Author's Note

There will be an epilogue.

To Kill A Goddess, IV - A Long Week

Everyone at some point will have a dream they can only just remember. For most, the only retention of the dream into waking life is the emotion itself - an overwhelming fear, or a piercing sadness, or an elevating joy. Sometimes it's coupled with a cold sweat or a moment of confusion. Sometimes it's coupled with a gentle, ticklish wave of feeling good spreading slowly from top to toe. And to open a new day to the latter is incomparable.

She'd woken naturally late into the morning, her right arm still around Sweetie's torso. The room was a pink sepia, the light thin-stripped by the blinds illuminating dust as floating embers. The quilt only barely held back the chill of the autumn morning, but the warmth of another body compensated.

"I had a dream just now," she began softly, shifting her hand on Sweetie's stomach. She was still asleep, judging by her quiet, steady stabs of breath. The day before, she'd seemed a bit better, though Scootaloo had found her at sundown foetal in bed. Perhaps today would improve. Maybe she should tell her that. "I think you were in it. I don't remember all that much."

At this, Sweetie's arms stretched downwards suddenly, shaking as her joints loosened, and there was a muffled yawn. Scootaloo felt that irrepressible grin as Sweetie rolled over to her back, raising her hands drunkenly to her face. "... What?"

Scootaloo giggled. "Nothing," she replied, and leaned in for a sleepy, thoughtless kiss.

She felt Sweetie stroke her hair and smile. "Maybe I should brush my teeth."

"Oh, yeah. ... Ew."

She gave an amused scoff and rolled back over. "What time is it? - Ah, it's 9:30. I meant to be up earlier." She slid out of bed, and the warmth left with her. "I'm gonna take a shower and check on Mom."

Scootaloo finally yawned as well and stretched her arms out, interlacing and cracking her fingers. "I'm probably gonna go back to sleep."

She glanced back with a small smile. In the sunlight, in her bright blue long pajamas, she was something surreal, cast in soft shadow. Scootaloo felt an unintentional, imperceptible smile. "I could get used to that," she murmured.

"What, me walking away?" Sweetie replied with a laugh, and stuck her hip out, putting her hand on it and throwing a facetious little smolder back at her.

"No," Scootaloo replied, reaching her hands out past the bed. "Mornings." She saw Sweetie's smile change to the coyness that surfaced whenever Scootaloo said anything particularly thoughtful. "Come over here."

"Scoots -"

"Hither," she interrupted, beckoning with her hands.

Sweetie looked torn for a moment, holding an open hand out like she was stalling to think of something to say. "Just - let me get that stuff done first, okay?" she asked exasperatedly, and ducked into the bathroom.

Scootaloo let her arms fall limp over the edge of the bed. "... Alright."

She couldn't find a way to get back to sleep regardless - it was impossible when her mind was so full of the now. What a little predicament they'd found themselves in. Goddess was already overdue for a return, they were meant to be getting married, and, honestly, the whole situation was constantly a pressing weight on the two of them. She was too young for all this intensity, and, heavens help her selfishness, Scootaloo couldn't stand to see her cry. It was a mess of thoughts.

She made her way lazily out of bed and snuck over to the bathroom door as she heard the blowdryer stop. After a minute or two, the door opened and she swung her arms around her in a gentle hug. Clean hair smell.

"Scoots, get off - stop. What did I just say? I have to talk to Mom," Sweetie managed, and pushed her arms away, stepping over to the door.

"Woah," Scootaloo interjected, and raised her hands apologetically. "Sorry."

Sweetie gave a frustrated sigh, fixing the top button on her shirt. "Come on, Scoots. You can be okay for fifteen minutes alone." She raised her eyebrows, looking for a response, and turned to the doorway again.

"Oh, wait a sec," Scootaloo began, reaching out and touching her arm lightly. "I wanted to tell you I hope you feel better today."

Sweetie's tired glare softened. "... You're sweet." She appeared conflicted again for half of a second, but leaned in for a short, closed kiss regardless. And with that, she ducked out of sight.

Scootaloo stared vacantly for a moment at the empty hall, and leaned back against the rib of the bathroom doorway. She rubbed at her eyes as tiredness crept back into her mind. Perhaps later today they could do something to take Sweetie's mind off of all this. Something spur-of-the-moment, like Scootaloo was used to back in the day. Something exciting.

For the time being, she finally felt the desire to go back to sleep. But she had a feeling she wouldn't be waking up the same way.

Eventually, she got ready and found herself leaning against the upstairs closet, right outside of Sweetie's mother's room, at around twelve. She'd stopped thinking about much, instead just listening to the murmured speech and staring at the olive carpet with her arms folded.

"Good morning, Scootaloo," she heard, and snapped to attention, nodding her reply. Scootaloo was uncomfortable in the homes of people she didn't know too well - she didn't know any of their household rules, if there were any, and didn't want to cross any unseen boundaries. She even put her shoes on in the house, she realized briefly as she continued her examination of the carpet and caught sight of Sweetie's sister's bare feet.

She heard a sigh as Sweetie's sister - Rarity, as she could never remember - leaned against the opposite wall a bit away, still dressed in her black-and-white muslin sleep robe. It wasn't a frustrated or even exhausted sigh, just sort of a relaxed exhalation. "So," she began quietly.

"So," Scootaloo replied in a sort of understood agreement.

"Terrible business."

Scootaloo moved her hands to her hoodie pockets. "You know, I don't think anyone's asked you yet how you're doing," she ventured, glancing up. "How are you doing?"

Rarity was still looking away. Out of context, her eyebrows made her look almost wistful. In a moment, though, she grinned airily. "I doubt I'm taking it quite the same as Sweetie Belle. You know, having lived with her for years now, I'm well-braced. But... despite how close she was to her father, I was closer. She's much closer to Mother, and - well, I'm not entirely sure what to expect when this draws to its conclusion."

Scootaloo found she was suddenly more comfortable with her arms folded, and moved them back. "... Anyway. My condolences."

"She's not gone yet, is she?"

"N - I'm sorry -"

She waved her away with another small smile. "It's alright."

They were quiet for a second, each adjusting to the presence of the other. She rubbed at her nose and stuffed her hands back into her hoodie pockets, returning her drifting gaze to the floor.

"Has she mentioned how I realized you two were together?"

She felt her cheeks burn for a moment - not entirely sure from what - and looked to the closed door. "No."

"It was as we were leaving Ponyville," Rarity began, slowly, with more storytelling finesse than Scootaloo had expected: just the right amount. "I looked across for a moment, to Sweetie Belle, and noted that the buttons on her shirt were one off." Scootaloo felt that burning again, but had to suppress a smile. "She broke down and told me everything, of course. Here, I thought it would die away, but..."

Scootaloo glanced back up. "I thought that would be a funny story."

"I never said it was." Rarity pushed her hair out of her face delicately, and shifted against the wall. "You know, you're both very... young... for -"

"For marriage?" Scootaloo finished, grinning again at the floor. "I've thought about it, but... your sister's a rare one. No pun intended," she added with a chuckle, and paused. "Feels kind of weird talking to you about her."

"You certainly don't have to. I'm not pushing."

"No, no, I..." She trailed off, her grin fading. "You're actually the first person I've ever talked to about her."

Rarity giggled, putting a hand to her mouth. "Well, go on, then."

Scootaloo put her hands behind her back, rocking a bit on her feet. "It's strange to begin with that we grew up together. It seems pretty unlikely that two people that - that match so well would ever even meet each other, let alone..." She sucked through her teeth. "And, you know, we haven't even had any real problems. Not -" She was going to say 'yet', but thought better of it. "... Not any real problems. So I think that we'd do fine married. I really do."

Rarity had that small smile on her face, letting the silence settle for a moment. For a moment Scootaloo thought perhaps she should go on, but instead simply looked away again.

"So you... love her."

The question hung for a second as Scootaloo processed it. "More - more than anything," she responded as the second expired. It felt like she was letting out a breath she'd held for years. "More than anything," she repeated, quieter, more to herself.

She didn't hear any sound from Rarity, but didn't feel any need to look back up.

"How would you like to go on a double-date tonight?"

"What?" That was not one of the things she was expecting to follow-up that question.

"You and Sweetie Belle, me and Chance. At about eight, at The Enclave, down at the corner of Port and Cherry."

"Chance?"

"Oh, my... suitor, swain, lover: boyfriend, if you will, of - well, it must be at least a year and a half now."

"Oh." It seemed rude to say Sweetie had never mentioned.

"I just believe she needs to get out of the house for a while."

"I mean, I would love to, but - she's, you know, kind of a big thing now. I wouldn't want to put her in any danger, you know? Does your boyfriend - Chance, does he know? And what about your mother?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I hadn't thought it through myself, darling." She began counting on her fingers for demonstration. "She's gotten quite good at disguise, The Enclave is a rather private venue, we have a doctor on call, and Chance will have to be made privy if our relationship is going to continue."

Scootaloo gave her an analytical glance, to one deep blue eye then the other, and nodded slowly. "I'll ask her."

"Don't just ask," Rarity replied lowly. "She needs to get out of the house. But she won't hear it from me."

"Well," Scootaloo nearly whispered, turning her eyes to the closed door once more, "I'll do my best."

She suddenly felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. A very gentle hand. "I appreciate it," Rarity said, her voice decorated by that light touch of an implacable accent.

Scootaloo watched her start down the stairs, her robe flapping a bit behind her. She was a clever woman, and carried herself like she knew. And in a way, perhaps the relaxed, practised way she spoke, she rather reminded her of Sweetie. On the other side of the door not five feet away, Sweetie was there, and yet for a strange, nonsensical second, Scootaloo missed her like she did during those empty years.

The den was the most settled location in the house. Every other room had what to Scootaloo's untrained eye was likely a designer's accent, each particular to its own space and each vibrant and alive, but the living room was set in off-whites and robin's-egg blues, making it feel old and comfortable.

She could have fallen asleep on the soft green couch, below the tartan quilt, wrapped loosely in the warm wool and thinking of nothing, but was jerked back to clarity by a light couple of taps on her shoulder.

"Daaarling," Sweetie drawled with a giggle, tracing a finger around the back of her head and collapsing heavily alongside her, sending at least one throw pillow flying onto the floor behind them.

"Mm," Scootaloo grunted, accepting the arm as it reached smoothly around her.

