It’s like somepony died and that pony was me.

The only thing I ever wanted to be is a Wonderbolt. Getting called up was one of the best days of my life. Months later when I’d finally settled into the routine, I realized that I’d made it. I really was a Bolt and I would be as long as I stayed on my game. I wasn’t just middle of the pack either. Once I stopped being a nervous idiot and let myself relax into being a part of the team, I kicked ass and not just in the shows and public events.

The air shows are a huge part of being a Wonderbolt, but that’s not all there is. We’re a legit military unit. The Bolts are an elite strike force. We do rescue missions and reconnaissance.

All the galavanting across Equestria for friendship and stuff was actually really good training for being a Wonderbolt. I knew how to work in a team. I knew how to deal with other cultures and stuff. I knew how to not give up on a mission just because things got screwed up. My place on the Bolts was solid, which was kind of a big deal with all the recruits basically killing each other to try and get a spot.

Now… I’m grounded. Oh, I’ll probably fly again, but I might never fly the same again. It took me my entire life to get on the team and I might be starting from ground zero because of what happened to me. Except for this time, I’m older. Everypony knows that it’s way harder for adults to recover from massive injuries like this.

I would’ve stayed a Wonderbolt for as long as I stayed on my game, but Big Mac put his giant hooves on my wings and made them go crunch. Nopony’s said it yet, but there’s been that look. The doctor had it. Fluttershy had it. Swift Justice had it, because they all have wings and they all know that -even though none of my fractures are terrible- recovering from having every bone in my wings broken is possible. But getting back to where I was isn’t very likely. Even if it is possible, it’s going to take a long damn time and by then the Bolts will have had to fill my spot with somepony that didn’t let themselves get messed up like this.

The thoughts and logic that all add up to me losing the only dream I ever cared about suck me down into a dark tunnel of memories that play on repeat. My wings flaring, followed instantly by Mac pinning them against the rough wood planks. Then the crunch and whine of bones breaking and wood groaning to stay in one piece. I feel my wings twitching, and the pain is so intense that I can’t tell if it’s a memory or if it’s real. Only this time instead of just feeling the physical pain of being broken, it’s like my wings feel some other kind of pain I’ve never known before. It’s a kind of loss that just seems impossible because it’s so big and it never ends. And it keeps happening over and over and over again. Each time the hips behind be thrust forward and the force pushes up through my spine and I feel the weight of heavy hooves grinding down on my wings one more time.

Slowly, my mind starts to circle back to reality. None of the sensations really fade. The rotation and repetition just become so familiar that I’m able to remind myself that they aren’t real. They’re just memories. The fact that I’m probably not going to be a Wonderbolt for much longer is real, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I get why the team has to move on. It sucks, but I know it isn’t a thing I can change.

Layer by layer I come back to the present. I have no idea how long I was out. Maybe all the darkness only lasted a few seconds, but I don’t think so. It’s definitely afternoon now. Rarity is here with me, but everypony else is gone. I don’t know how she got everypony to leave instead of staying to worry about me, but I’m glad she did.

She’s still on the floor with her head on the couch, just a couple inches from mine. She’s watching me, but not staring. She’s worried, but not scared. She’s tired, but not irritated. She’s just here, waiting for me.

My eyes latch onto hers like a landing strip in a storm. She’s the lighthouse in a hurricane rocked sea. She’s the homing beacon on my radar. Those calm, patient, worried eyes will keep me safe. They will guide me home.

Some part of me silently begs for her to tell me that I’m wrong. I need her to tell me that it didn’t happen. I need her to tell me that I didn’t get raped and lose my career all in one night. I need her to tell me that I came by for some weird reason, fell asleep, and now I’m running late for something important. So, I need to get my lazy ass off her couch and let her get back to work.

I need her to lie to me. Otherwise, I don’t know I’m going to function.

As if she can read the panic and desperation in my eyes, she gives me the only lie she can and nuzzles my cheek. For a split second, I can imagine a world where a nuzzle from Rarity would mean something completely different than it actually does. It’s an alternate reality where I’m home because, of course, I live with Rarity that’s what marefriends do. I fell asleep on my favorite fainting couch, because listening to her yammer on about Moonlight Silk gets boring after about .025 seconds. Now she’s waking me up so I’m not late for practice, or a party, or something. Rares would never let her special somepony get away with being late.

