A Dash of Inspiration

[You wanna know how good this chapter is? This chapter is so good it doesn't even HAVE FORMATTING.]

Rainbow Dash was trotting along Ponyville’s streets.

After a thankless and hungry day spent picking trash out of the park, she was very pleased at the prospect of having a proper meal at Twilight’s house. Twilight had promised a meal fit to lift her spirits out of the dumps - given the way her day had gone, Dash needed it. She was not normally one to jump at sympathy or charity, but the fact that they were coming from Twilight made it acceptable.

‘Sides, Twilight’s probably planned the whole thing out down to the minute - probably the food, too. Mmm, I wonder what she-

Dash’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl from her stomach. She winced visibly and tried to stop thinking about food; if she could just make it to the library, the problem would sort itself out. Without consciously knowing it, the pegasus sped up her steps towards Twilight’s house.

Twilight Sparkle was frantic.

“Gah!” she exclaimed, magicking a small constellation of spices and seasonings around her in midair. She was standing in the kitchen wearing a chef’s hat and apron, attempting to cook up a rather complex dish she had found in a cookbook entitled Advanced Recipes from Around the World. “Where is the paprika? It’s a vital part of this Zebrican stew, and I will not have it done in by a lack of common spice!” She reflexively began to call for Spike before realizing that he was at Sweet Apple Acres acting as a chaperone for the CMC sleepover.

“Drat!” said Twilight said. “The one time I need something I absolutely, positively, cannot find myself, and he’s nowhere to be seen. Books are one thing, but Rainbow Dash and I are going to be eating this!” Twilight pouted at the swirl of spice containers surrounding her. She spent a moment in that pose, hoping that the sight of Twilight Sparkle sad would cause the emotionless glass to grow emotions, oust the coward within their ranks and apologize profusely for wasting her time.

This did not happen.

Twilight harrumphed and magicked the containers back to their spots in the cupboards. She regained her composure, forcing herself to think.

Every problem has a solution. The problem here is that there isn’t any paprika. The obvious solution would be to go to the store and buy some, but - she glanced at the clock - they’ve closed by now. That solution doesn’t work, so I have to thepotisboilingover think of another one wait WHAT.

Twilight looked over in horror as the Zebrican stew slowly rose and bubbled over the sides of the large pot that had previously contained it. It oozed down the sides of the steel, making sick time towards the burner. Any moment now, it would pour onto the hot metal and create a mess the likes of which no kitchen should be forced to endure.

Fortunately, Twilight was very skilled at telekinesis, so she simply levitated the stew back into the pot and turned the burner’s dial to zero. She then walked over to the stew, appraising it. She lifted a spoonful of it out and gave it a tentative taste.

It seems okay.

She glanced at the stew, which had subsided from its boiling and was instead more a solid mass of sauce and vegetable matter with the occasional pocket of air squirming its way to the top.

It looks okay.

. . . Could it be? Was the solution to the paprika problem no solution at all? It was a maddening thought. Twilight had based her academic career - and by extension, practically her whole life - on finding solutions to problems. She had literally written books on the subject, and now there was something to challenge that? Something that said the world was capable of working itself out? How was such a thing possible? The thought was heretical to Twilight’s mind. Ponies were the stewards and masters of their environments, not vice versa! If the opposite were somehow true-

The doorbell rang.

Resolving to have an existential crisis later, cross-referenced with the traditions and customs of cultures without magic, Twilight shook her head clear of the moral dilemma plaguing it and trotted over to the door. When she opened it, Rainbow Dash was standing sheepishly outside.

The pegasus nervously scratched the back of her neck with a hoof. “I know we said eight, but seven is close enough, right? I mean, I can come back, or-”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” said Twilight. “But what brings you here so early? Did something come up later?”

“Well, no,” said Dash, looking around awkwardly. “I’m just really hungry.” As if on cue, her stomach let loose the largest growl of the day. Dash tried to smile through it. “Haven’t eaten much, since I forgot my money back at home - the jumpsuits they give you aren’t really designed to allow flight.”

Twilight's brow furrowed. “Jumpsuits? For what?”

“It’s kind of a long story. Can I come in?”

“Oh, of course, of course.”

Twilight stepped back from the door, and Rainbow got a proper look at her as she closed the door behind her. The pegasus tried, but could not suppress a giggle at Twilight’s appearance.

“What?” Twilight asked, before following Rainbow’s eyes to her hat and apron. “This? What’s so funny?”

“I didn’t realize you were a top chef, is all,” Dash said between laughs.

Twilight raised one eyebrow. “Is that always how you talk to the hoof that feeds you?”

Dash sobered instantly. “I’ll be good.”

“Much better,” said Twilight with a smirk. “Now you just make yourself comfortable,” she gestured to a table that had two places set at it, “and I’ll get the food.” She trotted back into the kitchen, humming a little.

