In the privacy of her thoughts, Spitfire likened having a lover to running a race. There were moments of strain and exhilaration, the highs of strong performance and adulation, and it never lasted long. She was five dates in to her romance with Rainbow Dash and had no expectations of this one being any different.
There were flags with girlfriends, just like a race. Green flags were good, red flags were deal-breakers, yellow flags were okay until enough built up.
Spitfire’s rule was to end things at three yellow flags, before the piling annoyances made it impossible to stand each other. A breakup to do after a nice lunch of little hints, followed by the inevitable lie to remain friends.
Last week, Rainbow was at two. Today… three. There was a nice lunch in their future.
Not that it was Rainbow’s fault. One flag was the age difference – thirty-four to twenty-two. Spitfire had aged out of front-line duty voluntarily, coming to value the stability of an office job. Rainbow hadn’t even hit her stride. She was a younger mirror, which was a little creepy to think about given their relationship. Hence, the yellow flag. Spitfire was cool and reserved, enjoying the dates while they lasted. Rainbow was brash and affectionate, struck hard with the worst case of puppy love Spitfire had ever seen. It was embarrassing, the way Rainbow fawned over her in the delusion that their love was more special than anyone else’s. Immature, silly. Just like Spitfire once was.
Number two was that Rainbow… wasn’t smart. This one was her fault. Two tickets for drunk flying. That the last was over six months ago didn’t soften Spitfire’s annoyance. Rainbow argued with trainers and stayed up late before races. And someone needed to kick her ass about money or she’d end up broke despite the six-figure salary. Maybe that could be a post-breakup conversation, a little way to show Spitfire still cared.
Because she did. Rainbow was great. She’d bounce back and find someone a little closer to her in age, and they could grow up and grow old together. She was passionate, a great team player. An ideas-girl who wanted to take Spitfire on adventures around the world and back, always coming up with neat ideas for their dates. That last one was a huge green flag: who wanted to go to dinner all the time? Escape rooms, zoos, and water parks kept things fresh. And the puppy love wasn’t all bad. The notes in Spitfire’s locker, the loving looks over the dinner table.
The third flag came so unexpectedly Spitfire didn’t know if it was yellow or red, not that it mattered.
It was Rainbow standing before her desk the other day, with pressed palms and bowed head as though already begging forgiveness.
“I have to leave with Princess Twilight tomorrow. I, uh, didn’t pay attention to why. Something about a maple syrup golem trying to destroy Vanhoover.”
Spitfire distinctly remembered giving a shrug. One of the costs of recruiting a Paragon of Equestria was working around their schedule saving the world-or-whatever. It was Wonderbolts policy to not press for details.
“And my usual babysitter fell through, so… can you watch Scootaloo until I get back?”
That got questions. Spitfire knew the name; actually, Rainbow talked about her on every date. The glory-hungry Rainbow’s first fan from before she was a Wonderbolt or even a Paragon. That Rainbow paid so much attention to a fan with a sob story always felt a little yellow-flaggy, but clearly it was more than even that.
“Yeah, I’ve been looking out for her, you know? The Ponyville orphanage kind of sucks, so I’ve been helping her with homework, cooking for her, big sister kind of stuff like that.”
Spitfire had a big sister, who had never cooked for her or helped with school. She inhaled a breath to tell Rainbow to just send her to the orphanage… then let it out.
There was every reason to say no. Spitfire didn’t do kids, and to be asked to care for one after going so long without felt vaguely like an insult. The orphanage provided an obvious backup so she wouldn’t be saving the kid’s life or anything. And Rainbow being a surrogate mother felt like something that should have come up on the first date, not dropped suddenly onto Spitfire’s back along with some brat for a day.
It wasn’t fair. And it rankled Spitfire to realize in that moment it particularly wasn’t fair to Rainbow. Leaving once more to save the world-or-whatever, asking what was in the grand scheme of things a tiny favor from the girlfriend she had no idea was looking up places for a Nice Lunch. Only a selfish loser would refuse. Spitfire was selfish, not a loser.
So it was that she found herself with a pocket full of notes along with Rainbow’s keys, standing outside the Ponyville schoolhouse like some creep in a movie.
The bell rang. An army of screaming brats tumbled out, drawing a flinch from Spitfire. She’d been in stadiums before the cheers of tens of thousands, but the banshee wail children could make was something else entirely.
At least Scootaloo seemed to be one of the normal ones, relatively speaking. The match for the provided photo coasted out of the school on a scooter of all things, hopping it with practiced ease down the four steps to the sidewalk. She cast her gaze around before finding Spitfire and buzzing over.
Literally buzzing, in fact, propelled by twin blurs at her back. It was beyond clear the girl’s tiny wings would never carry her any distance. A birth defect that could upend a whole pegasus family; the kind of kid parents see that makes them appreciate how their own children turned out right.
