Sleep.

I feel it sneaking up on me like a spider intent on wrapping me in its web, creeping closer when I’m not paying attention, pretending like it hasn’t when I do. It knows I can tell, but it still pretends like I can’t, and the immaturity infuriates me.

Just a minute or two and I’ll be back home — back in my bed and its perfect pillows and the warmth of the blanket and mattress, dozing off to the sound of a gentle breeze blowing outside the window. And everything will be fine. If only this damned spider would give me a moment’s peace.

I guess postponing a proper night’s sleep this long is finally catching up to me, because not even the trip from Griffonstone was this tiring, and all I’m doing is returning from Ponyville; a ten minute flight if I’m in no rush. At this rate, though, I’ll have to pick up the pace, because the fuzziness at the back of my mind is growing stronger, and I’m having to shake my head more often, and I need to narrow my eyes to stop them from stinging.

I’ve been warned to not drink and fly — it’s something they teach every pegasus and would-be pilot as soon as you enter high school — but I know the truth from experience: flying tired is just as dangerous. Earth ponies can somehow run in their sleep, but pegasi aren’t so lucky. I’d take a nap on a cloud right now, but there are none about. Not even a long, wispy streak I can shape into something solid. As far as clouds go, at least.

Could’ve I begged for some bits and hired a bed in Ponyville for the night? Sure. But that’d raise even more questions for the next interview. What’s a celebrity like me doing begging for money, and why were my eyes green? How long have I been wearing coloured contacts, and why? Is there any reason I’d take them off for the human I’d saved?

The media and I have a complicated understanding of one another. On one hoof, they’re a great way to show off my and the team’s abilities, but on the other, they can sometimes exacerbate things and blow them up to scandalous proportions. Assumptions are made about the most insignificant changes, and when the truth isn’t exciting enough, they might create their own.

Being a Wonderbolt’s a big enough deal as it is, but couple that with what I’ve been through — jumping ship, saving a life, staying with him overnight and returning the next day — and this story might just go international. In fact, I can practically guarantee it: after our worldwide tour, we’ll have at least a few million new fans desperate to know more about us. All focus would be on me when they find out I’m a hero.

They’d be praising something that shouldn’t have happened, if only I’d kept my temper in check.

…Great, now I’m glum as well as tired.

But at least I’d distracted myself, and now my cumulus is coming into view.

Small victories, I guess.

But then I do a double take, shaking my head and narrowing my eyes to slits. Perhaps I’m seeing things, and I hope I am, but for a second, I thought I’d seen somepony standing on the porch.

Sweet Celestia, if it’s a reporter…

Sometimes newbies miss the rule, forget, or just plain ignore it and try their luck: don’t come knocking at a Wonderbolt’s door expecting an interview on a whim. We schedule press conferences for a reason, and if they can’t respect that, they’re in the wrong line of work. And right now, there’s only one thing I want to do, and it has nothing to do with spending more time in the waking world, even if the sun’s only just beginning to set.

But as I approach, my suspicions are confirmed — somepony is there, but… one becomes two, and I recognise the coat colours; pale green and powder blue. I know these ponies, and they know me, and I don’t have to dig deep into their psyches to know what they want.

And all I can do is roll my eyes. Sleep will have to wait a little longer.

With a heavy sigh and a sag of the neck, letting some of the steam out of my system before I blow it in their faces, I quickly straighten myself out again and soar for home, urging myself to be the most pleasant I can be. They mean no harm, and I ought to appreciate the gesture for what it is: an act of genuine caring. It’s just a shame they’ve caught me at a bad time.

The ears of the mare in powder blue perk up and she turns my way, and relief washes over her in an instant. “Fleety, dear!”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again as I close in and land on the porch at a trot.

Dad turns to me with a similar expression, then darts over and envelops me in a hug so tight and sudden my wings shoot out in surprise. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad you’re safe!”

I’m forced onto my haunches by his momentum, eyes wide and mouth shut, even as I’m caught short of breath.

Mum joins in too, wrapping her forelegs around the both us with her head low. “We’re so sorry, dear! We were so worried!”

I blink, staring blankly ahead, partly because I haven’t received hugs like this since my days in the reserves, when simply completing a routine was worthy of praise, and partly because that’s sincere concern I hear in her voice. Hers, of all ponies. And not the condescending, selfish kind of concern I’m used to. She was, and still is afraid for me. “Uh… excuse me?”

She backs away, and after a few moments more, so does Dad, both starting to tear up. “The hospital called and we missed them,” Mum explains shakily, rubbing an eye with her wingtip. “We didn’t check our messages until this afternoon. I’m sorry, Fleety, we… we should’ve been there.”

“Been…” I begin, angling my head, then blink again and shake it slightly. “Mum, I’m fine. It was just a few cuts and bruises at worst.”

