the foot of the bed. “She, like your team, is worried about you. They all want what’s best for you, which is why they all agree that you need to stay here and get healthy. And,” she added, looking at the clock on the wall, “it’s why they’ll leave now to let you get your rest.”
A murmuring of agreement followed from the four pegasi. With tired, sympathetic smiles they all took turns wishing Spitfire a good night. Before they left, Rapidfire and Blaze each gently hugged their sister.
“We’ll be back in the morning to say goodbye,” Rapidfire said, rubbing her cheek to Spitfire’s. “I heard Misty went out to buy a big ‘Get Well’ card today. There might also be cake.”
Redheart cleared her throat and gave a solemn shake of her head.
“Okay, no cake, but definitely a card.”
Resting a hoof on his shoulder, Soarin steered Rapidfire away from Spitfire’s bed, nodding his head as he passed. “Come on, Rapid. Let Spits get some sleep and let’s get you back to the hotel before you fall asleep on your hooves.”
As they left, Blaze took her turn, crawling halfway up the bed to carefully wrap her forelegs and wings around Spitfire’s shoulders. “Love you, Sis,” she whispered, sparing a kiss on the cheek. “Get better fast, okay? I don’t know how long Soarin and I can keep everypony in line.”
“We really are a bunch of foals sometimes.” Fleetfoot grinned as she let Blaze lean her weight on her side. “And foals need their momma hen. Got it?”
The corner of Spitfire’s mouth quirked upwards. “Yeah, I got it. Now get out of here. I’m pretty sure you owe Blazey-wazey there a favour.”
“One I’m all too happy to let her collect.” Waggling her ears, Fleetfoot winked and together she and Blaze followed the stallions out, leaving Spitfire alone in the room with Redheart.
Silence fell after the door clicked shut, save for the muffled murmur of activity in the halls. The palest beams of moonlight shone through the window and Spitfire’s gaze followed it to the night sky.
There was no place in Equestria that compared to Cloudsdale when it came to stargazing. With how high up the city was, far and away from the reaching skyscrapers of Manehattan and the snowcapped peaks of Canterlot, nothing came between the pegasi there and the stars. It was, for a lack of a better word, breathtaking.
Looking out to the night sky over Ponyville and the stars twinkling overhead, bathing the now sleepy town in the pale light of the night, Spitfire had to agree that it wasn’t so bad here, either. Her gaze drifted back to her room, following the same shaft of moonlight as it fell over Redheart’s form. Her white coat shone in the light and her bright blue eyes glittered even as she sighed and shook her head.
Not so bad indeed.
“I know it must be frustrating,” she said, turning back to Spitfire. “Believe me, I understand, but you’ll just have to sit tight for now until you’re healthy enough to travel.” The smile she gave her was a little sad. “Ponyville really isn’t that bad. I bet you’ll grow attached to it before long—most ponies who come through here do.”
Exhaling through her nose, Spitfire nodded her head. She tugged at her hospital gown and eyed the bandages wrapped around her foreleg. “Yeah, probably. Seems like a nice enough place.”
“That’s the spirit. You’ll find something to do while you’re here and the time will just fly by.”
A devilish thought took root and Spitfire couldn't help a smirk. “That a fact?”
An absentminded but polite smile spread over Redheart’s face as she busied herself with cleaning up the playing cards still strewn across the bed. “I’m sure something will catch your eye.”
When in Roam. “Maybe something already has.” Spitfire chuckled, eyes lidding. “Or somepony.”
Redheart paused halfway in packing up the cards. She turned her head, expression wary. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” Dropping her voice down to a huskier tone, Spitfire let her eyes rove over the nurse, from the pink bun holding her mane up to her glossy tail and everything inbetween. “If being stuck here means I get to spend more time with you, then I guess it can’t be all bad, now can it?”
A beat of silence passed. There was no way Redheart missed the way Spitfire eyed her up, and she would have to be deaf to have missed the tone in her voice.
Instead of the red dots she hoped to see colouring her cheeks or the telltale brushing of one’s bangs aside when flustered, Redheart just sighed. Spitfire blinked, her composure failing her for a minute.
Brows flattening, Redheart looked up at the ceiling as if sending a silent prayer. The look in her eye was one Spitfire had seen dozens of times at the Academy, usually when some hotshot cadet tried to brown nose their way up through the ranks. Instead of flustered or flattered, she was bored.
Well, what kind of Wonderbolt would she be if she didn't like a challenge?
Setting the deck of playing cards down, Redheart pursed her lips. “Those weren’t the painkillers talking last night, were they?”
Spitfire grinned a wicked little grin. “Sorry, hon. Well, actually, kind of but not really. Drunk mind, sober thoughts.” She chuckled, a low, raspy sound that sent previous lovers’ spines tingling and their knees knocking.
For this mare, though, there was no trembling. That was fine, that would make it all the sweeter when Spitfire had her wrapped up her in wings, squirming as she dotted her neck with kisses and nipped her way down her barrel. “Seriously, though, do they make all the nurses out here like you or am I really just that stupidly lucky?”
“Here we go.” Another sigh fell from Redheart’s mouth and she rubbed her forehead. A pained look washed over her features and she looked at Spitfire with an expression akin to dread. “You’re going to be like this the whole time that you’re here, aren’t you?”
Spitfire shrugged, her grin showing her teeth. “What can I say? You’re hot, and I’m only a pony.” A low sound came from the back of her throat, something between a hum and a purr. “And I can’t decide if you’d look better out of uniform. Think you can help me make up my mind?”
Redheart shook her head. The need for a strong drink was written over her features and echoed in her voice. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Pushing herself up, Spitfire cocked her head to the side. “Look, I’ll give you a couple of options here. You want me to shut my trap and for me to get out of your mane? It’s simple, you just have to put me on a train to Baltimare first thing in the morning with my team—”
“That isn’t happening.”
“—and free yourself of the opportunity of a lifetime,” Spitfire continued, smirking at the interruption. Puffing her chest out and fitting Redheart with the most coquettish look in her arsenal, she jerked her head to the window. “Or, you let me buy you dinner when I get out of here and show you how a Wonderbolt rides.”
Taking a deep breath, Redheart worked her lips into a thin line. Leveling Spitfire with a piercing glare that made her swagger falter, she closed the distance between them and pushed her flat on her back with a firm shove of her hoof. Not with enough force to bring her any harm, but enough to make the message clear: ‘sit down and shut up.’
It was a tactic Spitfire herself had used dozens of times, but one she hadn’t been on the receiving end of it since her days as the team rookie. With her sight dominated by a pair of burning, blue eyes and that hoof’s presence steady on her chest, she found her mouth a little dry.
“That isn’t happening, either,” Redheart said, her tone firm and uncompromising. “What is going to happen is that you’re going to lie here like a good patient, quit running your mouth, and let me treat you, or else I’ll dose you with enough sedatives to knock out a herd of buffalo.”
Spitfire tried to wet her lips and swallowed against a small lump in her throat. The commanding tone of Redheart’s voice left her at a loss for words as her tail swished under her thin blanket.
“Am I being perfectly clear, Captain?”
“Crystal,” she said. Once more, she lidded her eyes. She had found her words, and by Celestia, this mare would be putty in her hooves. “And how’d you know I love a mare who talks dirty?”
If Redheart were a train engine, steam would be coming out of her ears. “For Celestia’s sake.” Releasing her hold on Spitfire, she backed away, eyes alight with a fire Spitfire had seldom seen outside of her Wonderbolts. “You’re impossible.”
A lascivious smile spread Spitfire’s lips.
It didn’t go unnoticed. Wrinkling her snout, Redheart asked, “What now?”
“You’re even hotter when you’re mad.”
Snorting through her nose, Redheart paced to the foot of the bed and picked up Spitfire’s chart in a practiced motion. “And you’re even worse than Rainbow Dash.”
“Heh, always knew the rookie had good taste.” Spitfire hummed, watching Redheart jot something down on the chart with more force than necessary. “But I bet you’re even cuter when you blush. What’s a mare got to do to get you a little hot under the collar, hmm?”
The corner of Redheart’s mouth twitched. “A little tact never hurts. Neither does a little proper flirting, but you seem to possess neither of those qualities.”
Ah ha, there it was. A little carrot like that was all Spitfire needed. An old, familiar smirk took over her smile. “That a challenge?”
“No,” Redheart said, sliding the chart back into place. “That’s me politely telling you to give up whatever this is and behave like the good little filly your mother raised.”
“Hey now, Ma raised a lady killer of a Wonderbolt captain. She’d be ashamed of me if I didn’t get you squirming in my wings!”
“Oh, I’m sure she’d be ashamed, but for different reasons than what you’re thinking.” Trotting over to shut the curtains, she left the room dark save for the fluorescent hum of the lights above. “And even if she wasn’t, I can assure you she was only successful in one of those regards.”
Spitfire chuckled. She was liking this mare more and more. A low, entrancing heat seeped into her voice as she said, “Oh, I am so going to enjoy making you mewl, Red. By the time I clock out of here, you’re going to be begging me for more.”
“I would prefer if you called me Nurse Redheart, or just Redheart if you insist on informality,” she said, trotting away to the door.
“Nah, I like Red better. And leaving already? The night’s still so young!”
Redheart paused at the door long enough to shoot one last, chilling glare over her shoulder. “I have other patients to check up on, and you need your rest. Goodnight, Captain Spitfire.”
“I’d say I hate to see you go, but then that would make me a liar. Ma didn’t raise no liar.” Spitfire waggled her eyebrows, gaze fixed on the slight bobbing of a pink tail and bounce of a white rump. “Though I could say I hate to see you go so quickly.”
“Goodnight, Captain Spitfire,” Redheart said, pulling the door open. “By the way, because of your behaviour, I have revoked your pudding cup rights for the next week. The orderly will see the note I left on top of your chart when they bring in your breakfast tomorrow morning.”
Spitfire felt her jaw drop. “You’re not serious.”
“Aren’t I?” The usual mask of calm, patience, and understanding slipped away from Redheart’s face, leaving what could only be called a smug grin in its place. “Goodnight, Captain.”
The door shut, leaving Spitfire alone. She gaped, staring after the nurse who captivated her so.
Oh.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
The next morning found Spitfire sitting up in her bed, the remains of her breakfast littering a tray on her bedside table. Light seeped through the gaps between the closed blinds of her hospital room window. Somewhere outside, a bird chirped its morning song as it flew by.
Inside, Blaze stood by the foot of the bed. With her Wonderbolt flight suit on, she looked every part the senior sergeant that she was with the exception of how she had her lips sucked in between her teeth. The way her cheeks began to puff up with restrained laughter was also a breach in professionalism, one that their former Captain wouldn’t stand for.
Spitfire, for her part, stared unbelievingly at the cartoonishly large card dropped in her lap. A young pegasus with a watermelon-sized head compared to the rest of its little body looked back up at her with googly eyes, set against a pale blue backdrop. A wobbly line was drawn where its mouth should have been and it cradled its bandaged wing in its hooves. Squiggly lines radiated out from the pegasus and tear drops the size of raisins hung off of either one of its eyes.
The top of the card read in all capital, pink bubble letters, ‘GOT A BOO-BOO?’
A snort escaped Blaze’s lips, and she clamped a hoof over her muzzle.
Spitfire glared up at her. Her expression must have been priceless, given how Blaze’s wings twitched and fidgeted as she struggled to keep them pinned to her sides. “Blaze—”
“Before you say anything!” Blaze cut in, visibly fighting to keep the mirth from her voice. A few giggles slipped through, raising Spitfire’s hackles. “Open the card.”
Through narrowed eyes, Spitfire tried to get a read on her sister. “Why?”
“Just do it,” Blaze said, pointing at the card. “The whole team signed it! You wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings over a little paranoia, would you?”
“Okay.” Spitfire grabbed the edge of the card. She hesitated and spared one more glare for Blaze. “But if anything explodes or jumps out at me, you’re officially demoted.”
“On my honour as a Wonderbolt,” Blaze said, crossing her heart and saluting with a wing, “nothing will explode.”
Spitfire continued to glare for a second before nodding. “Fine.” With only a little trepidation, she opened the card. Her brow went from furrowed to flat. “Seriously?”
The inside of the card was indeed signed by the whole team, including the roadies, support crew, and even Rainbow Dash. What really caught her was the illustration in the middle. There, the same pegasus from the front smiled up at another figure. The other figure wore a nurse’s cap and held the pegasus’ injured wing in its hooves.
The second figure—the nurse—was kissing the pegasus’ wing as a parent kisses their foal’s scraped knees after slipping on the playground. The pegasus, in turn, was smiling up at the nurse, two bright pink dots colouring its cheeks. Surrounding the two figures, the card read ‘DON’T WORRY, THE NURSE WILL KISS IT BETTER!’
Spitfire scowled at the little pegasus, so happy and eager to have the nurse kiss its boo-boo. “Why do you guys hate me?”
“W-well, we just r-really wanted to—wanted to—Pffft!” That was as far as Blaze got before she succumbed to the laughter bubbling up in her voice. At the look on Spitfire’s face, she threw her head back and howled. “Oh my gosh! Your face!” She fell over on her side, hind legs kicking the air and her forelegs wrapped around her barrel. “I-I can’t breathe!”
“Yeah, laugh it up. Har-dee-har-har,” Spitfire deadpanned, tossing the card to the end of her bed. “You’re a real riot.”
Blaze continued to cackle, writhing around on the floor until the door opened. Nurse Redheart stepped in, eyes snapping from Spitfire’s scowl to the pony laughing her head off. With a snort, she closed the door louder than necessary. “Enough!”
In an instant, Blaze was on her hooves, standing at attention, her shoulders squared. “Yes, ma’am!”
“Sergeant Blaze,” Redheart started, walking towards Spitfire’s bed. “I have already told you once that I will not tolerate anything bringing discomfort to my patients. That, and your laughter is disturbing other patients in the whole hall!”
Spitfire took great comfort in watching Blaze gulp and delighted in the tremor that shook her voice. “I-I apologize, ma’am! It won’t happen again, ma'am!”
“Good, because if I have to tell you off again, I will remove you from the hospital grounds. Personally, if need be.” The threat was convincing enough to make Blaze stand rigid. Under her flight suit, Spitfire knew sweat started to bead up on her brow.
“Understood! I was just saying goodbye to my sister on behalf of the whole team.”
At that, Spitfire wrinkled her snout. A sour taste built up in the back of her mouth, dragging her ears down against her mane. Her gaze dropped to the get well card on her bed and she counted each name scrawled on it. They covered almost every inch of the card with their best wishes. Altogether, over two dozen names.
Altogether, over two dozen ponies leaving her behind.
She was jolted from her thoughts by a pair of forelegs wrapping around her shoulders. “See you later, Spits,” Blaze said. “We’ll all miss you. The rest of the tour just won’t be the same.”
Spitfire returned the hug, nuzzling into the fire-red streak of mane that poked out from Blaze’s suit. She bit her tongue, willing the tears from her eyes before they could fall.
“You going to be okay?” Blaze asked as they ended the embrace. Her eyes searched Spitfire, concern bleeding through the hood of her uniform.
Blinking hard, Spitfire rubbed her face and put on a grin. “Please, this is nothing. I’m more worried about the rest of you jokers.” She fiddled with the hospital band around her ankle. “Are you sure Rainbow Dash is going to be ready to go on tour?”
“Don’t worry about her. Fire Streak’s been working her through the routine the last couple days non stop with Silver and Wave. I think he’s planning on having the poor girl recite it in her sleep by the time we make Baltimare.”
Spitfire nodded. Fire Streak was one of the best instructors the Wonderbolts had ever seen, and there was talk that he planned on retiring to teach at the Academy full-time sooner or later.
“Sergeant Blaze, I hate to interrupt, but I believe you’re going to miss your train if you don’t hurry,” Redheart said, her voice much smoother and kinder than it was moments ago. She walked to the pegasus’ side and put a comforting hoof on her shoulder. “We’ll take good care of her.”
“Yeah, I know you will.” Blaze gave Redheart a smile and nod of thanks before skipping to the side to quickly hug Spitfire. “Catch you on the flip side, Spits.”
Spitfire squeezed back. “Later, B. Keep an eye on Rapid for me, and be good to that mare of yours. She is one my best friends, you know. Oh, and say goodbye to the rest of the team for me, too.”
“Will do.” Snapping a salute, Blaze pulled her goggles down over her eyes and turned for the door. She lingered in the doorway for a second and caught Spitfire’s eye. She jerked her head at Redheart and mouthed out, “Behave.”
Spitfire stuck her tongue out at her sister in response, who simply grinned before trotting down the hall and out of sight.
Once she was gone, Spitfire sighed and slumped, falling back to her mattress. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from hissing as the movement jostled her wing. As the pain ebbed away, she found herself staring up at the ceiling.
White, but not the kind of white she wanted to see—not the kind of white of the clouds her team would be flying through.
A pressure built up behind her eyes and she blinked as her vision began to blur.
In an hour, the rest of her team would be on their way to Baltimare. Then, after a few days there, they would move on to the next town for the next show. And then the next one, and the one after that.
Meanwhile, Spitfire would be here, waiting for them to come back and for her wing to heal.
“Captain?” Redheart asked, nearly making the mare in question jump out of her fur.
Spitfire took a breath and dragged a foreleg over her eyes. When she opened them, she saw Redheart almost within hoof’s length. Her hoof trailed down the get well card left by Blaze, eyes scanning over all of the signatures. An expression of equal parts unease, confusion, and worry coloured her features.
After a second of consideration, Spitfire decided she didn’t like that look on her. “Yeah?”
“Captain—Spitfire, I ...” Redheart looked from the card to Spitfire and worked her jaw. The latter tilted her head. Was that guilt? “I can only imagine what it must feel like to be left behind like this.”
Spitfire shrugged and looked to the side. “It is what it is. Nothing I can do except lie here for a few weeks.” There was scorn in her voice and she winced. “Sorry, that’s not fair. This isn’t your fault.”
A hoof almost cautiously came to her shoulder, rubbing in small circles. She followed the pristine white hoof to its owner’s eyes. They were bright and captivating as ever, though they shone now with a tender warmth that made Spitfire feel at ease.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Redheart asked. “Get you another pillow, maybe a glass of water?” Her gentle smile and voice both took on a light, teasing edge. “If you ask really nicely, I might even reinstate your pudding rights.”
Spitfire thought for a moment, then that devilish voice reared its head and whispered in her ear. She tried not to show the impish grin that threatened to twist her lips and instead lay her head back, doing her best to look as bereft as she felt seconds ago. “Well ...”
“Yes?”
The opportunity was too tempting to ignore. There was a challenge to win after all, and a nurse to be wooed. Behaving could wait. “It kind of feels like I’m in a sterilized cage right now,” she said, rolling her shoulder in a half-shrug. “Could you open the window? Let some fresh air in here?”
Redheart smiled. “Of course I can.”
Smiling in thanks, Spitfire watched through half-lidded eyes as Redheart walked around her and to the window. With her eyes fixed on the earth pony’s backside, she hummed as she stood up on her hind legs to grab the drawstring to open the blinds.
“There,” Spitfire murmured as those curves moved in the most interesting of ways. Her wing started to unfurl as the morning sun framed Redheart’s figure in the half-open window, and she made sure to commit every detail to memory. “Perfect.”
Redheart paused, drawstring between her teeth. “I haven’t finished opening it yet.”
“No, no, you’re good. Don’t move a muscle.”
Redheart stood there for another few seconds—giving Spitfire ample time to drink the sight of her in—before she caught wise. With a harrumph, she spat the cord out of her mouth and wheeled around. “Unbelievable!”
Spitfire purred, looking back up at the ceiling wistfully. “I’ll say.”
“No pudding for the entirety of your stay!” Redheart growled, yanking the chart from the end of Spitfire’s bed.
“Worth it.”
Shaking her head back and forth, Redheart plunked the chart back in place and snatched the get well card off of the bed blankets. “I can’t believe you. Of all the unprofessional, immature, inappropriate things to do.”
“Hey,” Spitfire said, frowning up at Redheart. “It’s called flirting. Chill.”
With another snort, Redheart dropped the card on Spitfire’s bedside table and was at the door a second later. “Again, if you call that flirting, then it’s a wonder anypony ends up in bed with you without that captain’s badge on your chest.”
Before Spitfire could retort, she had left the room, nearly slamming the door behind her.
Spitfire, for her part, gawked. “Did she just ...”
A quiver danced its way down her good wing. Oh, this was going to be very fun.
“You know,” Spitfire said, drumming her hooves on her mattress, “this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been in the hospital more than a couple times.”
“That isn’t very surprising,” Redheart said without looking up from her chart. She stood by the end of the bed, eyes scanning down the clipboard. Pen in hoof, she made a few notes on the bottom of the page, then flipped it over and scribbled some more. “An athlete like yourself must be used to the kind of strain you put on your body and the consequences that can have.”
Spitfire snickered and waggled her eyebrows. Too easy. “Oh, so you’re interested in my body, huh?”
The briefest of sighs blew out of Redheart’s nostrils. “Technically, yes, but only in your wing and only because I’m the lucky nurse who gets to attend to you. Nurse Tenderheart tells me you were actually quite well-mannered with her when she came in during my lunch. I almost wasn’t sure we were talking about the same pegasus.”
A frown tugged at the pegasus’ lips at her tone. Two nights ago, that kind of comment would have wrought the fiery whip of Redheart’s tongue. Sure, it wasn’t the blushing or stammering she was used to when she ventured out into Canterlot’s nightlife, but what Wonderbolt didn’t like a challenge? Spitfire may not have been able to fly with her team or even cheer them on from the sidelines, but she could damn well seduce a pretty mare.
At that thought, a bitter voice whispered in the back of her mind, drawing her frown down into something more ugly for a fleeting second.
By now, her team would be in San Franciscolt, gearing up for their next show. Soarin would be overseeing preparations, no doubt without their manager's watchful eyes looking over his shoulder. Fire Streak would be running Rainbow Dash through the routine, and the others would watch and bet on how long she would last until she met the ground face-first. Blaze and Fleetfoot would be in a dark corner somewhere for their pre-show ritual—something Spitfire had learned about in the worst way possible an hour before a show in Stalliongrad. The team, she knew, would be fine. Probably. They couldn’t use her if she hobbled her way to the train anyways, not with the next stop in Cloudsdale. Wonderbolts had little use for a grounded pegasus.
Shifting her shoulders, Spitfire winced at the pinching pain at the base of her wing and shook her head, dispelling such thoughts. She straightened her ears before they could droop and picked up her smirk before it fell altogether.
Focus. Determination. Pride. Those were the ingredients that made a Wonderbolt. Though she may be grounded, she was still Spitfire. Wonderbolts, no matter how beaten down, did not wallow, especially not when a pretty mare was on the line. Above all, Wonderbolts kept their eyes on the prize.
With renewed focus, she flicked her eyes to Redheart and watched her as she switched out the IV bag for a new one. The passion she showed, even if it was anger directed at Spitfire, was gone. Now when she spoke, she sounded bored. Doused was the fire in her voice. In its place was a near monotone brought about by routine. Her eyes, so bright and vibrant the morning Blaze left, seemed duller as she went through the motions of checking up on a patient.
As she finished switching the IV bags, Redheart lifted a hoof to stifle a yawn. Smacking her lips, she walked back to her chart, her eyes listless.
This was a step in the wrong direction. Anger Spitfire could work with. Passion was passion, and there were ways to mold it into something more to her liking. Shouts of anger and shouts of desire and want were only so different, after all.
Routine meant that the fire had gone cold. Fanning the heat was only possible if there were flames to stoke. It had only taken two days for indignation to turn to exasperation.
I’ll just have to step it up a notch.
Fitting her casual smirk back over her face, Spitfire chuckled. “Misbehaving is so much fun with you, Red. I wouldn’t want to share that with anypony else.”
Redheart nodded without looking at Spitfire. “How considerate of you.”
Spitfire’s smirk began to strain. “Besides, that Nurse Tenderheart was cute and all, but she’s got nothing on you. There’s just something about you.” She hummed, eyeing Redheart up and down. “I don’t settle for anything less than the best. ‘Fraid that’s you, hon.”
“I’m flattered,” Redheart said in a most unflattered voice.
Spitfire’s smirk fell. “Seriously? Nothing?”
The corner of Redheart’s mouth twitched. “I’ve been treating Rainbow Dash for years, Captain. This isn’t my first rodeo either.” Flipping back to the first page of the chart, she regarded Spitfire with a stare filled with little emotion. “Now, there is something important regarding your recovery I need to talk to you about.”
Spitfire puffed out a breath and lay back, folding her hooves over her chest. She scowled up at the ceiling. “What does a mare have to do to get you even a little bit frisky?”
“As I’m sure Doctor Horse told you, everything looks like it should heal properly,” Redheart continued without missing a beat. “The break in your wing was clean, which means—”
“Throw me a bone here! Anything!” Spitfire blinked, then gasped. “Wait, is that it? You’re looking for a good bone? Well, I might be lacking some equipment organically, but ponies can buy anything nowadays.”
The corner of Redheart’s eye twitched and the brilliant blue sparked to life for a half-second. As her grip on the clipboard tightened, Spitfire allowed herself a mental pat on the back. Horrible, lecherous, arrogant, but better. There was something to be said about the direct route.
“The only bones we should be talking about are the broken ones in your wing,” Redheart said, keeping her tone flat as her brows. She took a breath and slid the clipboard back into place. “One more comment and you can say goodbye to your morning yogurt, too. I think you underestimate how miserable I can make your time here. Now, enough of your foalish behaviour and let me address your medical needs. Understood?”
Scrunching up her muzzle, Spitfire narrowed her eyes. Redheart met her gaze, unyielding. “Fine. What’s up?”
“Good. Keep that up, and you might actually enjoy your stay here.” The corner of Redheart’s mouth quirked up into a tiny, satisfied grin as she trotted around Spitfire’s bedside. “We need to discuss your wing.”
Despite herself, Spitfire stuck out her tongue. “First, uncool, Red. Flirting with you is one of the highlights of my day. I enjoy it immensely.”
Redheart snorted. “Flirting?”
“Second—” Spitfire shifted to the side, putting more of herself between Redheart and her broken wing. A swelling bubble of unease settled in her stomach, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “—what about my wing?”
“To put it simply, I’m going to need to examine it. Not now!” Redheart added, taking a step back as Spitfire hunched her shoulders. She raised a hoof and when she spoke it was in a slower, more calming voice. “But at some point soon, I will. It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow, but before the week is out I’ll need to give it a look.”
Narrowing her eyes a hair, Spitfire grit her teeth and pushed herself into a sitting position. With her expression guarded and her good wing half-unfolded, she brought herself to eye level with Redheart. The mare in question held her gaze and lowered her hoof.
“I know how pegasi are with their wings, Spitfire,” she said, keeping up the calm, reassuring quality to her voice, speaking to Spitfire as if she were a frightened animal. It was a tone she had yet to hear from the mare, but it unwound the knots forming in her gut. Slowly, she lowered her wing. “I understand what I’m asking. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”
“Why is it necessary? It’s already in a cast! What do you need to go poking around it for?”
“To make sure that the bone is still set correctly,” Redheart explained, taking a single step forward. A small smile caught Spitfire’s eye as she approached, stopping just out of hoof’s reach. The smile softened her features, loosening some of the tension in the pegasus’ shoulders. “Pegasus bones can be finicky, especially when it comes to abrasions to the wing.”
“Okay,” Spitfire said slowly, sliding her hoof down her shoulder. Her tail curled around over her hind leg and she found herself fiddling with her bedsheet. “I’m listening.”
“You want to get back up in the air as soon as possible without any complications, don’t you?” At Spitfire’s hesitant nod, Redheart inched forwards close enough to rest her hoof on the edge of the bed. “Then I need to make sure that the bone is healing well so that you can go back to wowing ponies and dazzling mares. If it’s offset by even a tiny bit, it could mean complications down the road.”
“There’s only one I got my eye on right now,” Spitfire more mumbled than said. “She doesn’t seem to be into dazzling, though.”
This time, Redheart didn’t snort or snipe back with a sharp-tongued retort. Neither did she respond with the colourless tone she employed earlier. “Your wing will also need preening and proper care,” she continued, smile in place and her words low. “I’ve got a certificate in pegasus physiology. You will be in good hooves, I promise.”
Inhaling, Spitfire broke away from those twin pools of luminescent blue. Her broken wing throbbed and her tail flicked higher around her waist. “Sorry, Red,” she said, exhaling. “Wing privileges are a fifth date deal.”
Redheart frowned. “Spitfire—”
“It’s not that I doubt you,” Spitfire said with a shake of her head. Her fire doused, tension built back up between her shoulders and she lay back, wrapping her forelegs around her barrel. “You’ve kept Rainbow Dash up in the air this long. That takes some serious skill, and I’ve seen how hard the rookie can wipe out. It’s like she’s got bones made of rubber or something.”
Redheart pursed her lips. “Then what is it?”
Shifting her weight, Spitfire found a small divot in the wall to look at. “Look, it’s just ...” The pink of Redheart’s mane bobbed in the corner of her eye and she heard her hoof click back down on the linoleum floor. “My wings are kind of a big deal for me, alright? I’m not cool with other ponies messing around with them.”
“I understand and respect that.” Redheart’s face appeared in her vision, beautiful eyes drawing attention away from the wall faster than any Academy record. “But the reality of the situation is that if you want to ensure you getting back in the air at your best, somepony needs to examine your wing.”
Spitfire sucked her bottom lip in between her teeth. “I can probably count on my primaries how many ponies have had their hooves in my feathers.”
“Spitfire—”
“It’s not that I haven’t been hurt before,” she continued, her healthy wing twitching and fluffing at her side. Reproach washed over Redheart’s features and Spitfire felt her insides churn. Deep within the nurse’s eyes was care, lighting her core despite everything. All she could do was look away. “But the ponies who helped me with my wing were ponies I could trust with everything. My mom, some of my team, the team physio. It’s a short list.”
“Spitfire, please.”
“And I just don’t know you well enough, I guess.” Spitfire shrugged and stared down at her hooves gripping the bedsheets.
“None of those ponies you mentioned are here, Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice imploring. It made Spitfire squirm, but not in the fun way.
Part of her was tempted, there was no doubt about that. Any excuse to have her hooves in her feathers should be something to jump at, but still she bit her tongue.
A slight shiver travelled down the length of Spitfire’s form at that thought, ending at the tip of her wing. She followed that shiver to her yellow feathers and softly ran a hoof down them. Then, her ears drooping, she turned and did the same down the cast around her other wing. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re super cute and I’m sure you’re amazing at what you do, but I’m putting my hoof down.”
Redheart sighed and shook her head. When she looked up at Spitfire, a weight seemed to settle over her muzzle, pulling her lips down into a frown. “I can’t force you, but I think you’re making a mistake. Somepony needs to examine your wing.”
Spitfire nodded and chewed the inside of her cheek. “My family doctor,” she said. “He lives in Cloudsdale—Doctor Hollow. He looked after me, Blaze, and Rapid growing up. His contact information should be in my file. You have that, right?”
With a resigned nod, Redheart backed away from the bed. She sighed before she spoke. “We do. I’ll see if we can ask for him to come pay Ponyville General a visit.”
“I’ll pay for his room and board,” Spitfire said, failing to meet Redheart’s eyes as she made for the hospital room door. Right now she didn’t much feel like watching her go.
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Princess Twilight made it clear that all medical-related fees were to be covered by the crown in this case. At any rate, I’ll see about having a letter sent off to him. With any luck, he'll be in before the week is out to examine your wing.”
“Sure. Um.” Spitfire eased her way back down to the mattress and lolled her head to the side. It looked like a beautiful day outside. “Thanks, Nurse Redheart.”
“I have other patients to attend to. I’ll be back later to check in on you. No more exercising.”
And with that, the door opened and closed, leaving Spitfire alone again in her room. A sigh turned to a growl halfway out her mouth and she thumped her head back against her pillow a good five or six times.
Great progress today, Spits.
Spitfire held her breath as she lifted both her hind legs and her chest, bringing them as close together as she could manage over her midsection. Muscles aching in protest, she grit her teeth through the discomfort and held her curled position to the count of ten. Hospitalized or not, a little pain was no excuse not to keep her body working.
And, if her old drill sergeant was to be believed, a lot of pain was no excuse, either.
Once she reached ten, she resisted the temptation to flop back down. Instead, she forced herself to ease down every excruciating inch to the welcome embrace of her mattress. She let her forelegs relax as soon as her head hit the pillow, splaying out on either side of her, and released the breath she was holding. Several more were quick to follow as her body reported a stream of messages regarding aches, pains, and stiffness that radiated out from her core, to her shoulders, and to down her haunches.
A few hours after Redheart’s last visit, Spitfire found herself left to her own devices. The orderly poked his head in to bring her lunch, sans pudding, and ducked out with only a few words passing between them. The food, as she had discovered her first morning in Ponyville General, was surprisingly tasty, a far cry from the mush she had been served elsewhere. From what little she gleaned from the orderly who visited whenever his duties dictated it—a lanky, mauve unicorn stallion—it was all locally grown.
And it occupied Spitfire’s time for the twenty minutes she took to eat it.
The rest of the hours that passed were filled only by her thoughts and the tick-tock of the clock on the wall. Her bed, while comfortable, started to feel more and more like confinement. She tossed her blankets off, but the way she sunk into the mattress left that feeling simmering in the back of her mind.
Her thoughts, cycling around a vicious circle of supple white curves with dazzling blue eyes and pegasi performing death-defying stunts to a crowd of awestruck ponies in cities far away, did little to settle her mind. If anything, they added to the building tension in her legs and wings.
Her mind seemed content to play a repeating loop of her earlier conversation with Redheart. The look of disappointment, bordering on hurt, that cracked through the mask she wore made her insides squirm. The genuine concern in her voice echoed in her mind. Despite everything and every pass Spitfire made, she wanted to see her heal. She wanted to see her better. An unsettling, nauseating feeling sunk down her chest. It was a feeling she couldn’t shake off.
When she closed her eyes and tried to shift gears to something else, she found herself looking out the window. Outside was a clear blue sky and local pegasi flying in the distance. As one of the pegasi did a loop-de-loop, her team’s farewell came bubbling to the surface. The mixture of pity and worry over Soarin and Fleetfoot’s faces, the guilt worn in Rapidfire’s usually cheery and sunny features, and the uncertainty that reigned Blaze’s expression sent her insides squirming for a completely different reason.
Neither were particularly pleasant.
Every twitch of her wing brought with it a longing to feel the wind in her mane and to free herself from her bed and her room. Wandering her thoughts proved an endless maze, leading her around in circles. The longer she lay in bed the more the stiffness in her muscles became apparent to her.
Spitfire needed to do something.
Spitfire needed to move. The simple act of moving her muscles took her mind off of whatever weighed upon it, letting her breathe. Though given how she huffed and puffed after a few sets of crunches, that notion may be more metaphorical than practical.
Sucking in her breath, she set her shoulders. Bringing her hooves to either side of her head, she lifted her hind legs and upper half. Her cheeks puffed out from the effort of holding the crunch and what felt like fire burned her muscles.
With her eyes scrunched shut, fighting down the pain, she failed to hear the door swing open or the swiftly approaching hoofsteps until a voice, raw with fury, made her lose focus.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Even after her slip, Spitfire managed to hold her pose. Opening an eye showed Redheart standing beside her bed and beside herself with outrage. Her eyes, so dull and bored a few hours ago, blazed to life as she bared her teeth in an unconcealed snarl.
If there was ever a time to play it cool, it was now. With a tedious slowness, Spitfire relaxed her muscles and lowered herself down to her mattress. Though her head felt light from the exertion and though her forelegs felt like lead weights, she managed a strained smile. “Hey, Red. What’s up?”
“Don’t you ‘hey, what’s up’ me!” Stomping the last few steps forward, Redheart stared down with a glare that would make any drill sergeant proud. She prodded a hoof none-too-gently at Spitfire’s shoulder. “I leave for a few hours and come back to find you exercising in your bed? In your condition? Just how irresponsible are you?”
Lying in bed as she was, Spitfire felt very small under the earth pony. Suddenly, she understood why Blaze cowered behind Fleetfoot a few nights before. Swallowing, she tried to push Redheart’s hoof off. It didn’t budge. “I-it was just a few crunches!”
“That doesn’t matter,” Redheart barked, drawing a wince. “You should know better!”
“I know my limits!” Spitfire matched glares. Hers felt oddly less intimidating. “I wasn’t doing anything stupid—I just needed to do something instead of lying here!”
“Then you should have said something and I would have brought something for you to do,” Redheart said, her tone hot. “The last thing you should be doing is adding more strain to your body! It’s fragile enough right now as it is.”
Spitfire’s glare faltered. The squirming of her insides returned, making her want to draw in on herself. With her ears pinned back, she opened her mouth, but found no words to say.
Redheart’s nostrils flared as she exhaled. Every flash of anger or indignation Spitfire had seen over the last two days came pouring back in one long, overdue torrent. “And, before you even think about trying to slide by with one of your horrid comments, I will warn you that I’ve had enough. One more unwarranted pass at me, and I will drop you from my care. I don’t care if Twilight, Luna, or even Celestia herself begs me to reconsider. I think I’ve suffered quite enough, don’t you?”
Spitfire flinched. Shrinking down under her blankets, she nodded. “Yes, Nurse Redheart.”
“Good. I came back in to tell you that I found your family doctor’s information.” The fire burning behind her eyes tempered, and with it Redheart’s tone. When she spoke again, her words came out calmer and more soothing. “I’m going to stop by the post office on the way home this afternoon and send him an overnight letter. With any luck, he’ll be here in the next couple days.”
“Oh.” Shifting her shoulders, Spitfire looked to the side. The intensity of Redheart’s stare made the fur on her neck stand on end. Words continued to escape her, flirty or otherwise. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Redheart said tartly. “If I catch you exercising or doing anything like that again without supervision or my explicit permission, so help me I will restrain you to your bed until you are healed to my satisfaction.”
The intent behind that threat was as sharp and as real as Spitfire’s tongue on orientation day. She bit back the first thought that jumped to mind and instead nodded again, looking more at her hooves than at Redheart. “Understood.”
“I have other duties to attend to, Captain,” Redheart said, spinning around to the door. Without so much as a threatening glare over her shoulder, she left the room, pink tail snapping from side to side behind her.
Spitfire only winced a little when the door slammed shut and sighed, head lolling back to her pillow.
Boredom or fury. Spitfire wasn’t sure which was worse.
Behave, a voice that sounded a little too similar to Blaze’s said in the corner of her mind.
With a snort, she pushed that voice away and tried to ignore the creeping feeling clawing at the back of her mind. Lifting her head, she perked her ears and listened. A set of hoofsteps trotted by her hospital room door and the murmuring of voices from further down the hall were just barely perceptible. Another voice—one that sounded like Redheart’s—travelled by. Its tone was nothing short of irritated.
Otherwise, Spitfire was alone once more.
And already her aching muscles twitched and groaned. The ones in her calves started to cramp up and her wing yearned to spread and fly.
Rubbing her forelegs together, she cast her gaze around the room. On a little cart the orderly left in her room in his haste to clean up somepony’s “accident” a few rooms down was a pitcher of water and three glasses.
Spitfire licked her lips, finding them dry. Flicking an ear, she strained her hearing for any noise. Beyond the faded murmuring of the rest of the hospital beyond the door, there was nothing. Redheart would be attending to her other duties. Nopony would be by for some time.
Sucking in a breath through her mouth, she clenched her forehooves as she pushed herself to her haunches. Water would help clear her head. Getting it would give her something else to focus on other than the last few minutes and the cacophony of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.
Her good wing fluttered in the corner of her eyes and she tenderly ran a hoof through its feathers, grimacing at the contact. Whatever doctors they had on staff were not skilled in the art of preening if the state of misaligned and broken feathers along her wing was anything to go by.
Can’t wait to see what the other one looks like.
Her wing curled up at her side, recoiling at the thought.
“One disaster at a time, Spits,” she told herself, her voice coming out shaky and strained from the effort of sitting up. The room spun for a few seconds and she braced herself on the bed’s headboard. “Come on, it was just a few crunches. You’ve dealt with worse. Stop being a baby and ‘Bolt up.”
Once the room settled down, she clenched her jaw and braced herself for action. The water pitcher was only a few feet away. Though it risked a verbal lashing by Redheart, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. The longer she lay in bed doing nothing, the more she felt like a bird in a cage.
However, given how her muscles complained with a renewed vigour at the simple action of sitting up, what was best for her was more than a little foggy.
All she knew was that she could not bear lying there, useless to the world for much longer. That, and that she was thirsty.
“It’s not exercising,” she reasoned, starting the agonizingly slow process of sliding off of her mattress to the floor. Gingerly, her hoof touched the cold linoleum tiles below, making her shiver. “It’s just getting a glass of water. Nopony’s here to do it for you.”
Two hooves touched down. Shaking her head, she took a few laboured breaths before easing her other two hooves to the floor. “There, easy,” she said, legs wobbling underneath her. Her wing fanned out, flapping haphazardly in effort to balance her as she swayed in place. “Besides, Red never said I couldn’t stretch my legs a little. Stretching isn't exercise.”
She chuckled, a loose smile splitting her lips. She raised a foreleg, but the trembling from the other three brought it back down. Letting out a soft groan, she stood there beside her bed, trying to ignore the building pressure in her head and the throbbing of her broken wing.
One step at a time. Opening her eyes, she focused on her target. Ten, maybe twelve little shuffles and she would be there. She lifted her foreleg again and moved it a couple inches forward. That’s it. Left hoof, right hoof. Left hoof, right hoof.
Again, with almost painful slowness, she lifted her other hoof and stepped forward. Her hind legs shuffled forward.
“There we go,” she said as she took another, bigger step forwards. “I can do this.” Another step, another few inches closer to her goal. No injury could keep her down for long. Pride, worthy of Commander Hurricane, swelled in her chest and lifted her chin. Standing tall if uncertainly, she stepped forward. “Easy. And Red was worr—”
Her breath caught as her hoof slipped out from under her. A cry never made it past her throat as she scrambled, trying to right herself. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate with her brain and Spitfire watched as the floor fast approached, aided by the flapping of her good wing.
A second but an eternity later, she hit the floor.
She landed on her broken wing.
Stars exploded in her eyes and everything went white with pain. Fire spread along her wing and body. She was vaguely aware of a scream tearing past her lips as her hooves fumbled about, useless and flailing. The room began to blur, shapes melding into undefined blobs as fuzzy as her hearing.
Then, she felt a pair of hooves on her shoulder. A voice, low, gentle, and beckoning, spoke in her ear. She couldn’t make out the words, but the warm puffs of breath on her cheek drew a pitiful whimper.
The hooves on her shoulder, steady and strong, worked her upright. Her undamaged wing fell over something soft and warm pressed against her side and Spitfire leaned into it. Her hooves, stumbling and slipping, were guided across the floor. Somepony came. Somepony heard her. Somepony was helping her.
Whoever held her eased her back down into her bed. A sharp pain stabbed her foreleg, just above the elbow. Seconds that felt like eternities later, a blissful numbness spread over her body, dousing the fire raging all over. Her eyelids felt heavy and her thoughts sluggish.
All the while, that sweet, gentle voice continued to whisper reassurances to her, calming her until her breathing regulated and the pain ebbed.
Just before everything faded to black, she saw a blob of white looking down at her through two pools of the brightest blue she had seen. Something soft stroked her cheek, and Spitfire fell into a dreamless sleep.
The throbbing of her wing was the first thing Spitfire knew when she stumbled back into the realm of the conscious. Soon after came the pounding in her head as she tried opening her eyes, only to be blinded by the light overhead. After a few moments, the rest of her body rushed in to file complaints. One message made itself clear: she was tired, she was battered, and she was bruised.
Slowly, she cracked open her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the light. The sun outside still hung high in the sky, dipping towards the western horizon. Judging from the sun’s position, only a couple hours must have passed since blacking out. That, or she blacked out clear until the next day. The memory of falling brought a fresh wave of pain from her wing, forcing her to clench her eyes shut and swallow down a hiss of renewed agony.
The events of her misadventure to the water pitcher coagulated in fuzzy memories distorted by the sensation of needles stabbing her broken limb and the spinning of her head. She remembered standing up well enough, as she did taking shaky steps away from the warm comfort of her hospital bed. Then, she knew, she fell.
Getting back to her bed, however, was fuzzier. Forcing her breaths into regular intervals, she cast her thoughts back, searching for details. Did she crawl across the floor? Stumble her way step by misfortunate step until she fell into the cool embrace of her bedsheets?
She remembered a white blob standing above her. Two bright and piercing eyes of blue shining with concern locked onto hers, guiding her to her pillows. Something soft—a hoof?—stroked her cheek. The blob’s voice spoke to her, the words unclear and garbled but soothing until everything turned to black.
There was also, upon further reflection, a swirl of pink topping the white blob.
Even in her condition, connecting the dots was easy enough for Spitfire.
A sickly, icy feeling rooted in her chest, numbing some of the pain while making her insides squirm. She wanted to curl into a ball as pressure built up behind her eyes until the feeling subsided or until she threw up, whichever came first. Through it all, she couldn’t put a hoof on exactly what she was feeling—guilt? It might have been guilt.
The image of the Redheart-blob floated before her, tending to her even after she disobeyed her, caring for her patient who spoke to her as a hot piece of flank and little more.
Spitfire’s insides revolted and she wanted nothing more than to sink deep into the mattress.
It was most definitely guilt. A tired, pained, and defeated groan escaped her lips at the revelation. She gripped at her covers, working to find the strength to pull them over her head.
“Ah, so you’re awake,” a voice said from off to her left. Spitfire froze at its tone, a few notches below livid and somewhere north of furious. “This should be good.”
Following the voice to its source, Spitfire swallowed, suddenly feeling very small and very foalish. If the tone sounded angered, then it had nothing on the look on Redheart’s face. Her brows met in the middle of her forehead, her lips pulled back in a snarl, and her wonderful blue eyes blazed with a fire that burned holes wherever they looked.
Currently, they were fixed on Spitfire and, though it may have been a trick of the light, steam seemed to billow out of her ears. In the distance, she swore she heard a train whistle.
Struggling to find her voice, she managed to croak out her name. “R-Redheart?”
“I’m here,” Redheart said, eyes narrowing to a focused stare of fury. “And now, thanks to your stunt, so are you for a while longer if I have any say in it. Somepony as reckless as you are clearly cannot be trusted to manage their own recovery! What do you have to say for yourself?”
Spitfire flinched, shrinking into her blankets. Her ears pinned back as her eyes skittered off the side, unable to meet Redheart’s gaze.
That answer was obvious. As she went through every sleazy line and every ogle of her rump, her ears drooped lower until they were plastered against the back of her head. A healthy dosage of guilt weighed on her shoulders, making her insides churn and at last grounding her to reality.
“Well? I don’t have all day, Captain. Believe it or not, I have other patients that need attending to. These ones actually listen to my instructions.”
Again, Spitfire flinched. She tugged on the edge of her bedsheets, resisting the urge to cower and hide beneath them where Redheart’s eyes wouldn’t find her.
A long second slowly ticked by, followed by another, and another. While Spitfire stared at her hooves, Redheart snorted and shook her head. “Unbelievable.” The springs beneath the chair’s cushion squeaked as the nurse shifted her weight. Hooves clicked on the linoleum floor. “Another nurse will be in to check on you in a while. Good day, Captain.”
Just as Redheart took her first step, Spitfire found her voice, imploring and weak as it may have been. “Wait.”
Redheart’s ear flicked and she paused, her foreleg half off the ground. She looked over her shoulder, expression carefully neutral, but something about the look on Spitfire’s face must have caught her eye. Slowly, she turned around and stood still, waiting. Her question, unvoiced, rang through the room:
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
To her credit, it was a good question. Memories of the last hoofful of days flashed through Spitfire’s mind as she fiddled with the hem of her sheets, feeling smaller and smaller and less like a Wonderbolt as the silence dragged on. Her thoughts shifted to the mare sitting across from her and her tail wrapped around her hind leg.
From the moment she woke up at Ponyville General, Redheart was there. Kind, caring, and dedicated to her patients to a fault, she watched over her. Throughout twisting Blaze’s ear, comforting her when the rest of the Wonderbolts left for the next stop on the tour, caring for her after disobeying orders, she had treated her with a softness and a kindness that put other ponies to shame, especially when she didn’t deserve it.
Strong and stern when necessary, but welcoming and warm when she could be, Nurse Redheart cared for her. As pain set in and Spitfire’s thoughts cleared, she glanced up.
Judging from how she sat with her hind legs tucked under her stomach when she came to, she had waited for Spitfire to wake up. Though the more cynical side of Spitfire would suggest she sat there, waiting to chew her out, she knew that wasn’t the kind of pony Redheart was. From what little she did know, her gut told her that she waited to make sure she would be okay.
For a brief second, her image crystallized in her mind as it swam with pain. Concern, not anger, shown in her eyes as she picked Spitfire up from the floor.
How have you repaid her for her kindness? a voice that sounded eerily like her mother whispered in her ear.
Spitfire’s wing ached in protest as she squared her shoulders and stared up at the ceiling. A resigned sigh left her lips.
Pain, she discovered, was quite sobering.
“Let me have it.”
A beat passed. Spitfire tried not to clench her hooves around the fabric of her bedding as she waited for the verbal lashing she knew Redheart had been stewing over for at least the last hour.
“Pardon?” Redheart asked, fury faltering from her voice.
Spitfire chanced a look over, finding Redheart’s brows still knit but her eyes wide. Licking her lips, she kept her tone steady. “Let me have it,” she said, looking back up at the ceiling. “Celestia knows I deserve it.”
A cautious tone guarded Redheart’s words, but she stayed. “And why’s that?”
“Because I’m pretty sure I’ve been a lousy excuse for a Wonderbolt.” Spitfire managed a light scoff and lolled her head to the side. The card her team left her sat propped up on her nightstand so that the little, cartoonish pegasus looked back at her with its face drawn in misery. “What I did, leaving my bed against your orders, was stupid. There’s no excuse for that—and there aren’t any excuses for my behaviour since waking up here, either. I’ve been an ass.”
Another beat passed. Her posture stiff, Redheart watched Spitfire with her lips pursed. “Go on.”
Spitfire swallowed, but nodded, even as her stomach knotted. “It’s been not cool to say the least. Everything from trying to flirt with you, tricking you into opening the window, and ignoring what you’ve had to say in favour of fantasizing about what I’d do to—” Those last words combined with the feeling of Redheart’s eyes on her neck brought a small warmth to her cheeks. She cleared her throat even as the words continued to tumble out. “—with you on a date.”
Redheart’s brow arched. “Do I want to know?”
Before those memories could bubble to the surface, Spitfire shut them down in the deepest, darkest corner of her mind. “Not really, and I feel like a heel for even thinking them now.”
The other brow raised. “Most mares would slap you right about now, Captain.”
But you’re not any other mare.
Spitfire bit her tongue, keeping any quips at bay. Behave. Once she trusted her mouth, she nodded. “You’re right, and they’d have every right to. Some captain I’ve turned out to be if this is how I treat the ponies looking after me.”
“Some might say that you lack the basic respect any mare deserves to consider picking up on your advances.”
“I—” Cutting herself off with a quick breath, Spitfire squeezed her eyes shut. She exhaled and lifted her chin. If she could work up the courage to apologize to Soarin after lying to get Rainbow Dash on their team, she could muster up something now.
Something, she realized, that required looking Redheart in the eyes.
Steel in her resolve, she met Redheart’s gaze. “You’re right. I haven’t.”
Redheart’s eyes narrowed, making Spitfire swallow. “Then why did you do it—any of it—in the first place?”
“I ... I don’t know.” Gaze faltering, Spitfire scratched at her foreleg. What was it that her mother said about Wonderbolts flying with their hooves in their mouths? “My mom would probably say it has something to do with my fat head. It wouldn’t be the first time my ego’s caused me trouble.”
Redheart’s tail flicked to the side.
“Back in Rainbow Falls for the tryouts for the Equestria Games,” Spitfire continued, muzzle wrinkling at the memory. “I wanted the best for my team, no matter what. I ended up hurting Soarin because I wanted to win instead of staying loyal to my friend. I was kind of a jerk.”
The corner of Redheart’s mouth twitched. “Mmhmm.”
"And I'm ..." Spitfire trailed off, the words dying on her tongue. Her cast loomed out of the corner of her eye. Grounded. Slowly, her ears fell back and her uninjured wing drooped to the mattress. "I'm ..."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Redheart's ear twitch. It may have been Spitfire's imagination, but her expression seemed to soften a bit.
Spitfire, for her part, opened and closed her mouth. Again, no words came. She dropped her chin to her chest and let out something between a sigh and a growl.
Silence fell over the little hospital room. Keeping her head bowed, Spitfire waited, but for what she wasn't quite sure. An eternity passed before the sound of hooves clicking on linoleum tile caught her attention. A shadow spilled over her bed, and she resisted the urge to swallow.
"I understand."
Spitfire blinked and lifted her head. Where she expected to see rage or, worse, disdain, she found a glimmer of the care and kindness she saw when she first woke after her crash. Her ears started to perk up. “What?”
“I’m not saying I’m excusing your behaviour,” Redheart said, some of the hardness bleeding away from her voice. With a sigh, she shook her head and rubbed the bridge of her muzzle. “You’re hurt, and you’re not acting like yourself. At least I hope you aren’t. A lot of patients go through that after a traumatic accident if they’re experiencing pain or grief. I’m not saying it’s okay, but I think I understand.”
A heavy breath later and Spitfire finally found her words. They were a simple two, but for once they were the right ones. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Redheart shook her head. When she opened her eyes, the fury burning behind them was gone. Without it they looked tired, but an ember of warm compassion shone through. A tiny, little smile quirked the corner of her lips. “I don’t know if this is any consolation, but after that little stunt you’ve made yourself my top priority. Not just because Princess Twilight asked. Even foals know better than to climb out of bed without supervision.”
Again, Spitfire’s ears pinned back. A heavy dose of shame would keep them there while making her cheeks run hot. “Smart foals around here,” she mumbled.
“Indeed.”
Another silence followed in her words. Spitfire stared at her blankets, listening to the click-clack of Redheart’s hooves on the floor, the rustle of paper as she flipped open her chart, and the scribble of pen as she no doubt jotted a note to the next doctor or nurse to come in.
Spitfire chanced a glance up. “Hey, Red—er, Nurse Redheart?”
Redheart’s ear flicked at the use of the nickname, but her expression didn’t change. With a polite half-smile and without looking up from her chart, she asked, “Yes?”
“Look, I know I probably don’t have any room to talk here,” Spitfire started, wrinkling her nose and forcing her wing tight by her side. Nervous though she may be, now was not the time to show the tremble making her feathers shake. “But do you think there’s any way we could start over?”
Redheart looked up from her chart. When she did, she tilted her head to the side. “Start over?”
“Yeah.” Sucking a breath in through her teeth, she braced her forelegs against the mattress as she pushed herself to sit up. She felt another’s presence, Redheart’s presence, by her side in a second and a hoof cup her shoulder, holding her steady.
“Take it slow. You’ve already pushed yourself much too far for one day,” Redheart said. Her voice carried with it a frown, but she didn’t push back.
Flashing a grateful smile, Spitfire finished sitting up and blinked hard to keep the room from spinning. Equilibrium achieved, she followed the pearly white hoof on her shoulder to its owner and licked her lips. “I’m pony enough to admit when I’m wrong. This isn’t the first time I’ve acted like a total heel to good ponies, and it probably won’t be the last.”
Redheart arched a brow and withdrew her hoof. “Your team obviously cares for you deeply, and Rainbow Dash speaks very highly of you. You’ve made mistakes and have acted horribly, but I don’t believe you are a bad pony.”
Nodding her head, Spitfire flicked her gaze down before forcing herself to meet and hold those brilliant blue eyes watching her. “Thanks. That might be more than I deserve, but thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, what does that have to do with this starting over business?”
“Just that,” Spitfire said, rubbing one foreleg with the other. That nauseating, icy feeling continued to bubble in her stomach, making her swallow and her head feel light. “I’d like to be the pony my team and Rainbow Dash respects and admires. I want to show you that I’m not just the mare I’ve been acting like the last couple days.”
Brow firmly arched, Redheart nodded once. “Which is why you want to start over.”
“Clean slate.”
Redheart hummed, drawing a flick of Spitfire’s ear as she felt the nurse’s gaze on her as if searching for something. “You said not just the mare you’ve been acting like,” she said, a note of caution weighing down her voice. “Does that mean I should prepare myself for anymore of the same?”
Spitfire’s response was immediate. “No.” Then, feathers rustling, she wrapped a hoof around her wing, hugging it to her side. “Well, not really—maybe a little?” A hopeless little smile, one she hadn’t shown in ages, pulled over her muzzle. “I’ll stop acting like a jerk, but you’re insanely pretty. My eyes may want to wander, but there’s something to be said about a Wonderbolt’s discipline, right?”
Rolling her eyes, Redheart shook her head. There was no anger or indignation in her eyes, however. Though difficult to see through her guard, something maybe like amusement danced within. “I suppose we’ll see, and I suppose that’s the best I can hope for, isn’t it?”
“I’ll do better,” Spitfire said, pouring conviction into her tone. “I’ll be better. Promise.”
A small sigh pushed past Redheart’s lips. “Very well.” With an equally small smile, she offered her hoof. “A clean slate it is, Captain.”
“Just call me Spitfire,” Spitfire said, extending her own hoof to shake. “Hardly anypony calls me ‘Captain.’”
“Very well. I hope the next few weeks will be better than the last few days, Spitfire.” Redheart shook.
“Wonderbolt’s honour.”
Redheart arched her brow and her eyes twinkled, but only for a second. “Honour, huh? We’ll see. I do have other patients to attend to now. You’ve taken up quite a lot of my time today already.”
“Cool. I’ll be here, I guess. And thanks, Redheart.” Fluffing her wing, Spitfire felt her grin turn sheepish once more. “You know, for staying here and putting up with me until I knocked some sense into myself.”
Redheart allowed herself a smile. “And thank you for apologizing. I look forward to getting to know the rest of you.”
As she left, Spitfire sat where she was, upright despite the twinging of her muscles up and down her body. She stared after the last bit of pink tail long after it slipped out the door. Finally, after days of going nowhere, she got a smile. A small one at that, but a smile nonetheless and a clean slate to build up from.
But still, that prickling feeling buzzed away at the back of her mind. Her shoulders had yet to loosen. Her insides had yet to unknot and her conscience had yet to lighten.
Her broken wing throbbed, a constant reminder at her side.
There was still something to be done.
Hours passed, and boredom was quick to settle in. Spitfire’s body felt tense, aching to move and to fly. Being stationary was something other ponies did. Wonderbolts were born to fly, to be in constant motion. Adrenaline was an old friend, one she sorely missed as she lay in her bed.
Her hind leg twitched, but that was the only movement she’d allow. Screwing up her muzzle, she exhaled and counted to ten. One day she ought to take Wave Chill up on his offers to meditate. Learning how to do nothing, she began to realize, was a skill in its own right.
For now, though, she would just have to try and make do. A blanket of guilt weighed on her, keeping her hooves by her sides and her shoulders pinned to the mattress. Every ache and ounce of pain from her wing was enough of a reminder not to move, even if it was just around her room. Until she was given the okay, she would behave herself. At least, for now.
The click of the doorknob pulled her from her thoughts. The door opened soundlessly and Redheart’s head poked in after it. “You asked Nurse Tenderheart to fetch me?”
Spitfire nodded, beckoning her in further. When she spoke, she found her mouth dry. “Yeah. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Closing the door behind her, Redheart walked in and stood by the foot of the bed. “Now? It’s getting late, Spitfire. My shift’s almost over, actually.”
Sure enough, the day was coming to an end. One of the nice things about her hospital room, Spitfire had discovered, was that it offered a fantastic, westward facing view of town. As the sun set, it painted the thatched roofs and grassy green hills of Ponyville in blankets of light as gold as her coat. The sky above swirled in a mix of hues from a shining yellow to a fiery red, swallowing up the last of the day’s cheery blue.
It was one of the most captivating sights Spitfire had ever seen. The town seemed spellbound as the light was caught and danced off of the crystal castle walls in the distance, reflecting motes of every colour off of the streets and building walls.
Still, it was only one of the most captivating sights in Ponyville. From the sound of things, both it and the winning competition were about to leave for the day.
“It shouldn’t take that long.” Clearing her throat, Spitfire shuffled up, leaning her weight against her pillows as she pushed herself to her haunches. “But I get you wanting to clear out of here as fast as possible. It can wait for tomorrow if you want since it’s the end of your shift and all.”
“I’m here now.” Jaw set, Redheart scooted closer to Spitfire’s side. The look on her face brokered little room for argument, though her words were gentle. “Might as well make good use of my time. What did you want to talk about?”
Spitfire’s good wing twitched. The other one throbbed, making her shoulders tighten. “Well ... I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to send that letter to Doctor Hollow yet.”
Redheart’s lips fell into a thin line in time with her brows. “Oh, that.” She closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. “No, not yet. I’ve hardly had a chance to sit down for lunch today. I was going to send it on my way home. Don’t worry, though. He’ll have it with his morning coffee. Express delivery can get it to him overnight.”
“Okay.” Spitfire nodded, frowning down at her lap. Her wing shuddered and she pulled it in close. “Good.”
“Was that all you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Stroking her wing, she took a breath to ease her jangled nerves. “There was one other thing.”
Redheart arched a brow.
Timing. It was all about timing and delivery. If only her voice didn’t sound so wavery to her ears. “It’s a good thing you haven’t sent it yet,” Spitfire found the iron to her resolve and met Redheart’s eyes, “because I don’t want you to send it.”
That earned her a surprised blink and slight parting of lips. “I—pardon?”
“Don’t send it,” Spitfire said, her voice strengthening the more she spoke. Chest swelling as she inhaled, she sat up fully without the support of her pillows. “Tear it up, toss it, throw it in the fire—doesn’t matter.”
“Then who’s going to tend to your wing?” Redheart blinked again, then scowled. “You most certainly aren’t.”
A chuckle shook Spitfire’s frame, soon followed by a grimace as groaning aches rolled through her body. “Celestia, no. Preening and sprains are about as far as I get.” What passed for a coyish grin slipped over her face. That was enough wind-up. Time for the punchline. “And I was thinking you could look after my wing.”
Redheart froze, her eyes wide. “What?”
The corner of Spitfire’s mouth twitched as she fought down a smirk. “You heard me.”
Redheart’s brows tried to meet in the middle of her forehead, wrinkling her forehead in the process. “What happened to everything you said earlier? You made it very clear that only a few ponies can even touch them, let alone tend to them.”
“I know what I said.” Loosening her grip on her wing, Spitfire swallowed against her dry throat and chewed on the edge of her lip. “And I want you to look after my wing.”
A beat of silence passed. Beautiful blue eyes searched her face. “You’d trust me with your wing? Why?”
Nerves, Spitfire thought, were her forte. Standing in front of a crowd of thousands thrilled her. Shooting the breeze with royalty was old hat. She even kept a straight face when Rapidfire got the ‘brilliant’ idea to slip green hair dye into her shampoo the night before she was officially made captain.
