The Long Arm of Murphy's Law

Chapters

Sympathy for Sisyphus
Tempting Fate
Chivalry and Chicanery
Drowned By Fireworks
Unopened

Sympathy for Sisyphus

Rarity stared at the withered, blackened nub of a candlewick as its last embers of flame faded to nothing. The candle was a stubby, melted mess, dripping creme-colored wax onto the pristine white tablecloth.

Elegant violin music filled the dining room, complementing the clinking of cutlery against porcelain and the hushed chatter and occasional laughter of private conversations. The same scene had played out over and over again over the two hours that Rarity had waited in the restaurant: dining couples joked and giggled and gazed into each other's eyes with a sickening lack of subtlety; they ate their entrees and sipped their wine and smiled through their desserts before excusing themselves and leaving together and being quickly replaced by another couple who occupied the same space and performed almost the exact same routine. The players changed, but the lines, the choreography, and the stages remained the same every time.

And Rarity was in no way jealous of it. Not in the slightest. What reason would she have to be jealous of those other couples and those other mares in the restaurant? Because their dates had bothered to show up? Because they didn't look like fools as they filled up on complimentary bread and downed glass after glass of tap water? Because they could afford to order actual spring water, or wine, because their dates who had shown up after promising to pay for everything and assuring them that bringing money wouldn't be necessary actually had kept their word? Because they wouldn't have to face their best friends the next day, after gushing to them all week about their big Saturday night date with the finest catch south of Canterlot? Because they wouldn't have to endure pitying glances and words of sympathy from ponies who expected this sort of thing to happen after so many false starts with so many stallions over the years?

Jealous? Her? For those petty reasons she seethingly enumerated to herself? Dross.

Rarity folded her forelegs on the table in front of her and dropped her chin on top of them. Grumbling to herself, she buttered a heel of a stale baguette and munched from it, chewing rapidly like a very grouchy rabbit who had been stood up on a promising date for the umpteenth time. Not that she was upset, oh no. That was just an overly narrow simile with no bearing whatsoever on her situation. She was having the time of her life dining alone… in an elegant restaurant… surrounded by happy couples who gazed adoringly at one another, all bathed in intimate, romantic candlelight.

"Darling."

The voice came from a table at her left. Rarity, who was enjoying herself far too much with her heel of buttered bread to lift her head off of her cheerfully folded forelegs and turn the minute number of degrees necessary to see for herself what was happening, rotated her ear in that direction to listen. A young stallion's voice, belonging no doubt to some snobby heartbreaker, spoke in nervous, yet adoring, tones to a mare who no doubt would be better off without having her heart toyed with and dashed asunder by him, or by any of his detestable male ilk.

"Darling," he said again, "six years ago tonight, I first confessed my love for you, in this very restaurant, at this very table. I have cherished every moment with you since then. And now, tonight, I want to ask you for the honor of letting me cherish the rest of my life with you. Darling, will you marry me?"

Oh, please, she thought as the restaurant patrons gasped and murmured. Surely you can see right through him, my dear. Get out while you can. This can only end with you sobbing alone in the middle of your darkened boutique with a half-empty bottle of Merlot and a pile of shattered dreams and fantasies that will never come to fruition.

Rarity briefly mulled the possibility that she was projecting onto the mare. She discarded the thought as foolish.

Rarity heard the choked, happy sobs of a mare, a half-coherent, wet-sounding "yes, oh yes," professions of love and devotion, cheering and stomping applause from the other restaurant patrons – and Rarity, whose last thread of patience suddenly tore, slammed her hooves onto her table, lifted her head, glared heatedly at the other restaurant patrons, and snapped "Oh really now, some of us are trying to eat in peace!"

The restaurant fell uncomfortably silent as everypony – the wait staff, the maitre'd, the newly engaged couple and the rest of the happily coupled restaurant patrons – stared at the elegantly dressed white unicorn with the impeccably coiffed mane, who sat alone at a table with a melted candle, four crumb-filled wicker baskets, two menus, and an unused and upside-down wine glass. The room reeked of pity, and just then, Rarity wanted to be anywhere but there.

"Garcón?" she called as she turned back to her own table.

Her waiter dashed to her side. "Has Madame decided vat to order?"

For a moment, Rarity was tempted to stay, throw caution to the wind, and order the most decadent, fattening dessert she could afford with what few bits she’d brought. It was only the realization that she'd have to dine under the mortifying gaze of the other patrons that kept her from doing just that. Besides, at the end of the night, she would still be alone, the only difference being that there would be more of herself to be alone with.

"No," she mumbled, eyes downcast. "I believe I'll be on my way. My apologies for taking up space all night." She pushed away from the table with a sigh.

"Madame," said the waiter insistently.

Rarity blinked, shook her head. "Oh yes, how rude of me. Terribly sorry." She dug into her purse for a few bits and dropped six on the table. "For your trouble." She hadn't ordered anything or spent any money, and she was pretty sure that 25% of zero was… well, zero… and that she was vastly overtipping, but Rarity would never let it be said that she had stiffed a server.

The waiter glared down his nose at her. "Ze bread." He gestured at the four wicker baskets that had contained what passed for Rarity's dinner. "Only ze first basket iz complimentary."

Rarity's jaw dropped. "Wha – but – it's – it's bread!" she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "What kind of restaurant charges a fee for refills on bread?!"

The scandalized, pitying lookie-loos in the restaurant stared at her while trying very hard to appear as though they were not staring at her.

"Ve do advertize it as such on ze menu, madame vill recall," said the waiter. He lifted the unopened menu on the other side of the table, flipped it over, laid it in front of Rarity, and gestured at a little message with an asterisk beside it in the bottom-right corner of the back page:

*Bread refills: four bits each.

Scowling, Rarity dropped an extra twelve bits onto the table. "This is fraud. This is highway robbery. This is… this is… fraudulent highway robbery!" She turned her nose in the air and made her way to the exit.

"Madame."

Rarity turned back around, murder in her eyes.

The waiter coughed. "Ze gratuity."

Rarity's jaw clenched so hard that she thought for sure she'd cracked at least one tooth. "You want gratuity?" She stalked back to the table, opened her purse, and upended it onto the table. All of its contents – make-up, handkerchief, compact mirror, and what money she'd thought to bring with her to an evening where she was told not to bring money – rained onto the wax-covered table cloth.

"There," she snapped. "Gratuitous enough for you?! Maybe you can use it to pay for voice lessons – just who do you think you're fooling with that phony accent?!"

The waiter's eyes widened, and his gaze darted from side to side. "H-hey, not so loud," he whispered, his suddenly unaccented voice cracking. “I could lose my job!”

"Bah! Bah, I say again!" Rarity turned on her hooves and strode toward the door, attempting to radiate the poise and dignity that she proudly considered her trademark. She reached the door, nudged it open, and whirled for a final indignant glare at the restaurant that seemed intent on beating her down.

Every eye in the dining room was once again upon her.

Rarity blushed. "And just what are you all looking at?!"

Their gazes were quickly averted; the hushed chatter and clinking cutlery resumed. With a dignified "hmph," Rarity made her final exit, walking into the balmy summer evening.

The night was moonless, a tapestry of stars woven into the brilliant purple sky. Gas lamps cast a warm white light on the street as ponies went about their nighttime business, paying little heed to the white unicorn in the majestic blue gown tromping down the street. In the distance was a great wheel of flickering lights, and the faint, far-off sound of laughter and calliope echoed in the night. The carnival, she remembered. Tonight was supposed to be the last night it was in town.

She'd thought about going all week, had considered taking her sister even, but her plans for Saturday were made on Monday, and the rest of her waking hours that week not devoted to filling out her preexisting orders were spent preparing an outfit worthy of the occasion. The carnival fell to the wayside. Tomorrow, she'd promise herself, and when tomorrow came, the goalpost moved to the day after that, then the day after that, until she simply ran out of time to go. After tonight, it'd be gone for the year, and while she regretted missing it, her date was so promising that it more than made up for that disappointment.

Of course, now that her night had just opened up, she could attend at her leisure. She was sure she'd find the irony hysterical later.

"Now now, Rarity, chin up," she said to herself herself as she strode down the street. "Tonight wasn't a complete disaster. You had an excuse to dress up; you were able to treat yourself to some fresh baguettes; you availed yourself of the trappings of high society… or what passes for it in Ponyville, anyway. Why, all told, this was probably one of the better dates you've been on in recent memory." She nodded to herself. "Yes indeed, and all it cost you was twenty-five bits, the rest of the contents of your purse, and…" Her shoulders slumped. "Most of your dignity. Oh, I can't even fool myself."

There was a bench nearby; it wasn’t as plush as the furniture she preferred falling to pieces on, but it’d do. She flopped onto it, carefully minding the hem of her dress so as not to catch and tear it. Her facade of poise and confidence collapsed, and for the first time that night, she allowed herself to shed some of the tears that had been welling behind her eyes. She sniffled and wiped at them, felt something stickier and more viscous than just tears, lifted her hoof for inspection, and frowned at the streak of black running halfway up her fetlock. "Lovely. Just lovely." No doubt a similar streak now ran across the side of her face where she’d wiped it, too. Her horn shimmered and her magic chimed as she opened her purse and reached for her handkerchief and compact mirror to—

“Oh. Right." She slumped in her seat and chuckled bitterly. "Well, whatever. Who am I even trying to impress? It's not as though I have anywhere to be right now." She dropped her purse beside her with a huff, shut her eyes, and buried her face in her hooves.

"Rarity?"

Rarity's ears perked and her eyes opened. "Spike?" The diminutive purple dragon stood in front of the bench, his tail held tight in his hands. Slung across his body was a courier bag that he often wore when conveying parcels for Twilight. It doubled as a purse, too, though he'd heatedly deny it whenever the term was used

She quickly straightened her posture and forced a shaky smile. "Spike, my dear, how wonderful it is to see you! What are you doing out so late?"

Spike hesitated, nervously wringing his tail. Lamplight glinted off the antique brass watch around his wrist, last year's birthday gift from Princess Luna. "I was running errands for Twilight out here when I saw you storm out of the restaurant." He spoke quickly, and sounded uncharacteristically nervous. Odd, that. He'd grown so much more confident about talking with her over the years.

"So," he continued, face downcast and eyes glancing shyly up toward hers. "Big date didn't go so well?"

"Oh, on the contrary!" Rarity's tone was unconvincingly buoyant. "It's been a magical evening. Why, I'm not sure where my beau scurried off to," she said, glancing hither and thither and making a grand show of it, "but I do hope he hasn't gone too far!" She turned that fake smile on Spike again. "What could possibly have given you the impression that I'd be anything but absolutely positively one hundred percent…"

Spike's nervousness seemed to evaporate as a wave of skepticism washed over his face. He raised his head to look directly at her, one eyebrow arched, and released his tail to fold his arms across his chest.

Rarity flung her hooves up in defeat. "Ugh. I can't fool myself; it's only natural that I can't fool you, either." She scooted to the side and patted the space next to her invitingly. "What gave it away?"

Spike climbed up and sat down, curling his tail across his lap. "You mean besides the running mascara, the crying and the sniffling, and the fact that you said 'oh, it's not like you have anywhere to be right now' when you were talking to yourself just now?" The paraphrase was spoken with a poor (but amusing, she had to admit) imitation of Rarity's painstakingly cultivated Canterlot accent. "I'm pretty sure anypony in a ten mile radius from that restaurant could hear you shouting."

Ooh, I'm never going to be allowed in there again, am I?

"Yes, if you must know, my big date turned out to be a horrible waste of time." Rarity scoffed. "What a shock that must be."

She felt a scaly hand press tenderly against her hoof. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be, Spike. I got my hopes up, and got hurt for it. My own fault, really." She hopped off the bench, smoothed out her dress, and cleared her throat. "Well, I appreciate the conversation, but I'm afraid I must be going. I still have plans this evening."

"Plans?" There was a note of panic in Spike's voice. "Like what? With who?"

"Why, with a fine young mare named Rarity!” Rarity made a grandiose, sweeping gesture in the air as tears beaded in her eyes again. “She and I are going to get together on the floor of my boutique, draw the curtains shut, open a bottle of well-aged Merlot that we keep for just such occasions as these, and drink it until we forget what it's like to have feelings. Ta!" Rarity turned, and resumed her journey home.

"Hey, wait." Rarity heard the rapid pitter-patter of tiny dragon feet as Spike ran in front of her to cut her off. He held his hands up in front of him, and she stopped. "I know things didn't go the way you wanted them to, but that doesn't mean you have to just give up and go home. The night's still young!"

"Don't remind me.” Rarity tried to move around him, but Spike jumped in front of her again.

"I tell you what," he said. "Tonight's the last night that the carnival's gonna be in town. How about you and I spend a little time over there? Play some games, win some prizes, go on some rides, watch the fireworks, eat fried ice cream…"

Rarity raised an eyebrow. "Did you say 'fried ice cream'?"

"Yeah!" Spike folded his arms. "Hey, it's a thing."

"No no, I believe you," Rarity assured him, "but I'm having trouble conceptualizing it." How one went about preparing such a thing boggled her usually un-boggleable mind.

