Buggy and the Beast

by Georg

First published 23rd of February, 2016

When a critically injured changeling is discovered by the ugliest and most disagreeable unicorn stallion in Baltimare, her only hope for survival is to somehow help them both to feel love again.

Once upon a time, there was a young unicorn who was scarred and battered by the cruel world until he was forced to retreat behind the walls of a solitary life as a bitter and spiteful creature. As he grew up, he remained a lonely recluse, with only his best friend for occasional companionship.

Until one day when he found something the world had treated even more callously and cruel than himself. She was a changeling, badly wounded and crushed until she hung onto life by a slender thread. The only chance she had for surviving her injuries was love, but that was no chance at all, for she was a monster in pony society.

And who could ever love a beast.

Rated T for references to sex, crude language, obnoxious behavior, and weathervanes.
Editors: Peter, docontra, D48 and Tek
Cover picture FIM Sleeping Changeling is courtesy of Avarraptor at Deviant Art.
(Gypsy the Changeling is so cute.)

1. Shattered Glass

An experienced night watchpony at the Baltimare docks develops a second sense to the crashing sounds of impact. A drunken sailor or two flapping their way back onboard one of the griffon airships would normally express serious profanity before and after their crash, sometimes repeating the impact multiple times with increasing profanity until they were able to stagger back into the air and get back to their berth. Sometimes the occasional freight hauler with a defective tie down or cargo gate would spill a box or two from altitude along their designated flight paths, making even the most careless watchpony give a habitual glance skyward when crossing the bright yellow lines on the ground. And, of course, there were always the ‘accidental’ jettisoning of cargos occurring when Customs got a little too inquisitive about some shabby tramp skyliners’ manifest.

Beet Salad would have preferred to work the nearby seaside docks, even though the number of plummeting airborne items would be nearly the same due to cargo winches hefting huge pallets of bananas and mangos from the burro crewed freighters on their way to Equestrian cities. Still, the splintering crash splitting the air on his way home seemed more to be a mid-air collision than a cargo failure.

The burly night watchpony paused with one hoof shading his eyes, scowling up into the bright sunny day. If it was not bad enough that the airborne citizens of the city had decided the docks made a good shortcut, it was only made worse by their inability to follow the clearly-marked public skyways. The interminable staff meeting he had just left had droned on and on about the importance of the docks to Equestrian commerce and how everypony needed to be on the tips of their hooves with the new security warnings being hammered on an almost daily basis. And of course the staff meeting had to happen during the day, when he normally would be sleeping. Pegasi, griffons, or whoever else trespassed across docks airspace were to treated strictly and all traffic regulations enforced from now on, with no exceptions.

So the crash he had just heard was going to make him late getting back to bed for a few hours of sleep before having to get up again and return to this same spot in the dark.

I’m off work! Bucking brats playing in the pallet piles. Even if I chase ‘em off, I’ll probably still have to do paperwork I won’t even get paid for!

Still, he had developed a fairly effective way of making sure the young pegasi or griffons in the city did not make a habit of trespassing on the docks. Beet Salad pried loose a fairly thick slat off a nearby pallet with his magic as he strolled in the direction of the noise. It only took one lesson for the teenagers who thought sneaking around the docks at night was cool, although the lesson normally came at the expense of their dental bills and some limping for a few weeks to complete the educational process. Beets had been in far more than his fair share of brawls as a child, and had carried his enthusiastic habit through his life to the present, as his craggy face and considerably bent nose showed. Ropey scars down his thick legs and chips in his heavy hooves only showed the failures of his fighting history. The truly impressive scars all adorned other ponies who had been either stupid or drunk enough to get into a fight with him once and only once.

He really did not try to get into fights. Fights came to him. So there were a few teeth of his still not pointing exactly the right way, a number of permanent chips in his somewhat-short horn, and a general musky smell in his vicinity reminding one of a damp dog. None of those physical traits explained just why other ponies picked fights. Perhaps it was the kink in his tail.

His naturally pink tail, which he refused to dye any other color.

It was an extremely pink pink which drew derisive comments far more than his mottled tan and brown hide, which looked dirty even when pristine clean. That brilliant flash of color should have been a warning to inebriated sailors and airponies, much as a venomous snake might shake a rattle in order to warn foolish predators.

The problem was that the lessons it taught were only learned after a rather abrupt trip through a barroom wall or window and subsequent awakening in an intensive care facility of some sort while attached to tubes and wires. Jobs for ponies who attracted violence and dealt with it were few and far between, but Beets had taken to the job of Night Watchpony with a grim enthusiasm. Over the years, he had shown no problems dishing out the kinds of beatings he had received, and then some. Sometimes it got dicey when more than one teenage pegasus was involved, doubly so with griffons, but he had always come out on top because he had no problems cheating in a fight. The sharp nails sticking out of the pallet slat he was carrying in his magic were not there just for looks.

“Hey, kids,” he growled as he came around the corner of the stack of pallets. “The Beast is here, so you better get your asses out of my patrol area.” Beets waved the stick while looking around for a prospective target, only to come up empty. Normally at night, he had to get fairly close in order for the little brats to see his ugly face and run away. In the sunlight, they must have torn out of there before he could even see them.

Still, it kept him from having to fill out any paperwork.

“What did you little bastards break this time?” muttered Beets as he poked around the tall stacks of wooden pallets. Goods from the farthest corners of Equestria had probably traveled through the Baltimare port on these pallets dozens of times and probably would again, if youthful idiots did not break them into pieces first.

The broken pallets did not look the way they normally did when the teenagers messed with them. There was a dark lump in the middle of the shattered wood, as if a heavy bag of trash or an animal had been dropped from a great height. Occasionally, a land-bound pet from one of the zeppelins would get loose and fall, but Beet Salad was fairly sure this was not a dog or some reptile. It seemed to be an insect of some sort, nearly the size of a smaller pony with filmy translucent bug wings. The crushing impact of its landing in the pallets had twisted and bent both punctured wings and limbs in directions they were not meant to go, leaving it motionless in a bed of splintered wood and nails. All across its chest, sections of dark exoskeleton had been caved in nearly flat, and a film of clotted green ichor formed at every single tiny crack, making the battered creature look like some sort of three-dimensional puzzle abandoned partway through assembly.

“Hey, Beast. Open up. We’re going to be late for work.” The hammering at his apartment door did not stop until Beet Salad unlocked the two deadbolts, unhooked the security chain and let it swing open from the force of his best and only friend’s pounding hoof. “About time,” continued Nectarine as he stepped inside the tiny apartment. “I was beginning to think you had somehow bedded some blind mare either drunk or stupid enough to fall for your personality.” The lanky stallion flicked a membranous wing over his back and cast a critical look at where his friend was tucking a blanket over a motionless shape on the floor. “Oh, no. Not again.”

“It isn’t a dog like last time,” said Beets as he made sure there was some water in one bowl and a couple pieces of dry dog food in the other. “It’s some sort of exotic pet, I think.”

“Huh. Let me see.” Nectarine craned his neck to look over his friend’s shoulder. “I’m the critter expert, after all.”

“You’re a pest pony,” scoffed Beets, although he did tuck back a corner of the covering blanket. “You deal with fruit flies and cockroaches.”

“Eww,” said Nectarine while wrinkling up his nose at the sight. “You found something uglier than you. It’s a huge bug of some sort.”

“So glad to have an expert opinion from a professional pest,” snarked Beets as he tucked the blanket back over the motionless form.

“You’re not going to keep the thing, are you?” Nectarine’s golden eyes blinked as he considered the grim glower his friend seemed to have draped over his ugly face like a comfortable mask. “Ninth life’s the charm?”

“You’re never going to quit bugging me about the cat, are you?”

Beets used his magic to lift the pull-down bed back into its vertical position, which would have made it look almost but not quite like the bookshelf it pretended to be, if not for the rumpled sheets sticking out of the cracks. The high-pitched squeak of aged springs caused Nectarine to lay his fuzzy ears flat against his head until the Murphy bed settled into place with a thud and his friend picked up his night watchpony gear. After retrieving his keys and buckling the thick belt holding the truncheon around his waist, Beets chased his friend out the door and locked it behind them. “This is different,” he added as he levitated the door key into his pocket and turned for the short walk to the docks.

“It’s some critically wounded critter you dragged home and are going to nurse until it dies on you like the last five or six times you dragged some broken cat or dog home,” said Nectarine with a shake of his head which made cascades of violet mane swish around his neck. “Seriously, I worry about you sometimes. You need to find a mare.”

“Yeah, a blind one,” he grumbled as they trotted down the street.

“Or one with reeeeeealy low standards,” added Nectarine. “Or both. Since we work at night, you can’t just hope for darkness to hide that ugly mug of yours on a date.”

“Shouldn’t you be looking for bugs instead of bugging the night watchpony?” said Beets with a glance at where the sun was just tucking itself behind the horizon for the night.

“Have a little respect for the Agricultural Produce and Health Inspection Division, ingrate. APHID has a brand-new security protocol, so I’ll have to have a manual in one hoof for every ship I inspect tonight. At least whatever has Security all batty has driven away a bunch of the fruit ships so it won’t be such a killer of a night.” Nectarine yawned, showing off his sharp nocturne teeth. “I can’t even snitch a mango off one of the ships for lunch any more without filling out twelve forms.”

“Poor foal. Now go on and scat. Protect Equestria from a horde of pony-eating spiders or something.”

Nectarine recoiled in false shock, holding one charcoal-grey leg across his chest. “How dare you insinuate Arianie could possibly hurt a fly. Just because she bit you once or twice when I let her out of her cage.” The lanky batpony laughed as he flapped up into the darkening sky, leaving his friend to start his patrol path for the evening.

There was always a certain dichotomy to being a night watchpony. If nothing happened, boredom would threaten to drag the guard into a sleepy somnombulance, while if something did happen, it never was good. There certainly was something going on behind the scenes keeping Beet Salad on his toes in the night, because more than one sleepy supervisor was out under the stars and walking a beat too, where they normally just fought paperwork in the office and drank coffee all night. The constant low-level tension of the evening had an almost synergistic blending with the fatigue caused by Beets’ midday staff meeting and subsequent medical attention to the wounded creature. The results left the stocky stallion stumbling around almost in a daze by the time Celestia’s sun rose into the sky and his timecard descended into the mechanism with a solid ‘thunk’ indicating the close proximity of a bed and long-delayed sleep.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said about his friend, who came swooping down the moment Beets stepped one hoof outside the office.

“So, Beast. I was thinking we could stop by the breakfast bistro with the cute little waitress this morning and pick up a quick nibble before going home.” Nectarine waggled his eyebrows behind his sunglasses. “You could even buy a doughnut.”

“Sleepy,” declared Beets with a descriptive yawn which had his friend waving a wing to dissipate the smell.

“Stinky,” said Nectarine, taking a moment to dart over to a nearby newsstand on their walk back home and grab a short stack of old newspapers out of the recycling. “Here you go, buddy. You’re going to need some papers for your new pet, if you don’t want the landlady getting on your neck about the carpet.”

“Yeah. Good idea.”

It was a fairly short walk home, and Beets yawned again as he opened the door to his small apartment. Nectarine hovered rather unobtrusively nearby to ostensibly say goodbye before taking off for his morning coffee and crumpet, but he poked his nose in the open doorway before flapping on his way. Then, after a brief inspection of the motionless lump showed it was still breathing, Nectarine slipped away with a little morning romance on his mind, just like always.

The creature had seemingly not moved since Beets had left this evening, although there was a little water missing from the bowl, and its breathing sounded somewhat better. He had to move it slightly in order to clean up the damp mess it had left overnight, the urine smelling somehow less like ammonia and more like flowers to his tired nose. A few extra newspapers under the center for its next ‘accident’ would help keep the threadbare carpet free of any more stains, and he sat back to examine his mangled pet once he had finished putting the rest of the newspapers around it.

“You are one squished bug,” he murmured under his breath, taking in the numerous fractures and splintered projections of cracked chitin still visible under the crosshatched dry green goop sealing most of the minor injuries. He made an attempt at straightening one leg, but stopped from the sudden increase in labored breathing and the quiet moans of pain accompanying the motion. A veterinarian visit was about the only thing he could think of to help, but if the trip there did not kill the creature, the most likely response from the vet would be to put it to sleep and still charge him a bundle of money. There was still a roll of stretchy adhesive bandage left over from his last expensive trip to the vet with the now-dead dog, so with as much care as he could muster, Beets screwed up his courage and began to wrap the creature’s broken limbs as straight as he could despite the pathetic whimpering that came from the slightest motion.

It took a few hours, and he had just wrapped the last of the bandage around the creature’s least injured section of its back leg when a familiar tapping at his front door preceded Nectarine’s return visit, with an orange juice and two doughnuts for his friend and a little smear of lipstick on one cheek indicating a side trip for his own benefit.

“Still alive, I see,” whispered Nectarine as he hoofed over brunch. “You want me to go see about renting a cart to take it to the vet?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Beets took a hefty bite out of his doughnut. “I really don’t think he’d be able to help either. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Maybe one of the visitors to Princess Cadenza’s wedding accidentally dropped a present for the Royal Zoo off their sky-yacht,” said Nectarine, scooping up an old newspaper off the apartment floor and hoofing through it. “I don’t remember seeing any announcements on the society page, though. A guest could have just been bringing it to the Royal Couple as an exotic pet.”

“Doesn’t fit,” said Beets with a distracted frown. “The wedding was yesterday, just about the time I found it in the middle of those shipping pallets, so if it’s from a guest, they’re really, really late getting to the party.”

“Huh. Well, it sure took a shellacking from the fall.” Nectarine raised one fluffy eyebrow. “Get it? Shellacking? Bug? You know. Because shellac is made from bugs?” Failing to get the nervous tension broken with a laugh, the handsome nocturne pegasus got up and headed for the door, but stopped before leaving. “Look, Beets. Don’t get all tied up over this. It’s just a pet. You know what you were like after the last dog died.”

“I’ll be fine, Nek.” Beets lit up his horn and shoved the lanky stallion out of the front door of his apartment. “Get some sleep and I’ll see you at work tonight.”

Once his friend was gone, Beet Salad took one last look at the sleeping insect. It looked so vulnerable and weak, curled up in the middle of the floor and making little whimpering noises as any motion made the fractured chitin rub against itself. All he wanted to do was to curl up in his own bed and go to sleep, but after putting the uneaten half of his last doughnut in the creature’s food dish, Beets trudged over to the door and slipped out into the bright morning sunlight.

It was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

2. Officially Alive

After a rousing game of ‘What Percussive Tune Can I Play On My Friend’s Door To Wake Him Up,’ Nectarine gave a broad grin when a very sleepy Beets finally opened up the apartment door and regarded him with a level glare.

“Evening, Moonshine!” caroled Nectarine before hoofing over a doughnut to his friend. “Ready for another exciting evening at work, defending Equestria from an invading insectile horde? Oh, wait. That’s me.” He extended one membranous wing with a foam cup of coffee balanced on it and grimaced once Beets scooped it up with his magic. “What smells?”

“Bug,” said Beets, before burying his nose in the coffee.

“No, I mean it stinks in here. Have you been painting?”

“In a way.” The stocky stallion moved out of the way so Nectarine could step inside, although the nocturne kept his wings moving to shift as much of the stuffy air into the apartment hallway as possible. The immobile lump of battered insect in the middle of the floor was no longer covered by a blanket, but instead was somewhat sprawled out across the floor on its back, with all four legs sticking up just like it had died in the most stereotypical fashion possible for a bug. Upon further examination, the creature’s hooves had been wrapped in cloth and tied to long thin cords which were in turn looped through eyebolts screwed into the ceiling.

Nectarine let out a long whistle. “Your landlady’s going to go spare. You told me she wouldn't even let you hang up more than one picture. Did you decide to get funky with the bug or something?”

“Something,” said Beet Salad, picking up his paintbrush and resuming his interrupted task. One fractured leg of the creature was not quite the shade of deep purple as the rest, which confused Nectarine for a moment until Beets dipped his brush into the tin on the floor and resumed painting. The ‘paint’ or whatever it was soaked into the elastic wraps around the creature’s broken leg, forming a soft gleam while it began to dry.

“Smells like hoof shellac,” started Nectarine. “Oh, my stars! You’re painting it entirely in hoof shellac? Kinky! No wonder you don’t have a marefriend.”

“Not all,” grunted Beets while he worked. “Staying away from joints. Used elastic bandages around the worst of the breaks, and this should provide some stability when it sets, a little like doped fabric on the airships.”

“I can’t tell if you’re a genius or a raving loon.” Nectarine tapped on his chin with a hoof. “Maybe both.”

“It was your suggestion,” said Beets, wiping off the brush and putting the top on the can of shellac. “After it dries, I should be able put on a second coat this morning after work.”

“If it’s still alive,” said Nectarine.

“She,” said Beets, reaching out with his magic to adjust the tension on the cord holding up the creature’s nearest leg. It took a while before he was satisfied that the shellac-covered limbs were arranged correctly, and although the creature did not move any more than to continue its labored breathing, he arranged the bowls of water and food by the creature’s head before straightening up with a yawn. “Come on, or we’ll both be late for work.”

Normally, Beets was more than happy to plod around the moonlit docks without another soul for company, but with only a few short naps snuck in the last two days, he would have welcomed any kind of companionship on the sweltering walk while the concrete of the airship towers and dense paving stones radiated their heat back out into the night air. The key to not falling asleep was constant movement while trying not to think about anything sleep related, like pillows, blankets, or even sheep, or anything other than putting one hoof in front of another on his patrol path. The docks had just started to cool down to a livable temperature while Beets was sucking down his sixth cup of coffee for the evening when the flutter of wings from above cued the sudden arrival of his friend.

“Beets!” Nectarine landed with an uncharacteristically heavy thud onto the wooden walkway right in front of him and promptly spat out a newspaper, which landed in the spilled coffee caused by his arrival.

“Good heavens, Nek,” spluttered Beet Salad. “Warn a guy before you do anything like that.” Beets really expected some wisecrack about ‘ever-vigilant guards’ or sleepwalking, anything but the rapid way his friend opened the paper with one hoof and pointed at the headline.

Below the headline, there were several pictures of strange bug-like creatures attacking ponies in Canterlot during Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’s wedding, pictures bearing a striking resemblance to the creature Beets had last seen lying on her back on his apartment floor when he had left for work.

“See, right here!” yammered Nectarine while flipping ahead a page. “They’re some sort of bug who can take the form of anypony you know and feed off your love for them. One of them even took the form of Princess Cadence and nearly defeated Princess Celestia! Page five, where is page five?” He pawed frantically through the paper to the indicated page before stopping with an aggrieved snort.

“Don’t read that,” muttered Nectarine, quickly flipping a page over the picture of his beloved Princess of the Night and several Night Guards with big question marks over them. “Or that,” he added when an article entitled “Shining Armor - Duped or Deceiver” made its appearance. Hoofing back to the front page, Nectarine pointed at the changeling photographs. “Well?”

After a closer inspection of the newspaper, Beets shrugged. “It couldn't have been her, because I picked her off the docks about the time those photos were shot. She was never even near Canterlot during the wedding.”

“Don’t call that… thing, a she!” hissed Nectarine with his ears flattened back and a distinct cat-like hunch to his back making Beets think of a kitten facing a wolverine.

“Why? Because it’s the only female in the city you haven’t tried to screw?” If Beets had been a little less sleepy, the sharp rejoinder would never have slipped out. The romantically inclined nocturne had been his best friend, well, only real friend since elementary school, and he could see the muscles in Nectarine’s neck stiffen when the jab struck home.

“I’m telling!” Nectarine froze after speaking, looking all the world like the embarrassed little colt in school he had once been when the teacher had covered the basics of the Birds and the Bees, only to be corrected in terminology by her little batwinged student.

“Don’t you dare!” hissed Beets right back. “She’s hurt really bad. Moving her to the Coldheart Jail could kill her, and you know that’s the first thing they’ll do if the Baltimare cops get their hooves on her.”

The comparison earned him a hesitant grimace from Nectarine, who had become intimately familiar with the depressing chilly stone prison, due to several less-than-successful encounters with less-than-entertained husbands of his romantic encounters. “Well, we can’t… I mean you can’t just keep her. What if she attacks you?”

Beets gave his friend a flat look. “Really? She can’t even stand up or pee on her own, so what makes you think she’s dangerous?”

“Well… what if she… I mean it dies?”

The shrug he gave in response brought a pain to his chest, the same pain Beets had felt when each of the other rescued creatures he had tried to save had died. “Everypony dies. If she does, I’ll… take her to the police and explain.”

“Oh, that’ll be something to tell the rest of the guys at work. And if it gets better?” Nectarine eyed his friend warily. “I don’t want to show up at your door and find you all sucked dry some evening by your little bedbug.”

“When she gets better, and I’m sure she’ll survive the experience, I’ll turn her over to the cops.” He drew an imaginary X across his chest and spit into one hoof before sticking it out to his friend.

“Well…” Nectarine gingerly shook hooves. “If you get killed from this, I’m going to get ‘I told you so!’ inscribed on your tombstone.”

“If I get killed from this, I promise to haunt your bedroom so you can tell me every day,” said Beets. “Who knows, it might even attract a better class of mares for you.”

The rest of the evening patrol passed fairly quickly because thoughts of the creature, the ‘changeling’ kept any desire for sleep at a good leg’s length. His trip back home was delayed somewhat by Supervisor Fits catching him punching his card at the time clock and announcing that due to Beet Salad’s leadership potential, but much more likely because he was the only unicorn watchpony on the night shift, he had been selected to learn the Changeling Detection Spell. Well, just as soon as somepony from Corporate had traveled to Canterlot and learned it from the Royal Guard, which of course would take several levels of approval, multiple weeks of per diam in the capital, and a possible promotion, although not for Beets.

“Other assigned duties my flank,” he grumbled while plodding home, although without Nectarine’s familiar presence at his side. The rather agitated nocturne pegasus was instead waiting at Beets’ door with a bag full of clinking cans and a nervous expression not made one bit more relaxed by the sight of Beet Salad’s landlady, who rounded on the two of them before Beets could get a word out.

“Hey! You’re not rooming with another stallion, are you?” Missus Spitonoikokýris glared at Beets and Nectarine with narrowed eyes and a sharp snap of her beak. “Your contract says only one occupant to the apartment. Any more, and I’ll need more bits.”

“Good morn, Madam.” Beets put on a false smile and tried not to think about the crippled changeling in the middle of his apartment floor and the expensive No Pets policy it was certainly breaking by simply existing, alive or dead.

The landlady snapped her beak again and made a grab at the bag of cans Nectarine was holding. “Probably throwing some sort of wild party for you and your bat-buddies too. Laying around like slugs and drinking — Bugaway Fogger?” The elderly griffoness held the can of insecticide at arms’ length and squinted suspiciously at it.

“He’s got bedbugs, Missus Spitonoikokýris.” Nectarine’s face was a perfect example of the same blissful sincerity which had gotten him into and out of so many bedrooms as he continued, “I was going to treat his apartment for free since he’s a friend of mine, but if you want me to charge the full price to y—”

“No!” The elderly griffoness recoiled, much like a vampony being shown a room full of golden Princess Celestia memorabilia. She straightened her ruffled feathers and glared at Beets. “I’ll be watching you. There’s plenty of ponies who’d be willing to rent this apartment for a lot more bits than I charge you.”

Beets held his tongue until the landlady had vanished down the stairs, and only then grumbling, “Cheap bitch.”

“If you want, I could spread a few dead cockroaches around the hallways,” suggested Nectarine. “We’ve always got a bunch after fumigating the incoming shi—” He broke off abruptly when he saw the cold look in Beet Salad’s eyes.

“What are you doing with the bug poison, Nek?”

“Ah…”

Beets’ eyes narrowed to mere slits. “You weren’t going to spray under the door and fog my room to kill the bug, were you?”

“I… Uh…” Nectarine sat the bag down and took a deep breath while looking Beets right in the eyes. “You’re my best friend, so I’ll be straight with you. Yes.” After a few seconds of painful silence, Nectarine rummaged around in the bag and pulled out a newspaper with ‘Special Edition’ all across the top. In addition to a whole page of insectile photos, it had several breathless articles about the invasion titled ‘My Wife Was Replaced By A Changeling’ and ‘Governmental Purge Of Changelings Demanded By Parliament.’ There was even a speculative-appearing diagram of one of the elusive bugs with weird labels and captions on the body parts, giving the distinct impression the newspaper artist had not actually seen what he had drawn, but was just making it up as he went along.

“These bugs are dangerous, Beets. One of them put the whammy on Shining Armor and almost killed Princess Cadenza and Princess Celestia right inside Canterlot. That’s the most secure area of Equestria, and the changelings just waltzed in and took over! I thought—”

“You thought if she just died, it would be easier for both of us,” growled Beets. “You wouldn’t have to turn her into the cops, I wouldn’t get in trouble, and she’d be dead. You didn’t think about how I would feel about it, did you?”

“I…” The bat-winged stallion paused with one hoof in the air and his mouth open. “I suppose not. But this changes things, Beets. You didn't just drag home some stray that got hit by a wagon. She’s an enemy of Equestria.”

“She’s an injured creature, and she's going to die if I don’t take care of her.” Beets used his magic to fish the key out from his pocket and unlock his front door. “That is, unless she’s dead already.”

At first glance, it appeared Beets’ fears were correct. The bug had seemingly not moved from the position it had been in when they had left the apartment a few hours ago, with the food and water dishes untouched. Only the slow movement of its purple-shellacked sides showed it was still alive, and even those movements were slow and indistinct.

“Enemy of Equestria,” muttered Beets after putting away his work equipment and kneeling down to inspect the injured bug. “I’m terrified.”

“It could be playing possum,” protested Nectarine. “Lurking in wait until it can… Yeah, it’s pretty pathetic.”

“Like me,” said Beets. He got out the rest of the shellac and unwrapped the brush before kneeling down besides the creature and beginning to put on a second coat. Still standing at the open door as if he were afraid to come inside, Nectarine fidgeted and waved his wings a few times to help air out the small apartment. After watching for a while and shifting uncomfortably while his friend worked, the tall Nocturne cleared his throat.

“You’re not pathetic, Beets. Don’t ever think—”

“Everything I’ve ever cared about has died on me,” growled Beets while he painted. “My mother. Dad. My little brother. All I want is for one single thing I care about to live.”

“You’re not pathetic,” clarified Nectarine. “You’re just plain weird. You could always adopt a kitten.”

“Did,” growled Beets while working on painting a particularly difficult body part. “I think Missus Spitonoikokýris ate it.” He painted in silence for a while before adding, “Thanks, Nek.”

“No prob.” The pest pony shouldered the bag of clanking cans. “You’re my best friend, Beets. I’ll look both ways before crossing the street, not stand underneath any ships unloading cargo, and keep an eye on you in case the bug gives you any trouble. At the first sign of mind control, I’ll hose you both down. It’s the least I can do.”

“You could go home and let me work,” grumbled Beets while he painted. “All this lovey smoochy stuff while you're watching my ass makes me think you’re trying to make a pass at me again.”

The apartment seemed so much smaller when Nectarine finally left Beets to his ongoing painting project. The second coat of shellac made the bug appear far less lethally injured and more like some particularly odd art project. Before putting away the remnants of the can, he used the brush to touch up a few of the more injured looking areas, careful to avoid painting closed the area under her tail. A dribble of urine showed she was still at least alive in some small regard, and he spent a few fruitless minutes with a spoon trying to get the changeling to drink at least a little water to replace what she was losing. She moved her head away when he touched her lips with the damp spoon, twisting in her bonds even when he forced it between her lips. It was of little use, because the injured changeling promptly spit the water out and panted, apparently winded by this tiny act of defiance.

“Please?” Beets sat in the dampness of the spilled water bowl where the changeling had tipped it over in her fight to remain dehydrated, feeling the terrible sensation of tears beginning to climb up into his eyes despite his best efforts. It would only be logical for him to stalk out into the streets and flag down a police officer. They would take care of the injured changeling far better than he ever could, and she would probably die either way. There was no rational reason why he was sitting on wet newspaper across his living room floor while trying to take care of a dying changeling, but the feeling of dampness on his rear was soon matched by several treacherous trickles down his cheeks. It was an act of pure futility to keep filling up the water bowl whenever the bug managed to tip it over in her struggles. It made no sense to keep trying. It was stupid. It was dumber than anything he had ever done, and that was saying something. With every spoonful of water rejected, he felt the urge to simply throw it all away and stalk out into the sunlit streets. But he kept it up, despite the growing knots in his shoulders and the blurring of his vision.

Making yet another determined promise that this was the last time, he dipped the spoon back into what little water remained in her bowl and tried to wedge it between her lips. “Take it. Take it you little…”

One eye opened suddenly, revealing a teal orb without pupil or any other distinguishing characteristic that could explain the crushing feeling of complete despair and misery sweeping across him. The lips opened just enough to suck in the few drops of water on the spoon, there was a brief pause while the creature swallowed, and then it opened its mouth again, only this time to talk, not to drink.

“Kill me,” it rasped.

3. Water

Awaking to the the faint click of the unlocked front door was the only warning that Beet Salad got before Nectarine was screaming in one ear and dragging him by the tail across the floor. Damp newspaper from his mid-floor nap was stuck to Beets’ face, still reeking of urine and feces as his former friend fairly flung Beets into the kitchenette and began digging around in his APHID jacket with a clank of insecticide containers.

“I don’t know what it did to you, buddy, but I’ll spray it down! Gimmie a sec to find the right can!”

What Beet Salad intended on saying was a firm yet polite inquiry to his bat-winged friend as to just exactly why he let himself into the apartment with his spare key, dragged him across the floor, and was wanting to kill the crippled bug despite the agreement they had come to last night. What actually came out was more of a spluttering cough from the sodden newspapers stuck to his face, which when combined with a dry throat and early morning befuddlement left Beets no choice but to sweep one hind leg under his annoying friend and knock him on his handsome rump.

“Beets! What are—”

One well-aimed rear hoof strike later, Beet Salad struggled upright and glared at Nectarine, who was considerably more calm with a bloody nose and sprawled out cold in Beets’ tiny kitchen. “What the buck do you think you were doing, Nek? I just fell asleep on the floor! You could have…”

Beets took a second long look at his friend before going over to the kitchen sink. He ran a glass of water first, drinking it all the way down to the bottom. Then he ran a second glass for his friend and upended it over the unconscious stallion, who awoke sputtering.

“Beets!” Nectarine paused at the unamused expression on Beets’ face, as well as the kitchen fire extinguisher he was holding in his magic.

“Break anything?” asked Beets, still holding the fire extinguisher more like a club than a fire-fighting tool.

“Nooooo,” ventured Nectarine cautiously with a hoof to his jaw.

“Do you want anything broken?” asked Beets with a slight swing of the heavy steel cylinder as if he were warming up in the batter’s circle. “Because I’ll give you your choice of bones if you ever do that to me again.”

The flattened pegasus shook his head. “Sorry, Beets. I thought the bug had given you a brain whammy.”

Beets sat the fire extinguisher back on the kitchen counter before peeling some of the damp newspaper off his face. “I must have fallen asleep out there. Oh, feathers. I feel like Hades warmed over.”

“Actually you don't look much worse than usual,” said Nectarine, heaving himself into a sitting position while still rubbing his jaw. “A little uglier, maybe, but you can’t go much farther that way.”

Beets was not listening. He had taken the opportunity to peek around the corner and observe the injured creature he had been tending to most of the night. Trying his best not to make any noise, he remained perfectly still and watched until Nectarine slipped up to his side in the annoying silent fashion the Nocturne were known for, even though he broke the silence with a whisper immediately afterwards.

“Hey. It’s drinking out of the bowl.”

“Shhh!”

True to the nocturne’s observation, the battered changeling had turned her head almost sideways and was slurping small sips out of the shallow bowl of tepid water. It was probably just his imagination, but under the purple hoof shellac, the insect seemed slightly less injured than before, and her sides were moving in a regular pattern. The criss-cross pattern of green beneath the shellac had faded to a lighter shade, as if the creature were healing under the species-specific and rather odd medical treatment.

“You really do look and smell like Hades,” said Nectarine, pulling away from him and wrinkling up his nose. “You’ve got a little… lot of something on your face there.” He retrieved a paper towel from the kitchen and wiped off the smelly gunk, or at least smeared it around some more. “Do you want to take a shower before work? I’ll watch your buggy buddy, and I promise I won’t hose it down.”

It was several hours later as Beets sat at ‘lunch’ before he had another chance to talk to Nectarine. The insect had been sleeping when both stallions had hustled out the door to work, and despite having several hours to think about his situation, Beets still could not come to a decision on just what to do with the bug.

“Hey, Beets.” With an almost silent flutter of membranous wings, Nectarine dropped into the other seat in the outdoor picnic area and plunked a couple of bananas onto the table. “Had some leftovers at work, and thought I’d share.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Beets dug his spoon around the bottom of the can of beans before dropping the empty tin into the trash. “Fruit’s supposed to be good for you.”

“It’ll help replace some of the blood the tick was sucking out of you yesterday,” said Nectarine as he sat a paper sack on the table and rooted around inside. “Want some alfalfa sprouts? My grandmother packed 'em for me. Says I'm not getting enough greens.”

“Naa.” Beets eyed his friend, then tried to look at his own ear. “Was it really sucking on my ear?”

His friend eyed him back. “What, you’ve never had a mare suck on anything of yours before?” Nectarine buried his nose in the paper sack full of sprouts and the sound of chewing was his only response for a while. Finally, he lifted his head up and licked his lips. “I’m not sure. I thought so, but I was a little rattled. You don’t look like you’ve got a pierced ear.”

“Didn’t feel like it either.” Beets rubbed his ear anyway and ran a hoof down his tangled pink mane. “I stayed up with her most of the day before falling asleep. Something weird was going on, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah.” Nectarine finished off his sack lunch and tossed the bag away. “Pass me a banana, would ya?”

“Sure.” Hefting the bananas in his magic, Beets paused as he worked through a quick spell. “Hey, Nek. You said you found these on one of your inspections?”

“Yeah. Lucky me. They were just sitting on a shelf in the cargo hold. One of the crew must have had a banana break and couldn’t finish ‘em all. Why?”

Beets used his magic to break one of the bananas in half and inspect the center with a quick sniff. “Strychnine. I think the crew on your ship was laying out changeling bait.”

“Ye gads.” Nectarine stared at the broken banana in horror. “I could have been killed.”

Beet Salad nodded. “You better go run that back to your superiors. I think the changeling invasion in Canterlot is making ponies do some really stupid things out of fear.”

The poisoned bananas turned out to be the tip of the metaphorical iceberg lettuce. Several more poisoned fruit and vegetable traps were found on the docks, and were eventually tracked down to a rather nervous cargo handler on the night shift who was then taken away by the Royal Guard for some intense questioning. Nectarine dropped by Beet Salad's patrol route twice more during his shift to report on other members of the night shift who had attempted to steal or buy cans of insecticide to use against suspected changelings, and one supervisor who had ordered him to fog an entire airship before the crew had disembarked.

"I don't know what got into Shifty," said Nectarine in a soft whisper with a few extra glances in both directions to make sure they were not being spied on. "It probably wouldn't have killed anybody on the crew, but they would have been sick as dogs. Paraoxon is a little less lethal to ponies than most organophosphates, but it's still nothing to sneeze about. We talked him out of it, but he still wants me to pull a half-shift this morning to help with quarantine measures."

"Do it," said Beets with a yawn. "You need the overtime."

"Yeah, the foal support payments are adding up," said Nectarine with a wince. "The family's helping, but I think they're holding back a little just to pressure me into getting hitched for good." He eyed Beets critically. "The thing on your living room floor is female, right?"

Beets eyed his friend back. "No. You went all sparse over me trying to save its life, and now you want to — I don't even want to think it."

"The perfect wife," said Nectarine, in such a solemn tone Beets could almost take him seriously. "Can change into any pony you want, and lives entirely on love. With no foals to tie up a stallion on the go."

After a long pause to shake his head and sigh, Beets said, "Half of the city has gone all bonkers over changelings invading, and you want to boff the first one you've seen."

"Yeah, I know," said Nectarine with a long, drawn-out dramatic sigh of his own. "You saw her first."

The trip back to his small apartment seemed longer without Nectarine at his side. Beets bought a new newspaper with his groceries to check on any articles or stories about his battered visitor, skirted Missus Spitonoikokýris, who was lurking at the mailbox like a vulture waiting on a body, and slipped into his apartment without incident. He felt an irrational urge to call out, "Honey, I'm home!" but suppressed it when he saw the tangled newspapers in the middle of his living room and the four severed cords last seen holding up the battered changeling's legs. A trail of crumpled paper and dampness led into his tiny kitchenette and a small ball of collapsed changeling beneath his silverware drawer. Plastic knives, forks and spoons were scattered around from where the drawer had been yanked out of the cabinet, and a small smear of green was visible on the creature's neck where his best paring knife was jabbing rather ineffectually. The green glow of changeling magic flickered out as he came into the room, and the knife fell onto the linoleum floor with a clatter.

“Oh, no,” breathed Beets, almost dropping his bags of groceries on the floor in his haste to pick up the knife. "Don't kill yourself. Please."

“You won’t,” gasped the changeling, although she collapsed on the floor like a puppet with her strings cut after speaking.

Ignoring the groceries, Beets picked up the changeling in his magic and carried her back into the living room. It strained his abilities to lower the pull-down Murphy bed while holding her suspended, but he managed to get every spare towel he owned spread out on its lumpy surface before lowering the shellac-covered creature down as if she were made out of eggshells. “I won’t kill you,” he whispered. “Stop saying that.”

“I’m useless,” gasped the creature. “Hurts. Hurts so much.” The changeling shuddered, flailing its thin limbs ineffectively against Beets' magic until he lowered a foreleg to hold her down to the bed. She wrapped herself around the proffered limb with unanticipated strength, holding on as if she were drowning and Beets was her only chance at survival. “Huuurts,” she keened almost inaudibly.

“Can you take pony medicines?” asked Beets. “I’ve got some pain pills in the medicine cabinet from when I got beat up last time.” The changeling did not say anything, but did seem to nod her head slightly and relaxed her crushing hold on his leg. It only took a few minutes for him to vanish into the bathroom and return with a few colorful pills and a glass of water. It seemed odd that the changeling's tongue was a light shade of blue, but she stuck the pale appendage out whenever he floated a pill to her, and followed with a gulp of water afterwards to wash it down.

“Hurts,” she whined afterwards, somehow managing to get an unbreakable grip on his foreleg again.

Beets regarded his unputaway groceries around the corner in the kitchenette and determined they would wait until the pills kicked in and the changeling would go to sleep. There was no way to get comfortable while waiting, but he managed to wedge one knee on the floor and one leg up on the edge of the bed as he listened to her breathing slow and stabilize. It seemed more soothing than it should have been. He never really had been in a situation over the past few years where he could hear anypony else sleep, except the rare occasions when he went over to Nectarine's family house to play cards or listen to the game on the radio. With just over thirty adult nocturnal ponies in the clan's house, there always was somepony taking a nap, and the whistling snore of the sleeping changeling reminded him far too much of his little ‘nieces’ as they dropped off for a day's worth of rest while ‘Unkle Beast’ watched over them.

Most of Beets’ apartment could be seen from his imprisonment spot, so he took the time to use his magic to do a little cleaning, wadding up the soiled newspapers and stuffing them into the trash, as well as unscrewing the eyebolts from the ceiling. Somehow, Missus Spitonoikokýris probably already knew about the damage and had written the repairs into his next rent payment, but he went through the motions of sticking a little dab of toothpaste into each hole with a plastic knife anyway. The place was a dump, but it was his dump, and cheap enough that he actually had managed to save some bits for the future, as opposed to Nectarine who had been flat broke as a little colt in school and would be flat broke when he died of old age, surrounded by all of his many illegitimate children. Money was power, and just having some bits instead of being broke gave Beet Salad the chance to…

To…

The changeling took that moment to finally relax and released its tight grip on his numb leg, allowing Beets to stumble into the kitchen and open up a can of beans for his delayed dinner. It kept him from thinking, well, from thinking too much about his situation. Somewhere, there were other changelings who would take the wounded changeling out of his life. It would be a success. He would be free… to find and try to save another dog who had been run over by a cart or a cat who had been turned into clawed bloody bits by accident or intent. Then again, the changeling could still die of its wounds and he would be stuck trying to explain to the cops just what in Hades he had been doing.

One day at a time. One life at a time. One action at a time. One breath at a time.

After putting away all of the groceries except for one tepid beer, he stood in the kitchen with the silence of his apartment all around, pressing against him like a grave. It felt like another dammed funeral again, with the labored breathing of the changeling sounding so much like his mother in the hospice as she passed from loving parent to cold corpse. He pulled a chair into the darkest corner of the kitchen and just sat for a while, trying to keep the tears away, before reaching up above him and picking his guitar off the top of the icebox. The warm beer soothed his dry throat as he fiddled with the tuning, one string at a time, one note at a time, until everything was right again in his little corner of the universe and the guitar once again felt as an extension of his own scarred and battered body.

It was not exactly a new guitar, as it had been salvaged from a second-hoof store after his last one had been busted over somepony’s head during a bar fight. The frets were a little loose from age, and the tuning pegs took a good solid tap to keep them from unwinding during his playing, but a quiet song or two always helped him find his center in disturbing times, and there was much to be disturbed about now. The music flowed out far easier here than in some sleazy bar during talent nights, and more to his liking too. No drunks of either gender really wanted to hear a love ballad sung by an ugly stallion, and the survival rate of a guitar in those situations was about one night, or possibly two, before it became a convenient and tuneful weapon.

He played until his hooves and his magic grew tired, and then he played a little more. Songs about young mares galloping through meadows and old warhorses trudging to the next battle, of youth and age, of sorrow and joy. He sang until his voice became hoarser than normal, and the beer was nothing but a dry husk of its previous self.

Somehow the clock had treacherously snuck forward several hours while he was singing, and after hanging the guitar back up and taking a brief bathroom break, he returned to the living room and his shabby pull-down bed.

His occupied bed.

The glimmer of teal eyes could be seen under the thin sheet as Beets pulled a threadbare blanket out of his chest of drawers and spread it out on the floor. He wound the alarm clock, snitched a cushion from the lumpy chair, and settled down on the stained carpet with a yawn. Beets would have been asleep in moments, if not for the faint rustle from his bed and the eventual appearance of those glowing teal eyes at the edge of the covers, looking down at his little nest on the floor.

It was impossible to determine what alien emotion was behind the long stare Beets received, even after dark eyelids drooped, and then dropped over her eyes.

Then a faint but somehow ladylike snore began to come from the bed again, quickly joined by his own as Beets finally succumbed to his fatigue.

4. Pressing on a Bruise

“You don’t have to do this, Missus Spitonoikokýris. Beets is probably just getting out of the shower. You wouldn't want to catch him naked, would you?”

There was a rattling of keys in his apartment door locks, bringing Beets out of his drowsy slumber and into a moderated panic. True, he could probably kill the old hen and hide the body, but unlikely as it seemed, somepony would probably miss her, and as much as the thought had crossed his mind several times since he had started renting the apartment, it really was not his style. Besides, Nectarine would be upset.

“Apartment 2B complained they smelled something coming up through the floor last night,” snapped a sharp voice which could only be his landlady. “I had somepony come asking for a room yesterday, and I had to turn them away since 1C is still under renovations. If your ugly friend is cooking up drugs, I’m sending him out the door right now and getting an honest burro in here who won't stink up the place.”

Beets looked in a panic at the bed, which was still occupied by the battered bug. Even through two coats of purple Rock Royalty hoof shellac, it was still quite obviously a bug, and in just a few minutes, it would also be Missus Spitonoikokýris’ excuse to not only kick him out of his room but probably hold back the damage deposit and last month’s rent.

The changeling caught his panicked eye, and jerked its head in the direction of the bathroom. Obeying the pantomimed suggestion, Beets scooped her up in his magic and carried her over to the empty bathtub as the changeling seemed to want. It was a horrible place to hide a fractured fugitive, but it was the best he could think of before the front door popped open to the end of the security chain, which Beets was suddenly very glad he had latched for a change.

“Beet Salad,” ordered the old griffoness through the resulting gap, “you open this door right now, or I'll get the cops! If I have to break it, I’ll take it out of your deposit!”

“All right, all right!” he called out, making his hoofsteps from the bathroom as loud as possible. “I was taking a shit! What do you want?”

“Apartment inspection,” she snapped. “You open up right now and let me in or you're in violation of your lease.”

“Can I at least wipe my ass first?” he grumbled. “All right, all right,” he added as the door rattled again. “Don't lay an egg out there.”

The elderly griffoness swept into the apartment beak-first and promptly began to sniff. “Smells like shit in here. Did you get a pet? You know pets aren't in your lease without a rider. Are those holes in the ceiling?” She flapped up next to the four sealed holes and squinted one eye at them.

“Was like that when I moved in,” said Beets.

“Likely story. What's this?” She swept through the living room over to the pull-down Murphy bed, still covered in the threadbare towels Beets had found at a second-hoof store. “Smells like lacquer. Still some spots of it here. Are you gay?”

Beets stiffened his back and looked down his nose at her. “Lots of stallions paint their hooves without being gay. It helps me get in touch with my inner mare.”

The derisive snort that followed came from both the griffon and the seemingly-relaxed nocturnal pegasus leaning against the front door.

“Ah-HA! The bathroom door's closed. What are you hiding in here?” Before Beets could stop the old griffoness, she had swept past him and darted into the bathroom with a triumphant cry.

There was a brief and somewhat weak green flash of light.

A stunned moment of speechlessness on behalf of both stallions standing in the living room.

An exchange of glances between them.

And a long silence.

Beets cautiously moved up to the bathroom doorway where Missus Spitonoikokýris was standing somewhat splay-legged, staring off into space. Her pupils were small pinpoints of darkness in her large blue eyes, and there was a certain swaying to her neck and head indicating she was listening to a particularly interesting musical tune which Beets could not hear.

“Missus Spitonoikokýris?” Beets reached out with his magic and guided the stunned griffoness back out into the kitchen. “Are you feeling all right? Would you like a glass of water?”

“No, thank you,” said the griffoness. “What was I doing again?”

“You had just gotten done checking my apartment, and you were going to tell me how much those holes in the living room ceiling were going to cost.”

“Twenty bits,” she responded as her normal sharp expression replaced the glazed eyes of a few moments ago. "Each."

To his credit, Nectarine remained without comment until Beets had seen the griffoness out the front door with a promise to include the damages in the next rent check. Then he paused a little longer in order to allow Beets to speak first, which did not really matter, as the ugly unicorn had already vanished into the bathroom and emerged carrying the unconscious changeling in his magic.

“I told you she was dangerous,” said Nectarine as his friend arranged the sleeping bug on the bed.

“Would you rather be talking to a Royal Guard right now about how I'm harboring a changeling in my apartment?” whispered Beets in return. “Besides, I think that little trick is all she could do. She's out cold and needs to sleep.”

Nectarine watched silently as Beets got a glass of water and several pills to set on the nightstand beside the bed, and even withheld comment when he tucked her under the blanket, but he could not help but add his opinion as the two of them strode off into the evening gloom to the docks.

“I thought you were going to kiss her goodnight there for a minute,” groused Nectarine.