When it came to her wings, however—her most prized possessions, the things that gave her the sky she loved—she felt very much like that small filly she used to be, hiding behind her mother’s feathers. Doctor Hollow got a pass for looking after her since she was a baby. He was like an uncle to her and her siblings. Several months of excuses passed with Splint, the Wonderbolt’s team physician, before Spitfire trusted her with her wings.
She nearly jumped when something nudged her shoulder. At some point, she must have dropped her gaze. Now, raising her head, she found herself captured by Redheart’s eyes. Warmth and reassurance radiated out from within in waves, calming the roiling in Spitfire’s stomach and settling her nerves.
She felt her body, tense and taut, start to relax as she bathed in their warmth.
“You don’t have to do this out of guilt, Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice soothing and smooth. “It’s not a problem asking Doctor Hollow to make the trip. What’s most important right now is getting you healthy.”
“You’re totally right,” Spitfire said, giving an easy smile. “Which is why I want you to take care of it. I think you’ve more than earned it. Maybe it is a little bit out of guilt, but that doesn’t change my answer.”
Redheart stared at her for a moment longer, her brows slowly unknitting. “Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.” Grunting with the effort, Spitfire pushed herself forwards. With delicate motions, she shifted and started to ease herself down to her stomach, granting Redheart easier access to her wing. Once the soft, somewhat scratchy fabric of the comforter itched her belly, she rested her chin on her foreleg. “Whenever you’re ready.”
It took Redheart a second to start moving. “I’ll be right back with fresh bandages,” she said, stumbling over the words. Then, shaking her head, she backed out to the door. “Try to relax in the meantime.”
The few minutes it took for Redheart to return stretched out for what felt like hours. As she waited, Spitfire did her best to do as she was told. Going through breathing exercises usually meant for calming pre-show jitters, she tried to smooth over the building anticipation that gurgled in her stomach. She was proud to say that she seldom needed them, but now wished they were somewhat more effective.
Soon she was going to have somepony else’s hooves in her feathers. With every second that passed, it grew more difficult to ignore her increasing hyperawareness of her wing. Every breath, it seemed, shook it more than it should, rustling the feathers wrapped under the cast and bandages. The blanket itched and her tail twitched and flicked behind her. The primaries on her good wing rustled, fluttering as her wing threatened to unfurl.
The door opened, and Redheart walked back into the room, pushing a small cart. Surgical scissors, bottles of disinfectant, and rolls of gauze covered its surface as the wheels squeaked across the smooth floor.
Redheart, for her part, looked to have gotten over her shock. Returned was her smile, bringing with it a sense of calm and peace that Spitfire eagerly let wash over her. As blue eyes fell on her, she slowly felt her wing relax and lay at rest by her side.
She was also, Spitfire noticed, wearing pink latex surgical stockings that stretched over her forelegs to her elbows.
For a minute, her nerves vanished. In their absence, they left plenty of room for a tingling sense of anticipation to swell in her chest and spread throughout her body. Her uninjured wing threatened to unfurl as her eyes lingered over the stockings. How long had it been since she let another mare have a go at her wings?
Redheart must have caught Spitfire’s wandering eye as she pushed the cart to the foot of her bed. Clearing her throat, she frowned. “Not a peep out of you. I brought plenty of anaesthetic, so mind your tongue.”
Spitfire choked back a comment that would have surely come back to bite her in the flank later. Biting the inside of her cheek instead, she said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Redheart rolled her eyes but sat down on her haunches. “Are you ready?”
What felt like a lead weight reformed in Spitfire’s gut. Clenching her jaw, she nodded anyways. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Offering a small, warm smile, Redheart picked up the scissors. “I’ll be careful.” Nerves came crashing back as latex-adorned hooves reached the base of her wing. They stopped just at the end of the bandaging, ready to cut and unravel. Blue eyes met amber. “Try to be as still as possible. This will be over before you know it.”
“Yeah, right.” Spitfire swallowed, resting her head on the crook of her foreleg. The shearing of scissors made her ears pin back, followed soon by the cutting of fabric. As she felt Redheart begin to undo the wrapping, the fur along her back bristled. “You do know what you’re doing, right?”
“Of course. All of the nurses here have gotten training and certification in pegasus anatomy,” Redheart said, her tone casual but not flippant. “Besides, I’ve treated Rainbow Dash so many times that I’ve become somewhat of an expert.”
“Right. Cool.”
Redheart’s hooves moved in slow but fluid movements. Gradually the pressure binding her wing loosened. As the bandages were lifted away, the first of Spitfire’s wing near the base was met with the cooler hospital air and her blanket twisted under her hoof.
“This Doctor Hollow you asked me to send for,” Redheart said as she worked. “It said in your file that he lives in Cloudsdale. Is he a pegasus?”
“No, he’s a unicorn.” Spitfire focused on the little potted plant on the windowsill on the other side of the room. If she left a crater in the Princess’ castle, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see what that kind of impact had on her wing. “He’s got these enchanted horseshoes so he can get around.”
“I thought so. There aren’t many pegasi doctors or nurses around. It’s mostly earth ponies and unicorns in my line of work, even in places like Cloudsdale that are mostly pegasi.”
Hooves brushed against feathers of gold. A shudder traveled the length of Spitfire’s spine and she bit her lip to stifle a whine.
“Do you know why that is, Spitfire?”
Spitfire shook her head. “N-no.”
“It’s the same reason why you don’t see many earth ponies or unicorns involved with weather management. Medicine simply isn’t usually predisposed to pegasi the same way it is to earth ponies and unicorns.”
After licking her dry lips, Spitfire couldn’t take it anymore. Her eyes flicked to her left, and she caught sight of her wing. What she saw was swollen and mangled and she only managed a fleeting second before she snapped her gaze back to the window.
Think a happy thought.
Redheart’s ministrations paused. “Do you know what I mean by that?” she asked, moving one of her hooves between Spitfire’s shoulderblades.
The contact made her freeze, but even through the latex the hoof was warm. After a few seconds, it started to rub her back in small circles and she found herself exhaling. Her haunches unclenched and her healthy wing lowered back to the bed, leaving Spitfire wondering when it had flared.
A light chuckle brought her attention back to Redheart. “Unicorns are better able to diagnose ponies with their magic. It’s so precise and adaptable that there’s hardly anything they can’t do with it.”
Laying her head back down, Spitfire grunted her understanding into her foreleg. “And earth ponies?”
“Unicorns weave their spells and pegasi control the weather and take to the sky—all of it kind of flashy, really,” Redheart said, her voice soothing and all-encompassing. As her hooves returned to their work, Spitfire found herself flicking her ears, straining to catch every word spoken. “Earth pony magic is much more subtle.”
“Yeah?”
Redheart hummed as her hooves moved over Spitfire’s back, unwrapping more of her wing with delicate and gentle motions. “Our magic is worked through our hooves. It’s why earth ponies make the best farmers.” The snipping of scissors interspersed among her words brought a shudder down Spitfire’s spine. “Ponies like Applejack and Golden Harvest here in Ponyville work the soil with their hooves, imbuing the earth with their nurturing magic and making the most bountiful harvests around.
“Other earth ponies use their magic in different ways. The way our magic works is why most masseuses are ponies like Aloe and Lotus, who help ponies relax. Saying they have the ‘magic touch’ is actually quite apt.”
Spitfire nodded, licking her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw strips of gauze fall into a metal pan. “And you?”
Another chime of laughter flowed out of Redheart’s mouth. “Earth ponies who find their calling in medicine are said to have healing hooves, which is partially true.” Again she rubbed between Spitfire’s shoulders, drawing a sigh from the pegasus. Warmth seeped into them, unknotting the muscles and sinking her deeper into her mattress. “My magic is nurturing, furthering your healing process.”
“Feels good,” Spitfire grunted.
Redheart hummed. “I bet it does. You’re doing very well, by the way.” Her hooves brushed over a bent primary, and Spitfire winced, clenching her jaw tight. The hooves stopped. “How much does it hurt, Spitfire?”
“Just a bit,” Spitfire said through gritted teeth. Without the support of her cast holding her wing in place, fresh waves of pain coursed through her body with every stuttering breath. Instinctively, she tried to ruffle her feathers only to bite down on her tongue at the first twitch.
“It’ll be over soon, I promise.” Redheaert’s voice was as warm and steady as her hoof on Spitfire’s back. “You’re being very brave right now.”
If Spitfire hadn’t squeezed her eyes shut to block out the pain, she would have snorted. “I’m always brave.”
“That you are. Not many pegasi would fly right at a dragon the size of a small mountain, even if that dragon turned out to be little Spike.”
“Wonderbolt’s gotta do what a Wonderbolt’s gotta do.” Cracking an eye open, she couldn’t help but smirk. One little flirt couldn’t hurt. “But I think you’ll find me especially brave when I get you flat on your—ow!”
Nevermind, it could hurt a lot.
“Sorry, I might have pinched a nerve a little bit there.” The words were as saccharine as her smile.
Spitfire huffed, then hissed as Redheart’s hooves went back to work. “Okay, I’ll behave.” No matter how gently they moved, it was impossible to avoid all of the discomfort. Every time their movements caused the slightest jostle, what felt like needles stabbed all over her wing. “Can you blame a mare for trying to distract herself?”
A beat passed as Redheart’s hooves worked, drawing another hiss-turned-groan from Spitfire. “No, not really. Would you like me to tell you a story to distract you?”
A whimper bubbled up in Spitfire’s throat. “Anything.”
“How about I tell you how I got my cutie mark? I should be all finished with your wing by the time it’s over.”
Spitfire felt herself nod. “Go for it.”
“Okay, well, when I was a filly in elementary school our class went on a field trip to Rainbow Falls.” The hoof left Spitfire’s back, joining the other hovering around her wing. As she felt the brush of latex on her fur or nearing her feathers, she pinned her ears back. “We went to learn about the history of the Equestria Games and to explore some of the caves in the area.”
“Rainbow Falls is pretty far,” Spitfire mumbled.
“We were there for a few days,” Redheart replied. Her voice was steady, soothing, and Spitfire found it easy to focus on. “It was supposed to be a camping trip for the week. Most of us were so excited to go exploring like real adventurers, but our teacher, Miss Penny Whistle, wasn’t having any of it.”
“Exploring, huh?” The picture of a miniature Redheart, eyes bright and alive in a way that only a foal’s could, small saddlebags stuffed full and her tail swishing behind her came to mind. Spitfire’s heart melted a little. “A regular little Daring Do.”
“It was exciting! Being away from home for the first time, feeling like you could do anything without the dreaded parental ‘no’ reigning over you.” Redheart’s smile carried into her voice, bringing it to life. “Everypony kept on trying to slip away to follow a rainbow creek astray from the path or search under rocks for some amazing secret. My friends and I were convinced that there was treasure buried somewhere. Miss Penny Whistle got so angry with the four of us when we snuck off in the middle of her lectures.”
Spitfire allowed herself a chuckle, wincing as the slight movement shook her wing. “So you’re telling me that you were adorable before you were hot?”
“Careful now, Spitfire. Sympathy will only get you so far.” The shearing sound of the scissors cutting away the last of the gauze punctuated her words. “Even then, I’ll have you know I was quite the troublemaker in my school days.”
“You? Troublemaker? Please, it sounds like you took after your teacher pretty well.”
“It’s called maturing, Captain.” Redheart chuckled, making Spitfire’s ear flick. “No, back then I was a little rapscallion. In my college days I would have had you wrapped around my hoof.”
Spitfire returned the chuckle, a lazy smirk pulling at her lips. “Naughty.”
“Once upon a time, maybe. Or maybe I’ve always been the upstanding mare I am now. Who’s to say for sure?”
A frown creased Spitfire’s lips. “Are you—did you just play coy with me?”
“Maybe.” The scissors clanged as they were dropped back on the cart. Out of the corner of her eye, Spitfire watched Redheart pick up a bottle of disinfectant and a cotton swab. “Anyways, on one of the last days of the trip, Miss Penny Whistle left us to fill out some paperwork for safety releases and told us all to stay put. Naturally, a few of us didn’t listen.
“One of my friends, who actually works on the weather team here in Ponyville now, led us deeper into the forest, down where the streams of liquid rainbow started to fall in cascading waterfalls.” Redheart dabbed the cotton swab to the disinfectant, eyes flicking between it and Spitfire. “She had only just learned how to fly properly before the trip and was showing off every chance she could.”
That sounds familiar. Spitfire nodded, sliding her eyes closed as foalhood memories of her first races brought a smile to her face. “Flying’s what pegasi are all about. Blaze and I used to race all around the house when we first started flying. Ma would tan our hides when we broke anything—if she could catch us. We hid out in the shed a couple times when we broke the living room lamp.”
Redheart giggled. “Now who’s adorable?”
“And proud. It’s all part of my charm.” Unwilling to risk catching sight of her wing with a wink over the shoulder, she settled for smirking into her folded hooves. “But anyways, you were saying?”
She could almost hear Redheart rolling her eyes and shake her head, saying, “We wandered off, searching high and low for our treasure. My pegasus friend was flying around everywhere, between the tree branches and betting that she could fly up a waterfall.” A wistful sigh floated past her lips, tickling Spitfire’s shoulder. “You might know her, actually. Does the name Raindrops ring a bell?”
Spitfire frowned. A couple of recruits from the last batch accepted to the Academy came to mind. A mare, disciplined and diligent, with three raindrops on her flanks, making googly eyes at her partner—a black coated stallion with a mane the colour of rumbling storm clouds—stood out. “Think so. Light blue mane, yellow coat?”
“That’s her.”
“Huh. Hard to imagine her being reckless.” Wrinkling her snout, Spitfire reached back into what few details she remembered about the mare. “Or into mares, for that matter. She was a little clumsy in the air, but she was dedicated.”
“That sounds like Raindrops today.” A keen edge sharpened Redheart’s words. “But, just like me, she was a little troublemaker when she was younger.”
Spitfire’s ear flicked as her eyes wandered over the pale blue hospital room wall. It was a quiet, peaceful, and boring blue. “Oh yeah? What kind of trouble did the little scamp get into?”
“Enough trouble that she hurt herself when we snuck off that day.”
Both of her ears perked up at that. “What happened?”
“While we were exploring, we came across a waterfall. It was beautiful, cascading down the rocks and making the whole clearing look alive with colour.” Hooves, gentle and delicate, attended to her wing and Redheart’s voice like honey rolled over her. Eyelids heavy, she kept her ears on end as she blinked long and slow, succumbing to the flowing warmth. “Raindrops was convinced that there must have been something good at the top, so she tried to fly up. I tried to tell her it was a bad idea, but even then she was, as you said, determined.”
Letting her eyes slide closed as she listened, Spitfire hummed. “Sounds to me like she was trying to impress somepony.” A brief exhale of a chuckle and lazy grin followed. “Wonder who that could’ve been?”
“Regardless of the reason,” Redheart said, rolling over Spitfire’s mumbled words, “she tried, but couldn’t make it. She fell on her wing and we all heard it snap. When she tried to get up, she fell back over. Can you imagine being such a young filly and fracturing your wing?”
Spitfire shuddered at the thought. Breaking her wing was traumatizing enough now, but as a foal, so soon after discovering the freedom and wonder flight granted?
“She was bawling. She was in so much pain and so scared.” As Spitfire’s throat tightened, Redheart’s hooves slowed. “Our friends were too busy being terrified over how much trouble we were all going to get in to do anything. Something just clicked inside of me and I took charge. The next thing I knew, I was at Raindrops’ side.”
“How come that doesn’t surprise me?”
“It sure surprised the others when I ordered them to go back and find Miss Penny Whistle. I think I surprised myself more though when I stuck by Raindrops’ side.” Redheart chuckled. Her hooves felt warm through the latex, ebbing the pain in Spitfire’s wing away. “I propped her up and made a makeshift splint the best I could from one time my father was in the hospital with a broken leg.”
Spitfire smiled, flicking her tail. “You found your calling.”
“Took me a little while to realize it. When Miss Penny Whistle found us, I was holding Raindrops and drying her tears. I stayed by her side all the way to the hospital. I was later accused of growling at any of the adults who tried to pull me away.”
“Cute, caring, and feisty?” Spitfire purred in approval, forgetting herself as she nestled into the crook of her foreleg. “You’re really the complete package.”
Another broken feather was plucked from her wing, making her yelp. “Manners, Spitfire,” Redheart said. “Eventually I collapsed and slept. It wasn’t until after I woke up and went to check on Raindrops that I realized I had gotten my cutie mark.”
“Wow, that’s ... pretty incredible, actually. No joke.” Spitfire let the words hang there for a moment, savouring the feeling of Redheart’s hooves tending to her wing as the sharp, stinging pain faded. At some point during the story, she must have started re-bandaging without her noticing. The more her thoughts cleared, the more she felt the tension seep out of her muscles. “You’re really an amazing pony, Redheart.”
Dismissal coloured Redheart’s voice as she chuckled and said, “Do you flatter all of your nurses so, Spitfire?”
“I mean it.” Cracking one eye open, Spitfire flicked her gaze in Redheart’s direction. The top of her nurse’s cap poked out from over her shoulder. “I have to ask, though, what happened after that? Did you and Raindrops stay close?”
“Closer than close for a while, actually. Not too long after she was discharged, she asked me out on a date.” The hooves tending to her wing hesitated in their motions, drawing a frown down Spitfire’s face. “She ended up being my first girlfriend.”
Redheart hummed as her hooves started to move again. “She was so sweet to me. I think she had some kind of saviour complex built up for me, though.”
“Had?” Spitfire’s ears stood ramrod straight. “As in past tense, meaning you two aren’t together anymore?”
“I said she was my first girlfriend, Spitfire.” Redheart tittered. Bright blue peeked over her shoulder as she lifted her head. “And try to hold yourself still. I’m almost done, but if you keep on fidgeting then I might need to start over.”
“Right, sorry.” Holding herself still save for her flicking tail, Spitfire chewed the inside of her cheek. “So that’s a no?”
“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Redheart said. “But yes, we aren’t together anymore. We only dated for a couple months before we realized that I was attracted to mares and she was attracted to stallions. We’re still friends and try to see each other once a week for lunch, though.”
“Good,” Spitfire said, laying her head back down. She exhaled, letting out a breath she didn’t know she held. “Very good.”
“And it looks like I’m all done here!” Trotting into view, Spitfire watched with rapt attention as Redheart peeled one of the latex surgical socks off of her forelegs. The sight of her snowy white fur revealing itself was perhaps more titillating than the socks in the first place. “Congratulations, your little fall hasn’t made anything worse that I can see.”
Behave.
As she threw the first sock off and moved to the other, she smiled a pretty smile at Spitfire, who had to remember to close her mouth. She cleared her throat and focused her eyes on a spot on the wall. “Finished? Already?”
“I told you I’d be done by the time I finished my story.” Redheart winked before her face softened. Taking a step closer to the bed and to Spitfire, she kneeled down so that the two ponies were eye-to-eye. “Thank you for trusting me with your wing, Spitfire. I know that wasn’t an easy thing for you to do.”
Spitfire licked her lips. “I’m sorry for not trusting you earlier. And thanks for telling me that story. It was pretty amazing. You’re pretty amazing.”
Laughing, Redheart mussed Spitfire’s mane, making the pegasus’ eyes go crossed. “Careful, Spitfire. You’re starting to recycle your lines.”
Wrinkling her snout, Spitfire pouted—pouted. “I mean it!”
“I’m sure you do,” Redheart said, walking around the bed to the little medical supply cart. As she did, Spitfire caught sight of her wing, freshly bandaged at her side. “Now, if you need anything, please don’t get up. There’s a bell there on your bedside table. Ring that and somepony will come by.”
A frown marred Spitfire’s expression as she watched the nurse rear up on her hind legs. “You’re leaving?”
“This is a hospital and I do have other patients to check in on before I get to go home.” Redheart flashed another smile at Spitfire. Her blue eyes sparkled, making the Wonderbolt thankful that she was lying down. “And to think, I promised Payroll I would stop clocking in so many overtime hours. Oh well, I’ll just have to explain to him that the Captain of the Wonderbolts needed some extra attention.”
“I’d be happy to pay for your overtime if it means I get more attention.”
Standing up on her hind legs, Redheart shook her head and started to push the cart towards the door. “I’ll be sure to mention that to him. Knowing how he likes to manage our finances, he’ll jump at the opportunity.”
“Hey,” Spitfire said, resisting the urge to chew on the corner of her lip as she pushed herself to her haunches. “Speaking of getting more attention, when are you going to stop by next?”
Redheart stopped with her hoof on the doorknob. Wordlessly, she turned around and raised an eyebrow.
“What?” Spitfire shrugged, then flitted her wing and donned her smirkiest smirk. Why did it feel sheepish? Bad smirk. “I like listening to you talk, and I want to get to know you better.”
“What did we say about flirting?” Gone was the humour from seconds ago, hidden behind a guarded expression and a familiar neutral tone.
Meeting her eyes, Spitfire found her fire and stoked it. Her smirk boldened and she sat up taller. “It’s not flirting if it’s the truth. You’re amazing, and maybe I want to find out more to like besides your body.”
Snorting, Redheart turned to the door and twisted the knob. “Good night, Spitfire.” She lingered in the doorway as she left, hooves gripping the cart handle. “I have a later shift tomorrow, so I’ll be in around at lunchtime. I’ll poke my head in every now and then to see how you’re doing.”
Redheart left, leaving Spitfire alone in her room with the last light of the day giving way to Princess Luna’s glorious night.
Spitfire lay down, hooves sprawled out on either side of her and a giddy smile on her face. Her wing throbbed in time with the beating of her heart.
Spitfire woke from her mid-morning doze to the sound of pen on paper. Her ear flicked at the light clip-clop of hooves on the floor circling her bed.
A perfect way to start the day. What better way to test the waters than with an innocent bit of banter? She grinned inwardly and hummed as she fluttered her eyes open. “Now isn’t that a pretty sight to wake up to.”
The deeper chuckle of a stallion’s voice reached her ears. “Well, that just made my day! Do you flatter all of your doctors like this, Captain, or am I just special?”
Eyes snapping open, Spitfire lifted her head in the direction of the voice as quickly as her body would allow. There, standing at the foot of her bed, was a unicorn stallion. His blue-bordering-on-green eyes twinkled behind his glasses. An amused grin poked out over the top of her chart held aloft in his magic. Laughter creased the corner of his eyes and his frame shook ever-so-slightly.
With a groan, Spitfire flopped her head back on her pillow.
“Please, stop. You’ll make me blush!”
“You’re not Red,” Spitfire grumbled, arching her neck enough to frown at Doctor Horse. It was too early and her body too sore for anypony to be this cheery. “And you’re not that funny.”
Chuckling, he ran his hoof down his foreleg, rubbing the fur of his shin. “Well, you’re right about one thing. I’m definitely not red—I’m really more of a light brown, or an amber if you want to be romantic about it. Also,” he clicked his pen and slid it into chest pocket, a small, playful pout playing over his face, “I’m a riot. Everypony loves my sense of humour. I’m quite confident you are just suffering the side-effects of too much medication to appreciate my sharp wit properly.”
“Yeah, yeah. Har, har, Doc.” Spitfire rolled her eyes, staring up at the ceiling. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her smile. Once committed, any Wonderbolt worth their salt could hold up a good grump. “Where’s Red—er, Nurse Redheart?”
“Aha. I had a feeling that might be who you meant when you woke up.” Clicking his tongue much like his pen, he walked to her bedside and slid his glasses down to the end of his snout. “Getting a little friendly with our best nurse, hmm?”
His gaze felt unnervingly analytical, as if she were a specimen under his microscope. The sensation made the skin at the nape of her neck crawl and the hair stand on end. Stupid doctors. “Can you blame me? She’s pretty awesome at her job and has been really great about looking after me.”
The events of yesterday floated to the surface. One of Redheart’s hooves on her back, the other tending to her wing, and her voice soothing and calming her. Her feathers fluffed at the memory before the pain in her other wing grounded her feelings in sobriety. She cleared her throat, brushing her hoof down her cast with a ginger touch.“It’s nice to have somepony I can count on while my team’s gone.”
“Mmhmm.” Doctor Horse held his gaze for a few seconds longer before he nodded and stepped to the side, a pleasant smile on his muzzle. “I suppose that’s true! Nurse Redheart does have that effect on ponies. It’s good to see you two starting to get along.” Something—amusement?—twinkled in his eye. “I’ll admit I was a little worried when I saw her fuming after checking up on you the other day. Thought I would have to start supervising or assign another nurse!”
Coughing into her hoof, Spitfire glanced to the side. It looked to be a clear, sunny day in Ponyville. A breeze swayed the branches in the trees and her uninjured wing started to unfurl, yearning to feel that same wind. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t being the best patient.”
“I believe I heard her grumble ‘worst patient ever’ in the cafeteria,” he said, his mouth twisting into a wry grin. “Well, not so much of a grumble as it was a barely-restrained shout.”
Spitfire winced and scratched the back of her head. Too soon she felt the same weight of shame and guilt from yesterday settle in the pit of her stomach, dampening her mood and making her insides squirm. “I’m just glad she’s giving me another chance and isn’t holding any grudges.”
Doctor Horse chuckled again and shook his head. “I don’t think that mare could hold a grudge against anypony for long. It’s not in her to hate, but she’s a firecracker of a mare if I’ve ever seen one. Now,” he cleared his throat, his tone shifting from jovial to something more businesslike. “Hold still while I examine your wing. I heard you had a nasty little fall yesterday.”
Another wince, this time accompanied by the drooping of her ears, shook Spitfire’s frame. “You caught wind of that, huh?”
“Most of the staff has, Captain. I’m quite surprised Nurse Redheart didn’t insist on restraints given how much you’ve driven her up the wall.” Laughing at his own joke—again—a pale blue light enveloped Doctor Horse’s horn. The same glow surrounded Spitfire’s broken wing, bringing with it an uncomfortable itching sensation.
Doing her best not to fidget or twitch as he worked through whatever spell he was casting, Spitfire focused instead on his words. Restraints? Her other wing twitched, but not in the good way. There had been fury in Redheart’s eyes more than once, but had she really pushed her that far?
No. Well, yes, but no longer. A clean slate, that’s what Spitfire promised, and a Wonderbolt always delivered.
Still, finding a way to make it up to Redheart couldn’t hurt her chances.
The itching sensation vanished, drawing Spitfire back to the present. “All done,” Doctor Hose said with a satisfied nod of his head. “Looks like no further damage has been done to your wing since that fall of yours yesterday. You’re quite the lucky mare, and even luckier Nurse Redheart was so close by to help you back to your bed.”
“No kidding.” Spitfire sighed and stroked the cast around her wing. A thought prickled at the back of her mind and she frowned. “She examined my wing and said as much yesterday, though. Why’re you redoing work she already did?”
Doctor Horse raised his hoof, a placating smile on his face. “Now, now, it’s not as if I doubt Nurse Redheart’s ability. She’s impeccable and rarely ever wrong when it comes to her patients. That being said, there are some things a unicorn’s horn can do that hooves simply cannot manage.”
And there are a few things her hooves can do that your itchy magic can’t even dream of. Spitfire thought back to the warmth that radiated from Redheart’s hooves, seeping into her fur and her muscles. Her tail swished at the feeling, but she held her tongue.
“I would eat my stethoscope if Nurse Redheart missed something like another fracture or needing to re-set the bones in your wing,” Doctor Horse continued. Blinking, Spitfire forced herself to focus on what he was saying, not on the memory of Redheart’s breath tickling her fur as she worked on her wing or the shiver down her spine it produced. “However, there might have been some damage done on a smaller scale, which is where a couple spells learned in the first semester at medical school come in handy.”
“Oh. Well, cool.” Offering a polite smile, Spitfire pushed herself onto her haunches, ignoring the strain across her body. She leaned back against her pillows, grunting as she said, “Thanks, Doc.”
Doctor Horse nodded and crossed the room to the door. “Of course, Captain Spitfire. I’ll be in to check up on you later.” He lingered in the doorway with his hoof on the knob. He flashed a knowing grin over his shoulder. “Though, from the sound of things, you would much rather I have Nurse Redheart come to check up on you from now on.”
Spitfire’s ears perked up. Well, there was no point in beating around the bush. “If it were you lying here, what would you prefer? Amazing nurse, or doctor dude?”
“Careful, Captain,” he warned. “I’m sure I don’t have to warn you not to get on Nurse Redheart’s bad side.”
Snorting, Spitfire said, “I can behave when I want to.”
Laughing, Doctor Horse shook his head. “I’ll make sure to tell her that you were hoping to see her. Have a good day, Captain.”
Once he was gone, Spitfire rested her head against the headboard. Lolling to the side, she watched the ponies going about their business outside, far beyond the walls in her room. She sighed as the wind blew a stray leaf to her window and a new itch formed at the base of her wings.
It was the kind of itch that could only be scratched by taking to the sky.
Lunch had come and gone, yet still there was no sign of Nurse Redheart.
As the minutes ticked by and became an hour, then two, Spitfire found herself scowling at the door. Patience was not her strong suit, but still she waited, waited for it to open, waited for the chime of Redheart’s voice, and waited for her piercing blue eyes to find her. Maybe, if she was lucky, those eyes would light up with a smile.
With an impatient flick of her tail, Spitfire huffed and looked out the window. The day, as far as she could tell, had indeed been lovely. As the sun made its way across the sky over the afternoon, nary a cloud was seen. A light wind continued to make the trees sway delicately, teasing her with the promise of flight and freedom, two things she would be lacking for the near future.
Huffing again, she directed her gaze back to the neutral blue of the hospital room wall. The very least the universe could do would be to give her some company or something to do.
As if hearing her plea, the sound of hooves outside her door made her ears twitch. A second later, the door swung open and Redheart’s smiling face poked its way in. Her eyes twinkled. “Knock, knock!”
Thank you, Royal Sisters.
“There you are,” Spitfire said, matching Redheart’s smile with a grin. It quickly fell to a playful pout as she pushed herself up. “You’ll check up on me at lunch time, huh? I was starting to think that you forgot about me.”
“Believe me, I couldn’t if I tried.” Redheart chuckled, pulling an empty wheelchair in behind her as she backed into the room. “You’ll have to forgive me. Today was a tad more trying than I expected.” She sighed, tensing her shoulders as that sigh morphed into a yawn. “This is the earliest I could find time to slip up here to check on you, but I hear Doctor Horse came in this morning.”
Spitfire tilted her head to the side, eyes flitting from the wheelchair to Redheart. Her unvoiced question went unanswered as the nurse pushed the chair against the wall and all but collapsed into one of the more comfortable chairs next to the bed. “Yeah, completely unnecessary, by the way. I tried to tell him your work was impeccable, but he insisted on doing some magic scan himself.”
“He was just doing his due-diligence.” A tired chuckle tumbled past Redheart’s lips. Though she hid it well, the beginnings of bags were forming under her eyes as she rubbed at them. “How has your day been, Spitfire? Any new aches or pains I should be aware of?”
“Today’s been a big ball of nada, Red.” A wry grin slithered over Spitfire’s muzzle. Light flirting counted as behaving. Probably. “Better though now that you’re here. Though, I gotta ask,” she said, gesturing to the wheelchair, “what’s with the chair?”
“It’s for you.” A soft laugh drew Spitfire’s attention back to Redheart. Straightening the nurse’s cap on her head, she stretched out her forelegs before hopping back to her hooves. The sag was gone from her shoulders in an instant and her smile no duller than it was the moment they met. “I figured you might be going a little stir crazy by now, so I thought a change of pace was in order.”
“Okaaaay,” Spitfire said slowly, trying to keep the feathers on her good wing from fluffing as Redheart neared. Even when tired, her eyes sparkled, luring both unsuspecting and suspecting ponies in. “But what does that have to do with me and a wheelchair?”
“How else do you propose I get you down to the cafeteria?” With a grin wry enough to match Spitfire’s own, Redheart stepped to the side. “I’m certainly not going to carry you.”
Biting her tongue, Spitfire chose to focus instead on the first half of what Redheart said. “Cafeteria, huh?” Behave, Blaze told her. For now, she would. “What’s down there?”
“Your dinner, for starters. I thought you might want a change of scenery after spending the last few days in here. The cafeteria isn’t exactly all that pleasant to look at, but it is different.”
Spitfire’s ears perked up. “Different is good.”
“And then, if you’re feeling up to it, we could take a little walk around the hospital grounds. Nothing too strenuous of course, and I doubt we’d get very far, but the fresh air will do you good.” Redheart’s expression softened and she rested a hoof on the bedspread. “I saw how you were looking out the window yesterday. I know you want to be back up in the sky. This isn’t flying, but I thought you could at least feel the wind in your mane.”
“Really?” Spitfire blinked, turning her head back to the window. The sky all but called to her and she swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat. She resisted the urge to seek out Redheart’s hoof. Comfort, that’s all it was. Not an offer. Behave. “Are you sure you’re not breaking hospital policy or something?”
“I’m pretty sure I’d know if I was.” The sound of a hoof dragging on fabric reached Spitfire’s ears. Redheart pulling away, then. “You’re not in any critical condition, and it’s important for you to move around some while you’re healing. I don’t see any reason why that can’t be outside.”
Shifting her weight, Spitfire felt her good wing twitch. Outside. She closed her eyes, imagining the feel of the sun on her face and inhaled deeply, deciding on what the air outside would taste like. Not sterile, like the air in the hospital. Something more fragrant, perhaps? Maybe like the apple orchards nearby? There was only one way to find out.
With a bright smile, she looked back at Redheart. “Who am I to argue?” With great care, she sat up. Aches and pains rolled over her body, making her the tip of her tail twitch and flick. Jaw set, she swiveled around until her hind legs dangled off of the bed. “Anything to get me out of this cage.”
“Something told me you might approve.” Sparing a moment to squeeze her shoulder, Redheart whisked across the room to the wheelchair. Even though her hospital gown, the warmth of the touch sparked a tingling feeling deep in Spitfire's chest that radiated over her frame, numbing a little of the ache.
She blinked, however, when Redheart pushed the wheelchair to the foot of the bed. A frown pulled at Spitfire’s lips as the earth pony mare positioned herself within easy reach. “Do I have to sit in that? I could just walk.”
“You’re in no condition to walk the whole way. And even if you were, after yesterday’s little escapade?” Redheart arched a brow. “I don’t think so.”
Spitfire pouted, opening her mouth to argue. The combination of the look on Redheart’s face and the glimpse of her cast in the corner of her eye made her stop short. Slowly, she closed her mouth. After running her tongue over her lips, she folded her ears back and nodded.
“Thank you,” Redheart said, her voice soft. Spitfire felt her hoof on her shoulder again, bringing that tingling feeling back with it, and followed it as it gently started to guide her off of the bed. “Take it easy, now. Nice and slow.”
Feeling again like a scolded filly, Spitfire slid herself down to the floor. Her knees wobbled as she adjusted her balance. With Redheart at her side, steadying her until she had her footing, she made it down from the bed to the wheelchair.
“That’s it, step by step,” Redheart said, her encouragement a welcome distraction to the otherwise feebleness that made every step slow and arduous.
Soon, Spitfire found herself being lowered down into the chair. She exhaled once her flank hit the seat. “Thanks,” she mumbled.
Redheart just smiled her warm, calming smile before walking around behind the chair. Spitfire tried to let herself relax and unknot the tension in her shoulders as she was wheeled out of her room and down the long hospital hallway, painted the same pale blue as her room.
The smell of disinfectant followed them down to the elevator. Other doctors and nurses walked past them between rooms, sparing a nod and a soft-spoken greeting before returning to their duties. With each glance directed her way, Spitfire squared her shoulders and sat up her tallest, ignoring the protest from her ribs and hiding her nerves with a cool nod in return.
It simply wouldn’t do for the Captain of the Wonderbolts to look otherwise. She may be battered, but she wasn’t beaten. Ponies couldn’t see that she was beaten, not even in a hospital. Strength, pride, courage. These were the qualities of a Wonderbolt, and it was these qualities that kept her chin up until the elevator doors closed, leaving her alone with Redheart as they descended to the ground floor.
Exhaling, she let her shoulders sag, nearly jumping when Redheart’s hoof brushed against her foreleg.
“Spitfire, are you okay?”
Those dazzling blue eyes shone with something Spitfire didn’t much like the look of. Concern fogged them over, blanketing their usual warmth with sympathy and something more distant. That had to go.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Spitfire said with a shake of her head. Massaging her forehead with one hoof, she used the other to wave off Redheart’s worry. “Head’s spinning a little. Guess I’m not used to moving around much.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?” Redheart’s face filled her vision as she leaned down in front of the wheelchair. Spitfire must not have waved her hoof hard enough. “We can just go back to your room if you’re not.”
Under her piercing gaze, there was little Spitfire could do. “It’s not that,” she mumbled, fidgeting in her seat. Without Redheart’s help, there was little doubt in her mind that she would make it halfway down the hall at most before needing a break or collapsing.
“Then what is?” Lifting her chin, Redheart’s gaze met Spitfire’s, and she was held captive by it once more. “Tell me.”
Despite herself, Spitfire’s chin trembled. “I don’t know,” she whispered more than said. “It’s nothing.” She shook her head. “Just not used to moving around this much?”
Redheart’s hoof, shaken free from her chin, found new purchase on Spitfire’s shoulder. “You can tell me, Spitfire. What’s really bothering you?”
Chewing on the corner of her lip, Spitfire shifted in the wheelchair. “I really don’t know.”
“Then guess.” At the sound of her voice, Spitfire looked up, trapped again by Redheart’s eyes. She tilted her head to the side, her smile genuine and true. “I won’t tell anypony. Not Doctor Horse, not your team, nopony.”
Spitfire’s ears splayed back against her scalp as the tip of her good wing started to tremble. “I don’t like this,” she said as the elevator started to slow. “Feeling weak, like a newborn kitten. Can’t even walk across my room to get a glass of water.” As she spoke, her wing drooped in time with hear ears. Some part of her holding strong started to bend and fold, leaving a collapsing feeling in her chest. “It’s ... yeah.”
“It’s all part of the healing process.” A pearly white hoof found her foreleg and gave a soft squeeze. Spitfire focused on it, letting its soft, warm fur tether her thoughts away from her mind. “You’ll be back up, flying circles around the best of pegasi soon.”
This time, Spitfire let herself rest her hoof atop Redheart’s—not as a gesture of romance or companionship, but as a patient looking for help and comfort. “I’m not sure if I should be missing my team or grateful that they’re not here to see me like this.”
“Everypony’s allowed to be weak sometimes, Spitfire. Even the captain of the Wonderbolts. You don’t always have to be strong, not in front of me.” Both of their ears flicked as the elevator doors opened with a chipper ding. “Nopony here is going to judge you, and if they do, I’ll have a stern word with them.”
A small smile flickered over Spitfire’s muzzle as Redheart pushed her out of the elevator. “Thanks, Red.”
A soft chuckle met her ears. “Anytime, Spitfire.”
Ponyville General’s cafeteria wasn’t unlike many of the other cafeterias Spitfire had visited across Equestria. Long tables filled the room, leaving enough space for ponies and wheelchairs to move between them. As the late afternoon turned to an early evening, few ponies filled the seats, leaving the room feeling considerably empty.
What ponies were still in the cafeteria at this hour sat alone or in small groups—family or friends of patients, if Spitfire had to guess. A cluster of nurses and doctors, nursing cups of coffee and picking at their plates, sat at a corner table, seeking reprieve before the night shifts on call began in earnest.
Her appearance raised a few heads and drew hushed mutterings as ponies tried and failed to steal a hidden glance at her, as if doubting that she was really there. Spitfire sighed as she propped her head on her hoof. Some things never change. While Redheart busied herself with getting their dinners, she let her gaze wander around the cafeteria. Whenever she crossed eyes with one of the other visitors, they were quick to drop their heads to their plates or duck behind their newspapers and magazines.
Spitfire rolled her eyes at them, tail flicking behind her. Fans.
“And here we go,” Redheart said as she sauntered over to the table, balancing two trays on her back. With a small, pleasant smile, she slid both trays onto the table and settled into the seat across from Spitfire. “Everything a mare needs to get healthy again.”
“Thanks. You guys have some great food down here,” Spitfire said, lifting her head off of her hoof as she looked at her dinner. A pasta salad, complete with chunks of cheese, nuts, pieces of broccoli, carrots, and chickpeas, made her mouth water. The farm-fresh apple was no real dessert, but she would have to make do.
“Everything’s locally grown. Some of the best farmers in Equestria live in Ponyville and sell their produce to the hospital at a discount.” A frown that didn’t quite meet Redheart’s eyes tugged at her lips as she stared at Spitfire’s tray. Then, with a theatrical sigh, she sat back and shook her head. “Oh dear, did I forget your dessert?”
Spitfire blinked, hoof hovering over her apple. “Huh?”
“Oh, well. I guess you’ll just have to have mine, then.” The frown vanished in favour of a playful grin as Redheart moved a plastic cup from her tray to Spitfire’s.
Spitfire blinked again at the pudding cup. “But I thought you said I had all of my pudding cup rights suspended?”
“You do.” Redheart winked and speared some of her salad on her fork. “That isn’t your pudding, though, is it? It’s mine, and I’m choosing to let you have it just this once. You were looking so glum sitting here that I thought you could use something sweet to lift your spirits.”
Oh, you have no idea, hon. Before her mouth could betray her, she took a bite out of her apple. Once disciplined, she smiled, nodding in thanks. Behave, for Celestia’s sake!
“Don’t expect me to give up my pudding every day,” Redheart warned, smiling as she lifted her fork to her mouth. “I just happened to be feeling generous tonight.”
Spitfire snorted around her mouthful.
Redheart hesitated just as she was about to bite down. “What?”
Swallowing, Spitfire shook her head and chuckled, holding her apple up to the light. “Sorry, it’s just that the way you said that made it sound like you could be something other than generous. That doesn’t sound like the Red I know.”
“You hardly know me as it is, Spitfire.” Redheart arched a brow as she chewed her salad. “I doubt you’re in the position to call me anypony you know.”
Spitfire arched a brow in return, throwing a sly grin into the mix. “Please, I’ve worked with ponies long enough to know a genuine pony when I see one. You’re the real deal—patient, kind, generous, and easy on the eyes.”
Redheart’s other brow arched. “Careful.”
“I’m naught but an honest mare,” Spitfire said, holding her hoof over her heart. For the moment, the pain in her wing was forgotten. “I, on the other hand, am a mystery.”
“Really, now?” Redheart deadpanned. The corner of her eyes wrinkled as she hid her smile with another mouthful of salad. That was all Spitfire needed.
Smirking, she put her apple down and steepled her hooves. “How could I be anything else? Captain of the Wonderbolts, one of the most famous mares in the world, travelled all over Equestria and beyond—the press would kill for my life story.”
“Is that a fact?” Humming while she chewed, Redheart swallowed and nodded. “Okay, I’ll nibble.”
With a fluff of her feathers, Spitfire smirked. “Ask away. Anything is fair game.”
“Anything at all? All right, let’s see ...” Trailing off with another hum, Redheart turned to look out the window. The thatched roofs of Ponyville spread out before them, the picture of a quaint, small, sleepy little town. Spitfire watched as a slow smile spread over her muzzle. “You said that you’ve been all over Equestria. I think I would like to hear about that.”
Spitfire’s smirk faltered as her brow furrowed. “Wha—really? That’s pretty tame.” Wrinkling her muzzle, she followed Redheart’s gaze outside. “Usually ponies ask about other stuff, but sure. If that’s what you want to hear about.”
“It is,” Redheart said, turning back to her. Mischief danced in her eyes as she showed her teeth in a cat-like grin. “And how many other ponies is ‘usually?’ Don’t tell me this is how you try and butter a mare up.”
Puffing out her cheeks, Spitfire tried not to look like a foal caught with her hoof in the cookie jar. Tail flicking behind her, she crossed her forelegs over her chest. “Please, as if that kind of stuff would work on you.” That seemed to satisfy Redheart as she nodded. “So, what did you want to hear about specifically?”
Redheart stared at her salad for a long moment, pushing rotini noodles around her plate with her fork. “I don’t tend to travel a lot outside of Ponyville,” she said, an undertone of longing seeping into her voice. Its sound perked Spitfire’s ears up. “My work keeps me here most of the time. Whenever I do get a chance to get away, it’s usually for a day trip to Manehattan with the girls. I’ve never really been anywhere.” She shrugged, a half-smile playing over her lips. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to go to Fillydelphia, or the Crystal Empire, or Griffonstone, but that’ll never happen. Sometimes I wonder what I might be missing out on out there.”
“Never’s a long time, Red. A lot can happen.” Ducking her head to catch Redheart’s eyes, Spitfire put on an easy smile. To her delight, it was returned. “If you want to go somewhere, go. From the sound of things, this Payroll guy who runs your bills would love for you to take some vacation time.”
Redheart giggled, a wonderful sound. “If I decided to do that, I don’t even know where I’d start.”
“Maybe I can help with that.” Spitfire spread her hooves wide, an open invitation. “Fillydelphia, the Crystal Empire, Griffonstone.” She tilted her head with a smirk. “Which do you want to hear about first?”
“You’ve been to all of those places?”
Spitfire arched her brow.
“Right, dumb question. Of course you have.” Redheart chuckled, rolling her eyes, and then fell silent. Spearing a piece of broccoli on her fork, she chewed slowly, tail flicking behind her. “Well ...”
“Well?” Spitfire leaned over the table, waiting as Redheart rubbed her foreleg.
“You’ll probably think it’s boring, but I think I’d like to hear about Cloudsdale.”
“Cloudsdale?” Falling back in her seat, Spitfire frowned. “Know it like the back of my hoof. Why there, though?”
“Because I’ve never been.” Flicking her ear, Redheart glanced to the side. If Spitfire didn’t know any better, she’d call her smile shy. “All of those other places are places I could go to one day. The Crystal Empire is just a train ride away, after all. Cloudsdale, though.”
“A little harder to get to unless you have wings,” Spitfire said, unfurling her uninjured wing. “I get what you mean. Although, if you know the right mare, that might not be such a problem.”
The shyness evaporated from Redheart’s face. Her lips fell into a thin line as she looked back at Spitfire. “Please don’t.”
Waggling her ears, Spitfire regarded her nurse with a half-lidded stare. “All I’m saying is that seeing Cloudsdale from high up is breathtaking. The liquid rainbow waterfalls catching the sun as it’s just peeking over the horizon ...” Fluffing her feathers, she drew her wing around her side. “But it can get pretty cold that high up, especially if you’re not a pegasus. If you’ve got a mare willing to hold you tight and keep you warm, then you definitely shouldn’t pass it up.”
“I’m starting to regret asking,” Redheart said with a roll of her eyes. “Keep on subject, please, or what we’re doing right now will be a one-time deal.”
“Alright, then consider me your personal Cloudsdale guide book.” Straightening, Spitfire folded her hooves on top of the table, meeting Redheart’s eyes headlong. “Where did you want me to start? The weather factory? The Cloudiseum? Or maybe you’d like to hear about something more like the Pegasopolis archives we’ve moved over from the old ruins?”
Redheart hummed as she tapped her hooves on the table. “Good question.” Her eyes lit up when they fell on their half-eaten dinners. She picked up her apple and held it between them. “Cuisine. I’ve always been curious what pegasi do to compensate for the lack of agriculture in the clouds.”
“Now you’re talking. Have you ever had a cloudberry?”
The first thing Spitfire felt when Redheart wheeled her outside was the sun warming her coat. True, it had only been a few days since the crash, but to a mare who spent most of her time high in the sky, a few days could feel like much longer.
To Spitfire, it had felt like a small eternity. She arched her back, letting the sun reach as much of her as possible.
A light breeze tousled the hem of her hospital gown as she stretched, drawing a happy hum from the back of her throat. Her good wing slowly unfurled, spreading in effort to capture the wind flowing between her feathers. She inhaled, breathing in the fresh air. The faint scent of apples tickled her senses, a welcome change from the sterile air inside.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
Giving a content sigh, Spitfire lolled her head back enough to meet Redheart’s furrowed brow with a grin. It was an honest, excited grin, free from the mask of her station for the moment.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Redheart said with a roll of her eyes. She wheeled Spitfire out of the way of the hospital doors, parking her by a bush a few paces down the dirt road. “Where did you want to go? Nothing too far, mind you. I don’t want you pushing yourself more than necessary.”
“Good question.” Exhaling, Spitfire leaned into the light caress of the breeze. Her eyes drifted closed as she savoured the sensation. She hummed again, on the brink of slipping into temptation and letting the sun and breeze lull her to sleep. All of the talk in the cafeteria wore on her body more than she cared to admit. On the way out from the cafeteria, she found herself relaxing more into the wheelchair and caring less about the glances she got from other ponies.
“There’s a fountain down the road there, or we could take a little stroll through the hospital gardens. Volunteers come by every now and then to tend to them for us.”
“Maybe. That could be nice,” Spitfire trailed off, opening her eyes and letting her gaze wander skywards. The bright blue sky was just beginning to fade to shades of purple and pink as the sun neared the horizon. Soon, it would be painted with yellows, reds, and golds as molten as her coat that she had seen from her hospital room window. “Actually,” she said, feeling her lips spread into an easy smile, “know of any good places to watch the sunset?”
Redheart raised a finely trimmed eyebrow, then smiled and nodded. “There’s a bench just down the road for exactly that reason.”
“Then what’re we waiting for?” Grunting, Spitfire braced herself against the wheelchair armrests and pushed herself to her hooves. Just like before, Redheart was at her side before she could blink, offering her support as she steadied herself.
“Just let me know if this is too much for you. The last thing I need is more pegasus pride getting in the way of your recovery.”
“Wonderbolt’s honour,” Spitfire said, revelling in the feeling of dirt under her hooves. Not quite as welcoming as a cloud molding itself to her touch, but better than the cold linoleum hospital floors by leaps and bounds.
The wind picked up as they took their first steps. Redheart led her down the dirt road, a constant presence by her side as she focused on shuffling one hoof in front of the other. Their shoulders brushed as they walked, the warmth from the earth pony mare’s coat bleeding over and Spitfire found herself leaning in towards it just as much as she leaned into the wind.
Slowly, she unfurled her wing and spread it over Redheart’s back. Her feathers grazed over her pearly white coat, but never rested over it no matter how much Spitfire might have wanted to pull her close and press that warmth flush against her. For the moment, she would have to settle for the teasing touches of their shoulders and the wind rustling her feathers. Neither was completely satisfying, but it was good enough for now.
Redheart cleared her throat, jolting Spitfire back to reality. She jumped, then winced as the movement jostled her wing.
Blinking, she looked to her side, where Redheart met her gaze with a bemused, if annoyed, stare. “What?”
Redheart gave a pointed look from Spitfire to her wing. “Mind where your wing wanders, Captain.”
With a lopsided grin, Spitfire tucked her wing back against her side. “Sorry. Was just trying to catch some of the wind, honest. It’s about as close to flying as I’m going to get for a while, isn’t it?”
Scrunching up her muzzle, Redheart nodded her head and faced forwards. Then, with a sigh, she relented. “Just be careful that it doesn’t go anywhere unwanted. There will be consequences.”
Grinning, Spitfire spread her wing and half-stepped closer to Redheart even as her knees wobbled from the strain. Their pace was arduous, but the bench was in sight. Just a few minutes more.
In the silence that followed them from the hospital doors, Spitfire found herself glancing to her side. There, she found a peaceful, content smile warming Redheart’s muzzle. Any irritation or warning that was there had vanished in favour of something more genuine, something more Redheart. Her gaze, Spitfire noticed, was directed over the town. Following it, she frowned.
As loathe as she was to bring Redheart’s walls back up, a question prickled at the back of her mind.
“Hey, Redheart?” she asked softly.
Redheart’s ear flicked. Blinking, the smile faltered as she turned back to Spitfire. “Hmm?”
“Got a question for you.”
Redheart arched a brow. “Okay, what is it?”
“You’ve got to be one of the best nurses I’ve ever met. You’re kind, calming, and just good at what you do. How many earth ponies have certification in pegasus wing anatomy?”
“Not too many.” A slight frown tugged at Redheart’s mouth. “What are you getting at?”
Spitfire frowned in turn as they approached the bench, chewing over her words. Even in midday, it was situated somewhere quiet and away from the hubbub of the town and trickle of traffic going to and from the hospital. At the same time, it overlooked the small town, providing plenty of opportunity to watch the ponies of Ponyville go about their days. Or, as was the case now, watching the last minutes of daylight kiss the town goodnight.
“You could work anywhere in Equestria,” she said at length, stopping just beside the bench. A memorial plaque gleamed in the light, though Spitfire didn’t bother to read the name. “Any hospital with a rational chief of medicine would hire you in a heartbeat.”
“Flattering.”
“I’m serious!” Despite herself, Spitfire pouted she eased down to the bench. She exhaled as she gingerly rested against the hardwood surface. “If you want to go somewhere so badly, why don’t you? The Crystal Empire, Fillydelphia, Griffonstone—hay, even Cloudsdale would be crazy not to take you.”
Expression wary, Redheart sat next to her. “Potentially. What are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to ask why you stay here.” Spitfire swept her hoof over the horizon. “Out of all the places in the world, what’s keeping you here? Your job? Please, I bet anypony here, including the Princess, would give you a killer recommendation. If you want to see Equestria, then why don’t you?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” Scrunching her muzzle up, Redheart looked at Spitfire as if she grew a second head. “Ponyville is my home. This is where I belong.”
“See, and I don’t get that.” Frown deepening, Spitfire looked out at the town. Sleepy, quiet, peaceful, but so were half the towns in Equestria. What kept a mare like Redheart rooted here? “Cloudsdale’s my home, and I’m proud to represent it at the Equestria Games and wherever I go, but that doesn’t stop me from flying off to greener pastures. I mean, it’s just a city, and Ponyville’s just a town.”
A soft chuckle drew her attention back to Redheart. “I’m afraid I don’t know how else to explain it,” she said, shaking her head. There was a fondness, simple and pure, that touched her eyes, reminiscent of home, safety, and comfort. “This is my home. The ponies that I love are here, and I could never just leave them.”
“My Ma’s back in Cloudsdale,” Spitfire mumbled, wrinkling her snout. “It doesn’t make sense to me, Red. You could be anywhere.”
“But I want to be here. As much as I’d love to see the Gilded Gate Bridge in San Franciscolt or the palace in the Crystal Empire, I’d much rather be here.” Redheart brushed her shoulder against Spitfire’s, a light, playful nudge. “Maybe you just haven’t found the place for you yet.”
Spitfire arched a brow at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Redheart, for her part, giggled. “Well, let me put it this way, lots of ponies come through Ponyville. I think you’d be surprised at how many of them discover that this is where they’re meant to be.”
“Oh yeah? Name three.”
Another laugh floated out of Redheart’s lips. “It would be easier to name those who haven’t stayed.” Smirking, she pointed at the sparkling castle made of crystal standing tall on the far end of town. “How about Princess Twilight? Princess Celestia’s prized student, forced to come to Ponyville against her will, and has since created a castle in the name of the friendships she’s made here. There’s also Rainbow Dash. She’s a Cloudsdale filly too, isn’t she?”
Shifting her weight, Spitfire nodded, staring down at the hem of her gown. “That’s only two.”
“I could go on. Octavia is a musician from Canterlot who turned down a promising spot in the Canterlot Philharmonic Orchestra to move to Ponyville with her roommate Vinyl Scratch, a DJ from Manehattan.” Drawing her hoof and Spitfire’s gaze along with it to a house seemingly made of gingerbread, Redheart continued, “Across the street from Sugarcube Corner is Bon Bon’s candy shop. Bon Bon lives above it with her girlfriend, Lyra Heartstrings, another Canterlot gal, as is Amethyst Star, the mayor’s aide. Then there’s Twilight’s student. Starlight, I think. She’s only been here a couple months, but I’d bet that she’s here to stay.”
“Okay, okay.” Huffing softly, Spitfire flicked her tail and looked to the side. “I get it. Lots of ponies move in from everywhere.”
“Ponyville has this funny way of attracting wayward souls,” Redheart said, voice growing softer so that Spitfire had to strain her ears to catch every word. “It finds them, or they find Ponyville, and then it anchors them here.”
Spitfire wrinkled her snout at that, as if tasting something bitter on her tongue. “Yeah, no. Maybe for some ponies and maybe even for Rainbow Dash, but this place is just way too slow for me.”
She nearly jumped out of her gown when Redheart threw her head back and laughed. Spitfire could only stare with wide eyes as the other mare wrapped one hoof around her chest and used the other to wipe her eyes.
Once the laughter died down, she looked at Spitfire, eyes alive and dancing with glee. “Slow,” she said in between giggles, “is a word. It isn’t the right word for Ponyville, however, and never will be as long as Pinkie Pie lives here. Or Rainbow Dash, for that matter, or any of the ponies that make this town what it is.”
Blinking owlishly, Spitfire felt her lips move. “And what is this town?”
“Home,” Redheart said. “A crazy, wonderful place. Trust me, it may seem lazy right now—” A pearly white hoof stroked her shoulder and squeezed, leaving a pleasant warmth in its wake. “—but I’ve learned to cherish these moments for how precious they really are.”
“I’m not sure how much I believe that.”
“Then believe me. Your crash was only a minor incident compared to some of the things that we’ve seen around here.” Redheart tilted her head, the light catching in her eyes. The breath likewise caught in Spitfire’s throat. “Give it time, dear Captain. If you’re not careful, then you may find yourself anchored here, too.”
Spitfire blinked again. That couldn’t have been what it sounded like. “I think you should be more careful, Red. That sounded an awful lot like you wanting me to stick around.”
With a swish of her pink tail, Redheart gave her a look that Spitfire couldn’t quite decipher. Her gut, however, told her that she should like it. “Maybe, maybe not.”
A nibble. It had to be. Fluffing her feathers, Spitfire wet her dry lips. Like her days in the Academy taught her, one good nibble deserves another. “Oho, now you should really be careful.”
It was Redheart’s turn to blink. “Why’s that?”
“Because you pretty much just confessed to liking playing nurse to the Captain of the Wonderbolts.”
The look died on her face. “What?”
“If you want me to stick around for future ‘prognosis,’ all you have to do is ask.”
“No,” Redheart said, her nurse’s cap sliding to the side with the force of her shaking her head. “No, no, no, that’s not what I said at all!”
If Spitfire were smart, she would have stopped then. If she held herself to her promise and stayed strong, she would have held her tongue.
Yet, this was all too easy. How could she stop when Redheart all but offered herself up on a silver platter?
Besides, what was it that Redheart said about everypony getting a moment of weakness?
“Aw, don’t be like that.” Flashing a wicked little grin, she puffed her chest out and preened. “Everypony falls to my irresistible charm sooner or later. It was only a matter of time, Red.”
“No, I’m not—it’s not—quit being so smug!”
Spitfire simply chuckled. “You’re pretty when you’re mad.”
Redheart’s eyes flashed dangerously. They really did come alive when she was angry, enough so to send a shiver down Spitfire’s spine and clamp her jaw together. “Anesthesia,” she more growled than said. “Keep this up, and you’re getting all of it.”
The fury from the other day was absent from Redheart’s voice, and Spitfire smirked. The nurse’s eyes flashed again, a silent challenge. Well, if she wants to play with fire ... “Unethical.”
“I’m sure Doctor Horse and my superiors would forgive me.”
“Too bad you didn’t bring any with you.”
“There’s plenty inside.”
“Yup, inside. We’re outside, far, far away from it all.”
Redheart snorted, narrowing her eyes. “I can run. I’d be back out here in less than ten minutes.”
Spitfire met her gaze. “And leave your poor, injured patient out here all alone?”
The fire in Redheart’s eyes faltered. She tried to hold the gaze—oh, how she tried—but soon enough she dipped her head in surrender.
Game. Set. Match.
“I didn’t think so,” Spitfire said, fluffing her feathers to their fullest.
“You are infuriating.” Redheart exhaled long and slow through her nose. “Is this the ‘other side’ of you you so desperately wanted me to see? I’m not noticing that much of a difference.”
“I’m still sitting here, waiting for you to tell me to stop. Say the word, and I’ll shut my trap.” Winking, Spitfire flicked her tail over Redheart’s. The contact was brief, lasting only a second before the pink tail swished away. “I said I’d behave, but this is part of who I am, Red. Especially when the pretty mare starts teasing me back.”
With a long, drawn-out sigh, Redheart sagged against the bench and stared up at the sky. “Fine, you win this round.”
The first of many.
“But the moment we get inside, you’re taking your medications and going straight to bed. No whining, no complaining, no anything. Understand me? You promised to behave.”
“Whatever you say, Red. You want to know what I’m thinking of doing in the meantime, though?”
A sidelong, suspicious look was her only answer.
“I think for the next few minutes, I’m going to stay right here.” Sitting up a little taller, Spitfire scooched her way closer to Redheart. The sun was halfway down the horizon, painting the skies a series of shimmering golds, soft pinks, and fading purples. Shifting to the side, she tilted her head so that the light would catch in her mane of fire and illuminate her amber eyes. “And you know what I’m going to do?”
Redheart stared, silently shaking her head.
“I’m going to watch this sunset right here,” Spitfire said, waving to the horizon. “With a beautiful mare by my side.”
It may have been a trick of the waning light, but the lightest of pinks spilled over Redheart’s muzzle. Puffing up her cheeks, she sat with her shoulders squared, turned to the horizon, and grumbled under her breath. “Five minutes. The sun will be set by then, and then you’re going to bed. Get any ideas while we’re out here, and I’ll send you to sleep with a noseful of chloroform.”
“Whatever you say. You’re even cuter when you’re flustered.”
“I’m not flustered,” Redheart said, glaring daggers at Spitfire. “This is fury.”
Spitfire gave a winning smile, then turned to watch the sunset, chuckling to herself. “Whatever you say, Red.”
Spitfire wrinkled her brow, scowling up at the ceiling.
Fifty.
That couldn't be right. After a week spent in the hospital, she had counted the ceiling tiles in her room more times than she cared to count. Every time she got forty-eight.
Except this time. This time she counted fifty.
Exhaling, she closed her eyes and massaged her temples. How? How could she get fifty? The only way to get an explanation would be to count the tiles again. That prospect made the pressure spike and throb in the slow beginnings of what promised to be a steady headache.
Then again, between Redheart’s check-ins and counting ceiling tiles, there wasn’t much else to do besides staring out the window at the clear blue sky, equal parts inviting and taunting. Come spread your wings, Spitfire, it said. Come feel the wind in your mane and the sun on your coat.
Heaving a sigh, she dropped her hooves back to the mattress and glared at the ceiling. A few seconds later, she began to count.
One, two, three, four, five, si—
Somepony knocked softly on her door. Perking her ears up, she muttered a brief thanks to the universe, and sat up on her elbows. “Who is it?”
“It’s only me, Captain Spitfire,” a mare’s voice said, as gentle as her knocking. It was a voice made to comfort the sick and soothe the frightened. Disease and injury were frightening bedmates, after all, and hospitals needed the likes of Nurse Tenderheart to calm the atmosphere of worry and uneasiness that threatened to weigh down upon foals, stallions, and mares alike.
The door opened, and Spitfire did her best to return Tenderheart’s smile when she poked her head into the room. Her cornflower-blue coat was a near match to the hospital walls, though her pale pink eyes and faded green mane made her stand out. Her eyes may have twinkled when she smiled, but they didn’t bring the same quickness of breath that Redheart’s did.
