I take a deep breath of the fresh Ponyville air and smile. It is a good day to be out shopping. Then again, any day that promises to end in a date with my marefriend is a very good day. I dance into the Ponyville marketplace, humming a happy tune to myself.

We've had quite a few over the months we've been together, she and I, but that doesn't make this one any less special. Indeed, we could spend every day doing nothing but sharing words over tea and exchanging kisses, and I'd still enjoy doing just that yet months from now. True, consummate love never grows old.

There is a rather poignant difference between being a romantic and being in a romance. There have been more problems with our relationship than I could have ever anticipated—but those hardships only makes the feelings that survive stronger still. It's all worth it for another lazy afternoon tea with my favorite pony.

Speaking of which . . .

I give the pony walking beside me a nuzzle on her cheek. She smiles and coos her appreciation before returning the nuzzle. The pony who was with me through all our trials. The pony who has endless bounds of kindness and forgiveness. The pony whom I love so very, very much: Fluttershy, my sweetheart. Delicate as a flower, yet strong as a gryphon—life saw it fit to bring us together, and life has been a little bit brighter ever since then. How lucky I would be to find a pony who was as benevolent as Fluttershy, and how much luckier I am that she is in my life.

I don't suspect a lot of ponies in Ponyville would have expected the two of us to be romantically involved. It's not as if I made any effort to hide my previous preferences to, well, run after stallions. Even now, that predilection is not really untrue—stallions are the only ones whom I can "look at" with any real attraction. Simply, I'm not interested in mares in that way . . . most mares, that is. Fluttershy is my sole exception; she's the one who convinced me that I could be with her, and we've been together ever since. Even so, it's not really her body that attracts me—it's her entirety. She's special like that.

Leave the surprise to the suitors—and leave my Fluttershy to me. We love each other; that is the shape of the world, and that is all that needs to matter.

Even the mundane shopping trip is made better when I do it with her. For whatever help she does or does not provide in my shopping needs, her company is always welcome. Fluttershy extends a wing over my withers and leans against me, closing her eyes. We walk flank-to-flank, hoofsteps synchronized.

"So, sweetheart, what is it that we need to buy today?" I ask sweetly, softly, not attempting to bring my voice above the noise of the market. I can scarcely hear it, but I know Fluttershy can, what powers of listening she has. If she can hear the rasp of an injured cricket, she can hear me easily.

"Just some flowers and a few apples, I think. We don't need much for our date," she responds just as quietly, not opening her eyes. I hear what words I can make out and read the rest on her lips.

I nod and amble with her lackadaisically down the bazaar. When I see Roseluck's flower stall come into view, I flare my shoulder blade against Fluttershy's wing and point my chin towards it, prompting my next movement. Fluttershy opens her eyes reluctantly and turns them to where I'm pointing. When she understands, she gives me a parting nuzzle and folds her wing back against her side, letting me continue unfettered.

As I get closer to the stall, however, I see Roseluck isn't behind it. Instead, it's—

"Good day, Vital Acacia," I say to the stallion manning the stall. He was hired to cover sales in Ponyville while the flower fillies went on extended holiday—something about an expo, I recall. He's been on the job for a few weeks now, and I've seen him apprenticing with Roseluck a couple times. Today is the first time the stallion's been on his own. Though in reality, he's barely looks like a stallion at all: his powder-white face is that of a doll's and looks far younger than I believe him to be.

He turns to me, stifles a yelp, and falls into a semi-graceful bow. "Hi, Miss Rarity," he says in a reedy tenor. He looks up. "How can I help you today?"

I put a hoof to my snout and chuckle, half from genuine mirth and half from social propriety. It's the ladylike response to such a gentlemanly gesture, and I like collecting the responses stallions have to an attractive mare. Acacia doesn't seem the type who would take it well, but I've been surprised before. "I'd like some flowers for feeding, my dear," I say, instantly dropping to a rather more familiar epithet than I'd usually use, testing him.

