After Action

by BlazzingInferno

Rating: teen
Tags: Soarin, Romance, Drama, Wonderbolts, Spitfire, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 10117

Soarin has known thrilling victories and crushing defeats, some of them in front of thousands of spectators, and others in the company of only his closest friend. Sometimes it's the quiet moments that make all the difference.

The life of a Wonderbolt is full of cheering crowds and awe-inspiring feats of flight. For Soarin, some of the most critical moments of all, the moments that have shaped and reshaped everything and everyone he holds dear happened away from the crowds and out of the sky. Sometimes the greatest changes wait until after the action is over.

Featured on Equestria Daily!
Cover art designed by Novel Idea
Pre-read by FanOfMostEverything

Part of Mana's Wonderful Wonderbolts Writing Contest

Published 2018-02-05 19:00:06 UTC
Last updated 2018-02-09 18:37:33 UTC

Direction

What am I doing here?

Soarin still hadn’t decided, not since he’d first received the formal letter of acceptance a week ago, nor in all the hectic days that followed. The question haunted him as he stepped through the castle gates with a gold-inlaid invitation clasped under a wing, and as he drifted through the sea of unfamiliar ponies who all seemed to have a much better idea of where they were going.

Was he really a Wonderbolt now? He didn’t have a flight suit yet. He hadn’t seen the barracks where he’d be expected to eat and sleep. All he knew was that he’d answered the invitation he received that afternoon, for all Wonderbolts to arrive at six in the evening at Canterlot Castle for an audience with Princess Celestia herself.

“Soarin, you made it!” a mare said.

He turned, his gaze whisking over the opulent ballroom and its mixture of lavishly dressed Canterlot elite and uniform-clad Wonderbolts. He’d heard that voice every school day, and all through summer flight camp; it belonged to a pony two years older than him, a mare who’d wowed all of Cloudsdale when the Wonderbolts Academy made her their youngest cadet in decades and their newest member soon afterwards.

All those facts flashing through his head didn’t prepare him for seeing her, for instantly recognizing the fiery orange mane and virtually nothing else. Her sparkling coat and muscular wings spoke of grace and power, while her smile exuded pure confidence. The filly he remembered had turned into a phenomenally attractive mare.

“S… Spitfire?”

Spitfire trotted over and offered him a hoof bump. “It’s been a long time! I haven’t seen you since—”

“Summer flight camp, right before your family moved across town.”

She grinned and cocked an eyebrow. “Somepony’s got a good memory.”

Everything from Soarin’s tail to his wings went tense, but his smile remained. “I-it was just a great summer… having cloud-busting contests, racing each other around the field, hanging out on the cloud bank during lunch…”

“Heh, yeah, I guess it was pretty great. So how does it feel to be here?”

“Great!” he said automatically. Of course it was great. “Only…”

“Let me guess: it doesn’t feel real. You don't feel like a Wonderbolt yet?

“Yeah!” His gaze drifted past her to the massive buffet table. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Yeah…”

Spitfire gave him a playful cuff with her wing. “Get used to it. You’re the kind of pegasus we need on the team. Tomorrow’s your first official day and everything, but I made sure you were on the invite list for tonight. It’s only fair.”

Nothing about that immense dessert spread looked fair. “Thanks…”

At last she noticed his sugary staring contest and promptly cuffed him again. “Take it easy, hummingbird. We’ll grab some food right after the big announcement.”

Soarin couldn’t help laughing. “You and your friends used to call me that all the time.”

“Only because you lived on sugar. We’ll find you a new nickname tomorrow, trust me.”

He took another look around the room, picking each Wonderbolt out of the crowd and imagining what it’d be like to shake their hoof, not to mention fly alongside them. “You’ll show me the ropes, right? And introduce me to everypony?”

“I’d better. It’s part of my job.”

His eyes went back to her confident smile. “Your job?”

Spitfire winked, smiling all the brighter. “You’ll see. Just wait a minute.”

Metal-clad hooves echoed across the floor as guards streamed through a tall arched doorway. The partygoers quieted down as they turned to watch, some whispering that the princess was coming.

“That armor looks really heavy,” Soarin whispered.

“It is. Royal guards are built like minotaurs, but they’re nice enough.”

“Do you hang around them much?”

“Jealous?”

There was no hiding his blush. “No! I-I was just wondering.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time in Canterlot recently. I even got to meet Princess Celestia, one on one.”

“Whoa! What’s that like?”

Spitfire flashed him another smile, this one sharing some of his own open-mouthed amazement. “It’s like she sees through you. She totally knows everything, but she barely told me half of what I expected… It’s almost like she wanted me to answer most of my own questions or something.”

Ten royal guards now formed a line on either side of the door, their armor shining in the lamplight. They bowed in perfect unison while an eleventh stationed in the doorway spoke. “Wonderbolts and distinguished guests, please welcome Her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia.”

Soarin’s forelegs seemed to bend automatically, bowing along with everypony else as the Princess herself, the ruler of all of Equestria, strolled through the doorway. “Good evening, everypony. Thank you for joining me this evening.”

Soarin watched Princess Celestia make her way through the room, smiling at each and every pony with such ease and apparent sincerity that he wondered if he’d stumbled into a room of all her closest friends. She didn’t stop until she reached a small stage in one corner, not bothering to ascend its three shallow steps. “I think you can all see me already, can’t you? If not, I suppose I could find a stool.”

A quiet laugh swept through the room, and he couldn’t help grinning. The joke didn’t diminish from her regality in the least, as far as he was concerned; if anything he felt a little more at ease. “Wow. She’s awesome!”

Spitfire wasn’t next to him anymore. When did she slip away? He shrugged and turned back to the Princess. He’d catch up with her soon enough.

“It’s not often that we gather all the Wonderbolts together in a ballroom instead of in a stadium or on a cloud bank,” Princess Celestia continued, “but it’s also not often that we see such a celebrated captain enter retirement. Captain Starflare’s declining health kept him from joining us tonight, but he did leave a brief letter that I’d love to share with you.”

Soarin held his breath. He owned five pictures of Captain Starflare, three of them autographed.

“My fellow Wonderbolts. It’s time for me to step aside and let a younger pony get to know how amazing it is to be your captain. I couldn’t be prouder of the team you’ve become, and of the chance I’ve had to fly with you for so many years. I want to leave you with a reminder never to forget the ideals that make us the great team we are today: Integrity.”

Soarin nodded. “Integrity.”

“Teamwork.”