"Well," Spike pressed, "I could stand here and explain it to you, or I could buy you some and you could see for yourself." He smiled. "What do you say?"

There was a certain level of frustration she was feeling toward the persistent little whelp… and a certain measure of gratitude toward him for showing such care and devotion. But on the other hoof, that wine sounded really appealing. "I appreciate the offer, Spike," said Rarity crossly, "and your concern is noted, but as I said before, I already have plans for the evening. Now, if you'll kindly excuse me."

She tried yet again to dodge around him, but he cut her off again; when she kept walking without stopping, he started backpedaling, keeping pace with her.

"Look…" Spike said, his sentences punctuated by intermittent panting. "I know you're feeling hurt, and I know you've been hurt like this a lot lately. But... but you don't need that guy, alright? If he… didn't respect you enough… to show up to a date he asked you out on, then… then, c'mon… you're better off without him. Nopony… deserves… to be treated like that, and… ah, Rarity, can we stop for a second? I'm getting kinda…"

Rarity came to a stop, as did Spike. He rested his hands on his knees and panted to catch his breath as Rarity waited.

“And?” she asked after his breath had finally stabilized.

Spike took one last deep breath. "You don't deserve to be treated like that, and you don’t deserve to spend tonight drunk and depressed by yourself. You deserve better than that, Rarity. A lot better." He looked up at her shyly, mouth hanging open a little as though he had more to say. But he must have thought better of it, because he closed it again and stood silently, waiting for her final answer.

Try as she might, she couldn't muster the necessary spite to be frustrated with him for his persistence. If anything, she found herself charmed by it. Still, feelings of neglect and abandonment writhed in her like graveworms. She wasn't sure she could muster the energy to be festive, and she wasn’t sure she’d be terribly good company. "Spike, it's sweet of you to offer, but I don't know…"

"I'll tell you what," he said with a quick glance at his wristwatch. "It’s 10:30 now. The fireworks start at 11:30. If you're not feeling it by then, we'll call it a night, and you can go home and drink whatever you want, for however long you want. One hour, that's all. I promise." He folded his hands together and gazed at her, with his eyes wide and his lower lip trembling.

The eyes. Funny how his puppy dog eyes had grown even more effective after he’d put in significant hours as an actual puppy. That little demon. The eyes, they get me every time, and he knows it. Not that she was honestly mad at him. Just talking to the persistent little puppy-eyed devil spawn was enough to push the thoughts and feelings of heartbreak away. He does have a way with cheering me up. And fried ice cream does sound intriguing…

"Very well," said Rarity with a defeated sigh.

A tiny squeal of joy escaped from Spike's throat.

"But I don't suppose you'd give me a moment to run home and change?" Rarity glanced down at her outfit and smiled sheepishly. "I fear I might be a bit overdressed for something like a carnival."

Spike waved his hand in the air dismissively– a flamboyant gesture which Rarity was almost certain he’d picked up from her. "Pshaw. You look great! If anything, they'll be underdressed!"

Rarity giggled – a short, but genuine, burst of mirth that grew louder when he awkwardly crooked his arm toward her in an overdone attempt at looking suave. But she looped her hoof through it regardless and resolved to leave her misgivings aside… if only for an hour.

Perhaps something will come of tonight after all. And if not… well, there’s always emergency Merlot.

Author's Note

Fluffy will-they-won't-they rom-com Sparity crap, of the sort that I promised myself I'd never write.

But I also promised I'd update Pony Gear Solid over the summer of 2014, so that should tell you what a promise from me is worth.

Tempting Fate

Anypony who didn't know her well would assume that Rarity was the type to dislike carnivals. Here was a lady of sophistication, wit, and taste, who loved fine dining, elegant soirees, and the glamorous company of the social elite. The carnival had none of that. Instead of delicately eating tiny hors d'oeuvres from silver platters, patrons scarfed down fatty hay fries served up in greasy paper baskets; instead of blushing debutantes and socialites swapping bon mots, excited foals laughed and toted balloon animals. In all, very much the opposite of your garden parties and your polo matches.

And that was why Rarity loved them so. Deep within that sophisticated, witty lady of taste was a little filly who'd never grow up, who thrilled at winning stuffed animals thrice her size and spinning in circles on gyroscopic rides until her legs felt like jelly and equilibrium became a distant memory. There was nothing elegant about the carnival. It was just a morass of cluttered, cacophonous, filthy fun.

Perhaps that was just what she needed.

The carnival had been set up on a wide-open green just outside of town, the typical spot for large-scale events such as this one. A dirt thoroughfare ran through the center of the grounds, lined on either side by game booths and concessions stands and vendors hawking souvenirs. The greatest concentration was at the end of the thoroughfare, where it expanded into an organized mess of tents and stalls arranged around the carnival rides. The ferris wheel dominated the skyline, a massive marvel of engineering covered in flickering lights that winked in and out as it turned slowly in the air. A leviathan, it dwarfed Ponyville's town hall at its apex, and was almost of a height with Twilight's castle.

As uncertain as she’d been when Spike asked her to accompany him, she had to admit that just being there, soaking up the atmosphere, helped to take her mind off things, as did the look on her companion's face, the happy, dopey smile he often wore in her company. She'd given Spike an hour to cheer her up; less than a quarter of that time had elapsed and he was already well on his way to doing just that.

Until she chanced to pass two young mares who gazed at one another with a painfully familiar sense of adoration in their eyes. The shorter of the two, a yellow-coated, straw-maned earth pony, stood on the tips of her hooves to plant a tiny kiss on her partner's nose – a tender gesture that almost physically hurt to see. She might have been able to soldier on through that, though, had she not noticed the blonde's cutie mark: a gold-plated candlestick, half-melted, beneath a bright orange flame.

Rarity's eyes remained locked on the mare, even after she and Spike passed them by. How silly it was for that, of all things, to send her back into the doldrums, to make her heart drop and her blood freeze and her eyes well up again. And she was doing so well, too.

Perhaps this wasn't a good idea after all, she thought with a tremulous sigh.

"Rarity? You okay?" Spike came to a stop. Rarity had kept her hoof looped through his arm as they walked through the carnival, and he patted it now to get her attention.

"Oh, yes, of course." Rarity faked a smiled, blinking back nascent tears. The couple, after an exchange of nuzzles, had started moving away, back down the road from which Rarity and Spike had just come.

Spike frowned a little, glancing over his shoulder to see what had caught Rarity's attention. "Were you just… ogling that pony's butt?"

Rarity blushed. Of course that's what it must have looked like. She didn’t want Spike thinking she was some sort of… of voyeur… but what was she supposed to tell him? Not at all, Spike; that mare's cutie mark simply reminded me that all affairs of the heart are ultimately empty and fruitless and that I'm going to die alone and unloved surrounded by empty wine bottles and probably a hundred and eighteen cats, who will likely gorge themselves on my carcass without a second thought.

Oh my, but that was morbid.

Luckily for her, she hadn't been picked by the Elements for her sense of honesty. Rarity shook her head, coiled mane bouncing about. "Certainly not! I was simply… following my nose." Rarity sniffed at the air in a loud, overdone, theatrical manner, and in the process caught a whiff of something sizzling in hot oil. "And it just happened to turn my head in the same direction as that young mare. Speaking of," she continued, hoping to change the subject, "whatever is that tantalizing scent? You smell it too, yes?"

"Uh…" Spike sniffed the air. "Fry batter?" He jerked his thumb in the direction of a nearby concessions stand, opposite the way that Rarity had been looking. The line at the stand was short, but dense enough to obscure the pony running it. Beside the stand was a chalkboard which featured a drawing of a familiar pink-frosted cupcake, and above that was a message, written in bold, pink letters and arcing over the cupcake like a rainbow:

"ASK ABOUT OUR FRIED ICE CREAM!"

"Y'know, something about that ad really speaks to me," said Spike with an impish smirk. "Whaddaya say we start this night off the right way?"

Rarity's stomach, filled with bread though it may have been, growled. I never did get my comfort food… and I certainly can't go back there for it. She started to wilt again at the thought of never being able to return to that restaurant.

"Rarity?" The smirk faded into another worried frown. "You still with me?"

"Sorry, yes. Just a little distracted. That would be lovely."

The look lingered on Spike's face as he watched Rarity, before it melted into a more cheerful look that suited him far more. "You got it! I'm buyin'."

Rarity yelped as he dashed into the line, dragging her along by the hoof. The longer she kept her hoof locked in his arm, the more likely it was that he'd accidentally dislocate something of hers. She delicately separated herself from him; Spike, wrapped up in proselytizing about fried ice cream, showed no reaction.

"Lemme tell ya, Rarity," Spike was saying, "you're gonna love this stuff. See, to make it, first you take the ice cream, and you dip it in batter, and then you roll it around in crunched-up cornflakes, and then you deep-fry it in boiling oil. Then, before you serve it, you slather it in chocolate sauce—"

Rarity's stomach growled again.

Spike snickered. "I know, right?"

The line, short as it was, passed quickly. "You know," said Rarity, as they stepped up to the counter, "I've been to many a carnival in my time, and I'm a little surprised that I've never had this before."

"Ah, well, heck, I didn't even know it existed myself until the other day when they needed someone to focus test it on. Came to me, specifically! Something about the dragon palate being perfectly suited to something that's ice cold and burning hot at the same time." Spike shrugged. "I was just happy for the free dessert."

"'They'?" asked Rarity, admittedly a bit surprised. She leveled an inquisitive gaze at Spike. "'They' who?"

"Give ya three guesses!" chirped a familiar, sugary sweet voice. "Not that you'll need more than one!"

The voice drew Rarity's attention back to the counter, to the pink, frizzy-maned pony behind it, and she suddenly remembered why the cupcake was so familiar: it was a dead ringer for the one that crowned Sugarcube Corner. "Pinkie! You're working at this carnival?"

"Oh yeah! Not freelance, though. I'm representin'!" Pinkie Pie gestured at the cardboard standee. "The Cakes scored a deal to sell their products at this carnival as long as it's in Ponyville. They asked me if I wanted to run it, and I was like, 'um, do you even have to ask?'" Her pearly white grin all but shimmered in the light. "It was the perfect opportunity for the three of us to try out some new recipes in a more diverse crowd!"

"Recipes like fried ice cream!" Spike added.

Pinkie leaned impossibly far over the counter and ruffled the top of Spike's head. "That's my little one-dragon focus group!" The affectionate gesture got a boyish chuckle from Spike.

"Anywho." Pinkie leaned back and rested one foreleg on the counter. "What'll it be, folks? Fried ice cream? I figured that's what Spike brought you here for, so I was gonna just serve you up some, but then I thought 'gosh, wouldn't it be rude to just make that kind of assumption without even bothering to ask what you really wanted?' And then I thought 'Pinkie Pie, you'd make a terrible carnie!' But then I thought 'that's okay, because carnies are creepy and I wouldn't want to spend any more time around them than necessary!' But oh my gosh – please don't tell any of the carnies I said that!" She looked around frantically and hissed, in a whisper that was anything but whispery, "They're a very prickly bunch. They have their own code of honor and everything!"

“Er…” Not sure how to respond to that, Rarity just coughed and changed the subject. "So, fried ice cream?"

Pinkie quickly straightened. "Fried ice cream!" She ducked beneath the counter and reemerged with napkins, spoons, and two paper bowls, each containing a lump of steaming, chocolate-slathered, golden-fried ice cream.

I'll be, Rarity thought. It looks delectable! And… incredibly fattening.

Her mouth watered.

"Thanks, Pinkie," said Spike. "What do I owe you?"

"Oh, Spike, your money's no good here and you know it. This one's on the house!" She met Rarity's eyes, and the sympathetic smile that crossed her face said it all.

She knows. Not that Rarity was surprised. It took Spike seconds to deduce how her date turned out, and as far as she knew, all the telltale signs were still smeared across her face. "You are a true gentlemare, Ms. Pie," said Rarity.

Pinkie waved the compliment away. "Oh, pshaw."

Spike, having decided to forego the spoon and just bite into the thing like an apple, had half of his serving shoved into his mouth already. "Fanks Pee-kee," he mumbled around a mouthful of fried dairy.

Pinkie grinned. "I'd say 'go in good health,' but c'mon. It's fried ice cream. Health doesn't even enter into it." She giggled and waved her hooves at the two of them, shooing them away.

After some final parting words, Spike and Rarity left the concessions stand. Spike tossed the last remnant of his order into his mouth and swallowed it whole, sighing with satisfaction. "That's the stuff that makes life worth living."

Rarity hadn't touched hers yet. The bowl and spoon floated in front of her, shimmering in the grip of her magic. The chocolate sauce poured over the ice cream had formed a tiny lake at the bottom of the bowl, and the ice cream itself stood as an island in the center. Rarity spooned up some of the sauce and ladled it back over the ice cream, watching it run in rivulets through the jagged crags and canyons of its shell.

"Well?" said Spike. "Aren't you gonna try it?"

"Just appreciating the artistry, darling." It was only halfway a lie – Pinkie really had outdone herself, after all. But her brain, damnable traitor that it was, couldn't help noting the similarity between the runny rivers of chocolate and the dripping wax of the melted candle at the restaurant.

