Obsolete

Chapters

1. What's in a Dream?
2. Defining Rarity
3. Who We Are

1. What's in a Dream?

Going to Carousel Boutique always gives me the shivers. In thinking about what could be there for me—a vicious Opal looking to scale me like a fish, a sea of fabric and scissors on the ground I could probably literally drown in, a figure scurrying around that seems more stress than pony—it's actually not really worth thinking about. But there's always this little hope in the back of my mind that she is looking for something special, and maybe she's looking for something special from me.

"Oh, Spike, I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to ask you, but would you be so kind as to take me out for a date to your favorite restaurant, Lover's Delight? It would be a wonderful opportunity to get to know my favorite dragon that much better, wouldn't it?" Rarity leans back and closes her eyes. "And perhaps, once it's dark, we could take a walk in Ponyville's parks under the full moon and enjoy each others' company." And she opens them just a little bit, like she's dozing. "And we could stop by the lake and fall asleep in each others' arms as the lush wind blows my mane and tickles your cheek just a little bit. Would you like—"

"Woah!" I exclaim as I trip on a tiny sinkhole full of muddy water. "Stupid puddle!" The hoofpaths of Ponyville are okay, I guess—and outside the castle, they're pristine, for obvious reasons—but the sinkholes that appear every so often are still as annoying as ever. I'm sure she finds it annoying too, hence why she never steps out when it's raining and muddy, at least not without an umbrella and a whole lot of complaining.

Anyhow, her being that romantic with me hasn't ever happened—but hey, a guy can hope, right? It's that little hope that adds a spring to my step and always makes me happy to stop by the Boutique. It's that hope that really gives me the shivers, not what I actually see most of the time.

And it's that hope that explains what I'm holding in my left hand (and what I thankfully saved from that puddle). I heard from one of Roseluck's assistants what Rarity's favorite flowers were, see, so I decided to get a dozen from her and wrap them up in a nice little bouquet. I feel like it would be a nice gesture. I know that she's not asking me for anything—she hasn't asked me for anything in a while, in fact—but maybe it will pique her interest?

"Those are just the most beautiful flowers in the world! And how did you know that dahlias were my favorites, Spike?" Rarity plucks a petal from one of the flowers and spins it in a dainty pirouette. "You are so thoughtful! In fact, I would love to wine and dine you a bit over these delicacies, if you'd be so inclined."

Yeah, I know Twilight would lambast me if she caught me with these flowers or dreaming too much about her, especially if it was in some other pony's company. She'd say I was wasting my time and not making a good impression. And Owlowlicious always gives that weird "hoo hoo" laugh he always does when he sees me do it. But that doesn't mean I've forgotten or that I don't think about her. It's kind of hard to forget when the first moment you ever saw this mare, she burned a hole in your heart and stayed there for the rest of time.

She paralyzed me when we arrived in Ponyville. With fear, longing, a burning infatuation? Probably all three. Fear that she'd be put off by my species, longing for something so beautiful and angelic as to seem unattainable . . . and her eyes. And her snout, her mane, her tail, her smell, her accent, her everything. She was perfection. She is perfection.

I get to see that perfection every time Rarity invites me over to her home. Just like today, for tea. I don't really drink tea, but that couldn't make a moment like this any less exciting.

"Oh, Spike, how I've so wanted to invite you for tea at my home! I'm sorry it's taken so long." She pours the tea, and a splendid sweet-smelling red liquid fills two cups. "It's made from rose petals, darling! Don't you think that's so very romantic? A perfect tea to start something special between the two of us, don't you think?" she says while smiling sweetly and fluttering her eyelashes.

"Oh. Whoops." I look back at Carousel Boutique, about ten paces behind me. I turn around and retrace my steps.

Gosh, it has been a while since my imagination's been this active. But it has been a while—a never, really—since Rarity's asked anything of me that's this . . . unique. There's only so many reasons why the lady of your dreams would invite you over for tea. Most likely, she just wants me to send a letter to the princesses—but if she wanted that, wouldn't she just come over to the castle and ask me there? I'm there almost every day. Or it could be the usual chores she normally has me do, like arrange some fabrics, or hold her pins, or be a hair dryer—but she would have asked me like she did in the past, not invited me for tea first. And she only said she wanted to have tea with me, not anything about anything she wanted me to do afterwards.

There's just so much about this that seems different, and that tells me this is no ordinary favor she wants done. All that points to the fact that maybe—just maybe—today will be the time. There's that ember of hope in my chest that's always there—sometimes suppressed, never extinguished—but today, it burns almost as bright as the first time I saw her. Maybe this really is a date . . .

So as I put my fist up to the door of Carousel Boutique to knock and tuck the bouquet behind my back, I feel a shiver run down my spine once more and my heart flutter in my chest. Seconds pass when hundreds of images flash through my mind: images of what could have been, what could be, and maybe—if I'm lucky—what will be. They're too numerous to count or describe, but they warm my chest and make me sweat a little more. The images disappear when I finally hear hoofsteps approach the door. Her hoofsteps.

It all begins with a mysterious afternoon tea. My spines tingle in nervous anticipation of what's to come.

When she opens the door, she looks down at me with surprise for a split-second, like she wasn't expecting me here even though she must remember inviting me. But a moment later, that's gone, and all that's left is the beautiful mare whom I fell for so long ago. And when she smiles, she roots me to my spot. She just looks so lovely like that, and I can't do anything but stare back at her and smile dumbly.

"Hello, Spike," she says in her beautiful, unique accent. "It's very good that you were able to join us today."

Some phrase like "the pleasure is mine" wants to jump out of my mouth, but . . . Wait, "us"? Rarity didn't tell me there would be someone else at our tea. I thought this was supposed to be a private affair. That's what tea means, right? Who else would she invite?

