"Morning, Spitz."
"Heya, Soar."
The table for two in the back corner of the cafeteria was taken yet again by Spitfire and Soarin, two near graduates of the academy. They were, as Captain Floreo himself had stated, "Two very promising future members of the team. They make a fine pair." Spitfire was the fastest pegasus in the Academy by far, while Soarin rivaled most gymnastics artists in flexibility.
They had been friends for as long ago as flight school, learning how to fly from one another and using each other's tricks to develop new ones. Their fame had spread so much that even some of their fellow cadets were skittish around them.
"Graduation's coming up," Spitfire said nonchalantly, sipping her orange juice. It was hard to judge her expression on this particular morning. Soarin attributed it to lack of sleep. "You excited?"
"Who wouldn't be?!" Soarin exclaimed, nearly knocking his scrambled eggs off the table. "Our wildest dreams coming true! And at the age of seventeen!"
Spitfire sighed, letting some anxiety trickle into her expression. "I'm not exactly happy about it."
Soarin did a double take at these words. Just last month, Spitfire had seemed just as eager as him, if not more. "Hey, something wrong?"
"Yeah." The reply came simply, as if she couldn't be bothered to spit out anymore.
Silence descended over them as they picked at their breakfast. Spitfire wasn't eating much, preferring her orange juice over her bagel, where Soarin was scarfing down anything that looked appealing.
"...You gonna tell me or what?" Soarin finally said, through a mouthful of eggs.
Spitfire let her breath out through her nose and put down her orange juice. "There's a lot of pressure on me from my dad. All this time he's been thinking my drive to become a Wonderbolt is 'a stupid fantasy'."
"That's it?" Soarin pressed. "Just pressure? Spitfire, I've known you for ten years to work well under pressure."
“Well, maybe some of it’s getting to me now, Soar,” she replied, nostrils flaring.
Soarin began to worry. This wasn't the mare he knew at all. “What kind of pressure could possibly cause you to slip? You’re the Academy’s best flyer and you know it—!”
At this, something sparked in Spitfire’s eyes, and she straightened without warning. "Soarin, he wants me to become a captain, for Celestia's sake! You wanna talk about p-pressure? It's really bucking d-d-difficult to enjoy something when you can't st-stop walking the tightrope over hell!"
Another silence. Spitfire went limp and studied her hooves for a bit. Some concerned classmates looked over, hearing the yelling, but they soon went back to talking with their friends and eating. Soarin pretended he hadn’t noticed the stutter.
Since he had met her, Soarin hadn’t failed to notice rare moments when Spitfire tripped over her words. When he had asked her about it, she had seemed touchy about the subject, saying no more than, “It comes out when I’m agitated, okay?”
"Look, Spitz, I'm sorry —" Soarin started, putting his hooves up as if defending himself against another onslaught of words.
"Don't you dare apologize, Soarin." The mare looked up and met Soarin's wide, apologetic eyes with her own stony pair. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I need a minute." Without another word, she raced outside, the door swinging roughly behind her.
Soarin shrugged. “Beginning of summer might be getting to her,” he thought aloud, and picked up her untouched bagel.
After finishing his extra-large breakfast, Soarin gave his plates and utensils to the dishwashers and left the cafeteria for his dormitory.
Wonderbolts Academy was "one of Equestria's top boarding schools for pegasi, specializing in advanced flight maneuvers, military training, and leadership". At least, that was how the flyer Soarin had received in the mail five years ago had put it. Upon arriving, he had found that it was indeed one of the best schools he had visited before the beginning of his high school career. He and his classmate, Spitfire, had practiced to become one of their number for years, and now all they had to do was audition. Naturally, they had begged their parents to let them apply, and while it had seemed pointless to their mothers and fathers at the time, it had paid off.
As he entered his bedroom, Soarin let that ring in his mind. It really has paid off, hasn't it?
He looked over his walls. Numerous advertisements for Wonderbolts performances hung on the walls, suspended by tacks. His cadet flight suit was stored in the open closet, with his old middle school uniform (for the nostalgia) and his Canterlot field trip attire. A picture of his family claimed his nightstand, next to one of Spitfire, and his monthly class schedules. Glancing at the space for today, he noticed that there weren't any classes in session.