Rainbow nodded and walked over to one of the cushions set at the table and flopped onto her side on top of it. She let out a mighty sigh and sunk into the down-filled fabric. Twilight, exiting the kitchen with saucepot in tow, felt a concerned frown creep across her face. “Um, Dash,” she asked, “is anything the matter? Is it about those jumpsuits you mentioned?”

Dash looked up at Twilight, moving as little as possible. “I guess, yeah. I was doing community service in the park, and, well, let’s just say that the uniform was not designed for comfort.” She paused, frowning in thought. “Actually, y’know, they might’ve designed it for discomfort.”

Twilight placed the saucepot on the table equidistant between the two places so she could focus on Dash. “What do you mean, Rainbow? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” The unicorn pulled over her own cushion and lay down on it belly-down so that she was roughly on eye level with the pegasus.

Dash shifted a bit, looked away from Twilight’s open, earnest eyes. “Well, I’m doing community service hours since I’m not teaching Scootaloo anymore, and that means that I have to follow all the rules: wear the suit, only take so much time for a break, clean these areas first, you know.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“It’s not. It’s the stuff they don’t tell you about that gets you. Like how perfectly normal ponies treat you like dirt just because of a lousy outfit, or how much you miss being able to fly anywhere, even if it’s just a little hop.”

Twilight had a hoof over her mouth. Dash continued. “‘Cause, y’know, you can’t just spring around with that much weight - the clothes have a lot of drag, and you’re attached to a couple of trash bags, and it’s not like they’re getting any lighter. And then there’s the smell, too . . .”

“Rainbow,” Twilight interjected, “how can you be expected to do all of that? I mean, you of all ponies! I’m going to write the mayor a letter about this - actually, no, I’m going to write the Princess a letter about this!” Twilight had risen to her feet, one hoof raised dramatically. “An Equestrian hero, reduced to common labour! A national icon-”

Dash dragged herself up to stand next to the agitated unicorn. “Twilight, no, really, you don’t have to do anything about it. I messed up with the Electric Rainboom. I get that.”

“Sonic Rainboom.”

Dash paused for a moment, as if in thought. “Err, yeah. Right. Look, point is, my hooves are sore from standing on them all day. The park grass was soft enough, but it just caught up with me on the way over here.” Dash forced a laugh. “So it’s no big deal. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.” She put a forehoof on Twilight’s shoulder.

“But, Rainbow,” Twilight protested.

“It’s not a big deal, okay?” Dash said again, more forcefully. She paused for a second before continuing. “Now, um, could we eat?”

“Oh, sure,” replied Twilight distantly. She moved her cushion back over to her side of the table and levitated a few ladlefuls of stew into both her and Dash’s bowls.

If she doesn’t want to talk about it, don’t press it. She’s here to enjoy herself, not be interrogated.

“This is a traditional Zebrican stew,” Twilight explained, levitating Dash’s bowl back over to her. “It’s very healthy, of course, and very tasty, but it’s also known for its aroma. If you take a deep breath of it, you can-” Twilight stopped short, leaning over the bowl of stew in front of her. The stew had a powerful smell, sure, but it had not smelled like . . . like . . .

“I doubt it’s supposed to smell like garbage,” said Dash sheepishly. “That’s my bad, actually.”

Twilight blinked, her attention refocused on the world around her. “Oh, no, really, it’s not . . . that is, um . . .”

Dash held up her hooves and rose from the table, ignoring the signals of mutiny from her digestive tract. “No, it’s alright. I needed to get the smell off sooner or later. Do you mind if I use your shower? It’ll only take a minute.”

“Um, oh. Sure.” Twilight pointed down a hallway leading off of the main room. “Second door on the right.”

Dash thanked her and walked off. Twilight sat down at the table, hooves on her forehead.

What happened? I just wanted for Rainbow Dash to have a nice dinner and enjoy herself, and . . . and now she’s showering so she doesn’t offend me? What?

Twilight heard the muffled spray of her shower stall through the walls of her house. Dash was over there right now, cleaning herself up so as not to wreck Twilight’s evening. But that was just it: it wasn’t supposed to be Twilight’s evening, it was supposed to be Rainbow Dash’s evening! And what kind of host was she? Not having the food cooked on time, relentlessly ploughing through topics of conversation she should have known far better than to bring up - even the pretense of dinner itself had been nothing more than a cheap trick. A temporary cure for a single symptom, not even attempting to approach the cause.

Twilight shook her head in frustration.

No. Every problem has a solution. I just need to do something for Rainbow Dash, to show her how much I care about her. How she isn’t in this alone. Ugh, come on Twilight, think!

And just like that, she had an idea. Was it perfect? Well, no, but it was an idea nonetheless!

Twilight quickly turned to the bookshelves, searching for a particular book. Finding it, she flipped through its contents quickly. She had just finished doing so when the noise of the shower stopped. Twilight quickly replaced the book back on its shelf and darted back to the table just as Rainbow Dash emerged from the hallway in a purple bathrobe with a design of Twilight’s cutie mark on it.