Sweetie Belle, maybe? She bunks with Rarity some of the time, but I didn't think she was fond of tea. Besides Rarity, Twilight's the only one of our friends whom I know likes tea and coffee—again, for obvious reasons—and I know she's not here.

Come to think of it, it's probably Fluttershy. They've been spending a lot of time together. Like, a whole lot. Besides the fact that they're best friends, they've taken a liking to meditating in the forest together; that's what Twilight tells me, at least. Weird: I never took Rarity for the kind of pony who would willingly go anywhere near the forest—too much muck, I would think—but to each their own.

Fluttershy seems the type to enjoy quiet, peaceful stuff like tea, so it makes sense that she'd come over to Rarity's every so often and share some more time with her. Did it really have to be today, though? Fluttershy's great, don't get me wrong, but I was kind of hoping for a moment with Rarity alone to show my gift and talk with her. I guess we'll have an audience.

"The pleasure is—th-this is for you!" I stumble out, mangling my words and whipping the bouquet out from behind my back to present it to her.

Rarity takes a half-step back when she sees my flowers and glances back into darkness of the boutique. When she looks back, there's a touch of distress on her face, but her smile comes back so quickly that I'm not sure if it ever left. "Thank you, Spike. Would you care to step inside?" She glances back again before looking back to me. "We have . . . We have a few things talk about." She steps back to invite me in.

I step inside as Rarity closes the door with a wink of cerulean magic. I'm still holding the bouquet. I offered it to her as a gift, so why didn't she take it from me? She's still looking at me, but it doesn't seem like she wants to take them, in either hoof or magic. "Where do you want me to put the flowers?" I say instead.

She looks back again. Why does she keep doing that? "Oh, just in the vase right there," she says, gesturing vaguely to a side table with a vase on it. "I'll tend to them later."

I put the flowers in the vase as she wants, but there's no water in it. She'd better tend to them soon, otherwise they'll wilt quickly. "Are you sure this is the right one?" I ask, thinking she might have pointed me to the wrong place.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure," she says, retreating hoofsteps echoing after her.

I drop the flowers in the vase and arrange them as best I can. When I turn around, Rarity's already sitting at a wooden dining table, complete with a tea set and three settings. Close beside her is—as I guessed—Fluttershy, looking as shy as she always does. Maybe even a little bit more. Her eyes flick between me and the table.

Rarity's not having so much trouble, but the smile's gone from her face again—for sure, this time—and she has a solemn straight look on it instead. She's still as beautiful as ever—Rarity would never show herself to anyone if appearance wasn't perfect—but I like her better when she smiles. She gestures at the empty seat in front of the two of them, again, not smiling.

I climb up onto the chair, a little more nervous than I was before. Rarity's not normally like this, even when she's stressed. The only other time I can remember somepony telling me "we have a lot to talk about" was when Twilight sat me down to tell me where I came from. The hopes and visions I had while walking to the Boutique are far, far away now. Especially as Rarity still looks at me like that. Her eyes aren't not romantic or eager or dreamy like I imagined and hoped them to be. They're almost . . . joyless.

I shiver again, but I don't think it's for the same reason as before.

I look down at the tea, already served to me. It's a dull yellow, and it smells okay. A little earthy, maybe. "Why did you ask me to come, Rarity?" I ask, no longer certain of the answer.

Rarity takes a sip of her tea. "We . . . We have something that we need to tell you. Something we should have told you a long time ago."

"Long time ago? We? You mean the two of . . ." I trail off, gesturing vaguely at Fluttershy and Rarity. Fluttershy's looking at me now out of reluctant eyes, and she looks like she almost wants to cry. She hasn't spoken a single word to me yet, but I can tell from her eyes what she's saying: I'm sorry.

I'm really nervous now.

"Spike . . ." Rarity begins, but she stops there. She turns her head to Fluttershy, and Fluttershy looks back. It's just for a moment, and they don't say anything to each other. They nod simultaneously, and their next movements are equally simultaneous: Rarity and Fluttershy both reach out their forehooves to hold each other's, and they lean in so their foreheads touch.

No . . . That's not . . . That's not possible.

They're just best friends—they've always been best friends. It's been that way for years now! Holding hooves and touching heads, that's just something that good friends do, right? I know the two of them have been meditating together for a little bit, and they sleep over at each other's pretty often, and sometimes Rarity swaps places with Pinkie at the Map table so they're closer together, but that can't mean that they actually . . .

Rarity looks up and back at me, eyes sad, still holding Fluttershy's hooves. "Spike. Fluttershy and I, we . . . bonded. We dated each other—we're still dating each other . . . and we found love in each other."

Her words are halting, but every one strikes like a hammer, no matter the reluctance in how she delivers them. Because every word she says confirms what I'm seeing in front of me. The fact that I don't want to—can't—believe. That Rarity, that perfect, beautiful, angelic piece of work whom I admire, esteem, praise, adore, idolize, love . . . is spoken for.

I snap my eyes over to Fluttershy in a stunned daze, desperately looking for some sign that the two of them are just playing some mean prank on me and none of this is real. That I still have a chance, that I still have a license to hope and dream for that chance. But Fluttershy never plays pranks. She just looks at me with eyes even sadder than Rarity's and mouths the words I already know: I'm sorry.

"Oh goodness, I've already dined with her and fallen asleep in her arms, Spike; I don't need you as well."

"No, that's not—" My first words are strangled coming out of my throat as my wishes for what could be crumble to dust in front of my eyes. Instead, I point with a wavering claw at them and say, "H-how long?"

As if telepathically, Rarity and Fluttershy return their eyes to each other at the exact same moment, speaking with each other without making a sound. I feel a pang in my chest at the gesture. "A . . . A couple months, perhaps?" she says, looking back to me and releasing their hooves. "We should have told you earlier, I know, but we didn't know how you would react."