I've got the day to myself, he thought, getting into his bed and relaxing.
Unfortunately, getting to sleep was impossible. Spitfire was occupying his mind; how she had seemed abrasive and withdrawn at breakfast, how she had shouted at him about pressure, and (of course) the stutter. Something was wrong.
He turned over various possibilities in his mind. Could be just what I thought it was. I mean, it happens all the time at my house; my parents get agitated at each other and me more than usual during this time of year. Or it could be...well, I don't want to say depression, but it seems like one heck of a slump.
Wait a second, hasn't she been acting like this for a while now? Maybe it was hard to notice at the time, but I think I remember something like this back from last year... Did it get worse?
As hard as he tried to think about any other possibility, Soarin had to come to the conclusion that Spitfire was probably suffering from some small form of depression.
His class schedule said that cadets could do what they wanted from now until their sundown curfew. Soarin resolved to go find his friend.
Exiting his room, he took to the hallways, navigating with his five years of knowledge to the courtyard, where he thought she might be. Just having friendly conversations there was something the pair did all the time. Alas, she wasn't to be found anywhere near the courtyard, not even when Soarin decided to search above.
He next decided to check the boundaries of the academy. Many of the cadets that he had seen at breakfast were holding pickup hoofball games or racing on the track. No bright orange mane stood out on the ground, so he took to the air.
Spinning a midair three-sixty, he finally spotted Spitfire on a lone cloud high above the Academy. Sunlight shone directly on her, creating a very romantic scene. Or it would have been one, if Soarin had cared at all to notice. Instead he streaked toward her. She looked up at him slowly and blinked.
"Soarin..."
"Spitz, I gotta talk to you, now." Soarin hovered uncertainly in front of her.
"Soarin," she repeated, as if deaf to him.
Soarin settled down beside her. Her eyes were red and puffy, turned towards the clouds below her.
"Yeah, I'm here. Look, I've —"
"Push me." Spitfire interrupted him, looking very serious and determined.
Soarin was quite taken aback. "Er... Spitz, we're not on the swings."
"I know. I want you to push me off this cloud."
"What!? Spitfire, you're out of your mind!"
"Just do it."
The words hung in the chilly stratosphere air as if suspended by tiny silk threads. Spitfire spoke again after a long while.
"S-Soarin, I was offered a position."
Soarin gaped. "...I don't know what to say."
"You were too. You 'n me are going to be Second Lieutenants tomorrow."
"I'd say that's great news, but why?" Soarin asked.
"We're replacing two members who retired from paralysis in their back legs after a head-on collision. They were both 40 years old, at the end of their career." Spitfire bowed her head.
"Well, that's some news," Soarin replied blankly.
Out of nowhere, Spitfire grasped his head in her hooves.
"Don't you get it?!" she pratically screamed in hysteria. "We're g-going into one of the most risky b-businesses in all of Equestria, and you're just smiling like a d-d-dope!" She had to take a deep breath before continuing in a strangled but lower tone, "I-I love you, Soarin. As a f-friend. I don't want to l-l-leave you because I make some stupid mistake in the routine..."
"Spitz, it's okay, I hear ya. Just hang on, we can still refuse —"
She seemed to not be listening to his words at all. "I need some way out of this. Push me, and it'll be over."
"Spitfire, listen to me. Your mother wouldn't want you to do this."
"I'll do it myself if you won't," she said. "I can't handle myself in the field, not on this tightrope, not with this stress, no matter how fast I am. I'm the fastest pegasus in the Academy and I can't even live up to my own expectations."
"Spitfire. Stay with me here." Soarin pulled her into a tight embrace.
"No. Staying with you means the chance of losing you," she said. "Let me go, and we can both live out our lives. I'll be watching you every day from my room, on TV."
Soarin felt his heart drop. "Spitfire, I won't do it. We can still live together, here, in Cloudsdale. With the Wonderbolts, y'know, your idols! C'mon, Spitz, sometimes you gotta take some risks!"
At Soarin's attempt at an inspirational speech, Spitfire wrestled herself from his grasp. "Soarin, I really don't —"
Not wanting to endanger his friend more, Soarin floundered towards Spitfire once more in hopes of holding her again, but missed the mark completely and pushed her shoulder, throwing her off balance.