Apparently she'd sounded upset. "What, do you wanna be the big spoon?"

She chuckled, and turned her head as well as she could. "You know I do."

Sweetie groaned, and pulled Scootaloo suddenly over her to rest behind her. She squirmed for a second to get comfortable, and laughed. "I forget about how you can do that."

"These things are lead guitar arms," Sweetie replied, rolling up a sleeve of her bright yellow cardigan and flexing stereotypically. "I mean, it's not, like, boxing-level fit." She rolled onto her back. "... You know, that's - that's hot, though."

"We've been over this," Scootaloo replied with a laugh, and wrapped an arm around her, throwing the quilt back over them both.

"Hold up," Sweetie mumbled, and rolled off the couch again, crawling over to the flat TV against the nearby wall and opening the cabinet it stood on. "I wanna watch a movie."

"What?"

"Yeah. Like, we can just chill out and -"

"I mean what movie."

"Hm." Sweetie flipped through their cases with two fingers like albums in a display box. "We just got Uncontainable."

"What is it," she replied, slurring her words lazily.

"Guess."

"Action."

"Oh, yeah. With Midnight Flare as the bad guy. You think that's his real name?"

"Nope."

"Probably not," she agreed, and tossed it behind her. "Oh, this one. Goddess: Paradigm."

Scootaloo snorted. "That's yours?"

"Yup. I had to give the go-ahead or they couldn't do it. I got ten percent, though," she added in singsong, waggling the case between her fingers and tossing it behind her. "It's wrong, of course."

"Put on some stupid bravado stuff."

"How about a western?"

"Shoe fits," Scootaloo replied, stretching against the arms of the couch.

"Silver Wagon, then."

"... Is that an actor, or -"

"No, it's a trilogy. An old one."

"That's fine. Just get back up here," she murmured, patting the couch. "It's cold."

The next hour and a half passed with no incident. Scootaloo was constantly in-between propping herself up with little pillows, rearranging the position of her legs, and actually trying to watch the movie over Sweetie's head. She caught the basic premise of the movie, at least, and considering it was an old western, 'basic' wasn't a bad adjective for it.

"Looks like they made their attack from that li'l bluff down the road," one of the characters said in his Southern drawl, only barely different from the twang she knew from the Apple family.

"That guy's Reedy Banks. He did country music for seventeen years, then broke his neck," Sweetie said, pointing vaguely at the screen.

Scootaloo began to laugh. "Is that so?"

"Yeah...?" Sweetie replied, joining in laughing herself.

"You were just really matter-of-fact about it," Scootaloo snorted, and as an impulse hit her, buried her face into the back of Sweetie's neck, blowing an angry raspberry.

"Gah! What? Don't -" Sweetie gasped, and flailed aimlessly at the air in front of her before tumbling unceremoniously onto the carpet with a thump. This did nothing to help Scootaloo's laughing fit, or Sweetie's. Scootaloo was still tired from that morning, and that certainly warped her sense of humour, but it also simply felt nice to laugh, and it was a pleasant contrast to ennui.

Through the noise, a dramatic crescendo of music began. "Wh - is the movie over?" Scootaloo sputtered, and looked up at the TV, where white credits rolled by on a black screen. "What happened?"

"I guess they won?" Sweetie replied with a shrug, still coming down from laughter. "I'll put in the second one."

"Well, hurry up and get back here," Scootaloo said, patting the couch again with notably more vigour.

As it started in all its flickering black-and-white glory, Scootaloo felt her eyes begin to close again, but it never got to the point where she was going to fall asleep. Instead, she pressed up closer, shuffling around beneath the blanket, sometimes kissing the back of her neck softly, never particularly conscious about it.

That was when Sweetie started getting... active.

For a second, she didn't notice it was happening. She thought maybe Sweetie was simply moving a bit to get comfortable. But then she did it again - pressing firmly against her stomach, rotating her hips, moving slowly lower.

"Uh..." she began, unsure how to form an objection. "Sweetie?"

She turned her head back to Scootaloo, gently biting her bottom lip, her eyes sparkling with a familiar intimate emotion.

Scootaloo swallowed. "You - you know that gets to me."

"I know," Sweetie whispered in succinct reply, and grabbed her forearm, guiding it up to her chest and leaving it there.

Aren't you worried - her mind began, but of course Sweetie knew. She didn't need to ask. But she did need to decide whether she was up to it. In a couple seconds, though, when she felt a hand slip into the back of her jeans, the decision was made for her. She let out a breath heavily into her shoulder, running a hand down her side and back up, pulling her shirt along.

Sweetie's breathing jumped for a moment, and she pinched the rim of Scootaloo's jeans, dragging them carefully down her leg. At this, Scootaloo's anxiety crept up and took her by surprise. "H - hold up," she managed, about to reach down for them.

"Shh, shh," Sweetie hushed her hurriedly, guiding her arm back to where it was and replacing her own. "Shh."

"G -" she murmured, her willpower suddenly draining. She noticed the bright red that had begun its spread across Sweetie's face, something she hadn't seen in perhaps years. "You alright...?"

"I'm - fine," she replied to the television, still whispering. "Keep going." She reached up with her unoccupied hand and patted at her chest. "Um... I didn't put on the front-clasping one."

"I know, I can feel it." She was only paying half attention by that point, finding herself irrevocably wrapped up in that feeling good again. All she could really focus on was moving those quiet kisses up from Sweetie's neck to her jawline.

"... Well, help me out."

"Mm."

And once more into the fray. Beneath that heavy quilt, they'd lapsed nearly soundlessly into something that on any other day may have been foreplay, but under those circumstances was probably the be-all end-all. Regardless, Scootaloo felt rather lightheaded after a while, like she used to two or three years ago. With every soft touch, with every new kiss, circumstance left the equation little by little. They were in a world entirely of their own design, with only one another for company.

"Sweetie Belle?"

And she went immediately rigid. As footsteps sounded down the stairs, she struggled to pull the quilt up from where it had fallen down by their torsos. Sweetie had had the same idea, and struggled against Scootaloo in her own attempt. "Wait - stop -" Scootaloo hissed in a harsh whisper.

She threw the quilt over them, just past their necks, when the padding sound reached the doorway. "Oh. Good afternoon."

Oh no, was Scootaloo's first thought. Something's visible. Something's not under the blanket. This was a bad idea.

"We were just watching a movie," Sweetie called back, suddenly nonchalant - well, on the surface. There was still a trace of the last five minutes in her voice, but it would have been imperceptible if she hadn't heard it before.

"Ah," Rarity intoned unconsciously, and turned back out of the room, her footsteps hitting tile as she entered the kitchen.

Scootaloo let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, and reached carefully down to dress herself again before silently helping Sweetie with hers.

"Do you two want anything to drink?"

A shiver ran through Scootaloo, only resulting in a chuckle, as though she were frightened by a moth. "We're fine, thanks," she called over the arm of the couch.

"Force of habit, sorry."

They laid together for a moment, with only the drone of the television as company. Her heart was still beating faster than it should have been, and her cheeks felt warmer than they should have felt. That was uncomfortably close.

Sweetie sighed a long, noisy sigh and rolled onto her back, closing her eyes. Scootaloo stared back flatly as she turned to look at her. "I love you," she said, a smile crawling across her face. And, of course, Scootaloo couldn't help returning it. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

Scootaloo chuckled. "I mean... if you want."

She hoped Rarity wouldn't put two and two together when she heard them practically skip up the stairs. She may have done when she heard the door slam, though.

For autumn, the bedroom seemed hot. Scootaloo was curled up against Sweetie's torso, their legs a mess with one another's and the sheets a mess over the both of them.

She looked up at Sweetie from where she was, pressing her chin against her stomach. "That was pretty good."

Sweetie gasped in mock surprise. "Oh, honey, you flatter me."

Scootaloo chuckled, wriggling up to the pillows and pressing close. "You know I love it when you take control like that."

"So do I," Sweetie replied, smiling against the kiss.

"Why don't you do it more often, then?"

"I like it the other way around, too," she replied. "And recently, since we've been just letting things happen, you've, uh... kinda been taking over on your own." She twirled a finger lazily around a strand of her short, messy hair. "I have no complaints."

"Neither do I," she murmured, moving down to nuzzle against her neck, taking the edge of chill off her cheek. "I just... I wish this hadn't happened."

Sweetie scoffed. "You and me both."

"... Sorry. It's... I - you know, this situation... I don't like to see you like you have been, you know? I just - I wish things would have gone differently."

Sweetie nodded, wrapping her arms around Scootaloo's head and kissing its crown tenderly. "... I wish my dad hadn't died."

Scootaloo pulled out of the embrace, staring back into her eyes. "I'm sorry. Let's not do this," she asked quietly, brushing Sweetie's hair out of her face. "It doesn't change anything."

"... I wish I hadn't stayed away from you for so long."

Scootaloo opened her mouth to ask again, but after the sentence processed, she looked away, grinding her teeth.

"I wish I weren't Goddess."

Scootaloo glanced back at Sweetie, her eyes locked on her arms which were curled tightly between the two of them. She drew a hand slowly along her back - it made her more comfortable sometimes. "You're serious about that, huh."

She pursed her lips, and curled up a little tighter against her. "Maybe I'm not. I - I know I can't actually get rid of her or anything. I mean, I know there are aspects of her that I can't handle, but there are parts that I don't think I could... could do without."

She rolled over onto her back with a deep sigh, from the diaphragm. Scootaloo stared at her, all knitted eyebrows and tight lips, waiting silently in case there was anything more. "... Remember last week when I asked you what you really wanted? And then I said 'a normal life'? That was... because that's what I want." She shook her head. "I think that's what I want."

She looked at Scootaloo, who remained silent, trying not to let her concern show.

"If I weren't her, if I were never her, I wouldn't want anything more than that normal life, but it's - it's too late now," she finished, drawing slowly down to a whisper.

For a moment, Scootaloo was compelled to tell her that it's not too late, that it's never too late, pick yourself up and together we can fix your problems, but... the idea that it was too late wasn't a debatable one. It wasn't too late to do away with Goddess. It was too late for Sweetie to remain whole if Goddess was done away with.

And in that moment, as in countless moments before, there wasn't anything to do but kiss her. Just long enough to show her sympathy.