He nodded again. “Teamwork.”

“And perseverance.”

He nodded once more, determined to never forget these sacred words. “Perseverance!”

“Signed, Starflare. Forever a Wonderbolt.”

Hoof stomps and cheers filled the room, Soarin’s among them, until Princess Celestia quieted the crowd with no more than an approving nod. “It’s now my honor to introduce the new captain of the Wonderbolts, and to invite her to join me here in front of you. Spitfire?”

Spitfire stepped onto the stage amid renewed applause, still smiling confidently, and still offering Soarin a friendly glance despite her now standing shoulder to shoulder with royalty.

A small wooden box floated before Princess Celestia, its polished sides shining like mirrors. “Since the founding of the Wonderbolts, this compass has been passed down from captain to captain. It’s a symbol of their pledge to always hold themselves to the highest standard, and to always keep their team flying in the right direction. Tonight it’s my honor to pass it to you, Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts. Congratulations.”

There was no stopping the cheering this time. The other Wonderbolts took to the air and pumped their hooves high, which Spitfire answered with a nod and a gracious bow.

Soarin cheered and whistled. “You’ll do great, Spitfire! I know you will!”

There was nothing more to be said, and Princess Celestia seemed to know it. Instead she raised her foreleg toward the line of tables by the wall, silently making the pronouncement Soarin had been hoping for: let’s eat.

Virtue

Soarin leaned against the stone bench he and Spitfire had discovered. Half of the Grand Galloping Gala’s guests had fled, and the rest were complaining loudly to anypony within earshot. He couldn’t piece together what went wrong first, if the food fight triggered the animal stampede, or if the sudden blast of dance music led to the decorative columns toppling like dominos. The only certainty was that he and Spitfire were safe and undetected, at least for the now.

Muttering voices sounded over the hedges. “Simply dreadful! Dreadful! When I find the pony responsible…”

Spitfire groaned as another roving band of irate socialites passed by their hiding place, no doubt searching for somepony official-looking to tear into. “Who the hay invited those party crashers?”

Soarin scratched at his mane, worried that he’d pull out yet another lump of cake frosting covered in bird feathers. His eyes kept darting to the small gap in the hedge, the entrance to the garden that had become their impromptu sanctuary. Flower beds bursting with exotic flora flanked their every side, filling their noses with sweet scents. They couldn’t have picked a nicer looking place to hide.

“What do we do now, wait for the Princesses to fix everything?” he asked. Pluralizing ‘Princess’ still felt strange. He’d practiced saying it during his afternoon flight drills, just in case the topic came up. Going to the Grand Galloping Gala had sounded so formal and important, completely unlike the madness they’d just escaped.

Spitfire snorted. “As long as somepony fixes it all, somepony that isn’t us. Maybe we should just hit the clouds. The others can fend for themselves.”

Even as he nodded in agreement, a doubt stirred in him. This first year had passed by so quickly, the wonder of joining Equestria’s most elite fliers giving way to an unbroken cycle of practices, air shows, and special events much more subdued than this one. One of the few constants had been the words he repeated at the start of every day. Would a real Wonderbolt sit here and hide? Where was his integrity now? “Do you think anypony was hurt?”

“Not that I could see. I’m sure everypony’s fine… unless Fleetfoot really did sneak into the cider cellar like she was joking about. We’ll have to fish her out with a net.”

He couldn’t hold back a grin. “Think she’ll save us some?”

She shot him a grin of her own. “Heh, could you actually down a glass, or even a drop?”

A long, rumbling burp escaped Soarin’s mouth the instant he opened it. The platefuls of hors d'oeuvres he’d scarfed down were starting to feel like a bad idea. He still stood behind eating a whole apple pie, though. Getting genuinely homemade baked goods like that in the city was next to impossible.

Spitfire’s smile devolved into a laugh. “You’re going to turn into a blimp if you don’t cut back.”

“Hey, I’m in great shape! I almost beat you in the last fly-off.”

“And how many pies ago was that?”

“I—” he looked away “—I just like pie, all right? I can go wing to wing with anypony on the team.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

He shot a glance to the sky, wondering how bad it’d look for a Wonderbolt to flee the scene with disaster in his wake and well-to-do pegasi on his tail. Instead of taking off, he flared his wings and puffed out his chest. “I do fifty wingups before breakfast, twenty laps around the field before team practice, sixty—”

And then he saw her smile, brimming with her usual confidence as well as something new, something like hunger. Her lips were parted and visibly moist, as if she'd just been licking them. She’d reclined across the bench, the lightning bolt pattern on her flight suit tracing a skintight path from her neck downwards. She raised one seductive eyebrow, beckoning to him. “Prove it.”

“Uuh,” His brain wasn’t working, which prompted his wings to take over. He floated forward, towards the gorgeous mare before to him, the mare that was about as far out of his league as Princess Luna.

Spitfire pulled him onto the bench beside her, wrapping a leg over him. “How about we forget about the gala and the Wonderbolts for a little while? Sound like fun?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah!”

She snickered and kissed his neck. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually, you hunky goofball… all the signals I’ve been giving you.”

For a second Soarin was speeding through the skies and also curled up by a fire: cool and warm, ecstatic and at ease. “Signals… You mean like how you’re always ragging on me to stay in shape?”

“Maybe like how I kept hanging around and training with you, even when you know all the routines? Maybe like how I stuck with you all tonight instead of palling around with Fleetfoot? Maybe like how just before the party went south, I did this?”

Her wing brushed his with a hint of flirtatious invitation known only to pegasi.

“I thought I imagined that… I never thought you… and me…” His hooves stroked her back, shaking slightly as simple hormones overwhelmed the pure incredulity overtaking all rational thought; she was the most beautiful pegasus ever. The Wonderbolts rulebook was the only reason he’d never told her.

“The rulebook!” he stiffened and nearly slipped off the bench.

She grunted and pulled him closer again, her lips finding his ear. “Rulebook?”

And then he couldn’t think again. He mumbled some half-remembered paragraph about on-team relationships being frowned upon as they pressed against each other with nothing but flight suits between. Forget the Wonderbolts rulebook. Forget the Wonderbolts.

“I know you two jerks are hiding around here somewh—whoa!”

Soarin fell off the bench, catching a glimpse of Fleetfoot standing at the garden entrance before landing face first in the grass. He sat up as fast as he could, but it hardly mattered. She stood frozen in place, her mouth agape, her balance unsteady, and her breath reeking of cider. Spitfire had scrambled into a more dignified position on the bench, but there was no hiding the blush on her cheeks or how she and Soarin had been positioned a second ago.