“How are you feeling this morning?”
Blinking, Spitfire shook her head. There was a time for daydreaming and a time for talk. Chuckling, she scratched her neck, marshaling her thoughts into reality. “Still pretty sore and aching all over, but that’s nothing new.”
Tenderheart’s expression softened as she stepped into the hospital room. The gentle smile on her face made it difficult not to ease Spitfire's smile in return as she pulled her chart from the foot of her bed. “Well, that’s good to hear. At least you’re up and moving around.” Her smile slanted into something the Wonderbolt had yet to see over her muzzle: a smirk. “In a fashion that is. Has Nurse Redheart let you walk to the bathroom on your own yet?”
Warmth licked across Spitfire’s face. Wrinkling her muzzle, she looked to the side and scowled at her empty nightstand. “No.”
While Redheart’s laugh was a light, musical sound, Tenderheart’s dripped from her lips like honey. “Behave yourself and that might change. For now, I’m afraid you’re going to have to live with us coddling you like an overgrown foal.”
An overgrown foal. Escorted walks to the bathroom. Blaze and Rapidfire would never let her live it down. Already she pictured them trying to feed her spoonfuls of food at a time, making those ridiculous train noises their mother made when they were infants. “You don’t have to do what she says, you know.”
“Oh, but I’m afraid I do!” The smirk was gone, leaving Tenderheart’s usual cheery smile in its place. “You see, we all know better than to cross Nurse Redheart when she gets her mind set on something. She wants you coddled, so you’re going to be coddled. Just be glad she’s letting you get up to use the bathroom.” It was more a show of respect to hide giggling laughter at this point, but she did anyways. “There are adult-sized diapers in the supply closets.”
Spitfire shuddered. “Noted.”
“Now, fun and games aside,” Tenderheart said, sliding Spitfire’s chart back in place. “You do have a visitor who’s been waiting all morning to see you. I hope you don't mind if I let her in. She's been very patient and very considerate.”
“A visitor?” Spitfire’s ears perked up. A small frown tugged at her lips as she looked to her not-Redheart nurse. “I didn’t know I was seeing visitors outside of my team.”
Tenderheart’s smile relaxed into something more playful as she waggled her ears. “You aren’t, but royalty tend to fall in a rather exceptional category, wouldn’t you say?”
Spitfire sputtered, her good wing suddenly straining to flare out. “R-royalty? One of the princesses? Here?”
Tenderheart nodded her head once, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “Uh huh. She was here at the crack of dawn, but Redheart insisted you get your sleep first. She’s been in the waiting room ever since. Here, I’ll show her in!” Giggling, she pranced her way to the door and opened it, curtsying as she stepped to the side. “She’s all yours, Princess.”
“Nurse Tenderheart,” Princess Twilight Sparkle said as she walked into the room, the bemused smile on her face matching the playfully admonishing tone, “you really don’t have to address me by title. I’ve known you for how long, now?”
“Hard to say, Your Majesty. How long after you moved to town did Rainbow Dash or Applejack end up in here?”
Ruffling her feathers, Twilight hid a giggle behind her hoof. Her unadorned hoof, Spitfire noted. With the exception of the saddlebags strapped around her barrel, the newest Princess of Equestria wore nothing. No crown, no regalia, no anything. Without her wings, she could have been mistaken for a taller-than-average unicorn instead of Equestrian royalty. “About a month or so when Applejack got the flu.”
“Hard to believe one little needle made such a big, strong mare cower behind her little sister.” Smiling warmly, Tenderheart bowed her head to Twilight and Spitfire in turn. “But now I’ll leave the two of you alone. If you need anything, I’ll just be down the hall checking in on Cherry Berry. I swear, somepony will need to take that mare’s hot air balloon away from her one of these days.”
Twilight giggled again and rolled her eyes. “Good luck convincing her of that.”
With a theatrical sigh, Tenderheart bowed her head again. “We can only hope. Try not to over excite the good Captain, Princess.” The nurse winked. “I think your little surprise visit has already dropped the poor thing’s heart into her stomach. Be a dear and move a bedpan or bucket in hoof’s reach if she starts looking any greener, would you?”
Spitfire swallowed, finding her throat dry. Swinging with Equestrian bigwigs, including royalty, came with the job. She’s had drinks with Prince-Captain Shining Armor, danced with Princess Cadance, eaten cake with Princess Celestia, and played cards with Princess Luna. Each one of those times, however, she was on top of her game. She could saunter into the room, feathers freshly preened and coat velvety smooth so that it gleamed in the light, and present herself as a Wonderbolt Captain ought to in front of her superiors.
Now, she lay battered and broken in an unflattering hospital gown while the Princess of Friendship looked every bit as resplendent as ever, even without her regalia.
“I told you, Twilight is just fine, Nurse Tenderheart. And thank you,” Twilight said, turning her smile to Spitfire. “I’ll do my best to be careful.”
“I’ll stick to ‘just Twilight’ when you start calling me Tend, Your Majesty.” Sparing one more wink at Spitfire, Tenderheart backed out of the room. “And no matter what the good Captain says, do not let her walk around unsupervised!”
When the door closed, Twilight bowed her head in greeting. “It’s good to see you awake, Captain Spitfire.” Her smile turned pained, but was no less sincere. “You gave everypony a good scare. That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when Rainbow Dash promised me a big birthday surprise.”
It was hard not to wince. Impossible, even, so Spitfire did. “Right.” Bracing herself, she sat up, holding herself rigid as the headboard behind her. Even when injured, there was no excuse to ignore protocol when it came to royalty. “I’m sorry about what happened, Princess. I hope my accident didn’t ruin your special day.”
“Ruin my day?” Twilight blinked, tilting her head to the side, one ear folded while the other perked straight up. “What are you talking about?”
Grunting, Spitfire dipped her head but held her gaze, ignoring the ache in her body begging her to return to the warm, soft comfort of the mattress and sheets. “Your birthday. I’m guessing the party wasn’t quite as festive after I made a crater in your castle.”
“Oh, that?” Twilight waved her hoof. “There will always be another party. I’m much more concerned about your wellbeing.”
“Oh.” Blinking, Spitfire resisted the urge to shift her weight and twiddle her hooves. Captains did not fidget, especially not in the presence of one of their princesses. “In that case, what can I do for you, Princess? Before you ask, the Wonderbolts would be more than willing to perform again for you once I’m flight-worthy.”
“That’s not necessary, but I’m sure everypony else would love it if you could.” Twilight’s eyes sparkled as she smiled, true to her name. She crossed the room to Spitfire’s bedside and, after a second’s hesitation, sat down on her haunches. “And please, just Twilight is fine. A friend of a friend is my friend, right?”
Spitfire quirked a brow. Even Princess Cadance, known far and wide as being among the most easygoing of Equestrian royalty, was addressed by her title. Then again, who was she to argue with another princess? “If you’re sure, Twilight.”
Twilight’s ears waggled at the use of her name. “I’m sure.”
“Alright, but if we’re doing this, then just call me Spitfire. You keep calling me ‘Captain’ and I’m going to keep on calling you ‘Princess.’”
“Deal, though let’s not tell Nurse Tenderheart,” Twilight said, laughter sprinkled in her tone. “And since we’re doing away with all of that, you can relax, Spitfire. This is meant to be a friendly visit. The last thing I want is an angry troupe of nurses scaling the castle walls because you overexerted yourself sitting at attention.”
A familiar-feeling smirk slid over Spitfire’s face as she relaxed the muscles in her back, letting gravity carry her back to the support of her headboard and pillows. “Thanks, Twilight,” she said, more slumping than leaning back on her pillow. A tired chuckle stumbled past her lips. “Tenderheart and Sweetheart might go after you, but I’d bet my goggles that Redheart would be too busy tanning my hide to be bothered.”
“Then let’s both try to keep that from happening,” Twilight said, sliding into one of the chairs next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Spitfire rolled her shoulders in a shrug, careful of her wing. “As good as I can be, I guess. Wing’s broken and I feel like I’ve been hit by a carriage, but I’ll pull through.”
Twilight nodded. Her wings relaxed, drooping down closer to her sides as she exhaled. “I’m glad to hear that. If there’s anything I can do to make your recovery more comfortable, please let me know. Ponyville General isn’t anything like the hospitals in Canterlot or Manehattan, but our ponies here care about their patients more than anypony else.”
“I’ve noticed. Celestia knows it takes a lot to put up with me sometimes, but the nurses and doctors here have managed somehow,” Spitfire said, snickering. She trailed off to a hum as her gaze drifting to her broken wing. “Red in particular.”
“Red?” Glancing to the side, Spitfire found Twilight smiling. It was a small, innocent smile, endearing and warm. Even at such a small question, she could all but see the gears turning behind her eyes. “As in Nurse Redheart? I take it you two have gotten close?”
Ruffling the feathers on her good wing, Spitfire allowed herself a lopsided, if half-hearted, smirk. “I wouldn’t say so, at least not quite yet. She’s been taking really good care of me, though. Yesterday, she took me outside so I could remember what it’s like to feel the wind.” It took her a second to catch herself before her smirk could become something too wobbly. She closed her eyes and the image of Redheart, blushing ever-so-slightly in the sunset, floated before her mind.
Maybe ‘smitten’ was a better word.
“That’s very thoughtful of her.” A note of empathy coloured Twilight’s words and twisted her smile. “It’s never easy for Rainbow Dash to be in here for long. I didn’t quite understand before I got these,” she said, unfurling her wings. “But after a few weeks, I started to get it. She missed flying. You miss it, too, don’t you?”
Spitfire’s lips pursed. “It’s not easy being grounded.” She sighed, eyeing her cast. “Red gets that. Most earth ponies and unicorns don’t.”
“She’s pretty unique, isn’t she? I don’t think I’ve ever met another medical professional quite like her.”
The corner of Spitfire’s mouth twitched. “Sometimes she reminds me of my old drill sergeants from back in the Academy. I’ve never seen anypony whip my ponies into line like that. How can somepony be that tough and that nice at the same time?”
“I suppose you’d have to be,” Twilight said. “I think it’s because she cares about her patients so much. There’s hardly a timberwolf in the Everfree that could come between Nurse Redheart and somepony under her care.”
A low, gravelly chuckle sounded from the back of Spitfire’s throat. “Overgrown bunch of twigs wouldn’t stand a chance.” When she blinked, she could see Redheart’s eyes, two points of a burning, bright blue that pierced through wherever they looked. A tingle travelled down the length of her spine and lingered at the nape of her neck, making her tail swish. “I guess I should also thank you for pulling enough strings to get me assigned to her.”
“All I did was ask for Nurse Redheart and Doctor Horse to look after you. They treat Rainbow Dash all the time, so I know them the most. It’s not like I ordered them to or anything.” Twilight coughed, chewing the corner of her lip while fidgeting where she sat. Somepony had yet to master the craft of outward indifference, something Spitfire was sure the other princesses would teach her in time.
Though, the longer they talked, the more Spitfire came to realize that the weight of authority that came with the crown had yet to settle on Twilight’s shoulders. The mare—the younger mare, she had to remind herself—spoke with an ease and a warmth so alien compared to the cool air of superiority so common to the Canterlot nobility. It was difficult not to like her.
Then again, what else should one expect from the Princess of Friendship?
“Uh-huh,” Spitfire said, feeling the old thrill of mischief in the making bringing a sharp, wry edge to her grin. Sooner or later, the newest princess would also have to get used to the little games her fellow royalty liked to play. “And they totally didn’t say yes because you’re a princess.”
The tips of Twilight’s ears stood on end. “What? I—no! Of course they didn’t!”
“What kind of pony says no to a princess?” Spitfire asked, arching an eyebrow and chuckling. “You sure you didn’t use any of your super princess authority on them?”
Some of the colour fled from Twilight’s face and she shook her head, whipping her mane from side to side. “No! I would never—” She stopped short, staring at Spitfire’s face. It would’ve been impossible to miss the gleam in her eyes or the satisfyingly smug quality to her grin—all signs of a troublemaker at work. The princess’ brows knit for a second before she puffed out a breath of air, blowing her bangs out of the way.
Wiggling her ears, Spitfire smiled an innocent little smile. “Something wrong, Princess?”
“You’re as bad as Rainbow Dash.” Twilight’s voice was as flat as her brows. “No wonder she looks up to you so much.”
Spitfire buffed her hoof on her chest. “Rookie’s got good taste. She’ll be a great ‘Bolt.”
“I’m not sure if I should be excited or terrified.” The skepticism rolled off of Twilight’s words in waves, but underneath it was a tittering of amusement. “I overheard Nurse Tenderheart telling you to behave. Are we going to have to start telling Rainbow to do the same?” She blinked and wrinkled her muzzle. “Well, more than we do already.”
“My team can be a bad influence sometimes.” Spitfire shook her head and shrugged. She fought down another chuckle as she leaned back, letting her gaze wander back to the ceiling. “Soarin should keep an eye on things, but if Blaze and Fleetfoot get their hooves on her, well, I don’t take any responsibility for what they do.”
Before Twilight could respond, a knocking at the door interrupted. Flicking an ear, she traded glances with Spitfire. The latter tilted her head, frowning at the door. “Another visitor?”
“Twilight?” a mare’s voice called. Under the crack of the door, Spitfire saw the tips of hooves a shade of purple so light they were almost pink shuffle from side to side. “We’re all ready out here!”
“We would’ve been here sooner,” another voice, carrying the tone, confidence, and indignation of a young colt, said, “but somepony took forever getting out the door.”
“Maybe that’s because I ended up carrying everything,” the first voice retorted.
“I’m carrying things!”
“A couple of books hardly counts. Making a mare carry everything? Whatever happened to chivalry? What would Rarity say? For shame, Spike.”
As Spitfire raised an eyebrow, Twilight’s face lit up. Clapping her hooves together, she fluffed her feathers and beamed. “Okay, just one minute!”
“Can it be a short minute?” the second voice, Spike, asked. “These are heavy!”
“Oh, quit bellyaching! You’re hardly holding anything as it is.” There was a note of snark in the mare’s voice, one a pony like Spitfire could appreciate. “Unless the little baby needs me to do all the work.”
Spike’s huff carried through the door.
“Uh, Twilight?” Spitfire’s other brow joined its companion high up on her forehead. She looked between the door and the alicorn in question stifling her laughter behind her hoof. “What’s going on?”
“Part of why I came here, actually.” Clearing her throat, Twilight hopped off of her chair. She stepped to the side, giving a clear view of the door while smiling a warm, open smile. “I know it’s not exactly exciting lying here in a hospital bed all day. There’ve been times when I thought Rainbow Dash would start climbing the walls.”
“Can’t really blame her.” As Spitfire scratched her neck, she found her gaze wandering back towards the window. Another sunny day in Ponyville, and another clear blue sky calling to her. For once, she wished that it could be a dreary and soggy day. Maybe then the itch in her wings would subside. “Not much to do in here but think. It gets old running laps in my head after a while.”
A sympathetic smile was Twilight’s response. She shuffled herself closer to Spitfire so that she was standing by her shoulder. “That,” she said, “and counting the ceiling tiles.”
That drew a chuckle from Spitfire’s lips. A wry grin twisted her lips and she nodded. “Yeah, there’s always that.”
“How many?”
“Fifty.”
Almost hesitantly, Twilight’s hoof found her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “Rainbow Dash mentioned that before she left, which is why,” she said, drawing to the side and lighting her horn, “I thought I’d bring these over with me!”
On cue, the door swung open. There on the other side stood a unicorn. Judging from the books held aloft in an aquamarine glow of magic, it was the same mare Spitfire heard speaking just seconds ago. Annoyance flickered behind her eyes, a light purple that matched her coat, before a wary, uncertain smile replaced her scowl. Her ears folded down, perked back up, and slicked back down again behind her curled, royal purple mane. A single stripe, the same colour as her magic, stretched from tail to mane as she shifted her weight from hoof to hoof. “Um,” she said, looking from the pegasus to Twilight. “Hello.”
Beside her—the target of her annoyance, Spitfire was sure—wasn’t a colt, but a young dragon. He stood up to the unicorn’s shoulder, his scales a deep purple, darker than both Twilight and the other mare’s coats. His eyes glittered an emerald green with a boyish energy that thrived in youth. Unlike the unicorn, who held several volumes aloft in the air and seemed to be straining against saddlebags looking fit to burst, he only held a small pile of books in his arms.
While the unicorn ducked her head and the dragon beamed, Spitfire blinked. “Books?”
“Books!” Prancing over to her new visitors, Twilight faced Spitfire with a brilliant smile and wrapped a wing around both the unicorn and the dragon, pulling them close to her sides. “But before I forget, Spitfire, allow me to introduce you to my number one assistant and my number one student! This is Spike,” she said, tousling his fin with her hoof, “and Starlight Glimmer.”
“Twilight! Not in front of Spitfire!” The young drake, Spike, shook off Twilight’s off and leveled her with a fierce pout. Then, as if remembering himself, he looked back to Spitfire with a large, sharp-toothed grin. “Oh, um, heya!”
“Pleasure to meet you, Captain Spitfire.” Wriggling out of Twilight’s grasp, Starlight undid the clasps of her saddlebags. “Where do you want all of these, Twilight?”
“You can relax, Starlight.” With a coy grin and single giggle, Twilight lifted her hoof and booped it to Starlight’s nose. “Spitfire’s a friend. I think the bedside tables should do just fine, though.”
Spitfire blinked again at the boop and as a number of books flew out of the saddlebags and rushed over to her in midair. “Twilight, what’s going on here?”
“She’s giving you a whole whack of books to read, duh.” Spike padded across the room and slid the books he held onto Spitfire’s nightstand. The action made him stand up on the tips of his toes, and she tried not to stare at him. There was something unnervingly familiar about him, something that made her wing twitch. In her mind’s eye, she pictured a much larger creature, the size of a small mountain, with a maw big enough to swallow her whole with the same scales and same green fins on top of his head.
Then Spike looked up and grinned at her. Shaking her head, she reached out and offered her hoof. A smirk, the same one she saved for little colts and fillies, warmed her muzzle. “No kidding. Thanks, little guy, but I was more curious as to why.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Twilight answered, lighting her horn while Spike bumped his fist to Spitfire’s hoof. As she did, roughly half of the auras surrounding the books in the room shifted from aquamarine to a mulberry pink. “After you took the time and effort to come all the way to Ponyville to perform for my birthday, I can at least make sure you’re well taken care of and occupied while you recover.”
Spitfire eyed the books stacking themselves neatly on both of her bedside tables. The red book with the golden trim and filigree stared out at her, reading The Legends of Star Swirl the Bearded. On top of it was a slimmer, green book titled The Aeronaut’s Compass and above that The History of Ancient Roam, Volume I. There were other titles ranging from scientific and magical theory to history texts, fables, foals’ books, science fiction, and everything in between.
Once the last book was placed, Spitfire had to resist the urge to swallow. “You really didn’t have to do all this,” she said, feeling small under the shadow cast by the stack of books to her right. Now, both stacks stood a head taller than she did on either side, sending an unpleasant ruffle through her feathers. “Ponyville was on the way to Fillydelphia. It was no trouble.”
“And this isn’t any trouble, either.” Twilight’s smile, though pleasant, brokered no argument. “If you want something specific, just let me know! We probably have it. I thought we’d start with a wide selection and go from there.”
Chuckling, Spike leaned against the wall. “Yeah, and Twilight really didn’t know what you might like, so she grabbed something from pretty much everything. Romance, action, drama, horror, crime, biographies,” he said, counting each off on a talon. “There’re even a couple cookbooks in there. Twilight couldn’t decide if different styles of cooking counted as different genres.”
“Yes, well, um—” Twilight coughed, pink dots colouring her cheeks. “The important thing is that there’s plenty to choose from. Starlight, why don’t you give Spitfire a list of everything we brought?”
“Sure thing.” From within Starlight’s saddlebags, a small scroll levitated out and onto the bedside table. The unicorn offered a polite smile as she approached, though there was something about it that made Spitfire’s muzzle wrinkle. “It’s nice to meet you, Captain Spitfire.”
“Just Spitfire’s fine.” Her eyes flitted over Starlight, trying not to let her frown show or carry into her voice. “Nice to meet you, too, Starlight. What’s it like being a princess’ student?”
Starlight’s smile turned to a wry grin, one that would have fit right in with the Wonderbolts. “It’s hard to complain, and even harder when my teacher is standing a couple feet away. Not that I have any complaints whatsoever.”
Twilight returned the grin, fluffing her feathers. “Starlight is a very smart student.”
“I try. Though it is really nice to meet you. Rainbow Dash speaks very highly of you and the other Wondershots.”
“Cool,” Spitfire said, tilting her head to the side. Then, as Starlight’s words sunk in, it hit her.
Wondershots?
Usually when ponies looked at her, there was a flash of recognition that lit up their eyes. More often than not, excited whispers or blooming smiles followed. Sometimes there would be a scowl or dark grumbling. Either way, everypony knew Spitfire either by her fiery mane, captain’s uniform, trademarked flight suit, or by sheer reputation alone.
However, when Starlight looked at her, there was nothing. No flash of recognition, no excited whispers, not even the subtle widening of the eyes.
When Starlight looked at her, she just saw another pony—as if she were some regular mare in the street.
“Er, Starlight,” Twilight said, her smile strained. “They’re the Wonderbolts.”
“Oh, my mistake. Wondershots, Wonderbolts.” Starlight giggled, sharing a knowing smile with Twilight as she waved her hoof. “Good thing Rainbow Dash isn’t here. Otherwise she might have had another freak out. Who would’ve thought somepony never hearing of the Wonderbolts before was so novel?”
There was no stopping Spitfire’s jaw as it fell into her lap.
“What?!”
By the time Twilight, Spike, and Starlight had left, the afternoon had waned away into an early evening. With the blinds raised, the light flooded into Spitfire’s room, bathing everything in a golden glow. Long shadows created from the stacks of books on each of the nightstands stretched long across the wall. Everything else, however, seemed to shine, from the soft blue of the hospital room walls to the glinting filigree on the spines of some of the books.
Nothing, however, shone more in that moment than Redheart. A soft, golden glowing aura surrounded her coat, making every movement from her narrow and slender shoulders to her wide and alluring hips shine and shimmer. Like a sunset kissing a snow-capped mountain goodnight, she shone. And though her attention was focused on her clipboard, Spitfire could see the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. In the few instances when she glanced her way, the light caught in her eyes, making their bright blue glitter.
Over the last several days, such a sight would have made Spitfire’s breath catch in her throat. Usually, her mouth would run dry for a few seconds as whatever quip she had ready died on her tongue. Then, she would probably misbehave, open her Celestia-forsaken mouth, and get a snort and roll of Redheart’s eyes in reply.
It wasn’t every day, however, that one met somepony who had never heard of the Wonderbolts.
“Seriously! I mean, I’d get it if somepony never heard of the Fillydelphia Skychasers. They’re good, but they’re bronze-league at best.” The look of vagueness on Starlight’s face flashed before Spitfire, and her tail whipped from side to side underneath her blankets. “But come on! She had no idea who I was! Me! Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts!”
“Now, now, Spitfire. I’m sure you’re overreacting,” Redheart said, voice quaking with laughter. She glanced to the side, meeting Spitfire’s gaze and the pegasus saw just how her eyes twinkled with unrestrained mirth.
“But I’m a Wonderbolt! I’m the Wonderbolt!” Spitfire grimaced as her voice came out in a high, caterwauling whine.
A snort of giggles escaped Redheart’s lips and she turned back to her work, hiding her blossoming smile behind her clipboard.
Warmth raced along Spitfire’s muzzle as her feathers ruffled. Though the captain in her frowned in disapproval, she felt herself pout, something she hadn’t done since she was assigned as Blaze’s wingpony in the Academy. “Shut up! It’s not funny!”
That did it. Whether it was her pout, her words, the way she said them, or a combination of all three, Redheart’s composure broke. Peals of laughter filled the room as she threw her head back and dropped her clipboard on the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped a foreleg around her barrel, soon doubling over as her laughter continued unabated.
For those few moments, Redheart’s guard had dropped entirely. Gone was the air of professionalism and that wall that kept her as Spitfire’s nurse and Spitfire as her patient. As she laughed, she was simply a pony. If her coat seemed to glow in the sunset before, it shined now as it caught the golden light flooding the room, bending and twisting it down the curves of her figure. Her smile spread from ear to ear, offering a fleeting glimpse at the mare under the nurse’s cap.
That mare, Spitfire had decided, was just like her laughter— well worth suffering through a few barbs and entertainment at her expense.
Yet, there was still an image to maintain. Puffing out her cheeks, Spitfire huffed and crossed her forelegs over her chest. “I’m like the most famous pegasus in Equestria! Ponies, griffons, zebras, donkeys—they all know who I am! I haven’t met a filly or colt yet who—stop laughing!”
“I’m sorry,” Redheart said between the last, lingering wheezes. She cracked open one eye, bright and beautiful and tearing up from the force of her delight. Spitfire’s lip trembled, threatening to match the other mare’s smile. “But the look on your face and how upset you were—I couldn’t help it!” Giggles slipped out every few words as she wiped her eyes and sat on her haunches. Exhaling, she regarded the pegasus with warmth filling the contours of her face and her smile wide and welcoming. “Oh, I needed that.”
Snorting, Spitfire looked away before her smile could fully form. “Yeah, you’re welcome. Glad I could be useful for a good laugh.”
“Oh, come now, Spitfire. I really am sorry if you’re really bugged by this.” Redheart’s hoof found her shoulder and gently squeezed. She felt the nurse’s presence at her side and resisted the urge to seek her out and pull her closer and exact her vengeance. Everypony had a few spots that made them melt or squeal; it was just a matter of finding them.
Soon.
Spitfire grunted, but made no move to shrug the hoof off.
“It must be refreshing, though, isn’t it?” Redheart asked, the imploring tone of her voice making Spitfire’s ear flick. “Meeting somepony who’s never heard of you? It’s a blank slate. How often do you get that?”
Spitfire’s frown faltered. Her ear flicked again and she glanced at the hoof on her shoulder. A second later, she followed it to the eyes of its owner. How could any frown stand a chance? “That could be kinda cool,” she relented, then wrinkled her snout. “But still, how could she not know what a Wonderbolt is?”
“Don’t make me laugh again. Laughing hurts,” Redheart said, her tone playful. “And is that really the strangest thing you’ve ever seen?”
“Uh, yeah? The Wonderbolts have been around forever! Everypony knows who we are!”
“Everypony.” Redheart nodded, her smile coy and her eyebrow raised. “Except for Starlight Glimmer.”
Spitfire looked away before Redheart could see her pout again. “Whatever.”
She nearly jumped when she felt Redheart’s hoof leave her shoulder and move to her mane. “Aww,” the nurse cooed, tousling Spitfire’s already messy mane. “You’re so cute when you’re all pouty.”
“Careful, Red,” Spitfire warned, smoothing her mane back. There was little chance to stop the grin cocking across her muzzle. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Just like a little foal,” Redheart continued. The corner of her lips tugged upwards in a smirk as she pinched Spitfire’s cheek. “So desperate to be at the centre of everypony’s attention.”
And, with that, the gauntlet was thrown. Anything was fair game, now. A low growl built up in the back of Spitfire’s throat and she regarded Redheart with a hooded stare. “Just you wait until this cast comes off, Red,” she purred. “We’ll see what you’re saying after I rock your world.”
To her surprise and delight, Redheart returned the stare, if only for a second. “Keep on dreaming, Spitfire,” she said, patting the pegasus’ cheek. “It’s important for the Captain of the Wonderbolts to have some aspirations.”
The temptation to push things a bit farther was there. A little more banter, and Spitfire might finally have a fully-flustered Redheart before her, ready to be worked like putty in her hooves. But, just as she was about to open her mouth, she bit her tongue.
Behave.
“Yeah.” Swallowing down any unwanted and flirtatious comments, Spitfire cleared her throat. “That, and books.” Waving a foreleg, she gestured to the stacks of books on her bedside tables. “Apparently.”
“Nice of Twilight to bring them all in.” Redheart hummed, running her hoof down along the spines of the stack next to her. “A better variety than what we have here, but that’s not very surprising once you’ve seen the size of—oh!”
“Oh?” Spitfire intoned, tilting her head. The nurse’s hoof hovered over the spine of one book about halfway down the pile. Her eyes were wide and her lips parted. “Something good in there?”
“You could say that,” Redheart said as the shock melted away from her face. A fond smile took its place as she tilted the books above with one hoof while using the other to slide another out. The smile grew as she stared at the cover for a few long seconds. “I haven’t seen this one in a long, long time. Maybe you’d want to give it a try?”
Curious, Spitfire held out her hoof. Reluctance flitted through Redheart’s eyes for an instant before she passed the book over.
The book itself was bound in a faded yellow cover, the colour reminding Spitfire of a pale morning’s sunrise in Cloudsdale. A pony with wings a horn, and a mane that seemed to flow around it stared back up at her through teal eyes. The title was worn, but legible. “The Last Alicorn?”
Redheart’s head nodded in a quick bob. “It was my favourite book growing up. I used to stay up late when my parents thought I was asleep and read it over and over again.” Again Spitfire felt her presence at her side, and a glance up and to the left showed the nurse hovering over her, tail swishing behind her. “It’s set in a world from long ago, not too long after the first Hearth’s Warming. There’s magic, adventure, love, and the most wonderful characters.”
From how close she was, Spitfire could almost smell whatever shampoo Redheart used under the sterile scent of hospital disinfectant. She resisted the urge to lean in closer. It was something familiar, something spicy. Cinnamon?
“There’s this bumbling unicorn who wants to be a great magician; a mad, old king who wants to capture all of the world’s beauty for himself; and, of course, the alicorn,” Redheart continued, speaking faster and giddier as she went on. If she went on much longer, Spitfire wouldn’t be too surprised to see her start bouncing in place.
Her energy proved infectious, however, as Spitfire found herself grinning and sitting up, almost close enough to brush their shoulders together. “Really? Sounds like a good read.” Tapping the cover, she flashed Redheart a toothy smirk. “Maybe I’ll have to find out just how good a read it is.”
When Redheart looked at her, there were nothing short of stars in her eyes. “I bet you’d love it! It would be so fun to have somepony to talk to about it.”
“Then I guess I have to read it, don’t I?” Winking, Spitfire opened the front cover. As she was about to turn past the author’s forward to the first page, something caught her eye. Brow furrowing, she turned back to the inside cover. There, written in the squiggly penmanship of a foal’s hoofwriting, was a name.
Property of Redheart. If found, please return to 82 Saddle Street, Ponyville.
Staring at the page, Spitfire reached out for Redheart. “Hey, Red,” she said, holding up the book to show a much younger Redheart’s signature. “Check this out.”
“Hmm?” Blinking rather owlishly, Redheart’s gaze followed the goldenrod hoof to the page. A sharp intake of breath later and Spitfire watched the other mare’s eyes widen. “Oh,” she breathed, falling to her haunches from shaky legs as she took the book. Slowly, a small, sincere smile danced over her muzzle. For the second time in as many hours, her guard had fallen. “I thought that this was long since gone.”
The smirk that flickered on Spitfire’s lips was something softer than it usually was. “Guess it’s not.”
Redheart’s giggle chimed in the hospital room. Tilting her head, her smile grew. It wasn’t by much, but it was there, and it was for Spitfire. “I guess it’s not, is it?”
“Unless there’s somepony else in town named Redheart, then nope! Well, actually ...” A teasing edge warped Spitfire’s smirk and she waggled her ears. “Unless you have a sister I don’t know about.”
A snort and a light cuff around the head were Redheart’s response. “You had to go and ruin a perfectly nice moment, didn’t you?” Though she shook her head, there was no malice in the nurse’s words. The stars were still in her eyes, and a warmth bloomed in Spitfire’s chest.
“I didn’t say anything! But I’m growing on you,” Spitfire said, rubbing the spot where Redheart bopped her. “Aren’t I?”
Again, Redheart shook her head, but her smile never wavered. Softly, she brushed a pearly white hoof over her foalhood signature. “I really thought that this was gone for good.”
Resisting the urge to give a lopsided grin, Spitfire instead schooled her expression into something more akin to a Wonderbolt officer. The change in topic was abrupt—discarded, but not denied. “Do books go missing permanently from the library often? I don’t know her all that well, but something tells me Twilight would have a fit if they did.”
“Hardly a bookmark gets out of place with Twilight around. No, it’s just—when I was a foal, this was my favourite book,” Redheart said, closing the book and tracing her hoof down along the title and cover art. “One day, the library put up a notice, asking for donations. I thought if I loved The Last Alicorn so much, then so would foals everywhere. Besides, it was just going to be in the library, so I could go read it whenever I wanted. It wasn’t like I was throwing it away.”
Spitfire’s ears perked up at Redheart’s tone. Her composure fell to a frown at the subdued, quavering tone to her voice. “What happened?”
A shudder shook Redheart’s frame and she hugged the book against her with a foreleg. “A monster named Tirek.”
Ears standing ramrod straight, Spitfire narrowed her eyes and tried to keep the snarl from her face. “Yeah,” she said, growling in the back of her throat. “I remember him.”
“He destroyed the Golden Oaks Library. One second it was there, and the next there was this flash of light. Once the dust settled, there was nothing but a smoldering crater left.”
Spitfire bit her lip and, not without a half-second’s trepidation, reached out with her hoof and found Redheart’s shoulder. She squeezed, returning a gesture of comfort and companionship shown to her more than once in the last week. “I’m sorry.”
“I assumed this went up in smoke with the rest of the library.” Redheart’s smile was something soft and gentle. A light laugh shook her frame. “But here it is.”
“Yeah ...” Spitfire trailed off, feeling her brow furrow. Then, as an idea struck her, her face lit up. Nudging Redheart, she trailed her hoof down from the mare’s shoulder, along the crook of her foreleg, stopping just shy of holding hooves. There was the risk that this could end poorly, but as a daredevil by trade, danger was little more than an occupational hazard.
Redheart quirked a brow. When Spitfire moved her hoof, she brought the two of them closer together so that when they turned their heads, they were almost muzzle-to-muzzle.
Spitfire shot a disarming smile. “Hey, Red?”
Redheart exhaled, tickling the fur up and down Spitfire’s muzzle. “What, Spitfire?”
“I’ve got a question for you.”
Redheart raised her other eyebrow.
Softening her features, Spitfire tried to emulate the same warmth she felt coming off of Redheart every day. “I was wondering if you wanted to read it with me?”
“What?” Redheart blinked, her eyes flicking from Spitfire, to the book, to their nearly entwined hooves, and then back to Spitfire. Her hoof inched away as she asked, “Why?”
“Why not?” Spitfire countered. “Because it’ll be fun!”
For her part, Redheart opened her mouth before closing it again. She repeated this process once or twice more before she looked away. Shuffling her hooves, Spitfire saw her glance at the clock. “I really shouldn’t,” she said at length. “My shift’s over in just a few minutes, and I really should be getting home so that you can have your rest.”
The lack of conviction in Redheart’s voice was a clarion call. When she bit her lip, Spitfire took her turn to arch her brow and smile. Scooching over to the side, she patted the empty spot on the bed. It may not have exactly been protocol, but there was plenty of room for two ponies—provided they didn’t mind getting a little snug.
Somewhere in the recesses of Redheart’s throat, a low whine built up. “Maybe the first couple chapters couldn’t hurt. Just let me go clock out, and I’ll be right back!”
Chuckling to herself while Redheart turned tail and all but sprinted from the room, Spitfire picked up the book she was about to start reading from where it was dropped on the mattress. As she traced her hoof over the filly hoofwriting, any doubt vanished from her mind.
Twilight Sparkle was, without a doubt, the best princess in Equestria.
The Last Alicorn was, by any means, an unassuming looking book. Its faded yellow cover, like a pale morning sunrise, wore through in places, revealing glimpses at the stiffer, hardcover material underneath. The title flowed over the image of a lone alicorn in bold, almost fae-like cursive only an accomplished calligrapher could hope to replicate, much like every other fantasy novel Spitfire had ever seen.
She turned the book over in her hooves, humming to herself as she looked it over. If it weren’t for Redheart, she might well have skipped over it entirely in the stacks of books left on her nightstand. Any eye-catching gold or glamour to the filigree lining the spine had long since worn away, leaving a plain, unassuming text to be lost among the shelves of the library.
Now, though, that she held it in her hooves, Spitfire saw the years this particular copy endured. The corners were bent inwards and fraying, no doubt scars from a lifetime of bouncing around in saddlebags. She opened the inside cover, tracing her hoof down Redheart’s foalhood scrawl.
The paper creased under her touch, and Spitfire occupied herself with flipping through the pages, beginning to yellow with age, pausing at the odd dog-eared mark. She skimmed each passage, helpless against the grin that tugged at her lips at the image conjured by her mind. She imagined a much younger Redheart fawning over the book, clutching it close to her chest before slipping it back into her saddlebags.
Closing the book, she set it to her side, joining it as they laid back and waited for Redheart’s return. Spitfire closed her eyes, letting herself awash in a burgeoning, blooming, and addictive warmth that spread out from her chest.
There was something undeniably unguarded about the way Redheart turned tail and scampered out of the room. Though it may have been Spitfire’s imagination, the mare’s smile seemed to spread a little bit wider and shine in her eyes a little bit brighter in the fleeting seconds she remained before rushing out. That thought, real or not, nearly brought a giggle from the pegasus’ lips as her feathers spread and fluffed.
Spitfire only just started to drum her hooves on the mattress to the tune of an old Wonderbolt Academy flight song when the latch of her door clicked. Perking her ears, she sat up as the door opened, bringing with it the brighter fluorescent lights from the hallway, the sounds of the hospital, and, most importantly, Redheart.
With a noticeable skip in her step, she cantered into the room. She paused only to nudge the door closed before crossing the room, her smile every bit as bright as Spitfire imagined.
Redheart’s tail swished as she walked, and Spitfire felt an unusual, fluttering feeling nestle in her stomach, as if a dozen butterflies had taken wing. Even in the fading light of twilight, the nurse’s eyes glimmered and sparkled, perhaps even more than usual, captivating whoever they held in their grasp.
Now that they fell on Spitfire, combined with the fond smile meant for her, she couldn’t help but smile in return. Though a far cry from the fiery anger or cold indifference she feared she would grow used to, the warmth she now felt between them was something new. It was something that, while tender and fragile and new, she welcomed as Redheart started to welcome her.
From that warmth, Spitfire forged her smile into a more familiar smirk. “Hey.”
“Hey. Sorry, that took a little longer than I thought, but we shouldn’t be disturbed for an hour or two now.” With care, Redheart stopped at Spitfire’s bedside and slid a tray from her back to the mattress. “I thought I’d also bring up your dinner.”
Spitfire’s stomach rumbled, yearning for the food now in hoof’s reach. “Thanks, Red.” Licking her lips, she looked over the tray. Between Redheart and the food, hospital life in Ponyville was almost bearable. She eyed the daffodil and honey sandwich, quickly becoming a favourite of hers, and started to reach for it before she paused, blinking at what lay between the sandwich and a bowl of apple slices. “Pudding?”
Coy, Spitfire discovered, was a good look on Redheart. The nurse’s smile turned sly, slanting to one side of her muzzle while a delicate titter of a laugh rolled off her lips. “They had an extra one,” she said, trotting over to the other side of the bed. “And maybe I’ve decided that you’ve earned your pudding rights back.”
At her tone, Spitfire couldn’t help but arch her brow as she watched Redheart circle around. “Only maybe?”
“Alright.” Redheart came to a stop on Spitfire’s other side and wiggled her ears. “Maybe definitely.”
“For the mare who reunited you with your long lost beloved foalhood book? I would think she deserves a better reward than just some pudding, wouldn’t you?”
Redheart rolled her eyes. Her sly smile slid away from her face and was replaced by something more amused. “I would ask what you might have in mind, but I think I know you a little better than that.”
Spitfire, for her part, wiggled her ears in return. “So is that a no?”
Reaching out, Redheart flicked the tip of Spitfire’s snout with her hoof. “Behave, Spitfire. You’ve been so good lately. It’d be a shame to have that all come to an end just for a little kiss on the cheek.”
Though her feathers twitched and her wing threatened to unfurl, Spitfire kept herself under control and wrinkled her muzzle. “That’s on the table, then?” Rubbing her nose, she was grateful for her blanket hiding the swish of her tail as she kept her grin in place. “Because if it is, then I don’t know. Tempting.”
“Oh, stop. Tonight’s special.”
For a moment, Spitfire’s wicked grin softened. A quiet, low chuckle shook her shoulders. “Yeah,” she said, setting The Last Alicorn down on the bed, cover facing Redheart. “I guess it is. Did you want to do the honours?”
With naught but a smile, Redheart sidestepped behind one of the bedside chairs and pushed. The chairlegs squeaked on the linoleum floor as it slid closer to the bed, coming to a stop with hardly a hair’s breadth between the arm of the chair and Spitfire’s bedsheets.
Spitfire watched, lowering her hoof as she felt her expression drop into a slight frown. “You’re not coming up on the bed?” The bedsprings creaked as she shuffled over to the far side of the bed, lifting her dinner tray up out of the way while patting the empty spot beside her with a wing. “Plenty of room, and it’d be way easier to share the book from up here.”
“What did I just say?” Her smile bemused, Redheart settled into the chair and arched her brow. Then, corners of her mouth twitching, she plucked The Last Alicorn from where it lay on the bed. “Now, you eat your dinner. I’ll start. You can take over after you’ve finished your food.”
Part of Spitfire wanted to protest, to push for Redheart to join her up on the bed. As they lost themselves in the story, how easy would it have been to slide her wing around her nurse’s barrel?
Spitfire’s wing started to spread, and just as she was about to open her mouth she bit down on the inside of her cheek. Behave. Taking a deep breath, she instead nodded. “Sounds good.” Exhaling, she scooched back over closer to Redheart. She slid her tray over with her and picked an apple slice from the bowl. “Okay,” she said, biting into the slice, “I’m eating, and I’m all ears. Ready whenever you are.”
Redheart watched her for a few seconds longer, until the first apple slice was finished. Then, with a nod of approval, she set the book in front of her. “Good mare.” She dropped her gaze, her smile turning fond as she ran her hoof down the cover. “You haven’t read this before, right?”
“Afraid not.” With a shrug, Spitfire reached for another piece of fruit. “When I was a filly, I tended to read more pegasus fables and stuff. “‘Whirlwind, Maple, and the Dragon of Craggy Peak Mountain’ was a personal favourite.”
Redheart hummed as she opened the cover and flipped past the first few pages of acknowledgements and author’s notes to the first chapter. “I’ve read that one to a few foals before. I should have figured you liked it. You seem like the Whirlwind type.”
“It’s not that big of a surprise, is it?” At her tone, Redheart glanced up. When she did, Spitfire grinned and stretched her wing—almost close enough to give a little brush over the other mare’s foreleg. “Come on, the brave and noble pegasus steps hoof on the ground and almost immediately gets stricken dumb by a beautiful earth pony? Seeing any similarities here?”
Redheart offered a light snort in reply, though the corner of her mouth eked upwards in the smallest of smiles. “You’re impossible, even when you’re ‘behaving.’ Now,” she said, cutting off Spitfire’s reply before it could begin, “let’s get started with the story before we whittle the whole night away.”
Though she could have indulged, Spitfire chose to chuckle instead. Her smile was a fond thing, something warmer and more tender than what she was used to. “You got it, Red.”
“Okay.” Clearing her throat, Redheart began to read aloud, “In a time and world long since passed, in a time before Princess Celestia ruled over Equestria, there were no alicorn princesses leading earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns in harmony. In this, the age of our Founders, the most powerful of unicorns raised the sun and made the night come to life with a thousand thousands of stars. As the ponies of the three tribes settled the land, their bonds of friendship grew. Hearts made as cold as the most frigid winters thawed, letting friendship and love bloom as ponies learned to live together in peace and make our world what it is today. But this is not a tale of our world. This is a story of this long-forgotten time, remembered only in the fables and stories passed down elders.”
Spitfire closed her eyes, concentrating on Redheart’s voice as she chewed on the next apple slice. Ears perking up, she leaned in towards the sound, catching each inflection of her tone, the rhythmic, rolling quality of her voice, and let it wash over her.
In the days of our grandparents’ grandparents, when Equestria was new, alicorns were myths. Like the Mare in the Moon, they were creatures of make-believe.
Yet, deep in the Everfree Forest, a place not even Commander Hurricane’s bravest warriors would dare fly over, there was rumoured to be the impossible. Wayward travelers and those who lost themselves in the woods spoke of a pony unlike any other living there.
These travelers only ever caught glimpses of the Mare of the Woods. Some said she stood tall, powerful, and one with nature that could only come from an earth pony. Others claimed she bore a pair of wings mightier than any pegasus’, and yet others told of how this mare saved them from the perils of the Everfree with unicorn magic.
Then, there were those very few who caught more than a glimpse. When these ponies talked about her, it was not with their fellow townsfolk or in front of their leaders, but with only their most trusted and most dearest friends and family.
For this mare, they knew, wished to live her quiet life in peace, spending her thousand moons in this world in her forest with her animals, whom she loved. The world of the three tribes was simply that—their world. The few travelers she spoke to only basked in her presence for no longer than a few minutes before she disappeared, but that was all they needed.
To their closest friends and family, they spoke of a pony standing tall above them. Her fur was a downy white, her neck long, and her every movement as graceful as a swan’s. Those that caught fleeting glimpses of her were, in many ways, right. She carried herself with the strength of an earth pony, but at the same time flitted through the trees with all the airiness of a pegasus and tended to the forest with all the care and delicacy of the most refined unicorns.
They spoke of her mane, flowing like a waterfall cascading over a cliff in a constant ethereal blue. Her voice, so they said, chimed like the purest of bells. But, what every mare, stallion, and foal could agree on were her eyes. The light that shined within told of countless years spent walking the forest as they regarded each and every lost soul with a compassion and care that calmed the most frightened ponies. Twin pools of a different shade of blue as bright as the sky on a summer morning twinkled with endless love and joy, captivating any that stood before them.
Some believed these ponies, but many did not. Alicorns, they said, were figments of the imagination. Mythical beings, they were called, and nothing more.
Little did these naysayers realize just how wrong they were. Deep within the Everfree Forest, watching Equestria grow, lived the Alicorn. For a time, she was happy to let the three tribes be. As time passed by, and as more and more ponies wandered through her wood, however, she became curious.
One day, when her curiosity reached its peak, she stood in a glade, watching the rising trails of smoke from the Equestrian village near the border of the forest. She stood motionless, her gaze unwavering as the rolling breeze shook the branches above her and tickled the grass along her hooves. The whispering wind and groaning wood spoke to her, begging her not to go. The forest was her home. The outside world was not for her, but for these little ponies.
This she knew, but still she yearned. She yearned to see a world outside of her beloved forest. She yearned to see how these ponies lived, to see what they made of her and her home.
She took a half-step forward, holding her hoof aloft as she felt her heart torn in two. Before she had a chance to decide, the giggling laughter of foals, as light and bright as morning dew on grass, reached her ears.
Wings flaring out, she leapt to the air and found a perch in the trees above. Almost out of instinct, she felt herself weave a spell, blending her snow-white coat and downy feathers into the scenery. If somepony looked up, they wouldn’t see her, but the bark of the tree trunk behind her. As her magic dissipated, the voices drew nearer until their owners came bursting into the glade.
Curious, she arched her neck, peering between the tree branches to look at the latest visitors to her forest. Three foals, she saw, galloped and bounded and giggled through her glade, chasing each other. Their pealing laughter seemed to fill the forest, and the Alicorn found herself smiling down at the three little ponies.
With not but a soft giggle to herself, she watched them play. Her eyes darted back and forth, her gaze drifting between the three as they ran to and fro, trying to make sense of their game. One would chase after the other two, shouting after their gay laughter until one of them was at last caught. Then, with not but a touch to the head or shoulder, the chaser would run off and the caught foal started the pursuit anew.
There could be no denying her now. Unfurling her wings, the Alicorn unwound the magic camouflaging her against the forest and leapt off of her tree branch. Whether it was the rustling of the branch or her shadow passing overhead, all three foals looked up in time to see her gliding down to them, her magnificent wings spread wide.
They stopped, rooted to the spot as the Alicorn touched down. She fluffed her feathers, smiling serenely down at their gawking faces as she folded her wings to her sides.
One of the foals, a small, brown pegasus, dared to step an inch closer. “Wh-who are you?”
“Greetings, my little ones,” she said, her voice warm like honey and soothing like a calm wind. “I am the mare of these woods. Please, do not be frightened. I mean you no harm.”
The words flowed off of the page, guided by the gentle risings and fallings of Redheart’s voice. As Spitfire listened, she lay her head back, her food forgotten as she listened, lost in the story.
Eyes shut, she didn’t bother to try and stop the warm, affectionate grin from easing over her muzzle. There was a certain fondness that caressed each word Redheart spoke and an energy that gave them life. Spitfire felt, however briefly, that she was in that glade, watching the three foals play from a perch up in the trees she shared with the Alicorn.
She strained her ears, and she could almost hear their giggling, bubbling laughter and the light gusting of wind through the trees. Her wing twitched, spreading just a little as if to catch the same wind the Alicorn did before gliding down to her forest’s visitors.
Slowly, she escaped the spell, cracking an eye open to watch Redheart read. The mare’s focus was on the book between her hooves, though her bright blue eyes were alive and bright. She smiled as she read, every bit as enraptured as Spitfire.
Redheart’s coat seemed to shine in the waning light of twilight. Her eyes were two bright flames of blue, and the look on her face was something reminiscent of a natural-born flier taking to the sky. Gone was the visage of the Ponyville nurse. In its place was something deeper below the surface, something younger and more filly-like.
For a second, that image of a younger Redheart returned, and Spitfire could see some of that foalish energy and love bleed through.
It was an image Spitfire committed to memory, and something she would not dare disturb.
That was, however, until Redheart got to the first pieces of dialogue. Without warning, her voice, smooth and warm and captivating, rose to the higher-pitched, squeaking tone of a frightening foal. Then, without skipping a beat, it dropped an octave to something that flowed like silk and echoed the grace and regality common to the Canterlot elite.
Ears perked straight up, Spitfire stared at Redheart, eyes wide open. Without thinking, she asked, “What was that?”
Redheart’s ear twitched. She looked up from the book, her open mouth settling into a puzzled frown. “What was what?”
“That.” Before she could be bothered to stop it, a wry little grin wormed over Spitfire’s muzzle. Her eyes flitted from the book to Redheart, meeting her gaze and fluffing her feathers. “Were you just doing voices for the characters?”
For a second, Redheart stared back. Her lips parted, confusion furrowing her brow, before she blinked. Some of the colour drained from her face, only to be replaced by the faintest of blushes that stained her muzzle a soft, glowing red. An equally soft chuckle rumbled past Spitfire’s lips as the nurse sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and glanced to the side.
Redheart’s hooves retreated from the book in favour of fidgeting with the corner of the bed sheets. Her ears folded back and her muzzle shone a brighter hue at the sound of Spitfire’s quiet laughter. “Oh,” she said. “That.”
“Yeah,” Spitfire said. “That.”
“It’s a force of habit, I suppose.” Tapping the tips of her hooves together, Redheart looked back to Spitfire with the first bashful smile the pegasus had seen on the mare. “I always used to do the voices when I was a foal. I sometimes volunteered to read to the other sick foals in the hospital, and I guess it stuck.”
“Oh, really?” Another chuckle shook Spitfire’s shoulders, this one decidedly more wicked and playful. “I bet the rest of the staff must love hearing you read to your patients.”
The blush fled from Redheart’s muzzle. Eyes narrowing, she sat up straighter as her ear twitched at Spitfire’s tone. “I don’t read to my patients. You’re the exception.”
Though Spitfire’s grin wanted to grow at that, she kept her smirk honed to a keen edge. “Really? Then in that case I bet they’d love to hear all about it. Or, maybe,” she said wiggling her ears as Redheart’s muzzle scrunched up, “I can just hold onto that little tidbit for now.”
“Do not. I have a reputation to maintain, Spitfire.”
“True, but they don’t know what they’re missing out on. You’ve got an awesome voice, Red.” Fleeting as it may have been, Spitfire let her gaze carry with it the warmth she felt worming through her body from the core of her chest to the tips of her wings. Then, cocking her head to the side, she looked at Redheart through lidded eyes and with a lopsided smirk. “Plus, you are just way too adorable when you’re flustered not to let everypony know about it.”
Through reddening cheeks and narrowing eyes, Redheart returned the lidded gaze with a glower. She held it for a few seconds before grinning a grin far too smug for the situation. “Alright,” she said, her voice several tones too confident for Spitfire’s liking. “You can tell all of my coworkers.”
Spitfire blinked as the grin slipped away from her face. “I can?”
“Sure.” A laugh that sounded more like a caressing, velvet purr rumbled from Redheart’s throat. Her own eyes lidded as she sat back, fixing Spitfire with two points of piercing blue. “But if you do, then I’m going to tell everypony—and I mean everypony. Other patients, visitors, the other doctors and nurses, your team—that you insisted on keeping a little teddy bear tucked under your bed to sleep with at night.”
Spitfire’s blood ran cold. “Wh-what?” she sputtered, uninjured wing flaring to life. Already she could hear the cajoling laughter of her team. Already she could feel Blaze, Rapidfire, Soarin, and Fleetfoot at her side, poking and prodding and snickering and teasing.
Already she could picture the giant novelty teddy bear they would all be sure to buy and stuff into her office.
The images alone made her want to hide in her wings. A whine built up in her throat—an actual whine—and she shuddered. “But you can’t! That’s not true!”
“Maybe.” Redheart’s smirk was enough to rival any Wonderbolt’s. “But nopony else knows that. The other nurses certainly don’t. How much would you be willing to bet that your team won’t lap it up, true or not?”
They both knew the answer, and Spitfire could only hang her head in response.
The laughter that stung her ears was both victorious and elated, a combination that drew her to lift her gaze to see Redheart’s eyes sparkle and shine with delight. “What was it you said the other day? Game, set, match?”
Spitfire wrinkled her muzzle, but she didn’t have it in her to growl. “Shut up.”
“No, I don’t think I will. This is far too much fun.” A lighter, loftier laugh trickled past her lips. “Now who’s adorable?”
Cornered and beaten, Spitfire did the only thing any Wonderbolt in her place would do. She ignored the building heat warming her cheeks and stuck out her tongue at Redheart, drawing a giggle from the other mare.
“Oh stop, you great, big foal. Now, back to the story.” Redheart dropped her gaze and reached for the book in her lap. “Where were we? She just met the foals from the village ...”
While Redheart’s eyes skimmed down the page, Spitfire sat in silence, content for the moment to watch and wait. Her eyes drifted down to the cover, and to the illustration of the pale alicorn adorning it. A slow smile spread over her eyes as an idea took root, one that was too tempting to ignore.
After all, Redheart couldn’t do all of the reading.
“Oh! Here we go.” Clearing her throat, Redheart placed her hoof on the page and started to read, “‘Though the surprise ebbed away from the foals’ faces, they stood together, rooted to the spot in a small pile of fuzzy pony limbs. They stared up at the Alicorn. Her smile, as serene as—”
“Hang on, Red,” Spitfire said.
Redheart sighed. When she looked up at Spitfire, her brows were drawn flat. “Yes, Spitfire?”
Her smirk was nothing innocent, but Spitfire wore it anyways. “It’s my turn to read. Give it here.”
“What?” Redheart blinked, eyes widened in surprise for half of a moment before they narrowed. Suspicion coloured her features and she drew the book closer to herself. “Why?”
“Because you’ve already read a bunch, and I want to give it a shot. C’mon.” Holding out her hooves, Spitfire stretched her smirk to show teeth. “I’m not going to ruin it or anything. Trust me and sit back.”
Redheart pursed her lips. She held Spitfire’s gaze as the long seconds ticked by before relinquishing the book. “Okay,” she said, drawing the word out. “But only for a couple pages. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“Sure thing.” Spitfire stared into Redheart’s eyes as she took The Last Alicorn in her hooves, winking once before looking down at the book. The script flowed over the page in neat, typewritten text, and it didn’t take long to find where they left off.
Guiding her place with her hoof, Spitfire started to read, “‘Her smile, as serene as the sunrise, faltered at the looks of fear and caution she saw in the foal’s expressions. With great care and slow, cautious motions, she knelt down, bringing herself eye-level with her visitors. The foals trembled, but didn’t move.’
“‘To her eyes, the foals looked quite unusual. They wore bits of cloth, masking their mark-less flanks and hiding their coats from the afternoon sun. One of them—a young, unicorn filly, with a peach-coloured coat and mane like the strawberries that grew on the far end of the forest—wore something else atop her head.’”
As she read, Spitfire chanced the occasional glance up. Her voice, she knew, was a raspy, rough thing, worn down as the years of bellowing commands and reaming out cadets took to her throat like sandpaper. It was a far cry from the smooth, soothing, and dulcet tones Redheart spoke with.
Yet, regardless, Redheart listened with all of the intent and focus Spitfire did just minutes ago. Her eyes were closed, but her ears were swiveled forwards, attent and alert. A small smile decorated the mare’s muzzle as she leaned back, relaxing into her bedside chair.
Spitfire tried to keep the grin out of her voice as she continued to read, “‘The thing stretched over the filly’s head, covering the bouncy curls of her mane and shading her face from the sun. A wide brim stretched out from it, hiding part of the filly’s face as it sat askew on top of her head. Curious, the Alicorn tilted her head to the side.’”
A sharp, sudden clearing of her throat made Redheart open her eyes as Spitfire’s voice climbed higher, reaching for the lighter, sharper pitches of youth. The result was something closer to a scratchy, grating mess. “‘E-excuse me,’ the earth pony colt on the right said. His mane, the shade of grass full of life on the first day of spring, hung down to the shoulders of his pale yellow coat. ‘What are you staring at?’”
Spitfire felt more than saw Redheart’s gaping stare as she stretched her voice for the colt’s dialogue. With not but a wiggle of her ears, she continued, “‘That,’ the Alicorn said. ‘The object on this young filly’s head. What is it?’
“‘The filly in question blinked. Then, in a voice that stumbled and squeaked, she asked, ‘Y-you mean m-my hat?’
“‘Hat,’ the Alicorn said. She ran her tongue over her teeth, as if to taste the word. With a thoughtful frown, she tilted her head to the other side. ‘Is that what that’s called? A hat?’”
“Spitfire.” Mirth and laughter crackled in Redheart’s tone. A few giggles slipped free, their bell-like sounds music to Spitfire’s ears. “What are you doing?”
“Reading,” Spitfire said without hesitation. Before Redheart could speak again, she looked back down to the book, keeping her place by tracing her hoof down the page. “‘The foals shared a look. The Alicorn watched, patient, as they slowly gathered the courage to inch closer. ‘Y-yeah,’ the unicorn filly said. Two nudges from her companions made her jump forward. She bit her lip, offering only fleeting glances before dropping her gaze back to the forest floor. ‘Um, would you like to try it on?’
“‘May I?’ With perhaps more excitement than her forest friends would approve of, the Alicorn lifted the hat-thing off of the filly’s head in the glow of her magic. She brought it to her own head and placed it down. Though the fabric stretched and bent, it sat on her head loosely. Another frown followed as she stared up at the rim, bent by the length of her horn.
“‘Then, to her surprise, a giggle sounded from below. Blinking, she looked down at the hat-less filly in front of her. ‘It doesn’t fit,’ she said, smiling a beautiful smile up at the Alicorn. ‘My Dad made it for me. Maybe he can make one for you, too?’”
Giggling laughter like a wind chime tickled Spitfire’s ears as she paused to turn the page. A hoof brushed her foreleg, stilling her tongue before she could continue the story. “Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice quaking with mirth, “what in Equestria are you doing?”
Spitfire smirked, fluffing her feathers and feeling a certain sense of satisfaction swell in her chest. “What’s it look like, Red?” She stretched out her wing, ever-so-lightly tickling a primary down the length of Redheart’s foreleg. “I’m reading.”
Though Redheart batted at the wing, the smile held firm on her muzzle. “No, I meant with your voice! What in the name of the Royal Sisters are you doing to your voice?”
For a second, Spitfire faltered. She looked from the mare at her side to the book in her hooves. “Uh, the voices? Duh?”
A rhapsody of giggles flowed forth from Redheart as she fell back into her chair. She wiped her eyes, then beamed at Spitfire. “Why?”
Spitfire’s heart fluttered at the look, yet the smallest of frowns pulled at her lips. Wrinkling her snout, she tilted her head to the side, only to draw more giggling laughter from Redheart. “Because you said you used to do them all the time.”
“Yes, and it’s a habit. You don’t have to do the voices. It’s just a goofy little thing from when I was a foal.”
“Yeah, and I really dig it.” Smirk softening, Spitfire turned back to the book. “So, tough, if we’re doing this, then I’m doing the voices, too.”
Before she had a chance to read so much as the next sentence, the book was snatched away from her. The mattress shifted, and she felt Redheart crawl up on the bed. Silky, pink strands of her tail tickled Spitfire’s haunches and a warm, velvety shoulder brushed against her own, trembling with the owner’s laughter.
“Okay, hotshot,” Redheart said, laying The Last Alicorn between them. “But maybe you should leave the Alicorn and the foals to me. The last thing we need is other patients to complaining about a screeching cat somewhere in the hospital.”
Any self-respecting pony would have scoffed and rolled their eyes at the remark—maybe even stick out their tongue—but Spitfire couldn’t keep the grin off of her face. She shuffled to the side, giving Redheart more room, room that the mare took up as she scooched closer, bringing their shoulders to brush together again.
Spitfire’s wing twitched, fluttering feathers around Redheart’s back as they got comfortable on the hospital bed. “You’re hilarious, Red. But fine, what voices should I do?”
Redheart looked at her. When she did, Spitfire swore there were stars in her eyes. “Oh, I have an idea or two.”
Spitfire swallowed but held her gaze. “Like what?”
With a delightful smirk on her face, Redheart looked back to The Last Alicorn and flipped ahead several chapters. Her eyes flicked down the page, her hoof tracking her progress as she searched. “How about—aha!” She offered the book to Spitfire, pointing to a spot about halfway down the page, well over a third of the way through the story. “Give me your best evil usurper king.”
Both of Spitfire’s ears perked up. She took the book, skimming down the page with renewed interest. “Evil king? Now that’s more my style.”
“I’m glad you think so!” Redheart leaned in, looking over Spitfire’s shoulder to follow with her down the page. “I’ve got a few other characters in mind for you, too. We could split up the voices.”
The pegasus stiffened at first as stray strands of pink mane tickled her shoulder. All she had to do was lean a little more to the side, and their cheeks would be touching. A comfortable warmth bloomed in her cheeks, no doubt flushing her fur a light red. Grateful for the dim light and book distracting Redheart, Spitfire shifted to bring her wing more fully around the nurse’s back. It lightly caressed her side, a feathering touch that joined them in the faintest of embraces.
“I’m game,” Spitfire said. When Redheart didn’t react or push her wing away, she grinned and looked back to the book. “Who else were you thinking for me?”
“Well, I did have somepony who I think would be perfect for you.”