“Hope you don’t mind about the robe. There were a few others, so I figured . . .”

“Oh, no, it’s quite all right,” said Twilight with a dismissive flick of her hoof. “Won’t you have something to eat?”

“Would I?” asked Dash, eyeing her stew with a grin that would put a timber wolf to shame. She paused briefly and seated herself before diving into the stew. Twilight had not bothered putting cutlery on Dash’s side for this reason more so than her inability to use it.

Dinner passed mostly in silence, punctuated by Dash stuffing food into her mouth and asking for refills. When the saucepot had been almost completely emptied, Dash sat back and patted her belly contently, eyes closed in bliss.

“Ohhh, that is so much better,” she said, utterly pleased. The contrast of a day without food had made the stew seem like something from the royal kitchens.

“Don’t get too comfy,” warned Twilight with a sly grin, “there’s one other thing I want you to see.”

Rainbow Dash opened one eye curiously. “Oh? What’s that?”

Twilight stood up and paced over to a small expanse of cushions intended for casual reading. She sat down and patted the seat next to her, and Rainbow Dash complied. Twilight rolled her eyes and made a little twirling motion with her hoof, indicating that Dash put her rear hooves towards Twilight. The pegasus seemed unsure of the position, even less so when Twilight reached forward and gently grasped one of Dash’s hooves between her own.

“Now, I know you don’t like ponies touching your hooves.”

“Um, Twilight-”

“So I’m just going to use my magic, okay?”

“Twilight, no, I don’t-”

“So, really, it won’t even be like a massage at all, technically speaking.”

“Twilight, don’t-!” was all Dash managed to say before her words turned into a pleased groan. The pain in her hooves that had hounded that leg the entire day was gone, simply gone like a kite in the breeze. “Unnnhhhh,” she managed to say, her limbs going limp and her head rolling back along the pillows surrounding her.

“Th-the others . . .” the pegasus barely managed to get out, a desperate plea to have Twilight’s miraculous magic extend to her other problem areas. Twilight was happy to comply, and soon all four of Dash’s hooves were enveloped in a magenta glow.

After a few minutes of this, Dash regained some of her senses. She raised her head back up to look at Twilight. “H-how . . .” she breathed.

“Basic massage technique for sore hooves. There’s a book on it somewhere around here, actually.”

“That’s . . . that’s incredible . . .”

Twilight looked at Dash. “Really?”

The pegasus nodded. “Really. It’s . . . I can’t even say thank you enough . . .”

Twilight smiled. “You know,” she said, beginning to wind the massage therapy down, “this isn’t really a lot of strain for me. I can do it whenever you need the help.”

Dash looked back at the unicorn as though she had sprouted wings and a halo. “You . . . you could?”

Twilight nodded. “Yeah, sure. If it’s that big a problem with your community service, I don’t see any reason not to do so.”

Dash smiled openly and warmly for the first time that evening. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Twilight. If you can really do this, then I’ll be able to do the hours like they’re nothing,” she said before promptly letting her head lean back and falling asleep.

Twilight giggled to herself and went upstairs to get some spare sheets. She returned and levitated them up over Rainbow Dash’s sleeping form, smiling as the pegasus snored cutely. The unicorn sat down for a moment and just watched Dash sleeping peacefully, the covers rising and falling evenly with each breath - a metronome ticking out the rhythm of daily life. it had been disrupted for so long, but now it seemed like that even tempo was attainable.

An idea occurred to Twilight. She looked quickly around, making sure that, yes, there was nopony around before softly lifting up the sheets and snuggling her way underneath them next to Dash. She dared not touch - not that the pegasus would have woken up anyway - but just smiled. She had helped Dash this evening, well and truly helped her. That was what friends were for.

It might get a little rocky along the way, Dash, but I’ll always be here for you.

Then Twilight magicked out the light and went to sleep.

There came a knock at the door, and the two looked up in surprise. They sat there, slow to understand what the knock meant due to their fatigue. The knocking came again, more insistent, and Twilight yawned and walked slowly over to the door. The newspaper rested beneath the mail slot, and Twilight levitated it over to the table. “That’s odd. I don’t normally get visitors this early.”

Rainbow Dash took the opportunity to stagger the remaining distance over to the table they had eaten on and unroll the newspaper. The day’s headlines would help her calm down after-

SEARCH FOR YOUNG FILLY SUCCESSFUL, FATHER THANKS GUARDS

Dash flung the front section of the newspaper to the other side of the table. The day’s sports headlines would help her calm down.

Twilight, meanwhile, had opened the door, and was agape at what she saw.

