Lyra cleared her throat. Bon Bon glanced back over her shoulder, blinking with exhausted eyes.
"What are you doing at the cafe, sweetie?" Lyra asked — trying to keep her voice cheerfully neutral, trying not to look at the nondescript blue earth pony mare sitting across the table from Bonnie. "You asked me to make lunch. I was about to reheat some banana bread and steam some dandelion greens."
"I, uh." Bon Bon stood up, and for a moment her muzzle tightened into a mask — just long enough for Lyra's heart to start squeezing. Then Bonnie rubbed her face with a hoof, and smiled at Lyra, eyes warm and apologetic. "Yikes. I know I've been running short on sleep lately, but am I really so far out of it that I forget to say anything about my business meeting with Wheat Bushel to talk about next month's baking supplies?"
Wheat stood up and gave Lyra a curt bow. "Miss Drops was kind enough to join me as I ate," she said in a smooth, professional Eastern Seaboard accent. "And we were just wrapping up. I've got a train to catch in ten minutes." She nodded at Bon Bon. "I'll do what I can about an alternate source for rice flour, but with the new tariffs on Qilinese exports, it may impact pricing considerably."
Lyra's eyes briefly flicked past the table's central single bowl of sunflower salad, and the two plates — one dirty, one clean — half-stacked alongside. Her heart unsqueezed. Mostly.
"I wish you'd said something," Lyra murmured. "I was walking into town for cider. If I'd known you were downtown I'd have had you pick up a bottle and saved the trip."
"I'm sorry," Bon Bon said softly, then stepped in to hug Lyra. "I almost forgot, myself. I had to dash straight here from my morning deliveries."
Lyra closed her eyes, nuzzling into Bonnie's poofy mane, breathing in the heady scent of jasmine from the new shampoo she'd bought her as a gift yesterday. Bon Bon lowered her head to rub her nose to Lyra's neck, and Lyra tried to shut out her thoughts and lose herself in the moment — the warmth of her partner's breath on her pelt, the firm grip of Bonnie's earth-pony leg, the way Bonnie's mane tickled her muzzle.
"It's okay," Lyra said. "I was just a little surprised. I was looking forward to lunch with you. You've been so distant the last few days."
Bon Bon's leg tightened. Then she shifted, and brought her head up, and looked in Lyra's eyes.
"Listen, Lyra," she said intently. "I'm sorry. I've been tired and my mind's been on work. You deserve better from me. I love you."
"I know," Lyra murmured, bringing a hoof to Bonnie's cheek, and her heart unsqueezed the rest of the way. "I love you too."
"Let me make it up to you at lunch, okay? Go get that cider while I take Miss Bushel to the train station, and I'll be back before the banana bread's out of the oven." She grinned. "Despite the distractions I've got planned, I'm sure we'll finish eating it by nightfall."
Lyra giggled and rubbed her nose to Bonnie's. "Oh, you. With or without icing?"
Bonnie's grin widened. "I'm not sure, lover. I'll have to do a taste test both ways."
"It's a deal, sweetie."
Out of the corner of her eye, Lyra saw Wheat staring at the two of them with an inscrutable expression. She glanced up. Wheat averted her eyes. Lyra blinked, glanced around the restaurant, and felt warmth creep into her cheeks.
"See you at home, Bonnie," she said, and left before her blush got too hot.
When Lyra heard the creak of the kitchen door, she turned around right into the warmth of a body.
"Hey, lover," Bon Bon murmured throatily, nose to nose with her, and then pulled Lyra into a deep and passionate kiss with an insistent hoof at the back of her head.
"Oooh," Lyra said, and giggled into Bonnie's mouth as her lover's tongue started probing. She pressed her own tongue forward with equal enthusiasm, closing her eyes and melting into Bonnie's embrace.
"Mmmm," Bonnie murmured back, and her breath was warm with a hint of sweetness, and when Lyra ran her tongue against Bonnie's teeth, the lips that closed around her tongue were soft and warm and … smooth? No, that couldn't be right. Bonnie had cut her lip open last night picking up a dropped knife —
Then Bon Bon pushed her up against the kitchen wall, and her hoof trailed down Lyra's side to the sensitive edge of her Mark, and the thought evaporated like morning dew in the heat of her quickening heart. "Aah," Lyra gasped, pulling back from the kiss to whine urgently, and she lit her horn to tease her field against Bonnie's dock, right where she knew she liked it. Lyra was immediately rewarded with a quiet whimper and an arched back, and she leaned forward to nibble at Bonnie's throat.
"Mmh!" Bon Bon grunted, flanks swaying against the pressure of Lyra's field, and she brought a hoof to Lyra's chest to gently press her back. A grin spread across her muzzle. "I believe that's my job, lover. I did threaten a taste test."
"So you did." Lyra found Bonnie's grin infectious. "You weren't kidding about making it up to me. You haven't been so lively since before the weekend's holiday push."
"You know how it is." Bonnie settled to her haunches as Lyra slid down the wall to a sitting position. "Some private time with my partner to look forward to. And a strong coffee at the train station." She giggled and kissed Lyra's nose. "But mostly you."
"Oooh. Come here and tell me that."
"With pleasure." Bon Bon leaned in, brushing her lips to Lyra's before trailing her muzzle down Lyra's chin toward her throat. "You know Horse code? L, short, long, short, short …"
Lyra leaned in, too, as Bonnie's teeth nipped sharply and precisely at her skin, catching and pulling it without digging into the muscle underneath. Just the way she loved it. She whimpered, and rubbed her muzzle to Bonnie's head, burying her nose in Bonnie's mane and inhaling the familiar, subtle scent of lavender —
Lyra went rigid.
So did Bonnie, after a moment. She pulled her head back, concern in her eyes. "What's wrong, lover?"
Lyra squirmed out from Bon Bon's embrace, scrambling to her hooves and staring down accusingly. "Would you like to explain why you took a shower when you saw Miss Bushel off at the train station?"
"I … what?" Bon Bon's concern shifted to confusion. "That's ridiculous. We had to run to catch the train and I came straight home once she left. If anything, I need a shower, but I was looking forward to this too much." She stood up too, her muzzle shading into a hurt frown. "Honey, what are you implying?"
"I'm implying nothing. The fact is, twenty minutes ago you smelled of the new shampoo I bought you."
Bon Bon's mouth opened wordlessly.
Only for a moment — but that moment was enough for Lyra to look, really look, at her. With Bon Bon's mouth open, it was more obvious that the inside of her lower lip didn't have the ugly red notch from last night's accident. And while the skin under her eyes was darkened with sleeplessness, those eyes weren't baggy the way they had been all day; the deepening of color wasn't accompanied by the veins puffing out, and the combination of altered color and normal contour made the proportions of her face look a bit askew. It was subtle — she wouldn't have put it together if she hadn't been looking so closely — but unmistakable now that she was paying attention.
