A fire in his heart

by basalisk120

Rating: teen
Tags: Sex, Spitfire, Wonderbolts, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Soarin, Romance
Length: 43016

Soarin's drunk at a party and Spitfire takes him home. But will he let something slip? (Not explicitly NSFW)

For perhaps the first time, Spitfire finds herself sober at a party! But when she decides that Soarin has had far too many and needs taking back to the hotel, will he let something slip?
Rated teen for a couple sexual references in early chapters, and some suggestive behavior later on. I might have to bump it up if things get much worse, though. (Not explicitly NSFW)

Published 2012-08-27 06:14:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-09-27 05:52:06 UTC

Chapter 1

Spitfire lounged tiredly at a table in one of Canterlot’s finest bars, her flight suit unzipped down to her chest, and her goggles on her forehead, displaying her large, warm eyes. Around her, the rest of the Wonderbolts mingled with the public, making conversation, dancing to the music, and generally having a good time. They were cooling off after their latest performance, and the last in their grand Equestrian tour. They’d started in Canterlot, and Spitfire had promised the team that they’d finish there too. Canterlot was by far their favourite location, and for many good reasons. Not only was the city in a perfect locale for their most spectacular stunts, and it had one of the best night skies of any city in the country, it was also the fact that, being the capital city, Canterlot had by far the best hotel rooms for the team, often giving them access to the same rooms as visiting dignitaries and other upper-class ponies. Even with their expensive training rooms and homes, the royal Canterlot suite was exquisite beyond compare.

Not to mention, it was the perfect place for a little romance…

But for once, Spitfire wasn’t on the ‘prowl’ as the other Wonderbolts liked to put it. After a few drinks, many of her colleagues would joke about her ‘appetite’ for ponies after a tense performance. She liked to say that it was about relaxation, but it was as much about companionship as anything else. Besides, being a celebrity drew a lot of ponies, and nopony could disagree that a lot of them were attractive.

Sure, she did feel unkind on occasion, choosing almost anypony that took her fancy for relaxation intimacy, just to satisfy her primal instincts. Sure, she was far from the only pony that did it, as none of the ‘Bolts were actually tied down to anypony else, and a life on the wing did get rather lonely, but the others did consider her a little prolific, and it did reflect rather badly on the team when it got out. Sure, she managed to play it off when she was caught entertaining a pair of upper class mares, or a particularly attractive fancolt, and she could ignore the press on the most part, but the looks that the team gave her made her feel like a young filly caught breaking her family’s priceless heirlooms.

Maybe that was why she was trying to exercise some self-control tonight. Unusually for her, she’d only had a couple drinks, and was trying to keep to herself and her friends. Of course, this hadn’t gone unnoticed, and her friends had shared more than one laugh at her attempt at chastity.

It was just such a shame that Soarin wasn’t doing the same.

According to her undercover intel, (Fleetfoot) somepony had managed to rope the blue stallion into a drinking contest, (The winner of which was still unclear, as he had apparently become side-tracked halfway though) and was now by far the drunkest pony in the establishment.

Until a few moments ago, she had been content to watch the inebriated blue stallion bumble hilariously around the building, trying to make conversation with friend and stranger alike, and failing utterly. But since those two mares turned up, she had been forced to scowl at her drink, muttering under her breath.
To anypony that wasn’t as drunk as Soarin, it was easily obvious what they had in mind, and they weren’t trying to hide it.
Normally, she wouldn’t have minded about any of this, and in fact, she hadn’t really noticed Soarin with anypony else. However, this was probably because she was usually either too drunk or simply not present by the time it happened. What she did have, however, was experience with the next morning. It was always the same, whenever he’d had somepony over the night before…

She’d get a knock on the door of her flat, she’d wake up, trot over to the door, still half asleep, open up, and there he would be, looking like a puppy that knew it had done something awful. Then, she’d chase off anypony that she had been entertaining, clean up the bed as best she could, and invite him in. Then, he’d sob about how terrible he felt, and she’d have to give him awkward comforting noises and tell him it was okay, even though she didn’t understand two things about it. And then he’d wipe his nose and swear that he’d lay off the drink, and he wouldn’t behave like ‘a stupid little colt’ ever again. She didn’t believe him anymore, and she’d hug him and pat his shoulder, feeling so awkward that it felt robotic and jerky. Then he’d thank her, and apologise for waking her up, and she’d say it was fine, and he’d leave.
She sighed and shook her head. The whole thing was endearing, but it would never change. As a wonderbolt, these things would happen.

But today felt different. Just watching them sitting next to him, nuzzling his shoulders, flirting openly, boiled her blood. Perhaps it was because she knew how he would feel in the morning, or perhaps it was because of something else, she didn’t know. But she hated it.

And she wasn’t about to let it carry on.

Glaring, she set her drink down, and got to her hooves. In a moment, she was around her table and striding quickly across the room toward the trio. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fleetfoot hurrying over to her, and she stopped, turning to the quiet mare.

“Spitfire, you look like a mare on a mission, what’s up?”
Spitfire looked at the ground awkwardly. What was the best way to put this without looking strange?
“I’m… Taking Soarin back to his room. He’s had way too much.”
“Really? No offence, but I didn’t expect to see you doing that…”
“Wh-what? Why not?” She said, feeling her face begin to heat up.
“Oh, it’s just… Well, you know, you don’t normally stop him…” Fleetfoot almost mumbled, trailing her hoof on the ground.
“Well, normally, I’m not there to scrape him up off the floor.” She said hastily. “B-besides, you know how he gets after he takes somepony upstairs…”
“Yeah, you’ve said before…” She smiled softly. “Sorry, it’s just… You’ve got murder in your eyes…”
She sighed inwardly. She’d gotten away with it. “Well, would you look at those two? It makes me sick…”
At this, the little blue mare raised an eyebrow. “And what you do is different?”
Spitfire blushed hotly, scowling indignantly. Fleetfoot had a way of putting her in her place. “Hey, I don’t take advantage of colts who are too drunk to say no. What I have is consensual.”
“Well, okay then. But please try not to kill anypony…”
She smiled softly. “I’ll be good, Fleet…”
“Atta girl. I’ll see you at training then, right?”
“Right.” Spitfire nodded, before making her way over to Soarin. She gave the mares her finest glower. One mare had a pastel pink coat and a short, straight purple mane, while the other was a soft teal, a long, wavy green mane flowing down her shoulders. If she didn’t hate them both so much, she could have considered them attractive.
“Alright ladies, show’s over. Clear off.” She made a jerking motion with her forehoof, pointing at the door.
“Oh, and if it isn’t Spitfire, the fine captain,” the one on the left said, turning to face her, while the other stroked Soarin’s cheek lightly.
“Well observed, dear. Now get lost.” She said flatly, frowning.
“What, without having a little fun with your colleague here?” The other said, smiling.
“That’s exactly what I mean. You know as well as I do he’s got no idea what’s going on.”
“Oh? And that’s a problem? I thought that was your kind of thing, Spitfire…” She leant in close, fluttering her eyelids. “Or perhaps you’re just… Jealous?”
Spitfire growled. This time they’d gone too far.
“Honey, I’m an athlete, and I’m stone cold sober. Do you want me to take things outside? I’ll lay the both of you out on your backs.”
“Oh, is that a threat?” They said in unison, stepping away from the confused Soarin, and in front of her, trying to look intimidating. She glared back at them, ready to start throwing punches.
But then she heard a familiar, suave voice on her left, and she turned, confronted with her fiery-maned wingpony, Firestreak.
“Can I bother you two fine mares for a drink? My pleasure…” He said with his signature, irresistible voice. He flashed them a warm, welcoming smile. The duo glanced at him, then back at Soarin, clearly torn. Soarin, the Wonderbolt’s second in command, was clearly the more important prize, but Firestreak was a master with the mares, and Spitfire knew he wouldn’t give in until he had them.
“Or I could ask that lovely little mare over by the door…”Firestreak said, breaking the silence and raising an inviting eyebrow. Spitfire kept up her ferocious glare, and after a couple moments, the mares decided that it would be more effort than it was worth to keep chasing Soarin when there was a perfectly eligible stallion offering them a drink.
“That sounds delightful…” One of the mares said, still glowering at Spitfire as she trotted past her, standing next to Firestreak. The other mare followed suit, and they made to leave.
“How about I take you two to the bar,” He said, looking back and giving Spitfire a meaningful look. She owed him. “I’ll buy you anything you like…”
“Oh, you absolute gentlecolt, you…” The pink coated one said, nuzzling his neck lightly as they left.
Spitfire shuddered violently. If she looked like that when she flirted, she was never drinking again. She cantered over to Soarin, who was gazing vacantly at where the mares had been a couple minutes ago.
“Hey, wake up, lover boy. I’m taking you back to your room.” She waved her hoof in front of his blank expression. In return, he drunkenly shook his head, his eyes focussing on the yellow mare before him.
“Wha… Spitfire? Why are you… What are you doin’ here?”
“Taking you to bed, apparently.”
“But… Wha happened to those other two?”
“They went away.” She said firmly, frowning. “Now come on, you’ve had too much.”
“Okay…”
“Alright then, get up.” She said in a vague attempt at a mothering tone, , pulling at one of his forehooves with both of her own.

Crash!

“Okay Soarin,” She said to the stallion who was now sprawled on the floor. “You’d better be able to get up, because I am not carrying you all the way to the suite.”
“A’ight…” He slowly staggered to his hooves, leaning heavily on his captain. In return, she rolled her eyes, draping her wing over his shoulders and walking him to the door.
High winds, who was talking to some other mysterious celebrity, raised her brow at her as she passed. She smiled grimly at the puffy-maned pegasus.
“Widdle Soarin’s out past his bedtime and I’m putting him to bed before he does something silly…” She said in a childish voice.
High winds frowned, but when Soaring tried to wave at her and nearly brought them both to the floor, she smiled slowly and nodded.
“Don’t have too much fun now…” She said, smirking slightly.
“Oh believe me, I’m trying…” Spitfire said sarcastically, leading him to the door and pushing it open for him. As she forced the reluctant Wonderbolt through the doorway and into the cool midnight air, she could have sworn that she heard a quiet snigger behind her. She ignored it, trying to keep the unsteady colt on his hooves as he ambled across the street.
“Really Soarin, I know I make mistakes, but you’ve made a proper ass of yourself tonight…”
“I’m sorry captain… I didn’t mean to, I promise…”
Spitfire scowled. She really wanted to stay mad at him, but he was so sincere, and he sounded so apologetic, but it was no use.
“Okay big guy, it’s alright… Just… try to exercise some self-control, okay? I managed it…”
“But you’re smarter than me…” He moaned. “It’s easier for you…
“Soarin dear, you’re lovely, and a great flier, but being smarter than you is no harder than learning to walk.”
“I… Yeah…” The blue stallion mumbled sadly, staring at the floor.
“Oh come on, big guy, cheer up. You excel in other areas.”
“I do?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Thanks, Spit…” He murmured, hugging her clumsily. She felt her face heat up, and she wriggled, pushing against him with her wing.
“Hey, come on, don’t get sappy with me, Soarin.” She hurried slightly faster down the empty street, heading for their quarters.
“Sorry, I just…” Soarin mumbled, before trailing off, looking away. Curious, Spitfire continued dragging the wasted stallion down the road, watching her breath as it cooled and solidified in wisps around her face as she walked, the only sounds breaking the night time silence being the light, steady patter of her hooves, and the heavy, random hoofsteps of her inebriated friend stumbling as he leant on her.

But the seconds turned to minutes, and Soarin remained silent. Frowning, Spifire nudged him.
“You just what, Soarin?”
“Oh, umm… S’nothin’, really…” He said, his slurred speech suddenly awkward and nervous. Really, Spitfire should have just ignored him. Later, she wished she had. She should have just assumed that he was drunk, and therefore somewhat dull-witted.

But she wasn’t a nice pony, and she didn’t like things being kept from her.
“Listen hun, either you tell me now, or you’re sleeping on the street tonight.” She said flatly, stopping. She was getting this out of him, one way or another.
“Well… Alright, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise not to tell Spitfire…”
She rolled her eyes. “You can count on me, Soarin.”
“Thanks, it’s just…” He paused for what felt like at least a minute, as if trying to piece together his thoughts through his muddled senses.
“I… I always liked you, Spitfire…” He said softly, looking at the ground.
“What?” Spitfire said, suddenly staring at him. Surely, he hadn’t just-
“I… said I always liked you, Spitfire… A-and I still do…” He was even quieter now, and he was blushing furiously. She could feel her own face reddening, and she looked away.
“Come on, Soarin, you’re just drunk. Let’s get you back to bed-”
“N-no! I mean it, Spitfire… I… really like… I really like you, Spitfire… That’s…. That’s why I always confide in you, and I always go to you when I mess up…”
She paused. The big lug did have a point there.
“A-and when… When I wake up next to somepony, I… I always wish that… it was you, instead…”
Both of them were blushing a bright scarlet by this point, and Soarin was fixated on the ground. They both stood there, Soarin still swaying uncertainly, for what felt like an hour. Spitfire was desperate to speak, trying to force words into her mouth. But she just didn’t know what to say. How long had he felt like this? Why hadn’t he told her before? What did this mean for her? She didn’t know.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward, she managed to force a few word out.
“C-come on, hun… Let’s get you to bed, eh?”
“Y-yeah… Umm… Okay…” He muttered in response, his face pale and blank like some sort of trauma victim.
“Come on, Soarin, lean on me… You can’t walk by yourself…”
“I… umm… okay, Spitfire…” His face still glowing crimson, he staggered toward her, leaning on her side once more. She could feel that his body was stiff and tense, but he was clearly still very drunk. As they set off, she shook her head sadly. Despite her best efforts to make things right, Soarin was going to hate himself in the morning.

She spent the rest of the short journey up into the royal courtyard in awkward silence, Becoming more and more tired as Soarin began to relax once more, placing more and more weight on her back and shoulders. Normally, she wouldn’t have minded too much, but his head was resting on her back and neck, and she was sure that he was trying to sniff her mane in his semi-conscious haze. It wasn’t normally the sort of thing that bothered her. After all, she had gotten far more intimate with ponies she didn’t even know in the past, but there was something about the fact that it was Soarin, something about the way he had been so… affectionate. Sure, physical attraction was something she was really familiar with, but she hadn’t really had a crush or stable relationship since she was a filly, and frankly the concept unnerved her, especially with a co-worker. Or a friend so close as Soarin…

She shook her head vigorously. Behind her, Soarin groaned at the movement, but she ignored him. She just wanted to get him in bed as soon as possible so she could sort things out alone.

Before long, they found themselves looking up at the large tower that made up the royal Canterlot hotel, standing in the immaculate courtyard, lined on all sides by rare and exotic plants and exquisite decorations.

She trotted quickly through the open double doors, now supporting most of the stallion’s weight. She was starting to wonder if he was already asleep. Smiling with determination, she dragged him briskly over to the lobby, where a tired-looking hotel worker was sitting behind the desk. He was a young unicorn, with a grey mane and a white coat. He was leaning on the desk, his head supported by his hoof, and apparently daydreaming. Whatever that daydream was, it seemed to be a good one, because to Spitfire’s surprise, he failed to notice the clattering of unsteady hooves that heralded her approach.
“’Scuse me?” She said quite loudly.
The receptionist cried out, jumping almost a foot into the air, before falling backwards off his seat. Spitfire had to resist a smirk as he slowly gt to his hooves, holding his head with a groan.
“M-miss Spitfire… I-it’s a pleasure…”
“Likewise, she said, a smile gracing her lips.
“I’m… here too…” Said Soarin, breathing heavily on her neck as she did so. Resisting a shiver , she looked back, shushing him, before returning to the receptionist.
“Yeah, he’s had a few too many. Could we have our room keys?”
“Oh, certainly, madam.” The unicorn turned around to face the rows of shelves for a moment, murmuring quietly to himself as he searched for their keys. In a few seconds, he found them, and retrieved them with his magic.
“The penthouse suites again, ma’am. I take it you know how to find them?” He said, levitating them to her with his magic. She nodded in reply, clasping the keys tightly between her teeth.
“Wonderful. You two are in rooms three and four, as per usual. If you forget, it is written on your keys.”
“Shanksh.” Spitfire replied, her mouth full of metal.
“Will that be all, madam?” He asked politely.
Spitfire nodded again, turning Soarin slowly around and making her way toward the far side of the grandiose entrance hall, where the stairs and lift were located.

She looked up at the huge, resplendent staircase, and immediately decided that there was no way she was carrying Soarin up them. Instead, she trotted over to the lift, and propping the wasted stallion up against the wall and tucking the keys into her flight suit, she called the lift down.
“Okay Soarin,” She said, turning to him. “When you get back up to your room, you’re going straight to bed, and you’re not coming out until morning. Got that?”
“Yes, ma’am…” He slurred.
“Hey.” She cuffed his shoulder. “We’re not training right now, you can call me what you like…”
“Yeah… Sorry…”
“That’s okay, Soar.” She said, smiling slightly. “Okay, and don’t come to practices tomorrow, okay? Let’s be honest, you’re going to be feeling pretty rough with just the hangover. And you’re gonna regret what you said earlier, too.” She said as the lift pinged behind her, the door slowly opening.
“I… Said something?” He said, his face awash with confusion as he staggered for the door. Spitfire caught him, leading him toward the lift.
Had he forgotten? That would make things easier, not to mention much less awkward between them.
“Oh, it was… nothing important, really. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay… Spits…”
She pushed him into the lift, leaning him against the wall again. “Spits?” She said incredulously, raising an eyebrow.
“Y’said I can call you anything…” He gave her a lopsided smile.
“Well… Yeah, but… It’s a horrible nickname…” She said, slightly annoyed that he had outwitted her while drunk.
“I like it…” He said as the door closed.
Spitfire pressed the button for the top floor. “Well, if you call me it again, I’m gonna hit you.”
“Aww… Why?”
“Because I’m mean like that, hun.”
They stood in silence and listened to the faint hum of the lift as they ascended to the penthouse. Spitfire felt more and more awkward as the time went by, her mind wandering back to Soarin’s confession not long before. Just standing in a confined space with him felt much more uncomfortable than it had used to.
After what felt like an eternity, the lift pinged again, and the doors swung open.
“Alright Soarin, we’re on the home straight now… Almost there…”
“Okay, Spitfire…”
She smiled at him as best she could, walking him to room four. Past experience had told her which room was hers – She always got room three. As quickly as she could, she retrieved the right key, holding it in her mouth as she inserted it into the door. Shifting her position so that Soarin’s weight wouldn’t overbalance her, she raised her forehoof, turning the key.
Wearily, she finally pushed the door open and dragged him over to the bed, spilling him onto the massive piece of queen sized furniture like a farmer spilling a sack of potatoes onto the back of a cart. The pale blue stallion squirmed slightly, closing his eyes and mumbling quietly. Spitfire smiled, and leant in closer.
“Sleep well, hun.” She said softly. Soarin smiled peacefully in turn.
“Thanks, Spit…fire… For getting me here…”
“Hey, no problem… That’s what friends are for, Soar.”
“Y-yeah… Friends…” Soarin’s smile lessened slightly, and he relaxed into the cushiony softness of the mattress.
“C’mon, get some sleep.” She said, tousling his mane lightly.
“’Kay…” He opened his mouth slightly as he started to drift off to sleep. Even when out of his mind, Soarin never had trouble sleeping. She smiled at him fondly – now that she mentioned it, Soarin was actually pretty attractive. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? She thought to herself. Then, she shook her head, frowning. I must have had more than I thought...
Deep in thought, she trotted over to the door, glancing back at the sleeping stallion every so often. He was like a happy go lucky foal – you just couldn’t dislike him, even if you wanted.
The moment he stepped out of his door though, her smile vanished. She trotted quickly over to her door. She had some thinking to do…

Hope you liked it! This was just a little something I came up with over a few days while trying to break an art block… And I think it worked! This is technically the end, but if enough of you express an interest, I might just extend it…

Chapter 2

Spitfire plodded wearily to her own room, turning the key in the same way that she had before. She could have gone back to the party, and under normal circumstances, she might well have done. But something felt different now that she knew how Soarin felt. It sapped the partying mood straight out of her. She really did have a lot to think about.

When did this begin? She thought to herself, pushing the door open. What will this mean for the team? She stopped dead in her tracks. She hadn’t thought of that one. Of course it would affect the team for the worse. What if Soarin did remember, and refused to talk to her out of shame? Or worse, if he left the Wonderbolts? She shook her head. She knew that she was being paranoid, but it didn’t make the scenarios any less likely in her head. The fiery maned mare trotted into her room, alone for the first time. It felt strange. She was very much a sociable pony, and didn’t particularly like the idea of being alone all night. And being a wonderbolt meant that tying down a significant other was nearly impossible, as they spent most of the year on tour. Of course, she’d never actually tried a serious relationship, but she had spent enough time with a heartbroken Fleetfoot to understand the difficulty of the concept.

But what if the special somepony was a wonderbolt too? She thought briefly as she flicked the light on, the expensive chandelier scattering the light across the room elegantly. She dismissed the thought the moment it entered her head. No matter what he might think, Soarin was a friend, and nothing more. She plodded onward, her hooves sinking delightfully into the royal blue shag pile carpet. Throwing her keys onto the bedside table from across the room, she unzipped her form-fitting flight suit, slipping out of it with practised grace. First the left foreleg, then the right, followed by the right and then left wings, then a fair amount of unceremonious wiggling and the suit was around her flanks. After that, it was just a flick of the tail and the thin blue and yellow fabric was sitting in a pile around her ankles. She stepped out of the suit, and picking it up with her teeth, tossed it loosely onto the back of a nearby chair, the lavish upholstery lost on her for the first time. She trotted into the bathroom, ignoring the inlaid black marble flooring that was cool on her hooves as she stepped lightly over it and into the enormous shower. In all of the venues that the Wonderbolts had performed, the Canterlot suite was the only one with a shower so big that it had seats for up to three people built into it. Needless to say, she had made use of this feature more than once. There was also a Jacuzzi next to it, as if guests needed any more variety with their washing.
For the first time, she slipped into the shower alone, and sat down on the cold enamel seating without anypony to relax against. She didn’t like it. With a heavy heart, she turned the water on, letting the hot liquid soothe her body and relax her muscles. However, she still couldn’t escape the feeling that she would have enjoyed things more if she had somepony to share the shower with.

Like Soarin…

Sigh sighed with frustration. She probably just felt guilty for not accepting his advances. Yeah, that must be it. She rose to her hind legs, closing her eyes and letting the water flow down her orange tipped mane, cascading in rivulets down her soft yellow fur, washing away all of her negative thoughts and emotions.

She must have stayed in there for more than half an hour, simply standing or sitting with her eyes closed, taking in the warm flow of the water down her body, or the thick, cleansing steam that invaded her nose when she breathed. But as wonderful as it was, it had the unfortunate side effect of exhausting the already tired mare, and not desperate to drown, she shut off the water and returned to the world of the living, sliding open the glass door into the bathroom once more. Even the warm air of the bathroom hit her like a wall of ice. She shivered, trotting over to the towel rack on the far side of the room, ignoring the water dripping off her body and onto the floor. Spending most of their lives in hotels and other rented accommodation had eventually lead to a lack of cleaning up after themselves amongst the Wonderbolts. It wasn’t intentional, but they had accidentally come to take it for granted. Spitfire was far from an exception to this rule, but she did do her best to clean up after she had entertained guests. There were some things that hotel cleaners shouldn’t have to put up with.
She grabbed a towel in one forehoof, quickly rubbing herself dry with the soft blue fabric. It woke her up a little, but her eyes still threatened to close as she made her way to the full-length mirror next to the shower. Throwing her towel over the edge of the shower cubicle, she wiped the condensation from the mirror and looked herself up and down. She groaned as she saw her face, and the goggles that remained on her forehead. Irritably, she pulled them off, throwing them into the bedroom. Aside from the two red rings that now adorned her face, and her damp mane that was spread out in all directions, she looked fine. At least, better than usual after a party. She winked at her reflection, smiling.

“Lookin’ good, Spitfire.” She chuckled to herself, trotting out of the bathroom, drawn to the bed as if by gravity. The night hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but it had drained her the same. With a single flap of her wings, she leapt over to the massive circular bed, slipping under the covers. Another great thing about the Canterlot suite – The beds were easily big enough for a lot of fun, but soft enough for a wonderful night’s sleep. Unfortunately, wonderful wasn’t the word that Spitfire would later have used for the fitful series of hours spent in the huge bed.

Spitfire awoke with a groan, opening her eyes blearily to find herself on the edge of her bed, having moved some considerable distance in her uneasy sleep. Scowling, she made to get up.

She couldn’t move.

In her sleep, she had completely tangled her body in the sheets and blankets, only her head safe from imprisonment. She growled with frustration – It was going to be a long day.

After a fair amount of wriggling, she managed to free her right foreleg, and she rubbed her eyes, sagging. As she lay still, preparing herself for the next explosion of movement, she could have sworn she heard sound emanating from the room next door. Room four, where Soarin was sleeping. She dragged herself closer to the wall, stretching her neck out and to the left, trying to angle her ear toward Soarin’s room. But she couldn’t hear anything. Whatever he had done, it would have had to been pretty loud to pass through the walls. After all, nothing she had done had ever been picked up by her ‘neighbours’. Or at least, that’s what they told her. Shaking her head, she decided that she must have been imagining things. Why would Soarin be awake if he didn’t need to be at training? She rested her chin on the mattress, scowling slightly. Obviously, her paranoia hadn’t been helped by her sleep. She worried about the big blue colt, as much as she wished she didn’t. If he had remembered, she worried for the team. Even if he hadn’t, he was going to feel terrible after that much alcohol. He was no stranger to drinking, but he’d clearly had more than he was used to.