"No, no, no!" he cried, trying to catch her before she slipped off the cloud completely, but he was too late. She fell past him like a rock tossed from a third-story window, and kept falling until she rammed into the cumulus cloud supporting the Academy.
Someone screamed, and some cadets stopped playing and came running; maybe to see if Spitfire was all right, or maybe to see something exciting happen. Soarin couldn't have cared less as he leapt over the side of the cloud, flaring his wings out inches above the roof and gliding safely to Spitfire's now unconscious form.
"MEDIC!" one cadet shouted. No one else spoke, looking on in shock. Minutes later, a chariot with a large red cross on it landed swiftly, some distance away from Soarin.
"Sir, we'll take it from here," the driver told him as the medical chariot loaded his best friend onto a stretcher.
Soarin looked at the nurse blankly without saying anything. He couldn't get the moment out of his head, when he had been so clumsy and... wait, what did I just do?
As the chariot rose and took off away from Cloudsdale, Soarin stood where Spitfire had lain after falling for a long while, just running a phrase through his mind: Is that really what she wanted?!
Now, Soarin slid off his bed and cantered over to his door. He pushed it open and made his way in the direction of the cafeteria, but instead of walking in, he stared at it. It was empty; the tables were all on their sides up against one of the walls, and there were no servers along the aisles. His gaze shifted to the far corner of the room. That’s where she was, just hours ago, eating with me… He shook his head and turned away, in the direction of the captain’s office.
Captain Floreo was a heavyset stallion, with eyes that burned into you even if he was being gentle. For this, Soarin couldn’t help but be intimidated as he eased the office door open. Floreo snapped his head up from his work. "Well, well; if it isn't our future officer! I assume Cadet Spitfire told you already?" His toothy smile seemed genuine, but it couldn’t have cheered Soarin’ up in the state he was in.
"Y-yes, she did, sir," Soarin replied, trying not to break down at the word ‘she’. "Sir, I wanted to ask permission about something pertaining to her."
Floreo raised an eyebrow. "Cadet Soarin, I'm completely fine with you pursuing a relationship with a fellow cadet, as long as it doesn't obstruct practice -- "
"No! That's not what I meant at all!" Soarin almost shouted, embarrassed. He remembered who he was talking to immediately after he said it, and sheepishly lowered his head. "Um, sir."
Based on the loud laughter filling the small office, Floreo didn't mind not being addressed professionally. Between gulps of air, he managed, "Sorry, cadet, I just had to pull that on you…”
Feeling even more awkward, Soarin said, “But you know Spitfire’s in the Canterlot Hospital right now, right, sir?”
Floreo regained his composure almost instantaneously. “Why, of course, cadet! You want to visit her, don’t you?”
Soarin’s face visibly brightened. “Yes, sir. If that’s alright; I know it’s against Academy regulations to leave until you’ve graduated, but I was wondering…if you could make an exception.”
Now that the words were out of his mouth, Soarin realized his chances of getting to leave the Academy were probably that of him getting struck by lightning while under a cumulus cloud. Stupid, stupid. I probably blew it already.
Instead of blowing him off, Floreo’s expression was still. “Cadet, if I were you, I wouldn’t visit her. She is in the Canterlot Hospital for more than just her injuries. It’s almost certain that she is suffering from depression as well, and I suspect that she has been trying to get rid of it for years.”
“Then wouldn’t a visit do her some good, sir?” asked Soarin. “Talking it over with her could help her even a little bit, couldn’t it?”
Floreo sighed. “Unfortunately, you’re not cured of depression the day after you get it. It’s not the common cold, it’s an emotional issue that some need to resolve on their own. I don’t blame you for wanting to visit, though – I’d be just as worried as you, except for the fact that it could be harmful to the both of you.”
Soarin looked at his hooves. “Well…I’d like to at least see her once.” It’s worth a shot.
Floreo was silent for a moment, then exhaled, giving a small smile. “All right, cadet. I know how it is.” He got up from his desk, the chair audibly groaning in relief, and made his way over to the door.
