The day Rainbow Dash spotted her in Ponyville for the second time, a white speck covered in feathers and claws and fur, she had tried to stop herself. Rainbow truly had tried to keep herself away from that temporary cloud home in the sky, had tried to pull herself back, because something inside her told her it wasn’t worth it -- Gilda had been a jerk the last time she was here and had been totally uncool to her friends. Gilda didn’t deserve her, and Rainbow definitely didn’t deserve a bully like her.
But it seemed she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about it. She’d like to say that she was thinking of the good old times, when they would have sleepovers and share secrets, back in the days of shimmering sunlight sparking off of the fluffy stuff Cloudsdale was named after. She’d like to say she was thinking of the day after Rainbow had hit rock bottom, had finally let Gilda see her cry, and Gilda had, in turn, whipped her into shape with some tough love and then comforted her and made her laugh the night away. She’d like to say she was thinking of the golden-hearted Gilda she had met as a foal.
And in a way, she was. But not in that friendly way. Not in that innocent, pleasant way. Instead she thought of the tiny details of each of those memories, of what happened after that. Instead, Rainbow Dash saw, every time her mind drifted, no matter how hard she tried to distract herself, nothing but heat, feathers glistening brightly and shining with sticky sweat, claws digging across her scalp in a tingling scratch as that beak traveled as it pleased.
It wasn’t right and hadn’t been right when it was happening, and Rainbow knew that. She could still remember those nights, and she sure as hell remembered what would happen afterward. It was always cold when she got up, never any paws wrapped in an embrace across her middle, and Gilda never once spoke of their times until it was once again happening another night.
But still, Rainbow Dash couldn’t help herself. Every time she saw that silhouette shooting through the air or happened to hear word of the Griffon’s continued bullying and attempts at stealing, her mind could only flash to it. The before part, at least, with a wave of heat and sadness and want.
So one day, as she felt her wings stirring, flipping slowly but surely sending the cyan pegasus to that cloudy house in the air, she told herself it was to rekindle their dying friendship and to get to the point where she could once again put trust in the Griffon -- and it was true. She wanted it to be true, so very, very much, because she was Rainbow Dash, the awesomest mare in all of Equestria, and Celestia damn her, she didn’t need to depend on this.
It wasn’t until Gilda opened that door and narrowed her eyes that that hope flew away completely.
“Oh, well look who it is! My old traitor buddy, Dash. Y’know, somehow I knew you’d still be stuck here in this lame-o town. What about that loser Pinkie Pie, I bet she’s just all over you now.”
The words were designed to hurt, designed to barb, and that fact made Rainbow Dash’s face flame -- for more than one reason, if she was being honest with herself. So she stomped her hoof and yelled right back at the griffon in her face, defending her home and her new friends. She told Gilda exactly what she deserved, and she’d like to think that she’d flown away then.
But of course it didn’t work. And that whole time, all of that want practically swallowed her, swallowed the pathetic Rainbow Dash in a roll, all of that heat and pressure in her lower half blinding her. So she stood, and thought about the good old days, until Gilda smirked at her and suddenly pulled her close, beak at her ear, nipping at her mouth.
“Oh, I see. Typical Dash. You just couldn’t go without your old Gilda fix, eh, Dashie?”
And Rainbow Dash did try to convince herself to go away, she truly, truly did, pushing away all of those memories of summer nights and of comforting, innocent words. She pushed it all away then, like she had always meant to, like what she should have always done. She had taken herself to another place, a place of Fluttershy crying and Pinkie Pie being screamed at and Rainbow herself being mocked for liking one thing that Gilda didn’t like always, like forever, like the truth. Rainbow Dash had.
So that night, as she felt her wings stirring, flipping slowly but surely sending the cyan pegasus to a room in the back, she told herself that it was friendship and love sending her there -- and it was true. She wanted it to be true so very, very much.
xxx
It wasn’t until a few days later that Rainbow Dash’s thoughts started to shift, like they had, like they always had every time. It was then that all of a sudden she really was reliving the good things, only, if she was being both truthful and untruthful, better -- every night those claws would wrap around her middle in a snug and warming and beautiful, and every morning that heat would be there, just on the opposite side of the bed once again. All of that heat and lust would be with love and happiness.
No matter how much that voice in her head screamed at her, Dash just couldn’t help herself. Just one thought, just one look, and that was it -- and that pull would have her. Something told her it wasn’t right. Something told her it was wrong, in ways she couldn’t truly know, and in a twisted way, she understood that.
Especially when, days later, weeks later, she heard talk. She heard talk of those passionate nights of tugging rainbow hair and wings flapping and back hooves untouched by none being grabbed. At work, in the sky, on the ground, out of the frowning, unapproving faces of her friends, all with hushed voices. Some ponies didn’t even attempt to hide their contempt, all of those words hissed and bit because Rainbow had forgave (and more) a griffon who was far from deserving. And Celestia help her, she didn’t let those things get to her, not really, even if in a way she agreed, if only she would be truthful. Rainbow could feel that fire in her face, could feel that familiar rage take hold as embarrassment washed over her and everything she knew seemed to suddenly crumble into a pile of dust as her friends one by one sat her down to talk and subsequently failed as she stood up -- as Rainbow stood up for Gilda with anger in her voice and a kick in her front forelegs.
