Spike's claws scraped across the loose earth and stones, kicking up a plume of dust. Dammit! How did I screw up a simple landing? He scrabbled to keep himself upright, using his wings to brake. It didn't help. His hind legs started to slip out from underneath him. Only one alternative left. Spike pulled in his wings, brought his forelegs down and broke into a fast trot.
“Hold on!” he yelled.
His passenger screamed. The tight grip Rarity had maintained around his neck loosened and she lurched forward, legs dangling against his side. She kicked—hard—and threw his balance off. He lifted his head before he ended up face first in the dirt, and they came to a stop.
Her dismount was less than elegant. She fell backward, landing with a thud in the rocks and dirt. Rarity got up and dusted herself off while making indignant huffing noises.
Now, he thought, there'll be hell to pay.
“What exactly do you think you were doing?”
“I'm sorry, it's just—” Positively the wrong thing to say. Should have kept my mouth shut.
“Sorry? Sorry? You could have broken my neck with those—absurd antics of yours.” She inspected herself and brushed at the remaining dirt. “Just look at me! Thanks to you, I'm filthy.”
“I said I'm sorry.” Sorry for lots of things. “I just—well—I came in too fast, it's getting dark, and the ground was loose. I'm sorry, okay?”
She stopped fussing with her disheveled mane and glared at him. Her blue eyes shone cold.
“Yes, of course.” Rarity flashed a brief, inauthentic smile. “Apology accepted.” She turned her back to him and scanned the horizon. “Well, now that we're down, where should we set up?”
Spike surveyed the area. He saw nothing particular or interesting about the landscape, either here or anywhere else around them. All he saw was a desert littered with rocks and cacti, the definition of inhospitable. Tortured, leafless trees stood testament to the harsh environment. Bet they haven't seen rain in a century. To the east was the mountain range they'd flown over all afternoon, and farther ahead was a desert scene so barren it made where they'd landed look like a jungle paradise.
“I dunno,” he mumbled. “Maybe over there.” He pointed with an outstretched claw. “Yeah, over there.”
“And why there?” she snapped.
“It's got a couple of rocks, so at least it looks like it's someplace.” The sun melted into the desert, blending the reddish dirt and desiccated vegetation into a uniform dullness. Spike shook his head. “Most of this place looks like one big nowhere.”
“Well, at least we'll only be here overnight.” Rarity twisted up the corner of her mouth. “Now, let's get to your 'someplace' while there's some daylight left.” She stretched out one hind leg and then the other and trotted off towards the group of rocks he'd pointed at.
He let her get a head start. A good head start.
What a pain. First it had been too windy for her, and then he was flying too high and too fast. But they had to get over the mountains before nightfall. She knew that. The shadows stretching across his landing path made him misjudge his speed, his altitude, his—well—everything. Sloppy, but still recoverable. Trying to land at night in an unfamiliar place like this? I'd have been lucky not to break my own neck, let alone hers.
Her complaints started well before the landing. They'd broken for lunch in a deceptively pleasant valley littered with colorful flowers. “How picturesque,” she'd said when she saw it from the air. “Let's stop there.” No sooner than they'd landed, chilly breezes slid down the mountain slopes. The icy water from the brook gave her one of her headaches, and she didn't eat much.
I'm the one stuck with the headache now. Half the afternoon she'd moaned about that dreadful place, even if she was the one who'd chosen it. Why, I should have—
“Come along, dear,” she called in a sing-song. “Don't drag your tail.”
Spike kept pace, but he wasn't about to like it. Fortunately, there wasn't far to go.
A stone slab jutted from the ground, forming the geological approximation of a lean-to, not that either one of them would have been able to squeeze under it. At least it will keep some wind off her tent. Even now at sunset, the air hung thick, bordering on warm, but soon the temperature would drop. Who knows what the winds are like here. Cold hadn't bothered him in years, but she wasn't as fortunate. Hanging on his back, she'd had enough exposure during their flight, and he didn't want to think what a nighttime's worth would do to her. I'll need to get a—
“Here we are,” she chirped. “Home sweet home, at least for tonight.” This time her smile seemed genuine. “If you'll hand me down my things, I'll start setting up while you—”
“I'll start the fire.” I know what to do. You don't have to remind me. I'm not the one who needs it anyway.
