Disfigurement is something not many people like to think about. A process most unholy to everyone. Rare in the ability to take away so many important things yet still leaving just enough behind. To remove something as identifying as a face and yet leave the personality beneath unharmed. To take away identity and yet also leave it.

A week had passed since the events at the gala. The Princesses had come with a cover story saying a magical spell being developed by one of the Arch Mages went haywire but anyone who had either participated or witnessed the events knew otherwise. The Princesses assured Spitfire that they would not harm the android in any way and that the Shadowbolts would be dealt with accordingly.

However there was still the matter of the broken android himself.

Spitfire sat in front of a hastily constructed tank. Only a small slit of glass was visible. Inside of it was the unconscious form of Jett, slowly being reconstructed inside by the wonders of nanotechnology or what little of it Jett and Dane had managed to build here. The Process would take a considerable amount of time and Dane wasn’t even sure that the android would fully recover physically, let alone mentally.

She hadn’t left the robot’s side since the rather emotional night for all involved. Spitfire, having been rejected and then almost watching her love commit suicide in front of her, Jett, being violently beaten and going through the trauma of nearly killing someone and near suicide himself, Dane and Gin, for having to watch their two friends get emotionally and psychologically tortured.

Spitfire sighed. Jett would remain inside the tank for a few more days before being able to come out and even then a ‘full’ recovery if it were even possible, would be another few weeks.

“Hey,” Dane said walking up next to her.

“Hey,” she said back.

“Latest scan. Gyros on his right leg may not be repairable. The damage is still too severe to be sure.”

“Great…”

“But… some good news.”

Spitfire turned and raised an eyebrow. Dane gave a small grin.

“With this latest damage, his internal defense system is now offline. This means, the metallic fragment embedded in his head can be removed and the damage it caused, repaired.”

“When?”

“Now actually,” Dane said tapping a few icons on a tablet, “Nanites’ll dissolve the thing and use it as building material to reconstruct that part of his brain.”

Spitfire frowned and glanced over at him, “Exactly what did that fragment do to his head?”

Dane sighed, “I was wondering the same thing. Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes…”

“It made him… who he was in a sense. And I don’t mean who he was in the sense of the part that you fell in love with; I mean that it reorganized his personality into something more… unstable. In a sense it made him into a psychological and emotional time bomb. That first punch in that fight probably was the final blow. The straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“So… what will he be like when he comes out?”

Dane shrugged, “Hell if I know, I can only guess. More in control, maybe. More stable, not so… aloof. Again I can only guess.”

“What about his leg?” Spitfire asked.

“I don’t know. This tank is just to get his skin and organic chemistry fixed. The mechanical repairs will still be going on internally for a few more weeks after that. That’s the beauty of it. But… there’s a good chance he may never walk normally again.”

Spitfire hung her head, “So he may be disabled for the rest of his life? You’re sure it can’t be fixed?”

Dane shrugged, “If I had access to more modern technology and tools then no. In fact this whole business would be over in a few hours, not a few weeks but… even with the big toy box in orbit there’s only so much I can do.”

“I see…”

“So Fleetfoot said your season opening got postponed a few weeks.”

Spitfire sighed, “Yeah, we start a month before the holidays begin. At this point though, I don’t care.”

Dane smiled, “You really care about him, don’t you?”

“He could be a brain in a tank for the rest of his life and I’d still love him… He just doesn’t feel the same… and that’s fine. So long as he’s happy.”

“Happiness may be a long way off for him…”

“I know… But I at least want to try…”

***

Several days later the tank was emptied and the robot recovering inside was begrudgingly removed. Jett did not look good. The parts of his body that were ‘regrown’ as it were, were colored white as they slowly adapted to his body. Parts of him looked like he’d chemically burned by some spray.

He also could not walk without assistance. He used a forearm crutch with a cuff for assistance when walking allowing him a degree of independence. He spoke little, partially due to the previous week’s head trauma inducing events as well as the removal of the metallic shard of metal that had been occupying his head for the last several years. The combination produced an odd sort of aphasia.

The weather was fast changing into fall, the leaves were beginning to turn and fall. The familiar sensation of autumn weather was in the air.

Jett stood near the edge of the cliff overlooking the valley below as a cool autumn breeze blew through. A clear visible line on his face was visible, showing where his old flesh ended and the new regrown stuff began. The scratched and dented plating on his arm had been repaired and the arm oddly shined like it was brand new.