I hear her response, but I can't understand it. All I can think about is the two of them sitting together and giving each other strength to speak just by looking at each other. It's exactly what I wanted from her for so long, and it's exactly what's she's getting now from someone else.

"Oh, that rose tea? Don't be silly; that's for Fluttershy and me."

"B-but I didn't think that you—Blueblood and Trenderhoof—you weren't really—Fluttershy?" My words are scrambled and nonsensical, mind spinning faster than my mouth can keep up with. She likes guys! Blueblood and Trenderhoof, those are the types she's interested in. And she still flirts with stallions in the marketplace all the time! Why would Fluttershy, of all ponies, be her choice? She's a mare, and she's not famous or powerful or anything. She's nice, of course, but . . . she's just Fluttershy!

"The wedding? Of course you're invited."

"It wasn't planned at all," Rarity said. "I never had an eye for mares. I still don't, really. It just happened when . . ." She trails off.

Fluttershy moves closer to Rarity and extends a wing over her back. "When I was feeling very sad, and when she was there when I needed her," she finishes. Rarity lets out a breath and nods slowly.

"Fluttershy's and mine, of course."

Those tiny moments—like sharing a glance or holding hooves—tell me beyond any doubt that this is real love. And it's those tiny, romantic moments that hurt more than anything else. They have them, and I don't and never did. The words, the closeness, and even the tiny things—especially the tiny things—that I never thought or even dreamed about but are just so romantic and so very real . . . It's all happening in front of me. It's already happened.

Stop dreaming, Spike.

I don't know if I can. But it's more vivid than I imagined, more fantastic than I dreamed. That's what they're doing, but it's not what I wished for. It's not what I am.

I can barely breathe with the weight pressing down on my chest, and I don't know what to do. But my body decides for me when all of a sudden, my breath hitches and teardrops billow out of my eyes. I . . . I don't know why. I didn't want to cry in front of her.

But just moments later, Rarity is there, next to me, her hooves around me and her breast at my face. She's . . . hugging me?

"Oh, Spike, I'm so sorry. Just cry, dear. It's alright."

I can feel how perfect her coat is against my cheek. Silky, flawless. It's exactly what I wanted from her but fulfilled for all the wrong reasons. This isn't how I wanted us to embrace. I can't help it—it just makes me feel even worse. I cry into Rarity's breast, my arms pathetically wrapped halfway around her barrel. She feels so nice, so warm . . . but all she's doing is reminding me of what I spent years hoping for. My dreams and imaginings fracture more with every second she stays close.

It's just so unfair that I can only have what I want when it's already gone.

Her hoof rubs me between the head and shoulders, where there aren't any spines. "I know you have feelings for me."

I just want to scream so badly right now. How am I even supposed to wake up tomorrow? When that button-eyed Rarity on my bed is taunting me with dreams made over so long, now nothing more than that: a dream.

Of course I don't dream about her all the time, but Rarity is pretty and winsome and perfect and attractive . . . of course I would make one every now and again. Every time I saw something romantic, like a couple giving flowers, or feeding each other, or exchanging a goodnight kiss, I started imagining how it would be if it were me and Rarity. Because maybe tomorrow . . . maybe tomorrow would be different. I can't wake up tomorrow because there is no tomorrow. It's just her. She and her.

I can feel her chest sing with vibrations as her words sing to me. "I just thought that perhaps . . ."

I cough up another sob and hug her a little more, the last hope of a future with us in it gone, now nothing more than nothing.

". . . perhaps your feelings would have subsided a bit by now."

"Sub-sub . . . what?" I can't help those words fall out of me. Subsided? Why does she think that? My feelings have never subsided since she gave them to me; if anything, they're a little stronger.

"Well, you made it clear your attractions to me long ago," Rarity murmurs. "I recognize those eyes from miles away, and I saw them the moment you and Twilight came to Ponyville. But the more time went by, the less I saw them. I know you're still rather fond of me, and I thought you'd be saddened by the news." She nuzzles me, but that only makes me feel worse. "I just didn't think you would take it this badly."

I sniffle again. I couldn't rip her out of my heart any more than I could rip the scales off my hide. "Just because you need me to do something important doesn't mean I don't think about you when I'm doing it. You're busy. And it's . . . it's improper." Heh. Improper. Rarity would like that. I guess I've learned from the best.

I feel Rarity nod. "That is very mature of you. It was my mistake. I thought that was you growing out of your crush."

I don't understand. I know that attraction I have is exactly how I phrased it—a crush—but it sounds so different when Rarity echoes it back to me. Even more when she says I should have grown out of it already. It's like I'm still a hatchling who hasn't seen his first winter and needs to be told how everything works. I don't want to be coddled. Maybe it is sort of a crush, but it's anything but an attraction that only lives in childhood and disappears as soon as someone else comes along. She must know that.

"I'm not a kid anymore," I say, probably more grumbly than I was intending.

Rarity stops hugging me and retreats half a step. She looks pained. "That was a poor choice of words, and I'm not saying that you are. You are not a kid, but you are quite young, and . . ." She looks up and to the side and trails off, pouting.

"And kids grow out of their childhood crushes?" I snap.

She looks back and takes a breath in like she wants to say something but lets it out again. When she finally does say something, she says, "But you are still young, Spike, and there are certain qualities in youth that . . ." She trails off again.

She's saying exactly the same thing by not saying anything at all. "It's not a childhood crush, Rarity," I say in a low voice. I drop out of my chair and start to pace. "How can it be one when I remember how beautiful I thought you were on that very first day I saw you, even today? And when I still have dreams about you and me every now and again? When I think about what a future between us could b—c-could have been?" When I say that, the lump in my throat almost bursts, but I keep going. "When I feel my heart warm up when I need to go to the Boutique for something? And when I was imagining us together when I thought you were inviting me for a private tea today?"