“Buck, no,” admitted Beets. “I didn't want her to wake up screaming.”

Work tonight sucked even worse than the worst suckage work had ever sucked before. Due to the changeling scare a few days ago, some bright genius up in Corporate decided a few unannounced drills were called for, but when Beet Salad came around the corner of his patrol route to find a young stallion using a crowbar on a shipping container…

Needless to say, the ‘unannounced’ part of the security tests was not very popular with Beets or with the battered stallion from Corporate. If there were justice in Equestria, the same genius who thought up the plan would have been the one holding the crowbar, but due to a severe lack of cosmic karma, it had actually been one of the lower corporate drones who had originally opposed the measure. Still, he had been very apologetic for a pony in a neck brace being loaded into an ambulance and had given Beets a very high mark for preparedness on his report, or at least as much of the report as he could write while missing four teeth to hold the pen. The rest of the evening passed remarkably drill-free in all regards, and the rest of the night watch actually sprang for a cupcake as a thank-you gift for Beets.

Of course it was a flavor he hated. Even Nectarine would not eat it on the way home.

“You could give it to Buggy.”

Beets eyed his friend. “Buggy?”

“You've got to give your pet a name if you’re going to get a food and water dish for it,” said Nectarine. “I suppose you could always call it Sucker, or Tick.”

“Oh, har de har, har.” Beets considered throwing the cupcake into the gutter on the way home but tucked it away just in case his odd houseguest had different tastes. The bill for his month’s rent was pinned to the door, with an additional eighty-five bits in damages tacked on even though Beets was positive the holes would not get permanently patched while he was renting the apartment, and only somewhat certain about afterwards.

The only indication showing the changeling had moved from her nest under the bedcovers was a relative absence of the peculiar flowery urine smell and an empty glass of water on the nightstand. Two suspicious teal eyes watched Beets and Nectarine as they both pretended the changeling did not exist, trading a few end-of-shift pleasantries before Nectarine slipped out the door for a morning snack.

Beets took a couple minutes in the kitchen to wash the few dishes he had, noticing with some satisfaction the addition of an oatmeal-stained bowl in the sink and a dirty plastic spoon in the trash. He was rummaging around in the icebox for some lettuce which had not gone all brown and slimy when the faint shuffle and pained whimpering of the changeling came around the corner. As she made her unsteady way forward, her eyes were drawn into thin slits and the empty glass hovered uncertainly to her side in a flickering green aura. Then she collapsed, and Beet Salad grabbed her with his magic just moments before she hit the floor.

The empty plastic glass bounced and rolled under the kitchen table, ignored as he carried her back to the bed and settled her down, although he winced when a hiss of insectile agony burst from the changeling as he caught the blankets on something sticking out of her shellac-covered chitin.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, trying to fluff up the pillow while the changeling glared at him.

After a few pained breaths, the changeling hissed, “You took all my pills.”

“I left you some pills on the nightstand,” said Beets, unruffled. “Unless you’re talking about the empty bottle in the bathroom. I really didn’t want to come back from work and find you dead on the floor from an overdose.”

The changeling hissed again, a low sound much like a leaking teakettle as Beets picked up the glass, filled it, and counted out several pills onto the nightstand again. “Ball-less drone of a shell-less egg,” she snapped, batting the full glass of water off the nightstand and sending it tumbling across the thin carpet. “Turn me over to your police so that I may be killed instead of living through this torture.”

“No,” said Beets. After putting several of the more threadbare towels on the damp carpet to soak up the spilled water, he pulled the last towels out of his closet and arranged them around the changeling’s legs in a futile attempt to make her more comfortable before speaking again. “I’m not. Turning you into the police, that is.”

“What, do you plan on tying me to the bed and having your way with me?” She laughed, a low, grating noise through gritted teeth.

“No,” continued Beets calmly. “Once you’re feeling well enough to leave, you can leave. I won’t stop you.”

“They’ll kill me,” hissed the changeling. “I can feel their hatred from here.”

“Your bug-princess did try to take over Equestria and assaulted Princess Celestia during Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’s wedding,” said Beets.

“You're just food,” growled the changeling, flashing a feral grin between bared teeth as Beets twitched in response. “What, does it bother you? Don't you think you'd be a little upset if an apple tree was strolling through town, eating ponies as it went? You're a coward. A craven coward. Go on, hit me. You know you want to. I can feel it.”

“No,” muttered Beets through thin lips. “One bucking thing in this life that I try to save, and it’s determined to get me to pound it to death.”

“Sounds like a safer route than being your friend,” snarled the changeling. “I heard what you two were talking about. Boo-hoo, all of Beet Salad’s friends and family have died on him. Makes you feel angry, doesn't it? Don't lie to me. I can feel it leaking through your skin. You're just a worthless little ball of angst and anger, trying to find one redeeming factor in your life. Well, I’m not it. Heal me up and send me out into the world, and everytime you see a newspaper article about some poor stallion being sucked dry of his love, you'll blame yourself.”

Beets stood up abruptly and strode into the kitchen, returning with another fresh glass of water which he placed on the nightstand next to the pills.

“I’m going to bed,” he said in a very calm and deliberate manner, picking up the alarm clock and striding towards the bathroom. “I’ll sleep in the tub.”

“Screw you!” snapped the changeling.

“Not likely,” said Beets. “I’m locking the bathroom door. Piss on the floor for all I care.”

5. Wrapped Around

The hammering clatter of Beets' alarm clock woke the crabby unicorn from his fitful sleep. Everything hurt, from his hooves to his ragged mane, and his flank was nearly numb from spending the night upside-down in the empty bathtub. At least there was some warm water in the pipes, and all Beets had to do for his morning constitutional was to just lie there and turn on the shower with his magic. He barely moved from his awkward position for the wash or rinse, only regaining a standing position to get properly dried off and step out of the tub.

He half expected to see the suicidal changeling hanging from the ceiling when he staggered out of the bathroom. Instead, she seemed stuck in place on Beets' threadbare carpet where she had crawled out of bed, across the floor, and almost all the way to the bathroom.

At first, he merely stepped around her on his way to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal, but after thinking about it for a second, he returned. He fed her two painkiller capsules and most of a glass of water, which she swallowed with only a minor growling, like a small dog. Then he levitated her off the ground and into the bathroom to sit on the toilet.

It was not like he was going to need it soon. He had taken his piss in the shower, after all.

For a change, Beets made it to the front door just moments before Nectarine showed up, although the hesitant night pegasus was carrying an unmarked bag rather warily, in addition to several extra morning doughnuts and three cups of coffee.

"Which one is poisoned?" asked Beets, levitating one of the foam cups out of his friend's grasp and poking in the little tab at the top.

"All of them," replied Nectarine, taking a sip out of his and sitting the other on the kitchen table. "I wanted to make sure the bug died."

"You are such a riot." Beets took a long drink and removed a doughnut for further inspection before biting into it. "One of these days, your sense of humor is going to kill me." He took another drink before putting the foam cup down and heading for the front door to the apartment. "I've got a quick errand I need to run before work tonight. Watch my marefriend for me, wouldja? She's in the bathroom."

"Sure." Nectarine waited until Beets had been gone for a minute or two before wandering back to the bathroom and knocking on the door. "Need anything, Buggie?"

"Hemlock smoothie with a side of arsenic," came the bitter reply.

All Nectarine could do was shake his head. "Do changelings turn into whoever they're around for any length of time? Because you're starting to sound just like Beets."

"Screw you." There was a faint sizzling noise from inside the bathroom and a quiet whimper of pain, which made Nectarine open the door and regard the injured changeling, who had apparently fallen down onto the floor and gotten wrapped in the thin bathroom rug. "Ow."

"You look horrible," said Nectarine. "The papers said the bugs in Canterlot could change forms. Can't you change into something a little less hard on the eyes."

"Screw you and all of your batwinged type," snapped the changeling. "I just tried. Eggshells, it hurts so bad!" She eyed the tall nocturne stallion, who had not put down his coffee or shown a single sign of compassion. "Kill me and I'll let you screw me."

Coffee went everywhere as Nectarine nearly inhaled his cup. "Dammit, Buggie," he spluttered. "Warn a guy before you do that."

"I'm serious!" She struggled in vain to get to her hooves and eventually just glared at him. "Are you going to help me up or what?"

"What?" asked Nectarine, taking a long drink out of his coffee.

"Sick twisted bastard," snapped the changeling as she made another attempt at standing up. "I know what you're feeling, pervert."

"Just because I'm curious about how bugs 'do it,' doesn't mean I'm interested. Besides, you're hurt." He extended a hoof and helped the female changeling stagger to her hooves in the narrow bathroom. "A gentlestallion always— Umph!"

The sloppy kiss to his face came straight out of nowhere, barely managed to sustain itself for a few seconds, and went away as the changeling sat back down on the toilet. "Whew. I needed that."

"What in Tartarus! What did you do?" asked Nectarine, who had retreated all the way into the kitchen and was trying to rummage around in his bag while wiping his lips with the back of one hoof.

"Breakfast." She gave off a quiet belch before settling back down on the toilet with a pained groan. "I don't mean to complain about fast food, but you're a little gassy. Can you at least give me some coffee before you 'hose me down' with that can?"

It was barely a half-hour later when Beets tromped back into the apartment with a paper bag trailing in his wake. He kicked the door closed behind him and paced into the kitchen, calling out, “Nek, time to go! We’ll be late to work.”

“Just a minute,” called back his friend.

Beets hesitated for a second, then finished pulling the rest of the cupcakes out of the bag and putting them on the clean corner of the kitchen table. “If you’re screwing the bug in the bathroom, I don’t want to hear about it.”

The door to the bathroom opened, and Nectarine slipped out, assisting the changeling as she limped along on her way to the pull-down bed in the living room, with a brief detour to stick her pale-blue tongue out at Beets as she hobbled by.

“Hope you two cleaned up after your quickie,” grumbled Beets.

“Screw you,” snapped the changeling, giving a squeak of pain as Nectarine eased her onto the thin mattress on the Murphy bed in the living room.

“I gave her a sponge bath,” said Nectarine almost apologetically as Beets placed a glass of water on the bedstand. Nectarine watched dispassionately as his friend arranged the towels under her back legs for comfort despite the hissed comments from the changeling, counted out several pills onto the nightstand, and vanished back into the bathroom to put the pill bottle back into the medicine cabinet before adding, “And a kiss.”

“Well, kiss her flank goodbye,” said Beets as he headed for the front door, coffee and cupcake trailing behind him. “When I get back from work, I’m dragging her off to the cops. I’m sick of her.”

As the first pale rays of Celestia’s sun lit up the building, Beet Salad and Nectarine dragged themselves back into the apartment. It had been a very long, long night, which had drawn Beets’ normally cheerful attitude (or at least what he considered cheerful) into a snappish reactionary growl during just about any interequine interaction. “If I have one more pony accuse me of being a changeling, I’m going to put them head-first through the nearest window,” growled Beets as he closed the door.

“Ponies are frightened,” said Nectarine with a nervous flick of his membranous wings. “They don’t have anything to distract them from it either. No changeling sightings or attacks in several days. You take Buggy to the cops now, and the whole city will erupt. They’ll lynch her for sure, and the cops won’t stop ‘em. Heck, they'll probably join in.”

“You named her,” growled Beets as he paced over to look at his captive/pet/patient. “I never named any of the animals I picked up. You name something, and it takes a little bite out of your soul when it dies.” He eyed the empty glass of water on the nightstand, as well as the empty pill bottle besides the changeling before bumping the unmoving changeling with one hoof. “Hey. You. Wake up.”

“Ain’t gonna wake up,” mumbled the changeling. “Going to sleep until I die. Took the whole bottle of pills.”

“Ohmygosh,” gasped Nectarine, grabbing the bottle and reading the fine print. “There must have been a couple dozen pills in here, and you’re only supposed to take two at a time! We’ve got to get her to a hospital! I’ll get a pegamedic!”

His dart for the door was stopped cold as Beet Salad caught up the wildly-flapping nocturne in his magic and held him immobile. “It’s too late,” said Beets. “If she took the whole bottle of pills, there’s only one thing we can do.” He trudged back into the bathroom, returning in a few moments with a glass of water and a fresh toothbrush. Beets peeled the plastic off of it and applied a little toothpaste before walking up to the changeling and ordering, “Open your mouth.”

“Why, so you can make me throw— Urp!”

It took all of Beets’ concentration to work the toothbrush around inside the struggling changeling’s mouth. After dumping Nectarine in the middle of the floor so he would have more power for his magic, he continued his forced toothbrushing until the changeling managed to spit the offending dental instrument across the room and glare at her jailer with a foamy frown.

“What do you think you’re doing! Do you want me look to good for the autopsy or something?”

“What autopsy?” said Beets, tossing the mangled toothbrush into the trash. “Unless you’re going to overdose on sugar, eating all of the breath mints I stuck in the pill bottle this morning is just going to rot your teeth.”

“Breath mints?” The changeling stared in abject horror, eventually holding a hoof to her face and giving a little puff of air, which she promptly sniffed. “You bastard. You rat bastard! You church-eek-ptahh shell-less egg!” The empty plastic glass on the nightstand glowed green as she lit up her horn and flung the glass at Beets, hitting him right in the face. The empty pill bottle followed, describing a weak and wobbling path that Beets managed to catch without breaking anything, but the pillow shooting in his direction nearly ruptured over his horn before he could catch it. Blanket, towels and sheets followed, with Beets trying to catch his household belongings and Nectarine dodging for cover in an experienced fashion.

“Gelding!” snapped the changeling as she threw objects. “Pinhead! Neech-itist kelthess!” She paused after picking up a picture frame off the nightstand, panting for breath or perhaps taking careful aim. “You… You…”

Beets had stopped moving and dropped all of the other ammunition she had thrown so far, leaving the wavering changeling to glare at him. She paused with a peculiar look on her face, eventually taking a peek at the golden picture frame she was holding in her magic, then a look back at Beet Salad. She did not say anything for long moments, then turned and carefully placed the picture back on the nearby nightstand before flopping down on her chest on the mattress.

“Ow!” she muttered. The dark black of her unbroken carapace contrasted with the deep violet of the hoof shellac covering all across her front and sides. Since her original impact had been a chest-first crash into the pallets at the dock, the changeling's back was almost unmarred except for a few residual cracks. “I’m not sorry,” she added, somewhat muffled as she was still face-first into the mattress. “You deserved it all and then some.”

The picture frame took flight in Beet Salad's magic as he retrieved it for a more secure location on the other side of the room. Only after it had been properly hung on an existing nail did Beets pick the rest of his possessions back up and return them to their correct locations, although he stacked the threadbare blanket to the side of the changeling instead of draping it over her back.

“Did you want some shellac on your back so you match colors?” asked Beets. “It might help brace the edges of any cracks.”

The changeling derisively lifted her tail, making it quite obvious that she was a she.

“Not one word,” snapped Beets at his friend, who had just opened his mouth to comment on the revealed sight, perhaps even to offer a critique or evaluation. “You can help me paint or you can go home.”

“Or you can get me some real bucking painkillers,” muttered the changeling, turning her head slightly to the side so she was not so muffled. “Eggshells, this hurts. Paint me up before I change my mind.”

She accepted the pills Beets floated over to her mouth without comment and sucked on the straw sticking out of the small glass of water Nectarine brought over to wash them down, before putting her face back into the mattress and sighing. “Buck, this hurts. I should have known something was up when the pain wasn't going away.”

“Let the pills have a little time to work,” said Beets, getting out the shellac. He painted in silence for a while as Nectarine sat by his side, but after working on his patient from her neck down to her hips, he added, “Maybe I should paint that huge thing shut so you don't use it against me.”

Her tail promptly went down. Nectarine sighed. “Spoilsport.”

“She probably has the clap,” grunted Beets, painting in long, broad strokes up and down the changeling's spine.

“Naa,” muttered the changeling through the mattress as her tail began to swish back and forth. “Always use p'techtion with the politicians. Don't wanna spawn no lawyers.”

“I always wondered where they came from,” admitted Beets. “It makes sense, though. They suck all of the joy out of a room, as well as suck all of the bits out of our wallets.”

He flickered a quick look over at Nectarine, who seemed to be considering something of dire importance to the future of Equestria as he watched the bug. The handsome stallion had never taken anything really seriously before in his life, which was one of the reasons Beets still hung around him. His family would be ecstatic about a female making him settle down and get serious for a change, but Beets was fairly certain they would have pages of protests about the mare's species. Nocturne arthropoda, or the common night-dwelling changeling was most likely not on their list for a proper mate. After a while, Nectarine seemed to decide the problem he was contemplating would be better shared, and he spoke up.

“So changelings can have little bug babies with ponies?”

“Buck, no,” scoffed the changeling, lifting her tail back up and waving it around like a flag. “Infertile. Stick it on in.”

“What would a cross between a nocturne and a changeling look like anyway?” asked Nectarine in a rather preoccupied fashion.

“Ugly,” chorused both Beets and the changeling at nearly the exact moment, and joining in a tense chuckle afterwards.

Nectarine did not seem as struck by the humor of the situation, eventually hazarding a quiet, “So, are we taking her to the cops today?”

“No,” said Beets. “No reason for us to get killed. Wait for things to calm down and we'll take her then. Besides, I've got a second coat to put on once this one dries.”

“I'm going home, then. The shellac is giving me a headache.”

Once Nectarine had made his excuses and left, Beets put the finishing touches on his varnishing and began to run a low-powered drying spell over the changeling. “There we go. One perfect coat of Rock Royalty hoof shellac to make you all one color now, Your Highness.”

“W’nderful, peasant,” muttered the changeling. "Do I look more like Princess Moonbutt or Princess Sunbutt? Oh, wait.” She flipped her tail up to expose her nether regions. “Now I look like Princess Heartbutt.”

Getting no response, the changeling flicked her tail from side to side for a while, then relaxed. “Look, I can do pony impressions. Nectarine.” She stuck her tail straight up. “Beet Salad.” She relaxed her tail again and let it hang limp and floppy with a little wiggle.

“Maybe dragging you through the city by your tail and throwing you into the police station wouldn't be such a bad idea,” mused Beets while checking on the progress of the drying spell.

“Better than starving to death here,” said the changeling.

“I am not screwing you, so stop asking,” said Beets, starting on the second coat of shellac.

“Bet that's the first time you’ve said those words to some mare,” said the changeling with an uncontrolled giggle. She hummed quietly as Beets worked for a while, eventually adding, “So, you’re a virgin?”

“That's—” spluttered Beet Salad.

“That’s a yes,” said the changeling with a playful flick of her tail. “It’s really easy. Your pokey bit goes right here.” She helpfully lifted up her tail and waved it. “Fill the changeling up with love and win a prize.”

After a few minutes of uninterrupted painting, the raised tail began to sag, then collapsed back to a slow swishing back and forth. Eventually the changeling took a deep breath and wriggled around so she could look at Beets with one eye. “Look, if you don't give me a little love, I’ll die. It doesn't have to be sex. I’ve got some real busted crap somewhere in my insides that I really need to see a doctor for, so the last thing I need is for some fat bastard to be huffing and puffing on top of me no matter how much love I can suck out of him.”

“Fat?” Beets continued painting without slacking his pace.

“Chunky. Large and in charge. Big boned. Good grief, bonehead. You're bigger than most earth ponies. If you had a personality replacement, some dye, a little cosmetic surgery, a proper shampoo and conditioner, and your teeth brushed once in a while, you could have the mares lining up to sample your wares.”

“You mean if I wasn’t me.”

“Exactly.” The changeling continued to observe Beets with a pupil-less stare which was starting to bother him, although not nearly as much as when she blinked, and suddenly a regular teal pony eye was looking back at him. “Better?”

He painted a little more as his stomach settled. “Yeah, I suppose. Those eyes were creeping me out.”

“So what’s wrong about changing yourself?” The changeling glanced past Beets and he could tell she was looking at where he had hung up the picture, although her magic did not light up to levitate it back to her. “Ponies change all the time. You’re not the same little colt you were in the picture.”

“Everypony else in that picture is dead,” snapped Beets, although he quickly covered up the blotch of shellac he had made with a few quick brushstrokes. “The past is the past. I can’t go back to the way it was.”

“But you can beat the crap out of who you are,” continued the changeling. “So afraid of changing that you’ll stand in front of a moving train instead of stepping a few paces to one side.”

“Like you said, screw you!” shouted Beets, jamming the top back on the can of hoof shellac and slamming the soggy brush into the trash, followed by several paper towels and a empty candy bag.

“Would you stop it!” snapped the changeling with her tail tucked close to her rump and her face buried in the mattress. “It hurts worse than the broken crap in my chest. Just because you like to wallow in shit doesn't mean you need to share. Grow some balls and face up to your problems. Maybe you can become a real pony instead of this bitter shell you're dragging around like some diseased snail.”

“Screw you!” Beets repeated as he lashed out and kicked the nearly-empty can of hoof shellac across the room. The lid spun off as it sailed across the room, but the liquid remained inside, trapped by a green magic aura which placed the can down deliberately and dropped the missing lid on top of it.

“Bucking eggshells, that hurt,” moaned the changeling, collapsing back onto the mattress as the green glow around her horn abruptly cut off. She remained there, unmoving as a statue as Beets shuffled around the apartment and prepared for bed in the bathtub again. With considerable trepidation, he returned to the pull-down bed in the living room to run a drying spell over her back, although before he vanished into the bathroom with his alarm clock, she called out, “Just a minute. Beets? I’m serious. Come here. Please?”

She rearranged herself as the ugly unicorn walked to the side of his bed. With slow, pained motions, she shifted positions, eventually managing to roll on her side and grimace. “Even through the pills, that hurts.” She shook her head slowly and scooted over, leaving a fairly large chunk of mattress unoccupied.

“Oh, no,” he said, backing away.

“Buck, yes,” she said, edging a little farther away until she bumped her tail up against the wall. “I’m all out of juice and still chewing through it to heal. If you go sleep in the shower again, you're going to find a dead bug in your bed tomorrow. And I'll die as messy as I can. Love is the best, but I can feed on just about any emotion a pony cranks out except pure hate, so all I need you to do is lay there like a log and sleep. I promise, it won't hurt you.”

“Buck.” He eyed the changeling as she patted the empty mattress. “How do I know you're telling the truth.”

“You don’t.” She patted the mattress again.

After considering the situation for a while, he bowed his head and muttered, “Yeah, I suppose.”

“One thing first,” said the changeling, holding up a holey hoof.

“You want me to put a bag over my head?” he asked with one lifted eyebrow.

“I want you to brush your teeth,” said the changeling. “Seriously, you smell like a sewer. And brush your tongue too,” she called out as Beets trudged towards the bathroom. “I used to be a dental hygienist, and you would not believe how many germs live on a pony's tongue.”

6. Crushin’ It

The sound of the hoof hammering on Beet Salad's apartment door was considerably restrained this evening, raising the possibility of his friend the pest pony being ready for another night of pest patrol with a can of bug spray already prepared, just in case work was going to start early tonight. Beets squinted across the room at the locked door, using his magic to undo the locks and security chain with a tremendous yawn and a call of, “Come on in, Nek. Door’s open.”

The pony stepping into the open doorway was not Nectarine, though. The scruffy earth pony in the night watchpony cap peered into the darkened apartment and squinted, which made the warm changeling under the sheets to Beets’ side shift drowsily in the beam of light shining into the room from outside.

“Beets! The boss wants everypony on deck early this evening. There's been talk about changeling sightings, and the Royal Guard has a chunk of the pallet piles staked out with evidence tape and a bunch of forensic unicorns. The whole town is all riled up like a nest of bees because they said there was a changeling right there a few days ago! We could be invaded next! They could be anywhere!”

As the singular potential upcoming invasion was on hold due to injuries, and ‘anywhere’ just happened to be ‘directly beside’ to Beets, he attempted to withhold comments until his first cup of coffee. He slipped one leg out from under the sheets without exposing any insectile bits of his fellow bed-occupant to Spindle, who was standing in the doorway with a curious expression. After a quick check to make sure the changeling was covered up, Beets managed to put one hoof onto the living room linoleum floor and give a broad yawn.

A yawn which stopped abruptly with a glance at his alarm clock.

“Four o’clock!” It only took a moment for Beets to finish tossing the sheets to one side and roll out onto the apartment floor, after which he began to stalk up to his unwelcome coworker, one deliberate step at a time. “Spindle, there had better be overtime for getting me up at this ungodly hour of the afternoon.”

“Yeah, right,” said Spindle, obviously distracted by something behind Beets, or more properly, someling. “Sorry to break up you and your…” The night watchpony stopped, obviously trying to match ‘marefriend’ to ‘Beet Salad’ and coming up with a null set.

“Oh, lovercolt?” called out a voice made up of half estrogen and half desire, blended with a topping of early morning passion cut short. “You don't mind if I stay here in bed, do you? After all, you paid for all day, and I don't think I can close my legs to walk back home for a few hours.”

The changeling added to her errotic performance by a very cat-like purr from under the covers of the shadowed pull-down bed, which turned the tips of Beets' ears from pink to a near-florescent red, made only worse by the disbelieving look he gathered from Spindle.

“You got a mare?”

He shoved his fellow employee out the apartment door, grabbing his work equipment and locking the door behind him with a growing desire to hit somepony. Hard. Spindle was right at the top of the list, and Beets glowered at him once the door was securely locked. “What!”

“Nothing!” responded Spindle. “It’s just… I noticed you brushed your teeth.”

“So?” Beets fixed his coworker with a vicious glare, which seemed to just roll off with a shrug and a shake of his head.

“If I knew getting you a hooker would get you to brush your teeth, the colts at work would have chipped in and bought you one a long time ago. Being around you during staff meetings sucked, bigtime.”

As it turned out, Beet Salad and Spindle barely managed to make it back to the docks before the crowds began to gather outside on the streets. Upset mares and stallions carried signs reading ‘Changelings Out of Equestria’ and 'Stomp The Bugs’ while milling around rather aimlessly outside the Port Authority gate, as if waving a sign would somehow cause changelings to flee in terror. There was not a lot of enthusiasm in their protests, which Beets could understand. After all, if they had somehow expected to encounter changelings at the docks, he really doubted the vast majority of the ‘protesters’ would have even showed up, although there was a much rougher crowd starting to appear once the sun went down.

There were Royal Guards on the docks, but they kept to themselves in a small knot of isolated stallions over by the pallet pile. They seemed determined to ignore the growing groups of civilians outside the gates, while watching a few small splatters of old green ichor and some broken pallets to make sure they did not escape and try to overthrow Celestia.

The unfairness of the situation grated on Beets as he stood with the rest of the night watchponies and staff for several hours. There were a few thousand places he would much rather be, but it was far more uncomfortable to think about the ponies shouting and cursing at him. As much as he wanted to just think of most of them as rioters, there was a little thread of sympathy for their position. Changelings were strange, odd creatures who were just alien in ways unlike any other intelligent races of Equestria. Ponies liked the normal, the plain, the expected.

As the night grew darker, the crowd swelled. His careful observations of the legitimate protesters showed their numbers dwindling away as the more rough and tumble elements of the area came out of hiding. Beets really did not expect a riot, because riots were fueled by the prospect of loot, and even the smallest ships at the docks had kept enough sailors on board to make any looter’s life a painful one. Still, the air among the gathered ponies was tense, with chants and shouted insults that really made Beets hope the municipal police would get off their doughnut-fueled flanks and do something.

It was a forlorn hope. Although the average Baltimare police officer during the day appeared to be a stalwart defender of the populace, the night crew around the docks was cut out of considerably rougher cloth. In fact, Beets thought he could recognize a few of the less-reputable cops out in the crowd in what could have been considered an undercover operation to keep an eye on potential rioters but was more likely an attempt to be where the best looting would occur.

All the dockworkers really needed to do was to stand in place and look tough until morning or whenever the shouting ponies decided to go find another source of entertainment, and his blood ran cold at the thought of what would happen if they actually did find an unfortunate changeling somewhere. Particularly one who was injured and could not run away.

Which was just when he noticed the flaming bottle of fuel lofted over the crowd and headed in his direction.

Nearly all of the dockworkers were earth ponies, who scattered in all directions while screaming, but Beet Salad felt a raging fire burst into life in his chest. He reached out with his magic to catch the falling bottle before it could break, held it in front of him, and bellowed out into the suddenly-quiet night.

“Who threw this bottle?!”

He glared at the stunned crowd while striding in their direction, still holding the burning bottle in his magic. Somewhere above his head, he could hear a large pegasus-drawn wagon of some sort coming to a landing in the central dock area, probably full of mealy-mouthed Filleydelphia politicians who would be giving orders to allow the mob ‘breathing space’ and not to ‘antagonize’ anypony. Beets strode forward anyway, glaring out into the startled crowd as he used a voice amplification spell to add, “I said, who threw this BOTTLE?”

Now that he was closer to the crowd, he could see several familiar faces, many of which bore a scar or two from previous meetings with the ugly unicorn bearing a bright pink tail. Words were exchanged between the members of the crowd, and various rough-hewn ponies faded back into the shadows as he walked forward. One mauve unicorn with his mane tied up in little square knots and a series of anarchist symbols written across his coat did not seem to get the message, or even notice as his two companions exchanged glances and backed away from both him and the two bottles of fuel he was busy stuffing wicks into.

“YOU!” bellowed Beets as he strode closer, still carrying the burning bottle even though the wick was guttering and almost extinguished. “What in Tartarus do you think you were doing?”

“Buck off, creep!” The scrawny unicorn looked up with a sneer which slowly faded away as he realized how large the open space around him had grown. “Buck off!” he repeated, his horn glowing as he pulled out a knife and held it in front of him with his magic. “Buck off or I’ll cut—”

Beets did not even break stride as he reached out with his magic and pulled, not at the knife, but at the young punk’s flame-red tail. The unicorn teenager swapped ends abruptly, giving out a sharp cry of alarm as Beets yanked his tail straight up, and a screech of pain as Beets found a place to stick the bottle he had been carrying. The knife clattered to the ground as the teenager fell down, clutching his belly and whimpering, and the clear space around Beet Salad abruptly grew as nearly all of the ponies in his vicinity held their tails tightly down to their rears and took a step or two backwards.

“Who’s next?” he bellowed, picking up a clean bottle from the young punk’s stash and looking for volunteers. There were fewer ponies looking in his direction than he expected, as most of them were actually looking behind Beets, which puzzled him until a loud tenor voice boomed out over the crowd.

“Citizens of Equestria. Please disperse to your homes. There are no changelings on the docks.”

“Shining Armor!” The startled cry of recognition spread across the watching ponies, matched by Beet Salad as he quickly put down the glass bottle he was holding, just in case. The prince was everything Beets expected and more, far more impressive than the pictures in the newspaper articles had made him look. There was a certain air of command in the way he snapped at the cringing crowd, stating in quite specific detail just why they were wrong to be here, at this time of night, and threatening violence to the innocent ponies who worked at the docks. The sound of bottles and bricks falling to the street as he talked filled an attentive silence that only grew as he continued to excoriate the prospective rioters. The prince even used his magic to cast a changeling detection spell over the crowd to prove the absence of any insectile infiltrators, and admonished the avidly watching ponies about their quick rush to judgement and their lack of civil order.

His speech was so fascinating to Beet Salad that it took a while to realize most of the onlooking ponies were paying it no attention at all. Instead, they were looking past the newly-crowned prince at the very familiar Princess of Love sitting quietly in the Royal Chariot behind him. She was not saying anything, or acting in any dramatic fashion at all, but just resting as if she had all the time in the world.

While peeling a banana.

One small slip of yellow peel at a time, the banana was ever so carefully being stripped of its covering as the ponies in the crowd watched. As she peeled, Princess mi Amore Cadenza looked back at the crowd from under hooded eyelids. There was not a single pony in attendance who did not know of her marriage a few days ago to Shining Armor, the handsome unicorn dressed in his shining golden armor with a few bent hairs on the helmet crest and scuff marks indicating it had been put on in a hurry after not being used for the last few days of their honeymoon.

Pony eyes traveled from the handsome unicorn prince, looking justifiably angry at being pried out of his well-deserved honeymoon, to the beautiful alicorn princess, just sitting in the chariot while peeling a banana. Back and forth, with each repetition bringing renewed sincerity among the crowd to maintain a law-abiding lifestyle from now on and a deep and sincere regret for spoiling what must have been an impressive honeymoon evening to have gone on for this many days and still leave a passionate princess wanting more.

The Princess of Love had just finished the banana with slow, sultry bites when Shining Armor ended his diatribe, turned with a distinctive dismissive gesture, and strode back to the chariot, which took off almost immediately afterwards.

There was a very long silence among the watching ponies.

Then the considerably chastised potential rioters began to slip away into the night, with two of the former bottle-throwers actually coming up to Beet Salad to apologize before hefting their friend on their backs and taking him to the hospital. Beets strolled back to the watching watchponies, tossed the bottles and discarded banana skin into a nearby trash can, and stalked into the dark docks to finish his shift.

The sun had just barely tipped over the horizon by the time Beets and his friend clocked out from work and began walking home, with Nectarine nearly dancing in excitement.

“You gotta admit, that was awesome,” he gushed. “Princess Cadenza, in the pretty pink person.” He lowered his voice, looking around. “I saved the banana peel.”

Beets glared at his friend. “What, you dove into the trash can just because a princess threw away a fruit peel? I'd hate to see what you’d do if she took a dump.”

“Laugh it up, Beets,” sniffed Nectarine, putting his nose in the air. “There were five of us fighting over the peel. I got most of it. And with the weekend coming up, I plan on using it to best advantage.”

Rolling his eyes, Beets asked, “So which one of your conquests gets the peel?”

“All of them, of course.” Nectarine preened a wing briefly, still giving little hops and wriggles of joy which made him look far too much like an excited colt with a comic book. “So, what are your plans for the weekend, Beets?”

“Nothing much. Just sitting around the house, nursing a sick ant.”

Nectarine stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and gave a sideways glance at his friend. “How long have you been saving that one up?”

“Saving what one up?" Beets returned Nectarine’s golden gaze with his own mismatched blue-eyed guileless expression until they both returned to their walk home. The changeling was not in the living room when Beets opened the door, and for a moment he thought it had escaped out into the city, or at least until he heard the sound of water from the bathroom. She was walking in small steps intermixed with winces of pain as she stepped into the living room, looked at the two of them at the door, and hobbled the rest of the way to the pull-down bed, where she collapsed with a groan.

“Hi, honey. I'm home,” caroled Nectarine with a grin. “You’ll never guess who we met at work tonight.”

The changeling sniffed the air and looked back at the exuberant nocturne with one eyebrow ridge raised. “Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Shining Armor? Seriously, you smell like you've been screwing in honeysuckle and rose petals.” She took another sniff. “And bananas?”

“Really?” Nectarine looked over at Beet Salad with an evaluating expression. “So—”

“Sauerkraut,” said the changeling with her eyes closed as she bit on her bottom lip. “That and a hint of crushed catnip. Although when he's sleeping, it's more like freshly-mown crabgrass. Oh, eggshells. My hip hurts like heck. I even took an extra pill, and it isn't helping.” She opened one teal eye and glared at the two stallions in the doorway.

“Getting turned over to the police won't help you much there,” said Nectarine. “When I got picked up on my drunk and disorderly, they wouldn't even give me an aspirin. Had a stallion in the drunk tank next cell over with a busted leg, and they didn't even get a doctor until his lawyer threw a fit.”

“Horseapples. I really need to have my hip looked at by somebody who knows what they’re doing.” The changeling took a long, dry look at Beets. “You don't think the vet you were talking about before would notice, do you? I’ll even let you put me in a muzzle and a leash. Arf!”

“I always thought you were a little bitch,” muttered Beets. “No, we need a doctor. You need a doctor. Somepony who won’t throw a fit about treating a changeling and will keep their mouth closed about it later.”

"Somepony who knows what they're doing would help," said the changeling in a tone of voice which had Beets and Nectarine both perking up their ears.

“That sounded suspiciously specific,” said Nectarine.

“Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this,” said Beets. “Who?”

“I can't believe this is working,” muttered the heap of blankets in the checker cab behind Beet Salad as he trotted down the street. “Ponies are idiots.”

“Yeah,” agreed Beets, not slowing his pace in the least as the ‘borrowed’ cab clattered down the street behind him. “Mares in particular. I can't believe at least one of Nectarine’s marefriends hasn’t gelded him yet.” He got the distinct feeling the changeling under the blankets behind him agreed, and would even be willing to loan a dull knife or sharp spoon for the project, but no further words were forthcoming until quite a few streets later.

“Right at the next intersection, then right into the underground parking,” said the changeling, still huddled under the blankets. “And try not to hit so many potholes.”

“Can't help it,” said Beets. "Some emotion-sucking insect down in Town Hall probably planted them in the middle of the night.” After making the turn as directed, he slowed and turned into a large underground parking lot of the Midland Medical Center, eventually backing his borrowed cab into a open slot next to a back staircase. “Remember, we need to get the cab back to Nectarine in an hour or two, or he turns back into a pumpkin.”

“You mean before his marefriend the cabby notices it’s gone.” The changeling eased out of the seat and down onto the concrete floor of the quiet parking garage with the blanket still draped over her back. She held a hoof over the touchpad while punching in the access code, but stopped at the bottom of the staircase after they passed through the thick door. “Crap. Stairs. I didn't think this through.”

“Shut up,” muttered Beet Salad, as the echoes in the hollow stairwell mangled his words into near unrecognizability. The soft blue of his magic surrounded the injured changeling, floating her up into the air as Beets started to climb. “What floor?”

“Twelfth. He’s got a balcony landing for our pegasi disguises so we don't have to go through the waiting room.” The changeling wriggled around in Beet Salad’s magic to look back at him. “You don't have to do this, you know. You could have just thrown me to the cops.”

“Shut up.”

Beets climbed without any further commentary as the changeling shifted positions uncomfortably. Around the halfway mark, she flicked her tail back into Beets’ face. “Stop looking up my plot.”

“Can’t help it,” he muttered. “It’s such a huge target.”

She tucked her tail back flat against her rear for another few flights of stairs before lifting it back up again, only higher. “Go ahead and stare. It’ll take my mind off the surroundings.”

“What, you don't like being around sick ponies? They taste bad or something?”

“Something.” She whisked her tail around for a while before tucking it against her rump again. “Sick and injured changelings are just killed when it would take more love to fix them than they’ll be able to contribute afterwards. You should have let me die.”

“Don’t like it when other ponies tell me what to do,” grunted Beets as he climbed, eventually reaching the top floor and a steel door labelled ‘Bonebreaker and Associates - Orthopedic Medicine’ in sharp black letters.

“The door opens up into the clinic,” explained the changeling. "Boney is probably in his office this early, catching up on paperwork. He’s a masochist. Really. Likes being tied up and stuff.” The changeling eyed Beet Salad and held up a purple shellac-painted limb. “The two of you should get along fine.”

“Funny bug,” grunted Beets. “Wait here.”

The hallways of the doctor's office were quiet, but brightly lit, making Beets feel a little like a misplaced burglar as he walked along, looking for the right door. The scent of antiseptic and sterile floor wax brought uncomfortable thoughts to mind and a crushing sense of dread to his chest, but he put the thoughts of his departed family behind him as he walked with quiet steps until he found what he was looking for. Tapping gently on a door labelled ‘Dr. Bonebreaker M.D.’ Beets peeked inside and addressed the stocky unicorn inside as politely as he was able. "Excuse me, doctor."

“We're not open ye—” The doctor looked up and his green eyes behind a set of thick glasses got considerably larger. "Good heavens! You should have come to me sooner, sir. My schedule this morning is fairly light, so I think we can get you in for an appointment and set up for treatments, but—”

“Not me, doctor. I've got… Well, she’s… out in the back hallway,” Beets finished weakly.

Following the doctor as he strode away, Beets chewed on his bottom lip and fumed. It really was not his fault his face looked the way it did. It was the fault of a whole lot of other ponies, each of whom had collected a somewhat larger dose of the violence he had absorbed. There was really no reason to spend the bits on making his outsides any prettier since his insides were a pretty vile place, and all it would be doing is gilding a rotten flower.

His musing was cut off as the doctor opened the back stairwell door, paused…

And turned around, firing a stun spell right into Beet Salad's face.

7. Camouflage

Being trapped and enslaved by changeling teddy bears was a new experience for Beet Salad. He just lay in bed for a long time, watching the hallucinations dance and sing around on the ceiling while the ground ebbed and flowed around his tail. Loud noises sounded curiously muffled, while sharp banging noises from far away sounded loud enough to make his head ring. The doctor from before swam effortlessly into the room, looked into Beets' mouth, and turned into a chicken before strutting away. Or at least it looked like a chicken. It was vaguely familiar to him, and as the anesthetic slowly began to fade away and reality started to assert itself, the actual doctor’s office recovery room began to piece itself together out of the hallucinations and delusions fogging his mind. After taking a sip out of a glass of water held by Twilight Sparkle and a few deep breaths to make the cobwebs in his brain get less webby, Beets tried to speak.

“Wha furgle megapho… What?”

“You fell down when the doctor blasted you,” explained Twilight Sparkle, who looked a little less purple and more alien than Beets expected from the newspaper articles about her. In fact, she was beginning to look a lot more like a certain shellac-covered changeling as the drugs were slowly purging themselves from his system. “You hit your chin on the floor, so we dragged you into one of the procedure rooms.”

Beets carefully prodded the inside of his numb mouth with his tongue. “Teef?”

“Four,” verified the changeling. “Nothing you were needing. Impacted like heck and pushing the rest of your jaw out of place. You cracked one in the fall, and rather than just pull one and leave your jaw unbalanced, we pulled 'em all while Doctor Bonebreaker straightened and realigned your jaw. I cleaned about ten years worth of tartar off the rest while I was waiting for your lazy rear to get out of slumbertown. You should wear a retainer to bed for a few months, but it should make your breath livable and cut down on your snoring too.”

He glowered as much as he could while holding a hoof to his numb jaw. “Fanks.”

While time passed, the world seemed to ruffle the blurry changeling into odd shapes as she still continued to sway according to Beets’ untrustworthy vision. The world passed in erratic bursts of motion, gradually straightening out until the doctor returned and peered into Beets’ mouth.

“Sorry about that, Mister Salad,” said the doctor, prodding around in Beets’ mouth with a tongue depressor the size of a small tree and just as splintery. “I got a little excited when I saw your friend and let you slip after stunning you. You bit your tongue a little, so there's a stitch in the side, and of course we took out your impacted third molars. Did you want them for the Tooth Flutterpony?”

“Thure. Gonna need all my money to pay you.”

“Pay?” The stocky doctor took a step backwards and blinked in a motion looking far too owl-like for the bespectacled stallion. “I was the one who over-reacted to your presence near one of the Folk and assaulted you. I was hoping we could resolve this amicably without dragging the lawyers into it, which is why I left you under the anesthetic and attempted to make recompense with my craft on your obvious emergency. If you would like to make an appointment, I can work on your dreadfully misaligned septum next, and possibly the kink in your tail.”

“That’s—” Beets settled down into a low glower, made easier by the amount of painkillers in his system. The constant ache in his jaw from the misaligned teeth did appear to be gone, although it was going to take some getting used to the way his teeth actually matched up when he closed his jaw. “I’m not gonna sue,” he muttered. “Judge w'laugh me out of town 'n arrest us both. You're clear.”

“Good,” exclaimed the doctor with a deep sigh. “Anyway, your marefriend has a few dislocated ribs, two chipped teeth, and a cracked pelvis from where she fell after succumbing to Hivemind Shock after Queen Chrysalis had her rather impolite expulsion out of Canterlot. I got the teeth fixed, and your rather ingenious painting system is keeping her ribs protected while they knit, but the pelvis is somewhat problematic. I gave it as much healing magic as is practical for one day’s application, and I'm sending a full week of bone knitting potions with her. No bondage or sex of any sort until she's fully healed."

“Wait.” Beets held up a hoof rather unsteadily. “Marefriend? Weeks? Sex?”

“Relax, lovercolt,” purred the changeling. “I told him we’ve been sleeping together.”

“It’s no biggie,” said the doctor with a shrug as he rummaged around in a cabinet for a set of small bottles. “You’re not the only stallion with a bed bug.” Beets watched as the changeling began to frantically signal the doctor to shut up, but as he was presently turned away from her and sorting sample bottles of Skele-Grow, he missed the signal and kept going. “I’ve been married to my changeling for five wonderful years. She's been very understanding of my special needs, and I've provided her friends in town with medical attention when they need it. Having a special somebuggy can be a little strange at times, but I’m sure you know all about that.”

The doctor turned around with the collection of sample bottles hovering in his magical field. After a quick glance at Beets’ face and a second one at the rather upset changeling, he added, “Or at least I thought so. You two aren't sleeping together?”

“No,” snapped Beets, although he could not help but add, “Not for sex. She's not my type.”

“I don’t think he has a type,” added the changeling. “I’ll bet even his blood is ugly. He’s got this self-loathing thing going on where he tries to push away anypony who gets close. Has something to do with losing his family. He's a screwed-up mess.”

“Hey!” objected Beet Salad with a fierce scowl and a vicious glare at both of the other beings in the room. “I don’t have to take this from you. Stay with your little bug-bumping buddy here, and I'm going home. I've had enough of you for a lifetime.”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” declared the doctor, backpedaling towards the door. “There’s no way I’d be able to hide your marefriend at my apartment. We entertain, and she’s going to stick out like a sore hoof until she moults and can disguise herself reliably again. Besides, I’m already feeding one changeling. I’d dry up and blow away trying to feed two.”

“Well, what in Tartarus am I supposed to do with her?” snapped Beets. “Take her back with me and slip her past my landlady again?”

“Me and my big mouth,” muttered Beets, floating the lumpy pile of blankets in through his doorway and dropping them on his pull-down bed. It took a few moments to fasten the door and all of the locks before he called out, “Okay, you can come out now. Honey.”

“Thanks, Snookems,” whispered the changeling as she kicked off the blankets and vanished into the bathroom. “You know, I like honey, and you don't have any in your kitchen. You should add it to your shopping list.”

“Screw you,” muttered Beets as he stomped into his kitchenette and looked over his meager supply of canned food.

“Hey, Honeybuns,” called out the changeling from the bathroom. “How about some food for your poor crippled houseguest?”

“I’ve still got some dog food left over,” said Beets, looking in a nearby bag and waving away a few gnats.

“I was thinking something a little more filling,” called back the changeling.

“If you add water, it makes its own gravy,” said Beets, looking at the side of the bag. “Want me to make you a bowl?”

“How about some soup or something?” replied the changeling as she emerged from the bathroom and hobbled past Beets. “Can you bring me a bowl in bed? I’m exhausted.”

"Get it yourself," grumbled Beets, rummaging through his cans again. "Besides, all we have is split pea and artichoke chilli."

"We can split the split pea," she called back. "Artichokes give me gas." She remained silent as Beets dug out a pan and began to practice the ancient art of bachelor cooking, but after the soup had been put on to cook and the silence was getting fairly thick, she added, "Thanks."

"Just trying to save my own nose," he said in return. "If I have to sleep with you, the last thing I need is your ass gas."

"Not that," snapped the changeling. "The… uh… Other thing."

"What thing? The part where I dragged you halfway across the city only to get my face zapped, or where some crazy bug-bumping doctor pulled out my teeth?"

