Reinventing Trixie

It's... you don't have the slightest idea what time it is, really. Or where you are. All you know is that you're lying down, and apparently at some point you agreed to host the Apocalypse in your frontal lobes... or at least that's what it feels like. You let out a soft moan and try to raise your head, which spikes the headache and only makes the moan louder. You can't even really open your eyes for fear your brain will explode.

“Donovan?” You hear Trixie's voice somewhere off to your left. It sounds strange, like she's been awake for far too long. A moment later, you hear hoofsteps on a hard floor, followed by the feeling of something weighing down the mattress you're lying upon. “Donovan... are you awake?”

Unfortunately, the part of your brain that handles witty replies has gone down in the depths of the Migraine Sea; all hands feared lost. “Wh... where....” you manage to groan out.

“You're in Sutter Medical Center, Donovan.” You feel her hoof on your cheek. “Just relax. I'm going to go get the nurse.” You hear her hoofsteps retreat for a few moments, to return with the severe clacks of high heels. “Ah, thanks for alerting us, Ms. Lulamoon,” a light human voice says. “Let's see. Mr. Trellis, how are you feeling?”

“Like I took a nuclear explosion to the forehead and went back for seconds.” Ahh, there's your wit, as washed-up as a gaggle of shipwreck survivors. At least it gets you a faint chuckle. “Well, that's understandable,” the nurse replies. “Mr. Trellis, I'm going to shine a light in each of your eyes. Can you tell me if you can see it?”

A moment later, the wrath of God blazes into each of your poor, aching eyes. You can barely hold back a whimper. “Good, good,” the nurse says, oblivious to your suffering. “Mr. Trellis, you were admitted here with a fortunately moderate case of cranial trauma. Can you tell me what the last thing you remember is?”

“A large chunk of wood flying at me at scary speeds.”

“Good, no apparent memory loss.” The nurse moves away; you can see that now, because apparently that miniature spotlight she uses traumatized your eyes into working properly. “Mr. Trellis, you should consider yourself lucky- you took only a glancing blow to the forehead from a rather sizable piece of lumber. Your MRIs showed no apparent damage to the brain and only a little swelling, but to be safe, one of our specialists will be in to see you in the morning; until then, do get some rest. There's some mild sedatives on your bedstand that you should take.” You do so as the nurse turns to Trixie. “Ms. Lulamoon, you may stay with him if you wish, but I must ask that you let him sleep soon.”

“Yes, ma'am. Thank you.” The high heels walk away, and Trixie once more leans on your bed. “Thank Celestia you're alright, Donovan,” she half-whispers.

“Trixie... how long was I out?”

“Sixteen hours. Sweet Celestia, Donovan, I'd thought you were dead.” Your eyes clear enough to show that she's crying. “I'm so sorry. I tried to catch the plank before it hit you, but I was just too slow. Celestia damn that rickety stage.”

“Trixie, that thing was moving at warp speed. I didn't even have time to curse.” You reach over to stroke her muzzle. “Not your fault. Not anybody's fault. Just an accident. This is what we have insurance for.”

“I know, I know. It's... I was just so scared, Donovan. Do you know how hard it is to dial 911 with arcanokinesis when you're crying and panicked? You were bleeding all over; I was convinced that the plank had crushed your skull.”

You can't help but chuckle, despite how much it hurts your head to do so. “There's this funny thing about human anatomy, Trixie. Sometimes a cut to the forehead or temple will bleed ridiculous amounts despite being shallow.”

“...oh. I... didn't know that. But I doubt it would've made me feel any better if I had!” She rubs your cheek with her hoof, more gently than you thought possible. “I just... I thought I'd seen my best friend die in front of me, Donovan. I felt like my heart had turned to ice. I made them let me ride in the ambulance with you, and I've been waiting in the room ever since.” She looks absolutely miserable now, and you want to hug her, but she can't exactly climb on the bed and you can't exactly bend over. So instead you stroke her mane. “Thank you,” you tell her.

She gazes at you. “For what?”

“Caring so much.” You gently rub one of her ears, and her eyes half-close for just a moment as she lets out a soft sigh. “I think we both should get some sleep, Trixie. You look as bad as I feel, and that is really saying something.”

“Mmmh... yes. Agreed.” She eyes the bed for a moment, then turns back to the padded chair and begrudgingly lopes towards it.

Just as she's settled, you speak again. “One more thing, Trixie.”

“Hmm?”