I'm almost yelling by the end, but I can't help it. I don't like it when ponies don't take me seriously because they still think I'm just a kid, and I can't stand the thought that one of them is Rarity. What does it mean for us if she didn't think my feelings were important? That I've been throwing my feelings against someone who thought she was above it? I could move the world, and she'd still think I was nothing more than a child . . . I can't believe that. Not Rarity.

I look back to her, and she looks shocked at my tirade. "Spike, you know that's not possible, and it's never been possible. Even if I were attracted, nothing could happen, especially not now!"

As if she needed to say any more—from the very beginning, I've always been a kid in her eyes. I was fantasizing all about us on my way here . . . but my none of my dreams ever stood a chance. "Then if you've never thought it was serious, why did you keep letting me believe that it was?" I shout, slamming my foot down. "Why did you keep winking at me and calling me your 'Spikey-Wikey'?"

She takes another step back from me. She stutters, starting to say something but ending it halfway through.

"Well?"

"It's—ah, well . . . I was just . . ."

It hurts to know that she and I couldn't be together, but it hurts even more to know that she's been letting me do this for so long. Encouraging it even, with her little winks and other gestures, attracting me to an illusion of something real. Why? So much of our relationship is built on that lie. What is there left if that's all it was?

I'm seething, and snorts escape from my nostrils so hot that they could light anything on fire. "And what if you and Fluttershy are just another 'silly little crush' that you'll grow out of, too? Did you make a shrine for her like you did with Trenderhoof?" I growl. I can't even bring myself to feel sorry for saying that.

Rarity gasps a brings a hoof to her chest. "Ah! Spike, how dare you! I love her!"

"And I love you!" I roar.

As if blown back, she staggers backwards and falls to a sit. Her face is a mix of shock, surprise . . . and fear.

I can barely bring myself to look at her anymore. It started with just a little afternoon tea, probably cold now. I was hoping—dreaming—that it would end in a "happily ever after." But she was probably hoping for some nice little conversation with me having already "gotten over it." Neither happened, just a truth for me worse than imagination, and little dragon throwing a little tantrum for her.

I can't stay any longer. With a growl and huff, I turn around and storm out of the Boutique, ignoring the noise the two ponies are making behind me. I don't care. I brush by the flowers I brought today, briefly contemplating whether I should take them with me or just burn them up in a breath of fire. But little good that would do me, and they'll die anyway. So I just leave, slamming the door as hard as I can.

2. Defining Rarity

The air is stuffy, and the rain is coming down heavier than it was before. There's not a bit of sun in the sky as long as the clouds are hiding the light. Under this sky, I stomp away from the Boutique, driving up little splashes of muddy water with every step. I don't head towards home or anywhere specific: just away. Once I'm far enough away and can't see the Boutique anymore, I find a tree to sit under in wherever and sit down underneath it.

I scream my frustrations to the leaves and sky above me and plunge my face into my hands. I don't care if anyone hears. Few enough ponies would choose to be out in this weather, anyway.

I seethe quietly, not moving, not speaking.

Rarity. I don't know what to think of her anymore. Because today, she just about confirmed to me that she didn't care about my feelings for her, or she cared only as far as it was a piddly childhood crush. Even on the day we met, on the day I fell for her, she had already made up her mind about who I was and where this would go. Nowhere. I never had a chance.

What was she doing, then? Keeping me around because she thought I was cute or that my crush was cute? Or keeping me around because I was at her beck and call? Because I did favors for her whenever she asked? I was happy to do them because I thought it meant something. Was I actually just a little dragon servant? She always liked the high life . . .

I can't believe that. Not Rarity. She doesn't do things like that—or . . . I thought she didn't. After today, I don't know. I didn't want to believe anything she said today, either, but that's all true, too. There are so many new truths about her I don't want to believe. I need to think:

Who is she?

There's an ocean of anger and frustration and misery warring with a continent of friendship and attraction and love. I want to believe that Rarity is still that charming, incredible, and gorgeous pony she was. But all I've seen of her today is a Rarity who never thought anything of my love for her, a Rarity who wouldn't tell me that and let me hold on to false hope while knowing it was a false hope, and a Rarity who used that hope for her own desires.

She's done so much good: she's made friends in very high places, and she's founded three boutiques of fashion. She wants to make everything and everyone beautiful, and she's so selfless that the Tree of Harmony gave her her Element. She embodies the virtue of generosity; she is generosity.

But I'm having a very hard time finding what's so selfless about this.

Why? I always come back to that question. Why did she do it? Was it really so she could just keep winning favors off me? Every time she asked me to do something, I would drop everything and do it for her. She must have liked the "service." Like her own butler, except she's not singled out as the only pony in Ponyville with one. Just a lady and a guy with a crush. It's not the first time she's charmed a stallion to get what she wanted, either. She does it all the time.

I growl again. I'm not an errand boy. I'm not a kid who she can boss around because I'm a kid.

But that's not Rarity. She's not the kind of pony who would do something like that . . . isn't she?

Yesterday, it would have been so easy to say no and defend her and every one of her foibles, like I've done so many times before. But today, I'm not so sure. I've seen a side of her I didn't know she had, and she must have had it all along. How can I defend that? How can I reconcile the Rarity I met today with the one I knew from yesterday?

That Rarity is the one I thought I knew, the one I fell in love with. The same one who can inspire hundreds with just the clothes on her back, then inspire even more by giving them away. With all the years I've grown to like her and gotten to know her, I can't just cut her out of my heart that easily. I loved her. I still love her. She's beautiful, inside and out . . . at least that part of her is.

There's no going back, though; I can't just pretend none of this ever happened. She's different now. Am I just supposed to choose: Do I put the events of today behind me and try and forget that even as much as I love her, she'll never love me back? Or do I acknowledge what she's only ever thought of me as and let that eclipse every other good thing about her?

And it starts all over again, the cycle of hating her and loving her and trying to understand a character I thought I knew so well. And what that means for me.