The weird, half-second daydream makes me a whole different kind of sad for some reason, but it’s a sad I can deal with. I processed a long time ago that I’d probably never have that kind of life. Of course, I never really imagined that kind of life with Rarity, because… she’s Rarity. But, I did imagine it with other ponies and I knew it just wouldn’t happen for me. Being a Wonderbolt was totally worth the trade. The disappointment of knowing that I would be alone was always totally balanced by the awesomeness of knowing I’d be a Wonderbolt.

That isn’t true anymore. Now I just have nothing.

I blink and look into Rare’s eyes again. She has the same patient worried look. I nuzzle her again. I want the dream back. I want to feel safe and loved. I want to know that everything is ok, and the worst that can happen is a dragon attacking or Applejack not having enough apples to make cider this year. But, my the memories and bad thoughts are like a top spinning out of control in my brain sending flashes of images across my mind and waves on uncontrolled, unwelcome feelings through my body.

I’m hurt. I can’t fly. I can’t be a Wonderbolt anymore. Somepony asked me to spread my legs yesterday so they could get pictures of what happened to me. Scoots knows that I’m just a broken piece of garbage now. Mac is in jail. Shy is so angry she can barely function. Applejack has to figure out how to run the farm by herself. Twilight is so caught up in being logical that being in the same room with her is like having sandpaper rubbed against my face. Pinkie is holding herself together with frosting, because her friends are fighting and there’s no way to fix it. And Rarity... Rarity is here with me at the bottom of the shitpile.

I wish he’d just killed me.

I barely move my muzzle searching for more comfort, even though I know nothing can possibly help. Rarity moves so our foreheads are touching again. I think she’s whispering something to me, but I’m not hearing her. That spot on my head is my anchor. That spot on my head where she’s touching me is the only thing that makes me have the tiniest hope that if I can just wait it out the storm of emotion will ebb and life won’t be so bad.

The small contact helps a little, but it isn’t enough. I need more of her. I need that alternate reality back. I need the break from the truth that feels like it’s crushing me from the inside out. I can’t handle any of this right now.

I start to move off the couch. Rare tries to pull back to give me space, but space is the last thing I want so I don’t let her. I can’t get my legs to do what I want. I’m too sore. They’ve been in one spot for too long. My rump fucking hurts. So, I just kinda roll off the couch onto her. I should crash into her or hit the floor hard, but of course I don’t. She catches me. She cradles me in her magic, but I don’t want it. I want her. I reach my forehooves around her neck and pull until our chests touch. Somehow, she sits me down on the floor without making any part of me hurt.

It still isn’t enough. There’s desperation and panic creeping into my darkness now like if I don’t manage to distract myself enough then I’ll just disappear into all these dark feelings. I don’t want to disappear. Rarity is still here. She’s still with me. She can save me. She can make everything better. I don’t know how she can. I just know that it feels like she can.

So, I lean back and pull her on top of me. She squeaks something that might be my name, but I’m still not paying attention to anything she says. The pressure of her body on mine is like being wrapped in the best blanket in Equestria. I use every muscle I have to hold her, even my wings twitch for her, but they hurt so damn much I can’t move them. I wrap our tails together. I pull and mold my body into hers until the giant hooves on me disappear. The deep, sharp, splitting pain is gone; and the only thing I can feel is Rarity.

I close my eyes and hide my muzzle in her mane. I breathe deep until the smell of the dirty street is gone, and so is the smell of fresh air mixed with the pyro-fuel they use to make the smoke patterns at the Bolts shows. I breathe as deep as I can until all I can smell is Rarity.

I turn my face into her neck just a little more, so my ear is against her shoulder. I can hear her heartbeat. It’s a little fast, but it’s steady and it’s slowing down. Now that I’m not falling or pulling on her anymore, she’s calm and her breaths and heartbeat quickly return to their normal, and now familiar, pace. I listen and count the beats until my own husky breathing fades and my heart is beating as close to the rhythm of Rarity’s as I can manage.

She’s on top of me and there’s pressure, but she isn’t really letting me feel her weight. Somehow, she knows when I’m calm and present enough that she can change our position. She wraps a leg around me and we roll to the side. Her legs are over, under, and around me; holding me close like a foal holding their teddy bear. It only takes a second and all the places where I was forcing us together relax and fit into place like puzzle pieces. The tension instantly goes out of my muscles. I deflate into her and Rarity cradles me gently.

Now I hear her whispering to me that I’m going to be alright. Now I feel the small strokes of her hoof in my mane.

