Blazing Fire

The locker rooms of the Wonderbolt Academy had always been a sacred place. It was more than a room with lockers and benches. More than just a part of the complex to get a nice warm shower after exercises, a place for the laundry staff to get sweat soaked uniforms. It was more than just another room for janitorial to grunt over, more than just a place that you get in and get out. It was so much more than what it seemed on the surface, just tile, metal, and pipes.

This place had a history. In every crack and crevice, in every dent and scratch on a locker, in every smell and sound (especially those few loose tiles in the corner of the room that had been there for who knew how many years). It was the ground that the team stood on, for dozens of generations of Wonderbolts; for hundreds of individuals it was the foundation for their personal comradery, and the birthing place of bitter rivalries. It was a simple place, built purely with functionality in mind, but it was the memories and feelings beyond it’s material that made it so special.

And for Blaze, Fourth-in-Command of the Wonderbolts, holder of a dozen records, home to a mountain of medals and trophies, and recipient of the Celestial Cross of Valor, it was the best place in the entire academy. Closing her locker, the latch needing just an extra little push to lock in place, she turned, towel over her withers, to the main floor as it buzzed with life.

The entire team was in, washing and changing, massaging sore muscles and wings, talking and laughing, all with lively eyes and brimming smiles: the polar opposite of the stoic and rock hard discipline that had become the expected look of a Wonderbolt was. Blaze strode through like she owned the place, head high, and her posture one of pure confidence and pride. There were few things she loved more than being a Wonderbolt, and one of those things was the hot shower that awaited her following a long day of flight practice.

Trotting past the walls of lockers, making note of Rainbow Dash and Fleetfoot arguing over some seemingly random title within the record books in the academy (as they typically did) she entered the wash-hall, rows and rows of showers closed off by thin blue curtains lined the walls. The sounds of flowing water, and a thin veil of steam filled the room. There was a humming, soft and barely audible over the roar of water accompanied by the hounding jolts of laughter and conversation just behind her. But, even through all these distractions, she knew exactly who it was.

Soarin.

He never wanted to admit it, but the stallion had the knack for singing in the showers. Everypony in the team knew it without a second doubt in their mind, but he always played it off, barely acknowledging it. To be fair, it sounded terrible, but Blaze couldn’t help but think it was the most beautiful thing in the world, and she found herself just a few short hoofsteps away from his pod, his voice ever so clearer now.

The stallion's grey shadow moved and twisted beyond the thin piece of plastic separating him from her sight as he sung some seemingly random song, likely from some barely known band from back in their high school days. Her mind was flooded as she watched him move and listened to his voice, the vivid images of his lean body, wet and matte with mineral water, his muscles pulsing and twisting with each step, his wet deep blue mane flowing freely down his withers, a contrast to his usually high and spiked style, and his deep, emerald green eyes, gleaming in the pale light as they passed over to meet her own shining amethyst ones. All she needed to do was push aside the offensive curtain that stood between them.

Blaze shook herself from the thoughts and urges, to find her right hoof had already risen towards the edge of the wall, ready to throw open the shower to expose Soarin to all the world. She recoiled and quickly drew her hoof back, hugging it against her chest, her tuft spilling over it, as if her hoof being exposed was a sin against the Sisters themselves. What in Tartarus was wrong with her? Was she really all that willing to just intrude upon his privacy, something that was a rare commodity in the Bolts? To push herself upon him? She quickly looked to the doorway into the shower room, and thanked Celestia nopony had seen her.

Blaze quickly retreated to the farthest end of the hall, and sealed herself within a shower pod, and let out the breath she had been holding. She couldn’t believe that she had come so close to giving in, after all these years to lose against her battle of urges to make a mistake that would surely end what she had built up already. He would yell at her, all the Bolts would know, word would spread, command would question her and she’d be forced to tell the truth, she’d get discharged for harassment, and she’d be left with nothing. Soarin wouldn’t even bat an eye at her. After all those years of friendship, it would be as if none of it ever happened…

And oh Celestia, what would Spitfire think? What would she do? That was a thought that made Blaze shutter in fear. Despite all their personal ups and downs, the idea of her twin sister, one of the few ponies she cared for more deeply than herself, berating her, screaming up in her face like she was just another one of the reservists or some random pony on the street, that she would just lay it into her...it made her think of mother.

She shook her head. No, none of those thoughts here. Blaze took a moment to breath and clear her mind. She was just having an episode, one of hundreds of thousands she had been made to deal with over these many many years, and the mare knew that if she could get through those without screwing up the things that mattered most, then she could continue on forever if she needed to. Right?

