Knocking.

Somepony’s knocking at the door.

Merciful Sisters, what is it now?

With a deep, throaty groan, I grimace as I force myself up, grudgingly flinging the blanket off as I lie on my side in my bed, propped on an elbow. Already the fluffy yet firm pillows are beckoning my head return to their sumptuous embrace, and my cheeks and temples long for their touch. They’re just that comfy — Aquitania knows how to make its linen — and I’m that tired. Not even a full night’s rest before the world decides to screw me over once again.

“Fleetfoot?”

I open my eyes with a squint and peer through the fog of sleep in the direction of the entry.

Another few knocks, then Soarin calls again, “Fleetfoot, you there?”

I sit perfectly still, processing the fact. Not really making any judgements, just… staring it in the face. Or as best I can while the bed and my body conspire against my mind. And their argument is rather sound: ignore him, and I’d be able to wake up well-rested after a few more hours. It won’t make up for two whole days without a single proper moment of respite, and more than my fair share of stress, but it’d be a start. And it’d serve him right for what he did in Griffonstone.

“It’s me and Spits. We just came by to see how you’re doing.”

That makes an ear twitch. Spitfire, on the other hoof… doesn’t deserve that treatment. And now that I really think about it, I already concluded yesterday that I owed her — both of them, in fact — an explanation. Or at least I think I did. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’ve just awoken, but it’s hard to remember what I thought and when I thought it.

I don’t think I’ve ever really gone this long without sleep before. Not since I was in the reserves, training whenever I could to impress the then-Captain Silver Streak, father of the currently serving Streak twins. Whether my posting was held back so he could perform with his sons is still up for debate, but it certainly didn’t take long after Spitfire replaced him for my talents to be recognised. My closeness with her notwithstanding, of course.

And to think, I was about to turn the mare who’d stuck by me from the very beginning away just because I wanted a little peace and quiet, and I didn’t want to face her after breaking her trust. Fantastic leadership material right there.

“You home, Fleet?”

“Yeah,” I reply, trying to sound as awake as possible as I rub my eyes with a hoof, but it comes out as lively as a sloth. “I’m here.”

“Ah.” He pauses, surprised. “Can we… come in?”

I rub a little deeper as a yawn escapes me. “Sure,” I croon with all the musical talent of an asthmatic camel, sitting up further and lumbering to the edge of the bed. “Just give me a sec.”

“Sure thing.”

I sigh as I slip off the mattress and my hooves reach the floor, which quickly turns into another yawn, and that yawn demands a stretch. Seeing no reason to disappoint, I obey, leaning back and stretching my forelegs, wings and all their feathers out to their fullest extent, then flap them a few idle times as I lean forward and stretch my hindlegs. Then I roll all my joints in a slow, grinding, full-body wiggle, accentuating it all by pushing against the floor and arching my back, face scrunching as I feel the satisfying ache. Even my tail gets its own little workout.

Sometimes I wish there were more of me to stretch.

It would certainly beat…

…No, they’re friends. They can be a bit dumb sometimes, but so can I, and Soarin didn’t sound all that hostile. Who knows? Maybe he really does mean what he says.

With my small session of indulgence over, I stroll to the edge of the bedroom — or bedledge, as the case may be — and drop down to the lower level. From where I land, I continue walking toward the door, unbolt the bolt, unlock the lock, then twist the handle, pull, and peer through the gap.

Soarin and Spitfire look away from whispering something to each other and turn to me. Soarin wears his jacket and shirt from the party, while Spitfire has only her bomber. She smiles as she meets my gaze. “Morning.”

I glance at the clear blue sky behind them — somewhere in the early afternoon, I reckon. “No kidding,” I murmur, fully opening the door and standing aside.

Soarin trots inside with an air of… what appears to be indifference, but it’s hard to say. Spitfire’s close behind, but stops to offer the last coffee from a cardboard cupholder — a Mocha Club latte, still steaming from the spout in the lid. “Got this one free when I mentioned you,” she remarks, her smile waning somewhat as she holds it out. “Thought you’d need it after what you went through yesterday.”