She glanced over at the clock on her bedside table – She was getting side-tracked, and breakfast might be over soon. She groaned again, straining against the blankets with all her might. Eventually, she managed to get her other foreleg free, and she half dragged, half kicked her way to freedom. After just a glance at her mangled wings, she knew that there was no chance of going straight downstairs. Glaring at her wings as if the whole thing were their fault, she headed toward the bathroom once more. Avoiding the wet patches that were still on the floor from her shower, she stumbled to the mirror and stared back at her reflection.

Even though she liked her mane to look a little on the wild side, what she was confronted with was, if anything, too tousled. Bits of yellow and orange hair stuck out in all directions, and her tail was faring no better. Grimacing at her doppelgänger, she trudged to the medical cabinet, grabbing a comb and dragging it through her mane. After a few lost hairs and quiet swearing, she had removed most of the knots and forced her mane into a much more presentable style. She was almost ready to head downstairs. Feeling better already, (Something made much easier due to her lack of a hangover) she trotted back into the bedroom, grabbing her flight suit off the back of the chair.

Putting a flight suit on is much harder than taking one off, as Spitfire had learned with years of experience. However, as with all things, there was a knack, and given enough time, she could make putting a flight suit on almost as sexy as taking one off. But she didn’t have enough time, and there was nopony to watch it anyway. She rose to her hind legs, balancing one hoof on the chair for support, and sticking her rump outwards awkwardly, she used her free forehoof to slip her left hind leg into the blue jumpsuit up to the knee. Then, raising her right hind leg, she did the same, before resting her chin on the chair and using both forehooves to pull the suit up over her flanks and onto her back. Then, with some degree of difficulty, she eased her tail through its hole. Now came the most difficult part of the operation – getting her wings through. She folded her wings tightly against her sides, and one hoof at a time, she dragged the flight suit up to her shoulders, and forced her wings through their respective gaps. The fabric was incredibly strong, despite its breathability and lack of weight, so she did not worry as she pushed her appendages against it. Next came the forelegs, which was easy enough, as her previous actions had left the sleeves dangling next to her legs and it was simply a case of stepping into them. Then, she pulled the stretchy blue fabric up over her head, shoving her mane through the slot in the back of the suit, holding it in her traditional style. Then, all she had to do was zip up the suit, and the wonderbolt look was all but complete. After a few minutes of rooting around in the bedroom, she located her goggles and slipped them onto her forehead. She always felt better in her flight suit, it made her feel confident and in control. That and the fact that it naturally supported all the right muscle groups, complimenting her natural curves. She wasn’t a vain mare, but she did like to look good.
With another glance at the clock, she cantered to the door, turning the knob with her teeth and pulling it open. Tiptoeing, she headed over to Soarin’s door and pressed her ear against the expensive mahogany.
All was silent in the cheerful blue stallion’s room. Spitfire hoped that meant he was still asleep. If he turned up to rehearsals and remembered what he had said, things might get extremely awkward between them… Not to mention the fact that everypony would get curious. How would she explain things to Misty? She had a thing for him when she first signed up, and she had never been sure how deep the crush had run. What if she got angry? Misty was a good friend of hers, and Spitfire didn’t want any animosity between them. Or between any of the wonderbolts, really. That was the hardest part about leading the Wonderbolts – getting all of them to get through each practice without killing each other or staging a mutiny.
She trotted down the hall, toward the stairs. She was alone as she did so – Although it wasn’t exactly early, most ponies staying in the penthouse suite didn’t get up in the mornings at all. As for the other Wonderbolts, she wasn’t sure. The few that weren’t too hung over to turn up had most likely already gone down to breakfast. She decided it might be best to join them.

With a single flap of her wings, she was in the air and gliding quickly toward the staircase. In flight, the staircase was much faster than any lift, and she banked into a lazy spiral as she drifted back down to the ground floor.
Gracefully, she alighted on the marble flooring, flapping her wings a couple times before folding them against her back once more. Such was her familiarity with the Canterlot suite, she didn’t bother greeting any of the staff, as she knew how to find the breakfast buffet anyway. So she set off at a light canter toward the big double doors on her left, nodding politely to the waiters that held them open for her, and ventured into the restaurant.

To her frustration, the whole room was almost empty, the staff actually outnumbering the guests. There wasn’t a single wonderbolt present aside from her. Spitfire frowned, trotting briskly over to the buffet tables that occupied the centre of the large, opulent room. She was starting to wonder if she was the only Wonderbolt attending today’s session. There was a huge, ornate clock, possibly a few hundred years old, by the look of it. But it was where the hands were pointing that interested Spitfire. At this rate, she would be late for her own practice session.

That is, if there’s anypony there. She thought, scowling as she grabbed a plate in her teeth, placing it on the edge of the table and sliding it down to the food. There were grooves carved into the edges of the buffet tables for exactly this purpose, and it had been a pleasant surprise to her on her first visit that a city with such a high unicorn population catered so well to the non-magical pony species too.

It would have been much easier for her if she didn’t bother with breakfast and flew immediately to their impromptu training ground in Canterlot, but as an athlete, she had long been taught the importance of breakfast. Sadly, she wasn’t much interested in nutritional value at that moment in time, and she sat down at her table with two croissants and a glass of orange juice. Without bothering to make conversation with any of the dignitaries milling around, she quickly scoffed the delicious pastries and gulped down her drink, while still trying to remain as polite as possible. It probably didn’t work, but she was up and cantering out of the door before anypony could so much as greet her. As she jogged through the entrance hall, she took a final glance back at the clock. She was making good time, and at this rate, she would only be somewhat late. As she passed the reception desk, the attendant, still the same as before, although with enormous black bags under his eyes and an empty mug of coffee, smiled at her as warmly as he could.

“Miss Spitfire, I take it you-”

“Yeah, I had a great night, thanks.” She interrupted, in too much of a hurry to turn and face him. “It’s all set for a clean-up, nothing major.” She waved lightly, breaking into a light gallop as she pushed through the massive front doors.

The second she was outside, she took a deep lungful of the cool morning breeze, spreading her wings and marvelling at the chilled air as it rustled her feathers, brushing softly through her mane and even her coat, the specially designed flight suit letting the pleasant breeze stand her hairs on end, a delightful sensation after the almost oppressive heat of the hotel room. This allowed them to feel every air current as they passed through it, but kept the harsh cold of the powerful winds that lay at higher altitudes away from their bodies. Taking another deep breath, she flexed her powerful wing muscles, a single, powerful flap that launched her into the air. She gave another couple broad flaps that sent her higher, before gliding lazily toward the walls of the courtyard, her wings outstretched. Then, without warning, she angled sharply upward, her strong wingbeats shooting her sharply into the air, the ground simply dropping away below her as she soared up into the sky, smiling sincerely for the first time that morning. The rush of air against her face, the simple joy of watching the sun rise higher into the sky, the soft, wispy clouds high above tinted with pinks and yellows. It was a beautiful sight, but not one she had time for.

Reaching up, she pulled her goggles away from her forehead, snapping them over her eyes and picking up speed, shooting higher into the sky. Settling a good few hundred meters above the beautiful city, she scanned the horizon for the cloudbank that they had decided to use as a temporary base of operations. In the beautiful empty-aired morning, it didn’t take her long to spot the cloud that the y had crudely shaped into a rough circle. They weren’t artists, but several of them had been weatherponies before their big break, so it wasn’t a difficult job for them. Flapping twice, she glided slowly down to their training ground, her long primary feathers twitching slightly as she reacted to the wind currents instinctively, a lifetime of experience allowing her to drift effortlessly across the sky. As she got closer, she saw a hoofull of wonderbolts milling around, talking amongst themselves. Smiling, she did a tight barrel roll, folding her wings tightly against her sides and darting toward the cloud.

In a matter of seconds, the azure landscape had whizzed past, and she was passing over the lip of the cloud. Rearing up, she snapped her wings open, flapping wildly with her wings to bring herself to a drop. She kept going for a good ten feet or so, rising a couple of feet before dropping to the ground. The Wonderbolts turned to her as she touched down, and Fleetfoot quickly greeted her.

“What time do you call this?” The pale blue mare inquired, a small smile gracing her lips. She was usually a pretty shy pony, but Spitfire had a way of bringing her out of her shell when they were among friends.

“What’s wrong with being fashionably late?” Spitfire retorted, returning with a smug smile of her own.

“Well, nothing, but I’m pretty sure that the host’s supposed to be on time…” the white-maned mare answered, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, you know me…” She waved her hoof dismissively, stepping forward to address the few ponies that were there. “Always bucking the trend…”
She turned to the assembled athletes.

“Okay, who’s sober enough to turn up?”

“Well, you know I’m here, said Fleetfoot, trotting back to her fellow wonderbolts.

“And I’m here…” Said Misty quietly. This was hardly surprising, as she was strictly sober, and had never been drunk in her life.

“And of course, I’m here…” Said Firestreak, smiling. “You have no idea about the lengths I had to go to to get rid of that pair… So I’m expecting some serious payback for that…”

“Do you want me to get you some flowers or something?” Spitfire said sarcastically.

“That would be nice…” He replied softly.

“Oh, quiet.” She shot back, scanning the rest of the small group. Of the twenty or so Wonderbolts, there were eight in attendance. Fleetfoot and six of the others stood facing her, but Spitfire noticed that one was standing at the back, as if they were trying to go unnoticed. She could have sworn she saw a very familiar deep blue mane.

“Hey, who’s that at the back there?” She said curiously, frowning and peering forward. The others turned, stepping aside and showing a sheepish and ill-looking Soarin. Obviously he hadn’t slept as well as she’d thought, and he looked like he was experiencing the sort of hangover that feels terminal.

“H-hey, Cap…” He said, giving a nervous chuckle. He looked up at her, displaying slightly bloodshot eyes. Whether that was due to the alcohol or tears, it was hard to say. She hoped it was the former.

“Soarin? What are you doing here? I told you to take it easy today…” She said, her frown deepening into one of concern.

“Well, you know me… I’ve never taken a day off before…” He said, still looking decidedly nervous under her gaze. This was true, however, he’d even turned up when he had fractured his foreleg, although he was unable to take part in any shows.

“Alright, you great dumb colt…” She sighed, turning away. “Let’s get going, everypony! I hope you’ve all got a few ideas for the next, show, because it’s going to be the best one yet. Got that?” They nodded in response. She smiled and turned, heading back toward the edge of the cloud. The other ponies swiftly followed suit, with Fleetfoot at her side. Spitfire leaned
in close to her, and spoke to her in a hushed voice.

“Has Soaring been acting… odd this morning?”

“Odd? Soarin? Never…” Fleetfoot said sarcastically, smiling. Spitfire nudged her.

“Come on, Fleet. I’m being serious.”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“It’s a long story, okay?”

“Alright, alright… And yeah, he’s been a bit more subdued than normal…” She said thoughtfully as they leapt off the edge of the cloud, opening their wings with a faint *fwsh*.

“Hung-over subdued or normal subdued?” She asked her almost eagerly.

“Hmm… Not hung-over subdued, Spit.” She replied as they banked left.
The yellow mare’s heart sank, and she glanced back at Soarin. He must have remembered the night before. Things could only get worse.

She stared straight ahead, trying to drown out her thoughts with adrenaline as she increased her speed. If there was one thing she hated, it was change. Why did he have to have feelings for her? And why did they have to be sincere? Now she had to investigate how she felt about the happy-go-lucky stallion, if just make sure she did the right thing. And what if she didn’t What if she somehow made things worse? What if one of them had to leave? She The Wonderbolts were their lives now, and she didn’t know if either of them could cope with leaving. And how would the rest of the team take it? She’d already thought about Misty’s opinion, but what about the others? She wasn’t ready to deal with any more drama, she just enjoyed a passionate encounter every so often.

Or did she? Maybe she would enjoy somepony waiting for her back at the hotel, a familiar face to cuddle in the small hours, to nuzzle his shoulder and plant a tiny kiss on the side of his neck, letting him wrap his strong, blue wings gently around her back, letting her snuggle deeper into the embrace as she ruffled his wild, indigo mane and-
She shook her head, a light blush gracing her features. What in Equestria was she just thinking? Scowling, she rolled to the
right, the Wonderbolts forming around her in a ‘v’ pattern.

“Alright, what do you lot have in mind?” She shouted back hastily, looking away from Fleetfoot to disguise her blush. It was going to be a tiring morning.

Hey, check it out, guys! Continued thanks to popular demand! Stay awesome!

Chapter 3

“Alright ponies, let’s take a break,” Spitfire said, alighting as gracefully as she could on the nearest cloud. “In fact, we might as well call it a day. There aren’t enough of us to work anything out, anyway.” What she didn’t like to admit, however, was that she was also pretty worn out, having gotten rather less sleep than she would have liked. She could see it in the others too. Most of them had only turned up out of a sense of duty, and were practically asleep on the wing by this point. She sighed softly as she watched them go. Maybe she had been a touch hard on them the morning after a show.

But she was preoccupied. This stupid Soarin business had invaded her mind every single time she tried to put it to anything useful. To say the least, it was irritating. Not to mention the fact that it was giving her some strange ideas. She wasn’t really all that lonely, and she certainly didn’t need somepony like Soarin around her all the damn time. With his damn chirpy optimism, his stupid blue coat, his desire to always help out… His strong, athletic body, close to-

She shook her head. Dammit Spit, stop it. You’re just disorientated from all this weird stuff going on. I mean, you don’t even know for certain that he likes you! Fleetfoot could be wrong, and you’re probably just paranoid. I mean, he’s gonna be pretty messed up this morning, and why would he turn up to practice if he remembered? She kept watching them absent mindedly as they left, still lost in her internal debate. But as Soarin passed her by, he caught her attention and broke her concentration.

I have to make sure.

She trotted to the edge of the cloud, watching Soarin as he drifted slowly away from her.

“Hey, Soarin? Fancy getting a bite to eat with me?” Wait, what? That sounds awful! Quick, say something else! “I need a hoof repaying Firestreak, and you fit the bill.”

The blue colt looked back at her with a slightly confused expression, and he clearly wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed.

“Oh, uh, sure, Spitfire…” He said, his voice displaying the faintest hint of nervousness.

Saved it. “Come on, don’t be scared. Your choice, okay?” She said, smirking slightly. The old Spitfire was back with a passion.

Soarin gave her a smile of his own, a much more genuine one. At least he was starting to relax.

“In that case, I think I’m in the mood for something spicy… Chilli, perhaps? I know a really good place in the city…”

Spitfire groaned. “Soarin, you know I hate hot food…”

“Hey, you said it was my choice?”

“Sometimes, Soarin…” She growled, still smiling. “Alright, lead the way, but you’d better help me out here.”

“Well, I never said I could…” Soarin said evasively, looking away from her and smiling.

Spitfire gave him her most magnificent glower, taking a step forward.

“B-but I’ll see what I can do, okay?” He said quickly, flapping further away from her. She smiled with some semblance of sweetness, (She was not a ‘sweet’ pony on the whole) and leapt off the edge of the cloud, taking to the air with practiced perfection. He dipped in the sky, swooping underneath her as she banked left, ending up on her right and slightly behind her. She flashed the hung-over stallion a small grin, before closing her wings and diving downwards.

The cold wind streamed past her, whipping through her loose mane and tail and roaring in her ears. But her goggles kept her eyes safe, and she was able to focus perfectly on the approaching city below them. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Soarin slowly catching up with her, grinning like an idiot. Which he was, most of the time.

She waited until the last second, when she could make out every individual tile on the rooftops below her, still rocketing downward. Behind her, she heard Soarin slowing down, levelling out. Her daredevil attitude kept her going just a split-second longer than him, and she snapped her wings open at the last possible moment, her forehooves scraping the terracotta uncomfortably as she did so.

She turned her wings against the air, massively increasing her drag as she bled out her speed rapidly. She could feel Soarin as he hit the brakes as well, descending into the streets below. Their wings aching after the day’s activities, they slowly drifted down to the ancient paved roads that were the rivers of the bustling city, keeping everything alive and working at all hours of the day. Many ponies claimed that their city was the one ‘that never sleeps’, but in Spitfire’s experience, Canterlot was the only city where somepony always had at least something to do. If you lived in Canterlot, and you weren’t a dignitary or aristocrat, you could look forward to a lot of work for the rest of your life. She was lucky to be considered a somepony in the city, her flight suit gave her that much. But she didn’t really feel like much of a somepony, and she never really acted like she thought one might act.

She alighted, pausing and turning to Soarin.

“Alright, so where’s this place? I want to get this over and done with.”

“Oh, it’s just down the road from the train station! It’s a great place, you know. We ate there for my birthday, remember?” He was smiling much more now, and the bags under his eyes had diminished a little. Apparently, the drop had done him some good. At the very least, she felt a little better.

Spitfire made a face. Of course she remembered. How could she forget the time that Soarin and Lightning streak got drunk and challenged each other to a chilli eating contest? (Soarin was competitive when he was drunk.) Soarin spent six hours cramming ice cubes in his mouth, and they had to take Lightning streak to the hospital when his throat started to bleed. You could have used their sweat instead of hot sauce.

“By Celestia, not there…” She groaned.

“Come on, why not?”

“Didn’t they ban you from that place? You melted all their ice…” She said desperately.

“I paid a lot of money for all that chilli, and I’m inclined to do it again someday. They’d be silly to ban me.” He stated matter-of-factly.

“Not when I’m there, you ain’t…” Spitfire growled as they started to head toward the outskirts of the town, where the train station was built.

Soarin ignored her. “Besides, I’m celebrity endorsement. Gotta count for something.”

That one surprised her a little. It was unexpected for him to say something that sensible and intelligent, and it might have fooled her into thinking he had vague political and economic understanding, had he not said it in the way that ponies say things when they have had it explained to them, but they still had no idea what it was, and only really understood the context in which it was supposed to be used.

“Endorsement? My, Soarin, that’s a big word. What does it mean?” She said sarcastically, smirking.

“W-well, it… uhh…” He blushed as he looked up into the air, trying to think. Spitfire sniggered, and he looked back at her indignantly.

“Oh, shut up…” He looked away, apparently in a huff. She cuffed him lightly in the shoulder.

“Cheer up, Soar. We all know you’re not good with big words anyway…” She laughed, and Soarin gave her a small smile. That was another weird thing about Soarin – no matter what she said to him, or how many times she punched him, he always came smiling back. Before, it had been a little annoying, but now she understood why, it was kinda adorable. Like one of those puppies that never seem to understand when they’ve been told off. Like a puppy, it was easier to grow a horn or sprout wings than it was to stay mad at him.

The rest of the journey took place largely without incident, and before long, they found themselves standing outside the world-famous chilli bar. Famous largely because it was the only eatery to hospitalise a celebrity in the last thirty years, provided you forgot about the infamous con-pony Dirty Money and the half rotten hay fries incident that almost claimed the life of Sapphire shores.

As the pair stood outside the establishment, the usual public attention started to increase. She was well used to the usual looks and murmurs as she passed by now, but a crowd was starting to gather. A young mare, slightly younger than Spitfire, darted out of the throng and galloped to a halt in front of Soarin.

“H-hello, mr Soarin!” She squeaked, clearly in awe just to be standing in his presence. “A-are you here to take on the spice again?”

“Well, I don’t know…” Soarin said, giving a small smile. He paused just long enough for the crowd to draw a breath. Spitfire rolled her eyes. They were here just to watch some blue half-wit try to stuff his face with poison? It was laughable, really.

“We’ll just have to see how it goes, I guess…” He finished after what he felt was a suitably long pause.

The fan-mare’s eyes sparkled, and she gasped. “A-are you going to try and set a new record?”

“What? No, I’m only interested in a little informal lunch…” He said, the smile not leaving his face. The crowd sighed forlornly, and Soarin’s smile stretched into a full grin.

“But hey, you never know…” Spitfire shook her head, trying not to laugh. He didn’t play the audience this much when he was at work, for Celestia’s sake.

“Come on, Soar,” She said, just loud enough for the crowd to hear and to shatter his train of thought. “Do you actually want to go inside and eat, or is this place going to be closed before you even step inside?”

He coughed quietly, his show of bravado somewhat lessened. “Oh, alright…”

The young mare, a unicorn, gave her the sort of look that might really get to somepony if they hadn’t received a similar one from almost everypony they knew. It wasn’t a friendly look in the least, and Spitfire would have liked to imagine that it caused her eyebrows to burn and her goggles to shatter.

Put shortly, she didn’t think that this Soarin fan liked her particularly.

“A-are you two on a date?” She asked, with just that tiny hint of malice that’s totally untraceable to colts, especially one so oblivious as Soarin, but biting and accusing to mares.

“Oh, umm… No, it’s not anything like that…” Soarin mumbled, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“W-what? No!” Spitfire interjected, glaring more fiercely than she would have expected. To her growing horror, she could feel her own face heating up as well.

“Come on, let’s just get this over with…” She grumbled, heading for the restaurant, with or without Soarin. She heard Soarin fluster behind her as he tried to catch up with her.

He slowed as he drew level with her, noting her smouldering expression. This was pretty unusual for Soarin, who frequently had trouble working out his own emotions, let alone that of somepony else, and especially not a mare.

“Hey, you okay? You know they aren’t serious, right?” He said, actually looking concerned. All things considered, this shouldn’t have been surprising.

“Wh-what? Of course I know that, Soar.” She said, her expression softening.

“Well then, what’s the problem?” He asked, his face a clear image of innocence and sincerity.

“It’s… Well… It’s…” She spluttered, reaching the door and resting one forehoof against it.

“It’s what?” He pressed, cocking her head to one side.

“It’s… Well, we’re not dating!” she said vehemently. Still, it sounded like a pretty feeble argument now she said it. Why was she so angry about this? She didn’t get angry when the press decided she was dating a number of wonderbolts, actually going so far as to somehow use the time she punched Lightning streak in the face as proof. Sometimes, being a celebrity was pretty unpleasant.

“Well, okay, Spitfire. I just don’t think it’s a problem…” He said, looking away as Spitfire pushed open the door, causing a bell held above the door to tinkle.

“You’re right, I guess…” She muttered. She hated being outsmarted by the big blue dimwit, and it was happening alarmingly frequently.

“Besides, I don’t know why you don’t like a bit of spice,” He said, bulldozing any traces of their previous conversation with pure blithe ignorance. “You’re name’s Spitfire, after all.”

“I’m named after the famous REA pegasus during the griffon wars, Soarin.” She said, with some degree of pride. “Not after hot food. If I was, I’d be called wasabi or something.” She said flatly, looking around for an empty table. The restaurant had large front windows that kept the place quite bright and well lit, and the whole place was very colourful. The floors and counters were white, whereas the tabletops were all red, and the walls were papered with a red and white diamond checked pattern. As was the case with all chilli-themed eateries, the whole place was festooned with peppers in one way or another. It was like some unspoken tool of the trade, like that weird red and white pole at a barber’s or something.

“Well, you wouldn’t be called wasabi, then.” Soarin said, failing to notice how the statement was both rhetorical and supposed to be a joke. “Wasabi’s a condiment, like ponyraddish.”

“Habanero, then.” She growled, before noticing that all eyes were on them. She wished that she’d taken off the flight suit now – At the very least, it would mean that she’d get an extra few seconds of anonymity when she entered a room.

Suddenly, there was a thundering of hooves, and a short fat stallion wearing an apron burst out through the door to the kitchen, smiling broadly. He galloped forward, his huge bald spot shining in the sunlight.

“Mi amigo!” He cried, throwing his forelegs out. “It is so good to see you again!”

Soarin grinned widely in return. “Not as good as it feels to be back here, old friend!”

The owner laughed a hearty laugh, dropping back to all four legs and motioning them to follow. “Take a seat, take a seat!” He said, the sheer volume of his voice fooling the unobservant eye to think that he was a much larger pony than he actually was. In fact, Spitfire could see over his polished head without a great deal of trouble as he dragged them to a window seat.
“Here with a date, eh?” He laughed in what was probably intended to be a cheerful, conspiratorial manner, but with his loud voice and peculiar, almost exaggerated mexicane accent, it just made him sound disturbing, at least in the bright yellow mare’s ears. Still, she could feel her face beginning to redden again, and she scowled, staring at the table.

Soarin, once again to Spitfire’s surprise, immediately noticed and chuckled nervously.

“N-not quite, man. She just needs some help getting a present for a friend…”

“Oh, of course!” He winked in an extremely obvious manner, and Spitfire suppressed the urge to punch the moustache straight off his face. “What can I get you two friends, then?”

It was that exact moment that Spitfire decided that she really didn’t like this little old stallion at all, and it was only common courtesy that was keeping her there.

“Oh, I’ll just have the usual,” Soarin said with a smile. The owner however raised an eyebrow.

“Of course, it’s a good idea for me to tell you that Miss Ghost chilli is working in the kitchen this afternoon?”
Soarin’s eyes lit up. “Well, in that case, I’ll have to go all the way to eleven!” He said with his signature goofy grin.

“Excellent!” The stallion roared in response.