Mr. Nimbus sat on the welcome mat outside the door, weatherbeaten and world-weary. His coat and mane had been darkened to an off-black and a deep purple by the amount of water in them, and he was shivering slightly from the morning’s chill. His wings were tucked at his sides somewhat properly, but his mane and tail were both quite wet. His saddlebags, presumably weatherproofed, looked full and were buckled securely shut. He seemed tired and out of breath, and as Twilight stood staring at him, a single drop of water fell from his mane to the ground.

He panted slightly and looked up at Twilight from where he sat. “Hello, Ms. Sparkle. Do you know where I could find Rainbow Dash?”

Twilight was speechless at his appearance, and nodded mutely. She moved aside and pointed at the table where her friend sat reading the newspaper. Nimbus looked past her, saw Rainbow Dash, and nodded at Twilight, stepping inside the door. Dash looked up at the clop of his hooves on the wooden floor.

“Who is it, Twi-” she started to ask before she was rendered speechless at Nimbus’s bedraggled appearance, much the same as Twilight, though Dash regained her composure much more quickly. “Oh, Nimbus. Hi,” she said flatly, unsure what to make of the sight in front of her.

The darker pegasus closed his eyes and nodded to her. “I can understand why you would feel as you do about me. You’ve every right.”

Dash turned back to her newspaper. Nimbus kept talking. “I have a few things I would like to say to you, though they depend on how you react to the first of them.” He looked at her for a moment, and Dash flicked her gaze up to meet his. “Will you hear me?”

Dash was still for a moment before folding the newspaper square and laying it to one side. She hunched forward a bit, elbows resting on the table, and nodded. Twilight, who had meanwhile managed to recover her sensibilities, shut the door.

“I’ll get you a towel,” she said, moving a few steps towards the stairs and her washroom. She closed her eyes in concentration, and a magenta-enveloped towel floated down the stairs a few moments later. Twilight trotted back to the table and sat down, guiding the towel to her winged guest.

“Thank you,” said Nimbus, taking the towel and drying himself off enough so that he wasn’t dripping on the carpet. He placed his saddlebags against a leg of the table, sat down, and regarded Dash.

“I am sorry,” he began. He paused, expecting Dash to say something, but she remained silent. He continued after a moment. “What I said to you, what I did, what I insinuated was . . .” he paused again, searching for words. “Was wrong, in the fullest sense of the word. In the month prior to the . . . accident, you had been nothing but supportive to Scootaloo, and I was a fool to think you would do anything to put her in danger.”

He glanced at Twilight, then seemed to stare ahead at nothing in particular. “I do not think my actions were not completely without reason, but I should have acted more accordingly. My words about your competence, your lifestyle, your-” the word caught in his mouth. “Your sexuality were slanderous and irrelevant, and they were the products of a sleep-deprived father who wanted somepony to blame. That want was also the reason I filed the complaint against you, which in hindsight appears nothing short of mad.”

He looked back over at Dash. “I am sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Dash was silent for a while, staring evenly at Nimbus, who neither tried to stare Dash down nor avert his eyes. The two of them remained as they were for more than a minute, simply looking at one another and sharing more emotions than a conversation could. Twilight was left to look anxiously on, glancing between the two and the clock on a nearby wall.

Eventually, Dash moved. It was a small movement, just a shifting in her seat, but it was enough to break the heavy silence that had fallen over the room.

“I don’t know if I can completely forgive you right now, but I can try.”

“Then . . .”

“Apology accepted,” said Dash. Nimbus relaxed visibly and let out a breath.

“One thing, though,” Dash said without missing a beat. Nimbus tensed imperceptibly and looked at her. “This is a pretty sudden change since the last time I saw you. What made you change your mind?”

Nimbus inhaled and exhaled deeply, shifting his eyes down to the table in front of him. He closed his eyes and was quiet for a long time. Rainbow Dash and Twilight traded a glance, the latter looking concerned. At great length, Twilight spoke.

“Uh, Mr. Nimbus?” she asked.

He opened his eyes and looked at Twilight. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. It’s just that this is a rather long story, and I want to make sure I get the details right. I think I’ve gotten all of them now.” He put his right foreleg on his left shoulder and almost managed to suppress a shiver. “Before I start, though, could I beg a cup of coffee from you? It wasn’t exactly warm last night, and I felt it more than I did when I was young.”

“Oh, sure,” Twilight replied, smiling a little. “I was just about to get some for Dash and myself when you came here.” She rose and walked over to the kitchen. “Back in a minute!” she called, disappearing through the doorway.

Dash watched her go, unconsciously leaning forward a bit. Nimbus also looked after Twilight, but with a slightly puzzled look on his face. “Can’t she just magic it out here?” he said to himself.

“She prefers not to handle boiling water unless she can see it,” said Dash, still looking at the kitchen doorway.

Nimbus looked over at Dash, somewhat surprised that she had spoken so amiably to him. “How do you know?”

“I asked her the same thing when she was making us cocoa a couple of weeks ago.”