I stare at her, lips parting and ears drooping slightly, then at the cup. “Thanks,” I mumble, sitting down and hesitantly accepting the offer with a hoof of my own, then returning to her. “But… you don’t need to make it sound like I’m traumatised.”

“Oh.” Her smile fades completely and she sets the cupholder on the kitchen counter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s fine,” I dismiss with a gentle wave of the wing, then rubs my eyes a little more with the other. “I just… haven’t had much sleep. At all. And I don’t think a latte’s going to help that.”

“Would you rather we come back later?”

I pause, giving the notion some thought, but pass it up with a soft and somewhat dizzying shake of the head. “Nah, you’re already here, and you’ve already bribed me.” I take a sip, and the familiar milky goodness starts its work by warming my bones. “And I could use the company, I guess.”

“Yeah, about that…” Soarin begins, standing across from us at the other end of the couch, eyes lowered, lips curled in an uncomfortable pout. It’s only now I notice his mane’s a little more unkempt than normal, and he seems fidgety. “I’m… really sorry for the way I acted at Griffonstone, Fleet.”

I sigh, sagging my head. If that’s what they’ve swung by for, I really should’ve stayed in bed; I’m not in the mood or right state of mind to deal with any of this, especially ancient history. But that’s what I get for acting on sentiment than remembering the current state of affairs.

“When you left… I was worried sick. I mean, sure, there was that note saying you’d gone home on your own, but that made me feel awful — thinking I’d done that to you. I know you can take care of yourself, and Spitfire told me that as well, but… it just…”

I close my eyes, head sagging a little further. “Soarin—”

“Something happened to you, Fleet. Something happened to you, and it’s all because I couldn’t… didn’t control myself and pushed you away. And I’m sorry for that.”

“Soarin… please.” I open my eyes again and raise a hoof to silence him. “It’s too early in the morning for heavy crap. You were drunk, I overreacted. Let’s leave it at that.”

He pauses, seemingly taken aback, but I can definitely tell that’s not all he wanted to say. And the longer he doesn’t say it — a couple seconds, at most — the more pressure builds inside of him, until he just can’t take it anymore. “But—”

“Besides,” I interrupt, already prepared, returning my hoof to the floor, “if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been there to save him.”

“Him being the creature, right?” Spitfire queries, stepping closer and cocking her head. “The… human?”

I nod after I take another satisfying sip. “Philip. His real name’s longer and far more convoluted, but that’s what he told us to call him.”

“Philip,” she echoes to herself, lowering her eyes to the left for a moment in thought. “Sounds… foreign.”

“That’s a no brainer.”

“Well, sure, but I mean… it’s a different style. Most people in Equestria have more… direct names. Rainbow Dash, for instance — it describes what she looks like and what she’s all about. But if you want names derived from something, you’d either have to travel south to Saddle Arabia and Mount Aris, north to Yakyakistan, or east to the GK.”

“Twilight’s looking into it.”

She blinks. “You met her?”

“No, but that’s what the nurse told me.”

“Ah.” She nods to herself. “Well, at least the egghead’s on the case. I bet she’ll have plenty of questions once he’s awake.”

“He is.”

Her eyes widen. “Really?”

I nod again. “Woke up just before I left last night. Or this morning.” I pause, then shrug. “Before sunrise, at least.”

No reply comes.

I look up from my cup and glance between her and Soarin, brows creasing curiously as I finish another mouthful. “What?”

“Did he say anything?” Spitfire probes eagerly.

“About…?”

“Home? Where he comes from, what it’s like? Why he appeared in the middle of a damned magical vortex over the Equestrian heartland?”