“But we should’ve been there.” She steps closer, brows upturned and gaze imploring. “My daughter was in an accident and I didn’t know about it until a full day later, just because I didn’t know how to work a telephone properly.”

“It wasn’t just you, honey,” Dad reminds, trying to be strong for her, but fooling nopony.

“Even so, we should’ve been there and we weren’t.” She returns to me with tears spilling over and dampening her cheeks, ears and wings hanging low. And then she seems to notice something about me and sits down in front of me, putting her hooves on my shoulders and inspecting me all over. “Good heavens, look at you! It’s as if you’ve flown through a warzone!”

This time, I can’t help sighing. “I’m fine, Mum. Nothing a shower and a nap can’t fix.”

“Don’t you say such things,” she demands, grabbing my cheeks and forcing me to look her in the eyes. “What happened was serious. You could’ve been killed, Fleety.”

“So could’ve the other guy.”

“That creature isn’t you.” She stares at my in silence for a moment, making sure her words stuck before continuing. “You’re my daughter, Fleetfoot. My daughter. There’s only one if you in the whole world, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

I watch her carefully, lost for words. Years of expecting an ulterior motive of some kind may have conditioned me, so I hope I don’t look overtly cynical, because there are no hidden meanings behind this.

“I’m sorry, Fleetfoot.” She hugs me once more, wrapping her neck around mine as her hooves pull me closer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It’s… okay, Mum,” I say, patting her on the back, hopefully not too awkwardly. “It wasn’t that bad, really. And if the doctors wanted me to stay, they’d have let me know. I’m just a little tired right now.”

“I know, I know, and I’m sure you are.” She gives me a squeeze before pulling back to her original hooves-on-the-shoulders position. “I just need you to realise that, dear. You mean so much to me. And no matter what, I’ll always love you.”

That last little bit catches my attention as somewhat hypocritical, but I keep my mouth shut. We’re having a sincere moment — a rarity in modern times — and for what it’s worth, I let it pan out. Who knows? This might be the start of a way to stabilise our bond. Can’t let an opportunity like this go to waste, even if it hurts my pride.

“I think that’s enough standing around outside,” Dad remarks, wiping his eyes and chuckling to himself. “Why don’t we take this indoors? Get away from the cold out here.”

I inwardly thank him for changing the subject, but also find it a little strange to be invited into my own home, even if my dad’s the one inviting me. But I take him up on his offer and gently push off Mum’s hooves, giving her a small, appreciative smile as I do, then stand up and walk around her for the door.

Dad lowers his head and ears as I approach, a guilty grin plastered across his face. “We, uh… may have done some housecleaning while you were gone.”

I slow my pace and raise an eyebrow. “You let yourselves in?”

“Well, you weren’t answering, and the door was unlocked. And when we found you weren’t home, we didn’t want to go out searching for you, in case you came back. We had to keep ourselves occupied somehow.”

I pause for a moment, then smirk. “You didn’t burgle anything, did you?”

“Now, why would I do that, sweetie?”

My smirk becomes another smile, and returning to the door, I twist the handle and push it open. The scent of fresh air welcomes me, free of any vapours; a cumulus restored to proper working order. The kitchen counter’s clean, and I spy the bowl from my unfinished breakfast on the drying rack beside the sink. The living room couch has been dusted down and fluffed to perfection, and the DVD cases I distinctly remember sprawled over the TV cabinet have been put back in their places. If I flew up to the bed, I’m sure I’d find the sheets tucked in and the pillows straightened out.

Sisters, how I’d let this place go.

“Oh my stars, Dad, what did you do to the place?” I exclaim as I reach the midpoint of the house, slowly craning my head to admire the work done to the ceiling.

“Oh, you know, a bit of this, a bit of that.” He shrugs, stepping through the entrance and leaning on the counter. “Anything for our little girl, really.”

“It’s the least you deserve after all you’ve been through,” Mum chimes in, still a little teary as she enters the house as well. “We just want you to feel welcome.”

“Well… thanks. You’ve saved me, like… an hour’s work.”

“It was nothing, dear. If there’s more we can do, please let us know.”

My ears lower. “You really don’t have to.”

“Nonsense.”

“No, I’m serious,” I insist, trying not to sound to snappy as I turn and face them. “I’m not a hero, Mum. I just did what anypony else would’ve done. Saving the world a hundred times over is being a hero; saving a life is just being a good pony.”

“Says who?” she demands. “Did he tell you that — the creature?”

“Philip,” I correct, then shake my head. “And no, he didn’t. I just don’t want you two to go gaga over me the same way the news will. Fleetfoot: Star Turned Saviour, or some shit like that.”

