You hold her as she cries, letting her cling to you as sobs wrack her body. Her anguish and pain seem to choke her and she gasps, howls into your mane. It takes every ounce of your limited self-control to stay here, to stay by her. But you know that she needs you and you know that you could never forgive yourself if you left her. You stroke her pale mane, trying to sooth her, but your hooves are shaking with barely suppressed rage. Not at her – never at her. No, your writhing fury is directed at the sick excuse of a pony that has driven her here. The disgusting, pathetic stallion that is responsible for her tears.
But you stay. Of cause you stay. She needs you, and – as much as you try to deny it, as much as you hate yourself for it – you like it. You want her to need you, you like being the one she turns to when she hits rock bottom. It’s selfish. It’s wrong, and you would never admit it.
Not out loud.
Not to her.
So you stay.
You wrap one wing around her, the other is currently pinned, rather painfully, between her and the floor, but you don’t care. It’s just a little pain. Nothing important. Nothing that matters. You hold her tight, letting her sorrow damp your fur and you can’t help but wonder what it might be like to be this close to her under better circumstances. Silently, you scold yourself and push those thoughts away.
You lower your head, gently nuzzle her neck and whisper honest reassurances. Promises of loyalty and friendship, guarantees of your perpetual presence, and naturally a bravado fuelled oath of the bodily harm to befall anypony who deserves it. Eventually her wails lessen to whimpers, and the quakes that shake through her fragile body reduce to shudders. She seems almost calm now so you try to reason with her.
“Hey, ‘Shy, I know you don’t want the others to know, but… but I’m going to call Twilight.” Her response is instantaneous, she tightens her hold on you and shakes her head against your neck.
And it’s almost enough to convince you. You very nearly sigh and give in, but you feel her whole body tense at her own movement and hear her almost inaudible whimper.
“If I promise not to tell her what happened, then will you let me call her?” you plead with her, after a moment she relaxes into your grasp and nods. The motion is far subtler than the one before it and you nearly miss it – nearly. You hold her for a while longer, making certain that she is fully calm, and feeling guiltily content with her heart beating so close to your own. But all too soon you have to push her away, you do so carefully and gently, as if she might break in your hooves.
“Flutters, I’m going to send Tank to get Twilight okay?”
A weak nod.
“Then after that, how about I make you some tea?”
Another nod, and a painful twist in your chest as you realise that she won’t look you in the eye.
“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to, but I’m going to make it anyway… I… I think I still have some of that honey stuff you like…” Of cause you do, you always make sure to have a fresh batch of honey and lemon blended red-leaf tea. Of cause you do, it’s her favourite.
You hesitate to leave the room but, slowly and reluctantly, you do. A hastily scribbled note and a word of urgency sends your reptilian companion out the window – or rather through the wall, but the clouds reform behind him so no harm. You prepare the aromatic brew and, as the water boils, you return to your dearest friend.
Twilight’s arrival was announced by the unceremonious beating of inexperienced wings and a thud as she collided with the door of Rainbow Dash’s cloud home.
Naturally she was shocked at the scene that greeted her and demanded an explanation for the state of her injured friend – though not before enveloping said friend in a healing glow of magic. Begrudgingly and through clenched teeth the polychromic pony informed her that Fluttershy had made her promise not to say anything. This earned Rainbow a tired glare form the other pegasus, as Twilight’s concerned questioning turned to her.
After half an hour of gentle interrogation, and Twilight bitterly pointing out that her shy friend’s bruises were distinctly hoof shaped, the young alicorn finally abandoned her attempts to pry the truth form her uncooperative patient.
You sit in the dimly lit hospital room, silent. Just like you have for the last three hours. The pony in the bed before you is definitely aware of your presence but has yet to acknowledge you.
“Fluttershy… Fluttershy, look at me… please.”
No response.
“Fluttershy…” you rise from your seat and step forward to nuzzle her cheek, earning a flinch. Hurt and rage tightens in your chest – hurt at the flinch, and rage at the fact that somepony has made her scared of physical contact. You turn your head slightly, giving her no choice but to look you in the eye, and what you see in those pale blue depths almost breaks you.
Almost. There seems to be a lot of ‘almost’s and ‘nearly’s in your life.
But there are no ‘nearly’s in her eyes. There is firm and unyielding uncertainty; there’s sharp, choking sorrow; there’s all consuming fear: but no ‘almost’, only ‘absolute’ and ‘utter’.
‘WRONG’ a voice in the back of your mind shouts at you ‘Wrong!!’ and you can’t help but agree. Her eyes should hold warmth and acceptance, understanding and compassion with only the faintest hint of meek insecurity. Her eyes should be kind and you should get lost in their gentle depths. They should not yield the silent pleading nightmares you see before you now. Not these pain filled orbs that tear you apart from the inside out.
“You need to tell me Shy, I need to know… are you going to be okay?” you don’t ask if she is okay – that would be a stupid question that you already know the answer to. “And don’t lie to me, I… I need the truth… whatever it is…”
She turns her head away, leaving your snout – which was rested against hers – buried in her mane. You’re tempted to stay like that, to just breathe in her sent, and to pretend – if only for a moment – that all is right with the world. But you don’t, because it’s not. Not now, not ever.
“I…” her voice is no more than a whisper but you hear it, as close as you are, you hear it clear as day. A part of you wishes you didn’t – she sounds so tired so completely devoid of life. “I’ll be fine… Twilight and the doctors… they’ve taken care of me… no major injuries… I’ll be fine…”
“Flutters, that’s not what I mean and you know it.” Your tone is firmer than before but still affectionate, still concerned. “I’m not worried about your health,” you’re really not – even as a filly she had been surprisingly tough, able to endure the harshest of beatings from her peers. Painful memories of your own foalhood float to the forefront of your mind: beatings and insults, not just from the weak, silly foals at school but also by the strong and brutal hoof of those who were meant to protect you. You push the unwanted recollections away with all the harshness of a thunder clap and turn your attention back to the mare you so deeply care for. “I’m worried about you.”
She shuffles her wings in a nervous habit, that she has had for as long as you have known her and of which she is most likely unaware. “I’ll be okay, Rainbow Dash. It’s over now so…” her voice cracks just a little “…so everything is going to be alright… including me…” then she’s crying again, and you’re holding her again.
She leaves a bitter word hanging in the air, unspoken but undeniably heard: ‘eventually’.