After a moment, she let it fall away to a soft nuzzle and shifted under the sheets. "... Your legs are gross."

Sweetie's grin grew into a laugh. "You always know just what to say."

Scootaloo grinned back. "I've said just about all I can. You do what you need to do, okay?" She moved around again. "Including shave your legs."

Sweetie slapped her playfully with the back of her hand. "Stop it. I haven't had time."

"Speaking of," Scootaloo said, rising to lean on her elbow, "Rarity wanted to know if you'd like to go on a double date with her and her boyfriend tonight."

Sweetie pursed her lips again. "I don't know," she began after a second or two of thought. "I don't want to spend too much time... away."

"It's close to the house. Plus, we'll have the doctor in so everything's covered." Scootaloo placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it that calculated caress. "You need to spend some time away, okay? Just an hour or two."

As Scootaloo drew her hand from her shoulder down her arm, she saw Sweetie relax and allowed herself a small smile. However, momentarily, Sweetie turned and stepped out of bed with a little groan, dragging one of the sheets off the bed behind her. "I guess I should start getting ready then. What is it, three?"

"It's, uh..." Scootaloo squinted at the bedside clock, a tiny gold-coloured thing with thin little arms. It glared back at her with its hour hand on the five, and its minute hand moving as though on cue past the one; for such a little thing, it exuded quite a bit of contempt. "About five," she finished.

"Oh," replied Sweetie with a touch of surprise, and opened the drawer on the end-table she was leaning on, throwing a blouse from it over herself, pulling open the blinds, and sliding the window up, all in a series of smooth motions. "Where's my purse?"

"Where'd you have it last?"

"Probably down on the back porch - wait," she practically interrupted herself, "I took it into the bathroom 'cause my manuscript notebook's in there. Good," she added in a murmur, and stepped into the bathroom.

Scootaloo prepared herself for the outing as Sweetie smoked. It didn't take her nearly as long, since her hair was never problematic, and she and Sweetie talked lightly in the meantime. As she rummaged through her duffel bag for clean clothes, the thought hit her suddenly - this is what marriage is going to be. why do things have to be complicated? they don't. they can be this.

She'd just finished as Sweetie took the last draw from her cigarette, and she stepped out of the bathroom with the thought still fresh in her mind. Before Sweetie could leave her spot in front of the window, Scootaloo stepped behind her and slowly, lovingly wrapped her arms around her torso. They didn't say anything for the longest time - just rocked back and forth, feeling the other against themselves soft and warm, breathing almost in sync.

"It was after five, wasn't it?"

Scootaloo was silent for a moment. She didn't sound particularly upset by it, and there was no use denying it. "... Yeah."

"That's..." Sweetie began, drumming her fingers once on the windowsill, "the first time I was late."

And again, Scootaloo didn't particularly know how to respond. "I'm sorry," she murmured finally, not at all letting up on the close embrace. It was a few seconds before Sweetie gently laid a hand on hers, and nuzzled just as gently against her cheek.

She would put on the ring for the date. Because this was what marriage was going to be, and for the first time, she didn't mind letting people know.

Sporting Chance was a tall, slim man with buzzed black hair, warm chestnut skin, and steady, piercing teal eyes. He was dressed in an open black suitcoat with a detailed white suede shirt, and approached their group with a shadow of confident swagger; he met each of their stares with a broad, bright grin as he drew close.

They hadn't been waiting too long. It was about five minutes ago that they'd arrived at the small building off of the main streets, and had stood, looking unhurriedly about at the facades of the family shops and independent diners, at the dim tan business buildings whose architecture hinted at their age, at the tops of further establishments down the way where the street dipped into a valley and back up again just before the horizon broke. All the while, Sweetie moved about nervously, pushing her straightened, darkened hair out of her eyes every so often, and her nerve was rather contagious - Scootaloo found herself shifting her weight from one foot to another more than she needed to.

Then, amongst the few clusters of pedestrians, he appeared from around one of the buildings, searching up and down the street for a moment. When Scootaloo saw the tall, slim man in his open black suitcoat making his way to their settled little group, she had him figured for the Chance she'd heard about, and she was not disappointed.

"I didn't keep you waiting too long, did I?" he asked as he crossed the street. His voice was a sharp baritone, and he could certainly project.

"Only a moment, darling," Rarity replied, and greeted him with a short kiss (for which he had to lean down noticeably). "Let me introduce our company - my sister Sweetie Belle, and her fiancé Scootaloo."

"Charmed," he began with his broad smile, and took Sweetie's hand, shaking it firmly. "Sporting Chance. Or Slim, if you prefer." When he smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes extended back nearly to his ear, making it appear even brighter.

"Oh, Slim Chance. That's - I get it," said Sweetie, returning his smile. Ever since Sweetie applied that - that magical mask thing, the perception filter, Scootaloo continually found herself not quite recognizing her. If she didn't know her mannerisms so well, she would have mistaken her for someone she knew a long time ago - a different someone every time their eyes met.

He stepped back, turning to Scootaloo. "And, my apologies, but I haven't caught the tune of your personality from Rarity like I have Sweetie Belle's. So we'll have to try more earnestly to get to know one another."

She took his hand. He was indulgent with his language, to the point of sacrificing clarity for novelty, and his voice complimented it. Why did everyone have to be such clever speakers? "I'm Scootaloo."

His hand was warm and dry and bit worked. "That's an interesting name."

"I don't know what you could possibly mean, Mr. Sporting Chance," Sweetie replied, and they had a short, social laugh, like none of them knew each other.

Chance turned her hand over, examining the ring for a moment. "That's beautiful. Was that your doing?" he asked, turning back to Sweetie.

"It was."

"You have excellent taste. I suppose it runs in the family, doesn't it?" He flashed a grin at Rarity, and took her by the arm. "I wouldn't want to keep us out in the cold. Shall we continue this indoors?"

The Enclave certainly stood up to its name - the bright reds and yellows and the reworked classical aesthetic were a warm contrast from the cold urban stonework street they walked in from. There were four scroll-topped columns separating the small dining area into nine parts of curtain-partitioned booths, and the floor was wax-shined mahogany. And it smelled like soul food. And she finally noticed she was hungry.

Sweetie seemed to have hit it off with Chance. They were still talking as a group when they sat down, a pair per side of the table, but she didn't feel nearly as into the conversation as Sweetie.

hint hint

ha ha ha ha good one scoots

i mean you're the one who came up with it in the first place

don't give me that it was subconscious

"So what do you do professionally?"

She blinked, snapped out of her confused soliloquy. "What? IT."

Chance grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Is that so? I'm not the best at that, uh... entire sphere of discipline."

"Well," Scootaloo replied, thinking desperately of a way to respond that wasn't awkward or rude. "... What do you do?"

"He writes f - sorry," Rarity interjected, a childlike smile Scootaloo had never seen spread across her face.

"No, you can -"

"He writes for Gold Filigree," Rarity interrupted, her smile broadening.

Scootaloo glanced back and forth between all three of them. "I don't..."

"It's a fashion magazine," Sweetie replied, waving her hand.

"It's the best fashion magazine," Rarity replied.

"It's her favourite fashion magazine."

"It's alright," Chance commented offhandedly.

Scootaloo chuckled. "So do you work in Canterlot?"

"Very nearly. It's a rather small building nearby, at the base of the mountain."

Sweetie rested her head in her hand. "So what do you know about celebrities?"

Scootaloo had a sort of half-smile on her face, risen more out of confusion than anything else. Chance opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted with no warning by the waiter, dressed in a speckless white vest and with impeccably prepared facial hair. "Good evening, sir and ladies, and welcome to the Enclave," and something about the specials and drinks. Scootaloo wasn't paying much attention. "May I place your orders for beverages?"

"Forêtchaval grenache blanc '84, if you have it," Chance replied with a warm smile (which was quickly becoming familiar).

Scootaloo blinked.

"White sounds nice, darling, but I think I'll go for a cabernet sauvignon." Rarity twirled a finger in the air, still looking down at her menu. "Or something else as savory."

The menu said nothing about wine at all, and Scootaloo certainly didn't know anything about it. And they were quickly rounding the table to her.

"I'm looking for a viognier from Chateau Sabot-Ongles, '57 or '58," came Sweetie's voice, and Scootaloo turned to stare at her, an eyebrow raised. "I've been looking for it for a while now, but no one's ever had it."

"I can check with the sommelier."

That probably meant wine guy. Why did the restaurant they decided to bring her to have a wine guy? She noticed the waiter looking at her out of the corner of her eye. "... I know nothing about wine," she declared, pointing vaguely at him. "So surprise me."

"Of course," he replied with a nod, and disappeared into the restaurant.

Scootaloo turned to the group and pointed vaguely across the table. "I know absolutely nothing about wine."

"You could've just gotten a soda or something," Sweetie replied.

She shrugged. "I mean, if there's a wine guy, I gotta do something about wine or something, right? I don't wanna be caught out of the loop or something."

Chance chuckled. "Wine is its own culture. As long as you know one or two that you like, that's all you need, really."

"Look who's talking," Rarity said, poking his arm.

"Okay, I would probably be considered part of wine culture," Chance admitted, with another rather-reserved grin. "But what I'm saying is that it isn't general knowledge, and that's alright. Your question," he began, looking over to Sweetie, "about celebrities."

"Yes?" Her eyes were glinting with a familiar mischievousness.

"Well, as a man of the popular consciousness, I wouldn't hesitate to call myself familiar with celebrity." His hand gravitated to his short, trim circle-beard. "It's one of the few interests of mine that I've maintained solidly over the past several years."

"Oh," Scootaloo replied, covering her smile quickly. "I mean, you - you'd probably have no problem picking a celebrity out in public, right?"

Sweetie padded her foot wildly with her own as Chance's smile grew and he shifted a bit in his seat. "Why? Have I missed someone? Have we walked past someone I should know?"

Rarity shook her head in withdrawal, letting them continue their little cat-and-mouse for a bit. "Maybe," Sweetie replied, not yet removing her chin from her hand or her elbows from the table. "Maybe if you look around a bit, you'll see what we're getting at."

He turned to look past the back of the seat. "It's rather dark in here. Am I supposed to be... what am I supposed to be seeing?"

Sweetie bobbed her bead back and forth. "I've never done this before. Not so straightforwards," she murmured, Scootaloo assumed to her. "Do you give up?"

