The Savages We Are

by uberPhoenix

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Sad, Romance
Length: 15890

Spike is not gay. This is a bigger problem than it sounds.

And the mares and the stallions shall be two halves of the great divine, and in their union new life shall spring. And to ensure that the holy creation would not be desecrated by the follies of sin, the powers that be gave mares the gift of each other, and gave stallions unto each other for their own pleasures, so that the life-giving union shall remain pure.

Spike has made up his mind. He's going to confess his love to Rarity. There's just one problem: nearly everyone else in Ponyville is gay. When Spike comes out as straight, it creates ripples throughout Ponyville he is not equipped to deal with.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-04-29 19:56:14 UTC

Prelude: Critical Mass

Prologue: Critical Mass

The winter solstice is the most beautiful night of the year, unless you happen to be me.

Okay, so it's still beautiful.  Only a couple stars have appeared so far, but they glisten brighter than they do on any other night, and when you get away from the lights of the city, it's even more amazing.  The sky is cloudless too; the weatherponies made sure of it.  The cool breeze flits through the branches, and the soft rocking motion of the trees relaxes my eyes, and the whistling melody is gentle to my ears.

The problem is, I can't stand the cold.  And I don't mean that in a stuck-up sense.  It's not like I'm pampered.  I literally cannot survive in a cold environment.  I'm cold-blooded.  No number of scarves or coats are going to keep my body warm when my body doesn't make its own warmth to begin with.  One of the few (and I'm going to emphasize “few”) downsides of being a dragon.

On some nights, if it's too cold, Twilight actually forbids me from leaving the library.  Tonight, though, was an exception.  Tragically for me, like I said, this is the winter solstice.  The longest, and coldest, night of the year.  The Winter Sky Celebration is an important event, especially this one, and Twilight insisted I come and participate.  But even layered up with my entire wardrobe, I am still fighting the biting cold and wishing I could be back in bed.

We arrive at the hilltop where we're planning to watch the show, and Rarity is already there waiting for us.  She's punctual, as always.  I can't help but feel that it's somehow necessary, like if she were ever late for a meeting, everything she's worked to build would fall apart.

For Rarity, life is a continuous commission.  As a result, she's permanently locked in an artistic and analytic mode.  Which is why I think she takes one look at me and is aghast with horror.  I'm probably shivering, although I've given up trying to feel my extremities.  “What have you done to Spikey-Wikey?” she cries in a panic.

I will never admit that I actually like that nickname.  It is a secret I will take with me to the grave.  Which, gaging by the current temperature, can't be more than fifteen minutes away.

She doesn't even give Twilight time to answer the question before lifting me up in the air with her magic and pulling me close to her.  “Don't you worry,” she tells me in a little sing-song voice.  “I'll keep you warm.”  Being cold-blooded, I can't blush, not really.  It's a good thing too, or I'd be blushing like crazy.  I'm quickly nestled against Rarity, my back to her front as we both sit on the grass.  I can feel the heat coming off of her, and I relax.

Maybe the cold isn't so bad after all.

Rarity is beautiful.  I don't think there are enough words to properly describe her beauty, (or if there are, I don't know them,) but I'm going to try anyway.  The way she moves is elegant, like she's being carried on invisible wings.  If all you saw was her feet, you'd assume she was a pegasus.  Her voice is always comforting, without her even trying.  Her attitude is always upbeat, encouraging.  Being around her motivates everyone to be their best.  And I haven't even started on her physical beauty.  Even on her off days, her coat is pristine.  You can tell from her eyes, a deep blue like a gemstone, sparkling with determination, that she gives every job one hundred and ten percent.  And it makes you want to do your best too.

It's not a crush.  I don't think it ever was.  I love her.  As terrifyingly thrilling as the idea is.

I've always had an appreciation for the beauty of mares.  Back in Canterlot, before Twilight and I moved to Ponyville, there was Moondancer, not that she ever noticed me.  And due to her upbringing, I don't think she ever would have.  The very notion of such a romance was outside the realm of her imagination.  I'm hoping that Rarity will be different, that she'll notice.  It's possible that she already has.

I'm stirred from my inner monologue as my other friends arrive.  Alright, they're Twilight's friends, not mine, but they do their best to make me feel included.  Like a family, we're close.  Some of us a bit closer than others.

Applejack and Rainbow Dash.  Some of us saw it coming from a mile away.  They didn't.  Watching them slowly realize what had been plainly obvious to the rest of us was, to say the least, incredibly amusing.  Applejack is tucked under Rainbow's wing, and it reminds me of how Rarity is helping to keep me warm right now.  Is it really the same thing?  I don't know how Rarity sees it, but I can pretend.

I missed the beginning of the conversation, but I'm privy to the end, and for fun I decide to figure out what they were talking about before they arrived.

“You're dodging the question, Applejack.  Be honest now, who do you think would win?”

“I told ya once, I'll tell ya again, Rainbow Dash!  I don't care who wins.  We are not putting Winona and Tank in a cage match!”

“I know that.  I'm not saying we should.  What kind of horrible pony do you think I am?  Just, what do you think would happen if we did?”

I realize that I am no longer interested in their discussion.  I have much more important things to do, like revel in my closeness to Rarity.  “Are you excited for the show?” I ask her.  “What's it like?”

I'm grasping at straws, and she knows it.  “I thought Twilight already explained what happens during the Winter Sky Celebration?” she asks me.

“Yeah, she did...” I say, thinking frantically, trying not to look foolish in front of her.  The perfect answer comes to me.  “She did,” I say, “but you know how Twilight is.  Asking her to explain something is like reading out of an encyclopedia.  She doesn't know how to capture beauty.  You're a lot better for that.  Seeing how you're so beautiful yourself.”

She laughs, and I pray that it's because she thinks I'm charming and not because I just made a fool of myself.  Knowing her, it's probably both.  I'm pretty sure she appreciates awkward sincerity.  She better, or otherwise I don't stand a chance.

“Now, now,” she chides in a joking manner, “it's not nice to talk about Twilight behind her back.”  I'm mortified, but it only lasts a second before she breaks out into a lively chuckle.  “I jest,” she tells me, and I relax a little.  “We all have our shortcomings, even Twilight.  This is your first time watching the stars on the winter solstice, isn't it?”

I nod.  “I was too young before,” I explain.  “Twilight would never let me stay up this late.”  Great, I realize too late, now I look like a child.  Since Rarity is so much older than me, I have to work hard to prove to her that I'm mature.  Statements like that fly in the face of the Spike I'm trying to show her.

Fortunately, I don't think she noticed.  I tilt my head upwards and hers appears, albeit upside-down.  She's smiling, and it's a gentle calming gesture, and I melt.  Spending a moment with her like this is all I can really ask for.  But part of it feels like cheating.  Does she know that I'm using her smile this way?  Am I somehow taking advantage of her?  This can't last, and I know it.

“It's a lovely sight, Spike,” Rarity tells me.  “The stars shine more brightly than on any other night, and you get to watch them appear one at a time, until all the constellations fill up the sky like a tapestry.  You can read off the legends of each one as they form, a parable written in the stars.  All of ancient history can be seen discovered in the sky, if you know where to look.  And then there's the comet storm, a blizzard of brightly colored shooting stars that dance around like fireflies.  You've been missing out on a true face of beauty Spike.  That's why I'm so glad you're here this year.  We can enjoy it together.”

Is she implying something?  Or am I over-thinking things again?  The problem with Rarity is that she's nice to everybody.  This would be so much easier if she was mean to everyone but me.  Then I would know I was special.

But then she wouldn't be the Rarity I fell in love with.

“You know,” interrupts Twilight, who was apparently listening in on the conversation.  I had forgotten she was still with us, and I hope she didn't overhear the things I said about her.  “You're not the only one who's new this year.  This is Luna's first Winter Sky Celebration, too.”

“First one since she came back?” I ask her.  I don't bother mentioning what she had come back from.  None of us ever do.  It's easier that way.  She had just “come back”, and that was that.

“Her first one ever, actually.  The tradition of holding a celebration on the longest night, and making it comparable to the Summer Sun Celebration, didn't begin until after Luna's banishment.  I suppose it was like an apology of sorts.  A way to prove that her efforts weren't completely unnoticed after all.  And now that Luna's back, she's going to be the one orchestrating it.  I'm honestly excited to see where she goes with it, since this year will certainly be different from any year before it.  We are literally witnessing history tonight.”

“That's great,” says Rainbow Dash, and it sounds like she's really trying to get in the moment, but it ended up being too hard.  She's bored, but not for lack of effort on her part.  “Where's the food?”

“Pinkie Pie is catering, as usual,” says Twilight.  “But until she gets here, you might as well get comfortable.”

Other ponies have begun to arrive, setting out blankets a little ways away from the one Twilight brought.  To Rainbow's disappointment, none of them are Pinkie Pie.  She grumbles something too quiet for me to hear before pulling Applejack away so they can spend some time alone.  I watch them go, jealous of their success.  Twilight must have noticed my behavior, because she leans over and fake-whispers in my ear, loud enough for Rarity to hear.  “You know,” she says, “there's a legend that if you make a wish during the comet storm, it will come true.”

I'm skeptical.  This doesn't seem like something Twilight would believe in.  She's the real bookish type, so I decide that if such a legend did exist, she'd know, even if she didn't believe.  “Is that really true?” I ask her.

She shrugs.  “Maybe.  Probably not.  Does it matter?”

Rarity grins cheekily.  “What would you wish for, Spikey-wikey?” she asks me as if she doesn't already know.  I'm trying to come up with a believable and witty response when I'm saved by Pinkie Pie finally making her grand entrance, carrying a tray filled with cupcakes, popcorn, and hot dogs, plus a punch bowl.  They're not exactly foods known for being served together, but Pinkie is Pinkie, food is food, and I am hungry and desperate for a distraction, so I don't put up much of a complaint.  Our conversation gets put on hold while we stuff ourselves, and if I have any luck at all, it won't come up again.