“I’ll just have the mildest thing on the menu.” Spitfire said simply, resting her forehooves on the table.
“Are you sure?” He said, raising his eyebrow yet higher. If it got any higher than that, it might actually leave his face. “Because I-”

“Yes, I’m sure, thank you.” She replied quickly, cutting off his sentence midflow. The balding stallion frowned slightly, but nodded and trotted off, back to the kitchen.

“Would it kill you to be a touch more cheerful?” Soarin said, but not unkindly. “He was just trying to make a joke…”

“Yeah, I know…” She sighed, softly. Once again, Soarin was right. Being so simple put him on the sort of moral high ground that was pretty hard to top. “It’s just… There’s a lot of things going on in my head right now, and-”

“Really? Like what?” Soarin said suddenly, his eyes slightly wider.

Aw, piss. She thought. It had just slipped out. Quick, make something up!

“Oh, you know. Various things…” She said vaguely, still buying as much time as she could. “After all, being the wonderbolt captain is a lot more work than you might think…”

“It is? I’ve never seen you doing anything anypony would consider as work…” He said sceptically. But Spitfire was in full lie mode, now, and there was no stopping her.

“Well, of course not! I don’t want you guys to think I’m under any pressure…”

“You keep it a secret just so we don’t worry?” He sounded incredulous, but Spitfire could tell that he believed her.

“Sure I do. Do you think it’s easy, booking shows and whatnot?” This was an easy lie. Soarin had never had a real job.
“N-not really, no…” He said quietly.

“Anyways, who’s this Ghost chilli?” She said quickly, to change the subject and keep the indigo maned stallion from asking any difficult questions.

“Oh, Ghost chilli? She’s the most incredible chilli chef of all time. Lightning has a massive crush on her. It’s how I found out about the place to start off with! Anyway, if she’s there, you can be guaranteed the highest quality chilli anywhere in Equestria…” He said, trailing off slowly. “She’s pretty quiet, but I think you’d like her.”

“She’s named after the hottest food on the planet, and she cooks chilli for a living. I’m sure we’d get on like a house on fire…” She said, preparing the perfect moment for her punchline.

“Oh, that’s gre-”

“There may be no survivors.” Bam.

“Ouch,” He said, laughing. “That’s a little harsh. You like me though, and I’m unbearable! So I’m sure you’d like her…”

“Me? Liking you? That’s under a lot of debate right now…” She said, raising an eyebrow and smiling, making absolutely sure he took it as a joke.

“Aw, come on… You’re taking me out to lunch and everything…”

“So?” She smiled mischievously, her cheeks dusted with just the lightest shade of pink.

“Hey, don’t be mean, Spitfire… Gimmie a straight answer, here. I mean, if you don’t-”

For the third time since they arrived, somepony was interrupted mid-sentence. However, this time, it wasn’t anything verbal, it was the sudden appearance of a certain mare, that by all accounts, could not have fitted the name ‘Ghost chilli’ better. She was an earth pony, and a deep, dark grey, so dark in fact, that her fairly dark mane was only a touch darker, and was flecked by so many tiny pinpoints of lighter greys that it actually looked paler than her coat sometimes. In fact, she was the sort of pony that you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley simply because you wouldn’t be able to see her. Her eyes were a deep purple, and her mane was tied back in a bun to keep it away from the food. Without this, it looked like it would be just longer than shoulder length. It surprised her that this was Lightning streak’s kind of mare, but she wasn’t unattractive by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, if they were alone, and in a different restaurant, she would have considered asking Ghost chilli to join her.

She gave them their plates, deftly sliding them off her back and onto her forehooves one by one, placing them in front of them.

“Hey, uh, thanks.” Spitfire mumbled, still a little confused about how the waitress/chef had managed to sneak up on them so easily.

“You’re welcome…” She replied, her soft, almost velvety voice barely a whisper in the packed eatery.

“Thanks, Ghost chilli! I can’t wait to have a little of this!” Soarin beamed at her, and she returned with a small smile.

“Why, thank you, Mr Soarin. I do hope you two like it…” And with that, she trotted away, her tail swishing happily and swaying ever so slightly like Stalliongradi ponies did when they walked.

The pair of them coughed, realising at the same time that they had been watching her leave.

“A-anyway,” Spitfire said, a little louder than she had intended, trying to push the image of Ghost chilli’s swaying rump out of her head. Just because she was having a pretty confusing time with her love life, didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to acknowledge an attractive mare. “She a friend of yours too?”

“What?” Soarin said, snapping back to reality. “Oh, no, she’s not. I just know who she is ‘cos I’m a regular.”

That was typical Soarin all over, really. Friendly to anypony and everypony he came across. He’d probably try and befriend a mugger as he passed a knife between his ribs.

Then why the hay does he like you? You’re nothing like that. Can you remember the last time you were actually friendly toward a stranger? The last time you spent time with somepony and you weren’t sarcastic? That bit her, especially as it was her subconscious. Man, I’m an asshole…

“Hey Spit, you okay there?” Soarin asked, shattering her shining epiphany. “You’ve not touched your chilli…”

“Hmm?” She said, poking at the steaming food. “Oh, sorry. Just got a lot on my mind, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand…” Soarin said, who had probably never had a lot on his mind. “Wonderbolt stuff?”

“Well, that… And other stuff…” Spitfire mumbled, picking at the chilli with disinterest. She was hungry, but the meal before her was about as appealing as frogspawn. For the sake of being polite, and to appease her stomach before it started growling, (Something she considered a little unattractive.) she took a spoonful of chilli and put it into her mouth.

From her extremely limited perspective, she could tell that the softly-spoken mare was indeed a good chef. Instead of the chilli simply being painful and unpleasant, it actually had some flavour, but despite its mildness, it was still pretty painful as it burned its way down her throat.

She glanced up at Soarin, who had already begun to sweat. She set down the spoon and frowned at him.

“How are you enjoying this? It looks like you’re having a horrible time…”

“Wh-what?” He said, his voice oddly distorted by the sheer heat of the food. “No, I’m fine!”

“Well, that’s debateable. If you’re eating that, you’re clearly mentally ill.”

There you go again, Spitfire. That colt said he loved you last night, and now you’re saying he’s got brain damage. Good job…Oh, come on. She retorted mentally, taking another pained bite. It’s not my fault, you know. It’s how I was brought up.

Hey, some things are about parents, and some ponies are just assholes.

She practically shovelled the horrible, lava-flavoured food into her mouth, drowning out her guilt with sheer pain. After a while, she could make out, through water-filled eyes, that Soarin was staring at her with some degree of respect.

“Wamf?” She asked, the word sending a wave of fire back into her mouth and forcing her to wince.

“Well, I thought you said you didn’t like the stuff,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “and here you are, shovelling the stuff down!”

She swallowed, closing her eyes and allowing a single tear drop to trickle down her left cheek. “Like it? I hate this stuff, Soarin… I’m getting it out of the way as fast as I can so we can leave.”

“Whoa, alright…” Soarin said, smiling. Apparently, he didn’t much believe her. “I was just hoping we’d finally have something in common, is all.”

Spitfire snorted. “Aside from, you know, being Wonderbolts?”

“Well, that’s… That’s a job, isn’t it?”

“Doesh it feel like one?” She said, packing another spoonful of chilli into her mouth.

“Well… Come to think of it, I don’t think that many jobs have this much flexibility…” Soarin said, somehow ignoring a bead of burning sweat running down his forehead and around his eyes, onto his muzzle.

“And how many times do you expect to have lunch with your boss?” She replied, trying to smile. After a second or two though, the burning in her cheeks forced her to stop. If Soarin had noticed, he ignored it. He probably understood.

Understanding. That was something Soarin was good at too. She never really asked for it, but she loved it when somepony actually put in the time and effort to understand her. And even when he didn’t understand her, he either tried, or gave her the space she needed to work things out.

Another thing you like about him Spitfire? Are you sure you don’t like him?

She sighed miserably, desperate to change the subject.

“I shtill don’t understand how you like this, hun. You do realise it’s literally poison or something…”

“I dunno, really. I guess… I guess I’ve always liked to taste a bit of f-fire…” Until that point, Soarin had been sitting fairly relaxed, his face a little red and sweaty but otherwise calm despite the fury in his throat. However, the moment the words escaped his lips, he seemed to realise something, and his eyes went wide, and one hoof went to his lips.

He coughed awkwardly.

Spitfire, who knew exactly what he had just realised, decided to alleviate the tension by completely ignoring it. After all, she knew what he wanted, deep down. He told her that himself, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore the signs.

“You alright there, hun? Heat starting to get to ya?” She said, flashing him a sarcastic smile.

“Oh, I uh…” He paused, giving a nervous chuckle. “I… Just remembered something. I think I’m more tired than I look…” Soarin said slowly, obviously lying. However, he did look exhausted, and Spitfire decided to try a little understanding of her own.
“Alright, Soar. After you’re done, let’s call it a day. No point trying any of this when we’re so tired…”

“R-really?” Soarin said, looking more relieved than anything else. “But… What about Firestreak?”

“Oh, I’ll just get him some fancy wine.” She said dismissively, waving a hoof. “He loves that classy tripe.”

Soarin grinned, somehow still resisting the fire building in his mouth and stomach. “You got that right…” He mumbled, stuffing another spoonful into his mouth. “And what about you? Gonna entertain yourself for the day?” He said incredulously. Spitfire wasn’t much good at being alone.

“What? Nah, I need my sleep. I think that much is pretty clear…” She knew just how tired she looked without a mirror to help her. She hadn’t exactly looked great before the practice.

“What? No, you look great!” Soarin said loudly, leaning forward, before suddenly realising what he had just done, and leapt back, blushing furiously. The yellow mare could feel her own cheeks heating as she stared down at the table politely. If he was going to make an ass of himself, the last thing he needed was an audience.

“I-I mean, you look fine, Spitfire…” He said softly, staring at his plate. “F-for somepony who hasn’t been sleeping well, at least…”

“Thanks, Soar. You look pretty good yourself… For Soarin.” She gave him a small smile in return, giving him a little of her old sarcasm. Mostly, it was to put the big blue colt at ease, but it worked pretty well on her too. It made everything feel better, really. Somepony annoying you? Sarcasm, whether they noticed or not, makes you feel better. Somepony ask a stupid question? Sarcasm. Somepony accidentally admitting that they find you attractive? Still under research, but it seemed to be working.

“Th-thanks, Spitfire.” He said, looking a little more relaxed as he ate another spoonful of chilli. His plate was almost empty now.

“Hey, no problem, hun. You know me. I’m many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. Now, when you’re done, you head back to the hotel and I’ll join you in a bit, okay?”

“Soarin nodded, swallowing. “Sounds good, but… What about your chilli? You’ve hardly touched it.”
“Honestly, I couldn’t eat another bite.” She said truthfully, pushing the plate away. As hungry as she was, she wasn’t about to let any more of that accursed slop down her throat.

“Well, okay…” He mumbled, a little downcast.

“Hey, I’m the captain. What I say goes, hun. Now chop chop, I want to get out of this hell hole as soon as I can.”

“Hey, you can’t say that!” He said, but he started to eat a little quicker. “What if they kick you out?”

“Then frankly, it’ll be a relief. You smelled of sweat before we got in here, and now you’re in a room where everypony smells of even more sweat.”

“Alright, alright…” He muttered. “And you smell of sweat too…”

“Hey. I smell of the best kind of sweat, Soar. Sexy sweat.” The words came out before she even realised, and by which time it was a little too late. The blue colt sitting opposite her blushed a magnificent shade of red, staring adamantly down at the meal before him.

Spitfire looked away guiltily as he finished him meal, starting slightly as he got to his hooves. She cleared her throat softly and followed suit, smiling a little. With any luck, those brief moments of silence had cooled him off a little. He returned the smile.

Saved it.
Together, they trotted back to the counter, and counted up the number of bits needed for the unsatisfactory (In the fiery mare’s mind) meals. It wasn’t very expensive, but Spitfire was sure that she wouldn’t come back unless forced.

“Alright, hun. Let’s get going, while we’re still young.” She said, but not unkindly, before Soarin had a chance to befriend the cashier.

“R-right, yeah…” He said, and they turned to leave. As they turned, however, she could see Soarin looking down ever so slightly, as if working out how to say something. As she pushed the door open for the thoughtful stallion, she got bored of waiting.

“Hey, what’s eating you, Soarin?” She said, with all the subtlety of a punch to the face. Sometimes, that was what a colt needed most.

“What? Oh, I was just wondering… How come you always call me ‘hun’ and stuff?”

“huh?” Spitfire said with a pause, frowning. “I do that for everypony.” Why wouldn’t she? It’s not like it meant anything.
“Do you? I can’t remember you saying it to anypony else when I’m around…”

“Don’t be silly, big guy. Of course I say it to-” Did she? Come to think of it, when was the last time she said that to anypony that wasn’t Soarin? She couldn’t really remember. But hey, calling somepony ‘hun’ didn’t exactly mean a great deal, did it?
Or does it? After all, he’s everything you look for in- She scowled, drowning out her thoughts as she strode forward again. Next to her, Soarin let out a tiny grunt of surprise, but she quickly trotted quickly to fall back into step with him.

After a couple minutes of silent walking, Soarin let out an impressive yawn, the kind of which makes you think your head will split in half.

“Sorry Spitfire… But… I’ve gotta get back to the hotel, or I’m gonna curl up on the floor by the side of the road…” He said sadly, stopping. Obviously, he didn’t want to leave her.

“Then go to bed, silly.” She said, nudging him. “You need the sleep.”

“Thanks, Spitfire… I’ll see you later or something?” It sounded more like a hopeful plea than a question, and the captain of the wonderbolts smiled.

“Of course, hun. See you later, okay?” And with that, he trotted away down the busy street, disappearing into the crowd despite his costume as he made a beeline for the hotel.

Spitfire watched him go with a glimmer of a smile. He’s really not so bad… I wish I’d paid a little more attention to him sooner. She thought to herself as she headed for the commercial district of the city, where everything that the mind could conceive was bought and sold.

Not to mention, he’s hardly a sight for sore eyes from behind, either. She continued to herself, a smile, lightly dusted with pink, crossing her face for a moment.

Picking up the pace a little, she continued, pressing on into the crowds. Truth be told, she wanted nothing more than to curl up into her own bed, alone or otherwise. But if she was going to spend the rest of the day alone she was going to need something pretty special. And the sweet apple acres brewing co. had recently introduced a new ‘toffee apple cider’ to the city’s already impressive range of alcohol…

00000000

Hey! I’m back guys! Sorry about the long wait, but at least it’s a long chapter, I suppose. Trying something a little new, which you might have noticed. I’ve changed my writing style somewhat to fit the story (And Spitfire’s abrasive personality) a bit better. Hope you guys liked it!

Also, you all have to try toffee apple cider, guys. It’s brilliant stuff.

And, if you’re wondering, Ghost chilli is now best pony. Sorry guys.

Chapter 4

Spitfire smiled as the last of the cider slipped down her throat, the delicious flavoured liquid warming her chest. Setting the bottle down with the other three empty bottles, she sighed softly. This toffee apple cider stuff was great. No matter how much of it she had, she never felt drunk!

She was sitting up in bed, her legs and lower body hidden under the embroidered purple duvet and her back propped up against the half-dozen or so pillows that were on the bed. On her right was the bedside table, on which lay the four empty bottles. To her left, nestled almost lovingly in the folds of the blankets, were another two full bottles, the sparkling condensation on the outside of the bottles dampening the cloth underneath them slightly. Next to them were the four bottle tops and the bottle opener. Turning her head toward them with a slight smile, she grabbed the closest bottle, and made to grab the bottle opener. On the third try, she grabbed it, and brought it up to the lid of the bottle, clumsily and violently tearing the top off and accidentally pouring half the contents of the neck over her lap. She frowned, but her mind felt all warm and fuzzy, and it didn’t seem like much of an issue.

Bringing the bottle to her lips, she took a long, deep gulp, before sighing and slumping further into the pillows. Looking around her at the slightly darkened room, (Usually, she would have called it ‘mood lighting’.) she sighed, her smile dropping a little.

She felt… Lonely.

Or, I’m just horny and wallowing in self-pity. She thought to herself. Not in an argumentative mood, she decided that it was probably a bit of both. Normally, by this point in a vacation, she would have taken at least half a dozen ponies back to her suite, for a number of reasons.

I’m probably just missing the company… She decided after a few moments of silent contemplation and another good swig on her bottle. Although… it’s not like I’d really want anypony like that now anyways. She thought, the realisation a sullen little mumble in the back of her head. But it surprised her.

“Really? Nopony? Heh, you’re wrong this time…” She mumbled, not even realising that she had spoken out loud. “There’s a hunndred ponies out there I wouldn’t mind ta see trottin’ in right now…” She slurred slightly, looking down sulkily at her drink.

I mean, what about that colt out on weather patrol last month? He was pretty hot… I mean, not mind blowing, but pretty good… Well, that grey coat wasn’t my favourite; I’d have preferred it in blue or something… Yeah, blue’s a good colour for a coat. And a mane too! And he had those lovely big green eyes… I like those… Although, if you ask me, he was a bit too buff. I’m all for athletes, but when they start looking like Clydesdales… It’s just not my thing…

She smiled as she thought about this for a moment. Clearly she was still fine.

Yeah, that would be the perfect colt… a soft, light blue coat, a nice, rich blue mane too… Preferably swept back. I like that in a colt. And nice green eyes… She thought to herself, taking another swig. Although she hadn’t noticed, the alcohol was really starting to slow down her thoughts. Strong and athletic… Kind, too. That’s always nice. He’d need to be a great friend outside of the bedroom too though… Wait.

She gritted her teeth in frustration as she realised that she was describing the colt in the room across from her, and punched the bed viciously with her free hoof.

Stupid Soarin. Why did he have to make everything so complicated? All this was his fault, after all. But then, she still found it hard to stay angry at him. He didn’t mean to, did he? Just as she couldn’t help being a sarcastic asshole, he couldn’t help being a hopeless romantic.

I should cut him a little slack, she thought to herself. He can’t help having poor judgement… I mean, what sort of luck is that, falling for me? I mean, not finding me attractive, that’s different. I need to sort this whole mess out, and soon. Her inebriated mind decided, apparently glad to have made the decision.

But… I don’t think this is something I can sort out by myself… She decided, proud of her judgement. All I’m doing is thinking myself round in circles here, and it’s just not helping…

Pursing her lips, she made up her mind. She would go and confide in somepony. She wasn’t entirely sure who yet, but she definitely would. With a determined look in her eye, she straightened up in her bed and stretched her foreleg out, aiming to put her bottle down on the bedside table. To her surprise, she missed completely, effectively just dropping the bottle on the floor, where it spilled its contents into the rich shagpile. She frowned angrily at herself, cursing her clumsiness.

This done, she squirmed herself over to the edge of the bed, ready to hop gracefully out with her usual style. But apparently, the blankets weren’t playing ball, and she was forced to wriggle yet further until she started to topple over the edge. She poised, ready to land, cat-like, on her hooves.

Suddenly, she found herself lying sprawled on the floor, a faint throbbing in her head and a puddle of cider under her face. She groaned loudly, trying to get herself back on her hooves by flapping her wings. After a period of flapping that was, quite frankly, much longer than she would have liked from herself, she lifted her limp body up from the ground, trying to reorganise her limbs to stand underneath her. Trouble was, her flying seemed awfully wobbly at the moment, through no fault of her own, and it was hard to get her hooves underneath her body before she started moving again.
Eventually, she managed to position herself just right, and she dropped to the ground, staggering a little.

Okay… Maybe that stuff is just a tiny bit stronger than I thought…

She made her way slowly and carefully to the door, which appeared to move and tilt almost constantly as she approached it. It was quite frustrating, really. Eventually though, after a couple failed attempts and a tumble, she made it to the door. She knew there was something that needed to be done at this point, but for a while, it evaded her. Then she realised that the door needed opening if she wanted to get outside.

Splaying her right hind leg out wide to compensate, she lifted her right forehoof off the ground, reaching slowly for the knob. Being this mal-coordinated was starting to get on her nerves a little, and she wanted to get it right the first time. Somehow, more through luck than any semblance of sobriety, she caught the knob with her hoof on her first try, turning it sharply and stepping to the side, pulling the door toward her.

Unfortunately, in doing this, she put herself off-balance, and unable to support herself with the door, she toppled over onto the carpet once more. Only this time, she wasn’t sure that she could stand up again. As if pulled together, her eyelids started to close, and sleep started sneaking up on her. The slowly drying cider stuck the carpet uncomfortably to her chest and face as she tried to move, and there was a dull pain in her cheek. She scowled, using her temporary immobility to think for a moment.

Wait… Who am I even going to see? Who can I trust with something this weird? She thought, bringing one forehoof slowly up, into her field of vision. It blurred in and out of focus for a second, before she was able to concentrate on it. The obvious choice, of course, was Fleetfoot.

But… She’ll just judge me… I can’t talk to her about this sort of thing… It’s too delicate… And of course, that only leaves Misty… Even now I’m all… Drunk… I’d rather shove a beehive up myself than talk to her about this… She’d flip out if she still likes him…

The last part wasn’t entirely true, as the shy little mare would never manage to shout, let alone do anything that could be considered as worrying or dangerous. It was a wonder that she had managed to get her incredible talent recognised. Still, Spitfire was smart enough to leave her out of this for as long as possible.

Really, in any case, that means… That there’s nopony I can turn to anyway… I’m stuck with this alone… She contemplated sobbing, for a moment. She felt unusually emotional at the moment. But then, of course, she remembered something incredibly important.

But, of course… I’m Spitfire, aren’t I? She realised, thudding her forehoof down on the carpet. I can do anything I damn well want! Somehow, she mustered the wherewithal to drag herself up on her forehooves, ignoring the blue carpet fluff that stuck to her chest.

I’m going straight to Soarin’s room, with friends or without!

This time, one of her hind legs managed to rise to the occasion, and she leant up against the wall, struggling to get her final hoof beneath her body.

Standing defiantly against the alcohol, she made her way steadily through the doorway, and out into the hall. Lurching, she swung her head left and right, to make sure that nopony saw her.

The coast was completely clear, even of staff. Briefly, she wondered what time it was, before stumbling carelessly down the hall towards Soarin’s room. In fact, she was so focused, it didn’t really bother her when she bumped into the wall a couple times, or the fact that it took her several minutes just to cover about ten feet of ground. In fact, when she fell over, she only swore quietly, and managed to roll back up onto her hooves in only thirty seconds or so.

As far as the fuzzy-minded Spitfire was concerned, things were going magnificently.

And then, as if by magic, at last she found herself standing outside Soarin’s door, swaying gently from left to right. A strange sort of calm had overcome her anxiety, and she ignored the wobbly floor as she trotted over to the door and pushed it open with her muzzle. Soarin could never remember to shut his door properly.

Soarin’s room was basically the same as hers, if a little less stained at the moment. The lights were also switched off completely, so Spitfire had trouble peering into the gloom compared to the bright lights of the hallway.

“…SSoarin?” She whispered in what she hoped was a hushed manner, but really came out as louder than talking. “You in here?”

Surprisingly enough, there was no reply.

A little worried, she stepped carefully into his room, placing her hooves slowly and surely. Her breath sounded loud and choking in the darkness, and she looked about herself at the hazy outlines of various pieces of furniture. Nothing seemed to be out of place, so she stepped further into the room, making her way slowly toward the sofa on the far side of the room.
Unfortunately, this meant that she wasn’t looking at exactly where her erratic hoofsteps were falling, and once again, she felt a lurch and the brief sensation of falling.

Then, there was a sharp pain in her nose, and sparks exploded across her vision. Biting her lip against a cry of pain, she groaned, slumping to the floor and trying to comfort her breath, which was coming in short, shuddering inhales and not much in the way of exhales.

She lay there, whimpering in the silent darkness for an unknown length of time before she finally returned to her senses. With a pained wince, she wrinkled her muzzle, touching it with her hoof. It wasn’t broken, she was pleased to discover, but she could feel something hot and wet on her fur as she gingerly wiped her muzzle. She groaned softly, slumping onto the floor, waiting for the pain to subside. By way of distraction, her mind once again wondered to where on earth her wingpony might be at… Whatever hour it was. It wasn’t like him to just up and wander off without letting anypony know, and she was in the room right next to his. To her, it was a fairly baffling conundrum.

Then, a soft, innocent snore from the rough direction of the massive bed answered her question.

Of course! I told him to go back to his room and take a nap… She thought groggily, fighting her way back onto her hooves. It was like watching somepony trying to swim through treacle. It’s nice how obedient he is at times…

A short lifetime passed for the writhing mare, and she was back on her hooves once more, stumbling wildly to compensate for her lack of balance.

“Soarin…?” She half whispered, half mumbled again, staggering deeper into his room. Only in the very back of her mind did she have any feeling that this might be a bad idea.

She received only a small murmur in response, so she decided that it was a good idea to approach him.
Strangely enough, she felt oddly… Naughty, trotting around in his room without his consent, while he slumbered quietly and (Quite possibly) dreamt of her. Especially given that she was so heavily inebriated and unable to control herself with any real clarity.

Eventually, she found herself standing before him. In actual fact, she didn’t really remember walking over to him, only suddenly being in front of him.

He was lying on his side, his face facing roughly in her direction as he lay, his eyes closed lightly and his chest rising and falling softly under the blankets. His mane was lightly tousled in his sleep, and there was a tiny smile gracing his lips.
Spitfire had been right, thinking in her bed – he was handsome. It surprised her that it had only recently begun to dawn on her just how attractive he was.

