Rainbow Dash nervously sits on the edge of her Cloudominium, eyes on the night sky while a hoof rubs at her full belly. Well, full doesn’t really cut it. She feels stuffed - double stuffed, even - with how much food she crams down her throat these days. Periodic snacking helps her ravenous hunger, but during meals she eats like an Apple, head to the plate and vacuuming up everything that gets in sucking range. The food selection might be predictable: apples in many forms, dry hay, wheat in pancakes or bread, but it’s filling and enjoyable. She just wishes they had more cider and less juice. At least they don’t make her stick to water.

Magenta eyes stray back and forth, never focusing on one spot in particular. You have to, looking at the darkened sky. Otherwise the twinkling stars start to drift around, shuddering like fireflies in a jar. Nothing but an optical illusion, but a distracting one, especially when an incoming flyer looks a lot like a blur of disappearing lights in a predictable pattern.

Speaking of, she thinks she spots one of those steadily drawing closer from the northwest. Her whole body tenses, and she desperately wants to make sure she has all her papers in order. But doing so would require her to take her eyes off the approaching target, and all her ‘Pony Overboard!’ instructors at Cloudsdale come roaring to life; insisting, screaming in her face, that you do not take your attention away or you might lose them against the hazy background below! And everypony knows what that means for a disabled flyer faller.

So she steadily watches, her breath growing faster and shallower, her heart racing. Who would it be? It’s not from Cloudsdale, unless they took a really roundabout route. Wrong angle to come from the train station. It’d be a long flight, but the course suggests the Wonderbolt Academy. It’s nearly impossible to tell if, or who, it is, at least until the light of Luna’s moon shines on the yellow wings and two-tone orange mane, Wonderbolt themed saddlebags on her side.

“Evening, Dash,” Captain Spitfire greets, her raspy voice not professional like Rainbow Dash expected but casual. Like they were back in the Wondercolts.

Excitement and dread mix inside Rainbow Dash, and it’s all she can do to return a choked, “Evening, Captain.” Her legs feel like jelly, probably the only thing keeping her from snapping out a crisp salute. Which, now that she thinks about it, wouldn’t be proper at all; she’s a civilian, not a part of the ‘Bolts, and Captain Spitfire isn’t even wearing her flight jacket!

“Not a bad crash-pad you got here,” Spitfire says brashly, looking around at the rainbow waterfalls, then down at Ponyville far below. She sluffs the saddlebags onto the cloud - they must be enchanted, since they don’t fall through - and settles down close, but not next, to Rainbow Dash.

“Heh, yeah,” Rainbow Dash says with an awkward scratch of hoof against the cloud. The nickname still stings. She joins Spitfire, looking down; they’re almost directly above the Apple farmhouse. “Apparently I thought it was too much for one pony.”

“And here I thought you were getting the next generation of ‘Bolts ready early,” Spitfire says, trying to lighten the mood with a wink.

“Gotta keep you on your contours,” Rainbow Dash says, smirking. “We’re gonna be the first dam and filly combination in the ‘Bolts.”

“You think you’ll last that long?” Spitfire says with disbelief. She whistles, loud and piercing through the night sky. “Gotta hoof it to ya, that’s bold.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten my foal out of the way.” It’s Rainbow’s turn to wink at Spitfire. “I can keep going ‘till my wings fall off.”

“Sure, sure,” Spitfire says, staring out over the endless expanse.

“...You know who you want to herd up with?” Rainbow Dash asks, feeling bold.

Spitfire’s muzzle purses, saying nothing.

“...Soarin?” Rainbow Dash guesses, cocking her head slightly. She almost immediately regrets the wasted guess. “Fire Streak?”

Spitfire snorts, still shaking her head from the first guess. “You’re just saying that because we both have ‘fire’ in our name.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rainbow Dash says, trailing off. She frowns as she realizes, “Hey, you didn’t deny it.”

“He’s going to retire too early,” Spitfire says with a heavy sigh. “He’ll pick somepony else first, and that’ll be that.”

Rainbow Dash matches her sigh. While Wonderbolts might be barred from overt displays of affection, especially in public, the tight working conditions and close-knit comradery meant that pairings were far from unknown. Sometimes the stallion had the pick of the field, and other times the choice is made clear. But only pairings; much as they might want to form a herd of ‘Bolts, too many alpha personalities - and they were all alphas, except for most of the stallions - means more strain on the herd as a whole. Plus, they need to keep new blood coming in. And be extra careful to avoid ‘mistakes’ around March, since both would be off the team should something happen.

A sharp intake of breath breaks the long silence. “I’m guessing you know why I’m here,” Spitfire says, drawing herself up. She goes to the saddlebags at her side.

The reprieve didn’t last nearly as long as Rainbow Dash might have wanted. She squares herself up, holds her head high, and fixes her eyes on a random star out in space. “I take full responsibility,” she evenly states. Inside she feels like breaking down and crying, throwing herself off the cloud and never opening her wings. But she wouldn’t do that, not to Doug, not to the foal sapping more and more of her strength as it grows.

“...That’s good,” Spitfire says after a pause, frowning slightly. “But I meant more, do you know why they sent me?”

“Um,” Rainbow Dash says, turning her head and breaking her stoic form to look at the yellow pegasus beside her. She looks, well, a little winded from the flight, and sweaty. But she still has the same fire inside her, the hard muzzle of a drill sergeant that brooks no disagreement or excuse. It’s probably chafing her to not scream at the top of her lungs about how badly she screwed up. “...Because you like yelling?”

Spitfire snorts loudly, clearly expecting a different answer. “You’re right,” she laughs as she gets herself under control. “I do like yelling. I like whipping recruits into shape, and berating them until they break so we can build up something stronger.” She inspects Rainbow Dash, eyes tracing from tip to tail.