Oh, enough maudlin rubbish from you already. Buck up and eat your ice cream, Rarity.

Rarity pushed the spoon into the lump, cracking its shell and delving into the creamy center. Ah. It's vanilla. She scooped out a portion, and rubbed it in the lake of chocolate sauce before lifting the spoon to take a delicate bite. Her eyes widened at the burst of flavor and the queer sensation of hot and cold warring in her mouth. Oh my. She swirled the ice cream around with her tongue, savoring the way the chocolate accented its flavor instead of overpowering it, and daintily crunched the crispy outer shell. Oh MY.

Spike watched, wringing his hands with anticipation. "Well?"

The bowl danced in the air, an expression of Rarity's delight, as she dug the spoon once more into the ice cream. "This is the stuff the angels sing of," she whispered, moaning blissfully as she took another bite of her dessert.

Spike, grinning, did a little hop of joy as Rarity spooned another bite into her mouth. "I can see my life playing out before me," she continued in a breathless voice. "Getting my cutie mark, graduating from school, opening the boutique…it all seems so trivial now. I finally realize that everything up to this point has just been a slow build-up to tasting fried ice cream for the first time." She pushed the spoon in again, met Spike's gaze, and smiled. "I am a changed mare, Spike. Thank you for sharing this revelation with me."

Spike blushed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Heh, shucks…"

Rarity shut her eyes and shuddered a little as she savored another bite. She could die then, and happily, she decided.

"Hey! You git back here this instant!"

Rarity heard the cry in front of her, the rapid hoofbeats, the yelp of distress from Spike, the sharp clack of teeth snapping shut, but none of it registered, lost as she was in bliss, until suddenly, something very cold collided with her chest. In her shock, Rarity lost her magical grip on the bowl, and it fell discarded to the ground. Her eyes flew open and she looked down to see what had happened.

A mortified Apple Bloom stood in front of her with a bright red balloon hovering over her head, its string held between her lips. Spike had his hands in front of his mouth and was staring at Rarity's chest, eyes wide with horror. Rarity saw why when she glanced down at herself and beheld the mushy remains of her treat stuck to the front of her dress.

Well. That’s disheartening.

"Li'l sister, don't run off like that," came Applejack's chiding voice as she trotted into view. "Now, we can always get'cha another balloon, but if you get lost out here, it'll be a little harder to—" She froze when she saw Rarity and the mess on her chest and cringed, drawing a sharp breath that hissed through tightly clenched teeth.

"Rarity, I'm so sorry!" Apple Bloom started babbling an explanation; as she spoke, the balloon in her mouth started to drift away, and she had to periodically hop into the air and grab it before it could get too far. "I lost my balloon, an' I chased after it, an' – dangit – an’ I wasn't watchin' where I was goin', an' – dangit! – an’ when I jumped up to get it I knocked into your bowl by mistake, an' – gaddangit, stop runnin' out on me you little—"

Spike cut her explanation off by rushing forward, wielding napkins. He hurriedly brushed the ice cream off of Rarity's chest. The largest remnants of the portion Pinkie had served her slid off her chest and splattered onto the upturned paper bowl. "Hang on," he said, "it's not that bad. We can fix this!" He rubbed the napkin in circles over the mess, soaking some of it up but inadvertently smearing ice cream and chocolate across a wider portion of the dress than before. "We can… we can… uh…" He stopped when he realized he was doing more harm than good.

Applejack trotted forward and gently pulled Apple Bloom aside. She bent to examine the swirly mess of white and brown coating the front of Rarity's dress more closely. "Er… y'know, it ain't all that bad. Might even think of it as a new trend. Y'know?" With a nervous grin, she said, "I'll bet every high-falutin' high society pony's gonna be smearin' ice cream all over their jackets an' dresses a month from now, jus' to be like you!"

Rarity didn't answer. She was fixated on the melted vanilla that dripped from her dress onto the quickly disintegrating pile of ice cream on the ground. There was something oddly hypnotic about it – calming, even. She felt like she should be shrieking, or fainting, or dramatically bemoaning the calamity that had befallen her. That was probably what her friends were expecting from her right now. But the urge to do so never came. She couldn't tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

I spent all week on this. Hours of sewing and stitching and hemming. Sleepless nights on Tuesday and Wednesday, subsisting wholly on coffee.

Fitting that something she put so much time and effort and heart into would turn out this way, on this night.

And here I thought I was done being maudlin. So… why aren't I crying?

Applejack leaned toward Spike and whispered "Thought she was on a hot date. What's she doin' out here with you?"

Spike glowered at her.

"Rarity…" Apple Bloom was hiding behind her sister’s foreleg, and peeked out. "I'm real sorry, Rarity."

"Accidents happen, darling." Rarity's voice was quiet and emotionless.

Applejack looked tense – no doubt she was still expecting some emotional outburst. "All the same, I'm willin' to pay to have it cleaned, if you want."

"Me too!" Apple Bloom blurted. "Take it outta my allowance, okay sis?"

"Sugarcube, you read my mind," Applejack muttered, shaking her head. To Rarity, she said "You jus' lemme know. 'Kay?" When Rarity gave no immediate reply, Applejack tipped her hat to her by way of farewell. "Sorry again, Rares. Spike. Y'all have fun now. C'mon, Apple Bloom."

With a last regretful look at Rarity, Apple Bloom followed her sister away.

"You were right; you should have gone back and changed. I'm sorry." Spike's voice was high, anxious. "Are you alright?"

A curious question. The truth was, she didn't actually feel bad, at least, not toward anything or anypony. Not Apple Bloom, who'd irresponsibly ruined her dress; not him, the good-for-nothing lout who'd started this all by standing her up. Not even for herself. She'd bottomed out on negativity and self-pity altogether, it seemed. A first for her.

Then again, she didn't feel particularly good, either. At best, she was not not okay. That was an evasive double-negative, one that she didn't even buy. It certainly wouldn't do as an answer.

Well, Rarity. When in doubt, lie your little heart out.

Rarity shoved her ill feelings to the deepest pit of her stomach she could find and summoned her most dazzling smile. "Oh, I beg your pardon – I was just mulling how I might best remove this stain, and I seem to have become lost in thought. So sorry for worrying you." She gestured at the mess. "This is nothing that a bottle or two of club soda and a good, vigorous scrubbing won't resolve. I shan't allow it to ruin our night out." Her smile dropped to a self-deprecating smirk. "That said, a trip to the facilities is no doubt in order. I'd like to at least try making myself presentable again."

The answer seemed to satisfy him – at least, she thought he looked a little more relieved. "Bathrooms are over this way," he said, pointing down a little road that branched off the main thoroughfare.

Rarity fell into step beside him. If she couldn't be happy, truly happy, then it was the least she could do to pretend for his sake. She'd keep him smiling, even if she couldn't herself. It was a queer little reversal of roles, considering the way the night began.

Queerer, still, was how seeing Spike cheer up made her fake smile feel a little more genuine.

Author's Note

Apple Bloom: Agent of Chaos.

How iterative and cliched can this story get before it attains critical mass? I guess we'll find out together, won't we?

I've never had fried ice cream before.

Chivalry and Chicanery

Rarity smiled, and the mare behind the mirror smiled back. "Not bad," she complimented her reflection. "Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear it was the genuine article."

A wad of blackened paper towels lay discarded in the sink, coated in the remnants of her mascara. Her make-up had been a disaster when she first saw herself in the mirror, and her shriek of shock even drew Spike inside before she shooed him away. The bathroom's resources were sufficient to fix most of the damage, to the point where Rarity felt comfortable in upgrading her appearance from disaster on four legs to adequate. The dress was a different story. Park bathroom tap water was not sufficient to clean off chocolate and ice cream.

But at least she'd managed to fix up her face. Nopony would be launching any ships on its account any time soon, but it was clean. Clean, and plain, and decidedly non-radiant. All she had left to set herself apart from the herd were her poise and natural beauty.

Which is, admittedly, not inconsiderable. The thought offered some small comfort.

I also have a filthy dinner dress to set myself apart from the herd. And there went that comfort, quick as it had come.

"Well, Rarity," said Rarity to her reflection, stretching her smile wider. "Ready to face the world again?"

Her smile collapsed in response to her own question. Rarity groaned. "Nor am I. But come on. Let's make an effort at least, alright? If not for yourself, then for Spike." Sweet, thoughtful, generous Spikey-Wikey deserved better company than a mopey mare with a worryingly strong urge to get drunk.

Unfortunately, he has to settle for me. She sighed. The least I can do is try to make his night a good one. With one last wan smile to herself, Rarity left the bathroom, floating her used paper towels into the garbage as she left.

She emerged to find Spike rocking on his heels outside. When he noticed her coming, he stopped and quickly straightened his posture.

Rarity turned to give Spike a profile view and struck a pose. "How do I look?"

She watched his reaction from the corner of her eye, and pretended not to notice the slight cringe as Spike glanced at the stain on her chest. "Like a vision," he said, a little too quickly.

I look like a weeping dairy farmer who sought to live the high life and got smacked with a heaping helping of irony, you mean. She was a hot mess, and Spike a terrible liar, but Rarity could hardly fault him for being gentlemanly.

"You flatterer, you." Rarity tittered, relaxing her body. "So what else is on tonight's agenda?"

"Are you sure you want to stay?" Spike rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes from hers. "I was gonna ask if you just wanted to call it a night."

Part of Rarity wanted nothing more than to take him up on that, but she refused to end their trip with the both of them feeling worse for it. Instead, she waved her hoof dismissively, now positive that Spike had picked up the gesture from her.

"Pish-posh! I did agree to an hour, didn't I?" Rarity batted her eyelashes at the little dragon. "Not to mention, there are certain parts of your end of the bargain which have yet to be fulfilled. I distinctly recall being promised games, prizes, rides, and fireworks, in addition to dessert. You wouldn't break your word to a lady, would you?"

Spike's cheeks reddened as he shook his head.

"Good." Rarity held out a hoof, crooking her foreleg invitingly. "As you said, after all, the night is still young."

The thought hardly came as comfort to her.

Going arm-in-arm (or arm-in-hoof, as it were) had been an affectionate gesture, but it soon became a practical necessity. They chose to bypass the stalls lining the main thoroughfare and head straight into the heart of the carnival, where the Ferris wheel towered over the densest concentration of activity like the sun come down from the heavens. It was a hub packed so densely that Rarity, sweating profusely from the heat of so many ponies so close together, started to worry she would lose Spike in the crowd.

She was also worried about her poor, abused dress. It had never been meant to be worn in such a tightly packed environment, where ponies could push into her and tear it accidentally, or where the hem could be stomped on and ripped by a stray hoof. She tried to mitigate that by using her magic to lift and bunch the hem above her hooves, as though she were wading in a pond. Her body shimmered and sparkled from the effort, and the constant tingling sound that followed her every step was starting to grate on her nerves. Not going home to change had been a foolish mistake, in hindsight. Whatever could have possessed her not to do so?

Oh, right. Spike convinced me not to. At least he meant well.

She heard Spike say something, but his voice was swallowed up by the noises of the crowd. She leaned closer to him, tilting one ear in his direction. "Say that again, dear?"

Spike took a deep breath. "I said—"

"Spike, I'm right here!" Rarity snapped, cringing at the volume with which Spike yelled. Oh, wouldn't it be simply lovely if I came away from tonight with a case of tinnitus?

"Sorry," said Spike, pulling farther from her ear. "I said that the crowd thins out a little over that way." He indicated a gap in the throng not far from where they were, and an open space in front of an isolated stall. Odd that such a space would exist when the rest of the carnival was so crowded. It was almost as if ponies were keeping their distance on purpose.

That's not ominous at all. Still, Rarity desperately needed to get away from the sweltering heat of the crowd. Any port in a storm...

The pair pushed toward the stall, Rarity periodically murmuring excuse mes and beg pardons as she and Spike maneuvered together past other carnival-goers. At the edge of the crowd was a dense wall of slow-moving ponies packed shoulder-to-shoulder and flank-to-flank, with nary a nook or cranny to squeeze through. Rarity began to despair of ever extricating herself from the morass. Is this how it ends for you, Rarity? As a hot mess in the middle of a carnival without even the dignity of leaving behind a beautiful corpse?

Rarity was pleasantly surprised to find that she still had some capacity for morbidity.

Spike separated from her and ducked under a passing pony's legs to get free of the crowd. Then, with some effort, he wedged his hands between two ponies who were close enough that one's shoulder pressed against the other's flank and pulled them aside, prying enough of a gap for him to get an arm through. He held his hand out to Rarity, ignoring the indignant exclamations and glares from the two ponies. She let Spike take her by the hoof and pull him through the gap he'd created.

"Excuse me," she said to one of the ponies; "beg your pardon," she said to the other as she squeezed between them. Spike pulled on his end, and through their efforts, they managed to pop Rarity free of the crowd. Momentum carried her forward, and she stumbled and fell, her chest skidding against the dirt.