"Err… Never mind." The changeling remained hunched over the edge of the bed until Beets brought out her bowl of soup and placed it on the nightstand, complete with a spoon and a few grass crackers. "Where's yours?" she asked while picking up the offered spoon.

"Don't want none," he responded. "Teeth still hurt."

"You're supposed to take food with your pills, right?" she asked while tasting the soup.

"Don't need 'em. They don't hurt much."

"Well, go get mine then, and a bottle of the bone calcium booster. My rear hurts. Just because you want to be a suffering bastard, doesn't mean I have to be." The changeling tasted the soup again with a grimace while Beets dutifully brought over the pills and one of the small sample bottles. She struggled with the bottle lid for a moment before floating it over to Beet Salad, who popped off the top almost effortlessly and floated it back over to her.

"Thanks again," she said before slugging down the bottle of calcium booster as if there were a contest.

"D'mention it." He took the empty bottle back from her and tossed it into the trash can, but stopped when she dipped the spoon into the soup and held it in front of his face.

"Does this taste funny to you?" she asked. "I mean I don't normally eat pea soup, so I'm not quite certain how it's supposed to taste, but you eat it, so here." She stuck the spoon full of soup into Beets' mouth and watched as he swallowed. "Good?"

"It's not too bad. It was on sale," he added apologetically.

“Still tastes funny to me, but then again, I had a bone surgeon play with my teeth today too.” She took another spoonful for herself, and held one out for Beets, who accepted it with a suspicious look.

“Is this some ploy to make me eat something before we go to bed?”

“Of course. If you're hungry tonight, it’s going to mess with the taste of your emotions, so all I care about is my sleepy noms. Open your mouth and close your eyes, and you will get—”

“I can get my own spoon, thank you very much.” She remained silent as Beets retrieved a plastic spoon from the kitchen and gingerly ate his half of the soup from her bowl, and even managed to stay shut up after he helped her get settled into bed, but as she stifled a long yawn, she added, “You better go brush your remaining teeth and hop into bed too before you fall over. It feels like those pills are kicking in.”

Beets stopped running water over the dirty dishes long enough to give her a long stare. "I didn't take any of the pills."

"I put 'em in the soup while you were distracted," said the changeling with another wide yawn.

In the end, Beets barely managed to get his teeth somewhat casually brushed before the changeling had to help the stumbling stallion to bed, tuck the sheets around them both, and get comfortable. The last thing he remembered was looking into the unreadable face of the changeling and her dark blue eyes as they both drifted off to a drug-assisted slumber.

Author's Notes:

Waiter, there's some soup in my fly...

Ah, changeling jokes.

8. Equestrian Saturday Night

The evening hour at Beet Salad’s apartment started with a rather constant and solid knocking at his door, which would have been perfectly fine with Beets if it had not been his evening off, with a throbbing jaw where he was missing four teeth, and a changeling draped halfway over his side.

“Go ‘way, Nek!” he called out, shifting positions in the pull-down bed while trying to figure out how to reclaim a small fraction of his bedding from the aggressively acquisitive bedbug. “It’s my freaking night off, and I need my sleep! Go bonk one of your marefriends!”

“Royal Guard, sir!” came the response. “Is this the residence of Beet Salad, who works for the Port Authority of Baltimare?”

Beets froze in place while the changeling let out a short snore. “Yes?” he ventured. “If this is about the cab from yesterday, my friend said it was just borrowed.”

“We need you to come with us down to the Port Authority administrative building, sir. It's in regard to changelings.”

“Changelings?” echoed Beets, trying to hold a hoof over the snoring bug's face and seriously considering just smothering it under a pillow.

“May we come in, sir? I really don't think this conversation is fit for the hallway.”

“No! I mean…” Beets almost slipped on the threadbare carpet stumbling out of bed, and after a quick glance at the nightstand where the pill bottle was sitting, decided he would rather face arrest sober than tranked full of sedatives. Besides, the glass of water was empty, which meant his insectile roommate had already taken her evening pill, so he would have to backtrack to the kitchen to get something to wash it down with. Still, he took the bottle with him, just in case.

Grabbing his hat and the work belt with his nightstick, Beets stumbled out of the apartment door and slammed it behind himself before staring at the two pegasus Royal Guards standing impassively in the hallway. “Ok, I’m ready to go. Let's go.”

“Just a minute, sir.” The first pegasus reached out with a wing and stopped Beet Salad’s dart for the outside doorway. “The Captain would never forgive us if we brought you like this. You look terrible,” he added. “You should at least run a comb through your mane and brush your teeth. This is likely to take all night, and we don’t want to disturb the others.”

“We'll wait right here for you, if you want. We've got a few minutes before we need to get going,” said the other guard.

“Oh, no,” said Beets, quicking running a hoof through his tangled mane, or at least over it. “I’m fine. Let's just get this over with.”

The two guards exchanged looks before the first one heaved a deep sigh. “Look, sir. Captain Shining Armor would never forgive us if we dragged you in looking like this, particularly with the performance you put on last night.”

“Performance?” Beets stopped cold with the feeling of ice beginning to trickle up his hooves.

The second pegasus guard shook his head. “Yeah, it took balls to walk out in the middle of a riot. I had a mate get splashed with a fuel-bomb in Croakland a few years ago, and… Let’s just say what you did was totally against guard regulations and there's not a single Royal Guard who would ever do a thing like that to a—” He cleared his throat “—peaceful protester, but if I ever see you in a bar, you're not going to be able to buy your own drinks for a week.” He opened the apartment door, which Beets realized with sudden terror he had not locked, and gestured inside. “Go ahead and take a quick shower. We’ll take the flack if you're a few minutes late.”

Beets slipped in the apartment door and slammed it behind him, causing the blanket-wrapped changeling to lift her head up and give him a bleary stare. “Wha’s up, buttercup?”

“Get down!” he hissed, darting across the living room and pulling the blanket over his unwelcome guest. “The Royal Guard is out there!”

The realization seemed to clear some of the fuzzy thoughts out of the changeling's eyes through the process of frenzied blinking. “So… Why are they out in the hallway instead of dragging us both through the streets?”

“They…” Beets paused and screwed his face up into a look of intense concentration. “They wanted me to get cleaned up first,” he added weakly.

“You're too dirty to be arrested?” The changeling peered at her roommate with a frown of puzzlement. “I knew Celestia's guards were picky, but this is a new one.” She paused. “Why aren't they arresting me too?”

“I don't know! I… I’ll go take a quick shower. You just… stay out of the way,” whispered Beets as he darted towards the bathroom.

“Brush your teeth,” she called out after him. “Dental hygiene is important for a prisoner.”

By the time Beets managed a panic-filled shower and a quick tooth-brushing, he could smell the ambrosia of perking coffee through the bathroom door. “Coffee?” he asked, poking his nose out of the bathroom to see the changeling in his kitchenette, riding herd over his cranky percolator.

“I rescued a couple of foam cups out of the trash,” she whispered back. “For heaven's sake, brush your mane or they'll think you're some sort of sick pink lion. Is that your natural coat color? Or colors?”

“Yes!” he hissed back while dragging a comb through his tangled mane. “It’s kindof a cross between tortoiseshell and calico and why are you concerned about my coat color now?”

“You just looked funny.”

“Ha, ha,” he echoed just before the apartment door rattled and the voice of one of the guards filtered in.

“Hey, if it’s not too much trouble while we’re waiting, can my partner use your bathroom? It’s been a long day and he's been drinking a lot of coffee.”

With a quick look around his tiny apartment in the forlorn hope of finding a changeling-sized hiding place for his housepest, Beets hustled the changeling out into the living room and onto the pull-down Murphy bed. “Just a minute,” he called out. “The house is a mess.”

“What are you doing?” she hissed back.

“Saving your life.” With a bright glow of magic on the bottom of the Murphy bed, it flipped up into the closed position, looking like a set of bookshelves with a few bits of sheet sticking out around the edges just a fraction of a second before the front door swung open and a Royal Guard poked his nose inside.

“What was that?” he asked. “Thought I heard somepony else.”

“Nothing!” declared Beets in as non-guilty of a voice as he could manage at the moment. “Nothing at all.”

“Reallygottausethetoilet!” blurted out his partner as he zipped inside and in the direction of the bathroom at top speed. “Thankyou!”

“Yeah, thank you, sir,” added the first guard with a hint of a troubled expression and a suspicious glance at the folded-up bed. “You probably want to get your coffee, sir. My partner will be done in a few minutes, and I don’t want to keep the Captain waiting. He has more important places to be.”

“Coffee!” declared Beets, darting over to the coffee pot and starting to pour his recycled foam cup full of the lifegiving beverage. “Do you want any, sir?”

“Not really,” said the guard, passing his gaze across the kitchenette with a thoughtful frown. "You have two cups, I see. Marefriend?"

“No!” declared Beets with a guilty twitch spilling coffee over the table. He ripped the last paper towel off the roll and frantically mopped up the mess, trying not to worry as the guard casually strolled over to the ‘bookshelf’ and regarded it critically.

“You know, I don't think I’ve ever seen one of these fold-up beds before,” he remarked, running a hoof across the top shelf of ‘books.’ “Do you just pull down here?” Powerful pegasus muscles yanked and the bed unfolded down out of the wall, leaving a powder-blue pegasus mare tumbling across the floor, still tangled in the sheets.

“Whoa!” declared the guard, taking a step back.

Beets declined comment, as he was returning the steel cylinder of the kitchen fire extinguisher back into the closet. It was a fairly desperate move anyway he was glad did not have to be made. Royal Guard helmets were enchanted heavily, and even if he had managed to knock out the one, there was a second one just finishing up in the bathroom.

“Hi there, handsome,” declared the newly revealed mare as she remained sprawled out on Beet Salad's thin living room carpet. With a sweep of her hoof to tuck back a curl of pale blue mane which had drifted over her sultry blue eyes, she asked, “Honey, why didn't you tell me we were having such handsome company?”

“Did I miss anything?” asked the second guard as he came out of the bathroom, stopped, and stared at the beautiful young pegasus mare laying in the middle of Beet Salad's tiny living room. “Whoa, mama.”

“Manners, Specialist Dry Roast,” chided the other guard. “Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you, but we've been a little on edge lately.” His eyes drifted from the beautiful pegasus to the ugly unicorn and back again, as if to check his vision. “Seems an odd place to be taking a nap, if you don't mind me saying so, ma’am.”

“I know,” sighed the ‘pegasus’ mare. “I pulled a couple of muscles in my back, and Beetsie here was so kind as to let me borrow his bed as a back press while I recover. It’s cheaper than the skyway robbery rates they charge at the physical therapists, and it has some wonderful side benefits.” She actually giggled at this and fluttered her eyelids at Beet Salad, who blushed near crimson in return.

“I… Yes, I can understand,” said the guard. “But—”

“Oh, where are my manners?” she exclaimed. “I’m Sultry Breeze, from down at the Town Hall in the Urban Planning department. You know, we don't get handsome young Royal Guards down there very often. Are you two… single?”

"No, Ma'am. Married for four years now, with one on the way. I'm Sergeant Ardent Valor and this is my partner, Specialist Dry Roast. We're sorry to disturb you, but we need to get Mister Salad to the administration building at the Port Authority for his training session as quick as we can."

“Training session?” murmured Beet Salad under his breath, exchanging a glance with the changeling, who only giggled and winked back at him.

“I suppose I’ll let him go, if I have to. Give me a kiss before you go to class, Beetsie.”

As the guards headed back out to the hallway, Beets picked up his cup of coffee and gingerly approached his disguised houseguest. "Are you crazy?" he hissed. "What if they check out your story?"

"It'll check out. It better. It's the cover I've been living for the last year. I mailed a letter to the old couple I've been staying with and one to my boss yesterday while we were at the doctor's, telling them I had been in a minor mid-air accident and was going to be on sick leave at a coltfriend's house for a few weeks. Even included a doctor's note for work. Now, give your marefriend a kiss before you head off for school. Kissie, kissie?"

The changeling puckered up, and although Beets was royally tempted to bite her on the lips instead, he brushed his lips across hers and hustled out the door on the way to whatever boring training session the Port Authority had decided to grace on him.

On the whole, Beets would have rather been arrested. Every unicorn who worked the night shift for the Port Authority was packed into Room 101 and waiting for a class entitled 'Rapid Spell Learning - Changeling Detection' on the chalkboard at the front of the classroom. As there were only five unicorns who actually worked the night shift in various capacities, four of whom were clerks or paperwork processors of some kind, and the classroom was able to hold dozens of ponies, 'packed' was probably a significant overstatement.

"Ten-HUT!" announced a voice from the side of the room, followed by a somewhat embarrassed, "Sorry about that, everypony. Force of habit." The broad-shouldered form of Prince Shining Armor strode confidently into the room and situated himself in front of the chalkboard with a suppressed yawn. He looked even more impressive in the bright lights of the classroom, even though Beets could see a few bent blue hairs in his mane and the beginnings of shadows under his eyes. Then again, it had been five whole days since his wedding, and the new Royal Couple had vanished from public view until last night, so… Beet Salad decided to refrain from commenting, unlike some of his coworkers.

“A little short on sleep, luv?” suggested one of the bright-eyed female clerks with a wink, triggering a short round of tense giggling, to which Shining Armor contributed his own short snort and laugh.

“No comment, and I really mean it,” he added with another yawn which spawned a few giggles all around the room. "We've got a lot to get to this evening, since the failed changeling invasion has gotten everypony all worked up. You’ll find a brief summary of two spells written in magical notation in the folders on your desks. We will be covering both of them this evening, and you'll be expected to practice them at home over the next few days to get fully proficient… Yes, you there with the blue tie.”

“Forepony Special here, of the Cargo Loading and Packing Local 694,” announced Special, or Blue Plate Special as the other members of the dock crew preferred to call him out of his sight. For a unicorn with such beady little eyes, he had a spare tire around the middle which reflected his ability to never actually be anywhere actual work was being done while still always being first in line for donuts at the union meetings. “Practicing spellcraft at home for work purposes is against union rules without the payment of negotiated overtime. You'll have to take the proposal up with the work products committee at their meeting next week, if you can get it on the agenda.”

Shining Armor paused, seemingly considering something both painful and embarrassing happening to Special, before giving a brief nod. “Thank you, Forepony Special. We will just be covering the basics of the spell tonight. If you choose to practice it during your spare time, you should be fully proficient with it in just a few… Yes, Forepony Special?”

Special put down his hoof and regarded Shining Armor just as coldly as if he were leading a brigade of strikebreakers. “Implying an employee is to violate union rules is a violation of our contract. If you proceed in this regard, I'm afraid I'm going to have to file a formal complaint.”

Shining Armor regarded the union forepony with the same callous disregard as a stepped-on piece of gum. “Forepony Special, you do know Canterlot was attacked by a changeling invasion force six days ago, correct?”

The chubby unicorn tossed his mane back and put his nose up in the air. “There haven't been any changelings around my docks, Captain Armor.”

Shining Armor nodded with a dangerous spark showing in his eyes. “The forensic analysis of your dock shipping pallets would tend to prove otherwise. Still, if there are changeling infiltrators in the vicinity, as our tests have proven, they would most probably be found as close to leadership positions as possible, in order to cause the most damage during an invasion. Said possible changelings would try very hard to prevent anypony from discovering their true identity and therefore remain inconspicuous.”

Special glared back at Shining Armor. “Captain Armor, I do not appreciate your implication. As forepony of our union, I demand an apology.”

A small smile appeared on Shining Armor's face by stages, lifting the corners of his lips and exposing bright white teeth as he spoke two words. “Block. Tackle.”

Two earth pony Royal Guards in full armor appeared as if by magic, one to each side of the rotund union unicorn. Each of the guards was carrying a magic-suppressing donut in their teeth, although they did not make a move to put them on the horn of the suddenly cowed unicorn. Yet.

“Specialist Block and Specialist Tackle will now escort you to the front of the classroom,” announced Shining Armor just a moment before the two hefty earth ponies began to move forward with the hapless union representative caught between them. “Before we begin with the lecture, I believe a practical spell demonstration is warranted. Put him right there, please.”

“What is the meaning of this?” spluttered Special. “I have rights!”

“The city of Baltimare has passed emergency legislation,” said Shining Armor in a flat monotone. “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna urged them not to, but they did anyway. At any point in time, for any reason, any law enforcement agent within the city limits is permitted to use a spell to scan a suspected changeling.”

Shining Armor tapped the folder on the table in front of him. “Class, please turn in your notes to the first spell and try to follow along. Don't be discouraged if you've never cast a spell to detect magical compulsions before. Normally, such a spell is quite difficult for even powerful unicorns, but my sister Twilight Sparkle made some significant simplifications which allow it to only detect if somepony has been exposed to changeling magic. Hold still, Forepony Special. This doesn't hurt at all.”

Shining Armor's horn lit up in a surprisingly feminine pink aura, which swept over the cringing pony with only a few tiny sparkles of green. “As you can tell, class, this pony has had very little exposure to changeling magic. Can we get another volunteer, please? Mister Beet Salad, please come up here.”

Somewhat irritated and annoyed by Shining Armor's definition of ‘volunteer,’ Beets trudged to the front of the room. Shining Armor was not wearing the helmet to his namesake armor, but he had a certain wariness to his attitude which passed a signal to Beets indicating any attempt to disable or injure the seemingly placid white unicorn would go badly. Very badly.

Up close, Beets could see the small imperfections in the prince’s coat indicating a long history of magical duels under the watchful eye of an alert referee, but there were also more than a few indications of significant violent conflict taken outside the sparring ring.

Unlike any other foe he had faced before, Beet Salad was determined not to get into a fight this time.

"So glad to meet you, sir," said the prince, stepping forward and shaking hooves briskly with a warm smile. There was not much of a shark lurking in those bright, white teeth, but instead it felt as if the prince was exhibiting a friendly attitude out of courtesy, and any change in his attitude would regretfully change their relationship for the worse. There was also a definite sign of recognition in his face, although combined with enough restraint to avoid bringing up the events of last night in polite company. In short, Beets would not have minded buying Prince Shining Armor a beer, and it seemed the prince would have no problems accepting it.

“Good to meet you too, sir,” said Beets rather reluctantly.

“Now, as I understand it, your patrol path took you near the site of the changeling impact several times over the last week, so you should show a greater response to the detection spell. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” said Beets before he could think.

If that spell detects bedtime changeling snuggles, I’ll light up like a torch.

“Very well. Here we go.” A wave of soft pink magic swept over Beets, feeling just a little like relaxing in a sunbeam. Thankfully, the brilliant green glow of changeling magic did not appear as expected, but there were quite a few sharp green sparks floating over his aura, as well as a soft green glimmer across his back which had Shining Armor narrowing his eyes slightly, although he did not display any other sign of suspicion.

“Since Mister Beet Salad’s patrol took him near the location where the changeling activity was detected, some of the residual changeling magic seems to have brushed off during his multiple trips past the site. This only goes to show detecting changeling magic with this spell does not necessarily mean the subject is really a changeling, or has been adversely influenced by them. Of course, to be certain, the second spell can be used to strip away the disguise of any suspected changeling, even the most powerful of them.”

“Like the queen?” asked Beets Salad.

There was a very long silence, after which Shining Armor nodded. “Yes, if she doesn’t get to you first. You need to be very careful when dealing with changelings. They're smart, deceptive, and subtle. Lower your guard for even an instant and they'll bend your mind to their will.”

After several hours of study and practice, Beets was really missing a long, boring walk around the docks. This reminded him far too much of his youthful experiences in school, with the other students and their taunting and abuse. Then again, as a colt he had brought a lot of the unwanted attention on himself, which was something he could only see in hindsight. His ass had better vision than his head, and probably looked better as he had aged from the young idiot of so many years ago.

Those were the days. He had gotten his horseshoe cutie mark when he had first slugged an annoying colt who had been doing something annoying, even though he could not remember just exactly what it was now. Detention had been well worth it, despite the fierce rump tanning afterwards he had received from Dad with little or no respect for his new cutie mark.

Tonight, the disparaging remarks from Forepony Special grated on his nerves, and from the subdued twitches from Shining Armor, he was in good company. The union representative was going out of his way to not only push management during this ‘opportunity’ in every way he could, but as the class session worked its way into the second spell, seemed to be baiting the prince into doing something rash. Since the description of the second spell included the words ‘painful’ several times and ‘severe damage if misused’ twice, Beets was guessing Special was trying to get Shining Armor to zap him with the transformation reversal spell so he could fake an injury and get the full medical retirement from the Port Authority he seemed to have been leaning towards for the last few years.

As the stress in the room rose, Beets began to feel a certain camaraderie with the prince. If the series of speculative articles in the newspaper tabloids were correct, Shining Armor was one of only two stallions in the room who had actually slept with a changeling, although Beets' experience was not one he was about to share, particularly due to the newspaper articles which had constantly needled the new prince about the possibility of insectile offspring in eleven months. True, Buggy had said changelings and ponies were infertile, but the bug could be lying, and sharing either experience probably would not reduce Prince Shining Armor's stress level any.

Stress that boiled over when Forepony Special made a snide comment about ‘ineffectual guardsponies’ and Shining Armor’s ears suddenly laid back flat against his head.

“Sir,” said Beets, standing up with the folder of spell notes floating in front of him, “the information in the notes about the changeling disguise stripping spell seems contradictory to me. There are all kinds of warnings about how dangerous it can be if misused, but it also states the spell should be perfectly safe. Perhaps if you could demonstrate it on a volunteer before class ends.”

Beet Salad could see the idea take root in Shining Armor's head, due to the sudden relaxation of his ears and a growing smile, but before the prince could ‘volunteer’ Forepony Special, Beets added, “I would be honored to be your volunteer, sir.”

It was almost as much fun to watch Shining Armor's face as he worked though his disappointment as to see the conflicted expression on Forepony Special as he jumped to put his two bits into the conversation. “Excuse me, Mister Sandwich—”

“Salad. Beet Salad,” corrected Beets.

“But union workrules specifically forbid the use of any dangerous spells on employees, with or without their permission,” continued Special with a thin smile.

“City laws permit both local and Crown law enforcement personnel, which includes a Captain of the Royal Guard, to use the two spells we are learning this evening on any suspected changeling.” Beets shifted his gaze to Prince Shining Armor. “Sir, I suspect I may be a changeling. Blast away.”

To his credit, Shining Armor took his time getting the spell set up, making certain that the area around Beets was cleared of any sharp objects and having all of the Port Authority employees follow the spell notes, step by step. When the wave of pinkish dispelling magic swept over him, Beets felt a sharp and considerably unpleasant prickling over all of his body. It was less pain than expected, except for when the magic reached his face.

And his recently extracted teeth.

Since there were mares in the room, Beets tried his best not to curse, or at least keep his virulent swearing to a minimum. In any case, the words squeezed out from his rigid jaw probably would not have been very understandable anyway. The healing sockets in his upper and lower jaw fairly burned with unquenchable fire when the spell touched them, only dying down to a vicious ache after an eternity of agony and considerably fussing over by an apologetic prince.

If they use this spell on the pesky changeling, they'll kill her for certain.

When he finally could talk, he managed to gasp, “Had some dental work done yesterday. Hurts like a mother. I'll be fine.”

Shining Armor seemed to take his declaration of health with some hefty skepticism, and since it was nearly dawn anyway, he declared class to be over for the evening with a warning about using the disguise-removing spell on anypony without a thorough check for any medical issues. After dismissing all the students from the room including both of the taciturn Royal Guards, he turned to Beets with what could have been concern.

“Mister Salad, you should have said something about your dental extractions before I tried Twily’s spell on you. Open up so I can check on the damage.”

“Considering a second career as a dentist?” Despite his perfunctory protest, Beets opened his mouth and let Shining Armor have a royal look. “Ooo isss eet ooo aaadd?”

“No,” muttered the prince with his horn lit up and the throbbing pain in Beets’ empty tooth sockets slowly fading as his healing spell kicked in. “Nice bit of dental work there. It seems the disguise dispersal spell also breaks any residual healing spells.”

“Eeelly? Eeyye oould aaave ever euessed.”

“Sorry.” The prince poked around inside Beets’ mouth for a few more moments before giving a sharp nod and extinguishing his horn. “Not too bad, in hindsight. I’ve seen guards get pulled out of the sparring ring with less dental damage.”

“I’ve chipped a few teeth before too,” admitted Beets once his mouth was closed and he had checked the still-tender empty tooth sockets with the tip of his tongue.

“So.” Shining Armor sat quietly and just looked at Beet Salad, his bright blue eyes seemingly staring right through Beets’ mottled coat. “Tell me about the changeling.”

“What changeling?” responded Beets, feeling a cold chill run up his back.

“The one you found on the docks during your patrol,” said the prince. “The one who was injured, bleeding, and dying. The one we can’t find now. The one who vanished without a trace.”

The silence in the room stretched thin. It was difficult to tell which stallion was more uncomfortable. Beets could not find the nerve to look directly at the prince, and Shining Armor was shifting positions, as if the mention of changelings brought back unwelcome memories. Finally, Shining Armor blurted out, “We'll give you a thousand bits if you turn the changeling over to us.”

“What?” Beets eyed the prince skeptically. “I didn't think you cared about changelings.”

“I don’t!” protested the prince in what was nearly a yipe of surprise. “I mean we don’t. Care, that is. Princess Celestia and Princess Luna have a standing order to identify any changeling who can be found in order to keep them under observation from a distance.”

Beets’ eyes narrowed. “Strange. You offered me bits to turn her over, but the Princess’ order was just to keep them under observation? There seems to be something missing here.”

"They don't understand changelings like I do now," snapped Shining Armor. "Celestia should. She's beaten the bugs before."

"So shouldn't she be better at it than you?" prompted Beets. "Experience, after all."

"You don't understand either," growled Shining Armor. "Enough dancing around the point. You've got enough changeling magic on you to prove you've been around one of them and not enough to have been mind-controlled, which means you're working with one willingly. Are you going to turn over your changeling buddy, or am I going to have you arrested for harboring a fugitive?"

"Do it," snapped Beets. "The first thing I'll tell is how Prince Shining Armor offered me a thousand bits to give him a changeling." Shining Armor flinched, and Beets could feel his lips peel back in a macabre grin. "What, did the Changeling Queen give you an appreciation for banging a bug?"

Beets never even saw the hoof coming, but the explosion of pain in his face and the stars in his vision had not cleared by the time his back crashed into the far wall. He rebounded with his own hoof coming up for a counterblow only to find Shining Armor slamming a second shot into his gut which doubled Beets up into a ball and left him rolling across the floor.

"Don't—" started Shining Armor as Beets' magic surrounded the podium, lifting it up in preparation for throwing. Obviously deciding actions were superior to words, Shining Armor's pink magic lashed out and the podium slumped into two pieces, sliced almost perfectly in half. It was a breathtaking example of both power and control of combat magic, but Beets countered by swinging the two halves of the sundered podium on intersecting trajectories, one on each side of the furious prince.

The crash of colliding wood sprayed splinters all over the room as a bright pink bubble surrounded the target, blinking into existence just long enough to block the attack and blinking out as Shining Armor's upcoming counterattack glowed into incandescent fury at the end of his horn.

"Shiny!" The sharp female cry of outrage made the accumulated magic at the end of Shining Armor's horn waver and vanish. Beets did not fare much better, as he had intended on blocking the incoming spell with a chair, and the sudden feminine voice distracted his concentration enough to make him drop it on his hoof.

"Cadence!" Shining Armor's eyes darted around the room to the broken furniture and the substantial dent in the wall Beets had made with his impact. "This isn't what it looks like."

The sarcastic retort which sprang to mind failed to make it out of Beet Salad's mouth, because most of the neural activity in his brain was occupied with thoughts of 'She's so much prettier than her pictures in the newspaper' and 'Did I comb my mane?' Words like 'cascaded' and 'bounced' came to mind when attempting to describe the Princess of Love, as well as 'pink.' Lots and lots of pink, from her slim, well-formed legs up to her gracefully-swept wings and long horn. All of the anger he had gathered to fight Shining Armor just evaporated away, like dew before the noon sun, and a sense of unfamiliar peace settled over him.

"You're roughhousing with your friends again, aren't you?" Those perfect brows lowered and violet eyes glittered with amused malice as Princess mi Amore Cadenza fixed her new husband with a withering glare. "You knew we have an appointment this morning."

"Ahhh…" As much as Shining Armor was trying to maintain an air of indifference, Beets could see him brush a piece of debris behind him with one hoof. "Why don't you go by yourself again, Cadie? I've been up all night with the class, and I really need to take a shower."

A snarky response which Beets could place directly on his close proximity to Nectarine for several years just bubbled up and leapt for Beet Salad's mouth, only to be forcefully stifled before he could embarrass himself by offering to assist with either or both of their showers in any way possible.

"Shii-nee," said Cadenza in a wheedling tone of voice which would have driven any red-blooded stallion into complete obedience. "You promised. Auntie Luna says this therapist is the—"

"Don't say… therapist," said Shining Armor with a blistering look at Beet Salad indicating class was over, and any students still remaining were going to have to run laps if they did not leave right now.

A series of unconnected dots seemed to connect suddenly, and Beet Salad ventured, "Changeling issues?"

"That's rather private," said Princess Cadenza, sweeping her dangerous gaze over Beet Salad with very little of the normal disdain most mares displayed when looking at him. In fact, there was a small flicker of recognition, followed by an almost missed flash of magic around her horn which Beets recognized as the changeling magic detection spell. The princess gave a little twitch and hesitantly started, "You're…"

“I was at the docks,” admitted Beets. Those violet eyes were beguiling enough to make him continue with a phrase he should not have uttered. “You're pretty.”

“Yes, I get that a lot.” She smiled, and something deep in Beet Salad's heart smiled back even as she turned back to her husband and that affectionate smile gained a little steel. “Shiny, I'm not going to take no for an answer again. The nice doctor set aside part of her busy schedule every day this week for us, and you've dodged it every morning so far. Why won't you go to the sessions with me?”

“I have my reasons,” grumbled Shining Armor.

A spark of resentment began to grow in Beet Salad's chest. The handsome young prince had been given everything any stallion would die for on a silver platter including a princess. It seemed terribly unfair, and since Beets was still owed at least one punch in the jaw by the unthankful prince, he decided to pitch in his own two bits on Princess Cadenza's behalf.

“A thousand reasons,” said Beets with a suppressed vengeful grin.

Shining Armor whipped his head around to glare at Beets, who allowed his grin to emerge, one yellowed tooth at a time.

“You wouldn't,” said Shining Armor.

Beets only grinned wider.

“Wouldn’t what, Shiny?” Princess Cadenza fairly radiated concern in a compassionate look at her husband. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” blurted out Shining Armor as Beets took a breath to speak. “Nothing at all, dear. I’ve just changed my mind. We need to get going if we're going to make it to the headshrinker’s office for our appointment.”

“Of course, dear.” Princess Cadenza nodded at Beet Salad. “It was nice meeting you Mister…”

“Salad,” said Beets. “Beet Salad.”

Torn between rubbing the bruise on his chest or laughing, Beets settled for remaining respectfully silent as the Royal Couple vanished out the back door of the classroom, with Shining Armor casting one last virulent look over his back before the door closed. An unaccustomed chuckle escaped Beets at last, and stayed with him as he swept up the shattered remains of the podium and stuffed them into the trash can. Shining Armor may have been some hot-shot Royal Guard, but the pretty pink princess had him wrapped around one hoof. Beets' chuckles died down somewhat as he considered the newspaper accounts of the Royal Couple's respective ordeals, with one having been in extremely close contact to the changeling queen and the other thrown into the crystal caves below Canterlot and left to die. His changeling lurking back at the apartment could just as easily be biding her time to enslave…

No, that was stupid. Buggy was nearly helpless, and could not even change shape… No, she had changed forms just before he left the apartment this evening. He was considering the situation while picking up the last few splinters from the floor when the back door to the classroom opened and Superintendent Fits poked his narrow nose into the room.

“Ah, Mister Beet Salad. I was hoping I could find you before you went home this morning.” The greying earth pony strode confidently into the classroom and placed an open folder on the table next to Beets’ collection of spell notes. “The board had a meeting yesterday, and I'm afraid I have some bad news.”

“Bad news?” Beets could feel his heart skip a beat, and he sat down quickly before his knees folded up.

“Yes, the pony who you… assaulted last night has retained counsel. In the event that he sues the Port Authority, we could be looking at substantial damages. Pain and suffering. Loss of marital consortium. I don't believe the phrase ‘second degree anal burns’ has ever been used in a board meeting before, and I certainly hope it never is again.” He separated out a sheet of paper and slid it across the table over to Beets, who picked it up and tried to control his shock while reading.

“Mandatory anger management counseling? What idiot proposed this?”

“All of them.” Supervisor Fits fixed Beets with an impassive glare. “If we can get out in front of this thing and do damage control, we might be able to get out of it without a few hundred thousand bits in punitive damages. Ah…” Supervisor Fits looked around the room. “Wasn't there a podium in here?”

9. Famous Ponies

Normally, Beet Salad would be returning to his apartment at this time of morning, tired and cranky from a night of walking around the dark docks. He was still tired, because he had not practiced spellcraft this much in ages, and cranky because the impact points from Shining Armor's hooves had just started to throb in time with his heartbeat. His jaw was aching something fierce, and from the particularly sharp pain whenever he took too deep a breath, at least one rib had to be cracked slightly.

The appointment Supervisor Fits had so 'helpfully' made at the Midland Medical Center was almost an hour from now, so Beets would have to push it in order to arrive reasonably on time, and Fits had been quite specific about what would happen if he were late or blew off the appointment as he wanted to. Still, he had to stop by the apartment and pick up at least one painkiller pill, or he would be stuck somewhere in downtown Baltimare when the pain got too much to bear.

Beet Salad really expected his apartment door to be open and his singular insect infestation gone when he dropped by the apartment, but no such luck. Instead, he was greeted by a young powder-blue pegasus mare who was sitting morosely in front of the door when he opened it much as a sad puppy who missed its owner. She gave a rather stiff smile and looked into the corridor behind him, seemingly surprised that a few dozen Royal Guards were not behind him.

"So… No enforced vacation at the Baltimare Police Station's Bridle Suite?" she asked with her head cocked to one side, followed by a quick sniff. "Wow. You stink."

"I don't have time for this," said Beets, walking past her.

“Hey, if I’m not getting arrested, I deserve an explanation at the very least.” She followed him into the bathroom and watched as he paused in front of the medicine cabinet. After removing the bottle of pills he had been carrying around all evening and silently cursing his poor memory, he extracted one with a sour grimace and moved to put the bottle back in the cabinet while the changeling continued to talk.

“And why did you take all of the real pills with you, anyway? My ass has been killing me all night. Gimmie one. Make it two.”

She intercepted the floating pills by snapping them out of the air like flies and chugged down the glass of water he floated over to her after he was done. “Hey, wait up. Where are you going, lovercolt?”

“What are you, my wife?” grumbled Beets. “Buzz off. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at the medical center where we went yesterday.”

“Let’s get going then,” said the disguised changeling. “My disguise has been stable all night, so grab a cab and I’ll see if Bonebreaker can take another look at my hip. It shouldn’t hurt this much.”

Taking a long look at the ‘pegasus,’ Beets shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. No way.”

“That’ll be fifteen bits, sir.” The checker cabbie tapped one hoof while Beet Salad grudgingly counted out the fare and assisted his ‘marefriend’ down from the cab.

“Watch your step, ‘dear,’” he called as the unsteady disguised changeling staggered a little upon reaching the pavement. After arranging her scarf, the only one that Beets owned, she painfully sashayed into the parking garage, swishing her tail behind her.

“Lucky stiff,” muttered the cabbie as she checked the coins before dropping them into her sidesaddle.

“Lucky. Right.” Beets picked up the pace, catching the disguised changeling as she was punching the code into the basement stairwell door. “Wait up, ‘honey.’ Oh, no. Can’t we use the main entrance? You know, the one with the elevator?”

“I’ve never had anypony carry me up the stairs before,” giggled the changeling, posing at the bottom of the stairs and casting a come-hither look over her shoulder. “I’m starting to like it.”

“Twelve floors. Can't you find an orthopedic surgeon who's afraid of heights? Or lose some weight?” Beets picked the blue ‘pegasus’ up in his magic and floated her in front of him as he began to trudge upwards, one step at a time.

“Hey, your psychologist is only one floor down from Boney's office. Think of it as saving cabfare.”

Beets started panting about three floors up and slowed his climb to a slow trudge. The pain in his side was like a dull knife wedged between his ribs, and judging from the pained face of the changeling and the way she rubbed one pony hoof against her furry side, he was broadcasting fairly well. “So, are you moving out now that you can stay fuzzy?” A faint flicker of green magic traced down the disguised changeling's side, revealing a brief glimpse of her natural, or unnatural as the case could be made, shellacked violet chitin.

“Not yet. I thought it was fairly stable, but the stupid disguise transformation still flickers out at the worst times. Give me a few days and you'll be free of me.”

“Free of my flea,” said Beets, panting a little as he climbed. “My house deloused. The insect reject long gone.”

“My guitar-picking stud will be left in the mud,” replied the changeling. “The chords of my song will be silent before long. Your guitar keeps drifting out of tune," she added. "I was messing around with it while waiting for you to get back from work. The tuning pegs vibrate loose. I had to keep whacking them with a spoon.”

“You're awfully heavy for a singing cricket,” grumbled Beets, unaware of the way that the disguised changeling had suddenly frozen up with a panicked look to one side. “I suppose I should be glad you don't have a twin—”

The door to the side of the stairwell popped open and Shining Armor stepped out in front of Beet Salad, leading to a tense moment where it was difficult to determine which of them was more surprised by the meeting. Despite the shock, the broad-shouldered stallion looked considerably more relaxed than when he had been using Beets as a punching bag back at the office. To Beets' astonishment, there were even slightly damp spots under his eyes, as if the prince had been crying, although the fierce scowl he leveled at Beets had no indication of weakness.

“Hold up, honey!” sounded a familiar female voice. “The chariot isn't going to get a parking ticket on the roof. Oh!”

Princess Mi Amore Cadenza was so much more difficult to resist when she abruptly popped into the stairwell at nearly nose-length away from Beets. Overloaded neurons fired directly into his mind’s speech center, leading to somewhat of a stammering grunt matching the 'ooof!' of stunned astonishment as the disguised changeling he had been suspending in his magic dropped onto the stairwell landing.

“I’m terribly sorry!” gushed Princess Cadenza, offering a hoof-up to the somewhat dazed ‘pegasus’ mare. “You must be Mister Salad’s friend, Sultry Breeze. We just met him this morning and here we are bumping into the both of you now. Baltimare is certainly a small place.”

“Buhawaa heee wabudum?” asked Beets after several long blinks.

“Princess Cadenza!” squeaked the disguised changeling. She did take the offered hoof to help standing up from where Beets had dropped her, but she recoiled away afterwards, almost falling down with a painful wince and an involuntary “Ouch!”

“You didn't hurt anything when you fell down, did you?” Princess Cadenza reached out to touch the disguised changeling again, only to have her retreat as if the princess were carrying a red-hot branding iron.

“No!” yelped the changeling. “I mean I was hurt, but it's nothing really. I cracked my pelvis when I fell down a week or so ago, and Mister Beets… I mean Mister Salad has been so helpful. He was carrying me up the stairs because I really don't like elevators, claustrophobia you know, and I’ve got an appointment upstairs that we really need to get to. Like now.” The disguised changeling blinked her deep blue eyes and added almost as an afterthought. “You smell wonderful.”

The pink princess giggled. “I’m sorry, Miss Breeze. Allow me to make up for it. Shiny, could you please carry the young mare upstairs for her appointment? Mister Beets looks tired, and I don't think she should be climbing stairs with her injuries.”

Shining Armor turned away from his intense scrutiny of Beet Salad. There had been a distinct knowing glitter to his eyes as he had looked between Beets and the blue ‘pegasus.’ Dots were connected. Plans were being made. Beet Salad could see the prison cell he was going to be living in very soon. Then Shining Armor looked at Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.

All of the nervous tension flowing over Beet Salad turned into vapor and blew away at his look. In hindsight, Beets should have seen it coming. Princess Mi Amore Cadenza had just been through a traumatic time with a changeling invasion, and despite his earlier impulsive offer of a thousand bits, the last thing Shining Armor would ever want is to open up that particular bleeding wound again, even if he knew for absolute certain that ‘Sultry Breeze’ was a disgusting bug. This did not give the changeling an absolute free reign to wave her buggy butt all over town, but it did give the two of them a little latitude with their actions, which would hopefully be enough for the bug to get all healed up and out of town before Beets faced a knock on the door from the Royal Guard.

Beet Salad held his tongue as Shining Armor picked up the changeling in his girlish pink magic, remained silent as he followed the Royal Couple up the stairs, and even managed a wan smile while watching the two of them ascend the last staircase up to the roof and their waiting chariot.

“What the buck was that?” asked the changeling once the upstairs door had closed and she had checked to make sure they were alone in the stairwell. “I mean what was on your face? I could have sworn there was a smile there. A real smile.”

“Go on.” He opened the back door to the osteopath's office and pushed the patient inside. “I’ll see you after I talk to the shrink.”

As much as Beet Salad would have preferred to skip out on his psychologist appointment and make some sort of excuse to the Port Authority office, he obediently sat in the empty waiting room while trying to find a magazine younger than he was. With luck, the doctor would have forgotten about him, and after an hour of boredom he would be free to return to the docks and explain that the caseload of the shrink was too high, and that the anger management counseling should probably be considered complete. A good night out drinking in some bar and breaking a chair or two over a fellow belligerent would round the experience out quite well.

“Mister Salad? Beet Salad?”

Since there was nopony else in the waiting room, Beets could not even use the excuse of selective deafness. “Yeah?” he muttered, stuffing the magazine back into the historical collection under the chair. And he was just looking forward to finding five foods for fitter flanks, too.

It was a tossup whether the small earth pony in the white coat was supporting her thick glasses or if the glasses were carrying around a small mare as a fashion accessory. Without the hefty black grasses and their thick lenses, she must have been nearly blind, but the topaz eyes behind the glasses latched onto Beets with an interested raising of one eyebrow a fraction of an inch and a curious “Hmm…” The nurse turned her back on him and strode into the maze of office corridors, calling back, “This way, sir.”

He reluctantly followed past several closed doors with the cloying sensation of walking through a magically-dampened zone, probably kept that way to prevent the psychos from roughing up the doctors. The visit came with no measurements of his bodily parts or standing on any scales, just a small office with a comfortable chair and a couch, which the white-coated mare gestured to as she was picking up a clipboard.

The sensation of being magic-damped itched at Beet Salad’s horn, but he stayed quiet and looked at the plaques on the wall while waiting for the nurse to finish writing on her clipboard. The artistic prints that decorated the walls were impressive, as was the gold-trimmed diploma for the psychologist showing the honors of graduating Magna Cum Laude from the University of Whinnypeg’s School of Psychology.

“So, nurse. Doctor Idiosyncrasy is a really good shrink, right?” Beets eyed the undersized nurse as she continued to scribble away on her clipboard, her teeth holding firmly onto a pink pencil that was a good match for the pink heart behind the rubber mallet of her cutie mark. The nurse did not even look up, but she did pause to frown at something on the form she was filling out.

“That good, huh?” Beets applied a frown of his own as he looked away from the nurse in search of another antique magazine to read while waiting on the doctor. It did not help his nerves that the same haunting scent that had followed Princess mi Amore Cadenza was seemingly embedded into the couch he was sitting on, and the warmth of his body only made the aromatic volatiles evaporate faster. “So. Did you get to meet our newest Royal Couple?”

Not even a grunt. The nurse just bent over the clipboard in concentration as she filled out another line of her form, probably something about Beets being a lousy conversationalist.

In lieu of an obsolete mare’s magazine, Beets went back to studying the wall. There were several letters of appreciation from former patients, pictures of a Hearth's Warming office party or two, and a line of other photographs that seemed familiar. Or at least the subjects. One of the ponies was the small mare, squinting into the camera in the bright sunlight while looking vaguely as if she would much rather have been reading some technical journal, while the other far more stocky pony in the pictures was Doctor Bonebreaker. And if he was Doctor Bonebreaker, then the small mare pictured to his side was…

“You're Doctor Idiosyncrasy?” Beets looked at the small mare, who favored him with a brief return glance, distorted by her thick glasses but still seeming somewhat disapproving in his ability to make a timely identification of her position.

“Sorry!” babbled Beets while trying to figure out if bolting from the room would reflect negatively on the evaluation she was going to eventually send to the Port Authority. “You just didn't really look like a shrink. I mean psychologist.” Trying to control his embarrassment, he returned to studying the photographs on the wall. The size differential between the two doctors made the small mare seem more like a daughter than a wife, and as he looked at pictures of the two of them boating and skiing, he could not help but consider what was missing.

“No kids?”

The small mare barely glanced up through her thick glasses and grunted once in the negative before returning to her clipboard. Whatever she was writing there seemed far more interesting than Beets, and he squirmed uncomfortably in the resulting tense silence.

“Not that I think not having kids is not normal, that is. Lots of couples don’t have any kids. My parents had kids. Obviously. So it’s normal to have them, because none of us would be here if our parents’ didn’t. Right?”

She spared him a slightly longer look, licking the tip of her pencil before returning to her clipboard and whatever she was writing there. Princess Cadenza’s scent had nearly filled Beets’ nose by now, and he tried to breathe through his mouth while continuing the one-way conversation.

“I don't have kids, of course. Not like my friend, Nectarine. Wow, does he have kids. Must be at least a half-dozen or so and none of them look like him. Thankfully. Not that I’d want a kid to look like me. You and your husband look like you'd have—”

Beets stopped as if he had been hit in the head with a hammer. “Bugs.”

That warranted a sideways glance from the mare, as well as a raised eyebrow.

“You’re a changeling. I mean not that there's anything wrong with being a changeling, I suppose. Even though Buggy said that Doctor Bonebreaker had this thing about being tied up, and I would suppose… No, I better not go there. Not that I'm some pervert who gets off talking about other ponies and their weird sexual fetishes. I mean you're the psychologist, being around crazy ponies all the time and sucking emotions out of them. Aren't you afraid you'll go crazy too?”

The psychologist just kept writing without even looking up.

“Unless you're crazy already, screwing a unicorn with a fetish issue. I suppose he gets kinky sex out of it and you get love to live on, but that's just an abusive relationship disguised as… whatever it is. Can't even call it marriage, I guess. How could anypony love something not even their own species?”

The disguised changeling raised an eyebrow again and gave him a long look before returning to scribbling on her clipboard.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, and you couldn't be more wrong. The only thing I want out of that bug is goodbye. Once she's healed up enough to survive out in the world, I'm chucking her out the door and changing the locks.” He paused with his face screwed up in disgust. “Not that I ever gave her my key. Oo! Not in that way! Or any other way!”

The doctor looked up with a thoughtful expression, chewing on the end of her pencil like some sort of termite before returning to her constant scratch, scratch on the clipboard.

“I wish you'd quit that and just talk to me,” snapped Beets. “I’m supposed to be getting therapy for my anger management issue. Not that I have any issue with anger management. Not like Shining Armor.” Beets rubbed the sharp ache on his side, taking some small pleasure in seeing the disguised changeling mirror his gesture. “He just hauled off and slugged me for no reason. Well, no real reason. He offered me a thousand bits to turn over my changeling… I mean the changeling who has been eating me out of house and home. Said I'd tell everypony if he tried grabbing Buggy. He didn't like that much.”

