Why didn’t you tell us? And why now?
Spitfire didn’t know what to do other than listen. Partially because Fleetfoot was in her apartment (somepony who showed up unannounced) pacing around like she was nervous about a job interview, but angry that the requirements were way more steep than she thought. Another part of Spitfire had to listen because, well, what Fleetfoot was saying was very relevant to her current interests at hoof:
“Spitfire, I have no idea how to even address this right now!”
She watched as Fleetfoot continued her little back and forth walk. Maybe she could recommend Fleetfoot to start modeling again. “You could start by being direct, Fleetfoot.”
“I could, but I don’t know how I should say it. I’m anxious and I’m angry at you.”
Spitfire shrugged. “It’s deserved, I guess. I’ve been planning for this since the beginning.”
Fleetfoot’s ears perked up, and she tilted her head. “Really, Capt?”
“I’m kidding, it was only a few months ago.”
“Okay, good—wait, really? With how sudden this was, I thought you said it just to pull the rug out from underneath us!”
Spitfire’s muzzle scrunched up. Fleetfoot’s rather passive-aggressive tone made her return back to when those thoughts crept up in her mind. She remembered that day vividly. During practice she took a hairpin turn way too fast, and, when she attempted to slow down, she slammed into one of many walls in the Cloudeseum. Thankfully, she didn’t break any bones, but her wings were sore for way longer than she used to deal with, and she was nearly incapacitated for weeks before she could do any sort of comfortable gliding.
In her mind, that’s when she started to think about what her wings meant to her.
Rolling her eyes, Spitfire nodded. “I know… Just know, Fleetfoot, I’ve been thinking about this for a while and—”
Her point was interrupted with a groan and a somewhat disgruntled Fleetfoot. “Capt… cut the crap.”
“Fleetfoot—”
“No. Just stop. You’re talking like you have to PR speak to me. I don’t want that, and I know you don’t want that either. It’s like you have either emotionally distanced yourself from this or you just don’t care anymore! Heck, you made this decision without talking to me or Soarin first!” Her voice cracked on Soarin’s name, which made her lip twitch. Spitfire knew her. She knew her well. “Just… why? Why didn’t you tell us? And why now?”
She sighed. Should she say it? Should she really say it?
“I… I wanted to make this decision without having you two influence me to continue.”
“Influence? You really think we’d stop you?”
A frown morphed onto her face. “Yes. We’ve been together since that day, haven’t we? We all became Wonderbolts nearly in the same month.” She looked up momentarily to see where Fleetfoot’s headspace was at. She was locked onto her, something that made Spitfire want to gulp in her nerves. This was how friendships were strained, in some capacity— “That’s why I kept this to myself. Since we’re so close, I knew that you two wouldn’t want me to leave. I can’t do this to myself anymore, Fleetfoot. It hurts.”
“What hurts, Spitfire?”
For what felt like forever, Spitfire felt her face heat up, while her hooves became puddy. Who knew nervousness surged past the clouds when a close friend and teammate was about to lose her nerves too?
She gulped those thoughts away and licked her lips. “Everything. My wings mostly, but my hooves are feeling it too.” She grimaced as her hoof reminded her of the weight of her decision as it skidded across the wood floors of her apartment. “I feel it every time I wake up. I feel it when I flex my wings. I feel it when I even place my hoof on the floor.” Her forehooves shook as she walked into her next words. “It’s time, Fleetfoot. It’s time.”
Silence pervaded the room. At first, Fleetfoot was frozen, her eyes looking elsewhere. Spitfire knew this was Fleetfoot’s way of processing everything, she didn’t want to admit it immediately, but everything else after was always a toss up. She didn’t want to put bits on this one, as gambling a friend’s feelings was immoral in Spitfire’s eyes, but on the other hoof…
Suddenly, Fleetfoot turned back to her, trotted up, and growled. Then, she brought Spitfire close, looping a forehoof around her neck.
Softly, the sobs began to echo in her ears.
“I-I… I just wish you didn’t feel like this. You don’t need to go at this alone.” A sniffle droned out. “I hate that y-you have to leave us!”