Nimbus chuckled at himself and glancing back at the kitchen. “Right. Of course she would. I’m so used to dealing with the monotony of preparing it myself, I figured magic would just make everything easier.”

“Yeah, she does,” said Dash before catching herself. “I mean, yeah, it does.” She cleared her throat.

Nimbus looked over at her, his expression unreadable. Dash felt his eyes on her and met them. “What?”

“Does she make cocoa for you two often?”

“Um, yeah. I guess. We hung out two or three times a week before the whole Electric Rainboom thing.”

“And you say she makes things easier?”

Dash narrowed her eyes. “What business is it of yours?” she asked.

Nimbus opened his mouth, closed it, and held up his hooves. “None, of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.” He looked down.

Twilight poked her head out of the doorway. “Nr. Nimbus, I’m so sorry!” she called. “I forgot to ask what you wanted in your coffee!”

He waved a hoof at her. “It’s just as well. Black - the stronger, the better.”

Twilight smiled back. “Okay, then! Just a moment!” Her head pulled back into the kitchen. The pegasi at the table could just make out the aroma of hot coffee drifting out towards them. After a moment, Twilight walked around the doorway, stabilizing the trio of dark green coffee mugs that she was levitating with her.

Twilight trotted back to the table and set down a mug in front of each pegasus before sitting next to Dash with her own. The three of them each took a small sip of the coffee, and Dash scooted over a bit to give Twilight more room.

Nimbus closed his eyes and sighed warmly. “Thank you for your hospitality, Twilight. This is excellent coffee.”

“Really,” said Twilight, “it was no trouble at all. It’s just instant coffee.”

“It’s helping me warm up, and for that, I thank you.”

“A-hem,” said Rainbow, rolling her eyes. They settled on Nimbus, who gave a sheepish smile in return.

“Right, right.” He sighed briefly. “Well, it happened last night, actually . . .”

It was cold. So stupidly cold.

Twenty, even ten years ago, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Tempest would have seen the weather as a challenge, an affront to his abilities to be overcome, and he would have overcome it, simple as that. At his current age, though he was still very much capable of dealing with it (he wasn’t that old, thank you very much), it was difficult to see the weather for anything else but what it was - weather. Part of a system, and beyond his reach to question or change.

It didn’t care about some stupid pegasus who was flying through a cold, heavy rain in the middle of the night. Why should it?

A particularly intense deluge of ice water droplets pelted against him, and Tempest was dragged back to the reality of his situation. He glanced out into the massive black void surrounding him, and could dimly make out lights in the distance, slightly off to his left and above. He corrected his course and flew onward, relieved to be in the final stretch of his journey.

He had tucked his daughter Scootaloo into bed and waited around in the dark of the living room for her to fall completely asleep, listening to the pitter-patter of rain on the roof. He needed to make sure that his movements wouldn’t wake her up - couldn’t have her missing sleep over him. Tempest certainly hadn’t loitered because he was nervous about his destination or what he would find there.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

The lights began to look less blurry, and Tempest realized that they were now slightly below him, though still straight ahead. As he drew closer, the lights formed themselves into shapes of windows, regularly spaced on a cloudstuff building that stood four stories tall - massive by pegasus standards, especially for a structure with so much infrastructure and equipment inside of it.

Tempest swooped down onto the covered landing area outside the main entrance, and the sound of the rain switched from a dull roar to a pleasant pattering. The cloudstuff bricks bore the pattern of a large and somewhat faded red cross on them, though it was not easily visible in the dim light. Tempest took a moment to shake off the worst of the water and double-check that his saddlebags were still dry before walking forward into the hospital lobby.

The pegasus sitting at the main desk - white coat, light blue mane and tail - looked up from his paperwork at the sound of the door opening. At the sight of a large, dark-coated, and rather worse for wear stallion trudging into the room in the middle of the night, his pulse quickened a bit.

Tempest walked over to the desk and looked as pleasantly as he could at the clerk.

“Uh, sir,” the clerk said, clearing his throat before continuing. “I should tell you that visiting hours have been over for quite some time now . . .”

“Yes. What’s your point?” said Tempest, beginning to lose a bit of patience. He was in no mood to jump through bureaucratic hoops for a second time that day.

Silence.

“Well, um. It’s just, the thing is, visitors aren’t, um-”

“Are you honestly considering turning me away because of some arbitrary clock marking?” Tempest leaned forward, eyes hard and unforgiving. The clerk leaned back in his seat, startled. He moved his mouth but couldn’t speak. “Well? Out with it!”

“I, uh-”

“I have family here! You can’t just tell me to go fly back home, not in this weather!”

“Look, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what? You didn’t mean to upset me? She could be seriously hurt, and you-”

“Sir?”

A voice from the left. Tempest realized he’d been yelling, and had propped his front hooves up on the reception area desk, leaning forward so much that he was practically headbutting the clerk across from him. The two pegasi turned to see a third pegasus who had a similar white and red colouration, though she was female. Her cutie mark was a red caduceus, Tempest saw, as she crossed the lobby from the side hall where she had been.

