Limits

-Chapter 1-
-Freefall-

“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Soarin closed his eyes, recalling events that seemed a lifetime ago but had in reality only been a matter of hours. Spitfire stood in the doorway to his dressing room, her front hooves crossed as she watched him dress. He smiled at his reflection, the same million dollar smile that made the fillies swoon as familiar to her as his love for a good apple pie.

“You worried about me?” He asked playfully, turning to face the fiery yellow mare. She rolled her eyes and strode forward, stopping just in front of him. She feigned deep thought before skewing his goggles and tousling his navy blue mane, rotating him to face the mirror again once done.

“You wish Flyboy.” She answered with a cheeky smile. The yellow mare gave him a lighthearted kick before turning and heading for the door. His green eyes watched her reflection retreat before allowing his smile to fade.

“More than you know.” Soarin said softly once he was sure she was out of earshot.

The uproarious cheers of hundreds of ponies, the Wonderbolt’s adoring fans, his adoring fans, pulled the distracted colt back to the present. He flew past the stands a thick stream of smoke trailing behind him. He performed a set of simple effortless tricks, much to the delight of the crowd.

The pale colt grimaced as moments later an all too familiar burning sensation tickled the tips of his feathers, quickly spreading until his entire wing was engulfed in flaming pain. He struggled to keep the wing outstretched, and hold his body aloft, but it was a feat he quickly aborted. Unable to maintain stamina the Wonderbolt let himself fall.

Despite this turn of events the young stallion smiled. Had this been what she felt? He wondered vaguely, recalling a time not to long ago when a pretty young unicorn mare had dropped from the sky as he was doing now. She had been immature and selfish, daring to tread where her kind was never meant to, her vanity and naivete ripping away her counterfeit wings.

Soarin giggled frivolously at the memory, the sound of his laughter torn away by the wind rushing past his ears and tugging at his mane. The troublesome ache in his wing was near relentless, an all too common occurrence as of late, and quickly becoming harder to dismiss. Repeated wing massages, extended periods of rest, and countless bottles of painkillers had down nothing to quell the lingering discomfort.

He had fumbled, given up, fallen out of the sky. It was the second time this week, the fifth time in the last month. It was the first time he’d fallen during an important competition, however, in front of an audience of his most admiring fans.

The experienced flier kept careful track of the various calculations in his head; his speed in freefall, his altitude, how far he could plummet until it was too late to turn back. Through all of this one thought was more prominent than the rest.

What if I just let go?

That thought stopped him. He mulled over it for several seconds allowing all of his other thoughts to fade, those precious few seconds far longer than most of his teammates would consider worth the risk. Even Spitfire, his flying partner and oldest friend, had never been so reckless.

He rolled in the air until he was upright again, his body parallel to the land below. He unfurled his wings catching a warm thermal, but before he could begin his ascent a severe unexpected pain caused him to recoil again. As his wings folded the ground rushed up at him, far faster than he could in any way avoid. A scream tore itself from his throat moments before impact.

Darkness quickly followed.

--

Soarin felt weightless, the sensation surreal and frightening. Not since he had first earned his wings had he felt so helpless. His mind was marred by a thick haze, his thoughts incoherent and vague at best. Familiar voices found him fleetingly before he was swallowed by the darkness for a second time.

--

“How could you?”

“Spitfire?” Soarin inquired recognizing the voice immediately. The colt moved to face her, finding his progress impeded by an IV drip stuck into his foreleg and a sling holding his left hind leg elevated. Curious he tried extending his wing, wincing as fire seared its length.

“What in Celestia’s name was that Soarin?” Spitfire barked fighting for his attention. “What were you thinking?” She stood in the doorway, a scowl on her face, her normally smiling eyes blazing with fury. They were raw, bloodshot, and damp as if she had recently been crying.

The colt opened his mouth but quickly closed it again realizing he had nothing to say. Instead he looked to the table beside his hospital bed finding his Wonderbolt’s uniform neatly folded, his goggles lying on top. Surrounding them was an excess of effects from well wishers, hoof made get well cards, flowers, even a stuffed pony in his likeness.

That brought the hint of a smile to his face which quickly fell away as Spitfire continued her tirade. “You’re my partner Soarin, my best friend. I thought I knew you…” She said her voice cracking with the weight of her words. “But this…”

Soarin knew what it must look like, but even if he found the words to explain what had been going on, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. She would suggest what he had already tried, things that had long since proven pointless.

“How can I possibly trust you again after…?” Tears slid easily from Spitfire’s amber eyes, pooling between her hooves. “After this…?”

Soarin thought of embracing her, holding her until the tears stopped, but he could do nothing from where he lay. Even if he wasn’t bed ridden Soarin knew she would only fight him, widening the rift that had suddenly sprung up between them.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, but even those words felt vacant and meaningless. Was he really sorry for what he had done? He had been the one lying to everypony, pushing himself to the breaking point and beyond, all of it to keep his torment hidden. Yet, he didn’t regret a moment of it.

I’m not sorry. He thought quietly staring out the open window on the far side of the room, his emerald eyes tracing absently across the cloudless sky. I’d do it again. I’d do it over and over and over again. He told himself and knew it was true, because inside he was even more broken.

“I’m tired of flying.” He whispered, after an extended period of silence. He was afraid of losing Spitfire, as a partner and as a friend, but someplace deep inside he had always known this moment would come, and it left him despondent.

“What?” Spitfire asked dumbfounded, her wings dropping slightly. She took an unsteady step forward, closing the physical gap she’d put up between them ever so slightly. The emotional gap had only widened.

“I’m tired Fire.” The colt repeated, turning his head to meet her solemn gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Maybe if I had…”

“How can you be tired?” She interrupted her voice quivering. “Flying is what you’re best at! You and I, we’re the greatest fliers in all of Equestria! Flying is in your blood, in your soul. It’s your cutie mark for Celestia’s sake!”

“I’m really sorry Spitfire,” Soarin reiterated. “But I can’t do it anymore. I…I quit.”

The colt closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as his next words, words he never imagined he’d be saying, tore themselves form his throat. “I am no longer a Wonderbolt.”