Spike tried to help her back up, but Rarity waved him off and rose on her own. She looked herself over, inspecting the damage to her dress. It was physically undamaged, no rips, no tears, but her interactions with the crowd and her brief visit with the ground nevertheless had severe ramifications. The ice cream stain was now joined by swirls and skids of dirt and dark, damp spots where her sweat bled through the fabric.

So much for her damage control; if anything, she looked worse than before. That wasn't even taking into account her coif, which she knew was unraveling into a tangled nest without even having to see it. Rarity pined for the time when she could call herself a mere hot mess. Now, she was a hot, filthy, sticky mess, sweating through her outfit like a witty and sophisticated hog.

"Are you alright?" Spike had the temerity to ask.

When in doubt, lie your little heart out. "Fine, thank you," she said curtly.

"How about the dress?" Spike asked. "Is it—"

"The dress is fine, thank you," Rarity said, more unkindly than she'd meant to. She cleared her throat and added, in a more controlled voice, "It's nothing that can't be cleaned or mended. All is well."

Spike swallowed and nodded, and Rarity felt a pang of guilt for letting her frustration get the better of her. He had no control over the situation, and she did him a disservice by taking her anger out on him. Granted, she was still mildly miffed at him for shouting into her ear earlier... and it had been his idea for her to wear the dress to the carnival... and the only reason she was there in the first place was because he'd begged her to go with him... but those were poor excuses for flying off the handle.

I think.

"Spike, I'm—"

"Hey, wait." Spike pointed to the nearby stall. Without the crowd to block her view, she read the signage clearly:

KING UNDER THE MOUNTAIN
(No refunds!)

"Is that who I think it is?" said Spike.

A familiar unicorn – creme-coated, wearing a blue-striped vest and black bowtie, with his mane a candy-striped weave of white and red – leaned against the stall's counter. Behind him were ten glass bottles stacked on top of one another to form a pyramid on a rickety table, and a wall mounted with various stuffed animals of different types and sizes. Two in particular caught Rarity's eye: One was a brown bear, half again her size, with an embroidered pink heart on its stomach, hung on a metal hook directly over the table. The other was a fuzzy walrus with big blue eyes, long, curled eyelashes, and a pristine white coat. A little pink tongue poked out between its tusks, giving it a goofy, dog-like appearance.

Why, it's... it's me! In cute little walrus form! Walrus-Rarity? No... Wal-Rarity! Rarity smiled, delighted. I should like to take it home with me...

Then again, that would mean contending with the con artist behind the counter. Rarity's delighted smile withered at the thought.

Ah, yes. Him.

Flim (or Flam; the pony was clean-shaven and Rarity couldn't remember which of the two had the mustache) was engaged in calling out to ponies in the crowd, trying to entice any of them into taking their chances at his game. Judging by the vast swath of empty ground in front of his stall, he wasn't having much success.

"That's right folks," he called, "step right up for a true test of strength and will, as much a game of skill and finesse as a game of raw physical power!" He flexed one of his forelegs for emphasis. "Just six bits a pop, six bits for a chance to win riches and glory beyond your wildest dreams!" His eyes glinted at the sight of Spike and Rarity. "You, sir, in the purple sequins! Have you what it takes?"

"'Sequins,'" huffed Spike. In response, he cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled "They're scales!"

"Could have fooled me," replied the unicorn. "I just assumed that you were an exceptionally flamboyant colt in a gaudy outfit who taught himself to walk upright."

Spike flushed. "But we've met before! I was standing, like, right in front of you while you sang your stupid apple cider song!"

The unicorn tugged the collar of his shirt. "I'm afraid I don't recall—"

"Oh, don't insult us," said Rarity, stepping forward and pointing her hoof at him accusingly. "You're one of those Flim-Flam brothers that tried to swindle the Apple family out of their land! With your... your... Super Something Cider Something... thingy!" She tossed her head back spitefully. "To think I ever once swooned for the likes of you."

"Actually, that was Flam – er, I mean, young filly, I daresay you have me mistaken for another. You see, my name is neither Flim nor Flam, but, ah... Milf!" To himself, he muttered "yes, that'll do."

"'Milf'." Rarity raised an eyebrow. "The phonetic inversion of 'Flim'?"

"Sure, sure, whatever." A greasy grin spread across Flim's face. "Sharp little tongue you got there. What else can you do with it?" Flim purred lasciviously.

Rarity recoiled in disgust as Spike darted forward. The counter came up to his neck, so he had to stand on tiptoe and crane his head back to glare at Flim. "Hey, you watch how you talk to her!"

"Ah, anger! Fantastic!" said Flim. "Channel it through your throwing arm, my lizardly friend, and you may yet overcome the trials of..." He gestured to a pyramid of stacked glass bottles to his right. "Sharpshard Mountain!" He leaned forward, beckoning the two closer.

Spike stepped back toward Rarity and folded his arms. Rarity didn't move, and continued to regard Flim with a revolted look on her face.

Flim quickly realized they weren't coming any closer and continued his spiel. "See, in ancient times, the great king of the dwarven ponies sealed his menagerie of rare and fantastic beasts away deep within the vaults of Sharpshard Mountain. Legend has it that the mountain will open and share them only with those deemed worthy. And how does one prove themselves worthy of this kingly hoard?"

"By sucking on my toes," muttered Spike.

Rarity smacked him lightly on the shoulder, but couldn't stop herself from snickering.

"Exactly! By conquering the mountain with the Spheres of Dwarven Fortitude Three!" Flim levitated a trio of dirty green balls onto the counter in front of him. "And he who conquers the mountain may lay claim to..." He stepped aside and waved his hoof at the wall of stuffed animals. "The Ancient Dwarven King's Fabled Menagerie of Fluffable Fuzzies!"

Rarity and Spike exchanged a look. "That's a stack of empty bottles and three cheap rubber balls," said Spike. "And you're a fraud." Together, they turned and headed back toward the crowd. Flim may have been a disgusting con artist, but seeing his paltry operation was at least an entertaining diversion – the high water mark of the evening so far.

Although it begs the question of where Flam is.

"What's the matter?" Flim's cloying voice called after them. "Afraid of looking like a chump in front of your lady friend?"

Spike stopped and glared at Flim over his shoulder.

Flim, emboldened, added "C'mon, kid, it's not like you could possibly look any worse than she does. Rough night, sweetheart?"

Rarity's face twisted, smoldering. Flim had clearly Spike pegged as a mark; he was trying to manipulate him into throwing his bits away at his game.

And, of course, he's succeeding, because, as you know too well, dear Spikey-Wikey, has a weakness where you are concerned, Rarity. Not to mention an occasionally troublesome streak of chivalry. Dear oh dear, but Spike was just immature and just deeply enough in love to do something foolish like waste his time and money standing up for her.

"Ignore him. Let's just go, Spike," said Rarity, tugging insistently on the strap of his courier bag.

"No. No, he's asking for it." Spike pulled away from Rarity's grasp and stomped back toward Flim's stall. One hand was clenched tightly into a fist, and the other went into his bag to root around for money.

A smirk played across Flim's face. "Ooh, you're pretty mad, aren't you? I bet you want nothing more than to put me in my place now." Flim's horn glowed green, and the balls rolled toward the edge of the counter, closer to Spike. "Well, come now, little dragon. If honor be the stakes, then surely you have what it takes? Overcome the terrors of Sharpshard Mountain, or live forever with the shame of letting your lady friend be insulted by carnival folk!"

"Spike." Rarity moved to stand beside him and leaned in close. "Darling, don't. He's playing you."

"Well, duh," Spike hissed. "I'm not stupid. But I can't let him get away with what he said to you."

His devotion was touching – and entirely unnecessary. Though she played the part when it pleased her to, Rarity was no wilting waif in need of rescue.

And that "duh" was just downright patronizing.

"Spike, I don't need protecting," she said, holding her irritation in check for his sake. "But standing up to him is quite simply beneath my dignity."

Flim rested his chin on his hoof. "Hey, Pit Stains, what's dignity to you, anyway?"

Spike growled and turned on Flim again, but Rarity rested her hoof on his shoulder, and he froze before he could say anything.

Touche, Flim. But two can play at this game. And nopony knows how to play Spike quite like Rarity.

"Come now. I know you promised me games, but must it really be this one?" She summoned a winning smile, the kind that always turned his insides to butter.

Spike's muscles relaxed, the fight draining out of him. A little smile of his own crept across his face.

Flim suddenly broke into a series of loud, obnoxious clucks, tucking his hooves under his armpits and flapping them incessantly.

Spike snorted green-tinted smoke from his nostrils. He whirled around and slammed a handful of bits onto the counter. "Rarity, do you see that bear?" He pointed to the same bear Rarity had noticed earlier. "I. Am going. To win you. That bear. Or die trying."

Rarity despaired at being outmaneuvered by something so puerile.

It was his money to waste, she supposed, but she didn't particularly like that he was wasting it on her behalf, and after she'd expressly told him she neither wanted nor expected him to. Spike may have been a gentleman of uncommon gallantry, but he was also rash, stubborn, and desperately needed to learn how to pick his battles.

Also, if I had to choose, I'd really prefer that nice fuzzy walrus.

Flim scraped the bits off of the counter, chuckling to himself, and stepped aside to give Spike a clear lane to throw.

Spike picked up the first ball and cradled it in his palm, rapping his claws against it. Handicapped by his height relative to the counter, he had to take two steps back in order to give himself enough of an angle to hit the bottles effectively. Still, he played the part of the avenging hero well; he stood straight, as tall as he could, with a resolute mask over his face, staring the bottles down like a knight on a tilt. Except for a slight trembling in his shoulders, Rarity thought he looked very confident.

Spike stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. Then he planted his weight on his back foot, drew his arm back, and stepped forward to hurl the ball through the air. The angle was poor, but the force behind the ball tremendous; he had much stronger arms than his pudgy little body would attest to. The ball sailed true, and struck the bottle at the bottom-left corner...

...and rebounded harmlessly away with a ping. The rickety table wobbled slightly from the impact, but the pyramid held firm.

Spike blanched. "Whubbuhwuh?"

"Ooh," hissed Flim. "So very close; so painfully close. Don't sweat it, son; you've still got two throws left. So far, you're just a third of a failure!"

Spike, growling, picked up and threw the second ball. Again, it struck the pyramid; again, it ricocheted off, this time hurtling toward Flim, who ducked under it with a laugh. "Two-thirds a failure! Hey now, watch where you're aiming. I know you're having performance issues, but c'mon, you're not supposed to take it out on me!"

Rarity watched Flim closely, waiting for some telltale sign that the shifty unicorn was cheating. He must be using his magic to shield the bottles and deflect the ball, or... or something! Spike, you gallant fool, you've wasted your money...

With a cry of frustration, Spike grabbed the final ball and flung it. She kept her eyes on Flim, waiting for the giveaway, a spark at the end of his horn, a shimmer, a flash of aura. Not a thing.

Confusion gave way to frustration and anger, and Rarity clenched her teeth together.

This time, the ball struck the pyramid dead-center. The ball rebounded upward, ricocheted off the overhanging sign's edge, and hurtled downward toward Spike. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped just before the ball struck him between the teeth, lodging in his mouth and knocking him backward.

"Spike!" Rarity fell beside him, ignoring the cold sensation of dirt rubbing against her knees through the fabric of her dress.

Flim laughed and pounded his hoof on the counter. "That's three, and you're out!" he gasped between guffaws, wiping a tear from his eye. "Congratulations, kid, you're a fully-fledged failure!"

Concerned ponies detached from the crowd at the sight of the fallen dragon, and they gathered around Spike and Rarity, murmuring. Several cast dirty looks at Flim and whispered to one another. It occurred to Rarity that Spike was probably not the first mark Flim had found tonight. Small wonder the crowd was giving his booth a wide berth.

"Give us some room," Rarity said to the sympathetic ponies, waving them back. "Please, don't crowd him. Spike..." Rarity cradled his head in her hooves. "Are you alright? Come back to me now."

Spike blinked slowly as his wits returned. He spat the ball out the side of his mouth and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Then he pulled away from Rarity, jumped to his feet, dug his claws into the wooden surface of the counter, and glared furiously at Flim. "You cheat! Give me back my money!"

Flim's mocking laughter died down to a chuckle. "Cheat? Me? Why, I'm a legitimate businesspony, my boy, nothing more. You had your chance for glory and you blew it."

"But I—"

"Buh-leeeew it!" Flim sang. "You've got wet noodles for arms, kid! Don't take it too hard, though; not everypony's cut out to be a champion!" Another string of ugly, mocking laughter followed the insult.

The crowd's murmurs grew louder, angrier, words of encouragement for Spike alongside cries of "cheater" and "scam". But Spike's infuriated expression faltered; he sagged back onto his feet, slumped his shoulders, and his fingers slipped away from the counter to hang limply at his sides.

Rarity hadn't asked him to stand up for her – hadn't even wanted him to, really. But he put his own dignity on the line for hers just on principle, and Flim had publicly shamed him for it. She could relate, of course, but even if she couldn't, the insult to her friend was something she could not let pass unanswered. The whole night's worth of negativity, all the feelings of frustration and rejection and self-pity, bubbled back to the surface, and Rarity forged it into a red-hot spear of fury thrust toward Flim.

