Keepin' Your Heart a Soarin'

You slide your backpack onto the last stair-step, taking a deep breath. You feel glad to be back to your apartment for a bunch of reasons, even though you love your new job. After all, you've had a surprisingly tough time finding a career that doesn't make your brains wither-- the typical "move this, pick up that, carry this, talk to that mare, and run over to his place" routine wearing very thin very fast-- and McDougal's took advantage of your expertise. Ponies have just looked at your human hands, feet, height, and so on, making silent assumptions about your ability and your worth. "On the other hoof" as Equestrians say, McDougal's has put you in as a middle manager and let you pour through their books, putting your mind to work.

You smile as you recall telling them that they had it all wrong, focusing on average costs and average productivity when they should be investing in new machines on the margin. You finger your keys, admiring the picturesque night with hardly a cloud in the sky. Sometimes, those ponies are so naive. Of course, you've had your naive moments as well. After accidentally applying for apartments made for pegasii, without a single stair for those without wings, you dotted the Is and crossed the Ts that transferred you to a mixed neighborhood.

You shove the key into the door, nudging your backpack closer. You can't wait to strip off your cheesy lime-green uniform and your matching bright white fedora, feeling as itchy as being attacked by a thousand fire ants. Stupid McDougal, putting me in his son's old clothes. Stupid ponies with their thick fur and their un-sensitive bodies.

*Crash!*

You take a step into your living room, your foot hovering a few inches above the frizzy shag. "She's drinking again," you moan, picturing the remains of the shattered lamp scattering across Soarin's apartment next-door. Don't get involved. Don't get involved. You imagine cranking up some "colt contemporary" music from Pony Osmond and heading right to the shower, pretending that your apartment hovered in an imaginary zone above the fray. Don't care. Don't care.

"You think this is a joke! You think this is a game, you sniveling little brat!" Clover shrieks from next-door, the mare's hooves pounding against the floor. You hear her knocking their sofa on its side. You let out a little sigh, and you slide into your apartment, flicking the lights on. You crumble onto the floor besides the empty wall, a hand going to your mouth.

"Honey, please," Soarin' weak voice mutters.

"Yeah, yeah..." Clover whimpers, hooves tapping against her body.

"Honey..." You picture the pegasus with his hooves out in supplication, his ears drooping. A bunch of soft clanging sounds appear from the other side of Soarin's bedroom. You unconsciously nudge yourself with your back against the wall, feeling the sound rubbing down your shoulders.

"Don't you honey me, you bucking idiot!" Clover calls out, all four hooves slamming onto the bed. You know that she's trying to poise herself over him, trying to convey that power and authority over "her stallion" and "her male" as she often said. You hate those words, treating Soarin' like a desk or some other stupid piece of personal property.

"Sorry, sorry."

"Enough with the 'sorries'. I'm sick to bucking death of the 'sorries', you no talent has-been," she mutters, hopping on the bed. You hear a painting coming off of the wall as Soarin' ducks. Clover lets out a gigantic moan, and you can tell that she's shedding waterfall tears. "I'm ruined my life with you. Being with you, putting all my cards on you." She makes a hard, feminine scream.

"On me, Clover, but this isn't-- come on. Please. This is silly," Soarin' replies. You rub your back up and down the wall. You know that he's putting on the masculine charm, making that handsome smile that you always adored seeing every time you ran into him-- from the gym to the laundry room to Colgate's Diner across the street.

"I ruined myself," Clover repeats, not listening to a single word from Soarin', "with a-- a--" She always loved to build up to that horrible term, those five letters that shot an arrow straight through Soarin's tender heart. "A doper!"

The stallion has heard that term hundreds of times since his bitter, sudden fall from grace several weeks ago. You know the whole routine between the lovebirds backwards and forwards, screamed in every single blasted fight every few days. You bite your lip, hurting for Soarin' although you don't know why. It's not like I can really help them at all in first place.

"I know," Soarin' calmly replies.