Lyra had no idea what to make of that. But she trusted her instincts, and she lived in a town regularly overrun by bizarre magical beasts. Just a few months back, a spirit of disharmony had briefly taken up residence and warped everypony's minds and bodies; not long before that, the now-Princess of the Night had foalnapped Princess Celestia and invaded everypony's dreams to spy on their thoughts. Against that backdrop, a slightly imperfect copy of her lover invading her home didn't seem nearly as insane as it should have.
Bon Bon sighed, then smiled gamely and took a step forward. "Look, honey. It's been a long day for both of us —"
Lyra snatched a frying pan from the sink in her horngrip, leveling it at whatever was in her kitchen.
The Bon Bon-shaped thing froze. "Lyra," it said pleadingly.
"You're not Bon Bon," Lyra growled. "What's going on? Where is she?"
Fake Bon Bon's eyes flicked to the pan, then back to Lyra. For a moment it looked terrified — and then its face hardened and its back straightened. And it burst into green flames.
Lyra shrieked and scrambled behind the kitchen table.
When the cold fire wreathing its form dissipated into the air, what was left behind was some sort of gossamer-winged, blank-eyed, pony-shaped bug… horse… thing. "I see," it boomed in an ominous guttural bass, leering at her, "that you won't be as easy to take by surprise as —"
Acting on a heady combination of fear and instinct, Lyra swung the pan at its face.
SPANG.
"Ow!" it yelped, voice raising several octaves, as the blow sent it staggering backward. It bared its fangs, squaring off in a combat stance with Lyra. "You're —" It cleared its throat, deepening its voice again. "You are making a grave mistake, pony —"
SPANG.
Its knees buckled, and it cringed backward into a little huddled ball in the corner. "Ow okay bad idea I'm sorry," it hissed.
Lyra stepped forward on trembling legs, still brandishing the pan. I don't believe this. This is crazy. Just focus on Bon Bon. "Y-you will be," she said through a dry throat, then paused to swallow and shake her weapon threateningly. "I-if anything happened to Bonnie."
It cringed back even further. "I surrender. Put the pan down and I'll tell you everything."
Lyra lowered the pan, but kept her hornfield wrapped in a trembling death grip around its handle. "Start talking."
The bug swallowed and took several breaths before nodding and meeting her eyes. "I'm a shapeshifting demon from the dawn of time," it said, voice deepening again, "that mimics ponies' lovers in order to entrap them and feed on their love. When Bon Bon fell prey to my venomous kiss, I dragged her unconscious body back to my secret lair, and stashed her there so I could drain her dry for dinner." The bug-thing scowled. "Then I got greedy and came here for a second meal, but that plan's out."
Lyra blinked. The whole situation was crazy enough that that should have sounded plausible — especially since she'd seen it transform right in front of her eyes. And yet, something didn't feel right.
"I think you're lying," she said slowly as her mind raced. And then it clicked into place: "We kissed. But I feel fine."
Uncertainty flitted past the bug's muzzle for a moment, then it grinned and dipped its head in a bow. "Again you prove yourself a worthy adversary. I was trying to stall until the venom took hold and I could take advantage of how suggestible it made you. Go drink a glass of almond milk to counteract its effects and we can bargain for your lover's life like proper gentlemares."
Lyra's fear warred with her suspicion for only a moment before logic took suspicion's side. "You said your venom knocked Bonnie unconscious," she said coldly, "and then that it would make me suggestible. I don't know what the truth is, but you're lying like a rug."
The bug stared at her appraisingly. "And what are you going to do about it?"
The obvious answer was "get Twilight Sparkle", and Lyra nearly blurted that out, but the craziness of the entire situation had wrapped her up in a layer of panic indistinguishable from paranoia. Is that what it wants me to do? Maybe it wants me to go get help so it can escape. Or maybe it's stalling. Maybe its venom really is kicking in — except it was lying about that, or else it was lying about Bonnie —
Another, far uglier puzzle piece clicked into place. And an entirely different panic set in.
"No," Lyra breathed, dropping the pan and staggering backward. "Oh no."
The bug-pony blinked several times, then just stared at her, confused.
"You — you replaced Bonnie at the train station," Lyra said, less to the bug than herself as she flailed to find a flaw in her logic. "So you kissed her there. But she'd just seen me and knew I'd just gone home … sweet Celestia, she's sleeping with that businessmare."
The bug scrambled to its hooves, eyes flying wide in panic. "What?! N-no, she's not!"
The muddled emotions in Lyra's veins boiled into rage in a moment.
She snatched the pan again, stalking toward the bug. "And a scary ancient demon out to suck my love dry feels the need to deny that, why?"
"It — it's not, she's not —" The bug backpedaled until its hind hit the wall, then a rear hoof went out from underneath it and it dropped to the floor with a chitin-rattling thump. Lyra stalked forward, looming over it as it recovered. It glanced up, taking one look at her face and cringing. "It's not what you think!"
The final pieces clicked together. "Ancient demon, hah. I don't know what you are or how you're doing this, but … you're covering for her. It's a distraction while she goes out and fools around." The surreality of everything she was seeing coalesced into a dull and more comprehensible pain, and Lyra felt tears gather at the bottom of her eyes. "How dare you. How dare you both."
"I swear to you, Lyra, it's not like that!" The bug-pony seemed on the edge of tears itself, crouching at her hooves and looking up through frightened eye-panes.
"Your oath is worth nothing right now, you lie-filled lying liar."
"I panicked! I had to try something! And I'm still panicking and this just keeps getting worse!" The bug's ears drooped in a very pony-like way, and its voice took on an urgent tone. "Please, just listen, I promise I'll give you nothing but the truth from now on — I tried my hardest to keep you uninvolved, but we're past the point where that can fix anything —"
"You are covering for her," Lyra growled as tears spilled out and her vision blurred.
"Not for an affair!" the bug said quickly. "For her mission!"
Lyra opened her mouth to shout at it, long past the point of tolerating its lies — but paused at the desperation in its tone. Something felt different enough for doubt to seep in.
So she sniffled, blinking the tears away, and wiped her cheeks with a pastern. Then finally managed: "What."
"Sweetie Drops is a special agent for a super-secret Canterlot monster-hunting agency," the bug said. "There was an urgent mission in Yakyakistan, someone spotted the Queen of the Windigos, she had to drop everything and go —"
Lyra stomped the floor with a hard crack. The bug immediately shut up, its jaws clacking together.