The tone in Redheart’s voice drew a flick from Spitfire’s ear. She glanced to her side and found the mare regarding her with a look both knowing and coy. “Okay,” the Wonderbolt said slowly, furrowing her brow as the nurse giggled. “Who?”
“I was thinking—” Redheart flipped back page after page, stopping only a few scant pages from where they started. She pointed at the page, one Spitfire noticed was dog-eared. “—that this character would be a natural choice for you.”
Spitfire’s brow arched. She followed Redheart’s hoof to the page. Her other brow rose high up on her forehead as she read, “Nitwit the Magician?”
“Yes!”
With a gaze as flat as her voice, Spitfire stared at Redheart. “You want me to be some dorky unicorn?”
Redheart nodded her head in an eager bob. “Uh-huh. A dorky wizard for a dorky pegasus.”
If she wasn’t dazzled by the smile Redheart aimed her way, Spitfire would have scowled. “Dorky? Come on, isn’t there anypony else?” Her gaze flicked back to the book. Further down the page, another name caught her name. “How about this one? Matron Fortuna?”
“The evil witch?”
“Yeah.” For effect, Spitfire donned a wicked smirk and let out a low, sinister chuckle. “That sounds way more up my alley.”
Redheart hummed, tilting her head from side to side. When she met Spitfire’s gaze, she grinned and shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Matron Fortuna is all mine. Trust me,” she said, trailing off with a shrill and blood curdling cackle. “I’m the evil witch, and you’re the dorky unicorn. End of discussion.”
Spitfire’s pout only drew another bout of laughter from the mare beside her. “Is there at least some brave knight or something for me, then?”
“There is, and quit your bellyaching.” Bumping their shoulders together, Redheart flipped back to where they left off. “Nitwit is my favourite character. He’s brave, kind, and not afraid to live up to his faults.” For a second, Spitfire dared to believe the hoof brushing over her own was an intentional gesture, one she was too slow to capitalize on. “He reminds me of you, actually. Now, shall we?”
Mouth agape and feathers fluttering, Spitfire could only nod in response.
At the rate things were going, The Last Alicorn was going to become her favourite book, too.
What was supposed to be the first couple of chapters quickly became that and several more as Spitfire and Redheart curled up in the former’s hospital bed. With the book nestled between them, they took turns reading, following the journey of the Alicorn as she left her forest home and found herself lost in the fields and mountains of Equestria.
They kept on reading long until the night had forgotten about the warmth of day. Eyelids heavy, Spitfire bobbed her head, struggling against the sweet temptation of sleep that threatened to end the night they shared. Still, though, she listened. Even as the world fogged over and swirled before her closing eyes, she listened.
With her ears perked, she listened to Redheart’s voice. She listened to its rises and falls, focusing less and less on the picture that it painted, but more on the sound.
While Redheart read, it was easy to forget about the hospital gown she wore, the thin bedsheets pulled over her legs, and the cast wrapped around her wing. She felt her head rest on something soft and warm. Her eyes shut, and the faint scent of cinnamon tickled her nose, inviting her in deeper.
She felt a smile wobble over her face and she may have mumbled something. It was difficult to say with the shroud of sleep drawing ever closer. Redheart paused for only a second before she read on. Now, her voice was low and quiet, soothing and calm, lulling Spitfire deeper and deeper until a last, content sigh of defeat expelled from her mouth.
Soon, Redheart stopped reading altogether. Any complaints Spitfire had were muttered nothings as the presence at her side slowly withdrew. She felt herself lower to the mattress and her head rest on the pillows waiting for her. Blankets were pulled over her and a soft hoof brushed over her forehead, pushing a strand of mane out of her face.
It took herculean effort, but Spitfire managed to crack a bleary eye open. She saw Redheart’s smiling face turn away from her to place The Last Alicorn on the bedside table. “Where you going?”
The words were mumbled and quiet, but Redheart heard them all the same. Her ears perked, and she turned back to Spitfire. When she spoke, it was in a hushed, soothing tone. “I’m going home, and you’re going to bed. You’re up way later than you should be.”
Spitfire groaned. Her legs felt like lead, her body desperate to surrender to sleep, but she couldn’t allow it. With fumbling hooves, she managed to push some of the blanket off of her and started to lift her head. “No. ‘m ‘wake.”
A soft laugh came from Redheart. “No,” she said, pulling the blanket back over Spitfire with her teeth, bringing their muzzles close enough for warm puffs of air to wash over the Wonderbolt’s fur. “You’re half-asleep already. Get some sleep, Spitfire, and we’ll read some more tomorrow, okay?”
Though Spitfire wanted to struggle, though she wanted to push off the blanket and pull Redheart back onto the bed, her sluggish forelegs refused to cooperate. A long, low whine sounded from the back of her throat. A defeated sigh took its place and she looked up at her nurse, her head still hovering only inches from her own. “Promise?”
Something like amusement but warmer danced in Redheart’s eyes. “Promise. Now, will you go to sleep like a good patient?”
Any other time with any more semblance of thought, Spitfire would retorted. Instead, she let her eyes drift shut and grunted into her pillow. Redheart’s quiet laughter tickled her ear and she heard the mare’s hooves shuffle on the linoleum floor.
“That’s what I thought.”
Through the treacle of Spitfire’s mind, a thought trickled through that made the pegasus frown. Redheart said she was leaving, yet she still sounded as though she were standing next to her bed.
Ear flicking, Spitfire opened her mouth, ready to voice that thought in whatever way possible. Or, at least, she planned to. Before she could, a warm rush of air blew over her fur and the scent of cinnamon, stronger than any hospital disinfectant, reached her nose. Something warm and soft touched her cheek and lingered. A velvety coat not her own brushed over her, bringing that cinnamon scent closer and closer.
Spitfire didn’t realize her breath was stolen away until the kiss to her cheek ended and she sucked in a quick breath.
“And that,” Redheart said in a tone that was hushed, warm, and Spitfire knew only meant for her in this moment, “was a thank you for tonight. For reading The Last Alicorn with me.”
Spitfire’s eyes shot open, her fur bristling in the most delightful way where Redheart kissed her. She lifted her head as the nurse pulled away. “Red?”
“That’s all it was. A thank you.” Redheart’s tone may have been flat and serious, but the smile she wore and the twinkling of her eyes were anything but. “Don’t think anything else is going anywhere.”
Spitfire, for her part, stared as she propped herself up on her forelegs. Amber eyes met blue, and she felt a delighted, filly-like giggle bubble up from her chest. Oh, how grateful she was Blaze and Rapidfire weren’t there to hear her just then. “Well,” she said, licking her lips and helpless to stop the goofy, smitten smile from spreading over her muzzle, “I’m wide awake now.”
“Oh no you don’t.” With a roll of her eyes, Redheart pushed Spitfire down to her back, smiling all the while. “Go to sleep.”
The smitten grin on Spitfire’s face sharpened to something more familiar. She lay back, craning her neck to better look at Redheart. Through lidded eyes, she drank in the mare before her, from the svelte, rounded curves of her figure to the way her coat seemed to glisten and glow in the pale light of the moon like freshly fallen snow.
Spitfire’s smile softened again as her gaze travelled to Redheart’s muzzle. They hovered around the nurse’s gentle smile before returning to her eyes, as beautiful and as bright as any stars in the sky.
Heh. Maybe if Blaze were here, she’d tell her to say as much.
And maybe she should.
Redheart shuffled her hooves again, glancing to the side under Spitfire’s unwavering gaze. “What are you staring at?” The mare blinked, then shot a glare her way. “No, don’t ruin tonight by saying anything I know you’re thinking.”
A tired chuckle tumbled past Spitfire’s lips and she cocked her head just so to the side. “I don’t want to ruin anything, Red.”
“Good.” A beat of silence followed. In that time, Redheart glanced between Spitfire and the door, but made no move to leave. She chewed on the corner of her lip until she at last asked, “What were you thinking?”
“Nothing,” Spitfire said. “Just about how beautiful you look in the moonlight.”
Muffled hoofsteps clip-clopped by in the hallway outside, magnified by the silence that fell over the room. Redheart held Spitfire’s gaze for a long moment before she at last looked away. The lightest shade of pink coloured her cheeks as she brushed a loose strand of her mane behind her ear.
She opened her mouth and closed it. Spitfire, content to wait, watched her with a fond smile. The shade of pink colouring her cheeks reminded her of a sunrise over Cloudsdale, when the first fingers of daylight would touch the pristine white clouds that made up the city.
Again, something to tell Redheart later. For now, she reminded herself, behave.
A few seconds later, Redheart very softly shook her head. A soft laugh flowed from her lips and she looked back to Spitfire with a smile that sent butterflies aflutter. “Goodnight, Spitfire.”
Spitfire smiled in return. “Goodnight, Red.”
At last, Redheart turned and walked to the door. Light from the hallway outside flooded in when she opened it, framing her figure in a silhouette that spilled a long shadow over the hospital room floor. She lingered there for a moment longer, hoof hovering in the air as looked over her shoulder at Spitfire.
Then, with another soft, light laugh, she left. The door clicked shut behind her, and another nurse’s voice—Sweetheart’s?—followed in its wake. “Redheart? I thought you left hours ago?”
Redheart’s muffled reply was lost to Spitfire as she rolled over, resting her head on her pillow and pulling her blanket up to her chin. Eyes fluttering closed, she held her hoof to her heart, awash and savouring the feeling of warmth that swelled in her chest. Her feathers fluffed under her blanket and a wide, goofy grin dominated her features once more.
As sleep settled over her, a warm and welcome companion, she felt as if she were flying.
Spitfire lay in her hospital bed, propped up against the headboard. A steady warmth swelled up from her chest, reaching the pinions of her wings and the tips of her ears. The occasional flutter of wind brushed along her coat from the open window, bringing with it the faint scent of apples from the nearby orchards while the happy yellows of the morning sun brightened her hospital room and brought the muted blue-painted wall to life.
The breeze tickled her fur, stirring an itch in the base of her wings. Her body yearned to fly. A week was too long to go without stretching her wings and feeling the wind fully flowing through her mane. Though, with the warmth spreading over her muzzle, the itch faded to an odd throb before it vanished altogether.
Instead of itching and trembling to fly, her feathers fluffed, eager to be seen. She had long since stopped trying to keep the smile from her lips. It was a battle she was destined to lose. When faced with a happy, giddy, giggly Redheart, though, could anypony hope to have a chance?
“I still can’t believe we did that,” Redheart said, hiding her smile behind her clipboard. She hid it about as well as Spitfire did behind her hoof. A restrained giggle shook the nurse’s frame while she jotted something down on her chart. “Oh, the looks some of the other nurses gave me when I finally left—they thought I’d already gone home hours ago!”
“Guess that’s what happens when you spend a couple hours after your shift hanging out in your patient’s room. Alone.” Spitfire chuckled, a rasping sound that fell to a low hum while she watched Redheart work. Somehow, between leaving late last night and arriving at the crack of dawn, she found the time to brush her coat until it shone, catching the light so it seemed to glow a pearly white. It led a roaming eye down the arc of her neck, past her slim, narrow shoulders, along her sleek barrel, and at last to her wide hips.
While it may have been tempting to follow that coat down the curves of Redheart’s flanks, Spitfire kept on finding her eyes drawn back to the other mare’s muzzle. When it peeked up from behind her clipboard, the smile she saw stoked the warmth in her chest and prompted butterflies to take wing in her stomach.
“Oh, stop!” Swatting at her, Redheart turned to the side, though Spitfire could see the grin creasing the corners of her eyes. “My colleagues are all very aware of the professional standards I adhere myself to.”
“Are they?” Cocking a brow, Spitfire reached out with her uninjured wing to poke and prod Redheart’s side. “Is that why you wouldn’t look Nurse Sweetheart in the eye this morning? I thought she looked a little bit like the cat who caught the canary.”
“Sweetheart’s always had a you sense of humour when the mood strikes her. If she catches wind of anything else, she’ll make my lunches unbearable.” Redheart turned her glittering, blue eyes on her and Spitfire felt her breath catch in her throat. How any single pony’s gaze could so easily hold her captive was a mystery to her, one she felt she would be happy never to solve.
With a smirk as sharp and as coy as any Wonderbolt’s, the nurse returned the poke to her shoulder. “And I’m surprised you noticed anything, what with how you were snoring into your pillow a couple hours ago when she came in.”
Recovering, Spitfire licked her lips and flicked her tail, poking the tip of it out from under her blankets. “Wonderbolts don’t snore, and even if they did, it would be because of certain foxy nurses keeping them up late.”
“Oh, shoosh." What started as another poke turned into a playful swat, one that Spitfire arched her brow at. “You had fun. Don’t think I didn’t catch you smiling.”
Smiling? There certainly was plenty of that. Now, though, it would have been so easy to tease. With the right words, Spitfire could wipe the smirk from Redheart’s muzzle. If she chose carefully, she might even be treated to the faint blush she had seen a scarce few times before.
The corner of her lips twitched as the tips of her primaries fluttered. Her words were chosen. Spitfire opened her mouth, ready to pounce, but hesitated when their eyes met.
Ever since she first woke up in the hospital, she was struck by Redheart’s piercing, burning blue eyes. But now, as they regarded her with a certain gentle fondness, it was impossible not to notice how they shone with a soft light. They welcomed Spitfire with a warm embrace, one given by the mare behind the nurse’s cap.
Exhaling, Spitfire closed her mouth and shook her head. “You’re right,” she said, feeling her lips melt into a small, warm smile. “I had a lot of fun. You do a great mystical alicorn of the forest voice.”
Redheart arched her brow. “So great that you fell asleep on me mid-sentence.”
“Yeah, well,” Spitfire coughed and slipped her tail back under her blankets. “I was tired. Be nice to me. I’m in the hospital.”
“Of course. I was only teasing.” Sliding her clipboard on what little space was left on the nightstand, Redheart’s features softened. She sidled up next to Spitfire’s bedside and rested her hoof on the pegasus’ foreleg. The hoof was warm, but not as warm as her cheek when she leaned in to nuzzle her. It was a brief, fleeting gesture of thanks, but enough to make her feathers ruffle and twitch. “Thank you, Spitfire. This all means a lot to me.”
Spitfire swallowed, her thoughts fuzzy and buzzing as the heat from Redheart’s cheek painted a line of red across her muzzle. “Um, yeah. You’re welcome.”
“I’ll have to find some way to make it up to you,” Redheart said, giggling as she pulled away. There was something about the way she looked at Spitfire that made the Wonderbolt’s ears perk up. For a second, a flicker of something lower, more smoldering, fueled the light burning behind her eyes. It lingered only for that second, though, and vanished as soon as she shifted her attention to the gauze bandaged around Spitfire’s upper foreleg. “I suppose I can start by checking to make sure your stitches are healing up properly. May I?”
Spitfire blinked, then dismissed those thoughts with a light shake of her head. “Sure, go for it.”
With a thoughtful hum, Redheart got to work unwinding the gauze. “Interesting. I half-expected you to try and stun me with another one of your zingers.” While her hooves, steady with experience, were careful to avoid irritating the wound, she flicked her eyes up to catch Spitfire’s once more. Whatever heat that may have been kindled behind them was long since gone, but they still glittered when they found hers. “Are you sure you don’t want to say anything about me having my hooves all over you?”
Spitfire snorted, though what she wore on her muzzle was too soft to be a proper smirk. “I can behave when I want to.”
“As much as I might like the believe that,” Redheart said, placing the used gauze to the side, “I think you might be slipping, good Captain.” The warmth from her hooves seeped into Spitfire’s foreleg, dulling the sting as the still-healing stitch met fresh air.
“Me? Slipping? Never going to happen.”
“Hmm, then perhaps Doctor Horse is prescribing you too strong pain medication. I should have a word with him about that, but ...” Her hooves were as gentle as her voice as she brushed them over the stitches, sending a tingling feeling dancing up and down Spitfire’s foreleg. “Whatever the cause is, it’s a nice change. I think I like this Spitfire more.”
Spitfire sat up just enough to ruffle her feathers. With a tenderness softening her tone that surprised herself, she said, “Told you there was more to me.”
Chuckling, Redheart reached for the gauze and said, “I guess you did. These stitches look like they’re healing up nicely. I don’t see any signs of infection.” Once she finished re-bandaging her forelegs, she crawled up onto the edge of the mattress. “Now, hold still and let me see how the ones on your forehead look.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Behaviour, Spitfire learned, had its benefits. While Redheart reached up to unwind the string of bandages wrapped around her forehead, the stunt flier closed her eyes.
“I’m glad I gave you another chance.” The puffs of breath from Redheart’s muzzle tickled fiery red mane and teased at her ear. “Once you get past all of the, well, you, you’re really a sweetheart, aren’t you?”
Blinking her eyes open, Spitfire was treated to the sight of the velvety smooth, white coat of Redheart’s barrel and the subtle workings of the muscle underneath. Before she let herself purr, she flicked an ear, catching the nurse on the nose. “Wonderbolts aren’t sweethearts.”
Redheart flicked her hoof at her ear in retaliation. “Even the ones who do voices for evil kings in a foal’s fantasy book?”
“Especially those ones. They get their voices like that by shouting themselves hoarse at a bunch of wannabe fliers day in and day out, you know.”
“What a shame,” Redheart said, winding the bandage back around Spitfire’s forehead. As she did, she hiked herself higher up on the bed, bringing her herself within easy hoof’s reach. “I was really starting to like a Wonderbolt like that, but if you’re sure, then oh well.”
Oh, how easy it would have been to wrap her wing around her then. In a flash of feathers, she could pull her in close and show her what kind of ‘sweetheart’ a Wonderbolt could be. All Spitfire would have to do would be to follow her nose and the faint scent of cinnamon to its source.
Behave.
Swallowing her baser instincts and her pride, Spitfire chewed on the corner of her lip. “Well, keep this between us, but that kind of Wonderbolt may be kind of a sweetheart. Sometimes. For special ponies only.”
A light, chiming giggle was Redheart’s reply. “I’m glad to hear it, and you’ll be glad to hear that everything looks like it’s healing up just fine. You’re well on the road to recovery.” When she finished with the gauze, she sat back, still perched on the edge of the bed and still within reach. In fact, as she smiled down at her patient, Spitfire realized she could close what little distance separated them with a quick lunge in.
When Redheart’s hoof rested on top of her own, however, she found herself biting her tongue again. “How does your wing feel?”
“Good,” Spitfire said, her voice coming out in more of a croak. “I mean, not good, but better. Doesn’t hurt as much when I move around.”
“That’s good. You’ll be back up in the air in no time.”
Twisting her foreleg around, Spitfire squeezed Redheart’s hoof in her own. “I know,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she inclined her head. “I’ve got the best nurse around looking after me.”
“Flatterer.”
“Flattery implies that I’m exaggerating or lying. Remember, Ma didn’t raise a liar.”
Laughing softly, Redheart shook her head before slipping off the bed and releasing Spitfire’s hoof. “Even when you’re behaving, you’re impossible.”
And doesn’t that just drive you wild? Spitfire bit down on the inside of her cheek, stopping the thought before it had a chance to form on her lips. Wrinkling her muzzle, she exhaled through her nose. “I don’t mean to be.”
“Now, Spitfire, you’re saying that as if I implied it was a bad thing.”
“Huh?”
Mischief twinkled in Redheart’s eyes as whatever heat from before returned, bringing their piercing blue to a warm, steady glow. “Don’t you worry about it.” Again, the look vanished, but her smile remained as she tucked her clipboard in the crook of her foreleg. “Now, you stay here and rest up. I have other patients to attend to, but I’ll be back before long.”
As she turned and took her first steps away, Spitfire licked her lips. “Promise?”
Redheart hesitated long enough to cast a glance over her shoulder. Her ears wiggled as her tail twitched to the side. “Promise.”
Before she had a chance to take another step, the door burst open. The sound of it crashing against the wall jarred Spitfire from the moment. Yelping as both of her wings instinctively tried to flare out, she snapped her head back against her headboard.
Though she bit her tongue, the sound of her head smacking against wood caught Redheart’s attention. In an instant, she was back by Spitfire’s side, and the pegasus felt her presence before she felt her hoof gingerly touch the back of her head. “Spitfire,” she said, her voice muffled by the ringing in the pegasus’ head, “are you alright?”
“‘M fine,” Spitfire grumbled, biting back a groan. “Just got startled. Wings tried to spread, then hit my head.”
“Just take it easy.” Already, the warmth radiating off of Redheart’s hoof muted the throbbing in her head. As the nurse rubbed what would soon be a nice-sized lump, Spitfire cracked one eye open.
There, standing in the doorway with a toothy smile that spread from ear to ear, was an earth pony. Everything about her was pink—from the bubblegum-pink of her coat to the darker pink of her curled mane, to the white-and-pink candy striper uniform she wore. Her light blue eyes glowed with an endless well of amusement, complimented by the impish twinkle of a tried-and-true prankster. It only took another second before she recognized the mare.
A tugging in her mane brought her gaze back to Redheart. Concern shone in her eyes as they travelled over Spitfire’s features.
Cracking a half-smile, she tilted her head to the side, letting herself lean into Redheart’s touch. “C’mon, you oughta know a little bump like that isn’t going to do much to me. But, I think we’ve got company.”
The pink mare waved her hoof. “Hi!”
At the sound of her voice, Redheart’s eyes blazed to life. Scrunching up her muzzle, she turned around, stomping her hooves to the floor as her lips peeled away from her teeth. “Pinkie Pie! What have I told you about disturbing patients in the hospital?”
The smile that split Pinkie Pie’s muzzle faltered at the corners before she giggled and waved her hoof. “Oh, silly Nurse Redheart! I’m not here to disturb any patients!”
“Really? Do I want to know what you’re doing in Captain Spitfire’s room, then, if not to disturb her needed and important rest?”
“Delivering a message, silly filly!”
Spitfire joined Redheart in raising an eyebrow. “Okay?”
“And I’ve been asked to deliver the message the best way possible,” Pinkie Pie all but sang, bouncing her way to the foot of Spitfire’s bed. “Care to take a guess, Spitty?”
Spitfire sucked in a quick breath through her nose. Only two ponies in Equestria dared to call her that name. One she would never raise her voice to for fear of a thorough tanning of the hide. The other, however, would be sentenced to a month’s locker room duty with prejudice and laugh it all off.
Darting her gaze to the side, she caught the very tip of a yellow ear, the same shade as her own coat, slip out of the doorway and out of sight. A growl built up in the back of her throat as she set her jaw and glared at Pinkie Pie. “Don’t. You. Dare. So help me, even if you are one of Dash’s best friends, I will shoot the messenger.”
“Sorry, Spitty! She said pretty please with cherries on top, and Celestia knows I love my cherries!”
The look of stern crossness wavered from Redheart’s muzzle. “Spitfire?” she asked, looking between the two mares. “What is she talking about?”
“Don’t worry, Red, you’ll find out, too!” From within her candy striper uniform, Pinkie Pie produced a round pitch pipe. She spun it on the tip of her hoof, her eyes dancing with glee. “After all, this message is kind of meant for the both of you to hear!”
Both of Spitfire’s ears stood on end as her blood ran cold. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
The faint sound of muffled laughter reached her from the hallway.
She would.
“Red, no!” Spitfire cried, flailing her forelegs. “Don’t listen to anything she says! Just cover your ears and run!”
“Spitfire, your stitches!” Instead of running for the door, Redheart turned and clasped Spitfire’s hooves in her own. As she eased them back down to the bed, her eyes narrowed to two points of piercing, blue slits. “Tell me what in Equestria she’s talking about.”
“That’ll take too long,” Pinkie Pie chirped, winking at Spitfire. “How about I just show you?”
“No!”
Pinkie Pie blew a single, long note from her pitch pipe. Dread welled up in Spitfire’s chest as the note grated against her ears, forcing them back against her scalp. Her feathers twitched as she briefly considered hiding behind her wing, shutting her eyes, and pretending none of this was happening.
Then, bouncing in place to her own rhythm, Pinkie Pie began to sing. “Good morning, Captain Spitfire, now don’t string her along! If you want to win her heart, win it with a song!”
Spitfire heard herself squawk as Pinkie Pie leaped over to her side, opposite of Redheart, and tugged on her ear. “Listen very carefully, to your sister very well!” Releasing her ear, the pink mare tousled her mane. “If you heed her sage advice, you’ll soon be feeling swell!”
“Hey!”
Though she aimed to swat her hoof away, Spitfire blinked as she found Pinkie Pie close enough to rub their cheeks together. “You may have broke your wing bone, but soon you’ll get your freak on! Don’t dilly-dally, silly-sally,” she sang, flicking the tip of her nose as pulled away and cartwheeled around the bed. “Get into the zone!””
Whatever threat Spitfire had ready caught in her throat. The icy feeling of dread melted and gave way to a rush of heat that spread across her muzzle like wildfire as Pinkie Pie righted herself and threw her foreleg around Redheart’s shoulders. “W-wait, don’t—”
“Pretty Redheart, here, she’s the catchiest of the catch! Kind and smart and beautiful, the most scrumptious of the batch!”
Both of Redheart’s ears stood on end as she stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t let her slip between your hooves, or I promise you will regret! The very best of Ponyville—” Sliding out from under Redheart, Pinkie looped her other foreleg around Spitfire, bringing the pegasus and nurse’s gazes together. “—with a smile like a sunset!”
Two spots of bright pink appeared on Redheart’s cheeks. Spitfire opened her mouth to protest, to deny whatever horrible slander the pink menace spewed forth, but found herself stopping short at the sparkling in the pair of eyes that held her captive.
“So, fluff those feathers,” Pinkie crooned, tugging Spitfire and Redheart closer together until the tips of their noses touched, “shake that tail! Don’t sit there like a doornail! Show off those chiseled flanks, and make her heart set sail!”
The scent of cinnamon, stronger than any hospital disinfectant, washed over Spitfire’s senses, stoking the fire burning under her fur until her blush spread to the tip of her ears and crawled down the nape of her neck. Her feathers fluffed and twitched as her tail swished back and forth.
A bubbling, giggle-snort sound from above made them both blink. Before either of them could react, Spitfire found her head pulled closer at an angle to Redheart’s. Her heart skipped a full beat when the hooves guiding their heads brought their lips to graze together.
Then, as if she was never there, Pinkie’s hooves were gone.
“This has been your singing telegram,” she sang, trotting backwards towards the door. “In comes Blaze—”
While Spitfire blinked, dazed and committing to memory the feeling of soft lips against hers, however brief, Redheart recovered enough to turn and growl. “Pinkie Pie!”
With a broad, toothy smile, Pinkie stretched one leg towards the doorway. “And now I better scram! Buh-bye!” In a burst of confetti, she was gone, though her giggling laughter carried down the hallway as she fled.
Spitfire felt the heat radiating off of her cheeks, nearly incandescent in intensity, as sequins glimmered in the light while they floated to the floor. Staring at the vacant doorway, she saw the tips of Redheart’s ears turn pink and her shoulders heave with each breath she took.
When she at last turned around, it was only too clear the effect the—dare she call it—kiss had on her. Though Spitfire knew that her golden fur would have flushed to an orange so dark it would be nearly red, the pristine white of Redheart’s coat did her no favours. A bright, cherry red colour filled her cheeks and lit up her muzzle.
At last, she was flustered.
“I—” Redheart, for the first time since she met her, was speechless. Fury may have strangled her words in days past, but now words seemed to escape her as she refused to meet Spitfire’s gaze. “Smile like the sunset?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that!” Spitfire blurted, her raspy voice cracking, a sound nopony had heard since her promotion to Wonderbolt Captain. “I-I didn’t—I had no idea! It wasn’t me!”
Something flickered behind Redheart’s eyes when they met Spitfire’s.
“Red, I didn’t—”
With a perfect sense of timing, Blaze chose that moment to fly in through the doorway, corkscrew through the air, and land with a flourish in the middle of the room. Fanning her wings wide to show off her fluffed, goldenrod feathers, she flipped her fiery red mane to the side and flashed a toothy, winning smile. “Tada!”
“It was her!” Spitfire said, jabbing a hoof at her sister. “She’s responsible!”
“You bet your pinions I am!” Blaze chirped, ruffling her feathers as she folded her wings up at her sides—her naked, un-uniformed sides, Spitfire noticed. “That mare didn’t even want my bits to charge in here and sing that song.”
“You told Pinkie Pie to come in here? You wrote that song?”
“Pretty much.” A wicked, evil little smirk danced over Blaze’s lips as she shrugged and buffed her hoof against her chest. “I had to do something on the train. Fillydelphia’s a long way away from Ponyville, you know?”
Now that the shock had faded, Spitfire felt a familiar, righteous fire strike up in her chest, matching the heat of her blush. Fur bristling, she twisted the sheets beneath her hooves as she swallowed down a growl. On some level, she knew that Blaze was trying to ruffle her feathers.
The rest of her didn’t seem to care much at the moment.
“Don’t tell me Fleetfoot was too bored to keep you busy?” she asked, fire kindling her words and heating her tone. “Or maybe she realized what a jerk you are?”
“Nah, she just wasn’t around. The rest of the team’s on their way to San Franciscolt.” Blaze chuckled, unphased. Lazily, she drew her hoof through her mane and shook out her shoulders. “It’s you, me, and the mare of your dreams, Spitty dearest.”
Spitfire’s uninjured wing flared out in time with her nostrils. Before she had a chance to tear into her sister, however, Redheart stepped forward. “You instructed Pinkie Pie to come in here and do all of those things?”
“Pretty inspired, right? I told her to smoosh you two together if she wanted and do whatever. Filly’s quick on her hooves. Gotta give her that.”
There was a subtle shift in Redheart’s posture. Despite the glowing of her muzzle, she narrowed her eyes and reached for her clipboard resting on the end of the bed.
If Spitfire was a good sister, she might warn Blaze to shut her trap. If she hadn’t thoroughly embarrassed her via singing telegram, she might even have considered it. Then again, didn’t a great sister let their siblings learn from their own mistakes?
“Let me get this straight,” Redheart said, her voice too even to be a good thing. “You came all the way to Ponyville and asked Pinkie Pie to prance in here, sing that song, and ‘smoosh’ Spitfire and myself together?”
“Yup! Who knew songwriting was one of my talents? I didn’t even have much material to work with,” Blaze said, sticking out her lower lip in a foalish pout, “because somepony decided not to write me an—ow!”
A resounding whap cut her off. While she ran her mouth off, Redheart strolled up to her and, with her eyes burning a bright, piercing, burning blue, smacked her right over her head with her clipboard.
“That was for deliberately disturbing my patient’s rest!” Eyes flashing dangerously, Redheart lifted her clipboard to deliver another whap. “And this is for everything else!”
Yelping, Blaze ducked and skittered back against the wall. “Mercy!”
“You’ve been warned once, Sergeant Blaze!” Lunging forward, Redheart made to swing again.
Holding her forehooves over her head, Blaze darted out from under Redheart’s swing and leapt over Spitfire’s bed to the safety of the other side. “Spits, call your mare off! I’m sorry!”
“Hit her harder!” Spitfire cheered.
Redheart growled and rounded on Blaze. “With pleasure,” she said, baring her teeth as she prowled across the room.
“No!” Blaze yipped as Redheart neared, and waited until she got around the bed before diving underneath it until only the tip of her tail poked out. “I’ll behave, Nurse Redheart, ma’am! I swear on my grandfather’s lucky goggles I will!”
“See to it that you will, otherwise I will throw you off of the hospital premises myself!”
“You heard the mare, Blaze!” Spitfire’s lips spread in a vicious grin as the last bit of her sister’s tail disappeared under the bed. It didn’t matter what Celestia or anypony said—vengeance was sweet. “One hoof out of line, and I’ll help her toss your butt outta here!”
Snapping her head up, Redheart turned her blazing blue glare on Spitfire. “You will do no such thing! You are my patient, you are hurt and still healing, and you will get your rest unless otherwise approved by me!” She dropped her clipboard on the end of the bed and stood up on her hind legs to gently, but sternly, push the pegasus down from her haunches to her back. “Is that understood?”
With her head pushed back against the pillows and Redheart looming over her, Spitfire found her breath caught somewhere in her throat. She felt the nurse’s hooves on her chest and the fire lighting her eyes filled her vision. The phantom feeling of lips, soft and warm, brushing against her own brought a fresh wave of heat to her muzzle, making her lightheaded from the blush. Swallowing, she nodded. “Y-yes, ma’am.”
Redheart blinked. Then, as if doused, the fire vanished from her widening eyes. A small, squeaking noise sounded from her mouth before she scrambled back to the floor. “I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—that wasn’t supposed to—” Straightening her nurse’s cap, she glanced to the side, looking at the furthest point in the room from Spitfire.
Lifting her head enough to watch the mare shift her weight and chew her lip, Spitfire fought her heart down from her throat enough to ask, “Red?”
“I’m sorry, I need to go think. About other patients. Foals,” she said, picking up her clipboard as she backpedalled her way to the open door. Bright, pink dots coloured her cheeks and her tail flicked around her hind leg. “The foals in the Foal’s Ward will be expecting me.” When she met Spitfire’s gaze for only a fleeting second, the confusion, terror, and something else swirling behind her eyes became apparent. “I should go. I’ll see you later, Spitfire.”
“Yeah,” Spitfire said to the end of Redheart’s tail before it slipped through the doorway. “See you later.”
The door shut behind her, leaving the room in a suffocating silence. Groaning, Spitfire fell back, letting her head flop down into her pillows. She rubbed her face and drew her hooves down the length of her muzzle as she tried to sort out the cacophony of feelings building in her chest.
The memory of the kind-of-kiss played out before her, bringing a tingling of delight that travelled from her lips down to the tip of her tail. The sight of a truly flustered Redheart swelled a warmth in her gut, counterbalanced by the sickly, cold feeling brought by the look on the other mare’s face before she ran out of the room.
An unhealthy dose of uncertainty, heavy and polluting, finished the cocktail, and Spitfire chose to push those thoughts to the side and instead focus on every detail she could recall of her lips finding Redheart’s.
“Is she gone?” Blaze asked, her voice muffled from under the mattress. “Can I come out now?”
Again, Spitfire groaned and put her pillow over her face. The beginnings of a headache throbbed behind the point between her eyes, an ache she had grown familiar with when cleaning up one of her ponies’ messes.
And oh, what a mess this would be to clean up.
First thing’s first, she thought, speaking dark mutterings into her pillow, Blaze is getting the whapping of a lifetime.
Some time after Redheart had left, Blaze poked her head out from underneath the hospital bed. With a watchful eye and a twitching hoof ready to bring deliverance, Spitfire waited for her sister to crawl out into the open, stand up, and even brush the dust from her coat before she delivered on her promise.
“Ow!”
Hiding her smirk beneath a scowl, Spitfire shook out her foreleg while Blaze ducked her head and held her hooves over what was sure to be a second bump forming under her mane. Dark, muttered expletives neither of them ever spoke within earshot of their mother spilled forth from her mouth.
“Quit your whining,” Spitfire said, unfurling her uninjured wing. Nostrils flared, she bored holes in the back of her sister’s head. “Save it for later when you have something to really whine about.”
“What the hay, Spits?” Blaze shot something between a pout and a glare as she shuffled over to one of the open chairs. “Is that any way to treat your big sister?”
Spitfire wrinkled her muzzle at the comment and folded her forelegs over her chest. The beginnings of a growl rumbled in the back of her throat. “When she’s acting like a total heel? Yes. You’re lucky I’m stuck in this bed, otherwise I’d beat you with your own goggles.”
“Thin skin much?” Though she was only a few feet away, Spitfire chose not to hear any of the grumblings Blaze muttered to herself. Her hooves roamed through her fiery red mane over where she grew acquainted with Redheart’s clipboard and she massaged it in small circles. A hiss slipped past her lips and she winced. “Man, your mare hits way too hard. Are you two trying to give me a concussion? You know I have to fly in a show, like, tomorrow, right?”
Spitfire snorted. “Not my fault you keep looking for trouble.”
“Please.” Blowing a raspberry, Blaze mimicked Spitfire’s posture from the folded forelegs to the unfurled wings. She even furrowed her brow and lifted the corner of her mouth such that it felt almost like looking in a mirror—an aggravating, annoying, whappable mirror.
Spitfire’s brows flatlined, and so did Blaze’s. “Knock it off. You know I hate it when you do that.”
“And?” Blaze ruffled her feathers in time with Spitfire, and growled when she did. “This is what you get for smacking me upside the head when I was doing you a solid. How many big sisters do you know that would hire a singing telegram for their little, baby sisters?”
“None! And for a good reason!” Even though Spitfire’s tail was under her blanket, Blaze’s tail flicked at the same moment hers did. “Who even does that?”
“It’s called thinking outside the box.” Breaking face, Blaze wiggled her ears and smirked a wicked smirk that seemed to run in the family. “And you thought I never paid attention during those team planning meetings you make us all sit through.”
“If you mean thinking creatively about how to embarrass the feathers off of me, then yes, congratulations, you are Equestria’s biggest jerk. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Maybe you oughta consider being less fun to embarrass. Besides, I wasn’t just trying to make you squirm in front of Nurse Cutebutt, you know. That right there,” Blaze said, flicking a primary to the door, “was a genuine act of sisterly love.”
Oh, how Spitfire wished she had her aviator sunglasses with her. As scathing as her glare could be, without the right accessories it was incomplete, like a team stunt missing one of its fliers. “Explain.”
“Judging from how you and Nurse Fineflank there were reacting to all of that, I’m going to go ahead and guess that you’re no closer to landing her.” With a soft shake of her head, Blaze hopped off of the chair and patted Spitfire’s shoulder. “Somepony’s got to help you in your quest for love, and who better than your best big sister?”
The corner of Spitfire’s lips twitched. Otherwise, she held her stoney glare. “Uh huh. Sure. I hope you’re not attached to your toothbrush, because you’re officially scrubbing the stallion’s bathrooms with it for the next six months.”
“Personally,” Blaze started, showing her teeth in her smirk as her eyes twinkled with her own brand of troublemaking and completely unphased by Spitfire’s threat, “I thought the sunset bit was pretty inspired.”
An image of Redheart bubbled up to Spitfire’s mind’s eye, one of her enticing blue eyes wide with shock, her mouth agape, and her pristine, pearly white coat flushed a bright red. The image—the memory—stuck fast, sending her righteous anger into a tailspin. For the sake of her reputation, she resisted the urge to hug a pillow to her chest and sigh, similarly calling her mouth to attention before it could spread into a wobbly smile.
“Oh, wow. You’re way more smitten than I thought you were. Equestria to Spitfire?”
Blinking, Spitfire shook her head, filing that image away for later consideration. Just as quickly, she re-fixed her scowl over her muzzle. Judging by the look on Blaze’s face, it was too late. “Congratulations, you have a single romantic bone in your body, but that’s not the point!”
Tilting her head to the side, Blaze arched a brow. “Then what is?”
Spitfire opened her mouth to reply, then shut it. She repeated the process a few more times before relenting with a groan and falling back to her mattress with a soft thump. With quiet resignation, she dragged her hooves down her face. All of her years in the Wonderbolts taught her that no amount of threatening, punishment, or growling could shake that stupid smirk from Blaze’s lips.
Well, one thing could, but playing that card could backfire all too easily.
She peeked out from her hooves, her eyes burning slits of sisterly indignation. “Why are you here?”
A gleeful, wicked, girlish giggle reacher her ears. “I’m here to check in on my baby sister between stops on the tour, dummy, and currently fawning over how adorable you are. Who ever thought anypony’d live to see Spitty in love?”
Hot, burning tongues of a blush licked over Spitfire’s muzzle, drawing another bout of giggles from Blaze while she tried to melt through the bed and floor. No force in Equestria could shake the smirk from her muzzle, but another few months on locker room duty and playing team water pony for the rest of the season would at least make her think twice next time.
Another delighted, cackling giggle filled the room, and Spitfire sighed. Who was she kidding? “Sweet Celestia, has she seen you blush? You’re so cute I almost want to pinch your cheeks!”
Baring her teeth, Spitfire slapped her hooves down on her mattress. “Try it and you’ll be flying sideways all the way to Trottingham and back!”
“I wish I brought my camera!”
“Shut up!” After a pause, she lifted her head and shot daggers at her sister with all the strength and precision years in the Wonderbolts could provide. “And don’t you even think about telling Mom.”
Something flashed behind Blaze’s eyes, something that made an icy dread set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. “Ooooh,” she purred, trailing off to a thoughtful hum. “Oh, now there’s an idea.”
Eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, Spitfire made a choking sound in the back of her throat. Strange how the slightest thing can snuff out even the most furious of flames. “Blaze. No.”
“Could you imagine how she’ll react? I bet it’d be great.”
“No!” Desperation, high and cracking, bled into Spitfire’s voice. “No, no, no! You can’t!”
“Say, do you think she still does that thing where she carries all of our foal pictures around in her purse with her?” There was wicked, and then there was Blaze. Spitfire’s desperation only seemed to fuel her as she smiled a timberwolf’s smile. “Don’t you think your girl would love to see those? Or how about that little rabbit plushie you wouldn't sleep without?”
Spitfire jolted upright, flaring her wing wide. “That is explicitly against the sisterhood code!”
“There’re oodles of those pictures,” Blaze said, fluffing her feathers with a show of pride as she perched back on the bedside chair. “Just oodles and oodles. You know how Mom is.”
“So help me, I will set your tail on fire and have you fly laps until your wings fall off!”
“Oh, fine, fine.” Waving one hoof, Blaze examined the other as she buffed it against her chest. Though her tone was thoughtful, the edge of the smirk peeking out from her muzzle suggested differently. “I guess I can think about not telling Mom.”
Lips pursed, Spitfire bit down on the inside of her cheek. “I won’t beg. Please.”
“Okaaaay, but only because I love you so much. I have a better idea, anyways.” Reclining back in her chair, Blaze flicked her tail over her flank and cutie mark and folded her wings back to her sides. “How about, while I’m here, I lay down some sisterly dating advice instead?”
Spitfire blinked and stared. One brow shot up her forehead while her lips parted. “What?”
“Don’t give me that.” Sticking out her tongue, Blaze pouted and flicked an ear. “I got together with Fleet ages ago. Between the two of us, who here actually has experience in the whole ‘commitment’ field? We’ve been going strong for a couple years now, and it looks to me like you desperately need some dating advice if a little peck on the lips like that sent your mare running.”
A frown marred Spitfire’s expression, furrowing her brow and pulling her lips down as she scratched at the sleeve of her hospital gown. Only a couple years? The time and torture they put her through felt longer. “I guess you have a point.”
“I can see you’re skeptical,” Blaze said, her tone unusually solemn and knowing. Her head bobbed in a slow nod. The relentless gleam of wicked and mischief threw off the picture, ringing alarm bells in Spitfire’s head as her sister patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll just give you one piece of advice. If worse comes to worse with Redheart and you’re not really getting anywhere, you can always try this little failsafe I used on Fleet when I was struggling to pony up and ask her to be my girl.”
A flick of the ear was the only physical reaction Spitfire gave. “Knowing you two, do I even really want to know?”
Blaze flashed her a grin in response. “Trust me. It’s good.”
Sticking with her frown, Spitfire held Blaze’s gaze, searching the other mare’s expression for any tells. Slowly, she said, “Okay.”
“Alright! Now, look, it’s really simple.”
Spitfire narrowed her eyes but nodded.
“All you have to do is roll over,” Blaze said, twirling her hoof in front of her. Then, the mischief in her eyes flared to life, making them dance a brilliant purple that promised no good. “Then, stick your butt in the air. Give it a little shake to really get her attention.”
A beat passed.
Blaze winked.
Then, quick as Fleetfoot out of the gate on derby day, Spitfire lunged forward, swinging her hoof at her sister’s fat head. But, despite her best effort, Blaze was quicker. It must have been the twitch of her eye that tipped her off.
Ducking under the blow, Blaze jumped back and, with a well-timed flap of her wings, caught enough of a boost to perch on the back of the bedside chair. “Ha! Too slow, Spitty dearest!”
Spitfire growled, her fur bristled, her feathers ruffled, and her cheeks hot. “Get over here and take your beating like a mare!”
In return, Blaze stuck out her tongue. “Fat chance! Besides, I think we both know why you’re all hot under the collar.” Retracting her tongue, Blaze slid down to the seat of the chair, her feathers fluffed and her grin smug. “A little nudge from me, and you’re closer to wrapping that nurse up in your wings than you’ve ever been.”
“I thought you said I needed to find a stable relationship,” Spitfire growled.
“You do. Play your cards right, and you might actually have a shot with this one.” For a quick, fleeting moment, Blaze’s expression fell to a cooler, more sombre smile. The purple of her eyes almost softened to a warmer, welcoming sheen. Then, as if it never happened, her lips twisted back into a smirk. “But how often do I get to tease you about being in love? C’mon, Spits, priorities.”
Lips peeled away from Spitfire’s teeth as her eyes narrowed to two amber slits that would have the most blockheaded of fliers knocking their knees. Again, as always, Blaze’s grin grew at the sight. Then, like the first lightning strike of a storm, revelation dawned. An ear flicked, but otherwise she kept her composure. If she couldn’t scare her sister into line, then perhaps somepony else could.
“Push one more button,” Spitfire said, flaring her nostrils. “Try it, and I will call Red and her retribution will be swift.”
The smarmy satisfaction wilted in Blaze’s eyes, replaced by a bead of fear that brought a quiver of her primaries. “I-I was just joking around!”
“Uh huh.” When it came to siblings, turnabout was always fair play. With satisfaction in equal measure, Spitfire leaned back against her bed’s headboard and folded her forelegs over her chest. “And I’m sure I’ll be laughing when you beg Red to be gentle as she drags your good-for-nothing rump out of here.”
Flinching, Blaze folded her ears back against her mane. “Fine, fine, I’ll be good! Quit calling your girlfriend to fight your battles for you.” A huff later, and the corner of Blaze’s mouth twitched upwards. “Jeez, you two aren’t even dating yet and you’re already hiding behind her.”
Some ponies never learn. Spitfire scrunched up her muzzle at the remark, ignoring the fitful flutter of wings, both of her own and of the butterflies that migrated up to her chest sometime before Redheart left the room. “What’s that supposed to mean, Sergeant?”
“Nothing at all, Captain.” Blaze shrugged, her tone much too light and sweet to be genuine. “In fact, I’m sure you’ll go down in Wonderbolt history as the only captain who needed her girlfriend to keep their fliers in line.”
Spitfire inhaled sharply through her flared nostrils. If that was the game she wanted to play, then she would more than meet her match. “Better than you hiding behind Mom all the time.”
That drew a blink from Blaze and then another as her lips fell into a neutral line. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Spitfire said, mimicking Blaze’s earlier tone. When she used it, however, it came across more gravelly and ear-grating. “It’s kind of endearing that one of the Wonderbolts’ best fliers is such a big mama’s filly. I hear that does wonders for our demographic.”
“What?” Sitting up, Blaze’s ears stood ramrod straight. Indignation coloured her voice, a sound second only to the roaring cheer of a crowd and Redheart’s giggling, honey-like laughter. “I am not a mama’s filly.”
Spitfire snorted and rolled her eyes. “You are, too.”
Blaze wrinkled her muzzle as her wings flicked. “Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not!”
With a smirk, Spitfire stared up at the ceiling. “Are too times infinity.”
The bedside chair squeaked as Blaze shifted her weight, drawing a flick of Spitfire’s ear. “Am not times infinity plus one.”
Cocking her head to the side, Spitfire regarded her sister and her narrowed, piercing glare with one eye open. “Are too times infinity to the power of infini—”
“Am not times infinity to the power of infinity plus two.”
Spitfire blinked. “What?”
“Ha!” Rolling back on her haunches, Blaze pumped a hoof. “I win! Blaze wins! Spitfire, zip!”
“Wha—hey, no! I’m not done yet! Times infinity the power of infinity plus infinity! Beat that, featherhead, and go sulk back to your girlfriend!”
“Too late! I’m already declared the winner.” Blaze made no attempt to conceal her snickering as she crossed one hind leg over the other and folded her forehooves behind her head. “Think on your hooves a little quicker next time. You might actually win one of these days.”
Spitfire stared for a long second. Then, puffing her cheeks out, she swallowed a snarl as she pushed herself up to her haunches. “Red!”
“See? You’re doing it again already!”
This time, Spitfire stuck her tongue out. “Go cry to Mom, why don’t you.”
“Don’t tempt me.” A pout lingered over Blaze’s expression as she pawed at the lime green fabric of the chair cushion. “Besides, are you really one to point hooves after that stunt you pulled on my six month anniversary with Fleetfoot?”
As much as she wanted to laugh at the memory, Spitfire had the decency to bite down on the inside of her cheek and slide her gaze to the side. “I told you,” she said, momentarily grateful for the state of her broken wing—one less tell was never a bad thing, “Mom wanted to go out for dinner and we just happened to fly over where you two were celebrating.”
The scowl Blaze wore furrowed her brow. They both knew ‘celebrating’ was putting it lightly. “You keep on telling yourself that and maybe you’ll be surprised when I get you back with interest. But you know what?” Sitting up, she spread her hooves and wings wide. “Water under the bridge, at least until I push you over the edge. I don’t have too long to hang out before my train leaves, and we have more important stuff to talk about.”
“Like what?”
“Like where you’re thinking of taking your scary nurse for your first date. So—” With a single pump of her wings, Blaze jumped from the chair to the bed. She landed on her stomach at the end of the bed, rolled onto her side, and propped her head up on her hoof. “—any ideas, lovergirl?”
Pressing her lips into a thin line, Spitfire regarding her sister with an equally flat stare. “Dunno. Dinner or something, probably.” With only a little effort, she sat up, pulling her hind legs in underneath her torso. “Why do you care?”
In return, Blaze offered a bemused look. She prodded Spitfire’s thigh with the tip of her wing, smiling crookedly at how the other pegasus pursed her lips as if she swallowed something sour. “‘Cause I want to see my baby sister happy? And, no offense, but seriously? You’re head over hooves for this mare, and the best you got is ‘dinner or something?’”
“Don’t know if you noticed,” Spitfire said, swatting Blaze with her uninjured wing, “but we’re not about to head out on any dates. I’ll work on that when I’m not her patient.”
Blaze returned the swat. “Aren’t you the one always lecturing us about knowing what stunt we’re going to do three stunts before we do it?”
“Yeah, well—” Spitfire held her tongue, glaring at Blaze as her feathers tickled at her chest through her hospital gown. A growl built up in her throat. One more swat, and she’ll be scrubbing the runway with a toothbrush for six months and cleaning everypony’s flight suits. She exhaled through her nose. Only one eye twitched when a feather poked her chin. “This isn’t a stunt.”
Puffing out her cheeks, Blaze blew a raspberry. “Same principle. Come on, Spitty, where’s the game plan? You’re the best at that kind of stuff.” A slight smirk was Spitfire’s only warning before she sprung forward, catching the downed flier off guard, and booped her nose. “Once you get her to say yes, where’re you taking her?”
In defiance, Spitfire blew a raspberry right back at her and held her glare for a few seconds longer. Then, with a sigh, she let her shoulders slump. She chewed the inside of her cheek as her eyes wandered away from her sister. They passed over the doorway, half-expecting a pearly white hoof to poke into view, bringing with it the eyes she so adored, and lingered over The Last Alicorn waiting for tonight—or, perhaps not considering today—to be read.
The thought of Redheart curled up together once more, lost in the forests and fantasy of an ancient Equestria, and their coats pressed flush together as Spitfire’s wing loosely fell over her nurse’s back made her heart leap in a staccato rhythm.
Goodness, she had it bad. “Can we be real for a minute, B?”
Blaze arched a brow, but nodded. “Sure, Spits.” Sitting back at the foot of the bed, she tucked her wings in at her sides and curled her tail back around her flank. The mischief slipped from her expression as something like concern took its place. “What’s up?”
Spitfire opened her mouth, then closed it. A frown fell over her face as she found her eyes wandering to the window. Another beautiful day in Ponyville, though some grey clouds rolling in from the west might change that. “I don’t have a game plan. It’s not that I haven’t tried to think of one,” she said, following the specks of pegasi in the distance monitoring the incoming storm with her eyes.
When Blaze spoke, her voice was something softer, not looking to poke and prod at Spitfire’s buttons. “Then what is it?”
“Honestly? I have no idea what I’m doing. Picking up a mare or two at a club or after a show is a cakewalk.” A mirthless little chuckle sounded from Spitfire’s mouth. “Fluff your feathers, swish your tail, and give ‘em a little show when you walk away and they’re putty in your hooves.”
The tone of Spitfire’s voice was matched by the dry grin on Blaze’s face. “Not the same when it’s somepony you actually want to be with, huh?”
With a groan, Spitfire massaged her forehead. She fell back, staring up at the white ceiling above. “How am I supposed to have a game plan when I don’t know the rules or how to play?”
“That’s why even the best athletes have coaches, which is exactly what I’m here for.” The sound of Blaze giggling drew an arched brow from Spitfire. Her sister did a lot of things. Giggling wasn’t one of them. Yet, when she looked up, she was met with a bright smile. “You just keep on being you, Spits. She likes you, that much is obvious, and you’ll be putty in each other’s hooves soon enough.”
“Um.” Spitfire blinked even as her tail twitched under her blankets. “What?”
“I snuck a glance at you two lovebirds before I sent Pinkie Pie in.” Blaze wiggled her ears, cocking her head to the side. “It looks pretty obvious from where I stood. She’s into you bigtime.”
Spitfire’s muzzle scrunched as her thoughts reached back. “I didn’t see that.”
With a lopsided grin, Blaze gently punched Spitfire’s shoulder. “Welcome to love, little sister. Trust me, you two will be just fine. You keep up the good work and leave the rest to little old me.”
Suspicion rose up Spitfire’s chest like a sudden updraft rustling her feathers. “Blaze,” she said, her tone warning, “what are you up to?”
“I got a trick or two waiting in the wings. Just you wait.” Blaze winked. “The singing telegram bit went better than expected. I mean, did you see how she blushed? I think I’ll give the good Nurse Redheart another nudge on my way out, though.”
The moment passed, and Spitfire hardened her expression once more. “I can handle this on my own without more of your ‘help.’ Don’t you even dare.”
“Oh yeah? Then what’s the plan, sis?”
“I—well, when I think of something at least I won’t make her run out of the room! Do you have any idea how much damage control I have to do just to get her look me in the eye again?”
Blaze snickered and shook her head. “Didn’t you get a look at her face? Trust me, it’s in the bag if you make the right plays. She might have scared now, but she’ll think it over. By the time she decides to blame me for it, I’ll be long gone. Now,” she said, rustling her feathers as she sat up, “how about you stop worrying about being mad at me and worry about where you’re going to take her when you get out of here?”
The look on Spitfire’s face spoke volumes. Eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, she glared daggers at her twin sister. “I’ll say this one more time, B. Back off.”
With a sigh, Blaze held her hooves up. Disappointment coloured her voice when she said, “Alright. Loud and clear, chief. I’ll stay out of things. No singing telegrams or skywriting or anything.”
Spitfire’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Skywriting?”
“Hey, not happening. Who knew wanting your baby sister to be happy was such a crime?”
Underneath her blankets, Spitfire’s tail snapped to the side. She puffed out her cheeks and held her breath to the count of ten. When she finished counting she exhaled, though her features remained stony and hard. “It is when your twin sister, who is the same age as you, is a giant feathered butthead. Now, you promise to quit meddling?”
“Cross my heart,” Blaze said, crossing her hoof over her chest. With another sigh, she shook her head. She looked back to Spitfire with a softer, disarming smile. “At least think about where to take her, okay? Might give you something to look forward to when you’re out and about again.”
“Yeah, right.” Spitfire gave a soft snort and found her gaze drifting back to the window. “If she’ll go for it.”
The mattress shifted as Blaze slid to the floor. Her hooves sounded softly on the linoleum tiling before one rested on Spitfire’s shoulder with a reassuring, gentle squeeze. “You got this.”
Treetops, lush and in bloom, swayed in the wind just beyond Spitfire’s window. She watched them for a moment, following row after row of trees in a vast, green expanse. Somewhere out there, Spitfire knew, beyond the orchards of apple trees, lay the rest of Equestria. To the north, Canterlot sat on Mount Canterhorn, a gleaming city that could be seen from miles away. There, all lines of the Friendship Express connected, ready to take ponies to the farthest reaches of their world and everywhere in-between.
Spitfire’s ear flicked and a soft, slow smile spread on her lips as her eyes traced the outlines of the mountains on the horizon. “She told me a while ago that she’s never gotten to travel.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s her job. Says it keeps her here most of the time. She goes up to Canterlot or Manehattan every now and then if she can, but other than that, nothing. Did you know she’s always wanted to go to San Franciscolt?”
“Nope, but it sounds like it’d make for a pretty great date to me.”
“Yeah, it might do the trick.” Spitfire’s smile shifted into a smirk she shared with Blaze. “You heading out?”
“I probably should. My train leaves pretty soon, and I got an errand to take care of first.”
Spitfire squeezed Blaze’s foreleg before pushing it off of her shoulder. With her good wing she poked and prodded at her sister, nudging her away from the bed and closer to the door. “Then get out of here and go do some skywriting for your own girlfriend. I got this covered here.”
Swatting her wing away, Blaze returned fire by sidestepping in closer and tousling Spitfire’s mane. “Yeah, you’re probably good. When in doubt, just remember my advice. Butt in the air, and give it a little shake!” She cackled as she ducked a well-deserved whap and skittered to the door. “Catch you later, Spitty! I’ll definitely do that skywriting thing for Fleet and be sure to send you all the juicy details after!”
“Get back here and take your whaps like a mare!”
“Nope! Later!”
With one last cackle, Blaze darted out of the room. Once the tip of her fiery red tail disappeared down the hallway, Spitfire fell back on her pillows. Sighing, then growling, then grumbling, she smoothed out her mane and stared up at the ceiling.
She stared at the off-white ceiling panels for a good few minutes, mulling over the last hour. Then, schooling her expression, she sat up.
Celestia knew how much damage Blaze might have done, but there was only one way to find out. Swinging her hind legs off of the bed, Spitfire took care to brace herself on the wall as she slid to the floor. Once she was certain her balance wouldn’t fail her, she fluffed her feathers and started for the door.
“Commence operation damage control,” she said to herself as she reached the door and stepped out into the hallway. Sure, Redheart might very well chain her to her bed later, but not until after Spitfire found her.
Though not as big as some of the hospitals in Canterlot or Manehattan, Ponyville General was still a large, sprawling complex. The more Spitfire wandered, the more she found, from the Intensive Care Unit, to the cafeteria, to a lecture and demonstration theatre, to the maternity ward and everything in-between. Easily the largest building in Ponyville, save for the castle, navigating her way through the halls and wards would have proven near impossible if not for the painted lines helping guide ponies to each wing.
A little bit of prodding and poking at the nurse’s station produced some information. Just as she said before fleeing from her room, Redheart was due at the foal’s ward and was scheduled to be there for another half-hour before her break.
The only problem was that the foal’s ward was on the other side of the hospital.
And so, fifteen minutes later, Spitfire trudged down the blue-painted halls, following a happy, cheery yellow line on the floor. Some of the other nurses and doctors spared her passing glances as she walked by, head held high, but apart from the occasional check-in she was left alone.
As she walked, she ignored the glances and whispers from doctors, nurses, and patients around her and focused on putting one hoof in front of the other. Remarkably, given her last unattended walk-about, she found her legs only beginning to wobble as she crossed the doorway between the maternity ward and the foal’s ward. A particularly violent tremble made her pause and lean against the wall to catch her breath.
A glance up at a clock on the wall later, Spitfire pushed herself off and shuffled down the hall. She ignored the slight wavering of her balance and ground her teeth. A few bumps, scrapes, and broken bones wouldn’t stop Commander Hurricane from seeking out Clover the Clever in the crystal caves below Canterlot, and they wouldn’t stop her now. If the nurses at the station were right, Redheart would have another ten or so minutes before her break.
At last, as Spitfire rounded a corner at a t-intersection, she found her.
Halfway down the hall, with her back to Spitfire, Redheart stood in front of a whiteboard. Her lips moved as she muttered to herself and flitted her eyes between the board and the clipboard in the crook of her foreleg. Her soft pink tail flicked to the side as she wrote something down and her coat seemed to glow just as softly in the fluorescent hospital lighting.
Spitfire swallowed a lump in her throat, holding herself steady as butterflies took wing in her stomach. The feeling of Redheart’s lips brushing against hers surfaced, bringing with it a buzzing feeling that sent the butterflies aflutter. After a steadying breath, she pushed that memory aside and strode down the hall with all the composure she could muster.
Spitfire’s feathers shook the closer she got. The last, stuttered words Redheart spoke before fleeing her room bubbled up, echoing in her head as she came to a stop a bare few feet from her nurse. No level of pride could bring her to deny that her legs trembled, though whether it was from exertion or anticipation she could not tell.
Celestia knew what went through Redheart’s mind in those last few seconds before she fled. The look on her face—did it betray fear? Revulsion? Surprise? Something else Spitfire only dare to hope for?
Her tail flicked. Redheart, oblivious to her presence, frowned at her clipboard. The action furrowed the fur of her brow and deepened when she looked to the whiteboard and back. Muttering under her breath, she plucked the brush and erased something on the board.
The sight brought a calm to Spitfire’s chest, coaxing the butterflies to roost and her wing to settle. Even after Blaze and Pinkie Pie’s little stunt, Redheart soldiered on, the same as ever. Dedicated. Devoted. Beautiful. Any sign of the blush that flowed over her muzzle long since vanished and she stood now firm and sure of herself.
An exhale later, Spitfire cleared her throat. “Hey.”
Redheart’s ear twitched and she paused, marker on the whiteboard. “Spitfire?” When she looked at her, blinking owlishly, Spitfire put on a practiced, but easy smile. The other mare opened her mouth, confusion bringing her eyebrows together. Before she voiced the question on her lips, her eyes flashed a bright, dangerous, stunning blue and she closed the distance between them. Her gaze was a narrowed, piercing thing and the look on her face would have cowed a griffon. “What are you doing out of bed?”
The heat that carried over her voice made Spitfire take a reflexive step back. The smart thing to do would have been to look away and put on a sheepish smile, but the blazing blue of Redheart’s eyes drew her in like a moth to the flame. Instead, she felt her smile wobble and a nervous, unsteady chuckle tumble out her lips. She shuffled her hooves, leaning against the wall as they started to buckle and waver. “Looking for you?”
“You’re supposed to be resting,” Redheart said, pursing her lips. “Who gave you—oh, who am I kidding? You just waltzed out of your room without telling anypony, didn’t you?”
Her tone lashed over Spitfire, drawing a wince. “Yeah, maybe, but I really needed to talk to you. I wouldn’t have left my bed if it wasn’t important.”
Everything about Redheart was unyielding, from her stance, to the glare that enraptured Spitfire so, and to the tone of her voice that demanded compliance. “And you couldn’t wait for me to come back to check up on you later or ask one of the other nurses to fetch me?”
Steeling herself, Spitfire stood her tallest and puffed out her chest, every bit the image of a Wonderbolt Captain. She pushed back against Redheart’s gaze, willing fire into her amber eyes. “No. I wasn’t about to wait around, hoping you’d just come back after that stunt Blaze pulled.”
Redheart held strong for a couple long seconds. Then, dropping her gaze, she shook her head and sighed. “I have every right to be furious with you right now,” she said, the corners of her mouth lifting as she spoke. “But, knowing you, it would only encourage you even more. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? I can’t be worried about you neglecting your rest on top of everything.”