Who is she? I just don't know.

"Spike!"

My ears perk up at the sound. I would recognize that voice anywhere. No, it's not the accented, bold, perfect voice of Rarity; it's softer, gentle, and unassuming. Fluttershy's voice. Rarity's girlfriend.

I don't bother lifting my head to look at her.

The galloping hooves get closer to me until they slide to a stop and the breeze from her body reaches mine. "I'm so glad you're okay!" she says, still trying to catch her breath. She tries to wrap her hooves around me in a hug, but I swipe them away with my claws. I don't need consolation, especially from her.

She squeaks and backs up maybe a step, but she doesn't go away. Instead, she says, "I'm so sorry for what Rarity said to you." And when I don't respond, she keeps going. "Could we maybe go back to the Boutique? I think Rarity needs to see you."

Rarity? What would she need to see me for? She's not interested in me, clearly, and I don't care to even look at her right now. Not until I figure out where we stand. And even if she is sorry for what she said, what does that actually mean? That she's sorry I'm offended? That she's sorry Rarity didn't soften the blow? I peek my eyes up to see Fluttershy's yellow coat and pleading eyes with my own angry and skeptical ones. I put them down again and turn away, not saying a word.

"Please? She really does need to see you, and . . . and I think you need to see her, too. You would both feel better."

"Not interested," I mumble. I just want her to leave me to my own misery. "Don't you have a girlfriend to go back to?" I spit.

She squeaks again, but she still doesn't go away. I just sit silently, head in my hands and looking at the damp ground, hoping she'll lose her patience and go back home.

She doesn't.

We sit in a stalemate, her waiting for me to open up, and me not giving her that opportunity.

Eventually, she says something. "Please, Spike, come back for just a little bit? Rarity, she's . . . she's hurt."

"She's hurt?" I retort.

"I know, I know, and she hurt you too, but she didn't mean it; I know she didn't."

She knows she didn't. I know I can't avoid Rarity forever after this, but I don't want to see her again so soon. Not after something like this. Maybe one day she can try explaining why she didn't mean it or making it up to me or whatever, but I don't want to hear it. Not right now. She broke my heart today in too many ways. "Go away," I mutter.

She doesn't.

I haven't heard her hoofsteps or wings flapping their way back to the Boutique. I can still hear her breathing and non-starts as she tries to think of something to say. She's still there, just waiting for me to give up.

"Go away!" I yell, looking up angrily. "I want to be alone!"

Her eyes widen for a second and she shrinks back, shielding herself with a wing. She starts to turn like she's going to retreat, but she stops halfway in her movement. Why can't she decide when I've told her so many times that I don't want her there?

"I don't want to talk to her right now!" I keep yelling. "She betrayed me, okay? She just led me on for so long for whatever reason. I never had a chance, and she never let me know. Then she just had bring you with her to rub it—it . . ." I trip on my words as I briefly envision Fluttershy and Rarity in the boutique, eyes locked on each other, sharing a tender moment and communicating together without saying a thing. That real love, that connection that I never had a chance to have.

I grunt and put my face back in my hands, trying to hide the tears that I know are coming back. But Fluttershy knows what's happening; she hits me in my moment of weakness and wraps her hooves around me in a hug. Great. Now she's never going away. I try to swipe her hooves away again, but she doesn't let go.

"Oh, Spike. That must hurt very much," she says.

"Go away," I say feebly.

I feel her shake her head. "Not as long as you need a friend to cry on."

"I don't need you," I protest.

"I'm your friend first, Spike, and that's how it always will be."

I grumble-whimper and don't say anything more. I just try and contain my crying as I'm comforted by my own adversary. Isn't she?

I hate her. She's the one who took away the one I wanted, and she's the one standing between me and my dreams. She lives my dreams while I have to watch. The joy in those dreams that could have been, she stole it away and gets to make it her own. She's the one who gets everything and wins the beautiful mare, and I'm left with nothing but a broken heart. I should be jealous, bitter, spiteful . . . all those things.

But . . . I just can't. She's Fluttershy; it's just so hard to get mad at her for anything. She's too nice. And in the end, has she actually done anything wrong?

I might hate what Rarity said today, and I might hate the fact that she's taken, but I can't hate who she took. It's hard to disassociate "Fluttershy" from "Rarity's girlfriend," but the only thing Fluttershy's done today is come after me to make sure I was alright after I stormed away. It's what she does—cares for others—even as her girlfriend stays at home, where the love is, and where "Rarity's girlfriend" should be. Like I'm still her friend, and I'm still important.

"If Rarity's so hurt, shouldn't you be back with her, then?" I mumble.

She separates from me, and I see the concerned and worried look on her face. "I've comforted her all I can, but I can't help her anymore. She needs you. She needs the friend in you."

But is she really? A friend? It's almost absurd that I'm questioning this now—Twilight would be not be happy—but I don't know if I can forgive a pony who built our relationship on a lie.

I growl and sigh at the same time. It's funny; love is the only thing I've wanted from Rarity for the longest time, but Fluttershy is reminding me—by being a friend to me right now, I guess—that I've always had her friendship. And regardless of what I was wishing for, what I had was still pretty great. Maybe even more than the love I never had, I want the Rarity from before whom I was so easily a friend with. The one I could laugh with, have breakfast with, partner up with. And who just so happened to be exceptionally beautiful.

"I want the old Rarity back," I muse aloud.

"The old Rarity?"

"The one I liked. The one who had a real friendship with me."

"Oh, Spike . . ." Fluttershy shakes her head and gives me another quick hug. "She's still here."

"Where?"

"Back at the Boutique. That is the old Rarity, and she is very sad that she might have just made it seem like she didn't care about one of her best friends. She wants to say that she's sorry for her mistake. She wants to win your friendship again."