I feel dirty. I want to push her away and tell her not to touch me. This is wrong. Not just because being this close to Rarity is wrong, but because she’s Rarity and I’m ruined. She’s a beautiful, white unicorn and I’m nothing. She has a future. Even if all of this legal stuff ruins her career, Rarity will always be the type of pony everypony should know. I’ll be lucky if I manage to go back to being the Ponyville Weather Team Captain. There are so many reasons I should let her go so she won’t get tainted by all the darkness on me, but having her hold the only thing that makes me feel any better and I’m selfish. So, I just snuggle in a little closer.

I wish I could fly a thousand feet up and then just let myself crash to the ground and die. That would end all of this. But I can’t do that. All I can do is this. This is what I can do. And, because she’s Rarity and she’ll do anything she can to help me, she lets me.

I fell asleep. It’s like my brain knew I couldn’t undo what I’d done. There was no way to get myself out of that situation without massive awkwardness and explanations that I didn’t have to give. So, my brain shut down to give me a restart.

The floor is softer than it was when I fell asleep. It takes me a second to realize that Rare must have moved me. Us. She moved us, because she’s still here with me. My body isn’t crushing against her anymore, but she’s still here. My head is on her chest, and she has one leg wrapped around my shoulders. She feels relaxed. Her breathing is even. For a second, I think that maybe she’s asleep. Then I hear a page turn and open my eyes.

We’re in her bed, under the blankets. Her sketchbook is on the table. There’s an empty cup there too. One of the books Spike brought over is floating in front of her.

“How long was I out?” I ask startling her a little.

She puts the book down, then looks at me. “Just for a couple of hours,” she answers, carefully controlling the concern and relief in her voice. It’s pretty obvious that she wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from me when I woke up.

“You didn’t sleep?”

“I worked on a couple of things instead.” She shrugs.

“Why?”

She’s making a face that I don’t get, like she can’t decide if she wants to facehoof herself and say something about me being dense or if she should just explain herself. It takes a second, but I watch her decide to tell me the truth instead of saving me from it.

“I have a few orders that I’d like to get finished and sent out before my career is ruined,” she says. She’s sad. She’s so damn sad.

What is she going to do? It’s not like anypony does background checks on who makes their clothes, but Rares has a name ponies know and the ponies that she really wants to sell clothes to aren’t going to like the idea of having a known criminal as their designer. They’ll know what she did. She can’t put her name into the hurricane of high fashion anymore. Those ponies will tear it apart. I don’t know much, but even I know that.

“I can’t fly,” I say blandly, because it’s the only thing I can think of to say. It’s not like I’m really worse off than she is, and I’m not trying to get her to feel bad for me. I just want her to know that I get it. I get losing something it’s taken a lifetime to build.

“I know, darling,” she says nuzzling me.

She gets it. I can tell from the heaviness in her voice. I’m glad that I don’t have to explain that the Wonderbolts aren’t going to save a spot for a pegasus that can’t fly. They aren’t going to put a rape victim on a poster for colts and fillies to hang up on their bedroom wall. I’m never going to be Rainbow Dash, Wonderbolt again. Now, I’m Rainbow Dash, that pony that got raped that one time.

We just stay like that for a while. Eventually, my stomach rumbles, but I don’t really want to eat. She’s playing with my mane. Opal got up on the bed at some point and fell asleep on me. I’m kinda starting to like that cat, but I miss Tank.

I look around the room and see her sketchbook. “Can I see?” I ask nodding to it.

She picks it up and opens it to a page at the front. It’s Nightmare Moon. It’s a view from the side. It takes me a second to remember that Rarity was standing up on the balcony thing when Nightmare Moon came back. That’s what’s happening in the picture. The next one I recognize. It’s almost exactly how that memory looks in my brain. It’s Fluttershy yelling at a dragon.

Twilight with her new wings. Applejack at a rodeo. Sweetie Belle on stage. Pinkie playing with the twins. And then, it’s me. There’s a picture of me streaking across the sky. There’s one of me in my gala dress. Then there’s one of me sleeping on a cloud. Every other picture looks like a memory, but this one isn’t. There’s no way Rares has ever seen me napping from that perspective. This one she just drew.

The next few she shows me are designs. A long, pretty dress for Fluttershy; a lab coat for Twilight; a huge party hat for Pinkie. The pictures make me feel kind of nostalgic. The designs make me smile. There’s one of Applejack that makes me laugh out loud. It’s a huge, flowy, apple-looking thing. The page has a note on the top that says “too much?”.

