Routines.

My life is full of them, some more enjoyable than others. Familiarity is always welcome, because it encourages a sense of security — something I suppose my nerves will forever say I can never have enough of. And I’ll admit, returning to the Lunar Bean after about a month and a week is nice, especially sitting at the same table we always would, a latte in my hoof and him just across from me with a glass of apple juice.

The circumstances, however, could do with some improvement.

“Well, that was a bust,” I say, bringing the cup to my mouth for a sip, finally breaking the minutes-long peace between us, if one could call it peaceful.

“Yep.” Philip twists the glass on a coaster, the ice in his drink having mostly melted by this point, and the liquid threatening to overflow. “Good thing she’s not pressing charges.”

I cock at eyebrow at him as I finish a mouthful. “Why would she?”

He looks up at me like I’d questioned the most flawless piece of logic in the world, but more curious than flabbergasted. “Well, she was assaulted, wasn’t she? By a Royal Guard no less. A lot of money in it if she won a court case over it, I bet.”

I turn my head to look at him more directly and gently frown in confusion. “That’s what you expect her to do?”

He shrugs, glancing over the railing to his left. “She seemed nice enough so… I guess not. But in my world, and in the States in particular, you can’t always trust the cops to police themselves. Sometimes an asshole gets the protection of the entire department, either because they agree with the guy or they want to save face. So, if you want justice for excessive use of force, you’d have to take it up with a judge yourself, and out of your own pocket.”

I blink at him. “Seriously?”

“It’s the way things are over there.” He takes a long sip of his own, relishing the flavour as he returns his drink to the table. “I’ve never experienced anything like that myself, thank the gods, but listen to the news often enough and you find patterns. Black kid picking up trash in a white neighbourhood gets asked by a cop if he belongs there, then threatened with violence for refusing to comply. Unarmed Latino shot and killed while running away from a potentially minor offence.”

I draw my head back in shock as my frown deepens.

“I don’t know.” He slouches in his chair and cradles his head with a hand to his temple, staring at his glass. “Maybe I’m just still not used to this place, and a world that’s so… perfect, I guess.”

I huff a small, soft, admittedly somewhat amused laugh, then shake my head lightly as I take another sip. “Honestly, the more I learn about your Earth, the more I wonder why you’d ever want to go back.”

He looks up at me again, pointedly.

A cold tingle shoots through my chest as I realise exactly what I’d just said and who I’d said it to, and I almost choke on the latte as it passes down my throat. “Sorry,” I quickly splutter. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He lingers on me, his gaze still deliberately interrogational, but eventually folds his arms and slumps his head over the backrest, staring at the cloudless midday sky with a sigh.

I sigh as well and my eyes lower along with my ears. That was a stupid thing to say and I should’ve known that the very instant I thought of it; we’d been over the subject more than enough times already to learn the boundaries, and here I am perpetuating the problem.

I look over to my left, to the interior of the café, to see who’s watching us. Not many, it seems, thankfully, or else I’d have to pay close attention to how I act around him, lest the rumours seem even more credible. Word of the incident at Redcliff hasn’t spread — and likely never would so long as Gytha did as she promised, recognising it was a simple, if jarring misunderstanding — but the very fact we went there raised more than a few eyebrows.

We knew they’d whisper and speculate — inevitable, frankly, given our status as celebrities — but we tried anyway. But since the whole endeavour started taking a turn we didn’t mean to take, and was then cut short before we could get anywhere meaningful… I can’t help feeling this was yet another mistake. Perhaps I couldn’t have helped things, but they happened to me — to us.

It sticks with you, like a stain you can’t wash out.

Brave, Ironside and Able sit at a table of their own, and against his own code of conduct, the newbie is having a conversation with the veterans, not keeping watch as dutifully as his occupation demands. I can take an educated guess as to what they’re discussing themselves.

“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Philip murmurs, listlessly shaking his head at the heavens as if they’d disappointed him.