Fleetfoot gave her head a vigorous shake, as if she thought she’d only imagined finding her closest teammates, the other two thirds of the most famous Wonderbolts trio in the world, making out on a secluded garden bench. A grin spread across her face and laughter soon followed. “I can’t believe I caught you two goofballs… right in the middle of… and in the royal garden… ha ha! This almost makes getting trapped under that ice sculpture worth it!”

“Keep it down, Fleets!” Spitfire said, her voice barely more than a growl. “We’ll see you later.”

Fleetfoot saluted and then stumbled out of view, still laughing. “Carry on, Captain! Give me the after action report tomorrow! Ha!”

Soarin got to his hooves, his cheeks on fire and a knot forming in his gurgling stomach. “I—”

He didn’t know what he was going to say next, and he didn’t get a chance to find out. His abs clenched as tight as a vice and vomit drenched the flower beds. Maybe the pie had been a bad idea after all. He fell to his knees, head spinning and stomach aching.

Spitfire slid across the bench, as far away from him as possible. “This was a huge mistake.”

Seeing her scowl did nothing to ease his heaving stomach. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. I shouldn’t have… anyway… Let’s keep this quiet. Just get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll see you back at the barracks tomorrow. We’re supposed to be a team, right?”

A flurry of wingbeats heralded her departure.

All he could do was sit while his stomach churned and his muscles ached. The mess he’d made of the flowers was nothing compared to the mess that was rest of the night.

“Supposed to be a team… Since when?”

He looked up at the night sky, hoping to catch a final glimpse of Spitfire leaving him and the rulebook behind. “Up there we’re a team… down here though… Did you miss the rule about heavy drinking too, and leaving ponies in distress?”

Blaming Spitfire for everything only took him so far. What good were those three words he repeated every morning if he forgot them after nightfall? Where was his integrity? Where was the teamwork? He couldn’t think clearly enough to judge perseverance, unless vomiting counted; he’d be persevering at that for at least another minute.

He hunched forward, downtrodden by his heart more than his stomach. He was a Wonderbolt all right, for all the good that did him.

Humility

The locker room door slammed behind Soarin, nearly drowning out the stadium’s still-roaring crowd. The Wonderbolts derby was over, but he could still hear the flap of the starter’s flag. He could still feel the wind in his mane and see the fast-approaching finish line.

He could still sense Fleetfoot edging past him.

His sweaty flight suit landed on the ground, and he gave it an angry kick towards the row of lockers on the far wall. Tiny, cider-guzzling Fleetfoot beat him. Where was she at sunrise when he was tearing around the skies over the barracks, or after hours when he practiced their flight routines? “How’d I come in third?”

The door flew open as Spitfire stormed in, eyebrows knit into a scowl that could turn a storm cloud white. “What the hay was that, Soarin?”

He tipped his head back, groaning. “Not now, Spitfire. I’m kind of—”

“You’d better be about to say bleeding or on fire, because why the hay else would you leave before we could take our team victory lap?”

“I—”

She hovered over him, their noses inches apart. “The Wonderbolts are a team! I’ve been saying that for months, and you're still dragging us down!”

Soarin rolled his eyes and turned away. “Yeah, you’re always shouting that, but nopony’s listening. Fleetfoot’s bed smells like an apple orchard, the only time you’re not yelling at us is during shows, half the time Blaze is asleep… There’s no teamwork.”

Spitfire’s goggles smashed against the locker next to him.

He glanced back at her red-faced glare, but only for a moment. “You heard me.”

“That’s not true. Take it back.” She wasn’t shouting, but somehow her somber tone carried more anger and menace than if she'd been using a megaphone.

“No.”

“You want to know why Fleetfoot and I destroyed you today?”

He did. “No.”

She hovered closer, close enough for her breath to tickle his ear. “We’re actually trying.”

A chill swept through him. He hunched down, away from her words, before regaining enough defiance to turn and face her. “Hey! I’m up at sunrise every day! I practice late into the—”

“Since when?”

“Since my first day on the team!” Now he was shouting.

“And then what happened?”

“I was out there doing laps just this m—” his own memory caught up with his mouth “—I mean last… uh…”

It hadn’t been that long, had it? A few less wingups one day, skipping early morning laps the next, and a little extra to eat shouldn’t have turned into anything bad. It shouldn’t have, and yet he couldn't remember the last morning that didn't begin and end with pastries instead of practice.

“The rest of us are all out there busting our tails while you’re getting more breakfast. I don’t say anything because that’s your free time, just like when Blaze naps and Fleetfoot parties. The difference is you’re hurting our public image, you pie-eating baby.”

She pointed to a poster on the wall, an illustration of three pegasi flying over the Wonderbolts insignia. “That’s our team right there: the image of ponies in perfect formation, moving as one. I’ll keep shouting that until I lose my voice if I have to, because that’s what matters!”

Fleetfoot stepped through the doorway and groaned. “Oh, no. We’re not doing this again!”

Spitfire and Soarin turned in time to see her step out, shut the door, and lock it. Her voice floated through it a moment later. “You two are fixing whatever’s got you riled up right now, because I’m not putting up with another month of whining and shouting like after the Gala. You’re both staying in there until I hear apologizing or moaning. Got that?”

Spitfire slammed her shoulder against the door, which didn’t budge. “I’m bucking this thing down, Fleetfoot!”

“Ooh, say it louder! I don’t think all the reporter ponies coming to interview me can hear! This is for your own good, Spits.”

Soarin couldn’t help smiling. “It’s just our free time, Captain. It doesn’t matter what we do, right?”

Spitfire rounded on him. “This is different! Didn't you always used to be the one talking about integrity, teamwork, and something?”

His smile vanished. He looked at his discarded flight suit and thought back to his nearly abandoned morning ritual. “Perseverance.”

“So what happened, Soarin? Six months ago there was no stopping you. You were dedicated, and fast, and couldn’t stop chanting ‘integrity, teamwork, perseverance’ every morning in the barracks. Nopony’s come up through the ranks like that since me. Why do you think the fans call you one of the top three Wonderbolts?”

The floor felt cold when he sat down. All the sweating he’d done during the race would have him shivering soon. Worse still, he felt tired. He never used to feel tired, not unless he flew a marathon. The derby race had been ten laps around a small track; he should’ve been able to do twenty laps without breaking a sweat. “The Grand Galloping Gala happened.”