“Thank you.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “You're such a darling.”
You're not getting off that easy. Spike fixed his eyes on the ground and stayed immune. He took the packs off his back and dropped them next to her without looking. Now he could head out into the desert to look for fuel. For the first time today, he'd be free from her.
Dammit, he raged, stomping out into the high desert. The clouds glowed a coppery red in the last remainder of blue. Maybe twenty minutes left. Spike stopped in front of an absurd, twisted tree and yanked it from the ground. He found no need to shake dirt from its roots—they were bare. The pathetic thing hadn't seen moisture in ages.
Stupid trees in a stupid place. He went to another. It came out easier than the first. He looked about for more to burn. Stupid day wasted on an entirely stupid trip. They'd been beset by problems, but none were his fault. Why, this 'adventure' to the wastelands had been her idea, brought on by her blasted map and its preposterous claims of vast treasure. How much did she say she paid for it again? Worthless trash. I should use it to start the fire. For him, the entire trip was an excruciating exercise in foolishness.
The trees and bushes of the desert felt his wrath. He dispatched them ruthlessly, stacking their corpses in the crook of his arm, yet no matter how many he slew, his face still bore the stony grimace of a gargoyle. When he paused to search for more victims, he glimpsed the sky; no blue remained and the once glowing clouds were ruddy with black tops. Out of time. She'll be getting cold and hungry. Spike squinted to locate the campsite. It appeared farther away than he expected, so he flew back and carefully set himself down a distance outside the camp.
Standing next to the angled rock, Rarity's little white tent looked incongruous amongst the dullness of the desert scrub. On a small table next to the tent, she'd laid out her dinner ingredients. She puttered about, humming a mindless little tune.
Spike eased into the campsite, taking in the scene. Resisting the oncoming grin proved futile. Here she was, hundreds of miles from anywhere, yet she'd constructed a domestic corner in this forsaken landscape. Utensils floated about her with grace as she la-la-la-ed away, measuring and mixing as if she were at home.
Did she fix her mane already? The fading light made the purple curls appear jet-black, a stark contrast to her gleaming coat. That too? In his eyes, she glittered like a gem, an incandescent beauty, captivating in her ability to—
“Ah, there you are.” She spun around upon hearing his approach. “I was wondering if you were ever coming back.”
“Uh…” Spike replied.
“Yes?”
Idiot, say something. Say something nice. “Uh…” He rattled his head, hoping to free a stuck compliment. “Uh, where do you want me to build the fire.” Perfect. You're a perfect idiot.
“Any old place. Why not right there?” A floating wooden spoon pointed the direction.
“Okay.”
Spike dumped the collection of trees and bushes to the side. Rarity went back to her preparations. A few minutes later, he'd arranged stones in a circle and placed a pile of wood in its center. He held a small branch up to his mouth, and with a gentle breath, ignited it.
Rarity giggled. “You look so silly, Spike.”
“What?” He tossed the flaming branch on top of the wood. “What makes me look silly?”
“Oh, just the way you do that,” she said and went back to work. “You hold it so daintily, like you're kissing a little flower.” She giggled again.
He grunted. “You can start the fire next time if you want.” Why can't she just leave me alone?
“Now you are perfectly silly,” she said. “You know it's your job, and you do it well. It's just, oh…”
She drifted off, but he didn't care. He refused to listen anymore. Silly, am I? The fire rose up and the night became blacker in contrast. She can babble on all she wants. All he desired was the numbness of the fire, the mindless watching of the flames bobbing and weaving. At least the day's almost over. I should be thankful for that. A peaceful night would make everything right again and bring a new and better—
“Now look what you did!” Rarity cried. She stamped her hoof and pouted.