The disguised changeling spared Beets a short glance from under her thick glasses before returning to her clipboard.

“I’ll bet he doesn't know you're a changeling. He’s probably got some sort of inferiority complex from being dominated by your buggy queen. I insinuated that he really needed a bug to bang, and he pasted me right in the chin.”

This time the disguised changeling gave Beets a very inappropriate look for a physician, complete with a raised eyebrow and a brief licking of her lips.

“You’d do that?” blurted out Beets, both horrified and curious, but mostly horrified. “I mean his wife is the Princess of Love, but… Not that I'd be interested! That's sick!” A chance comment by Princess Cadenza floated up in his mind and Beets added, “You were Princess Luna's shrink too. Did you let her… No, I don't want to know! No!”

Beets cringed back on the couch, then hopped up like it had caught on fire once his mind calculated just where this theoretical sexual experience had happened. He shook his hooves while walking in a tight circle, keeping his eyes closed until the mental images could fade on their own. It was not bad enough that Nectarine had once explained in great detail just what he would have loved to do with the returned Princess of the Moon, but to have his own rump sitting where both of the sexy royal rumps had rested only fed his creative imagination.

I need bleach. Lots and lots of bleach.

“I can't believe I'm letting you do this to me,” snapped Beets, trying to crane his neck enough to see what was on the clipboard. “What are you writing, anyway?”

“Crossword.” Idiosyncrasy lifted her head up and fixed Beets with a disinterested look. “When did you want to start?”

“I’m done. Goodbye.” Beets turned towards the door only to pause as the disguised changeling cleared her throat.

“Just one moment, Mister Beet Salad.” The psychologist picked two pieces of paper off her clipboard and extended them to Beets by holding them in her teeth. “Emergency appointment slip for my husband upstairs. That pain in your ribs is right over your spleen. Have him look at it today, or you may wind up falling over dead, and soon.”

Beet Salad's magic fizzled as he attempted to pick up the papers. After cursing whatever unicorn had come up with the concept of a suppressed magic zone, he cautiously picked the papers from her teeth with his own lips, expecting an ambush kiss at any moment. “And a prescription. Wonderful. I have to take pills now.”

“Alioriphin Mexaproxilite shampoo is for external use only,” said the changeling, putting her clipboard on the table. “There's a certain scent about the population of dermatophilus congolensis that has built up on your coat from walking around in the damp night air without proper replacement oils. You shower before your night shift at the docks, correct?”

“Uh. Yeah. But I don't see—”

“Shower afterwards and dry yourself well after applying some neem-based conditioner, please. Our time is up for today, Mister Salad. I'll see you tomorrow for your next appointment.” Idiosyncrasy moved towards the door, keeping her distance away from Beets as if she were afraid of catching some horrible disease, but she paused as she reached the door. “I assure you, Mister Salad, that I have not committed whatever sexual acts you were thinking about with Princess Luna on that couch. She is a confidential client of mine who has benefited from our sessions together, and I would advise you to keep that fact to yourself.”

Beets had just opened his mouth to give assurances in that regard when the psychologist cut him off. “Also, Prince Shining Armor and Princess Cadence have gone through an extremely traumatic experience of being dominated by Queen Chrysalis, and are deserving of your sympathy, not your perverted sexual fantasies. Their mental condition will not be advanced by simply ‘banging a bug’ as you put it.”

It would have made Beet Salad a lot more comfortable if the changeling psychologist was not standing next to a well-stocked bookshelf which displayed a prominent series of clinical psychology books entitled Dominant and Submissive Behaviors in the Treatment of Dysfunctional Sexual Relationships.

Author's Notes:

I think I'm addicted to the Gilligan Cut for comedy.

10. Little Moments

"Home at last," gasped Beets as he flung open the apartment door while carrying his unwanted roommate in his magic. He floated the changeling across the floor and sat her carefully down on one of the dirty rag rugs covering up a thin spot in the carpet before turning around and closing the door behind him. "I'm beat."

"Aww, and I feel like a newlywed," said the disguised changeling with a giggle. "How about we spend all day with you feeding me grapes in bed to make the experience complete?"

Without even giving the annoying changeling a sharp look, Beets staggered into the kitchen and banged a pot down onto the stove. "We have artichoke chilli and artichoke chilli. And for grapes, I've got a half a box of raisins in the icebox. They're a little furry on top, but they should be fine."

"Any cereal?" asked the changeling. "You really don't want to smell what artichokes do to me."

There were a few wrinkled bags of various cereals in the tin box he used to keep the bugs out of his dry groceries, but together they might have been able to fill about half a bowl. Plus the half-carton of almond milk in the icebox had evaporated down to a thick sticky residue at the bottom of the carton which Beets had taken to using as coffee creamer.

While he stood there and considered their limited dining options, the changeling came padding into the kitchen, having shed her pegasus disguise and found Beet Salad's collection of stockings somehow. Generally, socks were only worn with winter boots or galoshes in the case of rain being scheduled during one of Beets' evening watchpony sessions, but she seemed to think that the fairly thin and slightly holey socks were just the most fantastic toys. She skidded around the kitchenette linoleum floor a few times, then lifted one hoof to consider the resulting dark stains on the cotton fabric.

“Don't you ever clean this place?”

“If you don't like it, leave,” grunted Beets, dropping the last can of artichoke chilli on the counter and looking for the can opener.

“Yeah, like this?” The changeling extended one holey, sock-covered leg. The chitin underneath the violet hoof shellac and elastic wrap seemed to have darkened to a much deeper and healthier shade over the last few days, although Beets could still spot the occasional wince of pain when the changeling put her hoof down wrong. “It’s still too much work to keep up the disguise, and I'm not going to find another gullible sucker to take me in without lifting my tail for them, so…”

“Suppose I'm stuck with you for a few days,” grumbled Beets, frowning up into his cluttered cabinets as if his mere hunger would cause a pizza to magically appear, or even a few dozen egg rolls. "Eating me out of house and home.”

“It’s a good thing I got a quick snack from the Royal Couple then, isn’t it?” asked the changeling with a flick of her tail against Beets’ cutie mark. “I’m good for a couple of days, so why don't you take your medical shampoo and the bottle of Thunderbolt! conditioner I bought for you, and go take your shower while I work on dinner. Or lunch. Or whatever you call it at this time of day.”

“I’ve got this,” grumbled Beets even as the changeling rummaged around in the bag they had brought back from the morning's medical appointment. Two shampoo bottles floated over in front of his nose, boosted by the lime-green aura of the changeling's magic and matching the same magic lifting the pot from the stove and over to the sink.

"A likely story," said the changeling with a smirk. "You need a mare around here so bad. Go on, before I change my mind."

As much as Beets did not want to admit it, the medical shampoo actually felt good on his hide, tingling a little in the dry, flakey sections of his coat and smelling vaguely herbal. He took his time, as there was no critical deadline like his normal evening showers where lingering would result in penalty bits knocked off his nightly patrol. He even tried the conditioner, just to see what it was like, although Thunderbolt! was most probably meant for pegasi because it smelled vaguely of ozone and spring breezes. After drying off, he took a long look at himself in the cracked bathroom mirror.

It was a little disconcerting. The bruise on his side was purpling up nicely, and there were little lumps around his jaw as if he had been attacked by a beehive, but his coat looked smoother and more regular than it had since he was a colt. In short, the stallions who looked back at him from either side of the crack in the mirror did not really look like Beet Salad, but perhaps a relative of some sort instead.

"I'm turning into a changeling," groused Beets as he left the bathroom for the familiar refuge of his tiny kitchen, only to find his simple culinary refuge had changed even more than he had. From the heat he could feel across his face, the oven was obviously on, with two sauce pans sitting on the back burners and a flour-spotted changeling intently stirring whatever was in them with a wooden spoon.

“Finally!” huffed the changeling. “I’ve got the cornbread in the oven, the syrup is in the second pan so don't let it scorch. I set the timer for the cherry bars so when it rings, pull them and the cornbread out and turn the oven off.” She dashed by him with a quick kiss to the cheek on her way to the bathroom. “Let them cool before sampling!” she called back over her shoulder before vanishing into the bathroom.

Beet Salad regarded the kitchen range and the infrequently-used set of cooking utensils it now sported. He had never actually turned the oven on except for a frozen pizza or two. Only the back burners on the range top had ever been used, because he had doubts about the front two burners even functioning with the ages-old layer of blackened gunk on them.

Still, working the stove could not be too difficult if a changeling could do it, so he stirred the inky black stuff on the back burner while the sound of the shower indicated what the changeling was doing instead. After a while, he became so engrossed in cooking that he nearly missed a damp changeling slipping up behind him and taking a deep whiff of his mane.

"Umm, a hot stallion in his natural habitat: cooking for me. Doesn't smell too bad, either." She inspected the cornbread by putting her forehooves up on the edge of the oven in order to get enough altitude to look inside the pan before pulling a couple of paper plates out of the stack and loading them up.

He took his own plate and sat down at the kitchenette table, one of the few times he had actually used it for the intended purpose. After due consideration of the meal and the insect who had put it together, Beets screwed up his courage and took a bite of the cornbread which had been topped by a watery trickle of maple-ish syrup. It was not too bad, better than he could have done himself. Using sugar, water, and some artificial maple flavoring to make syrup was something Beets had never tried, and it went fairly well with the chunky cornbread.

"So?" asked the slightly-damp changeling, still thankfully looking like a changeling as she eyed him over her much smaller plate of cornbread.

"So?" he responded. "It's cornbread. So what?"

The changeling shrugged and used her magic to pick up the cherry bars which had just come out of the oven. "I was going to frost these, but if that's the way you feel about my cooking." She stood by the trash can, holding the cookie sheet of cherry bars over it like a supervillain holding a young mare hostage, complete with villainous smirk. "Last chance."

Beets shrugged. "The flour has weevils in it."

"What?" The changeling inspected the cookie sheet closely. "I thought those were just flecks or something. Why didn't you say something?"

Beets shrugged again as he finished off his cornbread. "Thought you were a bug, and they were bugs, so no big deal. The cornmeal was in a sealed container. What's the matter, afraid of a little cannibalizing?"

"No! It's just… Nevermind." The changeling scraped the remains of the cherry-bug bars into the trash and proceeded to wash what dishes were left after the paper plates and plastic silverware were thrown away. Beets simply sat where he was and watched, feeling too tired to even light up his horn and contribute to the cleanup but not tired enough to trudge off to bed. It was oddly weirdly strangely bizarre to have such an alien creature in his house cooking his food and cleaning up his dishes afterwards when Beets had never even had Nectarine stop by to make dinner once, let alone any female of his own species. He idly mused about how many lives the changeling had lived, and how many different jobs she had held over the years, whereas he had landed in this small apartment years ago and remained just as fixed and as solid as the crusty black stuff baked onto the front of the stove. She could obviously cook and clean, as well as do whatever office work she did in the Town Hall, and several unguarded remarks revealed she had once been a dental hygienist and knew how to play a guitar, but other than those few facts, the changeling had been a closed book.

"Bit for your thoughts," said the changeling as she dried the pots and cookie sheet on a questionable towel. "What are you thinking about? Because it's nice, just a low stream of emotions that I can suck on while wiggling my tush in front of the sink." She wriggled said body portion and looked back at him with a smirk. "Think I should get a saucy maid outfit, or just an apron with a few strategic holes?"

"Thinking is over," declared Beets with a yawn. "Going to bed now. Come on back when you—"

The changeling had just bent over to put the cookie sheet back under the sink, using the excuse to lift her tail and strike as sexy pose as it was possible for a banged-up bug to attempt, when she let out a piercing screech which most likely could have been heard up on the fourth floor. Backpeddling with her legs flying in all directions, the changeling scrambled up the kitchen chair, onto the far-too-small kitchenette table, and right up onto Beet Salad's back, screaming all the while.

"Spider! Spider! Kill it! Kill it! Die! Die!"

Beets' chair overbalanced with the weight of the changeling on his head and the two of them tipped over into a pile of cardboard boxes holding miscellaneous stuff he had been intending on throwing away but had never gotten around to it. The crunching beneath him on impact chronicled the progress of some of the stuff from 'useful' to the 'junk' category, and the category grew as the changeling's attempts to climb up on top of his head intensified with the scrambling of chitinous hooves in his face and his resulting stumble and fall back into the boxes.

"Just hold on!" he bellowed, lighting his horn and floating the frantic changeling up to the ceiling, where she was still waving her legs around but at least not doing any physical injury to him. Even her wings, covered in shellac and stuck to her sides, trembled as if to lift the insect away from the terrifying tiny predator she had found. For a brief moment he thought the changeling was going to calm down, but then he happened to drift her into some of the cobwebs still draped across portions of the ceiling and her shrieking resumed, although for a shorter period of time.

"Ow," he said, running a hoof across his face and looking at the red smear from where an energetic hoof had scratched him across one cheek. "Can't believe I have a bug who is afraid of bugs."

"Big spider," whispered the changeling, still hovering at the ceiling while suspended in his magic. "Big. Squash it. Kill it."

"Really?" Beets walked back into the kitchen and looked into the pile of old pans and trays he had inherited when his parents passed away. He had shoved them all under the sink after the funerals and tried to ignore their lurking presence, much as if they were metal memories which refused to be buried underground and left to rot. The smear of blood on his hoof was as red as the apple dumplings Mom made in the deep pan, still bearing a thin crust running around the edge which he had never been willing to wash away. He moved the pan to one side in order to look for the spider, only to find the heavy cast-iron skillet instead, nearly black with carbon from Dad's morning eggs. He had preferred them with crispy edges and the centers running yellow every morning before leaving for work, rich and flavorful, filled with the cholesterols which had eventually clogged his arteries and killed him. Beets shoved it back under the sink along with the rest, grabbing each metal memory and putting it away into the darkness where it would not haunt him.

...until he touched the egg poacher with his magic. It was such a simple kitchen tool, sitting on the top of the metal pile as if it were mocking him. He could hear the little colt who would thump one hoof against the kitchen table and chant 'Eeets!' while his favorite breakfast of barely solid eggs was being prepared. Sprout wanted to be just like his father, but instead of just smearing the inside of the egg around the plate to be sopped up by the rest of the egg white and the buttered toast followup, he would just—

Beets yanked his attention away from the innocent pans and towards a long-legged spider who seemed confused about all of the noise. He ever so gently reached out with his magic and lofted the spider up into the air. It spun slowly and silently, waving its long, jointed legs as he walked outside and placed it carefully onto a bush. The tiny spider with the entirely too long legs moved in little jerks as it moved for the shadows and vanished. The stubby shrubs and ragged short rough grass that Missus Spitonoikokýris had planted around the apartment building in order to make the building look less like a warehouse could have concealed a thousand of its kind, bugs hiding in plain sight, just like the changeling back in his room. Innocent or deadly, it did not seem to matter any more. He just wanted to…

The world was far too hot and filled with sharp edges for Beets today. It was far too late in the day. There was nothing stronger in the apartment than a few bottles of beer in the bottom of the icebox, if the changeling had not drank them already. The front door gave a sharp click as he stepped back into his room, rattling and clicking in a familiar pattern as he set the locks and crawled into his bed to escape from the world.

He did not even notice when the changeling finished turning out the lights and slipped into bed at his side.

Sleep took forever to overcome him, but eventually he gave in and allowed it to carry him far, far away, to a land where doctors could always cure the most fearsome illness, and little brothers did not die before their time.

11. Living on Love

Beets opened one eye and regarded the upside-down face of the changeling. It was both a testament to his growing familiarity of having a pony-sized bug in the apartment and his fatigue that the sight did not even raise his heart rate, although a quick glance at the clock from his inverted perspective did little to encourage any desire to crawl out from between the comforting covers.

“It’s not even midnight,” grumbled Beets. “Wake me then.”

“Up,” commanded the pesky pest. “I know it's your day off— well, night off. If I’m going to stay here any longer, I need you to do some things for me.”

“Bye.” Beets rolled over and pulled the sheets over his head. “I’ll miss you. Not.”

The world seemed to rotate ninety degrees as the Murphy bed lifted up into the closed position, which would not have been as bad if Beets’ tail had not been hanging over the edge when it closed. “Ow,” he muttered, feeling a little mushed and pinched.

“I’m going to collect every scrap of cloth in this apartment,” sounded her voice, slightly muffled by the closed bed. “You're going to march it all down to the laundromat, wash it with real soap and a capful of your medicated shampoo to kill any bugs… I mean germs, and bring it back. While you’re gone, I'm cleaning everything the bedding touches, and I mean bed, cabinets, bathroom, and particularly that spider-infested pit you call a kitchen. You're going to get your bat-winged buddy to spray it down when I'm done and we’re going out for dinner afterwards while all of the spiders die! Do you understand?”

“I want a divorce,” muttered Beets. “An annulment. A quit-claim. Maybe an exorcism.”

“And after our dawn-dinner,” said the changeling with a particularly vindictive tone to her voice, “you have an appointment with Doctor Idiosyncrasy. Be a good little colt, and I'll let you take the elevator.”

“Bitch,” grumbled Beets as the blood rushing to his head from his upside-down and squashed position was not making his temper any less.

“And,” declared the changeling with great enthusiasm, “I’m paying for it.”

“Insert two bits,” muttered Beets, trying to make sense of the industrial washing machine he had just stuffed his sheets into. “I did that. I’ve got the soap and fabric softener in, and a cap full of the medicated shampoo.” He checked the list the changeling had written out for him, grateful at least that she had not glued it onto his coat like he was some schoolcolt getting a letter from the teacher. One shove of the hoof later, the washing machine began to grumble away and Beets moved to the next machine. At least he did not have a lot of laundry, and some of it was easy to filter out before washing by dropping the more holey and changeling-seeming socks into the dirty laundromat trash can.

Once he had all of the mindless mechanical minions chugging along, Beets settled down in one of the hard benches to wait out the results. Being shoved out the door meant he did not even have a cheap western or newspaper to amuse himself while waiting, but there was always the changeling detection spell which Special had been so determined he not practice. Boredom proved a better incentive than any amount of bits, and he had to admit a little curiosity to how much changeling magic had been used around town. After careful scrutiny of magical auras, he determined that the laundromat was very low on any changeling's list of places to cast mind-affecting magic, although a sleek nocturne pegasus who slipped in the door with a bundle of laundry gave him a rather curious look.

“Hello there, handsome.” She squinted a little as she cocked her head to one side and looked Beets over from nose to tail. Her own tail was tied up in a tight pink bow, which made a shocking contrast with her soft grey coat and deep violet mane. There was even a hint of appreciation in her look which made Beets suddenly aware of his own gender and give a sudden snort of disdain.

“What the heck do you think you're doing out of the apartment, dummy?” He lit up his horn again and let the changeling detection spell wash over the startled batwinged pegasus, only to stammer to a halt himself as the spell fizzled to an end with only a few dribs and drips of changeling magic detected.

The nocturne mare recoiled almost all of the way out the door with a startled, “What the buck?” Her yellow eyes were open wide and very much not the annoying changeling’s, which was made only worse by a quiet sniffling and snort coming from the covered lump on the nocturne’s back.

“Wait a minute, miss.” Beets started forward with one hoof held up, and quickly backtracked once he realized what he was doing. “I’m sorry I didn't mean to scare you and… is that a foal?”

"I'm sorry," babbled the young mare, taking another step towards the door and escape. "I didn't mean to bother you."

"I'm not… I mean you're not…" A stroke of genius or possibly incipient senility struck, and Beets continued, "I'm just doing laundry for my marefriend. I'm not even sure I'm using the machines right."

"You've got a marefriend?" Although he had heard the words before, Beets had never actually heard regret in them, and the mare actually stopped retreating. She kept an eye on Beets while nuzzling the foal in the sidesaddle serving double duty as laundry basket, and once the annoying squalling had died down, turned back to him. "I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

"Quite all right," said Beets. "Yell some more if you want. I deserve it for zapping you. They just taught us the changeling detection spell at work and I got carried away. You're not a changeling, by the way."

"Really?" The disbelieving look on her face faded slightly and Beets still expected her to slip out the door until he left and the laundromat was empty again, but instead she seemed to be considering something, which eventually came out as a rapid, "Do you really know a spell for detecting changelings? And do you think you could cast it on the rat bastard who is sleeping on my couch and not going out to get a job?"

Beets shook his head. "No, I'm pretty sure he's not a changeling. You didn't show many signs of changeling magic, and they leak onto whoever is around, so he's probably just… a jerk."

That warranted a first on Beet Salad's account. She actually giggled at his weak attempt at humor, which did not blossom into a torrid love affair with love at first sight over the next hour at the laundromat, thankfully, but it did result in him loaning her ten bits for the washing machines and her assistance at unwinding and folding his sheets once the industrial dryer had gotten done twisting them into a giant knot. As they talked and folded, the cute little earth pony foal with the forgettable name happily toddled around the floor, trying constantly to get past their blockade of the laundromat door between attempts at eating bits of dryer lint. The time seemed to fly by until he left with the warm laundry on his back, waving goodbye to the young mare who was going back to just as annoying a houseguest as he was, only hers seemed determined to suck the life out of her bit pouch in addition to her love.

Maybe changelings were not the worst type of parasite.

His relative good mood lasted until he got home and Nectarine came darting out of the sky with a bag full of cans and the ruffled mane of a nocturne who had been practicing his favorite sport on his day off, most probably involving dirtying sheets instead of cleaning them.

"Hey, Beets. Candy said you were looking for me. Something about spiders."

After taking a deep breath and shaking his head, Beets said, "I don't know how you do it. All I have to do is mention something to a cute mare in town and it gets back to you before I could even walk home."

"Cute mare?" Nectarine put his forehooves up on Beets' back and peered inside one of his ears. "I knew your bug was trouble. She ate your brain while I wasn't looking, didn't she? Oh, look. Your skull is full of little changeling eggs, just waiting to hatch. That explains a lot."

"I don't think anything explains you, Nek." He opened the door with his magic and gestured his friend inside first, although once Beets looked around, he wondered if he had gotten into the wrong apartment instead. The air smelled of pine and bleach, and nearly every one of Beets' earthly possessions had been moved to one side of the room, leaving the kitchenette and bathroom looking almost naked by comparison. The changeling did not even look up when the front door opened, but was leaning around the corner into the kitchenette, waving a feather duster in her magic at the pile of kitchen objects sitting in the middle of the floor with little jabs and pokes.

The two stallions stood side by side in the living room for a while, wondering about the thought processes of mares. Finally Nectarine spoke up, perhaps due to the knowledge that it was Beet Salad's apartment, not his, and the consequences would be something he could hide from.

"So, why are you tickling the pots?"

"I'm looking for a spider," hissed the changeling.

Beets could see his friend's face light up, but before he could say anything, Nectarine stepped forward while digging around in his sidesaddle. "I was wondering why Candy said something about Beets looking for a spider. Normally he hates the little girls, but I brought over Arianie anyway so I could introduce you to her. If you're looking for a pet, you'll never find anything as loveable and as affectionate as a tarantula."

The screaming started almost immediately.

Beets sympathized, but as he was halfway out of the apartment door, his sympathy was limited. He held the door open after leaving, and true to his expectations, Nectarine was only a few steps behind him, still holding the hairy eight-legged monster in the flat of one hoof.

"What was that?" he asked once the door was closed and normal conversation was possible again. "Did she scare you, my little fuzzy lump? You're just a little ball of adorableness, aren't you? Yes you are."

"I told Candy I was looking to get rid of the spiders in the house, not add to them." Beets sighed as Nectarine continued to play with his gruesome little friend and the screaming from inside the apartment died down to short bursts of creative profanity. Several of the doors along the hallway opened and a few ponies actually poked their heads out to see what all the noise was about and Beets waved back to them with a quick explanation of, "One of my… friends was just a little startled by Nectarine's pet. She should be perfectly fine once she calms down."

The sound of a lamp breaking inside his apartment made Beets wince, and he added, “It may take a while.”

The restaurant was every bit as impressive inside as it was outside, making Beets feel very much like a lump of coal in the middle of a candy dish. The changeling had not spoken a word to him since their rather hurried departure from his apartment with Nectarine left behind to de-spider the premises with extreme prejudice. She had spoken to the cab driver in the universal language of bits, as well as the snooty pony outside the restaurant door, who had taken one look at her disguise and immediately became “Right this way, Miss Breeze” and “Our apologies for the wait, Miss Breeze” as well as “Your private booth, Miss Breeze.”

“Miss Breeze certainly is a Very Important Pony,” grumbled Beets once the slender pony had excused himself, leaving the table bare of the important elements such as free breadsticks, menus, or even glasses of water.

“Miss Breeze arranges for the mayor’s entertainment,” said the disguised changeling, looking like her sky-blue pegasus ponysona at the moment, only with her wings remaining fixed to the sides of her body without a single flick or stretch. “She is exceptionally good at getting discreet young mares for an evening or two, with no annoying aftershocks or little discussions with the press.”

“I see.” Beet Salad looked around the booth, trying to figure out if there was some secret signal to getting a glass of water or even a menu. As it was after midnight, he had been surprised the restaurant had even been open, let alone the way they had just been able to walk in as if the bug owned the place, which upon further thinking, might have even been the case. The changeling was a world of surprises, just as different as a completely new pony every time he looked at her, although they all seemed to have the same acidic core.

“Yes, I screwed him,” said the changeling. “He’s a fat slob with a cold heart, but he's got a lot of swing in this town. Little Breezy, the fake changeling queen, sucking up to the rich and powerful in order to grease the way for her little buggy drones.”

"Sounds like a hard life." Beets ran a hoof across the mirror-like surface of the wooden table, which was probably worth more bits than he would see in a year. "Maybe you need a vacation. Get out of town. Travel the countryside. See the sights."

"Catch a cold alone and die, you mean. The queen took all of the useful changelings with her to Canterlot, and left all of the rejects and freaks."

"So all the big, bad changelings got their rumps whumped, and all of the nearsighted and frail bugs made out like bandits. Sounds like bugs and ponies are more alike than we realize."

The rest of their late dinner went by without any more words being exchanged than absolutely necessary. The waiter recommended a spinach pasta dish with a Prench name, accompanied by Prench vegetables and Prench dessert, although Beets turned down the offer of a bottle of hard (and probably Prench) cider to go with the meal. In their present lightly-medicated state, he was unsure if the changeling should be drinking, but he was fairly certain if he started, he would not stop before the bottom of the bottle. Instead, he ordered grape soda water, which he had once heard was Fancy.

It may have been Fancy, but it certainly was not Tasty.

After a generally miserable time being had by all, the two of them slipped out of the restaurant. They left behind a pile of bits as cover, spread a few more to the bouncer at the front door to hail a cab, and then some more for the cab driver after the ride home. Nectarine had already departed, leaving behind the faint scent of chemicals and a short note, and thankfully taking his pet tarantula with him.

Beets wondered if he would be interested in a bug trade. Ariane would at least stay in her terrarium and be less expensive to feed.

"It's too late at night… I mean too early in the morning… How do you manage a night shift?" huffed the changeling. "The day's screwed around worse than a secretary."

Beets shrugged. "On weekends, I go out drinking."

"Screw you." The changeling dropped onto the Murphy bed with a creak of abused springs. "Even I'm not stupid enough to mix pills and booze. I’m starving. Why don't you pull out your guitar and serenade me for a while?"

"Why don't you pull your head out of your plot and go screw yourself?"

The changeling briefly lifted her tail before letting it sag down again, leaving it trail over the end of the bed as she let out a tired sigh. "Sorry. My ass hurts, I itch all over, and I'm just not used to this—" she waved one rear hoof around the apartment "—situation."

"I'm sorry my palatial estate does not meet with your approval, Your Highness," said Beets as he plodded back to the bathroom. "Allow me to assuage your ass with a fine selection of recreational drugs. We have white pills with a blue end, and blue pills with a white end. Which would you like?"

"I can’t decide which asshole I’ve got is more of a pain." The changeling remained sprawled out over the bed until Beets returned with a pill and a glass of water. "At least you're not as stupid as the stallions I normally—"

"Screw for food," completed Beets. "Here's your pill." He held out his hoof with a pill on it, only to have the changeling recoil away as if it held a spider.

"Hey, waiter! I ordered a white pill with a blue end on it. This one is clearly blue with a white end. Better," she added as Beets rotated the pill around. "I'm still not leaving a tip. The food at this place sucks worse than the frog restaurant."

"I'm devastated," said Beets flatly. "My plans for running a buggy bed and breakfast are ruined."

"More like a fat farm." The changeling regarded her sides, still covered in royal purple hoof polish. "I wasn't exactly the biggest mare in the office before. Now I'm going to look like a scrawny fashion model."

Ignoring the bug's complaints, Beets browsed through his relatively small bookshelf in search of something he had not read several times already. He was trying to decide between a murder mystery which might give him some ideas on how to dispose of an unwanted houseguest and a spy novel where an army of Neighpon ninja turtles invaded Manehattan when the changeling tugged gently on his tail.

"Look," she started with a bitter twist to her mouth and a certain reluctance to look Beets in the eyes. "I know we didn't start off on the right hoof. Or even the wrong hoof. And I don't want you to think I'm not grateful—"

"Because you're not," said Beets, pulling out the selected book. "You changelings do all these terrible things to ponies and then vanish afterwards. You don't feel regret, because if you did, you wouldn't do it. The newspaper had stories on all of the cities your queen attacked over the years. Timbucktu. Minos. The Siege of Trot. Every time, Celestia kicks her plot and imprisons her somewhere. Every time she breaks out and goes on to attack another city. So don't think you're going to blink your big eyes and guilt me into singing for you."

Beet Salad ran his hooves down the neck of the guitar and strummed a few chords. The loose tuning pegs were holding much better now, although the method by which the changeling had used to make them not slip was far more disgusting than he liked to think about. Changeling spit appeared to be the duct tape of the insect world, able to be formed into temporary shelters, hold prisoners, create traps, and repair musical instruments. If it came in various colors, the whole changeling hive could probably sustain its love requirements with purchased prostitutes by simply spitting into jars and selling the resulting disgusting product all over Equestria.

"You've got a nice collection here," said the changeling as she leafed through Beet Salad's records. "A little jazz, a little rock, a whole giant pile of hayseeds with banjos, and one bagpipe quartet." She paused with the record half out of the sleeve. "Do I want to know?"

“There’s a goat couple upstairs. Since the building used to be a warehouse, the walls and ceiling are fairly thick, but…”

“So you play the record whenever they get a little frisky.” The changeling put the record back into the collection. “Kinky.”

“More like useless. I think it encourages them. Did you find it yet, or—”

“Got it.” The changeling removed a Dusty Withers album from its sleeve and placed it delicately on the record player before hobbling back over to the bed and collapsing on it with a deep sigh. “I’m exhausted. Go ahead.”

“That’s not the deal.” Beets began strumming along as the first song started playing. “You wanted to hear me play so you can get a cheap meal off my emotions. In return, you have to sing for your supper. Nightingale up, or I put away the pick.”

“I think I’d like it better if we kept you ponies in cocoons like we used to.” The changeling sulked as Beets strolled casually back into the kitchen and began to stick the guitar back on its pegs. “All right, all right. I’ll sing,” added the changeling.

“Or just rub your hind legs together and chirp along with the chorus,” said Beets. “It’ll be the first time you’ve kept your legs together for a meal.”

Three records later, Beets had to reluctantly admit the changeling had talent, along with a vocal range that would have stunned most opera singers. It was creepy to hear her sing along with the low tones of Henweigh Tweety one minute and the soprano of Cake Shrub the next, but she made every excuse imaginable to try to get him to join in. Finally, after what seemed like hours of playing along with his collection of tunes, the changeling took his guitar away from him and sat down on the edge of the bed with it.

“I swear you’re a tough nut to crack, but I think I have a hammer to fit your head.” She strummed a few chords and readjusted the tuning pegs minutely before settling down into a country ballad.

Beets sat and shook his head after the changeling finished strumming. “I have to admit, you’re good. So, are you full yet?”

“Full. That’s a laugh.” The changeling floated Beets’ guitar back to him and flopped back down on the bed. “I’m a changeling. We’re always hungry, like some fat broad at the all-you-can-eat Chineighese buffet. I’ve got enough energy to get through a day or two, but I’m going to need to be plugged in and charged up sometime soon.” She lifted her tail and waved it.

“Your brainy bug buddy seems fine,” said Beets, checking the clock. “Why don’t you find a nice healthy doctor to stable up with and bang his brains out for your daily dose like she does? Or even better, take a guitar out on the road and sing for your supper.”

“In public?” The changeling swapped ends on the bed, giving a wide-eyed look at Beets with the end which he much preferred rather than the waving tail. “I’m a changeling, dummy. We hide from ponies, when we aren’t being dragged into their rooms and treated like a wounded dog.”

“Speaking of treatments, we probably should get going.” Beets lifted up the guitar and went into the kitchen to put it away. “I’ve got my shrink appointment and you can have the bug banging doctor look up your plot.”

“Do I detect some jealousy?” The changeling sat up in bed, all embarrassingly alert with only the absence of quivering feelers to make her look… No, there were a pair of fuzzy insectile feelers protruding over her head now, much as a moth might have. And they quivered.

All the bugs in Equestria, and I get one with a sense of humor. Joy.

“No,” snapped Beets. “I just… nevermind. If we leave now, we’ll have enough time to get breakfast at this little greasy spoon on the way.”

“Already had breakfast,” said the changeling with a little burp as she switched to her pale blue pegasus form. “I could use a salad, though.”

“I don’t think they have anything green other than the linoleum,” said Beets.

“Well, let’s go somewhere else,” huffed the changeling. “I’ll buy. I still have a few bits left.” She dug around in the drawer next to the bed and pulled out a familiar bag in her teeth, which she then jingled once to weigh the contents. “That should do it, unless we go anywhere Fancy again.”

“That’s my emergency bit bag,” said Beets. “What are you doing with it?”

“Buying breakfast before your psych session.” She cast a set of mournful blue eyes at Beets, complete with trembling bottom lip. “The poor thing was just sitting in your sock drawer, feeling sorry for itself, so I thought we should take it out and show it a good time this morning.”

“Good morning, Mister Beet Salad.” The short earth pony with the immensely thick glasses peered at Beets from over the top of them, her topaz eyes seeming to sparkle in the artificial lighting of the doctor’s waiting room. Idiosyncrasy looked slightly different than the last time Beets had seen her, from a small quirky smile at the corner of her lips to a pink bow tying her mane back. It took a little effort for Beet Salad to remember she was still a changeling, but it did not seem to be quite as important any more. “If you’ll come this way, we can get started.”

“I swear everything is a sexual innuendo today,” grumbled Beets as he followed the disguised changeling psychologist down the hallway. “What is it with your kind — Gaah!” The white-coated changeling had flipped her tail up, exposing a very delicate portion of her anatomy before giggling and opening the door to the office.

“I’m sorry, sir. Having Princess Cadence and Shining Armor as patients is making me a little… giddy.”

“Sure it is,” said Beets with an exasperated huff. “You just flipped your tail to evoke an emotional response and see how living with a fellow bug is warping my mind.”

“And what if I did?” Idiosyncrasy curled up on her chair and pulled out a familiar clipboard, which she held a pencil over while seemingly lost in concentration.

“You’re supposed to be crawling into my brain to figure out why I’m so violent,” snapped Beets, “not trying to help your fellow bang bug get into my bed. Which she sleeps in. But not in that way.” Beets slumped in the couch and took a deep breath to continue, only to straighten up and cough. “Sheesh, Doc. What stinks?”

“Alicorn pheromones.”

Beets almost managed to hit the ceiling with the speed he left the couch. Once he had settled down on his perch on top of the bookshelf, he fixed the disguised doctor with a fierce glare and tried to think as many damaging emotions in her direction as possible. “You’re not going to tell me Princess Cadenza and Shining Armor have been…” He waved a hoof at the couch, which seemed somewhat oversized and possibly able to accommodate two, if a certain amount of contortion was applied.

“No.” The changeling continued to scribble as Beets began to climb down the bookcase, although he stopped about halfway down to consider the changeling had not actually denied the accusation, but had merely refused to tell him. He deliberately climbed down the rest of the way and seated himself on the couch without saying a word and tried not to imagine any residual moisture under his flanks.

The scratch, scratch, scratch of the pencil was the only noise filling the office as Beet Salad slumped in place, looking in all directions except for the changeling psychologist and her somewhat undersized disguise. Eventually the quiet got too much for him, as he assumed it would for her other patients, and he asked, “So, how many changelings are in Baltimare anyway.?”

“Two.”

“Hm…” Beets considered for a moment. “So that’s a ‘No, I’m not telling you’ I presume. It’s probably better if I don’t know. They’re probably scanning everypony they can get their hooves on, looking for changelings.”

“They scanned my husband when he went to the bank,” said Idiosyncrasy. “He’s getting training from Prince Shining Armor tomorrow to learn the changeling detection spell, along with several hospital administrators. He said they already trained security at Town Hall, so Sultry won’t be able to go back to work.”

“Wonderful.” Beets flung himself backwards on the couch. “Now I have an unemployed pest living in my home. Like having in-laws. She can’t even drop by the bank to pick up the money she owes me.”

“You nursed her back to health, gave her a place to stay even knowing what she is, and loaned her money.” Idiosyncrasy made a mark on her clipboard. “You’re a terrible, terrible pony, Beet Salad. Next thing you’ll tell me is how you sing to her at night.”

“Um…” Beets considered the doctor’s impassive expression. “Would that be bad? I mean not that I sing. To her. Or have her sing. That would be wrong. Right?”

“Changelings use music as a mating signal,” said Idiosyncrasy, pausing and looking at the photos on the wall as if to recapture a memory. “It is a sign the changeling has sufficient love energy to survive a mating and the resulting pregnancy. The male will normally start by bursting into song in the vicinity of the potential mate, and then await a response. Sometimes the male will encourage the response by playing a musical instrument until the female is driven to respond, and eventually after a series of solos, the two of them draw near to each other and launch into a duet. It’s a very tender and intimate portion of our mating rituals.”

Beets made a faint whining noise just barely within the hearing range of dogs and cats.

Idiosyncrasy continued, “I can remember when Boney took me to the opera the first time.” She sniffed away a tear and briefly blew her nose on a tissue. “We almost had our duet right there in the opera house. It was so embarrassing.”

This time Beets opened his mouth, trying to tell her to stop talking but unable to make a sound.

“Of course since ponies and changelings are not fertile, we’ve never gone to the next step,” added the disguised changeling. “When a female changeling feels her eggs implant, she bursts out in an aria. Oh, it’s such a wonderful feeling. The whole hive just glows with released love.”

“buck,” whispered Beet Salad.

“But enough about me,” said the changeling, picking up her pencil again. “I know you’ve been going through a lot over the last few days. Have you had any unusual emotional outbursts which might preclude you returning to work tonight?”

“Oh, buck.” Beets stared at the far wall. “Buck, buck, buck, BUCK!”

“The market on the corner of Stallworth and Seventeenth, please.” The changeling who Beets was still trying to think of as Sultry Breeze settled back down on the cab cushion with a subtle wince and smiled to cover it. “So, ‘honey.’ How did your visit to the doctor go this morning?”

“We… um… discussed the mating habits of insects,” said Beets, taking a quick look at the cabbie. He looked distracted and not listening to their conversation as they trotted along, but you never could tell. “I never knew the male bug started singing to attract a mate.”

“Really?” The disguised changeling continued looking out the window of the cab as if there were nothing more interesting in the world than the sight of sleepy Baltimare ponies getting ready to start their day.

“Yeah, really. Apparently if the bug wants to mate, he tries to convince the female bug to join in.”

“You don’t say.”

“And then if he gets the female bug to sing with him, they go make bug nookie.”

“Really?” The disguised changeling sat and watched the scenery flow by until they were nearly at the destination. “By the way, honey. I’m leaving town in a few days.”

“Yeah, you said so already,” said Beets.

“Never to return.”

“Good,” said Beets.

“Ever.”

“I suppose I’m not getting paid back, am I?” Beets sighed and looked out the window too. “It could be worse. Nectarine once had a mare clean out his bank account and take out a loan in his name before skipping town. He said it was still cheaper than hiring a hooker. As if he could ever afford to hire a hooker. Or needed one.”

The changeling nodded and pulled a piece of paper out of her mane. “By the way, I kept the note Nectarine left. It’s a price sheet. Seems his cousin Candy is a prostitute. After I leave, you could have her over for a few days. Number seven seems to be reasonably affordable.”

“What, I thought you would want me to have her over before you go so we could make it a goodbye threesome.” Beets’ suspicions about the cabbie eavesdropping were confirmed, as the stallion tripped over nothing in the street and kept trotting along, rotating his ears forward as if nothing had happened.

“Look,” said the disguised changeling, leaning forward to put her mouth right up to Beet Salad’s ticklish ear. “In a couple of days, I really need to find a place to hide before… well, it’s embarrassing. I… Um… Moult. For a week. It makes me all helpless and… ugly. I’ve never done it outside of the hive and I really can’t do it at home because the elderly couple I stay with are very nosy and I have no idea what they’d do if they saw me all… naked.”

“Why don’t you just go back home?” Beets eyed the disguised changeling, who was studying the floor of the cab as if the formula for eternal life were written on it. “You don’t want to go back there, do you?”

“I’m small, weak and fragile,” said the changeling in his ear again. “As long as I bring back more love to the hive than I cost, I don’t get recycled into fertilizer. I barely got out of there the last time. The way I am now, they may just decide to harvest what little love I’ve got and throw out the husk.”

“And I thought the beancounters at work were soulless abominations. You’re attempting to guilt me into sympathizing with you, right?”

“Well…” The changeling looked away, remaining quiet until the cab had let them out and they were standing in the small parking lot of the market. Despite the early hour, shoppers were traveling in and out of the building with bags of groceries and squalling foals in tow. As long as they stayed next to each other in the parking lot, their conversation could be somewhat private, particularly when the changeling put her nose back into Beet Salad’s ear to continue talking. “I don’t want to owe you any more, but I can’t think of a way around this. I don’t know if I could make it all the way back to the hive, I can’t moult back in my place—”

“Shut up and let’s get some groceries,” said Beets. “You can do whatever gross and disgusting thing you want at my place as long as Missus Spitonoikokýris doesn’t catch you and the rug stays clean.”

“I’ll lay down some papers,” said the changeling.

Other than food preferences, they didn’t exchange any more words until they had returned to the apartment with the groceries and closed the door. Only then did she add, “You know I’m just going to leave the moment I can.”

“Yeah.” Beets placed the four bags of groceries down on his short kitchenette counter and started opening cabinet doors to put them away. “Nopony wants to be around me long. I’m used to it.”

“Well, with an attitude like that, it’s no wonder.” The disguised changeling started pulling cans out of another bag with her hooves and putting them on the narrow sliver of counter remaining in a rather feeble attempt to help him, although after a few cans, she added, “There's always the cashier from the market. I know my emotions, and there was a whole lot of loving in her eyes. Not to mention her thighs. She just kept looking at you, breathing heavy, and batting her eyelashes like she wanted to take you for a ride.”

“You, more likely. Petunia’s gay.”

“Oh.” The ‘pegasus’ continued to pull cans out of the bag for him until the bag was empty and she was folding it up and putting it with the recycling. “You’re sure burning through your bits for me. I feel like a tick.”

“I thought that’s pretty much what your kind do.”

As much as she tried to hide it, the disguised changeling flinched before starting to pull groceries out of the second bag. “Yeah.” She nearly had the bag half-empty before she added, “I’ve never had anybody save my life before, though. I’m used to just scamming love.”

“Won’t find much here.”

This time she didn’t flinch, but snorted around the celery she was carrying and nearly inhaled a leaf. “Really? You want a hard place to find love, go hang around the city government for a while. Bunch of steaming narcissists in love with themselves, but more than happy to bend you over a desk if you lift your tail just a fraction.” She stole a quick glance at where Beets was floating vegetables into his icebox, getting only a shrug in return.

“I didn’t vote for ‘em.”

“You wouldn’t fit in with ‘em either. You’re like some weird mirror image of a politician.”

“Thank you.”

She folded up the second empty bag with a smirk. “No wonder your friend calls you Beast. You don’t even care when you’re insulted.”

“I quit caring a long time ago.”

Turning to put the bag into the recycling rack, the changeling slipped and nearly went down on one knee. Beets dropped the jar of pickles he was trying to fit into the ice box and bent down to look at the ankle she was favoring. “Are you okay?”

As a response, the changeling beeped him on the nose with the ‘sprained’ hoof and grinned. “Liar. Never lie to an emotivore.” Sitting down on her rump, she held his cheeks in her forehooves and kissed him gently on the forehead. “You sure you don’t want a roll before I leave? It’s on the house.”

He pulled away and picked up the jar of pickles from where it had rolled, deciding it would fit much better into the cabinets rather than the overstuffed ice box. “Don’t care if it’s free, ‘cause you’d just be screwing me to feed.”

“Not that kind of on the house. I meant on top of the house. You know. With the weathervane.” She waggled one furry eyebrow. “You’ll never know what you’ve been missing unless you try.”

“A long fall, an abrupt stop, and a broken neck.”

“Party pooper.”

“Yep.”

They wordlessly worked through the third bag of groceries until the changeling turned and glared at him. “Look, I owe you.”

He shrugged. “Write me a check.”

“If you just wanted bits, you could have turned me into the guard.”

“If I just wanted bits, I’d be a griffon.”

There was a flare of green light lighting up Beets’ tiny kitchenette and when he turned to look, a smallish griffon hen looked back at him with her head cocked to one side.

“So, is that it? You’ve got a taste for something a little more exotic?” Although her wings were still stuck at her sides, the disguised changeling brushed a feline tail up his flank and tried to run claws through his tangled mane while Beets shook his head.

“Thought you said changing forms still hurt.”

“It’s worth it.”

Beets put a hoof on the exploring claw and fixed Buggy with his most serious glare. “Look, you crazy bug. I don’t want you getting hurt any more than you already are. Go to bed and change back to your normal shape. I’ll make some soup, we can read the paper, and go to bed, and not for sex.”

“Oyster soup?” Buggy lowered her beak and cast the biggest, most mournful set of green eyes at him.

He sighed and sat the can of oysters on the stove before continuing to put away the rest of the groceries. “Yea, I suppose, since you’re the one who wanted them in the first place. I’m having potato soup.”

The kitchenette flared with green light again as the changeling shifted back into her normal form, still looking tattered and frayed where the shellac had begun to wear. She gave him a speculative look, which he ignored, and flicked a tail over his back, which he also ignored.

“You’re a weird pony.”

“Yeah,” he grunted while putting away the last bag of flour. “I know.”

“And you liiiiike me,” the changeling added with a musical trill before prancing away into the other room.

Beets did not reply, other than a brief grunt when he pulled the can opener out of a drawer and began to work on dinner.

Author's Notes:

Trivia time: What is different in this chapter than all chapters to this point?
This was actually the *first* chapter I wrote in the story and teased to my readers 38 weeks ago. Yes, it takes forever to write stuff.