I shy away from her gaze, and instantly realise that was a mistake — if I don’t cover my tracks, she’ll pick it up as genuine discomfort. “No, no…” I begin, shaking my head, standing up and making my way past her for the kitchen, hoping a distraction will excuse a laboured answer. “He just said something about the… United States, or whatever he called it. I know we’ve never heard of it, and we just got back from a worldwide tour.”

“Nothing else?”

I pull open the cabinet and take out a bowl. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

I set down my coffee and head to the pantry. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause, and then she gently huffs. “Well, that sucks.”

“Sure does.” I retrieve my pitcher of oats and take it to the counter with the bowl, then pour a light serving in. “Just the way things are, I guess.”

“And how’re you holding up, Fleet?” Soarin inquires.

The concern in his voice tugs at a string in me.

Guilt. What I was feeling last night was definitely guilt. And now I’m being asked how whether I’m okay when he’s down there in hospital, because of me. He’s the one Soarin should be asking about.

“Fine,” I say, opening the fridge.

“Anything I can do for you, at all?”

“Not really.”

“Oh.” He makes a poor effort of hiding his disappointment. “Well then, can you tell us what happened, exactly? How you managed to come out clean and Philip… didn’t?”

Okay, wow, really twisting the nail on that one. I mean, considering he’s putting the blame on himself — which is really making it hard for me to blame him, ironically — it makes sense he’d want to hear the details. But I don’t think I can lie well enough without rousing a little suspicion. Not to them, and not to their faces. They know me too well, and I care too much.

Better to just avoid the question altogether.

“I… honestly don’t remember much,” I say, turning back to the counter with some blueberries and yoghurt. “It’s all just a blur, really.”

“Rough couple of days, huh?” Spitfire chimes in.

I tip in the blueberries. “You can say that.”

“Spits…” Soarin murmurs, “please don’t.”

“I know, I know, just having some fun.”

“Fun. Right.”

I glance over to them again as I smother my breakfast in the sweet and seemly goodness of chilled vanilla yoghurt. “Well then, what about you two? You’re here a bit early, don’t you think? The airship was supposed to arrive around about eleven.”

“We jumped ship in the morning before we left Canterlot,” Spitfire answers decisively. “Soarin couldn’t catch a wink of sleep when we heard what happened from the hospital. Figured if one was missing, two more wouldn’t hurt.”

I look at her and raise an eyebrow. “You’re the captain, and he’s your second in command.”

“So?” she playfull scoffs. “You don’t need a captain to lead the Bolts back home. Rainbow’s in charge — she’ll know what to do. Everyone knows she’s after my job, anyhow.”

I snort and pull out a spoon from a nearby drawer. “I thought she was after mine.”

“Oh, sure, and Soarin’s as well. She’s a one mare army in the making, I’ll tell you that.”

That gets a chuckle out of me. Rainbow’s status as an Element Bearer has always led to speculation over who’s more fit to lead the team, and to remember a debate so fickle and pointless helps me forget what I’m anxious about for a moment. “What about the photo in front of the Academy?” I ask as I stick the first spoonful of bliss in my mouth and chew. “Rainbow knows not to go through with it, right?”

“Please.” She waves a wing dismissively. “Rainbow’s egotistic, but she’s not dumb.”

“Most of the time,” Soarin adds. “Remember her first run at the Ponyville derby?”

“True.” Spitfire rolls her eyes. “But if she does, she’ll get a stern talking-to, and then the papers can say who’s really in charge.”

“Putting your hoof down in public, Spitty?” I muse after finishing a second scrumptious bite. “Are you sure it’s not just Rainbow with an ego?”

“Oh-ho, and you’re one to talk, Fleetfoot, trying to beat Lightning’s record on the Dizzitron.”

“Hey, don’t bring me into this — we’re talking about you and Dash right now.”

She slowly shakes her head with a sly grin and clicks her tongue. “Point still stands, Fleet, point still stands. And so does her record.”

I roll my eyes and groan, “Don’t remind me.”

“How was the fish, by the way?” Soarin queries, starting to feel a little more confident.