There are a lot more pictures in the book, but I’ve seen enough. “Thanks,” I say. “Those are awesome, Rare.”

“Of course,” she says quietly as she puts the book on the bedside table. There’s a distant look on her face. She’s sad. It’s like there are grey clouds rolling around behind her blue eyes.

I want to make her feel better. “How can I help?” I ask.

If I didn’t know what I just saw, then I’d think I’d made it up. She blinks and the clouds are gone. Instantly, there it is- that perfect, in-control, prissy, Rarity face. It’s so fake I could vomit. I push off her and sit up. “Don’t do that,” I say glaring at her. “Don’t fucking do that. Not to me.”

Her ears disappear, flat against her head. She looks… scared? No, not scared. She looks sorry, and that makes me mad too. I watch the tears rise then, in a single blink, they’re gone, which turns my anger into guilt. I didn’t mean to make her cry.

I force myself to take a breath. I settle down and relax a little. I reach for her hoof and she lets me take it. “I can’t stay here if you do that,” I tell her.

“I know I’m fucked up,” I add and start tracing flight patterns on her foreleg again. “And I suck at feelings and stuff, but I just- just-”

She doesn’t do anything to rush me. She’s patiently watching me, listening to me fight for words to explain myself, but she’s also obviously thinking something because the tears are back. Before she can blink them away again, I touch her face with my hoof- I wish it was a wing. The first drop falls from her eyes like the first drop of rain in a storm, and just like a storm so many more drops fall after the first one.

She doesn’t want me to watch her cry. She turns away from me and hides her face in the pillow. I lie down next to her. I want to pull her to me and hold her like she’s been holding me since it happened. I want her to know that she isn’t alone. I want to ride out the pain with her, but it feels wrong. I don’t have the same strength she does. I don’t have anything to give her that isn’t ruined.

So, I do the only thing I can think of- the only thing she’s done for me that feels like it’s safe to do for her. I sing. I sing her a sad lullaby from when I was little. When I finish the song, she’s looking at me again. She’s still crying, but she isn’t hiding it anymore. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“Sorry for getting mad.”

“It’s nothing, Rainbow. I shouldn’t have tried to hide from you. I apologize.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” I ask without trying to hide my concern after a couple of seconds.

“Because I’m frightened,” she answers whispering again.

“Of what?”

“Of what might happen to you if I sleep.”

“Rare-”

“I heard something, Dash.” She cuts me off, and there’s suddenly a hard, angry glint in her eye. “I heard it. I heard you and did nothing. The worst thing imaginable was taking place a stone’s throw from my front door. I heard it, and I did nothing. I chose to keep myself safe in my little house, rather than help somepony in trouble.”

“You didn-”

“You are broken, and it’s my fault. I heard ponies in the market, but didn’t trouble myself to listen.”

“Rare.” I sit up so I look right at her. “We were across the road. It happened fast. He only let me scream for a second the first time.”

“Oh Celestia,” she mumbles. “The first time.” I almost smack myself in the face. I’m supposed to be making her feel better, not worse.

For the first time, I realize that I’m probably not the only one that’s been reliving that night over and over. She’s been questioning herself, examining every little aspect of her memory.

Were those ponies? What time was it? Probably just some friends headed home after unwinding at the bar. No big deal. Who was it? Could she tell? A mare and a stallion? Were they fighting? Could she really hear the voices? Did she hear any of the words they said? Why were they wandering through that part of the market? Nopony lives there. And then the scream. My scream.

The whole thing plays through my mind from her perspective, and suddenly I get it. I wouldn’t be sleeping either. What if I missed something and somepony got hurt.

“How can you ever forgive me?” she asks her eyes turned away in shame.

Closing the gap between us is easy this time. Our barrels press together and I lift her face with my hoof, so she’s looking at me. “It wasn’t your fault, Rares.”

“I could have-”

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know that it isn’t true.”

“I know that you saved me,” I say simply. “I know that if he’d been inside me a couple minutes longer I probably would’ve died. I know that you’re the only reason I haven’t tried to kill myself since it happened.”

“Rainbow-” she tries to chide me.

“It’s true, Rare,” I cut her off.

There’s another pause, then she finally looks at me again. “I wish it had been me, Rainbow,” she says softly.