From Sigawesome, here is a brief explanation of the importance of weathervanes:

"The Weather Vane Technique (WVT), like the Matrix, cannot be explained. It must be experienced.
"Unfortunately, most of the details have been suppressed and censored by no fewer that 14 pieces of legislation including the Obscene Publications Act, the Indecent Displays Act, the Indecent Publications Act, the Obscene Displays Act, the Obscene Display of Indecency Act, the Indecent Publication of Obscenity Act, and the Indecent Publication of Obscene Displays Act.
"- The WVT will make you explode a minimum of three times.
"- The WVT has been banned by 7 major religions and 12 minor ones.
"- The WVT was excluded from the Kama Sutra for being too risqué.
"- The techniques used in the WVT were once thought to be biologically impossible.
"- Mares new to the WVT and stallions are advised to start with the 'S' on the weather vane and work their way counter-clockwise. Experienced practitioners may begin with the 'W' and proceed clockwise.
"- Practitioners of the WVT should wait a minimum of three hours before attempting to swim, fly, teleport, expend more than 17 thaums of magic, operate heavy machinery, lift heavy objects, or eat candyfloss.
"- Contrary to popular rumour, there is no difference between cast iron and bronze weather vanes. Plastic weather vanes, however, may develop unsightly stains.
"- According to the Modern Medical Manual of Mare Maladies, the WVT is the third leading cause of tail hair loss.
"- The Society for the Study of Sensual Stallion Sex conducted a survey amongst 10,000 participants. When asked 'Do you prefer a clockwise or counter-clockwise WVT?', 2,000 replied with 'counter-clockwise' and 7,999 replied with 'clockwise'. The remaining stallion simply said 'yes'.
"- Under no circumstances should the WVT be performed on or near combustible fibres such as wool, silk, cotton, linen, rayon, nylon, rayon, gortex, spandex, or vinyl as spontaneous ignition may occur. Asbestos safety lingerie is strongly recommended. Full fire entry garments may be required for honeymoons, anniversaries, birthdays, and Hearts and Hooves Day. "
(From Eakin's Hard Reset)

12. Easy Money

“Evening, Nek. Pull up a chair.” Beet Salad gestured to the kitchenette table, which actually had enough space for two ponies to sit now, as well as two steaming bowls of oatmeal. Well, one and a half. Although it caused unpleasant family memories to drift around in the back of his mind, Beets was relishing the taste of hot oatmeal with brown sugar, just hot enough to sear the tongue without leaving permanent injuries. He shoved the brown sugar bowl over to Nectarine as his batwinged buddy thumped down in the other chair and began shoveling in the oats.

“Best bug infestation ever.” Nectarine wiped his muzzle on a paper towel and took a swig of carrot juice before slowing his chewing with a thoughtful frown. “You know, I distinctly remember you promising to turn over your housekeeper to the Baltimare police once she was healthy enough.”

“Would you like some haycon and hash browns?” asked the ‘pegasus’ standing on her hind legs and stretching at the stove in order to use the flipper in her mouth.

“Yes, ma’am.” Nectarine chewed on the additional breakfast goodies with a thoughtful expression. “What was I saying, Buggy?”

“You’re going to be late to work if you don’t waddle off in that direction.” The disguised changeling tucked a paper sack onto Beet Salad’s back and gave him a kiss on the horn. “Hurry home, honey. My hip is feeling a lot better.”

Nectarine, to his credit, did manage to withhold comment until the two of them were nearly at work, but promptly spoiled Beets’ well-fed mood by asking, “Did you buy a ring yet?”

“No!” Beets spluttered and gave an abbreviated lecture on changeling mating rituals to his friend, which he accepted with his usual grace. Lying on his back and beating his membranous wings against the pavement, Nectarine fairly howled with laughter until Beets stalked off to punch in for work before he yielded to temptation and punched out his best friend.

The night passed fairly easily, with no annoying picketers outside the docks and a general lack of incidents. At lunch, Beets unpacked a few bran muffins and a spinach salad with baby carrots, artichoke hearts, and low-fat dressing, giving the meal a long look somewhat mixed in emotions. It was what he should have been eating instead of canned beans and stale burritos from the food wagon lurking around the docks on occasion, and his heart probably would benefit from it, but he could not shake the feeling of being a potted plant, being carefully fertilized and watered in order to be eaten later.

After leaving the idea bang around in his head for a while (and regretting the mental imagery), Beets decided it would be better shared, and turned to Nectarine. “In the movies, the poor mare or stallion infected by the monster always looks all strung out and unhealthy. I think I’ve been attacked by a health bug.”

Nectarine looked him over and clucked his tongue. “The Beast does look a lot better now. Once she takes off, you want to pick up some mares and go clubbing? Without the club, this time.

“He deserved it. The creep made fun of my tail.” Beets swished his pink tail forward and paused, looking at the royal blue bow tied into it without him noticing. “I’m going to kill her.”

“Wait until after she makes lunch for tomorrow,” said Nectarine with his mouth full of muffin crumbs. “These are good.”

Dawn was threatening the horizon with a rosy glow while Beets strolled almost casually back to the office in order to punch out for the evening. Idiosyncrasy had sent a note to the the Port Authority claiming his violent tendencies were not a danger to anypony at work, and that she had scheduled weekly sessions for the next few months in order to ensure his behavior would remain controlled. It almost felt like a note from the teacher, but as long as it made the Port Authority pretend their vast family of employees was not going to be disturbed by a crazy relative, he could live with it. Besides, the appointments were paid for by the company, and on Saturday mornings, which left him with nearly the whole weekend free.

He still wasn’t quite sure why having the weekends free felt so good. Or why it felt acceptable to spill his emotional guts to a bug.

The folded up note attached to his timecard would not have worried Beet Salad as much if Supervisor Fits had not been standing next to it and looking at Beet Salad as if he was treading mud into the Moove museum.

“Mister Beet Salad!” The administrative earth pony looked Beets up and down without the normal wrinkling of the nose which normally followed. “Well, at least you’re bathed and looking decent, but where is your jacket!”

“My jacket?” echoed Beets.

“The jacket you need to wear to court this morning! The jacket I told you to get in the note I stuck on your timecard this morning! That jacket!”

“I don’t have a jacket—” Beets thought back to the far too small plastic-wrapped black suit coat in his closet which he had worn only three times “—accessible right now, sir. It’s got a bunch of boxes stacked on top of it, and could take a few hours to dig out. Why do I need to go to court?”

“The anarchist you… abused a few nights ago is filing his complaint in civil court this morning. Our attorney says that if we can get a counterclaim to Lord Even Keel at approximately the same time, we stand a good chance of getting the case dismissed right there. Come on, I think one of the employees in the office has a suit about your size.”

Beets held onto his timecard and considered his next move. “Will I be paid overtime?”

“All rise. The Honorable Judge Lord Even Keel presiding.” The rustling of the half-dozen ponies in the courtroom died away as an elderly unicorn with greying temples and a growing bald spot just behind his horn settled down in the ornate chair at the front of the courtroom.

“Be seated. Bailiff will call the first civil request on the docket.” The judge fixed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses to his nose and regarded the thick bundle of papers which the bulky bailiff brought over.

“First civil request is from a Mister Fire Brand, regarding an unprovoked assault on his person in regards to a peaceful protest at the site of the Baltimare Airship Port.”

“I see.” The judge fanned several papers from the folder out in front of him. “And is the plaintiff present in court this morning?”

“We are, Your Honor.” A rough-looking earth pony mare dressed in a crisp suit stood up and nodded towards the judge. “Miss Vigilantibus of the firm Equity, Estoppel and Vigilantibus, and my client, Mister Brand.” The skinny young unicorn next to the lawyer sniffed once, holding a tissue to his nose while sitting on a large cushion. His flame-red mane and tail was not done up in the spiky style he had sported while throwing flaming bottles at the docks, and as much of his coat visible under a long-sleeved sweater and a soft Spainish serepe seemed to have been stained back to his natural mauve coloring. With the nerdish glasses perched on his nose and his generally passive appearance in the light, he looked more like a graduate student than the anarchist Beets had seen in the night encounter.

“Very well.” The judge sorted some more papers. “I take it the Port Authority has sent you to quash the charges, Mister Hedges?”

The similarly well-dressed stallion to Beets’ side stood up. “Yes, Your Honor. As the plaintiff was engaged in criminal activity at the time of the incident, and our client’s employee was acting in order to protect innocent life—”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Vigilantibus stood up. “My client was engaged in a meditative experience where he was expanding his karmic presence in an act of peaceful protest when this beast—” the lawyer glared at Beet Salad “—assaulted him in a clearly unprovoked manner.”

“He abused me,” sobbed the skinny mauve unicorn, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. “I may never recover from the trauma, and my future career as a physical therapist for orphans is ruined.”

“Order in the court.” The judge used his magic to rap the gavel once. “Further outbursts will not be tolerated. Is Mister Beet Salad the only witness for the defense?”

“No, Your Honor,” said Hedges. “In the event that testimony from our employee is not enough to have the case dismissed, we have two more witnesses, although I am reluctant to call them to the stand.”

The judge favored Hedges with a doubting look. “Who?”

“Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Prince Shining Armor, Your Highness. They are currently in discussions with the City Council downstairs this morning.”

The judge seemed to consider the idea with a great deal of seriousness and the occasional twitch in his cheek. “As this is an informal hearing, I don’t see a pressing need to involve one of Equestria’s princesses unless she volunteers her assistance. I notice there was no police report in the file.”

“Your Honor, if I may?” Vigilantibus stood back up again. “My client encountered vicious prejudice when attempting to file a police report. As a redeemed member of society, his sealed juvenile criminal record is still unfairly used by the police in order to oppress him, so he was unable to find an unbiased member of our constabulary to take his statement. We did compose a statement on our own and put it in the complaint,” she added helpfully.

“I see.” The judge took a moment from his paperwork to look at Beet Salad. “Mister Salad, if you can record a statement to the events in question and return it to the court within three days, I’ll schedule another informal hearing for early Friday morning to see if the case should be dismissed or go on to a more formal stage. Bailiff, take this note to Princess Cadenza and Shining Armor downstairs, please. If they’re willing to give a statement, we can resolve some of the ambiguities in the case today.”

Beet Salad decided to stick around for a little while, remaining in one of the courtroom observation area chairs and watching the Port Authority’s lawyer, in particular keeping focused on the expensive mane extension on the back of the lawyer’s neck while keeping the suddenly peace-loving anarchist in his peripheral vision. Whenever he spotted a surreptitious glance in his direction by ‘Mister Brand,’ Beets would maintain his innocent observation of the Port Authority lawyer and just let a little bit of smile leak out around the edges.

It was almost as much fun as beating his brainless head in would have been, and with none of the legal consequences, but it still irked him to sit and do nothing while listening. The plaintiff's lawyer spun a candy-cane dream of his innocent client, caught up in the violence which he detested so much and abused by the ‘gender-biased, cisnormal bigot with a history of anger issues’ who had stalked him through the peaceful protesters and singled him out for his perverted bodily violation. Apparently the judge was just as ignorant of the derogatory phrases as Beets, and asked several times for clarification of some of the most flowery ones. Beets was particularly interested in how he could be both a ‘tool of the oppressive patriarchy’ and a ‘bigoted monster’ at the same time, as one was used as a tool and the other used tools, but his musing was disrupted by the sound of the courtroom door opening and Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’s voice whispering, “We’ll just slip in and wait for Judge Keel to take a break.”

“Princess Mi Amore!” Judge Even Keel stood up in the middle of the lawyer’s long-winded rant and gestured the Royal Couple forward. “Come in, come in. I didn’t want to interrupt any business you had with the Town Council, but I’ve got this case that just came up, and if you could help out, I’d appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem at all, Even. Please, call me Cadence. We were just getting ready to go out for a day’s shopping when we got your note. Oh, Mister Beet Salad!”

Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, or Cadence as she wanted to be called now, was a toucher. She brushed a warm hoof across Beet Salad’s shoulder with an even warmer smile behind it. “So nice to see you again. Did you bring your marefriend, or is she at work?” But before Beets could stammer out a reply, the Princess of Love had begun to move forward through the waiting area and the counsel’s tables like a threshing machine through wheat. Every pony in the room seemed to know her and have a new little relative whose picture needed cooing over or a quick word or two of congratulation on her wedding. Shining Armor simply proceeded along behind her, much as a heavy cruiser might follow an icebreaker, although with a certain wary expression that promised polite violence on her behalf should anypony decide to become a threat. He did make a point of exchanging glances with Beet Salad, more as a simple acknowledgment of Beets’ existence and relative category of non-threatening spectator, subject to recategorization on the shortest notice.

“So, Prin— I mean, Cadence,” said the judge with obvious reluctance at using her naked name. “Do you remember seeing Mister Fire Brand over there a week ago when you stopped off at the docks during their ‘little incident’ with all of the protesters?”

Princess Cadence looked over at the stunned plaintiff and shook her head. “Sorry, Even. I don’t remember seeing… Wait a minute. I almost didn’t recognize him without his spiked manestyle and all the piercings. He’s Smokey Top’s son, right? The fire chief in town last year? He’s gotten so big. Hi, Sparky!”

The blushing young unicorn did return her wave, but seemed more interested in something on the floor than actually meeting her eyes.

“Anyway,” she continued, “Sparky over there was talking to Mister Salad in the middle of the street when it looked like he pulled a knife—”

“Objection, Your Honor,” said Miss Vigilantibus. “My client is a peaceful adherent to non-violent methods. He no longer possesses anything more dangerous than a spoon since his conversion several years ago.”

“It was most definitely a knife,” insisted Cadence. “Double-edged, about three or four hooves long, and handled like a professional.”

“Objection again, Your Honor. The witness is an alicorn princess, and does not know anything about professional—” The lawyer paused, looking at Shining Armor as if the Captain of the Royal Guard were about to produce a blade of his own and demonstrate its professional use on a not-so-random lawyer in the vicinity. “I withdraw my objection, Your Honor.”

“Why did you back down?” hissed Fire Brand once the lawyer had seated herself again.

“Common sense,” hissed the lawyer back at her client. “Now shut up.”

“You shut up, bitch,” he hissed back just barely loud enough for Beets to hear, and most likely loud enough for the Royal Couple to hear too. “Dad’s paying you enough to get more than a pissy…” The rest of Fire Brand’s conversation with his lawyer was too quiet for Beets to hear, but from the expression on Cadence’s face, the profanity had just begun and she was too polite to react to it. It would have done Beets a lot of good to pick up one of the oak tables with his magic and beat some sense into the pinheaded young twit, but without a sufficient provocation, particularly in the middle of a courtroom, it would only get him in deeper crap than if he were a changeling and dropped his disguise.

Oh. That’ll work.

“You know, Mister Fire Brand over there looks an awful lot different than when I met him on the street,” mused Beets in a voice just loud enough to be heard by the half of the courtroom which mattered. “I wonder if he could be a changeling.”

“A changeling?!” The mauve unicorn teen stood up and pointed a hoof. “Defamation of character! Add it to the charges, Vince.”

“Shut up!” hissed his lawyer.

“A changeling?” Judge Keel rapped his gavel firmly on the table. “Mister Salad, do you have any proof of your allegation?”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” said Beets. “I was just thinking out loud. I mean, at work we learned two very useful spells from Prince Shining Armor, one of which can be used to strip away a changeling’s disguise. Not that I think Mister Brand is a changeling, of course. Just that he’s acting… different.”

The judge paused with a thoughtful expression, taking in the young unicorn who had begun to sob uncontrollably, his lawyer who seemed about ready to slap some sense into her client, and Shining Armor. “Prince Shining Armor, is this true? Can you detect changelings?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Now we can. It’s a fairly easy spell and harmless to the subject. Also,” he continued with a puzzled glance at Beets, “the city council has issued a blanket edict permitting any local or Crown law enforcement agent within the city to use the changeling detection spell on any suspected changeling, regardless of permissions or probable cause.”

“It must be harmless then,” said the judge. “Would you care to demonstrate it for the court, Your Highness?”

“Certainly.”

This time when Shining Armor glanced over at Beets, he was ready and mouthed the word “Two.” Shining Armor’s puzzled expression went away almost immediately, replaced with an impassive face and a set to his jaw which any recruiting officer for the Royal Guard would have photographed and put into their window immediately. After all, Shining Armor had most probably been in or heard tales about other riots, and the aftereffect of a flying bottle of burning fuel was not pretty.

Shining Armor arranged the young unicorn in place while lecturing in a stern voice, much like a drill sergeant would use to describe Royal Guard policy to a recruit, and once everything was in place, cast the spell.

That is, the second of the two spells which he had taught Beets. The one which would forcefully strip away a changeling’s disguise, along with any other ongoing enhancements such as medical spells on unhealed injuries.

Fire Brand had been standing in place with a sly smirk, most probably counting the number of bits he could get from his ongoing lawsuit, until the spell swept over his hindquarters. Even though Beets knew what the spell felt like from his limited experience with his extracted teeth, he still winced as the young unicorn shot almost straight up in the air, apparently propelled by an endless stream of profanity which would have shocked a sailor.

Second degree anal burns must take a while to heal.

The young unicorn hit the floor of the courtroom rump-first, scooting around like a pug dog trying to wipe his ass on the grass and howling loud enough to wake the dead. It was both intensely funny and horribly not-funny at the same time, although the funny went away the instant the young unicorn produced a foreleg-long knife from under his sweater and launched himself at Prince Shining Armor with a scream of rage.

“You bucking bastard! I’ll kill you for this!”

Beets was still reaching out with his magic when Shining Armor took a casual step backwards, and the oak table he was standing next to took several non-casual ‘steps’ forward, catching the magic-held knife first, and then crashing into the back wall of the courtroom. It all happened in such a short period of time that Beets had barely managed to lift the chair he was sitting in before it was all over.

The judge, who was holding his gavel as if he had been getting ready to throw it, gave Miss Vigilantibus a long, dry look. “Your client is a peaceful adherent to non-violent methods, right?”

“Pillar of the community,” she managed to croak. The table had passed right next to her on the way to making a client sandwich out of itself, her client and the back wall of the courtroom.

“And I suppose that is a spoon,” he said, regarding the long blade which had fallen to the floor. “I think we can safely say Mister Fire Brand is not a changeling. He is about to need the services of a good criminal defense lawyer, though.” He eyed the way the oak table had embedded itself into the courtroom wall, leaving none of the young unicorn visible except the end of his tail. “And possibly some medical treatment.”

“Your Honor, if I may approach the bench.” Shining Armor stepped forward, somehow also managing to place one steel-clad hoof on the knife during his motion and breaking the blade in half. “The discipline of Royal Guard has always been an option for misguided youth with a history of violence.”

“You would have him protect the Princesses?”

Shining Armor shrugged. “There have been far worse. Some of the finest members of the force had a criminal record before they went through training and put on the armor. The current Commander of the Day Guard still has an open warrant in Baltimare, if I remember correctly. Something about a statue in the town square, several taxicabs, and the harbor. I’m certain Mister Fire Brand would make a excellent cadet.” He spared the young unicorn a sympathetic glance as the bailiff was attempting to pry him out from the wall. “We may want to wait until he has recovered before we put the proposal to him, though.”

Missus Spitonoikokýris was getting more difficult to dodge. If Beets had an exterior window in his apartment, he might have considered slipping in that way, but a few pebbles tossed in one direction while Beet Salad slipped in the door behind her worked perfectly.

The apartment was a disaster area. It smelled of paint and plaster with plastic sheets thrown over everything he could see, like some strange ghostly hauntings made out of his possessions. Despite it being almost noon, any desire he had to get horizontal and unconscious was drowned out by a paint-splattered pegasus who came out of the bathroom with a brush between her teeth.

“Just a minute,” called out the disguised changeling, taking the time to wash out the brush in the kitchenette sink.

“What did you do?” whispered Beets. “I rent. I can’t even put a nail in the wall without Missus Spitonoikokýris throwing a fit. She’s going to charge me enough to renovate the whole city block.”

The unlocked door at his back creaked open and his griffon landlady poked her beak into the room, looking somewhat cowed and timid compared to her normal meaner demeanor. “Ah, Mister Salad. Um…”

The disguised changeling squealed with glee and threaded her way through the maze of plastic-draped boxes to throw her forehooves around the old griffon’s neck. “Spivy! I was just telling Beetsie here how generous you were tonight, what with the lead paint and such.”

“Lead paint?” Beets tried to keep a straight face, which was easier when he considered just how much money he was out from the household renovations.

“Oh, I just thought it was lead paint, because I’m such a ditz, but I told Spivy about it last night and how it really wasn’t a problem because I know this really handsome unicorn at City Hall who could strip the whole apartment in one night. He works in Code Enforcement, but he’s got this night job doing lead paint cleanup and I told her he could even deal with those holes we had in the ceiling from the—” the changeling winked “—recreational equipment. Well, Spivy here knows a pony who knows a pony and they came over just an hour after you left for work, Beetsie and stripped the whole apartment right down to the base. Of course it didn’t test positive for lead like I thought, so I offered to cover the expense and have my friend from Codes do all of the repainting, and she said to just repaint the apartment myself and save the bits. So she bought the paint and I’ve been painting all night, can you believe it, Beetsie?”

From the gloss on the walls and the splatters of Off White Interior Gloss across the changeling’s disguise, she had indeed been hard at work with paintbrush and roller the whole night, but he could not resist one last poke at his landlady. After walking through the living room and taking a moment to remember the changeling’s assumed name, he nodded. “It looks good, Sultry. Are you sure you don’t want your friend in Code Enforcement to come over and fix the…” Beets looked up at the ceiling and tried to remember where the badly-patched holes were, because he could not see even the slightest hint of damage.

“Do you like it, Beetsie?” The disguised changeling sashayed through the piles of boxes with a sinuous gait and slipped up besides Beets. “Spivy brought along some plaster and patched the holes just like it said in the how-to book. She even said she was going to refund your bits, since she didn’t have to hire a repairpony.”

“Half the bits,” said the crotchety old griffoness with a distinct bob to her neck as she looked around the cluttered apartment. “Well, I better get going. Third floor has a faucet out, and I need to… Goodbye.”

Beets managed to maintain his impassive face until he had latched and locked his apartment door securely, but when he turned to the disguised changeling, she had already vanished. Her voice did filter back from the bathroom. “I’m grouting the tub and the instructions say to leave it set for five hours before getting it wet, so you’re going to have to skip your bath tonight.”

“What has gotten into you, crazy bug?” Beets poked his nose into the bathroom and watched the short changeling holding the squeegee full of goop in her mouth with intent concentration as she worked it across the tiles.

“Nesting,” she muttered from the side of her mouth. “It’s part of the moulting process. I started by running down to the bodega on the other side of the block and renting a carpet shampooer, but Missus Spitonoikokýris poked her nose in when I was hitting the chorus and the rest of the night just kinda… happened. If you go grab a roller out in the living room, you should be able to put a second coat on now.”

“Have you eaten anything?” The changeling was somewhat smaller than a normal pony anyway, but the furry sides of the pegasus disguise looked almost concave, and a sympathetic growling echoed to his words.

“Can’t eat. Too busy. I made your lunches for the next few days and stuck them in the icebox. They’re labelled. I got the kale and the artichokes when I took the carpet shampooer back after ripping your thin carpet almost in half. I hope you like thousand island because that’s the only salad dressing they had in the little plastic packages. And there’s a dozen oranges in a bag in the kitchen. Eat one every night.”

“I don’t like—” Beets glared at his busy roommate and rolled his eyes. “Do you have any food allergies or preferences other than artichokes?”

“No allergies, but I love anchovies,” said the changeling with a heartfelt sigh which almost made her drop the container full of grout. “Yummy little fishies. Clams and oysters too. Anything but mushrooms. I got sick of mushrooms back at the hive. Beets?” The changeling looked up only to find the bathroom empty. Giving a shrug, she went back to her task.

It was close to an hour later when Beets slipped back into the bathroom with a steaming slice of pizza in his magic. “There was a line. Open up.”

“I don’t need — Ummmm…” The changeling chewed and used a sponge on the grouted tiles for a while. Everytime she swallowed, Beets inserted another piece of pizza until she finally gave off a stentorian belch. “Enough. I didn’t even know they put clams on pizza.”

“Missus Spitonoikokýris has a grandchild who works at this pizza joint a few blocks away,” admitted Beets. “We get a discount, and it’s run by griffons, so they’ll spike a pie with just about anything.” He took a bite out of his own mushroom and garlic pizza slice before emitting a matching belch. “So, how much longer are you going to nest before you fall asleep on your hooves?”

“The grouting looks good, so all that’s left is caulking the tub, sink, toilet, and any other holes I can find to put calk in. An hour, if you want it done right,” declared the changeling with an evaluating look at the rest of drying tile in the bathroom. “You’ve got the freaky magic for the tricky corners, so go paint the kitchen cabinets. I promise to quit then and get some sleep. I can feel your tasty concern all the way over here.” She wriggled her tail and giggled. “Yummy.”

Beets scoffed, nearly snorting a mushroom up his nose. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m just a pizza to you.”

“Yeah, right.” The changeling continued caulking while Beets stayed put, eating his pizza. Eventually he grunted and dropped the dry crust back into the pizza box with one final quip.

“Naa, I’m not a pizza to you. You can love pizza.”

“What?” The changeling nearly dropped her calking compound tube into the bathtub and turned to glare at Beets. “I broke into song while cleaning your rotten apartment! Right there with the carpet cleaner and suds all over the place! I tore a hole in the carpet and it took forever to clean up the mess! Dancing around, singing about how I wasn’t going to say I was in…”

After waiting for the changeling to continue, Beets wrinkled up his nose. “You broke into song? Are we talking a solo or something that I’ll have to apologize to the whole apartment building for you dragging them into a full production with synchronized dancing and a chorus line?”

The changeling slumped, her disguise burning away in green fire until she looked like her shabby violet self again. “Solo,” she muttered, picking up the tube of calk and returning to her work. “Just like your love life.”

13. Gone Green

Warning: The following chapter has depictions of changeling moulting. Ponies or people of delicate disposition are hereby cautioned to perhaps skip forward at the first sign of goo, and to tread carefully so you don’t get any changeling on you, because it’s the dickens to get washed out. Just remember, if you wake up screaming in the middle of the night or experience feelings of nausea, the management and ownership of this fic hold no responsibility⁽*⁾ for your reaction. So please, read responsibly, and try not to become emotionally unhinged at the sight of any blood, guts, or spoo. We now return you to your scheduled story, already in progress.
(*)Heck, the author holds no responsibility for anything else either, so why change?

The alarm clock had scarcely rang when the Murphy bed lurched and Beet Salad’s back got suddenly very cold. “Up and at the day, Beetsie,” called out the changeling in a bright, cheerful voice seeming on the edge of breaking out into song. She turned off the alarm clock and scurried away, flashing with green fire as she shifted back into her regular blue pegasus form. Although he would never be caught dead admitting it, sleeping with a changeling was not too bad. She shut up and stopped snoring when nudged, didn’t flail around in bed while having dreams, and was actually fairly warm. If it were not for her annoying habit of rolling herself up in every blanket on the bed until she was a tightly-wound blanket cocoon, which made Beets huddle closer to the bug in order to stay warm… Oh. That explained it.

Beets rolled out of bed and plodded into the bathroom, which his roommate was inspecting with a critical eye. “I wish we had enough space to get a two-pony tub in here,” she groused. “Here, take your brush.” She climbed into the tub and pulled the curtain closed, starting the water while calling out, “Try to get my whole back, Beetsie.”

One advantage of being a unicorn was the ability to scrub somepony’s back in the shower while standing outside of it. After ensuring she had been properly scrubbed and conditioned, he stood off to one side as the disguised changeling stepped out of the tub and he stepped in. “I don’t understand why you need to scrub up your disguise,” he said while scrubbing his own back. “Can’t you just change forms into something cleaner?”

“Morphic resonance,” she responded through a mouth full of toothpaste. “If I’m a dirty changeling, I can only turn into a dirty pony and back again. It’s a lot easier to get the dirt out of transformed hairs than my normal chitin.”

“But you’re covered in shellac,” he countered. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

“It’s part of the bodily transformation spell, but even then, I still can’t use my wings in either form. They could have been broken beyond my body’s ability to heal, but I can’t tell with all this shellac over them. I’ll know better after I moult.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Another reason to lounge around the house and chew up my bits.”

“I don’t know, Nek.” Beet Salad regarded his lunch of a nice tossed alfalfa salad with bean sprouts and tofu chunks, topped with croutons and thousand island dressing. “There’s just something so wrong about this.”

“Are you going to eat that?” Nectarine paused with one hoof over the pair of bran muffins which had been included in Beets’ lunch.

“No. I’m not hungry — wait a minute. You can have one of those, not both.” Beets reclaimed his muffin and took a big bite. “She’s making me… feel again. I thought I had all those memories of my folks and my little brother locked away behind an iron door.” He chewed for a while on the suddenly dry muffin while trying to muster up enough spit to swallow. Despite the length of time it took, Nectarine remained thankfully silent while Beets took a drink out of his bottle of mineral water in order to continue. “It’s like some termite is chewing holes in the door… I don’t know.”

“Are you happy?” Nectarine munched away on the bran muffin, scattering crumbs as he waved one hoof to punctuate his words with a gesture. “I mean really happy.”

For a while, the two of them ate in relative silence other than the crunching of celery sticks and the opening of a box of grass crackers. Beets quietly tapped his hoof against the table in the rhythm of the song he had heard the changeling sing while thinking. Maybe there was something missing in his life, but it certainly wasn’t her. “I don’t know,” he said abruptly. “It’s been so long since I’ve been happy.”

Beets was still considering the point while he walked back home. Alone, because Nectarine was pulling some overtime again in order to get a few bits ahead on his back foal support. It always chafed to hear his friend talk about his money woes, knowing of Beets’ own bank account balance, but just as certain as the night followed the day, a few thousand bits put into Nek’s hooves would turn into another illegitimate foal inside a few months and just sink him deeper into debt.

But he seemed happy, and would gladly show pictures of his adorable progeny at the drop of a hint.

Doctor Bonebreaker seemed happy with his buggy bride too, although a little overworked.

Even Shining Armor and Princess Cadence seemed happy, despite their difficulties.

Beet Salad deserved a little bit of happiness too, didn’t he?

Just a little bit. Until Buggy went home. Then he could go back to being miserable again.

The dawn had long since broke over the horizon by the time Beets strolled into his apartment, or at least it seemed to be his apartment. The sharp scent of fresh paint was familiar from yesterday, but bleach and other cleaners mingled their scents along with it, and the threadbare carpet had somehow been replaced by something that crushed beneath his hooves like dry moss. His boxed possessions had been reboxed into neatly labeled clean boxes and compressed into a neat cube while the rest of his apartment had been shuffled like a deck of cards in the hooves of a poker shark. Even the crusty old stove gleamed in the lights, having been transformed into something sleek and spotless by the application of immense amounts of scrubbing.

“Don’t come in!” filtered back from the bathroom. “I still have things to clean in the kitchen! Just… walk around the block a few times. Go take in a movie.”

Instead, he locked the front door and headed back to the bathroom. “Buggy, how did you manage to get Missus Spitonoikokýris to spring for new carpet?”

“Nodon’tcomeinthebathr—” Beets swung the door open and stopped, the caustic quip on his lips unsaid. The changeling looked horrible, with the darkness of formerly healthy chitin beneath the hoof shellac having leprous patches of white scattered randomly across her chest and back. It had to be some sort of disguise crafted to extract more love out of his calloused heart, but as much as he tried to think of it as such, the more he noticed the little details which put a lie to that theory.

“You look like shit,” he responded almost automatically. “What happened?”

“My moult is starting early. I barely saw the carpet installers out before I lost my disguise. I’m not ready to moult yet. I’ve got linoleum squares to lay in here and shelf paper for the kitchen and edging—”

“Stop.” Beet Salad held a hoof over the changeling’s mouth, feeling the cool touch of dry chitin instead of the warmth she had always displayed when trying to put those same lips anywhere on his body. “I can finish up the remodeling. You need to go lie down for a while.”

“I can’t,” she whined. “I have to hold it off for a few more days so I can soak up more love or I’ll never get out of my cocoon. As long as I’m scurrying around working, my metabolism will keep me from moulting.”

“Oh, yeah,” remarked Beets, looking at the patchy discoloration spreading all the way across her back and halfway down her rear legs. “That’s just working peachy for you.” He reached out with his magic and put the lid on the linoleum glue. “Breathing those fumes can’t be good for you in this condition. Since you said you need some more love, I’ll get out the guitar and play for you if you’ll take a break and sit on your squishy rear for a while. No singing on your part. Please.”

The snarky reply he expected did not occur as the changeling meekly allowed herself to be led out into the living room, although she did take a few minutes to cover nearly the entire corner of the room’s carpet with a thick coat of newspapers before sitting down in the middle of them. He looked up from his tuning briefly before resuming plucking on a troublesome guitar string. After all, if she wanted to pee on the new carpet, at least she was putting down papers.

He played, slowly at first and all by himself, before putting on a Dusty Withers album and playing along with the country singer. It did seem to calm the worried bug, although she still looked vaguely as if she were succumbing to a bad case of hoof fungus beneath the shellac. And reluctant as he was to admit it, playing the guitar helped him too. Bean Sprout had been so upset after dad had passed away, and listening to his big brother play for hours at a time had allowed him to fade into a fitful sleep, despite the spates of racking coughs sweeping over his frail body at random times during the night. As much as Beets wanted to forget, the ghost of his little brother seemed to be haunting his memories this morning, as if he were curled up in the form of a vulnerable changeling, listening with lidded eyes and unwilling to fall asleep.

Time slipped away from him, as it always seemed to do while playing. The played records stacked up to one side of the cabinet while he worked through songs he had thought long forgotten, playing main or backup guitar to the performer as they crooned or caroled along. It was past noon by the time he quit, while the mottled form of the sleepy changeling dozed along with his last few notes in a quiet snore.

And then he slipped her into bed and curled up before sleep claimed him too.

The next evening, Nectarine seemed surprised to find Beet Salad standing outside his apartment door with a sack lunch already packed. The two mismatched stallions made it outside with the beginning shadows of night beneath their hooves before Beets said anything.

“Don’t say anything.”

“Wasn’t going to say a word,” said Nectarine. “However you want to do your mane is between you and your screaming fans in the pop music world.”

Taking a few minutes to run a hoof through his near-mohawk pink mane and using a licked hoof to attempt to keep it under control, Beets glared at his friend, daring him to speak.

As it was Nectarine, he took the dare. “Late night with the love-bug?”

“She’s moulting,” growled Beets as he resumed walking. “I spent half the day singing to her and the other half worrying she was going to die or something in bed. She was sleeping when I left.”

“Mares are such a problem once a month,” said Nectarine. “The other three weeks make up for it.”

“I don’t think this happens every month. Maybe once a year or so. Why in Tartarus am I worried about her dying, anyway?”

“Dying? Don’t you think you should be taking her to a doctor? Or back home?”

Beets managed to hunch his shoulders while walking. “She says if she goes home, they’ll just harvest her for whatever leftover love she has, and that’ll kill her. If I take her to the cops, that’ll kill her. The doctor…” Beets hesitated, trying to remember if he had filled Nectarine in on the insectile origin of his psychologist, or the fact she had also treated Princess Luna. Both embarrassing revelations were probably best kept secret, and telling Nectarine was a sure-fire way of making them a non-secret. “She says her doctor wasn’t concerned about moulting, so I’m probably just making a mountain out of an anthill.”

After work, Beets dropped by Nectarine’s home library to borrow some bug books, just in case they would give him a hoof-up on his sick houseguest. It was probably somewhat like borrowing a book on rats to see how to take care of injured ponies, but it was at least an effort. As he sat in the middle of the chaos of a Nocturne clan house, filled to the top with batwinged nocturnal pegasi who each were somewhat lacking a sense of personal space, he considered his friend and the secret he had told to him. After all, he had a sick changeling in his apartment. If Luna knew she had a changeling psychologist, that meant the Princesses were ‘on his side’ so to speak. On the other hoof, if she did not know she had a changeling psychologist, things could get messy fast, with little bits of Beet Salad scattered all over the city, probably starting with the bits he appreciated the most. There was really no subtle way to say, “Princess Luna, do you know you have a bug shrink?”

But there was a way to at least get a hint.

“Hey, Roquefort?” Beets waved at a disheveled Nocturne who was just passing by the open bookshelf. The tall Nocturne was a Royal Guard in the Night Division of the Royal Customs Service, which in a port town like Baltimare kept him hopping. All kinds of cargo and creatures passed through the port every day and night, and only the really stupid smugglers smuggling dangerous cargo thought they could get contraband past Luna’s Night Guard. “Can I ask you a question?”

The tall stallion strolled over, which was a safer method of transport in the crowded clan house than trying to fly. To Beets’ concealed amusement, Roquefort had on a full set of dark blue slippers embroidered with Princess Luna’s cutie mark, and the damp towel thrown over his back was likewise embroidered with the same moon-and-cloud. “Hey, Beets,” said the guard. “Didn’t expect to see you here today. The grapevine says you managed to clock Shiny a few days ago. Thought we’d have to pick you up with a stick and spoon.”

“Yeah.” Beets rubbed his jaw. “We had a little disagreement. And I don’t think there was any ‘clocking’ going on, unless you count me slamming my face into his right hoof and my ribs into his left.”

“Ouch.” The guard winced. “Break anything?”

“Only my pride and a lectern. Listen, I’ve got a serious question. Let’s say… I told the cops I knew somepony was a changeling. What would they do?” Beets paused. “Skip that. They’d go crazy and run around in little circles like idiots. What would you do?”

Although the dark pegasus did not change a single bit of his posture, Beets could feel the sensation of iron doors slamming shut behind his smiling face. “Who?”

Beets waved a hoof. “No, this is totally hypothetical.”

From the way Roquefort drew his lips together, it was obvious what Beets was calling hypothetical was, in his mind at least, suspicious. “Would this hypothetical changeling be impersonating another pony after having cocooned its victim? Because in that case, it’s a Crown responsibility, and the Royal Guard would strike just as quickly as possible in order to ensure the safety of the pony or other sapient being.”

“That makes sense,” said Beets, somewhat uncomfortable at the idea of being wrapped up in some goo-filled cocoon like the Canterlot Times photo spread had detailed, or at least their artist’s interpretations of the cocooning process, since the changelings had all been thrown out of the city without the courtesy of allowing press photographers access to their works. “But what if the changeling was just pretending to be some random pony in order to to survive, like a sewer worker, or even Nectarine here.”

“Hey, don’t drag me into this, Beets.” Nectarine raised his forehooves. “I only let very special mares put me in hoofcuffs, and you aren't cute.”

Lighting his horn briefly, Beet Salad waved the first changeling detection spell over Nectarine, satisfied that it only showed a few small green blotches and a faint green aura. Roquefort likewise nodded as if the spell had been used in his presence several times and he was getting familiar with it. It did bother Beets to think that his friend might have actually been a changeling, but he put it to one side and continued.

“So, if I found out a pony was actually a changeling who had been living in town for several years, and I told you… what would you do?”

“You don’t need to know,” said Roquefort rather uncomfortably. “That’s Crown business.”

“I mean, would you arrest it?” continued Beets.

“It really depends,” the off-duty guard grudgingly admitted. “What crime has this theoretical changeling committed?”

“So you wouldn’t arrest it without knowing if it had committed some sort of obvious crime?” pressed Beets. “So if I were to find a changeling and tell you about it, and I see it later, I can assume it’s not a criminal, right?”

The guard paused for a long time before venturing, “We only arrest criminals who break Crown law. The local police handle local laws.”

Beets thought back to a conclusion which had been staring him in the face ever since he had learned the two changeling-related spells. “Shining Armor didn’t use a changeling detection spell on the crowd at the riot, did he?”

“Did he?” The guard’s expression was perfectly deadpan, probably a result of having spent too much time in a tin can.

“If there were changelings in the crowd,” started Beets while working through the chain of logic in his head, “the rioters would have torn them to pieces and gone out looking for more.”

“It’s possible,” admitted the guard. “So you can see why we would treat any changeling sighting with a great deal of caution and discretion.” The guard just sat there and looked at Beets for a while before adding, “By the way, a couple of the colts at work said you’ve got a marefriend now, but I haven’t heard Nek say one thing about her. Normally, he’s all over a fine piece of filly and won’t shut up about it.”

“She’s ugly,” said Nectarine, taking another book on insect lifecycles off the shelf. “Big hooves, a nasty voice, and this way of screeching at you like you tracked mud into the house. She’s got a sister if you’re looking for a date, Rocco. She’ll be out on probation in a few weeks.”

In the end, Beets limited himself to a short stack of Nectarine’s entomology books and a few cookies from the clan kitchen before heading for home. He was prepared to spend a few more hours being ‘milked’ by playing on the guitar and singing, but when he opened the door and slipped inside, he was not able to find the changeling right off.

The apartment was spotless, like some sort of model home put together to lure renters into a decaying building. Everything was labeled, stacked, arranged, painted, and there was even a border around the kitchenette ceiling showing sheaves of grain and flowers. The only thing out of place was a huge pile of wadded-up newspapers stuffed into a corner of the living room and the absence of his insect roommate.

The two observations turned out to be related. Moving a few newspapers to one side, Beets revealed a changeling who had faded to almost a light lilac shade in nearly every part of her body, including her milky eyes which had almost lost all color. At first, Beets thought she had died, but she gave a little convulsion when he uncovered her eyes.

“Beets,” she gasped. “It’s too early. I don’t have enough love. I w-wrote you a note. The trash needs to be taken out.”

“Stay here.” Beets swallowed a lump the size of a can of creamed corn. “I’ll go get Idiosyncrasy and see if she can—”

“She’ll k-kill me and suck out all of my remaining love,” gasped the changeling. “I might be able to finish moulting. I don’t know. I’m just so cold. You’re supposed to snuggle when I say that, dummy.”

“Sorry.” Beets reached out and picked up the changeling. She felt almost weightless in his magic and as cold as ice when he wrapped his forehooves around her. “You know, if this is just some ploy to suck a little extra love out of me, I’m going to be pissed,” he whispered.

“I wish. Don’t hug so tight.” The trembling changeling started breathing again, with short breaths smelling of flowers and sweet nectar. “I’m sorry.”

“Dammed straight,” said Beets. “I’ll never be able to find anything around here now. I almost didn’t find you. I don’t want to lose you,” he added. “Not until you pay me back for all the bits you cost me.”

“I owe you a lot more than bits. Set me down. And back up.”

Beets did as he had been requested, kicking away a few of the books he had brought. For the longest time, nothing happened other than the pale changeling shifting positions slightly and her breathing steadying to a rapid in-and-out which seemed entirely too healthy for the trembling and drawn form it was coming from.

Then she doubled over with a sharp cry. “Stay back,” she gasped when Beets moved forward. “Don’t touch!” A second convulsion swept over the pale changeling, along with the sharp crack of sundered chitin. The faintest line of darkness appeared across her back, moving from just over her forehead and down her spine towards her tail in an unstoppable motion which made it seem as if the bug were about to split wide open.

And then she did.

It was a horrible, splintering noise sounding like the worst of broken bones and splintered noses. Something glossy green and dripping burst through the changeling’s splitting chitin and spilled out on the newspaper-covered ground as the discarded shell clattered to the ground behind it, tinged in a liquid green goop smearing across the color comics and the stock reports.

Looking much as a clam without its shell, the slimy creature who had once been a changeling curled up on the newspaper-covered carpet with a keening cry, rolling back and forth while Beet Salad cringed backwards away from it. Beets knew there was some sort of shelling and extraction process involved in moulting, but the abrupt suddenness of the eruption made his heart hammer in terror as he stumbled and fell during his retreat.

The vaguely pony-shaped creature had only a thin translucent membrane as a barrier between her lumpy internal organs spilling out along the ground and the present agonized writhing among the stained newspapers scattering in all directions as she thrashed. He had expected red blood to spray across the floor as the changeling had erupted out of its shell, but this was far, far worse. There was a ruddy tinge to the flailing changeling, mostly covered by the green goo which seemed to be extruding from its skin, but still obviously blood beneath the skin just the same as what flowed in his own veins. In a way, that made his present distress far worse. Had the changeling been totally alien, he could have managed some sort of psychological distancing from it, but the vivid crimson hue only made Beets more aware of the living, feeling creature in agony on his living room floor.

He could not move. He could only watch and feel his heart tear in half at the sight.

The creature spasming in pain on the newspapers began to fizz and froth as if it were dissolving into the green ichor covering it, with a sharp hissing noise growing while it twisted in place. He did not recognize what was happening until he saw the gooey strands spitting out from its mouth, leaving a foamy residue climbing up over its legs and torso. It was terrifyingly beautiful in a gruesome way, as if the changeling were some caterpillar spinning its own cocoon out of green paint and goop, and he watched it happen in detached fascination until just moments before the changeling vanished from view, it looked at him with astonishingly-dark teal eyes.

Then she was gone.

The hissing grew quieter once the initial cocoon was closed, but it still twitched and writhed as the creature inside moved. Thankfully, he could not see the naked changeling’s pained expression any more, even though it still grunted and moaned in a suggestive way inside the opaque substance as if she were trying to escape. Over time, the twitching grew slower and less spastic until it smoothed out into slow pulsation like the beating of a huge green heart, and a low green glow began to glimmer out of the darker interior and cast a faint light that lit the inside of his room in eerie shadows.

I will never be able to eat jello salad again.

He remained silent and unmoving until the cocoon likewise stopped its motions, or at least reduced them to a soft rhythmic pulsing like the beating of a giant obscene green heart. It took considerable effort to tear his eyes away from the changeling’s resting spot and look at the hollow frame which had once enclosed her. The pale violet of Rock Royalty hoof shellac had been scoured and faded away from the inside, leaving only a little white dust on the inside of a hollow changeling shell. Even the rupture across the spine where she had burst out had sealed itself mostly behind her as the elastic shellac sprung back after her departure. He awkwardly moved the empty shell quietly to one side and regarded the slow pulsation of green light from the cocoon instead.

She had said something about a note, and after a little searching, he found and opened it.

Beets. If I’m in my cocoon now, there’s nothing you can do. Just keep going to work so nopony gets suspicious and play me a song every once in awhile. I won’t hear it while I’m in there, but maybe I can get a little love in the process.

If I die by running out of love before I’m done, contact you-know-who. They can dispose of the body while you’re at work, and you can pretend I was never here. If I don’t die, you need to be careful. I’ll be hungry and may not be able to keep from eating you right down to the hooves. Just be careful.

Destroy this note, stupid.
—Sultry

14. Time Well Wasted

The sound of the apartment door security chain rattling woke Beets from a fitful slumber in the chair he had dragged into the living room. Yesterday should have been some sort of horrible nightmare, but as he blinked away the crusts and stumbled for the door to keep Nectarine from rattling himself into a frenzy, Beets could still see the dry and empty shell of his insect roommate standing almost comically against the wall, as well as the glowing mass of green gelatin housing her present location. He had spent far too much of the day yesterday just sitting and staring, trying to figure out what was going on inside the green lump as well as what was going on in his own heart, and giving up on both concepts before dozing off. He fumbled with his magic to unlatch the security chain on the apartment door and stood to one side as Nectarine lunged into the room, waving one wing.

“Whew, Beets. It smells like—” His friend looked around the room, taking in the glowing lump of green goo in the corner and the pale violet shell of the changeling tilted up against the wall. “Oh…”

“I need to brush my teeth and grab lunch,” muttered Beets as he shuffled off towards the bathroom. “Don’t touch her. I left the note for you over on the counter.”