Fluttershy arrives last, only to encounter Pinkie gushing over Rainbow Dash and Applejack.  She seems to be the only pony who still sees their relationship as some sort of heralded miracle.  The rest of us have moved on, but I think Pinkie is trying to see how many parties she can squeeze out of it.

“This is perfect!” she squeals.  “You two will both have someone at midnight!  It's an easy way out, but still!  I'm so excited and happy for you.”

“Midnight?” Applejack asks.  I'm just about as confused as she is.

“It's a Winter Sky Celebration tradition!” explains Pinkie.  “At midnight, you have to kiss somepony!  Otherwise, you're doomed to a whole year of loneliness!  Doomed!  How awful would that be?”

I look up at Rarity, who's still holding onto me protectively.  I know it's probably just a friendly gesture and a way to help me keep warm, but Pinkie's words are stilling echoing around in my head.  “I don't think we need to worry about loneliness,” I say.

“Right you are, Spike,” agrees Rarity.  “We've got a perfect circle of friends right here.  That's what matters.  Silly superstitions or not, we'll always have each other.”

“Preach it,” adds Rainbow, and her group makes their way over to join us.  “You guys know you always have my back, no matter what!”

“Best friends forever,” chirps Pinkie, “through thick and thicker!”

Twilight levitates seven glasses from the tray and dips them in the punch.  “I don't think I could have said it better myself,” she says, offering us each one of the glasses.  “As long as we have each other, there's nothing we can't accomplish.”

“You know,” I decide to let slip to the others.  “Twilight won't have to worry about loneliness either.”

Twilight rages silently and blushes.  “Spike!” she hisses at me.

Applejack cocks her head, uncertain.  “And what the hay is that supposed to mean?”

“It means Twilight has a date tomorrow!” I announce enthusiastically, spoiling her fun and loving every moment of it.

The poor mare is standing slack-jawed in shock.  She's about to say something, but Rarity cuts her off and points at the stars.  She might be saying something, but it's drowned out by Pinkie's excited gasping, because the rest of the stars have begun appearing.  Rarity's right about it being beautiful.  Each star on its own is pretty enough, but when they start to come together to form the constellations, their beauty only multiplies.

Like us, I think.  We're a constellation, with Twilight at the middle of.  I'm briefly reminded of Twilight's cutie mark.  Was that what it really means? I wonder.  A six pointed star with the five stars around it.  It's almost too much of a coincidence, but I don't think much more about it, because I've starting thinking about Pinkie's tradition again.  It's too big an opportunity to pass up.

I weigh my options.  On one hand, if she doesn't have any feelings for me, this certainly isn't going to cause anything good, and it could create a whole lot of awkwardness.  But on the other hand, if she gets too weirded out or disturbed, I can just say that I was keeping with the tradition.  After all, I don't want to be doomed to a year of loneliness, do I?

No, scratch that, I correct myself.  I don't want to doom her to a whole year of loneliness.  I'm just looking out for her best interests.  I can even make it sound sappy and sweet.  I was doing it for her.

I hear the Ponyville bell tower strike twelve, and the note vibrates against my body.  It somehow reminds me of the beginning of a game of pool, as strange and as sudden as that comparison is.  This is the break shot, when the cue ball shatters the rest of them and everything changes.  I'm not even sure where the image came from.

Before I can stop myself I stand up, turn, and kiss Rarity full on the lips.  Her eyes widen in shock, while I'm enjoying the moment.  A bit of guilt creeps in; maybe it wasn't right to surprise her like this?  But there really wasn't a better moment, and this was always how confessions went in all the books I'd read.

She pushes me away from her, a lot more violently than I would have expected.  Even if she didn't like it, I thought she would have at least been patient.  Not rough.  This wasn't rejection; it was physical violence.  I'm thrown to the ground, and as I push myself back up, I notice Rarity's shifty glancing.  I slowly turn around and realize with growing horror why she's so uncomfortable.

Every pony on the hill is staring at us.

Above us, the comets appear and arc across the sky.  I don't know if they're beautiful or not; I'm not watching.  No one is.  All eyes are on me.  My eyes are on Rarity, who is still sitting, jaw agape, trying to come to terms with what I've just done to her.

Twilight takes this moment to step in.  “I'm sorry,” she tells Rarity, although I'm not sure how much good her words are doing.  “Believe me, I'm going to have a very stern talk with him when we get home.”

My stomach tightens with fear and anticipation.  I hate it when people talk about me like I'm not there, but I think I've earned this one.

Rarity tries to laugh it off, but she's cracking under the pressure.  “It's fine,” she manages to get out, with a great deal of difficulty.  “Kids will be kids, won't they?”

I don't care if she's just trying to do damage control to get everypony else to stop staring at us; her words still hurt.  The only thing more insulting than the claim that my sudden burst of courage was somehow childish is the niggling feeling that it actually was.  When it comes right down to it, is there really that big of a difference between courage and stupidity?

Twilight turns to me, and I swear she looks angry.  But then in an instant it vanishes, resurfacing in small flickers as it breaks the surface and dives down again.  She's struggling to stay in control.  I decide then and there I'm not going to do anything to push her.

“Spike?” she says, taking charge of the situation when everypony else is content to just gawk.  “We're leaving.”

Already?  “But what about the show?”  Now the comets are just flashes in the corner of my eye, and I want to get a better look at them before the night is over.

“You've put on enough of a show already,” she tells me, and I don't think I can argue with that.  She turns and sets off back toward Ponyville.  She doesn't look back to make sure I'm following her, because she knows I am.

We walk in silence.  I put on a display of obedience until we get back to the library, and then I turn up the volume.  “I don't get it!” I cry.  “What did I do?”  I'm pretty frightened by the look Twilight's giving me, but I'm still going to bargain to see what it can get me.

She is clearly not amused.  “Don't try to pull this, Spike,” she says.  Then, she adds a “please”, as if it will suddenly make the words coming out of her mouth that much sweeter.  “You know what you did.  A scandal like this is the last thing we need.”

Scandal?  Is that all she's seeing in this?  It seems like she's forgetting the most important detail of my foolish venture on the hilltop.  “Twilight,” I say, trying to get her focus.  “Rarity is... I love her, Twi.  I'm sorry that you don't appreciate that.”

“It's not like that,” she says, conflicted.  “I know you do.  I understand.  It's just... she's a mare, Spike.  No one can mistake that.  And this is Ponyville.  You and her... it would cause problems.”

“Because I'm not gay.”

I don't think she was expecting me to get to the point.  She's been dancing around the subject, and she probably thought I would too.  But I'm already fed up, and I don't have time for this.

“Well, yes,” she confesses.  “You know how traditional Ponyville is.  A boy and a girl dating, having an actual romantic relationship... It wouldn't work, Spike.  Maybe in Canterlot, maybe in Manehattan, but not in Ponyville.  Things are different here, and we have to deal with that.  You know what they say: 'In griffin land, act as a griffin would'.  And when you're in Ponyville, well, you play by their rules.”

“But why?” I ask.  I'm not trying to be difficult.  “Why do we have to make them happy?”

She closes her eyes and begins reciting.  I know what she's going to say; it's nothing I haven't heard at least a dozen times over.  “'And the mares and the stallions shall be two halves of the great divine, and in their union new life shall spring.  And to ensure that the holy creation would not be desecrated by the follies of sin, the powers that be gave mares the gift of each other, and gave stallions unto each other for their own pleasures, so that the life-giving union shall remain pure.'”

I do admire Twilight's commitment to education.  She's quoting from memory a book I'm ninety percent sure she doesn't believe in.

She sighs.  “That's the public face of Ponyville, Spike.  It's what everything they know is built up around.  You can't fight it.  When you're in public, it's easier to just go along with it,” she explains.

“Then I don't think I want to live in Ponyville anymore.”

“And when you're grown up, you won't have to,” she assures me.

I was already frustrated, but now her stubbornness is aiming to push me past the tipping point.  I want to feel for her.  Part of me knows that she's just as stressed as I am, and I should try to be gentle with her.  But I can't.  She deserves everything I can throw at her right now.  I'm not the one responsible for this, and I'm not going to be the only one to suffer.  The only problem is, I don't know what to do now.  What can I possibly do to her but sulk?  Lash out?  I would never want to hurt her, and I don't think I'd be able to.

“I respect you for you,” Twilight continues.  “I do, I swear.  It's just... and I don't want you to think that it's anything against you, but really, do you have to be so public about it?”

It's a question with only two answers.  It shouldn't be that difficult to answer.  But I think about it anyway.  All my years of experience race by me.

And suddenly I'm falling.

It's my birthday again.  The day I gave Rarity the fire ruby and my heart.  We're plummeting to our deaths, and I decide that if I'm not going to survive, I should die an honest dragon.  But the look in her eyes is telling me that everything I want to tell her she already knows.

I'm back in the library, and I have an answer to Twilight's question.

“Yes.  I do.”

Twilight sighs, but now she's not as frustrated.  I don't think she has enough energy to be frustrated.

“Please, Spike.   I'm tired.  I want to talk to you about this.  I want us to come to an understanding.  But at the rate things are going, I don't know if that's going to happen tonight.  We can talk about this more in the morning, if you like.  I'd really like to.  I don't want to fight.  But it's late, and we could use a chance to sleep on it.  Both of us.”

But I don't think either of us slept much that night.

Reaction: Applejack

Reaction: Applejack

The world ain't what it used to be, that's for certain.  Life used to be simple.  Easy.  You live according to certain rules, and eventually everything works out.  You break the rules, and you get punished.  Or blessed, sometimes, depending on how you want to look at it.  I should know.

I saw Spike kiss Rarity.  I don't think there was a single pony in Ponyville who didn't see it and didn't stand there gaping like a train had just slid off the tracks.

And as it turns out, everypony includes Apple Bloom.

I know I have to talk to her about it eventually.  Pretending that the things that make us uncomfortable don't exist is foalish, particularly when you're dealing with the next of kin.  More often then not, they know more than you do, because they aren't as skittish, aren't scared as easily.  But I knew then that my blessed time had run out.  Some things had to be addressed.  Even facing the truth with the last pony I would want to have this conversation with.

