Slightly More Adult Gifts, Flashfics, Etc.

       Bookworm's consciousness slowly drifted back to him like an incoming tide. He was barely conscious of the world around him, and even with his eyes closed the sensations slowly trickling into his brain threatened to overwhelm him.  After what seemed like centuries, he was finally able to control the stream of incoming messages, separating and organizing them into sight, touch, sound. It was then he felt secure enough to open his eyes.

To his surprise, he regretted it less than he feared he might. He couldn't make out the particulars of the room he was in, but he could tell it was dimly lit by a single candle. As his eyes fluttered open, he could hear a rustling from the other end of the room.

"Oh, he's waking up!" The voice was high an clear as a bell, and Bookworm recognized it immediately as that of his dear friend Midnight Love.

"Shh, easy now, take it slow." The second voice he didn't recognize, a rich baritone that was distinctly marked by an accent that Bookworm couldn't quite place. He tried to scan the room for the source, but was rewarded only with a flood of pain to his temples.

"I said take it easy, chap. The Voltaran Vortex isn't something you just trot away from. You've had serious damage done to you Identic field, and it will take some repairing."

Bookworm wasn't sure if his lack of understanding stemmed from the unfamiliar words or his seeming lack of ability to form coherent thoughts himself, but he struggled to force a question out of his throat.

"Wh...who?" Before he could continue, the stallion's voice piped up.

"Oh, right, the amnesia. Of course, you wouldn't remember me, but we know each other well. I'm The Doctor."

"The Doctor just showed up on our doorstep." Midnight's voice was tinged with an air of concern. "Well, actually IN our doorstep."

"Yes, I seem to have wedged the TARDIS in a bit, but no matter. I'm sure you're wondering where you are"

"Wh...Where..?"

"Yes, I was just getting to that. You've been exposed to a bit of nastiness that has, unfortunately, given you a teensy, tiny bit of lack of soul. Purely reversible, of course, if you know the trick. And that trick happens to be, uh, breaking one of the fundamental laws of time and space that should never be broken under any circumstance ever."

"Wh...What..?"

"What law is that you ask? Uh, the minor law about never meeting your past self. You see, the only way to repair the damage to your "soul" is to get you in close proximity to your soul, and the only way to do that, for time travelers at least, is to visit your past self. So here we are. In your past. With you."

"Wh...When?"

"Ah, clever chap, you are! Jumping right to the pertinent questions. Well, the answer to that is, um, perhaps a BIT of an interesting one, you might agree. In all my travels, Equestria's Magic is one I've never quite found a match for. But, I'm not answering your question, so perhaps I'd be best off letting, uh, you answer your questions."

"Hello Bookworm." A third voice joined the first two, a soft, feminine thing, breathy yet rich. Much like Bookworm's own voice, save that it was raised a few octaves. In fact, so similar that the voice might have come from...

"Violet?" Bookworm finally managed to clear the burning sensation in his throat enough to spit out the word, and turning his head to look at the mare who was standing alongside Midnight confirmed his fears.

"Yes, well, it seems you were being a bit... adventurous at this point in your personal history. Not that I can't sympathize, my dear chap, but I never thought of using magic, I just preferred to wait for a regeneration... Ah, but we should leave you two to get better... acquainted." Bookworm wasn't quite sure what made that last word sound so ominous, but his vision was clearing, and the look of concern on his... on Violet's face took his thoughts of pretty much everything else. Including the pain that had previously wracked through his body.

He heard the clopping of hooves and the closing of a door as he took in her.. his... her face. Violet, or at least that was the name he had taken on as he allowed Midnight to turn him briefly into a mare, had his same steel gray coat, his same blue-and-violet mane, and even his blue eyes. She didn't wear the glasses that he affected, and she was much younger even then he had been when Midnight cast the spell, a little "extra" she had tacked on to the version that Bookworm found in the magic tome. He could remember having been her, but he certainly never remembered encountering his then-future self. At least, he didn't think he did...

"Ahem." The Doctor cleared his throat. "So, all you two need to do is spend some time together, and the self-ness will bleed from one of you into the other, which should stabilize you enough for us to get you some proper medical attention." He looked over slyly at Midnight, then back at the pair of identical-yet-gender swapped ponies. "What say we give them some room, shall we? He needs his rest, and he won't find it with a whole herd of ponies in his room." With that, he escorted Midnight out the door, and closed it behind them.

The two ponies left in the room stared at each other for a good long time. Bookworm had the sensation of staring into a funhouse mirror, one that reflected his image but bent and twisted out of shape.

He blinked. She blinked. He looked left, she looked right. Then they reversed the motion, unconsciously matching each other's movements almost exactly.

"So." Bookworm tried to break the silence.

"So." Violet's voice had the exact same inflection, but rather than sounding course and dark, it floated through the air like a butterfly. Bookworm had to admit to himself - though he felt like the definition of a narcissist doing so -  he made a darn good filly.