Time passed as she stared at him, swaying from side to side ever so slightly, but it might as well not have done – she wasn’t paying any attention. Five minutes or an hour might have passed as her cheeks slowly began to redden in the darkness.

“Spitfire…” The sleeping stallion mumbled, shifting slightly and breaking the silence. As if called by her name, Spitfire leant in closer, her heart starting to flutter in her chest a little, much to her surprise. She wasn’t expecting to feel so sensual around him, or this excited. In contrast, the sleeping stallion had a huge, happy smile plastered onto his face that implied his dream was very good indeed. All of a sudden, Spitfire wished she was dreaming too. But it was too late for that.

She felt herself drift closer to his sleeping face, feeling her own cheeks heat up intensely. Her breaths came to her in short, heated gasps, her breath mingling with his own as he lay, unaware of her presence. She was surprised to find out just how good he smelled. That was a little unexpected, and she’d never really gotten close enough to find out. But here, tonight… Just them and nothing to keep them apart… It felt almost magical to her alcohol-infused mind.

Her face felt like it was on fire, and sparks seemed to fly between them. There was barely a hair’s breadth between them now, and her breath caught sharply in her throat. She could barely control herself, now – she felt almost as if she needed him. This was something she had never felt before in her life, an intense desire to be with somepony, and not in an entirely sexual way. (Although she couldn’t deny that was there too – it had been quite a long time for her.) She leant in even closer, barely even realising that it was possible to be any closer to the handsome blue stallion. Her soft lips parted ever so slightly, and her eyes began to close slightly. To her, it was now or never – She felt as if there had never been a time in her life where this hadn’t been an end goal, a constant desire she was just about to fill. She felt so…. Hot and cold and fiery and afraid and electric, all at the same time, a swath of emotions all washing together into an overwhelming feeling of desire for the unwitting stallion sleeping in front of her.

Sucking in what little heated air she could get into her bursting chest, she closed the gap between them, kissing him almost ferociously.

It felt… odd. His lips were delightful against hers, soft and warm and with none of the passionate violence that many stallions had. Although this could have been because he was asleep. As wrong as it felt to do this to him at his most vulnerable, it felt too good for her to stop. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing any non-Soarin thoughts out of her mind and giving in to the moment, and the sparks flying through her mind, leaving her feeling giddy and even more breathless than ever.

Soarin let out something between a soft moan and a groan in his sleep, shifting and returning the kiss in slow, clumsy motions. It was an honest and peaceful gesture, filled with none of the fire and passion that coursed through the yellow mare’s veins, but with five times the love and earnest feeling.

He laid his hoof gently on her cheek, trying to draw out the kiss, and Spitfire’s eyes shot open. Her mind felt suddenly free of the warm fuzziness that had lead her thus far, but had been filled only with dread. She had done something she should never have done, and there was no backing out now. The fact that he was subconsciously enjoying the whole experience, despite being asleep, somehow made the whole thing worse.

Frantically, she pulled her lips away from his, hyperventilating furiously. She watched in what could only be abject terror as he frowned with disappointment, leaning forward out of his bed in search for her mouth. She stumbled backward, feeling the sharp tang of iron in her mouth as the bleeding started up again, heading as fast as she could out of his room, barely remembering to close the door after herself. The sudden realisation may have sobered her enormously, but she still staggered and stumbled wildly as she galloped down the hallway, thundering straight past her own room and carrying on, heading for the one place that she knew that she should have gone first – Fleetfoot’s room.

Breathing hard, she rounded a corner to the last room on the floor, the room that she knew belonged to her white-maned friend.

Still unable to stop or slow herself, she crashed painfully into the door, rattling the hinges.

Her eyes closed, she took a few ragged breaths, before stumbling backward, sitting down on her rump hard, her tail a mangled mess beneath her.

A few moments later, the door opened a crack, and the blue mare’s bright, emerald eye poked through the gap. Apparently noticing the colouration of her friend, she swung the door open. Unless Spitfire was mistaken, the little mare seemed pretty flustered.

“S-spitfire? What are you doing here at- Oh sweet Celestia, what happened to you?” Fleetfoot asked, her eyes going wide with shock and horror. It was only then that Spitfire realised how awful she must have looked.

Her mane was flat and dishevelled, lying in stuck-up spikes on her head like a nest of fiery thorns. Her coat was in a sorry state too, backbrushed and sticky with cider and carpet fluff all over her face and chest. Then, there were the blood-streaks all over her face and her muzzle, which was probably purple with bruises by this point, and her cheeks were streaked with tears she didn’t know she had shed.

“Fleet…” She said, her voice unusually hoarse. “I… Think I need to… confide in you…”

Fleetfoot gulped, her lips quivering as she looked for the right words in the hundreds that she apparently wanted to say. Her eyes flickered back to her room a few times like a fugitive backed against the wall a few times, and she spoke, her voice shaky and a little tense.

“Y-you’d… Better come inside, Spit…”

Spitfire stumbled to her hooves in response, nodding slowly. She staggered in approximately the right direction, looking down at the ground. But then, Fleet’s wing was around her shoulders, flattening her ruffled plumage and guiding her inside.
Like all of the rooms in the penthouse suite, it was very difficult to tell the difference between the rooms when cleaned. And of course, Fleetfoot’s room was always clean. It looked like nopony had been living there, although she had done for more than twenty-four hours.

Judging by the speed at which she had opened the door, and the fact that the light was on, Spitfire guessed that Fleetfoot had not yet gone to bed. So it surprised her when she glanced up at the clock, clearly displaying that in ten minute’s time, the date would roll over.

“Who was it, Fleet?” Said a mysterious male voice that almost made Spitfire jump out of her skin. Staggering wildly into her smaller friend, her head swished groggily over to the bed, whereupon she found herself looking at a rather confused-looking cream stallion, his pale blue mane swept back to show off his horn in all its splendour. Spitfire found it rather annoying how he kept moving and shifting in and out of focus. It made him hard to look at.

“I-I’m terribly sorry, dear…” Fleetfoot said, sounding unusually nervous. She glanced over at her friend, finding her easier to concentrate on. Her face was noticeably heated. “B-but it looks like something has come up…”

Dear? That wasn’t like Fleet at all… Who in Equestria was this guy?

“O-oh, not at all…” He replied, clearly faintly disappointed but utterly understanding, getting to his hooves slowly. Spitfire noticed that he avoided looking at her. “I-I’ll see you again soon… Okay?” He asked, and Fleet nodded. She wished she could be that understanding of other ponies when she wanted something.

I bet Soarin could understand me like that… She thought bitterly, sabotaging her own thoughts venomously.
The mysterious stallion trotted over to Fleetfoot, smiling shyly at her. In return, the speedy blue mare took a tiny step away, blushing and smiling bashfully at the ground. Unfortunately, this had the effect of nearly taking out the inebriated orange mare, and she staggered sideways to balance herself.

Seeming not to notice, the couple exchanged a delicate nuzzle, looking all for the world like they were a pair of love-stricken foals. Spitfire resented them already. But then, the mysterious stallion, with a backward glance and a small wave, had trotted smoothly out of the door, closing it almost silently behind her.

“Who… What…” Spitfire managed to struggle out, looking at her friend with a raised brow.

“N-nopony can know…” Fleetfoot muttered quietly in response, glaring at Spitfire until she dropped the question. This done, her expression changed faster than Spitfire would have thought possible, instantly shifting from a defensive stare to the sort of look a protective mother might give after a night of heartbreak. Not that Spitfire had ever shared that sort of moment with her own mother.

“Okay, dear…” She said softly, reaching out with a gentle hoof and wiping another thin trail of blood that tried to trickle its way down from her nose. “Let’s get you sat down…”

Spitfire let her friend wrap her wing back over her shoulders, nestling into her warm, soft down that covered the insides of her wings. In her mind, she could only see the loving nuzzle that her friend had shared, and the terrified, stupid and passionate kiss that she had stolen from Soarin and compare the two. It made her feel horrible just to think about it.
I could have had what they have… If I wasn’t so damned ass-backward about things.

Fleetfoot lead her up onto her bed, getting some soft tissue and wiping the worst off her face. Consumed by her thoughts, Spitfire made the right faces as her friend fussed over her, spitting on the tissue and scrubbing the cider off her cheeks.

“Now…” Fleet said at last, sitting down next to her. Spitfire looked over at her, only to find her wingpony looking at her with an intense, extremely concerned expression. “Let’s get serious. Something is… Really wrong with you, Spitfire.”
That much was fairly obvious, given her condition.

“Does it have something to do with the way Soarin was acting this morning?”

Dang, she was a fast one. Spitfire wouldn’t have been surprised if her insightful friend had already worked it all out, and was only asking to be polite. Spitfire nodded wordlessly.

“Okay. Now… We’re getting somewhere. I’m going to help you, because you asked me to, and because you’re my best friend, but… You’re going to have to explain. Everything, preferably.” Fleetfoot stated firmly, surprising Spitfire with her conviction.

“W-well.” Spitfire began, looking for the right words. It was difficult to say just where to begin. At the party? Just what had happened earlier? How much did she want to know? And just how should she put it?

Finally, she found the words that she was looking for. “It all started last night, at the celebration… thing. It was when… It was when Soarin told me that he was in love with me…”

Author's Note

Sorry it was so goddamn late, guys! I had a lot of problems, primarily where I wanted the story to go. The idea for the kiss only came to me last week, and I think I’ve got a storyline nailed down, now.
Anyway, I hoped you guys and gals liked it!
(As a side note, it won’t get any more nsfw than this… I should think)

Chapter 5

“Oh, you poor baby…” Fleetfoot soothed, stroking the yellow mare’s mane gently. “It’s been a tough evening, hasn’t it?”

Spitfire nodded sullenly in return, leaning on her smaller friend and sniffing. She wrinkled her muzzle a little, touching her bruised face lightly. Sniffing hurt. “It’s been awful…” She moaned foalishly.

“Shh, shh…” Fleetfoot soothed, wiping Spitfire’s eyes. “It’s alright… You’ll get better in no time…”

Spitfire shook her head, pulling away from her friend’s gentle forehoof. “No I won’t!” She nearly cried, pushing Fleet’s smaller blue hoof away with her own. “What I did was awful…”

“Look, it wasn’t that bad…” the blue mare said softly. Or lied, rather. “All you did was kiss him…”

“In his sleep!” She cried again, looking at her white-maned friend. Tears started to well in her eyes again. “That’s messed up!”

“Look, Spit… No it’s-”

“You’re going to tell me there’s nothing wrong with that?” Spitfire asked softly, looking her friend dead in the eye. “You’re going to tell me there’s nothing wrong with… molesting my wingpony in his sleep?”

Fleetfoot stared straight back at her, using that exact same mysterious courage that only seemed to exist between her and Spitfire. “No. No, I’m not going to say there’s nothing wrong with that… But you didn’t molest him. You were drunk, and not in your right mind.”

“That doesn’t make things any better.”

“Well, no, but… At least he was asleep, in a way. He won’t remember any of this.”

“But I will!” Spitfire sobbed, slumping onto her friend’s shoulder. “How can I look him in the eye knowing I did that to him?”
“Knowing how you did what? You both got a good time out of it, from what you said. Maybe it’s what you both needed?”

Spitfire sighed softly, feeling empty. “Fleet, do you have any idea what you’re talking about?”

“Hey!” She returned indignantly, pushing her away slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it’s pretty clear to me that you’re just making this up as you go along,” she said irritably. “How could that be what either of us need? It’s ruined me, and it’ll ruin him too, if he finds out!”

Pouting, the speedy little wonderbolt shook her by the shoulders. Still drunk, the yellow mare almost overbalanced.
“Listen here, captain. I’m just trying to help you out here, and the attitude isn’t helping. Now, you can either go back to your room and drink yourself to sleep, or you can try listening to me.”

“But you don’t know what you’re talking about!” Spitfire cried despairingly.

“And you do?” Fleetfoot replied angrily, her knowledge called into question. For a wonderbolt, Fleetfoot was a seasoned expert at holding down relationships. For a wonderbolt. “Have you ever had a stable relationship before, Spit? Come to think of it, have you ever had a relationship before at all?”

That shut her up. It was safe to say that she hadn’t, or at least it was safe to say that she had never had a relationship that wasn’t driven by sex.
“I-I… Well…” She stuttered, trying to work up to a decent retort.

“You what, Spit?” She asked, her expression softening. Her sudden change in attitude crushed Spitfire’s response straight into the floor. That was the thing that she had discovered about her tiny blue sister-in-feathers – if anypony could really get up her nose and then get immediate forgiveness, it was Fleetfoot.

“Nothing, Fleet.” She mumbled, hanging her head like a naughty schoolfilly being told off by a teacher. “I’ve never had a proper coltfriend…”

“I know, dear… But that’s not a bad thing!” She replied comfortingly, rubbing Spitfire’s back and holding her close to her chest. Something else she was learning about her white-maned friend – she was very good at hugging. “You were just… Keeping yourself.”

“Keeping myself?” She said, from the warm, comforting softness of Fleetfoot’s shoulder. “For what? I’ve had more colts than you’ve had hot dinners…”
“Don’t remind me.” Fleet grumbled, in a
manner that actually surprised Spitfire. She sounded almost… bitter. Jealous? She found it pretty unlikely. She was the one with the coltfriend that Spitfire wasn’t allowed to talk about. “But… That’s different. You’re just… Passionate?” She said delicately.

Yeah, that’s one word. She thought to herself, reviewing her lifestyle with a harsh eye. Sure, it seemed pretty fun at the time, but it felt… Dirty, and pretty horrible, looking back on it.

“In any case, I think you have trouble with… Emotional attachment.”

“What do you mean?” Spitfire asked, pulling her muzzle free of her friend’s chest and staring up at her.

“Well…” Fleet took her hoof away from Spitfire’s back, rubbing her neck awkwardly. “You never… Make an effort to get close to anypony. B-besides me, of course. And well, every time somepony tries, you…”

“I what?” Spitfire said suspiciously. As delicately as Fleet was clearly trying to put her words, it was still pretty obvious that it was a criticism at least, or an insult at worst. What did she mean, didn’t make an effort? She made plenty effort. Even if she… Wasn’t the sweetest of mares. Or particularly pleasant at all, come to think of it.

“You… Try to drive them away, Spit. Haven’t you ever noticed?”

“I do not!” She fumed, pushing Fleet back to foreleg’s length. “How dare you!” That was just straight up rude. How could she accuse her of that? She didn’t know anything. And besides, who else actually tried to get close to her? That was just out of order. If she had known that this was what she would be getting out of Fleet, it would have been a better idea to just go back to her own room.

“L-look, okay, that was mean of me, but… Ask yourself: How do you act around ponies that are close to you? I mean… How do you act around… Soarin?”

Spitfire opened her mouth, ready again for a sharp retort. She’d tell her the truth, she’d set her straight. She’d sobered up enough for that. She’d tell her just where to go. She’d tell that pale-mane the truth. That her and Soarin were nice as anything to each other… Why, whenever they were together, she would almost always… Tell him he was stupid, or make excuses, or avoid personal questions… The dark voice in the back of her mind reminded her. She realised that the voice was probably her conscience, it was just bitter that it had been ignored for the last few years.

Honestly, these last two days are the nicest you’ve ever been to him, and that’s saying something. If he wasn’t so darn star-struck and slow-witted, he’d have left you for any one of a million more loving ponies by now. It’s not like he wouldn’t be able to find one. You aren’t nice enough to have Soarin, Spitfire. In the end, are you really nice enough for anypony who’ll treat you right?

Her ears flopped to the sides of her head, defeated. Slowly, dejectedly, and not meeting her friend’s gaze, she closed her mouth and slumped down onto the bed. With a saddened, half-drunken whimper, she crossed her forehooves over her eyes and sobbed quietly. Now seemed like just the right time for a jolly good cry.

Like the mother she’d never had, Fleetfoot was there in an instant, curling up around the sobbing yellow mare and sliding her forelegs around her captain’s, closing them tightly over her back and drawing her into a warm hug.
“There there…” She soothed, patting the tearful Spitfire’s shoulder gently. “Let it out…”

And, for at least a full fifteen minutes, she did. She held her blue-coated friend tightly to her chest in about the most un-Spitfire way imaginable, letting out all the stresses and the strains of a pretty uncomfortable pair of days in a stream of hot, wet tears that felt as big as golf balls as they rolled slowly down her cheeks and over her muzzle, dripping off her nose and onto the soft, rich duvet.

“I’m a complete bitch, aren’t I?” She asked, sniffing quietly and wiping her nose with upmost care.

“Yeah… Yeah you are, Spit…” Fleet said, cracking a small smile. “But… You mean well. And you’re our bitch, after all. We wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“I bet I know somepony who would…” She muttered sullenly.

“He likes you for who you are, Spit… But maybe you could try being at least a little nicer to him. He’s always so forgiving of your… shortcomings, after all.”

“Shortcomings?” Spitfire asked incredulously, sniffing gently again with a wince.

“Well, I could have said ‘rampant bitchiness’, but I’m trying to be comforting here…”

“Thanks, you’re doing a great job.” Spitfire shot back, sarcastically. It was too much a part of her nature to stop so easily.

“Hey hey, less of that.” Fleet said, poking her side lightly. In return, Spitfire squirmed and rolled away from her.

“Alright, I’ll be good…” Spitfire grumbled.

“Good.” Fleetfoot said, nodding appreciatively. “Now that you’re being cooperative, how about we try fixing this mess?”
“I think that’d be nice, Fleet. What do you want me to do?” Spitfire asked, struggling to sit up.

“Atta girl. Now, what do you want to come out of this?” Fleet asked, sitting up and scooting over to her, helping to keep her steady.

That seemed to be a pretty stupid question to Spitfire, but for the sake of trying to improve herself, she played along. “I… I just want this whole sorry business to be over.” She said, frowning and pushing Fleet’s helping hooves away. She could keep herself up, thank you very much.

“What, you just want everything to be the same as it used to be?” Fleet asked, frowning and cocking her head to one side. She stared long and hard into Spitfire’s eyes, as if reading her mind.

“Well, of cours-” She began, before losing her words. She paused.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything else out of this?” Fleetfoot pressed, narrowing her eyes.
“I… Well…”

“Or is there a certain somepony you’d rather be a little closer to?”

Spitfire could feel her cheeks starting to go red, and the tips of her ears began to get rather hot.
“W-well, maybe-”

“Or perhaps a lot closer?” Fleet asked with a sly little smile.
Feeling rather hot and a little claustrophobic under her friend’s gaze all of a sudden, she did the only thing that came naturally.

“I-I don’t know!” She cried. “Maybe? How are you supposed to know anyway?” She growled irritably.

“What, how you know if you’ve fallen for him?” Fleet asked, ignoring her outburst. She stared at her innocently, as if it were the easiest question in the world, and it was only their friendship that kept her from smirking.

“That’s what I’m asking.” Spitfire growled, trying to calm herself down. She knew she was overreacting, but she still felt pretty emotionally tender at the moment.

“It’s… Easy, surely. How do you feel around him?”

“What, in general, or recently?” Spitfire asked, forcing herself to relax a little.

“Recently, dummy.” Fleet replied, wiping one of Spitfire’s cheeks.

“Well… Weird? I dunno. He’s all… Strange around me, now.”

“How you feel, Spit. Focus, please.” She said in return, wiping her other cheek dry.

“I-I don’t know! Nervous? Like… the last hour before a show nervous, you know?” Of course Fleet knew. She was just as insecure as the rest of them, if not more so. Being the best fliers in the known world was one thing, but proving it on a regular basis was another story altogether.

“Really? That bad?” Fleet asked, frowning sympathetically.

“Well, not that strong, maybe, but the same feeling…”

“Right, okay.” The smaller mare replied in an analytical tone. “Go on…”

“He makes me feel… Self-conscious, and… Weird. But I don’t know if that’s what love’s like, Fleet. I… I’ve not really experienced it before…”

Apparently fearing another breakdown, Fleet scooted over next to her on the huge purple bed, wrapping her wing around her shoulders lightly. “Hey, it’s okay… Love’s a strange one… And besides, it feels different for everypony.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” She mumbled, looking down at the embroidered duvet. “But… You didn’t answer my question. Am I in love?”

“Well…” Fleet looked away nervously, looking for the right words. “It’s hard to say. I mean-”

“You mean you don’t know?” Spitfire said flatly, frowning at her.

“I… No. Not really. I mean, it’s too hard to tell from just what you’re saying.”

“Well, thanks for the advice, Casanova.” She said, the words slipping out before she could bite them back. “I feel so much better already.”

“Hey look, please don’t be that way…” Fleet said, looking genuinely hurt. “Really… This should probably be something you find out yourself. In your own time, too.”

“And how long might that take?” Spitfire asked. The way things were going, the longer it took, the less sane she would be when she came out the other side. Especially given that their stay in Canterlot would soon be coming to an end.

“That’s the point of ‘in your own time’, Spit. These things always take as long as they need to.” She said gently, rubbing Spitfire’s shoulder with her wing.

“But that could be ages…” She whined, leaning on her soft, blue friend.

“It might be, Spit. I guess you’ll just have to find out…” She replied mysteriously, like some sort of prophet. Frankly, Spitfire had had enough of her friend-turned-guru for one night.

“Well… I guess you’re right…” Spitfire admitted reluctantly, stretching out her back like a cat. “But sitting here isn’t doing much for me…”

“What… What do you mean, Spit?” Fleetfoot asked worriedly, following her across the bed as she slid to the edge, hopping off gracelessly and stumbling to her hooves.

“Well… I don’t know about you, but… I’ve had a couple to drink, and a pretty eventful evening, and it’s taken it out of me…”
“You’re… Gonna go to bed?” Fleet asked quietly.

“Yeah, I’m knackered…” Spitfire grumbled in response, stretching out a kink in her right wing.

“Are you sure? You can use my bed if you need to…” Fleet said kindly, if a little overbearingly.

“No, really, it’s fine…” She waved her friend away dismissively. “I’m just going straight to bed…”

“Straight to bed?” Fleet asked, circling round to stand in front of her, one eyebrow raised. “You’re not going to see anypony, are you?”

Spitfire sighed gently, before giving her wingpony as soft a smile as she was able. “If by that you mean Soarin, then count me out. He’s caused me enough problems for one night, and he’s still asleep.”

“Well, alright. Are you sure you don’t need a little company? You could stay here for the night…” The silver-maned pony asked, patting the bed lightly. Honestly, if anything, Spitfire just wanted some alone time.

“Sorry Fleet, but I think I need a little bit of time to just crash and think things over…” Spitfire said truthfully, stifling a small yawn. Fatigue had suddenly started creeping up on her with alarming speed. Her bed was looking more inviting than it had done in a long time.

Fleetfoot pulled her back into a final hug, wrapping her foreleg gently around Spitfire’s neck and resting her head against her cheek.

“Okay, dear.” She murmured softly, in a tone that Spitfire could only guess was ‘motherly’. “I’m sorry all this had to happen to you…”

“Ah, it’s okay, Fleet.” Said Spitfire, who hadn’t really got the hang of a tender heart-to-heart yet. “It’ll work out eventually, I suppose.”

“Atta girl.” She said again, giving the bruised yellow mare one last squeeze, before releasing her. “You go and get a good night’s sleep, you hear?”

“I’ll do my best, mum…” Spitfire muttered, cracking a small smile at her blue-coated friend. She rolled her eyes in response, giving her a light cuff on the head.

“Less of that lip, kiddo.” She said, in a mockery of a stern tone.

Spitfire chuckled, and made her way toward the door, her limbs finally complying with her thoughts.
“Oh, and one more thing, Fleet.” Spitfire said, turning as she reached the door. “None of this ever happened, by the way. Just so as you know.”

“Not a word, boss.” Fleet replied, drawing her hoof across her mouth, then lifting it into a salute.

Spitfire nodded in reply, smiling, before opening the door and stepping into the cool air of the hallway.
It was about quarter past midnight by this point, so it came as no surprise to her when she found herself alone. In fact, it was a relief.

With a great, weary sigh that seemed to transcend mortal lungs, she deflated and slumped against the wall, splaying her hind legs out in front of her and sitting down with her forelegs resting by her sides. An utterly graceless and revealing position to be in, but in the solitude of the hallway and the alcohol still in her blood, it didn’t really bother her too much.
She lifted her forehooves, massaging her temples gently and reviewing her ugly predicament. Honestly, things probably wouldn’t be nearly so bad as they were if it wasn’t for her own indecision – indeed, although he hadn’t acted on it, at least Soarin knew exactly what he wanted. She on the other hoof… Really didn’t. It didn’t help that she really didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like, or how it was supposed to manifest itself.

And then, there were the conflicting signals in her own head. A huge part of her still wanted to go and slap another kiss on those… Stupid, happy-go-lucky lips of his. And then there was the part that was sure that she might run away if confronted by him again. What was that supposed to mean? She clenched her eyes shut angrily.

Gah, I can’t think straight tonight. She grumbled internally. I’m still way too drunk. Best I can do is… Get myself to bed, and see how I feel in the morning. That’s what they always say, isn’t it? Sleep on it…

She sighed again, although without as much vigour as last time, slowly dragging her eyes open and staring blankly out into space for a moment, enjoying the quiet. Then, fearing that Fleet might come to check up on her, she scrambled back to her hooves as quietly as she could, pushing herself upright by kicking against the floor and sliding up the wall.