But if I ain't honest, I ain't nothing.

So like I said, I was there when it happened, just as captivated as everypony else.  I'd like to say that there wasn't any anger, but there was.  It was more than just sympathy and sorrow, but believe me, they were there too.  But I still find myself getting mad, and I'm not sure why.  It's Apple Bloom, I say, and I believe it.

It's time.  It's the day after the celebration, and the Apple family is eating breakfast.  Mostly apples, of course.  Apples are a miracle food, or so Granny Smith insists.  We've got some grain from the cellars, too, and some eggs from the chickens to round things out.  I watch Apple Bloom to see how she's been affected by what happened.  She must have noticed the reactions of the other ponies around her.  She's not that unobservant.  At the very least, she should be confused.  But I don't see anything in her, so I drop the bomb.

“I don’t want you hanging out with Spike no more.”

Apple Bloom looks up from her meal.  There's the confusion.  Her eyes are still trying to decide if they want to be surprised or confused; she doesn't know what to make of what I'm asking her.

“But why?” she asks.

I want to groan or grumble, but I don't.  I know that wouldn't be called for.  She's just curious, after all, like a little filly should be.  Innocent.

I hate that I'm going to have to be the one to shatter that.

All night I've been going over exactly how I'm going to word this explanation.  Strangely, as I open my mouth, every word I had prepared vanished.  Like stage fright, but with worse consequences.

Apple Bloom is still looking at me, and I worry that her patience is drawing thin.  If I don't provide an explanation soon, she's going to think that I'm crazy.  Maybe I am.

I start, even if I don't think I'm ready.  “Spike is... well... he's a sort of special type of pony.”

“Pony?”

I am not off to a good start.  This is for both of our benefits, but Apple Bloom is so caught up on the details that I don't know if she'll see the big picture.  “You know what I mean.  He's not quite right, and you ought to know about it so you can be prepared.  So he won't tempt you into doing something rotten.”

“Rotten?  Spike?”  At the sound of her voice, I see him as Apple Bloom sees him:  a soft-spoken friend of a friend.  Bumbling and insecure, but well-meaning.  She's only getting more confused, and I don't blame her.  I'm beginning to realize just how strange my words must sound, and how much her learning has been lacking.  Why didn't I do this before?  I realize now.  I know I wanted to protect her, but leaving her unarmed and defenseless wasn't accomplishing anything.

She needs me, and I'll be there for her.  Nothing foul is going to hurt Apple Bloom.  I won't let it.

I need to hurry and make things right.

“You ever think about girls?”

“Like love?” she asks me.  I give her an encouraging nod.

And finally she starts to get grossed out.  She's a pretty hardy filly but it seems it's the mushy bits that finally get to her.

“Ew.  'Sides, I ain't got time for that.  I should have my cutie mark first, don't ya think?”

“What about Sweetie Belle?” I ask.  “Or Scootaloo?”  Scootaloo's really just an afterthought.  She's too boyish.  Which I suppose actually makes her a better match for Apple Bloom's tough-as-nails attitude.

“They're friends,” she assures me.  “I don't think about them like that.”

“You will,” I assure her.  “That's the thing that all ponies have in common, Apple Bloom.  At one point or another, we all fall in love.  You're going to meet a mare that's more beautiful than anyone.  And you're going to love her more than you love Big Macintosh and Granny Smith.  More than you love me.”

She shakes her head, offended by the idea.  “Have you gone kooky, sis?  I'll never love anypony more than you.”

“You will,” I assure her, “just like I have Rainbow Dash.  And how someday Big Macintosh is going to saddle up with a stallion of his own.  Probably sooner, rather than later, considering the looks Caramel's been giving him.  That's just the way things are.  The way things are meant to be.  And it's beautiful.”

The image of an older Apple Bloom with a girlfriend makes me smile.  I wonder who the lucky mare might be.  Sweetie Belle is like a softer version of her, the same spitfire personality wrapped up in a deceptively gentler appearance.  They would go well together.  Or maybe there's some other pony out there I haven't met yet that will steal Apple Bloom's heart and make me proud.  But as endearing as this is, it's not helping the topic at hand.  I press on.

“And then there are some ponies, like Spike, that for some reason or another don't want that, and they try to turn it into something else.  Something that doesn't work.  Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so.  You're saying that Spike is bad because he likes Rarity instead of a stallion.”

“Precisely.”  For a moment I think I've gotten through to her, but her next question reminds me that I've still got a long way to go.

“But why is that so bad?” she asks, and I'm torn by her ignorant innocence.  “It’s not like Spike’s doing any harm by dotin’ on Rarity.  It’s kind of cute.”

I'm too late.  They've got to her already.  “Not causin’ harm?” I echo her words in my own worrying tone, as if it will change the meaning.  “Apple Bloom, what’s Spike’s doing is dangerous.  You should understand that.”  But she doesn't, of course.  This is turning out to be more difficult than I expected.  The gap in her understanding, the gap between my experiences and hers, is wider than I thought, although in hindsight I should have expected it.

“Dangerous?” says Apple Bloom, still not accusing, still not angry.  Wanting to learn.  “What's dangerous about Spike?  He's in love.”

A new thought occurs to me, like a tickling in my mind.  Maybe Apple Bloom isn't picking up on my point because my ideas aren’t as simple and self-evident as I believed.   If I have to build up a background I didn’t realize I needed, that I had believed went without saying, does that say something about her or me?

I push the thought aside.  It's too dangerous.

“Okay, settle down, Apple Bloom, and hear me out.  You need to understand, and I hope that you take this to heart.”  I realize that since the talk has already moved away from the script, I no longer know what to say.  I try to find a talking point, and it turns out to be something else I'm not ready to talk about.

“Apple Bloom, sugarcube... you know where foals come from, right?”

My finicky behavior is probably doing more to make her uncomfortable than the subject matter.  She's  weirded out but not disgusted.  “Course, sis.  I helped you and Big Mac deliver a calf last month, remember?”

Right.  She may be immature, but she's still a farmpony.

“Let me give you an example,” I say.  “Did you know that in some of the bigger cities, there are secret meetin’ places for ponies like Spike?  Bars and hotels and such.  So imagine a breeder like him going to one of these places and meetin’ up with a girl breeder.  The two of them start talking and realize they have a fondness for each other.  They start warming up to each other, getting more and more touchy-feely, and the next thing you know they decide to start getting intimate right there in the alley behind the place.”  I do a basic pantomime with my hooves without thinking, and when I take notice I quickly force them back on the ground, ashamed.

She’s still not squeamish.  The tickling returns, briefly, but I decide it means something else.  She’s not disturbed because they’ve already started to get to her.  Things are more dire than I thought.

Apple Bloom wrinkles her nose, and I give her the benefit of the doubt that it’s about what I’m saying and not about me.  “In the back alley?” she asks, like I just tried to convince her of a fairy tale.  “They don’t even wait ‘til they get home?”

“They can’t help it.  Their hormones are all messed up, and it makes them antsy and foolish.  When you’re messed up in the head, you can’t think straight, and bad ideas start looking like good ones.  And that’s why they don’t think twice before sticking it in.  And nine months later a baby pops out.”

“Aww.”  Despite the bluntness and crassness of the story, Apple Bloom’s heart still warms at the thought of a newborn foal.  That’s what I love about her.  She may be a feisty little ball of energy, but she’s not ashamed of her soft side either.  She’s doesn’t think it makes her weak.  It’s the one lesson I really feel like I passed down to her.

Maybe that’s the way to get through to her, I think.  Appeal to her maternal instincts.  “Maybe it’s cute at first,” I say, trying my best to have none of the misplaced sympathy that’s gushing out of her.  “But tell me, Apple Bloom.  Who’s gonna look after the baby?”

“The couple, of course.”  She says it like I just asked the most obvious question in the world, but that’s fine, because now I’ve got control of the conversation again.

“But they didn’t want one.  They aren’t ready for a foal.  They can’t afford it.  They’re too busy to give the kid the love and attention she deserves.   And that’s assuming they’re still together.  They weren’t committed when they made her, since the mother got herself knocked up before she even knew the father.  You think they’re gonna stay together, two ponies who scarcely know each other?  Course not.  He’s gonna run for the hills and leave her to raise the baby on her own.  That’s the problem with these breeders.  They bring foals into the world when they aren’t ready for them.

For the first time, she doesn’t have a comeback.  She’s silent.

“I guess I never thought about it that way,” she finally says, admitting defeat.  I silently cheer, and when I speak again, I’m the caring understanding sister she knows.

“I know you didn’t.  Because you’re optimistic and sweet.  You want everything to work out for the best.  And it can, if we work hard at it, but not when we’re careless.  Do you understand now why ponies like Spike cause so many problems?   It’s for the good of the foals, Apple Bloom, and the next of kin.  Normal ponies only have kids when they’re ready for them, when both parents are committed and decide they can handle it as something they want to do together.  And every time a breeder has an ‘accident’, that’s another life ruined.  I’m not saying that Spike is evil.  He’s just reckless.  And you need to be careful, so that he doesn’t make you reckless too.”

There is now genuine confusion on Apple Bloom’s face.  I hate to do this to her, really.  I imagine the way she sees Spike is changing in front of me, but it’s for the best.

Call this looking out for the future.  Call it passing down life lessons.  Or maybe call it atoning for past mistakes.  All I really know is that I need to do this, and I’m more qualified than most.

I decide to tell the truth.

“I knew a breeder like Spike, up in Manehattan,” I tell her.  “This here’s a true story.  A girl breeder who wasn’t much older than you.  She wasn’t a bad pony, but she was curious.  Adventurous.  Wanted to know everything there was to know about everything so she could figure out where she fit into it.  So she went exploring to see what she could find.  And what she found was a colt.

“It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.  That was her reasoning, that if it didn’t mean anything, if she didn’t really fall in love, then she wasn’t one of them.  She was just having fun.  Just once, just to know what it felt like.  And once was all it took.”