One of your eyebrows raises. “ 'Ms. Lulamoon'?”

She lets out a groan that has nothing to do with exhaustion. “In order to be admitted, I had to give them my full legal name.”

Your eyebrow stays raised, but you say nothing.

“...fine. It's Beatrix Marie Lulamoon. Don't laugh.”

You shake your head. “I wasn't going to,” you tell her, with complete honestly. “I like it.”

You can see her blush. “...well. Thank you. But don't go telling anyone.”

“Our little secret, I promise. Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”

She blinks at you. “Where did you learn that ridiculous little rhyme?”

“I heard it somewhere a while back. Can't remember. I must have brained my damage.” You give her a crooked grin.

She giggles softly, shaking her head. “Just... just go to sleep, Donovan. You obviously need it.”

“Yeah, so do you.” You chuckle. “Sorry I kept you up.”

“No apologies.” She gives you a stern look that slowly breaks into a smile. “Besides, that's what friends are for, hm?”

Well, seriously... how are you supposed to argue that? You doubt you could even without a splitting- but thankfully receding- headache. So, instead, you settle back down, as does she.

It's impossible to tell which of you falls asleep first.

(-)

“Come on, big guy, it's time to wake up.”

The rattle of dishes rouses you from sleep as much as Trixie's voice. You don't even have to open your eyes to know what it is. “Breakfast in bed again?” you ask.

You feel the tray settle down on the bed. “Potatoes au gratin with cheddar, toast with jam, and some orange juice,” Trixie tells you.

It's the fourth day in a row she's brought you breakfast in bed. The food looks wonderful, though you know it's from pre-prepared boxed stuff; Trixie has both admitted and proven that she's as bad a cook as you are. Presentation, though, she's a master at. “I feel like I should be paying two hundred dollars a night for VIP service like this,” you joke, picking up the fork and knife.

“Well, don't get too used to it. Once you're back in good health, we'll be alternating cooking again.” She grins. “In the meantime, though... I don't mind pampering you just a little.”

She unfolds today's edition of Equestria Daily- you subscribed just a couple months ago, as soon as they'd finally begun publishing Earthside- and leafs through a few pages while you eat. “Oh, look,” she says after a minute, holding a page open for you to see. “We're in here!”

And so you are. A small blurb on page D5 in the Life & Entertainment section mentions your injury and Trixie's act. It's not exactly in-depth, but to have the recognition factor to even turn up in Equestria's primary nationwide newspaper is impressive. “If only it was about our show instead of me getting my skull cracked,” you joke.

“Honestly. If painful head injuries is how you get press in this business these days, I'm going to have you take a two-by-four to me.” She nickers quietly, shaking her head. “Well, no such thing as bad publicity, right? Anyway, at least they wished you a good recovery.”

She goes back to reading, and you to eating, but she's got you thinking. “Speaking of publicity, maybe for our next show we should take out media ads.”

“You know, I was thinking that myself last week. We still have to decide where the next show will be. I thought San Mateo might be a good fit- we could rent the same hall we saw that show in.” She smiles. “Though we'll save that for after the stitches come out and you feel well enough to perform.”

While Trixie won't let you do anything too strenuous, she doesn't mind you helping her sketch out an idea for a newspaper ad. She also broaches the idea of a website, for which neither of you has any training- but there's companies to do that sort of thing. She's excited in a cute way about the idea; the Internet had been a tremendous revelation to her, and the prospect of having her very own site- a place where just about anyone could find out about her- makes her giddy.

Then you mention the idea of performance videos viewable on the site, and she literally almost faints. Sometimes you wonder how this mare would ever navigate modern-day human technology without you.

After breakfast is finished, the dishes are done, and you've both washed up, you decide it's nice enough to toss on your coat and go for a short walk outside. There's a chill in the air, but it's a good-feeling one, giving just a hint of what spring promises. At first the walk is refreshing, as you and Trixie both talk about anything but work, but as you continue along you start to feel a weird sense of vertigo. You hide it as best as you can in order to not worry her, and start hinting at heading back, hoping that you can get back home and sit down until the dizziness passes.

You don't quite make it. Two blocks from home, your brain suddenly decides that the world has tilted ninety degrees to your left and started spinning, and attempts to force your body to compensate. This has the predictable result of you staggering, tripping over your own leg and falling in a heap on the sidewalk. You hear Trixie gasp. “Donovan?!”