The flight to the hospital was made quickly and quietly. Floreo had his own fleet of chariot fliers, muscly stallions with wingspans at least twice the size of Soarin’s. For this trip Floreo chose his fastest chariot, manned by two formal Royal Guards. A brief exchange took place before they were abruptly streaking through the clouds.
They landed within walking distance of the main entrance. Floreo thanked the drivers before jumping out. Soarin followed him, and the chariot immediately departed.
Soarin noticed Floreo was frowning. “I never liked hospitals,” the captain remarked. “Always with the bright white everything, and the sanitizer…” He trailed off, one ear twitching, then regained himself. “You ready, cadet?”
“S-sure.” Soarin couldn’t help the tremor in his voice. No matter how much generosity his captain had shown him, he just wasn’t getting comfortable talking to him.
They entered through one of the automatic sliding doors and found a receptionist seated at her desk. “How may I help you?” she said, and her level tone surprised Soarin. She was talking to a captain of the Equestrian Air Force, after all.
"I'm Captain Floreo, of the Wonderbolts. We're here to see Spitfire," replied the captain. Soarin detected a hint of impatience in his voice.
"Can you wait for just a few more moments? The doctors are still tending to her, but she should be visitor-ready in about five minutes."
"Yes, ma'am." Captain Floreo sighed and took a seat in the waiting area. Soarin sat a seat away from him.
"Mind if I ask what happened before the fall?" The captain's tone was soft and sympathetic.
"Er...as long as you won't be offended by Spitfire's viewpoints on her situation," answered Soarin cautiously.
To his surprise, his superior chuckled. "By now, I'm used to her outbursts. She's always been a feisty one, even before you showed up.” Soarin wondered what she was like before he tried out for the Academy. They were the same age, but Spitfire had come to the Academy a year before him, because of pressure from her father.
“It all started when we were eating breakfast this morning,” Soain began. “Or, at least, I think that’s how it started…”
He continued with his entire recollection of the morning, starting with the breakfast conversation and ending with the fall. It was easier to talk about now, mostly because crying wasn’t going to happen in front of the captain.
When he finished, Floreo said, “That’s quite a tale. I’ve never heard someone wanting to injure themselves from the time I was first captain here.”
He looked like he wanted to say more, but then a shrill beep interrupted their conversation. "Floreo? Spitfire is ready now, as a matter of fact," said the receptionist. "She's in room 9B."
Soarin offered a soundless "thank you" as he and Floreo passed by the desk.
Hallway 9 was eerily silent, compared to all the rooms Soarin and Floreo had passed; the sounds of screaming colts and fillies (and even the whimpering of one adult mare) were sounds that Soarin desperately wanted to get out of his head.
As they approached the correct room, Captain Floreo gave Soarin a hint of a smile. "Good luck in there."
Soarin didn't say anything back, preferring to steel himself in case Spitfire was awake.
If Hallway 9 was quiet, Room 9B was dead. Save for the heart monitor at the bed and the sound of Spitfire's gentle breathing, even a deaf person could have registered a pin dropping. Spitfire was still unconscious, to Soarin's dismay. On top of that, her wings and one of her hooves were wrapped in casts, and an IV snaked from a side table into her right foreleg. Her bed had two narrow slits in the bottom for her flared wings to poke out of so she wouldn't have to lie on them.
Despite everything going in and coming out of his friend, Soarin found himself engrossed in her bright orange mane. Where her yellow coat was darker from what she had gone through, her mane was the same shade of orange it had been since he had met her years ago. I guess there is a bright spot in her after all.
The heart monitor eventually tore his attention away. He remembered the day in middle school science when his class had gone over major organs in the body. The one he remembered learning about the most was the heart, because his teacher had shown the class several heart rate graphs with audio, including the graph of a sleeping pony. Right now, Spitfire’s monitor was beeping at that exact rate. I guess she’s more or less alright, then, he told himself.
Soarin started to back out of the room when his eyes found the paper towel roll. An idea formed in his head, and he ripped a sheet off of it and grabbed the pen lying on the medical tray.
Dear Spitfire,
I’m thinking of you every second. Please pull through, for me and all the rest of us at the Academy!
--Soarin
He left the note on the tray with the pen on top of it, hoping she would see it, and then exited.