I know that all of my other friends have been thinking that they wish this didn't happen to me, but Rare wishes she could’ve taken my place. They aren’t just words to her. She really means it. She would rather take the place of anypony than see somepony in pain. If there were a way to magic me out of this and put herself in it, then she would. She’d do it, and not tell me about it, and when I was all whole and pissed she’d just smile and say some shit about how “a lady does things for her friends.”

“You can’t think like that,” I say and touch our foreheads together.

“It’s true,” she echoes my words back to me.

“I know, but that doesn’t make it ok, Rare.”

We stay like that, just breathing, for a long time. Long enough that eventually it feels like we can move on to talk about something else, because there’s nothing left to say about that night.

“What happened in the kitchen?” I ask.

Something about the question immediately puts her back in performance mode. She pulls back and all of her careful control returns to her posture. I watch her blink all the feelings away. Before I can get mad at her for hiding from me again, she blinks a second time and I can see her literally forcing herself to let me see all of the hurt feelings she’s trying to hide.

“It’s nothing, darling,” she finally says with a weary sigh like she’s hoping that I’ll accept the bare minimum of an explanation and move on, which is exactly what I would normally do, but life definitely isn’t normal right now. “Fluttershy is just worried. That’s all.”

“Worried about what?”

She rolls her eyes at me and sits up with a little huff. The look on her face is kind of priceless. It says, “of all the times for you to suddenly take an interest in things Rainbow Dash, you chose now?”

“She offered to take care of you,” Rare explains simply. “I declined on your behalf.”

“K...” That’s obviously not the whole story.

Rarity sighs and rolls her eyes again. “She pointed out that having you stay here might play into the story Big Macintosh’s attorney is trying to tell. That it may seem rather convenient that after what happened you apparently moved in with me.

“She also felt the need to point out that I’m not a terribly skilled caretaker, and that she may be better suited to providing you the care you need to recover as quickly as possible.”

“She had no right-” If I could fly out the window, and go crashing into Fluttershy’s house right now I would.

“She was only trying to help, Rainbow. I don’t believe she intended any of her words as an insult, and she made some rather valid points.”

“Like what?”

“That bit about the attorney, although I don’t care about that. The facts are what they are regardless of where you choose to convalesce.

“She also mentioned her concern that you and I are becoming too close. She’s worried that we’re developing some unhealthy codependency or some such thing. She and Twilight have obviously had some extensive conversations on the matter.”

“Do you think they have a point?” I ask even though I’m not totally sure I really want to know. Rares is how I’m coping. She’s how I keep breathing. What am I going to do if she tells me that she thinks all of that is unhealthy?

“I don’t know, Dashie,” she says carefully. “I’m sure it’s a valid concern, but it’s one I’ve been trying to keep in mind through all of this.”

“You have?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“And I think this whole problem isn’t even three days into its maturity. I think you and I are both traumatized and we’re doing the best we can. If you believe that you would recover better with Fluttershy, then, of course, I will support that decision. Although, I must admit I’d rather you stayed here with me.”

There's obviously a lot more she isn't saying, but I’ve heard enough. I pull her into a hug. She hugs me back, snuggling down into my neck. “I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “And I’m going to tell Shy where she and Twilight can put their opinions next time I see her.”

“She was only trying to help, Dash,” she says into my chest.

“I don’t care,” I say with only a little of the frustration I’m actually feeling. “Those two can either figure out how to calm down and be my friends or they can leave me the fuck alone. I’ve got enough to deal with without holding their hooves too.”

“They are being our friends, darling. The best way they know how.”

“Well then, I’ll tell them that I need them to figure out how to do it better.”

The silence is heavy. I know she’s right. I know they’re just trying to help, but I also know that if they asked me how they could help I’d tell them to back off.

There’s a knock at the window that startles both of us. It’s Pinkie. “Hey everypony,” she says and she sounds mostly normal with just the tiniest tint of worry in her voice. “Just wanted to stop by to check on you two. Do you need anything?”

My stomach picks that exact second to rumble. “I’d kill for a hay burger and fries,” I say.

“Silly Dashie.” She shakes her head. “You just need to say please. No murder required.”

“Hey, Pinkie Pie?”

“Yes, Dashie?”

“Will you please bring me a hay burger, fries, and strawberry shake?”

“Okie dokie lokie, Dashie. Do you want anything, Rarity?”