“What? I wasn't doing anything!”
“Not now, but that… that… stunt of yours.” She floated a carton of eggs in front of his face. The damaged contents oozed out and splattered on the ground. “Look at that: half are broken and the rest cracked. And the mess inside the bag. Ghastly!”
“Listen, it wasn't a 'stunt'. I screwed up, okay? Just let it go, all right? It's been a bad day and I just want it to be over.” He shoved the dripping container back at her.
“Bad doesn't begin to describe it. You know how bitterly cold it was up there today. Why couldn't you have flown lower where it was a tad warmer? My hide isn't as insensitive as yours.”
“Because it was too dangerous to fly low. I don't know these parts any better than you, and I think that map of yours isn't worth a tenth of what you paid for it. My 'stunt' would have looked like a perfect landing compared to crashing into a mountain your map doesn't know exists.” Spike turned and glared into the fire. “And if you don't like the cold, well I've got bad news for you. Look at the clear sky up there. It's going to get really cold tonight.”
“I know that perfectly well.” She closed her eyes and held her nose up high.
He snapped around and grinned with contempt. “Well then, I guess I don't need to tell you the good news. If your map is right, we're going to go over some pretty hot desert in the next few days. That should make up for this inconvenient cold.” Hah! Got you there!
“Well I never!” Rarity wailed. “You're starting to make me wish I'd never come out here with you.”
“I wish I hadn't either.” Dammit, why did you have to say that? Was it worth hurting her? You're a callous dolt.
They stood in stony silence as the fire crackled. The flickering firelight cloaked her face in shadows, rendering her unreadable.
You know you were wrong to say that. There was no need to be cruel. Be brave, now. Speak up and tell her you're—
“I'm sorry.” Rarity's voice was soft and demure. She stepped forward, allowing the fire to illuminate her face. “None of those things were your fault: not the cold, not the landing, not anything. I'm tired and I'm hungry. I was frustrated and I lashed out at you. That was wrong.” She bowed her head. “Please forgive me.”
“Okay,” he said and turned back to the fire. He threw on more wood. All you could think of was okay? Great choice of words. Spike rested his head in his hand.
“Well…” Rarity took a deep breath and held it before letting it escape. It made her lips vibrate in a most unladylike fashion. “I suppose I'll be having scrambled eggs for dinner tonight, shan't I?” She waited for a reply, but Spike remained mute.
“How's the fire going?”
“There'll be enough coals by the time you're ready.” Come on! Be nicer. What's wrong with you that you can't treat her decently today?
“All right then. I'll get going.” She walked back to the table and started salvaging the eggs.
Spike tried to ignore her with earnest. He'd retreat into the private world of the fire where she couldn't intrude. But every time his escape seemed complete, a clattering spoon or a thoughtful 'ah' or 'um' would drag him back.
She was impossible to disregard, so he watched.
Of every creature in existence, why her? She was engaged in a pathetically mundane activity, something he'd watched a hundred times, and yet he found her fascinating. It makes no sense. He sat transfixed.
What the hell is it about her? It wasn't just her looks. The heavens help me if I'm that shallow. His stare remained unshakable, studying her movements as she worked. No matter how long he looked, her ability to enchant remained an enigma. What I wouldn't give to know.
“There,” she declared, “I'm all ready, dear. How about you?”
Spike turned back to the fire before she could catch a glimpse of him watching. His mumbled response was as noncommittal as it was inaudible, but her question was rhetorical. Rarity came over, floating her pan before her, and sat opposite him. The ingredients went into the hot pan, squeaking and squealing in protest. He added more wood on his side of the fire. She glanced up from the pan and smiled coyly before looking down again.
Rarity's brief glance swept through the flames and entwined his heart. He soared higher than his wings could ever take him. Enraptured, he was left floating radiant and pure. Her power over him was unfathomable. At last, her spell faded and he descended to the reality of the fireside.