“I'm... I'm okay. Give me a minute.” You manage to pull yourself up into a sitting position on a raised cement platform, holding your head in one hand and praying for the world to remember how to stay still. Trixie jumps up next to you, and you feel her breath on your neck. “Donovan, are you all right?” she asks quietly. “I can call an ambulance....”

“No... no, it's all right. Just pushed myself a little too hard.” The vertigo is starting to go away now, thankfully. Still, she presses. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Promise.” You manage a smile.

She's quiet for a moment, then rests her muzzle against your shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she says quietly. “I don't mean to... err... nag. I'm just worried about you.”

“Hey... I'm not complaining.” You pat her shoulder. “Kind of nice to have someone around to worry about me, you know?”

“Well, it's... rather nice to have someone to worry about. ...sort of. Kind of.” You hear her giggle quietly into your coat. “Forget the 'worry' part and leave in the 'someone' part. How is that?”

“Comprehensible. In the state I'm in, that's something.” Well, the state you were in, anyway. The vertigo is mostly gone, and the world seems to have outgrown its infatuation with impersonating a dreidel. Slowly, you stand up, and you feel Trixie's arcanokinesis press against you gently to help steady you. You only realize now that you've never directly felt her magic before; you might have expected a flat, hard plane of force, but it's more like someone's pressing gently against you with some of those memory-foam pillows. “Hey, that feels kind of nice,” you tell her.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is a master of magic, and can be as subtle as she can be spectacular.” She's actually able to hold her face still for a full five seconds before she breaks up laughing. “You know, it just feels weird using my stage persona on you now,” she tells you. “It's a lot more comfortable being myself with you these days.”

You smile, and lightly ruffle her mane. “I'm okay with that.”

(-)

It's 2:30 in the afternoon, three days after you had your forehead stitches removed and passed your last checkup with flying colors, and you and Trixie are sitting on the couch, watching television together. She's got a plate full of celery with peanut butter; you have some crackers with pepperoni and cheese. She's leaned up against you- she does that all the time, now, and you're certainly not going to complain- and you're both relaxed, enjoying the quiet day.

Then you hear the creak of the mailbox near the front door. You excuse yourself to go check it; there's the usual assortment of junk mail... and a strange, elegant-looking envelope addressed to Trixie. The writing is in flowing script, and the return address is simply “Ponyville Library, Ponyville, Principality of Equestria, LF-272-A”. “Trixie, you've got mail,” you say, holding out the letter for her as you walk back to the couch.

She takes hold of it with her magic, and frowns slightly at the return address. But she withholds comment as she tears open the envelope and pulls a sheet of honest-to-goodness parchment out. As she reads it, her frown deepens. “This... is unexpected,” she says quietly, her tone neutral.

“Can I see?” you ask, and she levitates the parchment to you so that you can read.

Dear Trixie,

I've read that you have taken up residence on Earth and have started a new magic show. I apologize for the breach of privacy, but I took the liberty of looking up your information to contact you. Would I be able to persuade you to return to Ponyville for a short while so that we may talk face-to-face? If you are amenable, write to me c/o the address on the envelope, or if you prefer more instant communication, Email me at PurpleBookworm@PonyvilleLib.equ.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Respectfully yours,
Twilight Sparkle

P.S. Your partner Donovan is entirely welcome to join you, and we here at the library wish him a speedy recovery from his injury.

You look back down at her to see that her expression is still flat, but you can tell she's upset. “Do you think you want to do this, Trixie?” you ask her. “It seems she's not angry at you at all.”

“I... just can't imagine why she'd even go to the trouble. The Ponyville incident was years ago. I would have expected her to have forgotten me, if not the entire event.”

“It seems the opposite is true.” You gently rub the back of her neck. “It's up to you, of course.”

She considers for a few long moments, re-reading the letter again and again. Finally, she looks up at you. “Would you come with me, Donovan?” she asks. “I think... I think I'd handle it better if I had you there for support.” She shifts uneasily, placing the letter down on the coffee table. “I believe it's past time I closed that chapter of my life.”

“Of course I'll go with you. I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't, I think.”

“I don't think you know how to not be a good friend.” She sets her forelegs on your thigh and rests her head on them, staring at the far wall contemplatively. You stroke her mane and neck to help relax her, and she leans gently into your hand. “Two bits for your thoughts,” you say.

“You're overpaying.” She lets out a soft sigh. “Just... steeling myself. Ponyville is not a happy memory due to no fault of its own, but that doesn't exactly help much. It's not going to be easy showing my face there, let alone asking forgiveness.”