“An orange cream shake and a strawberry salad, please. Thank you, Pinkie Pie. Let me get you-”

“No problem-o. I’ll be back in a flash,” Pinkie blurts out before Rarity can finish offering to pay for our food. Then Pinkie’s gone and I can’t stop the smile on my face.

We get up. Rarity brushes her mane and resets the spell on her coat. I stretch. “Remind me to take some painkillers after we eat,” I say.

We go back downstairs. Pinkie’s knocking at the kitchen door when we get to the bottom. She’s got our food and a fresh Sugarcube Corner box with her. “You know, you aren’t doing anything to help me keep my figure, Pinkie Pie,” Rarity says. She’s mostly joking.

“But I am helping you keep your sanity, by ensuring you maintain proper sugar to stress ratios.”

“I’d say we need several more of these boxes to do that,” I chime in and we all laugh a little. Pinkie looks like she’s about to take off, but Rarity tells her that she’s welcome to stay and Pinks sits down.

“Not to be a terrible hostess, but I think I’ll take this into the workroom and finish up a few things if that’s alright with you girls?” Rare says. Pinkie springs back up and hugs her real quick. Rarity hugs back. It’s always weird, but awesome, to realize that my friends are friends with each other too. I almost never see Pinkie and Rarity hang out, but they’re obviously just as good of friends with each other as they are with me, which is awesome.

I’m about to tell Rarity that she really should sit down and eat, but then I remember that Rarity isn’t sore. She doesn’t have any sprains or broken bones. She’s just exhausted. “You sure you can work?” I ask.

“It’s nothing too taxing,” she assures me. “I should be fine.”

“K.” She nuzzles me as she leaves with her salad and shake levitating in front of her.

My burger tastes awesome, but I can’t finish it. The same goes for the fries. All of this sitting around doing nothing means that I don’t need nearly as much food as I’m used to.

Pinkie cleans the kitchen while I eat. It’s good for her to have something to do, and shows all the habits she’s picked up working at a bakery. She pulls the oven out and sweeps behind it. She takes out the trash. She opens the fridge for no apparent reason, then shuts it again.

“Pinks, what are you doing?” I ask.

“Applejack asked me to make a list of things you two might need.”

“She still at the station?”

“No,” Pinkie stops nosing through one of Rarity’s cabinets to look at me really quick. “She finished just a bit after we left. She’s at the farm now. She cried when she got home and saw everypony helping with planting.”

Applejack cried? Yet another reminder of exactly how messed up my life is right now. “Did she say how it went?”

“No. She said she doesn’t want to talk about it. Typical AJ.” Pinkie goes back to rummaging through cabinets. She’s probably checking to see if we have all of the ingredients for both mine and Rarity’s favorite cupcakes.

“If you see her later, will you ask her to come over? I just want to make sure she’s ok.”

Applejack is the Element of Honesty, but she’s a farm pony to the core. When she talks about feelings, she says what she means; but she’d really rather not talk about feelings if she can avoid it. She’s kind of my go-to pony for talking about feelings and stuff, because the conversations are always short and easy to understand. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to talk to her like that about all of this, but I want her to know that I’ve still got her back.

“Sure, Dashie.” She’s scrubbing the inside of Rarity’s oven now. It doesn’t really look very dirty in there. I wonder when the last time Rarity actually used the oven was.

“Hey Pinkie?”

“Yeah, Dashie.”

“How are you doing?”

She stops cleaning, pulls her head out of the oven, and looks at me. It’s easy to miss if you don’t really know her- Pinks puts a big ol’ smile on top of all of her feelings- but she’s messed up and trying not to show it.

“Come here, buddy,” I say holding my hooves open for a hug.

She walks over to me but doesn’t hug me. “It’s ok, Dashie,” she says with a smile. “I know you don’t really like hugs right now.”

“I like hugs from my best friend, now hug me dammit. Just be careful about it.”

Pinkie gives awesome hugs. She has the most practice of anypony I know.

“I’m sorry, Dashie,” she whispers.

I’m not one hundred percent sure what she’s sorry for. Is she sorry for what happened to me? Is she sorry for being messed up about it? Is she sorry for something she said to the investigator ponies? Is she sorry that things are messed up with Twilight and Fluttershy? Or, is she just sorry for all of that? I just squeeze her and say, “It’s ok, Pinkie.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks pulling away.

“Not really. Do you?”

“Kinda. Do you really think they’ll take Rarity away?”

“I don’t know. I think it’d be really messed up if they did.”