“So what happened to the foal?”

“Her daddy didn’t stay around, that's fer sure.  I don’t know if he even knew.  But he left her to fend for herself.”

“But she wasn't by herself.  She had you.”

I stop, trying hard to fit her sentence into the story.  “Yeah,” I finally admitted.  “She did.  But it still broke my heart.  And seein' her, that's when I realized how dangerous the city was.  How I wasn't cut out for it.  And not long after that I got the sign.  Funny, ain't it, that it was Rainbow who led me home.  I hadn't even met her yet, and she saved me.  I should have known she'd turn out to be perfect for me.”

“But what happened to the foal?”

“What do you think happened?  If you were her mother, what would you do?”

“I... I don't know.”

“Then if you don't know the answer to a question, isn't it better if you never have to answer?  This is a simple world, Apple Bloom.  You discover your special talent, follow it, and live right by other ponies.  That's what the cutie mark is for, why cutie marks are here in the first place.  When everypony follows the rules, life is easy.  Things are only hard when ponies step out of line.  And while it ain't always easy, we do our best.  For the good of everypony, that's the kind of life you need to lead.  And when there's an easy way to resist temptation, you use it.  Because it's easier to be taught lessons by those who have messed up before you than to learn them the hard way.  Do you understand?”

Apple Bloom frowns, lost in her attempts to wrap her thoughts around the conversation.  “I... I don't know.  I think I might get what you're trying to say.  But I don't really get it.”

I wrap a hoof around her to comfort her.  “I bet you will.  You're a clever pony.  That's why we have teachers, you know.  Like me and Cheerilee.  We don't expect you to learn everything from us, but gosh darn it if we ain't gonna try anyway.  Because what we can teach you will have to be enough, to last until you're able to learn things for yourself.  And knowing you, learning things ain't gonna be a problem for you.  You're curious.  But that's exactly why I need to tell you this.  Because curiosity, gem that it is, can get you hurt. And that's why, until you you're old enough to be your own pony, you need to trust us.  Do you trust me, Apple Bloom, on your life?”

“On mah life,” the filly repeats.

“Good.”  I let her go, even though I don’t really want to.  “Cause it can be a mighty dark place out there, Apple Bloom.  But that’s no reason to be scared of it,” I hurriedly add, not wanting to make her unduly afraid of a world she’s going to have to face eventually.   “You just have to be careful, is all.  Cause all this?  This deal with Spike and Rarity, ain’t even the worst of it.  There are some ponies, doctors that use their knowledge to kill of the foal before it’s born.  You don’t see them advertising it, because only a breeder would ever want that.  Normal ponies are with foal cause they want to be, but breeders, they didn’t mean for it to happen, so they try to find a way to cover up their mistakes.  And in the bigger cities, there are rich folk ponies that do that regularly.  They don’t see nothin' wrong with it.  It’s routine, like taking a bath.”

She’s shocked and disgusted, her eyes unfocused and her throat giving off a soft choking sound as she tries and fails to block the images.  “But… why?” She asks, and I sadly shake my head.  “Why would they do that?”

If I hadn’t convinced her before, I have now.  Mission accomplished.  I feel a tiny bit guilty for what I’ve done, but I know I shouldn’t.  What did I do wrong?  I told her the truth and taught her a lesson.  Those are things to be happy about, right?

“Spike wouldn’t do that, though, right?” she asks me.  “Spike would know better.”

“Do you ever do things that you regret?”  It’s a rhetorical question, of course.  This is Apple Bloom.

“But, if he did, y’know, get a mare… with foal, he’d be responsible, right?  He’d take care of it.  Spike's good.”

It takes me a while to answer.  It doesn't feel right, talking about Spike like this, assuming so much about his character.  “If he's even halfway decent,” I say, “then he would never be in a situation like that.  If he was really good he wouldn't have kissed her.  He never would have brought all this uncomfortable stuff to light.  So I hope, for his sake and yours, that he is decent.  But if he's not, you can't say 'Well, at least he ain't worse.'  If he knocks somepony up, regardless of what he ends up doin' with the foal, he's less than gentlemanly.  And I know you think well of him.  So do I.  But, just for now, at least until we can find out what kind of creature Spike really is, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be around him.  Understand, sugarcube?”

She's not looking at me, anymore.  She's looking at her food, or perhaps through it.  It's a lot to take in.  I have faith in her.

“I have to get to school,” she tells me, and while it's not the reaction I was hoping for, it's better than nothing.  It's progress.  She gets up, still leaving half her plate untouched.  Under normal circumstances, I'd force her to finish.  Instead I let her go and finish it myself in silence.

I know I did the right thing.  I had to have.  I was protecting her.  Saving her, even.  But something about her face stuck with me even after she left for school.  There was something different in her that I couldn't deny.  She looked... older, almost.  More weary.  It had to come eventually, I tell myself, but that doesn't change the fact that the young mare I just finished educating isn't at all the filly I knew from yesterday.

And I was responsible for that change.

Accountability.  It's an interesting problem.  I was protecting her from greater harm.  I was choosing the lesser of two evils.  That should be enough, right?  It means that I shouldn't feel guilty, and many ponies would counsel me and tell me I did the right thing.  But it was still my hoof, my own actions that forced this confusion upon her.  Who should I blame?

I need to talk to Rainbow Dash.  It's in the middle of the workday, likely during one of her shifts, even.

Which means that she's probably taking a nap somewhere.  Fortunately, I know all of her favorite hiding places.

I get lucky and find her on my second try, lying among the cornfields.  Coming onto my property when dodging work seems to be an increasingly common habit of hers.

Ponies like to accuse her of being oblivious to the feelings of those around her.  Hay, I've probably said that too.  But I guess that makes me an exception.  She can always read me, even when I try to hide it.

And when I'm not trying to hide anything?  When I let my emotions just flow?  I'd be darned if she doesn't drop everything she's doing to fix it.  Loyalty at its finest.

She's an expert when it comes to my body language.  She should be.  She's had a lot of time to study it.  I don't even have to say anything.  She wakes as I approach, a habit she's picked up to avoid being caught sleeping on the job, and by the look on her face, I'm a mess.  She walks over to me silently and cradles me, gently pulling me down so that we're lying on the ground alongside each other.

She doesn't have to ask.  If I want her to know, I'll tell her.  And in this case, I know I need to talk to somepony.  Somepony I can trust.

Somepony who already knows what I haven't told another soul.

“It's Apple Bloom,” I tell her.  I'm opening up about feelings I barely understand myself, things I don't think I'd be able to tell any other pony, not even my family.  Rainbow Dash is the only one who knows and doesn't judge me.  “I worry about her all the time.  I want to keep her safe, but it's hard.  There's so much dangerous stuff out there, and she's gonna get hurt, because she's too nice to be careful.”

She reads the situation right off my face.  “Did something happen between you and Apple Bloom?” she asks me.

“We talked about Spike.”

I hear a huff of breath from Rainbow.  We don't always see eye to eye on some issues, but I put up with it.  Because she's worth it.  I treasure her company, but sometimes there's a noticeable wedge between us.  It hasn't hurt us yet, and I'm determined to make sure it never does.

“What did you tell her?” Rainbow asks me.

“The only thing I could.  I told her the story.  Her story.”

This sends a shock through her.  “She knows?”

“No.  I didn't tell her it was her.  Just some random Manehattan filly.”

And then she asks the question I've been avoiding.  “Are you ever going to tell her?”

Because it's Rainbow Dash asking, I try to come up with the answer fresh. Every time I've worked it out in the past, the answer always turned out to be “not yet.”  And of course, “not yet” becomes “later”, which becomes “”much later”, and pretty soon you're left with “never.”  I realize that “not yet” isn't an option.  Yes or no.  It's a pretty simple question.

But since I still want to stick with “not yet,” I now know what that really means.

“No.  It's better for her if she never finds out.  It's better if no one else ever finds out.  I don't like to talk about it, Rainbow Dash.  Nopony does.  Granny Smith and Big Macintosh do their best to ignore it, to look past it, but you can tell sometimes.  Sometimes it's too much for them to ignore.  You can see the shame in their eyes.”

“That's not true,” assures Rainbow Dash in the most soothing voice she can manage.  Soothing ain't something she's used to, so it ain't easy.  I appreciate the effort.  “You family loves you.”

I know she's trying to comfort me, but lies aren't comforting.  “Why shouldn't they be ashamed of me?” I ask her.  “It ain't enough that I messed up, but I have to l live with what I've done every single day, showing her off like some sort of scarlet showpony.  Every time I see her, and every time they see her, and every time anypony who knows sees her!  It doesn't let you forget.  Maybe...” and I have to pause to fight the bulge that's making its way up my throat.  “Maybe I would have been better off if I had just...”

She doesn't let me finish.  “No.” she tells me so sternly I believe it instantly.  “We've  talked about that before.  Don't ever say that.  Don't even think it, because you know it's not true.”

She's right, of course, and the rising horror of what I almost said scares me.  Could I really ever be that desperate?  I'm just a normal pony.

I'm just a normal pony, like everypony else.  We make mistakes, but that doesn't make us less normal.  Something clicks, but I'm not sure what it means.

“Is it really fair for you to punish Spike for something he hasn't done?” Rainbow asks me.  I feel a bit more sober, a bit less frantic.  But Spike brings part of the fervor back.  Spike is the symbol of my fear, my self-anger, and worst of all, my shame.

“Hasn't done yet,” I correct her.  “I won't give him the chance.  One time I messed up, and I'm still paying my debts.  And that's why I will never, ever force Apple Bloom to go through what I went through.  Because she's better than me.  She has to be.  I used to have potential, and then I used it to make her.  Whatever I could have been is everything she can be.  She has to be big, because if she ain't, then I'm nothing.”

I'm on the verge of tears.  I've finally said something that I wasn't even aware that I was thinking.  That this isn't just about Apple Bloom.  There's love, of course, but there's an inkling of selfishness too.  Her outcome is a reflection on me, on my ability to make something of my life.  And from this comes a shift.  I don't know what to think anymore, who to trust.

