Four days passed in a blur. Four days of writing reports, of interviews, of being judged and critiqued by stern-faced ponies whose names he didn't know.

The investigating council eventually decided that the murder was justified and Flash could return to his duties as a Guard, with a friendly reminder that there were counseling services he could seek if he so desired. But Flash knew better. There was no going back, no returning to the way things were. He had drawn blood. He was marked.

He could see it in Twilight and Spike's eyes right now, the way they stared warily at him, kept their distance. He saw the accusation, the unspoken truth in their frightened eyes: murderer.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay and...help me organize my quill collection?" Twilight asked hesitatingly. "Or maybe help with some experiments that I was working on?"

"No, Twilight," he said, walking slowly to the great doors of the Rainbow Castle. "I just...I just want to be alone for a while." Alone, and away from everypony else. He walked past Spike, who stared up at him with a concerned expression. He was just a child, Flash reminded himself, too young for death, too young to understand...but old enough to fear him.

Pushing the doors open, Flash walked out towards the town of Ponyville, walking down the main street illuminated by firefly lamps. Everywhere he looked, the ponies around him were stopping what they were doing and staring as he passed. Their gazes followed him like he was a vicious manticore: dangerous, unpredictable, ready to kill.

How could Flash have ever thought he could be like them? He was different from them, forever separated by the armor that he had once worn with pride. Sighing, he mindlessly wandered into an alley and bumped into somepony. "Sorry," he muttered, moving around him. But the distinct scent of rotting flesh halted him in his tracks. He looked up and gasped in horror.

The figure before him was the pony he had killed, his rotting skin green and yellow, his jaw hanging horribly open, his empty eye sockets staring directly at him. The wound on his chest was still wide open, dried blood spread across his torso. With a growl, the corpse shuffled forward, raising a hoof towards his killer. Yelping, Flash scrambled back, stumbling over his own hooves and crawling desperately away, backing up against a brick wall.

The zombie, groaning and growling, continued to shuffle forward, reaching down for his throat. "No! No!" Flash begged, covering his head with his hooves, but there was no stopping his punisher. Flash screamed as he felt a cold, slimy hoof around his neck...

With a gasp, Flash pulled himself out of his nightmare and into the waking world. Looking around, he realized that he was not in his room in his cottage; in fact, he was lying on the couch in the living room of 221 B Boulevard. The only light came from a lamp atop the piano tucked against the back wall. Phillip was sitting at the piano bench, wearing only a gray shirt, dark shadows beneath his eyes. Nighttime rain pattered against the window.

"Easy, mate," Phillip said, getting up and walking over to Flash, sitting down on the couch next to him. "It was just a dream. You're in a safe place."

Flash took a few deep breaths, his pounding heart slowly calming. "How'd I get here?"

"I found you in the Midnight Oil, hovering over a shot glass," Phil replied. "My place was closer, so I brought you here." He turned to give Flash a scolding look. "Cider's a lousy therapist, Flash."

Flash moaned in response. His head felt like somepony had used his skull for a drum and his stomach was doing flip-flops. "I don't feel good," he murmured.

"I'll be right back," Phil said, getting up off the couch and disappearing into the kitchen. Suddenly alone again, Flash curled up into a ball on the couch, hugging his knees. For a moment, he feared that his mentor would not come back. But he did return a second later, carrying a plate in his mouth with a tall glass and two pills on it.

"Ibuprofen, meclozine, and a glass of warm milk," he said, setting the plate down on the coffee table. "That and a good night's kip will help." Flash gratefully took both the pills and gulped down the milk while Phil sat down and waited for him to finish.

"All right, let's talk," he said when he was done.

"What's there to talk about?" Flash muttered, staring down at the floor.

"Twilight's worried about you," Phil said, somewhat admonishingly. "We're both worried about you. You've barely spoken in four days and you've almost completely shut Twilight out." His reply was shamed silence. "Come on, mate. Talk to me."

Flash hesitated for a moment like a diver at the tip of a diving board, then finally spoke quietly. "I killed that pony."