“Dating?” I ask, ears rising to their normal positions.

“Yeah.” He lets his answer hang in the air for a moment, and then shrugs once more. “Well, trying to date, at least.”

I nod, agreeing on the surface level, but I somehow get the feeling there’s a little to his comment. So, I offer some bait. “Neither can I, really.”

“It’s not the same,” he counters, returning to me, still with his arms folded — not hostile or confrontational, just speaking his mind. And then he gestures to me. “I mean, bluntly speaking, you’re… you know…”

And there it is: the elephant in the room. “Yes, I’m a tiny horse,” I finish, eyelids at half-mast, punctuating the statement with a third sip of coffee. “Didn’t see you complaining too much yesterday, though.”

“Well, no, but…” He glances away with another sigh and gathers his thoughts. “I don’t know. I was in the moment, I guess. I mean, it’s easier to overlook… certain aspects when I’m in a good mood, and when I can pretend it’s just like any other outing we’ve been on.”

My ear twitches as I feel the slight pang down my nape, and I quirk an eyebrow as I angle my head inquisitively. “So… that picnic didn’t really count as anything special?”

“What?” He blinks, taken aback. “No, of course it did. I mean…”

I wait for his full answer, legitimately keen to hear a full explanation, but maybe something inside me enjoys throwing him for a loop. Just a bit.

His brows furrow and he casts his attention to the rest of the café, having another, lengthier sip of his juice to buy himself a little more time. “I like this,” he says almost calmly. Almost. His expression and a very faint but altogether very familiar tension in his voice tell a different story. And then he motions to the building with his glass as he turns to me with a sentimental look. “This is nice to me. Because here, I’m not chatting with someone I’m dating, or trying to date — or court, as you once put it way back when at Twilight’s place.

“Here, I’m talking with a friend. Someone I’ve known for a whole year. Someone I can be comfortable around. Maybe even confide in if things get rough. Which they have, multiple times. So, aside from that one morning—"

“Philip…”

“—Which never happened, as far as we’re concerned…” he assures, raising his free hand in mock surrender, but soon drifts off into an uneasy pause. He breaks the relative silence with a shake of his head and a shrug of his shoulders, his gaze troubled. “Look, I just don’t know how else to behave around you. Or even if I’m supposed to behave differently, or what’s acceptable, or… anything, really. And I know we need to communicate — to talk about our fears and feelings — but the more thought I give it…”

Aside from the brief warning, I really am listening to what he’s saying, and I think I understand. Maybe not in the same way, and perhaps I’ll never truly fathom how difficult a process this is for him, but the effects are clear to see.

“I know I’m not making much sense, but I’m new to this, okay? Not to dating specifically, but, like… I don’t know. I don’t want to say the species barrier is making me act this way, but… I kind of feel like this is my first time all over again, or something.”

“It’s not a barrier,” I affirm in as supportive a tone as I can manage. “It’s an obstacle.”

His focus returns to me from staring off into the distance and he shuts his mouth, seeming no less disturbed. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Fleet, but when you say that… I feel like you’re pressuring me into this.”

…Oh jeez, yeah, that… that actually does sound like I’m pressuring him, if not to abandon his old self then to at least speed things along, like I’m impatient for something more official. I lower my gaze and fold my forelegs, teeth clenching as my ears pin back a little way; no hat or shades to hide behind now, only a silvery blue polo and a pair of black shorts. Today may not be a special occasion, but the stigma of exposure has remained, and it’s given me an excuse to broaden my wardrobe.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he implores, leaning in with an uncertain but undeniably empathetic look. “I… I love you, Fleet. More than anything. But in what way, I don’t know. And as much as I want to give you and me a chance, because that’s fair and the right thing to do… I guess part of me prefers not to know. It’s worried that You Know Who might change her mind in the next few days, and I’ll be able to go home again, and if I’m just that bit more resilient…”

A fantasy I can’t blame him for having, and one for which I feel guilty whenever I think I should tell him to let go of the past; it’s never so easy, and especially not when he has so much to lose, and I likewise stand to gain so much. If anything were to happen between us, that is, and not like…

My ears lie flat against my scalp and the rotten feeling take a tender nip at my insides.