"My male," Clover says, stepping right in front of Soarin'. You hear her panting, adding some menace behind every word. "Shouldn't do this thing to me. My male, my stallion, should be sitting calmly and patiently at my apartment eating my romantic dinner rather than bugging around with my bucking step-sister."

"I'm telling you! I was only talking with Colg--"

*Smack!*

You picture Soarin's face with a big, red hoof print along his cheek. You feel the color draining from your face, with your hands shoved in your pockets with fingers frozen. Oh, Soarin'... You sniff. She can get one-hundred percent away with this stuff, why? WHY!

"The Celestia-certified court panel found you to be, what did they say again? Oh, yes, 'a proven liar'," she recites, walking over to the kitchen. "Besides, you know about Colgate, right? You reallly want to dip your hooves into the same holes that have had griffons shove their ugly things inside? Not to mention the occasional dragon?"

"It's... it's..." Soarin' can't form a coherent sentence, staggering over to the bed and falling onto it. You know that he expects to be whomped a couple more times tonight, and that fact breaks your heart.

"She's a slut, you dumb pegasus," she smarts off, "don't come crawling back to my apartment after chatting with her, picking up things for her, and walking her back home for Celestia's sake. You idiots!" She thrusts open the refrigerator and seizes a tall bottle, probably guzzling down those Princess Midnight Dawn-made iced teas that she's so addicted to. Fortunately, Clover isn't spiking it with alcohol like most nights. "Don't think I'm not watching you, Soarin'. Behind every tree. Under every lamppost. Inside every bunch. I'm always watching my male."

"Of course you are, sweetie."

"And I've been loyal to you, you pathetic little worm. Celestia knows! With the cameras rolling, I was always loyal. Loyalty gets rewarded. I expect a reward," she says, grabbing another drink before marching to their apartment's door. Reward? That word has made a scar inside your mind, reminding you of those horrible break-ups that your old human friends went through.

You slide over to your own door, nudging it open just enough to peek. Clover stands in the middle of the outdoor terrace besides the metal stairs, posing straight upwards with fire in her eyes. Your own eyes move down her long, flowing blue and gold mane to her glittering white dress and finally to her slender, smooth hooves. Her soft yellow body shines brilliantly in the moonlight, having such nice, seductive curves.

You can see why Soarin' fell in love with her. That doesn't make you hurt for him any less. At any rate, she trots down the stairs out to one of her bratty friends' places.

You watch Soarin' himself pop out of the door. The stallion's eyes trace Clover wistfully as the mare's flanks wiggle step-by-step. You see him sigh, letting out so much air that his insides should collapse, before shutting the door ever so softly.

"Don't get involved. Don't get involved," you mutter to yourself. You turn, looking over at the huge photograph on your wall. One of your most prized possessions, it features you, Rainbow, Twilight, and Fluttershy standing besides the new Canterlot electronics factory, Celestia's pet project. In the picture, a kitsch statue of an earth pony standing atop a pegasus while reaching up and holding a gear rests behind you, with the human hands stretching under the base silently paying tribute to the mostly hushed-up contributions. I wish I could have been part of that factory project.

Rainbow and Fluttershy show some obvious affection, their hooves holding each other's shoulders tight while their wings intermingle. You never felt surprised that they became an item. You pick up the love in their eyes, pure love that spilled over to how kindly and gently they treated you when you literally fell out of the sky. You spent a while as Dash's biggest fan next to Scootaloo, until Twilight and Celestia picked out your first "post-humanfall" (the royal jargon term) job. That's life-- love creates more love.

"Goddammit," you groan, and you burst outside. You stand on the empty terrace in front of Soarin's place, having no idea what to say. But you're going to say something. You just have to.

*Knock!*

"I'm not... I'm... just give me... please, come by later..." Soarin' moans, not knowing what to say either. You feel a steely sensation going up your sides. You're going to talk to me, right now. Now.

*Knock! Knock!*

"I'm sorry. I can't come over," he comments; this time, he tries the false composure routine. You know he's explained his bruises with the "I just hit something while flying" line, said with a straight face time and time again.