"Stick with the ancient demon routine," Lyra hissed, feeling tears start to gather again. "It was more believable."
The bug darted to its hooves. "No! Look!" And before she could stop it, it had scrambled over to the refrigerator, wedging a hoof behind it to press against a slight discoloration in the wallpaper.
There was a soft click. The wall by the pantry swung open, revealing a closet whose half-empty shelves held an assortment of exotic weaponry and body armor.
Lyra's jaw fell open. She sat down hard, the impact jarring a soft little squeak from her lungs.
The bug let out a long breath, body sagging.
Lyra stared at it blankly, her racing mind having careened off a cliff at this latest sharp curve. Slowly, it began to dawn on her that this — this, out of all the wild possible stories she'd heard in the last few minutes — might actually be true.
"I'm sorry," the bug said quietly. "Sweetie would be here with you if she could, but she's out there literally saving Equestria right now."
Lyra glanced over her shoulder. The remnants of her salad preparations were still strewn over the table, and the banana bread was still cooling next to the half-open oven. She looked forward again. Still a shapeshifting bug and a closet full of monster hunter gear.
It took Lyra some moments to find her voice. "And, so, what?" she said, blurting out literally the only thing that came to mind. "You swooped in to seduce me in the meantime?"
"That's the furthest thing from the truth." The bug shuffled cautiously toward Lyra, its voice soft and earnest. "Listen, Lyra. Sweetie loves you. She loves you more than anything. But when she met you on medical leave, she knew she would have to go back to active duty in a few weeks. She was devastated at the thought that you'd have to spend your life staring at an empty chair wondering if this would be the time she wouldn't come home. That's where I come in. You were right, I'm no demon — I'm a changeling, a member of a hive of shapeshifters friendly to Equestria whose very existence is kept secret to preserve our espionage value."
Lyra stared numbly. It was too much.
"I was my hive's liaison to the agency until a rival hive invaded us, killed my queen, and almost wiped us out. Sweetie saved my life that day. That's why, when she begged me to help her set up a real relationship with you instead of the kiss-and-run life you otherwise would get, I agreed. I take her form to let you two have a life together when she can't be there for you. Everything I do, I do for her. And you."
"This … this is crazy," Lyra finally managed.
"It's a lot to take in. I get it." The changeling's voice softened. "I'm sorry."
"Why the demon bit, then?"
It winced. "To avoid this conversation, basically."
Lyra trotted over to the closet, staring blankly at its contents. Every fiber of her being screamed to find the holes in the changeling's story — expose it for the lie it was. But it didn't feel like a lie. And, more importantly, the pieces all fit together.
"And if I meet the train coming back from Yakyakistan when her mission's over," Lyra said, "she'll be on it, and she'll back you up on this?"
"Every word," the changeling said intently. "We can go together, just so you know I'm not trying to pull a fast one on you and slip away while you're gone."
Lyra numbly sank to the floor, her head drooping to rest in her hooves. The kitchen descended into uncomfortable silence. She risked a glance back up. The changeling was just standing there, looking as drained as she felt, staring at her.
Lyra pressed a hoof to the bridge of her muzzle. "Okay. Okay … what did you mean, 'set up a real relationship'? I've known her for two years."
The changeling shifted uncomfortably. "Us."
"What?" The meaning belatedly hit Lyra, and her stomach twisted. "You've been doing this for two years?"
"Only when she can't be here for you."
"How often is that?"
It wouldn't meet her eyes. "She's off duty maybe five or six days a month."
Lyra's stomach plummeted to the bottom of her gut. "You — no. No."
The changeling stared silently at the floor.
"You're lying again. You —" Lyra paced around the kitchen, mind whirling. "Hearts and Hooves Day, last week. What did she and I talk about?"
"That was me," the changeling said softly. "When you finished playing your new song, you said it was cheesy and rhymed badly, and I said that I didn't care, because you wrote it for me and that made it the most beautiful thing ever."
Lyra's throat tightened, and she felt the tears coming back. "The New Year's meteor shower?"
"Also me." Its voice sounded almost broken. "When the first star fell, I told you I wished that you would be happy forever, and you laughed and hit my shoulder and said you couldn't say wishes out loud or they wouldn't come true, and I smirked and said I wished you'd kiss me."
Lyra's eyes were beginning to blur. "… Hearth's Warming?"
"That was Sweetie. She begged for the holiday off. But you're wearing the earrings she gave you as a gift. She bought them from a boutique in Manehattan. They cost two hundred eleven bits."
"Friendsgiving?"
"Me," the changeling said. "When I accidentally burnt the rolls for the feast at Ditzy's —"
"Stop," Lyra whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and feeling tears pool and drip from her chin. "Stop."
There was silence for a moment, then Lyra heard hooves recede toward the kitchen table, and the scrape of a chair being pulled out over the wooden floor. There was the sound of a lengthy breath in and out.
"Lyra," it said, and its voice was gentle and sad. "I know this isn't any consolation, but I swear on Celestia's crown, we only did this because she wants you to be happy."
Lyra wiped the back of her leg across her wet face, choking back a sob. She blinked her eyes clean, looking at the insect sitting at her table. It was leaning heavily into its forehooves — body sagging, staring blankly toward the abandoned salad bowl. Exactly the way Bonnie did when something was weighing on her. And with the simple act of that posture, it felt far more like Bonnie than it did when it had been the thing wearing her face.
Lyra bit her lip, and an uncomfortable thought whispered from some dark corner of her brain. "The insect at her table" wasn't quite right, was it? Wasn't it their table in some way, as much as it was hers and Bonnie's? How many times had they eaten together there, talked about their mornings, laughed at each other's jokes?
Part of her screeched in incoherent rage at the thought. The rest of her looked at the changeling's miserable expression, and a strange little flutter of sympathy stirred up from deep inside.
Lyra swallowed. She stepped toward the table. She cleared her throat.
The changeling looked up.
"Change back," Lyra said, voice hitching.
It blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"Change back. To Bon Bon."
"I. Um." It visibly swallowed, then sat up. "Okay?"
Despite being much closer the second time around, Lyra only flinched a little when green fire wreathed its form. There was, she realized, no heat from the flames, and a tiny part of her brain wondered how that worked. She didn't remember changelings being in the curriculum in Princess Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, but then, she hadn't exactly been the most diligent about her studies.
Bonnie stood up from the chair. Slightly-too-perfect Bonnie, with the uncut lip and the fake-sleep-ringed eyes and the lavender-scented mane. "Why?" the changeling said, in a pitch-perfect imitation of Bon Bon's voice.
Lyra stared deep into the eyes of that impostor. No — the eyes of the mare who had tolerated being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night on New Year's. Who had braved a frozen field with her despite forgetting her jacket on the way out the door. Who had stared up at the night's first falling star with her, and — despite all of that — wished for nothing but her happiness.