He sighed. Times like this he wished he could talk. And odd storm of emotions was ringing through him. Anger at the Shadowbolts, resentment for Spitfire for stopping him from offing himself, shame for almost killing nine people, fear for fully understanding just how savage and violent he could be, and… guilt for hurting Spitfire.

And yet, in the midst of this storm he felt oddly… peaceful with himself. Calm and controlled. No familiar angst or anger at anyone and everything anymore. Just calm.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his tablet. It was rigged with a voice synthesizer that replicated his voice to a perfect T allowing some form of normality but it still looked a bit creepy when he simply stood there and yet his voice could still be heard.

A voice behind him spoke.

“Mind if I join you?” Spitfire asked.

He nodded and moved over.

“Beautiful this time of year, isn’t it?” she asked.

Again he nodded.

“You can speak you know,” Spitfire sighed.

Jett scowled and typed something into the pad and tapped an icon on it.

“I have Aphasia, genius,” the voice spit out. While it sounded like Jett, it didn’t exactly sound like it came from his mouth.

Spitfire gasped, “Oh, yeah… Sorry, I’m just used to you being able to speak is all.”

He typed something into the pad.

“And I’m used to being able to walk normally.”

“Yeah… that sucks. Sorry.”

He sighed and turned.

“Did nothing wrong.”

Spitfire raised an eyebrow, “What?”

He frowned and looked down at his pad.

“YOU did nothing wrong,” it corrected.

Spitfire laughed.

“FML.”

She gave a caring smile and turned, “How are you feeling?”

He frowned.

“Like shit,” the machine responded.

She sighed, “I see…”

“You seem depressed,” the pad said.

“So do you,” Spitfire said.

“I have a lot to think about.”

She sighed, “I know… Part of it is my fault.”

He blinked.

She sighed again and coughed, “The very night I… opened up and told you… everything I ever felt about you… all this happened. If I hadn’t done anything… if I’d just kept quiet then… Nightshade wouldn’t have assaulted you like this… You wouldn’t be so damaged… so broken…”

He patted her on the shoulder.

“I was broken long before we ever met,” his pad said, “It just took this to split open the cracks…”

“Maybe… or maybe I was the one who started it all… One simple trick gone wrong threw me across the cosmos and onto your world; with you, with your friends, your school, you family, your crazy life. Maybe… I just added to the stress… Maybe I was the thing that finally… broke you.”

He sighed.

“No… you didn’t break me… You made me feel… happy. For those few months I actually had a reason to get up in the morning. I felt like I had a reason to be me; for me to be alive. But… this world… it’s too alien for me. Maybe I just can’t adjust to life here. You always had your way back home. You always had a home to go to. I have neither.”

He looked down at the ground.

“We’re from two different worlds, Spitfire. Worlds that were never meant to meet; never meant to mix like this. Yours is a civilization on a prosperous climb. Mine a decadent and decaying world. Divisive, angry at everything, broken… Like me…”

He turned up and looked at the sky. A bright star like light glimmered in the sky.

“I think… it would have been better if you left me back on Earth…”

He gripped his crutch and turned to leave, walking away slowly.

***

Bars were never things that Spitfire visited very often. At least, recently that is. A few months ago she would always be at one drinking like a fiend with her friends, sleeping with random guys, sometimes even her fellow team mates, just being the girl that had it all; looks, money, fame, everything.

But in a city that has everything, with a people that have it all, you rarely seem to realize you’re missing out on the best parts of life. Sometimes… you risk letting the best part of it fly right by you. And sometimes, the universe takes notice and throws you across the galaxy to get a taste of it.

But Heaven carries a heavy price tag that not even all the money and fame in the world could pay. And by the time it’s collected, you don’t even know what you’ve truly lost until it’s gone.

Or you do, but it’s gone anyway.

Spitfire sat at the counter with her head to the hard wooden table. She’d long given up sobbing just because she didn’t have the energy in her anymore to do it. But still tears flowed down her face as she drowned her sorrows in the only thing that appeared to have consistent results. The lovely molecule, Dicarbon Hexahydrogen Monoxide, or ethanol for short, or for the more common name, any alcoholic beverage in existence.

She may not have lost him physically but… in every other way a person could have been lost next to actual death, Jett was gone to her.

She sat up and sipped her drink again before slamming her head down into the table. A few guys had already tried hitting on her but most were turned off by her crying. The persistent few were driven away either by gun barrel or crotch kick.

She wanted to just wail out in sorrow but… she simply couldn’t. She’d screamed out her soul already.