By the time Beets had brushed his teeth and felt a little more equine, he emerged back into the living room to find Nectarine staring at the glowing green cocoon against the wall and holding a canister of insecticide. His friend gave a little startled squeak when Beets began rummaging around in the icebox and Beets found himself staring down the nozzle of a bottle of BugOut when he straightened up with a sack lunch in his magic.

“What did you do with Beet Salad?” asked Nectarine with a little tremor to the nozzle of his bottle. “What did you do with my friend, bug?”

It was such a touching moment that Beet Salad could not talk for a moment, and when he could, it was only in a rough voice which really did not sound like himself. “Nek? I’m really me. The changeling is in the cocoon. Honest.”

“Prove it.” Nectarine jabbed the insecticide nozzle closer to Beets.

“In school when you had braces and you got them locked with Prissy back in the little filly’s room, I was the one who busted Crusty Crumbs in the face and got hauled off to the principal’s office as a distraction.”

Nectarine backed up just a step but still kept an eye on Beets. “Anypony could have known that.”

“Well, yeah.” Beets scratched behind one ear. “You told everypony in school. Crusty thought it was awesome. He said I could bust him in the face anytime you needed a distraction. You have weird friends.”

“You could say that again.” Nectarine put the insecticide container back inside his jacket and took another look at the glowing green lump of changeling goo in the corner of Beet Salad’s living room.

“Yeah,” said Beets. “At least she put down papers first.”

Work gave Beets a long time to think as he walked his long path through the docks. It would have felt good to find a teenage thug trying to make off with some loose cargo or a drunken sailor looking for a fight, but the night remained dark and uneventful. Even Nectarine refused to rise to his baiting during lunch. Instead, he just sat with his bag of alfalfa sprouts and took the bran muffin which Beets floated over without comment.

As dawn approached, it was a long walk home with Nectarine, and very quiet too until the apartment door was closed behind him and the two stallions stood staring at the changeling-created mess that remained unchanged in Beets’ living room.

“I blame you,” said Beets.

“Only fair,” said Nectarine. “You’ve blamed me for your own failures for years. She’s your bug. Stallion up and take responsibility for your actions.”

“Right.” Beets eyed his friend. “How many illegitimate foals are you supporting now?”

Nectarine shrugged. “How many parasitic bugs are you supporting? With mine, at least I can show off their pictures.”

Beets grunted. “I’m just damned glad I’ve got you for a friend, Nek. Worst comes to worst, you’ll help me hide a body.”

Nectarine sat down on the floor and paged through the collection of books he had loaned Beets on the previous day. “I don’t remember any insect who makes a cocoon exactly like this. Grab a pizza and we’ll work our way through the books to see if there’s anything we can do.”

“The bug left a lasagna in the icebox, “ said Beets, pulling out an aluminum pan and reading the attached note. “Oven settings, time, leftovers go into the fridge boxes, yeah, yeah.”

“No little love notes?”

Beets turned the paper over. “Don’t forget to take out the trash before it attracts roaches.”

“I now pronounce you stallion and insectum. You may now nibble on each other’s maxilla.” Nectarine flipped the page on his book. “Bring me over a beer, would you?”

Once the lasagna was in the oven, Beets rummaged around in the fridge and straightened up with two dark glass bottles in his magical field and a rather perturbed expression on his face which made Nectarine look up from his books.

“Don’t tell me. Light beer?”

“Yeah. Of all the bugs in the world, I got one on a diet.” After popping off the tops, Beets sat the beers on the new coasters which seemed to have magically appeared on his endtable before turning to the books.

Research turned out to be a bust. Educational, but still a bust. The way wasps stung their prey and dragged the paralyzed bodies into sealed cells for the little wasps to devour alive drew a cold chill up Beet Salad’s spine, and some of the things ants did were just gruesome. There were a few underwater creatures like tube worms and moray eels who kept to small holes, and some creatures who used photoluminescence to generate light, which made much more relieving reading. Some flying bugs even used their own light sources, like the lightning bugs used in lamps in the more rural areas.

Although Nectarine would not go near the cocoon, a more direct examination of the object in question gave more positive results. The green goo making up the majority of the lumpy cocoon felt tacky and warm, with a faint scent of dark earth and truffles in a fungus-like underscent, which sounded weird but it was the only way he could describe it. The substance was soft enough that he might have been able to push a hoof into it, but when he was standing there while touching it, he felt the bump of a matching soft hoof from inside which made him recoil across the room.

“I think all we can do is to wait this one out,” said Beets once he had caught his breath.

After they had finished a quiet dinner and Nectarine had gone home, Beet Salad was left alone with his new house decoration. He spent a little time taking a long-delayed shower complete with conditioning in order to distract himself from the changeling’s transformation, but in the end, it was just him and the glowing pile of goo in the corner of his living room. Again.

“I liked it better when you were a snarky little bitch,” groused Beets.

It was still early in the morning, far too early to go to bed and he did not feel like leafing through any more of the useless books. He put on a record to amuse himself while picking up the apartment a little, as it seemed a shame to waste Buggy’s hard work. Last night was just a blur to him now, filled with unreasonable worry and hours worth of quiet singing to the sound of the record player in the hopes he would be able to give some small sliver of love to the cocooned changeling, much like Sleeping Black Beauty in her vine-wrapped castle…

On second thought, nothing like that at all.

Even on the other side of her cocoon, it had seemed as if the changeling had liked his playing, and more probably would not hurt. He got out the guitar again and settled down on a cushion next to the green glow, determined this time not to get all panicked like last night. After a few tunes to warm up, he considered the stack of records he had not played yet. Several he put into the back of the stack, as they had been Bean Sprout’s favorites, and he was not sure he could listen to them without breaking into tears.

Buck it. Buck it to Tartarus.

He put a short stack of the cheery yellow records onto the automatic feeder and pulled a cushion over to the cocoon as the tinny notes of a song about a duck going to a lemonade stand began to play. Despite his original pledge never to play the songs again after his brother had died, it was a good pain, and yielded good tears. Just him, the records, and the thankfully silent changeling cocoon.

It was a very long morning.

“Good evening, Nek.” Beet Salad flipped the eggs over as Nectarine poked his nose into the living room, obviously keeping his line of retreat open in case something horrible and pony-eating had hatched out of the glowing green goop over the afternoon. “One egg or two?”

“Two.” Nectarine settled down in his chair at the table as Beets floated his eggs over and sat down next to him with a bowl of instant oatmeal. “So why are you cooking eggs and not eating them?” asked Nectarine.

“To prove I can. That’s Dad’s pan. I’ve been blaming a hunk of metal for his heart attack instead of his exercise habits and job stress.”

As Beets shoveled down some instant oats, Nectarine took a skeptical look at the dripping egg he had just impaled on a fork. “You blamed eggs for your dad’s heart attack, and now you’re feeding me the same eggs. I’m touched.” He still ate the eggs, but rolled his eyes while doing it.

“I’m just hoping Sultry survives,” added Beets as he cleaned up the bottom of his bowl. “She helped me get my head on straight. How long do you think she’ll be in there, anyway?”

“Now I know you’ve been replaced by a changeling,” said Nectarine while finishing off his eggs. “The Beets I know never cared a whit about anypony, including himself.”

“Maybe… I was wrong,” admitted Beets. He tossed the disposable plastic bowl and spoon in the trash before giving the table a quick wipedown. Nectarine hoofed over a breakfast muffin from his early-morning raid of a nearby doughnut shop while Beets gathered his things for work, and the two stallions proceeded along their traditional evening path to the docks. As much as Beets tried to ignore it, there was a constant worry in the back of his mind about whatever was going on inside the changeling’s cocoon, and if the changeling would really be all right.

Those things really need a viewing window. Or a timer.

Supervisor Fits greeted him at the punch card rack before he even had a chance to punch in. There was a bothered look about him which Beets had never seen before, a barely discernable twitch to his bottom lip and a reluctance to look directly into Beet Salad’s eyes. “Mister Salad,” he started, “if I could have a private word with you this evening?”

“Sure,” said Beets. “Just let me punch in first.”

“Right.” His supervisor continued to look in any direction except his as Beets punched his card and trailed along until they were in an office corridor presently unoccupied by any other ponies. All of the suspicious buttons on Beets’ instincts were being pushed at once, and as Fits turned around to talk, Beets held up a hoof.

“First, I need to check something, Supervisor Fits. If you are Mister Fits.” Beets launched into the first changeling detection spell he had learned, the one which would not drive Fits into a fit of agony if he had recently been through surgery or lost a tooth. A few pale-green patches of changeling magic across Supervisor Fits’ coat were the only sign of changeling influence, although Beets was less than happy at the multiple shades of changeling green blotching along his own coat, including a bright green patch on one forehoof where he had recently poked the changeling cocoon.

“That’s… odd,” said Fits, looking at Beet Salad’s forehoof. “Is that the changeling detection spell you learned from Prince Armor?”

“Yeah.” He shook his hoof and tried to wipe it on the ground, but the spell still made it a bright lime green. “Musta stepped in some changeling poop or something, I guess. You know, everypony I’ve used the spell on shows some green on them somewhere.”

“If there are changelings in Baltimare, they must be keeping their heads down.” Supervisor Fits coughed into one hoof. “Actually… that’s what I was wanting to talk to you about.”

“What, do you know one?” Dropping the spell, Beets checked both ways down the corridor and lowered his voice. “I was talking to a Royal Guard yesterday. Unless the bug has put some poor pony into a cocoon and are impersonating them, the Crown is just putting them under observation.”

“Um… Not exactly.” Fits looked up and down the corridor too. “The Board wants me to fire you. They think you’re a changeling.”

“What?” Beets was actually set back a step. “Did they even think that Prince Shining Armor taught me the changeling detection spell? If there’s one pony who has a hard-on for pounding any bug he finds into the ground like a fence post, it’s him. The creep who was suing the Port Authority tried to attack him in court yesterday, pulled a knife and everything. Shining put him into the wall.”

“Oh, I didn’t hear about that,” said Fits. “We were in a staff meeting with Corporate for several hours. They pulled your entire file and all of your employee evaluations, as well as your employment application.”

“I see.” And Beets did. “I presume Blue Plate Special was there too. I’ll bet he’s still sulking. He tried his darndest to get Shining Armor to bust him in the face during our training. He’s going to get his double-dipping retirement if it kills him. Or us.”

Fits hesitated before responding. “Yes, it sounds like him. He certainly pretended to be quite concerned about your reaction to the changeling detection spell. You know, I’m not even supposed to be talking to you about this.”

“Yeah. Thanks for sticking your neck out for me, Fits. I owe you one.”

The supervisor shrugged with a tight frown. “What else are friends for? You’d do the same for me. Still, once the Board makes up its mind to fire somepony, they’re going to get rid of them, one way or another.”

“How long do you think I have? A month?” Beets rolled his eyes. “Sheesh, I sound like I’m dying.”

“Better just take this one day at a time. Don’t talk to Special unless you’ve got a witness, don’t beat up any burglars on the docks unless you’ve got no other choice, and most importantly, no more beating up mindless drones from Corporate.”

“So, roughly what I’m already doing.” Beets let out a sigh. “How long do I have to dance?”

“It’s six months until your next evaluation. Keep your nose clean and out of Blue Plate’s path. Who knows, they may forget all about you.”

It was probably not worth praying for a sudden case of amnesia to sweep over the board of directors, but he did make a mental note to buy a lottery ticket as he was walking his way along the path between the various concrete and steel towers of the airship docks and the piles of cargo in the process of loading and unloading. It was familiar and comforting in a strange way, and Beets could have walked his normal route with his eyes closed if not for the way cargo wranglers tended to make piles and collections of freight in seemingly random places. Just because a few tons of widgets arrive from Sãn Horsé does not mean the airship to take them elsewhere has gotten into port yet. Of course, if those crates contain a few hundred less widgets when they left than when they arrived, the night watchponies tended to collect the blame.

Normally, the sounds of pilferage were what keyed Beets to an ongoing redistribution of wealth. It was startling just how far the sound of a crowbar opening a crate traveled through the night air. Also normally, when a night watchpony found anypony breaking into a crate, the first thing they were supposed to do was blow on their whistle just as hard as possible. The crooks would run, the other guards would show up, and everypony was happy. Well, except whoever had the crate and was missing the stuff the crooks had taken off with. They would whine and moan about the night watchpony and how there was probably some sort of conspiracy between him and the crooks to split the take. To be honest, there were a few in the night watch who pulled that kind of crap.

Beets much preferred the rest of the night watch to show up after the crooks had been suitably subdued, before they had removed any of their ill-gotten booty, and with much of their own booty black-and-blue. He had never actually been ambushed before at work. Once or twice on the way home from a bar he had found a few ‘friends’ of somebody he had met inside said bar, where ‘met’ meant ‘beat up.’ Normally, there were warning signs, from irate glances to an odd number of ponies clearing out of the bar in a group.

Tonight, the only warning he got was the rank scent of cigarette smoke in the air.

Still, it was enough.

The shadow between two crates shifted as Beet Salad began to walk past it, and a stocky earth pony with a brass boot over one hoof lurched out in his direction. Lurched, because just a moment before he had started to move, Beets had grasped his own truncheon in his magic and slammed it into the seemingly empty space. The truncheon caught the earth pony in the ribs, and then across the back of the head with a loud crack as Beets spun in place. The other earth pony with a chain wrapped around his foreleg swung by so close Beets could feel links of the chain part the hairs on the side of his cheek. Still, he could not get balanced quickly enough after having used the truncheon on the first pony, so the slamming hoof he managed to put into the side of his second assailant merely scraped along ribs instead of fracturing them.

Beets wanted for there to be only two thugs involved in the ambush. He knew better. The sound of hooves from behind him made Beets duck the next chain-wrapped hoof swinging in his direction and back up as quickly as he could. Unfortunately, his concerns were valid, and a third thug emerged from the shadows with the sounds of feathers above him indicating yet a fourth assailant.

I hope that’s not a griffon, or I’m royally—

A quick feint at one of the chain-wielding thugs and a quick magical bolt at the second would only allow the flier a clear shot at the ground-bound guard, so Beets kept his horn lit while pressing his tail up against a solid crate. His night stick had broken over the first thug’s thick head, so he tossed the stub of it out into the darkness and called out the first thing he could think of.

“Sergeant Roquefort, I’ve got changelings here!”

It did seem to set the two earth pony thugs back a step, but after an exchanged glance, they began to stalk closer again. That is, until an unconscious pegasus dropped onto one of them, and a quite conscious and very energetic Royal Guard dropped on the other.

After that, it was only the matter of moments before Beets and the panting Nocturne stood side by side over the unconscious bodies of the four thugs. Roquefort had an aura of unbridled menace in his Night Guard armor, much different than the lean and casual stallion he had always been around Nectarine’s clan house. Beets had never actually considered the easygoing stallion a threat before, but now it seemed almost as if the guard was considering just how much easier the situation would be with five unconcious bodies to report. “Changelings?” asked Roquefort.

“Well, they could have been,” said Beets, still leaning up against the crate for support. He lit his horn and looked as the greenish glow of changeling magic flickered weakly from all four of the thugs, one of whom had almost bright green lips in the light of the spell. “At least that one has been playing kissy-face with one, but nothing serious, it seems. False alarm, I suppose. You can go back to looking for air traffic violations again, officer.”

“Fat chance.” The Night Guard checked each one of the fallen thugs and shook his head. “They’re all breathing, at least. Any idea why they jumped you?”

“Let’s find out.” Beets pounded one hoof into the other, but paused at the look he was getting from Roquefort. “Just kidding. I know you can’t interrogate ‘em without reading their rights. I promise I won’t even touch them.” One of the thugs looked vaguely familiar, as if he had been the pony who had carried Fire Brand off to the hospital after his unfortunate ‘accident’ with a flaming bottle of fuel. After removing his own water bottle, Beets upended it over the unconscious earth pony with a very disingenuous “Oops.”

The pony stirred, spluttering and blinking several times until he looked up at Beet Salad. “Wha happened?”

“Your friend I hit with the stick’s dead. Broken neck. And that means you’re going to be facing a murder trial unless you talk quick.” Beets bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Talk fast.”

The earth pony’s eyes got really huge and white. “Dead? But we were just going to rough you up a little. Fire Brand’s been sent to Canterlot under guard and we thought we could jog your memory a little to get him sprung. It wasn’t supposed to get—”

Beets cut him off. “How did you get onto the docks?”

“There’s a pony we know. Lets us in if we skim part of the take to him. Look, I don’t want—”

“What’s his name? The judge will probably go easier on you if we’ve got a name.”

“I don’t know his name! He’s blue, with a white dish or something for a cutie mark.”

“Like a plate?” Beets sighed as the thug nodded his head. “Skinny earth pony?”

“No, he’s a fat unicorn slob. Always eating something. That’s all I know! Honest!” The sound of a low groan from where the first ambusher had been dropped made the frightened thug look up. “You said Mayhem was dead!”

Beets blew a long blast into his whistle and the distant sound of alerted guards replying with sharp tweets of their own filled the air. “I lied,” he added, baring his teeth. “Be grateful.”

“Now if you don’t mind,” said Roquefort, who had previously vanished into a nearby shadow with only his yellow eyes peering out to betray his position, “I need to read the prisoner his rights.”

“If they’ve got the faintest speck of sense, they’ll sing like birds,” growled Beets. “We’ve got a fatter fish to fry. Sergeant Roquefort, I believe the pony in question is Blue Plate Special, our union representative. You want a couple of us on the night watch to go bring him into your office? Intact, of course.”

It took most of the evening before the Royal Guard had finished scraping the four thugs off the docks and Beets had finished answering ‘Just one more question, Mister Beet Salad.’ Nectarine had landed a few lengths away as Beets finished his deposition to the Royal Guard clerk, and picked up a position to his left side as they walked back to the main office for him to clock out. Normally, Nectarine walked on his right side, but as that spot was taken by Roquefort, who showed no intent of leaving it, he simply remained in his alternate place without comment.

Superintendent Fits did have a comment as Beets was clocking out, although it seemed slightly truncated due to his dark escorts. He simply said, “Not subtle, Mister Salad.” and passed him a folder consisting of a blank Port Authority incident form with a small note asking for it be filled out and returned within a week, much as his somewhat sketchy report for Fire Brand had.

His two dark and silent escorts remained by his sides as he plodded home in the bright dawn, and did not even leave when Beet Salad stopped at his apartment door. He paused with his key in the last lock, tired, mentally fried, and still feeling a throbbing ache across his collarbone where one hoof had grazed him during the fight, but suddenly aware that behind the door was a glowing green testament to his involvement with changeling kind and most probably a jail sentence of some sort.

“Thank you for walking me home, Officer Roquefort,” said Beets. “Goodbye.”

“Thank you for being so cooperative with the investigation,” said Roquefort. “Open the door.”

“Once you show me your search warrant,” replied Beets.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me and invite me in for a few drinks?” asked Roquefort with tongue firmly planted in his cheek.

“You’re planning on screwing me over anyway,” said Beets. “Take Nek and go hit a gay bar if you’re into that.”

“Don’t get cute with me,” snapped Roquefort. “You’re harboring a changeling. I know it, you know it, and if you really didn’t want anypony to know, you shouldn’t have told Nectarine.”

“Hey!” objected the pony in question. “I didn’t say a thing about — I mean why do you think there’s a changeling in there? Which there isn’t.”

“Go home, Sergeant Roquefort.” Beets fixed his unwelcome guest with his most uncompromising glare.

“Buck you,” hissed the obviously irritated Nocturne. “I’m not leaving until you let me search your quarters. You’re not the same Beet Salad who has been over to our clan house. I don’t give a rat’s ass about you, but Nectarine is my idiot cousin, and I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“Wait a second,” interrupted Nectarine, keeping his voice to a whisper to avoid attracting attention from any of the other apartment doors along the corridor. “You think Beets is a changeling? Your own guard unicorns must have zapped him with the spell three or four times just while I was there.”

“I don’t know what to believe any more,” said Roquefort, although he lowered his voice too, and looked up and down the empty hallway of Beet Salad’s apartment building for any curious eavesdroppers.

“I do.” Nectarine sat down on his rump so he could cross his forelegs. “I believe my friend is acting like a real pony for the first time in years. He reached out to a critically wounded… pony of sorts and helped her when she needed it most. He’s shown a lot more heart than you have, cuz. What would Princess Luna say if you went storming into a wounded pony’s house and dragged her off to jail because her relatives hundreds of miles away committed a crime?”

“I’m not… It’s not like that,” spluttered Roquefort.

“Good day, Sergeant Roquefort,” said Beets. “Go home. I promise Nectarine won’t get into any trouble, and I’ll tell you all about it once my ‘guest’ is gone.”

Although he obviously did not like the idea, the dark Royal Guard eventually gave in and slunk away. Still, Beet Salad waited until the flutter of membranous wings outside had died out before opening up his apartment door, although he stopped and held a hoof across Nectarine’s chest when he tried to follow.

“You should probably go home too, Nek.” Beets took a quick look over his shoulder at the lump of goo in his living room, still unchanged from when he left it last night. Somehow the low green glow seemed lonely, casting his room into an eerie light like some sort of huge night light. “I mean it. There’s really nothing you can do here until she’s done. Go home and try to keep your cousin from going nuts.”

“Too late,” said Nectarine, giving one last halfhearted attempt at sneaking into the apartment to look at the glowing green lump of goo in Beet Salad’s living room. “All that steel around his head has soaked into his skull. Are you sure you don’t need any help with your houseguest?”

“I’m sure. And… thanks.” Beets patted his friend on the shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”

Beet Salad closed the door to his apartment, leaving Nectarine alone in the hallway.

15. That's Love

The next evening rolled around in a manner somewhat different than Beets was used to. Nectarine actually knocked at Beet Salad’s door, and when he answered, Beets found two somewhat subdued Nocturne standing outside of his door, although at least Sergeant Roquefort was carrying a paper sack in his mouth.

“They’re my Aunt Gladiolus’ breakfast muffins,” admitted the fully armored Night Guard in a somewhat embarrassed mumble. “Gabby Gladdy cornered us yesterday morning and I didn’t tell her about your… guest’s special attributes,” added Roquefort rather strenuously, although in a very low tone of voice appropriate for the apartment building hallway.

Nectarine promptly jumped into the lagging conversation with all four hooves. “She got a look at you when you dropped over to the clan house and couldn’t stop talking about how much healthier you seemed. She thought it was great that you were actually dating somepony who could change you so much, and made up a little something special for you and your little lovebug. Peppermint frosted sorghum muffins with chocolate chips and raspberry preserve filling. They’re shaped like little hearts and if you bite into them just right, the filling runs down your chin.”

Beets pressed a hoof into his forehead. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Neither of the dark pegasi talked much on the trip to work, although Nectarine did give a quick promise to meet with Beets for lunch as usual before he went winging off into the gathering darkness, and Roquefort avoided saying anything at all when he slipped away. This left Beets alone again as he tucked his sack lunch into his locker and punched in, which was perfectly to his liking.

As he walked the pathways of his patrol, the feeling of isolation continued, which was nearly to his liking. The occasional sound of a fluttering wing in a nearby cloud was the only sign that his impression of alone-ness was actually shared. Even his fellow night watchponies seemed to be avoiding his patrol path, and turned away when they saw him approaching in the distance, which was fine with Beets because it let him be alone with his thoughts.

Lunch, of course, was not alone, although Beets was surprised when Roquefort gave the pretense of stopping by to eat lunch with his cousin, which left the three of them almost wordlessly exchanging lunch items around the outside table. Even though Beets did not really like the orange he had in his carefully-labelled lunch, or the note encouraging him to eat it instead of just throwing it away, he actually managed to choke it down.

He was having more problems trying to choke down the way Roquefort was subtly implying that the situation would be better if Beets were just to give in and allow him to search the apartment.

“Get a warrant and we’ll talk,” said Beets for about the fifteenth time.

“We can talk now,” said Roquefort. “Once I get a warrant, we won’t be doing much talking.”

“You’re just trying to egg me into slugging you once,” said Beets. “You can use my arrest as an excuse to get a search warrant while I’m in the pokey.”

“Actually, I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long without hitting him,” said Nectarine, snacking on a small plastic container labelled ‘Friday - Mango Slices for Annoying Friend’ in the changeling’s neat script. “Maybe you can ask your marefriend if she has a sister for Rocco. Anything to make him less annoying would be appreciated.”

Once Roquefort had flown off to resume his distant and clandestine observation of Beet Salad, Nectarine leaned in close and whispered, “How are you holding out?”

“Holding out for the weekend tomorrow. I figure I should just vanish inside my apartment and not come out for two days.”

Nectarine snorted as he stuck the empty mango container back into the bag labelled ‘Friday Lunch Cleanup - Wash and store in cabinet.’ “You mean like you normally do over weekends. I swear, you have the social life of a hermit. One good thing about your roommate is she bugged you out of your normal routine.”

“Yeah.” Beets attempted to look contemplative while collecting his lunch things and separating the trash, recyclables, and reusables. “I’ve got another psych appointment this morning after work. You want to actually go someplace normal for breakfast for a change afterwards?”

“Well, I’d really like to…”

Nectarine fidgeted in a way Beets could recognize from a mile away. “But you’ve got plans with some sweet young thing,” he continued.

“Not really. My oldest colt has a day open tomorrow, and I was going to take him to the park to get a little flying practice in,” admitted Nectarine, carefully avoiding the word ‘visitation’ which he had always associated with prison. “He’s got Flight Camp coming up next year, and he’s been awfully self-conscious about living with a single mother.”

After a long pause, Beet Salad lit up his horn with the changeling detection spell and played it over his best friend.

“Now cut it out!” protested Nectarine. “It’s just… Seeing you and your cuddlebug made me realize I’m not going to be young and ravishingly attractive for more than another twenty years or so. There’s so many fillies to choose from, but someday I really need to pick just one and settle down.” He paused. “Maybe two.”

“Or three,” suggested Beets.

“Two,” stated Nectarine decisively. “At the most, and only if they can get along. Seriously, you’ve never heard a worse racket in your life than two mares laying into each other, hoof and horn, over who is going to get a little slice of Nectarine in their life.”

“I’ve heard a couple of your ex-marefriends say something about slicing,” said Beets with great solemnity. “It didn’t sound quite as pleasant as you think.”

As he strolled home with his two ‘escorts’ to either side, Beet Salad exchanged his traditional path to his apartment for a visit to the neighborhood bodega. He nodded at the checkout mare on the way in, and produced his bits for the bill when he left, but that was about the extent of his interequine communications until he was back at his apartment door with several bags of groceries and one unwanted Royal Guard.

“Thank you, officer.” Beets levitated the last bag of groceries off Roquefort’s back and stacked it next to the door with the others.

Nectarine chimed in. “Yeah, thanks. A frail young thing like Beets really appreciates a strong handsome Royal Guard like you escorting him home through this dangerous neighborhood. Would you like a kiss from him as a reward before you leave?”

Roquefort regarded Beet Salad with a level stare which most distinctly did not include any puckering up.

“Well, you’re not getting any further than first base,” huffed Nectarine with a suppressed snort of laughter. “Unless…” He fluttered his eyelashes, which finally broke Nectarine, making him bite down on a hoof to suppress a snicker while he sat down with a thud on the other side of the hallway. “What would you like for breakfast, cuz?”

“A warrant,” said Roquefort.

“Stop,” begged Nectarine, who had curled himself up into a ball and wrapped himself in his dark wings to keep from laughing. “Oh, please. I need a camera. You two look like an old married couple.”

“Ain’t going to happen,” said Beets, feeling in a much better mood than he had in months. “The only way you’re getting in here without a warrant is if you have Princess Luna standing by your side, saying ‘Pretty please.’ The real Princess Luna,” added Beets. “I’ve got a spell to check for changelings now.”

Once Roquefort had flown away and Beets felt fairly confident he was not going to return soon, he cast a serious glance at his giggling friend. “Whatever would I have done if he kissed me?”

“With tongue? Bit him, probably,” said Nectarine with one last laugh. “Remember when Tubby Tangelo kissed you on a dare in fourth grade?”

“Tangy wasn’t… chubby,” said Beets. “Besides, I was in a particularly bad mood. Now get up off the hallway carpet and help me lug the groceries inside if you expect me to make you any breakfast muffins now that—” Beets glanced down the empty hallway “—Sultry’s are all gone.”

“Really?” Nectarine helped bring in and put away the groceries, which included a lot of the ‘mix’ and ‘pre-baked’ food groups, before regarding the glowing green lump still in the corner of Beet Salad’s living room. “You don’t think she just made enough to cover her time in the slime, do you?”

“If so, she would have hatched by now.” Beets dug out a cookie sheet and distributed frozen blueberry muffins over it before turning on the oven. “Our lunch was the last container she packed for me.”

Nectarine grunted absently, still looking at the glowing green lump. Once the muffins had been put in to bake and Beets joined his friend, he added, “Beets, does it look darker than before?”

“How in Hades am I supposed to know?” growled Beets. “Probably. I hope that means she’s growing a new skin, not going rotten.” He shuddered with the thought of the translucent green goop which had come out of the changeling’s dry chitinous container. The pale violet shell was still leaning against the wall, and he stood it up for a while and examined it. It was weirdly reminiscent of a blow-up doll who had made an appearance at one of the Port Authority employee’s bachelor parties, only splintered and cracked in places, and entirely far too anatomically correct to pass off as an ordinary pony.

Once he had taken his shower and Nectarine had gone home with one of the freshly re-baked muffins, Beets sat down with the rest of the hoof shellac and a tattered brush. It seemed a little like renovating an apartment after the occupant had moved out, or his own stressful time while cleaning out the family home by himself after his mother had died. Still, he propped the dry changeling ‘skin’ up against a chair and applied the brush carefully in order to seal the splintered places where the inhabitant had broken the surface while moulting.

After a while, he began to hum while painting. It seemed an oddly intimate experience, for some reason far more so than when the shell had been inhabited. If it generated a little love for the survival of the battered bug in the green goop nearly within touching distance, that was just fine. He brushed the thin areas around the joints and applied his drying spell as he went, so the hollow changeling could stand on her own as he progressed upwards. Certain areas he left untouched, as even without her inside, he really did not want to be exploring them with a brush. It was most certainly a futile and stupid maneuver. If the changeling survived, she was going to destroy the shell as evidence, and if she died…

Idiosyncrasy and her kind would most certainly want this kind of evidence of their existence to vanish. Him too, if possible. The fact that changelings had been living with ponies for years was an obvious secret now, but had been well-kept… well, ignored for centuries. Certainly, there were newspaper articles and photographs now, but given the tendency for ponies to ignore what ceases to be news after a few months or years, the changeling detection spells being so vigorously used now would most likely be ignored totally by next year and forgotten in ten. Actually, from the newspaper articles he had read about changelings showing up every century or so, Sultry could possibly be hundreds of years old. The papers had even mentioned something about the queen being able to put her swarm into a deep sleep for extended periods of time. She could even be as old as Starswirl the Bearded, who had first discovered the insectile race and supposedly had been instrumental in their initial defeat.

For an old geezer, he sure got around. I wonder if he ever slept with her.

Beets was just touching up a particularly tricky series of fractured places on the back of ‘Shelly the Changeling’ when there was a sharp knock at his apartment door. It swung open almost immediately afterwards, proving conclusively that Nectarine was incapable of locking the door after himself.

“Apartment visit,” called out Missus Spitonoikokýris as she stepped through the doorway.

She stopped talking immediately afterwards, as her sharp eyes took in Beet Salad kneeling on the floor with a paintbrush, applying shellac to a ghostly-appearing changeling while a glowing green lump of goo in the background throbbed slowly. Beets knew just how sharp a griffon’s vision was, and how his landlord could size up a single scratch on the wall across the room and tell how many bits it was going to take to fix in a glance. Those sharp blue eyes darted from Beets, to the hollow changeling shell, to the glowing green lump on the floor, and back again, over and over.

“Can I help you, Missus Spitonoikokýris?” He had to ask. It was the only thing he could think of which was not profanity.

Something seemed to click in the griffon’s mind, and those sharp eyes darted over to meet his in a fierce glare. “You should have told me,” she snapped.

Beets shrugged. It seemed to be as much as he could do at the moment.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of staring, the elderly griffon clicked her beak several times and left without a word. Beets reached out with his magic and quietly closed the door after her. He did not bother with the locks, because Missus Spitonoikokýris had the keys, and most certainly the police officers she was going to bring were not going to care if he attached the little security chain.

He went back to painting. It seemed to be the right thing to do at the moment.

After about an hour as he was running a drying spell over the last bits of his work, there was another knock at the apartment door. It was far slower and more respectful than the police would use, lacking as it did the sound of a battering ram and the bellowing of officers shouting orders. It repeated after a brief moment, and Beets put down the touch-up brush he had been using on a few small shellac cracks in order to open the door.

Instead of a phalanx of heavily-armed police officers, the apartment hallway held three griffons. The first was his landlord, who looked more submissive and meek than ever before. The second was a somewhat larger but similarly meek griffon of similar colors with a starched shirt and pressed jacket. The third…

He was a tall and distinctive tiercel, with every single feather and plume in place and glossy with a perfect coat of oil from extensive preening. Few griffons wore jewelry. Even his landlord only wore a golden ring on one wing primary feather as a memento of her departed mate, and on very special occasions, an ornate silver band around one foreleg. This griffon looked as if he had been mugged by a jewelry store. A tasteful jewelry store, where none of the pieces had price labels and if you were to ask how much, you were politely asked to leave. Each claw or wing had some sort of adornment, ranging from a complex weave of gold wires up to a thin band of gold and silver studded in amethysts and rubies across his right foreleg. There was even a crown of sorts reigning over his head, studded with perfect little diamonds in a diaphanous golden mesh of wires looking more woven than forged.

The large griffon looked down at Beet Salad as if he had all the time in the world, looking very regal and patient. The slightly smaller jacket-clad griffon to his side stepped forward and asked, “Is this the residence of Beet Salad?”

“I’m Beet Salad,” said Beets, trying to figure out if lighting his horn with the changeling detection spell would be a good idea or a lethal insult. He decided against the urge, if nothing else to keep blood out of his new carpet, which Missus Spitonoikokýris would probably charge his estate to clean afterwards.

“Might my master enter?” The shorter but still tall griffon bobbed his head in a gesture Beets recognized as subservience, but it still rankled him to be treated this casually.

“Might I have your master’s name?” asked Beets, putting just a hint of a sneer in his voice. The griffons most certainly were not police, and there was no way he could honestly think of them as changelings, but he was having trouble adjusting to the concept that some important griffon who was wearing more jewelry than the whole building was probably worth would come to his door.

The griffon reached into his vest and produced a small golden box, which he snapped open to extract a gilt-edged card with a flick of his wrist. Beets cautiously floated the card over in front of him and looked at it, trying to maintain his composure.

Roux

“Never heard of him,” responded Beets and floated the card back over to the smaller griffon, who simply grasped the card and pushed it in his direction again.

“My master only has a few hours free in his schedule, but his aunt convinced him to visit your studio so that he might see your latest work. He is quite interested in changelings.”

Beets took the card in his magic and considered his situation.

Buck it. How much worse can it get?

He opened the door and went inside without saying a word, but left the door open for the griffons to proceed inside, each of them bobbing their head to get under the doorframe except for Missus Spitonoikokýris. They ignored the glowing green blob in the corner of the room, but instead, lined up in front of the empty shell of the changeling, with the tall, gem-encrusted griffon in the center.

Griffons had a way of looking at things far differently than ponies. Roux cocked his head to one side abruptly, then slowly moved it back and forth as he took in the empty shell from one end to the other. He even turned his head upside-down to look underneath it, which was a little unnerving for Beets. Finally, he turned to his servant and gave a short nod of his head.

The servant turned to Beets and repeated the short nod. “Two thousand bits.”

Something deep inside Beet Salad’s chest snapped. Just a few lengths away, the changeling who had occupied that brittle shell was fighting for her life, a fight she was probably going to lose, and these griffons were only interested in how many bits her empty carapace was worth.

“Get out,” he growled, almost under his breath.

“Pardon me?” The servant cocked his head and looked at Beet Salad, but took a step backwards when Beets stepped forward.

“I said, get out. Get out of my apartment. Now.”

“But—” started the servant. He did not get the chance to finish.

“GET OUT!” shouted Beets, stepping forward to put his nose right up against the servant’s beak. “How dare you! Get out before I throw you out! NOW!”

The servant crabbed backwards, his tall aristocratic superior stumbling to keep somegriffon between him and the unhinged unicorn. “Perhaps we can negotiate a—”

“OUT!” bellowed Beets, flaring his magic up and shoving the larger and considerably more lethal predator backwards. “You have no idea how much this means to me! You don’t know what I’ve gone through!”

“Ten-thousand bits,” said the servant, stumbling backwards into the doorway as the rest of the griffons piled into the hallway outside. “I assure you—”

“You can’t put a price tag on something like this!” bellowed Beets. “For the first time in my life, I cared about something, and you think you can just make it go away by throwing bits at me?” He grabbed his door in his magic and tried to shut it only to find the servant’s foreleg in the way.

“Fifty-thousand bits,” he gasped as the door slammed against his foreleg.

“OUT!” bellowed Beets, slamming the door again.

“Seventy-five thousand,” gasped the griffon almost inaudibly as the door slammed into his foreleg again. This time, Beets forced his magic against the griffon to shove him away from the door before slamming it with a satisfying noise which shook the building.

As his hammering heartbeat began to calm and his temper cool, Beets took several deep breaths, trying not to think about what he had just done. It was remarkably ineffectual, considering that the griffon in the hallway was scratching at his door and calling out, “One hundred thousand, and that’s our last offer.”

What?

Beet Salad slowly opened his door and regarded the three griffons outside in the hallway with just as calm and placid an expression as he could manage. “What?” he asked, verbalizing the question which had been bouncing around inside his empty head.

The tall wealthy griffon stepped forward. “My gallery has many representations of the races of Equestria, but nothing from the changelings. Your artistic interpretation of a changeling drone is most impressive for an amateur, but there are some serious flaws in your other work.” The griffon pointed past Beet Salad at the glowing lump of changeling goo in the corner of his living room. “An obviously flawed representation of a changeling cocoon, without the correct coloring, texture, or luminosity. It also reeks of artificial coloring and muffins. I suppose you built it with colored gelatin?”

“Uh. Yes.” Beets cast a quick glance over his shoulder, trying to figure out just what he would say if his roommate picked this particular unfortunate time to ‘hatch.’ Somehow, he did not think he could pass it off as performance art.

“Dispose of it before it begins to rot,” said Roux. “I had the misfortune of purchasing a Diamond Dog exhibit piece similar to your creation. It stunk up my whole gallery, and it took a week to clean up the mess. Now…” The griffon held out a claw and his servant placed a checkbook in it.

Several hours later after the griffon had packaged his odd purchase and departed, Beets sat in the quiet apartment, looking at the check. Missus Spitonoikokýris was certainly going to get her claws onto a certain amount of those zeros for having an unapproved art studio in his studio apartment, but the rest of them were going into the investment bank where his family’s estate money had gone, less taxes.

There was another knocking at the door, and Beets checked to make sure the changeling cocoon was totally covered in newspapers before he opened it up, expecting to see Sergeant Roquefort with a platoon of Royal Guards and a cage. Instead, Nectarine was standing there, shifting his position from hoof to hoof as if he was expecting to see his cousin and a platoon of Royal Guards inside the apartment.

“Beets!” said Nectarine as he looked around the apartment in a frenzy. “I heard a bunch of griffons came by and I flew right over. What happened? Where’s… the thing?”

“Gone. Missus Spitonoikokýris’ nephew bought it.” A sense of tired whimsey overcame Beets, and he waved the check around. “Actually paid me for it, too.”

“Daaad?” came a youthful voice from around the corner. “I thought we were going to go flying.”

“My son,” explained Nectarine with a furtive glance backwards at a bright blue colt who was rolling his eyes and tapping one hoof in the hallway. “We’ll be done in a minute, Flash.”

“I told you, Dad. My name’s Spark Gap now. See!” The little colt displayed his rump and the lightning bolt on it with all the pride of a youthful cutie mark owner.

Beet Salad nodded in approval, trying to act like ‘Uncle Beets’ despite the chaos whirling around in his head. “Very good. I think I still have some muffins under the cover in the kitchen. Since I missed your cutecinerea, would you like one?”

“You bet!” The little colt bolted between Beet Salad’s legs and into the kitchenette quicker than Beets could blink, and was on the chair with a muffin crammed into his face a moment later. Nectarine slipped into the apartment behind him and slumped up against the wall, lowering his voice.

“You really sold it? I thought you were going to sleep with that thing. I had no idea you’d sell it at a yard sale. Did Buggie hatch out and leave?”

“No. She’s under the newspapers back there.” Beet Salad lit his horn and moved more newspapers on top of the glowing green lump, just in case of youthful curiosity. “There seem to be visible lines deep inside it now, so hopefully she’s about ready to hatch.”

Or she died, and I just won’t admit it.

“Look, I’m bushed,” said Beets. “It was a long night at work and I had to deal with griffons this morning. If you want to be helpful, run this check over to Fiscus, Procurator, and Año and have it deposited in my family account for me. Please?”

“I had plans!” announced Nectarine with a dark hoof across his chest. “We were going to go to the park and practice flying.”

The little colt looked up from the crumbs of his third blueberry muffin. “I thought you were just going to stand around the park all day and talk to mares like you normally do.”

“Flying,” announced Nectarine with great sincerity.

“How about this?” Beet Salad dug out his bit bag and peeked inside before floating it over to the little colt. “I need somebody reliable to watch over my friend while he runs some errands for me. Here’s fifteen bits. If you make sure he takes my check to the investment bank, and takes you flying afterwards, that should be enough money for the both of you to have ice cream and cake, my treat. Deal?”

“Deal!” said the little colt, darting over and giving Beets a high-hoof.

Beet Salad tore a deposit slip out of his checkbook and scribbled in the amount before endorsing the check and floating the two pieces of paper over to Nectarine, who tucked them away and turned for the door.

“Come on, Sparky. Get some sleep, Beets. I’ll see you tonight—” Nectarine lowered his voice to a bare whisper “—just don’t cuddle up to your cuddlebug before she hatches.”

He was still chuckling when the apartment door closed and Beet Salad flipped all of the locks including the security chain, but it was Beets’ turn to chuckle when he heard the gurgled cry through the door a few moments later.

“A hundred-thousand clams? Beets!”

16. One Of Those Lives

He was running. The familiar environment of the docks surrounded him with crates and cargo nets forming a maze of sorts where the rough passages and corridors narrowed with every corner he turned. There was something behind him, gaining on him with slavering jaws and a glare of green magic which snapped at his heels while he ran. If he paused for a moment, it would certainly devour him in several quick bites, so he ignored the pain in his side and the clamoring of the alarm bells as his hooves struck sparks on the concrete until the looming darkness behind him surged forward across—

The hammering of the alarm clock brought Beet Salad up out of the disquieting dream, allowing him to pant in suppressed terror while the images receded away from him like fog vanishing before the sun. After catching his breath and turning off the alarm, he stumbled up from the mattress, which he had dragged across the living room floor and fairly close to (but not against) the lump of dimly-glowing green goo containing his changeling. There seemed to be no real change from the afternoon when he had put down his guitar and curled up to get a few hours of sleep before work. It was just so damnably frustrating to be this close and unable to help in any way other than just being here. It was probably a lot like foalbirth for the stallion, although the closest he had ever been to one was in the waiting room as a little colt, listening to the murmur of the doctors and nurses while his mother was going through the process. Still, he comforted himself with the knowledge that he was doing as much or as little as was possible, and after taking a moment to put a few records on to play, he busied himself in the kitchen while packing lunches for later.

There was something bothering him other than the disturbing dream where the changeling had hatched into some terrible pony-eating monster, and it took until he checked the calendar to realize what it was.

It’s Saturday evening. I missed my shrink appointment this morning and I didn’t have to get up now. Bollocks.

A few deep breaths helped, as well as realizing Nectarine had promised to drop by too, so he would have needed to get up anyway. While waiting for his friend, he sat at the table, meticulously chopping, dicing, and slicing vegetables into labelled containers for next week’s lunches. It was an unexpectedly comfortable domestic scene which he would have never dreamed possible a few weeks ago, although there was a dragging feeling in the back of his chest. Sultry Breeze, or whatever the changeling’s name really was, could never remain in Baltimare. The government building where she worked undoubtedly had unicorns with the changeling detection spell vigilantly zapping every visitor and employee, or at least until the next budget where the mayor could fire them and use those valuable bits on some vote-buying project or another. She could not even stay around Beet Salad’s apartment without being constantly tracked by the Royal Guard, one of whom would probably not be happy without a live vivisection and public display. Well, probably just a private interrogation and extensive examination for several days, more realistically. To avoid being detained, she would hatch, leave, and Beets would just have to get used to the giant, gaping hole in his life.

A quiet tapping at the door shook Beets out of his daydream about how much his life had changed with the addition of a single bug. “Come in, Nek,” he called while using his magic to turn the locks and unlatch the security chain. He had just sealed the top of a container full of bell pepper slices when he remembered the unwanted Royal Guard who had always accompanied his friend over the last few visits, but his urgent revocation of entry permissions died in his throat when he looked up.

There was an unfamiliar young unicorn mare at the door, looking inside with a polite but blank expression on her spectacle-clad face. The pony he did not recognize, but the thick glasses were far too familiar. After waiting wordlessly for her to step inside, he reached out with his magic and quietly closed the door behind her, remaining at the kitchen table with the knife still held in his magic field.

“Idiosyncrasy, I presume?”

“You missed your appointment,” said the disguised changeling. “I thought it wise to drop by and have a brief session, due to your employment issues at work.”

“I’m sure.” Beets did not release the knife. The changeling gave out a brief but heartfelt sigh and sat down on his new carpet.

“Mister Beet Salad, I assure you I hold no hostile intent towards your young boarder—” the disguised changeling gave a nod towards the newspaper-strewn corner of his apartment and the glowing lump “—but you must be prepared for the worst. Allow me to summarize. When Queen Chrysalis was injured and her cry went out across the hivemind, Sultry fainted and crashed into your dock. You are well aware of the severity of her resulting injuries. Her assigned harvesting area has a low yield rate, and we had already given nearly all of our supplies of love to the hive for the invasion. After consulting with my husband, I was amazed at her persistent survival, given your natural emotional restraint and your previous mental trauma. In short, I believed she was in danger of starving to death even before she cocooned herself, so I shall be quite blunt about my next question. Have you fallen in love with her?”

“No!” snapped Beets. “What a ridiculous question. She must have just withheld more love than you estimated, or maybe she’s—”

Beets cut off abruptly when the changeling blazed with green fire, dropping her disguise and transforming into a changeling who appeared to be nearly identical to the changeling encased in the green block of goop on his living room floor except for the thick glasses perched on her nose. Despite his best efforts, Beets felt his heart lurch, and the paring knife he was holding clattered to the floor. The changeling psychologist was not done, though. A second wave of green fire swept over her, and the form of the sky-blue pegasus mare appeared, also with glasses, and also with the same heart-twisting lurch of emotions through Beets.