She felt tears welling back up again.
"Kiss me," she whispered.
"What?!" Bonnie's — the bug's — Bonnie's eyes widened. "Lyra … we shouldn't. Not now."
"Listen," Lyra said faintly, pushing past the pressure closing her throat. "I know that … the other you's … not here right now, but you said she wants me to be happy, right? And don't you want me to be happy, too? Well, right now I've got two choices. I can kiss my lover, and we can go slice up the banana bread and feed each other by hoof and giggle and lick icing off of each other's noses. Or I can curl up in the corner of my room and sob until she comes home."
"Lyra …"
Lyra reached out to Bonnie's shoulder — touching her for the first time since … the whole bug thing. Her skin was warm and soft and yielding in exactly the way it should have been. "Help me be happy," she whispered, because the alternative was unthinkable.
"I do want you to be happy." Bonnie said it softly, but her mouth twitched with guilt. "But we should talk to Sweetie before we do anything else."
"Why?" Lyra said. "What's changed?"
"You know."
Lyra's heart twisted into a knot. "No, I don't," she said desperately, trying not to think about … the thing.
"That's what changed," Bonnie said. "Now you know."
The knot pulled and tightened in an ugly way. "You were okay with this when I didn't," Lyra said, voice dangerously flat, "and now you're not?"
Bonnie's ears drooped. "That's not fair," she said faintly.
"No," Lyra said pointedly, "you weren't."
Bonnie sighed, long and deep. "You're right. But, Lyra, please. Things just got complicated between us. You have every right to blame me, but —"
"Why?"
Bonnie gave her a confused look, then wilted even further. "Because you deserve better?"
"No. Why do things have to be complicated?" Lyra shifted her hoof to Bonnie's chest, and pushed her backward, stepping to keep up with her until Bonnie's hinds bumped the wall. "When 'Agent Sweetie' left town today, she knew that I would be snuggling a shapeshifting bug wearing her skin. She looked into my eyes at the cafe and promised me Bon Bon — knowing that it would be you showing up. She gave that her explicit blessing because she wanted me to be happy." Lyra pressed her chest into Bonnie's, muzzle to muzzle with her, feeling her lover's breath on her cheeks. "What. Part. Of. That. Changed."
Bonnie opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Lyra waited. Bonnie's face screwed up in anguish. Lyra closed her eyes, her heart sinking. As desperately as she needed Bonnie, she couldn't work up the nerve to beg or plead or manipulate, and maybe she would just have to accept that this was all a lie —
Bonnie shifted. Then Lyra felt trembling lips brush hers.
Her eyes shot open to meet Bonnie's.
"Lyra, listen," Bonnie whispered. "Complicated or no, nothing about this is easy. Everything about it feels wrong. But you're right about two things. One, no matter what happens or how badly I screw this up, I love you."
Lyra's heart leapt, and spasmed, and began thudding in her chest.
"Two, we do both want you to be happy. And maybe, just maybe —"
Lyra lunged in, and the rest of the sentence was lost in the desperate press of her lips to Bonnie's.
Bonnie whimpered, and flailed her legs, and gradually settled them around Lyra's shoulders as they sank to the floor.
Then the whimpers turned into moans, and Lyra didn't do a whole lot of thinking after that.
For the brief, blissful time they were losing themselves in each other, it felt just like Bonnie again. Well, the old Bonnie. But when the two of them were catching their breath afterward, lying entangled in each other's limbs on the bed, this Bonnie wouldn't quite meet Lyra's eyes.
That wasn't fair, Lyra thought, her heart beginning to twist again. Not after all the time they'd spent together.
Bonnie shifted against her, extracting her limbs from the tangle and then rolling over to little-spoon against Lyra's stomach. It was ambiguously reassuring. There was a certain intimacy to it, and it also meant she didn't have to play guessing games with eye contact.
Nevertheless, the silence in the room started to feel accusatory.
"Two years, huh?" Lyra said, more to break it than anything.
There was no reply for several seconds, and Lyra was starting to worry she wouldn't get one when Bonnie said, "Yeah."
Lyra worked a hoof around Bonnie's chest, drawing her closer in. Normally, Bonnie would have responded by folding her leg over Lyra's, then rubbing the top of her head against Lyra's chin. But today she was lying motionless except for the rise and fall of her breathing.
Lyra braced herself to face The Thing head-on. At least that would be better than the silence.
"It's funny," Lyra said. "When I even noticed anything strange, I always wrote it off as mood swings. I had no idea. Two whole years. And then everything goes absolutely crazy over shampoo."
Bonnie let out a long breath. Then she stirred, and shifted her head to rest on Lyra's shoulder. It felt less intimate than conciliatory, but the ache in Lyra's heart still eased.
"Yeah, it's always the little things that get you," Bonnie said. "They drilled that into my head in infiltrator training. And they said that, no matter how exactingly you prepared, getting caught wasn't a matter of if, but when. The final lesson was that the only thing more important than the details was an exit strategy."
Almost subconsciously, Lyra buried her nose in Bonnie's mane. The scent of lavender tickled her nostrils. She thought of their confrontation in the kitchen. She pulled her nose out and looked away.
"And look at me," Bonnie said. "Froze like a foal when things went pear-shaped. My former hivemates would have found that disgraceful." Her voice softened, and she finally folded her leg over Lyra's — hesitantly, tentatively. "But the thing about an exit strategy is, you have to want to exit."
For the first time that day, Lyra smiled. She kissed Bonnie's head through her mane.
"Thank you," Lyra said.
Bonnie sighed. "The last thing you should be doing right now is thanking me."
"Okay. Maybe." Lyra shifted, smile falling away. "But you're still here. And you've done a lot to make me happy over the past two years. That has to count for something."
"I've also been lying to you for two years."
Lyra nudged the topic uncomfortably. "Speaking of which … with a million details like this to manage, I don't understand how you made it two years without running into something like this sooner."
"We normally talk and compare notes to smooth out the hoof-offs. That's what you interrupted at the cafe. That normally would have been recoverable, but the urgency of the job meant we had to get her fed and onboard the train quickly. And she's been sleeping poorly since the Nightmare-cult incident last month, so in the rush she probably was just too tired to think of it." Bonnie took a breath. "And so, here we are."
"Mmm," Lyra said, doing her best to listen to Bonnie's voice and drift away from the specifics of her speech. With the two of them snuggling like this, she just wanted to let Bonnie's voice wash over her like the tide, and let the warmth of her body seep into her skin, and pretend she didn't have her hooves wrapped around a shapeshifting bug covering for her secret agent lover.