“Language, dear.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Mum. I had enough sleepless nights when I was young because of your potty mouth, and I heard every word.”

She draws her head back, wide-eyed and mouth shut, ears as low as they can go, cheeks showing the faint beginnings of a furiously red blush. No doubt she’s tucking in her tail too.

Dad almost keels over, looking like he’s somewhere in between choking and laughing, as if somepony had given him a hard slap to the back of the neck. “Anyway,” he says with an embarrassed chuckle and a slight cough, “let’s, uh… let’s talk about you. How was your day?”

I smirk again. At least it was their turn to gawk. But then the question sinks in, and I remember what had happened, and what it’s all going to lead to, and it makes me sigh and my smirk fade. “Well, I stayed up all night at hospital, got here at daybreak, went to bed immediately. Was woken up again by Spits and Soarin, which was… kind of nice. I mean, Sorain apologised for being an ass back at Griffonstone, so that was cool of him. But then they also bugged me to go back and meet Philip now he’s awake, which I did… but only because I promised you, Dad.”

He nods in a flippant, ‘guilty as charged’ kind of way. “So, how’d it go?”

I pause, looking up in thought and chewing on my words, then sit down and scrunch my mouth. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I…” I furrow my brows and let my attention fall to the floor. I don’t want to outright admit anything, lest I give him or Mum false hope, but I can’t deny it wasn’t an horrid experience. “Not really.”

“Did something bad happen?”

I shake my head. “I mean, I think we got a good impression of each other, but…” I shrug, “I don’t know if that means anything or not. So far, it’s just idle talk — I don’t even know his age.”

He nods again, pondering. “Well, if dealing with you has taught me anything, it’s that some things can’t be rushed, whatever the reason.” He gestures to me. “Your first flight, for example.”

I wince and look away. I’d lost so many feathers and singed so many hairs that afternoon I still have nightmares from time to time.

“If it wasn’t bad, and you both came out of it… maybe not for the better, but definitely not for the worse, then… maybe it’s something worth pursuing.”

“So long as you’re out and about, dear,” Mum adds, finally regaining her composure. To a degree, at least — her blush remains, but it’s fading now the topic’s changed. “It doesn’t do well to stay couped up in here throughout the break.”

Dad glances to her without moving his head, then gives me a knowing look.

I grin inwardly. If that statement was anything to go by, then perhaps this little incident was indeed a step in the right direction. Not regarding anything interpersonal — just regarding Mum getting off my back about the whole thing. Something he and I can both be all the happier for.

“How’d it all happen, anyway?” Dad wonders, shifting his weight to be more relaxed.

My grin falters and my insides sink. That’s a question I’m sure I’ll be hearing a lot in the coming weeks, and I still don’t have an answer for it.

“Oh, Slipstream, honestly” Mum scolds, the deliberate edge in her voice dulled by a insincere laugh. “She’s been through enough already, don’t you think? No need to reopen old wounds.”

I’m seriously starting to think she believes I’ve been traumatised by all this, but at least she’s offered me some cover. “Actually, Dad, I, uh… kind of have to agree with Mum on this one,” I say, rubbing my eyes, and the words taste sour on my tongue. “I don’t really feel like reliving that, especially if I plan on heading to bed right after.”

“That’s fair, that’s fair.” He bows his head. “Maybe you can at least tell us a little bit about who you’ve saved, then. He’s… not a pony, I heard.”

“He’s a human,” I confirm, nodding. “Don’t worry, nopony in the Bolts know where he comes from either, and… I’m starting to think maybe even Twilight doesn’t have an answer, or she wouldn’t have been stuck in her library so long.”

Mum’s brows rise. “You saw the princess?”

“Yeah. Right before I was kicked out — politely, of course — but not before he, uh… talked smack to her face about not seeing him sooner.”

She baulks, practically horrified.

Dad’s eyes widen. “He did what?” he asks with an excited grin.

“Yep.” I nod again. “No fear, just… straight-up called her out.”

“Ha! Well, I’ll be… he has some guts, doesn’t he?”

“No kidding.”

“My word, you two!” Mum exclaims, more shocked than outraged. “He insults the Princess of Friendship in person and you like him for it?”

My smile fades, but I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Well, you have to remember he doesn’t come from Equestria, Mum; maybe he’s not familiar with how to address her. And to be fair, she did keep him waiting, when she’s made a name for herself about being punctual.”

“She’s a princess, Fleety. Much more than that, she’s saved the world countless times.”

“And he doesn’t know that.” I shrug defensively. “You can’t blame him for being ignorant if he comes from a land where ponies can’t talk, or so he says. Besides, Twilight’s reaction was pretty damn funny.”

Neither of them react, now staring at me blankly.

I frown in confusion, glancing from one to the other. “What?”