“I'm scared, Rainbow Dash,” I manage to mumble into her shoulder.  “I'm at the end of my rope and I don't know what to do.  Apple Bloom's growing up, going out into the world, and I don't know if she can handle it.”

“I'm pretty sure she'll be fine.  She's tough.  You have to trust each other; that's real loyalty.”

“Fine.  Then maybe I don't know if I can handle it.  Since she was born, all I wanted was to do right by her, and now I don't know if I can.  I made so many mistakes myself growing up, and I guess I just want to keep her from falling into those same traps.  If I can't pass on what I've learned to the next of kin, what can I do?”

“Hey, listen to me, Applejack.  Yeah, you made mistakes when you were younger.  We all did.  Nopony's going to deny that.  But look at you.  Look at where you are now.  You've got some of the best friends in the world.  You've got a family that's always gonna have your back.  You've got a daughter that loves you more than anything.  I'm starting to think that for a screwup, you didn't turn out half bad.  And why do you think that is?”

“'Cause I wisened up?”

“Exactly.  You learned to pick yourself up and you made yourself into a mare I'm proud to call my girlfriend.  That's all I can ask for, right?  That's all any of us can ask for.  So I guess what I'm saying is, if you turned out this perfect without your parents to be there at all, just think how amazing Apple Bloom's future is going to be when she has an awesome mom like you to fall back on when she needs it.”

“I love her, Rainbow.  I don't think she really gets it like I do, but it's true.”

“Would you still love her if she turned out like Spike?”

I don't even have to think about the question.  “Course,” I tell Rainbow Dash.  “Why would you even say something like that?”

“Then you're already doing your job just right.”

Reaction: Twilight

Reaction: Twilight

Everything had been going so well, too.

I knew Spike was straight.  I'd known for a while, actually.  His obsession with Moondancer was frankly adorable.  And then when he came to Ponyville, he forgot all about her and started pining after Rarity instead.  I never mentioned it in Canterlot because I didn't think it was necessary.  Drawing attention to the fact that Spike was different and making a big fuss about it couldn't be good for him.  So in the end, I never mentioned the elephant in the room because I hoped I didn't need to.  And once we moved to Ponyville, I hoped I wouldn't have to.  We lived in library, for Pony's sake.  Spike was already a lot more well-versed and aware than others his age (I had made sure of it), and I would have been surprised if he hadn't gone after some of the relevant material on his own (certain subjects will grab the curiosity of even the lazy, after all.)  I trusted him to handle things maturely.

My judgment turned out to be misplaced.  I still need to learn not to confuse education with maturity.

My sleep is fitful and restless.  I cycle through arguments in my head, creating them, testing them against each other, and ultimately throwing out all of them.  How do I get him to understand?  How can I get him to see how important this is?

Because this is important.  I'm beginning to understand where he's coming from.  To him, this is a personal matter.  And maybe it was.  But it stopped being personal the moment he kissed Rarity.

That kiss was like an explosion.  After a bomb explodes, you can't put its pieces back together, no matter how hard you try.  It's an impossible task, and eventually you have to accept that things are going to be different from here on out.

The words strike me as ironic as I think them up.  He's not the one trying to restore things.  I'm the one undertaking that impossible task.

I am the damage control, and it's an under-appreciated job.

I do finally manage to fall asleep.  If I have any dreams, I don't remember them.  Waking up, I'm not sure if I want to.  What could they possibly have done but cause me more frustration.

I love Spike.  That much is undeniable.  It makes my treatment of him a balancing act of what he wants versus what's for his own good.  The problem is that it's easy to know what he wants.  All I have to do is ask him.  I can't know for certainty what's for his own good.  But neither can he.

I asked Spike to sleep on the matter with the aims that in the morning we'd both be feeling a bit more amicable.  It didn't work.  If anything, I feel even worse now.  I no longer have the energy to put up any sort of an offense.

Spike, on the other hand, has been filled with a new energy.

“What does it matter to you?” he asks during breakfast, coming completely out of nowhere and bringing the events of last night crashing back up onto the fleeting and fake peace of the present.  I feel suddenly weak from his accusation.  The question bounces around, screaming of incoherence.

Why does it matter to me?

Why wouldn't it matter to me?  He doesn't wait for an answer.

“Either you care about me, in which case you should be on my side, or you don't care, in which case it shouldn't make a difference what I do.  The only reason you'd be like this would be if you hated me.  I thought you'd get it, Twi.  I thought that if anypony would understand, it would be you.  And then it turns out you hate me like all the rest of them.  You just didn't know it yet.”

I panic, trying to work through his web of logic so that I can tear it apart.  It's not true.  It can't be true.  I'm desperate because the conclusion he's drawing is one I'm horrified to even contemplate.

“I don't hate you, Spike,” I blurt.  He must know.  If there's one thing he needs to know at the end of this, it's that I love him.  “You know I don't.  I'm not like that.  My parents are straight.  My brother is straight.  I know what it's like for you, so don't accuse me of not sympathizing.  But that doesn't mean you know what it's like for me.”

“Oh,” he snorts haughtily.  “I don't know what it's like to be you, is that what you're saying?  I'm sorry.  I didn't realize that being normal was so hard.”

His anger is contagious.  I can't help it.  “This isn't just about you.  I'm just as involved in this as you are.  We're connected, Spike.  We always were.  And what affects you affects me too, and that's why we have to listen to each other.  That's not why I'm mad.  I would never be mad at you for being honest.  But that doesn't mean that you can go traipsing around in some backwater town that's all muddy roads and low-class rubes and kiss mares.  There's such a thing as subtlety.”

He's giving me this look, like I'm a foal.  “This is all easy for you to say, isn't it?  You don't need to be subtle; you don't have to worry about what other ponies think.  No one's asking you to lay low.  Playing by their rules isn't a problem for you, is it?”

I don't answer him.  He repeats the question, louder.

“It's not hard for you at all, is it?

I give up.  “Okay?” I sigh, conceding.  “You want to know the truth?  The truth is that I love you and I want to keep you safe.”

This doesn't satisfy him.  Personally, I don't think it would satisfy me either.  It's hardly an explanation.

“Then why you don't have a problem with Shining Armor?” he asks.  “Why am I trapped while he can do whatever he wants?”

“It's not the same,” is what I want to say, but even if it's true, I get the feeling that it isn't going to accomplish anything.  I can't dance around vague generalities.  If I want to be heartfelt, I need to be detailed too.

“If somepony hurt you, I don't know what I would do.  Shining can take care of himself, but you... I just don't want to see you get hurt, Spike.  I want to keep you safe, because you're my number one assistant, and you're more important to me than anyone else in the world.

“You think I'm weak,” he concludes.  “You think that this makes me weak."

“Yes,” I answer, a bit too quickly.  “No,” I quickly correct myself, “not because of this.  You're young, Spike.  It's my responsibility to look after you.  Please.  Let me protect you.”

“It's your responsibility,” he repeats.

“I'm still a student, Spike,” I try desperately to explain.  “I'm still enrolled at the academy.  Just because I'm studying independently now doesn't mean I'm not being graded.  And so I have a responsibility to do the best I can to impress the princess and the school board, to prove I'm learning.  And if I don't this all ends.

“Our life in Ponyville is conditional, Spike.  The school doesn't just hand out grants to anypony that asks, so it's my job to prove that this is worth their investment.  We're dangling from their grasp, and if they decide not to renew the grant, we'll have to pack up and return to Canterlot.”

I watch his eyes fill with horror that quickly turns into disbelief.  “The princess wouldn't do that,” he tells me.  “She'd stand up for you.  She cares.”

“She cares about my education, first and foremost.  She's my teacher; it's her job.  And while I can always trust her to have my best interests at heart, the problem is some of the other higher-ups at the school.  The ponies in charge know what they like, what's good and what's bad, and that's tragic.  It really is.  But if we have to put on a dog and pony show to gain their approval, then so be it.  But I do care about you.  Don't ever say that I don't.  I want them to think well of you.  I want them to think well of us.  I don't want them to say, “Oh, look at the poor mare that can't even raise a child right.  Must be because of her parents, don't you think?  I told you that ponies like them shouldn't be allowed to breed.'  I want to keep us here.  I want both of us to be able to see Pinkie Pie and Rarity and everypony else, because for the first time I've made friends that I want to keep, no matter what.”

“I understand,” he murmurs, and I try my best to pretend to be humble.  Inside, though, I'm elated that I've finally gotten through.

“Really?” I asked, intrepidly.

“Yeah.”  Then his expression sours.  “You want to impress them and show them what a perfect little dragon you can make.”

“Exactly!” I enthusiastically reply, realizing a moment too late that it was the wrong answer.  “No!  Wait,” I try to call out, but he's almost stopped paying attention to me.  I can tell that he's done.

“I hope you enjoy your date with Cheerilee.  That way at least one of us gets what we want.”

I didn't know what to say as he walked away.  He stopped at the door and turned, and I was wondering if he was going to apologize.

“Should I stay out late tonight?” he asked me.  “You know, give you some space?  Let me know.”

I sigh.  I don't know if he's being sarcastic or not, but Pinkie Pie already gave me enough teasing about the subject that this is opening up a conversation I'm not willing to have with anypony, least of all Spike.

I take too long to answer, and he gives up waiting for a reply.  “Forget it,” he says.  “I don't think I want to stick around if this is what's waiting for me.  I think I'll find somepony who appreciates me.  Don't wait for me.  I'll see you later.  Probably.”

I want to say something to make him stop.  Anything that will get him to turn around and let us discuss this like proper living beings.  But that opportunity is lost.  There isn't anything I can say anymore, not with the hole I've spent the last night digging.

So I say nothing, and I let him go.  I wish I had another option.

His parting words, and the anger in them, weigh on me heavily.  But I begin to realize that, especially now, there's little I can do about them.  I decide to let him blow off his steam.  When he comes back, we can try to talk again.  And maybe, I begin to think, maybe he's not the only one that could use some time with his thoughts.  Maybe I need to rethink my approach.  But all my worries about Spike are going to have to be pushed to the back of my mind, however, since I have something slightly more pressing to worry about.