He stands back up stock-straight. "O-of course!" he says, clearly flustered. He regains composure admirably, however, and manages to continue without (too much) stuttering, describing the wares behind him. "We have the classic flowers, like roses and lilacs. White chrysanthemums are tasty, too, very sweet. I have a few birds-of-paradise, and those ones just came in from . . ."

He points towards various flowers of varying interest while I observe his movements. He's of a slight build and not very muscular, but what strikes me most is the purity of his coat. White coats take a lot of work to keep clean—I would know! The fact he has to deal with dirt on a daily basis makes his purity all the more impressive. A cultivated beauty not unlike mine, in fact.

He looks under the counter of the stall briefly. "We technically have dahlias, but . . ." He pauses. "Actually, they're your favorite flower, right?" he says.

I chuckle again, genuinely impressed that he knows. I can't remember ever telling him about my preferences. "Right you are, Acacia! You must be very perceptive," I say in a lilting melody, winking. "I'll have a dozen dahlias, please."

He opens his mouth in a silly smile but freezes suddenly, smile twisting. "Um, sure, but . . ." He looks under the counter again. "Filthy Rich actually pre-ordered those, and those are all we have. We won't get another shipment of dahlias until next week. But . . ." He looks back to me and reasserts his smile, the blush on his cheeks proud. "I can deal with him later. For you."

I put a hoof to my chest and mock-gasp, looking at him coquettishly. "Oh, how kind of you, Acacia! Thank you so much, dear."

He's flustered again, clearly not expecting a compliment. He putters about aimlessly and half-starts a sentence or two before bowing again and managing to get out, "I'll arrange the bouquet for you, Miss Rarity!"

While I watch him reach under the counter and bundle up the dahlias, though, I feel a persistent poking on my right side. Fluttershy is there, prodding my flank with her hoof. She's not normally so overtly obvious in her ways to get my attention—a gentle breeze from her wings would have been enough. Nevertheless, I back up to her and murmur, "What is it?"

Her lips are pinched shut, and her brows are furrowed. She says nothing but gestures sharply with her head to a stall behind us. I raise an eyebrow and look towards the stall. It's selling quills, parchment, ink, and other miscellaneous stationery. Twilight could probably spend hours there, debating with the salespony that this blue ink is better than that one. It wouldn't be an isolated incident, sadly. There's nothing else remarkable about the stall, aside from the fact that it's fairly popular with many ponies around it perusing the wares there and a tiny out-of-place emerald leaf behind it. But leaves don't normally, well, bob around so strangely, and it looks oddly metallic . . .

"Spike?" I whisper almost unconsciously.

I purse my lips. My eye has never failed me; I know that's him. Whether or not Fluttershy noticed him as well, I'm not sure. But why else would she have pointed out the stall? I know she's also quite observant, if not in the same way. If she didn't see anything odd, perhaps she heard something that I couldn't, something that brought her to the same conclusion.

Our previous meeting with Spike was . . . less than pleasant. He knows about our relationship now, thanks in no small part to said previous meeting. I can't be grateful enough that he doesn't hate me or Fluttershy for it, but it's been a quite a few weeks since then. He says he's forgiven me, but I don't know how he's been coping. I haven't been in a rush to talk with him again, either; I don't think he would want my company.

"Fluttershy," I begin nervously, "Should we leave? Spike is there, and I don't know if he should be—"

My words are stolen away as Fluttershy wraps me in her wing and turns me towards the stationery stall. "Fluttershy! What are you—th-the flowers!" I say sharply, pointing back to Roseluck's stall with my head. Acacia's still there, half hidden by the bustle of moving ponies, now looking around confused.

Fluttershy stops and looks back at Acacia herself. She turns back to the stationery stall, then Acacia, then the stall again, all the while still wearing a terribly tense look on her face. I still don't know what's going on, why she would want to take me away now when she herself told me we needed flowers, or why she would want to talk to Spike instead, but this sort of panic and impulsive behavior seems rather excessive, even for Fluttershy.