“Is everything all right here?” she asked, looking at the two of them.

Tempest deflated and returned to a normal stance. “Yeah, thanks. I, um . . .” he trailed off, looking down and away. “I guess I . . . got a bit worked up, is all. Sorry about that.” He mumbled an apology to the clerk before turning and walking down a hallway off the lobby’s right, head hanging low.

The female pegasus looked at her coworker. “What happened?”

The clerk shrugged defensively. “Well, first, he walks in out of that,” he pointed out the door at one of the worst thunderstorms Cloudsdale had seen in years, “like it’s no big deal and just moseys on over to the desk.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “And he just started yelling?”

The clerk held out his forelegs in exasperation. “Well, naturally, I’m a bit startled at seeing somepony just appear like that, so I tell him that visiting hours are over, and I’m about to tell him that there’s this form he can fill out, right, and he starts asking me what the big idea is, and he gets all aggressive. After that, you heard.”

The clerk’s superior nodded. “Right. This is your first graveyard shift, isn’t it?” The clerk nodded, and the female pegasus continued. “Yeah, he’s been here a lot before at this hour. Makes sense he’d be upset.”

“Is it safe to let him wander around on his own?” asked the desk clerk.

His companion stared down the hallway where Tempest had turned before answering. “He knows where he’s going. He might have been a bit loud, but he won’t do any harm.”

“You’re sure?”

“I recognize him. I know who he’s visiting.” She shook her head slightly. “He’s having a hard enough time of things without red tape getting in the way.”

Tempest, meanwhile, could not stop thinking about the clerk at the desk.

Gods, I was yelling at him. Really yelling. I’ve never done that before. I mean, sure, I’ve gotten angry, but that . . .

He shook his head, trying to compose himself. He was tired and running on very little sleep, which had been troubled. He had done things like this before, and slip-ups were to be expected.

Tempest glanced at a room number on the wall. He was about halfway to her room, which gave him another minute of walking. He could have run there, but it would not have changed anything. The pegasus sighed and looked down at the cloudstuff bricks beneath his hooves.

It was amazing, really, that Cloudsdale had managed to build a hospital this size. It was larger than the city’s few mansions, and had been a massive improvement over the previous institutions, upgrading the equipment and facilities by several orders of magnitude.

Knowing that she was in such good hooves had made the first few days bearable. If it had been any other hospital, Tempest likely would have spent every spare moment at the foot of the bed. Fortunately, he had been able to spend time with Scootaloo and make sure that she had been okay throughout the whole ordeal.

And look how that turned out. What a good father you are, making your daughter feel better freezing to death than with you.

Tempest winced at the thought, formed before he could stop it. His steps faltered. He almost broke down then and there, degenerating into a sobbing mess. Thoughts of his daughter shivering out at Sweet Apple Acres alone, scared, and helpless, filled his mind’s eye.

No, stop it! It was horrible what happened, and you should have been better than that, but what’s done is done! You won’t earn her forgiveness crying here, and it won’t fix anything that needs to be fixed.

This idea was brighter than the thoughtscape surrounding it. Tempest held on to it for dear life even as his legs betrayed him and he sunk to the floor.

After what felt like an eternity spent in the dark corners of his mind, Tempest pulled himself back to his feet and made his hooves start walking again. He would get to her room at the end of the hall. He had to.

Daring a glance up, Tempest found he was closer than expected. He ran the last few steps, not wanting to give his mind another chance to turn against him.

And just like that, he was in his wife’s room.

There was silence except for the beep of machines. She had barely been visible through the bandages and a veil of tubes and metal when first brought in. Since then, she had improved enough to render most of the systems unnecessary. There were now only cursory monitors attached non-intrusively: a pad in the crook of her elbow, or on her forehead.

Many of the bandages had been removed as well, allowing her orange coat and blue mane to reappear. She lay on her back and wore braces around her wings, unforgiving metal webs to make sure they healed properly. She was asleep, as she had been every time Tempest had come to see her. To his knowledge, she had yet to wake up.

“Ciela,” he whispered. He went to the side of her bed. Before he knew what was happening, he had clutched one of her forehooves between his own and bowed, as though in prayer, next to her.

It was too much. All of the emotions Tempest had suppressed, all of the nights spent sleeplessly flying from the hospital to Ponyville, all of the decisions and choices made, trying desperately to find some kind of right path in the mess surrounding him, all of them finally caught up with him. Tempest buried his face into the bed and cried, sobbing and weeping into the blankets.

The dark pegasus’s frame shook from the weight of his sorrow, and the area where he rested his head quickly becoming damp with mucus and tears. Tempest tried to form words, but they came out as twisted cries. He ultimately abandoned his rational thoughts and simply let out the emotions he had imprisoned.

