Relieved

She should have been in bed hours ago, but still she clattered away at her typewriter. The candle had burnt down nearly to the holder; melted wax puddled on the heavy oak writing desk in messy white rivulets. Around her lay the crumpled, abortive remains of half-finished letters, previous attempts that had foundered on the shoals of her withering dissatisfaction.

This one, she thought, might finally do.

Soarin',

I bumped into Misty Fly the other day - she'd mentioned you made full bird and were in line to get your own Wing. Figured I ought to finally finish this thing before you got too big to remember the little ponies you came up with.

The truth of the matter is that I've meant to write you this letter for a very long time, but every time I try to compose my thoughts I just end up feeling too terrible to finish it. That's how regrets work, I think.

I was jealous of you, Soarin'. I felt like you'd had everything I had to work so hard for handed to you on a silver platter, what with your family's connections, and that jealousy allowed me to justify behaving like a spiteful, underhanded jerk. When I tried to keep you off the relay team, it wasn't because you weren't good enough - it's because I thought you didn't deserve to be there. I had no right to make that call, and lying to you to keep you off the team was awful of me.

I'm sorry.

It's been years since I left the service, and it still bothers me that I treated you that way. I betrayed your trust and most importantly our friendship. I even avoided going to our ten year Academy reunion because I didn't feel like I could face you after all that. You deserved better than the treatment I gave you. Please accept my apologies.

In any case, I hope this letter finds you with good health and happiness - I know how trying command can be, but I'm sure you'll be up to the task.

                                                                                                                                                   Spitfire

Spitfire rocked back from her typewriter and regarded the letter with a critical scowl, forelegs crossed in silent judgment.

"Whatcha writin'?" Powerful forelegs slipped under hers and wrapped tightly around her midsection, his head settling on her shoulder.

Spitfire was silent. She could feel Fireflight's jaw tense as he read the missive over her shoulder. "You know you don't owe him buck-all, right?"

"It's... It's as much for me as it is for him. He may have been incompetent, but what I tried to do to him was immoral and unjust. Out of all the things that happened during my command, that's the one I haven't been able to get over. I betrayed a friend."

"A friend who then used his family influence to end your career." Fireflight scoffed.

"Pfft. The Soarin' I knew was a bungler, not malevolent. For all we know, he was probably just venting to his folks about his terrible CO and they decided to do something about it on their own."

Spitfire pulled the letter from the machine, folded it neatly and placed it in an envelope.

"Besides, if he hadn't, I'd never have started the flight school and I would've probably never met you. I'd probably be some dried-up Lieutenant Colonel developing pointless briefings at E.U.P. headquarters, wondering where the last twenty years of her life had gone and if any of it had made any difference to anypony. Instead, every day I see the thrilled faces of those little fillies and foals as they stick their first landings. I get to know that my time's been well spent."

"Mm." Fireflight grumbled by way of concession. "Do you think you feel better now, at least, getting this off your chest?"

Spitfire leaned back against her lover's sturdy frame and rubbed her head playfully against his.

"Honestly? Above all else, I feel relieved."