He shan't get the last laugh. I'll see him beaten yet.

How, though? He was clearly cheating; there was simply no way every single one of Spike's throws should have been so ineffective. But if he wasn't using magic, then how...?

Rarity cast a look at Sharpshard Mountain itself.

Of course. Silly Rarity, so used to looking for the glitz and glamour in everything that you'd overlook the completely mundane. This isn't magical at all.

It's the bottles. They're glued together. To the table, too. What to do, then, what to do...?

Rarity searched the stall for the answer, passing over smugly grinning Flim, over Sharpshard Mountain itself, over the Menagerie of Fluffable Fuzzies (lingering on the little walrus for just a moment), to the oversized bear... the bear hanging directly over the mountain... the mountain glued to that dinky old table... looks like it'd fall to pieces in a stiff breeze. I wonder just how much that bear weighs, relative to its size... Rarity tilted her head just enough to see the thin strip of white fabric on the back of the bear's neck, looped around the hook. And I wonder just how strong the stitching on that tag is.

A devious smirk flashed across Rarity's face for a split second before she stifled it, not wanting to give the game away. Oh yes, he would get his, and it would be glorious.

"Double or nothing!" she called. The crowd gasped.

Flim's ears pricked. "Say what now?"

"Double. Or nothing." Rarity stomped toward the counter and planted her hooves on it, leaning close to Flim with a vicious glare. "I would have gladly walked away from you and your chicanery, but you went and forced the issue. Now I'll see you humbled for it."

"Rarity." Spike's voice sounded as grim and tired as he looked. "What are you doing?"

None of that. If this is to work, I'll need you on my side.

Rarity knelt and rested her hooves on his shoulders. "Spike."

"You were right," he muttered, lowering his head.

"Spike, listen to me."

"I shouldn't have—"

Rarity tucked her hoof under his chin and raised his head to gaze into his eyes. "Forget what I said before, darling. This isn't about games, or prizes. This isn't even about me. That charlatan does not deserve to get the better of you. You are better than that. You are better than him."

Spike's eyes glistened. "I... but..." He gulped, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Rarity, it's rigged. There's no way for us to win."

"Have faith in me. As I have in you." She patted the dumbstruck dragon on the cheek. Then, rising, she turned back to Flim. "Twice the payoff for you if we lose, twice the prizes for us if we win. And we'll be wanting our money back. Deal?"

"Oh, most definitely, ma'am," said Flim with a smarmy laugh. He levitated another pile of balls onto the counter.

Spike hesitantly reached for one of the balls. His hand hovered over it as though he were afraid it might leap up and bite him if he touched it.

Rarity leaned close to his ear. "As hard as you can. Do you understand?"

Spike gulped, but nodded, and closed trembling fingers around the ball. He took a deep breath to steady himself, stepped back a pace, and focused squarely on the bottle in the center of the pyramid. Rarity kept watching Flim, whose smug, half-lidded expression sickened her.

We'll see who's smiling when I'm done with you.

Spike took a deep breath, wound his arm back to build momentum, and hurled the ball hard enough that Rarity swore she saw it smoking. It struck the pyramid; it rebounded away, and Flim laughed triumphantly at the look of despair on Spike's face.

All eyes were on Spike and Flim. Nopony was watching Rarity, nor the bear mounted above the pyramid. Rarity's horn shimmered a pale blue; she wrapped her magic around the tag securing the bear to its hook. All it took was a tiny little tear at the edge of the fabric to make it rip and give way. Gravity and entropy did the rest.

The bear plummeted onto the table, its wide-open arms encircling Sharpshard Mountain. The bottles held, as expected. But the added weight of the bear, the angle at which it pressed against the table, was too much for it to stay upright. The table's rickety legs shook under its additional burden and buckled, and the tabletop fell, the weight of the bottles canting it to the right. Sharpshard Mountain settled onto its side intact and stuck to the surface of the table, wrapped in the loving embrace of the bear.

"Oh, Spike!" Rarity sang, hamming it up for the crowd. "Fancy that! You hurled that ball with such strength and force that you knocked that bear free from its hook! And, in what is surely an spectacular coincidence, set into motion a chain of events which culminated..." She darted to the counter and waved her hoof in a sweeping, grandiose gesture at the sideways pyramid of glass bottles. "In Sharpshard Mountain being knocked over." She smirked at Flim. "Albeit indirectly, but that's neither here nor there. Sharpshard Mountain is conquered, as are you, sir."

The gathered crowd was silent. Flim's eyes bulged, and his mouth worked open and closed without any sounds coming out of it. Spike stood rooted to the ground in shock, his eyes fixed on the spot of air formerly occupied by Sharpshard Mountain. "I... I..."

Rarity turned, met his searching gaze, and winked at him.

Then the crowd erupted into stomping, whistling applause. Rarity leaned down and pressed her lips against Spike's cheek. "My knight in shining scales." She nuzzled him, giggling at the warmth of his blush against her skin.

"That doesn't count!" Flim fumed. "He didn't knock over the bottles! You have to knock over the bottles! Those are the rules!"

"Why, of course he knocked over the bottles!" said Rarity. "He knocked over the bear, which knocked over the table, which knocked over the bottles in turn. If you didn't want that to count as a win, you ought to have specified as such. And you probably shouldn't have hung that bear right over the mountain. That was just poor planning."

"You... you..." Flim stammered. "You cheater! You cheated me!"

"Tut tut," said Rarity. "You speak to me of cheating? When those bottles remain so obviously glued to the tabletop?"

Flim began to sweat. "A... a trick of magnetism. Nothing more!"

"You give two-bit con-artists all over Equestria a bad name. There's magnetism, and there's miraculous, and there's just plain old glue. Which of the three seems the most likely culprit in this case?" Rarity turned to address the crowd. "What do you think, my good ponies? Magnetism or miraculous or plain old glue?"

More stomps and cheers and whinnies.

"Sorry, Milf, the mob has spoken." Rarity clicked her tongue. "Honestly, you ought to face defeat with dignity. But then, what's dignity to you, anyway?"

Flim's lips curled into a sour grimace.

"Now," said Rarity, "I believe that, in addition to a full refund, you owe my friend and I two prizes, as per our arrangement." She separated the bear from the mountain, levitated it out behind the counter, and draped it over her back, its arms and legs dangling over either flank. "Spike, you promised me this bear, of course. And since this is really your victory, you ought to choose a prize of your own."

Spike, blushing and smiling and eyes watering, said nothing. Rarity could only wonder what was going on in his head.

Do you relish the approval of the crowd, Spikey-Wikey? Does this farce I've concocted to spare your honor please you? It pleases me, I must admit. The victory, yes, but more than that...

A blush of her own bloomed on her cheeks, and she turned away bashfully.

I rather like being your white knight for a change.

"What's all this commotion?"

The voice cut through Rarity's good mood like a knife. Another unicorn strode through the crowd – creme-coated, candy-striped mane, a dead ringer for the stallion behind the game counter except for the curly red mustache on his upper lip.

Flim's eyes lit up, and a victorious smile crossed his face. "Ah, Malf! My dear... er, second cousin! With whom I share an uncanny physical resemblance!" He jerked his hoof toward Spike and Rarity. "Those two couldn't conquer Sharpshard Mountain without resorting to cheating, and now they're trying to shake me down for prizes they didn't even earn!"

Flam gasped melodramatically as the crowd booed, and turned upon Spike and Rarity. "Is this true?"

"Wha – bu – no! That's – no!" Rarity stammered. "This game was rigged! He's the cheat!"

"Lies, damn lies!" Flim levitated up the tabletop, mountain and all, and set it on the counter. "Look here, cousin; they accuse me of gluing these bottles to the table and rigging the game against them. In reality, they hatched a despicable con to break our property and scam us out of prizes that are rightly earned!"

Flim was met with more booing and hissing from the crowd. Rarity, emboldened by their support, stood her ground. "Those bottles were obviously glued together and to the table. Spike's throws struck them thrice, direct hits all, but they wavered not one iota! What are the odds of that?"

Flim chuckled. "Clearly, dear cousin, this ignorant mare has never heard of the... the, uh, third law of magnetism. Which was, of course, codified by..."

"By Starsailor!" Flam coughed. "You've truly never heard of Starsailor's Third Law of Magnetism?"

"Do you mean 'Starswirl?'" asked Rarity skeptically. "The Bearded?"

"Sure, sure, whatever." Flam rolled his eyes. "Point is, when wood and glass interact in a certain way, they have a tendency to adhere to one another. Common knowledge in academic circles. The principles behind it are quite complex, and I wouldn't want you to strain your little brain over them, but suffice to say!"

Flam swung his hoof toward the pyramid on the counter, and in the split second before it made contact, sparks of green light appeared and winked out at every point of contact between the bottles on the pyramid. He struck the bottle in the far left side of the center row, sweeping the whole row and everything above it onto the counter and floor.

"With sufficient force, those magnetic bonds can be broken." Flam rubbed his hoof and shook it in the air, pain spasming across his face. "Maybe if your friend had put enough oomph behind his throws, you might've won this game legitimately."

"Indeed. But look at the flimsy little wrists on him. Some dragon he is." Flim smirked at Spike. "My thanks to you, Malf. As a token of my appreciation, please accept this gift!"

A green aura nabbed the bear on Rarity's back and hoisted it into the air before the cry of protest could leave her mouth. The bear dropped onto Flam's back. Flam chuckled, and bounced the bear like a foal with a new toy.

"Now then," said Flim, turning back to Spike. "I believe you owe me an apology. And another six bits."

Around them, the angry murmuring of the crowd resumed. Rarity tried to summon the words to express her outrage in a manner befitting a lady of poise and stature, but before she could speak her mind, Spike stepped forward, dropped another handful of coins on the counter, and turned away, head hung low. "Let's go, Rarity."

"Spike, but—"

"Let's just go. They won."

Her knight in shining scales tread listlessly away. Ignoring the crowd's sympathetic noises, she followed after him.

Rarity and Spike said nothing as they walked together through a carnival which felt decidedly emptier than it had before. Most of the attendees had wandered off to stake out vantage points for the fireworks elsewhere on the green, so the crowd had thinned considerably. The stalls and stands and rides were still lit up, bathing them in light from all sides, but the ponies operating the games and concessions were starting to close up shop, and the lines for the rides were down to nothing. Even the densest part of the carnival behind them had become a ghost town. Ride attendants and shop runners flitted like specters between the attractions, and only the eerie whistle of calliope underscored the scene. They passed the stand where Pinkie had set up shop; the chalkboard was gone, and Pinkie was nowhere to be seen.

The silence and emptiness were starting to make Rarity anxious. She needed a conversation almost as badly as she'd needed that drink earlier.

"You know," Rarity remarked to the little dragon walking beside her. "You've got quite a throwing arm, Spike. I'm impressed. Honestly."

Spike said nothing. His feet dragged as he walked, making loud scraping sounds as his claws dug into the dirt.

His silence hurt, almost physically hurt. Rarity cantered forward and wheeled around to intercept Spike and stopped him with a hoof against his chest.

"Spike, please. Talk to me."

Spike wrapped his arms around his stomach, looking downward. "I should have just let you go home the way you wanted," he said to his feet. "So stupid."

"Don't talk like that," said Rarity sharply. She pressed her hoof against his chest harder "You're a decent young dragon who made a gallant effort—"

"I'm a selfish and stupid little failure and I made everything worse for you." This time, he did look her in the eye. "You were upset, and all I could think about was how I could make you feel better. All because I—" He stopped, bit back the rest of his sentence.

Rarity felt her chest tighten, her blood run cold.

Not tonight, Spike. Don't make us have this talk tonight.

Spike sighed. He wrapped his fingers around Rarity's hoof and gently pushed it off his chest. "Forget it. Let's just call it a night." He turned on his heels and continued his march toward the exit. One hand hung limply at his side; the other found its way into his bag.

Rarity stood alone in an emptying carnival, watching her friend leave and wishing she knew how to make him stop. Things had started with such promise; for a fleeting moment, she actually believed she'd pull out of the depression that her night began with. Now? Spike was right. She was going to go home feeling worse.

But because of something he did? No... Spike had his more aggravating moments, sure, but the night didn't turn over because of anything he said or did. Nor did he fail her in any meaningful way. But he was going home feeling as though he'd let her down anyway, hurt and subjected to public humiliation that nopony deserved.

Well, perhaps Flim and Flam do. But not Spike. Dear, noble, good-hearted Spike... There's a lesson to be learned from tonight; I know there is. But must the lesson's cost be your self-respect and happiness?

Not if she had any say in the matter.

The light, the warmth, of the grossly incandescent monument to revelry that was the Ferris wheel, washed over her, wrapping her body in a halo of white and yellow.

Give me a chance. Let me try again to be your white knight.

"Spike, wait. A moment, please?"

Her voice, a siren's call that she knew he could never resist, pulled him to a stop. He half-turned, looking at her in profile with sad, drooping eyes.

"You brought me here to make me happy." Rarity put a tentative hoof forward, smiled a shaky smile. "And what would truly make me happy..."

She stepped to the side and turned her gaze to the Ferris wheel. She heard the sound of Spike's toes scraping through the dirt as he closed the distance between the two of them.