After a moment of squinting around the area, he leaned back in his seat and rested his wrists on the edge of the table. "I do."

"Well, I, uh..." She paused for a second, her grin becoming a bit wider, a bit more genuine. She seemed to be crawling slowly towards the words. "I'm, uh... I'm Goddess."

It took no time at all for him to raise an eyebrow and break out another smile. "You know, you do resemble her a bit. I can see the similarities in your faces," he replied, to a single chuckle from Rarity.

What must he have been expecting? Maybe something along the lines of "she does this to everyone" from Rarity, or a laugh and more jokes about it, even. Perhaps he'd planned out how to carry a conversation starting with that joke. But the poor man certainly didn't expect Sweetie to look nervously around the room and scrub away her magical mask all of a sudden - and he certainly didn't expect her to wink. Scootaloo, on the other hand, wasn't surprised.

She sat back and watched him go through the stages. A lightning bolt of excitement, a deeper realization that he was now one of the very few who knew, questions and questions and questions. As the scene played out, though, she heard the excitement mirrored in Sweetie's voice, and smiled, finding her hand under the table and grasping it gently.

The thought didn't quite stick with her as the evening passed. It quickly left her alone as they ate and said goodbye to Chance (and Rarity, who left with him), and, if it was there at all as they walked home, she didn't notice it. However, as soon as Sweetie had said good night to her mother and changed into her pajamas and was ready for bed, it came back.

"Hey," she began, broaching the subject with a bit of apprehension. Then promptly backtracked, placing a hand gently on her back as she sat on the edge of the bed. "... It was nice to get away, right?"

"You know, it was." She laid back, wrapping an arm around her. "I haven't been out with Rarity in a really long time. And, hey, it's fun to freak people out sometimes."

"Yeah, it is," Scootaloo murmured unconsciously in reply, pressing up against her arm and getting comfortable. It was still swimming there in her mind, and every other second she was trying to decide whether it had been too many seconds of silence to start talking again. No, not now, not now. Now was a couple soft touches. Now was something to stop thinking, not to start it up again.

Ah, but there it was. "Sweetie?"

"What?"

"Have you ever... I don't know." She shifted. "Have you ever thought about... guys?"

She felt the stare without having to look. In a moment, Sweetie started laughing. "What do you mean? Are we thinking about the same thing?"

"I - I mean, I would imagine." She sat up, upsetting the sheets. "I'm talking... uh, would you ever think of..." As she trailed off, she began to feel her cheeks burn with a blush.

"No. Honestly? Of course not," she said, pulling her back down to the pillows. "I'm happy with you." Her laugh had shrunk to a smile. "I've always been happy with you. ... Do you mean that you've been 'thinking about' guys?"

She blinked. "No. No, no, no. I'm - I'm happy with you, too. It was just a thought." She ran through the concept again in her head, and placed a hand on Sweetie's side. "It's nothing."

"Wait," Sweetie began, her voice lilting with amusement again. "Does this have to do with Chance? Celestia, Scoots." At that, she descended into laughter again.

"... It was just a thought."

Sweetie looked back up, her smile buckled. For a moment, she didn't say anything, and Scootaloo felt the silence build up in her chest. Finally, she broke it. "You know I'm never going to cheat on you, Scoots."

"What?" She sat up again, this time in shock. "That's not what I meant at all."

"Okay, so what did you mean?"

"I just -" She stopped herself. What did she mean? "I don't know, really," she finished quietly. "I guess I don't see you talk to a whole lot of people, and it, uh, took me off guard. Strange as that may sound."

Sweetie finally sat up as well. "Do you mean you were jealous?"

"No." was that it, maybe, it couldn't be "Definitely not. I just didn't have as much to say as him, and, you know, it got me thinking. Seriously, it's nothing."

Sweetie stared, inquisitively, and after a moment grapsed her hand. "Alright. Just... be aware that you're not going to lose me, okay?"

"I know," Scootaloo replied, and stared back, forcing a half-chuckle. "I mean, we're getting married."

Sweetie gave a small smile, shifting her hand gently on Scootaloo's. "Yeah."

"Speaking of," Scootaloo began, and her brain promptly threw up warning signs. For a moment, she was torn, but decided to brave forward. "I was thinking. Um... don't you think that it would... that maybe your mother would want to see you get married?"

Her smile fell away to something more contemplative. "Maybe." Scootaloo stared on as she looked away. "Why?"

"Well... maybe you could find a way to... you know, transport her so we could have the ceremony. Um, within - within the month."

Her eyes grew dark.

"We set it up for this Friday," Scootaloo continued, "and we have everything ready, as far as I know."

"Yeah," Sweetie murmured. "But... I thought we would postpone it. I don't know about moving her."

Scootaloo stopped staring, instead turning to examine the strip of white light from the streetlamp outside, standing motionless on the ceiling. "Even after the ceremony. We're leaving immediately, right?" Her voice had softened. "I've got friends, and a job to quit, and an apartment to clean up. I want to say goodbye to things first, and..." She trailed off. "I don't want you to think - look, maybe I'm being selfish. But I was thinking that if 'your mother seeing the ceremony' and all the things I want are - I don't know, equitable, than we can have both. Plus, you know, it's getting cold out."

For a moment, she felt Sweetie looking at her, and turned back towards her. She pressed up closer, looking away again. Then, she turned and slid off the bed. "Come with me. I want you to see something."

"What? Do I need a jacket?"

"No, it's just downstairs."

She led her silently to the sun-room, where Rarity did most of her work. The only illumination was from the streetlight outside, and it cast soft shadows across the various violet curtains and cool-coloured fabrics arranged haphazardly around the small area. She tried to guess what the 'something' might be, but every idea she had made less sense than the last. Was it some kind of gift? No, she would wait for the wedding. Something about her mother or father? No, she couldn't think of what that might entail. So what, then?

Finally, she let her hand go and stepped to the corner of the room, where there was a butterfly armoire. She opened it hesitantly, stepping aside as she did.

On the left, a light violet women's tuxedo. On the right, a light violet wedding gown.

"We didn't know which one you wanted, and I wanted to keep it a surprise," Sweetie commented quietly, her smile just as quiet. "Rarity's really proud of them."

She couldn't close her mouth. For a moment, she felt tears welling, and didn't know what they were for, so she blinked them away. "... I wouldn't know how to pick," she said finally, walking up to them.

"Try them on," Sweetie replied.

"Now?"

"Yeah, now," she giggled. "Do the suit first."

She gave her another look (which quickly turned into a small smile) and lifted the hangar off its hook before stepping behind the curtain and examining it closer. Was that silk? She summoned what little she knew about tuxedos and started.

After a few minutes, she tucked in everything she guessed was supposed to be tucked in and examined herself in the semidarkness. It fit her excellently, as far as she could tell. She examined it using the standing mirror in one of the dark corners, watching its contours shift as the light from behind her silhouetted her. It was, for a brief moment, surreal.

As she pushed the heavy curtain aside, she saw Sweetie, illuminated in a similar way, put a hand to her chin reflexively. She felt a shadow of a confident smile cross her face. "How do I look?" she asked quietly, meeting her in the middle of the stage.

Sweetie stared for a moment, then un-tucked and re-tucked a part of her shirt in the back and adjusted her vest. She wasn't quite smiling, but her eyes twinkled as though she was. In a moment, she leaned forwards for what Scootaloo thought was going to be a kiss. Then, she felt her arms lock around her waist and felt the warmth of her cheek on her neck. Slowly, she returned the embrace.

"It's going to happen," she heard, softly. "Soon. I promise."

Scootaloo didn't respond.

Sweetie finally pulled away, but kept close. "I'll ask Mom about what you suggested."

"It's alright, Sweetie. Don't worry about it."

"It's not a problem. It's a perfectly sensible idea," Sweetie replied, reaching a hand up to rest against Scootaloo's neck, and played absentmindedly with her hair. "You know you don't have to keep stuff to yourself."

"I know that. I mean, duh, of course I know that," Scootaloo murmured. "It's just... you know, I want to talk gently for the time being."

"Why?"

She blinked. "Well, uh, I don't want to upset you."

Sweetie shifted her hands to her lower back. "I'm fine, Scoots," she said, her voice bordering on a whisper. "Remember, I want this to happen as much as you do."

Scootaloo nodded. "It's not just that I want it to happen," she said, her mind returning to a train of thought she'd long moved to the backburner. "You said, once, that we're 'smart enough.' To, you know, keep this whole thing smooth." She paused. "I - I worry. You know that."

"You didn't used to," Sweetie commented quietly.

She almost found herself pursing her lips. "... No, I didn't used to. Nobody used to. But I started to, especially when you developed this secret that's, I'm gonna be honest, not the most watertight. And we were apart when we didn't need to be." She looked down. "The whole time, it was like something was... was, like, scratching at the inside of my soul with claws."

"You don't have to tell me." Sweetie had replaced her hand on Scootaloo's neck.

"But somehow, you've pulled it off," she continued, looking back up. "You're back, and marriage is just - it just seals the deal. That's how I know you're right, and why I don't worry. We are smart enough. You're smart enough."

Her eyes trailed along her features, stopping to look into her own. Like always, she tacitly understood what she meant far deeper than she could express. "You look beautiful."

She grinned. "... Do you want me to try on the dress?"'

"No," Sweetie replied. "I don't want to ruin the surprise for myself."

It was hot for an autumn day. The sky was clear, and even the blue was a light tint, like it was some kind of eternal vaulted ceiling posing as the sky instead of the sky itself. Preparations had been made the day before, and Sweetie's mother had already left to be set up in a private-care facility in Ponyville. It was a still morning, even after a still week.

In the backseat, Scootaloo had an arm around Sweetie and was staring silently out the window, watching the suburbs become the city become the suburbs and watching the rural slowly swallow the suburbs in turn. And it was hot for an autumn day. Hopefully that heat would maintain through Friday. Through the ceremony. The wedding. She smiled, leaning over to kiss the top of Sweetie's head.

Their arrival at Ponyville was as discreet as they could make it. Rarity separated from them briefly to meet with some old friends, and in the meantime they made their way over to the Acres.

Before they crossed the street to the white wooden picket-fence, Scootaloo was hit heavily with the smell of mulched soil. On the horizon, slow-moving machines were tearing trees from the ground, roots and all, and workers were filling the holes left behind and laying sheets of sod down after. She looked over at Sweetie, who blanched. "Do you think I gave them enough to cover this?"