“Would you care to rephrase your answer?” asked the disguised psychologist, who now looked and sounded perfectly identical to Sultry Breeze’s pegasus disguise, except for the thick glasses.

“No,” said Beets through a suddenly dry mouth. “Change back.”

“In a minute,” said Idiosyncrasy. “I still have your psychological evaluation for the week to complete.” She nosed around in her sidesaddle and produced the familiar notebook while Beets picked up the paring knife and attempted to return to his vegetable slicing. He deliberately did not look in her direction while working, but he got the distinct sensation the changeling was quietly tucking away every wisp of love which was unintentionally floating her way. After filling up a container with pepper slices and taking a look at the psychologist scribbling away in her notebook, a twinge of guilt made him offer a little something material to go with her immaterial snacking.

“Would you like some bell pepper slices while we’re talking? Or some white tea out of a bottle?”

“Tea,” declared the changeling. “No lemon, two ice cubes, and thank you for your consideration. Tell me, Mister Salad. I noticed your hostility towards me earlier, but you seem to be handling it well now. I honestly expected you to take a swing at me this evening, or even attempt to poison my tea with the can of bug spray you have under the kitchen cabinet.”

“I thought about it,” grumbled Beets while assembling two glasses of tea, and then a third once he remembered Nectarine’s upcoming visit. The plastic of the glasses muted the thump of the ice cubes and crackle of the warm tea expanding them, but they counted as formal dining glasses in his apartment. He floated the glass of tea over to the psychologist, who took it in her hooves and sat it to one side. “I know you changelings have a mind control spell. Sultry used it on Missus Spitonoikokýris once, maybe even twice. I notice you didn’t light up your horn when you first came into the apartment, so you must not have wanted me to be nervous about you scrambling my brains.”

“Actually, Mister Salad…” The changeling coughed into one hoof and took a sip of her tea. “I shall be brutally honest with you, because I do not believe I can remain in this town for many more days. I have exceedingly weak magic projection. Internally, I can transform and feed off loose emotions fairly well, but—”

“It goes with your vision, I suppose,” said Beets, who had quit packing his lunches. “She’s a frail thing, you’ve got buggered up eyes and a weak horn. Buggy seems to think only the cripples and the gimps got left out of the invasion. What kept you from being recycled into mulch back at the hive?”

The disguised changeling eyed him with a wary expression which Sultry would never be able to duplicate. “Most drones, male or female, are dumber than rocks. I’m smart, and therefore useful to the hive.”

Beets snorted and took a bite of the green pepper he was dissembling. “Yeah, with the psychological secrets you’ve dug out of Princess Luna’s brain, I’ll bet your buggy queen is just tickled pink. Now you’re able to add Princess—”

“I do not break the rules of patient confidentiality,” snapped the disguised changeling, looking very much not-like Sultry any more despite her disguise. “Not for you, not for my queen, not for anybody.”

Beets took another bite of his green pepper. “You mean to tell me your queen could call you into her throne room and command you to tell her Princess Luna, oh, I don’t know, secretly sleeps with a doll or something, and you would tell her no?”

The changeling’s face was a perfect emotional blank. “You can think whatever you want. I am a physician. I would die before I betray my moral and professional code of conduct.”

“Sure you will.” Beets took a last bite of his green pepper. “Love, honor, and cherish, for as long as the both of you shall live. Right?”

Cracks began to appear in the changeling’s inviolate emotional wall. A faint twitch appeared under one eyelid, her lips drew up into thin lines, and her voice nearly cracked when she said, “That’s none of your concern.”

Realization flooded over Beet Salad like a kick to the head. “You’re actually in love with your husband, aren’t you?”

“Changelings do not give away love,” said the disguised psychologist. “It’s an aberrant behavior. Love is for the hive.”

“A little hive of two, right? Can’t you just tell the hive to kiss off or something? Take your husband and run off to Rio Neigh Janeiro or Mexicolt? Adopt a couple of little fillies and drink tropical drinks all night?”

“We are here to discuss your own problems, Mister Beet Salad,” insisted the changeling. “Unless you are considering skipping town with Miss Breeze and traveling through Equestria as nomadic night watchponies, I sincerely doubt the problems being suffered by my husband and myself have anything to do with your situation. Now.” She damped the end of her pencil by giving it a quick lick. “Other than now, have you experienced any desire to do violence to any other pony since our last session?”

Beets simmered for a while, arranging little plastic cartons of veggies. “I met Fire Brand again. I wanted to hit him, but I didn’t. I did trick Shining Armor into slamming him through a wall in the courtroom, though.”

Idiosyncrasy gave him a very dry look. “Shining Armor explained the encounter during our session. He claimed the violence was entirely his own fault.”

“Shining Armor is a suffering masochist who only wants to be punished for what he sees as a crime against his wife when he slept with a bug,” said Beet Salad in a frustrated burst of words. “Oh, and I had four of Fire Brand’s little buddies try to ambush me at work. Brave Sergeant Roquefort of the Royal Guard came busting in, cleaned up two of them and I took the other two. Nothing broken except Mayhem had a concussion from where I busted my nightstick over the back of his head.”

“I see.” Idiosyncrasy sat down her pencil and looked straight at Beets. “Are you aware that when you speak about inflicting violence, you experience an emotional release similar to sex?”

Beets bobbled the plastic cartons he was trying to float into the icebox, scattering them across the floor when his magic field flickered. “No,” he hissed, trying to collect his wits and the scattered vegetables.

“There are several complicated psychological terms for it, but in general terms it appears you have been compensating for the loss of your parents and your younger sibling by shutting out the world and diverting your anger into physical violence and self-abuse instead of facing your emotional and psychological issues.”

It took a little while for Beets to unclench his jaw enough to talk. The guitar was hanging right there on its pegs in the kitchenette. It would have been emotionally and psychologically pleasurable to bust it over the head of the annoying psychologist, and he might have even done it, if the bug had not been wearing Sultry’s face.

“So you’re saying that screwing a bug would be good for me, right?” he managed to growl.

“Not… even close.” The changeling shifted positions slightly and brought out a cleaning cloth for her glasses, continuing to talk while cleaning. “Screwing a bug, as you so crudely put it, may just be the worst treatment possible for your psychological issues. It could even force you into a one-sided pathological dependency, driven by a changeling’s natural urges to extract as much love as possible during a fleeting contact rather than allowing the relationship to mature naturally.

“Careless and stupid changelings do not withdraw emotional energy from their prey without inflicting some sort of psychological damage. You are already aware of Shining Armor’s emotional issues, but he was an emotionally stable stallion before he was assaulted, and with relatively little therapy, he seems to be making a full recovery.”

“I thought you didn’t talk about your client’s issues,” growled Beet Salad.

“In your case, since you were both the target of his one emotional outburst, and the contributing factor in another, I am willing to bend the rules slightly,” said the disguised psychologist. “Particularly since I understand your taunt was the final straw which convinced him to attend sessions with his wife. Don’t consider psychology as an alternate career,” she added almost apologetically. “Please.”

“Concussive therapy,” said Beets with a deep sigh. “I like problems I can hit.”

“This issue being one which you can not.” The disguised changeling paused to scribble a note. “Your substitution of violence for your emotional healing process has been subverted by your attraction to my associate. Were this an ordinary relationship between two ordinary ponies, I would be concerned about the probability of domestic violence erupting because you have not learned the proper behavior of dealing with an emotional female, other than ‘hitting’ as you said. Since you have become attracted to a changeling instead of a pony, and thus are unlikely to establish a pair bonding in which both elements of the relationship exchange affection on an equal basis, your relationship would normally only progress to a certain point, at which you two would begin to ‘drift apart’ and eventually break up. Amiably, I would hope.”

“I’m sensing a big ‘but’ in here,” said Beets.

“But,” said Idiosyncrasy, “Sultry will eventually hatch out of her cocoon starved for love and willing to do anything to get it. Provided she survives to hatch, of course.”

“She will,” growled Beets, casting an uncertain eye at the pile of newspapers in the corner of his living room.

Idiosyncrasy fixed Beets with a dead serious stare. “Even if she survives, she will be ravenously hungry. She may not even recognize you. Your life very well could be in danger. She could suck out every one of your emotions without even realizing she is killing you in the process. You are a blithering fool to even consider remaining in the same room with her.”

“And?” prompted Beets.

The disguised psychologist stood up and let her disguise burn away in green fire until only a somewhat small and short-horned changeling remained. “We changelings take debt very seriously. I am somewhat indebted to you for your actions in convincing Shining Armor to see reason. Likewise, it seems I am also indebted to you for keeping my secret. It is exceedingly rare to find somepony whom a changeling can trust, even in the slightest.”

The question itched in the back of Beet Salad’s mind to the point where he had to let it out for some exercise. “Does Princess Luna know?”

“No,” said the changeling, although with a faint quirk to the corner of her lips. “Perhaps,” she added. “It is difficult to tell. She conceals her emotions well, but she trusts me, and I have been unwilling to test the limits of our trust by revealing any more of our nature to any of the Equestrian princesses than is needed.”

“That makes sense,” said Beets, “provided they don’t already know. We met Princess Cadenza… I mean Cadence and her husband in the stairwell after one of their sessions with you. I’m not positive, but I’m almost certain she called Sultry by her name before being introduced to her.”

“Do you have a point?” asked the undisguised insectile psychologist.

“Not really.” Beets let out a sigh. “So, you owe me one, and my houseguest is about to turn into a dangerous starving beast. What ties those two together?”

“Trust, Mister Beet Salad. I’m willing to share a little of my husband’s love with your… marefriend, if you agree. It goes against everything I’ve ever done as a changeling before. We are very… conservative about such things.”

“You said it was aberrant behavior,” said Beets. “Love is for the hive.”

“If I let you get killed by a changeling, it would be a violation of my Hippocratic oath.” The changeling looked somewhat embarrassed. “My husband still wants to straighten your nose someday, too. He’s got this stupid notion about having to fix anything he sees having a problem.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I’m not that dumb,” muttered Beets.

It was an exercise in trust, or more accurately, distrust. Beets did not trust the changeling to do what it was she said and not actually suck love out of Sultry’s cocoon instead. The changeling did not trust Beets to watch while she did it. In the end, Beets stood at the other end of the room with a chair grasped in his magic and the changeling psychologist kept an eye on him while pressing her short changeling horn to the gooey glob of green goo and doing… something. The glow from inside Sultry’s imprisoning cocoon did not seem to change much if any, despite a considerable amount of grunting and apparent concentration on behalf of Idiosyncrasy.

When it was all over, she took a step backwards and just stood, breathing slowly and steadily with all four hooves braced to keep her from falling on her side. Beets stayed back, although he did put the chair down and got the exhausted bug another glass of white tea, which she made vanish in three long gulps.

“Your friend is quite the stubborn one,” panted Idiosyncrasy before taking a deep swig out of her second glass of tea, having taken the form of a nondescript unicorn again, although somewhat the worse for wear.

“She’s a cold-hearted bitch who kept trying to kill herself when I first found her,” said Beets with unexpected fire in his voice. “Since then, she’s quit trying, but she’s still as cold as a brick.”

“Cold or not, I believe you may have cracked a hole in the shell we changelings tend to craft around our hearts.” After a quick flare of green magic to tidy up her messy form, the ‘unicorn’ ran a hoof over the surface of the glowing goo and sighed. “I wish these things had a gauge or something on them. I could feel the love going in, but I can’t tell how much is in there.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” muttered Beets. “Look, my friend is going to be dropping by this evening, provided he’s not off chasing tail all over the city, and he’s got his handsome cousin Roquefort tagging along behind him.”

Idiosyncrasy cocked an eyebrow and turned her head slightly to one side.

“No, Roquefort isn’t gay! He’s a Royal Guard.” said Beets, although he wanted to moderate his statement almost immediately when the psychologist pulled out a pencil to make a few quick notes in her book.

“So, you do have a sexual attraction to powerful stallions,” said the disguised changeling, slightly muffled due to the pencil in her mouth.

“NO!” It was exactly the wrong thing to say at the wrong time. The changeling scribbled several lines in her notebook before looking up.

“Ah. Latent heterophobia. I can work with that.” She put the pencil down and and started to concentrate, only for Beet Salad to put a hoof on her nose and hold it there.

“No, and I mean NO, because you were about to try seducing me while dressed as my best friend, weren’t you?”

The psychologist looked pensive. “Maybe.”

“I’m not gay. Nectarine is bi. Heck, maybe he’s tri. He’ll screw anything not nailed down, and even then I wonder if he’s going to come over here stuck inside a bottle someday or something.” Beets thought for a moment, and continued somewhat slower. “How do you even know what he looks like?”

The changeling shrugged. “I don’t. I was just looking for your reaction. So, is your friend having a sexual affair with this Royal Guard he’s flying around with?”

Beets frowned, deeply frustrated that he could not simply take out his frustrations by punching the changeling in the nose, but somewhat comforted by the fact he was not considering doing it anyway and to Tartarus with the consequences. “They’re cousins,” he said in as level a tone as he could manage.

“Incest is best in the family,” said the changeling in a cheery tone before opening up her notebook again.

“They’re both male,” added Beets.

“No three-eyed foals to worry about, then,” chirped the changeling while writing most probably embarrassing things about Beets and his relationship with other ponies. Or changeling.

“Roquefort is also a Night Guard who is determined to get a search warrant for my apartment in order to look for changeling activity,” said Beets. “He’s shown up with Nectarine every evening for the last few nights.”

There was a sharp knock at the door.

“Nek also has the worst timing of any stallion in Equestria,” added Beets. “He’s probably the reason I’m still a virg—” Beets coughed several times, and even though the psychologist did not change a muscle in her expression, there was a twinkle in her eyes. “Let me go chase him away,” he grumbled, moving towards the door.

“Hey, Beets,” said Nectarine in an obscenely cheerful tone when Beet Salad opened the door to the end of the security chain. “It’s evening, and I promised to come over and brighten up your evening, so here I am.” The slim batpony closed his eyes and took a sniff, making Beet Salad suddenly remember Idiosyncrasy had been wearing a hint of perfume, and Nectarine had a nose for mares like a bloodhound.

“Whoa,” said Nectarine, opening up his eyes with a precautionary glance over his shoulder showing he was not alone out in the hallway. “You have a mare on the side. And you didn't invite me. We could have had a threesome.”

“I’m happy with my onesome,” grumbled Beets. “Now go on, shoo.”

“No prob,” said Nectarine, adding a waggled eyebrow. “You want your old buddy to get you anything for your date? Flowers? Wine? A few instructional manuals?”

“Privacy,” grumbled Beets before closing the door and locking it.

Nectarine’s voice filtered through the thick door. “Bring her over to the Flowers On Your Piano bar afterwards. First drink’s on me for both of you.”

He was surprised to find the disguised changeling apparently suppressing a case of the giggles when he turned back around. “What?”

She waved a hoof. “Never mind. You just have… a humorous emotional state, I suppose is the best way I can describe it to somepony who can’t sense emotions. Now I understand a little more about how she managed to survive.” The psychologist picked up her pencil again and made a quick note. “Since the Port Authority is covering this expenditure, let’s at least go over some of the basic emotional history of your tendency to violence. We don’t have to talk about your family unless you want to.”

“I don’t,” he mumbled. “It’s still too painful, even if you can look like Sultry.”

The psychologist laid down her pencil. “I take it you were willing to release some of your buried stress for her to feed on?”

“I suppose that’s dangerous, like singing to her or something,” said Beets, who stretched out and laid down on the new carpet, trying to feel what it was like under his belly instead of thinking about why he was talking to a changeling about his emotions.

“Results speak louder than all the precautionary lectures in the world, Mister Salad.” She tucked the pencil away into her notebook and laid down on the carpet right in front of him with her nose only a short distance away from his. “There are only two ponies I know of who could be this close to someone they know is a changeling without throwing a fit or worse. One of them is my husband, who I may have to abandon.”

“And the other is me,” said Beets. “Wonderful.”

17. Hold Me In Your Arms

By the time the morning sun had risen outside his apartment, Beet Salad was starting to feel just a little stir-crazy. The changeling psychologist had stayed far longer than he was comfortable with, even to the point of asking if Beets would like to step out for a late breakfast. He still was unsure if Idiosyncrasy was just toying with his emotions to see inside his head, if she was feeding on his ‘humorous emotional state,’ or if perhaps she was seriously interested in him as a friend.

“If I wanted friends, I would write Twilight Sparkle,” he grumbled. “You still okay in there, honey?”

He patted the gloopy green glob of the cocoon using the same hoof he had touched it with previously, so any future changeling magic detection would still only show one bright green spot in his aura. Nothing patted back or even seemed to shift positions inside, which did not improve his mood in the slightest.

“If I’m foalsitting a corpse, the aftereffects are really going to suck. I’ll be standing in front of Judge Bald Spot, trying to sound like I’m not some necrophiliac while every newspaper photographer in the world tries to get pictures.”

He took his shower and brushed his teeth, grumbling all the while. Tomorrow was going to be a worknight again, at a job where every high and mighty pony in the Port Authority was deluded enough to think he was a changeling, and being followed by Inspector Clopseau of the Night Guard. After which, he would have the privilege of returning to a home with a cocooned changeling who could hatch at any moment and eat his brains. Things could not get any better.

Deciding to read for a while before going to bed for the day, he opened one of Nectarine’s butterfly books. Hopefully, a reading list of benign butterflies would keep the words ‘parasitic’ and ‘implanted’ from affecting his sleeping today. He had just started into a second book when a quiet scratching noise from his front door made him slip a bookmark into the ‘butterfly migration’ chapter and go see who was trying to get in.

“Nectarine?” he asked once the door swung open to the end of the security chain. “What are you doing up at this time of day? You’ve got work tonight.”

“You do too,” whispered Nectarine, glancing back up the hallway. “Look, can you let me in? I’ve got something important?”

“Is it contagious? I’ve told you to always wear a— Alright, alright.” Beets grumbled while he took off the chain and opened the door slightly, allowing his friend to slip inside, although he did light his horn up with the changeling detection spell and play it over Nectarine for a few moments, just in case.

“Good—” Nectarine hesitated while he looked around the apartment in the glow of Beet Salad’s horn. “Good heavens, Beets!”

The spell revealed green hoofprints and streaks of light adorning almost every surface of the apartment walls and ceiling, with a pale green blotch where Idiosyncrasy had been sitting all morning which looked much as if she had peed on the brand new carpet in glowing green urine. Beets turned off the spell, relieved to see the apartment shift back into normality almost instantly, except for the panicked batpony and changeling cocoon, of course.

“Roquefort is going to have kittens tomorrow,” murmured Nectarine. “Oh! Yeah. Princess Luna’s making a trip to Baltimare tomorrow night, and Roquefort is planning on asking her personally for permission to raid your apartment. For your own good, of course.”

Beets shrugged. “No prob. I’ve got a box of matches. I’ll just bring Buggy over to your clan house, and she can share Arianie’s terrarium while the fire crews go through the smoldering wreckage.”

“Don’t even joke about — uh.” Nectarine pointed at the green lump in the corner. “It moved.”

Beets turned to look. “I don’t see anything,” he offered after a few moments of close examination.

“It did, Beets. I’m sure.” Nectarine shoved his sunglasses up on his forehead and squinted. “It was right after you threatened to put your nasty pet bug in with my beautiful Arianie — look! It happened again!”

The two stallions watched the slowly-pulsing green mass for awhile before Nectarine opened his mouth and Beets promptly put a hoof into it.

“You were going to say… her name again, weren’t you?” whispered Beets.

Nectarine nodded.

“Bad idea.” Beets ground his teeth briefly. “Look, you don’t have a problem. I have a potential problem. If she hatches by tomorrow, out she goes, and your cousin can snoop around here to his heart’s content. If she hasn’t hatched by then, I’ll… stall, or something.”

“Or something?” Nectarine lifted an eyebrow and made a moue with his lips. “I don’t think you’re his type.”

“Your type is going to be a gelding if you don’t get out of here right now,” whispered Beets. “The last thing she needs right now is stress, and that’s your middle name.”

“Ha.” Nectarine stuck his chest out. “My middle name is Studly. I’m going, I’m going,” he added when Beets lit up his horn. “Just… be careful, Beets.”

“You too, Studly.” Beets undid the locks on the door and shoved Nectarine out, although he had to go through all of the unlocking again when a faint tapping sounded through the door again.

“What?” asked Beets just as soon as the door was open to the extent of the security chain again.

“You wouldn’t really try to burn down your apartment, would you, Beets?” asked Nectarine. “I mean, the walls and ceiling at this floor are almost all concrete, and you could hurt a lot—”

“I won’t,” said Beets, holding a hoof over his friend’s muzzle. “After all, we just remodeled.”

There were still several hours to catch a nap before work, and Beets was not getting anything useful done sitting in his dark apartment, staring at the clock. Still, there was something missing, and he did not realize what it was until he set his alarm clock and reached out with one hoof to touch the photograph of his family which normally sat next to it. Lighting his horn, Beets picked the gold-framed photo off the wall where he had put it a few days ago and placed it back on the nightstand, arranging it so the long-departed images of his family seemed to be looking back at him in the lamp light.

“Good night, Sprout. Mom. Dad. See you soon.”

There was nothing left to do but try to sleep, so he took a shower, brushed his teeth, and checked the immobile lump of green goop one more time before crawling under the sheets and staring at the ceiling in the darkness of his closed apartment.

After about an hour, he looked at the clock. Five minutes had gone by.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, crawling out of bed and turning on his lights. “I’m not eight anymore, and I don’t need anypony to read me a night-night story.” He dragged two of the more interesting butterfly books over to a pile of cushions next to the glowing green lump and arranged a nest before settling down again.

“Lepidoptera migrations across Equestria happen twice every year,” he read. “Filling the sky with their colorful forms, pegasi guide our beautiful forest friends to and from their wintering spots in Mexicolt. Huh. I wonder if they mean the pegasi or the butterflies. Anyway, the sound of butterflies in flight is like nothing anypony has ever heard before. Thousands of tiny wings all beating at once make a quiet hissing noise that fills the senses when they fly overhead. I hope the writers don’t have their mouths open while they’re looking up.” Beets stole a glance at the glowing green lump to his side. Although it did not look any different to his observation, he felt better knowing the the bug inside could at least hear and understand speech outside.

Beets seriously considered saying the name of Nectarine’s pet spider again, just to reassure himself about the changeling’s survival, but decided to continue reading instead. If by some slim chance, everything went perfectly and Sultry did survive her hatching… and he did too, she would probably carry a grudge. After all, he would in her situation.

He must have fallen asleep, because he woke up to a strange sound. It was much like a balloon being stretched and twisted to the extent of its stress limits and then some in a high-pitched series of squeaks and screeches right by his ear. The quivering green blob which had sat quietly for the last several days was twitching and jerking around the floor while a dark shape inside fought to escape.

Beets jumped to his hooves, sending the books on his chest flying. There had been so many picky little details about bugs and caterpillars he had read over the last two days, but the one thing sticking out above all the rest was the story about the little colt who helped a butterfly out of its chrysalis. Without the struggle to free itself, the butterfly’s wings never developed, and it died horribly, or at least as horribly as a college-level textbook could imply without spelling it out in so many words. Using his magic to clear the immediate area of newspapers and other debris, Beets crouched next to the jerking bundle of goo and tried to project as strong of a sense of support as he could muster while being disconcerted enough at the sight to desperately want to throw up.

The changeling inside struggled and fought until her horn punched a small hole in the fragile-seeming blob. Glowing green goop seeped out, as if reluctant to get far away from the struggling changeling. With a convulsive jerk, the changeling punched a second hole in the side of the blob, then a third, twisting and spasming with increasing fervor until the skin of the blob began to split around her horn. Finally, she managed to get her head outside of the blob and Beet Salad’s heart lurched at the expression of pure panic and fear on her face.

“Come on,” he murmured, feeling totally useless and somewhat like a stallion at the birth of a very weird foal. “You can do it.”

Several convulsive jerks later, the changeling managed to get one holey hoof out of the hole and struggled fiercely, but it was as far as she seemed to be able to go.

“Just a little bit further,” he said with as much encouragement as he could muster.

The changeling glared at him with such vehemence that it was amazing the goo covering her body did not burst into flames. After a series of coughs splattered more green goop across the newspapers on the floor, she rasped, “What the buck are you doing?”

“Offering encouragement?” he hazarded.

The goop-covered changeling stopped struggling and glared. “Come here.”

Beets hesitantly shuffled forward one step, then after a little more encouragement, shuffled forward another step, and then a third, only to have the changeling slap him straight across the face with one gooey hoof.

He stumbled backwards, holding one hoof to the stinging sensation on his goopy cheek. “What was that for!”

“For being an idiot! Get over here and help me out of this thing!”

He edged forward, keeping an eye on her exposed hoof. “You’re not going to hit me again, are you?”

“Come here!” she bellowed, struggling and fighting to get out of the green blob, with one hoof waving just barely in front of his nose.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to help you out of your cocoon because the struggle makes your wings stronger.”

“I’ll show you stronger!” she frothed, lunging and swinging her freed hoof so close to his nose he could feel the breeze.

“But the book said that butterflies—”

“I’m not a butterfly!” screeched the changeling while thrashing around. “Why the buck do you think I’m a bucking butterfly? Get a bucking knife or something. Why are you smiling? Wipe that smile off your face!”

“I can’t help it,” said Beets, his vision getting blurry from the tears welling up. “I was worried.”

“Really?” The changeling stopped waving her hoof so frantically and just stared while panting in short raspy breaths. The tight grip of the cocoon still left her with only a goo-smeared head and one leg out of the narrow hole she had torn in the tough membrane, but her struggle for freedom seemed secondary to the task of just pausing and looking in utter disbelief at Beets. “Really?” she repeated.

Beets swallowed and lit his horn to float a roll of paper towels out of the kitchen, a gesture which seemed about as useful as bailing out a steamship with a spoon due to the amount of green goo smeared around and still leaking out all over the thin layer of newspapers. “Really,” he replied, using a wad of paper towels to dab ineffectually at the mess on the floor without actually looking up.

After a series of brief heaves, the changeling managed to get a second hoof out of the narrow exit to her elastic prison. Despite all the shoving and pushing she did afterwards, the tight confines could only be shoved down as far as her hips, where it stuck, making her look much like a old mare in some sort of odd green skirt. She paused in her struggle and looked up at Beet Salad from the floor.

“You were worried,” she said while wiping some of the goop from her eyes with a loose paper towel. “About me.”

“Yeah.” Beets looked away again before moving forward slightly and reaching out to the changeling’s cocoon with his magic. “It was stupid. You’re fine, just stuck, I guess. Hold still.”

The membrane of the cocoon was unusually tough, making Beets concentrate while he helped the changeling wriggle free from its clinging embrace. Once her slimy tail had been pulled out of the rapidly-shrinking prison, the remainder of the cocoon shriveled up into a small ball about the size of a pony’s head in a growing puddle of the slippery green goop. The sight was so distracting he did not even notice when the changeling slipped up behind him until her goop-covered forelimbs wrapped around his neck and she bit him on the ear.

“You were worried about me,” she whispered while nibbling down his ear towards more interesting areas. “I can taste it. There’s so much love in there, and I want it.”

It was all Beets could do to keep his knees from collapsing when the slime-covered changeling slithered across his back and began to coil around him, running wet kisses down his face in obvious pursuit of his lips while interspacing the damp kisses with soft murmurs of “Want you!” and “Need you!” as she drew nearer and nearer to her target. She shuddered with anticipation when she touched her lips to his with an ever so gentle brush across them, bringing fire across Beet Salad’s lips and a roaring noise filling his empty head.

“So hungry,” she murmured, kissing harder and harder until Beets could feel the points of her fangs pressing against his jaw. “Eat you up. Drain you dry. Suck all of your delicious love out until…”

There was a rush of emotions like a blazing fire filling up Beet Salad in a way he had never been filled before. He felt alive from his tingling lips to his itchy hooves, as if he had swallowed a room full of caffeinated butterflies that were slamming around in his chest in a futile attempt at escape. Locked together, the two of them fell backwards into the puddle of green sludge on the floor while frantically kissing, but the splash of cold changeling goo against his coat only seemed to make the tingles encompassing his hot body burst into a wave of fiery lava. The changeling was just as consumed by emotions as Beets while they rolled around on the floor until their erratic path came to an abrupt stop at the bedstand and a picture frame fell onto the floor right in front of their noses.

The glass in the picture frame did not break, but the changeling stopped her frantic kisses long enough to take a shuddering breath. Through the pink haze filling his vision, Beets could see the changeling freeze in place and nearly stop breathing even while Beets continued to pant in a desperate attempt to keep from fainting. Time seemed to hold still as the world spun around him. There was only one thing important enough to break through the burning fire filling Beet Salad’s brain and shutting off any ability to think, and that was her. He only wanted to do whatever she desired, obey whatever commands she gave, sacrifice whatever bits of love he had inside in order to feed her needs. The last thing he expected was to see the changeling bring both holey forelegs up in front of her face and utter a keening cry, much like a dying rabbit. She fought back and forth in wordless agony while shoving at his face with her hooves, scratching at his cheeks and banging her short horn against his. After thrashing around briefly, she grabbed him by the back of the head and yanked Beets nearer until their lips mashed together again. The hammering of his heartbeat made the changeling’s next whispered words almost inaudible.

“run”

“No,” he whispered back, trying to resume their interrupted kiss.

“You idiot!” she snapped, her eyes spitting fire and her hot lips still pressed against his. “I can’t stop! I’ll suck out every emotion you have and leave you a lifeless husk!” She brought up all four hooves in front of her and shoved them against Beets until he fell to one side and she could scramble free of his crushing embrace.

“Get out of here!” she bellowed before struggling to a standing position in the middle of the gooey mess and swinging a forehoof at Beets with every bit of strength she could muster, only to have him block it.

Beets placed his trembling pony hoof against the changeling’s holey hoof and tried to swallow away what felt like an anvil. Sticky green goo had smeared across every inch of his coat and was getting into his watery eyes, but he did not run away as she had commanded.

“I know it could kill me,” he whispered. “I don’t care.”

“I do!” she screamed in his face, hesitating afterwards and adding in a much quieter voice, “I do. I don’t want… I’m so hungry! It hurts! Why won’t you just leave!”

“I can’t.” Beets took several long, deep breaths while the pink fog in his brain began to clear. “I can’t go away and leave you alone. You need me.”

“I know!” sobbed the changeling. “I can feel it. Go away! Just go!” She beat her shiny black hooves against Beet Salad’s goo-covered chest with little splattering noises. The new chitin felt softer than her old skin, much as if she had emerged from the cocoon before she had enough time to properly harden, but the edges of her hooves were still sharp and painful despite her ineffective blows. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she added in a near whisper. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“Do you know what hurts?” Beet Salad picked up the photograph which had fallen off the bedstand and tried to wipe a smear of green goo off the front. It only smeared more, making the cheerful scene take on a macabre aspect as if his whole family were covered in splatters of green blood. He took a deep, shuddering breath and held the picture to his chest, unable to look at it for one more moment in his life.

“Dad went so fast. The heart attack dropped him in his tracks, and I never even knew about it until hours later. They say the stress of having my little brother in an oxygen tent probably triggered his heart attack. Mom never even left the hospital room for the funeral, just sat there next to Bean Sprout and cried. I tried and tried to be there for her, I really did, but she had just retreated from everypony by then. Even when Sprout died, she never seemed to realize he was gone.”

Beets took a deep breath and placed the photograph back on the bedstand. “I know why now. She could never let go. So much of herself went into my little brother that she didn’t have anything left for me. She’d ask me about him every morning while she faded away until one morning she just… wasn’t. Can you take those memories away from me? Can you make the pain go away?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”

There was a faint glare of green magic that Beets could see out of the corner of his eyes while he stared at the ruined carpet. Then a small and frail hoof was placed on his cheek, and a young male voice said, “You never got to say goodbye to your brother, did you? You never let go.”

Beets looked up into the blue eyes of his little brother, who was attempting and failing to blink away tears of his own. Admittedly, the changeling’s disguise was not exactly correct, and her voice was not even close, but for the time being, he chose to overlook the imperfections in her effort and concentrated on the intent. “No, I didn’t,” he whispered back. “Mother wouldn't even let me in the room near the end. I c-couldn’t—”

He broke off and wrapped the disguised changeling up in a cautious embrace, heedless of the tears pouring down his cheeks or the blubbering sobs wracking his chest. For now, the only important thing in the world was that he was able to do what he had not been able to do for years.

Beet Salad held onto his brother and wept.

18. I Wish You'd Stay

The evening hours in Beet Salad’s apartment building were normally fairly quiet and dull, but while Nectarine continued to tap quietly on his friend’s door, a certain sense of tension began to extend through the hallway.

“He probably just went to work early,” explained Nectarine to his looming cousin, who was one step behind him in a relaxed pose that was anything but.

“You’ve got a key,” prompted Sergeant Roquefort. “You could just drop in and check on him. I promise, I’ll stay in the hallway,” he added with a roll of his eyes. “There’s going to be plenty of time to search it tomorrow morning after Princess Luna signs the warrant.”

“Judge turned you down?” asked Nectarine before pulling his spare key out and unlocking the deadbolts.

“Twice,” grumbled Roquefort. “Without a missing pony report, I’m stuck. Sultry Breeze is missing, but he won’t even listen. It’s like somepony got to the judge first.”

The heavy deadbolt locks on Beet Salad’s apartment door gave a sharp click and the door swung open, but not very far. A bedraggled Beet Salad stood in the narrow doorway, looking as if he had gone seven rounds in the boxing ring with an aggressive lime sherbert, leaving him covered in drying green goo with bruises and a very distinctive bite mark on one ear.

“Holy horseapples, Beets,” breathed Nectarine after soaking in the scene. “You got laid!”

“No,” said Beets, although he offered no further explanation other than a deep sigh.

“Well, can I come in?” asked Nectarine. “I know we’re a little early, but I can snag a muffin while you take your shower. You want one too, cuz?” he ventured over his shoulder at the looming Royal Guard.

“Errr…” Roquefort seemed conflicted between running to get reinforcements in order to fend off an attacking changeling army or breaking down the partially-open door in order to rescue the goo-covered hostage, who was just standing there and blinking with the most peculiarly happy look on his greenish face.

“They’re gone. The muffins, I mean,” said Beets. “We ate them between… Look, I really need to take my shower before work. Why don’t you—”

The smaller form of a considerably more goo-covered pegasus mare slipped up to the door and planted a wet kiss on Beets’ cheek. “Hey, lovercolt. I got the shower warmed up. Hiya, Nek.” Sultry added a sticky kiss to the lips for the significantly stunned batpony and made as if to kiss Roquefort too, if the guard had not immediately backwinged up so fast he slammed into the wall on the other side of the hallway. “We’ve got time for a quickie, if you’re up for it.”

“Sure,” volunteered Nectarine, only to back down at Beet Salad’s volcanic glare.

“Shower only,” said Beets. “Nek, why don’t you and your cousin go grab breakfast while you’re waiting. I’ll be right out after I get cleaned up.”

“Unless he isn’t,” added Sultry before closing the door and turning the deadbolts.

It was a remarkably quiet evening at work, so incredibly normal and ordinary in fact that Beet Salad almost expected some massive cosmic karma backlash like an attacking dragon or a meteor to come dumping on his head. Despite the anticipation, he felt as if he had lost some enormous weight in his belly, leaving him free to almost glide across the docks on his patrol. There were an extraordinary number of days in his Port Authority leave balance which he had never actually spent on any extracurricular activities. The first steps in making a family of his own by taking a mare out to an amusement park or a concert before now would have been painful, but now he wished Sulty Breeze were actually a pony instead of a changeling so she could stay in town and go places with him. Maybe even stay with him on a permanent basis, even though it would cost ten bits more a month in rent from Missus Spitonoikokýris.

It could never happen. There were too many ponies who suspected her of being a changeling and knew of her ties to him. Ponies were a deeply suspicious lot under the skin. There were still families who would not consider dating between tribes to be anything but socially unacceptable, let alone dating outside of their species. Ever since the wedding invasion, changelings had picked up some weird reputation of being superbugs, able to infiltrate even the highest security installations with the intent of causing chaos and destruction. It might have even had some basis in truth, as the admitted behavior of two changelings in Baltimare would be a fairly small sample set to compare against the rest of her hive. Plus, Sultry was admittedly odd to start with. It just could never happen between them. But he still considered it.

Needless to say, his normal thought-filled evening walk through the Port Authority grounds was filled with far more than the usual number of thoughts.

Lunch, however, left Beet Salad with a happy thoughtful smile as he unpacked the food out of the large paper sack and distributed two plastic cups full of mango slices labelled ‘BatBug’ and ‘BatStud’ to his two companions, even though Nectarine wanted to claim them both. Roquefort eyed the fruit suspiciously while chewing on his hay sandwich. “How do I know they aren’t full of some changeling drug to keep me from searching your apartment tomorrow morning?”

Beet Salad checked his watch. “You mean this morning, Sergeant Roquefort? Two things. First, I packed those myself.”

“Wow, Beets,” said Nectarine around a mouthful of mangos. “I had no idea you were a gourmet cook.”

“Second,” continued Beets with a little more force, “Sultry’s already gone.”

“What!” Half-chewed bits of Roquefort’s hay sandwich splattered out across the outdoor picnic table before he rose up into the air to sprint back to Beet Salad’s apartment.

“She’s been gone for hours,” called out Beets. “She was only there long enough to recover, and now that she’s feeling back to her regular self, she’s gone back home.”

The Night Guard paused almost out of sight before flapping back rather cautiously and settling back down at his seat. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Beets picked up a cherry tomato out of his salad and regarded it with a certain reluctance before popping it into his mouth. “She was just going to flush the remainders of her cocoon and leave after I was gone. She’s had a couple hours to vanish into the city, so you’ll never find her now.”

Roquefort’s eyes narrowed and he glared at Beets. “How do I know you’re not really the changeling and the real Beet Salad isn’t all cocooned up back at the apartment?”

Beets lit his horn with the changeling detection spell and tried to look as smug as possible. Under the pale greenish light, the kiss on Nectarine’s lips fairly glowed a neon green, as well as a few spats and splatters of random green across Roquefort’s dark grey coat, but neither of the glows explained the way both of their jaws dropped while they looked back at him.

Or at least it did not explain it until Beets took a look at himself.

Even if he had been dunked in a vat of fluorescent green paint, Beet Salad could not have emitted a more continuous and radiant green glow across every bit of coat and hoof, and he suspected a mirror would reveal the same about his head and horn. What was worse, the green glow of changeling magic from his coat shimmered in a beautiful soft iridescent diffraction pattern that most fashion models would give anything to have applied to their own coats.

“Dang.” Nectarine pursed his lips and gave a low whistle. “And I thought I had some wild weekends.”

“Waitaminute, wait just one minute!” demanded Sergeant Roquefort while he crouched down into a combat pose. “You’re not really Beet Salad. You’re a changeling!”

Beets turned off his magic and looked over at Nectarine, who appeared to be a little disconcerted at the concept of a male changeling, as well as a look of consideration which Beets knew was going to end in a clever pickup line. Not giving Nectarine enough time to finish his inevitable pass, Beets promptly asked, “Prejudiced much, Sergeant Roquefort? Didn’t Nek sneak a griffon hooker into your barracks for you a week before graduation?”

“No, that was Peach Blossom,” said Nectarine, waving a hoof while still concentrating on his next words.

“He’s not the one who got caught on a rooftop with Ambassador Goodfeather’s twin daughters and a weathervane, was he?” asked Beets.

“No, that was… me, actually.” Nectarine grimaced and looked away. “Darn it, Beets. I’m trying to think.”

“About sex.”

“Well.” Nectarine looked back up at Beets and waggled an eyebrow. “Yeah. So?”

Beets nodded towards Sergeant Roquefort, who was still in his combat crouch, waiting for the ‘changeling’ to move. “Do you mind calling off your cousin?”

“Sure.” Nectarine waved a hoof at Roquefort, who was still as tense as a coiled spring. “Relax, Rocco. It’s Beets.”

“How can you be certain?” asked the guard while not relaxing his attentive stance one bit.

“If he was a changeling, would he be stupid enough to cast a changeling detection spell on himself?” pointed out Nectarine. “Beets has never been the brightest bulb in the package.”

“True,” admitted Roquefort, relaxing somewhat and nodding.

“Hey!” objected Beet Salad.

“After all,” continued Nectarine, “he was jello wrestling with his sexy roommate all weekend and he still never managed to score. Obviously a sign of low intelligence or a really poor education despite all of my best efforts.”

“Certainly,” agreed Roquefort, relaxing some more and seeming to enjoy Beet Salad’s discomfort far more than a serving officer of the Royal Guard should. “Unless changelings have sex in some weird fashion. Did she stick her tongue in your ear?”

“No!” snapped Beets, although both of his ears flattened against his head in reflex.

“Tell me you at least got to preen her wings,” said Nectarine. “All weekend and not even second base would disqualify you from stallionhood, even if she was covered in green goop.”

“I…” Beets hesitated, and Roquefort pounced.

“I think that’s a yes,” he said with a smirk. “There’s hope for your friend yet, Nek.”

“We were showering in the tub and she needed help putting her wing conditioner in,” said Beets rather stiffly.

“Ooo, wingsies,” cooed Nectarine. “That’s an awfully small bathtub you’ve got, Beets. You two practically had to be stacked on top of each other.”

“The two of you covered in soap. Nibbling on her wings,” prompted Roquefort. “And you expect us to believe you didn’t have sex with her?”

Beets simply bit his bottom lip and tried his best not to look guilty. It failed.

“Whoa,” said Nectarine with a huge grin. “So you did get sex?”

“It depends on what you define as sex,” hissed Beets, his ears almost a bright cherry red.

Beet Salad was very glad for a long walk by himself for the rest of the evening, enjoying the cool morning breeze without his bothersome friend trying to find out very personal and embarrassing details about his last few hours with Sultry. He should have been more depressed at having her out of his life for good, but Beets suspected the changeling had been a little more selective about which emotions to consume yesterday than she used for the rest of her victims. He could even think about his parents and his little brother without crushing pressure on his chest any more, which was far more progress with his mental issues than the psychologist had ever made. Actually, even admitting he had issues was a step further along the path towards recovery than he had thought he would ever go, and that path now stretched ahead of him as a place he no longer feared to tread.

It was all a matter of letting go.

He had let go of his little brother after all these years, and in doing so, he found he could even let go of the only female who had ever seen under his skin to the pony underneath and not been disgusted at the sight. If he was fired from his job for his experiences, he could get another job. The Royal Guard only had orders to observe suspected changelings, so the low probability of him being thrown into prison for nursing an injured changeling back to health did not bother him at all. There were going to be difficult times ahead, but Beets had proven he was able to handle them by himself.

With a little help from his friends.

“Why so glum, chum?” asked Nectarine while strolling along beside Beets on his way back to his empty apartment. “Your snugglebug may be gone, but you still have me.”

“Joy,” said Beets with a roll his eyes. “I’ve known you for years and all it has gotten me was those used condoms in the trash when I was in San Franciscolt for my work seminar. I should have known better than to let you housesit. Sultry was in my life for about a week, and she totally remodeled my whole apartment.”

“With as much green goop as the two of you rolled in, you’re probably going to have to tear out the carpet and start over again,” said Nectarine. “If it ‘bugs’ you that much, I’ll help you ‘lay’ new carpet.”

“Thanks.” Beets walked in relative silence for a while, picked up a morning newspaper and a few donuts, and only opened his mouth again when they reached his apartment door. “Look, Nek. Why don’t you go home. I’m going to clean up a little before your cousin gets back here with his warrant. Stars willing, you can drop by tonight and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“You cleaned up the apartment after I used it during your trip to San Franciscolt,” pointed out Nectarine. “I left it a horrible mess.”

“But of course it’s not your fault two of your ex’s dropped by while you were entertaining,” continued Beets.

“I shouldn’t have tried for a threesome,” said Nectarine with a sigh. “No more. Two is my limit. I’m older and wiser now.”

“It was less than six months ago,” pointed out Beets. “And just last month you were telling me about the triplets.”

“Two,” insisted Nectarine when they stopped outside the apartment door. “No more triplets. Unless they’re really hot. Or changelings.”

Beets chuckled before getting out his key. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Nek. The only changelings in town are far away by now.”

He unlocked the door and let it swing open into the well-lit, but not as empty as he expected apartment. In his living room was a kerchief-wearing ‘pegasus’ shoving a shampooer across a large green stain on Beet Salad’s carpet, and seeming somewhat frazzled when she looked up in their direction.

“Hi, honey,” said Sultry Breeze with a weak grin. “You’re home early.”

19. I'm Gonna Miss Her

“What are you doing, you crazy bug?” hissed Beet Salad, taking a quick glance over his shoulder in expectation of seeing a battalion of Night Guards carrying nets and tranquilizing darts. Fortunately, the only other pony in the hallway was Nectarine, who was taking the sight of the disguised changeling in the middle of Beet Salad’s apartment as something which was going to require a great deal of study to come up with the perfect pickup line.

“Shampooing the carpet,” replied Sultry Breeze, or whatever the changeling’s real name was. Beets was suspecting it was probably something like Aggravation or Pure Frustration.

“You have to get out of here! Now!” he hissed, darting inside and grabbing the disguised changeling. “Do you have any bits? Do you need money for a train ticket? Do you need to pack any—”

Beet Salad’s frantic babbling was cut off when Sultry kissed him full on the lips in a long, fierce pressing together which was only interrupted when Nectarine cleared his throat while standing in the doorway.

“Do you two need a little privacy? Or company?”

The frustrated pegasus blushed bright pink and gestured to Nectarine. “Sorry, Beets. I got carried away. Come on in, Nek.”

“I thought you were gone,” said Beets once he had gotten his breath back. “You said you were leaving. You have to leave.”

“I know.” Sultry’s voice was just one small fraction away from a whine and she took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “I couldn’t let go. I had to see you one more time before I left, even if it meant getting caught. I know it’s stupid and dumb and—”

Beets kissed her again, very gently this time. “It’s not that stupid. I don’t even think Roquefort is going to bring a full forensic team complete with dogs and the mobile crime lab. He just wants to make sure with his own eyes that we’re not running some sort of hive full of changeling cocoons here, or a whole room full of eggs or something. He’s still going to want to talk to you for as long as he can, so he can collect as much information on changelings as possible, and he may even try to detain you on some trumped-up charge for a week or twelve, but it’s only because he cares.”

“I care too.” The disguised changeling winced and looked away. “It’s not supposed to happen. It never happened before.”

“Same here,” said Beets. This time he swept the smaller ‘pegasus’ up into a gentle hug and just held her for a while as Nectarine discreetly looked away. “Now come on,” he added once the hug had gone on for a long, long time. “You need to get going and… Who is knocking on my door now?”

The soft rapping against the apartment door repeated and Beets looked back and forth between the door and the changeling. “Try changing into Missus Spitonoikokýris,” he hissed. “Maybe you can slip out while Roquefort is searching.”

A sharp hiss of green magic later, Beets opened up the door, only to find another Missus Spitonoikokýris standing outside, peering at him through thick glasses. “Mister Salad,” started the ‘griffon’ in Idiosyncracy’s clipped tones while breathing heavily, “It is imperative— What!”