"Is there something wrong, sweetheart?" I say, putting my hoof on her face and trying to instill some calm into her.

Her eyes eventually land on mine. "I . . ." The tension on her face slowly drains away, only to be replaced by that familiar worry, then regret. Fluttershy looks down. "I'm sorry, Rarity. N-nothing's wrong," she says in a despondent and apologetic tone.

I hide a frown. I know her well enough by now to know she's not telling the truth, and she must know that I know that. She's not even trying very hard to hide it. There is something wrong. And yet, I also know she doesn’t want to tell me, at least, not right now, whether to preserve my feelings or as an attempt at actual deception. She might be upset at Spike, or Acacia, or me, or herself; I don't know. How I wish I could read her and figure out the reason so I could solve it, but she is too quiet, in words and mannerisms. I don't know what to look for. I love her dearly, but that doesn't mean I can easily understand her when she's like this.

"Shh." I extend a hoof around her neck and bring her close to me. It doesn't matter, at least not now. My marefriend is upset, and that is my first priority. She puts her head against my breast, closing her eyes. I close mine too and nuzzle her gently.

We all have secrets to hide, but if Fluttershy is happy, I don't need to know them. I don't want answers or truth or chivalry; I've only ever wanted her happiness. That's all I will ever need from her. And if she is unhappy, that is what I will seek to remedy. I hold her to my breast and kiss her on the brow, waiting for that tension to dissolve away. Slowly, I feel her shoulders soften and her neck relax. When I think she's ready, I bring back my head to look at her and speak again, quietly.

"We still need flowers for our date, yes? Can I get them?"

The worry comes back comes back to Fluttershy's face for a moment, but she dispels it quickly. "Come back," she says, releasing me. It's an odd thing she said: I question it in my mind but don't reveal anything on my face. I'm only going to get flowers—hardly something to be concerned about—and when would I not come back?

But I nod and give Fluttershy a brief nuzzle before trotting back to Acacia's stall. He's still standing there with the bouquet in hoof. "Um, hi again, Miss Rarity?" he says. "I didn't know what was happening or if you didn't want the flowers anymore." Said flowers are now bundled nicely and sitting on the counter.

I wave off the suggestion nonchalantly. "Apologies, Acacia. I do want the flowers; I was just talking with my marefriend. How much will it be?"

Acacia reaches for the flowers but pauses when his hoof is on the stems. "Mare . . . friend?" He cocks his head to the side to look past me, double checking who I was talking with. "With Fluttershy?"

I cock my head as well. Here we go again. "Yes, dear, marefriend and Fluttershy. She's very special to me."

"But I thought—"

"Sometimes friendships grow into things we don't expect," I say, waving my hoof in a circle, answering what's sure to be his next question. Playing the friendship card normally puts an end to these discussions—given our reputations, no ponies challenge us on friendship matters. It's not that I want to be brusque, but for Fluttershy's sake, I'd like to keep the details of our relationship on a need-to-know basis. Our best friends know, of course, but while I like Acacia, I don't think he's yet earned the right to know such private matters.

Ah, the tragedies of being an attractive mare!

"I hope you're not upset, dear," I say, putting my hoof on his own and looking into his eyes earnestly while wearing a coy smile.

He can only look at Fluttershy for a second longer before his eyes are drawn into mine—and the spell is cast. "Upset? N-no, of course not, Miss Rarity!" he says, blush proud on his cheeks once again.

I nod. "Thank you, Acacia." I unlock my gaze and bring them to the flowers on the counter instead. "How much are the dahlias?"

Acacia looks at me, then the flowers, then Fluttershy, then me again. Finally, he says, "Sixteen bits, Miss Rarity, but I can make it fourteen for you two."

My hoof comes off of his and presses against my breast. "Oh, you are too kind, darling!" Despite the discount offer, however, I levitate to the counter the requisite sixteen bits plus a generous tip for fabulous service.