The pan came off the fire and she ate. She wasn't lying about her hunger. The first forkful was painfully hot. Panting, she vainly waived a hoof at her mouth.
Now you're the one who's silly—and beautiful.
With a little more care, she took a second mouthful. She abandoned restraint and decorum once the food cooled. Finished, Rarity took the dishes to her improvised kitchen. After some clanks and bangs in the dark, she joined him by the fire. Rarity sat close beside him, on the verge of touching.
“I'll finish up in the morning before we depart,” she said. After an awkward silence, she added, “You don't think animals would disturb anything, do you?” Rarity looked up. “They wouldn't dare—with you here.”
“Coyote, maybe,” he said. “Doubt it, though.”
“You'll keep me safe, won't you?” Rarity leaned against him and closed her eyes. He let her rest, hesitating to breathe. For a long while, he thought about answering, but, eventually, responding seemed pointless.
“There was a lovely sunset tonight,” she said. Her voice didn't so much break the silence as brush it aside, making it beg forgiveness for obstructing her.
“Yeah, it was.” Spike became lost deep in the glow of the fire. Contentment sank in. Any gems they might find on this expedition seemed worthless now. Rarity stirred and drew closer. Her coat felt cool against his scales. Maybe she's still—
“Is the fire all right?” he asked. “I could get more wood and build a bigger one if you're cold.”
“In the dark? Don't be absurd. Your fire's fine, dear. Just sit and relax.”
Right as always. It had been a rotten day, and her kindness only made him feel worse. A few things went wrong, for both of them, and he'd turned into a cad. She deserved better. Too many of these trips started out this way, but today he'd seemed determined to make things worse.
How many times had they done this now? It must be at least twenty-five times in the last five years. Five years! Feels like yesterday or forever. He took his eyes from the fire and glanced at her serene face. Looking at her, you could be forgiven for thinking the day was anything but perfect. Less than an hour ago, they'd fought. She'd shed the anger with ease. Why can't I do that? He'd been a blackguard, undeserving of her company, but she'd forgiven him. Twenty or more trips and five years, not one of them easy, and yet she remained here with him.
What would I do if she wasn't here? An unspeakable chill ran through him. Truly, he lived in a state of grace because of her, but what had he done to deserve it? Nothing. Nothing, but be a childish brute.
“Rarity, I'm sorry for what I said earlier.”
“It's all right.” She patted his side. “We were both on edge.”
He felt unworthy to receive her blessing. How could he after the way he'd acted? Five years! All through those years he'd been dishonest to her and himself. Every time, at moments like this, he'd held back, burying the words deep within. Always he agonized over how and when, or even if, and always he failed. She must know, even if I never utter a word. But what if she didn't? What if she never suspected, and one day—like a crass fool—he drove her away? What if she left him never knowing? There would be no hope then. Frightening, but it was easier to imagine being abandoned than to have those words cross his lips. If she left, how could he endure the void in his life? Unbearable.
If he miscalculated, what would be a mere indiscretion elsewhere would be unseemly here. The risk is too great! Which risk was greater now? Tonight proved how casually he'd begun to treat her, how effortlessly he could erase everything he secretly treasured. His heart thundered. No, it was foolish to wager a lifetime of dreams just to be able to say those simple words. But still, if not now—when?
She must know. If she knew by now, why was she silent? Is she waiting for me? How much longer would she wait if he held his tongue? Look at yourself, you coward! Tell her before it's too late. His mind raced to the drumbeat of his heart. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her.
“Rarity, I want you to know I love—”
“Spike?” Her plaintive tone sliced through him.
No! You've lost it all! His resolve vanished.
She looked up, anguished, the light dancing in her pleading eyes. They engulfed him. He plunged into the awaiting blue, tumbling deeper until he drowned. No matter what would come, there would never be an escape from her, and he desired none.