Time passed. Eventually, realizing that he had no more tears to shed, Tempest came back to the world around him, aware of an ache in his immobile joints and a feeling of . . . not peace. Peace was too optimistic. Perhaps . . . catharsis? He felt as though his system had been flushed out - not enjoyably by any measure, but the end result was . . .

Tempest shook his head. He would introspect later. For now, he had limited time, and a lot to say. He rose unsteadily to his hooves, dragged over a chair from the edge of the room to face the bed and slumped into it, utterly tired. He stared into space, glancing occasionally at Ciela.

“Scootaloo was found, thankfully. She was out at the treehouse, living off of apples. I was so happy to see her, but she seemed . . .” he paused. “Distant? She was a lot calmer than usual. Quieter. I don’t know why she-” Tempest found himself interrupted by a strangled sob. “Why she left. I just don’t, I mean, how? Why? Why would she leave like that?”

Tempest’s head hung forward, brow furrowed. “I just can’t think why she would have left. She was out there for more than two days, you know. Freezing and starving half to death. I scoured every place in town, and so did the guards. The treehouse was one of the first places we checked, but she must have . . .” The pegasus shook his head. “Hidden. Hidden. From her father.”

He hunched forward, elbows on knees. Tempest looked at the floor beneath him, not seeing it. “And then when she finally does turn up, do you know how I react? I don’t welcome her with a hug and soft words. I . . . I’m so angry at her. I’m so angry that she would do something that stupid.” He looked back at Ciela, haunted. “Because she’s beautiful, you know? She’s so beautiful and I love her so much and that something I did would make her not trust me, I . . . I can’t . . .”

He paused, staring at her unmoving form. His lover in rosier times, his friend in darker ones. She had never responded to his words from her sleep. Not volume nor poetry nor humour had changed that.

Can she-

Of course she can don’t be ridiculous.

“I wasn’t angry at her, though. I realize that now.” He took a deep breath. “I was angry at Rainbow Dash. At what she’d done, and how ignorant she was about you. You know she doesn’t know,” he paused, looking at the machines around Ciela, “about all this? Hospitalizes you and she’s just completely oblivious to it.” Tempest shook his head in disbelief.

“I found the two of them in the treehouse, as a last-ditch search effort, and . . . and she . . .” Tempest’s eyes were crushed shut, but unable to stop the tears. “And she looked so much like you, with Scootaloo under her wing like that. And I . . . I was so . . .” he sighed shakily. “I don’t even know what I am anymore. I was aimless at the beginning. Furious, but with no outlet. Who was she to hurt you, to take my daughter away from me? To throw us into this whole mess?”

Silence. Tempest had never spoken so much to her in his previous visits. The utter lack of replies was beginning to remind him why.

“I was angry at myself. For choosing her, for letting her get so close to Scootaloo and give her the damned stupid idea of trying to wrangle lightning. At her age, can you believe it?” He shook his head. “Of course, when I sat down and thought about it, it made a certain kind of sense. Rainbow Dash was probably trying things like that when she was Scootaloo’s age. Obviously, she survived enough of them, so I guess her perceptions of it would be different.” Tempest chuckled despite himself. “I was always running the endurance courses, pure flying stuff. What I read about weather in the textbooks scared me away from it, or at least trying to control it.”

Tempest stood up and walked over to the bed. Absently, he glanced at what few machines remained and found that the readings were completely and wholly average across the board before turning his eyes down to Ciela.

He scratched his neck, unsure of what to say next. Eventually:

“There’s been another development.” Tempest paused. “A guard brought to my attention a . . . loophole in the bureaucracy.” He paused again. “As it stands, Scootaloo won’t be able to take her entrance exam in time. But this new legal finesse . . .” he trailed off, paused again. “It would let her. In short, she’s allowed to pick her teacher for getting back into the teaching schedule. You can probably guess who she wants.”

Tempest lowered his head. He was quiet for a long time.

“And I want to. I want to let her, forgive her, tell her that I love her and that I’m sorry for all the idiot things I did,” he swallowed, his visage not quite as stoic as he would have liked. “But there’s this hard little ball of fear, and it’s pressing against my mind and my heart feels like it’s going to rip itself in two.” He looked at Ciela.

“What if I’m wrong?”

“What if I’m wrong,” he repeated, “and it happens again? Or something even worse? What if Scootaloo . . . she . . .” Tempest’s throat closed up. He couldn’t say it aloud. “And I know that if that happens, or if anything like that happens, I will never be able to forgive myself, and neither will Rainbow Dash.” He looked over at Ciela’s unmoving eyelids, her emotionless face. Tempest could feel the tears streaming down his face, but knew it would be futile to wipe them away.

Moving instinctually, he climbed onto the bed next to Ciela and lay next to her, managing the tight fit between her and the bed railings. The better part of two weeks without her embrace, her warmth next to him, had been a painful eternity. He needed to know she was there, that this whole nightmare wasn’t simply that. He wrapped his forelegs around her, the left around her middle and the right between her and the bed. Tempest buried his face in her shoulder.