*Knock! Knock! Knock!*

"Get your ugly human paws off of my door, you bucking moron!" Soarin' screams, pulling it open just a few feet and locking eyes with you.

You say nothing, simply breathing hard. He's panting as well, the huge mark across the side of his face exactly as you had imagined it. You know that he wants to cry out, to blab at you for hours, and to just lie on the ground besides you. You can see it all buried in those huge, handsome eyes of his.

"Bye," he says; going back to the calm routine of pretending that nothing happens between him and Clover.

You shove you hands into the open space, wincing with pain as the door hits you. Soarin' opens it up wide, a surprised look coming over his face. He mutters something incomprehensible.

"I'm okay," you say. Of course, you're not, and you plan going to dip your hands into some ice cold water for a while as soon as you can get to his sink. "But you're not."

Soarin' opens his mouth, prepared to make an argument. You feel rather shocked as he hesitates and then simply says, "I know."

"You're not going to live like this."

He nods ever so slightly.

"Right." You glance around his apartment, all of the various awards, exotic souvenirs, ceremonial pictures, and other accouterments from his once-gloried career arrayed about. He has such fancy black and white, modernist kinds of furniture. You turn the couch back on the right side, and you sit down.

"How long until you, well..." you mutter, "leave her."

He can't bear to look at you anymore, and you know that the overly macho-kind of culture that the Wonderbolts have-- drilled down into his brain like a bolt into a skyscraper's beam-- causes him to feel paralyzed by shame. He can't fill the role. He feels like a tiny foal for failing. He glances at spots in the wall, keeping his bruise away from you.

"How long?" you ask again, this time putting some emotion into those words.

"Forever," he replies, heading over to the bedroom.

You hear him pick up a broom and dustpan, taking care of the smashed lamp and the rest of Clover's mess. You feel the oddest mix of anger, love, fear, and sheer confusion. Finally, you make your way over to the kitchen. You wait for Soarin' to finish, and you take the opportunity to thrust your hands, wiggling in the air like in a seizure, into the freezing water.

"There's nothing that concerns you about this," he says. Those seven words sting like seven bees needling into the back of your neck. He's right. He's goddamn right.

"Why forever?" you ask, going back to the door. You already know the answer, but somehow you just have to hear it from him one more time.

"She stood by me, when I needed somepony most," he says, gazing wistfully at the nearest photograph-- Clover and him at the seminal Pan-Equestrian Time Trial before the results, and his trophy, went down in flames-- and curling his hooves down into the carpet. "So, I'll stand by her when she needs me the most."

You can't respond, simply going back to your own apartment right next-door. You freeze as you open the door, a scroll rolled up on the ground. You pick it up, wondering who or what needed to reach Soarin' at this hour. You start to read and quickly realize that somepony meant it for you.

{{ Hello,

Great work installing the new converters. I know that I said over and again that we wouldn't have to stay late, but Stubby Stripes accidentally cracked the casing on the last converter. He couldn't quite reach into the big white space atop the amplifiers, and the nubby-end (the one with the two electrical poles shifted in ninety degree directions) got caught on those XLR cables stretching along that inner seam besides the door. You know what I mean.

Long story short, they have no hope of getting these up and running tomorrow morning unless we troubleshoot these now. And I do mean now. Celestia bless them, those boys appear to be panicking. I'm heading over as fast as I can, but I have so many prior commitments that I'm trying to escape from. Expect double-pay over overtime, just like usual.

So, please come over. Empahsis on the 'please'. I hate breaking my word about this.

Sincerely,
McDougal }}

"Why the hell can't Subby learn to use a goddamn ladder?" you groan. You feel really obligated to stay, to help out Soarin', but you don't expect to make any progress until tomorrow morning. Since Clover most likely has gone for a while, he should be safe.

You march over twoards the commercial complex across from your apartment. You look back, staring at Soarin's blank apartment door. Unlike yours, with a friendly "Come on in" sign, it's as barren as the wall of a prison cell. You let out an angry sigh.

To Be Continued...