The Price of Love

They say that a drink can help a pony think when something is on his mind. Whether or not it help is something that many debate, but for Soarin, the squat tumbler of Grey Mane Vodka is a welcome thing. His face contorted into a grimace as the chilled, clear liquid burned its way down his throat. Maybe Vodka was not the drink for him, but he took the unpleasant flavor as another means of getting her out of his thoughts for the evening.

Spitfire. The mare that commanded the Wonderbolts. The mare that was his direct boss. The mare that broke his heart years ago. Drowning those thoughts by downing the rest of his drink, he let out a mild gasp before he turned his focus to the paperwork at hoof. Most of what he had before him was basic administrative stuff. Paperwork he would have preferred to just deposit into the circular file, but his duty as the unit’s Executive Officer forbade that.

As the pen ground away at the papers before him, he did not notice the Pegasus with the fiery mane walk in until she half flopped down on the couch next to his desk. Looking over, he saw that she appeared just as tired as he felt. Not bothering to say anything, he finished the financial report before him, then headed over to the bar to pour a couple glasses of something better than the vile stuff on his desk.

“You know, that Grey Mane is horrid stuff. I don’t know why you bothered buying it,” she commented while watching him pour a couple drinks. “But I guess you’ve found that out already.”

All Soarin could do is snort in agreement as he poured a couple glasses of Sweet Apple Acres finest apple flavored Brandy. While he may on occasion drink something harsh, he always chose something good to serve to his guests. Placing the two glasses on a tray, he walked over to his teammate and let her take her glass.

Sitting down next to her on the couch, he took a sip of his drink. It was not often that the two of them shared drinks after work, and he found himself hoping that this evening would not turn out like most other evenings that she chose to stop by after work. His eyes shifted over to steal a glance of her bright, golden colored coat. The desire to be much closer to her hit him, and he had to take another sip from his glass to push that thought aside. “What do you think of the new recruits that came in today?” he asked her.

Her hoof shifted uncomfortably on the rug. She had noticed the look he had given her, and had hoped would not happen this time. Forming her thoughts with a sip of her own to hide her discomfort, she gave him her thoughts. “Bright Skies looks like she has some potential, and so does Tradewind. His big flaw is his ego, though. I think the last two that had heads that big was Rainbow Dash and Lightning Dust. The rest of them, I give maybe a week before they wash out,” Spitfire assessed. She took another sip to prepare herself for what was coming. She expected him to ask her to go to dinner with him.

“Spits—” he got no further as she raised her hoof to stop him from saying any more.

“I have a date, tonight, Soarin. Sorry,” she told him.

Downing the rest of his Brandy, Soarin rose from the couch in a huff. Stiffly, he walked over to the bar to pour himself another glass. He tried to hide the resentment in his voice, but the words he said cut just the same. “Always gotta rub it in, hey Captain?” The tone said it all. He was hurt, and in his eyes, rightly so.

She too, was hurt. The hidden venom in his voice stabbed deep into her chest. Spitfire did not relish seeing him hurting, but dammit, she had her own life as well, and she did not intend to spend her life pining away over a relationship that fell to pieces years ago. “And what in Tartarus is that supposed to mean? And what is this “Captain” garbage?” she asked as she rose from the couch. “Why can’t you just let it go, finally? How long do I have to suffer your constant attempts to get back together with me?” she demanded from him, as she marched up right into his face.

“What the hell happened between us, Spits?” he asked. There was no disguise for the hurt tone in his voice, or the pain that showed in the creased forehead. With a stomp of his foot, he continued, “Where did it go wrong? I tried my damnedest to keep the marriage working. It seemed to me that you just didn't give a damn, anymore!”

Turning away, so he would not see the tear which escaped her eye, she simply said to him, “I don’t know, Soarin.” A heavy sigh passed her lips as she walked out the door, leaving him there in his regrets.

The glass in his hoof sailed across the room to shatter against the wall. There was nothing that he could say or do to heal the wounds the past had inflicted upon them. The dejected look on his face was but a shadow of the bitter remorse within his heart.

Spitfire. The mare he still loved with all his heart.