Silence hung in the air, just as he knew it would. Spitfire never talked about the Gala, and by silent agreement neither did he.

“That was just a big mistake,” she whispered.

“Huge.”

“And… and I figured you of all ponies would get that the rulebook is there for a reason… and you’d be able to put what happened behind us so we can be better Wonderbolts… a better team.”

There was that word again. “Heh, us… a team…”

“Don’t you start…” her voice rose, but not to a shout. That alone was an improvement.

“So the… mistake at the Gala… You figured that was just a one-time thing?”

She nodded, her familiar smile and her equally familiar anger replaced by simple contrition. “I’m sorry, all right? Afterwards I swore to myself I’d be a better captain from then on, and that means putting the team first… putting teamwork first.”

He nodded too. There was no point in saying anything else about it, about how he’d wondered ever since if one time could’ve turned into two, or three, or a hundred.

She held out a hoof and offered a smile. “Are we good?”

Her hoof beckoned to him. He stared at it, at her, and at his flight suit. The three words he’d once lived and flown by echoed in his ears. “No.”

Her eyebrows shot up and her ears drooped. That must have hurt. “But…”

“Permission to take a leave of absence, Captain? I need to clear my head, fix my eating habits, train harder… I’ll come back a better Wonderbolt.”

And if I can’t, I won’t come back at all.

Spitfire stared at him, her expression blank. “Okay… Granted.”

Soarin turned to the door and called to Fleetfoot. “We’re done fighting! Let us out!”

“Hey,” Spitfire whispered, a touch of worry creeping into her voice, “We’ll catch up in my office, whenever you're ready to come back. Deal?”

He nodded. Maybe he'd be back in a week. Maybe he'd never see her again. “Deal.”

Perspective

“I’ll have the spinach salad with no dressing, and a small slice of blueberry pie, please.”

The waitress gave Soarin a nod before bustling off to the packed diner’s next booth. “Comin’ right up.”

He watched her go, wondering if she’d stop, turn back, and stare at him in sudden recognition. He’d heard so many variations of “hey, you’re that Wonderbolt!” that these quiet moments of anonymity felt like strange yet welcome gifts. Here he was, daring to go out in public but not being badgered for autographs or explanations about why he wasn’t in the last air show. It got easier as time went on; once a few splashy Wonderbolts events came and went without him, his face seemed to leave the public consciousness just as quickly and quietly as it left hoofbills and posters.

He cracked a smile, a genuine one for nopony but himself. He’d been smiling a lot lately, and had given up trying to understand why. It wasn’t just the change of scenery, the transition from always-crowded barracks to a single-room cloud apartment. It wasn’t just the change of pace, sleeping, eating, and flying strictly on his own terms. It wasn’t even the change of company, the long hours of quiet contemplation intermixed with visiting family members and old friends. Everything around him had changed, and he couldn’t help changing with it.

The Wonderbolts had never seemed further away, just like his foalhood dreams of joining them in the skies. He’d done that already. He’d experienced the elation that came with a crowd’s roaring approval, and he’d paid the daily toll that the team exacted from each of its members.

A plate loaded down with greens landed in front of him, and he shared his glowing smile with the waitress. “Thanks!”

She smiled back. “Enjoy your lunch, honey. I’ll get your pie in a sec.”

Once again she didn’t recognize him, and once again he loved it.

“An hour to get a table? Seriously? I have to be back by then, and this is the only place open for miles!”

He glanced to the waiting area at the front, where a hooffull of ponies were reclining on chairs and casting slightly impatient looks at the customers already eating. His eyes locked onto the mare speaking with the hostess, or rather on the blue, lightning-streaked uniform covering her light turquoise coat. Except she wasn’t a Wonderbolt; the uniform came to a stop around her middle, leaving her cutie mark exposed. She was a cadet then, probably spending some downtime away from the academy. He couldn’t blame her, considering what he remembered choking down in the academy mess hall.

“H-hey,” he said. Instantly he regretted it. What was he thinking, giving up his blissful solitude?

Her eyes flicked over to him, her indignation about the wait time still fully intact. “What?”

Too late now. “You’re a Wonderbolts cadet, right? I’ll buy you a coffee.”

She stared at him, her bright orange eyes grilling him just like a certain captain’s used to. After a moment she glided over to his booth and dropped into its other seat. “Thanks. Coffee’s all it’s going to be, though. Got it?”

He nodded. “Got it. I’m just trying to be nice.”

She’d recognize him any second now. He was sure of it.

Instead she glanced to the menu sitting on the table. ”Well… maybe it’ll just be coffee and a sampler platter or something… but I’ll pay for that.”

“Sure. I ordered some pie, so the waitress should be back soon.”

“Thanks.”

The booth became silent again, save for her fidgeting with the menu and occasionally giving him a look and a sigh.

Had they taken his picture off the wall of Wonderbolts in the academy, or something? Had Spitfire thrown everything with his likeness on it in some back closet, or set it on fire? “So… how long have you been at the academy?”

He didn’t like how his voice sounded, so quiet and unsure. Her piercing gaze made it clear she didn’t care for it either. “Tomorrow’s my last day.”

That brought a smile to his face. “Wow, congratulations!”

“I mean I’m leaving.”

And then his smile was gone. “Oh… Sorry.”

She kept her gaze on the menu. “It’s not your fault the Wonderbolts aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

If only he was in a sharing mood. He could tell her stories until sundown.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard I trained just to get there, how hard I pushed myself,” she murmured. “Turns out, being the fastest pony in the sky isn’t good enough for them!”

Nothing short of being Princess Celestia would be good enough. “You were the fastest, huh?”

“By a mile. I broke an academy record the first day! But then… ugh. It’s so messed up. If the Wonderbolts aren’t the limit-pushing ponies I thought they were—”

The waitress returned with Soarin’s pie. “Here you go, honey. And who’s your friend?”

The cadet rolled her eyes. “Lightning Dust. Could I get an extra strong coffee, and a hayburger with no cheese?”

“You got it.”

Soarin stared down at his two plates: a healthy salad and a modestly sized pie slice. In between the two he saw his reflection in the countertop. The pony staring up at him didn’t look like the one Lightning Dust would’ve seen in academy photographs anyway; that other pony smiled too much, thought too little, and was never seen out of uniform. That other pony was also notably heavier. “From what I’ve heard… from friends who knew Wonderbolts I mean… they don’t don’t even follow their own rules. The team’s a total mess on the inside.”