I stay silent, thinking. Those are only Fluttershy's words, though. I think she's telling the truth—but are some mistakes just too big to forgive? I don't know, but if they exist, this might be one of them. Then again, I almost ate the whole town once, and everyone forgave me for that. She was the first one.

"I just want our family to be together again," she says. "I don't mean just me and Rarity, but all of us. And I think . . . I think you want that too."

I didn't like the Rarity I saw today, but if Fluttershy's right, the Rarity who's hurt and the one who wants to apologize seems more like the selfless Rarity I thought I knew. The one I was a friend with and the one I want, maybe even more than the one who only loves me in dreams. I want the old one. The real one.

I look up to her eyes and read the words in them. Please, they say.

Grunting, I get to my feet, sniffle once, and wipe my eyes of any remnant tears.

Her eyes brighten and she smiles. Her eyes say everything they need to say. Thank you. She turns around, but instead of leading me back, she crouches down on the ground and stretches her wings down and out, revealing an open spot above her wings at her upper back.

I pause. "I thought we were walking back," I say.

"I'll fly you," she replies.

I've never had anyone other than Twilight offer me that before, and that doesn't happen often. Gingerly, I walk up to her and clamber on her back, finding a good spot straddling my legs over her withers and hugging her neck, trying not to get her hair in my eyes. Once I get comfortable, she stands up and takes to the air, floating at a leisurely pace back to the Boutique.

I'm still not sure why she did it, but it is very comfortable riding somepony when going someplace, and even more comfortable when they're flying there. Riding Fluttershy is more comfortable still. Her coat is second only to Rarity's, and she flies smoother than Twilight does. It's a luxury that no pony can really experience. It's not even something Rarity can do with her girlfriend, even though I am right now. It's . . . nice. Peaceful, even.

I feel Fluttershy's throat vibrate at my claws when she speaks. "Thank you, Spike. Rarity will be happy that you're giving her this chance."

"Yeah," I say back, maybe a little less happy about it. I ask her the question bouncing around in my mind. "Why did she do that?"

"Do what?"

"Why did she take so long to say anything? If she didn't care about my crush and didn’t want it to be anything, then why did she let it go on for years? Why did she wait until she found . . . someone else?"

Fluttershy doesn't respond immediately. Eventually, she says, "I don't know, Spike. Rarity doesn't tell me everything. But I know it was an honest mistake and that she never meant to hurt you."

"But how can you know that?" I stress. "If Rarity didn't tell you why, how can you know she didn't mean it?" It's this question that's the reason I don't know what to think of her right now.

Fluttershy glances back to me with one eye before responding. "I don't know why, Spike," she repeats. "But I have faith in her. I have faith that Rarity is trustworthy and good at heart and always looking out for her friends. We've spent enough time with her to know that. I think all of us have."

Faith? Fluttershy wants me to have faith. Faith in Rarity's goodwill and good heart, even when she makes mistakes. Faith in the Rarity I loved before. I want to believe in that Rarity, too. It's just a lot harder to do that when the mistake—betrayal—happens to you. Is it wrong for me to be skeptical?

I know she's not perfect and I know she makes mistakes. But this isn't just any mistake. And even if she explains and it is just a simple mistake, what then? She's still with someone else, and she's still never been interested in me. Those two things can't change. She can't leave without hurting me. Rarity's really good at dressing up words to make them all prim and proper, but they can't hide the truth. And if it really wasn't a mistake, even at all, can I really stand to forgive her?

These thoughts occupy me as Fluttershy continues to fly in silence. As the Boutique draws closer, I second guess whether I really want to see her again. She clearly doesn't want me—never has wanted me—but I know I won't be able to shrug off my feelings so easily when I see her. It happens every time.

3. Who We Are

Fluttershy lands at the Boutique's doorstep silently and pushes open the door. She walks in and crouches down again, prompting me to dismount. I hop off her, being careful not to bump her wings. "Thanks," I say quietly.

"You're welcome."

I look deeper inside the Boutique and let my eyes adjust. The lights are off, just like before, but the weather has the interior look even darker. And sitting in the same place I saw her last is her.

As if for verification, I glance towards Fluttershy. She looks on and points her chin towards Rarity. "Go to her, Spike. She needs you," she whispers.

I look back and walk up to her slowly. She's still sitting on the same cushion, but her back is turned, head hanging down. The tea set has been put away and in its place is the vase of flowers I brought earlier today and a small pile of well-used tissues, many stained gray and black from her makeup. She's otherwise motionless. I would think that she were napping were it not for the occasional sniffles I hear from her and the twitches from her shoulders.

"Rarity," I say, phrasing it as neither a question nor accusation.

Her ears perk up at the sound, and she turns her head to the side to look at me. As if I needed any more confirmation that she was crying, the whites of her eyes are pink, her eyes are moist, and the makeup around it is not nearly so perfect as it normally is. "Good day, Spike," she says. But despite the prim and proper greeting, her voice is anything but proper. It's normally so confident and lyrical, but now it's weak and defeated, like it could break to silence and whimpering at any moment. She's even quieter than Fluttershy usually is.

It all casts an image of a Rarity very different from any Rarity I knew. Whether it be from the old Rarity I was friends with, to the new one who lied about our relationship, even to the dramatic one who liked ice cream a lot, I don't see any of them now. This one is just miserable.

Some part of me feels the urge to hug and comfort her and get her back to where she should be, but another part feels some perverse satisfaction that she's suffering right now, just as she caused so much suffering in me. At the very least, I feel a little bit better that she's feeling bad about what she said to me.

"Why were you crying?" I ask simply.

"Because I fear that I may have just lost one of my dearest friends," she says in a voice heavy and hoarse with emotion. Rarity sniffles again and levitates over a fresh tissue, dabbing it at her eyes.

I sigh. "Yeah," I say, pushing a cushion right next to hers. I sit down on it, my back to hers, so we don't touch and don't look at each other. "Me too."