Risking another quick glance at the closed door to her friend’s room, she made her way down the hall, rounding the corner and heading for her room.

Honestly, as much as she didn’t want to admit it before, now that she was alone, she could confess that… As bad as it had been to kiss him in his sleep like that… She really wanted to do it again. After all, he would be asleep the whole time, so she could finally kiss him with utter freedom… After all, only she would ever know, and it wasn’t like she’d ever tell anypony.

My naughty little secret… She mused to herself, trotting straight past her open door. After all… I could keep kissing him all night… All night every night if I want… So long as he doesn’t wake up, I can do what I like…
These thoughts in mind, she drifted happily straight to Soarin’s doorway, and was lifting her hoof to open the door when her thoughts suddenly turned sour.

Sweet Celestia, Spitfire, what the hell is wrong with you? She thought, aghast, dropping her hoof and stepping away from the door like it was made of snakes. That’s disgusting! Taking advantage of him once was bad enough, but… Again and again? You’re sick, Spitfire. She accused herself, tasting imaginary bile in her throat. She could have retched.

Shaking herself to try and free her of such dark thoughts, she trotted shakily away from the unwitting stallion’s room, heading for her own door as fast as she could without breaking into a gallop.

Breathing heavily, she blundered into her own room, pushing the door shut behind herself and pulling the latch across, as if that would shut out the dirty thoughts she had been entertaining.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the door, panting heavily and squeezing a tiny pair of tears from the corner of her eyes.

What’s wrong with me? She thought, genuinely a little afraid. I never used to be like this… Why would I want to do that to my friend? Am I really that sick-minded?
Then, slowly, a thought started to trickle into her mind, a realisation.
Is it because… I’m too scared to just talk to him about it? Is that really all that it is? I guess I’m still drunk, so I could just be feeling particularly-

“Well hello there…” A smooth, masculine voice rolled out through the room softly, in what was clearly intended as a warm, inviting tone.

Her eyes cracked open.

Soarin? A part of her brain cried, and her heart leapt into her mouth. Partly due to hope, but mostly through the sheer surprise of having somepony in her room.

But it couldn’t have been Soarin. That was just stupid. For a start, it didn’t sound anything like the bumbling stallion, nor was there any way that he would be awake. For as good at flying as he was, he was just as good at sleeping, and nothing that she could have done to him would have woken him.

“Who’s there?” She asked, doing her best to sound tough and fierce… Like she was supposed to sound. “And what the hay are you doing in my room?”

She turned slowly, as if afraid by what might confront her.

Suddenly, she saw a shape move in the darkness, stepping away from the bed and gliding toward her. She could faintly hear hoofsteps sinking into the thick carpet.

“Names don’t matter, ma’am…” The somewhat suave voice said, getting closer. “Let’s just say that I’m… an admirer.”
Names don’t matter? I don’t care who this guy is, but he’s dead wrong. She thought, taking a defiant step away from the door.
“Yeah, and I’m Princess Celestia herself.” She growled, glaring at the blurry black shape moving toward her. “Give me a name.”

“Like I said… My name doesn’t matter…” The mysterious stallion continued, coming to a stop a few feet from her. Spitfire strongly doubted that he could see her glare in the darkness, or he would probably be standing further away. Clearly, he liked the mystery, but Spitfire was having none of it.

“Oh for the love of Equestria…” She grumbled, stepping to the left and reaching out with her hoof, flicking on the light switch. And not on ‘mood lighting’ this time, either.

Immediately, light flooded into the room, and Spitfire had to squint to see while her eyes adjusted. The mystery stallion, on the other hoof, didn’t fare so well. One of the lights was positioned just above the door, and it had apparently caught him right in the face, because he recoiled, raising a hoof to his watering eyes.

He wasn’t a huge colt, but he was taller than Spitfire was. Probably about Soarin’s size, maybe a touch bigger. His coat was a rich orange, and his mane was white, with a single stripe the same colour as his coat. He was a pegasus too, his wings flared in irritation. While he was still distracted, Spitfire sized him up. If he wanted trouble, she reckoned she could probably take him, full as she was with liquid courage.

“Gah, damn, woman! Give me some warning, please!” The stallion growled, rubbing his eyes.

“Now why the hell should I do that?” She shot back, her glare returning. “What do you think you’re doing in my room?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” The orange stallion asked, lowering his hoof to look at her.

“Apparently not.” She growled in reply. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Well, you told me to come see you sometime… The night before your show the other day?”

Oh no… “I did? I don’t remember that…” She said evasively, trying to dismiss the whole event and get him out of her room as quickly as possible. She didn’t like where this was heading.

“That’s a real shame, because you did…” The irritating stallion said in his soft, smooth voice that was starting to get on Spitfire’s nerves. “And I intend to cash in on that check, so to speak.”

Spitfire desperately wanted to be sick, and for a variety of reasons. But none of those reasons were stronger at this current moment than her repulsion toward this stallion. He had come for one thing, and he’d made it pretty clear what that was.

“Sorry, kid. Bank’s closed tonight.” She growled, reaching back and pulling open the door. “Come back on the twelfth of never.”

“Hey!” The stallion said, glaring right back, stomping irritably. It put Spitfire in mind of a foal having a tantrum. “You invited me down here, you can’t just backtrack on me!”

“A mare’s allowed to change her mind, champ. Now scram.” She said firmly, trying to keep her temper in check. Trouble was, it was rather difficult, given her blood/alcohol concentration and the fact that her emotional well-being had been spread out as thin as a wire.

“No.” The stallion replied, huffing. Now, he was definitely like a petulant foal who couldn’t get his own way. “I’m not going anywhere without getting what I came for.”

“Look, could you please just go? I’m sure as hell not in the mood tonight, and I don’t want things to get… Complicated.” She did her best to imply that ‘complicated’ meant ‘painful’.

“Aww, come on… I’ve seen how much you’ve been drinking…” The persistent stallion said softly, stalking toward her slowly like some sort of predator. “You could just pretend I’m somepony else…”

Now that was tempting. He is about the same size as Soarin, so I assume he would probably be proportionately accurate, if I had to guess… He’s a pegasus too, so that would hel-
“That’s just messed up, kid.” She interrupted herself, feeling her face start to get a little hot. “Now get out, before you do something you’re gonna regret.” Normally, she could handle herself around even the creepiest of propositions, but she felt unusually vulnerable and tender and her chest felt a little tight.

“Oh, don’t worry…” The stallion breathed, a few inches from her face. Briefly, the fire-maned mare wondered if she acted like this often. She desperately hoped she didn’t. “I’m not going to regret any of this…” He continued, stepping even closer.

To her surprise, she felt herself stumbling backward, just to stay away from him. She felt… Strange, like she had lost her flame. She wanted to shout and get mad, and possibly kick him in the face or something, give him a bruise that would last a while. But instead, all her body could think of doing was to try and hide somewhere, possibly even seeking refuge in the hooves of somepony else.

Very un-Spitfire.

“Look, come on… Don’t run. One night, that’s all I ask.” The grotesque stallion continued, pressing forward. Spitfire had a strong feeling that the old Spitfire might well have killed him by now. She rather wanted to be the old Spitfire again.
“And I said no.” She growled, still trying to keep up the act of ferocious defiance.

“Well then, I’m sorry, darling…” He said, putting his hoof firmly on her shoulder and leaning in close, cutting off her access to the door. “Because I’m not taking no for an answer…”

She gulped, a cold sweat running down the back of her neck as she tried to back away yet further, but something firm and solid hit her in the back of her hoof, and her tail pressed up against something large. The cold sweat only increased, and her eyes widened with fear and surprise. The colt must have noticed it, because a wicked little smile overtook his features, and he lifted his hoof to her chin, trying to stroke the soft fur of her face.

Disgusted, Spitfire turned her head away from his hoof, and therefore the door, closing the eye nearest to him in revulsion. She tried to back further away, despite the obstruction behind her, desperate to simply lash out and strike the colt. He had gone from a reasonable attempt at suave to a frankly terrifying shade of rapist in a bewilderingly short space of time. Time being something she felt she was fast running out of.

To her surprise, the obstacle behind her moved slightly, and she heard something wobble behind her, like porcelain nearly overbalancing.

Apparently, she hadn’t backed into a wall.

She turned her whole body away from his now, and he pursued, dropping his hoof and brushing his muzzle against her cheek. He might have licked her as well, but she wasn’t about to ask him. Whatever it was that she had walked into was now on her left, and she risked taking her eyes away from the predatory stallion just long enough to glance over at it.
It was an occasional table, exquisitely carved out of wood and placed against the wall. The wobble she had heard came from a tall, blue china vase that had been placed on top for decorative reasons, a bunch of light blue flowers placed inside. She wasn’t a florist, she had no idea what they were.

Then he tried to kiss her. She recoiled away from him, but he still caught the side of her mouth, his lips puckering revoltingly against her own. Compared to the sweet softness of Soarin’s lips, what he had just done to her shouldn’t even have counted as a kiss. She pulled away from him, and her eyes met the vase once again.

In the time that it had taken for her to formulate the idea in her mind, the normal Spitfire was back, and had darted to the left, grabbed the vase, and lifted it high into the air. By the time the stallion knew what was happening, it was far too late for him, and Spitfire didn’t care.

With all her might, she brought the vase down on his head – hard. With an almighty crash, the vase simply exploded over the stallion’s skull, sending water, bits of vegetation and shards of porcelain everywhere. Under ordinary circumstances, Spitfire might have worried that somepony had heard the vase, but the adrenaline was pumping now, and she wouldn’t have cared even if the thought had occurred to her.

Like a sack of potatoes, the stallion crumpled to the floor with an ominous thud. It had happened too quickly for him to even cry out.

Spitfire stared blankly down at him, panting heavily, her heart thumping as she dropped what little was left of the vase. That was when she noticed the blood. There was a sizeable gash on the side of his head, and it was bleeding quite profusely. Even through her sudden panic, she could remember that head wounds always bled a lot from her vague medical training as an athlete, but as the stallion was either unconscious or dead, the fact suddenly seemed rather trivial in her mind. Without a second thought, she leapt over his body, sprinting out of her door and galloping left.

In the days that followed, she might have told herself that it was because he was the closest pony she trusted, or that he was simply still on her mind from before. But deep down, she knew that it was because if there was one pony that she knew she could trust with a potential murder, it was the one colt who couldn’t say a word against her.

Soarin.

Chapter 6

“Soarin?” Spitfire hissed, careful not to wake anypony in adjacent rooms. “Pssst! Soarin!”

Spitfire was standing just in front of his bed, where she had stood less than half an hour previously. Only this time, the door was wide open, and she was focussed and slightly terrified, as opposed to just straight up confused.

Lying in bed, fast asleep, was the stallion in question, as unaware as before of his crush’s presence. He was still in exactly the same position as he had been some twenty-five minutes previously, his cheeks still dusted with red and his lips still parted a little as if still in search of her own. Spitfire might have considered it sweet, if she wasn’t panicking far too much to notice something so trivial.

“Soarin!” She pressed, jabbing his chest quite a lot harder than she intended. Stressful situations always seemed to bring out the worst in her already… patched personality.

“Hmmm… Wha?” He grunted, rolling over onto his back and tipping his head back onto his pillow, snoring loudly.

Snarling, the impatient yellow mare shook him by the shoulders violently, leaning over his prone body. “Wake up, you giant blue arsewipe!” She cried as loudly as she dared. “I think I’ve killed somepony!”

Soarin frowned, his eyes slowly creaking open as he raised his forelegs somewhat, apparently taking all the time he needed to wake up. And then some. In Spitfire’s adrenaline-fuelled eyes, he seemed to move in slow-motion, his eyes slowly focussing in a non-fussed manner as he regained consciousness.

Then, it would appear, he noticed just who was leaning rather closely over him, and just what was going on, or as best as his mind could jumble together with what little he knew.

Like a striking rattlesnake in reverse, the blue stallion scuttled away from her in a flash, his eyes the size of soup bowls ad his breathing heavy. Suddenly finding the shoulders she was holding herself up on missing, she fell down onto the bed, glaring at him.

“Wh-what’s going on? Wh-why are you- I-I… What is… Wh-what happened to your face?” Soarin stammered out, slowly, overcoming his initial terror and leaning towards her.

Spitfire had forgotten what had happened to her nose… She must have looked awful by now, it had probably swollen up like a plum stuck to her face.

“Oh- I… Nothing, it’s not important.” She said angrily, her cheeks starting to go a little red. It irritated her that he was suddenly able to do that just because they were in the same room, now. Or maybe it was because of what they had done the last time she had been in his room.

“Wh-what’s up, then?” Soarin asked, desperately trying to look casual. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost…”

She was tempted to say the same to him, but she stopped herself. Now really wasn’t the time. “Soarin, something awful has happened, and I think I might have possibly killed somepony. You’re the only one I can trust.” For once, not one word of this was a lie. She couldn’t think of a single pony in the world that she could trust more than the upbeat blue stallion.

“Y-you might have… Wh-what?” Soarin blurted, far louder than he should have done. The blood drained from his face, and he scrambled away from her again, his eyes looking all for the world like some sort of caged animal.

“N-no look, Soar, come back!” She whispered urgently, trying to make the gravity of the situation as clear as possible. “Please!”

He looked back at her, clearly wrestling with himself internally. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t much want to help her. She should have realised that before she even approached his room. He was tired, scared, and so far as he knew, in a room with a murderer. In fact, he probably was. But then, they both knew only too well how much he wanted to trust her and side with her in every instance, and they both knew why, although they wouldn’t be telling each other any time soon.

“Spitfire, this is… Messed up…” He groaned, sidling a little closer to her.

“I know, it’s… But… You’ve got to help me, Soar.” She pleaded one last time. She knew she had his secrecy, he liked her too much to rat her out. But she was right in saying should couldn’t do all this by herself. She needed somepony, and… Well, Soarin was special.

The exhausted blue colt stared at her passionate hazel eyes for a moment, before hanging his head in submission. She’d known him long enough to understand that it was his way of agreeing to something he didn’t want to do. For some reason, he couldn’t verbally agree to something he didn’t want to do. Not one of his more endearing features, but at least he was helping.

She hopped back away from the bed as he rolled closer to her, giving the drowsy stallion plenty of room to stumble to his hooves.

“Come on, hurry!” She pressed, the urgency in her voice as clear as ever.

At last, Soarin seemed to get the message, and he nodded, still looking at her rather mistrustfully as she headed for the door. She glanced back at him, and for a brief moment, it almost looked as if he was glaring at her, in the gloom. Surely she hadn’t messed up that badly… Right?

Spitfire glanced out into the hall, making sure that nopony was around before they ventured into the brightly lit corridor, leaving them squinting as their eyes struggled to adjust to the light. Together, they hurried, like two of the world’s worst fugitives, through the well-lit hallway and back into the warm darkness of Spitfire’s room. However, the normal feeling of comfort and safety was rather lost thanks to the shadowy form lying still by the wall. Gulping, Spitfire headed over to him, Soarin trotting close behind.

If anything, the scene had actually gotten worse than it had been before. There was barely any blood on the floor, but that wasn’t due to any lack of the stuff. The thick, dark substance was caked all over the downed stallion’s mane, covering most of his face, carrying on down his chin and down onto his chest and shoulder. He looked all for the world like a prop from a poorly-made horror movie. She wasn’t averse to blood, but she couldn’t face looking at him like that. It was just a blessing that his eyes were closed.

However, Soarin didn’t seem to care about how the whole scene was somewhat distressing to her.

“Okay, look, Spit.” Soarin said, rounding on her. “I trust you, you know that better than anypony. But I don’t want any part in this without some idea of what in Equestria this guy is doing here in your room, with a busted head, and what you’re doing with a nose the size of a small pumpkin!” He yelled, steadily getting more and more irate with each passing word. By the time he was finished, he was fuming, taking deep breaths and glaring at her like he hadn’t done ever in her life.

The silence that he initiated hung over them like a dark cloud, punctuated only by the angry stallion’s ragged breaths and the small sounds made by her lips as she struggled for the right words. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to hurt him with all this. She couldn’t tell him the whole truth, not all of it. She couldn’t tell him that the mysterious stallion only managed to break into her room because she was crying on Fleetfoot’s shoulder, and that was only because she had the audacity to assault him in his sleep, after rejecting him when he had admitted his own love for her.

She didn’t want to tell him that all this had happened because she had fallen for him, and that was, in part at least, his fault. She wasn’t ready to tell him that. If ever she would be.

She closed her eyes as the right words found themselves, unable to look him in the eye.

“I… He tried to have his way with me, Soarin. I reacted.” She choked, barely a whisper. The words were just too horrible to comprehend. In all her days of… Prowling, of having her way with ponies all over the country, she had never been put into this sort of position… It was ghastly.

“You… He… He what?” Soarin cried, stepping toward her. “Spitfire, I… I didn’t… I’m so sorry!” He grabbed her hoof, pulling her a little toward him. He was like a new pony all of a sudden, changing faster than he could do so mid-flight.
Spitfire didn’t like physical contact she didn’t initiate. She wanted to pull away from him, and she almost did. But she stopped herself. Of all the times to push away those close to her, now wasn’t it. Instead, she took a deep breath and looked at him.

To her surprise, he was effectively on his knees, looking up at her with huge, moistened eyes that revealed a world of sadness and apology. Not even Fleetfoot could switch that quickly.

“You didn’t know, Soarin.” She breathed, trying to extricate herself from the situation. It was easier to just forgive him and move on, even though he hadn’t really wronged her.

“I-I should have realised, though…” He sobbed, staring into her eyes. “I should have thought about it, I should have… I should have been there with you!”

“Look, Soarin,” She said as gently as she was able, clasping his forehoof with her own. “you’re here now. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay…” Soarin moaned quietly, dropping his gaze. Spitfire realised that he actually looked worse off than she did at the moment.

Just how much does he feel for me? She wondered to herself. If there were ever any feelings of doubt concerning his feelings for her, they were long gone just from looking at him, utterly devastated that somepony had tried to use her. Even her heart melted at the sight.

“I-I mean, how could anypony do something like that to you!” Soarin cried, snapping Spitfire away from her thoughts.
“Soarin, stop.” She said, stepping away from him. He was starting to make her feel a little uncomfortable, even more so than the potential corpse lying sprawled out on the floor beside them.

“No!” He shouted, scowling ferociously, both at her and the body. “That’s… I… He…” He spluttered, trying to find the right words. “He deserved what he got!” He cried, throwing one foreleg up in the air.

“Soarin, you’re making this worse.” She said as firmly as she could, thumping her hoof down in front of him. “It was… I’m fine. It’s over now.”

Her stamp seemed to snap him out of his fury, and he slumped, defeated.

“Sorry, captain… I-I didn’t mean to go on like that… He just… Got my blood boiling. But… I… Guess that doesn’t matter too much now, if… Well. You’ve… You know.” He said, steadily getting more awkward as he went on. Thankfully, his newfound tactfulness stopped him before he could say ‘murder’. Not that it made much difference to her, if he was actually dead. She knew what she’d done.

“Hey, well… I don’t know if he’s actually… Y-yet, he might just be… Out. For a while.” Strangely, she found it hard to say the ‘D’ word as well. She didn’t realise she was that scared of it.

“Wait… You don’t even know if he’s alive or not?” Soarin asked, his apologetic attitude smashed as if by a hammer. “You didn’t even check?”

“W-well no, it… Skipped my mind, okay?” She snapped defensively, instantly ready to defend her poor decisions. “I had a lot going on, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“O-oh, umm… Right, yeah. Sorry.” He mumbled, hanging his head and trotting over to the prone stallion.

Feeling a little guilty inside, she followed him closely, restraining from letting her eyes wander at all. The last thing she needed after everything that had happened was an unexpected blush.

Speaking of blushing, that was another thing that she hated about Soarin. Recently, he’d started making her blush. Perhaps somepony else might not mind, indeed, it could even be a sign that she was starting to show quite a lot of affection toward the big blue colt. But that wasn’t the sort of mare that she was. She wasn’t aware that she had blushed at all in years, aside from the general rosy-cheekedness that alcohol induced. And now, here she was, like some sort of nervous bride or something.

It was change, and she really despised change at the moment.

Meanwhile, oblivious to his crush’s internal monologue, Soarin trotted briskly to the motionless stallion, kneeling close over him with narrowed eyes. He didn’t exactly look like a medical professional, but Spitfire didn’t have the heart to tell him.
“He’s still bleeding, look.” Soarin said, pointing. “That probably means he still has a pulse.” Spitfire couldn’t really decide whether or not he was talking to himself, so she decided to just leave him to it, sitting down nearby. There wasn’t much point in having both of them to do it, anyway.

In one go, Soarin held one hoof above the stallion’s face, putting his sensitive ‘palm’ as close as he could to the orange muzzle. Then, he placed his ear gently to the stallion’s chest, checking for a heartbeat. Spitfire found herself holding her own breath.

“Yeah… Yeah, he’s alive. Just unconscious.” Soarin said knowledgeably, shaking his hoof and rising. “You must have done him a number though, because he’s been out for a while. Even with that much blood, that’s unusual.”

“L-like I said, he-” Spitfire began, rising to her hooves. She was always ready to defend herself.

“And like I said, he deserved it.” Soarin said firmly, cutting her off.

“Alright, fine!” Spitfire said quickly, turning away from him. She wasn’t used to him being this dark. “I get it, okay?”

“I just wanted to let you know how much I care, Spitfire…” Soarin replied, softening a little.

“Yeah, okay, look.” She said, turning back to him. “I know you care, Soar. Like, a lot.” And a hell of a lot more than you realise, too. “But… You’re starting to creep me out just a little. Can we please just… Deal with this professionally, and never speak or thing about this horrible situation ever, ever again?”

“O-of course we can, Spit… I just… I can’t stand it when ponies don’t treat you right…” He mumbled, his whole demeanour changing. He looked almost… submissive, now. Not like the hot-blooded stallion he had been earlier. The whole way he’d been acting since she’d woken him was just… Off. He wasn’t himself. And that was a shame, because as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she probably just wanted somepony to… To… Cuddle, or something incredibly feminine and insecure like that. “I feel like I should be… getting revenge on him, or something like that. It makes my blood boil.”

“Okay, look, Soarin…” She said quietly, almost pleadingly. “Can you please just… Stop? And help me? Please?” She asked, looking at him hopefully. “I… I need you.” She continued, struggling to admit that she needed somepony else to solve a problem of her own making.

“Anything, Spitfire. Just say the word.” Soarin replied, his tone limitlessly loyal and utterly devoted. As, deep down, he always had been, and always would be. Because, deep down, he loved her.

Playing to his sympathy this much might have bothered her later, but she was simply too exhausted, stressed and slightly drunk to care at the moment. She just wanted the unconscious orange colt out of her life so she could focus on getting back the lovable blue one.

“Th-thanks, Soarin…” The yellow mare said, nodding gratefully. “Okay. We need to get him out of here… And I don’t care where. Just someplace else.”

“Anywhere?” Soarin asked, frowning at her and taking a step closer to the bleeding stallion. “Are… You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She growled in response. “You really think he’s going to try anything again? Just throw the bastard in a dumpster out back or something… He’ll come around in the morning.”

“You sure about that? You don’t know anything about-” He began, before frowning. “Wait, I’ve gotta throw him in the dumpster? What about you?”

“You’re stronger than me, Soarin… I can’t drag him all that way… And besides, you need somepony to keep an eye out for anypony that’s watching.” She said quickly, her mind already forming a plan for the two of them to make it out undetected.

“I… I guess…” He muttered, looking disgustedly at the wounded pegasus as if he were some form of roadkill.

Spitfire nodded and made her way over to the door, happy to finally discover that she could do so without any real fear of overbalancing. Apparently, she had been stressed enough in one night to sober up almost completely.

“Alright, go grab his forelegs or something, I’ll make sure the coast’s clear.” She said, in the best approximation of her captain’s voice that she could muster so early in the morning.

And so, against her better judgement, she left the disgusted blue stallion with the disgusting orange one, and stepped back out into the hallway.

It was just as bright and empty as always, just as the fiery mare expected. She glanced left, down to the end of the hall, beyond Soarin’s room. There was nopony there, just the strange feeling of endlessness that you get when you stare at a perfectly repeating pattern while ever so slightly drunk.

Shaking her head, she trotted to the stair/lift construct, peering down the spiral staircase as far as she was able to make sure that nopony was on their way up, before pressing her ear against the closed doors of the lift, trying to hear whether or not the lift was in use.

She couldn’t hear anything, so she assumed it wasn’t.

This done, she cantered over to the bend in the corridor, where Fleetfoot was currently sleeping, among others.
As she poked her head around the corner, she spotted something moving down the hall, away from her. Quick as a flash, she darted away from the corner, pressing her back against the wall and spreading out to reduce her shadow as much as possible.

The figure continued to walk away from her, so she could only assume that she hadn’t been noticed. So, holding her breath, she satisfied her curiosity and peeked out around the wall.

To her surprise, it was somepony she recognised – the stallion that had been ‘entertaining’ Fleetfoot when she had arrived at her room. He trotted confidently over to her room, apparently not wrapped in the same level of secrecy as his marefriend.

She watched, utterly without guilt, as the furtive stallion reached out and quietly knocked on her door, waiting patiently for her to open the door. As she did so, she ducked back into cover, one ear cocked toward the doorway.

“Oh, I’m ever so glad you waited,” Fleetfoot’s hushed voice drifted out from the doorway, still refusing to give the yellow mare a name to the stallion’s face. “I’m sorry we were so long.”