… That was one of those things, she observed wryly, like being told not to think of an elephant.
Lyra tried to recenter herself on the sweet tones of Bonnie's voice, only to find Bonnie had gone silent. She cleared her throat.
No response except Bonnie squeezing her leg a little more tightly.
It didn't feel like it should have been an uncomfortable silence. Her stomach twisted up anyway.
"You know," Lyra finally said, "I don't even know your name."
Lyra immediately felt the changeling tense up in her grasp.
"Bon Bon," it said slowly. "You are snuggled up with Bon Bon."
Lyra frowned. "A few minutes ago, you seemed very intent on convincing me that wasn't the case."
"A few minutes ago," it countered, "you told me you wanted things to be simple. So here's simple. You love Bon Bon."
Lyra extracted her leg and propped herself up on an elbow. "Do I?" she said. "When I watched shooting stars on New Year's, who was that with?"
"Bon Bon."
"And when I opened up my Hearth's Warming presents, who was I with?"
"Bon Bon." The bug with her lover's face turned to face her, and its look turned pleading, and its voice softened. "Don't do this, Lyra. You're trying to rip Bon Bon in half and love the pieces, and that's just going to hurt everyone."
Lyra shook her head. "What you call 'Bon Bon' doesn't exist. I want to love a pony. I don't want to love a thing that two different ponies pretend to be."
Bonnie's face fell, then quickly settled into a firm resignation. "Okay," the changeling said quietly. "Then love the mare you fell in love with. I'm the imitation."
Lyra frowned. Despite everything, seeing her lover look so wounded stirred a protective urge in her breast. "What happened to ripping Bon Bon in half hurting everyone?"
The changeling's ears drooped. "Look, I've hurt you enough, alright? I'm trying, as much as possible given the circumstances, to make you happy. But with everything you say I'm less and less sure what you actually want."
"Your name, for one."
It sighed, looked down, and rubbed its forehooves together. "Tymbal. Properly, Vibrates-Tymbals-Like-Cicadas-In-The-Night-Field of Hive Gleamstone."
"That's a beautiful name," Lyra said.
"I won't answer to it," Tymbal said. "Not in this form. Especially not now. You asked for things to be simple. That means I'm Bon Bon."
Lyra stared into Tymbal's eyes. The way their pale blue irises accented the creamy fur covering the soft curves of her muzzle, and played against the pink and purple of her mane. Familiar eyes, in a familiar face … and yet not.
… Tymbal. It was a beautiful name.
It was sort of thrilling, she had to admit to herself. And sort of flattering, in its own screwed-up and horrible way, that Tymbal had gone to such great lengths to keep her from the truth. To become Bon Bon for her, and work so hard to create so many happy memories.
"That's fair, Bonnie," Lyra murmured.
Tymbal nodded. "At least until she gets back and we can work this out."
Lyra stiffened. "No. That's not simple. Let's just forget this ever happened."
"We can't." Tymbal shook her head. "The truth doesn't work that way. It'll change how you interact with us. Trust me as a shapeshifter — you'll always be wondering which of the two of us it is."
"Only because you two lied to me for two years."
Tymbal's muzzle lowered. She stared at the bed and said nothing.
"Actually, you know what?" Lyra said, heart quickening. "You want to prove that all these lies were for my benefit? That you really do want me happy? Then we do this my way." It was emotional blackmail, plain and simple, and part of her was shocked to hear the words pass her lips — but then, this whole situation was bizarre and unfathomable, and if she was leaping off the moral high ground then at least she was just joining Sweetie and Tymbal in the swamps. "I have been happy for the past two years. Both of you would have been content to let that go on indefinitely. I'm just making that unanimous."
"Lyra." Tymbal's muzzle twisted up. "One set of lies was bad enough. If both halves of a relationship are lying to each other, I guarantee you that doesn't end well."
"Not forever, okay? Just … until I can get a handle on this whole thing. You owe me. You owe me that."
Tymbal looked dubious, but sighed and gave a short nod. "Soon?"
"Fine. Sure. I'll talk to her soon, and you shut up until then."
Tymbal — Bonnie — let out a breath and nodded again.
"Good." Lyra smiled gamely, then snuggled back up against her and gently coaxed her back down to the bed. Tymbal curled her legs around Lyra, but the embrace was limp and lifeless, and the smile on her muzzle felt a little forced.
Lyra's heart twisted.
If it weren't for Sweetie, she thought, me learning her secret wouldn't be making her act so distant. She took a breath. On the other hoof, if it weren't for Sweetie, we wouldn't know each other. So there's that.
"I love you, Bonnie," she said, hoping to coax more of a reaction out of her.
Lyra's lover met her eyes for a moment, then gamely smiled. "I love you," she said back, and buried her nose in Lyra's throat, and at least for a few moments all was right with the world again.
"Mmhh." Lyra giggled as Bonnie nibbled mid-kiss at her lower lip. "Wehcom bahk."
Nibbled, not sucked. The teething was gentle, but distracting nonetheless.
Lyra pulled back a bit and smiled. "Not that I mind, but that's a pretty enthusiastic response to finishing your grocery run."
"I'm allowed once in a while," Bonnie said with a big smile. The cut on her lip had healed almost fully in the past two weeks. There was also, Lyra noted with a little flutter of her heart, a thin line under one eye where the fur was just a bit too pristinely white. What had happened on that mission?
"Besides," Bonnie continued, "I bought icing." Her mouth trailed down Lyra's throat, then suddenly nipped in. As tantalizingly sharp as ever, but a trifle deep, pinching the muscle underneath the skin in a way Tymbal would never —
Lyra caught herself. Comparisons weren't simple. Comparisons meant acknowledging that Bonnie had spent two years lying to her. Which still hurt a part of her, even knowing that that lie was what had given Bonnie a way to be there for her every day.
It was complicated, in other words. And two weeks still hadn't gotten her any closer to sorting it out.
Bonnie's bites trailed off. After a brief pause, her head lifted back up, and she stared with some concern into Lyra's eyes. "Everything alright, lover?"
Lyra realized with a little start that she had drifted off into her own thoughts. She forced a smile. "Of course it is, sweetie," she said, caressing Bonnie's unscarred cheek with a hoof. "I've got you."
Bonnie's muzzle crinkled into an easy smile. "Mmmm," she murmured in return, and began running her lips down Lyra's throat again. Automatically, Lyra buried her muzzle into Bonnie's mane, inhaling deeply.
The familiar scent of lavender. Which only made sense; she wouldn't have had the time to swap out the shampoo in her travel kit before leaving.
The jasmine really was so much nicer.
Lyra nearly said something about it. She stopped herself at the last moment. Shampoo had already caused one near-meltdown, and she didn't need a second.