Oh, merciful Sisters she needed that shower.

Reaching out she slung her towel over the little pole outside the pod, and then turned on a heel towards the shower head. Below were a few knobs for hot and cold, as well as a dispenser for soap and shampoo. The others often complained about the smell (or lack thereof) from the goopy clear stuff, and Blaze was inclined to agree. If there was one thing she did not share with her sister, it was Spitfire’s hatred for scented stuff, but Blaze couldn’t help but think that perhaps there was nothing all too wrong with a few floral shampoos or some lavish soap here and there.

Twisting the knobs, she set them just in the right place just how she liked it, the hot (but not scalding) water flowed down the top of her head, pushing down her slightly messy, spiked red-orange mane over her face and down her neck and withers. She didn’t have a lot of hair, no, but much like any pegasus, just because it stood up on its own didn’t mean it was any less thick and heavy; much thanks to be given to pegasi biology.

She took the time to let the water soak her entirely, the warmth easing her stiff muscles and tickling her wings, even just from the trickle of water running along them she could feel a few loose feathers. She would need to preen, but that would have to wait until after her wash. But she didn’t focus on that, no, she didn’t focus on anything. Just the water to give her good feelings, and she sighed audibly and contently, wishing she could stay there forever.

But, Blaze knew she couldn’t. It was another urge she had to fight off, and settling her resolve she poured herself some soap and started lathering up her fur, making sure to scrub out the dried sweat and clear the patches of matted dull golden fur, especially on her tuft. She let the soap do its work and started laboring on her mane and tail, running her hooves through them to clean out the grunk and loosen the strands in places where tangles and knots had formed. She would also need a good brushing later as well as a preen. Maybe she could get Soarin to help?

She sat on her haunches, the cold tiles a contrast to the warmth of the water, and let her mind wander on that thought, just this one time.

--s--

Blaze didn’t know how long she had sat in the shower, but feeling the soggy frogs of her hooves she could tell it was a good long while. She had heard a few of the other Bolts come and go, rinsing and washing, staying only as long as they needed before taking off back to the lockers to change. She hadn’t paid them any mind. What she did focus on, however, was the fact that she could still hear the murmurs of Soarin’s whispered singing a few pods down. It seemed he was taking his sweet time, considering he had been in there long before Blaze had even stepped hoof in the locker rooms (she had asked Misty Fly about his whereabouts earlier.)

Not wanting to sit idly any longer, no matter how good the water felt, she stood up and shut the water off and pushed the curtain aside. Looking down the long hall, she spotted steam still rising from Soarin’s shower. She also heard the spray of another showerhead just a few pods down from her, roaring almost in her ear with how fast the water was flowing. No steam rose above and out of the curtain from this one either. What sort of pony didn’t want a hot shower?

Blaze found her stomach sink slightly at the thought, not that she cared so much about a pony’s taste in water temperature, but that she knew only one pony in the Wonderbolts that was so bold and brash as to take a cold shower after a long and intense day of working out. And with the audible sounds of twisting knobs, and the shaking of mane, she got her answer, and it made her stomach twist all the deeper.

Out stepped Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts, holder of a dozen world records, home of double if not triple the amount of show medals and trophies as Blaze, and personal recipient of nearly a hundred ribbons and service decorations, of which she always made sure to display proudly during drill week with the reservists. She was the mare with the plan, with a resolve as strong as stone, and a will cast in iron.

Behind her two tone brighter orange mane, drooping heavily down her wet head, she didn’t notice Blaze right away, and instead stepped out onto the white tile floor and with towel in hoof, made long efficient strokes along her toned body, the white towel greying out as it soaked up the moisture from her fur. Blaze couldn’t lie, her sister was a good looking mare, her lean body and well groomed mane and tail were all elements one would expect from a mare in the Wonderbolts or the Guard, much less a Captain within.

For any passersby, sparing no more than a second glance, they looked practically identical. Same coats, with manes barely distinguished from each other by colors, even their cutie marks were curiously similar, both flames, though Spitfire’s overlapped in a flowing non-existent rush of air, while Blazer’s own stretched apart like burning wings slowing a rapid descent. Their eyes made it a bit easier to tell who was who, Blaze’s cool amethyst eyes a direct contrast to Spitfire’s fiery orange ones. The two sisters could have been easily mistaken for each other, though it was kind of hard for anyone to misplace Spitfire, considering her entire figure was in the minds of hundreds of thousands of pegasi (and other Wonderbolt fans), at least compared to Blaze.

