Author's Note
Content Warning:
Addiction, Alcoholism
Reprimand
An overwhelming desire to recoil in shock, that was Soarin's first reaction.
In the cramped cell, the odour emanating from the prone figure sprawled out on the small bunk was overpowering. A nauseating mix of sour and rancid fumes that assaulted the senses, a tangible wall of stink that sung of excess and churned the stomach.
"Ahh, commander..." slurred the figure on the bunk. "Find a pew, make *hic* yourself comfortable, should you so *hic* desire."
"If it's all the same, Captain Spitfire," Soarin replied in a level tone. "I'll remain standing."
"At ease then *hic* commander. But if you're here to *hic* lecture me, you can go fuck yourself."
Reflexively, Soarin relaxed his stance, his hooves spaced shoulder-width apart. "Captain, this is serious. What were you thinking, performing in this condition?"
There was a pause before Spitfire replied. "You wouldn't under-*hic*-stand."
"Well, I'll give it my best shot to try to understand then. At the very least, you owe me an explanation."
The laugh in reply was bitter and broken, a pained sound that echoed off the cold, hard walls of the cell. "Pressure, Soarin. Constant, unrelenting *hic* pressure. Every day, every flight, everypony's *hic* eyes on me. Expecting perfection, demanding excellence. Do you *hic* know what that's like? To never be able to falter, to always *hic* be the one everypony looks up to?"
"Captain, we're all under pressure. It's part of the job," Soarin said, feeling his wings twitch in agitation. "But this? Drinking before flying? Flying in a public display, for feathers sake. If you'd crash landed in the crowd, you could have killed yourself and anypony sitting in the impact zone. You're better than this."
"Am I?" Spitfire shot back, her voice trembling as she pulled herself onto her haunches. "I've tried so hard to be *hic* strong, to keep a brave face. But inside, I’m falling apart. Every *hic* time I look in the mirror, I see somepony who’s barely *hic* holding it together. And nopony sees it. Nopony wants to *hic* see it. They just see the hero, the leader. Not the *hic* broken pegasus underneath."
"So why didn’t you come to me? To anypony? We could have helped," Soarin pleaded, his voice choking up.
"Because I’m Spitfire," she screamed back, tears streaming down her face as she turned to punch the wall with one hoof in anguish. "Do you have any *hic* idea what's that like? To be a paragon of virtue, for all aspiring young fliers to look up to and to *hic* idolise? I’m supposed to be invincible. How can I ask for help when I’m *hic* supposed to be the one giving it? I thought if I just kept pushing, kept *hic* pretending, I could make it through. But the pressure, Soarin. It’s too much. It’s *hic* crushing me."
Soarin’s heart ached for his friend. He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "Captain, you’re not invincible. None of us are. We all have our breaking points. Pretending to be perfect won’t make the pressure go away. It just builds up until it explodes, like it did today."
Spitfire's sobs grew louder, her body shaking as her wings flared out defensively. "I thought I could *hic* handle it. I thought I had to handle it. But every day, it just *hic* got harder and harder. I felt like I was suffocating, for so... so, so long... and now... now I’ve *hic* ruined everything! My career, my life... it's all falling apart because I was too weak to handle it."
"How long?" Soarin asked, as a cold shiver ran down his spine. "Is this why you've been hiding yourself away on performance days? Why nopony sees you before or after we fly?"
No reply. Instead, Spitfire leant her head against the wall and continued to let out loud, anguished sobs.
"Captain... how long has this been going on?"
Spitfire quietened, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Nearly a year, Soarin. Nearly a *hic* year of trying to hold it together and failing. Every single *hic* day."
Soarin felt a surge of anger, mixed with disbelief. "A year? You’ve been endangering yourself, the team, and our audiences for nearly a year? How could you be so reckless, Spitfire?"
"I didn’t mean to be," she cried, her voice cracking. "I thought I could manage it. I thought I *hic* could control it. But it got worse, and I didn't know *hic* how to stop. I just... it made everything not hurt, and I was too scared to *hic* put the damn bottle down."
"You know what? Reckless doesn’t even begin to cover it," Soarin seethed, his wings flaring. "You could have killed yourself and countless others! You’ve been lying to all of us, putting us all in danger."
"I know," Spitfire sobbed, her face buried in her hooves. "I know, and I *hic* hate myself for it. Every day I’ve hated myself more and *hic* more. I just didn’t know what else to do."
"So you turned to alcohol?" Soarin demanded, his voice rising. "You chose to drown your problems instead of facing them, and now we’re all paying the price. This is going to be headline news tomorrow."
Spitfire’s sobs turned into wails of despair. "I’m so sorry, Soarin! I thought *hic* I could handle it. I thought I had to be strong for *hic* everypony. But I’ve only made things worse. I’ve *hic* ruined everything."
Soarin took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger. "We can't fix everything today. Flying while inebriated is a serious offense, so effective immediately, I am relieving you of command. For now, just sleep it off, I'm gonna go meet with the team's legal department. We'll see what happens going forward."
Without waiting for a response, Soarin spun on the spot and left. Maybe he'd been harsh, but the damage to the team name would be inordinate. The cell door closed, muffling Spitfire's wails as Soarin headed towards the exit.