I light my horn and lift the bouquet off his hooves, bringing it to my nose for a sniff. Roseluck always sources the most fragrant of flowers; they smell ripe and strong but not overbearingly so. They probably wouldn't remain good for very long, but for now, at least, they're perfect. It's too bad that Filthy Rich will miss out on his flowers, but I'll make it up to him somehow. Probably. "I must bid you farewell, my dear. Good day, Acacia!" I say, offering him a shallow bow before walking away elegantly but swiftly enough that he wouldn't be able to offer me back the extra bits if he noticed.

"Bye, Miss Rarity!" I hear behind me.

Just as Fluttershy asked, I do return quickly, flowers in tow. My exchange with Acacia couldn't have taken more a few minutes. She looks a bit less nervous now, but her eyes are still trained on me, like she was staring the whole time I was at the flower stall.

I swing the flowers around to her muzzle and let her take a sniff of them as well—a preview of the date we have planned. "So, did you want to see Spike?" I ask next.

Fluttershy closes her eyes and appreciates the bouquet of the flowers before answering. She looks to the stationery stall. "Um . . ."

Er, I thought she would answer. She was so insistent on bringing me to him before. Personally, I would rather not at this moment, but it's her wishes that I will attend to. Though right now, I'm not sure what she wants. I follow her eyes to the stall and who's hiding behind it. It's definitely Spike, with the green spines and flash of purple scales. He turns around, and half an eye appears from behind the stall, darting around. Eventually, it finds us, and our eyes meet.

Oh dear. Fluttershy and I look to each other simultaneously before looking back to him. Whether or not she or I wanted to, it can't be helped now. Friends greet each other when they see each other, even if one of them is hiding. Courtesy demands it.

We glance to each other again before I hide the flowers in my saddlebags and we make our way behind the stationery stall, picking through the crowd around it. A sale on quills or something—I'm not sure why it's so popular right now. I can't be bothered to figure out, though; I'm busy wondering what I will say to Spike. Given Fluttershy and I have a date tonight, this doesn't seem like the opportune time to exchange small talk. But . . . I can't avoid him forever, and delaying the inevitable was what caused our problems in the first place.

Once we get through the crowd and on the veranda behind the stalls, I see him, now not peering around the stall but simply sitting behind it, a large sack of presumably stationery materials beside him. His eyes are halfway between me and the dirt in front of him. I stop about five paces away, uncomfortable with coming any closer.

. . .

How easy it used to be for us to converse. He came up to me, hearts in his eyes, and he always started with some affectionate greeting, one I'd respond in kind to. We exchanged goings-on of our respective days. I complained, and he listened. He waxed, and I listened. I asked of him little favors, and he told me he would get it done. Finding things, buying food, organizing fabrics as he's so good at—maybe ten minutes of his time, all while we'd chat. A little charm here and there, and he tried not to let that charm affect him too much.

But the situation has changed, and such easy conversation seems many miles away. Spike wouldn't appreciate such banter now. Charm and charisma are weapons in words, ones I always have close at hoof—what else do I have if I don't want to use them?

. . .

"Hello, Spike," I say, concealing the uncertain quaver in my voice.

"Hi, Rarity," he responds.

. . .

"Are you . . . are you doing well?"

"Fine."

. . .

Fluttershy walks to the bag beside Spike and examines it. "Goodness, Spike. It looks like you bought a lot of things today," Fluttershy says. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, the silent relief I have at ending this farce of a "conversation." She has far less trouble speaking to Spike than I do, it seems. "Parchment, ink, quills . . . an easel?" She gently pokes at the folding wooden structure protruding from the top of the sack. "That bag is almost bigger than you are! Do you need any help bringing it back to the castle?"

"I . . . I should be alright," he responds. The less tense and defensive way he responds to Fluttershy than he did me does not go unnoticed. Spike goes behind the sack and attempts to lift it up. His arms aren't wide enough, however, and where he can lift one section, it sags in other. He tries a different approach, wrestling to the top of the bag. He manages to tie it off and get a hold of it, at which point he starts dragging it along the ground. It works. Nominally. I'm not even quite sure how he managed to buy so many things.