The stallion said something in reply, but because he was facing the other way, she could only tell that he was talking, not what he said.

“Well, I shan’t say what’s happening to her, but it has gotten her in a frightful mess… A-anyway, you’d better come inside. Somepony might see us.”

Spitfire smiled, more relieved than she had realised. She always knew she could trust Fleet with anything, but it was a peace of mind to spy on somepony until you knew they could keep a secret. It was better to think of it as insurance, rather than paranoia.

Wait, I’m spying on my best friend, because I think that she can’t keep a secret? That’s… Maybe I do have problems with emotional attachment… She thought darkly, scowling to herself. She hated it when Fleetfoot knew her better than she did.

I mean, she does have a point, now I think about it… She said, taking another quick glance at her friend’s closed door, before sitting down, her forelegs standing between her hind legs.

I mean, I guess I don’t really try and get close to ponies very often… I don’t even know some of the Wonderbolts all that well…

That, like a lot of things, reminded her of the way she frequently acted while at the training academy. Normally she was pretty tough on other ponies, but there… She was pretty awful.

None of the cadets ever really like me, until they join the team… I mean, I guess a lot of them respect me, but… They don’t like me often. I mean, the only cadet that comes to mind is… That Rainbow kid. But then, me and her have history. She saved my life, so we’re going to get vaguely chummy. She thought, one hoof resting on her chin. She was getting pretty deep in thought by now.

And… It’s the same for my friends, sometimes… I mean, I’ve always avoided telling Soarin important things and letting him get close… But why the hay would I do that? Did… I always suspect he liked me? Or was I trying to lie to myself? Pretend I didn’t feel the same way? Damn, this is complicated… I’m no psychologist… I guess it’s gonna take a while to-

“Spitfire! What are you doing?” Soarin’s voice hissed loudly to her right, and she jumped straight out of her skin, falling over sideways into the part of the hall that Fleetfoot’s colt had been a couple minutes previously.

Embarrassed by her lapse in concentration, her cheeks flushed a hot red, and she glared angrily at him. He was standing in the hallway near the stairs, staring at her in an accusing manner.

“You’ve been sitting there for ages!” He continued. “Is the coast clear or not?”

“Oh, let’s see, shall we?” She asked sarcastically, angry at herself for getting distracted. She looked to her left in an exaggerated manner, as it was pretty clear that anypony who was in that area would have seen her the moment she jumped out of cover.

“No, there’s definitely nopony here.” She said, turning back to him. Her glare hadn’t diminished.

He scowled in response, kicking at a loose thread in the carpet. “Alright, alright… I just want to get this over with… It’s giving me a horrible feeling in my gut…” He said, placing a forehoof over his stomach.

“Yeah… Sorry.” She replied awkwardly, rolling to her hooves. “Me too…”

Strangely, she actually felt okay, in that respect. Her mind had been briefly shattered at the same time as the vase did, but now she’d had a few minutes to piece herself back together, she felt somewhat fine. Like this was all rather mundane.

Perhaps it was just her confidence toward not being discovered, but it made her feel like some sort of psychopath.
Like many other confusing emotions she was feeling at the moment, she pushed the thought to the back of her mind, trotting back toward him.

“Okay, quick.” She said in a hushed voice. “Go and get… You know.” She motioned with her head. “And get him down these stairs. We don’t have long.”

“Yes Captain.” Soarin said, automatically falling into ‘wonderbolt mode’ and cantering into the bedroom.

Spitfire sighed quietly as Soarin left her presence, heading to the lift and pressing her ear against it once more. From what she had guessed, there was only one place that a member of the staff could come from, and that was either the stairs or the lift. And if they had any sense, they’d take the lift.

Not that she was really expecting anypony to turn up at this time of night. Diligence to your job is one thing, but there isn’t much to clean when everypony’s locked their rooms for the night and nopony wants to be disturbed.

Then, her other ear flickered to the sound of a medium-sized stallion being dragged across thick shagpile carpet, and Soarin appeared, having fetched one of Spitfire’s curtain ties and fastened one end to each of the orange stallion’s rear hooves, before looping it around his own chest, almost like one might pull a cart.

Soarin’s ingenuity surprised her, and she nodded approvingly. In return, and apparently without thinking, he gave her an excited wink, a nervous grin stretched across his face.

Both of them found themselves blushing, looking away, and latterly coughing quietly to themselves, all in almost perfect synchronization, something which only made the already awkward situation all the worse.

“O-okay, we’d better go…” She said, breaking the silence at last. “We’re exposed out here…”

Soarin nodded, hefting the curtain tie on his shoulders and settling his plumage a little. Spitfire couldn’t help but notice that his feathers were rather ruffled, and the fur on his chest was pretty fluffed. Any pegasus could tell, as clear as day, that a pony with ruffled feathers was feeling some pretty extreme emotions. She figured that it was most likely agitation on his part, but she was sure she was playing her role in things. After all, her own wing joints felt somewhat warm and stiff at the moment, and she was well used to this sort of thing. Soarin on the other hoof, wasn’t quite so well versed in self-control. In fact, he probably-

“Wait, Spit! I just remembered something!” Soarin said in a hushed voice, his eyes wide.

Realising that she had just spent a sizeable amount of time staring at his plumage, she decided it might be best to give him her full attention.

“What is it, Soarin?” She asked, frowning.

“We’d better wrap the wound up, before he bleeds out…”

Damnit, why didn’t I think of that?

“Good point, Soar…” Spitfire mumbled, trying to hide her frustration and bitterness. “We need a bandage of some description…”

“Yeah, we could…” He said, tapping his chin impatiently. Apparently he’d forgotten how vulnerable they were right now. “What about… some of your curtains, perhaps? I’m already using the ties. Or we could rip off a bit of your blanket, or-”

“No, we can’t do that!” She cried, as loudly as she dared.

“Wh-what? Why not?” He asked, looking a little hurt. Apparently, he was quite enjoying being the one who could think of things.

“Because when the staff come and clean my room tomorrow, don’t you think they’ll notice that bits of my furniture are missing?” She said, taking a small step closer and glancing around. Talking about hotel staff was starting to make her nervous.

“A-alright…” Soarin mumbled, put firmly in his place. “Wh-what would you suggest, then?”

Of course that would be coming next. “Well…” She thought, heading toward the doorway again. “How about some toilet paper?”

“Toilet paper?” He asked, clearly a little incredulous.

“Yeah, like… An entire roll of it, or something.” She said, expanding on the idea. He looked at her for a moment, and true to form, she looked right back, as if she was trying to spot a weakness.

After a good fifteen seconds of him growing steadily more and more uncomfortable at her proximity, (Something she was starting to regain some control over) he caved in, looking away.

“I guess it’ll have to do, boss.” He muttered, resigned.

“You bet your flank it will.” She replied firmly, stepping back inside her room. Almost the moment she crossed the threshold, she started to feel more comfortable. “Now, get him inside and close the door. Somepony might come by.”

00000000

After about ten minutes of squabbling, cursing, and frustration, their makeshift bandage was complete. As Spitfire had declared, it was indeed made of toilet paper, and rather a lot of it. It was tied around the back of his head, and nearly an inch thick at the point of the wound. All around him were scraps of bloodstained toilet paper, marks of a difficult operation. The bandages also covered one of his eyes, but that was more due to the difficulties of bandaging a pony’s head rather than any wounding there. He was also sporting a small, but rather nasty bruise on his left foreleg, from where Soarin had (With quite a lot of hatred, apparently) punched him when he thought Spitfire wasn’t looking. Really, she didn’t feel that it was worth calling him up on it, so she let him get on with it. She was also pretty sure that wasn’t the only time he’d done it either, but it was hard to tell if he didn’t always leave a mark. Not that she cared, particularly. The colt was a hateful slime who deserved to be beaten around a bit.

It was just somewhat ungentlecoltly for Soarin to do so while he was asleep. Chivalry didn’t really extend to duelling unconscious foes.

With a somewhat satisfied nod to each other, Soarin re-hitched himself to the curtain ties, and Spitfire cantered quickly to the door, opening it up a crack and peering out. When she was confident that the coast was clear, she opened the door, and Soarin trotted briskly through it, heading for the stairs.

Like a well-oiled machine, Spitfire slipped silently past him, taking up her position in front of the lift. She held her breath, listening to any sounds in the area.

All she could hear was her own panicked breathing and the sound of the orange stallion being dragged across the ground as Soarin turned, closing and locking Spitfire’s door.

She released her breath, sighing softly. Everything was going according to plan. Her ear still pressed against the metal door, she motioned for him to make his way toward the stairs. She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye, before he complied with her orders, dragging him across the room.

That was when she heard a soft creak from the shaft of the lift, followed by a steady thrumming.

Her eyes shot open and her heart sank like a stone into a very deep lake, vanishing with barely a ripple.

She wanted to motion to Soarin, to get him to stop and head back into her room, but she knew it was too late. He was already halfway across the hallway, and closing on the stairs. Not to mention the fact that the door was locked behind him, and there was no chance of him getting it open in time.

She looked up to the marker above the door, and sure enough, there was a light on at the penthouse suite, and another, dimmer light, only three floors below it. Pretty soon it would be only two floors below them.

“Hurry!” She hissed, as loud as she dared. Her only hope was that he could make it far enough down the stairs that he was invisible to anypony on the top floor. Unfortunately, he would need a distraction to hope to pull it off. And she would have to be that distraction.

She stepped away from the lift, her heart thumping. She couldn’t let anypony else find out about what she had done. The lift was now just one floor beneath her, and closing fast. She sighed and squared up to the lift doors, just as Soarin disappeared from her field of view. He would reach the stairs any second now. And then maybe ten, fifteen seconds later, he’d be out of view entirely, and they’d be safe. Until the floor below, of course, but it didn’t pay to worry that much.

The lift made a soft ‘ding’ to mark its arrival, and Spitfire closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it. She had a plan, but it had to be perfect. With a rumbling hum, the doors began to slide open, and Spitfire took her chance. Without opening her eyes, she let out her breath and strode confidently forward, straight at the middle of the lift. Whoever was in there would be getting a surprise.

Chapter 7

With surprising force, she met somepony coming the other way, their heads connecting with a sharp ‘crack!’ that felt like it echoed down the hall. They both tried to curl up and nurse their stinging foreheads, but they were unfortunately still moving against each other, resulting in the other pony losing their footing with a surprised grunt, twisting their limbs together and nearly dragging the fiery mare down with them.

“Hey, what the… C-captain?” An all-too-familiar voice said from rather close to her left ear. She shook herself, stepping away from the tangle of limbs that she had created, blinking a little to clear the stars spreading across her vision.

“Oh, sorry, Lightning…” She groaned, rubbing her head. Luckily, she didn’t need to pretend to be in pain. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

She glanced up, her brow still somewhat furrowed, and sure enough, there was her yellow-maned wingpony, Lightning Streak, rubbing his own head as he clambered inelegantly to his hooves. He looked a little different than he usually did, what with his mane actually in some semblance of formality, and the pair of saddlebags tied about his middle.

“Ahh… S’alright, Captain… I shouldn’t have walked straight out…” He grumbled, blinking a few times.

“It’s just Spitfire when we’re off the track, Lightning. Remember?” she said, her usual personality finally rearing its head once more.

“R-right.” He coughed, a little awkwardly. “Sorry, Spitfire…”

“It’s fine, Lightning. But… What were you doing downstairs at this time of night?” She asked, clutching at straws. She hoped that Soarin was at least at the stairs by now.

“Oh, I was-” Suddenly, his answer was interrupted by a steady, rhythmic ‘thump, thump, thump’ from their left. Spitfire froze, her eyes wide. Due to a mysterious sixth sense that she possessed, Spitfire recognised it immediately as the sound of a head falling off a step and hitting the one below quite hard, as if somepony was being dragged downstairs, possibly by a big blue half-witted stallion with no sense of stealth or subtlety whatsoever.
Oddly enough, however, Lightning seemed to find the source of the noise a little harder to place. He frowned, leaning past her a little and looking out into the hall.

“What… What’s that weird noise?” He asked, stepping toward the exit of the lift, just as it began to close. But it sensed his head as he poked it through the gap, and the doors shrank back into the walls.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and her heart rate skyrocketed. “Wh-what noise?” She asked hastily, drawing level with him and leaning against the doorway, blocking his view as best she could.

“That… Thumping.” He said, his eyes narrowing as if in thought. “Coming from down the hall…”

“I-isn’t that where Firestreak’s room is?” She asked, trying to mask the desperation in her tone. “Perhaps he’s… You know, being himself?” Right now, the orange colt wasn’t the only pony that she wanted to club with a vase.

He made a face, cringing a little. “Yeah, maybe… Don’t you normally… Entertain at this sort of time too?”

Now it was her turn to grimace. Truth be told, that was the sort of thing she’d normally be doing. But now, it felt like the absolute last thing that she ever wanted to do. And not just because of the last pony that had tried to be ‘entertained’, or the fact that, right now, there was really only one pony that she wanted to be entertaining. She didn’t want to have anypony in her room like that for a while yet, unless everything went hooves up between her and Soarin.

“Yeah, not tonight…” She said wearily. “I’m just… Wait, you’re avoiding my question, aren’t you?” She said, trying to change the direction of the conversation away from herself and her sudden change in lifestyle. The less excuses she had to make up, the better, and if she could keep asking him questions until her hopeless partner in crime stopped being quite so useless, then everything might just work out.

“Wh-what question?” He asked, suddenly evasive. That in itself was curious enough. What did he have to hide?
“What were you doing up at this hour? We’ve got a practice on tomorrow…” She said, trying to sound as confident as ever. It was surprisingly hard when she had to put it on.

“Oh, well, y’see, I… Couldn’t sleep, and…” He said, rubbing his neck distractedly as Soarin continued to drag Spitfire’s victim downstairs. “I decided to go for a walk. Empty my mind… You know?”

“Yeah, I guess…” He was lying. Spitfire was sure of it. Who went for a walk wearing saddlebags, for Celestia’s sake? Briefly, she debated pressing it out of him, just to waste some extra time, but it was pretty unkind to invade his privacy. Provided it didn’t involve her, at least.

“What are you doing, anyway? You look… Well… Terrible, I’m sorry to say…” He asked, cocking his head slightly to one side, as the regular thuds slowly got quieter. The one question she didn’t want him to ask.

“Well, I was… I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to have a bit of a walkabout.” This was basically a lie, but it wasn’t that bad. “And… I had a couple to drink earlier, so my balance wasn’t that great.”

“Oh, right.” Lightning replied, apparently a little relieved. Clearly, he believed her. “I was worried I did that to you earlier…”

“Oh no, it’s fine. I’m fine.” She said, happy to accept unwarranted apologies. It was a pretty small price to pay for her safety.

“But… Why are you taking the lift?” He asked, frowning at her.

“I… decided to take a walk. Empty my mind… You know?” She smiled wryly at him.

“Y-yeah… Only too well…” He replied, pursing his lips and looking away. He clearly suspected that she knew he was lying, but also that she wasn’t saying anything about it. She hoped that at least would keep his mouth shut about the whole thing.

Finally, after a good thirty seconds of an awkward lapse in conversation, the silence only broken by the steady sound of skull hitting carpeted staircase, quiet settled over the landing.

“Well, uhh… Sorry cap- S-Spitfire, but I think I’m gonna head back to my room…” He said, stepping out into the hall and stretching his back, arching it much like a cat. “Guess I’m really tired, now…”

“Alright, Lightning…” She said, starting a get a little more relaxed in her actions. “I’ll see you tomorrow… Well, later, really…” She said with a chuckle.

This got a similar laugh out of her fellow wonderbolt, and he smiled back at her, giving her a comradely nod before heading down the hall. Spitfire returned the nod as he left, reaching further into the lift and pressing the button that closed the door. Then, at the last second, she stopped the door from closing a second time, poking her head through the gap and staring after Lightning as he headed off down the hall. There wasn’t a great deal she could do if he did see Soarin, but she had to know for sure.

To her relief, he walked straight past the staircase, only stopping briefly at Firestreak’s room to listen at the door for a moment before he went straight to his room at the end of the hall. She let out a long breath through her nose, closing her eyes and stepping back, slumping against the side of the lift, her back and rump pressed up against the cold, metal surfaces. It was uncomfortable, but she didn’t much care. She found herself sitting in much the same position as she had found herself shortly after she had left Fleet’s room, her long, lean hind legs stretched out before her, and her wings splayed out a little across the wall. She sat in silence as the doors swung closed once more, encasing her in peace and quiet at last.

But, there was still too much to do before she could rest, so she was forced to open her eyes and near as damn it get to her hooves in order to press the button that would take her down to the floor below. And then, there was only a few seconds as the metal chamber glided downwards before it stopped, so there wasn’t much point in hunkering down.
So, reluctantly, she stood herself up, taking a deep breath and silencing the troubled thoughts threatening to re-enter her mind. All she needed to do was get through this, and then things could get better. All that needed was time and a bit of patience, the latter of which she might need some help with.

But of course, there was one colt she could always rely on for help.

Usually, when somepony describes a good friend as ‘somepony that will help you bury a body’, they don’t usually say it with the intention of actually killing somepony to find out. Only now did she realise why it was a bad idea to test that theory.
What if this drives him away? She suddenly thought, her eyes shooting wide open. What if this makes him finally realise what a hateful witch of a mare I am? That thought seriously worried her. She hadn’t gone to all the trouble of starting to find him quite appealing just to make him hate her.

She growled softly to herself, shaking her head. She simply wasn’t used to having to do all this thinking. Every single thought that entered her head was paranoid and afraid, and almost all of it was about Soarin. She was supposed to be afraid of discovery, not losing the daft blue colt. Everything was back to front, and she hated it. In fact, she was starting to hate damn near everything at the moment, even Soarin, who had made things extremely awkward back at her room, and extremely difficult in the lift. And it was technically his fault that her nose was swollen, because of his cursed irresistibility.
In fact, when she thought about it, indirectly, everything was his fault. If he hadn’t gotten so drunk that night, he wouldn’t have forced her to re-evaluate the way she lived, thought and felt about damn near everything. She wouldn’t have gotten so paranoid and emotional, and she wouldn’t have started crushing on him, so she wouldn’t have left her room to discuss it all with Fleetfoot, and she wouldn’t have ended up molesting him, and she wouldn’t have had a breakdown, so that big orange bastard wouldn’t have broken into her room, and she wouldn’t have overreacted and taken him out. So she wouldn’t have needed to convince him to help her, so he wouldn’t have hated her, and she wouldn’t be in this mess, steadily getting more and more worked up about this frightful situation when she had a wonderbolt practice that she had to run in just six hours and she wouldn’t be feeling on the verge of tears about the whole damned thing and the lift walls wouldn’t feel like they were closing in and the lift wouldn’t feel like it had been taking a suspiciously long amount of time and she wouldn’t be hyperventilating right now and-
A loud ping sounded through the lift, ringing through her ears and snapping her straight out of her downward spiral. She panted, a cold sweat beading on the back of her neck. She needed to get out of this cell.

But she wasn’t about to jump into Soarin’s hooves no matter how much he wanted her to. If he was under the impression that he was going to get away with this, then he really was stupid.

She glared intently at the ground as the doors slid open, placing her hooves slowly and firmly on the ground.
“Spitfire…” Whispered the voice of the enemy. “Are… Are you okay?”

Something snapped.

“You are…” She muttered, her head still lowered. “You are… The most hateful, half-witted… Berk that Equestria’s ever seen!” She hissed ferociously, glaring at him and stalking out of the lift, strutting past him. “Do you have any idea what kind of awful time you’ve put me through?”

“Spit… I…” He mumbled in response, taken aback.

“You what? Did it occur to you that that little stunt of yours might have made things just a tiny bit difficult? Do you know who was in that bloody lift with me while you were playing out a bloody drum-solo on his skull with that staircase?” She fumed, her voice cracking a little as it bridged the gap between whispering and shouting.

“Th-there was… somepony in the lift?” Soarin asked softly, his shoulders dropping. He sounded innocently and genuinely surprised, but Spitfire was far too gone to notice by now.

“Yeah, there was! Only Lightning Streak!”

“L-lightning?” He exclaimed quietly. “I-I’m so sorry, I-”

“Yeah, well you still did it, didn’t you? Can’t you hold back your violent tendencies for just five minutes or something? You nearly got us caught!”

“I-I’m really sorry, Spitfire, I-I didn’t think-”

“Do you ever think, Soarin?” She snapped, glowering at him. He cowered under her gaze. “Do you ever stop and just think for a second?”

“I… I…” He stammered, stumbling after her as she made for the stairs to the ground floor. “You know I’ve never been good at thinking…” He said bitterly, more than a little sadness in his tone. At last, Spitfire noticed, stopping in her tracks. “That’s why I always let you take the lead, Spitfire… You’re good at making choices.”

“Well, clearly I’m not as good as you thought, am I?” She replied curtly, turning away from him. She was still angry, regardless of his great big puppy-dog eyes, hard to resist though they were. “Because now look at the heap of pigswill we’re stuck in.”

“H-hey Spit…”He mumbled, stumbling after her and placing his hoof gently on her shoulder. “D-don’t… Don’t be so hard on yourself. None of this was your fault…”

She huffed, turning back to him and opening her wings a little, ruffling her feathers like an agitated bird. An automatic gesture, standoffish and unpleasant – typical Spitfire.

“That’s easy for you to say…” She muttered darkly, her gaze not softening as she looked at his concerned glance. “I’ve been making one mistake after another lately.” She settled her wings as he withdrew his hoof, walking to the landing. “I can’t handle anything right at the moment.”

She couldn’t have been more correct, really. First her abysmal way of dealing with Soarin’s confession, followed by her frightful excuse to take him on a ‘date’, then the… situation she desperately didn’t want to dwell on for too long, and all the awful decisions it had spawned. Was it really Soarin’s affection, or her own stupidity that was digging her a hole?

“I shouldn’t have asked you to help, Soarin. Sorry.” She mumbled, pausing.

“Spitfire… You’re in trouble. I’m always gonna help you…” He replied quietly, trotting over to stand next to her. The moment was spoiled somewhat by the sliding sound of the unconscious stallion that was still attached to the big blue colt.
She sighed gently. “Thanks, Soar. But I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this…”

“You can’t do everything yourself, you know.” He said, trying to look her in the eye. “We’re a team… We do things together.”

“Yeah, I know, but-” She began, but Soarin stopped her.

“Just ask, and I- W-we’ll help you, Spitfire…” He stammered gently, leaning in a little closer.

She smiled, turning to face him at last. “Thanks, Soar. Again.”

“Hey, don’t mention it…” He mumbled awkwardly, lifting his forehoof and adjusting the golden rope around his neck. “It’s what f-friends are for…”

Was that a flash of disappointment, there? She asked herself, looking him in the eyes. He doesn’t want to just be friends… And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same.

“Hey, come on. Cheer up.” She said, cuffing his shoulder lightly as she attempted some vague form of camaraderie. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us…”

“R-right, yeah.” He replied, a shaky smile spreading across his features. Just as time had slowly allowed Spitfire to return to some semblance of her usual confidence, the same had started to happen to Soarin. The grumpy, moody stallion that glared at her in the dark was slowly disappearing, replaced by a little more light-hearted childish colt, with a smile that Spitfire had started to find somewhat… cute.

It really wasn’t worth denying that sort of thing to herself anymore, after what she’d done. So she just smiled back, as best she could given the situation.

“What… What do you reckon Lightning was doing, in the lift?” Soarin asked softly, staring into space with a quizzical expression.

“Huh? Oh, I dunno…” Spitfire replied dismissively, trotting quietly down the first few steps, her hooves barely a whisper on the carpeted marble. “He said he was going for a walk, but I know he was lying…”

“Really? What makes you say that?” He asked, frowning a little at her. He and Lightning were pretty close, so Spitfire doubted he liked to think badly of him.

“Well, he was wearing saddlebags, for one…” She replied quietly, frowning and peeking her head as far as she could down the stairs. Nopony was stirring, it would seem.

“That is a little weird…” Soarin said, perhaps just a touch louder than he should. “Maybe he was going to see somepony?”

“Who would he be going to see that he would lie to me about it?” She returned, glancing back at him. He was still standing at the top of the stairs.

“I don’t know, Spit…” He said thoughtfully, sounding like he had a good idea but didn’t want to lose face.

“Alright, whatever.” She muttered, cringing at the use of her nickname. How long had he been using it without her noticing? “We’ll have time for the guessing game later… Now come on! Get your flank down these stairs before I come back up there and push you.” She hissed, motioning down the staircase with her head.

“I-I dunno, Spit… Maybe I should take the lift, and then you use the stairs? That way nopony’ll see me until the bottom, and you’ll get there first…”

She started a little with surprise, her eyes widening. That’s a good idea. Why the hay didn’t I think of that?

“A-and I won’t make any noises you don’t like…” He continued despondently, looking down at the floor.

“Hey… That’s a good idea, Soarin!” She replied, trotting back up the stairs and trying to hide her mixture of surprise and irritation at herself. “Just… Just stop calling me Spit, okay? Or you’re going to end up like our orange friend over here.”

“I-I-Sorry!” He stammered, his voice suddenly a lot less manly than he probably would have liked. “I-I didn’t really… I wasn’t… Sorry…”

She rolled her eyes at his spinelessness. It was a little endearing, when you looked at it. “Oh, just get in the bleeding lift, Soarin.” She said firmly, a ghost of a genuine smile gracing her lips for a moment.