Today is my date with Cheerilee.

Back in Canterlot, I was entirely convinced that I didn't need anypony.  I was far too busy, too engrossed in my own work, and any possible benefits that such a relationship might confer (and even I didn't deny that there were benefits) were unnecessary.  No, it was much easier to handle things entirely on my own.

Of course, I had always thought that I didn't need friends, either, and while I still don't know if I really need them, I have to admit that I would much rather have them than be without them.  I had begun to second-guess the value of my self-imposed isolation.  Maybe, I had told myself, just maybe I'd be willing to try something new.

My worry was that I wouldn't find anypony in Ponyville.  If I wanted a relationship, a real connection, I assumed it would have to be with somepony that shared my interests.  And let me be blunt.  A university student in a small farm town?  I did not like my chances.

Of course, then along came Cheerilee.

Cheerilee was the first pony outside my circle of friends to enter the library.  Apparently, she came to the library fairly regularly, and when she saw my unfamiliar face, she was more than excited to introduce herself.  The conversation turned to my first impressions of the town (which I sugar-coated a little bit), and she wanted to take every effort to make sure I was comfortable.

It took me far too long to notice what was wrong with the picture.  “You come here a lot?” I asked her, and she nodded, smiling.

“And now I'll have company,” she chirped optimistically.  “And hopefully someone familiar with the cataloging system,” she added.

“What about the previous librarian?”  It occurred to me then that I hadn't yet met whomever had run the library before me, nor had I seen any indication of their existence.

As Cheerilee explained to me then, the library didn't have any employees, since it didn't really see enough use to warrant them.  Before my arrival, the checkouts and returns were done on an honor system.  To me this seemed horribly insecure, and I told her so.  She laughed it off, and I couldn't escape the feeling that she was somehow judging me.  Ignorant city girl.  You can't keep thinking like you're still in Canterlot.  This is Ponyville.  Never been a safer place in Equestria.  But maybe my ignorance played to my advantage.  It's harder to make a more memorable impression.

When she left, I hadn't been thinking much about her, but I suppose now that she had been thinking quite a bit about me.  I hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.  But then again, I didn't really have an eye for anything like this.

Pinkie did.

“So, what are you gonna do now?” chirped Pinkie as soon as Cheerilee was gone.  I didn't get it, and I told her so.

“Please,” said Rainbow, adding her own two cents.  “Cheerilee totally has the hots for you.”

I hadn't expected such forwardness from her, and I found myself blushing furiously.  If Rainbow had been unkind enough to point it out, I would have gone to my grave swearing it was simply because she had embarrassed me in front of Pinkie, not because her words held an ounce of truth.

I had ignored them at the time.  Their claims seemed patently ridiculous.  But I spent more and more time with Cheerille, first as a conversational partner, and then as a friend.  Talking led to us founding a book club in the library, which led to me helping her grade papers.  It was a life completely separate from my other friends, which Pinkie Pie assured me wasn't strange or disrespectful.

And then we both stalled.  We both had an inkling, I think, but neither of us acted on it.  It was safer that way.  More certain.  But while we were fine to live a life of caution, three other fillies weren't.

Enter Hearts and Hooves day.

Cheerilee was, to put it gently, less than enthused when she learned what had happened that day.  Which, naturally, is why I try to remind her about it at every opportunity.

But even she couldn't deny that the events had finally brought what we'd both been hiding into the light: romance.  Even though the idea of her and Big Macintosh was laughably ludicrous (it wouldn't have worked, for any number of reasons) the idea of romance with anyone was now on the table.

The day goes by faster than I would have expected.  I keep get distracted by the growing worry in me that Spike hasn't come home yet.  I barely get into my studies and I haven't had any time to prepare for the date when the knock on the door reminds me of where I am.  For a moment I hope that Spike came back.  But Spike wouldn't knock, not even if he was in a good mood.  I go with my second guess instead.

Cheerilee has arrived earlier than expected.  Naturally, this poses a problem.  I'm already behind schedule.  Out of the checklist of things to do to prepare for the date, all I've done is woken up and eaten breakfast.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes and let the knocking continue.  I wasn't asleep, was I?  I don't fall asleep while reading.  That is not a thing that happens.  But considering how little I got last night, I don't rule it out as a possibility.

I want to keep her waiting, but I can't let her see me like this: mane frazzled, heart racing, still jittery from the encounter with Spike.  I rush to my room and grab the list of the table.  It's okay, I tell myself.  There's a reason I listed them in order of priority.  I scratch off the last dozen or so items off the list; anything less than a two and a half on the attached urgency scale was basically optional anyway, just for my own perfectionist tendencies.

The situation is so far from perfect that they wouldn't make much of a difference anyway.

The knocking continues, and I don't know what to do.  This never happened in any of the dozen times I ran through the scenario in my head.  Not answering the door would be rude.  Answering the door unprepared for our date would also be rude.  There's no right answer.  “Just a minute!” I call as I rush into the bathroom, trying to see if I can't fix myself up as much as possible.

“Twiilght?” I recognize the sound of her voice.  It's definitely Cheerilee, and I don't know what to do about it.  That's okay, I tell myself.  I can still fix this.  I can shower quickly and then run out the back to buy flowers and put up the nice tablecloth...

A floor below me, the door swings open.  It's not locked.  Of course it's not locked.  It's a public library.  And now I can't get out without being spotted.

“Twilight?  Are you in?  I know I'm early.  I can wait.”

I can wait, she said.  She is willing to bend her schedule for me.  I can't think of a more selfless act.  Was I really going to just sneak out the back and leave Cheerilee wondering where I went?

“I'll be right down,” I tell her, and I shut the door behind me.  I have no idea what I'm supposed to do.  I step into the shower, trying to adjust to the change in the routine.  I realize I'm going to have to talk to Cheerilee eventually, so I dry off and bite the bullet.

My nerves are worse than shot as I descend the stairs into the public area of the library.  “I'm sorry,” I tell her.  “Sorry for making you wait, sorry for looking like a mess.”

“You look fine,” she reassures me.

“But I didn't do everything I could for you.  I’m not presentable!” I wail, the truth finally breaking its way out of me.  And then, desperate to prove my strength to Cheerilee, I choose perhaps the most counterproductive course of action possible.

I sob.

Cheerilee watches me patiently.  She waits for me to calm down, and then she steps up beside me, gently stroking me with one of her forelegs.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not dating your presentability,” she tells me.

Her voice is like a beacon, a tether in the midst of what is quickly becoming an overwhelming amalgamation of tasks and duties.  I see her smiling, and it calms me.  I'm lifted, almost, out of my own skin and I can see myself from the outside.  I feel foolish for getting so worked up over it.  It doesn't matter.  Of course it doesn't matter.  I just need to think clearly and logically and not get caught up in myself and my stupid perceptions.

Cheerilee senses my train of thought, somehow.  Her empathy is astounding, and I know I've made the right choice.  “You don't need to be perfect for me,” she tells me.  “What would be the point of dating a perfect pony?”

We stay there for a while, and despite Cheerilee's reassurances, I still feel guilty. I should be more composed than this.  It's not fair for her to have to put up with my foalish behavior.  I don't deserve her.

And then it occurs to me that she could leave at any time and she hasn't.

“We can talk about it, if you like,” Cheerilee offers, and while I decline, the suggestion makes me melt.

“Let's just enjoy tonight,” I offer instead.  “There's a production, an opera on tour, that Rarity won't stop gushing about.”

“Dinner and a show?”

Late lunch and a show, technically, considering how early it is.  And since we've got time and I've found the courage to throw my checklist out the window, maybe there will be time to just talk.  Talk about her class, about my research, about my problem.  But I don't say any of that.

“Sounds perfect,” I tell her.

“Well that was...” Cheerilee struggles to come up with a word that is both accurate and euphemistic enough for her tastes.  We emerge from the amphitheater, and I'm not looking forward to this conversation.  I was forced to watch my date grow increasingly livid as the performance went on.  Clearly I had neglected to share some important details about the show before we left.

“Provocative?” I offer, wanting her to move on.  For some reason, her trying to find ways to sugar-coat her words doesn't sit well with me.  I've always held that ponies should say what they mean. Anything less than that, any deliberately obscured speaking for any reason, is never productive.  It's a simple social science that I've tried to explain to my friends any number of times, but I've never quite been able to sway them over to my way of thinking.  Celestia knows why.  “Open communication” seems like such a logical concept that I don't understand why it's considered polite for ponies to restrict their vocabulary.

“Modern,” she finally settles on.  “You said opera and I assumed it was a classic.  I love classics.  Did you know we're talking about Marelowe's Faustus in class?”

I'm familiar enough with the play.  A stallion sells his soul to the forces of disharmony in exchange for knowledge.  I've never seen the play as any more than a work of art, or maybe a historical document of the religious views at the time.  It's use as something to be learned from, on the other hand, I'm skeptical about.  “Aren't they a bit young for that?” I ask.

“The kids are a bit too young to really understand all of it,” she agrees with me.  “But they can still appreciate what they do understand, can't they?  The moral is straightforward enough, and something colts and fillies should understand.”

“That knowledge is the tool of demons?” I crack a grin. This was probably not an appropriate time to make a joke.

“That reconciliation is always an option.”  She is clearly not in the mood for making up crack themes of ancient literature.  “But this opera took those same problems and ran the other way with them.  The characters were blatantly hedonistic, and it was basically telling us not to feel remorse for our mistakes.  What kind of a way is that to live?”

“I think the characters were realistic,” I offer my own perception of the show.  “Flawed, maybe.  But that doesn't mean we should agree with everything they do.”

“And how many of the ponies that went are going to realize that?” she counters.  “I clearly didn't.  And there were foals there.  This was far too mature for them.”

“It's just a single play, Cheerilee.  Is it really worth getting up in arms about?  I'm sure any colts or fillies there just enjoyed the music and spaced out for the rest of it.”