"Is if you would make good on the rest of your promise."

Author's Note

Back and better than ever! "Better" being a relative term.

How dense was the crowd, you might be wondering? Let's ask world-renowned density expert Rick McCallum:

Drowned By Fireworks

Canterlot gleamed upon its faraway mountain perch, its whitewashed walls and gold-tipped spires a beacon in the night. Rarity stared at it through the wire mesh of the ferris wheel's cage, her breath misting the air. A little filly in her wanted to wave to the Princesses, and hope that they saw, but the sullen dragon seated opposite her quashed that frivolous impulse. Not by saying or doing anything in particular – his bad mood was just infectious. Left unchecked, Rarity feared that Spike could become patient zero in a gloominess outbreak that would turn all of Ponyville into a town of dour sad-sacks, one rivaling even the grimmest works of sturm-und-drang in the Equestrian literary canon.

...Well, alright, perhaps that was a tad hyperbolic, but who could blame her for fearing the worst when her every effort at drawing Spike out of his shell had fallen flat? Thrice since boarding the ride, Rarity had tried to strike up a conversation, and thrice, she'd failed.

"Have you ever been on a ferris wheel this tall before, Spike?"

"Goodness, the ponies below – they look like ants! Do they not look like ants, darling?"

"You know, I happen to think you would look dashing in sequins."

Yet despite her efforts, Spike kept his eyes on his nervously kicking and dangling feet, responding to each remark from Rarity with a monosyllabic, dispassionate grunt. It was frustrating. It was annoying.

Most of all, it hurt.

It pained Rarity to see him hurting; it pained her more that she was powerless to stop him from hurting. And, on top of everything else? He was hurting in the first place because he'd failed to stop her from hurting.

Deep down, he and I suffer for one another.

The cold helped matters little. Though the night was a pleasantly warm one, the temperature naturally dropped the higher up one went. The lights strung along the wheel provided a modicum of heat, but even so, the moisture that the dress had accumulated over the course of the night left Rarity susceptible to chilly air. Soon, she was huddling her limbs close to her body for warmth as frosty needles pricked and pierced her skin from head to hoof.

Spike didn't seem bothered by the temperature drop, though. Probably due to his dragon scales, or his dragon blood, or perhaps the fact that he could breath fire – there was surely some dragon-y at work. Watching Rarity move closer and closer to becoming a ponycicle with each passing moment seemed to have him concerned, however, until the jackhammer-esque noise of Rarity's teeth chattering finally prompted him to speak up.

"Are you okay?"

Rarity grinned shakily back. "C-c-c-c-copacetic, darling!"

The corners of Spike's mouth pulled down, just slightly. "Rarity..."

Rarity sighed, sending a cloud of mist curling through the air toward Spike. She huddled her forelegs closer to her body. "C-c-c-c-can't put anything past you, c-c-c-can I?"

Spike bit his lip. Slowly, he reached into his bag and drew out a scarf, a lovely thing of woven yarn, blue as the sea. He held it out to Rarity.

"We wouldn't be here if you could." His voice was ragged and tired. "Here. This should help."

Rarity, caught off guard by the gesture, stared dumbly at Spike's outstretched hand until a gust of air smacked her in the cheek like a snowball. With a sheepish laugh, she wrapped the scarf in the grip of her levitation and looped it around her neck. Immediately, a feeling of warmth coursed through her body, tingling and tickling and making her giggle.

"My goodness, it feels even better than it looks," she cooed. "So soft and snug. I feel warm... warm all over. Either this is a magical scarf, or I'm succumbing to hypothermia."

"I don't think it's quite that cold up here." A smirk broke through Spike's facade of gloom. "Seriously though, it's enchanted to keep your whole body warm as long as you wear it. Only when it's around your neck, though; the spell won't work if you, like, loop it around your hoof or something."

"An enchanted scarf?" Rarity gaped at him. "Spike, that must have cost a fortune! Where did you ever find something like this? To say nothing of the money to afford it!"

"Oh, it didn't come enchanted. Starlight Glimmer did that. When I bought it, it was just a regular old scarf." Spike looked at his feet. "I saw it in the market on Wednesday, and I thought it'd match your eyes, that's all."

A light blush dusted Rarity's cheeks. To hide it, she buried her face in the yarn, marveling at its soft, smooth texture as she nuzzled it. "It's wonderful, Spike. Thank you."

Such a thoughtful gift – but then, I should expect no less from him. I ought to find a way to thank him properly. Starlight, too, since she—

A sudden thought made Rarity freeze mid-nuzzle and frown. She let the scarf slip from her hooves and dangle around her neck. "Spike... you bought this on Wednesday, you said? Why did you have it in your bag tonight?"

Spike winced at the question. His eyes met Rarity's for an instant before they screwed shut.

Then, from the outside, came an unsettling groan that made Rarity cringe and clench her teeth together. She looked outside, and saw the steady rotation of the world outside her window slowing. The lights flickered and dimmed, and, with a sinking feeling, she realized that the wheel was coming to a stop. Not a natural one, either – the ride was breaking down.

The wheel gradually halted, but momentum carried the cabin forward on its axis. It swung, flinging Rarity's body across the gap separating her from Spike, though the little gentledragon manged to scoot to the side before she could fall on top of him – which certainly wouldn't have made things between the two of them any less weird.

"Are you okay?" Spike asked as the cabin lurched again in the opposite direction.

Rarity nodded shakily, pulling herself into the seat beside Spike and bracing her hooves against any surface she could. Her muscles quivered and her legs shook from the effort of holding herself in place as the cabin peaked on another backswing. Rarity cursed her hooves – her gorgeous, yet digitless, hooves – for failing to give her enough leverage to properly hold herself in place. She could feel the bench beneath her bottom sliding away as gravity pulled her toward the other end of the cabin.

Then an arm encircled her middle and locked into place. Rarity looked, surprised, at Spike, and saw him loop the fingers of his free hand through gaps in the wire window. His mouth was set in a thin, tense line, his eyes diligently avoiding hers as he helped to keep her secure in her seat.

Right. Yes. Hands, of course. At least one of us can reap the evolutionary benefits of articulated digits.

Rarity wrapped a foreleg around Spike's shoulders and clung to him, absurdly gratified at the surprised widening of his eyes. She pressed her other hoof against her side of the cage, and her hind hooves found purchase against the shifting floor of the cabin. It was an awkward position, but it kept her secured as the two rode out the cabin's dying momentum, clinging as much to their surroundings as to one another.

They swung in silence as the outside world slid back and forth. The lights illuminating their cabin kept flickering and dimming, never quite reaching their previous brightness. Through their combined efforts, they resisted gravity's pull, but the effort was taxing both of them. Rarity could feel a slimy lather of sweat along her body, and Spike's arms shook noticeably. The corners of his grimace quivered, and the familiar scent of dragon perspiration was beginning to season the night air.

Well, at least we're actually interacting with one another again, Rarity begrudgingly thought. Which makes this a net improvement over before. And he doesn't look like he's about to burst into tears again. Perhaps he'll be more receptive to my efforts in this new situation.

Rarity cleared her throat primly. "Spike, it seems I owe you an apology."

Spike's neck swiveled toward her. "You? Owe me?" His voice was thin from the strain of his efforts.

"Yes." Rarity smirked. "It seems I made a mistake in choosing the ferris wheel."

For a moment, Spike just stared at her uncomprehendingly, before s a smile crept across his face. "I mean... it was either this or the tilt-a-whirl. I think that ride would've given us a whole different set of problems."

Rarity snickered – such a puerile joke, but it worked on her. Even a lady could be amused by a barf joke. "Does this mean that you forgive me?" she said, with an overdone pout.

The nascent smile on Spike's face withered, and he looked away with a sigh. His change in demeanor chilled Rarity to the bone, scarf or no scarf – she thought she'd had him that time, too.

"Spike, it was a joke," she said, squeezing his shoulder gently. "Admittedly, not a very good one, but—"

With a sudden crackle of electricity, the lights went out, immersing the cabin and its occupants in darkness.

Rarity laughed a high, brittle laugh. "Speaking of unfunny jokes, I do not appreciate the universe's sense of comic timing just now!"

Then she felt Spike's frantic squirming in her grip – in her moment of shock, she'd unintentionally clenched her hooves and crushed him harder against herself. With a sheepish apology, she slackened enough for him to relax, and lit her horn, painting the cabin in the pale blue tones of her aura. The world outside still gently rocked back and forth, but it didn't slide and shift as badly as before. If she tried hard enough, she could almost pretend she was on a luxury yacht, with waves gently stroking the hull.

A yacht that smells like a sweaty dragon... and, let's not kid ourselves, a sweaty mare, too.

Slowly, Rarity relaxed her hooves, drawing them closer to her body. She gathered her hind legs beneath herself to sit more comfortably on the bench, as Spike's fingers uncurled from the wire mesh. He sighed in relief as his muscles stopped straining, and an emerald-tinted puff of air glowed in front of his face, adding its light to Rarity's for just an instant.

His arm started to loosen around Rarity's middle.

"Uh-uh," said Rarity, pressing her hoof tighter against him.

Spike looked at her quizzically. "But..."

"I know. But you're fine. This is fine."

Rarity drew him closer, smiling to herself as she felt his arm return to its position – slowly, cautiously, as though he wasn't sure that she wouldn't yank herself away from him at the last moment if he showed too much eagerness.

He needn't have worried. She'd been pretending all night – pretending to be strong, to be happy, to be remotely hopeful about her future in matters of the heart. Pretending that Spike's personal style of gallantry and occasional shows of immaturity weren't secretly grinding away at her last thimbleful of patience. Pretending – for his sake – that she was fine.

But there was no artifice in the way she smiled, the way she held him, right then. She was wrapped in the embrace of someone she cared for, with a gorgeous view of the countryside unfolding before her, the world within and without the cabin lit only by starlight and the shimmering glow of her aura. There was a spark inside her chest, a light, where before there'd been only empty, festering darkness. No matter what her feelings toward him had been before, no matter what circumstances had brought them there, she felt warm. Peaceful. Even happy.

Happy with Spike.

Rarity laughed once, softly. Spike shifted, his cheek brushing against hers as he turned to regard her curiously. "What is it?" he asked.

"Just thinking. Our night has been difficult, for many, many reasons, and this situation is not one I would have asked for, not in a hundred years. And yet..." Rarity smiled at the little dragon, blushing when she realized just how close their faces were. "I think this is the best I've felt all night."

There was something in Spike's eyes – a hope, a light, a familiar spark of excitement that leaped into his countenance whenever she made even the slightest show of affection for him. His mouth opened, trembled, as his whole world danced on the edge of a knife.

And then Spike's arm uncurled from Rarity, and he pulled to the other side of the bench, once more out of her reach. "I can't. I can't keep doing this. This is all my fault, Rarity. All of it. Everything that's gone wrong tonight, everything that's happened to you – it's all because of me." He pressed his face into his hands.

Another swing, another miss. Rarity wondered if this was how Spike felt when that damn bottle pyramid failed to topple. "That's not true, Spike. You're being dramatic. I mean, far be it for me to criticize, but—"

"I knew you were gonna get stood up!" The words tumbled out of his mouth in a quick, anguished cry; he took a deep breath and let it out with a shudder, fingers clenching and relaxing nervously over and over again. "I've known all week, okay?

"What are you...?" Rarity, suddenly breathless, couldn't bring herself to finish her thought – surely, she'd misheard him. "Spike...?"

"I wasn't outside the restaurant because I was running errands for Twilight," the dragon said in a rush. "I was waiting for you to leave so I could talk to you, and the scarf was in my bag because I was gonna give it to you tonight. I was just... waiting for the right moment."

Icewater rushed through Rarity's veins. "How could you possibly have known?"

Spike clenched his arms and legs closer to his body. "Does it really matter?"

"Of course it matters," Rarity hissed. She fought to steady herself; she felt light-headed and airy, like she was trapped in a bodice drawn too tightly. "You can't simply say something like that and expect me to just accept it without comment. Explain yourself!"

Spike shook at the breathless fury in her words.

"...I overheard him," he admitted. "I was in Sugarcube Corner on Monday, and he was talking to some other stallion about... stuff I didn't really understand. Work, I guess. They were trying to get some mare to do something. But I guess something came up, because he said he had to leave town suddenly and go back to Manehattan to close some deal. Said he'd have to skip out on a date he made for Saturday with a Ponyville mare."

He dared to look at her, though not in the eye. "The younger one asked if he'd like to just bring her up to for the weekend. But the guy said..."

"He said what?" Rarity's voice was a harsh, frozen dagger of a whisper.

Even in the dark, Rarity could see the pain in Spike's eyes – like he was falling on his sword in front of her.

"'I don't want to risk her running into the wife and kids.'"

Time stopped. Everything seemed to fall away, receding into the distance with all the feeling, all the emotion, in Rarity's being, until she was alone in a silent void. She recalled that state; she'd felt it before over the course of the night. Strange and ill-fitting as it may have been... it was growing quite familiar.