“I probably sound like a broken record at this point.” He sighs and shakes his head, looking off to his right as he sits back and slumps in his chair once more. “And here I am, turning this into a rant and talking about it like it’s some irresistible urge. But that’s clearly not true, or else you wouldn’t have…”

I peer up at him from behind anxious brows, trying to flash him a warning look in case he’s thinking back to Seaford’s Riviera and the morning he’d just agreed to never discuss.

He stares vacantly at one of the wall-mounted decorations inside, not exactly deep in thought, but caught on something very specific. Something that makes him return to me restlessly. “That wasn’t your first time, was it?”

I look at him more directly and blink, ears rising slightly as a new chill runs through me. The rules dictate I shut that line of thinking down for treading dangerously close to the no-go zone, but this is a new train of thought I hadn’t considered, and I’m none too eager to explore. “Are you sure you want to know?” I ask apprehensively.

He lingers on me, then sighs again and lowers his gaze. “I guess not.”

“Nor I with you,” I mumble, helping myself to yet another soothing mouthful of latte, and hoping that didn’t sound meanspirited. I should add something to that, just to be clear. “Sorry, it’s just… difficult enough as it is, you know?”

“Yeah.” He nods to himself, drifting off to the café proper once more. “I know.”

I follow his lead, hoping to find something to hold my attention during the inevitable lull in conversation, where we gather our thoughts and think of a new topic that won’t take us back to square one. But I find my attention caught on one of the guards approaching the table.

Able watches the floor as he ambles toward us, head angled in such a way that I can’t see his expression as clearly as I’d like, there’s a slight slump in his normally quite orderly, cadenced gait. This walk of shame isn’t as downtrodden as I know they can be, but I recognise it well enough, having witness a number at the Academy as a reservist, when the captain helped somepony realise how badly they’d screwed up.

A quick glance to Brave and Ironside reveals that they’re observing from the sidelines, blank expressions hiding what specific role they’ve played in this.

Able soon comes to a halt before us, head still angled low and his ears only very slightly tilted back — a rare sign of reticence from one as unwavering and outspoken as he. And after a few long moments of relative silence later, he looks up and salutes. “Sir, ma’am,” he greets respectfully, but doesn’t meet either of our gazes and stares straight ahead to the building across the street. “I hope I’m not interrupting something, but if it’s not too bold of me to ask… may I have permission to sit with you for a while?”

“Why?” I question, a little sharper than I’d meant. Yes, it was his fault we had to cut the trip short, because I didn’t want to have a picnic on the same night where somepony I’d just met had been assaulted, but I thought I’d gotten over it.

Evidently not.

“A personal matter, ma’am,” he declares, seemingly unmoved, still with his eyes on the apartment complex. “There’s something I wish to say, if I may speak freely.”

I look to Philip, perhaps asking him to back me up on this.

He looks to me, and he tilts his head, puckers his lips and hardens his brows in just the right way, telling me without a word to ease it up and let the poor kid be — he’s been through enough already. “I don’t see why not,” he answers coolly, switching back to Able.

Of course I’m sceptical of the wisdom regarding this, but since I’m only being testy for the sake of being testy, I oblige him by shifting my weight and resisting the urge to pout.

Able nods and marches to the next table over, taking the outermost chair and returning to us in, frankly speaking, the most well-balanced two-legged walk I’ve ever seen in a pony. He sets it down, hops aboard, and sits with his forehooves in his lap, staring introspectively at the empty space on the table between us. I don’t imagine the armour is terribly comfortable when sitting down like that, but he somehow makes it seem like any other piece of attire — no more cumbersome than what I’m wearing.