We sit in silence for a long time, it only interrupted as Rarity sniffles again and uses up another tissue. Neither of us seem particularly willing to talk. Meanwhile, Fluttershy walks to other side of the table and sits on her own cushion, observing us silently with a sad and pensive expression.

Eventually, I say one word: "Why?"

I don't need to explain to Rarity what I'm referring to; she already knows. She sighs. "There are just . . . just so many conflicting reasons that it would take hours to explain, even to myself."

"I'm not going anywhere," I respond, even though just minutes earlier, I didn't even want to come. I want to hear what she has to say, and Fluttershy would be very upset with me if I left now.

She pauses. "I don't know how to begin, and I don't know how I can tell you any of this without you getting even more angry at me. But—" she sniffles again "—you deserve the truth. As far as I know it to be."

"Yeah," I say simply.

The silence grows longer. When Rarity speaks again, her words are halting and bitter.

"Why, you ask. Why did I remain silent? Why did I neither shut you down nor entertain your advances?" It sounds like she's explaining this to me and herself. She keeps going. "I thought it was a crush. You said it was as much yourself. An infatuation of passion and thoughtlessness, a fire that seems to roar brightly but is quick to extinguish itself as time washes over it. Oh, I had plenty of them in my youth and perhaps my not-so-youth. You, looking at me—I thought it was no different."

Rarity has a special talent in dressing up her words, I know. But I've been around her long enough to understand what she's saying. I growl, the roaring anger I had before rekindling. But when I see the smoke come out of my nostrils, I feel a hoof on my shoulder. Fluttershy's hoof. She looks at me again with the eyes that speak: Faith, she says.

I try to suppress my anger. "Is that what you think now?" I say, tone controlled and my temper in check. "That it was just a petty crush and that I'd get over it?"

"No, no, not at all," she says quickly. She continues in a quieter voice. "Not after what I saw today. The strong and always-helpful Spike, normally such a gentleman, thrown into a terrible rage I'd never seen him in before because I couldn't respect the depth of feelings he had for me." Rarity scoffs self-deprecatingly. "Foolish of me."

I snort. At least she understands that part now. "I don't know what part of having dreams of you and getting a plush of you and doing anything for you says 'petty crush' to me. Why didn't you tell me that it wouldn't work? Why didn't you just tell me you weren't interested instead of letting me think I had a chance?"

"Darling," she starts, the first use of that word I've heard in a while, "I just did, this afternoon. I feared what you would think of me and how you would react, hence why I held my tongue until now."

I can feel my hackles rising again at the fact she still delayed for so long, but I feel Fluttershy's phantom touch too. Maybe she was right in feeling concerned—considering, well, today. "But holding your tongue until you found someone else?"

"Of course, in hindsight, I would have liked to bring it up sooner. But just as youthful crushes might be fleeting, they're nice to have, at least for a little while. Young love is passionate and wonderful, even if it does—er, would normally—not last very long. Surely, the pining after me and the dreams you might have had gave you some amount of happiness?"

I grunt, not wanting to acknowledge that she's right. Maybe so, but it's only real happiness if you actually have a chance.

She coughs. "And you're very, well, cute when you show up with flowers and act the smitten gentleman. I thought it crueler to end your crush prematurely and shatter those dreams than to let it continue and dissipate on its own."

Cute? I read what she doesn't say. I didn't just show up with flowers: I kissed her hooves—sometimes literally—and did her favors, no matter how icky and distasteful they were. She thought that was cute too? Leading me on to win favors while knowing nothing would come of it, that's cruel. "Cute and useful?"

She takes in a breath as if to speak, but lets it out in a sigh.

"You can't just do that and expect me to be okay with it, Rarity," I growl, turning around, ready to tirade about my love lost, the things I've done for her, the things I could have been—

She interjects. "I know, I know, I know a thousand times. I've made horrible mistakes, Spike. I know I should have told you the truth. I can't defend my choices, only explain why I did what I did. My suppositions are not your experience, and I should have taken your feelings more seriously." Rarity turns around then, looking at me for the first time in a long time. She takes the words from my mouth even now, saying her own instead. "I am sorry, Spike. I am sorry I manipulated you. I am sorry I treated your feelings as I would a childhood crush. I am sorry I assumed the problem would solve itself if I just ignored it for a little longer."

Every acidic retort on my tongue dies at that—there's nothing for me to argue against. Rarity is really proud most of the time; she doesn't apologize that often, and never like this. She's doing it right now, admitting that she did me wrong and apologizing for it. Now is the time that I should . . . forgive her?

I don't know if I can. If it was just an everyday mistake of miscommunication, it would be easy to forgive. But not when my love is on the line. Rarity embodies all the love I ever poured at anyone ever, and I can't just let go of that after one apology. There's years of real hopes and dreams and feelings hung up in that love. It's hard to forgive when she takes all that away from me.

There's an impossible dream that shows me and her together—forbidden now—but there's still a part of me that wants it and won't let go. I try and test my luck with what could have been and look her in the eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes. "Rarity, why is it that you don't want me?"

It's a question I never asked before. But once I say it, Rarity stiffens up and immediately looks away. Even Fluttershy lets out a tiny gasp I can hear.

"Spike," Rarity says in a voice tense and strangled, barely looking at me, "please understand that I am close to Twilight's age, and she could very well pose as your mother. It doesn't matter what I feel; I will not entertain your advances while you are still young and growing and learning about yourself and your interests. It's okay that you should want it, but I will not."

Does that mean she actually wants it, though? "But, but," I press on, "what do you think of me as?"

"I think of you as a young and courageous—"

"No, not that. You know, as, like, romantically."

". . . I can't answer that question, Spike."

"Is it because I'm too young that it won't work, or that you just don't like me? Because I'm growing now, Rarity!"