I turn to him. “The salmon?”

He nods.

I pause, looking up in thought and with a slight frown. And I secretly savour the drama of the moment. “You know what? I’d honestly have to try it again before I decide.”

“Oh my stars.”

“What?” I wonder with a smile. “It’s really just one of those things that needs a second go.”

“Nothing ‘needs’ a second go to know if you like it or not,” he counters, chuckling. “Just admit it, Fleet: you’ve been seduced.”

“I’m not admitting anything.”

“And so her descent begins,” Spitfire finishes, looking off into the distance with the air of an actress from the early days of film.

“Guys, please, I’m not at risk of eating meat left, right and centre,” I calm with a small, assuring wave. “Let’s leave that to Cadance, alright?”

Both of them guffaw, Soarin almost looking like he’d choked on something.

I snicker to myself. Even after putting these two through the wringer, and two whole days without a proper nap, I can still make them laugh. Must be my magnetic personality. “So, how much trouble am I in?” I ask, steeling my nerves for their cutting response by sampling another mouthful of berries and oats.

Spitfire recovers and cocks her head, still with a smile. “Trouble?”

“For ditching you.”

“Oh.” She nods in recognition and looks away, thinking. “Well, considering the fact you saved a life, I don’t think a punishment’s in order. I mean, if you weren’t here, he’d most likely be dead.”

I force the surprise to outweigh the shame.

If I hadn’t been here, neither would he.

“However,” she continues, returning to me, “I’m sure the press would like to know why you were here before us, so we ought to get our stories straight before the journalists show up. If you don’t want them to know what happened, that’s completely fine by me.”

My eyes widen. This time, surprise is the only thing I feel. “Really?” I ask bemusedly, pointing to my chest with a feathertip. “You’re just… letting it go?”

She pauses, then glances away in a feeble attempt at an eyeroll and sighs. “Okay, look… I’m disappointed you left, and especially over something I think we can all agree was rather petty.”

Soarin lowers his eyes and ears.

I try to keep my gaze steady, but my lips press against each other.

“But honestly, I’m just happy you’re safe. And I don’t want Soarin to blame himself for me doing my job as well.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “You’re sparing me for his sake?”

He looks up, an eyebrow also quirked.

She angles her head knowingly. “I’m sparing you because you’ve learned your lesson.”

At first, I feel tempted to ask what exactly that lesson would be, but I quickly realise I’d be poking a beehive for no good reason. And then there’s the lesson itself dawning on me — or more specifically, resurfacing: never abandon the team. Spitfire and I had learned that at Rainbow Falls, and here I am now, guilty of a similar crime. And, funnily enough, Soarin’s the victim again.

Destined to save a life?

No, I don’t think so.

Doomed to repeat history?

…I sure as heck hope not…

“Yeah,” I say absently, avoiding her gaze. “I guess I have.”

A silence descends, awkward and long. Only the scraping of my spoon on the bowl fills the void, along with the gentle breeze outside the kitchen window.

“So,” Soarin breaks the fragile peace, “what’s planned for today?”

Trust him to indirectly point out the discomfort we’re all feeling. But at least it gives me something to think about, and something productive at that. “Nothing much,” I say with a sigh, looking to the far corners of the walls and ceiling for inspiration. “Housecleaning, I suppose — I’m sure you smelled the vapours before you came in. Maybe catch up on the Dreamscape series, see if it’s as good as they say. Eat, shower, sleep. And that’s about it.”

“Really?”

I return to him. “Well, I’m not needed for anything, so…”

“It’s just… well…” He seems to chew on his words, as if they’re too sour to speak, but also too much to keep in. “You aren’t planning on seeing him again?”

“Who? Philip?”

He gives a slow, exaggerated shrug of confirmation.

I pause, then shrug myself. “Well, sure… I guess… sometime, just… not right now. I mean, it’s a bit soon, isn’t it? Leaving at midnight, returning in the morning? For somepony I barely even know?”