He’s short for a stallion, though he maintains the natural bulk of an earth pony. Not all that long ago, his brown coat and tan-coloured blaze and socks would’ve been dyed grey or white, depending on personal preference, as part of Royal Guard dress regulations. As much as I’m not exactly happy to see who they’re attached to, I’m glad he doesn’t have to hide his true colours anymore; uniformity doesn’t affect how well you do your job.

He remains silent for a long while, thinking very carefully about what it is he’s going to say and how he’s going to say it. Again, I can make an educated, but I didn’t think it would be this difficult for him to swallow his pride and own up to his mistakes — that’s part of being not just a good soldier, but a good pony in general.

“I’d like to apologise for my behaviour yesterday,” he finally announces, sharing a reflective look with myself and Philip, emerald eyes meeting ours. “It’s come to my attention that I wasn’t as observant as I could’ve been — as I should’ve been. I was overzealous — too focussed on doing my duty, both to you and the Sisters, that I didn’t spare a thought for how it would affect your…”

I wait for him to finish.

So does Philip.

Able has gone back to the empty space again, seeming a little more apprehensive, but only in the fact he’s taking so long to fully respond — outwardly, he appears pretty much the same. Maybe his brows have creased further, but if they have, it’s only a very marginal change. “Put plainly, I didn’t realise you were on a date.”

My ears perk up.

Philip’s eyes widen and his brows rise. “Excuse me?”

Able shares a curious look with him. “Unless I’m mistaken?”

Philip blinks, stunned, snatching a brief glance at me before shaking his head. “No, you’re… you’re not mistaken, Able, it’s just… well… it’s kind of obvious, in retrospect. I mean, we’re playing it dumb for the media, but considering how close you, Brave and Ironside are to the action, metaphorically speaking, I guess we figured you’d catch on pretty quick.”

Able nods to himself, the segmented plates along his nape bending and constricting with his movements. “Fortunately and unfortunately, I’m not sure that’s something I’d have done.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask, keeping my expression and tone relatively neutral.

He peers at me from the corner of his eye for a long moment, then lowers his gaze with a soft sigh through his nose and bows his head, taking off his helmet and resting it on the table. A short, neatly trimmed mane reveals itself, silvery like mine. “I was chosen to be your stand-in because I’m efficient,” he declares evenly, looking to me once more, but now with a faint sense of dejection. “I’m efficient because I don’t know where I’d be if I weren’t part of the Royal Guard.”

“Meaning?”

He drifts off to the table again, and the corner of his mouth curls slightly downward — the first time I’ve seen any sort of expression cross his lips, I soon realise. “I don’t get along well with… people,” he mumbles, unsure of himself. “I’ve just never been able to click with others. All these social cues and matters of context… it’s hard to keep track of it all.”

“And being a guard gives you structure?” Philip suggests.

Able nods, his ears lowering a tad further. “I’m good at my job because my job is all I have. I’m proud to serve the Sisters, and the rules in the palace are static — they don’t change. I put myself forward to join your personal detail because I wanted to show how dependable I can be, and I thought there’d be rules to follow here too. I didn’t expect to be a… a friend as well as a guard.”

“I don’t expect you to be a friend, Able,” Philip replies, brows creasing in a sympathetic look as he shifts in his seat to face him more directly. “Brave, Phalanx and Ironside? Yeah, they’re friends themselves, but I didn’t expect to get along with them. It just sort of… you know… happened by accident. Same with me and Fleet, I guess.”

I snap to him with a warning frown.

He notices and slowly bows his head as he lifts his hand in a defensive, calming gesture, his expression straight and unwavering; he knows how close he was to saying too much, but he won’t take back his words — he spoke the truth and he meant it.

I linger on him, then try and settle back down as much as I can. Learning from your mistakes is the right thing to do, but for whatever reason, using mine, his, ours in this context feels like a step too far, even and perhaps especially if it’s for somepony else’s benefit.