Blaze hadn’t realized she had been ogling her twin sister, and she made to look away, but Spitfire seemed to have noticed her staring, as well as her frown, just a few close seconds too soon.

“Hey there, Sis.” Spitfire greeted as she ran the towel over her mane, vigorously shaking it to and fro to catch the moisture, “You look like you’re happy to see me.”

Blaze said nothing for a moment, watching her sister’s posture, and trying to spy the look on her face, but it was all in vain. She couldn’t read the mare well at all, but she knew damn well Spitfire could read her back like a librarian to a book. “You could say that.” Blaze half-heartedly replied, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. It wasn’t that she was intimidated by her sister, no, but Blaze was willing to admit that there was an aura she saw about Spitfire, something that made her feel small, and miniscule when even in the same room as her. She hid it well during shows, and so far even to the rest of the team. But, Blaze knew the feeling well, and it ached in her chest.

With the towel hanging around her withers now, Spitfire kept up her stoicism, a neutral frown on her face, she started on her shoulders and forelegs, “I hope the training didn’t hit the team too hard, it's a new routine me and Soarin had been wanting to try out.”

At Spitfire’s mention of Soarin, Blaze was reminded of another thing that the two shared, and that was their since-fillyhood crushes on said stallion. Their mother had known (at-least about Spitfires’) and they sure-as-rain knew about each other sharing their feelings for him. It had always made him a...complicated cog within the machines of their lives. Neither sister had yet to make any real move on the stallion, nor did any of their hints or tells of their hidden love for him seemingly catch his attention. Both sisters had agreed long ago that he likely would not have liked them back anyway, so their games and rivalry of chasing him around through highschool had ended their senior year, and it surely ended when they went through recruitment camp for the Wonderbolts. Especially considering it was against protocol to date within the team.

It was still something that weighed heavily on Blaze’s heart, and if Spitfire still held those feelings she couldn’t tell, but she didn’t doubt it, considering how close she and Soarin were. And even though they had both formally agreed to end their outward rivalry over him, Blaze knew that they still held a form of hidden competition between themselves, and Blaze knew Spitfire was winning across the board by a long shot. It made Blaze’s eyes dip for a moment.

A moment too long it seemed, as Spitfire was on it in an instant, “What’s up?”

Blaze recoiled, and quickly grabbed her towel to start drying herself, “N-nothing. It’s nothing.” She lied.

The sound of hoofsteps against tile faintly touched her ears, and Spitfire spoke again, much clearer, “Sis, don’t try and bullshit me. What’s on your mind.” When Blaze didn’t respond right away, taking a suspiciously long time to dry the fur over her face, she spoke again, though in a much more sympathetic tone, “It’s Soarin, isn’t it.”

Sighing in defeat, Blaze removed the towel from her face, “Yes…” Spitfire made to say something, but Blaze cut her off, “I know we agreed that we wouldn’t try after him anymore, but...It’s…” She sighed, “It’s just hard sometimes, ya’know?”

Spitfire stood there silent for a moment, her thoughts trapped behind her focused eyes, any tells she had to expose their nature were unknown to Blaze, but she eventually nodded softly, “I know. I know more than anypony.” She nearly whispered, barely audible. But she continued, now much louder and with her usual confidence, “But, there is nothing to be done, Blaze. We both know this. It’s been years since we made our little pact. And I’m willing to admit that…”

Before she could finish her thought, the room fell silent as the sounds of rushing water ceased, and a few curtains down from his shower stepped out Soarin, still lightly humming a tune, his wet fur glistening like a thousand stars, his mane shimmering and clamped against his neck, dripping water down his muscular body. He wasn’t a monstrosity of mass like that Hulk Biceps fellow Blaze had met years ago, no, Soarin was lean and proportional, the perfect specimen of a stallion if she had ever known one. His emerald eyes, accompanied by slight bags from his age, darted between Spitfire and herself, and his humming stopped dead.

“Spits, Blaze.” He simply nodded to each of them with a smile oh-so contagious, as he reached for his towel and trotted over towards them.

Blaze looked between him and Spitfire, and her jaw clenched a few times and any words she had thought to say were stopped in her throat. To be fair, she was a bit stuck focusing on trying not to stare at his wet body. Spitfire caught onto the silence rather quickly, and she turned to her second-in-command and greeted him back, “Soarin, fancy meeting you here.”