“That's not the point.  I'm worried about what we're teaching our children.  Education doesn't just happen in the classroom, you know.  Foals are picking up so much from what they see and hear.  And things like the recent wedding of Princess Cadance just reinforces the idea that this kind of behavior is okay.  And to think of how much press coverage that received, you just know somepony's pushing an agenda.  Trying to push families apart by encourage those sorts of...” she pauses, as if she is trying to come up with the right word.  “Sexcapades.”

And this is when I decide that my best course of action is to stop responding and stop encouraging her.  We continue on in silence, and she does seem to calm down a little.

The date went less than stellar, clearly, but I'm okay with that.  The night is young, and it can be salvaged.  I just don't know how.

I've never seen her this invested in anything before, and it's starting to worry me.  I'm beginning to wonder if there's something sinister, something that neither of us can control, lurking beneath some metaphorical surface, waiting for the perfect opportunity to drag us down with it.  We make it all the way back to the library when Cheerilee starts up again.

“I wouldn't have a problem with them if it weren't for the fact that they have so many Celestia-damned children.  How long do you think it will be before Cadance is pregnant?  Or is she already pregnant, do you think?  I bet your brother put a bun in her over before they were even married.”

I stop over the doorstep and stare her down.  I was willing to ignore the tirade up until she brought Cadance's wedding into it.  Cadance was a mare that had never been anything short of angelic to me, like a big sister.  And now that she technically is my sister, I find myself rushing to her defense.

“Shining Armor is my brother!” I remind her.  “They're family.”

She snorts.  “That doesn't mean you have to defend them,” she says almost dejectedly, as if I just betrayed her.  Maybe I did.  “You can still be his sister and know that what he's doing is crazy.  If you really want to do right by him, you should intervene, tell him when he's wrong.  Somepony like him isn't really fit to be Captain of the Royal Guard.  He's not a true stallion, not really.  Whatever affirmative action Celestia's implemented, it's weakening her own guard.  Isn't that important to you?  Isn't your country important to you at all?”

I'm indignant, and I know that I shouldn't have to suffer this.  I can feel the illusion breaking in front of me.  I have to sit down.  Fortunately, there's a couch in the back room, and I don't hesitate to get to it.

“Are you saying that Shining cheated into his position?” I ask, beginning to feel her fire spread into me.  “That he's not fit to protect Equestria?  Don't forget, he saved Canterlot from the changelings.  Not me.  Him and Cadance.  Together.”

She rolls her eyes and neighs softly, as if she was expecting this response from me.  “Don't get me started on that whole 'power of love' thing again,” she groans.  “It's ridiculous is what is it.  It doesn't change the fact that he's just not a real stallion.”  She catches my glare, and I see her leaning away from me to escape it.  “But maybe he's still as strong as one,” she adds.  “Maybe.”  She deflates.  “Look.  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to get you all on edge.  I know you already had one fight today, and the last thing I want to do is force you to have another one.  I just had no idea this was all so important to you.”

“You had no idea my brother was important to me,” I summarize.

“When you put it that way...” she mumbles and trails off.  “The point is,” she resumes.  “We can have our quarrels.  It's fine.  But please, let's not let that get in the way of, you know... us.”  She holds out a hoof as if she's offering me to shake it.  “What do you say?” she asks.  “Agree to disagree?”

I touch her hoof with mine but I don't shake.  “Not a chance,” I tell her.  “But that's something for later.”

There's a tension in the room that wasn't there before.  I've forced the conversation to a stop, and there aren't any branches for it to move forward.  The silence is nauseating.

“Let me make it up to you,” she tells me.

Amazingly, I'm naïve enough to ask what she means.  She giggles and gives me a sly look like she's got some sort of secret.  I'm about to ask her what she's doing when she dives in for the kiss.

I'm not going to lie.  If there's one thing in this whole experience that I will be completely incapable of ever lying about, it's that kiss.

Sweet Celestia that kiss felt good.

The fight is gone.  I can't remember what we were getting so upset about.  And my more normal rational self would have been very concerned by that.  But I'm branching out.  Trying new things.  And apparently some of those things include throwing out concerns in exchange of immediate gain.

Recklessness, it turns out, is a lot more satisfying than I ever gave it credit for.  But it's a mixed blessing, I discover, when we roll off the couch and I bang my shins on the floor.

She panics and scrambles off of me, letting me gather my wits while she makes sure I'm not hurt.  I find the gesture strangely endearing, and it prompts me to say something that a year ago was strictly spoken in the books I've read.

And this is one topic I’ve read a lot of books about.

“Maybe we should take this upstairs.”

Spike is the furthest thing from my mind right now.  Right now there are two adorable round eyes looking back at me, attached to an amazingly beautiful face, and I'm really not equipped to think about anything else.  I begin to feel a little hot under the metaphorical collar I'm not wearing, and my vision narrows.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks me, out of concern for my wellbeing.  She needn't bother.  For the first time I'm positive.

The rational skeptic part of me, that part that doesn't like to be positive, is uncertain and is trying to raise as many red flags as she can.  Forget her.

“Absolutely.”

I can't help but giggle as Cheerilee takes me by the hoof and leads me up the stairs.

I have always held sex to be an academic pursuit.  Something that can be broken down into its key components, studied, and understood.  After all, it's just biology, right?

Leave it to a teacher to show me just how completely and utterly wrong I am.

It's more like theater, actually.  Complete with stage fright.  I fall backwards onto my bed, trying my best to remember my lines, but all I can think about is Cheerilee's grinning mischievous face.  I falter.

“It's okay,” she tells me.  “I'll lead.”

She kisses me, sloppily.  It's not as good as the first one; it doesn't feel like much other than wet and runny.  I've built up my tolerance, but she quickly moves on, nibbling on my ear.  And that's where I lose it.  I didn't even know the ear bit was a thing, let alone that it would be so invigorating.  I twitch, reflexively, bringing my muzzle straight up into her chin.  I murmur a rushed and hushed apology, but she silences me with a hoof on my mouth.

She starts working her way down.  I can't handle the anticipation.  The torture as I feel her work agonizingly slowly down my neck and my chest is infuriating in all the right ways.  I try to silence myself, but I let a whine escape.  A loud, feminine wine, bordering on a whinny.  She has to stop her descent now because she's laughing too hard.  I give her a nod of encouragement, letting her know to just get it over with already.

She works for a couple more seconds, but then she pauses right before the good part.  It's a slightly irritating test of my patience, to the point that I start to wonder what she's doing.  Glancing down, I discover that she's looking at the picture I keep on my bedside table.  I'm just a little filly, standing beside my brother.  We're both beaming at the cameramare, and my parents are standing behind us, grinning at each other.  A perfect family moment, I think, and a reminder of the ponies that I should never let myself forget.

“Is this your mother?” Cheerilee asks, pointing to the mare with my same hair style in a lighter coat color.  “I can see the resemblance.”

I nod, eager for her to table her curiosity for the moment.

“And who's this gentleman beside her?”

I thought that the answer was obvious, but Cheerilee clearly isn't jumping to any conclusions.  “That would be my father,” I answer dully.

I'm not expecting a positive reaction from her, given her previous outburst, so I'm surprised to see her smile.  “I think it's nice that your mother was so close with your donor,” she tells me.

I am fully aware that what I'm about to say is probably going to ruin any chance I may have of progressing this evening any further, and the part of me that's rational about my wants and needs is telling me to just shut up and enjoy the ride.  But I can't.  Be it from respect for my father, or Cheerilee's obliviousness being the final straw to my tolerance, I can't stop myself from correcting her.

“Actually,” I say, “He raised me.  They both did.  As a family.”

I watch as the smile slowly melts off her face like a wet canvas in the rain.  She realizes her mistake when it's far too late to do anything about it.  She backpedals, pushing off of me so that she doesn't have to look me in the eyes.  “Oh,” she says, and for a short while, that's it.  “Oh,” she says again as she's probably replaying the events of the evening with this new knowledge.  “I wouldn't have guessed.”

“Why?” I ask.  If it sounds like I'm leveling an accusation, it's because I am.  I don't mean to press her.  I want to watch her climb out of the hole she's dug with some eloquent explanation for her behavior, but I know that's a long shot.  She's cracking.

“You just don't seem like...” she begins to stammer, and then she rewinds and begins again.  “You're not typical for...”

I don't know if she's going to be able to finish this sentence, but I don't give her a chance.  “Typical for what?” I ask.  “For a child of breeders?  Why?  Because I had a good childhood?  Because I have two parents who love me and want me to be my best?  Or because I'm not from a broken home like you must imagine we all are.”

I can tell she's trying to think up a suitable response, some way for her to prove that she's not how I'm now seeing her.  I'm disappointed that she has to think.  I remember reading that lies require more brain activity than the truth.

“Forget it,” she says to one of us, and she tries to lean in and finally kiss what I've been waiting for her to kiss for the past ten minutes.  I let her, once.  To my surprise it feels just as plain, sloppy and unfulfilling as the second time she kissed me on the lips.  There's no burning sense of passion at the contact.  The magic is gone.  The arousal is gone and I can't fathom how it got there in the first place.  I push her somewhat rudely off of me and to the side.  She lands on the bed next to me but her momentum keeps her rolling over the edge.

Even once she picks herself back up again, I don't miss what we had.

“I'll see myself out now,” she mumbles.

“That would be fantastic.”

I sit alone in the library, not reading, not really thinking either, just being.  I wonder what I just gave up, and what I’m hoping to gain.  I wonder if it’s worth it.  I don’t move until Spike returns, and when he finally stirs me from my reverie by slamming the door shut behind him, the first thing I notice is how dark it is.  The sun is completely past the horizon, leaving the two of us to whatever business still remains.

My first instinct is to ask him where he’s been (whether it’s fueled by anger or worry or relief, I can’t tell.  Maybe it’s just a desperate need to be in control of the situation again.  Celestia knows I can use any leg up I can find there).  But whatever I’m about to say or whyever I’m about to say it, I stop when I see his face.