“I think you'll feel better when it's done, whatever comes of it.” You lightly stroke the back of her left ear- a sensitive spot, you've learned- and her eyes close. “Going to write her back?” you ask.

“...later.” She nestles against you. “Right now I'm going to be exceptionally thankful that human hands are so precise.”

“Well, the Wise and Benevolent Donovan has his own sort of magic.” You lightly tickle your fingers across the back of her neck, and she laughs. “Oh ho,” she chortles, “is that going to be your stage name now?”

“Only if I wanted to turn our act into a comedy show,” you snicker. She joins in with your laughter, pulling herself up a little to lay her forelegs across your lap and rest her head on your chest. “Okay,” you hear her say quietly. “Tell me how you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Get me to laugh no matter what sort of a mood I'm in.” She goes quiet for a moment as you resume rubbing her neck. “You know... maybe I'm okay with this after all. If she was going to try to ruin my life somehow, I doubt she'd have sent me a letter beforehoof. So really, what could she do to me aside from that? Give me a stern lecture? I'd honestly deserve one after all that happened.” She gently kneads her hooves against your leg; she does that sometimes when thinking. “Maybe she just... wants to talk.”

“Well, that's what the letter says, and though I've never met the mare, everything I've heard about her makes me think she's not the duplicitous type.”

“I just wish I knew what she wants to talk about,” she sighs.

You rub the base of her ear with your fingertips. “One way to find out.”

“I... suppose that's true.” Slowly, reluctantly- and this time, not just because she wants the massage to continue- she gets up. “I'll get my laptop. I have an Email to compose.”

(-)

You've heard a lot about Ponyville. It being the home of six of the most famous ponies currently living, it's hard not to have. You've even seen pictures of the various buildings and monuments there, quaint and colorful homes with thatched or tiled roofs- even the handful of human-sized buildings built there hew to the same style.

But the pictures were just a pale replica of the true loveliness of the town. Here, in the warm light of Celestia's sun, presented to your own eyes, you can see the spirit of welcoming and camaraderie that seems to pervade every square inch of the place. Crowds of ponies and the occasional human walk back and forth, chatting amicably along the way.

The beauty of the scene seems lost on Trixie, though. She looks as though she wants to find somewhere to hide, some sort of camouflage, and you're fairly convinced that if you weren't here with her, she might have succumbed to the impulse by now. The flight instinct can be strong with ponies in certain situations, and Trixie is no exception.

She's managing to hold out, though, with frequent glances up at you. Every time you catch her eye, you give her a reassuring smile, and it seems to help just a little. You're actually tempted to rest your hand on her neck just for the physical connection....

You're broken out of your thoughts by a mint-green mare crossing your path. She comes to a stop as she spots you and Trixie. “Oh, hello!” she greets you cheerfully. “New to Ponyville?”

“Just visiting,” you answer with a smile. “We're looking for the library. Can you point us to it?”

“Sure can.” She turns and angles a forehoof towards the center of town, where a tall tree stands. “Inside the big tree there, can't miss it.”

“Gotcha. Thanks a lot.” She goes along her way, and you walk with Trixie towards the library. She's starting to tremble a little, and now you go ahead and gently place your hand on her neck; she jumps a little at the touch, but then looks up at you in relief. “Sorry,” she murmurs.

“No need to be,” you tell her. “Just stay strong. Or at least stubborn.”

“Now, stubborn I can do.” It's enough motivation to get her chin set and her legs moving steadily, at least for long enough to reach the library. You can't help but be impressed- a building literally carved out of a tree that would put most of the specimens in Sequoia National Park to shame, at least in girth... and the tree is still alive and healthy. The little five-year-old version of yourself that lives in the back of your mind can still go “Wow, magic!” from time to time, it seems.

The sign hanging on the door reads “Come in, we're open!”, so that's just what you do. A small bell dings lightly as you enter, and the smell of old books wafts through your nostrils. “Right with you!” a voice calls from a side room, and the two of you wait by the checkout desk. After a moment, a juvenile dragon- not something you've ever seen before, and you can't help but gawk just a little- strolls out; the purple-and-green reptile stands just slightly shorter than Trixie on his hind legs. He stops short at the sight of her. “Oh, hey there, Trixie,” he says, his voice a little guarded. “I'm glad to see you came. And you must be Donovan.” He turns to you and sticks one foreclaw out; you shake it. “Name's Spike. I heard about your accident. Feeling better?”