He nodded in reply, closing his mouth almost immediately and dragging the unconscious stallion behind him into the tiny metal room. She trotted slowly after him, helping to push the bandaged orange head inside the doorway.

“I’ll see you soon, S-Spitfire…” He mumbled gently, managing an uneasy grin as he pressed the button with the tip of his forehoof. The doors began to slide shut.

“Don’t do anything stupid…” She said softly as the doors closed, separating them once more. Once they were shut, she placed her forehoof lightly against the cool metal surface, gazing for a moment at her hazy silver reflection.

Don’t do anything stupid? She thought to herself. You might well have just told him he was an idiot and be done with it.

Oh, shut up… She internally retorted, stepping away from the lift and taking to the air, gliding silently toward the stairs. He doesn’t ever seem to mind. Maybe he likes it when I’m a little rough around the edges with him? It might explain why he was stupid enough to fall for me…

That was probably just wishful thinking, really.

She banked to follow the curve of the staircase, flapping every so often to keep herself on track. The faint ‘fwm’ of her wings was now the only sound in the sleeping hotel, save for the imperceptibly tiny hum of the lift as it descended alongside her.

I mean, I’ve met some weird colts in my time, but to like the constant bullying? No. He’s just too dim-witted to care about it… Just looks past it all, and tries to find some good in me. She decided for the second time in one night, picking up a little speed as she swooped around the endless corner that was the staircase. These lifts tended to pick up a little speed in the middle of their journey when they were going a long way. Spitfire wasn’t really sure why, though – that was technomancy, and not something she understood two words about on the best of days.

She glanced at the floor levels as she passed them, large squares of frosted glass fixed to the wall, beautifully inlaid with ornate golden letters. In fact, they were so ornate, so covered with loops and swirls and such, it was rather difficult to read them, until she got down at about floor nine, where she began to notice a pattern. Why did things have to be so obtuse?
She slowed her descent at around floor seven, edging a little closer to the carpeted surface as she continued to glide gracefully downward. (Or at least, as gracefully as one does, looking and feeling the same as she did.) She guessed that she was making pretty good time, but of course, there was no way of knowing. She just hoped that she could make it to the bottom floor before Soarin did. She hadn’t seen a single soul as she whooshed gently past a dozen silent corridors, but if there was to be anypony lurking anywhere, it would be the lobby. It was almost a certainty that there would be a receptionist on duty, in case there was a late arrival looking to check in. And of course, said late arrivals might also turn up and ruin everything, at any moment.

Jeez, being a criminal mastermind was stressful. She wondered why anypony would bother.

Eventually, the lobby at the bottom of the stairs came into view, and she angled her wings back, bleeding off her speed and coming to a stop about ten or so steps from the bottom. Stepping frantically so she wouldn’t overbalance forward and really mess up her face, she stumbled quickly down the stairs, silently cursing herself every time one of her hooves clacked loudly on the marble flooring. It was like they didn’t want anypony to sneak around.

But eventually, she clattered to the ground without major incident, stumbling onto the carpeted lobby just as she heard a tell-tale rumble from the lift next to her.

Without pausing for breath, she darted across the room to the doorway into the reception hall, peeking out into the large open space. At the far end of the room was the massive pair of double doors that lead to salvation, and the end to another step in this extremely difficult ‘mission’. On the left side of the room were the doors to the dining area, which, in just a couple hours, would be getting ready for breakfast. And to the right, standing between them and salvation like a beacon of hopelessness, was the reception counter.

She ducked back around the corner into the lobby, just as the lift pinged and slid noisily open. Spitfire winced, tilting her head back toward the doorway, but she couldn’t hear anything. Soarin shuffled nervously out, dragging the prone orange stallion as fast as he could across the lobby and away from the door. His eyes were wide and scared, and they darted around a lot. Apparently the lift had given him some time to think, too.

“I-is everything alright?” He asked breathlessly, fidgeting a little with his forehooves as he stood beside her.

“I… Think so…” She whispered in reply, flashing him an urgent glance to persuade him to do the same.
“What do you mean?” He said, apparently not getting the message.

“Pipe down!” She hissed, glaring back at him. He started at her outburst, stumbling backward a little.

“S-sorry…” He whispered quietly.

She rolled her eyes and looked back through the doorway – everything still looked clear, but she couldn’t get a good look at the desk. She sighed as quietly as she could. This would be much easier if she could just wrangle some spells together and turn herself invisible or something like that. She’d never give up her wings, even if she was somehow given the choice, but being a unicorn must make things so much easier.

“Look, Soar.” She whispered softly, turning to face him and leaning in closer. “I can’t see the desk, so I’m gonna sneak out and have a look. ‘Kay?”

“Wh-what should I do?” He asked in a whisper of his own, his cheeks a little rosy due to their proximity.

Spitfire, who had a better hold of herself by now, got to her hooves, stepping away. “You wait here.” She said firmly. She would have used her captain voice, but it didn’t convert well into whispering.

“But what if somepony comes along?” He asked, his eyes wide.

“Then go find a vase.” She replied flatly, making her way through the doorway.

She pressed herself low to the ground an kept to the shadows as she slunk into the entrance hall, tiptoeing down the right side of the room where she was the least visible. Again, her fiery colouration didn’t much assist her, but she could manage. She sneaked closer and closer to the reception desk, flat against the wall, until the only thing that separated them was an enormous potted plant, probably about twice her size. She tried to squeeze between the pot and the wall, wincing as she came into contact with the freezing porcelain, but there was nowhere near enough room. So, looking about to make sure that she was still alone, she reared up onto her hind legs, resting her elbows in the damp earth in the pot and peered through the greenery.
But of course, she couldn’t make out anything aside from basic shapes through all of the leaves, so she leant over onto her right elbow as carefully as she could, raising her left hoof through the shrubbery and pushing it out of the way with painful slowness. The leaves rustled a little as she forced them out of place, and her breath caught in her throat for a moment. But nothing happened, so she poked her head into the gap made by her hoof.
With her new vantage point, she could see straight through the plant and into the reception desk. As she has suspected, there was indeed somepony at the desk, and suspiciously, it was the same colt that had been there yesterday and the day before. Clearly, all those shifts had taken a toll on him, because his head was tilted backwards in his chair, and his eyes were shut, his mouth hanging slightly open thanks to the relaxation of sleep. Spitfire wondered how much he was being paid.

But frankly, his salary could be higher than hers and she wouldn’t care, provided he didn’t wake up for the next few minutes.

Slowly, she eased the foliage back into place, backing away sowly from the shrubbery. When there were about five or six paces between her and the pot, she scuttled quickly back, heading for the landing.

She hurtled around the corner, looking to where she had told Soarin to wait. Much to her surprise, he was exactly where she had told him to wait. Only this time, he was brandishing a vase above his head, ready to bring it down firmly on hers.
Seeing a flash of how it must have felt to be her orange-coated foe, she scrambled backward, her wings flapping wildly to bring her out of harm’s way. “Bloody hell, Soarin!” She hissed, her eyes huge. “You could have brained me!”

“S-sorry!” He cried quietly, nearly dropping the vase, and fumbling it with his hooves as he spoke. “Y-you told me to get anypony that c-came along! A-and I thought you m-might have been… Somepony else…” He trailed off, setting the vase down carefully on the floor and stepping away from it. Behind him, the injured pegasus slid slowly after him.

“Alright, alright, no harm done…” She whispered hurriedly, waving him off. “Now let’s get going…”

“I-is it clear?” He asked, scuttling closer to her. She edged backwards away from him, looking back through into the reception hall.

“Yeah, the receptionist’s fallen asleep… Come on.” She whispered gently, creeping back out into the pristine, marble floored hall, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. It was now or never.

She glanced back at the slow-moving Soarin, who had only just gotten his head through the doorway by this point.
“We don’t have a lot of time, Soarin.” She whispered urgently.

“Sorry!” He returned as quietly as he could, scampering out from behind the door, carelessly smacking his orange counterpart’s head against the doorframe as he did so. “I-I’m just… Real nervous, Spit…” He continued. To be honest, Spitfire could tell that much. The poor colt was sweating, and when his soft, warm, loving eyes stayed still enough for her to get a good look, they were full of fear and apprehension.

“Don’t call me that…” She replied, turning back to the doors ahead of her. She tried to retain some sense of humour about this, but it was draining fast. “And there’s nothing to worry about. Just get going, and I’ll cover for you.”

Frankly, she didn’t much believe that she was fooling him with that comment. If there was nothing to worry about, then she wouldn’t be ready to just curl up and try to forget that any of this had happened. In fact, if there was nothing to worry about, then Soarin wouldn’t have an unconscious criminal in tow behind him, or she wouldn’t still feel a cold patch of dread on her cheek where he had kissed her.

She shuddered violently to herself, making to continue. But Soarin was already stading several paces in front of her, looking back into her eyes with a worried expression.

“You okay, S-spitfire?” He asked softly, his brow creased with sympathetic worry.

“Y-yeah, don’t worry about it…” She said, frowning and cantering past him. “I’ll tell you about it later…”

“A-alright…” He stammered, stumbling after her.

At Spitfire’s careful and rushed instruction, Soarin sneaked past the desk by crouching as close as he could to the ground right in front of the desk itself, so if the receptionist woke, he’d still be invisible for a moment. It wasn’t much, but it made them feel slightly more secure with what they were doing. Spifire glanced between the sleeping receptionist and the doors into the dining hall rapidly all the while, her mouth dry and her skin crawling. If there was any one moment she felt truly afraid, even as a ‘fearless’ stunt flier, it was then. She felt exposed, like there were a hundred pairs of eyes bearing down on her back every time she tured around, and there was nothing she could do to stop them from looking. In the lift, she had felt weak and claustrophobic. Now she felt weak and alone, like on a featureless plain.

At this rate, I’m gonna need to see a psychiatrist, She thought to herself, hurrying after Soarin as he approached the front doors. She cantered swiftly past him as he dragged the out-cold stallion toward the doors. She turned back to face him as she hastily rammed the door open with her shoulder, finding a rather exhausted-looking stallion trudging along after her. He was looking down at the ground, his teeth clearly gritted as he strained his legs against the curtain rope. Sure, as wonderbolts, their physical condition was supposed to be at its peak, but as fliers, endurance-based limb exercises weren’t high on the agenda. She hoped they wouldn’t be going much further.

“Come on!” She urged, her voice still a whisper as she looked out through the doors into the cool stillness of the night. Luckily for her, the hotel was based in one of the quieter areas of Canterlot, far away from bustling ponies and prying eyes. Just as she liked it.

Together, the trio stepped (Well, the orange stallion slid) out into the shivering quiet of the night, scuttling softly and swiftly away from any lamp posts or windows that might have betrayed their position. They looked like a pair of thieves, or perhaps members of organised crime. Twice they had to stop, cowering in the darkness, their hearts thumping like drums in their chests as a guard strode right past their hiding place, before they finally came across a suitable alleyway in which a stallion could be unceremoniously dumped into a bin without anypony seeing them from the outside.

Which, after some flapping and a small amount of cursing, that’s exactly what they did. Flying upward in near-perfect synchronisation, they took off, hovering slowly and lifting him up over the big blue holding pen for the sea of filthy black bin bags, garnished as they were with smatterings of dross; bits of mouldy food, waste paper and all sorts of other
unmentionable filth crammed together, awaiting the vibrant orange stallion’s body. He fell with a rustling thump, sinking deep into the mire of shiny black rubbish. Then, with little more than a twitch to show that he was still alive, he lay still, a fly or two buzzing around him, investigating the new arrival.

“I… Guess that’s done, then…” Soarin said simply, staring down at the bins.

“Looks like it…” Spitfire replied, tearing her gaze away from the scene and dropping back to the ground. “Now, let’s bust outta here. I don’t want to hang around any longer than we need to.”

“R-right, Spitfire…” He mumbled in response, thudding to the ground to her left. “I-I was just wondering if… You know, he’s gonna be okay, or if… He decides to see somepony about this…”

“Okay?” She asked, frowning at him. Then the more important words sunk in. “See somepony? Who?”

“W-well, A guard, or somepony… I mean, he doesn’t look like the guilty one right now…” Soarin mumbled anxiously, looking over at her.

“I-I… You…” She screwed up her face angrily. “Soarin, why didn’t you-”No, there was no sense in exploding at him. At the moment. This was her idea, after all. “Alright, alright… I-I’ll… Think of something.”

Despite her sudden use of self control, she must have still been glowering magnificently at the slow-witted stallion, because he cowered away from her as she turned away to think. But, as angry as she was, she’d come up with an ‘elegant’ solution in minutes.

“Alright, Soarin,” She said, her mind still planning as she spoke. “Come on. I-We can still fix all this, okay? Just follow me.” She said, nodding curtly and striding for the entrance to the alley, where they would find themselves back on the street, away from this rancid stink.

“Fix what?” Came a silky, hushed voice from in front of her. The sort that would have sounded like a whisper, no matter how loud it was spoken. The words stopped the fiery mare right in her tracks, and she scrambled backward, her eyes wide. In her haste, she bumped into Soarin, who grunted in surprise.

A pair of large, purple eyes blinked slowly open in the darkness, and the slim form of a slight, black-coated mare became ever so slightly visible in the darkness.

Just the mare I never wanted to meet in a darkened alleyway…

“Ghost Chilli!” Cried the bright voice of her dim-witted companion from above her, instantly cheerful at the sight of his friend.

“Oh! Mr Soarin! Why, I didn’t see that it was you in there… Or you, Miss Spitfire…” Ghost Chilli said, her voice gentle and pleasant. But Spitfire didn’t relax. She was still a threat.

“It’s a pleasure…” She said through gritted teeth, stepping away from the big blue stallion and dusting herself off. “Can I ask why you decided to introduce yourself before you even knew it was us?” She raised her brow in an accusationary manner, approaching her cautiously. She couldn’t see what the slight earth pony was doing with her hooves.

“Oh, I heard voices in the darkness, and I thought I should investigate…” The Stalliongradi mare said, managing to sound bashful. But Spitfire didn’t buy it. “Crime is rare here, but even so…” She paused, her near-luminous eyes glancing down at the floor. “But… That’s not important. What are you two doing down here? It’s not safe to be lurking in the shadows, even for pegasi as strong as yourself…”

“That’s easy for you to say…” Spitfire grumbled, stalking around her and into the comparative light of the street. There was a streetlight just ten feet away or so.

Now she was looking at her from a better position, she could see that the dark-furred mare was actually wearing a thin, form-fitting violet dress, decorated tastefully with a black ribbon or two. It was nothing too impressive, but it certainly suited her. Which she found to be a surprise, given her occupation as a scuddy chilli-shop chef.

“Hey, Spitfire…” Soarin said quietly, frowning gently at her. “Don’t be mean…”

“I’m not being mean, Soarin,” She began, before turning to the well-dressed mare. “And I can assure you that we were doing nothing. Just taking a shortcut on a midnight stroll, is all.”

“I… See.” Ghost said, frowning sceptically as she turned to face her properly. Clearly, her story wasn’t exactly watertight.

“But hey, what are you doing out at this time? And in that lovely little dress?” Spitfire asked quickly, if a tiny bit forcefully. She needed to change the subject of the conversation away from them, if she wanted to get away with this.

“You’re wearing a dress?” Soarin asked, still standing between her and the bins, too much in the dark to see her properly.
“I-I am, and that’s… private.” Ghost said firmly, picking at the ground with her forehooves.

Sensing weakness, and therefore an excuse to get rid of the stealthy mare before she asked too many questions, she pressed onward. “Are we returning from a date, perhaps?” She cocked her head to one side, convincingly feigning genuine interest.

“W-well, I just-” Ghost began, but for Spitfire, the penny had already dropped.

It all slotted neatly into place, really. At first, it seemed like fate was just trying to test her, but it really was a coincidence. Why would Lightning be out so late, with a pair of saddlebags on his back and an attitude so evasive it surprised even her? And why would this Ghost chilli be out long past midnight, wearing a remarkably fancy dress? Especially given that Soarin had so nicely let slip that their fellow wonderbolt had something of a crush on the northern mare?

“You’ve been out with him?” Spitfire asked, smiling.

Soarin tilted his head to one side at the far side of her vision, but it was Ghost chilli who gave the best reaction. She actually squirmed, and a dusting of pink was suddenly scattered across her cheeks.

“Th-that’s… none of your business!” She said indignantly, scowling at her.

“And I’m glad to hear it.” Spitfire said, with a firm nod. “Because, I think you’ll find, we were never here, and neither were you. Or else it might become my business after all…”

That was a threat – there was now way of sugar coating it. She had just threatened a mare that, ordinarily, she would have very much liked to befriend.

“Y-yes. Of course…” Ghost said, the calm, collected whisper returning to her tone. But the fire in ther lavender eyes burned in Spitfire’s direction. “In that case, I think I’ll be on my way… Goodnight, Mr Soarin…” She continued, glancing back at her friend.

“O-okay, Ghost… A-and, you can just call me Soarin, you know.” Soarin said softly, clearly awkward beyond belief.
“Oh, of course, Soarin…” Ghost replied, managing a smile. “Goodnight, then…”

“Uhh… Night, Ghost…” He mumbled uncomfortably, as she vanished into the night. Almost literally, as Spitfire saw it. She whisked away into the night like a blur, her hooves practically silent on the cobblestone road. Spitfire watched her disappear into the night, breathing a soft sigh of relief as she did so.

She turned back to Soarin, ready to explain her plan, only to see him glaring at her.

“What is it this time?” She asked indignantly, frowning back at him.

“What was that supposed to be?” He countered, stepping forward. “She’s my friend, and a lovely mare! You didn’t need to get all… crazy on her!” He cried out as loudly as he dared, his glare not diminishing.

“Lovely she may be, but she had… suspicious written all over her! And we’ve got a big secret that needs keeping.” She shot right back, slipping right back into defence.

“Yeah, well… There was no need for that! Next time we see her, you’re gonna apologise…” He said firmly, setting his forehoof down heavily.

“Alright, alright…” Spitfire said, her fight mysteriously slipping away. She felt like a foal being scolded. She lowered her head automatically, scuffing her forehoof on the floor. It was a strange sensation, being told off by Soarin. But then, this was a really strange night.

“You don’t have to be mean to everypony you meet, you know…” Soarin said, his expression softening a little as he took a couple lighter steps toward her. As expected, he couldn’t stay mad at her, but it didn’t much help. “Some ponies are really nice, if you give them a chance to show it…”

“I know, Soar, I know.” Spitfire said, trying to cut off the conversation before it got too emotional. If this was going to turn into a pep talk or something… “Yeah, I’m just a bitch. It’s fine.”

“N-no you’re not, though…” Soarin said firmly, almost indignant as he approached her. Of course, he wouldn’t come within nuzzling distance, or else he might actually try. “Y-you’re like…” He frowned as his mind strained to come up with a decent similie. “You’re like one of those… Cats, who nopony was nice to when they were little, so now they only know how to scratch and hiss, even when they’re trying to be nice…” He said gently, but his smile made it clear that he was proud to have come up with something so poetic.

“Uhh, thanks, Soar…” She said, returning with an awkward smile as she stepped away from him a little. “That’s real nice…”

“I-I wasn’t trying to be mean,” He said, Sad that his idea hadn’t much worked. “I was just trying to…”

“It’s fine, Soar…” She replied, brushing her muzzle against his shoulder. It still hurt, but not as much as before. “You mean well.”

He stammered softly, blushing at the nuzzle. “W-well, y-yeah, but…”

“Look, maybe you should wait here while I go and fix this? In case somepony comes back?” She asked, glad to finally change the subject.

“O-oh, I… Okay, Spitfire…” He mumbled, trotting faithfully back to the alley.

“Thanks, Soar.” She said, giving him a small smile. “You’re a great colt to have around…”

He blushed furiously at the comment, looking away from her. “Th-thanks, Spitfire, I…”

“Just try and work harder on setting me straight, okay?” She asked, giving him a wink. But before he could stammer out a nervous reply, she cantered swiftly away, trusting her wings enough to lift her up into the cool midnight air, letting the nighttime breeze flow through her mane and over her feathers. But she didn’t have time to enjoy the scenery, she was on a mission. So, with a few powerful flaps, she was shooting along, darting down streets with that same speed and agility that had secured her spot on the Wonderbolts all those years before. In mere seconds, the shop she was looking for sped into view.

When she returned some ten minutes later, galloping so that she could hold her purchases under her wing, she found the whole street to be just as empty as she had left it. Of course, it must have been about one o’clock in the morning, so that was to be expected.

By extension, this also meant that Soarin was nowhere to be seen, either. At least he’s taking the opportunity to lay low. She thought to herself, finally slowing to a canter. She felt utterly exhausted by this point, more through fatigue than exertion, and she felt as if she were dead on her hooves as she stumbled toward the shadows.
Hold on, Spitfire… He’ll be waiting again. Suddenly, she stopped herself mid-step. The image of a vase-wielding Soarin crossed her mind, and she froze.

“Soarin?” She whispered into the darkness.

In reply, there was a thud, followed by a muffled curse and a crash, and Soarin stumbled of the alley, a dustbin lid passing by behind him, rattling as it hopped over the cobblestone road.He smiled with fake confidence, trying his best to look casual and pass it off as if nothing happened.

“H-hey, Spitfire. D-did you get what you needed?”

Spitfire smirked to herself, briefly forgetting the situation so that she could have a quick laugh. “I swear, Soarin… You are so malcoordinated I’m surprised both your wings flap at once…” She muttered lightly, trotting past him into the dark void of rubbish.

“Sh-shut up! You surprised me!” Said Soarin, who hadn’t quite grasped assertion yet.

“Alright, alright…” She chuckled to herself. “Just keep watch for another few seconds…”

“Alright, but… What are you doing back there?” He asked, glancing back at her over his shoulder.

“I’m just writing him a letter…” She said distractedly, reaching under her wing and grabbing her purchase with her teeth. It was a card with the word ‘condolences’ on the front and a quill, ready with a little ink.

She placed both the card and the quill on the ground, before picking the quill up from the side in her teeth. On the cover, she quickly scratched ‘For the head injury’ underneath ‘Condolences’, before folding it open with her forehooves. While Soarin stared over her shoulder uncomfortably, she wrote:

Dear nameless Stallion. I shan’t write my name here, but you know who I am. I just think it would be important for you to know that, while I apologise for what has been done to you, it was entirely your fault. I have both witnesses and evidence, should you try to come forward, so this will only result in your arrest.
I hope not to hear from you again,
You-know-who.

The word ‘who’ was somewhat faded as she began to run out of ink, and there were a couple small splotches here and there (She was no writer, it had to be said) but the whole thing was legible, and to Spitfire’s surprise, it was rather neat.
But, there was no time for that. With a flick of her head, she tossed the quill away into the pile of bin bags, then leaned down and picked up the card between her teeth. This done, she flew slowly upwards, hovering over the orange stallion’s head. Then, she laid the card open over his face and, with a single powerful flap, wooshed herself back to where Soarin was standing.

“Come on, let’s go.” She said, dropping to the ground and indicating with her head. He nodded silently in reply, and together they began the long trudge back to their rooms.

It took about twenty minutes in all, to walk back through the dark streets and sneak past the sleeping receptionist (Simply to avoid any awkward questions) and get back into the lift. Of course, any period of time the duo had to spend in an enclosed space was going to be pretty uncomfortable, and this lived right up to expectations. Spitfire couldn’t help but feel just that tiny bit too close to Soarin to be truly comfortable, and she couldn’t escape the memories of what she had done to him before.

So, naturally, when the lift finally opened after a false eternity of waiting, Spitifre was the first to slip out, only marginally less blindly than the first time she had entered. She shook her head lightly, her thick orange mane swirling about her head a little.

Then, she waited for a moment, before letting out a deep sigh. Finally, they had won. It was over, and they hadn’t been caught. She could have cheered, if the circumstances were a little better for it.

“I-I guess this is over then…?” Soarin asked quietly, stepping out of the lift after her. The curtain ties were still wrapped about his neck and chest.

“Yeah it is, and… Well, if you could, let’s just forget all of this? This night, I mean?”

“Oh, uh… Sure, Spitfire…” Soarin mumbled, perhaps a tiny bit disappointed. “I guess this is goodnight, then?”

“I think it is, Soar.” She said with a small smile. He trotted past behind her, meeting her smile for a moment before looking back to his room. He’d probably fall over if he didn’t look where he was going.

But something caught at her as she watched him go, ambling reluctantly toward her own door. It didn’t feel right to just… leave everything at that. There was still too much that hadn’t been said, and at the very least, she didn’t want to have to feel alone again. She was really starting to get used to his prescence to her side.She lifted her forehoof to her muzzle briefly as she let him trot away, touching it gently. Still uncomfortable, but much less painful. The swelling had gone down, too. Not perfect, but enough.

“Hey, uh… Soarin?” Spitfire asked, turning back to him just as he lifted his hoof to his door.

“Y-yeah?” He asked, his voice finally quiet in the stillness of the night.

“I… I know what I just said and all, but… Could you just come inside, please?” She asked, wincing a little, more at her own words that at his potential reaction. What was she doing?

“Wh-what? I-I mean… S-sure, Spitfire… What did you want?”

“L-look, I… I still don’t feel quite right, and I… I don’t wanna be alone in there for a little while… Could you keep me company for a bit?”