"I'm sure," she replied. Sweetie didn't look at all reassured, and pursed her lips. "... Go check, if you want to know."

She thought for a moment, and nodded. "I have to run some preparations with Rarity anyways. And you said you wanted to talk to some people you know, right?"

"Yeah, and clean out my apartment, and finalize quitting my job..." She paused for a moment and chuckled. "It's strange to say it out loud."

Sweetie stepped over to her for a light kiss. "I'll see you tonight. I booked a room at the Moondance Inn - remember, down by the East Fields?" She hesitated. "Do you ever get butterflies in your stomach?"

Scootaloo grinned. "What, have you just been getting them now?"

"I've been getting them all week, but I think they just doubled."

She grasped her hand gently. Warm, responsive, familiar. "Friday."

As they parted, Sweetie for the farmhouse and Scootaloo for the center of town, she felt her butterflies double, too.

Sweetie had provided her a number to message when she started moving out, but neglected to tell her any details beyond that. So, when she reached her door, she messaged it, and, half-expecting some kind of magical instantaneous moving squad, shrugged when nothing happened.

Her apartment, predictably, hadn't changed. The excess of blankets and pillows in the den was still inviting, the light switch near the door still stuck sometimes, the crack in the window was still the same size. But the atmosphere had inverted. Rather than the nest that she had returned to after work for years now, it was a shell, the molted skin of a snake. There's nothing for you here anymore, it murmured, and it was a bittersweet little murmur with an edge of anxious excitement. For a moment, she stood in the carpeted foyer, her hands folded across her chest, and thought about it.

"Hey."

Scootaloo started, and turned as she recognized the voice, letting the glass door slide shut behind her. It had just passed five o'clock, and in the late spring the cloud cover was only just differentiable from an early evening. But it wasn't the slight chill that made her hands retreat to her pockets. "... Hi," she murmured, not meaning to sound quite so vulnerable.

Sweetie brushed a hand through her hair. "I just... thought I'd drop by when you got off work." For a moment, she made eye contact, and then looked away again. "You know. To... talk. If you're not doing anything."

"Um... sure," she replied lowly. "I mean, I'm not doing anything. Is what I meant." Her hands somehow found their way deeper into her pockets. "So we can... talk."

Sweetie let out an uneasy little sigh. "I'm a little, uh... tense, too. Nervous, maybe." She started off for the sidewalk, her unseasonably heavy nylon coat chafing noisily.

She followed, and they walked for a bit through town, side-by-side, quiet. Eventually, though, Sweetie broke the silence.

"So... in case it wasn't super-obvious, I wanted to talk about yesterday."

"Yeah." She waited for Sweetie to follow up, and glanced over; her cheeks were bright red, whether from the light breeze or from something else she couldn't guess. The new silence was a little more unbalanced. "Uh... I - I don't know what to really say about it. I mean, it..." She trailed off, having never had a good point in the first place.

Whatever feeling she had of imbalance faded away as they keep walking, leisurely, at pace. She followed Sweetie out of town and down a slight incline through the northwest coppice. When they got to a lake about a quarter mile off, Sweetie glanced back to her with an impossibly subtle grin playing on the corners of her mouth. She was almost compelled to speak, but decided against it.

The crickets started up in a minute or two, and the sun drew nearer to the crown of trees making up the western horizon. Just as another breeze blew past, she felt a cold hand reach into her pocket, fingers interlacing tenderly with her own. She looked over to see Sweetie was pulling her coat closer to her, looking at the pond, her cheeks only further reddened by the dying sunlight.

Finally, she looked over, her eyes sparkling hazel. "... How much time do you have?"

"I don't have anything else to do today." She let their hands drop to their side. Hers was gradually growing warmer.

They found dry ground and sat for a bit. Words were there, hanging in the back of her mind, waiting to be spoken, but Scootaloo couldn't find the right order or timing for any of them. That imbalance had returned, settling across her shoulders oddly, and she rested her head in her hands, waiting for the silence to die down.

"I, uh... I'm thinking of doing stuff in music right out of high school," Sweetie offered as conversation.

Scootaloo took it. It felt much lighter than what could have been said instead. "Like, guitar?"

"You know. Guitar, voice, whatever. When I get back you need to teach me drums."

"You imply that I'm good at drums," she retorted with a laugh. "I really think you could do something with your voice, though."

"Yeah?" She pulled her knees to her chest and looked over for the first time in a while. "Like what?"

"I dunno. The thing you've been doing recently and hitting, like, five notes in a row real quick is pretty cool."

She sighed. "I guess. Performance isn't really solid, considering. That's a riff, by the way," she added. "A bunch of quick notes in a row."

"I thought that was guitar."

The conversation faded again. After a moment, though, Sweetie shifted a bit and then spun to sit in front of Scootaloo, lying between her legs, resting her head on Scootaloo's abdomen.

Scootaloo felt heat rush to her face, and for a moment was immobile. "Uh..." she murmured, and when Sweetie didn't respond, she slowly moved her hands to the ground behind her, unsure what else to do with them.

"What's up?" Sweetie asked, turning her head slightly upwards as though to look at her.

"I don't, um..."

Sweetie giggled, and put a hand out. Scootaloo thought for a moment and tentatively placed her own hand in Sweetie's, and was guided down to rest along Sweetie's midsection.

She slowed her breathing. "I just didn't want to, you know, get all t-touchy-feely or whatever if, uh..."

She was cut off again by Sweetie putting her hand out. "It's alright," she said softly, and wrapped Scootaloo's arm around her.

That heat dissipated, mostly. It sat in her spine still, compelling but nonreactive. She felt her breathing, light and consistent, and her heavy warmth against her, and realized finally how different it had become. In a moment, their breathing became a counterrhythm, and that sense of difference compiled. That compulsion grew. She wanted to lean down and kiss the crown of her head, and watch her reaction. Wanted to guide her up and kiss her close.

Sweetie shifted in her position again, turning around and putting a supporting hand on either side of her, suddenly multiplying in size. They'd looked it up once and had concluded that her eyes were bottle-green, but that was only accurate in that they were like glass, reduced to bright shards in the sunset. "I did wanna talk about yesterday, though. A little."

"O-okay," she replied, ignoring her stammer.

"Just, um... yesterday," she began, "was I... a good kisser?"

She stared, locking up. With a pang of embarrassment, she noticed her lower lip had been hanging open unconsciously. She wanted desperately to move, to speak, but she was locked in place, a staticky and unsure feeling welling up in her abdomen.

Her chest tightened and her breath shortened as she saw Sweetie's eyes soften. She leaned in, and Scootaloo panicked.

"Hold up," she said - heard herself say - and put a tentative hand up to interrupt.

"What?" It wasn't questioning her reasoning. It was simply confused. She couldn't look into Sweetie's eyes to confirm, but it sounded... hurt.

She shuffled back a bit, to get out from under her. What? What? What was it? What was the problem? She scanned her own emotions, but they were so dense, so tightly knotted, that they revealed nothing. "This is... it's a little weird still, alright?"

"... What do you mean?"

"It's - it's just - we're still friends, you know? We've been friends for a while," Scootaloo replied, "and sometimes I just... it can be weird to..." She trailed off, her words no longer forming sentences.

She finally looked up at Sweetie, who was now kneeling. The redness of the sunset's final stretch made her eyes a vivid golden, and in that colour, she could see confusion layered with fear. "... Then what was yesterday? -"

"No, no, no, no," Scootaloo interrupted hurriedly, sitting upright. "That's not what I meant. Yesterday was - I mean - I still..."

Then, nothing had ever been so clear. "I love you, Sweetie."

For a moment, that clarity threatened to fade back into muddled, confused feelings. "But sometimes it... just..." Sweetie's gaze had grown soft, and there was no backing out now, or ever again. She had leaned in once more and broke her stare momentarily to scan the rest of Scootaloo's face. And when their eyes met again, they silently agreed.

She felt Sweetie smiling behind the kiss. The first didn't last long, but she was pulled into another by a gentle, firm hand on the back of her neck. The heat was immense - proximity alone couldn't have caused it. She was lowered onto her back and Sweetie pressed tightly against her, and the last drop of tense hesitation fell away. What was it?

Suddenly, the heat disappeared as Sweetie pulled away, and for a moment Scootaloo felt blinded, lightheaded. Sweetie had backed up a bit as Scootaloo opened her eyes, and a trace of a grin played on the corners of her mouth. She moved her hands to rest gingerly on Scootaloo's, giving her an unfairly small taste of the feeling from before.

"Well," Sweetie began lowly. "I am a good kisser, at least."

Scootaloo half-chuckled. The day before, she was in some kind of static psychosis - only vaguely aware of what was happening, ignoring the more rational parts of her brain in favor of immediate and overwhelming fulfillment. When Sweetie left, that fulfillment slowly seeped out of Scootaloo until she found her way home a little while later, completely drained. Now, it all came rushing back, and she caught herself staring.

Sweetie laughed as well, and her smile mellowed slightly. "... You alright?"

Scootaloo blinked. "Uh, yeah, it..." She trailed off, sitting up and running a hand through her hair, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Sweetie glanced behind her, where the sun had just begun to fall below the horizon. The only light left now was twilight - in a few minutes, it would be dark. Sweetie cursed. "I forgot. I have to go to the dinner party my sister's having." She looked up at Scootaloo, again scanning her face. There was something different about her. Something unexpectedly different, at least. The way she looked at her, with a slight hunger in her eyes, confused Scootaloo - and compelled her. "You know what? Forget my sister," she said, scooting a bit closer. "How would you like to go out to dinner with me tonight?"

Scootaloo felt a grin wipe away her thought. "Sure, I guess," she replied. "I gotta cash a check on the way, though."

"Ah, save it for later," Sweetie replied with a wave of her hand.

"No, I have to. For dinner."

Sweetie laughed, rising to her feet and helping Scootaloo up. "It's not that kind of date. You don't have to pay for me."

Scootaloo put her hands into her pockets for a moment, then reconsidered, and tentatively reached out for Sweetie's hand. "Can I, though? You're... you'll be leaving for a while. I just want to do something for you."

Her hand hinted at that familiar, valuable warmth. "... Would you really?"