Lightning Dust grunted. “Then somepony needs to fix it.”

“Huh?”

She leaned across the table, her voice low and grating. “When something’s broken, you either fix it or get a new one!”

“We’re not talking about a busted table leg or something. This is a team of ponies.”

“Doesn’t matter! I met the Wonderbolts captain, and she’s totally forgotten what makes her team awesome! Nopony ever goes to a Wonderbolts show because they’re ‘respectful’ or ‘think before they act’… You ever been to one of their shows?”

Soarin fixed his eyes on his pie. ”Yeah… A while ago.”

“I went to this show once where Misty Fly dove so low her tail brushed the ground. If she’d pulled up a tenth of a second later, she would’ve been a pancake. That’s the kind of stuff that makes the Wonderbolts cool. That’s what I tried to show Spitfire at the academy and… ugh.”

“Do you know why Misty Fly did that?”

“Because she got it! She got what the Wonderbolts are about, and she wanted to show everypony how—”

Soarin stared at her, his eyes hard and his jaw set. “Her goggles were fogged over, from the double cloud barrel roll she did just before. She was only supposed to dive until she rejoined the team’s formation, but the clouds made it too hard to see and…”

Misty didn’t leave the ground for two days after that, and still didn’t like doing stunts on cloudy days.

“Well it looked cool,” Lightning Dust muttered. “That’s what convinced me to sign up.”

His stomach rumbled, and he leaned down and took a bite of salad. It wasn’t half bad without dressing, now that he’d gotten used to the taste. No salad dressing was a small price to pay for keeping his lap times in check while still getting to have pie once in a while.

“Who’s your friend in the Wonderbolts, anyway?”

He stopped chewing, but only briefly. It used to be Spitfire. “I can't say.”

“Heh, well if you get a chance, tell them to start changing stuff. Make the Wonderbolts awesome from the inside out.”

Spinach caught in his throat. He coughed a couple times and wiped tears from his eyes. “From the inside out?”

She nodded, grinning slyly. “Beg, bargain, kick some tail… Whatever it takes to make things better.”

“Whatever it takes,” he repeated. Perseverance was what it would take.

Maybe he could go back after all, at least long enough to convince Spitfire to try helping ponies live the team’s ideals in and out of the sky. If she wouldn't listen, he could leave. If he caught himself becoming less of a pony again, he could leave. If there wasn't anything in the Wonderbolts left to salvage, he could leave. The only true failure would be to keep going on like he was now, undecided and uncommitted. “Deal.”

Lightning Dust gave him an approving nod. “I knew you'd see things my way.”

Integrity

The barracks was almost never this quiet. Granted, Soarin rarely stayed inside during prime flying hours like these. The late afternoon sun was beating down on the grassy fields and black pavement surrounding the Wonderbolts headquarters, and the team members he’d expected to see for the first time in months were likely tearing up the skies somewhere far above. Maybe that was for the best; he could slip in unannounced, unpack his stuff, and surprise everypony when they came back in for dinner. That sounded safer anyway; he’d see Spitfire in a big group first and get an early warning on if she planned on hugging or socking him. He wouldn’t put either past her at this point, not after his spending so long away without so much as a postcard.

He walked through room after room of once-familiar scenery, like a half-forgotten childhood home. Spitfire had hurried him through here on his first day, pointing out everything from trophies to bathrooms on their way to pick up his first flight suit. Wasting time admiring the team memorabilia wasn’t an option, not then or now.

Spitfire’s office didn’t look that special from the outside. The only thing distinguishing its door from all the others was the brass nameplate next to it. “Spitfire. Team Captain.”

A loud thump and a crash answered him.

Startled, he took a look around the deserted hallway before tapping on the door. “Spitfire? Are you in there?”

“I’m busy right n—Soarin?”

That sounded like enough of an invitation to him. He gave the door a push and almost stepped in ink as he crossed the threshold. The floor was littered with Wonderbolts posters, all autographed with Spitfire’s hoofprint, and all soaking up the contents of an upended ink bottle gurgling its contents onto the hardwood floor.

Spitfire sat behind her desk, surrounded by stacks of posters. She stared at him through wet eyes, her mouth open and her mane in ink-stained tangles. “Soarin?”

All he could think to do was nod. “Hey.”

She nodded back, smiling an obviously strained smile that made her upper lip quiver. “H-hey. It’s… It’s been a while.”

Soarin flew over the ink spill and landed beside her. She looked so small, hunched over a desk instead of commanding the skies and the ponies within it. All the pleas, pleasantries, and insults he’d dreamed of throwing at her suddenly felt frivolous. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

He scratched behind his ear and looked at the ink on the floor. Had it fallen from the desk, or been shoved off? He’d seen her angry plenty of times, but never sad enough to cry. “Uh…”

“Just say it.” Her hard tone made it a command, not a request.

He stood up straight and looked at the pony who was his team captain. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

She placed her head on the desk and folded her wings over her face, mane dangerously close to another ink puddle. “I’m a wreck, okay? Maybe you should come back tomorrow instead… I’ll make sure there’s a big welcome back party or something. Y-you’re coming back, right?”

He had no idea. “Um… Want to get out of here for a while?”

“Why? What’s it matter?”

“Uh… Just… pretend this is summer flight camp, and we’ve got two free hours before we have to go home. Where do you want to go?”

“We’re not foals anymore, Soarin… I barely even remember flight camp.”

Soarin stepped forward and took a deep breath. “Okay… but you’ve still got to get out of this office, before you dye your mane black.”

Spitfire sat up in an instant, splattering droplets of ink across the walls. “I hate autographing stuff.”

“Come on, let’s grab an early dinner and you can tell me what’s up.”

“Why?”

“Because a change of scenery helps a lot. I would know, right?”

She met his grin with a scowl. “I’m the captain of the Wonderbolts. I can’t disappear for five months just because I feel like moping.”

He swallowed hard, but managed to keep his smile intact; he didn’t want his five months to turn into six. “How about just for an hour, maybe while one of the cadets cleans up all the spilled ink?”

That got her to smile briefly. “I might know a couple troublemakers who’ve earned a lousy assignment or two, but… I can’t risk it. I can’t leave right now.”

“Risk what? You can take a break once in a—”

Her hooves crashed against the desk, toppling another stack of posters. “No I can’t! While you’ve been out on vacation, I’ve been… I’ve…”

Part of him was ready to leave. Where was the Spitfire who’d been so friendly and nice, the one who’d introduced him to the team, shown him the barracks, and made sure he never had to train alone? Had this hotheaded mare replaced her for good? “What happened?”