Indeed, the very thought of the injustice wrought upon her should have driven her into hysterics and melodrama. Her date didn't just stand her up, after all, he had no intention of showing up in the first place. And he wasn't just two-timing her. He was, if Spike was to be believed, an adulterer. Of all the sleazy, inconsiderate stallions she'd taken chances on over the years, the fact that he would break his vows with any mare made him the worst, the lowest, even more heinous than a thousand Bluebloods.

Yet she felt nothing toward him.

Perhaps she'd been wounded so often that she was just inoculated to the kind of despair this would normally have brought out of her. Perhaps, deep down, part of her expected this sort of thing all along, and prepared her for the worst. Perhaps that should have troubled her more than it did.

But no... before, in the moment, I felt it acutely. I was moments away from breaking down completely before Spike—

At that thought, her mind snapped back to the present. Everything rushed back into place – the ferris wheel, the cage, the scarf around her neck, the sweated-through dress... and the baby dragon seated beside her. The one who met her outside the restaurant, who convinced her to go to the carnival, held her hoof and played the role of the knight in shining scales... and all the while, he knew something that she didn't. A shard of anger lanced up from deep within Rarity's being, piercing her veil of numbness as the reality of the night came into focus.

A scowl twisted Rarity's mascara-stained, tear-streaked face as she glared at Spike. "How dare you do this to me."

Spike didn't move, didn't so much as look at her. "I know. I never should have kept that from you—"

"No, you shouldn't have. But that's not the only issue at hand here, Spike. For pony's sake, I could be stood up a hundred thousand times by a hundred thousand adulterers, and it wouldn't equate to how you've wronged me!" Rarity snapped. "Had you left well enough alone, I would have gone home miserable, gotten very drunk, regretted it in the morning, and gotten on with my life. And had you told me the harsh truth at any point between Monday and tonight, the same scenario would probably have played out. You might have spared me from a bit of drama and humiliation, but in the end, my heart would still be broken. A cruel dilemma, I agree."

She leaned forward, and he cringed away from her, shutting his eyes. "Except you found a third path, didn't you, Spike? You used your knowledge of how tonight would go to ambush me at a time when you knew I would be vulnerable. And all for what? So that you could swoop in and sweep me off my hooves with a night at the bloody carnival?"

Spike dug his claws into his thighs. "I wasn't trying to—"

"You lied to me. You played me. How could you do that to me? And to drag Starlight Glimmer into it?!" Rarity's voice rose as her rage boiled over. "Spike, I've come to expect behavior like that from stallions, but from you? Never, in a million years, would I have suspected that you could be capable of concocting such a faithless, duplicitous, deplorable deception! How dare you play with my heart; how dare you make me think you were putting my needs above your own! Tonight has never been about me – from the start, it's always been all about you!"

As if to punctuate it all, Rarity seized the scarf in her hooves, tore it off her neck, flung it to the floor of their cage, and turned her head away from Spike before she could catch a look at his reaction. She could still hear it, though – the quiet, muffled, half-suppressed sobs, the staggered breaths and sniffling. Rarity huddled her limbs closer to herself to conserve body heat, and did her best to ignore him.

Rarity clad herself in her anger and fought down the instinct to comfort him. She hated herself for letting that part of her dominate any portion of her heart. She hated herself for not hating him.

Damn him, and whatever hold he had over her. She needed to be angry.

"Please don't be mad at Starlight," Spike said at last. With his nose stuffed up and his voice interrupted by intermittent sobs, Spike sounded more than ever like the boy he truly was. "She saw me with the scarf and offered to cast the spell on it. I'm sure she knew I bought it for you, but she didn't know about tonight, I swear."

Rarity scoffed and scooted even closer to her window, leaving an entire bench's worth of room between herself and Spike.

"Tonight's on me, Rarity. I know it. Everything you said..." Spike sniffed loudly and released a tremulous sigh. "But I wasn't trying to take advantage of you, I swear."

"So you just accidentally took advantage of me, then," Rarity growled. "Yes. That's much, much better."

"No. No, I... tonight wasn't supposed to be about me. I know I kinda made it that way, but... it was supposed to be for you. To help you make it through yet another..." A sob cut off the rest of his sentence. "Every time you meet somepony, something goes wrong. You get stood up, or the guy you like turns out to be a jerk. Or he likes Applejack instead of you, or he's just... not into mares after all. You play it off, but we can all tell how bad it hurts you. It keeps on happening, and hurts you worse and worse the more it happens."

"What are you even getting at with this, Spike?" Rarity sniffed. "You and the others know my heart better than I do, is that it? Poor Rarity needs to be shielded from the big scary world of grown-up dating – is that the group consensus?"

"I'm speaking for myself, Rarity. We all see it, but I'm the only one who'll say it." The dragon's voice steadied, his sobs flattening out into something resembling a grown-up's resolve. "When I heard that stallion say those things, I was just so... so angry about it. At him, for putting you through this again, at the fact that it was going to happen again... and at myself, most of all, for not being able to do anything about it. That's when I decided to—"

"Lie to me?"

"That was wrong, and I'm sorry; I can't begin to tell you how much. But I'm not lying to you now when I say this." Spike's voice dropped to a nearly lifeless whisper. "I didn't come out here hoping to sweep you off your hooves; I'm not stupid enough to think I ever could. And I wasn't trying to take advantage of you while you were vulnerable, I swear. All I really wanted to help you salvage the night – to give you a reason to smile. I just..."

Rarity heard Spike's head thunk against the wire mesh as the sniffles and sobs overtook whatever courage he'd mustered for his speech.

"...Just once, I wanted you to go home from a date happier than when you left. You deserve that much. Just one good night, at least..."

Rarity turned, and watched him weep contritely, in stark, bleak silence. Something in her heart moved for him... but she turned away from that instinct again, and laughed bitterly. "Well. A fine job you've done with that, Spike. Now, we're both crying messes instead of just me."

"...No less than I deserve," Spike said under his breath.

Rarity's ear twitched. "Say that again?"

Spike took a long, snotty sniff of air, and wiped his eyes on his flimsy wrists. "It's just something I've been thinking about... ever since we ran into Apple Bloom."

Ran into. A poor choice of words. Or, if he'd been aiming to annoy her, an excellent one.

Spike kept at it, heedless of how he'd misspoken. "I remember sitting with Pinkie Pie, in Sugarcube Corner, while she served up that first batch of fried ice cream for me to try. I remember tasting it, and thinking it was the greatest thing I'd ever eaten. I took that first bite, and right away, you were the first pony I thought of. I wanted to share it with you, to see your face light up when you tasted it, and that's exactly what happened tonight. For a moment, just for a moment... it was like, the world could've ended right there, and it would have been perfect."

"And then Apple Bloom came along with her balloon." Rarity blew a lock of curly, sweaty mane out of her face. "I suppose I'm with you up until that point."

Spike shook his head. "It wasn't even that, though – it wasn't her, or the mess she made. It was the way your face just... blanked... that made me realize I'd screwed up. I wanted to just go home and call it a night, but you insisted, and even though I knew it'd only get worse, I went along with it. Just took you at your word, because I just wanted to see you happy again, to get that feeling of perfection back. Then there was the crowd, messing up your dress even more, and that thing with Flim and Flam..."

He lifted a hand and uncurled three, stubby little dragon claws, counting off each humiliation in turn.

"Where are you going with this, Spike?" Rarity said. "Because, I'm sorry, but you're starting to lose me."

Spike looked Rarity in the eye, his wet cheeks catching the light from Rarity's aura. "I wanted to buy you a dessert, and it got all over your dress by accident. I wanted to win you a prize at a game, and instead we got humiliated by a couple of con artists. I wanted to take you on a carnival ride, and..." He beckoned around the cabin, and let his arm fall against his lap with a sigh of resignation. "This is fate, Rarity. Punishment, for what I did."

"...I can't believe this." Rarity leaned forward, pressing her weight against the hooves resting on the bench. "You're still thinking selfishly. For all your protestations and apologies, all your claims that this was all for my benefit, you're trapped in the mindset that it's all about you. Spike, look at me."

Rarity gestured at the stains coating her painstakingly sewn dress.

"Look at what's become of me over the course of this night. If this was all some sort of ironic punishment for your misdeed, why would so much of it be meted out onto me?"

Spike gulped. "Yeah, but... Flim and Flam—"

"Are con artists, Spike," Rarity cried, tossing her hooves flamboyantly in the air. "They would've gone after anypony, anyone, that they deemed an easy mark! Fate didn't push you toward them; fate didn't make you fall for their tricks and give them your money, any more than it drove you to lie to me about your intentions! You did that! You let yourself get played by them!"

Spike shrank away, staring back down at his lap – and Rarity, damn it all, felt that instinct return with even greater force, vying with her feelings of hurt and betrayal for priority.

"I understand why you made the choice that you did, Spike," she said, her voice straining to convey a sense of empathy that clashed against her anger. "Your heart may have been in the right place, but an honest mistake is still a mistake. And it was yours to make. Not fate's."

Spike looked at her, incredulous, even a little defensive. "You can't seriously look at everything that's happened tonight and not think fate had something to do with it all. You can't miss the pattern."

"There's no pattern to this, Spike. No grand scheme to make you and I pay for the mistakes that you made." A shiver crawled along Rarity's flesh, and she glanced down at the scarf, discarded, on the cabin floor. "You look at tonight, and you see a pattern of events that culminate in you feeling miserable, and you know what? I can relate. Because I do the same thing. It's a defense mechanism, one which keeps us from taking responsibility for our actions. We err, and we ascribe the error to something we cannot see, something that can't be held accountable."

Spike was quiet as he contemplated her words, folding his hands on his lap and playing his thumbs against one another.

"...But you gotta believe in fate, Rarity. You have to."

"I never said I didn't." She was growing exasperated with him again, and tried to modulate her voice to hide it. "Of course there's some kind of design to the universe, Spike. Look at us – look at how we met. Not just you and I, but Twilight, and the rest of the girls. We're all bound together by a single moment in time, and that can't be anything but fate. But I refuse to believe that the same force which gave us the most important people in our lives also conspired to make you and I miserable, all because of a mistake."

Rarity brought her front hooves together, and held them there, as she looked searchingly at Spike. "I believe fate is gentler than that. Stripped away of any defense mechanisms, any asinine thoughts of conspiracy... I believe that fate guides, rather than leads. Brings us to certain moments, but lets us make our own decisions... expecting us to face their consequences."

Like when you fall for the wrong pony, time and time again, Rarity thought. When you romanticize, idealize, and fall in love with an image that exists only in your head, one belied by reality. When that image runs up against the reality of the pony, and shatters along with your heart, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces and wonder if you'll ever be able to open yourself up again.

Spike was right. It got harder, and harder, after every time.

"Fate didn't bring us here, to this cabin, to this point in time." Rarity's voice softened. "We did, through our own mistakes. There's nothing for it, but to accept that we're here... and to try and learn from this whole situation. Because that's what..."

She almost swallowed her next words – but he needed to hear them, as much as she needed to hear herself say them.

"...That's what growing up is all about."

It was like he was falling on his sword for her all over again. The pain on Spike's face was palpable, and Rarity almost expected him to burst into tears once more. But he drew himself up, squared his shoulders, and looked her right back, fighting against his sobs.

"I understand, Rarity." Needle teeth clattered loudly together as he fought to keep his jaw from trembling. "And I'm sorry. For everything. I know I screwed up, and I'm just—"

Rarity silenced him by covering his hand with her hoof. And he looked away, his carefully composed facade of strength threatening to shatter with every passing moment.

Spike sat there, shriveled up in the dark, wearing his guilt out in the open for Rarity to see. His wet, tremulous voice and his shuddering shoulders spoke of his sincerity. He'd done wrong, and he was fully conscious of it. And he was sorry. Whatever he'd done, whatever he'd neglected to tell her, whatever he may have lied about, Spike was still Spike. Good, and noble, and, in the end... honest.

If he was acting, then his performance should've guaranteed him a lifetime of success in theater, and damned her as the softest mark on this side of the Everfree Forest. But Rarity couldn't watch his guilty display, couldn't hear his weeping contrition, and not believe him. It wasn't about whether or not he was telling her the truth about his motivations, or whether or not he truly understood and owned up to his mistakes. However flawed and ill-conceived tonight had been, he was genuinely trying to put her interests above his own. It wasn't a question of whether or not she understood that. It was a question of whether or not she could also accept his apology. Whether or not she could forgive him.

...Yes. Yes, I can.

Eventually.

There, in the moment, the wound was still fresh. Having been inflicted by a dear friend like Spike, it ran far deeper than it would have had it come from anypony else. Yet, even so, the voice inside of her that compelled her to comfort and forgive him wouldn't, and couldn't, be silenced.

Even if Spike is right, even if this is all the work of fate, I refuse to believe that it brought us here for the sole purpose of wounding us. Tears welled in Rarity's eyes. Fate cannot be so gentle as to give us one another, to let us build this friendship, and then be so cruel as to drive us apart and dash it all to pieces. He must come back from this. He needs a chance to make amends, and I, a chance to forgive him. Something good must good come of tonight.

She shut her eyes, and sniffled.

It can't end like this.