"Of course," she replied. For a moment, they were quiet again. Sweetie reached up after a moment and touched her cheek lightly, and Scootaloo very nearly shuddered.

She leaned in once more for a kiss, strangely casual. It was beginning to grow on her.

They took a table outside at the main street deli. By the time they'd gotten their food, the sharp cold of night had already set in, but they were hardly paying attention. They had instead fallen back into a comfortable lull of jokes and chatter, some of it nonsensical but entertaining nonetheless, and it was well after they were finished that the conversation turned back to the inevitable.

Sweetie had moved to sit a bit closer as it grew colder over the course of the "not that kind of date," and now they were side-by-side at the round teak table with their backs to the windows of the restaurant. The only light, a lonely flickering lantern hanging from the doorjamb nearby, cast a lively shadow on her face. "After that," she was saying, in the middle of a half-recognizable joke, "I will trek day and night across the vast and barren landscape of the Far West." She paused dramatically, holding up her gloved hands.

"This is incredibly dangerous, and should never be attempted by anyone," Scootaloo panned, playing into the banter. Sweetie wasn't as sarcastic or... scathing as Applebloom could be, and it was a lot easier to bounce jokes back and forth without thinking too much about it.

"But you'll protect me, my darling dear," Sweetie said, putting her hands on her cheeks and looking with blithe expectancy at Scootaloo. She looked away, suddenly a bit embarrassed as the situation peeked once more into view. Sweetie was silent for a moment, and Scootaloo could see her smile out of the corner of her eye. "I love it when you do that."

Scootaloo stifled a laugh, glancing over. "What, be... caught off guard?"

"No, you do this thing where you, uh..." She motioned for Scootaloo to look at her, and smiled in a particular way. "Look, see, you put your tongue between your lower teeth and your lip? And you sort of roll your eyes all nonchalant, and then you look away. You do it a lot." She put her chin in her hand. "It's kinda cute."

Scootaloo blinked. "What, this?" she asked, attempting to do it again.

"No, no! Don't overdo it, or it'll stop being cute." She waved her hands. "Pretend I never told you."

She laughed, folding her arms as a breeze swept by. "... Have you ever noticed that you stick your tongue out sometimes when you read?"

Sweetie leaned in. "Oh, is that cute?"

She felt herself blush even beneath the chill. "... I mean..."

"Like this?"

Scootaloo caught herself staring, and suddenly a heat welled up in her abdomen, threatening to overflow. "... And you, uh, also do this thing every once in a while where you bite your bottom lip."

Sweetie didn't even need to respond. When Scootaloo mustered the courage to look again, she was already doing it - making direct eye contact, her nose a little red, her smile small and coy, her stare unyieldingly hungry. She noticed her staring. "What?"

She very nearly began to reply with 'nothing.'

"... Did you mean what you said?" She paused, and the silence settled - not cold, but mischievous, digging into Scootaloo little by little. "Back at the lake." As Scootaloo thought, she felt a warm arm around the middle of her back, and Sweetie moved a bit closer.

Finally, she nodded. "Yeah."

She watched Sweetie's smile grow, and felt herself join in. Sweetie lifted her gloved hand to Scootaloo's cheek tentatively, capturing her in totality. Her kiss had stabilized; the rush was there, and the heat was there, but the anxiety had dulled. Now, all that was left was soft pressure, light breath, and the unexplainable leap in heart rate that came with realized fantasy.

Before they parted, Sweetie down her street and Scootaloo down her own, Sweetie apologized lowly. Scootaloo didn't understand why, and didn't question it. She thought for a moment that Sweetie was leaning in to kiss her again, but instead she wrapped her arms around her and buried her head in her shoulder.

She did cry that night, and the night after.

Scootaloo was paying more attention to her glass and the throw pillow she was holding than anything else when there was a knock at the door. For a moment, she looked around the room, dragged suddenly out of her reminiscing.

At the door was a tall man dressed in a navy blue uniform. His hat read 'Lads Moving.' "Hello, ma'am," he said, taking out a clipboard. "You requested our stealth moving service?"

"Probably, yeah. Where do I sign?"

They filtered in one by one with their empty boxes and moving trolleys and proceeded to tear her shedded skin to ribbons. She stood by and smiled, of course, sipping gin.

They met at the diner on Thursday at around noon and sat outside, their backs to the windows.

The day was mild - slightly overcast, and a stiff breeze shook the thin plastic umbrella above Scootaloo every minute or so. She got there a few minutes early, and when Sweetie arrived in full glamours, she waved her over, not caring to suppress her smile. "Took you long enough," she teased. "You bogged down?"

"Oh, man, you have no clue," Sweetie said with a heavy sigh, tossing her purse onto the seat beside her and pushing up her sunglasses. "Not that I mind. Give me kiss."

"Only a little bit," Scootaloo murmured, complying. "How are plans?"

Sweetie spun the menu underneath her finger. "It's coming together. It's all coming together. Did you get moved out with that number like I asked?"

"Yeah." She paused for a moment, turning to look behind them and into the restaurant. Some faces were new, of course, but several were old - some kids she knew as classmates were bussing tables, some townsfolk she knew her entire life were sitting down for lunch. But the effect had worn off. She turned back to Sweetie, putting an arm around her shoulders. "I can't wait."

Sweetie grinned and pushed up her sunglasses again. "Okay, so, first, we're not gonna do a rehearsal. It's already Thursday, and -"

"Rehearsal."

"Yeah," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Weddings have rehearsals, usually, but we're gonna skip that with ours 'cause the commissioner is just gonna say some things and we repeat them back -"

"Commissioner."

She turned, pursing her lips and lowering her sunglasses just enough to show her eyes. "The commissioner is the one who... legally does the... what do you know about weddings?"

"I mean, not a lot. I've been to, like, two. And I'm bad at paying attention."

Sweetie laughed, moving her sunglasses up to her forehead. "I almost envy you. I had to go to dozens when I was a kid. Rarity was, I mean, obviously super into them." The conversation fell to a lull again, and a breeze swept past the table. "... You know I'm gonna cry."

Scootaloo ran her hand gently through her hair, pulling her closer. "Same."

They sat for a while together, quietly, and ate together quietly. The light banter was still there, but there was an air of smooth sobriety. "So," Sweetie said a few minutes afterwards, "I won't see you until the ceremony."

Scootaloo couldn't repress a smile. "You won't be too upset if I mess up a line?"

"Babe," she said, flicking her sunglasses back into position. "Honey. Darling. I expect you to."

She laughed, and Sweetie joined in. Her laugh had always been melodic and earnest, genuine even when it wasn't. This time it was. "I don't know how you expect me to sleep tonight."

"I don't know how I expect to sleep tonight," Sweetie said. "In a hotel room? The day before we get married?" She shook her hands like she was trying to dry them and made an excited, anxious little noise. They laughed again, and she stood, collecting her purse. "The reception is at the ballroom on Fourth and First in Canterlot. I got your invite list. Everything's ready. Everything's set."

Scootaloo stood. "I could have helped more if you wanted me to, you know."

"No, no, I know, I know. I like surprises, Scoots."

Her alarm woke her at 9 o'clock in the morning the following day, and after the brief interlude of haziness between sleep and awakeness, she realized it was Friday. The realization sat heavily on her shoulders, and as the sun sat impertinently at her back, glaring off her mirror, she took a deep, long breath.

The amount of time she spent in front of the mirror was maybe a quarter of what she spent in front of the mirror at the Acres. It was only fair that Rarity would be helping Sweetie in another room, and Scootaloo was instead joined by Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy. Notably, Rainbow Dash did not help.

Fluttershy was, fittingly, a delicate hairdresser. She quickly and gently fixed the back, keeping the shape in the front, and, when asked to apply only minimal makeup, spent several minutes in silence getting each line just right.

"I'm pumped," Dash was saying. "Are you pumped? I'm ultra pumped. The other bridesmaids are already outside, but I have to see you dressed up first." She was pacing, flicking her hair out of her eyes every once in a while. "Look at you. Can I touch you? Can I touch her?"

Fluttershy paused. "Uh -"

Without waiting for much of a response, Dash leaned down for a tight, excited hug. "I can barely believe it. Did I ruin your makeup? Did I ruin her makeup?"

Fluttershy paused. "Uh -"

"Dash," Scootaloo finally interrupted, leaning back in her seat with a half-amused grin. "You're making me nervous."

"Right, right, right," she said. "Okay, no, that's fine, I'll be over here in the corner."

Scootaloo looked up at Fluttershy, keeping her head still. "What's up with her?"

Fluttershy smiled, blending a light layer of foundation. "Well, she's excited. You're like her little sister, after all." She replaced the brush in its case. "She goes crazy for things like the Apple Festival and book releases, and this is your wedding." There was a slight pause, and Fluttershy flicked Scootaloo's hair out a bit to fix the shape. "I'm excited, too. I couldn't begin to grasp what you're feeling."

"Me, neither, honestly."

Fluttershy chuckled. "I finished your makeup. So, you have two outfits - a dress and a suit. Did - did you know that?"

"Yeah. I decided on the dress." Scootaloo smirked. "It'll be a surprise."

The dress, unlike the suit, took maybe twenty seconds to properly put on, and then she walked out of the makeshift dressing-room area and looked at the small bedroom mirror. It fit her well - perhaps better than the suit. It was contoured and slim, and much more colorful in the light.

Dash walked over, put a hand up to her mouth, and cleared her throat. "Oh, man. I gotta go." She turned on her heel and walked out.

Scootaloo felt the corners of her eyes tighten, felt nonsense tears before they were even present. Fluttershy, being Fluttershy, noticed, and put her hands behind her back. "You look beautiful. I'm happy for you."

"Me, too." She grinned at herself, and adjusted the back of the dress. There was a zipper on one of the layers inside, and she was relatively sure that wasn't a typical part of a wedding dress, but she decided not to mention it just in case it was as risque as she figured it was.

The ceremony would begin at two in the afternoon. Scootaloo made her way out to the platform at a few minutes prior, her heart racing. The day was overcast, but warm, and completely windless, completely still. In front of the platform were several dozen guests, friends and family alike. Sweetie's mother, for example, in a wheelchair, attended by a nurse, waved as well as she could. She stepped up the small set of stairs and past the bridesmaids - among them, of course, Rainbow Dash and Applejack and Rarity, as well as Applebloom, who looked away with a breaking smile. However, Scootaloo was a bit more focused on the woman in officious robery with a long scroll in her hands. "Twilight?"

Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship, who Scootaloo hadn't seen in three or four years, gave a warm but anxious, unsteady smile. "Hi, Scootaloo. You look great."

"Are you the one doing the -" She stopped herself, glancing out at the crowd and lowering her voice to a whisper. "- the thing?"

"Yeah, Sweetie Belle asked." She looks down at the scroll. "I've never done one before, though."

"Neither have I," Scootaloo said with a grin. "When do -"

"Shh!" She heard Applebloom behind her, and immediately understood. The small band nearby, made of a violin and several other stringed instruments, began playing something slow and grand. Scootaloo turned, and saw her.

It was surreal, almost. She walked slowly down the aisle, her feet obscured by the velvety folds of her lavender dress as though she was gliding. The sun shone dappled through the stretched, uneven clouds, glinting in her bright bottle-green eyes. She was trying badly to control her smile, and Scootaloo thought immediately - Don't. Why obscure it? It was infectious, as it always was.

She approached the platform carefully, gracefully. The band had nearly finished, but before they did, Sweetie leaned in and whispered with a surprised smile: "I thought you were wearing the suit!"

"What?" Scootaloo whispered back. "You said you wanted to keep it a surprise! Like, you already saw the suit, so -"

"Oh! I forgot," she said. "We never tried on the dress, so I -"

"Friends, family, and loved ones," Twilight began reading from the scroll in what sounded like a practiced stage voice. "We are gathered here today to witness the joining of these women in marriage."

Sweetie swallowed her smile and took a deep breath, but Scootaloo didn't have the willpower to follow suit.

The vows passed one by one. Normal things. To have and to hold. "To have and to hold." In sickness and in health. "In sickness and in health." As long as we both shall live. "As long as we both shall live." Present the ring. As she slipped the ring - a simple band of silver and gold - onto her finger, her pulse slowed, her shallow breath regulated. The excitement was replaced entirely by the low, humming warmth of imperative. This was important. Impossibly important. It was the best day of her life.

"You may kiss the bride," Twilight said - directed at neither of them in particular, of course. So she did.

This was a different kiss. Sometimes, a kiss was no more than a brief show of affection, signifying little, only signalling presence. Other times, a kiss was much deeper, wrapped up in broad linens of ideas - want and love and need, even. This time, as she placed a gentle hand on the small of her back and felt the pressure of her ring, that passion was funneled, distilled; the thrill amplified it and carried it away. When it ended, Scootaloo was lightheaded, and it was the best kiss of her life.

And then, all of a sudden, it was over. It was official. The audience began cheering, and Scootaloo was suddenly lost. "Sweetie, what do we do now?"

Sweetie smiled brightly. "Now, we're married. We go to the reception, and then... we go home."

As they walked down the aisle, arm in arm, much more quickly than they arrived, they heard congratulations over and over from old friends on either side - then Scootaloo looked to her right, and saw yet another familiar face. A face that carried with it old, old memories. Conflicted ones.

"... Dad?"

Scootaloo's father was about her height, about as tan, and with dark orange hair about the same degree of messiness. He was dressed in a tuxedo she could swear she'd seen him in before many, many years ago. His dim blue eyes flashed at her with sincere congratulations. "I'll see you at the reception, Scoots," he said, and she was swept up again in the pace.

They started for the front of the acres, various members of the crowd and the bridesmaids trailing behind them. Scootaloo was completely unsure how to feel until she said it aloud, so she turned to Sweetie, nudged her to get her attention, and did. "You invited my dad?"

Sweetie turned, a broad smile still on her face. "I thought he might like to see it."

Simple, powerful shock rippled down her spine. "... How did you find him?"

"A bit of digging." She squeezed her hand. "A lot of digging. I've asked you about your dad before, and I wouldn't have invited him if you said you were on bad terms with him." Her smile fell away. "Are you upset?"

"No, no, just... surprised," Scootaloo said. "I never figured you would -"

She stopped herself when they reached the front of the Acres. On the broad dirt path outside of the gate sat a long, sleek, shined motorbike with red and violet trims. It had two cans tied to the muffler with little hearts painted on them.

"... Did you buy us a bike?"

Sweetie laughed, pulling Scootaloo into a close embrace. "There's no other way you could have said that sentence."

"You bought a bike?" she asked again, incredulous. She walked over briskly, looking down at it, running a hand through her hair. "Seriously?"

Sweetie followed, leaning on the seat. "Do you like it?"

"Sweetie, what..." She broke into a smile again. "Listen," she said, grabbing her by the shoulders, "we need to talk about my dad, but first I'm going to ride this motorbike."

"Did you find the zipper?"

"Is that what that was for?" She unzipped it and climbed on the bike without hesitation. She'd always wanted a motorbike, ever since she briefly owned a motor scooter. Which, now that she thought about it, Sweetie rode with her. Sweetie, meanwhile, climbed on after her, her magical glamour applied, and wrapped her arms around her waist tightly, burying her head in her shoulder. "You know where to go?"

"I do," she said, and looked back at her. As their eyes met, she smiled again. "I know where to go."

She'd never driven a motorbike before.

Scootaloo practically fell off the motorbike, tossing her helmet onto the ground and stumbling forwards.

"Have you never driven a motorbike before?" Sweetie asked, reaching awkwardly around the front of her dress, looking for the zipper. "I thought you loved motorbikes."

"I love the... concept," she said, suddenly short of breath. "We almost died twice."

"Yeah, we did. Good thing we got married first."

Due to some generous force of nature, they arrived at the ballroom safe and completely free of recorded misdemeanors or felonies (though it was a cinch that they'd committed at least two of each.) It was a lot smaller than Scootaloo had imagined - which was fair, given that there were only maybe thirty people at the ceremony. It had bright white marble columns and a decorated frieze, like it was a courthouse more than a ballroom, and stood on the corner of the populous outer crust of Canterlot. "This is the place?"

"Yup. It looks nicer inside," she said, as though already on her wavelength. "So, before we go in. Your dad."

Scootaloo brushed her hair back with a hand, shaking her head quickly. "How did you get ahold of him?"

"He's not an easy guy to find, actually," Sweetie said. "I spent a lot of time and money trying to find him, and plenty more trying to convince him. Time, not money. I didn't bribe him," she added with a chuckle. "He was on the other side of the planet."

"Yeah, my parents can get lost pretty easily if they want to. Celestia," she murmured, putting a hand to her forehead. "I haven't seen him in years, Sweetie." She paused, and walked over to Sweetie, who was leaning on the bike again. "... Did you find my mom?"

She shook her head silently. "Sorry. I didn't even know where to begin, really."

"Figures. They wouldn't want to see one another anyway." She sighed, leaning with Sweetie. "They were the last thing on my mind today."

"That's why I had him sit at the back. So he wouldn't distract you." Sweetie looked over, and for a moment opened her mouth as though she were about to speak, but thought better of it. Instead, she leaned in for a small kiss. "This is still about us. I gave him your number. And I got his. You know, if you wanted to catch up later."

"Dunno why he'd want to now," Scootaloo said. "But you're right. This is about us. I'm actually okay with seeing him again, just... shocked, is all."

Sweetie put her arm gently around Scootaloo's lower back. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she said. She felt the pressure of her ring against her side, and inhaled the clean afternoon air, suddenly thrown back into the moment. "Let's go inside."

The ballroom was decorated to the most minute detail. It smelled like herbs and spices and lemon, and the lights were dim but warm, setting a casual but inviting atmosphere. The colours - violet and a soft, pale pink - tied the room together, and the tables were already filled with people, who began cheering and clinking their glasses with their forks as they walked in. The band picked up, as well.

"Didn't we leave first?" Scootaloo asked quietly.

"I may have detoured you." She turned, taking her arm. "When I said everything was planned, I meant it."

They sat at the front, side-by-side, flanked on either side by the bridesmaids. Scootaloo was next to Applebloom, who nudged her immediately. "Well," she began, "y'all did it. Congratulations."

"We did." She leaned back in her chair, picking up her champagne glass. "You jealous?"

"Not really. You have to put up with Sweetie Belle for the rest of your life." She chuckled. "That's a little preview of mah speech. Which ah'll be doin' here in a sec."

"Sounds good. Just remember it's not a roast session. It's supposed to be at least a little cutesy."

Applebloom shrugged. "Eh."

In a few moments, she stood and interrupted the band, launching without hesitation or introduction into a story about that time all three of them went camping and got lost on a raft for forty hours or something. In classic Applebloom style, it was succinct and funny, and she knew how to work a crowd. "The whole time," she continued, her voice exaggerated, "ah was freezin' to death and they were there on the other side of the raft snuggled up like a bad colloquialism." She paused, putting a hand on Scootaloo's shoulder. "But that's important, ah think. So, cheers." She lifted her glass to applause.

Then, Rarity talked about her sister - in a decidedly floral way - and Rainbow Dash stood up and with less emotional stability talked about her 'sister,' Scootaloo. All the while, Scootaloo laid a hand on Sweetie's, listening with an unbreakable smile. She glanced every once in a while over at Sweetie, who had her other hand on her cheek, trying and failing not to cry. Well, she did warn her.

"You need a drink of water?" she asked, leaning over.

"No, I'm good," she replied softly, her voice wavering to a ridiculous degree.

She wrapped her arms around Sweetie's head in an amused sort of hug. "When do we eat?"

Very soon, as a matter of fact. Old friends, mainly classmates they stayed in touch with, along with some of Scootaloo's coworkers, came up in small groups to congratulate them and chat for a little bit. From there, it turned into a relatively average dinner party - music, food, conversation. Of course, with her still in her dress, and Sweetie in hers, it couldn't have really been an average dinner party.

At some point, the lights dimmed. Sweetie nudged Scootaloo. "Do you want to dance with your dad?"

"What?" She scanned the darkening tables and saw her dad alone on his phone. "I mean... I thought we danced first."

"No, we dance last. Then we cut the cake and take off." She giggled, and shook her shoulders a little bit. "It's so fun to say that." She waited for a moment, then motioned. "Go. Go do it. We're only gonna take a couple dozen pictures."

She tightened her lips, staring for a moment. "... Alright. Okay."