She started to sniffle. “A lot.”

“Like?”

“The Canterlot brass says we need to shut the academy down.”

His gasp nearly sucked all the air out of the room. “What?”

“It’s just for a month, for a safety inspection. But if they don’t like what they find…”

“But why? What happened?”

“A cadet went totally nuts and wrecked a hot air balloon; the ponies inside almost got flattened.”

He could guess the perpetrator’s name. “That’s on the cadet, not you.”

“You don’t get it, Soarin. I’m the captain. I’m in charge, so when a cadet under my command creates a tornado and endangers lives, that’s on me. When the Wonderbolts shows start having more accidents than stunts, that’s on me. When… When somepony higher up says the team isn’t performing as well as it was a year ago, that’s on me. We’ve had so many screwups since I got promoted… Remember when we judged Best Young Flier and some enchanted unicorn almost ate topsoil because we messed up saving her? Then there was the whole thing with trying to stop the dragon terrorizing Ponyville… There’s been more stuff, too. So much more.”

Soarin shivered. The room suddenly felt way too big and cold. The far wall might as well have been the other side of Equestria. “But…”

Her hooves hid her eyes, but not the tears rolling down her coat. “It’s all on me. I’m… I'm running out of second chances.”

“Would they really kick you off the team?”

“Maybe they’d just make somepony else captain, but what’s the difference? It’s not like anypony’s going to care about some has-been like me anyway.”

He pounded a hoof on the desk. “Snap out of it! We can fix this. We’re still both Wonderbolts, so let’s act like it.”

Spitfire stood and wiped her nose, her eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that mean? I go back to busting my tail and you disappear again instead of squaring stuff with me?”

He groaned and turned away, wings spread in frustration. “Ugh, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I got out of shape, and whined about it, and couldn’t get over the Gala. Is that what you want to hear?”

The room was silent, save for his angry breathing. She wasn’t crying anymore, which unfortunately still mattered to him. This would be so much easier if he didn’t care what she thought, if at some level he didn’t want her as a friend, or at least on his side.

“That’s part of it,” she said.

“Well… what’s the rest of it?”

She spoke in a whisper. “Can you at least turn around and face me?”

He didn’t want to. This was the fight after the derby all over again.

“Please?”

That word was a new tactic for her. Slowly he turned, frowning and braced for another round of yelling. “What?”

She was frowning too, ears drooping, wings limp at her sides. “What you said last time, after the derby… you really hurt my feelings. I get that you were mad, and I was too. I know I’m not a great captain, but I’m trying, and… and what you think is important to me, okay? I know I keep saying the Gala was a mistake, and it was, but… I kind of wonder what would’ve happened if…”

Her gaze dropped to the ink-stained floor.

He stepped closer and patted her shoulder with a wing. “If we’d gone on a couple dates first, like normal ponies?”

She shot him a glare, at least until she saw his grin. “We’re not normal ponies. We’re Wonderbolts… right?”

“Yeah… Yeah we are.” Of course he was staying. How could he even consider leaving again? The Wonderbolts needed him. Spitfire needed him. He wouldn't let the team he'd idolized since foalhood crash and burn without a fight. “And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry I hurt you.”

“So what do we do about it? The Wonderbolts, I mean.”

“We fix it. We do whatever it takes to make our team awesome, on the ground and off.”

At last she smiled with some of her former glory and cocked an eyebrow for good measure. “Oh yeah? Got any bright ideas? None of mine worked.”

“I’ve got three of them.”

“Hah, is the first one teamwork?”

He offered her a hoof up, and she joined him in the air. “Let’s start there and see how far we get.”

Teamwork

Smiling was key. As long as Soarin kept that big, vapid smile on his face, nopony would notice him leaving. A smile is what all these ponies expected, after all. What with his being a famous Wonderbolt and, as of this afternoon, officially representing Cloudsdale in the Equestria Games, ponies would assume he had every reason to be happy.

Without a word or a glance back, he slipped into the shadows surrounding the lamplit party and made his way through the grassy fields. Until his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, he’d have to stay on hoof. He couldn’t end the day the way it started, with him crashing and getting carried off to the hospital tent.

The gentle roar of Rainbow Falls’s namesake waterfall filled his ears, overpowering the chatter of the partygoers. A good number of Wonderbolts were back there, celebrating late into the night without any of the negatives that once plagued the team’s free hours. Blaze had stopped napping her every free moment away after she started speaking to a counselor about her depression. Fleetfoot hadn’t touched cider since the team held an intervention. Spitfire didn’t shout anymore. The Wonderbolts were a brand new team, full of accomplished and happy ponies that supported each other on the ground and in the skies.

“So how come… How come Spitfire and Fleetfoot told me—” Soarin’s mouth snapped shut and his throat felt suddenly tight. He stood still a moment, eyeing the outline of the hospital tent where he’d whiled away most of the afternoon. Why had his teammates insisted on finding a replacement flier for their Equestria Games event even after the medics cleared him? Why did they try to dupe Rainbow Dash, a part time cadet, into abandoning her own team to take his place? He knew why, even if he couldn’t say it, much less face it.

He took off instead. Within an hour, Rainbow Falls was far away and the familiar shape of Wonderbolts headquarters graced the horizon. Flying alone was nice. He’d gotten a taste for it during his time away from the team, but that felt like a lifetime ago. Now he always had another show or race to train for, and always a pony or two to train with. Flying alone was nice, but flying with a close-knit team like the Wonderbolts was amazing.

The ground came up fast, but he was faster. His silent, fluid transition from glide to gallop stirred up no dust and made no sound. That sort of casually flawless maneuver had earned him cheers from the Wonderbolts diehards that invariably took up the front rows of any stadium. There wasn’t any cheering tonight, not even from himself. Tonight he just flew, then ran, and then walked; these were the actions necessary to get him far away from Rainbow Falls and everything that could remind him about the Equestria Games.

The barracks were quiet tonight. Everypony else was either at the party or on leave. Wonderbolts did that regularly now, taking time off to recuperate and recharge. Soarin supposed he could take credit for inspiring that practice, even if nopony besides Spitfire knew exactly why he’d taken a five-month breather.

“Why’d I come back, anyway?”