You smile. He seems a nice sort. “Yes, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it.” He nods for a moment. “I'll go get Twilight for you guys; she's probably lost in some book or another.”

He tromps up a nearby staircase. After a moment, you hear knocking, followed by a hushed conversation. Another moment of quiet, and then the sound of Spike's feet is accompanied by hoofsteps. And then you see her: Twilight Sparkle, the very Bearer of the Element of Magic herself. She has a pleasant smile on her face as she reaches the landing and approaches you. “Trixie, it's good to see you again,” she says. “And it's nice to meet you, Mr. Trellis.” She extends a hoof, which you shake. “I'm pleased to see you seem to have recovered well from your accident. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty well, thank you.”

“Excellent.” She turns her attention back to Trixie, who is doing her best to not look uncomfortable. “Trixie, thank you for coming. I really apologize for contacting you from seemingly out of the blue like that, but I literally had no way to find you until I came across that article in the Daily. I'd had no idea you'd moved to Earth and taken up permanent residence.”

“It... was a recent development. Until then, Trixie stayed on the road in Equestria, moving along with her show.” She must really be uncomfortable if she's lapsing into her stage persona. You want to pat her, hug her, do something to comfort her, but something in the back of your mind tells you that she needs to do this part herself. “She... didn't feel she would be welcome here.”

“Well, maybe not at first, but... some of us got worried after a while when you didn't return to collect your things. I'm afraid most of your belongings didn't survive when the Ursa smashed your wagon, but....” She pauses a moment and gives Spike a meaningful nod; he returns it and rushes back into the side room for a moment, then reappears with a dusty cardboard box labeled “Trixie's”. Your friend watches in confusion as Twilight magically summons a feather duster to clean it off, then presents it to her; the glow around the box changes color as Trixie takes hold of it and opens it.

What's inside makes her let out a soft gasp. You lean over and see what seems to be a magician's hat and a jewel-clasped cape, both a bright purple and embroidered all over with stars. “You... you kept them?” Trixie asks in a small, trembling voice. “All these years... you kept them?”

“A lot of us figured you weren't a bad pony, Trixie. At least not so bad as to deserve losing everything you owned. I'd hoped that one day you'd come back to Ponyville so we could at least return these.”

A tear trickles down Trixie's left cheek. “Twilight Sparkle, Trixie... thanks you profusely for this. This act of kindness towards one who showed you so little before....” She closes the box. “She... welcomes the gift, but... she can no longer wear these accoutrements.”

“Um....” Twilight looks just as confused as you are, and she even glances at you as if looking for some sort of explanation. All you can do is shrug. “Why not?” she asks after a moment.

“Because these are the clothes of a Trixie that no longer exists. The pompous, arrogant, spiteful foal that she was.” She raises her head, standing proud despite the tears in her eyes. “I... I am somepony different, now. Somepony better. And this better pony wants to apologize to you and everypony for what happened that day.”

“Your apology is accepted, Trixie.” Twilight holds out a foreleg. “Come here.”

Trixie does, and the two mares embrace, your friend sobbing softly into the lavender unicorn's shoulder. After a moment, Spike looks up at you. “Dude... did you have something to do with this?” he asks quietly, gesturing towards Trixie. “I mean... she's really changed.”

You shrug a bit. “Maybe I helped a little.”

“Do not pay that man's self-effacement any heed.” Trixie slowly disengages from Twilight to look back at you. “If humans bore cutie marks, Donovan's would be an image of himself refusing to take a compliment.” All of you laugh at that. “Honestly, if it were not for him, by now I would probably be stuck working as a waitress in some backwater greasy spoon.”

Twilight smiles. “That sounds like an interesting story. I'd love to hear more of it over lunch, if you two are hungry. My treat.”

“Actually, Twilight... I'd like to treat you and Spike instead.” Trixie looks down at the box she's still holding for a moment. “It's the least I could do.”

“Well! All right, then.” Twilight smiles. “And I know just the place.”

(-)

You've heard a lot about Twilight Sparkle. How she's Celestia's very own student, in line for the Archmage position in the Royal Court, how she's the Bearer of the Element of Magic and possibly one of the most powerful magicians ponykind has seen in centuries. What you hadn't heard, though, was that she's also a very warm and open, though slightly awkward mare; she's also almost as bad as you when it comes to menus, a fact that Trixie and Spike find endlessly amusing. You're really starting to like Spike, too- he's as much of a snarker as you are, and after just a half-hour of conversation you find that you're trading quips with him like you've known each other for years.