The air seemed to grow still. She hadn't spoken to her father since she was sixteen years old. The divorce had been messy and had been violent; while her parents were both very intelligent people, they were also emotional things, prone to outbursts they regretted. Scootaloo was passed into the care of the state for a year and a half, and when she turned sixteen, filed for emancipation, went into training with an IT service. His last words to her, in court, weren't bitter - they were something along the lines of "I'm reluctantly proud of you."

Now, she sat next to him in an empty chair, unsure of whether to lean on the table. Nerve didn't need to be present here, but it was nonetheless. There was so much to say, and there was nothing to say. So she settled in the middle. "Hey."

He had noticed her coming over and stared the way he did, piercingly, and had smiled before she started speaking. He had gotten older - the angry orange of his hair had greyed along the top and along his short sideburns. "Congratulations, Scooter," he said lowly. "I'm glad you found me."

"I didn't," she replied. "That was Sweetie. Sweetie Belle - you know her."

He nodded. "That's Goddess. The pop star."

"We've been friends since she moved here in third grade." She noticed, as she spoke, that she was being overly-casual. Small talk was not what was on her mind at the moment. "... Where did you go?"

"Everywhere." He didn't hesitate to respond. "I raised you well. So well that you became an adult early. And I needed to take off." He wasn't apologizing, but he was speaking softly. He reached out and put a hand on her upper arm. "I'm not back permanently. I have a home elsewhere. But your wife gave me your number, and I'll keep in touch now that you've settled."

Wife. She heard the word and felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. It wasn't about him. It was about her and Sweetie. "Speaking of, she wanted me to ask you to dance."

He grinned. "Did she?" He stood. "And do you want to?"

They met eye-to-eye again, but it felt less rigid. "It's my wedding day, Dad."

The tempo of the music slowed as they stepped out onto the open floor. "Do you know how to dance casually?" he asked, taking her by the hand.

"Not really."

"Hell of a time to learn. Just move your feet one at a time with me, like this," he said, and demonstrated, pulling her along.

She followed his footsteps for a few moments. "This is kind of awkward and weird," she whispered.

"A little," he agreed, and moved a bit. "But to everyone else, it's just a dad dancing with the bride. They probably have no idea."

"They probably have no idea you're my dad."

He didn't respond for a moment, and then directed them towards a small group of guests nearby. "I'm her dad," he stage-whispered. "Tell everyone."

She laughed along with the guests. "I, personally, don't at all think that's suspicious."

"Thank you for acknowledging my attempt," he replied, picking up the pace a bit. "Wow, you've grown a lot."

"Yeah, shocking," she panned.

"Alright, alright," he said, making eye contact again and grinning. She noticed the lopsidedness to it, and it struck her suddenly and deeply that she may have adapted it. "Just rag on your dad, then."

She grinned back as the song began to draw to a close. "You deserve it a little."

He glanced over at Sweetie, and Scootaloo's eyes followed. Rarity was patting her head, and she was still happy-crying a lot, staring at the both of them. "She's sentimental. If I were you, I wouldn't tell her about the awkward part."

"It's beginning to go away anyways."

The song finally ended, and she walked him back to his seat. For a moment, she grasped his wrist. A stone settled in her stomach for a moment, and a fear crawled up her spine. She was afraid to let him go. She felt tears well up, but didn't feel her stomach tighten or her eyes begin to close. Instead, they just fell one by one down the center of her cheeks, and stopped as abruptly as they came. "... Call me, okay?"

He nodded, his smile no longer a grin. "Do you want me to promise?"

"... A little."

She didn't expect him to step up and hug her. He wasn't that kind of person. But she accepted it, and leaned into it, feeling his firm jaw against her neck. They didn't say anything.

She parted in a moment, casting a final wayward glance in his direction, and walked back to the table, sitting down next to Sweetie, who was practically sobbing. She grinned. "What's up?"

Sweetie looked up, her lip quivering, and leaned in for a tight hug. "You love your daaad," she said, sniffling.

"Sweetie,"Scootaloo replied lowly, clicking her tongue and pulling Sweetie into another slightly amused embrace, patting her head.

The guests were finally invited to the dance floor, and mostly took the offer (led, of course, by Pinkie Pie, who was very loud.) Scootaloo, in the meantime, separated from the table and talked to some of the guests. She met up with Hayseed, a long-time friend of hers, and introduced him (rather, re-introduced him) to Rarity, then moved onto talk with Chance and Miss Cheerilee - now Mrs. Cheerilee. A little while passed, and the band's set finished. She looked over to them, and they looked back, expecting something.

Oh, she thought. Sweetie and I dance, then we cut the cake and take off. She excused herself, and shivered a little, that excitement returning in full force.

Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash were talking when she arrived at the front table again, but no one else was nearby. She frowned, and glanced around the room again. With so few guests, she couldn't really be hidden in the crowd anywhere. Neither was she in the darkened corners of the room. "Hey, Dash, where did... Sweetie go?" she asked, still examining the area.

"She went out back a little while ago. Maybe taking a breather? I dunno."

Out back. A thought crept up on her, and she turned to look at the clock above the double-doors. It was 4:58.

She made her way through the crowd and into the hallway, then around a corner, looking for the back entrance. In the back of her mind, there was an inescapable indignance. It was their wedding day. They were going to dance, cut the cake, and take off. That emotion was flooded, thankfully, with empathy, but that single marble of outrage stuck out regardless.

The exit door was heavy oak, and she opened it with some effort. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke hit her immediately, and she turned to her left to face Sweetie, closing the door behind her. She'd just lit it, and held a small glass of water in the other hand. Her arms were crossed and her cheeks were still a stinging red from all the tears.

Sweetie turned to look at her, and didn't say anything. Her eyes communicated three emotions in quick succession: confusion, realization, and a shade of regret. Scootaloo had prepared sharp words, but forgot them. Instead, she just held a hand out loosely, the palm up.

"... Sweetie."

Sweetie looked down at her hand, and back up into her eyes. A tendril of smoke wafted for a moment between them. Her lips remained closed, and she held the cigarette in her left hand. It was silent.

The clouds had covered the sun entirely, and it was low and red in the sky, turning Sweetie's eyes a vivid gold. Scootaloo's hand remained outstretched, her breath steady, but strained. They both understood, and neither wanted to speak.

Sweetie put the glass on the banister, and turned to look at the cigarette, which lit up her eyes in a different way; oscillating pinpricks of orange shimmered in her irises, and Scootaloo could see the wetness shining at the corners of her eyes. With a single, decisive motion, she extinguished the unfinished cigarette in the glass, not breaking her stare.

Something had concluded. Scootaloo took Sweetie's pale hand in her own, hinting at that familiar, valuable warmth. When Sweetie turned to face her, she seemed suddenly drained, and Scootaloo knew she could fix that. She guided her gently in for a kiss, long and slow, as the sun winked scarlet on the horizon. It sent an insidious flicker through her spine, abetted by the new circumstances. When they separated, she put a thumb to her cheek softly, stroking it as though to wipe tears away.

Sweetie followed her inside, and they danced.

"Don't put cake on my face, please," Scootaloo requested calmly as Sweetie cut the cake.

Sweetie was not one to entertain such cowardly pleas. She drew a finger along the piece she cut until there was a dollop of frosting on the end that Scootaloo knew tasted sweet but looked disgusting, and moved it slowly towards her cheek.

"Sweetie."

The guests began to laugh as Scootaloo slowly leaned backwards until her dress wouldn't let her, and Sweetie put a gentle little dot on her nose, then stuck the rest in her mouth. She gagged, and started laughing with the crowd. That was cutting the cake.

Then the guests began to leave, one by one, after their cake. A couple people stayed to keep chatting, but by seven everyone had gone but the cleanup crew, Scootaloo, Sweetie, and Applebloom. Scootaloo never saw her father leave, but, in honesty, that was at the back of her mind. They had danced, and cut the cake. Now they were to take off.

The night was now suddenly windy, and the chill had set in. Applebloom had packed her bags already and dragged them from the corner. "Ah'm ready for the hijinks."

"I'm ready for the hijinks, also," Sweetie returned, nudging Scootaloo.

"Gross, ah think," Applebloom said, and walked briskly out of the door, still in her bridesmaid's dress. "How do we, uh... get wherever we're gettin'?"

"First and Eighth," Sweetie said. "We're going on the bike. See you there."

"Are you serious?"

Scootaloo had already jumped on, patting the polished chrome. "Oh, yeah."

They heard Applebloom shouting obscenities at them as they drove away, laughing. They turned the corner and looked up, and there was a helipad on top of the tall building on the corner, complete with a helicopter. Scootaloo figured. After waiting for Applebloom, like good friends do, they made their way to the top of the building.

"By tourin', you mean city to city, around the world," Applebloom was saying to confirm.

"Yeah. Several cities. Many cities. Hey, Scoots, you're quiet."

Scootaloo turned as they stepped out of the elevator. She was wondering as they walked through the lobby when it would stop feeling like a daze, like a barely-tangible dream. She'd kept glancing at the ring since the ceremony - bright white gold with a silver trim, decorated in a detailed Sweetie-Belle-esque fashion. It was right there, something that summarized and completed, like a wax seal of some universal judge, like a certificate of authenticity. Now that the reception was over, and her father had moved to the back of her mind, she had gotten lost once more in the concept. "What? Sorry. Thinking."

"We'll have time for that. We're not done partying tonight. I gotta show you my studio and stuff. Then, Applebloom can sleep way downstairs and we can have a wedding night."

"If this is what the banter is gonna be the whole time, ah might as well take off now," Applebloom said, turning on her heel exaggeratedly.

"Come on," Sweetie said, grabbing her by the back of the dress, "I'm sure you can put up with us for a year."

Scootaloo wasn't paying attention. In fact, she'd already boarded the helicopter. "Hi, Skies," she said, nodding to the helicopter driver.

"Hello, miss."

"Scootaloo! Wait up!"

"He's not gonna start the thing yet, guys."

Once they were packed and boarded, the blades began rotating, and they ascended slowly, watching the streetlights of the city below meld slowly into bright veins of gold. There, in the distance, a dot on the radar, was darkening Ponyville. Scootaloo adjusted her headset and looked over at Sweetie, whose smile had evened out. They grasped one another's hands simultaneously, and watched the lights dim beneath the cloud cover.

Something had concluded.