He knew why. The adrenaline ride of every show and the familiar camaraderie of every practice were part of it. There wasn’t another place in Equestria were he could perform the stunts he did here, or fly with such talented ponies. Above and beyond those facts was the simple feeling he got when he stared at the headquarters buildings, at the practice fields, and even at the small bed where he slept every night. The Wonderbolts were his family and the barracks were his home. He couldn’t imagine leaving either one of them.

“Hey, Soarin.”

He came to a stop a mere five hoofsteps inside the door and uttered a near-silent groan. Of course Spitfire noticed him leave the party, and of course she beat him here. Why couldn’t she just give him a friendly wave goodnight? Why couldn’t he just go to sleep and try to forget about this whole rotten day?

Soarin didn’t feel like smiling anymore. Instead he turned away from her shadowy form at the end of the hall. “Hey… I’m going to bed. Night.”

Spitfire’s hooves echoed through the hallway as she came closer. “Can we talk about today first?”

What was she going to do, apologize again? They’d each done that plenty of times already, over the years, and this time he wasn’t even angry with her; she’d lied, but he’d given her a reason to lie in the first place. “I know you were just looking out for the Equestria Games team. It’s okay.”

The beds were right in front of him. His bed was at the end of the row on the left. All he had to do was crawl in, shut his eyes, and hopefully wake up feeling better.

Spitfire’s outstretched wing touched his. “But you’re not okay.”

He trotted past her. “I-I will be. I’ll be fine.”

She sighed. “Look, about the Equestria Games—”

“It’s fine.” He couldn’t stress that word enough.

“I shouldn’t have lied to Rainbow Dash, just because you needed to rest your wing.”

Soarin’s wings tensed and his jaw tightened. ”Spitfire—”

“And I’m glad you’re back on the team. I really am. I wouldn’t want to go the Equestria Games with anypony el—”

“It’s not about the Equestria Games!” he shouted.

His gaze remained on the line of beds in front of him. He’d said too much, more than even he wanted to hear. Now the monster was awake: the terrible realization haunting his thoughts for nearly a month was coming to get him, and he wasn’t ready to face it. “Never mind. Sorry.”

She stepped in front of him, genuine worry in her eyes and softness in her voice. “Then what's wrong? How do I make it right?”

Soarin stared at his hooves. “You can’t. A-and it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I’m not… I…”

Her foreleg curled around his shoulder. “Come on.”

“When was the last time I won a race, or even came in second?” The words hung in his mind, the realization that had first dawned on him one morning as he reviewed his latest lap times.

“Soarin—”

“Sometimes I hit third… Sometimes. I-I’ve been training harder, but… but it’s not helping.”

“Soarin—”

“And if I’m plateauing… if I’m never going to get any better… I can’t blame you for wanting somepony faster for the Equestria Games or—”

He couldn’t bring himself to add “for the Wonderbolts.”

Spitfire’s grip on him tightened, and a moment later she turned it into a full-on hug. “Oh you big, dopey hunk.”

Soarin’s jaw hurt and his eyes were wet. He wouldn’t let himself cry over this, not in front of Spitfire. The only way to do that was to take a deep breath, return the hug, and soak in her soft warmth. “Maybe I can get up earlier and fly extra laps, or do more wingups…”

She sighed and pulled away. “My office. Come on.”

He stood there as she walked away, savoring the feel of her touch in retrospect. Since when could she be so gentle? “Why? What’s so special about your office?”

“That’s an order. Let’s go.”

It’d been a while since he’d heard that phrase. Hearing it in such a pleasant tone was a nice change.

She glanced back at him, smiling a little. “Coming?”

“Y-yeah. Sorry.”

At last he followed her, his legs feeling as heavy as his heart. She was being extra nice, but what good was that, really? She couldn’t justify keeping him on the team if he wasn’t performing; the Wonderbolts was for exceptional fliers, for winners. He was on his way to being the slowest pony in the sky.

The door swung open at her touch. She stepped inside and motioned for him to follow her behind the desk. “Been a while since we’ve been in here, hasn't it?”

“Yeah… guess so.”

Spitfire rarely used this room for anything but paperwork, as far as he knew. Most of the time she was in the air with the rest of the team, as any good captain should be. The exception was for private conversations, usually with a cadet or a visiting official. Did she drag other Wonderbolts in here too? Maybe this was the room where his glory days would end, whenever his currently-plateauing flight stats took a nosedive.

Hopefully that wasn’t happening right now. He was still a crowd favorite, wasn’t he? He could still hold his own with most of the team. He was still fast enough for all of their stunts.

Spitfire pulled open a desk drawer and retrieved a small wooden box. “Remember this?”

It took him a minute to recognize the lacquered wood and black metal hinges. “It’s your compass, the one that belongs to the Wonderbolts captain.”

She set her compass on the desktop and pushed it towards him. “Check it out.”

He tentatively reached for it with his hoof. The lid opened silently and smoothly, revealing a golden compass rose set into a burnished metal frame encased in glass. He’d seen the compass only once before, on the night when Spitfire received it, and only at a distance. Playing around with an piece of history like this didn’t feel right, especially when it didn’t belong to him. “It’s cool.”

“It’s also going to be yours.”

His hoof jerked sideways and sent the compass needle wobbling. He watched the needle swing back and forth for ten whole seconds before daring to lift his gaze to meet hers. “Wh… what?”

“You’re the heart of the team, Soarin. I’m the captain for now, but… I wouldn’t be if you weren’t here.”

He shook his head, defense of his superior officer and friend automatic. “No way. You’re—”

“I’m a lousy captain. Just today I tried to lure Rainbow Dash from the Ponyville team just because she’s fast. She called me on it, and I’m glad she did. The team’s more important than winning; that’s the kind of thing I forget. An old compass can’t keep me pointed the right way; I need friends to do that, friends like you.”

“But me… captain? Me?”

Spitfire nodded. “If my wings fall off tomorrow, you’re captain. Just don’t spread that around; Fleetfoot’s got a betting pool going.”

Soarin stepped back until his tail brushed the wall. “But… I’m not as fast as I used to be. Maybe I’ll turn that around… but maybe I won’t.”

“Who cares? I’m not going to be in first place forever, but that doesn’t mean I’m retiring when I’m second, or third, or tenth. Rainbow Dash could probably take me on right now… but don’t you ever tell her that, got it? You’re the heart of this team because you get what being a Wonderbolt means, and you remind the rest of us. You get the Wonderbolts way better than I do, so this office is where you belong.”

He inched forward, wide-eyed. His eyes darted between her and the compass, each time frowning a little less. When he bumped into the desk, legs wobbly and heart pounding, he flipped the compass lid closed and pushed it toward her. “I guess, maybe someday… but not now. You’re a great captain.”