Fluttershy isn't having that, however. She works her head under the bag and manages to lift it onto her back, Spike letting go as his handholds rise away from him. She grunts with exertion and flares her wings out to the side to stabilize the load.

"Are you sure, Fluttershy? I can help," Spike asks, still reaching up to the bag but unable to do more than poke its bottom.

"That's okay, Spike, but thank you—nnf—for offering. This is going back to the castle, right?"

"Yeah," he says, lowering his arms reluctantly.

Fluttershy sets pace back to Twilight's castle, Spike right beside her, ready to catch the load if it ends up too much for her. I lag behind by a few paces, supporting the sack with a discrete bit of magic. It's not particularly heavy, but it is large and unwieldy. I'm very well capable of lifting the whole thing by myself, but I'm loathe to do that if it will cause him to stop talking to Fluttershy. She got him to open up, and I don't want to interfere with that.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I would fly—ngh—you back home on my back, but you bought a lot today," Fluttershy says.

"That's . . . that's okay, Fluttershy. You don't need to. I just wish Twilight didn't wait until all her stocks were completely gone before she asked me to buy more because—" Spike gestures to the sack. "—then she needs everything at once."

"Oh, goodness. But I thought Twilight was organized."

"She is, where it matters, at least. Her research is organized by date in its own library, and her references are alphabetized, categorized by subject, and cross-referenced by author. She just forgets that writing down this research needs, well, quills and parchment. And she doesn't remember until she doesn't have any more quills or parchment to write with."

"How long will this last her?"

Spike looks up at the massive sack quizzically, sizing it. "Four days, maybe three if I restock her coffee tomorrow."

"That's very responsible of you, Spike!" Fluttershy turns her head and favors him with a smile. "Twilight is so lucky to have someone like you to help her."

A subtle blush appears on Spike's face, well-hidden by his complexion. He walks with his chest a little prouder—a small change, but one that conveys confidence. "I mean, she's not normally this busy with research. But what with Starlight taking a trip back to her hometown and Twilight winning a grant to investigate the properties of flash bee honey, she's been super busy working on that and only that. It doesn't help that we only a little sample of the honey left, and it would take a long time to get any more. She's trying to make that sample last."

I tune out a little at this point, satisfied that Spike and my marefriend are getting along, and turn my thoughts inward. Their conversation is easy, almost natural. I feel a brief pang of jealousy at the fact nopony is paying me any heed, but I tamp it down quickly. If he is not eager to speak with me, that's his business. I'm just fortunate he's not trying to break us apart even now.

"So I guess you'll be tending to Twilight's needs for today?" Fluttershy asks.

Spike lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Yeah, pretty much. Have to make sure that she eats and drinks every so often. She forgets if I'm not there to remind her." He shakes his head. "What about you, Fluttershy? What are you doing today?"

Fluttershy stumbles with her next step, and I'm just able to catch the sack and re-center it on her back. She doesn't say anything immediately; she looks back to me instead. I return her gaze, unsure of what to say or how to answer. We both know very well what we're doing, but should Spike know? His once-favorite pony going on a date but not with him . . . how would he react if we told him?

Spike notices the silence and follows Fluttershy's eyes back to mine. "Are you doing something toge—oh. Right." The suddenly despondent tone in his voice tells me that he's put the pieces together. He turns back around and keeps walking.

. . .

Again, the silence. Whenever Spike is reminded of our relationship, any semblance of camaraderie becomes much more strained. He's still my friend, he tells me—but moments like this question whether the words he said came from his heart or his mouth. "Would you rather walk the rest of the way with Fluttershy alone, Spike?" I ask quietly. It'll mean that she and I will be separated, and I can't help with the load anymore, but if it pleases him . . .