Bonnie's head bobbed back up, concern in her eyes. "Are you sure? You seem awfully distracted. Is … is this a bad time?"
Lyra's brain locked up, and she slammed down a blank mask over her sudden panic. She wondered if that was how Bonnie had felt when she'd surprised her at the cafe —
No. No. Focus.
"I'm sorry," Lyra said softly, and she forced herself to look into her lover's eyes. The one who had literally run into her at the carnival two years ago. The one who had taken her on that first date to the Whitetail Woods, and bought her that gorgeous imported lyre a year back, and her favorite earrings back at Hearth's Warming. She didn't have to force a smile at those memories. "I guess maybe I am a bit distracted, but I should set that aside and just enjoy you for the moment."
Bonnie caught the emotion in her smile and returned it, and Lyra's heart eased a bit.
"I mean," Lyra continued, mouth on autopilot, "this is really nice, you've been a little distant the past couple of days —"
Lyra immediately locked up again. Horsefeathers, what had she just said, she'd taken like three sentences to blow her secret, Bonnie would have to ask Tymbal about that one —
"… and, um, I was wondering if it was maybe something I'd done …" she managed.
How the hay had Bonnie and Tymbal done this for two years?
Bonnie's face flashed with immediate guilt. "No! No, lover," she said softly. "I'm sorry. I've been stuck in my own head too. But you're right, we should just enjoy each other. This just … felt like a good time to, I don't know, reset things."
Part of Lyra wondered whether that was ironic. Catching the hidden meaning that Bonnie knew she had put in, but didn't know that she knew.
"Then let's," Lyra said, and lunged back into a heartfelt and passionate kiss, and Bonnie fumbled clumsily with her on their mutual way down to the floor and didn't quite hit all the right spots once they'd shifted to the bed, and Lyra tried not to do a lot of thinking about that.
"You didn't tell her," Tymbal said.
Lyra looked up from her workbench. Bonnie — well, obviously Tymbal from the words, and also from the subtle differences in posture she was beginning to spot between them, but an earth pony mare wearing Bonnie's fur — was standing in the doorway with a wounded look on her muzzle.
"I had one day," Lyra said defensively, standing up from the concert poster she was designing. "There wasn't a good time to bring it up."
"You said you would."
"When I was ready." Lyra squinted. "Did you say something?"
"No! I promised I wouldn't."
"Good."
Tymbal frowned, then her face twisted up and she sat slowly down. "No, it's not. Lyra. Please. Don't make me lie to you both."
Lyra shot to her hooves. "You're still lying to me?"
Tymbal's head jerked up, eyes wide. "No — no! Horsefeathers, you know what I meant! Don't make me be the one caught in the middle between Sweetie's lie and yours!"
"Tymbal —"
"I swear to you, Lyra, there's nothing else I'm holding back," she said so intently that Lyra believed her in spite of it all.
Lyra sighed aggressively, then turned back around and sat down at her workbench. After a few moments of staring at the half-finished poster, she crumpled, burying her face in her hooves.
She heard Tymbal's hoofsteps tentatively approach. "… What's wrong?"
"I think I finally understand what you meant," Lyra said in a small voice.
Tymbal shifted uneasily, hooves tapping on the workroom's wooden floor. "What do you mean?"
"When you told me ripping Bonnie in half would just hurt everypony." Lyra slumped down to the table. "The whole day she was here, I kept wondering when she was going to leave again. Kept comparing her to you. I hate it. I hate it."
Tymbal was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, Lyra," she finally said, voice breaking. "I … I really am. This is all my fault. But it's why I keep asking you to talk to Sweetie."
Lyra turned around, staring her forlorn lover in the eyes. "Don't you see?" she said, feeling tears gather. "The first thing that does is drive a stake through Bonnie's heart. And leaves me with just the three of us."
"Yes." Tymbal sighed. "But at least that way you two can rebuild honestly."
"No." Lyra shook her head. "You were right and I was wrong, a few weeks ago. You're Bon Bon. And I love Bonnie. I need Bonnie. She's the only sane thing I can cling to in this whole whirling madness."
Lyra's lover opened and closed her mouth. Then she slowly sank to her haunches, turning her head away.
"Don't look like that," Lyra pleaded. "You're part of what I love about Bonnie. It doesn't work without you."
"Then maybe it shouldn't," Tymbal said in a very small voice.
Lyra stared, shocked, for a moment. Then she felt angry tears burn down her cheeks.
"Is that your exit strategy?" she said.
Tymbal's head jerked upright.
"Tell yourself it's okay if you leave because at least we can wrap ourselves in the truth? Pretend that you're doing us all a favor?" Something Tymbal had said earlier came back into focus. "Have 'us two' rebuild half the shattered pieces and call that a win?"
Tymbal stood. "That's not —"
"Not fair to me?" Lyra said, standing up as well. "No, it's not, and maybe you'd better think about that when you keep trying to insist you're doing this because you love me."
Wow, manipulative, a little voice inside Lyra whispered, and for a moment she saw its indignant tone mirrored in Tymbal's expression.
Self-defense, another internal voice countered.
Then Tymbal's resolve seemed to crumple all at once. "Alright," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. I do love you, Lyra. I'll try."
Lyra let out a long breath, stilling the limbs that she hadn't even realized were trembling.
"I appreciate that," she said softly. "I love you, Bonnie."
"Try it," Lyra said, and Bonnie contemplatively munched the banana bread that Lyra had put into the oven shortly before the pony one returned from her mission.
"Hm," Bonnie said, keeping her tone neutral in a way that Lyra recognized as disappointment she didn't want to voice. "It's … different. Did you go off-recipe?"
"Yes," Lyra said. "I added sugar, since you said you like it more that way."
That was a lie, technically. Lyra had found out about Tymbal's sweet tooth over the last few weeks. Sweetie liked her banana bread prepared exactly to the bland-yet-savory recipe. But Tymbal — apparently, like all changelings — found very little nourishment in pony food, and when she ate it, had to uncomfortably force it down in direct proportion to its lack of sweetness.
It didn't seem right to have the bread recipe reflect the pony who was there just a few days a month, Lyra thought. Surely there was some wiggle room to make their day-to-day routines more fair. Especially with all that Tymbal was doing to keep this working.
There was a moment's hesitation — a flicker of a second, almost too quick even for Lyra's now-trained eye to notice — before Sweetie smiled.
"I do," she lied. "And I appreciate it."
Lyra smiled back — acknowledging that with another lie of her own.