“Pfft. No I’m—”

“I’m serious! You push us hard, and we listen because you push yourself harder. That’s why I… that’s why everypony looks up to you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Spitfire muttered through a frown. “I meant it when I said you’re the reason I’m still here. If you go to the Princesses with what I did today, the compass really will be yours tomorrow.”

“I don't want that. You messed up today, but… but you’re trying. You never stop trying. And I can't imagine this team without you anyway, including how we screw things up. Heh, that’s why we make such a great team, right? I’m the heart, you’re the head?”

Spitfire managed a smile. “Right.”

They stared at each other for a moment, tension and hurt draining out of him and leaving only mundane exhaustion in its place. “So… permission to turn in for the night, Captain? I’ve got some early morning training to do tomorrow.”

She nodded. “Go get some shuteye, goofball. I’ll meet you in the skies at dawn.”

Perserverance

“So where are you hanging yours?”

Fleetfoot circled the hotel room’s ceiling for the hundredth time, her eyes fixed on the gold medal clutched in her hooves.

Soarin reclined on the bed, relaxed and slightly dizzy from watching her. The decor in the Crystal Empire ranged from transparent to semi-translucent, and Fleetfoot’s image was visible on every surface in his view. He shut his eyes and patted the medal hanging around his neck. “I’ll probably put mine in the team trophy case back at HQ.”

“Yawn! I’m taking this baby out on the town! Misty Fly, Blaze, and I are staying an extra day to see the sights.”

Pegasi flew down the hotel’s hallway, cheers echoing and medals glinting as they shot by Soarin’s open door. The Equestria Games had been good to the Wonderbolts; gold and silver medals would be a common sight at the team picnic next week. Headquarters might need to invest in a bigger trophy case, too.

The games had been good in other ways, too. Spitfire’s fearsome training regimen had kept him too busy to worry about the future of his flight stats, and winning a gold medal proved that he still had plenty of Wonderbolt-worthy years ahead of him. Maybe he'd never speed through the skies quite as fast as he used to, but he was still a Wonderbolt, and a valuable one at that. He'd finally found his ideal role on the team: not winning first place, but keeping everypony flying high either through guidance or example. Spitfire gave the orders, he gave the assistance.

“Fleetfoot, Soarin!” somepony shouted from the hallway. “We’re going back to that super-spicy place for dinner! Get your tails out here!”

Fleetfoot pumped a hoof in the air. “Woo! You coming, Soarin?”

“Eh, I’ll pass. I almost burned a hole in my tongue last time we went there.”

She chuckled. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell the others you can’t take the heat. Later!”

Within a minute the whole hotel was quiet. The block of rooms booked by the Wonderbolts were now empty, save for Soarin and anypony else that valued their stomach lining.

“Yeesh, it’s about time.” Spitfire trotted in from across the hall, her mane limp, a damp towel draped over her back, and her gold medal nowhere in sight. “You’d swear those medals came with a sugar injection.”

Soarin sat up. “You’re not going to dinner with the team?”

“Nah. I’m not into all this ‘specialty food’ everypony’s gorging on. Besides, we’re all Wonderbolts. We can look after ourselves… most of the time.”

He matched her grin. “Most of the time.”

She sat at the foot of the bed and dropped the towel on the floor. “Can we talk about something?”

Since when did she need to ask? Didn’t they already chat during meals, practices, and after every show? “Sure.”

“I’m changing one of the team rules. One of the big ones.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Don’t you need to clear that with higher-ups in Canterlot?”

“I already did, just before we left for the Equestria Games. Sorry I didn’t mention it before, but I figured if they shot me down, what would it matter? Right?”

He studied her expression, from her hopeful eyes to her unsure smile. “What’re you up to?”

She took a deep breath, her smile gone. “I’m rolling back the ‘no on-team relationships’ rule. We don’t need it anymore.”

“What?” Soarin leapt into the air, forelegs crossed. “You’re kidding! We’re like the two best examples ever of why that rule is important! We almost wrecked both our careers!”

Spitfire sighed. “I knew you’d react like this… Just let me explain, okay?”

He sank down and joined her on the foot of the bed. A hotel room in the Crystal Empire was a far cry from her trophy-laden office back at Wonderbolts Headquarters, to say nothing of their being out of uniform and her fresh out of the shower; talking team policy here felt too surreal to be genuine. Any second now he’d wake up to the sound of the alarm clock, ready to squeeze in some last-minute wingups before the Equestria Games started.

Spitfire sighed again. “Just because we majorly screwed up doesn’t mean that’s how everypony handles it, There are actually three on-team couples already. Both ponies came to me each time, letting me know things were getting serious, and each time I said it was okay and to keep it quiet.”

He pressed his hooves to his temples. “But… Why’d you do that?”

“Because they’re fully grown ponies, Soarin. We’re a team that takes care of each other, and considering how things have been going lately, I’m pretty sure I made the right call: one of those couples fizzled out, the other two are going strong, and guess what?”

Soarin winced slightly, afraid to know. “What?”

She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “That was three months ago.”

Silence hung in the air. The whole world had gone quiet, including Soarin’s previously hammering heart. Finally he coughed once and turned to her. “Three months?”

“Three months in, the Wonderbolts haven’t fallen apart, and we dominated the Equestria Games. Those six ponies are flying and interacting just fine, and two of them improved their stats. You didn’t even notice any funny business, did you?”

“Well, I… No. Nothing.”

She patted his back with her wing, which was still damp from the shower. “If things go south again, we’ll help whoever’s having a problem, just like we always do. The Wonderbolts take care of each other, remember?”

Soarin breathed in, filling his lungs to capacity with his worries, doubts, and a hefty whiff of her alluring scent. “Okay… Does this mean I can ask you out to dinner?”

Silence reigned again. Had he actually said that, out loud and everything? He looked away, but that hardly mattered. Her eyes stared back at him from countless angles, each reflection sending him a different signal.

“I don’t know,” she said, smiling and arching an eyebrow, “think two Wonderbolts like us can handle doing normal stuff like going out on a date?”

Soarin gulped and, after a moment of hesitation, lightly brushed her wing with his own and started to grin in spite of his own trepidation. “I've got no idea. Want to find out?”

Spitfire leaned against him, resting her chin on his shoulder and pressing their wings together. “Definitely.”

Author's Note

Consider this image the epilogue

Thanks for reading!