The tension around Spitfire’s shoulders relaxed when Redheart lifted her head. Her smile washed a soothing sense of ease over the flier’s frame, allowing her legs to buckle and lower her to her haunches. The smile she gave in return was small in comparison, but every bit as warm and the slightest bit coy. “I’ve been told I have that effect on ponies I care about.”
“Well, alright. Since there’s no convincing you ...” Snorting softly, Redheart slid her clipboard into a plastic mailbox mounted on the wall. “What’s so important that you risked your health to tell me?”
“I wanted to apologize for my dumb twin sister.” Ears folding back, the feathers in Spitfire’s uninjured wing ruffled and shook while she ran a hoof through her mane. “She crossed a line. I know she thought she was helping me out, but getting Pinkie Pie to do any of that was so far out of line.” She cleared her throat, wrinkling her muzzle to avoid chewing on her lip. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry she put you through that and to let you know she’s going to pay for it.”
To her surprise, Redheart laughed. “Thank you, but I can guarantee that Pinkie Pie has done worse in these halls.” She tilted her head to the side, simultaneously catching Spitfire’s gaze while catching the light in her eyes. “And something tells me that Blaze has done worse to you.”
Spitfire blinked. Laughter? Where was the fire? Where was the embarrassment? “You’re not mad? At either of them?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Redheart said, her grin turning wicked as her eyes flickered with a dangerous light. “I’m going to give Pinkie Pie such a talking to the next time I see her. She’s going to think twice before pulling any stunts in this hospital ever again.”
Words, for the moment, failed Spitfire. She stared at Redheart, every bit as calm, content, and stunning as before, as though nothing had happened. Brow furrowed, she cocked her head to the side. “You seem pretty cool about all of this.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve had some time to think about it.” There was something almost too pleasant about Redheart’s smile. “They were having some fun at our expense. Now, was that all, or can I get you back to bed?”
“You’re really cool with it all? The singing and the, uh—” Once more, Spitfire cleared her throat. It did nothing to shake off the creeping heat crawling up her neck to her muzzle. She rolled her hoof, sliding her gaze to the wall. “—the kiss?”
“Ah. Yes. That.” Casting a furtive glance to the side, Spitfire caught the faint flushing of Redheart’s muzzle. When she crossed one foreleg over the other and ducked her head with her ears folded back it was oh-so-tempting to sidle up and nuzzle her way down that soft, alabaster coat.
Behave.
“I won’t lie that it took me by surprise,” Redheart said, her voice a low, quiet, fragile thing compared to a few moments ago. Yet, despite that, a small smile had worn its way over her muzzle. When her eyes flickered up to meet Spitfire’s it grew, if only a little bit. “I don’t know if I’d call it a kiss, per se, but, um. Well.”
A mirthless, stilted chuckle flowed from Redheart’s lips, one that Spitfire returned. “Yeah.”
“I don’t really know what to make of that quite yet. I’ve thought about it, and I think I need a little more time. I’m not angry with you or anything.” Soft hooffalls on linoleum brought a flick of Spitfire’s ear. “Though, if your sister tries anything like that again I will personally pluck every feather from her wings.”
The crooked smile Spitfire wore wasn’t quite as sharp as usual when she lifted her head and found Redheart standing a mere hoofstep away. “Only if I get to hold her down.”
Redheart giggled, the sound stirring a fluff of Spitfire’s feathers. “Deal. Now, what say we get you back to bed?” she asked, looping their hooves together. With a small tug, the pegasus stood to her hooves. “And how about we try to get back to normal?”
Normal? Normal was for everypony else. Redheart wasn’t normal, and neither was Spitfire. A little misbehaving couldn’t hurt, could it?
... Well, she’d already gotten off scot free so far, hadn’t she?
“I dunno.” A familiar thrill of mischief sharpened Spitfire’s grin as she let Redheart start leading her back down the hall. “Can we get you blushing a little more in our ‘normal?’ I think I’d like to see that more.”
When she first checked into the hospital, that kind of remark would have earned her a growl. Now, it earned her a roll of the eyes and a small, sweet giggle into a hoof. That was new. “Oh, please,” Redheart said, matching Spitfire’s grin with a lopsided smile. An impish gleam glittered behind her eyes. “You’re hardly one to talk. I never thought I’d see a Wonderbolt Captain look so flustered in my life. You must’ve kissed dozens of mares by now, knowing you.”
Heat billowed into Spitfire’s cheeks, prompting another rustle of feathers. “I—well—you didn’t look any better!”
“Spitfire, I’m already quite aware of how you think I look.” Through lidded eyes, Redheart regarded her with a coy grin. It sent Spitfire’s heart skipping a beat only to bring it to pound against her chest a mere second later. “And I know you’ve been trying for quite some time to get me to blush. I wonder how it makes you feel knowing that it took Pinkie Pie to finally get me there.”
Spitfire’s ears perked up and a new smile began to spread over her face as slowly as their progress out of the foal’s ward. “That’s the worst part of it,” she said, leaning very slightly against Redheart’s side. “As sorry as I am for my dumb sister sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, I’m even more sorry that Pinkie Pie said those things before I could.”
Both of Redheart’s ears twitched as she shot Spitfire a sidelong glance. Curiosity lifted one brow, while something else weighed over the rest of her features, equal parts anticipating and expectant.
In response, Spitfire wiggled her ears and grazed their shoulders together. “I’ve always believed in complementing a mare directly.”
Again, Redheart’s ears twitched. “Is that a fact? So, what you’re saying, then,” she said, pulling the corner of her mouth upwards into something decidedly smirk-like, “is if Pinkie didn’t come along under Blaze’s orders, you would have told me I have a ‘smile like a sunset’ yourself?”
The smirk on Spitfire’s muzzle died before it could form. “Er, well, kind of?” She coughed, folding one ear back against her scalp. “Maybe not exactly like that? I’m not the most poetic of ponies.”
“Oh, well, I see.” Disappointment laced Redheart’s words too thickly to be genuine. The pout on her muzzle, however, tugged on Spitfire’s heartstrings, no matter how false. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I suppose. Not all mares like poetry. I mean, I do, but not all mares.” With a sigh, she picked up the pace by a step or two. “I guess I might have my eye on the wrong pegasus, then.”
“Hang on, wait, that’s not what I—eye on a pegasus?” Spitfire blinked. For a second, her hooves stopped working. She stood rooted to the spot while Redheart walked ahead, her lips parting in a helpless gawk.
Then, as Redheart glanced over her shoulder and flicked her tail just enough to the side, Spitfire’s ears stood on end. Feathers fluttered fitfully as she scrambled back to the nurse’s side, heedless of her stitches or complaints from her muscles. The lethargy she felt sinking into her limbs from the walk through the hospital vanished. “You have your eye on a pegasus?”
“Hmm?” Redheart cocked her head to the side, but didn’t break her stride. She looked forward down the hallway even as Spitfire tried to catch her gaze. “Did I say that?”
“Yes!” A wide, toothy grin split Spitfire’s muzzle, one she had not let another pony see since her acceptance into the Wonderbolts. “You so did!”
Redheart hummed. “I am tired,” she said, hiding a tiny yawn behind her hoof. “It feels like I haven’t slept in days and my hooves ache from being on them all day. I must be going delirious, then.”
“No. No way.” Even with one wing in a splint at her side, Spitfire’s other wing was enough to flap and add a little bounce to her step. “You are not delirious. In fact, you’re the most lucid you’ve ever been!”
Clicking her tongue, Redheart shook her head and held her nose up high. “I’m pretty sure I am a little delirious. Why else would I say something like that, and to one of my patients no less?” Mischief twinkled in her eyes as stars did in the night sky. “Particularly to a patient walking around when she isn’t supposed to be? She might be the worst, most troublesome patient I’ve ever had. I have no idea why I’d share anything so personal or intimate with her.”
“Because,” Spitfire said, hesitating a step to walk along Redheart’s other side and ever-so-lightly trace her feathers down the earth pony mare’s shoulder and barrel, “you love the rebel in me.”
Redheart eyed the wing but didn’t move to knock it away. “I don’t know. That sounds like a bit of a stretch.”
Behaving could wait. “Oh, I can stretch.”
That earned Spitfire a gentle shove, one that she took with pride. “If you want to tear those stitches, then go for it.”
To that, Spitfire made a show of stretching out her foreleg and arching her back, swishing her tail to flick the hem of her hospital gown. “Will I get to have your hooves all over me again if I do?”
Rolling her eyes, Redheart snorted. “See? I must be delirious if you think I said anything about having my eye on a pegasus.”
“Drunk mind, sober thoughts. Same principle.”
“Well,” Redheart said, drawing out the word as she led Spitfire back into the maternity ward. “I suppose there’s no shame admitting somepony might have caught my eye.”
“Oh, somepony so has.” The butterflies took wing, spreading a buzzing, elating warmth to the tips of Spitfire’s hooves. “And I think I have a pretty good idea about who.”
Redheart’s smirk was a cold, cunning thing that cut through Spitfire’s warmth as a hot knife does butter. “You know Helia, too, then?”
Spitfire stopped mid-skip. “Helia?”
“She’s a pegasus and gardener by trade,” Redheart said, her voice tinged with whimsy. A wistful, tastelessly yearning sigh floated past her lips. “She volunteers at the hospital gardens from time to time, and she’s such a sweetheart.”
Despite herself, Spitfire felt her feathers ruffle and a frown threaten to mar her muzzle. “What does Helia have that I don’t?”
“A penchant for poetry, for one. She also reads to the foals sometimes, and she brings the most delightful poems. It’s almost enough to melt a mare’s heart.” Redheart closed her eyes as a content hum buzzed up from her throat. “I can almost hear her voice now.”
With a twitch of her wing, Spitfire glared at the floor. Then, right as she opened her mouth to retort, she hesitated. She exhaled and watched Redheart out of the corner of her eye as they passed a mare with a telling round bulge in her belly being escorted to a room opposite them. “Okay, so maybe I’m not poetic,” she said, giving a warmer, softer rendition of her usual smirk. “But, for the record, that’s only because I don’t need to hide behind fancy words and allegories and metaphors and stuff.”
Redheart arched her brow. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, really. In my professional experience,” Spitfire said, putting a hoof to her chest, “I’ve found another approach that works just as well.”
“Have you, now? What might this other approach entail?”
Wiggling her ears, Spitfire showed her teeth as she rested a hoof on Redheart’s shoulder, bringing them both to a stop. “I’m glad you asked. First, sit down in front of the mare.” As she spoke, she sat on her haunches. “Then, you look her in the eye.” And look her in the eye she did, ignoring the drying of her mouth as she pressed on. “Then, you say whatever.”
Something between a snort and a laugh slipped passed Redheart’s lips. “This sounds so romantic,” she deadpanned. “What would ‘whatever’ involve?”
Spitfire hummed, tilting her head to the side to better catch the light. “Well, it really depends on the mare. For you? I think I’d start with something simple, like ...” She trailed off, letting her eyes trail up and down Redheart’s figure. They lingered long enough to admire the curves partially concealed by her velvety coat, to the soft contours of her face, to the bright blue eyes that captivated her so. “You’re beautiful.”
Redheart blinked and her ear flicked. Otherwise, she didn’t react. “Direct, but I can see how that could be effective. Some mares, such as myself, appreciate the nuances of poetry, though.”
When she made to move away, Spitfire darted forward and grabbed her by the hoof. “Oh, I’m not done. That was the start, remember?”
A sigh heaved Redheart’s chest. “Here we go.”
“You sound done, but I don’t see you really trying to go anywhere.” Spitfire’s smirk took on a sharper edge as she squeezed Redheart’s hoof, drawing it in closer. “Don’t you want to hear what else I would say?”
Redheart’s eyes flitted up and down the hallway before she sat on her haunches, hoof clasped around Spitfire’s. “If it will get you back to bed faster, then I suppose I do.”
“Well,” Spitfire said, drawing the word, the cold linoleum against her flank an anchor to tether herself to lest she lose herself in Redheart’s eyes. “How about your eyes?”
“What about them?”
“How about that they’re stunning? Want in on a little secret, Red?” Without waiting for an answer, Spitfire leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratory whisper. “One of the reasons I’m so bad at following your rules is ‘cause I get too caught up staring at them and then I don’t listen.”
The other ear flicked, accompanied by a quick intake of breath. When Redheart spoke, however, her voice came out smooth and steady. “Will I have to get a blindfold to make you listen, then?”
“Sure,” Spitfire said, her grin turning wicked. “Didn’t know you were into that, though.”
A swift, none-too-gentle bonk on the head was Redheart’s response.
“Okay, okay! Kidding!” Spitfire’s other hoof flew to ward off any further blows. She peeked out of one eye, giggling at the flatlined expression Redheart wore. “Seriously, though, one more?”
Redheart huffed, and Spitfire was kind enough not to mention the blooming patches of pink that coloured her cheeks. “Fine.”
Dropping her smirk in favour of a small, warm smile, Spitfire lifted Redheart’s hoof and kissed her wrist, making sure to hold eye contact. “I don’t know much about poetry or the sunset thing,” she said, “but I’ve never seen any sunset that’s made me weak in the knees before.”
Now, both of Redheart’s ears twitched and stood on end. Before Spitfire could appreciate the spreading blush lighting up her muzzle, she tugged her hoof away and stood up. “O-okay!” she said, pushing the pegasus around and nudging her into walking. “I think that’s enough up-time for one pegasus! You’re starting to go off the deep end. Back to bed with you!”
Spitfire grinned, but said nothing as she fell into a leisurely, relaxed gait next to Redheart.
As they walked, she committed the sound of Redheart’s voice cracking to memory and relished in the way the other mare’s ears slowly turned a light shade of pink. Once they got back to her room, Spitfire made a mental note to search the books Twilight left for anything on poetry.
Then maybe, just maybe, she might swallow enough pride to write Blaze a little thank you note. Just like when pegasus foals learn to fly, sometimes a little push is all that’s needed.
Screw flying. As Spitfire walked back to her hospital room, side-by-side with Redheart, she felt as though she were soaring.
Standing at her hospital room window, Spitfire relished in the ability to stretch her legs without supervision. Well, perhaps ‘standing’ wasn’t the right word. She swayed, shifting her weight from hoof to hoof, focused on the feeling of stretching muscles unused for days even in the most minor of ways. Any bed, no matter how comfortable, became unbearable after over a week spent in its confines; warm, cozy blankets and soft, plush pillows lost their comfort and felt more like shackles binding her to the mattress. The occasional reprieve for a trip down to the cafeteria or a walk around the grounds helped, but those were all scheduled around Nurse Redheart’s visits.
Nurse? No, just Redheart.
Spitfire’s tail swished and she watched a slow smile split her reflection’s face in the window. It was an odd sight, something tender, warm, and—dare she say it—loving. Celestia knew how much that nurse did for her, from taking care of her to talking about anything and nothing, to leading her on walks through the gardens until her legs ached. Then, after finding a wheelchair, she would take her back up to her room and with a little convincing would whittle away the late hours with The Last Alicorn propped up between them.
Now, though, as long as she was careful, Spitfire could freely stand and walk about her room to escape her bed and build up the strength of her legs again bit by bit. It seemed her little escapade around the hospital the other day proved she had healed enough for this much at least. She unfurled her wing, breathing in the faint scent of apples carried in on the wind as she pushed the window open. The breeze grazed her fur and the mid-morning sun warmed her coat and feathers.
Taking care of herself was a promise she intended to keep. Moreso, she was determined to find some way to return each of those gestures in kind. If what Doctor Horse said was true, her discharge was only a few days away. Soon, she would be free of this room, that bed, and the itchy, uncomfortable gown hanging off of her frame.
She would also be free to lavish her affections on Redheart properly. No more hospital regulations or red tape could stop her from wooing the mare as she so rightly deserved. Being the Captain of the Wonderbolts came with a fair few perks, included among them the fiscal and physical means to treat a special pony like royalty.
Spitfire’s eyes roamed over the hospital courtyard and apple orchards beyond, lingering over the entrance sign. The little hearts between the bars of the red cross, she realized with a quiet laugh, were the same shade of pink that Redheart’s cheeks turned when she blushed. It was a faint pink and would have been invisible on anypony else’s coat, but against such a pristine, snow-white backdrop, it was oh-so-noticeable.
If Spitfire played her cards right after her discharge, she might be graced with that sight more and more. And, if she was really lucky, she might even hear that voice crack again. Judging by how events unfolded last night, she was close. She saw it in the way Redheart looked at her when she kissed her hoof and heard it when she wished her a good night a few hours later.
There was a warmth in her eyes and in her voice. Well, there was always a warmth about Redheart, but this felt softer, more tender. It was something that, Spitfire hoped to believe, was not meant for others to feel.
A few more little pushes, and at long last she may yet have her Redheart fall into her open forelegs.
But, a nagging voice butt in, prickling at the back of her mind, how do you push a mare who so easily pushes back?
Spitfire’s smile fell to a frown and she lashed her tail to the side, banishing the voice away. Her muzzle scrunched as she braced herself on the windowsill. Wonderbolts relished a challenge, and she was no exception. Her eyes scanned the outside world, searching for anything to spark inspiration. A little push, a little gesture of romance and appreciation, was in order.
Below, a tall, imposing red earth pony stallion trotted up to the hospital doors. If he felt the weight of the apple-loaded carted hitched to his back, he didn’t show it as he smiled and shared a few words with the nurse that greeted him at the doors. At the same time, a pale grey pegasus colt rode out on the back of an older, stormcloud-black coated pegasus. The colt sulked on the older stallion’s back, rubbing his upper foreleg while the stick of a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. While Spitfire watched them start down the path to town, another pegasus flew by overhead. Her mane, a happy yellow matched by the sunflower cutie mark on her flank, flowed in the wind as she landed to one of the flower beds scattered around the hospital. She carried a watering can in her mouth and, as she landed, she prodded the dirt with a light cerulean hoof before tipping the can forward.
Spitfire blinked, staring as the mare set to work watering to the rest of the garden. She tended to the flowers, the smile on her face something simple, but content.
Like a bolt of lightning, an idea took root. At the same time, a wicked little grin quirked her lips.
From behind her, somepony cleared their throat. “Spitfire, is everything okay?”
Grimacing, Spitfire lowered her forelegs to the floor and turned around to face her visitor with a sheepish smile. That was the least she could do for ignoring royalty. “Yeah, um. I’m good.” She forced a chuckle and ran a hoof through her mane. “Sorry, Twilight. I spaced out there big time. You were saying?”
Perched on one of the two chairs in her room, Princess Twilight Sparkle regarded her with a frown that was more concerned than upset. “Are you sure? You looked pretty serious.”
“I—Yeah, I guess I was.” With a sigh, Spitfire shuffled over to her bed and climbed up on the mattress. She sat with her hind legs dangling off the side and her shoulders hunched. “I didn’t mean to ignore you or anything. I just have a lot on my mind.”
The frown carried into Twilight’s voice when she asked, “Did you want to talk about it?”
Spitfire shrugged. “I’m okay. Personal stuff. Now, seriously, what were you saying?”
When she glanced back up, she found the young alicorn looking at her with her brow furrowed. A question visibly danced on her lips, but Twilight held her tongue and shook her head. “I was saying how glad I am that you found something you like in the books I brought over.” A tendril of pink magic wrapped around the one book set aside from the rest on the nightstand. “The Last Alicorn. It’s a good read, but I didn’t think you were all that interested in fantasy.”
“To be honest, I’m not, but I’m really liking that one.” A small smile cracked Spitfire’s facade. “That’s one of the books that survived Tirek, right?”
At the mention of his name, Twilight’s eyes hardened and the pressure in the room seemed to tighten. For a scant second, Spitfire didn’t see ‘Twilight Sparkle’ her friend, but rather the alicorn princess who ruled alongside the likes of Celestia and Luna. “Yes,” she said, and then the moment passed. She exhaled as the hardness melted away in the presence of a rueful smile. “Before I finished moving into the castle, I went back to what was left of Golden Oaks. One of the bookshelves was overturned and mostly intact in the rubble. I took anything that was left home with me.”
Spitfire nodded, eyeing the outlines of faint scorch marks along the back cover of the book. Battered, beaten, but no less the book than it was before. “Did you ever read the inside cover?”
Tilting her head to the side, Twilight arched a brow as she opened the book. “No? Why would I—oh!”
The smile on Spitfire’s face grew, kindling an increasingly familiar warmth in her chest. “Yeah, you should have seen Redheart’s face when she saw that. Did you know it’s her favourite book?”
With a ginger touch, Twilight closed the book and ran her hoof down its cover. With a smile more commonplace that not on her muzzle, she enveloped the book in the mulberry glow of her magic. “I had no idea this was Nurse Redheart’s,” she said as the book bobbed through the air towards Spitfire. “If I had known, I would’ve given it back to her after Golden Oaks was destroyed. I could still give it back to her now.”
A small, fond little thing of a chuckle ruffled Spitfire’s feathers as she shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think that’s what she wants.” She took The Last Alicorn in her hooves, feeling its familiar weight settle into her forelegs as the tassel of a bookmark tickled her fur. Over halfway already? Where had the time gone?
“I should at least ask.” The chair springs squeaked as Twilight shifted her weight. When Spitfire looked up, she found the alicorn’s gaze lingering over each of the titles stacked up on the nightstands. “Judging by your reaction, I’m guessing that book means a lot to Nurse Redheart?”
“It does, but she donated it to the library when she was a foal so that other foals could read it. I think she’d like to keep it there so more can read it.”
Twilight nodded despite the contemplative frown that pulled on her lips. “Maybe I’ll ask her if she’d like it to be donated to the school, instead. Cheerilee, the schoolteacher, lends out books to her students all the time.”
“Maybe,” Spitfire said, swinging her legs back onto the bed to lean back against the pillows propped up on her headboard. Her mouth quirked into a smirk as she hugged the book to her chest. “But not until after she and I finish reading it.”
Both of Twilight’s ears perked up. “She’s been reading it with you?”
A giddy laugh bubbled up from Spitfire’s throat, one far too girlish for a mare of her stature. “Yup! You should see her. She gets this excited look in her eyes and it’s impossible to say no when she asks if I’m up for one more chapter.”
Twilight returned the giggle in kind. Her horn lit, pulling a small, green-covered book from the stacks. A tan-coated pegasus grinned up out at her, one hoof tangled around a vine while the other clutched a blue statuette. “I know the feeling. Don’t tell Rainbow I told you this, but when she first discovered Daring Do she begged me to let her stay for just ‘one more chapter!’ every night at the library for a week. One night I came down for a drink of water and found her passed out on the floor, drooling all over my copy of Daring Do and the Marked Thief of Marapore.”
For a second, Spitfire’s smile tugged upwards into a wicked smirk. “You really shouldn’t tell a mare’s boss these things, especially when that mare works with featherheads like the Wonderbolts.”
Twilight giggled and hid her smile behind the Daring Do book she held aloft in her magic. “You wouldn’t sell out one of your princesses, would you?”
“Probably not. It’s usually against protocol to do something like that. Although ...” Spitfire trailed off, her thoughts drifting back to flowers and a blushing Nurse Redheart. In her state, there was no way she could make it into town and back again. Even if she could somehow sneak out without being noticed, her body wasn’t recovered enough to make the journey. Though, nopony ever said she had to go.
“Although what?”
Spitfire slipped on a coy grin and waggled her ears. “I’d never sell out one of my princesses, but I’m not above a little blackmail.”
Twilight blanched, her eyes going wide. “Blackmail?”
“Relax, I’m just kidding,” Spitfire said, holding up her hooves. She let a glimmer of mischief, the same one her sister wore so often, enter her eye. “It’s more like a favour, really, and I’d really owe you one if you helped me out.”
Arching her brow, Twilight sat back in the chair. “Anything for a friend. What kind of favour?”
Grinning wide, Spitfire steepled her hooves. “Do you know any good flower shops in Ponyville?”
Spitfire stared, one eye twitching, at her hospital room. The fragrances of many dozens of flowers tickled her nose, creating a perfume so heady she felt her head begin to swim. Her eyes went from the bouquets of red, yellow, pink, orange, and purple roses sprawled out at the foot of her bed to focusing on nothing at all. It was all simply too much to process.
“So, um, I bought the flowers.”
Twilight’s voice prompted a flick of the ear. Then, lifting her head, Spitfire gawked at the princess rocking back and forth on her hooves on the other side of the room. Between them lay a garden’s worth of flowers. Arrangements of daffodils, columbines, tulips, begonias, lilacs, orchids, daisies, lilies, and flowers she couldn’t name covered most of the room.
From the sunflower set by the window to the wreaths of red columbines hung around the bedposts, to actual boxes filled with arrangements and single flowers, to a single poinsettia in the corner, everywhere Spitfire looked she was met with a floral onslaught to her senses. When the first delivery pony arrived, she greeted them with a smile and thanked him for his trouble.
She should have known something was amiss when he gave a toothy grin in response. “Oh, not a problem for our new number one customer,” he chirped as he trotted out the way he came in. Before she could question anything, another pony with a bouquet of tulips and daffodils in the crook of her foreleg came walking in followed by a unicorn with half a dozen more floating in her wake.
More and more came, and Spitfire could only stare as her hospital room was transformed into a makeshift greenhouse before her very eyes. As the last pony came in, shrugging before dropping the last bouquets of roses on the bed, Twilight shuffled through the door, her head down and her lip between her teeth. The younger mare mumbled a thank you to the last delivery pony as he left and closed the door behind him.
She scuttled to the furthest corner of the room, brown paper packaging crinkling as her hooves brushed against the few bouquets left on the floor. Purple feathers twitched, flicked, and ruffled while goldenrod ones hung limply at their owner’s side. Spitfire could only stare, though whether it was in horror, wonder, or disbelief she could not yet tell.
Twilight, for her part, seemed to take comfort in the menagerie around them as it provided plenty of other places to look other than Spitfire.
“Twilight,” Spitfire croaked out as the brown paper wrapping of a bouquet of white, pink, and purple astilbe she’d had handed to her creased and crinkled, “what did you do?”
“I told you.” Even from across the room, Spitfire could see the beads of sweat breaking out on Twilight’s brow. When she spoke, her voice was high-pitched, tinny, and shaking. “I, um, bought the flowers like you asked?”
“I didn’t ...” Spitfire started but found that her words had simply vanished. The question, as obvious as it was, lost itself somewhere between her mind and her mouth. Instead, she trailed her gaze around her room, searching between petals of every colour, shape, and size for what to say. When at last she spoke, her voice came out slowly, as if she were in a dream. “I didn’t ask you to buy the flower shop.”
“I didn’t!”
The squeak that defined Twilight’s voice shocked Spitfire from her stunned reverie. With a shake of her head, she brought her thoughts out of the floral perfume they were swimming in and rubbed her temples to ward off a headache bearing down on her like a raging manticore. “Then why does my room look like my fairy godmother waltzed on in and puked flowers everywhere?”
“You said you wanted a variety to pick from!” Twilight babbled, wings twitching as they threatened to unfurl even as the mare ducked her head. Two bright, pinkish dots coloured her cheeks as she sought refuge behind the safety of her feathers. “And they had a sale for buying in bulk! It’s a win-win!”
Spitfire wasn’t sure if she should laugh or groan. Something between the two burst from her throat, a choked, rasping sound that made Twilight jump.
Thoughts running a mile a minute, she stared at the astilbe in her lap and her eye started to twitch again. The only time she had seen this species of flower before was in her parents’ wedding photos. Her mother clutched a bouquet of them to her chest before throwing them to the gaggle of mares at the ceremony’s end. The very implication of that meaning kindled a slow, hot burn in her cheeks, especially when the obvious recipient floated before her mind’s eye, stunning and beautiful and—
Years of training and discipline were all that stopped her from flinching and tossing the bouquet across the room. Swallowing, she grasped onto her composure and gingerly slid the bouquet into a cardboard box of flowers at her bedside. “When I said variety,” she said, forcing her voice into line while losing the battle against the blush tingling in her cheeks, “I meant two or three different kinds. What am I supposed to do with all of these?”
The ball of feathers that was Twilight Sparkle flinched as a brief, keening whine sounded from within. “I don’t know!” A single eye poked out, and soon the rest of the princess followed. Her ears were folded flat against her scalp as she shuffled her hooves. “You could give them all to her?”
Spitfire’s eye twitched again. “What?”
“Maybe she’ll think it’s amazingly romantic?” Chewing on her lip, Twilight poked a begonia sticking out of one of the boxes she stood between. “It could sweep her off of her hooves. She wouldn’t be expecting it. That’s what ponies do when they’re in love, right?”
“Not so loud!” Spitfire hissed, clenching her jaw as her muzzle burned a few degrees brighter, no doubt flushing her face a red matching the deeper hues of roses on her bed. For a second, she said nothing. If the universe was as cruel as it had proven to be lately, that would have been the perfect cue for Redheart to open the door.
She glared at the door, daring the universe to take one last shot. When nopony came walking in, Spitfire exhaled. “Okay, maybe. That could work. But what’s she going to do with all of these flowers?”
“Eat them? Enjoy flower-themed meals for the next month?” Twilight’s tail lashed from side to side as her ears perked up, only to fold back down again. “Maybe two?”
A look of consideration passed over Twilight’s face, arching one eyebrow high while she tilted her head to the side and tapped her chin. “What would Rarity say? Oh!” Clearing her throat, Twilight primly folded her wings at her sides and lifted her chin. “Why, Nurse Redheart would wake up every morning and think of you everywhere in her home she went with all these flowers.” Her posture relaxed and a hopeful, if nervous, smile took its place. “That’s romantic, right?”
Doomed to feeling hot for what felt like an eternity, Spitfire rubbed her hooves down her face. “I mean—well—I guess?” She stifled a groan and let her hooves fall to the mattress. “Apparently I’m not good at this romance stuff, either. How would you feel if you woke up and there were flowers everywhere? In your kitchen, your living room, your bedroom. Just—” She waved her hoof, gesturing to the floral armageddon around her. “—everywhere.”
Twilight opened her mouth and closed it with a grimace. Her lack of an answer spoke volumes.
“Yeah, I thought so.” With a slight frown, Spitfire ran the tip of her hoof down an orchid squeezed onto her nightstand. An entire flower store’s worth of flowers. If she wanted to put a show of her affections, it certainly helped to dazzle. How many mares had swooned when she showed off a little buccaneer blitz here and there?
The answer, she knew, was most. If she counted mares she had her eye on, all but one, in fact. For that mare—for Redheart—it was never about style or show. What counted for her was substance. Something smaller and more heartfelt would more easily chip down those walls she built around herself and offer her another, maybe even better glimpse at the mare beneath.
With the right flower, those walls might come down more permanently. She was close last night. So close, and one last little push and she might have a real chance and earning the heart of the mare who had so readily taken hers.
Or, she thought, perhaps I’m putting too much stock in a plant.
Sighing, Spitfire fell back to her pillows. “Why’d you buy so many, anyways?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Twilight mumbled, pawing the floor as her feathers ruffled. “It just kind of happened.”
The corner of Spitfire’s mouth pulled into a frown. She didn’t intend for her tone to be accusing, but it came out that way all the same. “How does this ‘just kind of happen?’”
“I don’t know!” Wings flaring, Twilight started to pace back and forth, weaving a circular path through the boxes and packages and bouquets surrounding her. The tips of her primaries twitched and flicked in time with her tail as she stared at her hooves. “You said to get flowers, so I did! But when I got there, there were so many flowers and Daisy, Lily, and Roseluck kept on suggesting more and more to give to my ‘super special somepony!’”
“Then why didn’t you just take their suggestions? They probably know what they’re doing when it comes to finding flowers for the right occasion!”
A whine built up in Twilight’s throat. “I should have, but I didn’t! There was a line behind me and everypony was watching me and then I panicked!”
The groan came unbidden from Spitfire’s lips. “So you bought some of everything?”
Spinning on her hoof, Twilight looked at Spitfire with big, wild eyes. “How should I have known what to get Nurse Redheart for you? I’m no good at flower shopping for this kind of thing! I’ve never been in love before!”
“What was that?”
This time, it would appear that the universe took its cue.
Both Spitfire and Twilight froze. The former had her head in her hooves and the latter’s mouth hung open with her wings unfurled and her hoof pointed squarely at the pegasus’ chest. They stared in silence as Redheart poked her head into the room.
It took only a second for Redheart’s mouth to slacken and for her eyes to widen as she walked through the doorway. Her gaze roamed from flower to flower and from bouquet to bouquet until it at last settled on Spitfire.
The blood drained from Spitfire’s face. It didn’t last, though, as it all came rushing back to her cheeks the longer Redheart held her captive in her gaze, no doubt flushing her goldenrod coat a deeper, more embarrassing reddish hue. The expression on the other mare’s muzzle was unreadable even as an unasked question hung from her lips.
Yet, despite that, something else shone behind her eyes. A brief flicker of realization lit up the bright blue of Redheart’s eyes, giving way to something warm that sent a flutter at the base of Spitfire’s wings.
“Spitfire,” she breathed, “what is all of this?” Then, at the sound of ruffling feathers, she lifted her gaze, freeing Spitfire from its hold as it found new prey in one Twilight Sparkle. The alicorn’s ears folded back as Redheart’s eyes narrowed. “Princess Twilight? What are you doing here?” Arching an eyebrow, she asked, “Did you have something to do with this?”
Twilight squeaked. Her horn lit up in a bright mulberry aura. A flash of light filled the room, blinding Spitfire, and a resounding crack made her flinch. Once she blinked her eyes of the spots dancing before them, she looked up at where the Princess of Friendship was standing seconds ago.
“Hey!” Bolting upright, Spitfire pointed an accusing hoof at where Twilight had stood. “Get back here! Don’t you leave me alone to explain this!”
When the alicorn did not return in another flash of light, Spitfire fell back on her mattress. Her head hit her pillows with a muted thump and she covered her eyes with her hooves. At the very least, that would hide her flushed muzzle from Redheart. Not that it would do anything to stop her from seeing the rest of the room and reaching her own conclusions, but perhaps some dignity could be saved. Maybe even a little.
The next few seconds passed by in an eternity until at last soft hooffalls approaching the bed broke the silence, as fragile and pregnant as it was. “Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice carrying in gentle, whisping tones, “what happened to your room?”
Tail lashing from side to side, Spitfire rubbed her hooves over her eyes and face. “Do I have to answer?”
“Yes,” Redheart said, though not without a trace of humour. Spitfire didn’t need to look to know that the other mare was smiling. If she were in her horseshoes, she had little doubt she’d milk the moment for everything it was worth. “I do need to know why your room has more flowers in it than the entirety of the hospital gardens. Were you assaulted by flower-themed assassins, perhaps? How very Daring Do.”
Though intended to be a groan, a whine sounded from Spitfire’s throat. By way of answering she reached for her covers and, with a sharp tug, pulled them up over her head. Maybe, she decided, she would resurface once she had her composure and words under better control. Or, perhaps even better, if she closed her eyes and thought really hard, she would wake up from whatever nightmare her subconscious had concocted.
Either way, she resolved to hide until Redheart left. Then, if this was real, which the steady throbbing at the base of her broken wing hinted that it was, she could come up with a plan. Favourably a plan that put her back on top as the smooth, debonair pegasus making the beautiful nurse blush instead of the other way around.
Granted, perhaps hiding under her covers wasn’t the best way to start.
A poke to her side made her squirm and her ears fold back against her scalp. “Spitfire, come out of there.” Redheart’s giggle chimed like a bell above her, barely muffled by the fabric of the blanket. The sound sent a strange flutter in Spitfire’s chest as it forced her lips into a wobbly line. “Come on, Spitfire, I promise I’m not mad.”
“There are no Spitfires here. Just us blanket lumps,” Spitfire said, sliding further under the covers. Foalish? Yes. Effective at avoiding embarrassing, reputation ending misfires?
“Oh, really?” Another poke, and another squirm. Since when did she squirm? Wonderbolt Captains weren’t supposed to squirm. “Okay, little blanket lump. Do you know where I can find Spitfire? There’s something I need to talk to her about.”
A third poke landed just under the base of her wing and Spitfire had to bite back a squeak. Goodbye, coolness and composure. Both would be sorely missed. “Can’t tell,” she said, her voice coming out higher than usual. “It’s a secret.”
“I see.” Redheart giggled and stroked her hoof down the side of Spitfire’s frame. The contact left a trail of warmth in its wake, and the confines of the blanket suddenly felt stuffy and hot. “Well, if you see her, could you tell her that she’s adorable when she’s flustered and embarrassed for me, then?”
First Blaze, and now this. Spitfire was way cooler than the universe was letting her be.
“But I understand if you can’t tell me where to find her,” Redheart continued with a theatrical sigh. “Oh well. I guess she won’t get to see her surprise after all.”
“And a good one.” Redheart’s knowing smile carried over into her voice, perking up Spitfire’s other ear. “I was so looking forward to telling her, but if she’s not here then oh well. What a shame, though. She would have loved it.”
Spitfire fiddled with the corner of her bedsheets, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “What kind of surprise?”
“The best kind. Well, maybe not quite that.” For a second, Redheart’s voice dipped into something more throaty that sent a tingle up and down the length of Spitfire’s spine. “But it’s a close second.”
There was no way out. Cheeks still prickling with the heat of her blush, Spitfire slowly pulled the covers down. First, the tips of her ears poked out from under her blanket, swivelling towards the sound of giggling muffled by a hoof, and when the rest of her head followed, Redheart gasped. “Spitfire! Where in Equestria did you come from?”
Embarrassing, mortifying, and an unspoken promise to never hear the end of it, but the combination of Redheart’s smile and the dancing glee twinkling in her eyes might have made the whole ordeal worth it. Regardless, Spitfire’s muzzle felt as if it were on fire while the earth pony mare did a poor job of hiding her laughter behind her hoof. She twisted her blankets in her hooves as the tips of her ears started to burn. “Shut up.”
Redheart’s response was more giggling laughter, the kind that brought with it a skipping of Spitfire’s beating heart.
Crossing her forelegs over her chest, Spitfire huffed. She glared at the bouquets of roses at the foot of the bed, twisting her lips into a pout only seen in her foal pictures. “You said you had a surprise for me?”
Once the giggling stilled, Redheart lowered her hoof. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, bringing a twinkle to her eye and making the pout falter from Spitfire’s muzzle. The universe seemed to have it in for her today. First, she wasn’t allowed to be her usual cool, collected self, and now she couldn’t even hold on to her regular fire of indignation?
As Redheart fluttered her eyes, a new kind of fire took its place, one that tugged on the corners of Spitfire’s lips. She forced her mouth into a thin line and glared at a naked patch of wall lest a smitten smile take hold.
“I did say that, and I do.” The mattress shifted and a soft, gentle hoof stroked down her shoulder. “But before you get it, you have some explaining to do.”
Spitfire’s ears drooped and her pout returned in full force. “Aw, come on, Red.”
“As fun as it is to tease you and watch you squirm—”
Spitfire’s pout dropped to scowl. Willing her eyes to flash with life, she whipped her head back around to Redheart. “I do not squirm.”
“—and even though it’s just adorable,” Redheart continued, treating Spitfire to a coy smile as she emphasized the last word, “I do need to know why there are so many flowers in your room. Is this your sister’s doing? It seems like something she might do.”
Biting her lip, Spitfire ran a hoof through her messy, flame-licked mane. Blaze. An obvious scapegoat if she took it, but a tugging in her gut made her hesitate. She watched Redheart’s hoof leave her shoulder to caress the bulb of a daffodil. Her hoof brushed along the flower’s goldenrod petals, gentle and caring and with a smile so serene it brought pegasus’ lips together into something she prayed to Celestia wasn’t as smitten as it felt.
Though it pained her, Spitfire lightly shook her head. “No, Blaze didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Redheart nodded, running her hoof from one daffodil to the next. “Then maybe it has something to do with what you and Princess Twilight were talking about so emphatically?”
Spitfire’s mouth felt dry as she chewed over her words. “Yeah, it did.” A quick puff of air was forced from her nostrils as she looked Redheart dead in the eye. “They’re for you.”
“Oh?” Redheart closed her eyes and hummed as she sniffed the daffodil. When she looked back at Spitfire, it was through a lidded gaze. “How many of them are for me?”
Wonderbolts gave their all in every facet of their lives. Romance included. Spitfire swallowed, but held her ground. “All of them.”
Redheart blinked and, to Spitfire’s surprise, sputtered. The coy grin washed away from her features as she swiveled her head, panning her gaze around the room. “A-all of them? But why—”
“I asked Twilight to go out and buy some flowers for me to give you. I’m paying her back for every bit.” The tip of Spitfire’s wing trembled. Flirting used to be easy. When did it get hard? “The only problem was that neither of us knew what kind of flower you liked, so I asked her to pick up a couple different kinds. And, well,” she spread her hooves, smiling hopelessly as Redheart started to sway on the spot, “here we are.”
“But ...” Redheart trailed off, her eyes roving over every bouquet, every flower, and every arrangement in the room. When her gaze returned to the daffodil she still cupped in her hoof, she yanked her foreleg away and rubbed it as if it shocked her. “But there’re so many!”
“Yeah, Twilight had a bit of a mix-up at the flower shop and I think she bought all of the flowers they had. I’m pretty sure they don’t have a good return policy, either so, well, yeah.” Spitfire cleared her throat, grasping at straws for the old, confident, downright cocky stride she carried herself with through many clubs and many galas. “Surprise?”
“But—” Redheart gawked, blinking in quick succession as she looked from the daffodils, to Spitfire, to the bouquets of roses, back to Spitfire, to the orchid on the windowsill, and back to Spitfire again. “B-b-but—”
Sputterings and stammerings spurted from Redheart’s mouth. Where Spitfire hoped to see a glimmer of that adoration she saw the day before, she only saw shock and, very possibly, panic wading over the other mare’s muzzle. Sighing through her nose, she let her forelegs drop. An unpleasant feeling made her insides knot up, sapping a warmth she had started to grow accustom to from her chest. “Yeah, I know. Too much, right? I mean, look at them all.” A rueful, hollow chuckle fell from her mouth. “I don’t even know what half of these are.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.”
“I wouldn’t, either.” Her brittle smile held firm, for about another five seconds. Then, as it fell, so did she, landing back on the mattress. “I’m sorry. This was a dumb idea.” Rolling over, she put her back to Redheart and a pillow over her head. “You can leave me to die of embarrassment now.”
Several long moments passed. Just when Spitfire started to think that Redheart slipped out without her hearing, her voice drifted out in a near whisper. It was quiet and, unless her ears deceived her, frightened. “They’re all for me?”
“I told you I’m not good at being poetic or anything,” Spitfire grumbled, pressing her pillow over her face. “I just wanted to get you something that was maybe kind of sweet or—or romantic.” Under the pillow, her face felt hot, not that that was anything new. “I don’t know. Do you even like flowers? I didn’t even think of that. Now you’ve got dozens.”
A pregnant, heavy silence hung over the room, more suffocating than the pillow covering Spitfire’s face.
“I like flowers,” Redheart said after a time. The words were still quiet, but gone was the fear. Now, as they rose in pitch, so too did something else—something that stirred hope. “I was just overwhelmed.”
Spitfire’s tail flicked under her blankets, but she said nothing.
“Could you roll over so I could talk to you properly, please?”
Spitfire punched the pillow over her head. “I think I’ve made a big enough doofus of myself for one day.”
Brown wrapping paper rustled and the bedsprings squeaked with a shift in weight. Spitfire felt another’s hoof rest on her hind leg a moment later. “Are you going to make me coax you out twice in one day?”
Feathers fluffed at the sensation of Redheart’s hoof rubbing in small circles up and down her leg, but still Spitfire hid. “Maybe.”
Redheart sighed, though it turned into an airy chuckle partway through. “Spitfire, you are one of the most impossible ponies I have ever met. Could you please roll over so I can thank you?”
“Thank me? For buying a greenhouse and sticking it in my hospital room? Can’t you just say ‘thanks’ and let me recover my dignity?”
A light snort and squeeze on her hoof was Redheart’s reply. “After all the mouthing off and misbehaving you’ve done, I think your dignity can stand to suffer for a little bit longer.”
Spitfire groaned, long and low. “I was trying to be good!”
“Then keep it up.” There was a definite edge of playfulness to Redheart’s voice, one that beckoned for Spitfire to listen. “Behave and roll over.”
Grumbling into her pillow, Spitfire said, “Yes, Nurse Redheart.” Relenting, she sat up. She met Redheart’s gaze with her brow flat and her pillow in her lap. “What?”
A slow smile spread over Redheart’s muzzle. With equal speed, she crawled up the bed, meshing the hairs of her coat and Spitfire’s together. Before the pegasus could question anything or dare to breathe, she felt a warm puff of air on her cheek. The next instant, she froze as a pair of lips touched and lingered there, flooding her sensations with the feelings of soft on soft and the scent of cinnamon tickling her nose. Warmth bloomed from where they touched, spreading out to the tips of her hooves and prompting her heart to leap somewhere into her throat, joining her breath as they both caught there and stayed.
Nuzzling her way up her jawline, Redheart lingered around her ear, releasing Spitfire’s breath in a shuddering gasp. “Thank you,” she whispered in her ear before at last pulling back.
“I—” Spitfire croaked, dimly aware of her uninjured wing spread out long and proud. With eyes as wide as dinner plates, she cupped her own cheek, savouring the addictive ways her head swam in the warmth. “Why?”
“To thank you for being thoughtful and for being sweet,” Redheart said, her eyes glowing a steady, warm, and inviting blue. “And for even being a little romantic. I’m only a pony, after all.”
Spitfire nodded, not trusting her tongue to form words in any coherent order.
“I thought that might make the big, pouty Wonderbolt feel better.” With a sly grin, Redheart traced her hoof down the length of a rose’s stem. “Now that I’ve thanked you, are you ready for your surprise?”
Without thinking, Spitfire asked, “You mean there’s more?”
“More kisses? No. If you’re a good patient and behave, well—” The smoldering warmth behind Redheart’s eyes flared to life, leaving Spitfire’s primaries trembling. “—we’ll see, won’t we?”
Spitfire’s heart thumped to a staccato rhythm in her chest and she swallowed. “S-so, what is my surprise, then?”
“A little birdy let slip that a certain brave, dashing Captain of the Wonderbolts happens to like dancing.” A low, promising laugh sounded from deep in the back of Redheart’s throat. “That wouldn’t happen to be true, would it?”
Again, Spitfire found herself nodding. “Yeah, sure. I love dancing. But who—” It clicked. Clarity dawned on her, bringing her thoughts back into line and her wing back to her side. Her muzzle burned as if stained by a permanent blush, its epicenter where Redheart kissed her cheek, but she managed to scowl through it. “Blaze.”
“She mentioned it on her way out. I think she was trying to apologize for all the trouble she caused.” Redheart’s smile shifted, sliding from sly to bashful before it settled. Now, with a smaller, reserved, and hopeful smile, she looked up at Spitfire. “I think it could be fun, don’t you? I haven’t danced with anypony in a long time, and I thought it could make things less boring for you for your last few days here. And besides,” she said, glancing to the window, “it could help you exercise your leg muscles. It could help overcome any atrophy.”
As much as she wanted to say yes, Spitfire held her tongue. Whenever her sister was involved, trouble soon followed. Still, the chance to hold Redheart in her hooves, dancing chest to chest, made her tail swish under the blankets. “What else did she say?”
“Just that you loved dances like the salsa and rumba the most. The, ah, more intimate ones.” A light pink coloured Redheart’s cheeks, though her smile remained. “Not that we could do those with you in your condition,” she added, fiddling with a sepal on one of the roses. “Those would be much too stressful. Maybe later once you’re discharged? She also might have mentioned the Cloud Top Trot.”
Spitfire’s ears stood on end, swivelled forward towards Redheart. She blinked and lessened her grip on the pillow she only then realized she was hugging to her chest.
“Anyways, I have an old gramophone at home and a few records. If you like, I can bring it in with me tomorrow and we could try a slower dance or two.” Redheart’s tail flicked around her hind leg as the mare brought her hooves together. “I know you’re getting tired of walking up and down the hospital grounds. Even the garden loses its lustre after a while, doesn’t it?”
A warm, slow smile spread over Spitfire’s muzzle. “Are you saying you want to waltz with yours truly?”
“I said slower dances,” Redheart said. “Though I suppose that’s not out of the realm of possibilities.”
Scooching closer, Spitfire ignored the brief flicker of pain in her midsection as she leaned over and brought her muzzle closer to Redheart’s. There, it was easier to find and get lost in her eyes. “Right,” she said, sharpening her smile. “So, when I sweep you off your hooves, will I get a real kiss?”
Redheart scoffed, shoved Spitfire back, and giggled, in that order. “Not with that kind of attitude. And just when I thought I finally got rid of all of that, too.”
Looking down her barrel, Spitfire grinned a dopey grin. Smitten or not, it felt far too good to keep contained. “Yeah, but you love it.”
“Maybe I do.” The bed shifted as Redheart slid off. She stood silent for a moment and Spitfire felt her eyes on her. Then, with a slight smile, she leaned down and rubbed their cheeks together in a slow circle. “But I think I like the dorky, affectionate mare who accidentally bought me a flower shop more.”
Spitfire squeezed the pillow in her hooves, muzzle flushing again at the contact. “R-right.”
“There she is.” With a satisfied smile, Redheart straightened. “I still haven’t gotten an answer. Would you care to dance, Spitfire?”
“Yes,” Spitfire said, smiling back at Redheart. “I’d really, really like that.”
“Good. I’ll bring my gramophone tomorrow, then. Now, I do have to go. Try not to buy another hundred flowers while I’m gone, okay?”
That bought a snort from Spitfire. “Yes, Nurse Redheart.”
As Redheart made to leave, she lingered a step away from the door. “I guess it’s a little bit of a shame.”
Flicking her ear, Spitfire lifted her head. “What is?”
“That you only settled for a flower shop. If you went for, say, a jewellery store instead, well ...”
Spitfire’s other ear flicked. “What would that have gotten me?”
Through hooded eyes, Redheart looked over her shoulder with a sly, heated grin. “Why, Spitfire,” she said, swishing her tail just enough to the side to make Spitfire suck in a quick breath, “I would have made you sing.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, Redheart trotted out the door and left Spitfire with a multitude of thoughts flying through her head. None of them were particularly foal-friendly.
She rolled over to her back. Closing her eyes, she sifted through her racing mind to the memory of Redheart’s lips on her cheek. The scent of dozens of flowers filled her senses, bringing a slow calm to her mind as she inhaled and exhaled.
She thought back to the sound of Redheart’s voice, the look of her eyes, and the feeling of her breath on her ear and she let out a sigh. A dumb, goofy smile took over her features as she opened her eyes, hugged her pillow, and stared up at the ceiling.
If only Wonderbolts made a little bit more, and she might have well been singing to that same ceiling.
Then again, there’s always the Hearth’s Warming bonus.
True to her word, the next day Redheart returned. From where she sat in her bed, perusing one of the books left on her nightstand, Spitfire’s ear flicked at the sound of the doorknob turning and the squeaking of wheels entering her room. She looked up from Stunt Flying: A History as a small, black cart rolled its way through the doorway.
A gramophone sat on top, its brass cylinder shining in the light streaming through the open window. On the bottom shelf was an old, beaten up cardboard box. The edges of record cases poked out through the torn corners of the box, sending creases and wrinkles down the front and through the ‘RECORDS’ label written on it in large, black marker.
What made Spitfire smile, though, was the sight that immediately followed.
Painted by the light of the setting sun, Redheart walked into the hospital room. Her white coat seemed to glow a mesmerizing gold as she maneuvered her little black cart around the flowers still littering the floor to an empty spot against the wall nearest the bed. Spitfire was silent as the nurse adjusted the gramophone and checked the needle setting, more than content to watch. Her tail, silkier and smoother than she remembered, swished and shimmered as its owner worked, encouraging a wandering gaze up along the curve of her rump and the sleekness of her barrel.
Redheart hummed as she finished setting the needle and pulled the lid off of the box. There was a musical quality to it, one that brought both of Spitfire’s ears swiveling forward. The rhythm was slow and steady as she bobbed her head in time with the gentle swaying of her nurse’s hips—a slow dance. She hummed along with her, wing unfurling as their song filled the otherwise quiet hospital room. “Is that what we’re going to be dancing to?”
“Maybe,” Redheart said as she pulled the box off of the cart. She met Spitfire’s gaze with a half-grin, her eyes glowing from within and sending a now-familiar ruffle down the flier's feathers. “It depends on how nicely you ask.”
“A hundred flowers isn’t a nice enough ask?”
“It might be,” she started, rifling through the box, pulling out the odd record to examine before sliding it back in, “if you didn’t buy them all for me by accident.”
Spitfire frowned, then closed her eyes. Inhaling through her nose, she started to hum the same tune and lifted her hooves, one raised as if to clasp another’s and the other lower, as if to wrap around a partner’s waist. The song was familiar, one she had heard at many a gala. She moved with the music as she carried the song in its gentle rises and lower, sweeping adagios. A slow smile split her muzzle as she felt eyes watching her. “That song,” she said, opening her eyes to Redheart’s arched eyebrow. “It’s one of Clopin’s, isn’t it?”
The other eyebrow raised. “It is. How did you know?”
Rolling her hoof, Spitfire shrugged. “There was this pegasus I met at a fancy shindig a couple years ago.” An image of the mare floated to the forefront of her mind. Pretty, but not in the same league as the mare before her. “She was a pianist and she went on about her favourite composers after I got her a drink. Clopin was one of them.”
“Uh-huh.” Redheart nodded and tilted her head to the side. Though the smile she flashed was sly and knowing, the expression on her face tightened. “And how many more drinks before you ‘composed’ your way into her bed?”
“She had great wings. She played piano with them,” Spitfire said without missing a beat. She returned the smile in kind, but reached for the warmth she found so readily available in Redheart’s presence and let it seep over her muzzle. “They were very dexterous and precise, and the best part?”
“Are you sure you want to be telling me about your past conquests, Casanova?”
Chuckling, Spitfire unfurled her wing and flicked her primaries. “I picked up a few things from her. A little bit on some musicians, like Clopin, and a few other things. Care to find out what?”
Redheart rolled her eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “Oh, stop before I pack this all back up and leave you high and dry.”
“You know I love to tease, and I’m starting to think that you like to be teased.” Just as soon as she lidded her gaze, she dropped the look in favour of a slight frown. “Hey, this isn’t going to get you into trouble for breaking hospital protocol or anything, will it? Last I checked, nurses dancing with their patients isn’t exactly common practice.”
“It isn’t. And yes, technically this is breaking a few rules here and there.” Turning around, Redheart walked to the end of the bed, flicking Spitfire’s nose with the tip of her tail. The sharp scent of cinnamon tickled her senses, making her own tail lash to the side under the covers. “But there’s been worse done within these walls. What the chief of medicine doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
A low, approving chuckle rumbled past Spitfire’s lips. Her eyes followed Redheart as she walked away, lingering over the arc of her neck and the softness of her smile as she leaned down to sniff a bouquet of roses. “I like this side of you. I do have one question, though.”
Without looking at her, Redheart traced her hoof down the petals of a rose poking out from its bouquet. “Just one?”
Flashing a wicked little smirk, Spitfire swivelled around to face the mare. “Can you dance?”
Redheart looked at her out of the corner of her eye and grinned. “I can.”
“Can you really, though? I’m kind of a professional.” Rolling her shoulders, Spitfire fanned out her wing to its fullest, fluffing the feathers to draw attention to them and the well-defined muscles at their base. An old trick that nopony, not even Nurse Redheart, could resist. “There’s a whole shelf back home for dance contests I’ve won.”
“You would have something like that,” Redheart said, leaning in to sniff the rose. As she did, her bright, blue eyes flickered over to Spitfire’s wing and followed it to its base. The tip of her silky tail flicked at the sight. Perfect. “And I can.”
Spitfire snorted and cocked her lips into an easy grin. “No way. Nopony’s that perfect.”
“Well, not many ponies were roommates with a dance student in college.” A wistful sigh floated past Redheart’s lips as she pulled away from the rose. “He was such a sweetheart, too. We tried dating for a little while, you know.”
“He? A stallion?” The grin fell from Spitfire’s face. “I thought you were into mares.”
Redheart giggled, low and titillating. “Oh, I am. Don’t you worry. I was in college, Spitfire, and what’s college for if not a little experimenting? So, I experimented.” Her smile faltered and dropped into a small frown. As she shifted her weight, the lower, more exciting qualities to her voice faded. “And it wasn’t too long before then that Raindrops and I broke up. She was more interested in stallions, and I, being the insecure and hormonally charged young mare that I was, thought I might be, too.”
“Oh.” A lame response, but the best one Spitfire could muster. She dropped her gaze and scratched the back of her neck. Feathers ruffled as her wing folded back up at her side, and she swung her legs over the edge of her bed. Patting the empty spot on the mattress, the corners of her mouth twitched. “What happened with him? Your, uh, boyfriend, I guess.”
“Gavotte.” A wan smile crossed Redheart’s face for a second before she shook her head and laughed, hardly more than pushing a little more air from her lungs. Her hooffalls were as soft as her voice as she walked back to the bed and hopped up next to Spitfire. “Like I said, he was a sweetheart. Strong, kind, quiet, and he always made sure I was well taken care of in every way. But, as time went on, we realized it wasn’t going anywhere, so we ended it.”
The tip of Spitfire’s tail twitched as the smooth softness of Redheart’s coat brushed against her own. Her eyes wandered over the slim curve of the nurse's shoulders to the crook of her jaw and oh-so-kissable lips. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes, he was so considerate.” Redheart laughed, this time more convincingly. The little smile she wore seemed more genuine, too, and reached her eyes. Goodness. How could any mare’s eyes do that? “So considerate and wanting to please me that we often left him unattended. I made a point to throw him a bone every now and then. Or, rather,” she said, dropping her voice back to that delicious lower register that made fur stand on end, “he threw me a bone, and I took care of it.”
Both of Spitfire’s ears stood on end and her wing threatened to flare out. The tip of a silky tail flicking and teasing over her haunches didn’t help matters any, either.
“And let me tell you,” Redheart said, her voice something throaty and purring that made Spitfire’s throat feel tight and her hospital gown stifling, “there’s nothing like a dancer’s body. I’d wager even a Wonderbolt’s body would have trouble measuring up.”
“I—um—” Spitfire swallowed, aware of a steadily growing warmth burning under her coat the longer she stayed transfixed under Redheart’s gaze. With their coats mingling, their tails touching, and the warm puffs of air against her fur, she found herself completely, utterly, and wonderfully helpless.
“Although, I admit, having seen you and your team in the air, I could be wrong. And you did say you were a dancer, so ...”
Redheart’s eyes were molten. The feathers of Spitfire’s uninjured wing twitched and fluttered without her permission, seeking refuge over her nurse’s back. Taking a breath, sat up taller and reigned in her wing. “Want to test that theory?”
A dangerous grin framed Redheart’s reply. “How about we start with a dance?” Hopping off the mattress, she turned and trotted around the bed to the gramophone. With a flick of her hoof, she pulled a record from the box. She brushed her hoof over the cover before sliding the record out and setting it on the gramophone. “Now, I thought we’d start with something slower. Your body is still healing, after all.”
Spitfire nodded and lowered herself to the ground. “Sounds good.”
Clicking her tongue as she inspected the record, Redheart said, “It’s been some time since I led a dance, but Gavotte was nothing if not an excellent teacher. As long as we both take it slow, I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Wait, lead?” Something like amusement bled into Spitfire’s voice before she could stop it. With a chuckle, she shook her head as her hooves touched down on the linoleum floor. “Sorry, Red. I don’t follow when it comes to dancing. I lead.”
Redheart arched a brow, but kept the sly smile on her face. “Not in your condition you don’t. Besides, between the two of us, I don’t think you could handle leading me.”
“Really? Well, fine then. If my ‘condition’ is too severe to stop me from leading—” Lifting her legs, Spitfire rolled and lay on her back, sprawling herself out sideways on her bed. “—then maybe I’m too tired to dance.” She stretched her mouth open wide and yawned. “See?”
“Oh, please.” Setting the record down, Redheart stepped over a bundle of flowers to Spitfire’s bedside. The pegasus, however, kept her gaze trained on the ceiling and didn’t budge, not even when she felt a hoof brush against her foreleg. “You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you?”
The top of a nurse’s cap bobbed overhead, and Spitfire knew if she craned her neck she’d be lost once more in Redheart’s gaze. “What was that? Sorry, I think I’m starting to doze off.”
Silence followed, but only for a moment. “I think I know what’s going on.” A peculiar puckish tone coloured Redheart’s voice, an extension of whatever delightfully wicked grin she no doubt wore. “Personally, I find it much more likely that you’re just sulky that you needed a singing telegram to physically push you into kissing a mare.”
“What? No!” The smart answer would have been to scoff. The collected answer would have been to shrug. Instead, as Spitfire’s eyes flew open, she bolted upright. She fixed Redheart with a glare, one that was returned with a playful batting of the eyes. “I don’t have any problems kissing mares.”
“Mmhmm.”
Huffing, Spitfire set her jaw and flapped her wing. “I’ll kiss anypony I want to kiss! In fact, if I really wanted to kiss you, I would. In a heartbeat.”
Something flashed behind Redheart’s eyes. “Oh? Then why haven’t you yet? Unless the ‘real’ Spitfire underneath all that bluster really doesn’t want anything to do with kissing.” A chime-like giggle punctuated her words. “Or with other, related subjects.”
“I—b-but—sh-shut up!” A bright blush burned across Spitfire’s muzzle, licking its way to the tips of her ears. At Redheart’s giggling, she couldn’t help but pout and glare at the wall to her right. “I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about this yesterday. Why are we talking about this?”
“That was then,” Redheart said, cupping a hoof under Spitfire’s chin and leading her eyes back to hers. The pout was quick to vanish at the smile that greeted her. “This is now. And, if this really makes you uncomfortable, a good way to shut me up would be to a good patient and follow as we dance.”
Scrunching her muzzle, Spitfire pushed Redheart’s hoof away. Then, her ears perked up as her smirk found solid grounding. “Or, you know, if you’re so keen, I could always kiss you to shut you up.”
Redheart tilted her head to the side as if to consider the notion. “Maybe, but I doubt you have the gumption for it.”
Spitfire lifted her nose and squared her shoulders. “That a fact, huh?”
“Until you prove me otherwise, yes.”
“Are you challenging me, Red?” Spitfire’s smirk took on a sudden wolfish quality. “Because if you are, then pucker up. I’ll kiss you silly.”
Redheart leaned in close, bringing herself snout-to-snout with Spitfire. The smirk died on her face as she felt warm puffs of air wash over her muzzle and as she was lured in by a lidded gaze. “Try it.”
“I—um—” Reduced to stuttering once more, all Spitfire could manage was a fitful flutter of her feathers. “Are you serious? Right now? Just like that?”
“Oh no, is the brave Captain Spitfire chickening out?” A playful pout flickered over Redheart’s muzzle as she pulled back, leaving Spitfire room to breathe. “Pity.”
“I-I’m so not chickening out!” Spitfire grimaced as her voice cracked and recoiled at the heavy thumping of her heart against her chest. “I just don’t want things to become, well, you know, awkward. With work.”