“Someone you saved,” Spitfire corrects, looking at me supportively. “Someone who’s a long, long way from home, by the sounds of it. Now, I can’t say what he’s feeling right now, but… if I were in his place, I’d be after all the support I can get. Seeing you again might be what he needs.”

I pause again, narrowing my eyes at her, feeling bitter at just how thinly veiled this little ploy is. “You’re really twisting my leg here, aren’t you, Spits?”

She softly sighs and smiles, happy to be caught and forced to cut the crap. “I’m just saying this might be an opportunity to… you know… mingle. I mean, an answer may very well have fallen out of the sky, and he owes you his life. That doesn’t happen every day.”

I don’t reply. I want to, but I don’t know how — what words to use, or what tone — because the many layers of this deliciously complicated cake are making me feel conflicted.

On one hoof, I hate being trapped in this intervention I never asked for, meant to fix a problem I don’t have. And on top of that, I’m basically being ordered to leave the comfort of my home to socialise with somepony I can’t be sure I’ll ever get along with.

On the other, the ‘answer’ to this fictional problem’s here because of me, and as much as he owes me for saving him, I owe him for putting him in danger, even if I hadn’t meant to, even if he doesn’t know it.

And then there’s… that thing I saw in him yesterday — that nameless, disconcertingly ambiguous emotion. Whatever it is at its heart, it’s a mystery right now, and the normally quite dormant detective inside me is rattling her chains to be set free; she wants to figure out what it was, what it may still be, and what makes him tick. Good heavens know why.

And finally, there’s that last point — the one thing above all others that keeps me from snapping at her. Or at least, the second most prominent point; there’s also the fact she’s my captain, and I ought to respect the chain of command as much as any good Bolt would.

“As much as I hate you ambushing me,” I begin, slowly, tensely, but ultimately controlled and measured, “luckily for you, I made a promise to Dad. So, if I go down today, it’s because he told me to. Not you.”

“Alright.”

I blink, slightly taken by how easily the reply came to her, but then also by the fact I was apparently expecting a reason to be mad at her — searching for an excuse to cross the line. And that disturbs me, somewhat.

Quite a bit, actually.

As a matter of fact, a lot.

Screw this.

“Okay, out,” I declare, tossing my half-eaten breakfast onto the counter and marching around, directing my uninvited guests to the exit with my wings. “Both of you, out, now.”

“Wait, what?” Soarin sputters before he finds himself being shooed away. “Why?”

“Because you win.” I curb my frown from him to Spitfire, who’s taken the much wiser step of walking to the door of her own accord. “You want me up and about? Fine. I’m going to the stupid hospital, I’m going to talk with the stupid human, and I’m going to make a fool out of myself. Happy?”

“Elated,” she answers evenly.

Oh, she’s relishing the moment hard. But it can’t last forever; with one final shove, I push Soarin back through the entrance and into the open air, joining Spitfire on the de facto front porch. “Shut up.” I close the door behind me and spin back, scowling and pointing a warning feather at them. “Just shut up, or I’ll take it out on you again.”

Spitfire simply watches me in silence with a cheeky grin.

“You’re leaving right now?” Soarin wonders, sounding and looking rather dumbfounded.

“No, I evicted both your asses so we could all get some fresh air together. Of course I’m leaving right now.”

“But… you haven’t locked up.”

“We live in a city of clouds — all a thief has to do to break into someplace is fly at the wall fast enough.” I trot past them and stand at the edge of the porch, spreading my wings and giving them a stretch. “But if anything’s stolen by the time I get back, I’m blaming you.”

“Well, that sounds fair.”

I snap back to Spitfire with another feather and another scowl. “Spitty, I’m warning you.”

“You’re not wearing your contacts.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Her grin fades, her eyes widen, and her ears point away slightly. That shut her up.

Good.

“Later, asshats,” I farewell, saluting, then lean over the edge and fall away from the cumulus.

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