A voice behind her made her lose focus on her sorrow.

“You know, I never really knew who you were before you dropped into our lives but from what I hear, this isn’t how you normally act,” Dane said.

She sat up and glared at him with blood shot eyes.

“Geez you look like shit,” he said.

“Gee, thanks. That’s what every girl wants to fuckin’ hear.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Why are you here?” she asked bitterly.

“Well for one, some news. Your rival team is finally out of the hospital, Nightshade included though she’ll take a bit longer to get back on her feet.”

“Why?”

“Heart attack, brought on by stress mixed with exhaustion from both your show you did as well as the night’s later activities. She’ll recover but she’ll be out of commission for a while. Oh and I received a call from your father.”

“You received a call? When did you become my secretary?”

“Well I’ve tried staying in the loop since I got here. And he didn’t call me specifically. Your phone is off in god knows where so he called the base and I happened to answer the phone.”

“What did he want?” she spat.

“Typical father stuff. He wanted to know if you were okay and things like that.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you were alive and functioning. Coping.”

“What does he know?”

“Only what the media’s been spitting out,” Dane said.

“What have they been spitting out?” Spitfire asked returning to her drink.

“Well for one, that you confessed to a guy at the gala and were turned down. That’s the general gist of it.”

“Why are you here again?”

“Oh, uh, geez I had prepared a giant ass speech but whatever. You need to get back into it Captain.”

“Back into what? My fucking life is over.”

“No it’s not. You may be depressed; hell suicidal wouldn’t surprise me-”

“Don’t tempt me. Considered it earlier.”

“Yeah… anyway,” Dane continued, “You need to get back in the spotlight and put on a fucking smile if it kills you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s your job. Your job is to wow people with fantastic tricks and to be a role model for younger people. And you’re not doing either.”

“You get your fucking heart ripped out and tell me how you feel,” She said bitterly.

Dane sighed, “Look, I know it probably hurts worse than any sprain or break you’ve ever gone through in the Wonderbolts but you have got to get out of the rut. You need to be positive even if he isn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“In any healthy relationship, people support each other. And right now you two are doing neither and it’s not good.”

“He’s feeling suicidal again! How do you support someone through that?”

“I have no fucking clue but do you honestly think this helps?!”

Spitfire sighed and stared into her drink, “No…”

“Good. Now what you’re going to do is you’re going to go do your fucking job and stay positive at all time like there’s an audience watching you.”

“Why? Why should I even do all of this?”

“Because I care about the bastard as much as you do and I’d rather not see him die a bitter old robot. So if you want to help me then be my guest. But at the very least you could do your fuckin’ job and lead your team so they’re not lying around the base all day.”

“Alright.”

“Good. Now Fleetfoot will stop bitching at me on how to fix all this.”

“So when’s our first show?” Spitfire asked standing up.

“Why would I know?” Dane asked.

Spitfire glared at him.

Dane sighed, “Saturday. 1:00. Cloudsdale Stadium.”

“Thank you…”

“When you walk out of this bar you’re going to smile. Even if it kills you.”

***

The people on the TV screen smiled with a false sense of friendliness. Jett scowled. Media types.

“So just who is the kind of person who would turn down Spitfire, Captain of the Wonderbolts, and arguable the most desirable and eligible girl in all of Equestria? The ENN news team wanted to find out.”

The screen cut to Soarin’ being harassed in the streets by a team of reporters, “Soarin’ what do you know about Spitfire being rejected? What the unknown man in a relationship perhaps.”

“Get that camera out of my face,” Soarin said, “I’m only taking interviews from people with their innocence still intact thank you.”

“Well, it appears that Soarin’ did not want to speak with us at this time,” The Blonde news woman smiled, “We’ll get back to you with more as soon as this develops. I’m Gos-”

Jett turned off the TV and scowled.

Shit holes.

A knocking at his door got his attention. He turned. Spitfire was leaning against it.

“Hey,” she said.

He grabbed his pad, “Hey…”

“We’re, uh, doing a show Saturday night. Cloudsdale. I can arrange a ride for you if you want to come. VIP spot,” She said with a small inviting smile.

He sighed.

“I don’t know…”

Her smile fell, “Oh, well, uh, if you decide to come, just call this number.”

She tossed him a small business card.

“Just ask for Z, tell him I sent you.”

He nodded.

“Alright, uh, well, um… see you later I guess.”

“See you around…”

She turned and left his apartment and headed towards the stairs. Things used to be whole lot simpler.