Scootaloo made do – Spitfire could give her that. She cooked on that scooter, doing all the steering and propulsion with those wings, even using them to power two-second flights over obstacles.
She hopped off, and the scooter was half-folded in her arms before she hit the ground. “Miss Spitfire?”
“Just ‘Spitfire’ for you, kid.” Spitfire shot her a canned smile-for-the-fans.
“I hear you’re taking me home?”
Rainbow’s house was ‘home,’ hm?
“That’s right. You ready?”
“One sec.” A bit of fidgeting brought Scootaloo’s folded scooter into her backpack. “Yep, ready.”
What came next was weird for Spitfire, but there was no getting around it. She wrapped her arms around the kid and took off into the air. Ponyville’s mixed population meant a good amount of cloud homes hovered above the town, but Rainbow’s gaudy decorations stood out easily.
Wait a second. “Hey, kid?”
“I’ve got a name,” the kid called against the rushing wind.
Spitfire grunted. Orphan, a little prickly about being dismissed and generalized, that all tracked. “Scootaloo: you can walk on clouds, right?”
“I’m a pegasus,” the k– Scootaloo replied. “And I’ve been staying there for months, so yeah.”
“Cool, but what if there’s an emergency or something and Rainbow can’t get you down?”
“My wings can slow me enough to land safely.” Scootaloo gave them an unwise buzz, pushing the pair a little off course. “Believe me, I’ve tested.”
“She pushed you out of the house?”
“What? No!” Scootaloo gave half a laugh, unsure if Spitfire was serious. “I tried a few stunts on the cliffs out back and they were way higher than Rainbow’s house.”
Spitfire caught herself. “That was, uh...”
“Pretty stupid, I know. Rainbow already chewed me out for it.”
Rainbow being a stickler for safety was… surprising, given her behavior in the Wonderbolts. All the more so because pegasi kids didn’t usually have to worry about heights.
“Can you reach the house without her?”
“Miss Cheerilee lets me store a few clouds in the basement, I can kind of surf them up.” Scootaloo shuffled in her grip. “But I don’t have the keys.”
“No problem, kid, I got you.” Cool mist brushed against Spitfire’s face as she came up through the cloud porch before landing on it. “I mean, uh, Scootaloo.”
She held her breath as she took out the key – this part she dreaded even more than watching a strange kid. Rainbow’s dorm was a pigsty on a good day. What her house must look like…
The door swung. Spitfire sniffed from the entrance.
Nothing, save the fresh scent of cloud furniture.
Stepping inside revealed no mess. No piles of unwashed clothes, no holes in the walls hastily patched by loose cloud. No dishes in the sink. In fact, the counter smelled like lemon.
“She doesn’t make you clean, does she?”
“Lol, nope.” Scootaloo had already strolled in like she owned the place. “I mean, she says I’m supposed to wash my own dishes and make my own bed. But she doesn’t go crazy if I forget sometimes.”
“So Rainbow cleans this place?”
“We don’t have a maid, so yeah.”
Spitfire gazed around, still marveling. Mopped floors, not even any dust on the television. “Wow and wow again. At the dorm we find her socks in the Celestia-blessed sink.”
“It’s because she’s so busy,” Scootaloo said with perfect certainty. “The place was really messy when I first came over, but by the time she got my bedroom set up it was like this.”
Spitfire opened the fridge – split evenly between a Wonderbolt’s strict diet and more kid-friendly foods.
“No beer?”
“No,” Scootaloo said with a defensive edge. “Rainbow doesn’t drink, does she?”
“I guess not,” Spitfire murmured. Memories of Rainbow’s drunken blush came to mind, then were pushed aside. “I like relaxing after work with a beer, that’s all.”
“Doesn’t that go against the Wonderbolt diet?”
“Sure, but I’m what they call a has-been.”
Scootaloo helped herself to three cookies from a jar. “Well Rainbow thinks you’re great. She won’t stop talking about you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Spitfire mumbled distractedly as she snatched the instructions from her pocket. There, item thirteen: three cookies for an after-school snack. There were… a lot of instructions. Spitfire really should have read them earlier.
Anyway, “She talks about you, too.”
Scootaloo shot her a gap-toothed grin. “We should talk about her, just to get even.”
“Sure thing,” Spitfire said blandly. Honestly, though, bonding with the kid right before she breaks up with Rainbow seemed a bit too cruel to both of them.
On the other hand…
Well, Spitfire wasn’t sure what was on the other hand. She excused herself to the bathroom, marveling yet more as she passed to the back of the house. Framed photos of Rainbow’s parents and of Scootaloo, including a trip all four of them took to Whinny World. A clean bathroom with no crud in the shower and the lid down.
Spitfire caught her own eyes in the mirror and quirked her eyebrows. “Rainbow, it’s great that you’re really wholesome with the kid, but would it kill you to bring some of this to work?”