Pinkie nods. “Dashie?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about the feelings?” She glances toward the workroom.

She makes it sound like she thinks there’s something going on between me and Rarity, but she doesn’t sound worried about it or anything. “No,” I answer. “There’s nothing to talk about. Not really. Rare is just helping me out.”

“Okie dokie lokie,” she says quietly. Then, after a long pause, she says, “She needs to sleep.”

“I know.” I sigh. “I just don’t know how to make her do it. I don’t know how to make her feel safe.”

“Maybe she’ll feel safe, when she feels like you feel safe?”

“She’s the only thing that makes me feel safe.”

“Rarity isn’t a thing, Dashie.” She says, quickly reminding me that Rarity isn’t some security blanket I can just wrap myself in forever. She’s a pony, and she’s taking care of me, and she needs to be taken care of too.

“I know. I’m trying. I’ll try harder.”

“I don’t think you need to try harder,” Pinkie says thoughtfully. “She just needs to know that all the things she’s doing to help you feel safe are working.”

That’s a hard one to wrap my brain around. I’ve always been the pony that makes other ponies feel safe. I’m the brave one, the awesome one; but not this time. This time, Rarity is the awesome one. She’s the one holding everything together with just her hooves.

“How do I do that, Pinkie?”

“You just tell her,” Pinkie answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Rarity likes knowing she’s doing a good job.”

“What if she doesn’t believe me?”

“Then you tell her again, silly.”

Pinkie stays for a few more minutes, then decides she should go check on Applejack. As she’s leaving she tells me that Twilight got a letter from the Princess saying she and Luna would be here in the morning.

I get up and go check on Rarity. She’s humming to herself again. It’s the lullaby I sang to her upstairs. She’s getting parts of it wrong, but figuring it out pretty good. It felt good to take a little break from each other, but it feels even better to be back in the same room. I’m thinking about sitting down, but I want something to do. I realize there are a few letters I could write, so I go grab some paper and a pen off her desk. I almost grab a pencil, but I’m guessing those are fancy drawing, fashion, uppity, write in solid glittering gold pencils. I also grab a book to use as a desk.

The fainting couch in the workroom is my favorite. I think I’ve tried them all out now. I think this one gets used the most. Probably because of all the dramatic fits Rares has over designs that “simply won’t do!”

I spread my stuff out and start a letter to Spitfire. I don’t know what the procedure is, but I know if I just don’t report for practice or training then my flank is gonna get kicked.

Hey Spitz,
Something happened, and I don’t really know how to deal with it so here it goes. I got attacked. Got beat up pretty bad. It happened Wednesday night after work. I went to the doctor, and they said I’m grounded for at least a month. My wings have more holes than feathers. I know somewhere in the manual it tells me what to do now, but my manual is at my house and I can’t get home. I’m staying with a friend for now. So, I’m hoping you can help me out and tell whoever needs to know, so they can send me whatever paperwork they need to so they can let me go, and bring somepony up off the reserve list.

That sucked to write, but at least it’s done. Next one is to Thunderlane. He isn’t my boss, but he can tell the ponies in Cloudsdale that need to know. I feel kinda bad for not taking care of this earlier, but I really didn’t think about it.

Thunderlane,
If you haven’t heard already, I got messed up pretty bad after the bar on Wednesday. Doc says I’m grounded for a while. Tell whoever needs to know, so they can reassign my stuff. I should be ok for ground duty in about a week. I’ll let you know when I find out for sure.

I seal the letters and look up to see what Rares is doing. That pony works fast. When I came in here, I had no idea what she was doing. She was bent over something at her desk. Now, I guess she was cutting out the pieces that she’s been putting on that fake pony thing. It’s going to be a pretty cool dress when it’s done.

“That could be about twenty percent cooler,” I say trying not to smile.

“Yes, well- not everypony is up to that standard, darling. Very few have the- oh what is the word?”

“Awesomeness?”

“Hmmm. No.”

“Radicalness?”

“Not exactly.”

“Coolness?”

“It’s more….”

“Too cool for their own good-ness?”

“Ah! Yes, precisely.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re sooooo funny, Marshmallow.”

“Wherever did you come up with that nickname?”

“I don’t know. ‘One mustn’t fight inspiration, darling. It comes when it comes!’” That gets me a glare over the top of her glasses. “You don’t like it?”

“I’m not entirely sure it matters if I like it or not, does it?”

“Not really.”

“C’est la vie.”

“Gesundheit.”