All of a sudden, all traces of weariness vanished from Soarin’s face, and he straightened up. “Y-yeah, of course, Spitfire…” He said, attempting to sound friendly and casual. But he couldn’t hide the blush seeping into his cheeks.
She gave a small, weak smile. As much as she genuinely wanted to sit with him, she wasn’t lying. She needed the company. And he provided the best in the world to her, right now. She nodded appreciatively to him, pushing her door open and stepping inside. She cantered quickly over the shagpile and over to the welcoming bed, still the same as she had left it about an hour before, when she made all of those terrible mistakes. If it was up to her, she’d rebrand that cursed drink mistake juice.

She stumbled up onto the soft, springy mattress, not even bothering to look back. She knew Soarin would be right on her hooves, faithful as the most loyal of dogs. Only much better to look at.

Closing her eyes and sighing, she sat down on the bed, curling her tail up around her forehooves like some sort of shy foal. To her right, the mattress creaked and dipped as Soarin hopped up onto the bed by her side. She smiled a little, keeping her eyes closed and shuffling her wings a touch, preparing herself to feel those wonderful, soft, warm downy feathers that she knew Soarin had been keeping from her all this time.

The only thing that came was an awkward silence. She knew Soarin was there, she could hear him breathing. But he was still as a statue.

Frowning, she opened her eyes, glancing over at him.

He was staring back, his eyes dipped towards her neck and chest so that he didn’t have to make eye contact. He was blushing red as a carnation, and his wings were aligned nervously about his shoulders as he shuffled his forehooves against each other, kneading the duvet gently.

She coughed politely, rolling her eyes to herself. In response, he started, his eyes darting up to meet hers. It was only a tiny, brief moment, but they were full of such earnest, foalish shyness that she found her own cheeks becoming dusted with pink.

“Y-yeah, Spit?” He asked softly, his voice shaky. Was he really too scared to touch her?

“U-uh… Soarin, could you… Put your wing over me? I-I’m feeling lonely, all the way over here…” she mumbled, trying to force a joke out.

“O-oh! Y-yeah… U-umm… Sure, Spitfire…” He returned, his voice even worse than before. He lifted his shaking left wing, stretching it out toward her invitingly. But he made no attempt to sit any closer to her. She almost sighed again. He just didn’t get it, did he?

Realising that she was going to have to do things herself, she took a deep breath to calm the heart that had suddenly started thumping loudly in her chest, and scooted closer to him, leaning her side against his. As she should have expected, the daft blue colt tensed up, frozen with fear. Trying to soothe him, she nuzzled her head gently against his cheek, snuggling a little closer into his body.

My, he was warm. And even though he was still stiff as a board, his fur was pretty darn soft, and so was he, especially for an athlete. She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose.

Eventually, the slow-witted blue stallion started to calm down, and he relaxed, making himself even softer and easier to cuddle. His wing lowered down slowly, resting lightly over her own wings and shoulders. His little feathers were just as warm and soft as she had imagined, and his powerful flight muscles pulled her in close.

Spitfire had felt many things in the embrace of a stallion before, mostly passion, excitement and lust, but never before had she ever felt… Secure. For the first time, she felt nothing but safety and the warm, gentle thrum of his heartbeat as she rested her chin on his shoulder. His wing could have been so tight, so protective of her, she knew how he could be, but it was so light, so unbearably tender that she almost couldn’t believe how it felt. She tingled where her fur met his, but not in an excited, fizzy way. It was a slower, less urgent tingle that didn’t make her feel any less contented and comfortable.

But it didn’t make her any less tired, either. In fact, if anything, Soarin was making her feel all the more tired.
“Hey… Spitfire?” Soarin asked softly, breaking the gentle silence.

“What is it, Soar?” She asked sleepily, opening her eyes and looking up in his direction.

“W-well… I was j-just thinking that… Well… Why didn’t we just go to the police about it in the first place? I-I mean… It was just self-defence…” He mumbled, his voice getting quieter and quieter as he made his point.

The words were like ice. Why hadn’t she? Had panic clouded her mind that much? What would happen if he ignored the card? What if he-

She stopped herself. Her breathing was starting to quicken again, and worrying would do her no good now. What was done was done.

“S-soar?” She asked quietly, closing her eyes again.

“Y-yeah?” He replied meekly.

“Just… Don’t ever talk about that, would you? Or you’ll end up joining him…” She murmured sleepily, leaning more heavily against him. She knew she should feel scared, or worried, but she felt so secure under Soarin’s wing that none of it seemed to matter all that much. All she wanted to do was sleep in his embrace, to wake up to his soft little smile and warm, blue fur… She could deny it no longer. She loved him. With as more of her heart than she had ever thought possible.

So, it only felt natural when sleep slowly took her, and she felt his soft, tender little lips caressing her forehead for the tiniest of moments before she slipped deep enough into sleep that such things couldn’t penetrate.

Author's Note

Man, I am so sorry it took me this long to write up... but hey, you know. 9543 words ain't half bad, right? Easily one of my longest chapters...
But, I digress. I hope you liked it!

Chapter 8

With a groan like the creak of a graveyard gate, and all the grace of a hippopotamus drunk on fermented fruit, the mare known as Spitfire opened her warm, hazel eyes.

Only this time, they were dull, tired and bloodshot. As one might expect from a mare kept up half the night trying to bury the results of a pretty horrid chain reaction that had long since descended past any semblance of sanity.

Those events slowly started to trickle their way, drop by uncertain drop, back into her bleary, warn-out mind.
First came the drinking. That shouldn’t really have surprised her, and to be honest, it didn’t. But she groaned loudly anyway, shifting herself in bed a little.

Then… Bits and pieces. With Soarin, for some reason. Out and about in the town. Quite why was beyond her for now, but- She kissed him?

At this, the Wonderbolt captain groaned yet louder, rolling over and screwing her eyes tightly shut. Of course, my chat with Fleet, and then… And then… Everything came back, like some sort of grizzly epiphany. She groaned, slapping a forehoof to her aching head. But her hoof tapped her nose by mistake, and her groan turned into a sharp intake of breath and she jerked violently with surprise. She had forgotten about that.

She was certainly awake now, but still far too sore and hung-over to move. So she got herself comfortable and closed her eyes, lying on her back with her wings splayed slightly beneath her. She was just glad that she had some time to get herself presentable before anypony saw her like this. Especially-

Shit, Soarin… She thought to herself, wincing. He would probably still be next to her, either faithfully awake and exhausted like the idiot he was, or fast asleep, like the foal he could be. He was the one pony that she really didn’t want to face that morning. Or at all, if she could help it.
But then… Maybe that’s not a bad thing… Her inner temptation said softly. You admitted it before, he looks awful cute when he’s asleep… And you might even get a head massage out of him…

Now that was an appealing thought. Soarin looked like he could be pretty good with his hooves when he needed to be, and she wasn’t above exploiting his affections to feel better. She returned them, after all, so it wasn’t that bad. Even if he didn’t know.

Briefly, she wondered if she had already woken him up, if he was actually asleep. But that seemed unlikely, given what it had taken to get him up last night. Of course, she could just open her eyes and know for sure, but… that seemed hard, for some reason. Like when you hear something behind you in a deserted building, and you want to know what it is, but you just feel too scared to know for sure. Sometimes, not knowing is more comforting.

But this wasn’t doing her any good, and sooner or later, she would have to get up. She had to run a practice that she hadn’t planned, after all. That would be exciting.
With a little more pointless dithering, she finally scooted a little closer to the centre of the bed, searching out the warmth that his soft blue body would produce. Of course, the bed was pretty warm anyway, and it was hard for her to tell which way was even up at this point, so it was difficult to tell whether or not he was even there just from feeling for him. She needed to just open her eyes and be done with it. No matter how bedraggled and beaten-up she would doubtlessly look. So, taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes slowly, like the romantic fluttering you might see in one of those lousy, one-dimensional love stories, where nopony accidentally gets drunk and nearly kills someone they’ve never met before, or breaks into somepony’s hotel room and makes out with their unconscious bod-
There was nopony there.

Frowning, Spitfire closed her eyes, then opened them again, normally.

Still nopony.

Growling, she screwed her eyes shut, before cracking them wide open, staring hatefully into the space where he most certainly wasn’t.

Where in the name of Celestia had that great blue moron gotten to now? What could he possibly be doing that he would just up and leave her like this without even waking her? As stupid as he was, he would have given her some warning, surely.

Unless, perhaps… Had he ever been there? Maybe she’d just gotten drunk and passed out, and everything she was considering a memory was just a twisted, sadistic dream? That would be a relief, even if it said very unpleasant things about her subconscious, and how much it clearly hated her.

In fact, that would be great. Fleet wouldn’t need to know anything, Soarin would remain that much more innocent, and, best of all, she wouldn’t be responsible for grievous bodily harm! Really, that had to be the right answer to all this madness. This sort of thing didn’t really happen to anypony, even ponies like her. Not in the real world, at least.
She tried to roll out of bed, but a stabbing pain in the centre of her skull told her that it was a little early to be trying anything quite that dramatic. So, with her head held low, she managed to dag herself slowly to the edge of the bed once more, and draping her foreleg over the edge like she was checking the temperature of a pool, she got herself into a suitable position for levering herself off the bed. Which she eventually managed, even if she ended up taking the blankets with her.

Slowly, and with bleary eyes that clearly didn’t want to be open at all today, she scanned the room for any evidence that might have confirmed the night before as fact or fiction.

Easily the first thing that caught her attention was the smashed vase and assorted flowers that littered the far side of her room. Her heart leapt to her throat, and a faintly ill feeling came to her stomach, and not the standard kind that came with any hangover. Taking deep breaths, she forced herself into a trot, and approached the occasional table that had once supported the expensive little vase. This wasn’t a good sign.

But, in her dream, she and Soarin had made sure to clean up the blood before it could stain, and there wasn’t any left anywhere, so it was impossible to tell whether or not she had just bumped into it last night and forgotten. So far so good.
No matter how hard she searched, she couldn’t find anything that really related to the events of the night before – The bed didn’t have any blue Soarin-hairs in it, there was no blood, and there was never really anything else that she could think of.
In fact, the prospect of last night simply being a dream was starting to become much more likely and appealing in her mind. It was fair to say that she couldn’t remember going to Soarin’s room in the first place, she was simply there all of a sudden. Nor could she remember the trip to Fleet’s or large sections of her encounter with the repulsive orange stallion. All traditional products of dreams. And alcohol induced memory loss, but she preferred not to think of that.
Satisfied that all was well, she sighed softly with relief, trotting slowly back over to her bed. She thought that it might be nice of her if she at least dragged the stained blankets back onto her bed before the hotel staff turned up. Changing oneself into a softer, kinder pony was a long and difficult road for somepony such as herself, so she decided it might be best to start small. At least it was something.

But as she was dragging the duvet back up over the mattress with all the knowledge and experience of a mole learning to swim, something caught her eye, in the far corner of her vision. Something that she didn’t recognise from before. She frowned, giving up on her kind deed and heading over to the bedside table to investigate. She approached, with increasing dread, as she noticed that it was a piece of paper, scrawled with the clumsy scribbling that could only be Soarin’s.

Dear Spitfire
I know you probably wanted me to wake you up for the practice this morning, but you were sleeping really soundly and I thought you probably needed some rest after last night, so I’m going to tell the others that you’re ill and take the session for you. I hope you don’t get too mad.
Soarin.

The letter was ridden with mistakes and typos, and there was a clearly scribbled out ‘love’ before the word ‘Soarin’, but its meaning was clear. Last night had happened.

She threw her head back and groaned like she had never groaned before. The pain in her head as she tilted it back didn’t help much, but the disappointment was far worse. Not only did last night actually happen, genuinely, and most likely to the detail, but now, Soarin, with a terrible history of public speaking and no ability to come up with ideas on the fly to speak of, was trying to take practice in her place. And he probably hadn’t come up with any reason why he would know that she was ill before anypony else, or why in the name of Celestia it would be him taking practice. Sure, he was almost Spitfire’s second in command, but everypony knew he was hopeless when trying to talk to any number of ponies. She felt genuinely nauseous now, and it wasn’t just the hangover taking effect. Why did her life revolve around fixing mistakes at the moment?

And, of course, it had to get worse. Soarin had obviously written that just before he left, and he was likely long gone, now. He would have gotten there in time to start practice, Spitfire knew that much. Which meant, even if he had only left a minute ago, she would still be late. She dreaded to think how late she would be, but the crack of bright sunlight streaming in through a tiny gap in the curtains didn’t fill her with courage. Grimacing, she looked slowly over at the clock on the far side of the room. The hands pointed to half past eleven in the morning. The lesson would end in about forty-five minutes.
She let out a long, loud groan of plaintive frustration. She was not starting off on the right hoof today.

As hurriedly as she could with her headache, she staggered into the bathroom, barely keeping herself upright on the treacherous wet floor. Then, she lurched up into the shower and flicked it on as quickly as she could, sitting down directly beneath the nozzle. The shower wasn’t nearly as long and relaxing as she would have liked, but at least the heat didn’t make her feel drowsy. Few things in all the world could feel more awake than she did, after reading that letter.
As soon as the shower was off once more, she opened the door as quickly as she could, ignoring the wall of relative cold as it hit her. She leapt from the shower like she was being chased, gritting her teeth as her hooves clattered for purchase on the wet marble floor. Not to be defeated so easily, she went against her better judgement and took off, flapping with broad, powerful strokes from her wings.

The shower had done her head some considerable good, but all that was undone as soon as she lifted off up into the air, the feeling of lurching upwards and downwards in the enclosed space. She screwed her eyes shut, muttering quiet curses at the world in general as she let herself glide over to the door. She simply didn’t have time to feel despondent.
On the back of the door was the towel she had used yesterday. Since then, it had easily become dry enough to be used again, so she dropped to the ground, keeping her legs as rigid as she could so they didn’t slide out beneath her. She grabbed it in her teeth, pulling the door open carefully and stumbling back into the bedroom.

She then proceeded to get herself dried off and dressed in record time; gritting her teeth to help her ignore the pain as she struggled through an abridged version of a normal morning routine, leaving out such important parts as cleaning her teeth, or breakfast. (largely because it was all but midday.)

The flight suit in particular was a battle, and she was glad for the fabric’s strength when she was forced to viciously kick at the limb-holes in an angry, desperate attempt to fit inside them. The goggles decided to slow her down as well, by hiding incredibly well for several minutes. But eventually, after far more time than she would have liked had passed, she was as ready as she could be. A full twenty minutes had passed, and she hadn’t even set off.

There was no time to waste. She stumbled quickly over to the window, squinting and pulling the curtains wide open, letting the natural light burn harmlessly at her eyelids rather than blind her. Then, she quickly fumbled with the catch, flinging it wide open and letting the late morning breeze flow in through to her room. It felt pleasant on her fur, rustling it this way and that with a gentle ebb and flow. Without a second thought, she stepped back and leapt through the window, snapping her wings open as soon as she was safely outside.

As she knew they would, her wings caught her easily, supporting her on the breeze as she floated slowly away from the hotel window. But she was in a rush, and had no time for floating around like a cloud. As much as it would hurt, she needed to race up to that cloudbank high above the city if she wanted to get there in time. Why didn’t the world function exactly as she planned things? Sure, things might not work out perfectly for everyone, but she would have a much smoother time. Which, if the last two days were any example, she really deserved.

Well, if there’s anypony in charge, she thought, they clearly don’t like me much. So she gave a good growl, more for her benefit than anypony else’s, before clenching her jaw and pushing herself upwards with powerful wing strokes. Each flap brought a sharp stab of pain arcing through the middle of her head, but she had flown with far worse in her time. It was just a matter of perseverance, and trying to think of other things. Of course, just thinking was fairly tricky business with a head as sore as her own, so Spitfire decided it might be best to think of nothing at all, and let her instincts carry her up into the sky.

Now, the old Spitfire would have had no trouble with that at all. In fact, quite often, Spitfire could have drifted from one hour to the next with very little passing through her head at all, save for what she was actually doing, and what needed to be done later. The new Spitfire, on the other hoof, was confused, conflicted, and spending far more time arguing with her own mind than she was used to. In fact, she rather wished that she was more of the submissive type, or one that would run from problems. It was just her luck to be the kind of pony that has to stare problems in the face all the time. Still, that wasn’t an entirely unappealing trait. She could have been a proper soldier, if she wasn’t far more interested in flying than fighting.
For a moment, she wondered how Soarin might react if she was shyer, and less abrasive. Then, that would probably explain why he was clearly never that interested in Misty, and she really wasn’t interested in putting him off her.

It was only then that the pain in her head forced her to stop, and instead fixate her gaze on a single cloud high above her and power toward it, trying to be as meditative as she could. While this didn’t actually work as such, by the time she had reached the cloud, she was only in severe pain, rather than agony.

With a light, fluffy sound, she dropped down onto the little cloud, sinking deep into its softness. She looked left and right, swinging her aching, weary head slowly as she scanned the horizon for the cloudbank they had been training on. Obviously, there had been some wind during the night, because it had most certainly moved, and it took her almost thirty seconds to spot it amid the morning cloud cover.

Sadly unable to just blast her way over thanks to her head and the general weariness in every inch of her body, she was forced to slow to a painful crawl, drifting lazily over thanks to the warm thermals from the city stretched out below her. Normally, she might have admired the sights of the beautiful city, nestled by the side of the mountain, but today, looking down for too long just made her feel nauseous.

Having to focus on only one thing at a time just to get through the day was seriously annoying, but at least it was working for now, and there was still something to save. Or at least, that’s what an incredibly rough estimate of time said to her.
Relenting to the sense of urgency building up in her gut, she started to power her way over to the cloud, each flap bringing about a fresh stab wound somewhere in the centre of her weary, pained little brain. Though she tried not to think about them, she could tell that her approach hadn’t gone unnoticed, and a number of ponies had stopped to watch her fly laboriously over to their makeshift training ground. Of course, it was hard to imagine that she wouldn’t be spotted, given the yellow bolts of lightning that adorned her bright blue flightsuit.

Eventually, she landed with a thud and a large puff of cloud evaporating around her hooves as she staggered forward, trying to cushion the impact of her landing as much as possible. She must have looked like a trainwreck.
Panting with weariness despite not really feeling tired, she looked about for the only pony that really seemed to matter at the moment. And as one would expect of the blue moron, he was probably the only one present that hadn’t noticed her arrival, perched on a higher cloud trying to direct the team’s flight and movements. In fact, it took somepony actually flying down to the cloud that he was standing on and nudging him to even pay attention to anything save being the leader. Clearly, he was also focussing on one thing at a time, but Spitfire had a feeling that it was more a case of mental limitation than a hangover. Soarin could get almost anything done if he tackled things one at a time, but he couldn’t juggle anything, even thoughts.

But, eventually, Soarin turned to face her, and she gave him a small smile and a half-assed wave. The look she received, however, was certainly closer to fear than happiness. Which was good. He’d better be afraid, taking control of her Wonderbolts without permission.

Despite his obvious trepidation, however, he jumped off the edge of the cloud, spreading his wings and gliding over to her. She made to walk toward him, but suddenly Firestreak was by her side, standing far enough away that she couldn’t breathe on him, just in case.

“Captain! So good of you to grace us with your presence, on this fine morning.”

“Oh, cut the lip, Fire. I’m poorly, okay?” She said, smiling wryly at him.

“Well, that much I can see. But Soarin in charge? No offence to either of you, but… Why him? Normally it’s me, or High Winds, or…” He trailed off, clearly making a point that he could list quite a few ponies before Soarin came to mind.

“Trust me, pal. This wasn’t my choice.” Spitfire said flatly, trotting slowly in Soarin’s direction as he drifted down toward her. “And I need to remind him.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m not him…” Firestreak said, frowning at her expression. Apparently he knew better than to ask why any of this had even happened.

“Why, how bad has he been?” Spit asked, briefly diverting her attention to him.

“B-bad? Huh? Oh, no, he was okay. Better than most of the squad expected, certainly.” Firestreak replied, letting his own surprise flow clearly through his tone.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” Spitfire said, smiling a little. “But, I should technically have him filed for insubordination or mutiny. It’s protocol.”

“Oh, Celestia. You’re not gonna court-martial him, are you?” Firestreak said, paling a little.

“Wh-what? ‘Course not!” She said indignantly. “I’m just gonna give him a hiding.”

“Alright, alright… You just look really mad, is all.” He said, backing off a little.

“You’re damn right I do, Fire.” She growled, resisting the urge to shake her head. “I feel like I got hit by a train and pissed on.”

She made to trot a little faster, heading toward Soarin. A few of her fellow ‘Bolts milled about them, looking at Spitfire with a mix of curiosity and concern. It surprised the yellow mare that they all seemed to care, but it did her good. But before she could get away, she felt Firestreak’s hoof on her shoulder, holding her back.

“Uhh… You sure that you’re good to go, Spit? You look dreadful.” Firestreak said, eyeing her worriedly. “And what on earth happened to your nose?”

“Huh? Is it still bad?” She said groggily, trying to look down at it.

“Well, it looks pretty bruised, but you don’t look like a clown,” He said with a good-natured smirk. “But you didn’t answer my question. Are you sure that you’re okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it…” Spitfire replied, stroking her mane back. “It’s not so bad as it looks… Soarin loves to be melodramatic, after all.”

“Well, I suppose you know best…” He said, smiling at her quip. “And in fact, here he comes now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain.” The orange-maned stallion said with a smile, nodding his head to Spitfire’s right, before giving a mock salute and trotting away. The conversation seemed to be enough for most of the group, who slowly dispersed around her, conversation turning to other things that didn’t particularly interest her.

Glad that the conversation was over, Spitfire turned in the direction that Firestreak had indicated, catching sight of Soarin cantering hastily over to her. Some thirty feet behind him were Misty and Fleetfoot, positioned as if in conversation although Fleet had turned her head to face her. It seemed a little suspect, but she decided to chalk it up to coincidence and concentrate back on Soarin, who was now all but in front of her.

“Spitfire!” He said, sounding excited and slightly breathless. “H-how did I do up there?”

“Well…” Spitfire said, wincing just a tiny bit. “I didn’t actually see anything, but Fire tells me that you didn’t completely cock it up. But please leave it to somepony more responsible next time?” She said, before leaning in a little closer. “Or at least wake me up in time.” She decided it was more effort than it was worth to tell him that really, he deserved to have his suit taken off him for mutiny.

“B-but you looked really p… Peaceful…” He said, looking around to make sure nopony was listening. At last, he had learned his lesson. “B-but thanks.” He said, apparently taking her words as a compliment and standing up a little straighter. “You’ll make a leader of me yet…”

She snorted, trying to sound more humorous than insulting. “I wouldn’t go that far, champ. But thanks for trying, at least. It was a good first try.”

He blushed, suddenly fiddling with his forehooves while he mumbled out an incoherent sentence of appreciation. Spitfire smiled as well, controlling her blushing, but she quickly realised that she didn’t really have a response planned for something she didn’t even properly hear, and she paused. Soarin looked like there was something that he wanted to say, Spitfire could tell from the way that he kept opening and closing his mouth as he glanced shyly up at her. She would have interrupted, if she could think of something to say.

“H-hey, uhh… Spitfire?” He asked, finally breaking the silence. She blinked with surprise, looking up into his eyes. “Fancy getting a bite to eat with me?” He continued, looking like the words had given him some serious trouble. “I-I wanted to say thanks, even though you didn’t really let me… Or sorry, if I screwed up again.”

“Oh, uh, Sure, Soarin…” She said, slightly taken aback. Was he actually making up an excuse to take her on a date? That would be the day.

“H-hey, don’t be scared…” He said, actually trying to pull a joke. “Your choice, okay?”

She raised one brow. “Oh, don’t worry about that…” She said, although the idea of being trapped in the same room of him was filling her with some level of anxiety. “But… Where should we go? Really, I should pay you back for the chilli, but I don’t think I’m up for revenge. And you’ll eat anything.” She said, truthfully. Soarin was like an industrial waste compactor given pony form when he was hungry. So long as it was technically edible, it was fair game.

“Y-yeah…” He said, smiling and scratching the back of his head. “Th-that did occur to me…”

“Well, tell you what. Let’s just get going… I’ll come up with something on the fly, ‘kay?”

“A-alright!” Soarin said cheerfully, taking a small step back to relieve some of the tension that was building between them. “Sounds good to me…”

“But we’re going for a slow fly today…” Spitfire continued, heading for the edge of the cloudbank.

“G-got it, Captain…” Soarin said. Spitfire couldn’t tell whether or not he was mocking her, so she decided to let it slide.

“Yeah, yeah, Soarin.” She said confidently, stepping off the edge of the cloud. “Come on. I didn’t get to have breakfast, thanks to you.”

Author's Note

Yep! Super short chapter this time, and I'm really sorry about that. Sadly, I've been rather swamped at present, which is why it's taken me so damn long to write this.
One or two of you might already know this, but I've entered my final year of schooling before uni, and writing up personal statements and such has really been taking it out of me.
And then, there's my other excuse.
The main reason that I've been taking so long is that I've actually been working on another story as well as this one. An entirely new story that I'll start posting when this on's finished. If you're hoping for another lighthearted romance story, though, I'm afraid you won't much like this one. What I've got planned is much much longer and far more violent than this, spanning a full thirty years of an as-yet secret timeline. I went into more detail in my blog a few weeks back...
http://www.fimfiction.net/blog/199463/that-sneak-peek-i-didnt-mention-in-my-post

Thanks for reading, guys!