“Uh huh.” The smugness in Redheart’s smile rivaled that of the best Wonderbolts. “Because you haven’t made things awkward at all.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble for kissing one of your patients! That’s not chickening out, that’s more considering out.” Spitfire swallowed past a ball in her throat. Dimly, she felt the tip of her wing trembling. So close. Another inch, another little push, and she would have had it. “Unless you really want me to kiss you.”
“Too late!” Redheart chimed, turning around and walking away with a strut in her step that hiked her tail up just high enough to make Spitfire want to smack her head against the wall. “The moment’s passed,” she said as she started to clear a space in the mess of flowers. “Too bad. I might’ve actually let you.”
Groaning, Spitfire buried her head in her hooves. Her cheeks were warm to the touch. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Because I love to tease,” Redheart intoned, grinning over her shoulder. “And I think that you love to be teased deep down, don’t you?”
Spitfire sucked her lips in between her teeth in way of response. That way, she wouldn’t give Redheart the satisfaction of seeing her dumb, dopey grin two days in a row.
“Thought so.” Flicking her tail, Redheart pushed the last of the begonias against the wall. She nodded to herself and made her way back to the gramophone. “There’s no need to pout. You may have missed your chance to kiss me, but you can still dance with me. If,” she said, resting her hoof on the gramophone winding handle, “you behave and let me lead.”
Sighing, Spitfire dropped her hooves to her side. A defeat to be certain, but perhaps a more welcomed defeat than she wanted to admit. “What are we dancing to?”
A few minutes later, Spitfire stood at the centre of a space cleared in the middle of her hospital room. The sun’s descent over the horizon was nearly complete, bathing the room in the last vestiges of its light as she resisted the urge to shuffle her hooves. She flattened down the hem of her hospital gown and frowned. “Do I really have to wear this thing while we dance?”
“Hospital protocol, Spitfire. All patients are required to wear a hospital gown while they are still under our care.”
Brow furrowed, she looked up at where Redheart stood by the gramophone. Her expression flatlined as the nurse hummed the same, melodic tune as before. “Yeah, but didn’t you say we were already breaking a couple of those anyways?”
“All the more reason for us to observe what protocols we can.” As she started to crank the winding handle, Redheart shot a grin over her shoulder. “Besides, it’s fitting, isn’t it? If you’re following, then it only makes sense for you to wear the gown.”
Spitfire rolled her eyes, fighting back against the infectious quality Redheart’s smile seemed to have on her lips. “Har, har.”
“Quite.” With the gramophone wound, Redheart slipped a record out of its case and set it on the base. Once the needle was set, she turned and walked over to Spitfire. Her tail swished, a glimmering, silky pink wave as sunset turned to dusk. There was a noticeable, oh-so-enticing sway to her hips as the needle scratched and the record started to spin. “Okay, on your hooves.”
The frown evaporated from Spitfire’s muzzle, replaced by a small, toothy grin, and she eagerly complied. Rising to her hind legs, she met her partner halfway and found another’s hoof with her own. As she moved to rest her other hoof on the mare’s waist, Redheart’s other hoof clasped it and brought it higher up. “Ah, ah,” she said, clicking her tongue and grinning sweetly as she rested the wandering hoof on her shoulder. “I thought we agreed that you’d behave yourself?”
Cocking her lips into a well-worn smirk, Spitfire shrugged. “Can you blame a mare for trying?”
“Why yes, yes I can.” Trailing her the tip of her fetlock down the upper half of Spitfire’s foreleg, Redheart dropped her hoof and placed it on her hip, brushing along the toned frame underneath the hospital gown along the way. “Now, be a good patient and follow your nurse’s instructions.”
As she spoke, the first warbling notes of music sounded from the gramophone. The static passed, and once the first chime of piano keys reached them, Spitfire’s ears perked up. It was an old melody, one that she had heard played at galas and balls the country over. She also couldn’t stop herself from smiling or her tail from swishing to the side to brush over Redheart’s hind leg just so. “Clopin?”
Redheart’s smile was a gentle thing, warm and unguarded as the sharp, precise tones of piano music reached their ears. “I thought you earned it. It’s been some time since I’ve danced, so I may be a little rusty, but ...” She trailed off, lifting her hoof. White clasped around yellow and, with a slight push, Spitfire let herself be guided in a small circle.
The music began in earnest, and as the sound of piano filled the room, so too did they as Redheart led them in an easy, relaxed waltz around the space cleared of flowers. Spitfire’s ears flicked, catching her lead’s soft humming on the edge of her hearing. In the softest voice she could manage, she said, “Hey, Red?”
Redheart blinked, lifting her eyes to meet Spitfire’s. They were brimming with warmth, a warmth that enveloped her in an embrace every bit as tender and strong as the mare who held her. Though her hooves stumbled a step, she pushed through, carrying on the dance as the tempo of the music swelled and into a rising crescendo. “Yes?”
It took a moment for Spitfire to find her words, but when she did, she spoke them with a soft, smoldering smirk. “You’re doing great. That Gavotte guy must’ve been one heck of a teacher,” she said, flicking her tail of wildfire around so that its tip grazed Redheart’s thigh. “Think you can manage to spin me?”
Arching her eyebrow at the challenge, Redheart grinned. As they passed the bed, holding each other close as they danced in their circle, she pushed Spitfire away.
Moving with it, Spitfire twirled, balanced on her hind hooves, as Redheart lifted their hooves. Then, a quick tug later, the hoof was back on her waist. It squeezed, perhaps a few inches lower than before, and she rested her hoof back on her dance partner’s pearly white shoulder.
The faint scent of cinnamon tickled her senses as her sight was filled by the bright, thrilling blue of Redheart’s eyes. “How was that?”
Grinning, Spitfire inched a half-step closer until she felt the warmth of Redheart’s chest pressed up against her own. Their coats meshed, brushing against each other with each breath and step of their dance. “Not bad. I’ve never really been one for following,” she said, lidding her eyes as she felt the hoof on her hip give another gentle squeeze, “but you make it easy.”
“Don’t let your sister hear you say that.” Redheart’s eyes sparkled. Delight, affection, warmth, and something Spitfire only dared to believe shone within, honed to two breathtaking points—something meant only for her to see. “Or your brother, for that matter. They’d never let you live it down.”
“Let them hear,” Spitfire said, losing herself the longer her hoof clasped around Redheart’s, the longer she gazed into her eyes, and the longer she felt the faint, rhythmic thumping of her heartbeat against her chest. Maybe, at least for this moment, she could let herself drown in the mare holding her close. “I don’t care.”
“Since when?”
The music faded to the periphery of her hearing. Grateful for Redfire’s leading hoof, Spitfire found herself leaning in closer. There was hardly any space between them, she knew. Cinnamon and blue drew her in like a moth to the flame, and she gave in.
The moment—their moment—was now.
Without thinking she said, “Since you.”
Spitfire leaned forward, ready to close that distance entirely.
Their waltz brought them by the window. The last of dusk’s soft light spilled in, spilling over the contours of Redheart’s face in a gentle caress. The shining, bright blue of her eyes widened ever so slightly and a flickering of anticipation mingled with surprise brought a gasp silent to the ears but felt on the tip of Spitfire’s muzzle.
Just as Redheart surrendered, angling her head to the side, and just as their lips brushed together, Spitfire’s hoof caught on something sticking out from the wall. The magic shattered like so many pieces of glass. She heard her nurse’s breath catch as they stumbled backwards. Eyes widening, she flared out her wing, flapping it in a futile effort to right their balance. Gravity, on the other hand, had other things in mind.
They lurched as their hooves stepped and fumbled over each other. The shock on Redheart’s muzzle mirrored the few racing thoughts that found purchase in Spitfire’s mind. Acting on instinct, she gripped the shoulder under her hoof and pulled, bringing them chest-to-chest as their legs fell out from underneath them. Her vision went white—or was that just Redheart’s coat?—as something hard connected to her forehead with a solid, bony whack.
Stars sparkled before Spitfire’s vision and she was only vaguely aware of them hitting the floor. A long, low, pained groan echoed from her throat as her head swam. That same groan turned to a hiss as she reached for a thumping, sore, aching point on her forehead. Her wing fluttered, useless at her side, as she tried to summon the energy to move. Pain flared from her broken wing, draining the strength from her legs and collapsing her back on top of the soft, warm, and fuzzy surface she landed on.
Gritting her teeth, she rode out the pain until it softened to the occasional, angry throb. A matching groan from above drew a flick of her ear. She inhaled, breathing in the faint, delicious scent of cinnamon, and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, blinking away the world swimming before them, the white blob lying off to her right focused into Redheart’s hoof.
The breath caught in her throat. The skilled and precise piano hoofwork Clopin was famous for played as a backdrop to the heartbeat of the mare she lay on. The rhythmic thump-thump did little to calm her as a thousand thoughts raced to the same, horrifying conclusion. A glance down showed her tail draped over one of bright pink. A glance up showed Redheart’s chin bob as the mare worked her jaw and groaned again.
A box of tulips, jutting out from the wall and sitting at an odd angle, caught her eye. Realization settled in, a heavy, unwanted treacle that dropped her heart somewhere in her stomach.
The last words she spoke floated to the surface in the fog of her mind. Combined with the slip itself and the headbutt that followed, Spitfire found herself rendered immobile. Her muscles locked up, frozen as she stared up Redheart’s barrel, trying to find the right words. Or, at this point, any words at all would suffice. The longer she stared, the more she felt a fresh, blooming, burning heat blossom over her cheeks, down her neck, and up to the tip of her ears. A strangled breath escaped her mouth, forced free from the rest of her voice choked in her throat.
When Redheart lifted her head and looked down at Spitfire, it wasn’t with anger, confusion, or surprise. Instead, she greeted her with a bemused, crooked smile. There was a certain fondness gracing her muzzle, one that threatened to draw a whine from the pegasus.
It turned out that Spitfire didn’t need to say anything. Redheart managed to speak exactly what she was thinking, joined by a low, throaty chuckle. “How very smooth of you, Spitfire.”
Mortified, Spitfire squeaked—squeaked, a sound only her mother and sister heard her make when she was a toddler. Heedless of her broken wing, her other wing flared and flapped as she scrambled to push herself off. In her haste, she swayed to the left and hit her cast against the windowsill. Though she yelped, nothing could stop her hooves in their mission to carry her off of Redheart and far, far away.
She only stopped squirming when a pair of strong but soft hooves grasped her by the shoulders and a pair of bright blue eyes captured her gaze. Once more, she froze, held by the tender concern that drew her back in a welcome embrace. “Spitfire,” Redheart said, her voice cutting through the haze in her mind, “calm down before you hurt yourself.”
As her heart beat a staccato rhythm, fueled by a cocktail of the humiliation that plagued her thoughts, the scent of Redheart that flooded her senses, and the feeling of hooves rubbing down her shoulders and back. Through it all, Spitfire nodded and took several deep breaths. As she did, she felt hooves coax her to lean against the frame supporting her and heard a gently shushing, soothing voice whisper in her ear.
When at last her heart steadied, she pinned her ears back and pulled away from Redheart’s embrace. With yet another groan she turned and thumped her head against the wall.
“Are you okay?” She felt Redheart’s eyes on her broken wing and heard the concern bleeding into her voice. “Is your wing in any pain?”
“Can’t you just kill me now, please?”
There was a sigh at her side, one more of relief than exasperation. A giggled followed, prompting Spitfire to put her head in her hooves, safe from the mare that she’d happily make a fool of herself for. “I’m afraid not,” Redheart said, her voice sweet and lilting, “I do think that’s enough dancing for one night, though. We should stop before we both end up hospitalized.”
Spitfire felt Redheart’s presence slip away and she shrunk against the wall, letting defeat drag her down closer and closer to the floor. Hooves clacked on linoleum tiles, and a second later the music cut out, plunging the room into an unbearable silence.
Chewing her lip, Spitfire fiddled with the hem of her hospital gown and watched out of the corner of her eyes as Redheart turned around and trotted back over. When she felt her hoof touch her shoulder, she flinched.
A note of hesitation carried into Redheart’s voice. “Spitfire?”
“I’m sorry!” Caught between a groan and a whine, Spitfire thumped her head back against the wall. Staring at the ceiling, she resisted the urge to slap herself and settled on mentally kicking herself instead. “That was so, so not cool of me.”
“This is a hospital,” Redheart said, her tone gentle and soothing. “You’re allowed to be uncool here.”
“But your head!” Flicking her gaze down, Spitfire searched Redheart’s muzzle for any sign of blood or bruising. Though she saw none, it did little to unpin her ears from her scalp. “Are you okay?”
“Relax, Spitfire.” With a smile as gentle as her voice, Redheart scooched closer to Spitfire until their shoulders touched. “I’m fine. My jaw’s a little sore, but I’ve had much worse.” A coat like velvet mingled with her own and another’s hoof rested on her foreleg, smoothing down the fur in soft, small strokes. “If it will make you feel better, I won’t even talk about what you said to me before your little stunt there.”
Spitfire felt some of the colour drain from her muzzle, replaced all too quickly by the heat infusing her face a fiery red. Stunt—the kiss or the trip? More importantly, which was worse? “I’d much rather you just put me out of my misery.”
“Hospital regulations frown on that, I’m afraid.” Giggling to herself, Redheart brushed a stray lock of pink mane out of her face. When it fell back down in the company of a few more strands, she frowned. Trailing her eyes upwards, Spitfire grimaced again.
The impact and fall, it would seem, not only knocked Redheart’s nurse’s cap off, but also shook some of her mane loose from her bun.
“Oh, to Tartarus with it,” Redheart said, reaching for her mane. “I’m off my shift, anyways.”
Her hooves fumbled with her mane until a small, black bobby pin slid loose. As it came undone, so too did Redheart’s mane. Long, silky pink tresses tumbled down and spilled around her shoulders, framing her face as they seemed to glow in the fading light of dusk.
Spitfire, for her part, stared as Redheart’s mane curled around her shoulders. Her jaw slackened, mortification forgotten as she pushed herself up against the wall. “Whoa.”
Redheart glanced at Spitfire out of the corner of her eye as she ran her hooves through her mane. “Whoa what?”
“You,” Spitfire said, feeling the corner of her mouth lift up in a goofy half-grin. She shifted her weight on her haunches, craning her neck as she memorized every detail, every contour of the mare at her side. Lifting a gentle hoof, she pushed a lock of pink out of Redheart’s face. “I’ve never seen you with your mane down before.”
“Oh.” The lightest hue of pink crept into Redheart’s cheeks, warm to the touch and spreading in the wake of the hoof that traced over it. While she adjusted her mane, Spitfire was content to watch, letting her lips spread in a wide grin. Lovestruck, if that’s what this was, didn’t feel too bad after all. As the seconds ticked by, the pink spilled across the nurse’s muzzle and burned brighter. “Shut up.”
A crooked, loving, adoring smirk took place of Spitfire’s smile. “But I’m not saying anything.”
Fiddling with her bobby pin, Redheart wrinkled her nose. The tip of her tail twitched and her shoulders shifted under the glow of Spitfire’s smirk. “Then stop staring.”
Spitfire felt her grin grow. “No.”
“Why not?”
An old spark flickered to life in Spitfire’s core, quickly building into a flame that would set her amber eyes aglow. Embarrassment ebbed away, leaving a near-burning want in its wake. It felt somehow new, and something beyond a baser, more primal desire.“Because,” she said, flicking her tail over Redheart’s, “you’re amazing.”
“Oh, stop.” She may have rolled her eyes, but Redheart didn’t pull her tail away, nor did she push away the hoof that cupped her cheek. “I think that stumble knocked a few more of your screws loose.”
Spitfire nodded, rubbing her hoof over Redheart’s cheek. The fur there was soft, softer than she imagined. “That, or you’re just gorgeous.”
A quick, playful shove to the shoulder came in reply. Redheart’s giggling laughter, though, was unmistakable. “You’re lucky you’re kind of cute when you’re being sappy, Sapfire.”
Propping herself up on her foreleg, Spitfire offered a winning smile. “Only kind of?”
“That’s all you’ll get out of me.” Turning her nose up, Redheart huffed and tossed her mane. “You’re a devious, horrible influence of a mare, Spitfire.”
“I am,” Spitfire said, crawling back up to Redheart’s side and spreading her wing loosely over her shoulder. “And don’t you love it.”
Redheart’s eyes flickered between the the wing and Spitfire. When their gazes met, she cocked a brow. “Love is such a strong word. Exciting? Yes. Addicting? Very possibly. But a nurse has to set certain boundaries.” Her attempt to brush off her wing was halfhearted at best. “For example, instead of indulging your wicked behaviour, why don’t we focus on what to do with all of these flowers? It would be a shame if another accident were to happen because of them.”
“Oh, that? Believe it or not,” Spitfire started, leaning her weight on Redheart’s shoulder, “I’ve been thinking about that, and I have an idea.”
“Well, then.” The tips of her her ears tickled Spitfire’s neck as she ducked her head and leaned into the embrace. Warm breath spilled over her fur and the lightest of nuzzles drew an unavoidable flutter of feathers. “I’m all ears.”
Swallowing against the sudden dryness of her throat, Spitfire looked down at the mare all but nestled into her chest. Her wing fanned out, spreading out over more of Redheart’s back as she focused her gaze on the flowers scattered around her hospital room. “There’s no way you can cart all of these to your house, and there’s no way you can eat them all before they wilt. That’d be a waste.”
Redheart nodded against her neck. “Agreed. What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about a lot of things while I’ve been here. I’m no stranger to being stuck in a hospital, and I know it’s not the best feeling in the world,” Spitfire added, squeezing her wing around Redheart’s side. The scent of cinnamon came off stronger from her mane, making her heart leap somewhere into her throat. She cleared it and gestured to the room around her with her hoof. “So I thought, why not make ponies’ lives a little brighter while they’re here?”
Redheart’s hoof rested on Spitfire’s chest as she lifted her gaze and blinked. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
The genuine surprise and, if Spitfire’s ears did not deceive her, adoration in Redheart’s voice made her chest swell. “Give them to the other patients. A bouquet or arrangement for everypony. And if there aren’t enough, go get some more from in town and put it on my tab.”
A beat passed as Redheart stared at Spitfire, unblinking. “You—you’re not just doing this to impress me, are you?”
“A little, maybe.” Features softening, Spitfire’s hoof snaked its way down to Redheart’s and wound around it for the second time that night. “But my job is to make ponies smile, Red. I’m grounded, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still do that.”
“All of them?”
“Yup. Every single one.” Squeezing her hoof, Spitfire forced her eyes away from Redheart’s to flicker over to a bouquet of flowers over the mare’s shoulder. Each flower reached to the ceiling with five red petals, each as flamelicked as the mark adorning her flanks. Simple compared to other specimens in the room, but for what she had in mind, perfect. “Well, almost. There’s one that nopony else is going to get.”
Redheart flicked her ear, but didn’t look away. “Oh?”
“Yup.” Extending her wing, Spitfire stretched her primaries out towards the bouquet. Target set, she leaned further into Redheart, nosing her way into her mane until she found her ear, and with a flick of her feathers snatched a single flower. As she wrapped her wing back around her nurse, she whisked the one, red flower to her muzzle between two of her primaries. Grinning at the way those entrancing blue eyes widened, Spitfire whispered into her ear, “This one is for you.”
Slowly, Redheart took the flower in her hoof. She traced her hoof down each of the five petals while Spitfire gently nuzzled her way around her ear in little circles. “A red columbine?”
“Uh-huh. Just for you.”
“I—” Redheart sucked in a quick breath, and Spitfire didn’t need to look to know she was blushing. Ever so slightly, she leaned into the pegasus’ touch as a soft, humming whine started up in the back of her throat. Then, the sound stopped. A hoof gripped her chest, twisting the thin fabric of the hospital gown before pushing away.
“Okay,” Redheart said, her voice breathy. “I’ll keep this one, but only if you keep one for yourself, too. That’s the deal.”
“Oh?” Spitfire cocked her head to the side, hoping to steal Redheart’s eyes away from the flower. The blush staining her coat a bright, pleasant red brought with it a soft smile and even softer chuckle. “Alright. Which one?”
“I’ll choose. Just wait here for a second, okay?”
Retracting her wing, Spitfire nodded. Without any further encouragement, Redheart stood. She fixed her red columbine behind her ear and flashed a quick, pretty smile. “Just one second.”
“I’ll be waiting.” As Redheart wandered around the room, eyes roving over each bouquet and arrangement, Spitfire leaned back against the wall. She watched, more than content to wait as the second ticked by into two, then ten, and then over a minute.
Throughout it all, she kept her wing spread, an open invitation for when Redheart made up her mind. Until then, she could watch, wait, and commit tonight’s events to memory—everything before and after tripping.
Another few seconds passed before Redheart’s ears perked up and swiveled forwards. Walking on the tips of her hooves over and around other sets of flowers, she waded through the room until she stopped at a small basket in the corner of the room. “Here.”
Spitfire sat up as Redheart took a single strand from the arrangement. “Did you find one?”
When Redheart looked back, there was a sparkle in her eye. She took her time as she sauntered back, letting her free-flowing mane spill around her face. By the time she returned to Spitfire’s side and nestled in under her wing, the Wonderbolt felt her heart—her own heart? Redheart’s? Both?—beating at a rapid pace that set off a slight trembling in the tips of her feathers.
A soft, gentle smile showed itself as Redheart brushed her mane out of her face, spreading around a strand of small, light purple flowers. Slowly, she reached up and, trailing her muzzle up along Spitfire’s jawline, she set the flower behind the pegasus’ ear. “There,” she said, drawing back. “Now you can give the others away.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Spitfire saw the gentle bobbing of the lilac as she breathed. “Um.” She swallowed, flicking her gaze down to where Redheart’s hooves rested on her chest. “Why this one?”
Redheart’s smile took on a coy edge. “I could ask you the same about this columbine, but I think I have a good idea.” One hoof left Spitfire’s chest to caress the flower behind her ear. “If you want to know, maybe you could ask Roseluck, Lily, or Daisy when you go to pay them for the rest of the flowers you’ll be buying.”
“Th-that so?” Wing curled around her back, tails entwined, and stars in her eyes—could she be any more ready? A few words more, that was all it would take. Licking her lips, Spitfire willed her forelegs to stay steady as she loosely looped them around Redheart’s waist. “Maybe you could be there when they tell me.”
“Really, now?” The way Redheart tilted her head to the side made her eyes shine. “And why would I be there?”
“I don’t know,” Spitfire said, taking a slow, calming breath through her nose. If she could defy death in front of thousands of ponies, then she could make a move on one that dared to steal her heart away. “Maybe we’d just be stopping by there on our way elsewhere.”
Redheart smiled. “Elsewhere?”
“Yeah, you know. Dinner? A walk in the park? Whatever ponies do around here? If you want to spend time after I’m released, I mean. No pressure or anything.” Her mouth cocked into a small, but warm smirk. “I just want to see you again once I’m out of here.”
Closing her eyes, Redheart hummed. When she opened them again, she inched closer, bringing the gap between them to what it was when they danced. “If you behave yourself for the rest of your stay, then I’ll consider it.”
Beha—oh, screw it.
Spitfire squeezed ever-so-slightly and lidded her eyes. “Why bother behaving when we’ll just be misbehaving all night long after?”
Redheart lifted her hoof to swat at her head. Spitfire saw it coming.
Ducking under her strike, Spitfire darted forwards. Before Redheart could react, she closed her eyes and found a pair of warm, inviting lips with her own.
The whole hospital seemed to stop. The continuous humming of fluorescent lights and hoofsteps of nurses and doctors outside were drowned out by a rising, buzzing warmth that filled every nook and cranny of Spitfire’s being. Her wing fluttered before it wrapped more tightly around Redheart, drawing her in closer.
When she pulled back, she blinked her eyes open to see Redheart looking back at her with a wide-eyed stare. Frozen, her mouth fell open into a little ‘o’ of surprise as her beautiful, white muzzle turned red.
Warmth spread to Spitfire’s smile as she took the opportunity to rub her nose in small circles around Redheart’s. “So, what do you say, Red?”
A giggle from the other end of the room ruined the moment.
Both mares blinked and, in unison, turned their heads. Three nurses hunkered down in the doorway, opened just enough for them to poke their heads in and watch. Two of them glared up at the third, Nurse Tenderheart, who held her hooves over her mouth.
A beat passed.
Redheart squeaked and scrambled against Spitfire’s hold, but her wing held strong around her back. “T-Tend! Sweet! Snow! I-I—this isn’t what it looks like!”
“Of course not,” the nurse in the middle drawled. A lazy smile spread over her muzzle. She brushed her two-toned blue mane, every bit as pale as the yellow of her coat, out of her face to show the twinkling of her green eyes. They sparkled, equal parts mischievous and knowing. “I’m glad the memo got sent out. I’m sure ponies will love our new snuggle-and-kiss policy for patients.”
“Oh, come on, now, Snowheart!” Tenderheart dropped her hooves and smiled at Spitfire and Redheart. “Let’s not embarrass these two. I’m sorry, that was just too cute and I couldn’t help myself!”
Any colour Redheart lost was more than made up for by the fierce blush burning under her coat. “Wh-what are you three even doing in here?”
“Checking in on our patient,” the last nurse—Nurse Sweetheart, said. Ever cheery, her smile looked even wider than usual as it wrinkled the freckles on her pink coat. Her purple-and-white striped mane bounced as she spoke with a decided note of glee lifting her tone. “You were supposed to go home ages ago, Redheart! So, when I came in to check on Captain Spitfire, imagine my surprise when I found you nestling under her wing and putting a flower behind her ear!”
Tenderheart pouted. “We missed that part.”
“And then I saw these two down the hall,” Sweetheart continued, showing her teeth in her smile. “I couldn’t help but wave them over so they could watch this budding hospital romance!”
“No!” Redheart cried, the desperation in her voice a delicious turnaround. “No romance! No watching! Leave!” Struggled as she did, Spitfire couldn’t help but grin and pull her in tighter. When her burning blue eyes turned on her, she grinned wider. “Spitfire, get your wing off me!”
“No.” Purring, Spitfire nuzzled her way up and down Redheart’s jawline, delighting in the giggling from their company and in the trembling from the pony in her hooves. “Let them watch if they want. I love an audience.”
“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little heads about us, dearies.” Nudging the mares on either side of her, Sweetheart slowly backed out of the room. “We’ll leave you two be.”
“Yes,” Snowheart said, her lazy smile taking on a keen edge. “But we’ll expect details tomorrow, Redheart.”
“Juicy, juicy details!” Tenderheart chirped before the door shut.
Once they left, Redheart groaned. “I can’t believe that just happened.” Wrinkling her snout, she glared up at Spitfire and prodded her chest. “And I can’t believe what you just did. ‘Let them watch?’ Are you trying to make me hurt you?”
“No,” Spitfire said, rubbing her hooves in circles around the small of Redheart’s back. “I just like watching you squirm. You’re cute when you squirm.”
Redheart huffed, but settled her hooves back over Spitfire’s chest. “You realize I’m going to make you pay dearly for that, don’t you?”
“Probably.” Lidding her eyes, Spitfire leaned in close enough to touch the tip of her snout to Redheart’s. “Might as well make the most of now while I can. In for a penny.”
“And in for a pounding.”
“Can’t wait.” With that, Spitfire tilted her head to the side and found Redheart’s lips for their second kiss.
This time, though it took a few more seconds, Redheart’s hooves squeezed Spitfire’s chest and pulled her in closer. She angled her head to the side, giving the pegasus all the incentive she needed to deepen the kiss.
Flying? Soaring? Neither quite fit. Whatever this feeling was, it was something new, something that beat the competition by leaps and bounds.
The sun seemed to shine a little brighter as Spitfire strolled down the cobblestone pathways surrounding Ponyville General. Her feathers fluffed, soaking in the warmth, and she lifted her chin high, letting the breeze wash over her fur and tickle her nose with the sweet scent of apples. Though her muscles were stiff from lack of use, she reveled in how they stretched with each and every step. New life breathed into her, and now more than ever a deeper, instinctual part of her screamed to break into a gallop, to run and leap into the sky.
A bigger, warmer, giddier part of her crooned. Perhaps it was more than her healing body. Perhaps it had more to do with what kept her up late last night, staring up at her hospital room ceiling with a pillow hugged to her chest and the taste of another on her lips.
And perhaps this very same something walked alongside her, giving cause to the extra skip of her step that came as their shoulders brushed alongside each other. Perhaps each swishing of tails over the other’s haunches, and each traded knowing and glimmering smile made this walk through the gardens the best yet. Who knew? Anything was possible.
Two weeks ago, Spitfire shuffled down this path. In her first walk through the gardens, her frame wobbled and shook before they passed the first bed of hydrangeas. She needed a steady, supporting hoof at her side; the same support she felt leaning ever-so-slightly into her side now, though perhaps a little closer than strictly necessary.
Today, she walked with a long overdue air of confidence that carried her in a brisk stride. The mare—her mare, dare she think it—at her side raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as their trot led them away from the regular morning hospital crowd. She caught her glancing behind them every few steps, the slightest wrinkle furrowing her brow. When their eyes met, Spitfire simply smiled, and Redheart’s frown deepened, pursing her lips and drawing her eyebrows together in the middle of her forehead.
Celestia, Redheart was adorable when she was worried.
With the hospital crowd now behind them, Spitfire slowed her pace, bringing herself to a hospital-approved speed for recovering patients. The gardens, so she had observed, were almost always empty before noon. That granted her the freedom to fan her wing wide, basking as the morning sun warmed each of her feathers hovering dangerously close over her nurse’s back.
Oh, how tempting it was to let her wing fall limp, draping over Redheart’s back in that moment. And now that she pressed ever-so-closer, bringing her shoulder under the crook of her wing, that temptation was almost impossible to ignore. Ponies could still look out their windows, after all, and a nagging, responsible voice in the back of Spitfire’s mind suggested that the newfound and more exciting facets of their relationship should be kept under wraps for now.
As much as she might hate it, Spitfire knew it was right. But the temptation—oh the temptation—was there, a siren call only less potent than Redheart’s soft groans muffled into the darkness of her room until they at last bid each other goodnight. She had now felt her coat pressed flush against her own, run her hooves down her sleek, soft, and velvety back, and felt the quiet strength of her hooves as they gripped her chest.
Those precious minutes were intoxicating. For a brief time, there were no walls, no stations of Wonderbolt Captain and Nurse, patient and caregiver, to separate them. That all came tumbling down as they danced, their foundations shaken by the exchange of flowers, and at last broken by the kiss she stole. Then, Spitfire got to drink Redheart in her entirety. Her heart swelled at the memory, beating a steady and exhilarating warmth through her body that made her feel as though she were walking on air.
Until the discharge papers were signed, however, she would have to be a good girl. Behave, as her sister might say. Appearances and boundaries must be kept while in the hospital, after all, at least while the sun was in the sky. Though none of that stopped her from ducking her head and breathing in the lingering scent of cinnamon that followed Redheart around as she nuzzled her cheek and down along her neck.
To her great delight, Redheart returned the nuzzle, and Spitfire felt her feathers ruffle without permission at the sensation. Overt displays of affection may have to wait, but quick little nuzzles and kisses under the shelter of the rose bushes were fair game, it seemed.
Spitfire’s tail swished as they walked, grinning that same, stupid grin from last night. Oh, she could conjure the memories of a soft, velvety coat and the feeling of lips moving against hers, but why ever would she do that when she could focus on right now?
As they rounded a bed of daisies and waded onto the grass, she felt Redheart pull away. Something between a sigh and a chuckle followed, and then her presence returned, leaning into her shoulder. “Will you stop that?”
Ear flicking, Spitfire looked at the mare beside her. The shrubs and flowerbeds did little to lift the flatlined eyebrows on Redheart’s brow, but they could not hide the small smile playing over her lips. Though they were in the relative privacy of the gardens, she still saw the slight tensing of her nurse’s jaw, the brisk, composed gait she carried herself with, and the slight cooling of her eyes.
Tense, and not relaxed—a sight that made the corner of Spitfire’s mouth twitch. As much as she would have loved to kiss Redheart silly, something she might even get away with now, she knew she shouldn’t.
She knew Redheart couldn’t relax and give herself entirely, not until the gown draped over Spitfire’s frame was gone for good. A line had to be drawn for now.
Good for her that line got more and more blurred with every passing hour. Widening her grin, Spitfire stepped closer so that her feathers trailed ever-so-lightly down Redheart’s spine. “Stop what?”
“Grinning like the cat who caught the canary.” Redheart’s eyes darted from left to right. The gardens were empty, save for them, but that didn’t stop her from placing her hoof on Spitfire’s shoulder. She didn’t push, but the message came through all the same. “Please? It’s bad enough that Sweetheart, Tenderheart, and Snowheart saw us. The last thing I need is for any of my other patients to see you looking so cursedly satisfied with yourself.”
A small chuckle rumbled in Spitfire’s chest. “She says after nuzzling me in the middle of the gardens.”
“That was different. We were out of sight of my patients’ rooms.” Redheart cast a furtive gaze up to the side. For a second, she chewed on the corner of her lip, and took another half-step away. “Now, if Junebug were to look out her window, she could very well see us.”
Spitfire followed Redheart’s eyes up along the brick wall of Ponyville’s General medical ward. Over a dozen windows faced them. A good many had their blinds drawn, but there were enough open windows to weigh a frown over her muzzle.
“Junebug’s a sweetheart, really, but she has a penchant for nosing into other's love lives.” A polite if strained cough sounded from Redheart’s throat. When Spitfire looked back to her side, she found her nurse’s gaze on the grass. And, even in the shade cast by the building towering over them, she could see the slightest bit of pink creeping over the mare’s cheeks. “She can sometimes, um, embellish certain details, and I’d rather my superiors and other colleagues not start gossiping quite yet.”
“I know.” Spitfire’s shoulders heaved in a heavy sigh. A rueful smile played over her lips as their hooves led them to a spot by a bed of begonias. “I don’t want to get you into any trouble, so I’ll try to keep it under wraps. But, seriously.” As they sat in the cool grass, she retracted her wing—not quite to her side. That was one invitation she wasn’t ready to do away with quite yet. “Can you blame me?”
“Yes,” Redheart said, matching Spitfire’s sigh as their hooves found each other. “I can. It’s one thing to do that in the relative privacy of your room, but out in the open like this?” A soft squeeze, and despite her words, she felt the earth pony mare draw in closer. “We have to be careful.”
“Easy for you to say.” Spitfire grinned, shifting her gaze to the gardens and a bed of hyacinths just starting to bud. As Redheart leaned in, she did so, too, tail flicking as their shoulders touched. “You didn’t kiss the prettiest mare in Ponyville last night.”
“Oh, hush.”
Spitfire squeezed her hoof and flicked her tail over Redheart’s. A risk, yes, but well worth it. “No. I’m pretty sure you’re pretty much perfect, and I’m over the moon.”
“You’re just lucky that the chief of medicine isn’t big into nature.” A beat of silence passed as they sat, content to enjoy the quiet gardens and each other’s presence. Eventually, Spitfire let her eyes droop closed and allowed herself a content hum, only to be drawn back to reality by Redheart’s shifting frame. “Spitfire?”
Spitfire grunted, but opened her eyes. “Yeah?”
“May I ask you a question?”
Something about Redheart’s tone made Spitfire sit up a little straighter. Furrowing her brow, she glanced to her side. “Shoot.”
Insecurity flickered over Redheart’s features, manifesting in how she chewed on the corner of her lip and looked down at their entwined hooves. “What’s your favourite colour?”
Spitfire arched her brow. “My favourite colour?”
“Yes.” Redheart nodded, glancing again up at the row of windows above them. “Don’t ask me why, just answer.”
A dry chuckle slipped past Spitfire’s lips and she shook her head. Heedless of any onlookers, she fanned her feathers out just a little bit more and leaned her weight against Redheart’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’d believe me.”
This time, Redheart arched a brow. The insecurity passed as she lifted her gaze and tilted her head to the side. “What’s not to believe? It’s your favourite colour. It’s a fairly straightforward question.”
“Alright.” Rolling her shoulder, Spitfire scratched at her neck. “And I promise I’m not making this up, but my favourite colour—” The faintest bit of heat trickled into her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “—is white.”
Redheart stared at her, eyebrows raised.
“No, seriously, hear me out.” Shifting to the side, Spitfire swiveled around to face Redheart. With their hooves still clasped together, she smiled and turned her gaze skywards. “Do you ever look up at the sky on a sunny day like this and see those little white clouds way up there? Check it, you can see a few right now.”
Redheart followed her eyes, giving Spitfire the perfect opportunity to admire the mare before her. The pale morning sunlight caressed her frame, flowing along the soft arch of her neck, over her slim shoulders, and down her sleek barrel. A soft smile spread over her lips. Soon.
“I see them,” Redheart said, dropping her gaze back down. Her mouth quirked at an odd angle, one that kickstarted the heart beating in Spitfire’s chest. Her eyes sparkled, curious and adoring. “What does that have to do with it?”
“Those clouds are my favourite. You know why?” Without waiting, Spitfire squeezed Redheart’s hoof and brought it up to her lips. She brushed her lips over her mare’s ankle, smiling at the single flick of the ear it brought. “They’re far away from everypony else. Even pegasi don’t tend to fly up that high unless the forecast calls for a perfectly sunny day, so usually I can find one somewhere and just shrug off life for a little bit. When I see that kind of white, I feel safe for a bit, you know? Like I can stop worrying about everything.”
An equally soft smile worked its way over Redheart’s muzzle. Slowly, she leaned forwards to rub her cheek against Spitfire’s. “That’s actually rather poetic,” she said, her voice low and quiet. It sent a tingle down the Wonderbolt’s spine. “I’m impressed.”
“You know, your coat’s the same shade of white, Red. Maybe that’s one of the things that drew me to you from the start.” Speaking in tones just as dulcet, she leaned back and revelled in the sparkling blue of Redheart’s eyes that greeted her. “You make me feel safe, Red. You make me feel like I can be myself.”
Leaning in again, Redheart risked a soft, chaste peck on the lips. Discretion was such a bothersome little thing. “Stop, you’ll make me blush.”
Spitfire grinned. “I’ve also mentioned that you’re beautiful, right?”
Redheart snorted and playfully shoved Spitfire away. “You’re milking it,” she said, grinning back at her. “And that’s all you’re going to get until you are officially no longer my patient.”
“I know, I know.” Sighing, Spitfire scooched back to Redheart’s side. Stubborn to a fault, her grin remained. “I’m just glad that’s real soon. Us Wonderbolts aren’t known for our patience, you know.”
Redheart chuckled. “So I’ve noticed.”
Before Spitfire had a chance to respond, the sound of hooves on cobblestone caught her attention. She lifted her head in time to see Nurse Tenderheart trotting at a brisk pace down the garden path. When her eyes landed on them, they lit up and she smiled. “There you two are!”
Drawing away an inch, Redheart returned the smile. “Tend, what brings you out here?”
“You do. Or, well, your special patient does,” Tenderheart said, giggling as Redheart looked to the side while Spitfire found interest in a blade of grass. “Sweetheart thought you might be out here, so I thought I would check.”
Spitfire cleared her throat, watching with some intrigue at the light shade of pink that creeped in around the edges of Redheart’s muzzle. “What’re you looking for me for?”
“Oh, yes.” Tenderheart’s smile receded to a more common, polite smile Spitfire had seen nurses and doctors wear at hospitals Equestria-wide. “Your mother is here to see you.”
Ears going rigid, Spitfire felt her heart stop beating for a second. All of that delightful warmth filling her being deflated, leaving her hoof trembling around Redheart’s. “What?”
“She was just at the front desk asking for your room number,” Tenderheart said, her smile ever-kind as the blood started to drain from Spitfire’s face. “Doctor Horse escorted her to your room and is waiting there with him for you. I was passing by and he asked if I could track the two of you down. Poor Snowheart will be disappointed, though.”
Redheart’s furrowed brow carried into her voice. “Why so?”
“I really shouldn’t say.” Another girlish giggle slipped out from Tenderheart, one she poorly concealed behind her hoof. “But I think she was hoping for a reprise of last night.”
“Tend!” Out of the corner of her eye, Spitfire watched the pink seep further across Redheart’s muzzle. “I would never!”
“Yes, Redheart, we all know how much you adore hospital policy,” Tenderheart said, her smile taking on a wicked edge for a fleeting second. “Almost as much as you adore your little pegasus there. But you know how Snow can be, especially when it comes to romance. Don’t worry, I’ll break the news to her. See you two!”
As Tenderheart turned around and walked back the way she came, Spitfire stared, her gaze roaming and eventually finding purchase on a bare patch of dirt across the gardens. Suddenly feeling a little numb, she didn’t realize her hoof was pawing at the ground until Redheart’s found it again.
Spitfire’s shoulders and back tensed at the contact. “Why is my Mom here?”
Redheart, for her part, arched a brow. “Well,” she started, the beginnings of an amused smile on her face, “isn’t this a change.”
Ruffling her feathers, Spitfire exhaled and looked at her soon-to-be girlfriend. “What is?”
“You.” The amused smile angled into a smirk as Redheart eyed her up and down. “You’ve gone stiff as a board. Judging by the look on your face, I’d say you were just ordered to fight a dragon and a hydra at the same time.”
Spitfire blinked and tilted her head to the side. Screwing her face up, she nodded. “That’s not too far off.”
“Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s just your mother.”
“No, no, no.” Shaking her head, Spitfire’s mane shook from side to side. “You haven’t met her. If she’s here, then somepony must have—” Something clicked and she gasped. Narrowing her eyes to slits, she grit her teeth and growled deep in her chest. “Blaze.”
Redheart stared at her. “Blaze?”
“Blaze,” Spitfire said with a snort. “That’s a new low, even for her. That’s totally against the sisterhood code.”
Though she scoffed, Redheart squeezed Spitfire’s hoof, drawing the pegasus’ eyes back to her. “I think you’re exaggerating things just a little. It’s your mother, not your manager.”
Blinking, Spitfire looked from their clasped hooves and followed the slender foreleg up to its owner. When her eyes met Redheart’s, some of the tension eased away from the base of her wings. Oh, how she would have loved to capture those lips in a real kiss, one to make this newfound wave of apprehension melt away, but she had to make her understand. “Think about it for a second,” she said, cupping the mare’s hoof with both of hers. “She’s not here because I’m hurt. It’s not life-or-death, and Blaze and Rapidfire would have told her about my crash as soon as it happened.”
Laying her other hoof over Spitfire’s, Redheart said, “Okay, I’ll humour you. Why is she here, then?”
Amusement flickered behind Redheart’s eyes, and Spitfire met her gaze dead on. “Somepony ratted me out.”
Redheart rolled her eyes.
“And,” Spitfire added, “I’m about to be the only daughter in the family once I get my hooves on my good-for-nothing sister.”
Slipping her hooves away, Redheart shook her head. The smirk was still in place, though, as she tilted her head to the side, letting the sunlight catch in her eyes. “Spitfire, I hate to break it to you, but you’re being ridiculous.”
Spitfire scrunched up her nose and stomped her hoof. “I’m not! If I know my sister, which I do, then my mom’s here to meet you,” she said, prodding Redheart in the chest with the tip of her wing. “She’s here to tease me about you, and pretty much do anything in her power to torment me while you watch. She did the exact same thing to Fleetfoot when she found out she was dating Blaze.”
“As fun as that sounds, I think it’s far more likely she’s worried about you and your recovery after that crash.” Pushing Spitfire’s hoof away, Redheart shook her head. “Honestly, Spitfire. You’re being absolutely ridiculous. She's your mother. She's here because she loves you.”
“And I’m telling you that she’s not worried!” A high, whining note cracked Spitfire’s voice and, despite herself, she pouted. “If she was, then she would have been here ages ago. Somepony tipped her off. Somepony told her I’m crazy about you.”
An odd little grin quirked Redheart’s lips and she tugged on Spitfire’s hoof. “There’s no time like the present. How about we put this argument to rest and find out for ourselves?”
As she made to stand, Spitfire tugged back. When Redheart looked back to her, one eyebrow raised, she ducked her head and put on a winning smile. “Do we have to?” Shuffling closer, she spread her wing, tracing the tips of her yellow feathers against white fur, the kind of touch that made many a pony’s legs quiver. “Can’t we just sit here? It’s a nice day, peaceful and quiet, and I have the prettiest mare in Ponyville under my wing.”
Redheart looked from the feathers to Spitfire. The other brow raised as her lips drew into a thin line.
Spitfire squirmed in place and cleared her throat. “I’m not above begging.”
A groan turned into a giggle as Redheart shook her head and brushed the wing off. “Let’s go see your mother, you great big foal.”
Folding her ears back, Spitfire bit back a whine. Then, narrowing her eyes, she sat up and slipped her wing around Redheart’s shoulders. Onlookers be damned, she was going to savour the moment while she could. “Fine,” she said, finding her smirk as she squeezed. “But if I’m right, and this whole visit is just to embarrass me and ruin my reputation beyond all repair, then I want something in return.”
Redheart’s eyes darted from left to right. A second passed before she leaned into the embrace and returned the smirk. She nosed her way under Spitfire’s chin, making the pegasus’ spine go rigid for very different reasons. “If you behave, maybe. What did you have in mind?”
“A kiss. Tonight.” Licking her lips, Spitfire shook out her feathers against Redheart’s back. “With tongue.”
“And whatever happened to those boundaries you said you understood?”
“I’m crossing a line willingly letting my mom get her hooves on me with you around.” Spitfire waggled her ears and fumbled with her hooves until they nudged Redheart’s. “I think we can afford one kiss when nopony else is around.”
Redheart hummed, grinning as she danced her hooves away from Spitfire’s. “We’ll see. It might be worth watching you squirm.”
“No dice, Red. We go once this deal is made.” As she shifted her shoulders, she pulled Redheart in against her. Her fur was warm and soft. “Or else I’m just going to hold you right here and see what makes you squirm.”
At that, Redheart lightly bonked her on the head. “May I remind you that I can call for the orderlies to escort you back to your room?”
Spitfire’s grin only sharpened in response. With devilish intent, she leaned in to nose against Redheart’s cheek. “How do you expect to call for anypony when you’re too busy being kissed to yell?”
“Oh, fine.” Heaving a sigh, Redheart rolled her eyes as she pushed Spitfire away and shrugged off her wing. She stood and fixed the nursing cap upon her head, the picture of a professional at work. “Anything if it means stopping your whining. But,” she said, shooting a smoldering if irritated look over her shoulder, “I will not be held responsible when you melt.”
“I’ll be melting?” Spitfire asked, grinning wide as she hopped to her hooves. There was an extra skip to her step and swish to her tail as she pranced to Redheart’s side. “Excuse you, who held whom last night?”
Redheart arched a single eyebrow. Her smirk spoke volumes. “As I said, I will not be held responsible. Now, come along.”
There was considerably more space in Spitfire’s room once the last of the flowers had been cleared out—not that they went to waste, of course. Several ‘anonymous’ donations were made all over the hospital, from the foal’s ward to the ICU, bringing a little bit of joy and a smile to the patients of Ponyville General, or so Redheart told her.
Now, the room was as bare as when she first woke up in it, save for one flower Spitfire kept on her nightstand. A few books had to be moved to the floor to make room, but the lilac Redheart chose her was a far prettier sight than the complete works of Hoofin’s A History of Ancient Roam.
When they swung the door open to Spitfire’s room, Doctor Horse flashed his teeth in a grin. “Ah, there they are!” Chuckling to himself, he lifted his glasses off of his muzzle in the glow of his magic and pulled a handkerchief from his lab coat. A knowing edge honed his smile as he wiped the lenses of his glasses. “We were starting to wonder what was taking you two. Poor Missus Flare here had to endure my terrible sense of humour for far too long!”
“We were out in the gardens, Doctor. Captain Spitfire likes to take her walks out there and wanted to linger a little longer than usual.” As Redheart spoke, Spitfire cast her a sidelong glance and arched her eyebrow. She flickered her feathers, the tips ghosting over pristine white coat and drawing a lazy swish from her pink tail.
“Ah, I see. It’s good to hear Spitfire’s enjoying the nice weather.” Stuffing his handkerchief away, Doctor Horse replaced his glasses on his muzzle. The greenish-blue of his eyes twinkled as he peered over them at the pair in the doorway. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel as if he were casting one of his X-Ray spells. “Any particular reason why you were lingering?”
Redheart cleared her throat, eyes flicking over to Spitfire. To most ponies, the flickering of feathers would have been an innocent, natural movement for a pegasus, but she knew better. Given how many ponies he treated, perhaps Doctor Horse did, too. “Not a clue.”
“Call it motherly instinct,” the fourth pony in the room said, her voice flowing like warm honey. The sound of it simultaneously put Spitfire at ease while filling her with dread. Movement from one of the chairs in the room caught her eye, and she watched as her mother slid to her hooves. “But I have a feeling it had something to do with the company.”
Raising three foals as troublemaking as Spitfire, Blaze, and Rapidfire put little grey into Stormy Flare’s mane of fire. She stood, her posture impeccable and her usual kind, motherly smile warming her pale yellow muzzle, but there was a certain familiar glint of mischief in her rusty red eyes that dried Spitfire’s mouth.
How often had she seen that glint in her brother and sister’s eyes, or in her own reflection for that matter? Far too often, and in the eyes of her mother, the sight was terrifying to anypony who knew her well.
Spitfire swallowed and offered a smile. No matter her rank, station, or age, once her mother’s eyes fell on her, she felt no older than the filly who begged for permission to race the older ponies after school. “Hi, Mom.”
Stormy smiled. Her feathers fluffed as she smoothed out the sleeves of her favourite purple blouse and adjusted the string of pearls she wore around her neck. “Hello, dear.”
“Well, now that we found your daughter,” Doctor Horse started, straightening his tie and grinning another toothy smile, “I’ll leave you two be. Patients to see, physicals to give—you know how it goes! Nurse Redheart, shall we give them some time?”
Before Redheart could answer, Stormy cut in, trotting over to where they stood by the door. “Actually, I’d like to speak with Nurse Redheart about my daughter.” As her mother’s eyes left her, Spitfire felt her shoulders begin to sag and relax. “A mother does have her concerns, after all.”
Both of Spitfire’s ears stood on end. Instinct told her to run and she looked to Redheart with the slightest twitch in her eye.
Redheart, for her part, looked from Doctor Horse, to Stormy, to Spitfire. The latter jerked her head, her own eyes flicking from her nurse to her mother. “Oh. Um, of course not.”
Nodding, Doctor Horse spared each of them a smile before he cantered to the door. “In that case, I’ll leave you ladies be. It was a pleasure meeting you, Missus Flare.”
“The pleasure was all mine, Doctor. And please, just Stormy is fine. ‘Missus Flare’ makes me sound so old!”
“I’ll keep that in mind!” Doctor Horse’s eyes lingered on Redheart as his magic enveloped the doorknob. He raised one eyebrow, to which the earth pony mare bit her lip and looked away at in response. Chuckling softly, he shook his head and left, closing the door behind him.
In the silence of his departure, Spitfire shuffled her weight from hoof to hoof. She resisted the urge to chew the inside of her cheek as the tips of her primaries twitched. “So, what brings you all the way out here, Mom?”
“That kind of tone makes me think that you don’t believe I care when you get hurt, Spitfire.” The reproach in Stormy’s voice pinned Spitfire’s ears back, just like when she was caught stealing from the cookie jar as a foal. A familiar, motherly hoof rested on her shoulder, and she couldn’t help but duck her head at the weight that it carried. “Don’t you know that I love you?”
“Of course I do. It’s just ...” Spitfire succumbed and chewed the inside of her cheek. “You don’t usually fly out for these things unless it’s really serious.” After a beat, she placed her hoof over her mother’s and added, “And I love you, too.”
Clicking her tongue, Stormy lifted Spitfire’s chin with an outstretched wing. “Now, dear, I didn’t know how serious it was until I got Rapidfire’s letter in the mail.” That familiar, damned twinkle of mischief flickered behind her eyes. “Once I knew, I rushed out here as fast as I could.”
Spitfire’s heart skipped a beat. Renewed dread poured over her, draining the colour from her face as her mother turned her eyes to Redheart. A subtle twitch of the eyebrows was all it took for her suspicions to be confirmed.
Rapidfire.
“Now,” Stormy said, stepping over to Redheart, her smile a little too kind, “Nurse Redheart, or may I just call you Redheart?”
Redheart blinked, then smiled. “Redheart is fine.”
The tip of Stormy’s tail flicked. “Excellent. It’s so nice to meet you, Redheart. I’ve heard so much about you, and it’s wonderful to be able to thank you in person for looking after my baby.”
Blood rushed to Spitfire’s cheeks without permission. Acting on instinct, she flinched and heard herself say, “Mom! I’m not a baby anymore!”
Beside her, Redheart hid her laughter behind her hoof. The smile she wore creased the corner of her lips though, and a twinkle that looked much too like Stormy’s shined in her eyes. “Of course, and I hope you’ve heard good things.”
Stormy threw her head back and laughed. Waving her hoof, she batted the concern away. “Oh, naturally wonderful things!” The corner of her mouth twitched and Spitfire bit her lip as her mother’s smile shifted into something more wolfish. It was subtle, too subtle perhaps for Redheart to notice. “I also wanted to commend you for doing such a good job. I know from experience how big of a foal my daughter can be, especially when she’s sick or hurt.”
Redheart giggled, her smile growing to a wicked, delightful little smirk. “Oh, really now?”
It was too late, Spitfire knew, but that didn’t stop her ears from pinning back or from her voice to warble out in a whining, tinny tone, “Mooooooom!”
“Hush now, sweetie. Redheart and I are talking.” Fire, indomitable and unquenchable, burned in Stormy’s eyes as they flicked over to Spitfire. “Go lie down like a good patient, now. So, Redheart, how have you managed to care for my daughter without throwing her out the window?”
Spitfire grumbled, ducking her head low as she shuffled to her bed. All the while, she felt Redheart’s eyes on her and heard devilish intent bleed into her voice, sending a wonderful chill down her spine while keeping her ears splayed back. “Patience, mostly. Patience and scotch.”
Stormy giggled in return, but Spitfire knew that her smile wouldn’t have changed. She had a poker face that matched even the likes of Celestia, a mare with millennium of practice. “Ah, yes, a tried and true method when it comes to my Spitfire, I’m afraid. But—” A shift in tone made Spitfire freeze, one hoof on the mattress. “—there’s something to love despite it all, isn’t there?”
“Oh. Um, well.” There was a note of hesitancy in Redheart’s voice, one that made Spitfire perk one ear up. Swivelling her head, she watched the corner of her mother’s lips twitch and spread into a smirk she had seen her sister wear countless times. The nurse, for her part, flicked both of her ears and glanced to the side. “I suppose she has a way of keeping things interesting.”
The tips of Stormy’s wings twitched. “Really? How so?”
“I can hardly remember a dull moment while she’s been under my care.” Though Redheart looked to her with a smile, Spitfire winced. Folding her ear back down, she crawled into bed. Phrasing it that way was generous, to say the least. “There were the times I caught her trying to wander around the hospital when she was supposed to be resting, for example.” A delightful, chime of a giggle gave cause for amber eyes to meet blue. They sparkled with an affection and care that would have spread a wide, goofy smile were it not for their visitor. “Or the flower shop I walked into the other day instead of a hospital room.”
“Oho?” Flicking her eyes back to her daughter, Stormy’s smirked sharpened. Already, Spitfire felt a slow burn heat up under her fur. There was no escape. “And what was Spitfire doing with a flower shop in her room? It sounds almost like she was trying to impress somepony.”
Finally, realization dawned in Redheart’s eyes at Stormy’s tone. Spitfire met her eyes and, with deliberate slowness, she took a single step back.
Before she could take another, Stormy unfurled her wings and cantered around Redheart’s side. Her smile, a sweet thing, held a false promise of safety. “Do you know why my daughter might do such a thing, Nurse Redheart?”
Redheart’s ears twitched as a soft pink bloomed on her cheeks. At the sight, Stormy’s grin grew. “U-um,” she stammered. Then, with a strained smile, she hopped to the side and out of the pegasus’ wingspan. “Maybe Spitfire could shed some light for us both! She did it, after all.”
Spitfire stiffened as her mother’s eyes fell on her. “Don’t drag me into this!”
“And don’t raise your voice to me!” Though she tutted, Redheart’s smile was a smidgen too wide. A bead of sweat built up on her forehead. “Answer your mother like a good filly.”
“What?” Spitfire squawked. “She was asking you, not me!”
“Maybe,” Stormy said, flicking her eyes between the two. With an air of ease, she walked over to one of the bedside chairs and slid into it, allowing her to watch both mares at the same time. “But I believe she has a point, dear. What were you doing with a flower shop in your room?”
“I—um—” The feathers in Spitfire’s good wing ruffled and shook. Chewing her lip, she looked to Redheart, her eyes imploring.
To her dismay, she only ducked her head in response and shuffled to the side.
Stormy cleared her throat, amusement dancing in her eyes. Why, oh why couldn’t she have made Blaze and Fleetfoot suffer so? “I’m waiting, Spitfire.”
“Um.” Flicking her tail, Spitfire fiddled with the hem of her gown before she looked up at her mother with a smile every bit as strained as Redheart’s. “I really like flowers? Uh, they make me feel better?”
By the window, Redheart slapped her hoof to her face.
Humming, Stormy nodded her head once. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said in a tone that suggested anything but. Then, as she lifted a hoof to adjust her earring, she released Spitfire from her gaze. “Well, whatever the reason, bless your heart, Nurse Redheart.”
“Me?” Redheart blinked. “Why?”
“For taking care of my daughter, of course!” A quiet, airy chuckle floated from Stormy’s lips as she leaned forward. The hoof that stroked Spitfire’s foreleg was soft, but the eyes that locked onto her burned just beneath the surface with a fire that made her pinions stand on end. “Now, Spitfire, have you been behaving yourself for this kind mare?”
Even though Redheart was watching, Spitfire couldn’t help but wither and fold her ears back. “Yes, Mama.”
Stormy clicked her tongue, a sound that always preceded a lecture. “Walking around the hospital when you’re not supposed to is behaving?” A mother’s disappointment rang true in her tone, sending Spitfire further down her bed to the safety of her blankets. “And lying to your mother about why you filled your room with flowers is behaving?”
Spitfire slid down further while Redheart lifted her hoof to her mouth. Though she dare not risk looking away, a quick glance to the side showed mirth lighting up and twinkling in her eyes. “No, Mama.”
If Stormy noticed Redheart’s reaction, she didn’t show it. Instead, she looked down at her daughter, one eyebrow raised. “Then why did you buy the flowers, Spitfire?”
In the corner, a single, choked giggle escaped Redheart and Spitfire stared at her blankets. Wrinkling her snout and pinning her ears back, she mumbled to her chest.
“Speak up, Spitfire. We can’t hear you.”
“But Mom—”
“I said speak up, young lady.”
The edges of Redheart’s smile poked up from behind her hoof and she turned away, putting her back to the pair. As Spitfire whined, she saw the mare’s shoulders start to shake. “Okay!” Dragging her hooves down her face, she relented. “I got them all for Redheart!”
The tiniest of smirks broke through Stormy’s mask. “Aha.”
“But it was an accident!” Fire spread over Spitfire’s muzzle and she could picture her sunny yellow coat turning a dark shade of red. “It was only supposed to be a few, but then my friend who went to the flower store panicked and bought them all!”
“There, doesn’t it feel better to let it all out?” Stormy reached out and patted Spitfire’s hoof, to which she pouted in reply. “Though that does lead me to another question.”
Dismay coloured Spitfire’s voice. “What now?”
“The question is why, Spitfire.” Stormy’s rusty red eyes lifted from Spitfire and honed in on Redheart’s back. “Why did you want to buy any flowers for this kind nurse? It can’t just be because of all of the care you’ve received. Plenty of nurses have endured your bellyaching and scandalous flirtatious ways in the past.”
Both of Redheart’s ears stood on end and she turned back around, wiping the corners of her eyes. “What?”
Now, Stormy’s grin resembled that of a timberwolf’s. “Oh yes, I’m well aware of how my little darling Spitfire can be sometimes. I’ve spoken to her nurses in the past and while they’ve all taken it in stride, I’ve never seen any of them walk away with a bouquet of roses before.”
“It was a red columbine,” Spitfire muttered under her breath, drawing a flick of the ear and glance from her mother. For a brief second, the mischief disappeared, leaving the warmth and comfort she sought on a stormy summer night as a foal.
“Be that as it may,” Stormy said, her voice once more smooth and warm, “it does make a mother wonder what else might be going on.”
Spitfire bit her lip. As her eyes wandered off to the right, they found Redheart’s. Sunlight flooded in from the window behind her, bathing her in a bright, golden glow. She tilted her head to the side, a loose strand of her mane falling loose to curl around her face. Her fur, as white as the summer clouds pegasi so loved to lounge on, shone in the afternoon sun and only seemed to brighten at the soft smile she wore so well. Then, there were her eyes.
Dear Celestia, her eyes.
Slowly, Spitfire’s ears lifted from her scalp as an equally slow, warm smile spread over her muzzle.
And, as the moment lingered, Redheart looked to the side, shuffling her hooves as she brushed the loose strand of pink back into place. A few weeks ago, it would have been the perfect opportunity to pounce, something Stormy knew too well.
“Is something the matter, Redheart?” she asked, her voice making both other ponies jump. “You’re looking flushed. Are you feeling quite well?”
“It’s nothing,” Redheart said a little too quickly. Though she looked to the side, her smile was still there, as stubborn as the mare who put it there. “I think I just need some water.”
“Come now, you’re practically glowing!” And glowing she was. It would have been easy to comment, perhaps even easy to make her squirm, but Spitfire settled for keeping her smile and warmth flowing. “Maybe you ought to sit down?”
“No, no, really, that’s not necessary.”
“Are you sure?” A keen edge entered Stormy’s voice, sharpening it to a deadly point. “I brought some of Spitfire’s foal pictures along. Why don’t you sit down and took a look at them with me?”
A sudden, icy cold brought the warmth and Spitfire’s smile to a sputtering halt. “What?”
Redheart, her eyes wide and her ears swiveled forwards, echoed her. “What?”
“I’ve made it a habit of carrying my brag books around with me,” Stormy said, reaching for her purse resting on the floor next to her chair. “You see, with all three of my wonderful foals in the Wonderbolts, I have a fair bit of bragging to do. And, as my marriage has taught me, plenty of ego that needs occasional deflating.”
The dread on Spitfire’s face must have been comical as the warm, tender smile on Redheart’s face switched out for a wicked smirk. “I think I’m liking the sound of this, Missus Flare.”
“Not you, too.” Flare clicked her tongue. “Just Stormy will do, Redheart. Now, why don’t you come sit down and we’ll see what kind of hummingbird my Spitfire was when she was little, hmm?”
As Redheart cantered over, Spitfire fell back on her pillows and covered her face with her hooves.
Somepony up there most certainly had it out for her.
Minutes ticked by, each passing at a pace so glacial Spitfire couldn’t help but wonder if the universe truly delighted in her suffering. A pair of giggling voices reached her ears as if to answer her, an answer that drove her another inch under her blankets.