"Spike!" she cries, distressed. "I don't know! If you were older, things might—might!—have been different, but you are young now, and I've not even considered the possibility because of that. I know that you want me, and that is fine, but I will not reciprocate your feelings. And even as you grow, I am afraid that things will not change anymore. My heart belongs to Fluttershy."

"But—"

"Please do not ask me that question again!"

I've subconsciously scooted myself away from her, shocked at how strongly she said that. But it's just not—

"Spike."

I want to say more, but Fluttershy interrupts my thoughts. She's been so quiet this entire time. But her single word commands me to meet my eyes to her melancholy ones.

"Spike," she starts again, "I know how it feels to be excluded. How it feels so unfair that because of some rules, you can't have what you want. That maybe, just maybe, if the world was a little different, your dream would have come true. You feel like you missed your chance. Some things aren't meant to be, but you're powerless to change it.

"I've been there, Spike. You might not know, but I've wanted Rarity just like you for as long as you have. Maybe even longer. But I never said anything, and I never acted on it because I thought it was impossible that Rarity could ever have eyes for a mare, or ever have eyes for somepony like me. She wasn't interested, and anything I felt was just something else that wasn't meant to be."

Once again, there aren't any words I can say to that; she explained perfectly the feelings and misgivings I have but haven't given voice to. Fluttershy is where I want to be, yet it seems she's been where I am too. She understands me so well.

"It's miserable, loving somepony whom you know can never love you back, and you couldn't have done anything different to change it. I know how much it hurts." Fluttershy moves her eyes to Rarity. "I . . . still don't entirely know why she chose me at all."

"Sweetheart," Rarity whispers, looking back. "It's because friendship knows no bounds, and even in friendship, you've—"

"Let me finish, Rarity, please. Spike doesn't need to hear that."

Fluttershy's voice is quiet but powerful. Her words are more than enough to silence even her girlfriend, and Rarity only looks on in awe. I do too, again reminded of how much strength Fluttershy has when she's not overcome by fear or timidity. And it's touching that she's still looking after me, even now.

She turns back to me and continues. "But where we can't have our dreams and desires, we always have friendship. I'm Rarity's friend first, just like I'm your friend first, and I can't stand my friends getting hurt. Just because something won't go your way doesn't mean you're not their friend anymore. I want Rarity to be happy, and I've always wanted her to be happy—whether we were marefriends or not. That's why I never told her about my feelings; I wanted her, but I knew telling her would upset her. She . . . she figured it out herself." She glances at Rarity again, still silent, and looks back. "And I want you to be happy. Isn't Rarity your friend too?"

I don't know how to answer. It's a harder question than it has to be because just moments before, I was questioning whether she really was. Rarity was worried she'd lose me as a friend, and I was worried for the same. But she did apologize for what she did. If she really didn't care, and if our entire relationship was built on her manipulations, she wouldn't have been weeping about me. There is real friendship, and she cares about me. I am her friend. And I want to forgive her.

But admitting she's also my friend means accepting what Fluttershy said friends are supposed to do: care for each other unconditionally and strive to never cause them pain and distress. Admitting Rarity is my friend again means accepting that her heart is taken, and I can't take it back. Because asking for that—dreaming for that—isn't caring at all and is causing them pain. Both of them. It's challenging Rarity to let go of Fluttershy for me. Their relationship won't be at rest, and Rarity won't be happy for as long as I won't let go. It's okay for me to have my hand on her heart; that's what Rarity said. But I can't pull.

Friendship can be so hard sometimes. I've learned all of Twilight's friendship lessons right alongside her, but this is the hardest one I've ever had to learn.

Fluttershy is looking at me with that same sad look. I'm sure she knows what I'm feeling and what I'm thinking. She understands me, and she cares because I'm her friend. She's cared for me so much today already. But she's still challenging me to put my wants aside and do the right thing instead. I know that if I say "no"—that I'm not Rarity's friend anymore and can't accept caring for her when she will never reciprocate my feelings—I won't be Fluttershy's friend anymore, either. She'll be so disappointed in me, and she'll follow where her girlfriend goes. Away. The threat of losing her is almost as dire as losing Rarity.

And Rarity . . . She's only half looking at me. She glances at me for a moment before fixing her gaze on the floor. She looks scared—scared that she might lose one of her dearest friends, like she said. I don't want to lose her either. Fluttershy was right again: This is the old Rarity, the real Rarity. The one who genuinely cares for me, even when she makes mistakes. And the one I care for . . . whether there's romance or not.

I look down at the floor too. "Yeah," I whisper. The relationship I've always wanted is well and truly lost; I can't help but start weeping for it all over again.

A great rush of warmth quickly envelops me, followed by a voice I've loved and still love now. "Oh, Spike," she says, the heaviness in her voice telling me that she's weeping too. "Thank you."

I open my arms and hug her back. Not as a boyfriend—just a friend. Her hugs are still just as good as they ever were.

I feel another rush of warmth as Fluttershy embraces me from behind with her hooves and wraps up both of us in her wings.

I know I should hate her for a lot of reasons. She's why everything is unfair. But for so many more, I don't. She came after me after I got angry because she cared for me. She understood better than anyone else how it feels to care even when it hurts. And she did exactly what she said she would: she brought our family together. It takes a special pony to do all of that . . . just like it takes a special pony to deserve someone like Rarity. Of course I don't hate her.

"Fluttershy?" I ask in a quiet, heavy voice.

"Yes?" she responds just as quietly.

I sigh, exhaling all the fantasies I hung on to for so long. I'll never have a chance—or shadow of a chance—again. Of course it's not what I wanted, but it's not what I can wish for. I care for them. They're both my friends.

And . . . they make a good pair.

I can only manage to whisper, "Just . . . be good to her."

I hear a tiny gasp as she redoubles her hug and nuzzles my cheek. "I will, Spike. I will."