“I’m so scared, and I don’t know what to do,” he sniffled, “I just don’t know what to do.” The tears had broken through again in earnest. Tempest quietly sobbed into his wife’s shoulder, powerless to resist.

And then she moved.

Twilight and Rainbow Dash sat, speechless, staring at Nimbus while he calmly took a sip of his coffee. He placed the mug back on the table and looked at them. Upon seeing their looks, his eyebrows rose.

“Um, yes?” he asked.

“AND?!” yelled Rainbow Dash, leaning forward and planting her hooves on the table.

“The doctors expect her to make a full recovery,” said Nimbus in the tone of voice one would use to talk about the weather.

Dash sputtered, livid. “What, that’s it?”

Nimbus regarded his coffee. “She did say one thing.”

Silence.

“What did-” Rainbow Dash began at significant volume before Twilight pointedly put a hoof on her chest. Dash whipped around to look at her.

“Inside voice, Dash.”

The pegasus’s cheeks erupted with scarlet. She inhaled and exhaled fully before facing Nimbus again.

“What did she say?” Dash asked, carefully enunciating every word in a perfectly normal tone. She glowered back at Twilight. Twilight smiled cheekily in return.

Nimbus was still staring at his mug. The black within drew his thoughts to the hospital bed, and the absolute hopelessness he had felt. How hearing Ciela’s voice after so long without it was akin to akin to a deaf man hearing a symphony preceded by a lifetime of silence.

“You and I both know nothing like that will happen. You’re just being overprotective. As usual,” she added, giggling.

Gods, she had giggled. She had smiled.

Nimbus looked up at the two ponies sharing the table with him. “She felt,” he said, “that I should forgive you.”

Rainbow Dash and Twilight looked at him, silently hopeful. Nimbus inhaled and exhaled deliberately.

“I agree with her.” The words hung in the empty air of the library for a minute before either Twilight or Rainbow Dash processed them.

“Then,” said Twilight hesitantly, “then you . . . that is, you two . . .”

“I want Rainbow Dash to continue teaching Scootaloo,” Nimbus said with a small smile.

Twilight gasped with glee. “Ohmygoshthat’swonderfultoheardidyouhearthatDashyoucangobacktoteachingScootalooandhelpingherovercomeobstaclesinlifeand-”

“Look, that’s great and everything,” said Dash, looking evenly between Twilight and Nimbus, “and I hate to be a killjoy here, but there’s still the complaint you filed against me. That’ll take months to be removed from the records, and I won’t be able to do a thing for Scootaloo until it is.”

“Actually,” Nimbus said, “there is a loophole.”

Dash threw a puzzled look at Twilight. Twilight shrugged. “Go on,” said Rainbow.

“Well, you see, as part of the complaint I filed, Scootaloo and I are allowed to pick her new teacher from a list of qualified individuals in and around Ponyville.” Nimbus produced several scrolls from his saddlebags. They were slightly damp, but had survived his odyssey intact. “This is the list.” He unfurled the first scroll on the table top.

Dash and Twilight peered forward and looked it over. “Rainbow Dash is on this list,” said Twilight, a bit puzzled. “How can that be when you filed the complaint?”

Nimbus chuckled. “That’s the beauty of it,” he said, producing another scroll. “Here’s the complaint form relating to Rainbow Dash’s identity. Notice any differences?”

Dash put a hoof to her chin and thoughtfully compared the two pages. The difference struck her immediately. “Wait, my titles are different on these.”

“Precisely!” said Nimbus, growing more animated. “I filed the complaint against Rainbow Dash, General Weather Manager of Ponyville. But-”

“Rainbow Dash,” interrupted Twilight, “Fastest Filly Flyer in Equestria, Heroine of Her Majesty Celestia, is a perfectly suitable role model for Scootaloo! Oh, I’ve only read about things like this in mystery novels! This is so cool!”

“Well,” said Dash flatly, “I’m glad one of us understands this. How precisely am I two people now?”

“It’s actually quite simple,” Twilight said, eyes wide with scholarly excitement. “In a society with Equestrian naming traditions, such as Equestria, of course, titles - even small and utterly insignificant ones - are often given to ponies to distinguish them from one another. Names tend to be recycled throughout history, and even within the same generation, so it helps to be able to tell one similarly named pony from another. Make sense?” the unicorn asked.

“I guess so,” Dash said hesitantly before shrugging. “I might not understand the specifics, but I’ll take your words for it.” She blinked suddenly, remembering something. “Wait, when is the entrance exam, anyway? It’s getting kinda close to the start of the school year.” She looked at Nimbus.

Nimbus told her, and Dash did some quick mental math. After a stunned moment, a voice echoed out from Ponyville library in the quiet of early morning.

“SIX DAYS?!”