Redheart and Stormy sat huddled together in her bedside chairs. They had yet to move since her mother pulled out that cursed picture album from the depths of her saddlebags save for the occasional turning of the page. The grins they shot over their shoulders with every picture were sharp, wickedly delighted things. She couldn’t see them from under her sheets, but she knew they were there. She'd seen it enough times on her mother's face to know, and she was quickly realizing her girlfriend-to-be delighted in watching her squirm. The knowledge that with every photo her image cracked a little bit more while the other sent a kaleidoscope of butterflies aflutter in her stomach—a unique combination that left Spitfire squirming on her hospital bed.
At first, Spitfire had pushed herself to her haunches. Though she clutched her pillow to her stomach, she vowed to sit her tallest, every bit the Wonderbolt she knew she was. For a time, she focused on the gentle rising and falling of Redheart’s slender shoulders. She watched, feeling a knot in her stomach begin to loosen and unwind with each giggling chime of laughter.
Piercing, burning blue peeked over those shoulders, prompting Spitfire to squeeze her pillow just a little bit more. Embarrassing? Yes. Reputation ruining? Possibly. But would she take it all like the mare she presented herself as to the rest of the world? Definitely.
A Wonderbolt’s pride was infallible, after all. They were stalwart, commanded attention and respect, and held their chins high no matter the circumstance. A little stroll down memory lane could not and would not break a mare of Spitfire’s calibre.
It was a nice resolve, one that barely lasted past the inside cover.
A self-portrait. Why, oh sweet Celestia why, did her mother hang on to that of everything? She could still see the chalkboard in her mind’s eye, the same one mounted on the denser, packed cloud walls of her school in Cloudsdale. She could still see the assignment, written in the large, friendly letters of her old teacher, and remembered the little swell of pride burning in her chest as she took her crayon in her hoof.
‘What I Want To Be When I Grow Up.’
Could there have been an easier assignment for her? Ever since she saw her first show, and ever since she had seen the Captain Firefly in her prime, she knew what she was going to be. Spitfire the Wonderbolt. It had a nice ring to it then, and it still did now.
Oh, how she now hated her foalhood self, brimming with excitement and budding with a giddy energy as she buzzed home, her notebooks stuffed down into her saddlebags. She remembered her mother’s smile when she smoothed out the paper, felt a small, cocooning warmth as she heard Stormy’s words whispered into her ear.
“You can be anything you want to be,” Stormy said those many years ago. Her voice was hushed, but the look in her eye made Spitfire feel like she could be anything. “And I know you’re going to be the best Wonderbolt Equestria’s ever seen.”
For months, Spitfire woke up to see her self-portrait stuck up on the fridge. Foalish fantasies of her in a Wonderbolt uniform of own, flying over cheering and adoring crowds ran free through her head as she poured over her morning cereal.
Part of her wondered what happened to that drawing. Now that she knew, that same part of her wondered if it really would have been so bad if it was indeed thrown out.
But no, of course not. Here it was, and Spitfire’s resolve nearly crumpled then and there at Redheart’s first adoring coos. It lasted a few pictures longer, but at last the shameful, horrifying heat burning over her muzzle won out. Unable to bear the giggling laughter, the knowing, predatory looks, and the hushed words that passed between the two, she fell back against her mattress. With every photograph fawned over, she shrank just a little bit more into her bed until only the tip of her mane poked out from underneath her blanket.
Now, suffering the suffocating heat under her covers, all she could do was listen as Redheart and Stormy dug deeper and deeper into her foalhood.
“Oh, goodness,” Redheart said, her voice dripping with mirth. Though she could not see her, Spitfire could imagine the way her eyes must be twinkling—a thought almost tempting enough to draw her from the safety of her blanket. Almost. “Is this Spitfire and Blaze having a bath together?”
Were it not for the heat suffusing her muzzle, Spitfire would have sworn she felt the colour drain from her face.
“Oh, yes. Believe it or not, bath time was one of their favourite things as foals.” The tone Stormy spoke with drew a quiet groan from the back of Spitfire’s throat. Eyes shut, she dragged her hooves down her face, ignoring the little sigh that floated from her mother’s lips. “Look at how much fun they're having.”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.” A delighted giggle—Redheart’s giggle—perked Spitfire’s ears up. “Blaze certainly looks happy, but something tells me that’s because of the water she’s dumping over little Spitfire’s head. They’ve always been like that then, have they?”
Stormy clicked her tongue, and Spitfire heard her ruffle her feathers. “Quite the pair, aren’t they? Yes, they’ve always been like that.”
“Even as little foals.” A note of tenderness crept into Redheart’s voice, one that made Spitfire’s insides squirm with the force of the butterflies taking wing. “She’s so cute.”
Bringing her hooves down her face, Spitfire clasped them together in front of her chest. If there was any kindness in the universe, any mercy to be had, then her bed would swallow her whole, and be quick about it, too.
“A little rapscallion of a filly if I’ve ever seen one.” Spitfire all but heard Stormy shake her head in time with the dry chuckle that fell from her mouth. There was a certain look she wore, one that was both tired and loving, that carried into her voice. “These two wouldn’t get into a bath unless it was together, and they splashed around and squirmed so much it’s a wonder they got clean at all.”
Redheart tut-tutted. The giggle that followed sent Spitfire further under her blanket, mumbling desperate grumblings into the warm, scratchy fabric. “So she’s had trouble behaving from the start?”
The suddenness and force of Stormy’s laugh made Spitfire jump. “Oh, Redheart, my dear, that’s putting it lightly. Spitfire and Blaze were hooffuls on their own, and they only egged each other on when they were together.”
Spitfire felt Redheart’s eyes on her through her blanket, bright and piercing and breathtaking. “Always a little rebel.”
“If that’s what you think of her now,” Stormy said, dipping down into a lower, more foreboding register, “then you should see what she looked like at one of her birthday parties.”
Spitfire’s groan was something both keening and miserable. “Mom, noooo!”
Stormy Flare chuckled. It was warm and sweet like honey, and the sound of it brought Spitfire’s hooves back to her face. Her cheeks felt hot, driven up another degree by the chime of Redheart’s giggling laughter. “Did you hear something, Nurse Redheart?”
“Why, no, Missus Flare, I don’t believe I did.” The smirk was audible in Redheart’s voice, sharp and sending a shiver through Spitfire’s wing. “Everypony knows that blanket lumps can’t talk. It must have been the wind.”
Spitfire sputtered. That was almost enough for her to throw off her covers. Almost. Her last vestige of pride stilled her forelegs. She could not—would not—let her mare and her mother bask in the satisfaction of seeing her flushed muzzle, glowing a bright red, or the pouting scowl that made the corner of her lips twitch.
Another chuckle from Stormy bristled the hairs on the back of her neck. “My thoughts exactly. Now, where did that picture go?” Pages turned with a light thwap of photos and crinkle of paper. Her mother clicked her tongue, an old, familiar sound she made when in thought. “Ah, here it is. I wonder, can you guess which one is Spitfire?”
“Oh no.” Another giggle came from Redheart, and Spitfire could picture the way she hid her smile behind her hoof. “She’s not the little cutie with cake all over her face, is she?”
Of course.
Her groan went unheard as her mother tittered. She shrunk another inch under her blankets, pressing her back into the mattress and flattening her ears to her scalp. “She is. Blaze wasn’t quite as delighted, though. Why, Spitfire couldn’t even wait for me to finish singing ‘Happy Birthday’ before she dove in!”
Any other time, Redheart’s cooing croon would have made her knees quiver. Today, it made her thump her head back on her bed. “And is that little baby Rapidfire sitting on the table?”
“It is.” Stormy inhaled, and Spitfire couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the lofty sigh that came with the exhale. After so many years, it was a reflex. “He’s always been such a sweet colt. Always so well behaved.”
From the safety of her blankets, Spitfire blew a raspberry. Part of her dared to believe Redheart arched a brow at the very least.
“Has he?” Redheart asked. The skepticism in her tone warmed Spitfire’s heart and spread a small smile with the little rush of affection that came with it. “I must admit, he didn’t quite seem that way to me when he was here a couple weeks ago.”
“Yes, he can be a bit of a troublemaker, but I can guarantee that he’s a sweet, good-natured, well-behaved boy. It’s all part of the Wonderbolt act he puts on. Spitfire, however ...” Stormy trailed off, and Spitfire saw the wicked smirk pulling at her mother’s lips when she closed her eyes. “She never could resist when something sweet was put in front of her.”
“So she’s always been like that?” Something crept into Redheart’s tone. It was something lower, and something that perked one of Spitfire’s ears up. “Because I can assure you I’ve experienced that firsthand.”
“You have, are you?”
“Oh yes, quite.” A knowing edge cut into Stormy’s voice, something that Redheart must have heard, too. The nurse cleared her throat and when she next spoke, it was perhaps a little too quickly. “But look at her, though! She’s just adorable with all of that frosting in her fur. She looks much too satisfied with herself.”
“Like the cat who caught the canary,” Stormy supplied. “Again, she’s always been like that. I swear she got it from her father. And it is for precisely that reason I carry one picture in particular around with me. Did you know that for many young pegasi born in Cloudsdale, coming to the ground for the first time is like seeing the ocean for the first time?”
The little spurt of warmth that took hold in Spitfire’s chest sputtered out in the wake of another long, loud, and low groan. “Not that one, too.”
“I think I’ve heard that from some of the pegasi around town.” There was a note of curiosity colouring Redheart’s words, one that ignored Spitfire’s plea. “I remember some of the weather team telling me how amazed they were.”
“As they should. If all anypony ever knew were clouds beneath their hooves, then you can imagine what something like solid ground would feel like.” A hoof, her mother’s hoof, tapped on the linoleum floor. “Blaze and Spitfire were born to fly. The sky and the clouds are their home. How do you think their first trip to the ground would have gone?”
The only word to describe Redheart’s next giggle was ‘wicked’. “I’m sure I can only imagine.”
“Just you wait. It’s my second-favourite picture, and only partially because I’m in it.”
Spitfire knocked her head back against her pillow. With each little thump she felt a little more of her ego, her cool, and her reputation bleed out of her. “No, no, no, no.”
“Aww, they look so scared!”
Amusement and motherly love rolled off of Stormy’s tongue as she chuckled. “They stayed huddled up on that little cloud we brought down for almost an hour before I convinced them to come down. Rapidfire had no trouble, naturally.”
“I was about to say. Look at him, he looks right at home pulling up all of that grass.”
Stormy snorted. “Meanwhile, his older sisters whimpered and sulked for ages before they even bothered to set a hoof down on the ground. Although ...” A wan warmth filled her voice, hushing it to a near-whisper that made Spitfire pause. “I suppose I really shouldn’t poke fun at my little darlings.”
Again, Spitfire almost sat up. The melancholy in her mother’s voice was unmistakable, but the fragile tenderness that clung to it kept her still.
“Missus Flare?”
“They ran off once they got their hooves on the ground. Took off like a couple of bolts shot from a crossbow,” Stormy said and, though it may truly have been a trick of the wind, the smallest of sniffles shook the sudden silence that fell over the room. “They ran and played and laughed until they could hardly walk anymore. I’d never seen them have so much fun before, and they wanted to get me something.” This time, there was a definite sniffle. It was small, barely more than a puff of air, but it jerked at Spitfire’s heartstrings all the same. “So they brought me this from the forest near where we landed.”
The crinkle of paper came with the turning of the page. Both ears standing on end, Spitfire listened as Redheart said, “A rock?”
“Yes. The little sweethearts.” Stormy’s laugh was watery in a way that both sent an aching pain through Spitfire’s chest but left a fragile warmth in its wake. “Rocks aren’t that common in Cloudsdale. They were fascinated by it, and wanted me to have it. I still have it, actually.”
“Sweethearts,” Redheart mumbled. For a moment, Spitfire felt eyes fall on her. Through the blanket, she felt the affection that brimmed from them, and then felt her cheeks warm for a very different reason. “Yes, that sounds like her.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, Stormy cleared her throat. “Yes, but, moving along, there are also a few personal photos of Spitfire in here. Like this one here. This is Spitfire after she won her first medal.”
The laugh that fell from Redheart’s lips was soft. “She looks very proud.”
“We all were. She bounced around the house for hours when we got home. I swear I’ve never lost so many vases in one day as I did that day. Now, Redheart, I’m afraid that Spitfire would not want this next picture seen by anypony, least of all you.”
An icy ball of dread started to build in Spitfire’s stomach, drawing a shiver as it replaced the warmth that began to swell in her chest. Her mind raced. How many moments were left to expose? How many more could she expose?
“Everypony struggles when they go through adolescence,” Stormy said, her voice growing with each word and sharpening back to the fine point that kept Spitfire’s back straight and her shoulders squared when in her presence. “My darling Spitfire was no exception. I’m quite sure you’re familiar with how ponies go through ‘phases’ at this time in their lives?”
Spitfire’s blood ran cold. No. No. She couldn’t have a picture of that. There was no way. Celestia above, the universe could not do this.
“I may have gone through one or two myself. Dare I ask what happened to that sweet little filly who brought you a rock?”
Spitfire could have said something. She should have said something. When she opened her mouth, however, all that came out was a strangled croak. Stunned into submission, her voice remained lodged firmly in her throat while her mother chuckled a dark, evil chuckle. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?”
The page turned. For a moment, silence reigned in the hospital bedroom. All Spitfire could hear was the pounding of her heart in her ears and the quiet prayers she sent to stars above. All she could feel was her blanket weighing on her like lead, smothering and trapping her as heat coursed through her muzzle, burning her cheeks a fiery red.
Then, after a small eternity, Redheart made a sound. Not quite a laugh and not quite a gasp, Spitfire could only imagine the look on the mare’s face. “Oh,” she said. “Goodness.”
“That’s one way to put it. There are ponies in the Royal Guard who would blush at what I said when she came home that day.” While her mother spoke, Spitfire stared up through her blankets at the ceiling. Her head swam, foggy and disoriented as the heat suffusing her muzzle battled with the icy dread that sat like a lump in her stomach.
“So, the mane?”
Spitfire’s voice slipped free in a quiet groan. Dear Celestia, her mane. It was bad enough she could never go to a carnival without Blaze, Rapidfire, Fleetfoot, and Soarin reminding her exactly of how poor her taste was as an adolescent, but to know that there was photographic proof?
What was she thinking? Cotton candy blue and bubblegum pink? It’s a wonder her mother let her leave the house like that.
“Oh, yes, her mane.” Stormy sighed in a way only a mother could. “She was so adamant that it wasn’t a phase. This was the ‘real her’ and I simply didn’t understand.”
Another pause long enough for Redheart to nod or lick her lips passed. “And the piercings?”
Spitfire’s blood froze. The piercings. How could she forget? If there is any justice in the world, she thought, then I’ll just catch fire now and be done with it.
“One couldn’t be hip with the punk rock crowd without them, or so I was told.” Clicking her tongue, Spitfire didn’t need to look to see the way Stormy shook her head. She could picture the way she pursed her lips, a look sent tendrils of guilt worming through her insides. “It was quite the craze that hit Cloudsdale back then. Nearly everypony was headbanging to Trot Punk, Pega Pistols, and Ponywise. My daughter included.”
“I can see.” The springs of the chair Redheart sat in squeaked as she shifted her weight. When she next spoke, there was a lighter inflection to her tone, one that dared Spitfire to believe in the small smile she pictured playing across her face. “There was bit of a punk rock movement in Ponyville around the same time, actually. I know those bands.”
“Don’t tell me you were a punk rocker when you younger?”
Redheart laughed, something that pinned Spitfire’s ears back against her head while sending her feathers aflutter. “Certainly nothing like how Spitfire was. My gosh, I can’t get over her mane.”
“Well, she did always love an audience.” The two shared a giggle, and the merciful clap of the photo album closing graced Spitfire’s ears. “But I think that’s a long enough stroll down memory lane for one day. It’s a good thing you’re in the room, actually.” A softer, satisfied puff of laughter sounded from Stormy’s mouth. “I fear that my daughter may have just died from embarrassment.”
Oh, if only. Letting out another groan—far too many for one day—Spitfire rolled onto her side and pressed her hooves over her ears.
It did little to stop the chime of Redheart’s giggle from reaching her, however. The sound brought a fresh heat to lick at her cheeks. “She’s a big girl. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
“All the same!” Hooves clacked down on the floor, followed by the ruffling of feathers. “I think I’ll step outside for a moment to get some fresh air while you resuscitate her. I will leave the picture book here, though,” Stormy said as her steps carried her voice further away. “There are a few more in there worth a look. I’m sure Spitfire will be a good patient and answer any questions that you might have.”
Redheart hummed, a sound that made Spitfire squirm beneath her blanket. “Tempting.”
“As all good things in life are,” Stormy chimed in a sing-song tone. “Now, I’ll be back shortly. Behave yourself, Spitfire.”
Spitfire grunted, a response met with a chuckle as her mother left the room. A moment passed after the door clicked shut before she heard another set of hooves touch down on the floor. They walked softly, barely making a noise against the linoleum below as they walked around the side of the bed.
The mattress shifted, dipping down and squeaking as another climbed up to sit on its edge. The curves of a silhouetted Redheart appeared, close enough for Spitfire to feel her tail swish over her hindquarters.
Another moment crawled by, and still Spitfire said nothing. Heat coursed through her muzzle, an unrelenting force that only grew when she felt Redheart’s hoof trace a light trail down her shoulder, along her foreleg, and over the bump of the cast around her wing.
A soft, enticing laugh whispered close to her ear. “Am I going to have to coax you out of there again?” Spitfire heard Redheart’s hum reverberate in her throat as the mare nosed her cheek through the blanket. “After last night, I’m sure I could come up with a few more creative ways if I really had to.”
Wrinkling her snout, Spitfire grumbled under her breath and started to squirm out from under her covers. She cursed her mother for taking those pictures, cursed herself for letting those pictures survive this long, and cursed Redheart the damnable satisfaction that filled her voice.
When she poked her head up and met Redheart’s eyes, that last curse suddenly lost almost all meaning. Blue eyes sparkled and shone, bathing Spitfire in a very different kind of warmth and affection that nearly pulled the pouting scowl from her face.
Redheart’s giggle, however, brought her pout back in full force. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Tilting her head to the side, Redheart fixed Spitfire with a smile both demure and sly. Her hoof, snow-white and soft, brushed over the her cheek. Warm met warm, and the Wonderbolt could do little to repress the shiver that travelled down her spine. “You’re just cute when you blush, that’s all.”
Despite everything, Spitfire managed to huff. Barely more than a puff of air, she closed her eyes and forced her pout into a small scowl even as she nuzzled into Redheart’s touch. “Well, great for you, ‘cause I think it’s permanent.”
A soft little thing of a laugh slipped from Redheart’s lips. Her hoof dropped from Spitfire’s cheek to trace around her chest in little circles. “Lucky me.”
This time, flaring her nostrils, Spitfire managed a good and proper huff.
“Oh, hush, you.” Something sly twisted Redheart’s smile as she batted at Spitfire’s foreleg. “Don’t act like such a great, big foal. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Not that bad? Not that bad?” Spitfire echoed. Muzzle wrinkled, she sat up, narrowing her eyes to specks of burning amber as she brought herself snout-to-snout with her nurse. “After all of that? She just laid out every single embarrassing moment from my foalhood!” Goldenrod feathers ruffled as her wing flared out. “We’re not even dating and she’s already ruined any chance I had at sweeping you off of your hooves!”
To her surprise, aggravation, and delight, Redheart laughed in reply. Hot breath washed over Spitfire’s muzzle as bright blue eyes lidded. “I did tell you I was going to get you back for last night, didn’t ?”
“This is worse,” Spitfire said, pressing the tip of her nose to Redheart’s. “So, so much worse, and you know it.”
“Maybe I do.” A smirk that would have made any Wonderbolt proud flickered over the mare’s face. “And maybe I’ll just have to do the sweeping, hmm?” With a languid slowness that made her feathers twitch and tremble, Redheart nosed and nuzzled her way up Spitfire’s jaw to her ear. A quick, gentle nip at the base made her breath catch and her nurse laugh a breathy chuckle. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it? My little punk rocker.”
Ears folded down, Spitfire fell back away from Redheart. She groaned as she hit her pillows and dragged her hooves down her face. “Really?”
The mattress bent and shifted as Redheart stretched over it. A hoof brushed her side, and a tail not her own swished over her hind leg. “Come now. It’s not that bad, is it?”
With a snort, Spitfire glanced down her chest, retort ready on the tip of her tongue. It never made it past that, however, as she found her gaze locked with Redheart’s. The blue of her eyes blazed to life, glowing with a desire so naked she felt her blush renew itself over her muzzle.
A small, croaking noise was all she could manage as Redheart ducked down to plant a light, feathering kiss on her hoof. “Even if it was,” she said, never looking away as she crawled up Spitfire’s form and planting another kiss down on the crook of Spitfire’s foreleg, “I’m sure there must be some way I can make it better.”
The tip of Spitfire’s tail twitched and lashed from side to side under her blanket. Her wing gave a fitful flutter as Redheart crawled the rest of the way up her body, bringing their noses together again before leaving a long, lingering kiss on the corner of her lips. “What do you think?”
Spitfire opened her mouth, but all that escaped was a squeak as something hot and wet licked over her cheek. Redheart loomed over her, eyes captivating and a satisfied, victorious smile splitting her lips, and she couldn’t help the shiver that tingled her every nerve from head to tail. “M-maybe.”
“And there she is.” Leaning in close, all Spitfire could see was Redheart. “My little punk rocker.”
Like so many pieces of glass, the moment shattered. Rolling her eyes, Spitfire lolled her head back and forced her gaze to stay on the much less interesting white-tiled ceiling above. “Ugh,” she groaned, blanching as though she swallowed something sour, “do you have to?”
“And why wouldn’t I?” Bedsprings creaked once more as Redheart pulled away. Hooves clicked down on the floor, but Spitfire still felt her presence at her side. A hoof, as white as the clouds in the sky, brought their eyes back together and brushed a loose strand of mane away. “It only told me more of what I’ve come to know about you and what I like about you.”
Despite the soft, affectionate smile on Redheart’s muzzle, Spitfire scrunched up her muzzle. “Like what?”
“That underneath that flight uniform, you’re sweet,” Redheart said without missing a beat. “That you’re passionate, adorable, funny, charming, and with just enough of a rebellious flare—” A sudden heat filled her eyes, bringing the blue to a bright, smoldering light as she leaned in to give a little lick to the tip of Spitfire’s snout. “—to drive even the most stalwart of mares a little wild.”
Warmth bloomed out over Spitfire’s face, emanating from where Redheart licked her. Swallowing and wetting her suddenly dry lips, she found herself quite unable to look away. “A-and what about you?”
“Me?” Angling her head to the side, Redheart leaned in closer and closer until each and every whispered word washed over Spitfire’s fur. “I’m not the most stalwart of mares.”
Before so much as another thought had the time to cross Spitfire’s mind, she heard her breath catch once more. A weight settled over her upper torso, one complimented by a soft, strong hoof cupping her cheek and pulling her deeper into the kiss she found herself completely at her mercy to. For a moment, her entire world became Redheart.
Lost in the sensations of Redheart’s lips gently massaging her own, the biting scent of cinnamon tickling her nose, the hooves that held her, and the thumping of another’s heart against her chest, Spitfire did the only thing she could manage. Eyes fluttering shut, she moaned and let herself be guided back down to her bed.
With Redheart half-sprawled out over her, Spitfire let herself go limp. Guided by her mare’s lips, she returned the kiss just enough to let her drink everything in.
When at last they broke apart, Spitfire blinked hazily up at the ceiling. A purring laugh drew a flick of her ear and she soon found Redheart’s lips hovering hardly half an inch above her own. “A promise is a promise,” she said, her voice low and husky and oh-so-desirable. “Now that you’ve melted some, I’d better make good on the second half.”
The furrow of Spitfire’s brow barely held its ground for a second before it was washed away by Redheart’s lips. Another kiss, this one fueled by a hunger building behind the nurse’s eyes, had Spitfire’s hoof clutching at her bedsheets out of instinct.
When something hot and wet licked at her lower lip asking for entry, she nearly melted then and there on the spot. Just as she parted her lips and felt another’s tongue begin to explore her mouth, she felt Redheart stiffen above her.
The mare yelped into her mouth before her presence vanished altogether. Blinking, Spitfire glanced down. There, she saw Redheart’s face contorted in a grimace of pain and a hoof as orange as the sky at sunset twisting her ear. She followed the hoof up, over the sleeve of the purple blouse worn over it, to its owner.
Then, groaning long and low, Spitfire fell back to her pillows. “Moooooooom!”
“Don’t you ‘Mom’ me, young lady!” Stormy hissed, her voice level but with all the force of a whipcrack. The glare alone was enough to tuck Spitfire’s tail firmly between her legs as she scooted as far up against her headboard she could go.
“But—But—”
“I expected something to happen between you two after I slipped out,” Stormy said, snorting through flared nostrils at her daughter’s sputtering, “but I did not expect to walk in on you, Nurse Redheart, sticking your tongue down my daughter’s throat!”
A weight left Spitfire’s chest when her mother’s eyes slid from her to Redheart. Her shoulders stayed taut and tense, though, as her nurse winced under the force of Stormy’s glare. “Mom, I—”
Rusty, orange eyes flickered over to her, and Spitfire heard her jaw click shut. “Not a word, Spitfire. I’ll deal with you in a minute.”
Ears pinned back, Spitfire sunk against her pillows, mumbling to her blanket, “Yes, Mama.”
“M-Missus Flare!” Redheart squeaked. Her hooves reached up to Stormy’s clasped around her ear and gently tried to push away. The grimace on her face made Spitfire flinch in turn, helpless to watch as her soon-to-be girlfriend squirmed in the least enticing way. “I can explain!”
Wings, the kind that drew appreciative glances even to this day, unfurled and snapped as Stormy released Redheart’s ear. “Then you’d better explain right this second.” Her hoof came down on the floor with a clack that made both younger mares wince. “What if I was another nurse, hmm? Or perhaps a doctor or one of your superiors? Do they take kindly to their employees prench kissing their patients? I didn’t think those kinds of nurses were employed here!”
With each and every word, Redheart shrank back. Her ears folded back against her mane, taking a step back for every step Stormy took forward until her rump bumped into the nightstand. Her mouth opened and closed, throat bobbing as her eyes bounced around the room, no doubt searching in vain for an escape. “Th-they’re not! I was only—”
“Then explain.” In an instant, the heat vanished from Stormy’s voice. What was left was cooler, expectant, and in a way even more frightening. “Right this instant.”
“R-right. Well ...” Ever-so-slowly, a line of red spread over Redheart’s muzzle. On any other occasion, the sight would have warmed Spitfire’s smile. Now, under the watchful gaze of her mother, she couldn’t help but feel that blush was the beginning of their funeral pyre. “Um.”
Stormy’s brow arched high on her forehead. “I’m waiting, Nurse Redheart.”
Redheart shuffled her hooves. Her tail, a gossamer thing of pink that shimmered with every movement, twitched and flicked as she bit down on her lip. Their eyes met, hers wide and uncertain, before they flicked away. “W-well, you see—”
No. Nervous and squirming was something Spitfire hoped to see in her Redheart, something to be delighted in and perhaps encouraged with gentle teasing traces of her wing. This kind of nervous and squirming, however, could not stand.
And besides, what kind of Wonderbolt didn’t defend their mare?
Sitting up her tallest, Spitfire set her shoulders and squared her jaw. “It’s not Red’s fault, Mom.”
Without a word, Stormy shifted her gaze from Redheart to Spitfire. Her brow rose further, a look that would have had her feathers twitching and her head ducked between her shoulders as a foal. “Then whose was it, daughter dearest?”
Spitfire had faced dragons. She had faced manticores, ruthless drill sergeants, boar-headed fliers twice her weight, and reported to ponies powerful enough to move the sun and moon themselves. Even then, under her mother’s stare, she couldn’t help but swallow. “It’s my fault,” she said with only the slightest of wavers warbling her voice. “I made Redheart agree to a bet that if you were here to embarrass me in front of her, then she’d have to kiss me.”
Stormy’s other brow arched. The tip of her primaries twitched. It was hardly more than a quiver, but Spitfire’s ears pinned back all the same. “Is that so?”
Licking her lips, Spitfire nodded. “With tongue.”
“Well then.” Stormy’s gaze slid back to Redheart, and as Spitfire’s followed she found Redheart staring not at her mother, but at her. Her lips, soft and oh-so-kissable, were parted and her eyes wide. “Why would you agree to such a bet in the first place, Nurse Redheart?”
The beginning of a smile pulled at the corner of Redheart’s mouth. Something warm lit up behind her eyes, and she only blinked when Stormy cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, turning to face the elder mare, “to put it quite simply, because I wanted to.”
Both of Spitfire’s ears shot up. Well, yes, of course Redheart wanted to if she took the bet. Yet, hearing it out loud forced the pegasus to fight against the smile starting to wobble over her lips.
While they snuck smitten glances with each other, Stormy watched, silent and still. A good few seconds passed before Spitfire looked her way, and found her expression unreadable. The fur on the back of her neck tingled and stood on end. Solace in the form of Redheart’s eyes, twinkling and warm, kept her feathers unruffled and her tail stilled as her mother wrinkled her snout. “This is usually the part when the parent asks you what your intentions with my daughter are.”
Redheart tilted her head to the side. One ear perked up while the other lay flat against her scalp. “My intentions? Well ...” Trailing off, her smile spread with free reign over her muzzle. It was a soft, tender thing as she turned to Spitfire and closed the few hoofsteps that separated them. “I thought those would have been fairly obvious.”
It was Spitfire’s turn to cock her head to the side when Redheart rested her hoof over hers. “Red,” she whispered, brow furrowing as the mare chuckled, “what are you doing?”
For a moment, Redheart did nothing. Her eyes roamed over Spitfire, lidded and smoldering. When their gazes met, she felt her heart skip a beat. “Making my intentions perfectly clear, to both you and her.”
Then, without any other warning, Redheart leaned in. For the fourth time in half as many days, their lips found each other. The kiss itself was chaste, hardly longer than a few short seconds, but Spitfire felt her feathers fluff and her wing yearn to unfurl all the same. Her hoof twisted around and squeezed as they separated. As she blinked, she was only vaguely aware of her mother tapping her hoof a few feet away.
“Yes, Nurse Redheart,” Stormy said, impatience clipping her words. “I’ve seen this show once today already.”
With a soft, loving smile meant only meant for her to see, Redheart spun around. Spitfire sat up, flicking her eyes down to their entwined hooves before focusing back on her mother. “Then perhaps I should explain. To be frank, I’m taken with your daughter, Missus Flare.” Bright blue glanced over a slim, snow-white shoulder. “Almost entirely taken, as a matter of fact.”
Spitfire couldn’t stop her smile, not even if Rapidfire was promoted to captain while she was hospitalized. “Really?”
“Hush, Spitfire. I said I’d get to you in a minute.” Stormy squinted, her nose crinkled and her lips pressed into a thin line shrewder than any Saddle Arabian merchant’s. “Really?”
Redheart nodded, her smile growing as she squeezed Spitfire’s hoof. “I can say with absolute confidence that I fully intend to court your daughter as soon as she’s discharged from Ponyville General.”
Stormy hummed, a sound deep and rumbling like a building thunderstorm. Too often had it caused her to shrink down and wait for a scolding, but not today. Today, with Redheart’s words singing in her ears, Spitfire sat her tallest. Bolstered against her mother’s stare, she leaned forward and rubbed her cheek against her mare’s. Speaking out of the corner of her mouth, she said, “Not unless I court you first.”
Redheart’s ear flicked. Though she said nothing, the corner of her lips twitched and Spitfire felt the tip of her tail brush over her own before swishing away. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and the message came through, loud and clear. Challenge accepted.
A huff of air punctuated Stormy’s humming. “Still,” she said, wrinkling her nose at them, “it was very irresponsible to say the least to be snogging her like that when anypony could have walked in.” A well-trimmed eyebrow arched. “I thought you were better than that, Redheart.”
“I usually am.” Again their eyes met, and again the corner of Redheart’s mouth twitch as she fought to restrain the smile that Spitfire knew tried in vain to split her lips. Oh, what a sight it would be to see a smitten Nurse Redheart. “But, well ... I guess you could say your daughter has that kind of unusual effect on me.”
Stormy watched them for a long moment more. Her mouth twisted as her lips pursed and pulled to one side. A ruffling of feathers accompanied her ongoing hum that creased her muzzle while her gaze flicked from Spitfire, to Redheart, to their hooves clasped together. “And Spitfire, what are your intentions with this young lady?”
“My intentions?” Spitfire chuckled, flashing her mother an impish little grin. It was the same one she showed when she left for the Wonderbolt Academy, and the same one she wore when Stormy asked if she was sure she was ready to take on the mantle of Captain.
Both of Stormy’s ears swiveled forwards at the sight. Her brow furrowed as her eyes studied her daughter’s face. Through it all, Spitfire held her gaze, her smile, and Redheart’s hoof without even the faintest of tremors. Just like the day she joined the Academy and just like the day she took on her Captaincy, she knew one thing. This was what she wanted. Redheart was what she wanted, and nothing and nopony could stop her no matter how they tried.
She dipped her head and scooched closer to Redheart. When their shoulders met, she angled her smile into something a little more lopsided. “I’m going to date her. She’s going to be my girlfriend. And once this cast is off my wing,” she said, unfurling her uninjured wing over her mare’s withers, “I’m going to carry her off into the sunset.”
The smallest of smiles crept through Redheart’s composure, lighting up her eyes while Stormy’s soft laughter filled the room. “Of course you are.” Bit by bit, the hardness eschewed over the older mare’s face fell away, leaving the warmth and affection that comforted Spitfire and her two siblings through the stormiest of nights. “Celestia knows what a strange and fickle little creature love can be. Who would have thought it would have brought you two together?”
While Stormy closed her eyes and shook her head, Spitfire and Redheart traded glances.
Deep down, Spitfire knew that their mutual infatuation was something shiny and new, but alicorns above the glimmer of Redheart’s eyes made her feathers ruffle and her heart skip a beat.
“Alright.” Lifting her gaze, Stormy smiled at the two not quite wrapped up enough in each other to remember her presence. “Thank you for your honesty, Redheart. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I think I would like some time to speak with my daughter. Alone, thank you.”
For a second, Redheart said nothing. Then, at the squeezing on her hoof, she shifted her weight and nodded. “Okay. I have to do my rounds and check in on my other patients.” Her eyes found Spitfire’s and, after leaving one last soft kiss on her cheek, at last pulled away. “But I’ll be back later this afternoon. Promise.”
Spitfire’s hoof fell to the mattress, but she nodded in turn. “Counting on it.”
“I’ll leave you two be. If you need anything, one of the other nurses won’t be too far away.” Redheart lingered for a second or two longer than usual before, with a soft nudging from Spitfire’s wing, she started to walk towards the door. Her hooffalls were slow and heavy as she passed by Stormy, pausing only to smile and incline her head. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Stormy.”
“Likewise, Redheart. Though, I feel compelled as a mother to ask,” Stormy said, her lips twisting into an all-too-familiar smirk as her eyes flickered over to Spitfire, “please take care of my daughter, won’t you? I’m sure you know what a delicate creature she can be.”
And, just like that, Spitfire’s hooves found themselves on her forehead. “Mom!”
Redheart giggled her delightful, musical chime of a giggle. “I’ll do my best. She’s a lot tougher than you think though.” Her smile crept into her voice, sending a tingling sensation running down the back of Spitfire’s neck. “Little punk rockers always are.”
Redheart swept out of the hospital room, the bobbing of her tail and extra little sway in her hips enough to rouse Spitfire from her hooves. She lingered long enough to the doorway to smile over her shoulder before disappearing back into the hospital proper.
As soon as the door clicked, Stormy cleared her throat. “Now that we’re alone,” she said, trotting over and perching herself on the nearest chair, “I think we are long overdue for a little mother-daughter chat.”
Spitfire licked her lips and swallowed, trying to ignore the phantom sensations of Redheart’s lithe muscles pressed up against her side or the feeling of her lips moving against hers. Her feathers ruffled and shook while her mother reclined in the chair.
Perhaps Blaze and the singing telegram weren’t so bad, after all.
Ever since Spitfire was a small filly, Stormy Flare knew exactly how to make her squirm. Mothers always do.
She sat in the bedside chair across from her daughter with her shoulders squared, her wings tucked away neatly at her sides, and her hooves folded in her lap—the picture of perfect posture. Spitfire felt her gaze pierce through her. It didn’t matter how many medals she had pinned to her chest or how many trophies lined her shelves at home. Under that gaze, she would always be the same small, little foal with dreams of joining the ranks of Admiral Firefly; the same foal who had a penchant for breaking lamps flying laps around the house and stealing from the cookie jar.
It always went like this. Stormy would sit there, unmoving and impassive, and wear down Spitfire with each second that ticked by. Her lips were drawn into the same thin line and her rusty red eyes were inescapable. They watched her, catching every little detail with such focused intensity that anypony would start fiddling with the tips of their hooves.
A lifetime of exposure had built up Spitfire’s endurance, but only by a little. Minutes passed since Redheart’s departure. Only the gentle breathing of the two mares and the sounds of the hospital outside punctuated the silence that engulfed the room.
Sweat started to trickle down the back of her neck. She still felt the last, lingering warmth centered on her cheek where Redheart kissed her. While her mother sat still—was she even blinking?—Spitfire’s feathers started to ruffle and fluff up. At long last, she dropped her eyes to her hooves twiddling with her blanket. Her lips fell into a wobbly line and she heaved a sigh of defeat.
Spitfire was the first to break, as always.
The springs under the chair cushion squeaked as Stormy shifted her weight. Spitfire didn’t need to glance up to see that she had relaxed and reclined. Now that their little game was over, they could begin in earnest. “So,” she said, her voice as controlled and composed as her expression, “did you want to start, or shall I?”
Spitfire felt her ears pin back against her mane of their own accord. “Can I?”
A slender, well-trimmed eyebrow arched over Stormy’s brow. Her lips lifted into the slightest of smirks, almost as if she were impressed, and rolled her hoof. “Of course, dear.”
Spitfire nodded and bowed her head. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to bring some order of thought to the cacophony of feelings swirling about in her chest. There was giddiness mingling with the queasy, uncertain sensation of the unknown. They meshed and flowed through and into each other, making the tips of her pinions buzz and fluff while forging a pit deep in her stomach that squirmed and writhed.
But, most of all, there was warmth. It was the same warmth that radiated out from her cheek and the same warmth that swelled in her chest when she let her thoughts drift to Redheart, her smile, and her kiss. The fluttering of butterflies in her stomach stilled, soothed by its presence as it lifted a gentle smile over her lips.
Not even Stormy Flare could break her, not now. Not for long.
“I like her.” It was a simple statement, one that didn’t do her feelings justice. For now, though, it would have to do. As she lifted her head and met her mother’s eyes, she doubted she could ever find the right words. Even if she did, they would be saved for Redheart herself.
Stormy’s eyebrow remained firmly raised over her forehead. Amusement wavered over her expression, lightening the weight of her gaze. “I gathered.”
“No, you don’t get it. I really like her,” Spitfire pressed. As she spoke, she sat up taller, matching her mother’s posture. “More than any other mare I’ve met. I don’t regret daring her to kiss me.” That got Stormy’s other eyebrow to lift, but she didn’t make to interrupt. “And I fully intend on making good on my promise. She’s mine, I’m hers, and I’m going to fly her off into the sunset as soon as this cast comes off.”
A long, thoughtful hum sounded from the back of Stormy’s throat and she watched Spitfire for a moment longer. The Wonderbolt knew her mother well enough to know she was looking for any faltering of her smile or wavering conviction. It would never come.
The clock ticked, a pair of bluebirds flew by the window, and the sun continued its slow crawl through the sky. Soon enough, a small chuckle interrupted her hum. For a second, no matter how fleeting, Stormy’s hardened gaze softened, letting the font of love within spill forth. It was a sight that comforted Spitfire after every lost race as a foal and even now eased the tension in her shoulders.
“You must like her,” Stormy murmured. “I haven’t seen you so passionate about anything since you decided to be a Wonderbolt.” The warmth vanished in an instant as her muzzle wrinkled into a disapproving frown. Her mane cast shadows over her features as she leaned forward and snorted. “But that doesn’t excuse your behaviour, young lady.”
The fact that Stormy kept her voice level made it almost worse than a good and proper yelling. Again, Spitfire’s ears folded back against her scalp.
“How many times to do I have to tell you not to be so reckless? Or to exercise a little caution?” The exasperation in Stormy’s voice was contrasted by acidic undertones of disappointment. “It’s not just you at risk if you aren’t careful! What if you hurt that sweet mare’s career because the wrong pony walked in on you two like that?”
Heat prickled up the length of Spitfire’s neck. It took the combined effort of years spent in the Wonderbolts to keep her sitting upright as her mother’s eyes flared to life and bore down on her. Drill sergeants could learn a thing or two, but still she did not buckle.
For Redheart, she wouldn’t.
“I know.” A sigh blew past Spitfire’s lips. Though she kept her shoulders squared, she hung her head, tracing the folds that creased over her blanket as it lay over her hindquarters. “It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I couldn’t help it. Redheart’s just—”
“You don’t have to say it.” Stormy sighed in turn. The smile that fell over her face was a worn but understanding thing. “I was young and in love once, too.”
Spitfire flickered her gaze up, meeting her mother’s eyes with the smallest of smiles. “It’s kinda like when I learned to fly, y’know?”
Warmth burbled through as Stormy chuckled. She slid from the chair. Her hooffalls were soft as she walked to her daughter’s side. “How so?”
“It’s amazing. Red’s amazing. Every time I do something with her, it’s like this big, exciting, huge rush.” Spitfire’s feathers fluffed and fluttered as she spoke. She knew the smile had slid over her face long before she felt it strain her cheeks. “And I have no idea what I’m doing or which way is up or down—just that I’ve gotta do more of it.”
A light, weightless sensation spread from hoof to tail and an airy giggle bubbled from her chest at that revelation.
Celestia and Luna above, what would her brother and sister say if they saw her now?
Stormy’s hoof rested on her foreleg, a comforting, grounding presence lest Spitfire lose her head in the clouds. “Well, maybe like when you were learning how to fly, don’t do it in the living room. Or in this case, the hospital.”
Spitfire giggled, a rare sound indeed. “Yes, Mama.”
A twinkle of mirth danced behind her mother’s eyes. Her smile was gentle and soft, just like her hoof as it brushed a strand of Spitfire’s mane away from her face and cupped her cheek. “There are certain things that can’t be kept safe locked in a cabinet with this, Spitfire. I’m happy for you, but tread with caution.” She poked her daughter in the chest with the tip of her wing. “A broken vase is one thing. A broken you-know-what is a different matter entirely. You know that, don’t you?”
The bitter, fantasy-souring taste of sobriety settled like an uneasy weight in the pit of Spitfire’s stomach. She nodded, meeting Stormy’s gaze without the smitten glee of a mare in love. Instead, she looked at her with a hardened determination lining the contours of her muzzle and a newfound flame lit in her chest that she carried into her voice. “Yes, Mama.”
“Good girl. Now then, I suspect I already know the answer to this, but a mother must ask regardless.” Slipping away from Spitfire, Stormy took measured, slow steps as she meandered to the end of the bed. “Are you as serious about this mare as she is about you?”
Without hesitation and with ironclad conviction, Spitfire nodded her head once. “I am. Just like when I told you I was going to be the best Wonderbolt Equestria’s ever seen, I mean it.”
Stormy’s low, thoughtful hum filled the room again as she plucked at bits of dust and lint on Spitfire’s blanket. “I think it might be best that you tell me everything.”
Spitfire’s ear twitched. “Everything?”
“Yes, dear,” Stormy said as she climbed on the end of the bed. Folding her legs underneath her, she lay across from Spitfire. The hardness had long since softened from her expression, leaving the genuine concern, love, and inquisitiveness bare. “Everything. When did this start?”
“I dunno really. Ever since I saw her, I knew she was ho—attractive.” Spitfire cleared her throat. Feathers ruffled and pinned themselves against her wing at the memories the question invoked. “I was stuck here, and there was this beautiful mare tending to me. How do you think that went down?”
Though her smile was warm, Stormy’s words rang with the gentle bite of sarcasm. “Splendidly, I assume.”
“But that was just me eyeing up a pretty mare. When did it really start?” Spitfire’s hooves gripped and fiddled with the hem of her hospital gown. The fabric was paper-thin to the touch and crumpled and folded easily as her gaze wandered to her nightstand and to the lilac sitting in a small glass of water on top of it.
In that moment, the feelings of Redheart pressed up against her, held in her forelegs as the softness of her lips brushing over her ear rushed to the forefront of her mind. She remembered the blush that dusted her muzzle a bright pink and the feeling of her hooves spreading warmth wherever they touched.
Spitfire’s grin took on an almost rueful edge. “Probably when I messed up. I wasn’t a great patient when I showed up here,” she said, exhaling a sigh as she faced her mother. “Even though I didn’t show Red the respect she deserved, she still looked after me after I almost really hurt myself. I get that it’s her job, but it felt different. Red felt different.” She licked her lips, wetting the sudden dryness she found there, and offered a helpless shrug. “I guess it all went downhill from there.”
A certain coyness, one that must have run in the family, sharpened Stormy’s smile. “So it seems.” The older mare’s wings flicked as she held her gaze steady on her daughter. “But I admit I am curious. Perhaps this is something I should ask Redheart herself, but when did that sweet young mare fall for my little Spitfire?”
The question carried with it the slightest frown that marred Spitfire’s expression. Her brow wrinkled as she sifted through memory after memory. “I don’t really know.” The white lilac sat in the corner of her vision, glowing gently in the afternoon light. “Maybe it was after the whole flowers thing?”
Stormy shook her head with a soft chuckle. She leaned forward and patted her daughter’s hoof, treating her with a warmth she shared with none other than her children. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter now. What does matter is that you’re happy.” The hoof trailed upwards, cupping and lifting Spitfire’s chin. Fire met fire, and for a moment there was nothing between them.
It wasn’t Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts, and Stormy Flare, esteemed publicist of the Cloudsdale Post that sat across from each other. They were simply a mother concerned for her daughter newly in love.
Stormy’s smile was a gentle thing, the kind Spitfire only saw in pictures after she and her siblings were born. “You are happy, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Spitfire returned the smile, but only for a second. Even now, even with her mother, status quo had to be met. At least a little. She pushed Stormy’s hoof aside and quirked her lips into a half-grin. An old favourite. “But maybe I’ll be a bit happier when Red and I don’t need to hide behind closed doors.”
That earned her a little chuckle from Stormy. “Of course. From what your doctor said that should be any day now.” She withdrew her hoof and regarded Spitfire with a tired but motherly smile that creased the corners of her eyes. “Do your mother proud and treat this mare of yours properly. If she doesn’t treat you well, then ...” A shadow passed over her face, darkening her features as her eyes flashed with a dangerous luminescence. “I’m not entirely convinced an earth pony town like Ponyville really understands a mother pegasus’ fury.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think that’ll happen.” A familiar, bubbling warmth rose through her stomach and trembled the tips of her wings. “Redheart’s the best thing to happen to me in a long time. Knowing me, if anypony messes this up it’ll be me, and I don’t plan on letting that happen.”
Again, Stormy chuckled. This time, though, it was a heavy, watery sound that came from deep within her chest. “Goodness, me,” she said, watching Spitfire with a foreign, unfitting sadness creeping into her eyes. A sweet, almost whimsical smile flitted over her muzzle. “You really have fallen for her, haven’t you?”
The tone of Stormy’s voice was quiet. Not quite brittle, but not strong either. The sound of it drew Spitfire out from under her blankets with slow, careful movements. “Mom?”
“First Blaze found Fleetfoot after years spent dancing around each other, and now you’ve found your Redheart.” Stormy blinked, but Spitfire saw how they wetted. “Almost all of my little ones have fallen in love. It’s almost enough to make a mother start to feel old.”
Without a word and without hesitation, Spitfire slid out from under her blankets. She nosed her way under her mother’s chin and wrapped her hooves around her in a tight embrace, one that was fiercely returned as she felt Stormy’s forelegs squeeze her back.
They sat together for a long moment. Spitfire nuzzled into her mother’s neck, breathing in the scent of the mare that raised her, cared for her, and taught her to be the Wonderbolt and pony she was today. In return she felt Stormy’s hooves stroke her mane in long, slow, familiar movements and said nothing at the few sniffled breaths she heard echo in the older mare’s chest.
When the last of Stormy’s shaking breaths smoothed over, Spitfire squeezed and pulled out of the hug enough to meet her mother’s eyes. “You? Old?” She fed the warmth growing in her chest into her smirk. “Never.”
The laugh that tumbled from Stormy’s lips was only a little watery as she delicately wiped at the corner of her eyes. “I’ve missed this side of you.” Her smile grew, warm and proud and filled with love. “The sweet little filly who brought a rock back for her mother. I’m so glad that Redheart’s managed to bring that back out of you.
“I’ll always be proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished,” Stormy said, brushing her hoof over Spitfire’s cheek. “But it’s good to know that sweet little filly is still there behind the sunglasses and the medals.”
A tiny little smile fixed itself on Spitfire’s muzzle. “I guess I needed somepony to help me remember that she’s there. I think she’s here to stay now, too.”
“Good.” Stormy pulled her in closer, leaving her with a fleeting embrace before the gentleness of her smile was barricaded behind a grin as fierce as any timberwolf’s. “Now, you be a good girl and make good on what you said earlier.” Fire blazed forth in her eyes, egging Spitfire on to match her grin. “You carry that filly off into the sunset and make her heart melt.”
The smirk Spitfire wore was the same she had on the day of the Equestria Games—fiery and unwavering. “Somepony’s gotta do it,” she said, taking her mother’s hoof in her own and squeezing, “and I’m going to make sure that pony is me.”
This time, Stormy’s laugh was light and lively. “I’d expect nothing less from a daughter of mine.” The fierceness washed away from her features, exposing the constant warmth that lay beneath. She hugged Spitfire once more, rubbing her hoof along her daughter’s mane, before at last slipping off of the bed. “And now that I know that you’re okay, I think I should take my leave. I expect Redheart will be eager to return to check up on you.”
The thought stirred a rousing in Spitfire’s feathers. She flattened her wing against her side and cleared her throat, ignoring the knowing grin that played over Stormy’s lips. “Okay. It was really good to see you, Mom.” She met her mother’s eyes and smiled her little smile. “Really. I miss you sometimes when I’m out on tour.”
“Only sometimes? Well, I do seem to have some new, stiff competition.” A slender, well-trimmed eyebrow rose over Stormy’s forehead. She snorted a light puff of air through her nose. “I suppose I’ll have to do better, then. For the record, though—” In return to Spitfire’s smile, she offered her grin filled with warmth.” —I miss you, too. And Blaze. And Rapidfire. The three of you should come over for dinner when this tour is over with your mares.”
“Done deal. I’ll drag Fleetfoot over by the ear if I have to.”
“Such a sweetheart. Thank you, dear.” Stormy looked to the side and took a breath. When she faced Spitfire again, it was with all of the composure gained through a lifetime of practice she wore so well. “But I’ll be going now. Say goodbye to Redheart for me.”
Spitfire didn’t raise her guard. She kept the smile on her face as her mother slung her purse over her neck. “Okay, I will. Bye, Mom. Love you.”
“I love you, too.” Hooves clicked against the floor as Stormy walked to the door. She pulled it open, letting the sounds of the bustling hospital outside roll into the room. The low and constant murmur of a dozen conversations rose over the sharp squeaks of medical carts rolling up and down the hallways. Shapes of ponies passed by as she lingered inside the doorway. “One more thing before I go.”
Ears perked, Spitfire tilted her head to the side. “What’s up?”
When Stormy turned to look back at her, it was with the smirk she had seen on herself in the mirror. She had also seen it on Blaze’s and Rapidfire’s faces right before she had cause for a good and proper headache. “As much luck as I wish you with your Redheart, you are her patient for the time being. So remember,” she said, shaking out her feathers with a little ruffle, “behave.”
Spitfire groaned. She couldn’t help it. After everything was said and done, Stormy was still her mother and she was still her daughter. “Moooooom.”
“Afterwards, however,” Stormy continued, letting the words roll off her tongue with a low chuckle. She rolled her hoof as she trailed off. The way she wiggled her ears spoke volumes, enough to make Spitfire pucker her lips. “Just let me know how it all works out. Save all of the ‘details’ for your brother, sister, and friends.”
Spitfire blanched. “Mom! Can you please not make it sound so gross?”
“Can’t help it, daughter dearest.” Light, musical notes lilted Stormy’s tone as she walked out into the hospital proper. “Maybe you’ll understand one day. Until then, let your mother have her fun.”
Stormy disappeared into the hospital crowd with a swish of her tail. The door closed shut behind her, leaving Spitfire alone with her thoughts. A tingling warmth, one she suspected was there to stay, rooted itself in the base of her stomach. She sat in her bed, idly twiddling with the hem of her hospital gown as her gaze panned over the room. It travelled over the bare, blue walls, passed the window, to the lilac on her nightstand.
“I was young and in love once, too.”
Love.
Well, pluck her pinions and call her an earth pony.
Spitfire lay back, only letting her gaze wander from the lilac to rest on The Last Alicorn propped up against the stack of books next to it. A sigh floated by her lips, one that came from deep within her chest, and she found herself smiling.
Spitfire stood in the middle of her hospital room at Ponyville General for the last time. The feathers on her good wing fluffed and spread, bristling in anticipation. She stood at the window, basking in the warm light of the sun that spilled over her muzzle and down her neck. Idly, she scratched at her shoulder where the hem of her hospital gown met her exposed fur. Oh, how she longed to feel fresh and open air, the sun, and the feel of another’s coat over her own.
Patience, her mother would say. Patience, and behave yourself.
Patience. She had been patient for so long. Well, mostly patient. Perhaps patient enough. Now, so close to the freedom she had been promised for weeks, she was ready to do away with patience and behaviour.
Her eyes flicked over to where Nurse Tenderheart stood, taking one last look through her chart before she would be cleared for discharge. Only a minute or so more, but a minute she didn’t want to wait through. Her mare was waiting for her. Soon, this hospital gown, the last barrier waiting to fall, would be no more. Yet, as with any performance, it was always the last few minutes before the curtains rose—or in this case, dropped—that were the longest.
And, like with every major performance, the last few minutes were always the most unbearable. She was intimately familiar with the slow churning of her insides after so many shows. Her tail flicked, twitching back and forth as she stared out over the rolling apple orchard of Sweet Apple Acres. Branches swayed in the gentle breeze, and Spitfire breathed in deeply, willing the ruffling of her feathers to steady.
Just like before every big show, her nerves rallied. Any one of a hundred of things could go wrong, and more often than not, they did. A crowd of hundreds would be waiting and watching—hundreds of pairs of eyes there to witness any mistakes.
Only now, instead of hundreds, there was an audience of one waiting. An audience of one waiting to embrace her with open hooves. An audience of one who wasn’t waiting, watching for Captain Spitfire of the Wonderbolts to fail.
No, she was waiting for Spitfire the pony. And when Spitfire walked out of her hospital room for the last time, she wouldn’t be walking to Nurse Redheart, she’d be walking to Redheart the pony.
Letting her eyes drift closed, Spitfire felt a slow smile spread her lips. Redheart. Her Redheart. Warmth not from the sun spread throughout her body, easing the twitching of her tail and the rustling of her wings as it swelled from her chest to the tips of her hooves.
Nurse Tenderheart hummed to herself as she tapped on her clipboard in time with the beat. It was a simple, catchy, and bright little tune that wormed its way into one’s head and sat there for hours on end, playing its little infuriating song. It was also, Spitfire had learned, one of the nurse’s favourites, one that ended up stuck in her head time and time again.
Tail bobbing along with the infuriating little melody, Spitfire’s ear flicked when Nurse Tenderheart fell silent. The nurse’s pen clicked and she heard the rustling of paper. She glanced over her shoulder and arched her brow. “All done?”
“Yes, I think so.” A bright, cheery smile split Nurse Tenderheart’s cornflower-blue muzzle as she set her clipboard down on Spitfire’s bed. “Are you ready to get out of that gown?”
Spitfire’s smile quirked into a familiar, Wonderbolt-approved smirk. It pulled back over her teeth as she trotted to her bedside and unfurled her uninjured wing. “Oh, you have no idea. Even I can’t make this thing look good.”
A light, chime of a giggle bubbled from Nurse Tenderheart’s throat. “Oh, Spitfire, you’re too modest. You managed to catch somepony’s eye in that gown.” The singsong quality to her voice was unmistakable as she walked around to Spitfire’s side. “Quite effectively, I might add.”
“Oh yeah?” The snicker she gave shook loose a butterfly or two from the kaleidoscope nested in her chest. She licked her lips, holding still as she felt Nurse Tenderheart reach for the drawstring that secured her hospital gown around her shoulders. The tip of her tail flicked, brushing against the bedframe as she found her gaze focused on the linoleum tiled floor. “So, uh, is she excited to see me? Y’know, now that I’m finally getting out of here.”
“Very. She was pacing the nurse’s station when I came in here. I can’t recall ever seeing her this way.” As she spoke, Nurse Tenderheart’s voice softened. The light, amused tone faded as it warmed into something more comforting. “She’s had this big, goofy smile on her face at lunch for the last few days now. Trust me, she’s entirely taken with you.”
Spitfire’s hoof scuffed over the smooth, wax furnished floor. Her smirk shrank into something smaller as the hospital gown loosened around her shoulders. “Really?”
Nurse Tenderheart chuckled and shook her head. “The only reason I’m in here instead of her,” she said as she guided the hospital gown up Spitfire’s frame, around her cast, and over her head, “is that we didn’t want to risk her getting carried away so close to your discharge.”
Spitfire snorted and ran a hoof through her mane. “I bet she must’ve loved that conversation.”
Another chime-like giggle sounded from Nurse Tenderheart as she set the hospital gown over the bed. A twinkle of amusement shone in her eyes as she busied herself with folding the gown. “Well, she never denied it.”
Both of Spitfire’s ears stood on end. She felt a demure, wicked little grin sharpen over her lips as she tail swished behind her. “That a fact, huh?” A low hum started in the back of her throat as she glanced over her shoulder at the door. Through that door lay the hospital, her freedom, and her Redheart. “Well, if she liked me so much in that gown, I can’t help but wonder what she’ll make of me out of it.”
“Just as long as you sign the discharge paperwork first.” A gentle hoof patted her withers and she turned back to meet Nurse Tenderheart’s regular warm smile. “Do that, and you’re all hers.”
“I think you mean that she’s all mine.” The feathers along Spitfire’s uninjured wing fluffed and her chest swelled, at last free of the hospital gown that clung to it over the last two weeks. She took a half-step forward, rejoicing in the feeling of fresh air against her coat as she stretched out each muscle of her forelegs and swished her tail of wildfire from side to side. “Come on, Tend, Red doesn’t stand a chance.”
With a giggle and shake of her head, Nurse Tenderheart walked around Spitfire to the hospital room door. “You poor, sweet, naive thing. We’ll just have to see.” She turned around, one hoof rested on the doorknob, and offered a smile equal parts amused and warm. “Save that little show for Redheart and you might even have a chance!”
“Just you wait,” Spitfire said as she trotted to the door. “She’s going to be putty in my hooves.”
“You keep telling yourself that. My bits are on Redheart.”
The door opened and the sounds of the hospital spilled into the little room. The constant murmur of a dozen different conversations happening at once rolled up and down the hallways. The gentle beeping of heart monitors in other rooms punctuated the murmur as the cadence of hooves against linoleum and the squeak of stretcher wheels completed the everyday symphony of Ponyville General.
No more waiting. The time was now.
Feathers fluffed, Spitfire walked out of her room for the last time. “Hey, Tend,” she said halfway through the doorway. Glancing back, she offered Nurse Tenderheart a small, soft, and warm smile. It was hardly a fair exchange for all of the ones she’d gotten as the days rolled by, but perhaps it was better than nothing at all. “Thanks for everything. I don’t think I ever said that, but it means a lot.”
“Keep on making Redheart smile like she has been over the last couple days, and you can consider us even, Spitfire.” With one last smile, Nurse Tenderheart jerked her head to the side. “Now go on. She’s waiting for you and likely driven herself halfway up the wall by now.”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.” Snapping a salute with her wing, Spitfire walked the rest of the way out of her room and into Ponyville Genera proper. The door clicked shut behind her and, without the itching, restricting feeling of her hospital gown wrapped around her frame, took her first steps towards the nurse’s station.
“Make her smile, huh?” A gentle rousing of her feathers accompanied the softness of the smile she felt touch her lips. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”
The walk to the nurse’s station was a brisk one, punctuated by the occasional nod to familiar doctors, nurses, and patients she passed in the hallway. Her legs carried her without a waver in her step. Gone was the weakness that made her tremble and quiver and lean on Redheart’s side to stay upright. Now, as her tail swished from side to side in time with the gentle sway of her hips, she walked with all of the confidence and surety she expected of her Wonderbolts. For the first time since her crash, her coat breathed and felt open air against it instead of the thin, containing fabric of her hospital gown. That small, simple freedom spread her smile a little wider over her muzzle as she rounded the corner to the nurse’s station.
Sure enough, just as Nurse Tenderheart had said, Redheart was there. She stood in the hallway, eyes trained on the chart she held in the crook of her foreleg. Her lips were drawn in a thin, neutral line and a wrinkle creased her brow as the few other ponies in the hallway passed her by. To anypony else, she might have seemed deep in thought, but Spitfire knew better.
Spitfire saw the errant flick of the tip of her tail. She saw the twitch at the corner of her lips, threatening to sour her expression with a frown. And, most of all, she saw how her eyes were fixed on a single spot on the chart she held.
Not quite halfway up the wall, but close enough.
Feathers fluffing, Spitfire let the warmth she felt in her chest flow into her smile, softening it into something smaller but no less sincere. The sound of her hooves clip-clopping against the linoleum floor was lost, drowned out by the bustling hospital around her.
Redheart didn’t so much as flick an ear until Spitfire’s shadow fell over her chart. When it did, the tip of her snout scrunched up and she lifted her head. Any semblance of a frown vanished when their eyes met, wiped away by the smile that was quick to split her lips—her oh-so-kissable lips.
Soon, very soon, there would be nothing to stop Spitfire from testing just how kissable they were. The thought sent a little shiver down to the tip of her tail. “Hey.”
For a fleeting second, Redheart’s twinkling blue eyes flickered up and down Spitfire’s frame, free from the hospital gown that hung over it in all of the time that they’d known each other. “Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”
Spitfire breathed in, swelling her chest as she let her smile settle into an increasingly familiar small, loving little smirk. “Like I’m about to become one of the luckiest mares in Equestria.”
Redheart giggled, a sound so quiet and muffled that only Spitfire could have heard, and leaned in enough to gently nose against her cheek. “Save the sweet talk for when I can properly thank you. Now, are you ready to get out of here?”
The contact, however brief and fleeting, was enough to make Spitfire hum. “Oh, Celestia, yes. Show me the dotted line.”
“Gladly.” Redheart turned to the counter separating the nurse’s station proper from the rest of the hallway and set her clipboard down. Spitfire followed, stepping close enough for their shoulders to brush together and for her uninjured wing to feel the velvety soft texture of her nurse’s coat against her feathers. “All you need to do is sign and initial here, and then ...”