Because no matter what those picture and portraits popped into her brain, talking to her, telling her -- not of a friend, not really, but instead a rock, a light in the dark, something to hold onto.
And no matter how much she internally hated herself for doing this to the great Rainbow Dash she knew she could be, she kept going back. It would be different, she told herself, and it was.
If only for one night.
xxx
It was nights later when Dash finally built up that courage she needed, pushed away the cowardice clogging her throat. It was a cold night, pretty unlike any other this week. Gilda and Dash, just having separated not too long before, now laid on different sides of the bed, looking away, leaving Rainbow to think and contemplate more and more. To wring her recently touched hooves across the chilling fabric underneath her and wrap it in small knots as a loneliness swept over.
And after a silence, of nothing but Gilda breathing and giving an occasional chuckle at what she’d just managed to do to her, Rainbow talked:
“Gilda, this has gotta stop.”
Gilda laughed again, longer than ever. It reminded Dash of something, in a bitter and long ago, twisted way, and in that second a stone dropped in her stomach.
“Aw, c’mon Dash. Now’s no time to get snippy. We just finished.”
“I’m serious Gilda! If this is gonna keep going… then there’s something I need to talk to you about...”
And Rainbow had thought, as that stone dropped, of the talk in the town, those screwed upwards expressions placed on her friends faces as these things whispered to them through town gossips were at once proven to be true. Fluttershy had the worst reaction of them, not saying a word, simply staring and staring and every once and a while allowing the tiniest amount of moisture against her eyelashes, in her silent and judgemental way very few would ever mess up enough to see. Rainbow had only seen that expression once before, and the memory of where she had seen it had nearly made her laugh and cry at the same time.
“It’s just… ah… I was… s-sorta thinking of the old times.”
“Old times? Aw, c’mon, I know you’ve probably had a few losers since me, but I didn’t think you’d write about it in your diary.”
She shrugged that off, even though she shouldn’t have.
“I’m talkin’ about back in Flight Camp. You know back when we were doing… well, this.”
“Spit it out, Dash.”
And Rainbow Dash did. Digging deep, those thoughts twisting in her head the way they had that first day the pristine white, feathered speck of light shone in the sky, the night she had flown to the lonely temporary cloud home in the air above Ponyville. She sucked in a deep breath, the pegasus’ face heating in a blush. She readied herself, readied her heart for what that voice, way in the back, was screaming.
“Well, back then, when we were doing this, it was different. Ah, I don’t mean like with what you-- did-- just… anyway…”
Silence.
“I mean, back then, I always thought you were awesome. Not as awesome as me, obviously, but you… were a great friend, Gilda. Specially when my Pops… well, you know the rest.”
Rainbow flipped over then, feathers kissing the freezing sheets, staring into Gilda’s face, into those eyes, to the beak shimmering a yellow against her feathered and glittering expression in the pale moonlight.
“What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that… well, I thought that even though you were the best friend ever, we could… I dunno--”
Rainbow would like to tell herself that it went well. That that claw against her lips was a good thing. That things got even better, or good at all in the first place. She would be lying, but she would be wishing, in part, too.
“Wait, wait, wait. Dash… you actually… had a thing for me?!”
A laugh. A bitter one.
“Seriously?! Wow, that really is pathetic, Dash.”
And Rainbow Dash agreed. She agreed more than ever, then, Especially since, after that insult, that insult designed to hurt and to barb, hit her, she kept listening. She kept listening as Gilda, that perfect beak cracked open in cackle, mocked her and took her heart and stomped it. She thought back, in those moments, where she sat agonized and and her face flushing in the first legit anger in what was weeks of lies and hopes and lust, memories morphing before her very eyes. In one second a rock, strong and anchoring and loving, and in another Gilda, hurtful. Pinkie being yelled at and Fluttershy crying and those disappointed faces when her friends found out where she had been lately.
It got worse and worse, and for the most part Dash stayed silent and still as it happened, as she was torn apart, because somewhere she knew she deserved this, for doing this again. For believing this again. It wasn’t until many minutes later, clock ticking away in the corner, that Dash stood up. That Dash flapped her wings, flew to the window.
“Yeah, Gilda, I guess it is pathetic. Sticking with you after all you’ve done just this week. I’ve heard the ponies in town, Gilda! Everypony knows, all because of you! So if I’m pathetic, then I don’t know what you are -- because not only have you been a jerk to my friends and everypony in Ponyville, but you didn’t respect me or you enough to not talk about us having sex!”
Gilda spluttered in the corner, squawks of being lame and how she should just scram then and learn to not be a dweeb -- like always, like forever -- but Rainbow kept going, shouting, staring in the corner as everything fell apart. As she figured out that it didn’t matter what she said, that it never really did matter, that Gilda never listened even when they were younger and that Cloudsdale golden sunlight blasted against them on the balcony as Rainbow Dash relied on and loved her best friend and--
“If anypony is lame in this it’s you! I just…”
And then Rainbow Dash flew away, wings flapping and fluttering away in a sprinkling of feathers and salty, hot tears, the whole time her brain spiraling and thinking and worrying about what just happened. About what could have been and, realistically, couldn’t have, one final half-scream-half-whimper escaping her:
“What the hay happened to you, Gilda?”
The answer, she guessed, was nothing.