Spitfire shakily took in the situation, her lungs filling anxiously with the tension that bore in the room. She knew this conversation was going to go red as soon as she dove into her own feelings of the matter. But even this freefall felt worse than that time that Thunderlane walked across an active runaway with four Wonderbolts all flying at top speed. He survived, thankfully, the dunderhead. The luckiest stallion to ever be a Wonderbolt since Soarin, and that’s saying quite a bit, if she was the one to say it.
And now, she was going to let the next generation of Wonderbolts seep into the role of officers. This was just the first step of many.
“Me too… me too,” Spitfire began, clearing her throat. She flicked her wing around Fleetfoot’s form. “It’s part of life, though. Months ago, we were just here, practicing together like there was nothing wrong with me. I was your Captain and Soarin was my second in command.” She let out a little laugh that coursed through her. “This time tomorrow, Soarin’s your Captain, I’m backseating your next tour as a former Bolt, and you’re taking his job.” She leaned closer to her ear and smiled, whispering all the while. “By the way, make sure he keeps his apple pie addiction to a minimum. Doc down in medical back at headquarters told me he’s been ‘eating too much’ and she suspects it's ‘due to all the apple pie from Sweet Apple Acres’.”
Fleetfoot’s eyes widened and pulled away from Spitfire. “So that’s why he’s been sneaking out lately…” She sniffled and let out a little giggle-cough. “I shouldn’t be worrying about his sudden eating habits. This is about you, Spitfire.”
“I know… I know.” Spitfire knew. She didn’t want to divulge into this any further. It was too much even for her to swallow. “But what else is there to say? Everything’s set in motion. I told Arcus that my last day is tomorrow and Soarin will have the keys to his new office in no time.” Spitfire’s muzzle scrunched up, to the point that it made her want to try to pinch her nose just to make sure it was still there. “Did I miss some paperwork or something?”
She snorted. “You know for a fact that nothing else is needed, Capt.” Fleetfoot walked over to the couch and sat down. She leaned back and continued, “Soon you will be a full-fledged civvie with extra accommodations and possibly a Hall of Fame appearance…”
Her couch looked goofy with Fleetfoot sitting on it. Black cushions? Which garage sale did Spitfire get that sofa again? Or was that from Ponyville’s Quills and Sofas shop? She couldn’t remember. All she knew was that hauling it into her apartment was so not cool. It hurt. A lot.
Wait, why was she thinking this way?
Spitfire sighed. Oh right. Deflecting from reality again, Spitfire. Smooth.
“...and not to mention you’re going to be getting an Honorary Wonderbolts’ Sendoff™ with none other than Celestia herself hosting it!”
“Princess Celestia will be coming to send me off?” Spitfire asked, her jaw feeling like it just snapped in two. “Arcus didn’t say anything about that!”
“Arcus tends to say things last minute, as always!” Fleetfoot replied with a giggle. “Also that's a former princess. Princess Twilight’s the one who got the mantle now.”
Spitfire rolled her eyes again. She really needs to be careful, they might roll out of her head with how Fleetfoot was acting right now! “Thanks for reminding me. Unfortunately, I’m too hooves-deep at this point to un-royally-Equestri-fy myself into saying Princess Celestia’s name without the title now. You’ll have to salute my dignity away too for that to even happen.”
Laughter. Lots of it. Fleetfoot was the queen of it. Spitfire thought it would’ve been Surprise who would’ve shattered eardrums, but here her friend was, making her eardrums into a makeshift raft that somehow sank due to an iceberg. How she even thought of that anomaly was another reason to retire.
Retirement. She’s been trying to avoid saying it all this time, but here she was just thinking about it again. Did she really want to become a tour mother who can’t let her little ones fly on their own? She didn’t need to do that to them—Fleetfoot and Soarin were more than capable to handle this. Maybe she should wait a bit, give them some time to breathe, and then be that somepony she wanted to be in retirement: a healthy (totally not stalking) supporter of the Bolts.
Silly retirement thoughts. Just like those where she imagines her final day before she takes a long vacation somewhere. She didn’t know where still, but hey, maybe it’ll be a good send off to ask Soarin where it would make the most sense to go. He did have a knack for planning little vacations. She was leaning for Las Pegasus; spending money was important after hoarding all the bits for so long. And she meant all the bits. Loaded. More so than the banks right now—wait did she have bills to pay?