The stallion chuckled, “I could say the same, Spits. I did hop in a bit later than usual today. You tend to take earlier ones, like me.” He said in reference to Spitfire’s tendency to be first in the showers after exercises. Blaze liked taking later showers, and she was afraid to admit the only real reason being so she could avoid meetings such as this one. Her heart was pounding, and she could feel the tint on her cheeks. Spitfire seemed to notice instantly, she always had an eye for detail, and decided to cover her again while Blaze tried to get herself under control.

“Command wanted to see me as soon as possible, so I went right after practice.” Spitfire answered as she dried her barrel.

Soarin’s smile deepened, “I don’t suppose the boss was too happy with you trotting in like that.”

Spitfire cocked a brow, “What are you implying?”

Blaze knew that if Soarin had been any other stallion, they would likely have instantly backtracked and faltered under her tone, but he had known Spitfire (and herself by extent) for nearly all his life, and he simply responded with an even deeper smile, “All I’m saying is, perhaps changing before meeting up with the Colonel would save a few noses.”

Blaze lightly chuckled from her place as she worked on her tail, and Soarin turned to her, “Blaze, how goes things?” The mare looked up, feeling as if she had made a mistake making herself audibly known, but she was instantly entranced by his eyes, and his friendly, genuine smile told of his curious and simple intentions to ask the simple question. All her stress was suddenly gone, and she felt her wings relax back to her sides.

“Well, they’re always better with you around.” She answered without thinking, and her eyes widened slightly once the words caught up with her.

Soarin took it as a complement, and his smile deepened, “I’d hope so. ‘Hate to be hated.” He nudged her, and Blaze felt like her heart was going to burst with how fast it was pumping, and she was sure she could cook an egg on her cheeks, even her ears felt red hot.

Spitfire coughed, grabbing the stallion’s attention again, “Well, as I was saying. The Colonel wanted me to run by a few things. Asking about the training and all that. He also updated me on the coming tour.”

Soarin nodded, “The Griffonstone tour? It’s only a couple months away, what could he need to update you on so late?” Soarin asked, drying his hinds with the towel, giving Blaze an unintended peek at his dark grey package hidden beneath, just about two feet from her face. She felt a shiver go down her spine, and her rump instinctively rubbed lightly against the cold, wet tiles of the floor.

Spitfire seemed to have gotten an equal glance as she shuddered slightly, but kept it under control, “He got orders to move the tour to next month.”

Soarin recoiled, as did Blaze who was suddenly free from her love-struck stupor, flicking her ears in surprise and she opened her mouth ready to comment, though Soarin was but a second quicker, “Next month?! We’ve only been drilling for a few weeks! Not to mention getting everypony ready for the trip!” His words made Spitfire raise a brow, as with Blaze. These were petty concerns, and no amount of drill was going to make the Bolts any better than they already were, the practice was just more about getting everypony into the mindset more than anything. They both knew this, even if they treated practice like the fate of Equestria depended on their hours of training out in the field. Something else was on the stallion’s mind.

He seemed to pick up on this, the fact that they both knew, and he dropped his head down slightly, “Blaze, could you do me a favor?” He asked what many ponies simply called ‘the twin’, in the room.

Blaze immediately perked up at him addressing her, “Yeah, yeah, whaddya need?” She asked, trying not to let the insecurity nagging at the back of her mind take over and make her words falter.

He turned to her, a stoic look on his face, and her confidence dropped by the second “Think you could give me and your sister a bit of privacy?”

Blaze gulped at his tone, as much as she doubted that he meant it as an order, she couldn’t help but feel that it was an order. Her eyes darted to her sister, who stood there just as confused as she was, and back to Soarin, who still stood there patiently for a response. Blaze shook herself mentally, she was a Wonderbolt damnit! She wasn’t supposed to be getting ‘limp-wing’ under pressure! She was supposed to crave pressure, and eat on-the-ball decisions for breakfast!

After a moment, especially thanks to her personal prep talk, she finally nodded out an answer, “Sure.”

Soarin responded with that smile of his again, losing his stern glare, and that was all Blaze needed before she stood up and trotted out the room to fulfil his request. Even though she was still a bit wet, especially around the rump, she figured a little bit of water outside the shower-hall wouldn’t turn any heads. She turned to the left, and stopped to finish drying herself, and her ears perked up as she heard murmuring from Soarin.

Blaze paused to listen in, and while she doubted Soarin would appreciate her spying on their conversation, Blaze knew that Spitfire would likely tell her about it’s content anyways. She usually did when it came to Soarin, unless it was something really private. But what if this was going to be one of those private conversations? Something shared only between the closest of friends? Oh, how it made Blaze shudder in curiosity and a tiny hint of jealousy. Maybe if she listened in for just a few seconds...