Redheart trailed off, but not without flicking her tail over Spitfire’s hind leg. Flashing a fiery, wicked little smirk to the mare at her side, Spitfire plucked a pen from the countertop. “Then I’m a free mare.”
Another chuckle rolled off of Redheart’s lips. This one, however, was much lower and rolled over Spitfire’s ears much like the velvety quality of her soon-to-be mare’s coat brushing along her shoulder. “I wouldn’t say that.” The lower, smokier sound of her voice roused another ruffling of feathers. “Once you sign that, then you’re my mare, remember?”
Spitfire’s tail flicked from side to side as a shiver shook her wingtips. Warmth spread from her chest and started the prickling crawl up her neck. “Do you have any idea how hot you are when you say stuff like that?”
“I’m sure I’d be delighted to hear all about it.” Redheart’s smile was vulpine as she tapped the clipboard with the tip of her hoof. “But only after you sign your discharge form like a good patient.”
“Oh, I have so much to tell you once this is done.” Clicking the pen against the clipboard, Spitfire offered a wink before gripping the pen between her teeth. Her eyes skimmed over the form, one she had seen and signed a dozen times before. She glossed over the words, pen scrawling out her signature at the bottom of the page. All the while, she felt Redheart watching her, encouraging that heat to creep a little further up along her neck as she scribbled out the date.
Well, it was either now or never. Clearing her throat, Spitfire dropped the pen from her mouth and lifted her head. “Hey, now that that’s filled out, there’s something I have to talk to you about. You got a minute?”
Something devious and wonderful flickered behind Redheart’s eyes, making them sparkle a bright, glittering blue. “Actually, there’s something I need to go over with you first before you’re out of here. It’s an odd bit of protocol we have here at Ponyville General.” Her hoof tapped on the clipboard again before swiping it away. “Most other hospitals have phased it out, but I have to go over a few questions with you. It should only take a few minutes.”
Spitfire wrinkled her muzzle and arched her brow in the face of Redheart’s smile. When it didn’t falter, she nodded her head. “Okay, I guess. Can we talk after that?”
“Depends,” Redheart said as she stepped away from the nurse’s station. Spitfire caught sight of her hooded gaze as she slunk past her, brushing her shoulder and trailing her down her side as she started down the hallway.
Both of Spitfire’s ears perked at the enticing view that came with each little sway of her hips and swish of her tail. The feeling of Redheart along her side was fresh in her mind, and before she knew it she was back at her mare’s side. “Depends on what?”
A short chuckle rumbled past Redheart’s lips as she led them down the hallway with her clipboard tucked under her foreleg. “On how well you behave.”
“On how well I behave?” Spitfire’s brows shot up, arching high over her brow as she bumped Redheart’s shoulder with her own. “Excuse me, but I’m not the one feeling a little frisky today.” They rounded a corner to an empty section of the hall. Stealing the opportunity for what it was, she darted in, humming deep in the back of her throat as she nuzzled into the crook of her nurse’s jaw. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”
The faintest of pink kissed the over the white of Redheart’s cheeks in a way Spitfire still couldn’t. But still, the nurse returned the gesture, leaning her shoulder into the flier’s side as they came to a gradual stop at a hospital room door. “I guess I am a little excited.”
“Me too, Red.” An ever-growing softness touched Spitfire’s smile as she pulled away. Her feathers rustled, eager to spread over Redheart’s back, but she kept her wing tightly folded against her side. “So how about we get this show on the road?”
Redheart returned the smile, every bit as soft, warm, and vulnerable, and gripped the doorknob in her hoof. “Yes, let’s.” She twisted the doorknob and swung the door open. With her clipboard tucked under her foreleg, she stepped to the side and waved Spitfire in.
The room itself was identical to the one Spitfire occupied. The walls were the same shade of muted, ‘friendly’ blue, and the same sterilized white tiles lined the ceiling. A single bed sat pushed up against the wall with a pair of chairs to the side. The curtains were drawn, granting sunlight entrance as it spilled in from the one window overlooking the hospital gardens.
Spitfire arched her brow at Redheart, who only wiggled her ears in return. There was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes, one seen in too many Wonderbolts to make any Captain’s life easy. “Any reason we have to answer these questions in here, Red?”
Redheart’s smile shifted into something infinitely more wicked, and the sight of it sent the slightest of shivers down Spitfire’s neck. “There wasn’t an open examination room nearby, and these questions have to be asked in privacy.”
“Oh yeah?” Spitfire’s brow arched higher on her forehead as she walked into the empty hospital room. The murmur of a dozen conversations and noise of a bustling hospital quieted as Redheart followed, closing the door behind them. “And why’s that?”
“Hospital protocol,” Redheart said, flashing that same wicked little grin over her shoulder as she flicked the latch on the door. The pink tip of her tail flicked out from behind her haunches as she turned and joined Spitfire by the bed. “Some of these questions cover sensitive subjects that we typically don’t want other ponies to overhear.”
Eyes bouncing from the locked door to the mare at her side, Spitfire’s other brow rose. “What’s on this survey?”
Redheart giggled a light, chime-like sound that all-too-easily swept away the beginnings of a thoughtful frown from Spitfire’s lips. “Why don’t you have a seat,” she began, patting the mattress, “and you’ll find out?”
Humming in the back of her throat, Spitfire followed the outstretched hoof, along the pearly white coat of its foreleg, passed the slim, gentle curvature of the attached shoulders and neck, to its owner’s bright, burning blue eyes that had yet to cease to make her breath catch. Hardly a hoofstep separated them. If she flared her nostrils and breathed in, she might have caught the faintest trace of cinnamon that seemed to cling to Redheart’s coat.
So close. So very, very close.
“I just answer these questions,” Spitfire said, resting her hoof next to Redheart’s, “and then I’m out of here?”
“Yes.” The wickedness abated from Redheart’s smile, leaving the warmth and tenderness with which Spitfire had grown oh-so familiar. The nurse’s hoof brushed over her own, standing the fur where they touched on end. “And then we can talk about whatever you wanted to talk about.”
Allowing herself a soft grin, Spitfire twisted her hoof and clasped Redheart’s. “I thought I had to behave myself first.”
Redheart chuckled, now a deeper, throatier sound. Leaning in, her lips tickled Spitfire’s fur and her breath was hot as it washed over her ear. “I think you’ve waited long enough, don’t you?”
Alone in the privacy of the hospital room, nopony was there to see the shudder shake Spitfire’s frame—nopony except for Redheart. That thought alone brought a swish of her tail as she felt her nurse chuckle again.
Licking her lips, Spitfire nodded and climbed up onto the bed. Her tail curled around her flank as she settled on her haunches. Redheart smiled and sat up on the foot of the bed. “Okay, then let’s begin.” Paper crinkled and rustled as she turned the page over on her clipboard. The slightest of wrinkles creased her muzzle as her eyes scanned down the board. “Now, these are just a few standard questions, Spitfire. Are you ready?”
“Born ready.” The feathers along Spitfire’s uninjured wing rustled as a well-worn smirk tugged at her lips. “Fire away.”
“Alright, let’s see.” Cradling her clipboard in the crook of her foreleg, Redheart swiveled to face Spitfire. “Are you experiencing any lightheadedness or any nausea at all?”
A snort of air escaped Spitfire’s muzzle. Hooding her gaze, she watched Redheart and scooched and inch or two closer. Her smirk, however, sharpened. “Does being head-over-hooves count?”
As close as they were, it was easy for Redheart to reach out and shove Spitfire. Just as expected.
Chuckling low and deep, she let the motion rock her back and forth. Then, unfurling her wing, she leaned to the side and wrapped it in a loose, gentle embrace around Redheart’s shoulders. She fluffed her feathers over her nurse’s back, grinning at the little flick of her tail it produced. “Did you really expect to get away with all that teasing in the hallway, Red?”
Redheart’s hoof on her shoulder kept them apart. “I expected you to behave like the good little patient I know you are deep down.” With a vulpine smile, she grazed the tip of her hoof over Spitfire’s outstretched wing. “I know you’re getting impatient, but it’s only a few minutes more. Now be a good girl and answer the question properly.”
The light, feathering touch sent a tingling sensation dancing up and down the length of Spitfire’s outstretched wing. She forced her lips into a pout despite the shudder that threatened to make her wingtips quiver. “Fine, but the moment this is over I’m—”
A soft hoof on her lips silenced her. Gently, Redheart lifted Spitfire’s wing from her shoulders and met her gaze with bright, sparkling eyes. “The sooner you answer the question,” she said in a voice low and soft, “the sooner you get to act on that thought instead of wasting time speaking it.”
The faint scent of cinnamon tickled her nose, and Spitfire exhaled slowly around Redheart’s hoof. “Okay, okay,” she said, smirking as she pushed the hoof away from her mouth. “No, I’m not feeling lightheaded or nauseous. I’m actually feeling pretty great.”
Redheart smiled and nodded. She dropped her gaze down to her clipboard. “That’s good to hear. Next question. Are you experiencing any stomach pains or intestinal cramping?”
Spitfire shook her head. “Nope. All good on that front.”
The tips of Redheart’s ears wiggled as the corner of her lips poked out from behind her clipboard. “That’s a good girl. Now, have you felt any unusual heart palpitations or anything of the like lately?”
Though she rolled her eyes, Spitfire tilted her head to the side, catching Redheart’s gaze and grinning an impish little grin honed to perfection since foalhood. “None that are unexplained.”
A swish of pink caught Spitfire’s eye as Redheart’s tail flicked over the bedspread. “That was almost sweet. Next question.” Clearing her throat, she lifted her head and asked with a smile too saccharine to be sincere, “Do you have any allergies to apples or products that contain apples?”
Spitfire blinked. The smirk fell away from her face as her muzzle started to wrinkle. “Um, no?” Sitting up straighter, she arched her neck, trying to steal a glimpse at the questionnaire on the clipboard. “Why is that on there?”
Redheart snatched the clipboard away, holding it against her chest before Spitfire could look. “No idea.” Though she shrugged, her eyes glittered a bright, bedazzling blue that promised equal parts mischief and delight. “It’s just the standardized set of questions we ask everypony. Maybe it’s because of Sweet Apple Acres? It’s hard to say.”
A furrow etched itself over Spitfire’s brow as she sat back on her haunches. “Okay?”
“Here, this one might be a little more familiar. Do you drink? Alcohol, I mean.”
A chuff of air escaped Spitfire’s nostrils. Her frown fell away in favour of a dry, bemused little smile. “I’m a Wonderbolt, Red. Better yet, I’m the Captain of the Wonderbolts. Drinking comes with the job.”
The click of Redheart’s pen accompanied her nod. It scratched over the clipboard as its owner hummed. “Good. What do you usually drink? Wine, champagne, something harder?”
Again, Spitfire blinked. The furrow returned to her brow as her muzzle wrinkled again. “Uh, what?”
“Different drinks have different effects on the body while it’s healing, you see, because of the different amounts of alcohol they have.” Another flash of Redheart’s smile and the short chime of a giggle that came with it nearly wiped the furrow from Spitfire’s brow. “So, what’s your drink of choice, Captain?”
“Uh, beer or cider, I guess?” Spitfire rolled her shoulders in a shrug. Redheart’s pen scratched over the clipboard, and she felt her lips begin to purse. “Usually beer, though. Good cider’s not super easy to find in a lot of places.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’re in Ponyville. Sweet Apple Acres cider is famous around here. Ponies lineup for hours waiting to get a taste.” For a moment, Redheart regarded her with a hooded gaze, one that made the pinions along Spitfire’s wing fluff. “We’ll have to share a bottle one day.”
Both of Spitfire’s ears perked up. A long, slow chuckle rumbled in her throat as she returned the look. “One day soon.”
“Once cider season is in.” Redheart broke away, dropping her eyes back to her clipboard. “Just a couple more questions left.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
Something else flickered behind Redheart’s eyes as they rose to meet Spitfire’s. “Are you sexually active?”
Spitfire’s brow arched high on her forehead. Then, as she glanced to the side and bit on the corner of her lip, she felt the mattress shift and another’s breath on her fur. A long, delectable shiver travelled down her neck, stoking a warmth that smoldered in her chest as Redheart nuzzled her cheek.
“It’s okay. You can say it.”
Warmth spread as the contact lingered. The bedsprings squeaked as Redheart scooched closer and the tip of Spitfire’s wing twitched as she felt a tail not her own brush and lay over her own. An exhale turned into a low, rumbling chuckle as she nuzzled along her nurse’s cheek until she brought them nose-to-nose.
“Honestly?” Spitfire felt her lips warm into a softer, smaller smile as she let herself wander astray in the glittering, crystal blue of Redheart’s eyes. “No, not lately. It’s been a rough ride for the last few months.” She nuzzled in closer, following the teasing scent of cinnamon to its source as warm puffs of air washed over her snout. “Guess I’ve been waiting for the right mare to catch my eye.”
Warm, electric tingles danced and sang through Spitfire’s blood as their lips brushed together. Her mouth parted ever-so-slightly and her hooves rose up along Redheart’s forelegs to gently wrap around her shoulders.
Now. Now was their moment.
Just as she felt her eyes begin to flutter, Redheart pulled away. A whine built up in Spitfire’s throat, silenced only by the return of her nurse’s lips brushing over her own. She felt them twist into a smile and relished in the heady chuckle that shook them. “Just one more question.”
Spitfire’s wingtips twitched and fluttered as her tail lashed over the mattress. Her whine turned to a growl while Redheart’s hooves squeezed over her shoulders, keeping her those precious, agonizing few millimeters away. “What?”
The tip of something hot and wet grazed over Spitfire’s nose as Redheart tilted her head to the side, leaning in enough so that their lips brushed together with every word. “Will you go out to dinner with me tonight?”
Without thought, hesitation, or debate, Spitfire murmured, “Yes.”
Redheart’s grip tightened around her shoulders and she felt another’s weight settle over her, gently guiding her down to the mattress. As their tails entwined over the covers, Spitfire let herself be lowered down and bathed in the warmth that filled her from her hooves to her wingtips.
“Good girl.”
Their lips met and Spitfire’s eyes properly fluttered shut. Her hooves wandered over Redheart’s shoulders, gently kneading and squeezing the skin and muscle that lay beneath her velvety coat while her nurse straddled her waist. She felt hooves cup her cheek and brush through her mane, drawing a longing groan as their kiss deepened.
As Redheart’s lips moved and massaged over her own, Spitfire committed to memory every new sensation that came with their kiss. Free from her hospital gown, she at last felt Redheart truly pressed against her. The fur along their bellies mixed and mingled as their coats were brought flush together, sharing a warmth kindled and cared for over the last two weeks that now began to flicker and flare to life.
It was only after Redheart’s tongue returned, asking entrance as it swiped over Spitfire’s upper lip did the last question filter through the treacle her mind was oh-so-happily becoming.
Spitfire’s eyes shot open as soon as the realization hit. She grunted into Redheart’s mouth, ignoring the movements of hooves over her body, the cinnamon tickling her nose, and breath washing over her fur that begged her to ignore the question prickling at the back of her mind. Wing unfurled, she went cross-eyed as she stared at her mare and pushed her away. “Hey, wait a minute!”
A line of drool connected their lips, whisked away with a lick of Redheart’s tongue. She stared down at Spitfire, eyes hooded and smoldering with want as her figure moulded itself over Spitfire’s. A light blush coloured the white of her muzzle, dusting it a faint, rosy pink. “Yes, Spitfire?”
Despite herself, despite the freedom so close at hand, and despite the mare—her mare at last in her hooves, Spitfire pouted. “You asked me out! I was going to ask you out!”
Redheart chuckled deep in her chest and stuck her tongue out. “Maybe be a little faster next time, then.”
“What—but—I was being good!” Spitfire sat up, forcing Redheart to her haunches as she brought their snouts within an inch of touching. “I was going to wait until you finished with that questionnaire so we wouldn’t get in any trouble!”
Redheart tilted her head to the side, grinning a little grin far too devious for any nurse and far too devilish to be fair. “What questionnaire?”
All Spitfire could do was stare at Redheart. “What questionnaire?” she echoed, jabbing a hoof at the clipboard discarded on the bedspread. “That questionnaire! The one the hospital made you ask!”
“Oh, Spitfire.” A soft laugh shook Redheart’s shoulders as she stroked Spitfire’s mane. The gentle, grazing touch roused a stirring in her feathers as her nurse slowly eased her back down to the mattress. “You sweet, silly thing. There is no questionnaire. I made it up.”
Spitfire’s brows knit, helpless as Redheart’s silky pink tail entwined with her own. “No.”
“Yes.” Redheart purred deep in her throat, a sound that gave Spitfire’s breath cause to catch. Blue eyes, lidded and smoldering with unmasked warmth and want, captivated her gaze, paralyzing her as the scent of cinnamon tickled her nose. “You’ve been free and out of my care since you signed on the dotted line outside.”
Licking her dried lips, Spitfire fought down a fitful flutter of her feathers. “But—”
“Which means,” Redheart said, holding her gaze as she lowered her head and left a light, feathering kiss on the Wonderbolt’s chest. A languid smile spread over her lips as she crawled along Spitfire’s frame. Their coats slid over each other, meshing and mingling and spilling their warmth between them.
Redheart drew up closer, bringing their cheeks together. The feeling of her breath on her ear dislodged the breath from Spitfire’s throat as she looped her hooves around the other mare’s waist. “Which means?”
She felt Redheart smile against her cheek. “Which means,” she said in a dulcet, hushed tone. “I feel absolutely no guilt—” A loose strand of her mane tickled along the bridge of Spitfire’s muzzle as she felt a soft pair of lips kiss the corner of her jaw. “—doing this.”
Warmth ballooned in Spitfire’s chest, fanning her uninjured wing wide before it fell over Redheart’s back and drew her in close. Another’s hooves wandered through her mane and rested on her shoulder. A small breath of a sigh floated past her lips as her eyes fluttered closed and basked in the sensations that ran across her from head to hoof.
She flicked her tail, committing to memory the feeling of Redheart’s tail entwined with her own. A cascade of pink blended into the orange and yellow of a wildfire as her hooves gripped, kneaded, and squeezed the muscles underneath her mare’s pristine white, velvety coat.
Redheart’s breath washed over her ear, hot and moist, and Spitfire followed the scent of cinnamon to its source. She nosed into the crook of her nurse’s—her girlfriend’s jaw, content for the moment to simply lay there and feel each other’s presence. No regulations or hospital gowns came between them.
Though she had long since fallen head-over-hooves, Spitfire could at last be with her Redheart. That thought and the rhythmic beating of a heart not hers against her chest brought a tender, delicate smile to her face.
Slowly, as if to not shatter the moment, she drew back, grazing the tip of her snout along Redheart’s jawline until their gazes met once more. A smile reflecting her own greeted her, brimming with a warmth and tenderness that gave her all the cause she needed to lean in and close those last precious few inches of space.
The passion and want that coursed through her blood abated as they kissed. It was something slower and gentler, but Spitfire’s heart still fluttered at the feeling of Redheart’s lips moving and massaging against her own. Outside, the hustle and bustle of a hospital at midday itched at the corner of her hearing, but was a medley of sounds happily drowned out by the soft puffs of their breath, the swishing of their tails over the bedspread, and the warmth that lulled them deeper into each other’s embrace.
When at last they separated, Redheart licked the tip of Spitfire’s snout. “Dinner tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock.”
Tricked or not, Spitfire didn’t have the will to even attempt indignation. Instead, she nosed her way under Redheart’s chin and sighed. “Fine, you win. Dinner tonight.”
The rumbling of Redheart’s chuckle shook her chin against Spitfire’s scalp. “I think you’ll find I always win.”
Spitfire couldn’t help but crack a grin. “We’ll see. I can get pretty stubborn about winning.”
“Well, then.” Blunt teeth nipped at the tip of her ear. The contact made Spitfire’s wing tense over Redheart’s back and summoned forth a squeak from her throat. “I suppose I’ll just have to break that stubborn streak of yours.”
Spitfire shuddered and returned the favour, nipping at the edge of Redheart’s jawline. “That better be a promise, Red.”
Redheart hummed and grazed her hoof over the edge of Spitfire’s wing, drawing another small shiver from the pegasus. Goldenrod feathers trembled, and the nurse drew back enough to smile down at her. “Depending on how things go tonight, you just might find out sooner than you think.”
Chuckling, Spitfire sat up on her haunches, bringing the tips of their snouts together once more. “It’s a date. Speaking of, though,” arching her brow, she ran her hoof down along Redheart’s foreleg until she found her hoof, “you’re picking me up? From where?”
“From Twilight’s castle,” Redheart said, eyeing their entwined hooves with unmasked approval. “Twilight’s always willing to help out a friend, and she’s more than happy to lend you a room for the night. She told me there’s plenty to share.”
“A room for the night,” Spitfire intoned, lifting her other brow high up on her forehead. A wicked edge twisted her grin into a smirk. “Am I even going to need it for that long?”
“We’ll see.” Though Redheart’s words were vague, the promise Spitfire saw in her eye and heard in her voice was crystal clear. “Now, I do need to get back to work. And you,” she said, poking the tip of her hoof into the pegasus’ chest, “need to get ready for our date.”
“I do, do I?”
“You’ll find your officer’s uniform waiting for your at the nurse’s station. Blaze dropped it off when she last visited.” An equally wicked gleam shone behind Redheart’s eyes. “She said that I looked like the kind of mare who liked her ponies in uniform. Funny thing.” A low, spine-tingling purr revved up in her throat. “She was right.”
Slowly, Spitfire withdrew her wing from around Redheart’s shoulders. Lidding her gaze, she moulded the warmth radiating from her chest into a smile that reflected the affection, desire, and want for the mare sitting across from her. “Then I guess I’ll have to look my best.”
“And I can’t wait.” Cupping Spitfire’s cheek, Redheart stole one last, chaste kiss before sliding off of the bed. She snatched the clipboard off of the comforter and lingered for a moment longer before turning to the door. “See you tonight?”
With a grin and a chuckle, Spitfire climbed down from the bed and joined her girlfriend’s side, rubbing their shoulders together as they journeyed back out into the hospital. “You know it, babe.”
Spitfire hummed, looking herself over in the mirror. Though she’d spent the last few weeks bedridden, the lack of activity did little to harm her impeccable figure. Her shoulders, while not the slim and svelte things that most mares craved, were broad under the measured confines of her officer’s uniform. In her flight suit, each and every muscle would be cut and defined in a way that would make fanfillies and -colts swoon.
Her uniform, however, came with its own advantages.
The uniform jacket exposed the slender curve of her neck and the brilliant goldenrod hue of her coat that matched the waning afternoon sunlight filtering in through the open window. The light bounced off of the medals pinned to her chest and the crystalline floor of her room, basking Spitfire in a gentle golden glow. A shimmer of wildfire flickered in her reflection, matching the lashing of her tail—a smooth, silky little motion that would draw any the gaze of any passersby up along the eye-catching curve of her rump to her flame-adorned flank.
Her mane, windswept and fiery, was brushed back, leaving the smoldering, molten warmth of her amber eyes bare. Tonight, and for many more nights to come, that warmth was meant for one mare only. And, Celestia as her witness, that mare would lose herself in them.
She straightened her tie and, glancing at the clock on the wall, exhaled a long, slow breath. With one last look over in the mirror, from her mane, to her uniform, to her wings, to her coat, she nodded once and walked out into one of the many crystal hallways in Princess Twilight’s castle.
Yes, she was ready.
A low, contended hum resonated in her chest, weaving into the same tune Nurse Tenderheart loved to hum so. Its gentle rises and falls sounded against the backdrop of her hooves clip-clopping on the floor as she navigated the labyrinthine halls back to the foyer and study. It was nearly seven o’clock, and it wouldn’t do to be late for a first date.
Spitfire’s tail swished lazily behind her with each step, and it was not until she caught her distorted reflection in the wall did she realize that she was smiling. The sight of it only made it grow and stir a light, airy laugh in the back of her throat. A first date, yes, but with Redheart. No more barriers, no more walls. Tonight, it would just be them, two ponies lost in each other.
She couldn’t remember the number of times she’d whisked some mare to a restaurant or club before leading them by the tail to warm her bed. She’d had more first ‘dates’ than she cared to count, and how routine it had become. Tonight, though, was something different. Now, standing before her reflection, she felt a kaleidoscope of butterflies ready to take wing in her stomach at a moment’s notice. She saw the faintest tremor rustle her feathers in the castle walls in time with an almost constricting, electric buzzing in her chest. And, beneath it all, was a tender, familiar warmth that sparked to life with the thought of Redheart.
Tonight was something special, something that made anticipation and impatience tug at her heart. It would be Spitfire’s first date in a long time and, if her gut told the truth, the last first date she’d have for an even longer time to come.
The feathers on her uninjured wing ruffled and fluffed, eager to feel Redheart tucked underneath her. Spitfire allowed a small skip to enter her step, swaying her hips in time with her swishing tail as she trotted into the castle foyer.
Through a set of open doors, she saw Twilight and Starlight lounging in the study. The unicorn lay on her back on a sofa facing the foyer with her head resting on the princess’ lap. Both mares wore gentle smiles on their muzzles as the afternoon slowly bled away into the early evening.
An aquamarine glow surrounded a book hovering over Starlight’s face. It bobbed gently in the air while Twilight’s quill scratched away on a roll of parchment held aloft in the mulberry aura of her own magic. It would have been easy to slip out unnoticed, but as eager as Spitfire was to begin the first of many nights with her soon-to-be girlfriend, it would be remiss of her as a subject and a friend to not bid her host a good night.
Clearing her throat, Spitfire came to a stop in the study doorway. Twilight’s ears flicked, and her smile lit up as she looked up from her parchment. “Heading out?”
“You know it.” An easy grin played over Spitfire’s lips as she leaned against the doorframe. “Just wanted to say goodbye before leaving. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Oh, nonsense!” Waving her hoof, Twilight lowered her parchment and quill to the coffee table in front of her. “Starlight and I are just enjoying a little leisure reading before dinner. You’re hardly interrupting anything at all.”
“Apparently ‘hang time’ is really important to friendship,” Starlight said without looking away from her book. A gentle laugh shook her shoulders as she craned her neck to look up at her princess and, as Spitfire understood it, teacher. “Can’t say I can complain, though.”
Spitfire arched a brow, but shook her head. “Right. Anyways, I also wanted to thank you for giving me a room for the night, Twilight. I really appreciate it, even if I hopefully won’t be using it.” She felt her grin turn wicked, and chuckled a deep little chuckle. “But if I do, I’ll make sure we’re quiet.”
Twilight coughed, and Spitfire couldn’t help but snicker at the light, rosy hue that coloured the princess’ cheeks a delicate pink. “Yes, well, of course. You’re always welcome here, Spitfire. Though maybe next time you come to visit you don’t have to check into the hospital first? I know Rainbow Dash would really like that.”
“Oh, come on, you know as well as I do that the Rookie’s having the time of her life right now.” Torn between a scoff and a chuckle, Spitfire instead chose to smirk and buff her hoof against her chest. “But yeah, it’d be cool to hang out with her outside of practice and shows.” Flicking her eyes up to meet Twilight’s, Spitfire let her smirk soften. “It’d also be cool to get to know you and the rest of your friends better.”
From her spot sprawled out on the sofa, Starlight laughed. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with a newfound interest in Ponyville, would it? Or a newfound interest in a certain Ponyville mare?”
“Let’s just say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” A hum built to a purr in the back of Spitfire’s throat. Her tail flicked to the side as her gaze wandered to the door. “Or maybe you won’t. Depends on how often Red and I decide to come up for air.”
While Starlight snickered, Twilight rolled her eyes. “Weren’t you talking about how you rediscovered this so-called ‘sweet Spitfire’ earlier?”
“I’ve been waiting for something like tonight for days, Twilight.” There was no hesitation or stammer in Spitfire’s voice, only the kind of conviction her mother would be proud to hear. “I’m head over hooves for her, and I’m going to make sure she knows that every way possible.”
“Looking like that, I think you’ve got a good shot,” Starlight said, slipping a bookmark into her book. The book lowered to the coffee table and she sat up, now shoulder-to-shoulder with Twilight as her eyes traced over Spitfire from nose to tail. “Nurse Redheart’s in for a treat when she shows up.”
That brought a wicked little edge to Spitfire’s grin. “Oh, she has no idea.”
“I don’t know.” Smirking a smirk far too devious for any unicorn, Starlight shared a knowing look with Twilight and giggled. “That’s assuming she’s not going to make you jelly-legged and swoon.”
“It’s possible.” Twilight nodded, swishing her tail over the sofa cushion’s burgundy lining. “I’ve never known Nurse Redheart to take half-measures on anything.”
Starlight waggled her ears. “Five bits she knocks Spitfire on her rump.”
Three knocks sounded on the door, and Spitfire’s ears perked straight up. Wings aflutter, she let a giddy smile bounce over her lips. “Then what the heck am I still doing here?”
Starlight snorted, lounging back on the sofa. “Exactly what I was about to say.”
Sticking out her tongue, Spitfire turned and made for the front door. Twilight and Starlight giggled at how she skipped across the crystalline floor, but she paid them no mind. “See you two later! I’ve got to see a mare about my rump. If I’m lucky, we’ll see about her rump, too!”
Spike made a face as he waddled out of the kitchen with a pink frilly apron around his waist and a baking sheet in his claws. “What does that even mean?”
Throwing a grin over her shoulder, Spitfire skipped past him through the foyer. “When you’re older, kiddo. Don’t wait up!”
The young dragon’s grumbling and the giggling from the study fell on deaf ears. Let them grumble, let them laugh! Spitfire had much more pressing concerns. Her primaries fluttered and fluffed, mirroring the swishing of the tip of her tail as she stood before the door. Licking her lips, she caught her distorted, warped reflection in the crystalline wall. She ran a hoof through her mane, smoothing it back, and straightened her uniform jacket over her shoulders.
It was time.
Pulling the door open, Spitfire found it easy to slide a smile onto her face—all she had to do was relax and let the warmth rising in her chest do its thing. And oh, how that warmth bubbled and blossomed at the sight waiting for her on the other side.
The afternoon sun shone down, highlighting and caressing each one of Redheart’s curves in a way that Spitfire envied. Her coat, a bright, snowy white, seemed to glow in the light, a kind of glow that encouraged an admirer’s eye to meander around the curve of her hips, along the sleek, smooth frame of her barrel, over the gentle, slim arc of her shoulders and neck, to the real prize.
Maybe it was the light catching in them, or a shared warmth and giddiness that she held, but Redheart’s eyes glittered a bright, breath-catching blue. They sparkled with delight as they met Spitfire’s gaze, and underneath that was a steady, smoldering warmth that stirred a ruffling in the Wonderbolt’s—no, pegasus’ feathers.
Tonight, and for as long as Redheart wanted her, she wouldn’t be a Wonderbolt; she would be Spitfire, and Spitfire would be all Redheart’s. The uniform was just window dressing.
They stood there for a long moment. Spitfire felt Redheart’s eyes wander along her frame much as hers had done. Hooves clip-clopped in a soft, delicate cadance on the floor behind her, and a prickling along the back of her neck told her that they had an audience.
Redheart broke the silence first. Her mane, let down from its usual bob, hugged the arc of her neck and hung around her shoulder in a single braid. She fiddled with the tip of the braid as a smile warmed her face. “Hey.”
A smirk was Spitfire’s reply. “Hey.” She arched her brow and stepped to the side, standing between their audience and her Redheart. “Not that you don’t look amazing, but I thought we were both supposed to get dressed up?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Redheart’s tittering laugh had the effect of making her eyes sparkle and dance. “I just said that I liked to see a mare in uniform.” Taking one of the few steps that separated them, she leaned in and hummed, rubbing her neck along Spitfire’s. “And you more than delivered,” she said, her voice a hushed whisper meant for them and them alone.
Tingles danced up along Spitfire’s neck at the contact, and she had to swallow down a trembling sigh as she leaned into the embrace. One day, she knew, she wouldn’t tremble and dance on pins and needles with every touch. For now, though, she was more than happy to bask in it all.
“I gotta say though,” Spitfire said, licking her lips as she murmured in Redheart’s ear, “I’m a little disappointed. I like to work for my prizes.”
Redheart’s scoff washed over her fur, but Spitfire felt her smile into her coat all the same. “I think you’ve worked plenty hard for this already. We both have.”
Spitfire chuckled, pulling back enough to stand almost snout-to-snout with Redheart. “I guess. So, ready to go?”
An delightfully devilish edge honed Redheart’s smile. The sight of it, in tandem with the lightest feathering of a nuzzle, made Spitfire’s tail lash from side to side. “And deny our audience the show they’re so enraptured to see? I bet Princess Twilight would love to see the Captain Spitfire melt into a little pony puddle.”
Another chime of giggles sounded from within the castle. Somewhere behind her, Spitfire knew Twilight and Starlight were watching and, judging from the devious glint in Redheart’s eye, escape was futile. “Um. I’m sure they’d much rather—”
A gentle, but firm hoof on her chest kept Spitfire in place. “You’ve gone on and on about me,” Redheart said, loud enough for their ‘audience’ to hear. “Isn’t it only fair that I go on about you on our first date?”
Feather’s flicked and fluffed while heat prickled up Spitfire’s neck. “Red—”
“And you probably don’t hear it enough as it is, Captain.” Redheart pushed, and Spitfire found herself all-too-easily back on her haunches. Her girlfriend stalked closer, the grin on her face enough to spread the prickling heat to her ears. “But so much about you is beautiful.”
“Oh, c’mon, Red.”
“Hush, now,” Redheart said, lifting her hoof from Spitfire’s chest to her lips. “Be a good girl and let your girlfriend flatter and embarrass you in front of royalty.”
The blush streaked across Spitfire’s muzzle. Chimes of giggles echoed in her ears, but Celestia help her, she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Redheart’s eyes.
“How about I start with your wings?” Ever so slowly, Redheart’s hoof crept from Spitfire’s muzzle to her wing and grazed along its edge. “Soft, powerful, and the thought of being wrapped up in them could make a mare melt. I should know, I’ve had my hooves on them. Oh, but then there’s your mane, and I’m perhaps a little curious to see what that flank looks like now that it’s out of a hospital gown.”
Spitfire opened her mouth, but no sound came out save for a small, barely audible croak. She felt Redheart’s gaze roam along every facet of her figure with a salacious intent that stole her voice away.
“But perhaps most of all is everything here,” Redheart said, dropping her voice to a smokier, warmer, and more enticing octave. Her eyes found Spitfire’s, low and smoldering. “Were I a more artistic pony, I could spend days here. Your voice and your eyes.” Leaning in, their lips met in a chaste peck that still dislodged a butterfly from her chest. “I don’t know if I have the words. You’re beautiful, Spitfire. Not just ‘hot’, but beautiful. I want you to know that.”
There was no denying the heat that burned across Spitfire’s muzzle. Nor was there any denying the loose, wobbly smile that split her lips and only grew as Redheart held her gaze. Their ‘audience’ giggled and cooed, but she didn’t care.
The only giggle that mattered was Redheart’s, as bright and clear as the day she first heard it. “No Wonderbolt-approved quips?”
Spitfire shook her head with a soft laugh, bringing their foreheads together. “No,” she said, awash in Redheart and the warmth that filled her to her core. “None of that. Not right now, at least.”
Smiling, Redheart nuzzled her nose to Spitfire’s before pulling away. “Then in that case, babe, it’s long past time for our date.”
The tip of Redheart’s tail flicked Spitfire’s nose and, with nothing more than a smile and fluff of her feathers, she followed her mare to whatever lay in wait.
“Oh,” Redheart said as Spitfire fell in line with her stride, “and do be a dear and carry the basket, will you? I don’t think we’d have much of a date without it.”
Ponyville, Spitfire had learned, was a quaint little town between monster attacks, friendship problems, and any other oddity that rolled in seemingly every other week. Or at least, that’s what she had been told. Now, though, with the sun beaming down as the afternoon waned to the evening, everything and everypony was at peace.
Smiles came to the faces of townsfolk a little brighter and a little easier than Spitfire was accustomed to. Many waved at her and Redheart wandering down the cobblestone streets, and those that paused to exchange pleasantries were quick to shuffle away as their hooves neared each other’s. More than one pony waggled their ears or smiled into their hooves, whispering words to each other with sharp, knowing grins.
Ten minutes into their first date, and they were already the talk of the town, not that Spitfire minded any. Ponies would talk, and with each one talking, Redheart’s cheeks burned just a little bit brighter and her shoulder pressed in just a little bit closer.
“I thought you said you were eager to show me off,” Spitfire said, her voice low, hushed, and laced with only the slightest bit of saccharine sweetness. “Don’t tell me you have stage fright after that little show with Twilight.”
The pout Redheart looked at her with only sharpened Spitfire’s grin. “I didn’t expect there to be so many ponies out and about,” she said in a hissed whisper. “And I didn’t expect so many of them to care.”
“Maybe I oughta be showing you off instead.” Feathers fluffed, Spitfire stretched her wing over Redheart’s back. A low, rumbling sigh dripped from her lips at the feeling of the nurse’s coat, softer than velvet, pressed flush against her side and rippled over and between her feathers. It warmed her wing from below while the sun warmed it from above. She breathed in, humming at the scent of lilac mingling with the trace of apple that hung over the town.
Her tail swished to the side, flicking over Redheart’s leg and drawing a flick in return. A soft chuckle drew a flick from Spitfire’s ear, and she glanced to the side at the mare under her wing. “What’s up?”
“You seem to be enjoying yourself already,” Redheart said, looking up at Spitfire with eyes that sparkled a brighter blue than the sky above. The pout was gone, and in its place was the kind of smile that knocked one or two of those butterflies loose. “We haven’t even really started yet.”
Spitfire grinned in reply, fluttering her feathers over Redheart’s withers while she kept the basket kept balanced carefully on her back. “A walk could be the date and I wouldn’t care. Unless you want to tell me where we’re going with this basket?”
Redheart giggled and looked back at the road ahead of them. “Oh, I have somewhere special in mind.”
Drawing closer to the scent of lilac, Spitfire nuzzled the crook of Redheart’s jaw. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in me prying?”
The grin that Redheart wore was almost as saccharine as her voice. “Nope.”
Spitfire hummed, flexing her wing and pulling Redheart that all-important centimeter closer until their shoulders brushed together with each step they took. “I think I can live with that.”
“That’s it?” Out of the corner of her eye, Spitfire watched Redheart turn to her with a pitiful, playful pout. “What happened to all of the fight in you? I was looking forward to that.”
Hum revving up to a delicate purr, Spitfire stretched out her feathers to wrap around and touch as much of Redheart as possible. “Nope. You’re going to get a good girl tonight.” The smile she faced her former nurse with was something small, warm, and now almost as familiar to her as her smirk. “I’m going to behave. Maybe it’ll just be this once, and maybe it’s just for you, but after everything, I maybe couldn’t care less where we go as long as I have this.”
The tips of their snouts touched, sending a flicker of wildfire behind them, and another followed as Redheart nosed her way under her chin. “I think I like this sweet Spitfire.”
Spitfire couldn’t help but smirk. “Only think?”
“Now, Spitfire,” Redheart said, drawing her head up to meet the Wonderbolt’s gaze, “you might be used to living in the fast lane, but the first date is hardly the time to confess any deeper feelings.” A hoof drew up Spitfire’s foreleg, coming to rest over her chest and her heart beating beneath. “No matter how inclined one might be to do so.”
Primaries flickering, Spitfire licked her lips. Their pace slowed to a near crawl as her hoof found Redheart’s and wound around it. “I dunno, Red, I’m feeling pretty inclined. How about you?”
Redheart’s tail flicked over, swatting Spitfire right over her cutie mark. “Ask me again after our date, and we’ll see, paramour.”
A delightful shivering sensation rippled up and down the length of Spitfire’s spine at the words. “Paramour?”
“It’s something a friend of mine said when I went to her for advice about my mane,” Redheart said, lifting her head to purr in Spitfire’s ear. “I thought it was fitting, don’t you?”
Perhaps she wouldn’t be the one doing much sweeping at all tonight.
And, perhaps, she was more than okay with that.
Despite the butterflies that threatened to flutter free in Spitfire’s chest and the licking, lingering motes of warmth that buzzed over her figure whenever their coats touched, they were in no hurry to get to wherever it was that they were going. They meandered at a slow, relaxed pace through the cobblestone streets, paying little mind to the few ponies that wandered the streets around them.
Spitfire, to her fortune, found she could simply bask in the peace of their own little world. Even her mother couldn’t admonish her for being selfish now. Sometime, and sometime soon at that, she knew she would have to wake up and deal with reality. Oh, that it would be a reality with Redheart was no doubt, but there would be details and compromises and all of those other things that made a relationship less and less of a fairytale and more real.
How long would Spitfire stay in Ponyville? Would Spitfire always travel to see Redheart, or would Redheart travel to see Spitfire? Could they handle distance in their relationship? Could they handle that distance for months at a time? Could Redheart read Spitfire’s mouthwriting? For that matter, could Spitfire read Redheart’s? If they got far enough, where would they live?
These questions and more echoed in the back of Spitfire’s mind, but for today, she felt no guilt in drowning them out in Redheart’s scent, the sound of Redheart’s voice, the blueness of Redheart’s eyes, and the feeling of Redheart moulded against her. They had both earned a little time living a fairytale. Everything that came with reality—the good, the bad, the difficult, and the beautiful—could wait for a few precious hours.
Wing outstretched, Spitfire shifted her shoulders, keeping the basket balanced on her back, and let Redheart lead them over the hump of a stone bridge. A brook babbled below, twisting and winding along Ponyville’s outskirts and through an open expanse of green. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees that dotted the park and rolled over the grass in waves. The cobblestone road gave way to a well-trodden dirt path, and it was on this path that they walked, leaving the shingled roofs of the town proper behind.
“A picnic in the park, huh?” Spitfire asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. A soft chuckle shook her shoulders as they moved from the path to the grass. “Classy, Red.”
“I thought it would be romantic. The setting sun, the two of us curled up under the shade of my favourite tree, all alone in the park.” Redheart’s voice, soft like velvet and sweet like honey, stirred those butterflies in Spitfire’s chest. “Nopony around to see or hear.”
Tail flicking behind her, Spitfire cleared her throat, but didn’t bother to fight against the instinct to fluff her feathers over her mare. “So, is that an earth pony thing? Having a favourite tree?”
A sound caught between a snort and a laugh burst from Redheart’s lips. “Oh, please, as if you pegasi don’t have your favourite clouds.”
Spitfire flicked her ear, snapping the tip of her tail over Redheart’s haunches. “As if I’d do something that foalish.”
The gesture was returned, and Spitfire couldn’t help but grin. “I’ve treated enough pegasi to know for a fact that you do, but maybe we should have a look through that picture album your mother brought, hmm?” Redheart’s voice edged on cloyingly sweet, and the way she nosed along the pegasus’ neck was enough to send an electric, tingling sensation up and down her spine. “I wonder what other little Spitfire pictures we’ll find.”
“We could do that,” Spitfire said, squeezing her wing over Redheart’s back, “or we could lie down, eat whatever’s in this basket, and I could tell you everything that’s amazing about you after I finish kissing you silly.”
Redheart hummed, and the vibrations rippled up along the arch of Spitfire’s neck, drawing a tremor of a shiver. “That does sound good.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Very.” Their pace slowed, coming to a stop underneath an oak tree that sat on a hill overlooking the rest of the park. Redheart cleared her throat and Spitfire, like the proper, respectful, behaved mare that she was, only considered tightening her grip around her mare for a second before lifting her wing away.
With a pretty little smile and nod, Redheart stepped out from under the shadow of Spitfire’s wing, hesitating only to lift the basket from the Wonderbolt’s back. Handle gripped in her teeth, she walked a few steps away, set the basket down, and set to work.
The tip of her tail swished from side to side, catching and holding Spitfire’s attention while she pulled a red-and-white checkered blanket from within the basket. Though it was all too tempting to stand where she was and watch the way the setting sun played over the gentle, tantalizing curves of Redheart’s frame and set her coat aglow, her mother raised her to be better than that. The grass was soft underhoof as she joined her girlfriend and, with no more than a smile and a wink, grabbed one corner of the blanket between her teeth.
Together, they spread the blanket out under the shade of the tree. While Redheart busied herself with weighing the blanket down against the light breeze that rolled over the grass, Spitfire lay down, her uninjured wing unfurled wide in an open invitation. It was an invitation the nurse all-too-eagerly accepted as she set the basket down next to them.
The scent of lilac tickled Spitfire’s nose as Redheart pressed their sides together and, with a gentle, contented sigh, let her wing settle over her girlfriend’s back. A tail not her own swished over her rump, and she flicked her tail out to greet it.
“So,” Spitfire said, entwining her tail around Redheart’s, “come here often?”
Even in the quiet of the park, Redheart’s giggle was soft enough only for Spitfire to hear. “When I want to be alone at the end of a long day.” Their hooves found each other’s and looped around each other, mirroring their tails behind them. “It’s quiet, and the sunset’s always been beautiful from here.”
A low, contemplative hum rumbled in the back of Spitfire’s throat. The sun was indeed setting, melting the bright, blue of the sky into swaths of orange, gold, and pink that mixed and bled into each other like wildfire. The light, a deeper, more golden yellow, seemed to make the entire park glow a surreal light as it reflected every colour of the rainbow off of Twilight’s castle.
Though she knew that there were ponies still going about their days, for that one, surreal moment, the world felt quiet and still. Redheart rested her head on Spitfire’s shoulder, and she fluffed her feathers, bringing as much of her in contact with her mare as she could. Food was meant to be eaten, kisses were meant to be given, and affections were meant to be shared, but she found herself unable to shatter what settled over them.
Her eyes roamed over Ponyville, caught in the sunset, and let a warmth steadily building in her chest spread with every second she held Redheart, every breath that tickled her fur, and every gentle rising and falling of her girlfriend’s shoulders. They lay together, watching as more and more of the sky’s bright blue shifted to molten golds.
Spitfire didn’t know how much time had passed before Redheart stirred, shifting and squirming under the blanket of her wing. “What’re you thinking about?”
“Not a lot, really,” Spitfire said, her gaze lingering on the squat, square shape of Ponyville General in the distance. A slow, rueful smile split her lips at the sight. “Just kinda reflecting, I guess.”
Redheart’s ear twitched, flicking over Spitfire’s neck. “On what?”
Rolling her head from side to side, Spitfire offered the smallest and least disruptive shrug she could. “Just on, I don’t know, everything that’s happened since I crashed?” A soft chuckle sounded from her throat and, tugging Redheart’s hoof closer, shifted that extra inch closer, meshing their coats flush together. “And how it all led here. Been a long time since I felt this content. Never thought it’d be right here in this little town, though.” The edge of a smirk poked up on the corner of her mouth. “Then again, I guess I didn’t think I’d find the mare of my dreams here, either.”
Though she rolled her eyes, Redheart let out what Spitfire could only hope was a smitten little giggle. “I warned you,” the nurse said, resting her head on her Wonderbolt’s shoulder. “Ponyville has a way of drawing in wayward souls. If you’re not careful, you might find yourself stuck here.”
Redheart’s mane, silky and smooth, tickled the tip of Spitfire’s nose, and like everything else it was a sensation she revelled in. “Depending on the circumstances, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It’s a neat little town.”
“It is.” Those two words, unlike those that came before, sounded stiff to Spitfire’s ears. Redheart’s hoof squeezed hers, and an errant flick of a tail was enough cause to arch her brow. “I know that tonight’s supposed to be just us, but since it’s come up . . .”
Aha. That was it. A dose of reality, something unwelcome in their fairytale night, sunk into Redheart’s voice, bringing with it all of those nagging little things like responsibility and decision making.
Spitfire exhaled, ruffling her feathers over her girlfriend’s back. Perhaps every fairytale needed a little reality, just enough to make it feel real amidst the warmth and butterflies. “You want to know when I’ll have to leave?”
Nodding against her shoulder, Redheart sighed. “I know it’s something we should talk about later,” she said, brushing along Spitfire’s foreleg with her free hoof, “but I guess I want to know how much I should cherish this, and how much more of this I can plan for before it becomes a lot more rare.”
“Yeah.” One word could say so much, especially when accompanied by a sigh of Spitfire’s own. “I’ve actually been thinking about that, too. Had a bit of time to myself at Twilight’s castle, and I ran through the numbers.”
Redheart shifted in her embrace, squirming enough to distance herself. It was only by an inch, maybe less, but Spitfire felt her shoulders tense underneath her wing and watched her eyes drop to the ground. “And what do the numbers say?”
“Well, I’m not going to be in flying shape for the ‘Bolts until next season,” Spitfire said, tugging Redheart back against her as a delicate, sly thing of a smile slid over her muzzle. Sometimes, reality could be every bit as pleasant as the fairytale. “And I’ve got some leave time to use up before I even need to think about flying up to the Academy.”
The only thing stopping the feather-fluffing sensation of Redheart’s coat sliding against hers was the officer’s jacket she wore. “Oh?”
“Yup.” A thoughtful, purring rumble reverberated in the back of Spitfire’s throat. With great delight, she followed the scent of lilac to its source, nuzzling into Redheart’s mane and drinking in her scent. “It’s a rough guess, but I’d hazard a couple of months.”
Redheart’s ear flicked, grazing over Spitfire’s cheek. “Months?”
“Probably. At least.” Spitfire nuzzled deeper into Redheart’s mane, nosing her way up to the same ear that flicked her. It twitched and fluttered as her breath washed over it, drawing the subtlest and most satisfying shivers from the mare under her wing. “Maybe more. And, while I could go to my apartment in Canterlot, Twilight did say I had a room at her castle whenever I wanted one. Staying in a castle sounds nicer than some apartment, doesn’t it?”
Again her breath washed over Redheart’s ear, and again a tremor rippled up and down the earth pony’s frame. She leaned into the touch, pressing her face into Spitfire’s neck with a throaty hum. “I’d certainly hope so.”
Warm puffs of air tickled Spitfire’s coat, and she returned the gesture with a light, feathering kiss at the base of Redheart’s ear. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, so don’t start getting weepy on me.”
Another tremor followed the tip of Redheart’s tail flicking back and forth. “Are you sure I’d be the weepy one, Sapfire?”
“I don’t know,” Spitfire said, grinning a grin equal parts foalish and impish. She exhaled over Redheart’s ear, drawing a longer, shuddering shiver from the mare. “Maybe it depends on how much I take advantage of this chink in my beautiful mare’s armour.”
Redheart purred, a sound that made the feathers along Spitfire’s wing tremble and flutter. She nipped at her collarbone, catching the Wonderbolt’s breath in her throat. “Behave.”
Spitfire’s purr was more akin to a growl as she returned the nip and licked along the base of Redheart’s ear. The nurse’s tail twitched and flicked at the touch, mingling pink and wildfire once more. “For now,” she said, planting a last, gentle kiss where she nipped, “and only for you.”
“Good,” Redheart said, smoothing over the beginnings of a whine. She flicked her ear, swatting Spitfire’s snout before playfully pushing her away. “We’ve still got an entire picnic to enjoy.”
The push loosened Spitfire’s grip over Redheart enough for the mare to flick the lid of the basket open with the tip of her hoof. The setting sun caught and glinted on something within, and, eyebrows arched, the pegasus watched a picnic unfold around her. Slowly, she inched to the side and draped her wing back over her mare’s back in a loose embrace, eyeing the apples, sandwiches, and blanket-wrapped plate that emerged from within the basket.
“These are for dessert,” Redheart said, setting the plate down between them. The scent of apple, delightfully woven in between layers of sugar, fat, and cinnamon, wafted up to greet Spitfire’s nose, rousing a rumble in her stomach. “Applejack—you know her, don’t you?”
Spitfire nodded, licking her lips as Redheart pulled the cloth away, revealing a plateful of apple fritters. Their glaze shone in the light, and her stomach yearned in another, keening growl. “Yeah, she’s one of Rainbow Dash’s friends, right? Big hat, made those pies Soarin kept on raving about?”
“That’s her. She and her family make some of the best food around.” A chiming, bell-like giggle drew a flick from Spitfire’s ear. The moment she blinked, she found Redheart pushing the plate further away. “And she was kind enough to make us some of their fritters for dessert. They also slipped in a bottle of their family’s cider.”
Glasses clinked as Redheart withdrew them and a bronze bottle from the basket. Setting them down on the blanket, she closed the basket lid, and Spitfire saw her chance. She chuckled deep in her chest, drawing a smirk over her lips and poking her glass with the tip of her hoof. “But Red,” she said, lidding her gaze once their eyes met, “if those are for dessert, then what am I going to do with you after?”
Redheart hummed, hardly batting an eye as she poured cider into both of their glasses. When she finished, she looked up at Spitfire with smoldering, hooded eyes that wiped the smirk from her face. “It’s quite simple, Spitfire.” Her voice rolled from her tongue, sensuous and purring and like silk, and the Wonderbolt fought down the urge to fluff her feathers. “Good girls get two desserts.”
Spitfire, for her part, swallowed.
“Now,” Redheart said, moulding against Spitfire’s side, “I remember you saying how hard it was to find good cider. Sweet Apple Acres cider is quite popular around here. I think you’ll like it, and I also seem to remember promising to get you to try some.”
With Redheart pressed flush against her side as she was, it was only natural for Spitfire’s wing to drape over her in an easy, blanketing embrace. A glass was pushed into her hooves and, bobbing her head in a nod, she lifted it to her lips and took a slow first sip. The drink, smooth as it ran over her tongue, perked her ears up.
The smile that spread over Redheart’s face was satisfied, though whether it was because of Spitfire’s reaction, the embrace she seemed to relish in, or a combination of the two Spitfire couldn’t say. “What do you think?”
Humming, Spitfire swallowed. She licked her lips, letting the taste of apples and alcohol linger and dance over her tongue. A content sigh floated from her mouth, and she set the glass back down. “I think I’m in love.”
Redheart’s shoulders shook as she giggled. “I knew you’d like it.”
Caught between a grin and a smirk, Spitfire rolled onto her side and, perching herself on one foreleg, she used the other to wrap around Redheart’s barrel and pull her in tight. “Who said anything about the cider?”
Even with her back pressed against Spitfire’s chest, Redheart could not hide the pink that crept up around her cheeks. The Wonderbolt didn’t need to see it to know she rolled her eyes, nor did she need to see the small, smitten little smile peek up on her lips to know it was there. “You’re laying it on thick tonight, aren’t you?”
Lowering to her shoulder, Spitfire snuck her other foreleg around Redheart’s side, looping her hooves together around her chest. Another hum turned into a sigh as she nuzzled up along the nurse’s neck. “Maybe, or maybe I’m just saying what I’ve been wanting to say for a while now? It’s kind of liberating, you know, not being ‘Captain Spitfire’ or worrying about hospital regulations.” She squeezed, and a pair of hooves not her own settled over hers. “I get to say however I feel about you now.”
“Interesting,” Redheart said, rolling over in Spitfire’s embrace to bring them chest-to-chest and snout-to-snout. Where they lay, the sun’s golden light caught in the earth pony mare’s eyes, bringing them to a bright, enticing, and enrapturing blue. “I always thought you were a mare of action.” The edge of a sly grin perked up on the corner of her lips and her hoof settled over goldenrod fur. “Why waste time talking, when we can just . . .”
Angling her head upwards, Redheart caught Spitfire’s lips in a soft, gentle kiss.
Unlike the hospital room, though, there was no buzz. Electricity didn’t arc through Spitfire’s veins. She didn’t grope and squeeze Redheart’s cutie marks, desperate for more. Her feathers didn’t ruffle and her legs didn’t wobbly and weaken. The hoof over her chest didn’t grip and cling, but it was still there, and so was the warmth.
Warmth blanketed over Spitfire, and she surrendered to the kiss. Eyes fluttering shut, she exhaled a single, relaxed breath, and moved her hoof up Redheart’s back to stroke her mane. Fire may not have roared between them, but she was content. The kiss, the warmth, and what she felt were genuine, and they were perfect.
When at last they parted, Spitfire nuzzled around Redheart’s nose in a small circle. “Maybe I’ll let you do the talking from now on,” she said, her lips brushing over Redheart’s in a delicate murmur.
No words may have been spoken, but the message came through loud and clear, and when Redheart looked at her with a kind tenderness only ever meant for a select few, Spitfire felt her heart sing.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this,” Redheart said, her voice no less delicate and no less meant for Spitfire and Spitfire alone. She lifted her hoof, brushing it over the pegasus’ cheek, and the smile she showed was enough to melt that pegasus’ singing heart to butter. “It’s been a long time since my last date, and even longer since I felt safe and wanted.”
Spitfire did her best to return the smile with interest. “I think I know the feeling.”
“I’ve never met a mare quite like you, and given everything that’s happened between us, I’d like to get to know you much more over the next few months.” Any reply Spitfire had was cut off by a chaste kiss on her nose and a hoof snaking down to wrap around her barrel. “Hush now, you had your turn to confess when we danced in your room. Now it’s my turn.”
Eyes going crossed to look at the tip of her snout, Spitfire let a long, slow chuckle roll past her lips. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Where to even begin?” Redheart’s hoof left Spitfire’s barrel, trailing a path up along her side to trace small circles over her chest. The earth pony hummed, watching her hoof brush over goldenrod fur. “I suppose I should start with the obvious.”
Spitfire exhaled. It wasn’t quite a sigh, but she basked in the sensation of Redheart’s hoof over her chest all the same. “Yeah?”
“Yes.” Redheart’s eyes flicked from Spitfire’s chest to meet her gaze. They twinkled and shone a bright, shimmering blue with an added gleam of mischief that bled over into her grin. “When we met, you were the biggest pain in my neck.”
Perhaps she should have been offended, but instead Spitfire let out a snorting, barking laugh.
“Worse than Rainbow Dash,” Redheart said, giggling to herself as she rested her head on Spitfire’s foreleg. “Worse than Pinkie Pie. Goodness, you might have been the absolute worst.”
“And yet here we are.”
“Once you got your head out of your butt, everything changed.” Redheart’s hoof stilled, coming to rest over Spitfire’s heart. Their gazes lost in each other, neither could help the small, content smiles that found their place over their lips. “You made me feel like a pony, not just a nurse. So often I become my job. To most ponies here, I’m Nurse Redheart.”
There was something about Redheart’s voice in that moment—something soft, and something vulnerable. Now, on this blanket and in this park, whatever walls and masks worn crumbled away. For at least this moment, everything that was Redheart peeked through. And she was breathtaking.
Spitfire’s hoof left Redheart’s flank to brush a lock of pink mane out of her eyes. With a smile every bit as soft as her paramour’s voice, she said, “I think I know what you mean, Red.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. You,” Redheart said, prodding Spitfire’s chest with the tip of her hoof, “made me remember who else I was. Not just Nurse Redheart, but Red. You made me feel comfortable being Red and sharing everything I have about myself.”
Her hoof slid down Spitfire’s chest, winding down her barrel until Spitfire felt it snake around her own. Then, when Redheart brought their gazes together, a glimmer of fear, of uncertainty, flickered through the warmth that filled the blue of her eyes. “And I’d like to share more of myself. With you. I want to rediscover all of those little things I’ve forgotten, like dancing, or reading a book with somepony I care about, or realizing how much I never want to own a greenhouse.” A delicate thing of a giggle floated past her lips. “If all of this doesn’t scare you away first, that is.”
A light, airy chuckle fueled by warmth and a want to lose herself to the mare in her forelegs was Spitfire’s reply. Her tail flicked over Redheart’s, slowly entwining together as she brought their foreheads together. “And here I was worried about scaring you away.”
Though Spitfire couldn’t see Redheart’s smile itself, she saw how it lit up her eyes. “I like to think I’ve seen you at your worst.”
“I don’t know, Red,” Spitfire said, grazing Redheart’s lips with a feathering kiss. “You know what ponies say about us Wonderbolts.”
Redheart leaned forward, catching Spitfire’s retreating lips in a chaste, fleeting, but proper kiss. “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t fall for one of those troublemakers. I fell for Spitfire the pony, remember? Not Captain Spitfire the Wonderbolt.”
This time, while Redheart withdrew, Spitfire pursued, rolling her girlfriend onto her back and lying belly-to-belly on top of her. There, trapped underneath her, she could only take in the tender, loving warmth that shone from Redheart’s eyes and the silky tresses of her mane that sprawled out around her.
Spitfire grinned, feathers fluffing as she nuzzled along the crook of Redheart’s jaw until she found her ear. “Then I think I’d like that,” she said, tail swishing back and forth at the feeling of another’s hooves gripping her chest to pull her in closer. “It’s kind of surreal, though.”
“Is it?” Redheart asked, hooves resting over the top button of Spitfire’s officer jacket.
“I didn’t know I’d ever want something like this.” Spitfire pulled away just enough to lose herself in Redheart’s eyes once more. “I look at you, and it’s like when I was a foal and decided I wanted to be a Wonderbolt all over again. I looked at their posters and knew that’s what I was going to be, and I threw my heart into it every day. Now, I look at you, and I think I’m ready to do all of that with you.”
Their lips met in a gentle, tender kiss, one that tugged at the yearning warmth that found a place in Spitfire’s chest. It lasted for little more than a few seconds, but still her heart fluttered. “I think I’m ready for that, too,” Redheart said, her voice a breath of a whisper in her ear.
Hooves moved and fumbled, slowly unbuttoning Spitfire’s officer jacket. “Which means,” Redheart added with a delicate nip at the base of her ear, “that as dashing as you look, I’d like to spend the rest of my night with my girlfriend, not the Captain of the Wonderbolts.”
It took a bit of doing, and a bit of gentle pulling and tugging to get the jacket over Spitfire’s cast, but as soon as she was free, they tossed the garment to the side, every bit as forgotten as their picnic. Fanning her wing out wide, she sat, straddling Redheart’s waist for only a moment to feel the last fingerlings of sunlight on her coat and feathers. Then, once the hooves cradling her sides tightened their grip and pulled, she only flashed a fleeting thing of a smirk before acquiescing.
Free from her uniform, there was nothing separating their coats from mingling and meshing, and nothing to hinder the warmth that flowed between them. Laying atop Redheart, the sunset too faded from Spitfire’s mind as she embraced and lost herself to the first stars reflecting and twinkling in her girlfriend’s eyes. She drowned in the sensation of simply being together, of the touch of her coat on hers, the feeling of steady hooves resting over the small of her back, the silky feeling of their tails entwining, and the gentle electricity arcing from head to hoof as their lips met.
As the sun faded from the horizon, so too did their fairytale evening inch ever-closer to its end. Reality waited for them when the sun returned.
But with that reality came more picnics, more cider, more apple fritters, more dancing, more kissing, and more of The Last Alicorn. A cynic might say that reality also came with difficult questions, hard decisions, and many moments that might never match this first and last fairytale night.
That cynic, however, didn’t have Redheart.
The tip of Redheart’s tongue swiped over Spitfire’s lip, as if to ask permission—a permission that she was all too happy to give.
It wouldn’t be easy, Spitfire knew, but maybe tomorrow’s reality could be better than tonight’s fairytale, but not as Captain Spitfire, the Wonderbolt. No, she would embrace reality in Redheart’s embrace as more than that.
Such would be the life of Spitfire the pony, and Celestia damn her if that thought didn’t make her heart soar.