"You're sorry you did it?"

"Yes," Flash said. "Not a day goes by I don't wish I could take that back."

"Good," Phillip said. "Anypony who likes killing shouldn't be in the Guard." Flash swallowed nervously. "Flash, I understand. You keep going back, asking yourself if you could have or should have done something different. You keep thinking if you'd only been faster, if you'd only had more time to think about what to do."

Flash nodded. "But let me ask you this," Phillip continued. "Why did you act?"

Flash thought about the question for a moment, remembering his shock when he saw Tulip on the ground, a knife about to be plunged into her heart. "Because I saw that another pony was in danger."

"Exactly," Phillip said, thumping the couch with his hoof. "You acted to save the life of another. You did what you were trained to do, as a Guard."

"But I still took his life!" Flash said. "Is that what being a Guard means?"

"No," Phillip said fiercely. "That is not what being a Guard means." He paused, then sighed heavily. "It's the job, Flash. It's dangerous, it's difficult, it's stressful, and sometimes it's just complete piss." He slowly reached over and placed his hoof over Flash. Surprised by the gesture of affection, the younger stallion looked up and made eye contact. It suddenly struck Flash how old his mentor was; underneath the fading bruises and scabbing cuts, his skin was heavily etched with age wrinkles, the black of his mane and tail was valiantly fighting a losing battle against the oncoming gray, and his gray eyes held a haggard, exhausted look behind their usual stoic curtain.

"But you don't do it for the job. You do it because you want, more than anything, to help and protect others. That's why you became a Guard. That's why you deserve to wear that armor. It's who you are."

The realization that he was trusted, believed in, filled Flash's core like a hot cocoa on a cold night. For the first time in four days, he allowed himself to relax, to feel relief.

"Listen," Phil continued. "I've made an appointment for you to speak with Dr. Rain Breeze tomorrow. She's helped Guards before, she'll be able to help you. And after that, Zipline offered to take you for a guy's night out. No armor, no criminals. Just you two. What do you say?"

Once more, Flash hesitated, some small part of him still fearing to go further. Come on, Flash, Phillip silently pleaded. Be strong. Be stronger than me.

"All right," Flash said, smiling for the first time in four days. Phillip smiled as well, and slowly put a foreleg around him, pulling him into a hug. Flash relaxed into his embrace, pressing his head up against his chest. Slowly, his breath slowed and became shallow as he fell asleep, and Phillip knew that no bad dreams would be waiting for him.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, Phillip lifted Flash up onto his back and carried him into his bedroom. He pulled the covers of his bed back, lifted Flash onto the mattress and pulled the covers back over him, smiling at the way he snuggled up into the warmth, a content, peaceful look on his face.

"Good night, Flash," he whispered, pulling a blanket out of the linen closet and heading back to the couch. As he settled down, he thought he should probably wake up early tomorrow morning to get some pancake batter and syrup for breakfast.

The last thing he noticed before allowing sleep to claim him was that the rain outside had stopped.

Author's Notes:

The sheep do not want the dog around. He looks too much like the wolf. He reminds them that danger lurks out there, beyond the relative safety of the fence.
The wolf also hates the dog. He knows that it is the dog that stands between him and his prey. It is because of the dog that he is lean. The dog is the reason the wolf is forced to stalk the darkness.
The dog knows these facts. Undeterred, he stands watch, ever ready to do battle. Despite that he is an unwelcome guest in their midst, the dog is ready, at a moments notice, to give his life in defense of his flock. It is simply who he is.
- Lt. Col. Dave Grossman

With the end of this story, I am proud to give this important message: we are officially halfway through the Phillip Finder series! I've got the future stories lined up and ready to go, and I can't wait to get started on the next project!

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of my watchers and readers for the positive feedback and comments. You guys are the reason that I keep writing, and I love reading comments on my stories that show me that people do like my work. You're all awesome and I hope that you're as excited as I am for the continuing adventures of Phillip Finder and his friends!