“Was there anything else last minute the Colonel said?” She heard Soarin say.

Spitfire responded not a second later, “No, nothing else besides the usual, ‘You do a great thing for the team’ and ‘I’m proud to have such a sharp, able-bodied captain’, the usual spiel.”

Blaze knew about the Colonel, and how he seemed very...fond of her sister, it was a very strange thought, considering the stallion was nearly old-enough to be their grandfather, and it did not sit very well with Blaze. She often had half a thought to march down to his office and tell him to lay off Spitfire, but she knew that would get her court faster than a pony could drop a pen. Blaze continued listening.

“What about Rainbow?” Soarin asked.

“What about her?” Spitfire replied, a hint of confusion in her voice.

After a short pause, Soarin expanded on his question, “Has he, I don’t know, given her any merits? What about talks of promotion? Anything?”

That made Blaze cock a brow, and she wondered why Soarin would be interested in asking Spitfire about those things rather than just asking the Colonel himself.

“No, not that I know of.” It seemed Spitfire was also going over the question in her own head, as it was a rather long pause for her to respond with such a simple answer.

“I see.” The stallion responded with a hint of disappointment.

“Why?” Spitfire asked in return.

“Well, she’s been with us for a few years now. A few very long years. And she’s done quite a lot for us, even if it’s been more for the sake of Equestria as a whole; I thought that maybe she deserved...something. For it all, ya’know? That maybe she’d be more than just a single bar by now.” Soarin explained.

What he said was true, for the most part. Rainbow Dash was a lovable and recognizable member of the team, and besides being an international hero, she had done many things for the team out of the sheer goodness of her heart, and her undying loyalty to those she considered friends. She really was due a promotion at this point.

Spitfire seemed to agree, “I’ll ask the Colonel about it next time he comes around. But, it’ll have to be after the tour and—”

Soarin interjected before she could continue, “That’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about, Spits.”

Now that had some weight in his voice, like he had just confessed he had broken a law or taken the cookie from the cookie jar…alright Blaze, get your analogies in line, alright. She thought to herself.

Spitfire didn’t respond, rather letting him continue, “Do you...do you think we could go get dinner tonight?” He asked lowly, barely audible to Blaze where she stood beside the open doorway leading into the shower-hall. It was an odd request, Blaze knew Spitfire and Soarin ate supper in the mess hall every day, what did…

The sudden realization hit her, and her eyes widened. No, he couldn’t have meant it in that way. Not after all these years of ignoring their advances. It didn’t make any sense.

“What, you mean like, out on the town?” Spitfire muttered just as low, equally as confused and surprised as Blaze was.

Soarin simply nodded, “Yeah, I know this little place called Quazos. They got all kinds of good stuff. Been going for years.” He gave a soft chuckle, it was a genuine one, a result of a fond memory perhaps, “So, whatcha say?”

No, there was no bucking way. There was no way that we could just come out and ask Spitfire out on the town. On a date. Not after all these years. All these years of anguish, bitterness, and pride. All the days of uncertainty, all the nights filled with tears. All the thoughts and dreams and visions of a future that would sadly never be. They were all things Blaze had known all too well, even to this day. It was the curse that came with loving someone so much, yet being unable to act upon it, like a cake set before a starving foal just upon a table a few inches higher than themselves. Everything, every single moment, every single memory, every laugh, smile, frown, and tear, came crashing into her mind all at once.

But it was Spitfire’s answer that hurt her the most. The mare didn’t inquire on his intentions, or ask for any context, she didn’t even mention protocol! “Sure.” She said, her tone betraying any level of neutrality she may have tried to convey, it was a dream come true for her, Blaze had not a doubt in that.

It all hit her like a bat to the head, and Blaze felt nauseous and her jaw strained itself with how hard it clenched. It was like she had swallowed a tub of rocks and they had settled themselves in her gut. She felt her hind legs quiver, her forelegs shake, and her ears pinned themselves to the side of her head.

She dropped the towel in her hooves that she hadn’t realized she had been holding much too tight, and turned on a heel and galloped for all she was worth. She was not anywhere near dry, no, her mane was still dripping and frazzled, her fur was still dark and damp in places. Her hooves as they slammed against the tiled floor of the locker room came with the wet slaps of water. Blaze didn’t even care if any of the others saw her dash out of the cramped space, she just hoped her wet mane and it’s drippings hid her tears.