Sweet Celestia, ‘wholesome’ didn’t even cover it. She snooped discreetly while Scootaloo did her homework. A neatly made bed with clothes folded in their proper drawers. A far messier second room with new orange paint decorated with posters of movies and daredevils. Her eyes lingered on the latter – famous skateboarders and stunt drivers. Not a pegasus to be seen except for two of Rainbow Dash, one as a Wonderbolt and one for some local sports team.
Spitfire’s snooping took her to Rainbow’s office. She figured as her girlfriend she had the right. The inevitable stack of fan mail rookies always take it upon themselves to answer until they get overwhelmed. A few letters to and from Scootaloo’s teachers, one of which promising to chaperon for a field trip. Forms traded back and forth with the adoption agency and orphanage.
And a few unfinished, cheesy love letters to Spitfire.
She sighed, smiled. Returned to the kitchen to find the kid still at work.
“She makes you do homework as soon as you get out, huh?”
“Yeah.” Scootaloo made a farting noise with her mouth. “She checks to make sure I really do it, too.”
A thought hit Spitfire, and she grinned. “Well hey, she’s not home right now. What do you want to do instead?”
“Skate park,” Scootaloo said instantly. “It’s usually too dark at this time of year by the time I finish the homework.”
“Good thing you never took off your jacket. Come on, get your stuff.”
“You sure?”
“Didn’t she tell you?” Spitfire smirked with one side of her mouth. “I’m the cool, irresponsible one in the relationship. It’s her own fault for having me watch you.”
Sitting on the park bench, Spitfire rolled her eyes. “Luna’s Forgiveness, that was the cringiest midlife crisis thing I’ve ever said.”
Why did she say that? Wasn’t the plan to just sort of tolerate the kid until Rainbow gets back?
Spitfire silently justified it to herself as revenge against her girlfriend. Shows her right for telling the cool butch lesbian to babysit an impressionable young girl. They were going to get fast food for dinner, none of those balanced meals Rainbow inevitably fed her. Then Spitfire will hold her tight and take her through lots of wild stunts. Scootaloo will geek out on how awesome Spitfire is, then when responsible Rainbow complains, Spitfire will turn the tables and tell her to ease off on homework time. Much better to work around the kid’s hobbies than enforce what sitcoms say are good parental habits.
‘Parental,’ that was right. Not just ‘wholesome.’ It was beyond obvious Rainbow had fallen for Scootaloo well past seeing her as a fan. Enough to clean up her act on the home front, and now that Spitfire thought of it, that last drunk flying charge was a long time ago.
No red flags, here. No dumb-ass Rainbow just using the kid as a praise-singer. Yellow flag at worst.
At worst?
She pushed down the conundrum, focusing instead on Scootaloo’s antics. Spitfire was always one to quickly get bored watching others perform, but her curiosity both for the kid and the art spurred her interest. Scooters weren’t exactly a common pegasus toy, but Scootaloo drove hers like a part of her body. Skidding, twirling, leaping up gaps and ramps then using her wings for mid-air maneuvers or extra bursts. Normal pegasi wings were too big for such tight twists and quick accelerations.
She commented on it when Scootaloo wheeled over for a drink. “Crazy cool style, Scoots. You make it all up yourself?”
“Not really. I watch a lot of videos, and sometimes I hang out with other kids with wheels.”
“But the wings and all, no one could have taught you that.”
“Yeah, but it was Rainbow who really pushed me to make it my thing.” She gave the wings a quick buzz. “No one else can do it, you know? Except the ones who are born like me. Actually that’s why Rainbow...”
Scootaloo swallowed hard, gazing towards the setting sun. “I… I want to make it big as a stunt performer. At first it was just because it’s what I want to do. But Rainbow said if I do that then all the pegasi who got born like me will have someone to look up to. Someone who is like them who still went on to be cool and awesome, even though they couldn’t fly.”
“Kinda stupid, honestly.” She sniffed wetly and grinned. “I always looked up to Rainbow, flying or no. B-but it’s cool that she thinks I can, like, be Rainbow Dash for some other ponies. She’s setting me up with professional instructors and everything.”
‘I’m going to marry that pony.’
Spitfire kept that to herself. “That’s incredible. She really is. I mean, all that really is.”
“You weren’t wrong. She’s incredible, too.”
“No doubt there,” Spitfire mumbled, then raised her voice. “Couple more minutes, okay? We gotta think about dinner. Is Hayburger King okay for you?”
“Y-yeah,” Scootaloo hesitated. “I think Rainbow said she left a casserole in the fridge.”
“Then she can eat it.” Spitfire winked. “I’m the cool girlfriend, remember?”
Scootaloo’s laugh… melted something in her. Spitfire weirdly felt like she was about to cry. She watched the young pony pack her scooter, gripped onto her tightly, and launched them from the ground. Scootaloo screamed with joy as Spitfire twirled them through the air, just a little faster than Rainbow would ever take her.
Author's Note
Thank you for reading! And Chim, I hope you enjoyed it.