There's another conspicuous silence as Spike thinks of what to say. "No . . . it's fine."

. . .

"So . . . how was your day like so far, Rarity?" Spike asks, some false enthusiasm in his voice. I don't know whether he's genuinely interested or looking for meaningless banter. It seems he too is struggling to come to terms with how conversation in our new relationship works.

"It's been . . . pleasant. Fluttershy and I went shopping for flowers, as I'm sure you saw us do." I pause, trying to think of something less . . . consequential to talk about. "Before that, I was just helping Sweetie Belle with her homework. She has an exam next week. It's about . . . Neightonian mechanics? I think? She also said she wanted me to help calculate Scootaloo's trajectory or something." I shake my head, already feeling a phantom headache. "I barely know anything about physics; my schooling days were so long ago, and I never paid much attention in that class. How quickly the little ones grow." Even as I say it, I have a feeling my subconscious was directing that sentence at more than just Sweetie Belle.

"So that's what that trebuchet outside the castle is for . . ." Spike muses to himself. He speaks up. "Do you . . . want me to help with that?"

Despite myself, I chuckle. I don't know what to be more impressed by: that Spike is still willing to do favors for me or that he knows Neightonian physics. Though considering he spends so much time with Twilight, I honestly shouldn't be surprised about the latter. (Also, I should probably have a talk with Sweetie Belle about how friends don't launch other friends into orbit, but I feel like she won't listen.)

"That is very kind of you, but I'm sure you have your hands full with Twilight. I wouldn't want to take you away from your important research. Thank you for offering, Spi . . . ke." Muscle-memory almost has me add "-key Wikey" to the end. Stupid. It's a nice epithet, I must confess, but it's a relic of times gone by. Something tells me Spike wouldn't appreciate it now. Even "darling" sounds a little belittling.

From then on, though, Fluttershy, Spike, and I converse together, and we manage to stay away from consequential topics. Talking with Spike again is not so different than I first believed—just a touch more respectful. And I make sure my words are stripped of flirt and innuendo, however easily it would normally come. It means that even as we talk about ordinary things, there's an underlying tension that's keeping us from speaking entirely naturally with each other. I don't know how long it will take before that tension goes away, if it ever will. I’m just glad that we're talking like friends again.

Eventually we do make it back to the castle just as our conversation topics run dry. Fluttershy lays down on her belly, and Spike and I help unload her burden. I resist the urge to dote on her as she stretches her wings and examines them for damage before folding them back to her side. Those gestures are ones I don't think Spike needs to see now. Even as he drags the sack of supplies up the steps to the front door the castle and I take my place beside Fluttershy again, there's a small distance between us—the difference between amicability and intimacy. I don't want to close it yet, and neither does she.

"You will be fine from hereon, Spike?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, giving the sack another tug. "Twilight'll know where to put everything."

"Please tell Twilight to take a break every so often. So she doesn't get herself sick. I would know," Fluttershy says with a small giggle. "And you should look after yourself too, Spike. I know you two are working very hard, but we want to see our friends outside sometimes. All of our friends," she finishes, smiling.

Spike offers a half-hearted one back. "I'll be sure to tell her that," he says as he opens the door the castle and stands at the portal. Just as the doors are about to swing closed, however, he puts out an arm to bar one open. "Have a . . . have a good date."

We look to each other at the same time. There's hope in her eyes; perhaps things are looking up after all. "We will," we say to him, equally simultaneously.

Spike blinks twice. Just as the doors close in front of him, I see him turn around and bring an arm up to his eyes.

We look to each other again. I can't expect Spike to be ambivalent about this development; I can't expect him to be happy about it. It's a matter of tiptoeing around his feelings as he recovers for however long that will take. I don't know if our presence helps or hurts him in doing that.

Fluttershy puts a hoof on my shoulder. "He'll be okay. He's a strong little dragon."

I lean into her, taking comfort in her contact just as she did in mine not long ago. "I hope you're right, sweetheart."