Spitfire shook her head. She was thinking way too much right now. The stress was eating her, and it was making her so scatterbrained that she was tired. Tired of it all. It was time. It was time and Fleetfoot being here drove Spitfire’s drowsiness to a whole new level of tiredness. All that stress in this conversation has made her want to dive head first into a pillow on her bed. If only she was a unicorn, she could make a bed spawn right out of thin air!
But, of course, that won’t happen. She wasn’t a unicorn (of course), and she gave the only ‘lay yourself to rest and snore the night away’ piece of furniture to her friend, who was using it as a way to really take a load off—thanks, Fleetfoot! Fortunately for Spitfire, she did have a cushion behind her head right now, and it was making her feathers itch—wait, that’s not good!
Groaning, Spitfire tuned back into Fleetfoot’s frequency: Wonderbolt Enigma, Station 103.5.
She was holding her stomach still, letting out brief giggle-snorts intermixed with a cocktail of ah-ha’s. Then, she calmed herself with a stir or two of woohoo’s and a light smile that painted her face. “Y-You’re hilarious, Capt’! Of course I’ll salute your dignity if you ask me to! And the great thing about it is that I don’t have to do laps anymore.”
Spitfire furrowed her brows. “I’ll make sure Soarin makes you fly double for that one.”
Fleetfoot stuck out her tongue and giggled behind her forehoof. “I’ll bribe him with an apple fritter and two glazed doughnuts from Donut Joe’s.”
Weaponized offerings. She couldn’t believe it. An out. One that only Spitfire thought she had, and now her poker hand was out in the open, and she hadn’t even gotten to bluff properly on the river. All she could do was groan.
“Alright, you win—”
As if the words were like fireworks exploding into the sky called her headspace, Spitfire watched as Fleetfoot squee’d into a flurry of emotions. “YES! YES! I actually won—” Fleetfoot was already in the air, flapping with her wings and punching the air with one of her forehooves—the right one, because she was not left-hooved. “—I finally got to say I won and—” She stopped flapping, gasping as the realization came full circle, both for her and for Spitfire. “But at what cost?”
Retirement. It’s an end to the beginning of life. Spitfire knew that. She was prepping for this moment. Nothing will change. It’s just a job that she has to leave. It’s not like she can’t hang out with everypony after. Not a problem—
Fleetfoot hopped off the couch and walked over to Spitfire.
—yet why does it feel like a permanent goodbye?
Spitfire felt her lips tug as Fleetfoot took her in again. Her wings pulled Spitfire into her chest while the murmurs that Fleetfoot made cleansed her ears of whatever Fleetfoot was doing earlier—thank Princess Celestia! But, she wasn’t as thankful as she could’ve been. There was something else there. Something lingering.
Right.
Retirement.
“Fleetfoot…” Spitfire softly said. She attempted to unfurl her own wings but the vice grip that Fleetfoot had on her was keeping her from letting them free.
“Just let it out, Capt.”
Spitfire felt her eyes almost pop out of their sockets, but for some reason, the bubbling feeling in her chest was overriding it. They brewed and brewed and brewed until festering into an anxious jump, one that made her wrap her hooves around Fleetfoot and nuzzle her cheek. “I can’t. I…”
“Capt…”
“I’m retiring. It’s true,” Spitfire said, pulling back. She smiled and attempted to clear the tears that matted Fleetfoot’s fur, while her own began to fall. “And I'll be okay. Sure it’ll take some time to feel like I don’t have to go to HQ to practice, but I’m always open to change.”
Fleetfoot giggle-snorted. “I don’t think that’s entirely true, Spitfire. You weren’t huge on Soarin and I dating when we came out to you.”
Why did her muzzle suddenly feel numb? “That’s not true! You just… blindsided me, is all.”
“Rrrrrighttt…”
Spitfire flicked her wings down and narrowed her gaze. “I’m serious!”
“Yep, I believe you.”
…
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Not even remotely, Fleetfoot.”