“Ponies… don’t talk, where he’s from?” Dad probes.

This time, I can’t help rolling my eyes, and I do so with a sigh. “Look, Dad, he appeared from a magical rainbow portal in the sky, trying to pilot some kind of flightless carriage I’ve never seen before — I’m not looking too deep into any of this, okay?”

He pauses, mulling over what I’d just said, then glances away and shifts his weight again, licking its lips. “Okay, sweetie. It’s just… that’s a bit of a stretch to me.”

“To you, maybe,” I nod once more, then look up and reminisce, “but I’m sure we’d have heard a lot more George Michael if he were from anywhere nearby.”

He angles his head and quirks an eyebrow. “Who?”

I blink, realising what I’d just said, and that I could still hear the echo of a choir crying out for freedom. “Never mind,” I say, shaking my head and returning to him. “Point is, as incredible as it sounds, he seems pretty credible to me. And I get the feeling he’s harmless enough.”

He pauses again, then smirks. “So, that ‘if’ has turned into a ‘when’?”

I stare at him for a moment, blinking, then lower my gaze in thought. That was a little presumptuous of him, but… “Yeah,” I say, absently at first, the words unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. And then I feel a faint smile sneak through. “I guess it has.”

“That’s good to hear.” He steps away from the counter and rolls his shoulder — his job’s done, I guess, and he’s readying himself to leave. “Any idea when that may be?”

I shrug. “With any luck, the next two days. He told me to get some rest before seeing him again, and, really, I need it. And a shower. And… just… everything.”

“You aren’t wearing your contacts,” Mum comments, clearly surprised and curious, but with a faint, accusatory undertone.

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” I rub my eyes again. The fuzziness is starting to return. “Didn’t have time to grab them before Spits and Soarin pestered me out the door.”

“Were they much worse than us?” Dad queries, now giving his wings a few idle stretches.

“You know me, Dad,” I say with a sigh, flicking some more crud out. “Stubborn as always.”

“That you are, sweetie, that you are.” He finishes his stretches off with a flap. “Anyway, there’s nothing more you want us to do?”

I look away and softly shake my head. “No, Dad,” I reply, returning to him with a flattered smile. “You’ve done enough already. Besides, I’d feel like I’d owe you something if I did, and I don’t think I’ll be in a state of mind to repay it anytime soon.”

“Just checking, Fleety.”

“I know.”

Silence reigns for a few long moments, them savouring the occasion, and me letting them, growing evermore fuzzy in the process, my head slowly beginning to sag.

“Sweet Celestia, you are tired,” Mum murmurs, pointing out the obvious.

“Yeah.” I yawn, and curse myself for proving her point. “That’s what happens when you barely sleep for two and a half days.”

“Ah. Well then, we shouldn’t keep you waiting.” Dad strolls over to me and gives me another tight, but far less needy hug. “Have a nice nap, sweetie.”

I return it and lean into him, closing my eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”

Mum, too, strolls over and wraps us both in a hug of her own, nuzzling her snout into my cheek. “Stay safe, honey.”

“Mum, I’m home.” I chuckle as the circle breaks, both of them stepping back and watching me with proud smiles. “What could happen to me here?”

“Don’t tempt fate, sweetie, or you might find yourself dealing with a lot more than you bargained for.”

“Sure, I’ll keep that in mind when I’m sleeping like a baby.”

Her smile widens, though she tries to hide it.

“Goodbye, Fleety, and good night,” Dad farewells with a bow a his head, then walks backward to the door. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

Mum, however, stays where she is, lost in some kind of watery-eyed trance.

“Mum.”

“I know, I know, it’s just…” She blinks and fresh tears run free. “It’s so good to have you home.”

“Goodbye, Mum.” I wave her off with a wing. “I’ll be fine.”

She nods after a short pause, heading for the door as well. “Goodbye, sweetie. Love you.”

“I know, Mum. Love you too.”

She reaches the outdoors, and with another smile from Dad, the door is closed, and a short while later, I hear them take off for Cloudsdale proper.

I sigh, now with nothing left to do, and no one telling me what to do. And I welcome the silence, and the freedom it offers from all obligations. I’ve let Dad push me into confirming I’ll return — not that saying it to Philip’s face shouldn’t have been enough already — and… I’m okay with that. He was fun-ish. It’ll be interesting to see where this goes. What stories he has to tell. What he can offer me, and what I can offer him.

Interesting. Yes.

But now’s not the time to think of such things.

With another sigh, I pick myself up and hop into the air, and with a few brief flaps, flop into my bed and ruin the neatly straightened sheets and perfectly fluffed pillows. And the sweet embrace of sleep wraps me up in its warm, sumptuous blanket. And I melt like butter on toast.

Everything’s going to be okay.

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