How had her relationship with the shapeshifting pretender become the honest one? The thought slipped in like the whisper of a knife, and she felt the blood of its wound pool like a dark pit in her chest. Yes, for two years Tymbal had deceived her — but the whole thing had been at Sweetie's request, and for Sweetie's benefit. Tymbal had been asked to fill in the gaps in Sweetie's life, keeping Lyra loving Sweetie for the benefit of those rare moments when they were together.
Tymbal kept begging her to open up to Sweetie, and patch things up with her, and start over, loving Sweetie instead of "Bonnie". Well, that just wasn't fair. Not to Lyra — but most importantly, not to her. Not when somewhere along the line, she'd fallen in love, too.
The only thing the truth would accomplish would be to force Tymbal out of the equation. That, Lyra realized with a queasy sort of finality, was the possibility that scared her the most. She couldn't bear having Tymbal's love ripped away, and being left with nothing but an ever-growing mountain of lies.
"Lyra? Hello?" Sweetie waved a hoof in front of her eyes.
Lyra started.
Sweetie's voice softened. "Lover? You zoned out on me there. What's wrong?"
Lyra blinked, and refocused on Sweetie's eyes. They weren't perfect the way Tymbal's were. The iris was uneven. The skin around her eyelids sagged a little more. That line across her cheek had almost but not quite faded into the background cream of her pelt.
"You keep asking that," Lyra said. Then added pointedly, "Why? Is there something we should be talking about?"
Sweetie's face shaded into uncertainty, and for a moment, Lyra found herself afraid that maybe she'd actually admit the truth and upend everything again —
"Not as long as you're happy," Sweetie said with a hopeful smile.
Lyra let out a breath, and returned the smile as genuinely as she could manage. If a few lies were the price of her happiness, that was a price she was willing to pay.
"Yes, Bonnie," she said, staring into Sweetie's eyes. "As long as I've got you, I am."
"Hey, lover." Bonnie shimmied onto the bed next to her and nuzzled Lyra's neck from behind. Lyra squeaked in surprise, half-turned her head to murmur happily into Bonnie's mane, and wondered.
She couldn't see Bonnie's face, and it probably was best not to make a point of looking at it in case that tipped Sweetie off to something. It had been a few days since Sweetie had come home, so the chances of her having left again were high, but if it were Tymbal she would almost certainly lead with her usual nagging about the truth —
A small, annoying part of Lyra noted that Tymbal had been right about her knowledge changing the way she reacted to the two of them. You know what, the rest of her told that contrary voice. Just because I'm trying to keep them straight in my head doesn't mean I can't treat them both like the Bonnie they once were.
She pushed her half-finished analysis into a mental corner and gave Bonnie an enthusiastic nuzzle. "Hey, yourself."
"Mmmm." Bonnie lifted her head to return it with equal enthusiasm, then rested her muzzle to Lyra's neck and took a breath. "So, um … I wanted to apologize to you about the talking to Sweetie thing."
Oh, Lyra thought. Tymbal, then. … Oh. Oh.
"Not because I've changed my mind on it," she quickly clarified. "Or because it's any less urgent. But … I haven't been giving you enough time to process. For me, it's about breached cover. For you, it's your world flipping upside down." Her voice softened. "I was expecting you to just take that in stride within days. You asked me to let you take it at your pace. I agreed, but I didn't listen."
"I, uh, appreciate that," Lyra said, trying not to think about her recent revelations. Did Tymbal really need to know she had sorted it out? … Maybe not quite yet.
"I'm going to hold you to that promise," Tymbal said. "But in the meantime, I love you, and I did some thinking. The most important thing that means for a while is for me to be the Bonnie you need me to be." She lifted a leg and brushed a hoof-edge down Lyra's neck, murmuring into her ear. "That's what you asked for. It's what you deserve. Let Bonnie make you happy, lover."
Her voice seemed lighter, more musical, than usual. And when Tymbal shifted her jaw and nibbled at the edges of her ear, it came along with a happy little hum. Lyra's heart soared, even as her pulse quickened and her need started to stir. Maybe they really were through the mess — she hadn't heard that out of Bonnie since before the whole thing started.
Was that a Bonnie thing? Or had it been a Tymbal thing the whole time?
The thought made it feel even more thrilling. Was that part of the music that had led to her name? Was it a prelude to someday hearing the original, curling up against an alien yet comfortable chitinous form in the secret little forest glade she and Bonnie loved so much?
Tymbal shifted against her, nuzzling her horn, and Lyra shivered at the way that her lover's cheek-pelt tickled against the sensitive striations of its surface. She wondered how it would be different without the fur and flesh. Decided she didn't care. She would welcome whatever it was, as long as it came from her.
"I love you, Lyra," Tymbal paused to whisper, and Lyra's heart leapt and fluttered and stole her breath.
Lyra passionately nibbled at Tymbal's neck, in an echo of her lover's typical gesture. "I love you, Tymbal," she whispered back.
Tymbal froze.
And, after a moment, Lyra did too.
Tymbal roughly jerked backward. "What."
"I love you," Lyra said desperately.
"You said you needed me to be Bonnie. You said you thought of me as Bonnie."
Denials leapt to Lyra's lips. She suppressed them. None would be convincing. And given how horribly lying had messed everything up, maybe it was time for some truth for a change.
"I do," she said firmly, tears gathering in her eyes. "Because you are Bonnie to me."
Tymbal took a step back, lips forming silent words, and then her face tightened and she clenched her teeth. Tears of her own began to gather.
"No," she said. "No. I — no. Lyra, I can't do this to her. I'm telling Sweetie."
"Tymbal," Lyra said, raising her voice desperately, "forget Sweetie! I love you — because I love Bon Bon and you're Bon Bon in all the ways that matter most. You're the Bon Bon who gets dragged out of bed at 3 a.m. to listen to my secrets under the stars. The Bon Bon who crams bland banana bread in her mouth because sharing the experience of eating with me is more important than an upset stomach. The Bon Bon who spends hours under the covers with me learning just where to bite to turn me into jelly. Sweetie, what, swings by once a week and buys me Hearth's Warming gifts?"
Anger — genuine anger — flared in Tymbal's face, and she roughly shoved Lyra back. Lyra yelped, windmilled her legs, and fell off the bed.
Tymbal leapt forward to loom above her. "Sweetie saved my life!" she yelled, and as Lyra winced and scrambled backward, she clenched her jaw and let out a sharp, hissing breath through her teeth. "And whether or not we love her," she continued more quietly, "we are going to respect that."
Lyra gingerly got to her hooves. "The way she respected me this whole time?"
"She tries," Tymbal growled. "And don't tell me you love Bon Bon if you can't at least say the same."