A chuckle ballooned into a flurry of giggles behind Fleetfoot’s mint green hooves. This is what embarrassment felt like. What a weird feeling— “C-Capt?”
“Yes, Fleetfoot?”
“Permission to do something a bit… out of sorts?”
Spitfire groaned. “You haven’t even said that this entire time! What do you need permission for this time—”
Her eyes widened as Fleetfoot hugged her again and nuzzled her cheek. “Thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you…”
The thank you’s just kept rolling in…
And Spitfire felt the dams break. She thanked her back and then some.
The two held each other for a bit before time struck its rather lengthy gong, the clock ringing loudly in the room.
“How old is that clock?”
Spitfire chuckled. “Too old. Ported from my mother’s place. She said it would ‘remind me of home’.
Fleetfoot smiled. “You think you’ll be giving that back to her when you head back home?”
A smirk wormed onto Spitfire’s face. She shrugged. “Not a bad idea, but I think the ptsd kicked in to the point that if I do get rid of it, I won’t be able to wake up on time.”
“Sounds like you’re getting old, Spitfire.”
“And now I remember why I’m retiring!”
Another giggle fit filled the room. The two smiled at each other and got back up on their hooves.
“Anything else you want to tell me, Fleetfoot?”
Fleetfoot kept that smile on her face as she spoke, “Want to meet next week?”
“Such a formal request. That’s very unlike you.”
“It’s your fault I’m trying to figure out how to schedule a friend’s day after you retire!”
Spitfire flicked a wing right on the back of Fleetfoot’s head. The impact made Fleetfoot gasp and rub her head. “What was that for?”
“For being goofy. You know you don’t have to schedule with me. Just make sure you knock to see if I’m around.”
“Alright,” Fleetfoot said with a grin. “I’ll make sure to break the door with my hindlegs next time.”
“Great… I’ll make sure to get Arcus down here to assess the damage.”
“Really? You’d do that to me?”
“Backseating comes with its perks,” Spitfire replied with a smirk. She rested that wing she bapped Fleetfoot with on the mare’s withers, while the other painted the mental picture. “Think of it now. I’ll be in the background, watching you, Soarin, and Crash all attempt to deal with media day by yourselves.”
A gasp. Followed by wide eyes. Even shaking feathers peered through the fray.
Spitfire was happy to see Fleetfoot finally have to plan her next escape plan.
“Capt, don’t give me nightmares!”
“Nightmares? Sorry, that’s reality, Flatfoot. And now you have to, against your own free will, schedule to meet with the media.”
“Can we just reinstate you instead?”
“Sorry," Spitfire began with a long lengthy stretch of her wings. "These babies are going to spend a looonng week in Las Pegasus.”
“Evil, Spitfire. Evil.”
“Not really. Besides, I’m thinking I’ll just pop in anyway just to see you three squirm.”
“Now that is evil.”
Smiling, Spitfire kept herself cool. She needed to stop ribbing on Fleetfoot here. Spitfire needed to make sure Fleetfoot knew something that Spitfire’s always wanted to say to her.
“Don’t worry, Fleetfoot. I think you and Soarin will handle this all without me quite well.”
She tilted her head. “R-Really?”
“Without a doubt. I’ll bet my pinions on this. You two will be exceptional.”
“Exceptional?”
“Nothing but the best for the Wonderbolts, First Lieutenant Fleetfoot.”
She smiled as Fleetfoot laughed before stepping back. Spitfire knew what was coming, so she saluted her pre-emptively, while Fleetfoot returned the gesture. Fleetfoot was definitely smirking at her while she did this, and so did she. After all, they were still friends in the end, despite the ranks.
“Thank you for the memories, Captain Spitfire.”
They shared a brief smile before hugging and laughing into the night. They even laughed when they hugged at the ceremony, even while the trumpets played, and the rest of the Wonderbolts, in their uniform and glory, saluted her back.
It was tradition, after all. A tradition that left no one behind.
Author's Note
Hope you all enjoyed the fic! Appreciate any feedback you all have for me on this one.
Also, note, written to more Thrown songs.
- Thrown - dwell
- Thrown - new low