Right now you're both trying to be nice and not interrupt Trixie too much, though, as she's telling Twilight about how you and she met, began working together and eventually ended up sharing the stage. “That is amazing!” Twilight says after Trixie finishes. “That sort of example of the power of friendship would make a great letter to Princess Celestia. I'm happy for the both of you.”

Spike turns to you. “Okay, seriously, dude- you worked on Negativity? And you were one of the guys who came up with the chase scene on that episode with Vinyl Scratch? Man, you are, like, a hero of mine! Ask Twilight how hard I was laughing and clapping when I saw that. I bet the stuff you and Trixie do on stage must be, like, ten times as awesome.”

“Now there's an idea!” Twilight stands up. “Trixie, Donovan, could I persuade you to hold a show here in Ponyville? Believe it or not, we don't get a lot of entertainers dropping by; they like to stick to the big cities like Canterlot or Manehattan or Las Pegasus. We'd love it if we could get a show of your caliber.”

“Well....” Trixie glances over your way. “I would need to discuss it with my partner.”

You put your elbows on the table and lay your chin against your folded hands. “Let me consider the offer. A live performance in front of some of the most celebrated ponies of all, in the middle of a town I've wanted an excuse to visit almost since the Discovery? Well, give me a minute to think about OF COURSE I agree.”

“Despite his obvious reservations, my partner is amenable,” Trixie says dryly, not quite suppressing her grin. “Shall we coordinate with you, Twilight?”

“You bet. I'll send you the Email addresses for the Mayor and the permit board and we'll get everything set up.” Twilight giggles. “I've got to admit, computers make some things a lot easier.”

“Wouldn't know it from her complaining when we first got one,” Spike tells you. “What'd you call it, Twi? A 'glorified toy' and a 'waste of time and resources'?” He actually makes fingerquotes- clawquotes?- as he repeats her phrases. “Nowadays you'd be in for a fight if you tried to take her tablet.”

“Yeah, well... we got our first one before Ponyville even knew what the Internet was! How was I supposed to know they'd become so much more useful, so quickly?!”

The four of you walk back to the library; you and Trixie need to be heading out soon if you want to make it home before it gets late. “It was good having you back in Ponyville, Trixie,” Twilight says, as you pick up the box with the cape and hat inside. “And it was good to meet you as well, Donovan. I'm eager to see the show you two can put on for us.”

“Yeah, guys. Don't make us wait too long, huh?” Spike grins. “I love this town, but it gets a little boring in-between visits from otherworldly monsters and magical disasters and all that.”

“As soon as we can manage. I promise.” Trixie and Twilight share another hug, and it's a round of hoof/hand/clawshakes besides that. “Thank you both again,” Trixie says. “Be well.”

“You too!” They give you both a wave as you head out towards the train station at the edge of town. Trixie is quiet along the entire way, though her expression is gentle. You're content to let her process everything that's happened as you both walk.

What you weren't ready for, though, is the tight hug she gives you the moment you sit down on the bench by the train tracks. “Thank you, Donovan,” she half-whispers into your ear.

“What for?”

“ 'What for'? I would never have come here if you hadn't been with me. I'd still be running from my shame. But with your help, I've finally put that behind me.”

“Well, I couldn't just let you do it alone. I think you deserve better than that. Like you said, you're not the pony that you were then. You've gone through a lot since then, and I think you've earned forgiveness. Obviously Twilight and Spike agreed.”

“It... it feels nice hearing you say it, though, Donovan. What you think of me means a lot to me.” She nestles her muzzle against your shoulder for a moment, then slowly- and not without reluctance, you can tell- lowers herself back to the bench. She's not at all reluctant, however, to lean against your side, and you're no more hesitant to rub her neck like you always do. She sighs and closes her eyes. “Sometimes I think you're a better friend than I could ever deserve, Donovan,” she says quietly.

“You're going to give me an ego, talking like that,” you reply with a chuckle, gently rubbing each of her ears in turn. “Besides, I get to choose who I'm friends with, and I say you deserve it. So there.”

“Your superior logic defeats me.” She giggles quietly, leaning into your affectionate rubbing. “Not that I really want to fight it.”

“Truly is the Great and Powerful Trixie a wise and learned pony.” You laugh at the light tailswat she gives you. After a few seconds, so does she.