Lyra felt her muzzle twitch. "Don't tell me I can't love you and then accuse me of not trying!" she shouted. "You know what Sweetie wants? She wants to come home to a happy lover. She wants to snuggle with me in the night and hear about how much I love the things we did together. If Bon Bon is a fiction, Sweetie needs that fiction as much as I do!"
"If you love Tymbal, you don't love Bon Bon!" Tymbal shouted back. "You — nngh!"
The air ignited with green fire. Lyra barely winced as Bonnie's form melted away.
An ominous black chitin figure leapt from the bed and stalked up to her. Lyra held her ground.
"Look at me," Tymbal growled, fangs bared, featureless eyes boring into hers. "Look at me, Lyra. Look me in the eyes and tell me, to my face, this is what you love."
Lyra felt her gathering tears spill over. Her jaw trembled. Adrenaline froze her limbs.
Slowly, deliberately, she leaned in to the monstrosity, and kissed it on the lips.
Tymbal blinked.
Then her head jerked to the side. She blinked again, staring past Lyra. Her mouth fell open.
Slowly, Lyra turned her head toward the bedroom door.
There was Bonnie. Sweetie. Standing, mouth agape and jaw quivering, in the doorway.
Sweetie's eyes flicked back and forth between them. She worked her jaw. Swallowed.
"I, uh," she said faintly, "forgot my travel bag."
The worst part was, Sweetie wasn't the one upset at her.
"I brought this on myself," she moaned, sinking to the bed to cradle her head in her hooves. "I was so scared you wouldn't love me when I left that I tricked you into being with somepony else. How can I blame you for actually falling in love with her?"
"I can't believe I believed you about needing me to stay Bon Bon," Tymbal muttered from the far side of the room, pacing with a frantic clack of chitin.
Lyra turned to Tymbal. "That was true," she pleaded. "I was scared of change. But then something changed along the way. I didn't even realize it until today."
"I told you I didn't want to get between you two. And that's exactly where you put me." Tymbal turned away, scowling.
Sweetie looked up. "Hey, that's not on her, okay? You want to blame someone, blame me."
Tymbal whirled on Sweetie. "You're defending her? After how she threw you aside?"
"Like I have grounds to complain," Sweetie said.
"Tymbal, please don't be mad," Lyra said desperately. "I just wanted what we had before things broke open."
Tymbal whirled back to her, causing Lyra to cringe back. "Do you even realize how much she sacrificed for you? How much work went into making the 'Bonnie' you loved?"
Lyra felt a fire stir inside her, and slowly stood up, indignant. "The Bonnie who was a lie from the beginning? That Bonnie?"
"It was a bad idea, okay?" Sweetie's voice raised to meet theirs. "But by the time I realized it was a bad idea, it would have been worse to stop than to keep going."
"Well, maybe if you had we wouldn't be here right now!" Lyra shouted.
"I know, okay?"
"There was a very easy way to not be here!" Tymbal shouted. "And you rejected it three different times!"
"And why didn't you say anything, huh?" Sweetie said.
"Because I told her not to!" Lyra blurted out.
"Because she —" Tymbal started to snap, then paused as she realized she'd been preempted.
The half-finished sentence hung sharply in the air for a moment.
Tymbal slumped to a sitting position and sighed. "You know," she said instead, "this would be a lot easier if we weren't all trying to simultaneously blame each other and defend each other."
"There's nothing easy about this," Lyra and Sweetie chorused with dull resignation, then glanced up at each other, startled.
Sweetie's face wavered into a wry smile. Lyra barely bit back an ironic chuckle. "Pffft," she said, and Sweetie looked at her expression and let loose a guffaw, and then for a moment, all of them gave in to laughter, losing themselves in the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
Silence gradually retook the room, and the tension between them quietly receded.
"Holy hornrings," Sweetie said as she gasped for breath. "What a mess."
Tymbal slumped to the floor, sprawling out and staring unfocusedly up at the ceiling. "I just don't see where to go from here," she said heavily.
Lyra closed her eyes for a moment. The hard knot of darkness that had pooled in her chest earlier wasn't there any more. It had burst, leaving her coated in a dull and unfocused sort of sadness. She looked over at Sweetie, feeling nothing of the anger she had earlier in the day, and knew there was only one thing to be said:
"I'm sorry."
Sweetie and Tymbal turned their heads in Lyra's direction. Sweetie's muzzle creased with guilt. She sat up.
"Me too," Sweetie said quietly. "I'm sorry."
Tymbal sat up, too, and glanced back and forth between them. Her jaw started quivering. She closed her eyes.
"I-I'm sorry, too," she said faintly. "We all did our part to hurt each other. I'm no exception."
Lyra let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
"That's a start," Sweetie said. "I hope."
"Yeah," Tymbal said. "I … mmh. Maybe it is. Maybe you two can still talk like I suggested."
"I'd be down for that," Sweetie said.
Lyra's heart sped up. "I," she said, voice hitching for a moment, bracing herself to throw everything away for the one pony who had made any sacrifices. "I'm not."
Two heads turned to her.
"What you wanted was for Sweetie and I to make up," she said. "There's somepony missing from that."
"No," Tymbal said quietly, but her voice was iron. "I'm not okay with getting in your way."
Sweetie glanced back and forth between them, then frowned. "Tymbal," Sweetie said with equal quiet firmness. "This was never about me and her. All along it's been Lyra and Bonnie."
Lyra held her breath.
"Don't be ridiculous," Tymbal said. "Bonnie was you all along."
"Maybe it started off that way," Sweetie said. "But I spend just as much time adapting to the role as you do. Sweetie Drops doesn't like sweet banana bread, but I agreed to eat it in a second because Bon Bon does." Her voice softened. "Bon Bon changes every time I come home. If she ever was me, she isn't any more."
"She was always meant to be you," Tymbal said. "I'm the changeling. I'm the interloper."
"I think we've seen how good intentions have turned out," Sweetie said. "It doesn't matter what Bonnie was meant to be. It matters what we make of her."
Tymbal opened her mouth to fire something back. Then hesitated. Glanced at Lyra.
Lyra swallowed. "I don't know what the future looks like any more," she said softly. "I don't even know whether I've messed things up with you too badly to fix. But please, don't run away from the past. We can't figure this out without you."
Tymbal shifted her jaw, biting the edge of a chitinous lip.
"Well," she finally said, "I've never had an exit strategy from you before. It would be a shame to start now."
She stepped toward the center of the room. Lyra let out a relieved laugh, and stood, and motioned Sweetie forward, and the three of them cautiously drew together.
Bonnie, Bonnie and Lyra hugged.
It was just a hug. It was just for a moment, before they got down to the hard conversations.
But for that brief, precious moment, that hug was all that mattered, and there wasn't a whole lot of thinking for Lyra to do.