An explosion, from not so far off, made Rarity jump and open her eyes. She turned her face toward it, her mouth drooping in wonderment, as she beheld the pink flower blooming in the night sky.

"The fireworks have started," she murmured to Spike.

He said nothing. Did nothing. Rarity bit her lip, and lifted her eyes to the fireworks again.

The night sky crackled with brilliant hues. Green, blue, purple and gold and red – and pink, always pink – shattered the night, sparkled in midair, and winked out as quickly as they appeared. Their lights, their warmth, washed over the ferris wheel, as the air grew thick with the smokey haze they left behind.

A glimmer of light from town drew Rarity's attention, and she gasped.

"Spike, the castle!"

The crystal spire that towered over Ponyville shone with the light of every color painting the sky. They shifted and slid across its surface in an iridescent sheen – absent any moonlight, the castle's trunk and boughs and canopy of crystals were the brightest beacon in the night.

Rarity glanced at Spike – for the first time, he seemed to notice the fireworks as their glow washed over his home. His hand covered his mouth, the tears still beading in his eyes now forgotten. Rarity lifted her hoof to his face and wiped the tiny, salty droplets away, and Spike looked into her smiling face.

"Look at that," said Rarity softly. "You kept your promise, after all, darling."

They looked out at the castle again, at the show of lights upon its surface. Rarity lowered her hoof, and in moments, felt his fingers, soft and hesitant, curl gently around it. She smiled, making no move to stop him.

They sat together, in silence, as the lights on the castle and the thundering fireworks heralded the end of the night.

Author's Note

I am so, so sorry.

Unopened

Spike hadn't asked if Rarity wanted him to walk her home, but she offered no protest when he fell into step beside her. He was quiet as they walked, as though he didn't know what to say. Or whether there was anything to say.

He broke his silence when they arrived in front of the darkened, shuttered Carousel Boutique. "So... here we are, Rarity."

Rarity studied the intricate facade of her home and livelihood for a moment, before unlocking the door and nudging it open with a flash of her horn.

Spike's feet scraped in the dirt as he turned to leave. "I'll see you around, I guess."

"Spike, wait." Rarity flashed her horn again, seizing Spike's wrist and pulling him to a stop. She dropped her aura and looked invitingly at him; he stared back, puzzled. "Won't you come and sit with me a moment?"

Spike looked down at his hand, rubbing his wrist where her magic had caught him, delaying for so long that Rarity was certain he'd try to leave again. But, at last, he padded inside cautiously, as though he were walking on rotten ice.

Another flash of her horn, and the lamps and candles around the boutique lit, bathing the showroom in gentle firelight. Ponyquins, clad in formalwear, stood in tableau around the boutique; their shadows, distorted by the outfits, danced against the walls and the floor. Rarity inhaled the scent of melted wax and vanilla, regretting that the scented candles she'd bought and arranged in preparation for tonight would not see their intended use. Still, the candles lent the room a warm and intimate atmosphere, one which she felt was curiously appropriate.

Her horn kept shimmering as she pulled a velvet-upholstered sofa – her chosen piece of furniture for melodrama and emotional indulgence – from a room off to the side. She hopped onto it, gathering her dress and smoothing it out beneath her, and patted the spot beside her for Spike.

Still looking uncertain, he climbed up, sighing as he pulled the strap from his bag off of his neck. His scales glowed, each one a mirror for the faint little flames of the candles. Nervously, he glanced at Rarity from the corners of his eyes.

"You know, you're allowed to look directly at me, Spike. You won't turn to stone." Rarity cocked her head wryly. "Or am I so disheveled that it hurts to do so?"

"You're a vision," Spike mumbled, pulling the strap taut. "I told you before."

Rarity didn't dispute the compliment. She knew it wasn't true. She knew he meant it anyway.

"I've been thinking," she sighed, leaning against the sofa's backrest. "I've been burned many times before, by... oh, so many stallions over the years that it's become comical."

Their faces and voices and promises and declarations played out in her mind, one after the other. She always swore she'd never fall for somepony like that again, yet time after time...

I have sewn myself into this miserable garment. She chuckled bitterly.

"Something funny?" Spike said.

"Just my love life. My increasingly ironic, moribund love life. It's comical, I told you."

"I'm glad you can still laugh at it, at least." Spike almost turned to look at her. "Those guys who broke your heart... You know I wasn't after what they were after, right?"

"I know that." Rarity fixed Spike with a scowl that he never saw. "But regardless of your motive, even if your intentions were good, that doesn't make your actions any less wrong."

Spike shuddered, and nodded slowly. "I know. I get that now."

He meant it. He still wouldn't look at her, but Rarity could see his sincerity, hear it in his voice. He deserved the truth from her, too.

"I'm not trying to condemn you, Spike. You're not the only one who told a white lie, after all." Rarity scooted closer to him on the couch. "After the ice cream incident, you offered to call things off. I said that I wanted to keep going. Remember?"

Spike snorted and shook his head. "I should've known. There's no way you wanted to stick around after that."

"Not really, no. But I knew that being there meant something to you, and I didn't want to hurt you with the truth. So, I put on a happy face, and resolved to tough it out. Which worked out swimmingly, needless to say." Rarity laughed again, a touch less ironically.

Her laughter was met with a fleeting, sullen smirk from Spike. "That's nowhere near as bad as what I did."

Rarity fought back the impulse to roll her eyes. "It isn't a competition, Spike. We both made mistakes. We both lied to one another, and all we did was make matters worse. But our mistakes don't have to define us, so long as we come to terms with them, seek forgiveness, and learn."

"I forgive you," Spike said, immediately, automatically. His shoulders rose and sagged in a half-hearted shrug. "You didn't need to apologize, though. You lied to make me feel better. I lied because..."

"...You wanted to make me feel better."

"Even so, you were right. That's no excuse for what I did."

"Nor does it excuse what I did."

Spike shook his head frantically. "Stop it. It's not the same thing. What I lied about was worse, way worse. And however you cut it, I'm no better than one of those other guys who messed with you."

Rarity felt her temper flare. She'd indulged Spike enough tonight; she had no patience for further self-pity. "Do you want me to agree with you? Tell you that you're scum? Will that make you feel better? Hating yourself solves nothing. You don't learn from your mistakes if you let them define you; you become less than what you are. And you don't want to do that to yourself."

She reached for his shoulder and stroked his scales, watching the firelight play off her pony-pedi as he stiffened.

"Because what you are is a good person, Spike. You came clean and apologized when you really didn't have to, when it may have served you better to say nothing at all. That's something none of those other stallions would have ever done."

Rarity's hoof slid up his neck to cup Spike's cheek and tilt his head toward hers. He didn't bother trying to look away.

"You have a good heart, darling. Good enough to realize when you've done wrong, to account for your mistakes. That's what sets you apart from the Bluebloods and the Brass Buttons and the Lucky Strikes of the world."

She smiled, and saw it reflected in his eyes.

He was right, and I was wrong. I am a vision.

"Even if you err, I can always count on you to do the right thing in the end." She stroked his cheek, once, and let her hoof fall to the couch cushion. "And that is what makes you worth forgiving."

Spike looked relieved for an instant. His mouth opened, but his expression changed before he said whatever he was about to say, as though he thought better of it. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully before speaking again. "Thank you. But I still don't feel like I deserve your forgiveness right now."

"Then take heart. I'm not ready to give it to you yet." She pulled her hoof away from him and straightened on the couch. "But I will be. In time for next year's carnival, I'm sure."

"Next year?" There was a note of hope in his words that made his voice crack boyishly.

"Why not? Tonight was a bit of a misfire; there's no arguing that. I'd love the chance for a do-over under more auspicious circumstances." She hesitated, feeling the cold prick of a needle at her heart. "Wouldn't you, my friend?"

A jolt ran through Spike. He sagged. His face fell. Whatever hope she'd given him, however unintentionally, bled away. For a moment, Rarity worried she'd broken him, but he squared his shoulders and cleared his throat and forced a resigned smile.

"I'd like nothing more," said Spike.

It was the answer Rarity had hoped for. It was the answer Rarity had dreaded.

She had been wondering whether or not Spike would make them have that talk this evening, if that was why he'd walked her home. After all, on the ferris wheel, he'd come as close to openly acknowledging his feelings for her as he had in years, for the first time since that long-ago moment of freefall. She'd invited him inside half-expecting him to force the issue, and entirely hoping he wouldn't.

Because what would be the point? He didn't need to hear that she wasn't in love with him; he clearly already knew. And he didn't need to be told that she loved him regardless, not in so many words, anyway.

If he knew all that, and let the matter pass without comment, then that spoke to his maturity. And if they never had that talk at all, then that came as a relief. But regardless of whether or not the subtext ceased being subtextual, the nature of their friendship was going to change after tonight. His crush on her was never a secret, but he never knew how much Rarity treasured his adoration, covertly and guiltily prided herself on winning the dragon's heart. Winning and keeping it.

And while Spike had taken her to the carnival with the intention of kindling her spirits, nothing had worked half as well as championing him when he needed her.

But that had to come to an end. She needed to let Spike go, as much as Spike needed to let her go.

Rarity looped her hooves around Spike's shoulders, and pulled him close so he wouldn't see her blinking back tears. He buried his face in her dress's fabric and clutched her tightly, like they were swinging in the ferris wheel's cage, at gravity's mercy. They stayed like that long enough for some of Rarity's candles to gutter out, leaving the room dimmer, darker, than before.

At last, Spike shifted, pulling his head away from Rarity. Gently, he smoothed out the wrinkles he'd made in the dress. "Twi's probably worried sick. I should get home to her."

"Don't let me keep you, darling. Just, I'd like to beg one thing of you before you go." Rarity ran her hoof over the spot where Spike's face had been, feeling the moisture of his tears. She offered him her other hoof. "I wonder if you wouldn't mind letting me keep the scarf after all?"

Spike's puzzled look quickly gave way to a small, gratified smile. He fumbled inside his courier bag and retrieved the scarf, draping it tenderly over Rarity's outstretched hoof. Once more, she marveled at its warmth and softness, even as she noted the streaks of grime mashed into its yarn from when she'd tossed it to the floor of the cage.

It will wash.

"Thank you, Spike. This really was a thoughtful gift."

"I'm just glad you liked it." With that, he slid off the couch and padded to the front door with that subtle, babyish waddle. The door creaked, so slightly, as he pulled it open. "I'll see you soon?"

"You will. Goodnight, Spikey-Wikey."

He hesitated, perhaps savoring the moment. "'Night, Rarity."

The night ended as Rarity thought it would from the start, more or less. She was alone in her darkened boutique, neither drunk nor crying, but tired and sore. The aroma of vanilla wax that had hung in the room was already dissipating, some of it ushered out the door with Spike. Left to her own devices, she looked down at her dress, stained as it was with sweat and chocolate, ice cream and dragon's tears, and she chuckled.

"I am quite a mess right now."

Folding the scarf, Rarity laid it on her sofa and stood. Her aura chimed and tinkled as she strode upstairs, her path illuminated by pale hornlight. Bit by bit, she undid her dress, carefully and gently stripping it from her body, and sighing as the cool air of the boutique kissed her coat.

She found Opalescence sleeping on a ponequin she'd expected to be bare, and gently moved her to the bed without waking her. Habit made her want to dress the ponequin with her discarded formalwear, but she was too exhausted to contemplate the possibility for long – after all, she'd just taken the damn thing off. Masterpiece or no, she wasn't so keen on reassembling, and it needed a thorough wash, anyway.

So, with a sigh, she dropped the dress over the ponyquin's back, mentally adding "cat hair" to the list of things that would need to be laundered off, and turned her back on it, toward her armoire. The doors glowed blue as she pulled them open, revealing rows of impeccably hung dresses and sweaters. Rarity shifted them, one by one, to expose a shelf at the back of the armoire.

Hidden behind her outfits was an unopened bottle of Merlot. There'd been many more; the rings on the wood where less dust had accumulated spoke of the other dates and heartbreaks Rarity had faced over the years. She'd bought each bottle with the intent of sharing, but drank them all alone.

Rarity's mouth watered as she floated the Merlot off its shelf, letting it hover inches away from her face. She turned it slowly, noting how nicely drawn the vineyard on the label was, failing to recall whether the vintage was a good one. She tilted it from one side to the next, listened to the contents slosh against the glass.

This was the last one. She supposed that meant something, but she wasn't sure what, and she too tired to dwell on it.

That's a thought for another night.

She set the bottle on the shelf, slid her outfits back into place, and gently closed the door.

"I could use a good soak before bed," Rarity declared to herself. She floated over a towel from her closet and headed toward the bathroom, humming a tune she didn't immediately place. One of Pinkie's? A song Sweetie'd been singing?

Then she remembered the calliope's melody, and the lights of the carnival, and the smells of spun sugar and fried food, and couldn't stop herself from smiling.

How funny that a heart so callously broken could still feel so full.

Author's Note

This story was supposed to be over by July of 2016.

Thank you to my readers and editors, especially Dubs Rewatcher, who encouraged me to finally finish this.

Posthumous credit for the late R5h, who helped me with a key addition to the final chapter of the story, and who is also not dead.