It was at this moment that Violet giggled and - he remembered, he never had gotten used to the sound of giggles coming from his own throat at the time, though now they sounded positively charming - and Bookworm suddenly had the notion that she probably had a good idea of what was running through his head at that moment, and felt his own face turning red.

Violet seemingly couldn't take anymore and broke of her gaze, turning towards the far end of the room.

"Can I get you anything, Book? Something to drink?" Bookworm had to admit that his throat was still raw and burning, and accepted gratefully. As Violet crossed the room to the pitcher of water that had been left on the dresser, Bookworm suddenly felt weaker and nauseated. The pain in his temple increased, and he let out a soft moan without even realizing he had let out a breath.

"What is it?" Violet's voice was edged with concern as she galloped the length of the room back to Bookworm's side. As if somepony had flipped a switch, Bookworm felt better the moment Violet drew near. Swallowing to clear his throat, a thought came to him.

"Violet, could you... take a few steps back?" Bookworm wanted to test his theory, but had the feeling he might regret doing so.

With a short nod, Violet did as asked, slowly backing away with a look of concern mixed with puzzlement on her face. The effect was just as immediate as Bookworm had suspected; with each step backward his pain increased, and he began sweating profusely.

"Come... stop! Come back!" Violet, a look of understanding creeping on to her face, complied quickly, coming to her knees as close to the bedside as she could manage.

"it's distance, isn't it?" Bookworm nodded at Violet's conclusion.

"I think so. The closer we are, the better I feel."

"I thought so. Move aside fatty!"

"Fatty!" Bookworm tried to sound outraged, but the fatigue was evident in his voice. Violet ignored him just the same, and climbed into bed next to him, wrapping her forelegs around his neck and pulling him close. Bookworm shuffled aside as best he could to give her room, but the bed was small and only meant for a single pony.

Bookworm had to admit, despite the fact that most of his mind was telling him that she was, in fact, him - a younger, and more foolish him to be sure, but very much his own being - it felt good to be pressed up alongside her. Comfortable. Right. Like she knew just the parts of him to curl up against to make him feel the safest, ad he supposed she probably did.

There was another part of his brain speaking as well, that he did his best to suppress. The part that told him he was curled up in bed with a young, and to his eyes at least beautiful mare. That part bothered him, and he willed it to go away as best he could, but it persisted, and began making itself present in other, more... physical ways.

He could hear Violet giggle, and knew that in all likelihood her mind was thinking along the same lines. He had, after all, some experience with her mind. He also remembered that, at the time of his transformation, he was unaccustomed to all the filly hormones running through his bloodstream. That, combined with the fact that he - she - seemed to turn heads wherever she went, had caused a rather unexpected level of desire in her young filly body. As a mare, his devotion to his then-marefriend Aloe had prevented him from acting on those urges, but...

"You know, it wouldn't be cheating." Violet's soft whisper took him by surprise, and when he looked in her eyes, he could clearly see that her thoughts had been mirroring his all along, even without the gift of foresight that he had. "It's no different then, say... 'clopping'."

The use of the adolescent slang term made him laugh shortly and blush at the same time.

"But, you're... me! You're like my sister!" Bookworm almost convinced himself that it was a bad idea to pursue this line of thought. Almost.

Violet just giggled and smacked him on the forehead. "I'm not your sister, I'm you, you foal. You, but younger and prettier. I know as well as you do that you take matters into your own hooves often enough. I've done it too," Bookworm nodded slowly at the memory of the one experiment he had allowed himself as a filly. "How is this any different?"

Bookworm would have been abhorred by the suggestion had it come from anypony else. But of course he couldn't deny that the curiosity had been running around his brain, and Violet's line of reasoning was exactly the same as the one his brain was feeding him.

Bookworm sighed in acquiescence. "You already knew I was going to say yes."

"No, no I didn't. You're older than I am, I don't know what you've seen and what you've done. I know how you used to think though." She smiled. "And you always did have a dirty mind."

Bookworm held her even more closely. "And who knows, maybe this will help me heal faster." She smelled like cinnamon and hayseed, and her fur was soft against his cheek. He felt perfectly safe with her, and he gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.

She giggled. "Only one way to find out."

Outside the door, Midnight and the Doctor shared a cup of tea, looking at each other from across the dining room table. Finally, Midnight spoke up.

"Why, Doctor, of all the times in his life did you bring him here? And don't give me any lines about your TARDIS choosing the time and place. I'm not unfamiliar with power, and I could sense yours from the moment you landed on my doorstep."

"I thought I landed in your doorstep?" The Doctor's voice had a coltish mischievousness to it. "My dear Midnight, what do you think? Am I that clever?"

Midnight had no answer, but simply sipped her tea and stared at him knowingly.