Able glances from him to me and back to him, intrigued by the silent exchange, but doesn’t comment, preferring instead to stare thoughtfully at the top of his helmet. “I envy that, in a way — being able to accidentally make friends,” he muses impassively, turning it in his lap to check for any imperfections on its polished exterior. “But I’m often far too removed for some people’s liking.”

“Doesn’t come naturally to everyone.” Philip shrugs. “Stick around long enough, I’m sure you’ll find your mojo.”

“But I won’t be around for long, will I?” Able says, stopping his inspection to meet Philip’s gaze, lacking in expression but with a meaningful tone. “Phalanx will return at some point, and I’ll be back in Canterlot. Business as usual from then onwards.”

Philip snorts and smirks. “You could at least make it sound like you’ll miss us a little.”

Able blinks. “Did I make a joke?”

Philip pauses, and then gently shakes his head. “Never mind,” he says with a casual wave. “Point is, you’re not a bad guy, and like you said, you just got carried away with rules and regulations that you didn’t think about us — it’s an honest mistake. No harm done in the long run.”

“Except we didn’t get to have that picnic,” I murmur to him, despite my instincts telling me I shouldn’t discuss something so private while somepony else listens in. “And if the press finds out about Gytha, they’ll shine a spotlight on her whether she likes it or not. Forget the fact Able piledrove her, think about what she and us have in common.”

He pauses again, then breathes deep as the realisation dawns on him. “Right, right,” he hums, taking a long sip from his glass, now down to halfway and with plenty of condensation on the outside. “So, no more Redcliff for the next month or so?”

“No more Redcliff ever,” I affirm, swiping a hoof through the air to stress the point, then slump back in my chair and sigh. “It’s a nice place, granted, but for the good of everypony involved, I think it’s best if we just stay away from there.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a sigh and a shrug of his eyebrows, then turns to Able. “What about you, my dude? Any thoughts on where to take our next romantic liaison?”

He blinks once more, then puts a hoof to his chest. “You’re asking me?”

“Sure.” Philip gives an actual shrug and smirks again. “Come up with something good and maybe Fleet will forgive you for barging in on her special day.”

“Oh, sure, throw me under the carriage, why don’t you?”

“Well, if you don’t have any better ideas and the lad needs some encouragement, why shouldn’t we dangle the promise of redemption over his head?”

I groan, head slumping over the backrest. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m making sense.”

…Bastard’s got me there.

Able, now the most confused and hesitant I’ve ever seen him, which isn’t saying much, glances between us uncertainly before settling on Philip. “You do realise I have no experience in this field whatsoever, right?”

He shrugs yet again. “I’m not asking for experience, guy. Go ahead, fire away — where would you go if you were to meet someone for a date?”

Able lingers on him, then looks to the table, brows furrowing in deep, ponderous thought.

I’m not expecting much. I know giving him a chance is the right and fair thing to do, like how Philip knows the same regarding me, but assuming a socially awkward, possibly maladjusted guard holds the key to the salvation of our courtship is foolish. No harm in trying, I suppose, but my hopes aren’t high — haven’t been for the past twenty-four hours.

His gaze shifts to the buildings across the street, east down Mulberry Lane to the shoreline, up it to the northern tip of Equinox Park, behind him for the undercover area of the café.

A familiar kirin waitress serves Brave and Ironside a slice of mud cake each, exchanging pleasantries before she starts heading back for the counter. She catches me watching and waves hospitably, as if we’re two old friends who can’t talk right now, too busy in our own lives to mingle just yet. The notion would’ve been a suitably nostalgic one if she hadn’t already served our drinks about half an hour earlier.

“This is nice,” Able thinks aloud, smiling the first smile I’ve ever seen from him as he returns to us, small as it may be, though undeniably sincere.

I quirk an eyebrow. “Fillydelphia?”