Spike snapped his head up and stared vacantly into the blackness. If the finest timepiece had shown only a minute of silence passed, he would have proclaimed it broken.
“You know,” Rarity began, “they say that when a couple spends many, many years together, it's as if their thoughts are one.”
“What?”
“Oh, yes. You see”—she pulled away from him and sat up straight—“when you know somepony, or some dragon for that matter, for a long time, you end up having the same thoughts that they do. It's like you can read their mind and know exactly what they are going to say.”
“So,” he began cautiously, “you knew—”
“Yes, precisely. It would be like knowing what you would say next, without you having to say it.”
“Oh.”
“But, they say it's much more than that. It's like their thoughts are the same. And not just trivial things like opinions on art and music or what color to paint the bedroom wall. They'll know how the other feels, because they feel the same way too.”
Spike looked at her solemnly. Are you trying to—
“And if they do think and feel the same, would there be any reason to say it? I mean, you wouldn't have to, so—you just shouldn't.”
He waited quietly. Does she expect me to say something?
Rarity turned from him and looked into the flames. “Do you think we've been together long enough to be like that, Spike? We've known each other for such a very long time.” The silence hung heavy in the night. “I think we could be, don't you?”
“But what if,” he said. “What if one of them thought they needed to say something, just to make sure the other knew?”
“Oh, I'm sure they'd know.” She nodded in mock enthusiasm.
“Then there'd be no harm in—”
“But it could change everything.” She ran a trembling hoof through her mane. “Absolutely everything.”
“How?” Spike pleaded.
“The only reason one would even have to say it, would be because one wanted more. Something more than what they have now. It would mean they aren't satisfied, that something is lacking. What if they wanted something, something the other couldn't give?”
It took a moment for his confusion to clear, and he asked: “Because they don't want to?”
“Because they're afraid.” Rarity's gaze remained fixed on the ground. “Afraid that they'd fail, and there would be nothing left. It sounds foolish, you know. But change brings risk, a risk that things won't work out the way one wants them to.” She reached over and touched him. “It would be terrible to feel that way—don't you agree?—to be frightened you'd end up alone just because some silly words changed things.”
“Rarity, no matter what, I'd never—” He saw the tears and stopped. You were as frightened as I was?
“Sometimes, we must be satisfied with what we have, instead of wanting more.” Rarity wiped her eyes and looked up. “Because some things are too valuable to risk losing.”
His soul plunged. So this is my fate? He would submit, but never abandon hope. Whatever her wishes, he would comply, and if silence was her cost, he would pay a thousand times over.
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” Spike said.
Rarity buried her head in his side and sniffled. “I'm so glad.”
He reached out and held her, ignoring the soft weeping.
After a final shudder, she said, “I guess we do have the same thoughts.”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes we do.”
He glanced down at her. I'll answer your question now: Yes, I'll keep you safe, even from yourself. He didn't say the words, for he was sure she already knew.
Rarity clung to him as he watched the flames disappear, leaving nothing but the orange glow of the coals. For a moment, he thought she might be asleep.
“Will the moon be out soon?” she asked.
“Not for at least another hour.”
“Oh.” Rarity was silent. “Well, I best get to bed.” Spike took his hand away and she stood. She watched him stare ahead impassively. “How about you?”
Exhausted as he was, sleep was incomprehensible. He answered with a terse shake of his head.
“Spike, are you going to be all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure.” He forced a smile. Yeah, eventually.
Rarity beckoned, and he brought his head down next to hers. Her lips quivered as she placed a kiss on his cheek. She pressed her face tight against his and shut her eyes.
She mouthed the words I love you and left.
Spike watched her walk back to her tent. Magical illumination cast shadows on the fabric as she prepared for sleep. Then, the light winked out.
The glowing embers weren't strong enough to let him distinguish the tent from the surrounding blackness. Plenty of branches remained, but he didn't feel like rekindling the fire right away. The light would only hide the stars. Spike studied the glittering lights hanging in the vastness and waited for the moon to join him.