He’s been crying.  I can tell he’s done his best to hide it, but some things bleed through more easily than others, like his eyes.  And held captive by his irritated, inflamed eyes, I now wonder if I contributed to this.  Of course I did.  I simmer in shame as I think about how angry he must be at me.  So of course I’m caught completely by surprise when he sees me and his entire body collapses into immense relief.  And, I realize, so does mine.

He leaps into my forehooves, and all of my tension seeps out of me as we embrace.

“I'm sorry,” he tells me.  He's squeezing me so tightly I can't breath, but I don't care.  I wouldn't have it any other way right now.  I need to know that he's really there.

“No, Spike.  Forgive me.  I know this isn't easy for you.”  I hold him at arm's length so that I can look him in the eyes.  “But I trust you.  You deserve that much, at least.”

“Thanks,” he says, his mouth forming what might just be the beginnings of a smile.  “But I don't deserve that.  I messed up.”

“I know,” I say, offering him all my reassurances, “but we can handle this.  Together.”

He fidgets, drawing away from me.  Was it something I said?  “No,” he mutters, suddenly ashamed.  “I mean, I really messed up.  And you should probably hear it from me first.”

I'm worried now, but I try my best to keep my voice calm and level.  “What happened?  Where were you?”

He shies away from the questions as if they sting.  “I ruined everything,” he insists.  “They all hate me now.”

I don't grasp immediately what he's trying to say.  I assume he's still ashamed of his behavior last night.  I'm worried I may have instilled that in him.  “I don't think that's true,” I do my best to comfort him, but it does nothing.

“No, they do. Rarity hates me.  Pinkie Pie hates me.”

Wait.  Pinkie Pie.  Why would Pinkie Pie hold anything against Spike?  Avant shipper that she is, she'd probably be egging him on.  “Spike?  What happened?  Why are you home so late?”

So he tells me.  And one thing's clear:  He's right.  He really messed up.

Interlude: Fallout

Interlude:  Fallout

I don't know where I'm headed when I leave Twilight alone in the library.  I don't have much of a personal life outside of being her assistant, and that generally doesn't bother me.  I like working for her.  Since she's almost never satisfied, I never run out of ways to try and please her, and it gives me a sense of purpose.  Although I had never really thought about it, working for her had come to be a large part of my life.  So giving her space proves to be much harder than I expected.

What am I without her?  A dragon with no goals and no ambition.  What can I pursue?  Romance?  That already blew up in my face.  A job?  I already have one, and I'm too young to be taken seriously by anyone else, even if I can bake a mean quiche.

Speaking of which, I wonder if it wouldn't be worth spending some time with the Cakes until this blows over.  We tend to get along pretty well anyways, and it's not like they can complain about my attraction to Rarity.

For the time being, though, I wander. I'm not expecting the attention I receive just walking down the street.  Heads follow me as I pass, followed by painfully obvious attempts by them to pretend they were all just minding their own business.  I haven't been this popular since I first arrived in Ponyville.  The novelty of a dragon living among ponies was exciting and interesting, for a while, but it soon faded.  Now I've given them something new to talk about.

I hear a pony call my name, and I'm tempted to ignore it.  But I look anyway, and Sweetie Belle is racing to catch up with me.

I don't really know her that well, although I know of her.  The longest time I ever had to just talk to her was at Shining Armor's wedding, where we had the first dance together, quickly grew tired of it as soon as Sweeite Belle learned she wasn't getting a Bridesmaid cutie mark from it, and wandered off to explore the castle.  Most of what I learned from her was that she was a bundle of energy better fit to be Pinkie Pie's sister than Rarity's, and that her curiosity was inexhaustible.

She greets me with a leap and a hug that nearly bowls me over.  I don't understand how a little filly could have that much force behind her, but she does, and as I stand up again, she begins assaulting me with questions.

“So I heard you kissed Rarity?  Did you like it?  Huh?  Was she all fussy about it?  I tried asking her about it yesterday, but she didn't want to talk about it.”

“Neither do I,” I tell her, and I begin to walk away.

“Aw, come on!” she cries.  “I wanna hear everything.  Walk with me to school, at least.  Maybe I can help!  Maybe I can get my cutie mark in giving love advice!”

“Didn't you already try something like that?” I ask her.

She cocks her head and thinks for a moment.

“Hearts and Hooves day?” I remind her.

“Oh yeah.  Miss Cheerilee was not happy about that.”

Given the attention I've received today, I'm pretty sure I know why.

“Are you dating Rarity now? That would be so cool. We'd be a family, Spike.  You and me.  And Rarity too.”

I remind her that I don't want to talk about it, but it's too late.  She's planted the question in my head and it's taken root.  I realize that Rarity never really had a chance to reciprocate; Twilight had taken me home before anypony had time to say anything.  Maybe Rarity enjoyed the kiss but couldn't say so in public?  It's almost too much to hope for.

“Apple Bloom!” We're in front of Quills and Sofas when Sweetie runs past me to catch up with her friend, who we've been closing in on without me noticing.  But when Apple Bloom perks up and turns around, it's clear something's wrong.  She's excited, just for a moment, and then her expression sours into something uneasy.  Not malevolent, but still on edge.  And tired.

“Hey, Sweetie...” She drags out her words, like she's tripping over her own tongue.

“Come on,” Sweetie calls back to me, but I hesitate.  Something is clearly off.

“Uh, hold on Sweetie.  I need to talk to you,” Apple Bloom is shifty, nervous.  Was she at the festival?  I can't remember.  “Alone,” Bloom adds when Sweetie Belle just looks at her expectantly.  “Girl stuff, okay?”  She all but drags Sweetie away, into the store.

The responsible thing to do would be to respect her privacy and let them talk in private.  But if something really is wrong, I figure, maybe I can help them.  Plus, I'm curious.

I wait about ten seconds before going in after them, trying to spot them from a distance.  They're near the back of the store, and I settle in behind a couch to listen in.

“What are you doing with Spike?” asks Apple Bloom.  It's a funny question, but what's odder is the way she asks it.  She's not angry.  (I don't know why she would be angry, but I don't know why she's asking the question at all, either.)  Instead, she sounds concerned.  Afraid, even.  Afraid of what?

I feel a chill as I consider that maybe she's afraid of me.

“Spike? We're friends, aren't we?” Sweetie still doesn't have a clue what's going on, bless her heart.

“Sweetie...” Sympathy now from Apple Bloom.  “You can't be friends with everyone.    You need to be more careful.”

“What's wrong with Spike?” Sweetie sounds almost pained, like a cornered doe.  “Why can't I be friends with him?”

“What if he tries to hurt you?”

“Spike?” her voice shoots up an octave, and she's as shocked as I am.  As I take it in, I struggle to keep my blood from boiling.  “Why would Spike hurt me?”

Apple Bloom dodges the question.  “What if he tries to take advantage of you?” she asks instead.  “What if he... uses you?  The way a bull uses a cow?”

It feels like the floor is giving out from under me.  What's causing this from Apple Bloom?  It's pretty clear what event triggered this, but was this how she always thought?  Did she always think that ponies like me were dangerous, but she just never knew about me?  I'm not sure if Sweetie still doesn't understand, but she's picked up on her friend's urgency.  “You're scaring me, Apple Bloom.”  I can hear her heavy breathing from my hiding place.  “Please, stop it.”

Apple Bloom yells, and I cringe.  “Can't you see I'm trying to keep you safe, Sweetie Belle?  I don't want anything bad to happen to you, not ever, you hear me?  I care about you. I...”  She clamps down on her tongue and stops mid-sentence.  “I wouldn't forgive myself, alright?”

This is too much.  I think about rushing in there and interfering, but I'm seized by a fear about what Sweetie might think about me in her current state, under her current pressures.  So instead I just leave.

Scootaloo is waiting for me outside.  “Oh, hey Spike,” she says with a refreshing amount of uncaring.  “Is Apple Bloom okay in there? It sounds heated.”

“Forget about it,” I say almost by instinct, and Scootaloo looks at me funny.

“Is something happening?” she asks.  I don't have time to answer because Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom use that moment to come outside.  Neither of them look very good; now they're both on edge.

“Scoots!” cries Apple Bloom once she's seen her other friend.  “Get away from Spike!”  Clearly she's no longer worried about hurting my feelings.

“Apple Bloom!” squeals Sweetie Belle in protest.  This is quickly becoming out of hand.  Sweetie Belle makes a note of stepping away from Apple Bloom, but she doesn't move any closer toward me.

Scootaloo looks back and forth from them to me, trying her absolute hardest to make sense of the situation.  Then she turns a critical eye to me.  “What did you do?” she asks.

Me?  How do I even begin to answer that?  “What did you do to make Apple Bloom upset like this?” she says, and now she's angry too.

“Scootaloo, leave him alone.”  The accusation seems to be enough to make Sweetie Belle come to my aid and she steps toward me defensively.  “He didn't do anything.  Let's just go to school.”

“We're not walking with him,” Apple Bloom tells her.

“Yes we are.”

“Then I'm not.  Sorry Sweetie, I tried.”

“What in pony's name is happening?” cries Scootaloo.  “What is wrong with you ponies?”

“You can't hang out with Spike,” Apple Bloom explains.  “Not anymore.  Not like he is.  For safety.”

“No!” cries Sweetie Belle.  “It ain't fair.”

“Come here, Scoots.  Stay away from him.”

“You can't do this!”

Scootaloo whips her head back and forth so hard she's going to hurt herself.

“I'm going to class, Scoots.  Come with me or not.”  Apple Bloom continues on without us.

Scootaloo looks like she's in pain now.  She watches her friend shrink into the distance, and she gives me a bitter glare of resentment.

“Scootaloo,” I begin, but I don't finish; she interrupts.

“This is your fault.  If it weren't for you, none of this would have happened.”

She turns and makes her escape.  Sweetie Belle stays, looking guilty, like she wants to do something to support me but doesn't have the first clue what.  And I'm just trying to figure out some way to see things that doesn't make Scootaloo right.

And the day's not even half over yet.