With a sharp tug of magic, Beets pulled the changeling inside and slammed the door. It was Nectarine’s turn to look back and forth between the two ‘griffons’ this time, and he sniffed the air once as a broad smile leapt onto his face.

“Beets, you dog! Two of them? I underestimated you.”

Beet Salad pointed at the two ‘griffons.’ “She’s married and she’s leaving. Sultry, you have to go now.”

There was another flare of green magic from Idiosyncrasy this time and the glasses-wearing changeling shifted forms into her nondescript unicorn disguise again. She took a few deep breaths and nodded. “I’ll take her with me, Mister Salad. We don’t have much time. Your Royal Guard friend dropped by right at the end of Princess Luna’s session this morning. They were still talking back at the office when I left.”

“You don’t have to leave,” snapped Beets. “You’ve got a husband and a life here, and the guards don’t know about you. Sultry’s the one who needs to get out of town.”

“I can’t take the chance,” said Idiosyncrasy. “It could do a lot of damage to Princess Luna’s reputation if my relationship to her were to leak out to the public.” The psychologist’s sharp gaze snapped over to Nectarine, who managed to blurt out his instinctual reaction before she could react.

“You’re banging the Princess? You lucky bug!”

Beet Salad spared enough time for a quick hoof-plant to the forehead. “Her professional relationship, Nek. Not in that way,” he added. “Look, Miss Idiosyncrasy. Go home to your husband. You trust him with your secret, and you can trust my idiot friend, so why can’t you trust an Equestrian Princess?”

He paused again when a sharp knocking at his apartment door sounded through the room. Two ponies and two changelings considered the closed door before Beets trudged over. “Sergeant Roquefort, did you bring a warrant this time?” he called out through the door.

“Not… exactly,” sounded Roquefort from the other side. “Look, it’s a complicated situation. Just open the door.”

“You have a complicated situation?” muttered Beet Salad in exasperation. “How much more complicated can it get than a double-bug infestation? No offense intended, ladies,” he added with a scowl at the two changelings.

“You might as well open the door,” said Sultry, clicking the beak of her griffon disguise. “He’s just going to sit out there until you do. I’m sensing a lot of stubborn determination, and it isn’t all coming from you or your flirting friend.”

Doctor Idiosyncrasy lifted an eyebrow fractionally and nodded. “The emotion is heavily suppressed, but I doubt waiting him out is an option.” She paused and glanced towards the door. “It seems strangely familiar, though.”

Despite his better judgement, Beets opened the door and looked out into the crowded hallway. If Sergeant Roquefort was out there somewhere, he was behind three other ponies, or at least creatures who looked like ponies, if Beets were stupid enough to fall for another changeling trick. The probability that Princess Cadence, Prince Shining Armor and Princess Luna of all ponies, would all be standing outside his apartment door ranked right up there with winning the lottery twice in a row without buying tickets.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding,” snapped Beets with a short huff of anger while glaring up at the tallest of the changelings. “More changelings? What, is my apartment the crazy train station now for your migration home?”

The tall changeling in the disguise of Princess Luna seemed set back at his attitude and actually retreated a step before responding. “Beg pardon, but is this the residence of a Mister Beet Salad?”

“No, it’s the bucking bug Highway to Hades,” snapped Beets. “Look, the real Roquefort will be here any minute. Take Sultry here and fly home to your hive. I’ll distract him or something. Shards, maybe I’ll even play the guitar for him.”

“Oh.” The tall changeling with the waving mane seemed more amused than concerned. “Thou thinkst we are changelings?”

“Well, duh!” Beets reached behind him with his magic and grabbed onto Sultry’s tail, pulling her towards the apartment doorway and her convoy of fellow bugs out in the hallway for the trip home. “You bugs picked a damned poor time to drop by, too. The real Royal Guard will be by here in a few minutes, so you need to take—” Beets heaved on his magic and dragged the struggling ‘griffon’ closer to the door “—my stubborn little houseguest back home now.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” asked Sultry, planting all four hooves and switching to her pegasus disguise in a blaze of green fire. “What if I want to stay, you moron!”

“You’ll get hurt,” snapped Beets, still keeping his magic around her tail and pulling her towards the door. “Ponies have gone all kinds of squirrely about changelings lately. Maybe when things calm down and we both get our heads on straight, you can come back for a little bit, but now you have to go!”

“My head is on straight!” argued Sultry, spreading her wings in the doorway and sticking there like a burr even after Beets pulled on her tail with his magic.

“Tell her, Doc,” grunted Beets while attempting to push the reluctant changeling out of the doorway without getting in reach of her flailing hooves.

Idiosyncrasy coughed once in a discreet fashion indicating that she was not really needing to cough, but only using the action as an attention attractant. “Mister Beet Salad is correct on several points, and incorrect on others,” she said from behind Beets. “Primarily, both of you currently do not have the correct mindset to engage in any kind of personal relationship. Miss Breeze is still exhibiting signs of severe mental stress from her recent near-fatal accident and involuntary cocooning, while Mister Salad has undoubtedly been exposed to far more changes in his mental state than he has been able to cope with. These are both long-term issues you need to deal with. There is something far more important we all must deal with in the short term. It is time for the truth.”

Idiosyncrasy flared with green light again and returned to her natural changeling form. She bent her head and carefully knelt down on Beet Salad’s stained carpet, pointing her head towards the doorway and bending down until her chitinous chin was flat against the last greenish stains of changeling goo which had resisted the carpet shampooer. Only when she was in place, did she speak again.

“Please, we beg your forgiveness, Your Highness, Princess Luna. Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. Prince Shining Armor. We did not mean harm.”

Beets looked back out into the hallway at the three ‘Royals’ with a scowl. “Pull on the other one. It has bells on it.” Still, there was just enough uncertainty in him to light his horn with the first changeling detection spell and look out into the hallway again, feeling his heart drop out of his chest to splatter on the carpeted floor at what it revealed.

Those aren’t disguises.

Both Shining Armor and Cadence had a light green dusting of changeling magic across their coats, mostly faded away into nothingness but still visible in streaks and blotches which would probably be visible for months before vanishing totally. Luna, and there was no mistaking the Princess of the Night now, had a somewhat different pattern of magical changeling residue splattered across her legs and chest, with a greenness to her long horn that Beets was afraid had been caused by changeling impalement instead of something less unsettling to his suddenly unsettled stomach.

Princess Luna took a single step forward, and Sultry moved backwards so fast she was a blue blur to Beet Salad’s vision. In less time than it took to blink, she had taken cover behind Beets and was using his body as a shield from the divine vengeance she was obviously expecting to follow.

“Miss Sultry Breeze.” Princess Luna remained in the doorway much like a cosmic cork in Beet Salad’s mostly-concrete-with-no-back-door apartment. “As Miss Idiosyncrasy hath said, the time for deception is over. Reveal thyself, and I assure you, no harm shall come to your kind if you remain peaceful.”

Beets could feel the scorching cold fire of a changeling transformation across his tail when shimmers of green light reflected in Princess Luna’s eyes, but he could not look behind him to see the changeling’s transformation without taking his eyes off of the moon princess. Those dark eyes held him captive, as a goddess descended from the sky to rule over the star-strewn expanse which he walked through on a nightly basis. He had never actually been this close to a real princess before, excepting Princess Cadence, of course. The Princess of Love did not carry nearly the same level of divine grace and power as Luna, who met his eyes with a intense gaze of her own which brought a chill down his flanks and a sharp pain in his leg.

“Ouch!” he exclaimed when the changeling behind him kicked one rear ankle so sharply he almost stumbled. “Stop!”

The elegant dark princess lifted one eyebrow and looked down at him. “Stop, changeling? Your companions have dropped their disguises. It is time you joined them.”

With a sudden realization that his coat had enough changeling magic in it to make him glow like a torch in the changeling detection spell, Beet Salad tried to say something, but he was too late. Princess Luna lit her horn with the second changeling-related spell, and Beets winced when the wave of magic swept over him. Fortunately, the empty tooth sockets in his jaw had healed enough to just give a sharp twinge when the spell touched them, but it still stung all over his coat worse than the time Nectarine had convinced him to do a belly flop off the high dive board. For just one long frozen moment, Beets thought about grabbing a chair out of his apartment and returning the favor to Luna, but the changeling behind him promptly kicked him in the ankle again.

“Ow! Will you stop that?”

The look of consternation on Princess Luna’s face was priceless, but somehow bothersome to Beets, and he quickly added, “Not you, Your Highness. My… Um…” He decided to just jab a hoof over his shoulder at the nearby changeling instead of trying to explain their relationship. “Her.”

“Ah.” Princess Luna appeared unperturbed at the two changelings inside the apartment and the scowling unicorn blocking her path. “My apologies. I do not believe we should converse on this topic in public. Might we step inside thy residence to discuss this further?”

“What if I say no?” asked Beets, feeling more than slightly petty about being forcefully purged of any potential changeling disguises.

“Then I shall ask again,” said Princess Luna with just the smallest hint of an infectious smile that mirrored Beet Salad’s own involuntary lifting of the corners of his lips and a suspiciously impish sparkle to her eyes as the tension lifted slightly.

“I suppose. But only if you say ‘Pretty please,’” said Beets before he could stop himself. “I sort-of promised your guard that I wouldn't… um… Ow!” Beets glared behind himself before shuffling off to one side. “I mean, please come inside.”

It took considerable effort to remain silent while Beets stood to one side of the doorway, watching the parade of His and Her Highnesses walk in. Sultry headed straight for the kitchen to despair at the lack of appropriate dining ware, food, and drinks for their unexpected guests, while Idiosyncrasy made herself useful by grabbing cushions and pillows, distributing them around the faded green stain over most of the living room carpet. And Nectarine, of course, stood staring at Princess Luna with the same eager anticipatory expression he had every birthday right before the cake was served.

His apartment had never felt so small before, and Beets managed to quickly close the door on Roquefort’s nose before the guard could follow his royal charges in. It did not stop any criticism, however, because he still had to deal with the hissed complaints of “Why did you buy generic white tea?” and “These olives are large, not jumbo!” from Sultry while she rummaged through his kitchen in search of a royal repast.

“So,” started Beet Salad, looking at his royal guests arranging themselves in a circle in his small living room. Further words escaped him. They did not escape the changeling psychologist, though.

“Mister Salad, if you will please be seated there.” The short-horned changeling with the thick glasses pointed at one of his bedroom pillows, currently repurposed. “And if your friend will be seated—”

“I love your mane!” blurted out Nectarine, still staring in rapt fascination at Princess Luna. “Are you single?”

Dead silence filled the room.

“Just a moment, Princess Luna,” said Beets, lighting his magic and towing his friend back into the apartment’s small bathroom. There was a small amount of noise involving the shower curtain in the bathroom and Cadence’s subdued snickering in the living room before the shower turned on full-force and Nectarine’s anguished howl emerged.

“BEETS! That’s freezing! Turn it off! Turn it off!!”

Beet Salad strolled back out into his living room and regarded his royal guests. “Sorry, Princess Luna. Nek only has two brain cells.”

“Sit. Right there,” directed Idiosyncrasy, who had switched back to her earth pony disguise while Beets was in the bathroom. It seemed to make both princesses more comfortable and Shining Armor more uncomfortable, leading Beets to believe that perhaps the changeling psychologist’s secret identity had been less than she had expected, but still kept from the traumatized prince. The relieved glance from Shining Armor indicated a certain camaraderie with a fellow unicorn stallion in a room full of females, although Beets got the distinct impression he would be far more comfortable if the two of them could just go out and get hammered at a bar while waiting for the results of whatever the females of both species were plotting.

The discussion flowed fairly rapidly, mostly focused on the repercussions of the wedding and the rather indeterminate state of conflict between ponies and changelings. No real resolution of the ongoing dispute was possible with the limited representation from the changelings, so in the end they agreed to disagree, with both of the Baltimare changelings being declared to have been sufficiently alibied from the invasion by way of distance. It still felt a little to Beets as if ponies were negotiating with grass over the amount of nibbling to be tolerated, but then again, his head had been turned inside-out over the last few weeks and he was admittedly not thinking straight.

If he was uncomfortable with the discussion, Sultry seemed almost in pain whenever she got close to the conversation. She flittered back and forth between the princesses and the stove while Beets tried to consider just what kind of magical furnaces burned in alicorns to chew through that amount of food almost casually while talking. Even when Nectarine slunk out of the bathroom with a damp towel wrapped around his mane and a suspiciously-theatrical shiver, the changeling avoided him as if he were a light and she was a cockroach. It took until both princesses and the psychologist convinced Sultry to sit down in their discussion circle before she settled down, and the conversation turned into a group therapy session.

And they talked. Oh, they talked. The changelings and the princesses took the monopoly on conversation to an extreme, with Beets, Nectarine, and Shining Armor turned into spectators for the most part. Hours flowed by, and Beets learned more about the office politics of the Baltimare City Hall than he had wanted to know, ever, as well as getting a peek inside Sultry’s head while she talked about the ways everypony she had ever known had eventually turned on her. It had become a long-standing pattern for her. She would strike up an association with a pony, it would continue for a while, and when they betrayed her trust, she would already be on the way to her next victim/associate/target with whatever love she had stolen during the process.

Her story was disturbing, much as Beets had expected, only with more tears. It was also intensely personal to Beets, as he tried his best to downplay what the changeling insisted were positive character traits of his. To his acute embarrassment, the changeling admitted both to her early attempt to end her own life as well as Beet Salad’s determination to prevent it, going as far as to risk his own life to be with her during her emergence from her cocoon. It actually seemed to strike Nectarine the hardest, because he seemed guilty about not having been enough of a friend to stand by Beets during his ordeal, but Luna became suspiciously immobile during that part of the discussion.

By the end, there was one certain conclusion to be drawn from the discussion/therapy session: ‘Sultry Breeze’ had to leave Baltimare. She might be able to stay for a few more days while closing out her bank account and tying up any loose ends, but the longer she remained in the city while in her current mental state, the more probable it was that she or somepony else would do something stupid, and the wave of changeling panic which had just begun to die down would get stirred up all over again. Ponies would get hurt, and not just from embarrassing internal burns.

Beets knew one pony who had already been broken beyond repair.

He got his chance to talk privately with Idiosyncrasy when the group psychology session broke for lunch. Rather than venture out into the city with all of the chaos that went along with one princess, let alone two of them, Sultry volunteered to run an order over to the pizza place that Beets frequented. She scribbled down all of their preferences for toppings and Princess Luna passed along a chubby bag of bits before the ‘pegasus’ took off to retrieve fuel for the ongoing discussion.

With only one small bathroom for two large mares, there was quite a bit of uncomfortable standing-around involved while waiting for lunch. Although the apartment across the hall was vacant and undergoing renovations, the situation was not quite dire enough for Beets to go asking Missus Spitonoikokýris for a key or anything like that, although he wondered just what the guards he had caught a glimpse of outside did during their guarding when they needed to use the loo.

The changeling psychologist had maintained her familiar earth pony disguise throughout the counseling session and Beets suspected the billing which the Port Authority received would result in him receiving more than one visit from Corporate inquiring just how he had managed to get a home visit from a doctor, let alone one who was accompanied by two princesses. It would be embarrassing, but Beets had gotten accustomed to a level of embarrassment which would have boggled his mind a few scant weeks ago.

That was probably the reason why he was able to ask Idiosyncracy the question which he had not wanted to verbalize under any conditions.

“I’m a screwed-up mess, aren’t I, Doc?” Beets hung his head and looked down at the green-tinged carpet while trying not to listen to Nectarine and Shining Armor doing dishes or Princess Cadence tapping on the bathroom door and encouraging Luna to greater speed.

“With all we have gone through, Mister Salad, could you please just call me Id?” Beets looked up quickly enough to catch the twinkle in the disguised changeling’s eyes, which were the exact shade of Sultry Breeze’s disguise at the moment.

“Doctor, I think I would prefer for us to keep things on a professional level,” said Beets. “After all, I’m going to be seeing you for sessions every week until my lopsided noggin levels out, and if your husband still plans on fixing my nose, I would prefer him not to turn it into a beak or something.”

The disguised changeling sucked on her bottom lip for a moment before responding. “True. As you wish, I’ll keep our contacts professional while you’re under my care. I’m just grateful we are able to even have those sessions.”

It turned out one of the side-effects of Idiosyncrasy’s weak magic was a corresponding weakness in her susceptibility to the changeling detection spell. Although she still showed up, her aura was weak enough to be explained away as a ‘false positive’ artifact of the spell, particularly with a signed statement given to the Royal Guard by Luna which in effect put her Royal Hoof firmly down on any overzealous enforcement actions against her trusted physician.

Sergeant Roquefort had been crushed by the news, until Princess Luna had commended him for his diligence and permitted him to kiss the same Royal Hoof which had been placed down upon his interrogation plans. He wound up looking nearly as blissfully blitzed as Nectarine, who had actually somehow managed to wheedle a kiss on the cheek out of the Lunar Princess.

Personally, Beets thought it might do Roquefort some good to be alone in a room with the psychologist, because even if their discussion started as an interrogation, just as certain as the sunrise, it would eventually transition into the guard confessing his longtime fear of daylilies and an expressed concern about his mother not loving him as much as the rest of his siblings.

As the Dance of the Bathroom continued, Beets found himself in the living room again with Prince Shining Armor, who was somewhat conflicted about how the day was going, as well as lunch. He looked in all directions and lowered his voice, trying to keep the two alicorns in the kitchenette from overhearing while asking, “Mister Salad, how long have you known Idiosyncrasy was a changeling?”

While he considered his answer, there was a sharp knocking on Beet Salad’s apartment door, followed by a young griffon hen who looked inside with a loud call of, “Who ordered pizza?” Nectarine nearly got trampled when the two princesses claimed the stack of hot cardboard boxes and carried them off to the kitchenette for the unnecessary addition of plates and napkins to the pizza consumption process. By the time the unicorn stallions had claimed their own slices of pizza and gotten situated back out in the living room, the answer to her question was clear.

“Doctor Idiosyncrasy confirmed my suspicions on my first visit,” said Beets, feeling somewhat superior for a few moments. “I was deeply impressed by her dedication and concern, and I’ll have you know that I consider anything which I have told her in confidence will be kept private, and not scattered around.”

“So you say.” Shining Armor chewed his way through his slice of mushroom and eggplant pizza with the speed of somepony who had learned to eat fast before the rest of the food vanished, but he stopped at the end of the slice to add, “You really trust her?”

“You trusted her before you found out she was a changeling,” pointed out Beets with a wave of his own cheese and mushroom slice. “Luna knew. I’ll bet Cadence knew. Trust merely means you have a fairly good idea of what somepony else is doing, and it is not based on simple physical similarities. For example.” Beet Salad nodded his head backwards at the front door. “Most of Luna’s Nocturne are fiscally responsible. I love Nek like a brother and trust him with everything, but I wouldn’t trust him with ten bits loose change. Right now, I’ll bet he’s chatting up the delivery griffon, and in about ten minutes, he’ll try to hit me up for twenty bits to take her out for a date. I don’t have to see it to know it is going to happen.”

“I thought she was your bugfriend, in a different disguise,” said Shining Armor, looking in the direction of the apartment door with a brief flash of green light from his horn. “Oh, I guess not.”

“It’s Missus Spitonoikokýris’ granddaughter. She works at the pizzeria, so we get a discount,” explained Beets. “Look, just because one bug screwed around with your brain doesn’t mean there aren’t a few of them with some morals.”

“You’re one to talk,” grumbled Shining Armor. “Your little bug buddy screwed around in your head too.”

“She could have sucked me dry and left me dead right where you’re standing,” said Beets in a very controlled low voice. “I don’t know if I trusted her or if I just didn’t care, but I’m alive, she’s alive, and it’s a new day.”

“I had a sergeant in training who said if you string enough of those days together, you get a life,” said Shining Armor, although with a little bit of distraction in his voice while peering at something happening by Beet Salad’s front door.

“Kissing?” asked Beets while intentionally not looking over his shoulder at Nectarine’s second-favorite hobby.

“Yeah.” Shining Armor quit staring and took another bite of pizza, although he continued to cast occasional brief glances at the ongoing makeout session. “That is so wrong.”

“Just because they’re different species?” Beets shrugged and finished off his first slice of pizza. “Welcome to my world. Such as it was.”

“Was?” Shining Armor looked around the living room with a frown. “Where’s your changeling?”

Beet Salad closed his eyes and took a deep breath before letting it back out slowly, trying not to shudder or show tears in front of his fellow stallion. Something deep inside his heart cried out for release in a plaintive voice which had been ignored for far too long. It was the sound of a young colt with everything taken away from his life except himself, a colt who had clung onto those memories as if they were the only good things in his life he would ever know. He had built a shell around his heart to hold his fleeting happiness inside, a walled fortress to keep the world away while he withered away in silence amidst his fading memories. Now the walls had fallen and the gates were breached, but the invader had retreated to her own wrecked castle, far, far away.

For the longest time, Beets had thought his life would be over if he ever emerged back into the world. He was wrong, and so right at the same time. He took a bite of the second slice of pizza to smother the incipient tears, following it up with a long, long drink of warm white tea in an attempt to drown his regret too. As much as he did not want to hear the words, he had to say them in order to let go, or the whole cycle of pain would start all over again.

“I knew it from the minute she volunteered to get the pizza. She’s not coming back.”

He knew there was a note somewhere. It cast a shadow across the bright and cheery day outside even after all of his guests had left and Beets was pacing around the empty apartment. She had been an annoying pest, but Beets had gotten to know the changeling as much as anypony could, most probably. There was no way Sultry could leave without some little fragment of paper left behind to shred his wounded heart into ribbons. A sense of dread squeezed at his chest every time he spotted some innocent little corner of white paper sticking out of some hidden niche, and the constant discovery of bits of trash while he was picking up never let that crushing constriction relent, not even for a moment.

After a shower and quick tooth-brushing, followed by a careful and extensive use of his toothbrush in a fashion which any dentist would approve, Beets trudged out into his living room and pulled down the Murphy bed for a few hours rest before work tonight.

He was just winding his alarm clock when he found it.

There were chores left undone, so Beets shoved the note back under the clock and got up. He trudged around the apartment, collecting the last of the trash and taking it out to the building dumpster, then returned to the kitchenette sink to scrub away some imaginary stains. He was halfway through reorganizing the tattered remains of his depleted icebox when he abruptly stood up, slammed the icebox door, and tromped back over to his bed to open the note.

Beets,
I can’t stay. You don’t know how close I was to sucking every scrap of your love out and leaving you a worthless wreck. It may not have killed you, but it would have killed me. Find somepony else, like Spivy’s granddaughter. She’s young, single, and pony tolerant. I’m never coming back. I’ll send you the money I borrowed when I get a chance, but you’ll never see me again.

I owe you one. Goodbye forever.

P.S. Burn this note. And take out the trash before it attracts roaches.

He read it twice, then carefully folded the paper back up and considered the small, white square before lighting up his horn. It took a few minutes with a pencil to draw her face on the back of the paper, her pony face, that is. Then he picked up the photograph of his family and slipped the paper inside, tucked to one side where it did not block any of the rest of the faces. The picture went back on his bedstand, the alarm clock was checked again, and Beets flopped back down on his bed after his magic turned off the light.

“Liar,” he muttered.

And faded away into dreamless slumber.

20. Start a Band

The young unicorn mare in the business suit could have stepped straight out of any college recruiting photo with a freshly-graduated expression of eager youth ready to take on the world that typically got beaten out of them within a few months of getting their first real job. She hesitated in the dimly-lit hallway of the old apartment building, taking great care to inspect each apartment number before stopping at one and raising her hoof to knock at the door. The hoof never came down, because of the words she caught coming out of the open doorway of the apartment across the hallway.

“It won’t fit!” A series of short grunting noises preceded a second frustrated outburst. “Dammit, Beets! It’s just too bucking big to fit there.”

“Just hold it steady, Nec. It fit in there the last time we tried this.”

“The last time, everything fell apart. Are you sure you’re doing this right, Beets?” The second stallion’s voice sounded strained as if he were holding up a heavy weight. “I can’t see what you’re doing from down here.”

The young unicorn paused, almost afraid to look, but eventually curiosity overcame her embarrassment. The room across the hallway appeared to be under the last stages of remodeling with only a few small flecks of sawdust littering the carpet just outside the open door. In the living room of the apartment, there seemed to be some sort of open wooden structure under construction made up of a maze of interlocking varnished boards with a fairly large pony-sized pocket in the middle. A group of well-fluffed ‘Genuine WarmFeather’ cushions were nestled in the pocket along with a set of cords stretching out of sight across a scattering of cardboard boxes occupying much of the remaining room.

It could easily have been a nest for a giant bird of some sort, and the appearance of a griffon hen crouched next to it confirmed her guess. The griffon did not seem to notice her visitor at first, being more interested in the rear ends of two stallions which stuck out from under the under-construction nest.

One of whom had a very pink tail.

The young unicorn mare was just getting ready to knock on the open doorframe when the griffon noticed her standing there. In a flurry of feathers, the chubby griffon hen darted towards the doorway with her crest raised and her feathers ruffled up in an aggressive display of dominance, only skidding to a halt after a few steps with a hissing cry.

“Hey! What are you—” The griffon hen snapped her beak, making the young mare take a stumbling step backwards into an older mare who could have easily been her grandmother. Together, the two mares stood watching the bristling griffon defending the doorway to her apartment, piercing yellow raptor eyes to frightened pony eyes before the griffon blinked and settled down some of her ruffled feathers. “Sorry, miss. Missuses. I’m nesting, and my hormones are all screwed up. Are you two looking for somepony?” asked the griffon while her eyes drifted towards the older of the two ponies.

“Go ahead, Booky,” urged the older mare, taking a drag off her cigarette. The mare was dressed in a rather odd outfit with sparkling sequins and bright colors more fitting for the stage, which looked slightly faded and tight in places as if the outfit had just recently been taken out of a closet after several years of storage. It matched the somewhat dated way she was made up, from the bright yellow of a classic manestyle that certainly came out of a dye box to the extravagance of makeup used to hide the ravages of years. There was even a guitar on her back, or at least the tattered and worn case for one, covered and held together by what seemed like hundreds of sticky labels from cities all across Equestria. The old mare took another drag from her cigarette and nudged the younger mare in front of her, who had seemingly frozen up at the griffon’s abrupt approach.

“Kids,” she muttered, moving the cigarette to the corner of her mouth and sticking out a hoof. “I’m Dusty, and this is my concert gopher, Balanced Books. We’re looking for a guitar player named Beats because—”

Their conversation was interrupted by a victorious cry and a loud thump from the nest inside the apartment.

“Okay, it’s in! Hammer it, Nek! Harder! Harder!”

“That’s as far as it goes, Beets!”

“Well, there’s still some sticking out on this end! Shove harder! It’s almost there! Just a little more. A little more.”

The griffon rolled her eyes. “Typical stallions. They won’t even read the instructions. I told my husband to pay the extra for in-home assembly, but he wouldn't listen, as usual.”

“Husband?” asked the young mare, her eyes still glued to the sight of the two stallions’ rumps sticking out from under the under-construction nest.

“Yeah, came as a shock to me too, but when I turned up pregnant last week, we only had one suspect.” The griffon waved her tail across both stallion rumps sticking out and giggled when the nest gave a convulsive twitch. “Think it shocked him more. The whole family showed up with my Uncle Glaive — he runs a weapons store, of course — and we were married less than an hour later. I’ve only got a day or two before I egg, and my husband dragged his best friend over to help put together the nest.”

The griffon giggled and brushed back a tuft of feathers which had fallen over one eye. “Where are my manners? My name is Pióro, and this is my husband, Numbskull.” She flicked her tail at the stallions under the nest again and giggled at the resulting loud yelps. “You said you were looking for Beet Salad?”

“Yep.” The older mare took one last draw off her cigarette and dropped the butt to the ground before stepping on it. “Got a proposition for him.” Dusty eyed the nest, which was shaking back and forth at the moment. “Provided he don’t get buried.”

“Just a minute, ma’am,” sounded a voice from under the nest. “We almost have the last bolt—” There was a sharp thump from under the wooden structure and a sigh of relief. “Got it. Stupid Hikea furniture.”

“Shut up and help me screw,” sounded a second voice while the rasping of metal on wood began to filter out of their construction project.

“It will be just a bit,” said the griffon. “So, what are you needing Beetsie for?”

“Need a backup guitarist who’ll work cheap tonight,” said Dusty while rummaging in her pockets for a pack of cigarettes. “Several of the local talent mentioned Beet Salad. One night stand, no commitment, and probably no paycheck either.”

“The story of my life,” drifted out from under the nest. “I never thought a mare would be offering Beets a one night stand, though.”

“I can’t do it, ma’am,” sounded the second voice. “I’ve got tickets for the Dusty Withers concert over at the municipal auditorium tonight. Nectarine was going to go with me, but his wife is going to egg at any time now, and if he’s not there for the event, his new uncle said he was going to do something unfortunate to him.”

Other than a brief cough, the old mare remained silent for a while until she extracted out a cigarette and nudged her assistant for a light. After the unicorn lit the cigarette with a brief pink flash from her horn, Dusty took a deep drag and blew out a plume of dark smoke. “Bucking ironic, isn’t it, Booky.”

“Ma’am, I told you I didn’t think this was a good idea,” started the young unicorn, only to cut off coughing after Dusty blew smoke in her face.

“Shut up. If I knew what good ideas were, I would never have hired the concert manager I did, and I would have cut the balls off my backup guitar player when he started making goo-goo eyes at her. Wherever they are now, I hope they’re having a good time with all of the advance ticket money out of my concerts, because if I find ‘em, they’re applesauce.”

She eyed the rear ends of the two stallions sticking out from under the nest before shifting the cigarette to one corner of her lips and shaking her head. “Let me tell you young bucks a quick story. It’s about this old, washed-up country singer who got kicked out of her retirement home when her rent check bounced.”

The young unicorn mare in front of Dusty shifted uncomfortably. “Ma’am, I don’t think—”

Cutting her off, Dusty continued, “The singer met this young piece of fluff just out of college who convinced her to go back out on the road for one last concert tour. It was nearly a disaster. The first night, the cowardly has-been needed to get plastered in order to get up on stage. That little fluffhead dried out the old crone, stuffed a guitar in her hooves, and pushed her out in front of the crowd, stone cold sober.”

Dusty took a long drag from her cigarette and coughed once before continuing. “It weren’t all that bad. Felt a little like old times. Signed more autographs than I ever thought I would. The next morning, though, when all the money was gone as well as those two… Well, Dusty was crawling back into the bottle when along came the fluffy-headed nitwit again. Dragged her out on the road to the next stop, talkin’ all the while. Said she knew how important my music was to ponies. Said a lot of things, actually, but it were the things she didn’t say which hit me the hardest. Seems I’ve been singing about broken hearts and dying dreams so long I ain’t never really seen it for real. That little piece of fluff was hiding a broken heart bigger than anything I’d ever sung about before. There’s some stallion out there who took a part of her with him when they broke up, and I got to thinking maybe I’d bump into him today and kick the holy shit out of him for being such an ass. And I think I see the ass that the asshole belongs to right now.”

“I never laid a hoof on her,” said Nectarine from under the nest. “Honest, I’m a married stallion now.” He wriggled free of the nest and got up to his hooves with a winning smile, which only got wider when he took a long look at the young unicorn mare. Totally ignoring the glowering older mare to her side, Nectarine stepped forward and bobbed his head. “Pardon me, beautiful lady. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. My name is Nectarine and—”

He gave a sharp yelp of pain when the griffon behind him got a good grip on his tail and yanked him back beside her with a sharp, “Down boy. Heel. You’re married now, and don’t you forget it.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Nectarine nodded at the young mare while keeping his charming smile. “Sorry about the wife, Miss Balanced Books.” His smile faltered a little when he looked up at the older earth pony mare and her impressive manestyle, much as if he had just drawn a line between two rather uncomfortable points. “Dusty? As in Dusty Withers? Beets! It’s Dusty Withers! Come on out and say something.”

“One last screw. I think we’ve got your pre-cut chunk of Svedish scrap wood about as stable as it’s going to get for now,” muttered Beets from under the nest. After a sufficient amount of time to curse the last connector in place, Beet Salad scooted out from under the nest and stared at the two mares for a long time.

“So, you’re Beet Salad,” said Dusty, shifting her cigarette to the corner of her mouth, only to have the blue glow of magic surround and crush it into a small smoldering ball of tobacco.

“It’s not polite to smoke around pregnant mares… Er… Hens,” said Beets with a sideways glance up at Pióro.

“Kiss my cutie mark,” snapped the old mare before digging into her pocket for a replacement smoke. “Do that again and I’ll break your nose after I’m done kicking your ass.”

“Like Tartarus you’re really Dusty Withers,” grumbled Beet Salad. “I’ve had it up to here with changelings trying to play on my emotions. Let’s see who you really are.” His horn lit up with the pale green light of the changeling detection spell washing over the room, leaving both stallions and the griffon with only splatters of green changeling magic detected. Strangely enough, the Hikea furniture glowed a uniform pale green all over in the light, but Dusty Withers showed only a few dark green patches across her light tan coat.

However, the young unicorn mare in front of her glowed almost a pure neon green in the light of the spell.

“Cool. A changeling,” said Pióro, pointing and nudging her new husband with an elbow. “Is she the one who was screwing your friend, Nek?”

“They denied it a lot, but yeah,” said Nectarine. “Hey, Sultry. How’ve you been?”

“I’m not Sultry, whoever that is,” said the changeling, still glowing a lime-green in the light of Beet Salad’s spell while taking short glances at the open doorway behind her. “My name is Balanced Books.”

“Really?” asked Nectarine while pointing back at the door. “Did you know Pióro has a pet just like mine? It’s on the floor by your rear hoof ther—”

The ‘unicorn’ let out a piercing shriek and scrambled up the Hikea nest like it was a ladder between it and freedom, winding up in the padded chamber in the center and huddling under the fuzzy egg warming pads with only her glaring blue eyes looking out.

Nectarine looked over at Dusty Withers. “I was wrong. Turns out I have met your assistant before. Did you know you were hiring a changeling?”

“Why the buck would I care?” snorted Dusty before getting out a pack of cigarettes and working on extracting one. “I’ve got a griffon, a minotaur, three goats, and what I think are about six ponies under all that hair in the crew.” She tucked the cigarette between her lips and tapped one hoof, seeming irritated at its reluctance to burst into a crimson glow immediately like the rest. After a moment's worth of glaring at Beet Salad which did not result in her cigarette getting lit either, she continued, “Once the checks start bouncing after the concert tonight, they’re all gone. End of the tour, end of my career. The end. Now, are you willing to play backup guitar for an old, washed-up bitch, or am I going to stagger up on stage for my farewell performance without you? Either way, I’m kicking your ass afterwards, even if she is a changeling.”

Beets glared right back, although he did turn off his changeling detection spell. “So. All you really need is bits?”

The elderly mare shrugged and waved her unlit cigarette. “There’s a couple of youngsters in town who could probably play, if I could pay them. We’ll be lucky to break even tonight with as much as the bitch ripped out of the bank.”

“Excuse me.” Beet Salad got up, walked over across the hallway and vanished into his own apartment, leaving a very embarrassing silence in his wake, which, of course, Nectarine had to fill.

“He’s a bit of a hermit,” said Nectarine somewhat apologetically. “I’ve been trying to get him out and back into the dating scene for years. He had a marefriend a few months ago, but she turned out to be a real pest.”

The changeling in the nest simply hissed at him.

“Could I get your autograph while he’s gone, Miss Withers?” asked Pióro “For my… grandmother, of course. I gave Nek’s ticket to her.” The young griffon scurried over to a nearby record player and leafed frantically through the albums before finding the one she wanted. After slapping it onto the phonograph and starting it up, she hustled back over to Dusty with the album cover and a pen. “Could you make it out to Storming Clouds Over Green Valley Leaves Wet Feathers, please?”

“I thought that was your — Oof!” said Nectarine when a griffon elbow rammed into his chest. “Grandma Spivy. Right.”

After writing the dedication, Dusty paused with the pen dangling from her lips. As the melodious voice of a young and vibrant Dusty Withers began to emerge from the record player, the old mare swayed gently in her memories. After a few stanzas, she sang along with her younger counterpart in a fair facsimile of her voice from back then, only with a few more cracks and rasps which the record player could not excuse. Griffon and pony sat silently with their jaws and beak hanging open until the song ended and the old mare took the glass of tomato juice that the disguised changeling floated over to her.

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” Dusty took a deep drink and looked up with one raised eyebrow.

“I raided their icebox while you were singing,” explained ‘Balanced Books,’ who had descended from her perch to stand next to Nectarine.

“Throw some vodka into it and make me a Bloody Marei,” said the old mare. “Might as well go out on stage tonight drunk to the gills, since it’s going to be my last time. Old age sucks.”

“You’re just going to have to drink it virgin, ma’am,” said the disguised changeling before quietly punching Nectarine in one shoulder. “The concert is in just a couple hours, and I don’t want to have to dry you out like we did in Junction City. Where in the heck is Beets? What’s taking him so long?”

“Didn’t want to interrupt a moment, Miss Withers,” said Beet Salad, stepping inside the apartment from where he had been obviously waiting just outside the door. “I’ve got something for you, but I want to ask ‘Booky’ a question first.”

“No, I don’t have your bits,” growled the disguised changeling.

“That’s not it.” Beets heaved a sigh and studied a fleck of sawdust on the floor. “Were you behind Miss Withers’ assistant stealing the advance ticket money and running off with the guitarist just so you could talk me into joining the band with you?”

“Wha—” The disguised changeling took a step backwards and glared with such fury that smoke should have immediately billowed up from Beet Salad’s coat. “Buck you! We are finished. We never were. How dare you even think I would do that! They weren’t even changelings! Ponies can do evil crap too, you know!”

The corners of Beet Salad’s mouth began to droop into a sour frown, or at least more sour than his normal expression, before the changeling lit up in green fire and reappeared in her pale blue pegasus disguise. ‘Sultry’ took a step forward and sat down right in front of Beets, lifting his chin up in her forehooves and kissing him gently on the nose.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “You know just how to push my buttons, you big galoot.” She glanced over her shoulder at Nectarine, who the griffon had just grabbed around his mouth in order to keep the lanky batpony from contributing, then turned her attention back to Beets and kissed him gently on the nose again. “No, I only found out after they were gone. I knew what was going to happen to the tour at that point, and I should have abandoned Dusty too, but all I could think of was you. When I was laying on your floor, all busted up, you could have just given up and let me die.”

“I guess stupidity is contagious,” said Beets. “Do you want…” He trailed off and tried to look down again, only to have the ‘pegasus’ hold his face level with hers and lock eyes for a very long time.

“I don’t know what I want, but I know who I want.” She kissed him, not on the nose this time, and held the position for what Beets thought was an eternity before breaking away. “Much better,” she added with a sigh. “No danger of draining your down to your hooves any more. Now what about you?”

Beets considered for a while before leaning forward and giving the ‘pegasus’ a quick kiss on the nose. He floated out a small slip of paper in his magical field, which he passed to Dusty. “Here.”

“A hundred thousand—” Dusty blinked several times and thumped her chest with one hoof. “I can’t take this kind of—”

“It’s hers,” said Beets, nodding at the disguised changeling who was still just a nose length away from him. “Give it back to her when you’re done with your tour. Or if you find your old business manager and the guitarist, tell me, and I’ll beat it out of them for you.”

“Holy horseapples.” The old mare just stared at the check until the changeling flared with green light and ‘Balanced Books’ tucked the check away in her saddlebag. After coughing once or twice and manually lighting her cigarette, Dusty took a deep drag and looked at Beet Salad. “Thanks. Thank you very much.”

“Don’t mention it. Ever.” Beets transferred his gaze to the watery eyes of the ‘unicorn’ sitting in front of him. “So. What kind of shape is the tour in? Is the old bat going to live to the end?”

“Beets!” After giving him a sharp frown, ‘Balanced Books’ glanced over at the singer, who was looking entirely too amused. “I hope so. She could barely hobble off the stage after the first concert, since her bursitis is acting up and she won’t take her pills. Between playing all night and autographs — ten bits each,” she added with a sharp look at Pióro, who promptly began digging for her bit pouch. “She really lights up on stage, and feeds off the love just as well as any changeling. I think if we could find somepony to play lead guitar for her, I could shove her out in front of an audience every week to sing and she’d outlive Celestia.”

Beets nodded. “Speaking of money, do you think you’ll get your bits back? If she goes bust on tour, I don’t want to find you crawling back under my door again.”

“We’re going to have to reorder a lot of merchandise that my predecessor faked receipts for, and the old albums haven’t been selling as well as I had hoped.” The disguised changeling fidgeted. “We’ve got a ton of money plowed into the ‘Live - In Concert’ album they recorded in Junction City, but a couple of the songs are really unusable. The pre-orders are still coming in, so we probably won’t take a bath when they cut the album, but they’re all looking for new material, and we don’t have much there. Why all the dumb questions, if we’re just going to hire some temp guitarist?”

Beets lit up his horn and his guitar floated into the apartment through the open doorway. After a brief spell to crumple up Dusty Withers’ cigarette and put the smoldering ball of tobacco out in the hallway, he plucked a few strings, then struck a chord. “If I’m going to get fired from my dead-end job and travel the country playing songs about getting drunk, arrested, and divorced while standing in front of hundreds of total strangers, I want to make sure I’ll be in good company.” He stopped with the guitar held loosely in his hooves. “I want you to be happy.”

“Suffering bastard,” muttered the changeling. “What about you?”

“I want me to be happy too. And do you know the happiest I’ve ever been in my life? When you were strumming this guitar and singing right there beside me.” He ran a few notes up and down the scales before adjusting a tuning knob. “What about you?”

“I’m a changeling. We don’t get happily ever after.”

“This is country music, Sweetheart,” said Dusty while taking the guitar case off her back. “It don’t come with happily ever after either. The job does come with strings, however.”

“Oh, buck,” said Balanced Books as Dusty pushed the guitar into her hooves. “No way. I’d be terrified up there.”

“Good.” Beet Salad shifted his tail in order to get a more comfortable seated position while holding the guitar. “It sounds like it will be three of us.”

“I didn’t know you could count to three,” said the disguised changeling, still holding the guitar with a certain lack of enthusiasm.

“Children, children.” Dusty Withers gestured to the disguised changeling. “Come here. Yes, here. Right next to Mister Salad, so I can audition the both of you at once.” She frowned as the ‘unicorn’ sat a certain distance away, and continued to frown until the two of them were sitting side by side.

“Better,” said Dusty Withers, looking back and forth between them. “You’re both idiots. I’d knock your two pointed heads together until you both got some sense in your heads, but we only have a few hours before the concert, and this could take weeks. Do you like her?” asked Dusty while looking directly at Beets.

“Yes,” he said.

“And you, do you like him?” she promptly asked ‘Balanced Books.’

“I… Um… Yes.”

“Then by the powers of Country Music, I hereby declare you Lead and Backup Guitar. Once the concert is over tonight, you can kiss, but not before. Now—” Dusty rubbed her forehooves together. “Let’s hear you play.”

“Play?” they both asked at the same time, and in harmony, to their sudden embarrassment.

“Sure, anything you know together. Come on, get to plucking. We’ve got a concert in just a few hours.” Dusty cupped a hoof around one ear. “Louder, please.”

“Oh,” said Beet Salad with a smile spreading across his face. “I know just the tune, Booky.” He started down the melodic line to a song which made Dusty cock her head to one side and ‘Booky’ break into a bright blush.

“I can’t sing that in public!” she hissed.

“I’ll sing it with you,” said Beets before reaching the end of the stanza and returning to the start with a flick of his hoof to run up the chords. “You said you needed new material for the album, so you can teach it to Dusty when we’re done and she can sing it during the concert. Don’t tell me you forgot the words.”

“Of course I remember the words,” she hissed while checking the tuning on her guitar. “It’s a solo!”

“Just don’t break into an aria,” added Beets.

“Shut up, Beets,” hissed ‘Booky.’

“Only if you sing,” said Beet Salad. “Don’t think about thousands of screaming fans filling the stadium. Think about just the two of us back in my apartment. All alone. Just you, me, and the music.”

The ‘unicorn’ blushed while stroking out a few quick chords and strums, falling in line with Beet Salad’s melodic line. “I’ll get you for this,” she murmured before they approached the coda and got set up for the introduction.

“Looking forward to it,” said Beet Salad with a grin.

Author's Notes:

— Author Notes —
♫ ♫ ♫
(just kidding)

---

First of all, I would like to extend a big hand of applause to my biggest pre-readers/editors/unindicted co-conspirators, Tek and Peter. Without their tireless efforts in urging me onward and pointing out where I go astray (as well as little suggestions), my work would be half as frequent and a quarter the quality. The story idea dates back a year or two when I was listening to Brad Paisley’s ‘You Need a Man Around Here’ and trying to ponify⁽*⁾ it while working on something else.
* That’s a word. Honest. There’s even an app for that.

‘Man’ and ‘mare’ matched, and I inverted a little of the gender-based sterotyped phrasing, then put it aside for a while. Later while thinking about how to use the Disney classic Beauty and the Beast intro and how to use ponies (of course) in it, I got to thinking on the last line.

For who could ever learn to love a beast.

Wham line indeed. So why not have two beasts, one a pony who hides his sensitive insides behind a facade of spite and violence, and the other a changeling who holds a bitter and sarcastic inside concealed behind the disguise of her kind.

Naturally, this took me through a few story descriptions. This one almost made it to the end:

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful earth pony princess. This is not her story.
Once upon a time, there was a handsome pegasus prince. This is not his story either.
Once upon a time, there was an incredibly ugly and disagreeable unicorn stallion named Beet Salad, who worked as a night watchpony at an airship port until he discovered a dying monster. This is their story. It proves that True Love can overcome any obstacle, break any barrier, and melt the hardest heart of stone, or at least that even the ugliest pony can be rather beautiful on the inside, if you look very hard.

Very, very hard. And if your standards for beauty are really warped.

---

Something you may not realize is how the editing process continues up to the moment of publication (and sometimes a little after), such as finding Idiosyncrasy spelled Insomnia about ten minutes before punching the publish button, and somehow moving half of the story to Fillydelphia instead of Baltimare. Even the chapter titles are not immune to changes, and the entire story was re-chaptered a few days before publication when I got a little excited. I was really expecting somebody to spot the theme before the end, so I’ll give you a little hint.

Chapter Titles:
1 - Shattered Glass
2 - Officially Alive
3 - Water
4 - Pressing On a Bruise
5 - Wrapped Around
6 - Crushin’ It < - Very cool
7 - Camouflage]
8 - Equestrian Saturday Night
9 - Famous Ponies
10 - Little Moments
11 - Living On Love (note: The exception to the theme)
12 - Easy Money
13 - Gone Green
14 - Time Well Wasted
15 - That’s Love
16 - One Of Those Lives
17 - Hold Me In Your Arms
18 - I Wish You’d Stay
19 - I’m Gonna Miss Her (Four stars)
20 - Start A Band (duet)

Notice anything yet?

I hope you enjoyed our little trip down music row, and I’ll see you at my next fix… I mean fic, There Goes the Neighborhood

Olympus was the home of the Greek gods. Then they let the first ponies in.

Using Lady-Princess-Goddess from CherryVioletS at Deviantart as cover art. See you there.