“No.” He glances and gestures over his shoulder to the café proper. “The Lunar Bean.”

My brows crease. “You’d go to here for a date?”

“Why not? It has a cosy atmosphere, I guess, and a nice view. Food, drinks, friendly service, all reasonably priced. Maybe not the most easily defensible, but I’m not supposed to be thinking about this like I’m a guard, aren’t I?”

“But we come here every day. Or used to, at any rate.”

He cocks his head at me. “What does that change?”

“Well, dates are supposed to be special, aren’t they?”

“To a certain degree, yes, that’s what I hear,” he concedes, nodding. “But to my understanding… it’s less about where you are and more about who you’re with, and whether both of you recognise the occasion to be, categorically, a date. Besides, isn’t it a common suggestion, to bond over a cup of coffee?”

I peer down at my mostly empty cup and my mystified frown deeps. “Well, that’s just silly,” I remark with a very soft and uneasy chuckle, looking up to him and then to Philip. “That’d be like saying we’ve…”

He watches me curiously for a while, but then, slowly, his lips straighten, his eyes widen, and he sits somewhat more upright, a revelation of sorts coming to him like a whisper from afar.

Warm feathers run down my back as I think I hear the whisper too. “Have we…?”

A brief silence descends as we soak in this new information.

“You’ve been courting each other this whole time without properly realising it?”

We both turn to Able and my eyelids lower halfway. “Yes, Able, that’s exactly what we’re thinking,” I deadpan. “Great detective work, ten out of ten.”

He looks to me with upturned brows and flattened ears. “Did I misread the situation again?”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Philip soothes with another wave. “Fleet’s just being a B-word, getting crabby over nothing. And maybe a little butthurt that she now has to accept your apology.”

“Ah.” Able nods to himself. “Well then, I hope I’ve proven useful.”

“You have.” Philip finishes off his drink in a lengthy swig, then wipes his hand on his shirt after replacing the glass on the table. “It’s all on us now, I guess.”

With another series of thoughtful nods, Able slowly turns to face me. “I really am sorry, by the way,” he quietly intones. “I didn’t mean to ruin things for you.”

“I know,” I say with a sigh, bowing my head and rubbing my brows. “You were just doing your job. Can’t fault you for that.”

“So… we’re cool now, as they say?”

I look up at him.

He watches me with a stalwart gaze, but his eyes betray a sense of hope.

I pucker my lips and blow another sigh. Temperance is a virtue I’ve long sought mastery over, and whether or not Philip has had anything to do with it, I feel I’m more in control of my less constructive impulses than I’ve ever been before. So, swallowing whatever pride is at risk of being tarnished, I reach out and offer my hoof in solidarity. “Yeah. We’re cool.”

He stares at it blankly for a moment, then tentatively claps his own against it.

“Aw, isn’t this just sweet?”

We snap to Philip.

He leans forward with his elbows on the table and his hands pressed together in front of his mouth, beaming a wide, joyous grin. “Look at you two, making up. You’re going to bring me to tears at this rate.”

“Good heavens, Philip, you really know how to kill the mood, don’t you?”

“Sorry, Fleet.” He shrugs. “Like Able, I just get swept up in the moment.”

“At least he has an excuse.”

“Fair, fair. But let’s face it: if I were that much of a killjoy, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

As much as I wouldn’t mind giving him a solid slap upside the head, I really can’t argue with him; he speaks the truth and he speaks it well.

“So, if casual hang-outs are now on the agenda, do you have any idea what we could do?”

I lower my gaze in thought, but I don’t have to think long — there’s something I’ve been meaning to share with him for a while now, but our chats always wandered down a different path. Now the ball’s in my court, and I don’t have to worry about what counts as a good and proper date, or the press breathing down our or anypony else’s necks, I finally have the freedom to suggest it.

I return to him with a smile.

“Movie night.”

Next Chapter: 27 | Between the Lines Estimated time remaining: 7 Hours, 55 Minutes