Rainbow Dash gulps as the critical eye of the mare she respects more than every other passes over every square hoof of her. She expects a listing of all the places she’s failing, the bulges in her sides, how her wings aren’t perfectly preened. But nothing, besides a measured nod and turn back to the night sky.

“But that’s not why I’m here.” Spitfire takes a single breath. “I’m here because you respect me.”

“W-what?” Rainbow Dash stammers. “Y-you mean you’re not here to kick me out of the ‘Bolts? To tell me I failed, and that all my dreams are gone, and you never want to see me again?”

“Do you think you failed?” Spitfire demands, her wings pushing slightly away from her body and making her look bigger, more intimidating. “Are you failing to uphold the duties of a head weathermare?”

“N-no,” Rainbow Dash quails at the aggressive stance. “I did the work!” She looks away, glad for the distraction, at the weather schedule she crafted for July.

“Good,” Spitfire says, her voice hard, as if the matter is settled. “They sent me because whichever pony made this,” she pulls out a copy of Doug’s July schedule, “isn’t somepony in the system. This mystery pegasus never trained in Cloudsdale, or they’d remember. She never talked to anypony about it before who might have said something. That means it’s somepony who wants to stay under the canopy, but still wants to see if their work actually works.” Spitfire points a hoof at Rainbow Dash. “They came to you, a newbie weathermare, who wouldn’t mind having less of a workload, and you agreed to publish their work as if it was yours.”

“You’re right,” Rainbow Dash concedes, “except for two things. First, I did the work, I just didn’t use it.”

Spitfire waves away Rainbow Dash’s objection with a hoof.

“Second,” Rainbow Dash continues, her smirk carefully concealed, “not a pegasus, or a she.”

Spitfire frowns. “An earth pony stallion?” She looks down at Sweet Apple Acres.

“No and no,” Rainbow Dash says, her grin breaking through.

Spitfire’s fumbles away from the edge like she’s afraid she might fall and not recover, the revelation too powerful. “No.” She turns to Dash, her eyes wide. “He’s not a pegasus. He’s not a pony. He’s been here three months.”

“Three and a half,” Rainbow Dash corrects, though setting the more exact time just makes the concession worse. “And he’s only been working with weather for two.”

“...Did he get a cutie mark in weathercrafting?” Spitfire asks, walking back to the edge and looking down. She looks almost scared. “He must have.”

“Not that I’ve seen,” Rainbow Dash says, her grin now spreading from ear to ear. A cutie mark does impart a lot of knowledge, but he and his race must be used to not relying on that. “And I’ve seen most of his spots.”

“Well,” Spitfire says, a wing flipping her saddlebags onto her back, “then let’s go meet him.” She takes off, plummeting down.

“Wait, what?” Rainbow says as she gives chase, her own papers forgotten. She’s amazed how quickly Spitfire recovered. “Why?!”

“To offer him a job!” Spitfire calls back, landing on the porch and knocking on the door.

A bleary-eyed Applejack opens the door a moment later. “Howdy,” she greets, glancing past Spitfire as Rainbow Dash lands. She directs the question to her herdmate, “Bringin’ guests at this hour?” The way she says ‘guests’ makes it seem like she thinks the yellow pegasus is more than a ‘guest’.

“It’s Captain Spitfire,” Rainbow Dash says, walking next to the yellow pegasus and almost shoving her inside.

“Alrighty then,” Applejack says, slipping to the side. “What can Ah do for ya?”

“Is Doug busy?” Spitfire asks as a wing pulls out a folder from her saddlebags. She glances around the farmhouse, quickly spotting the kitchen table a room over.

“He’s busy with Fluttershy,” Applejack says, a minute glare at Rainbow Dash like the pegasus should have known better. She sighs, glancing at the Wonderbolt now standing at the table. “But Ah’m guessin’ it’s a long flight back.”

“I can wait,” Spitfire says neutrally, getting a few forms in order.

Applejack sighs. “Ah’ll go get him.” She trudges up the stairs.

After a moment Doug comes down the stairs, a concealing towel wiping off his crotch. He spots Spitfire from the doorway and comes to an immediate halt. “Captain Spitfire,” he says, not as a question.

“Got it in one,” the mare in question says, her gravely voice perhaps harsher than she might have liked.

“You’re the head of one of Equestria’s military branches,” Doug states with a gulp. He takes a moment to compose himself, then rolls his shoulders and stands straight. The towel stays at his waist until he gets to the table, pulls out one of two chairs in the house and sits down. He plops the towel on the table. “What can I do for you?” He glances at Rainbow Dash. “Did she tell you about airplanes?”

Spitfire’s brow furrows momentarily; the mashup of two words must have some hidden meaning. But it’s not what she came here for, though a report to Princess Celestia probably would be called for. “Not exactly,” she says, sliding a paper across the table. “You crafted Ponyville’s weather schedule for July, yes?”

“Yes,” Doug says carefully after seeing Rainbow Dash nod. He reads through the paper, occasionally frowning to himself.

“Weather crafting is a rare skill,” Spitfire explains. “Not everypony has it, and not every city has a pony who wants the work.”

“That’s ‘cause Cloudsdale snatches them all up,” Rainbow Dash says from the side.

Spitfire nods. “Fillydelphia’s head weathermare especially doesn’t like it, and hasn’t since she started this year. It’s been a recurring thorn in the bosses’ side, having to constantly redo her work.” She taps the paper. “We’re looking to hire you to craft August’s schedule for them.”

Doug crinkles the paper. “And Ponyville’s, from the looks of it.” Rainbow Dash nods, though it’s subdued. “And any other cities and towns that request it.” He frowns. “That seems like it could quickly add up to a lot of work, especially in areas that I’m not familiar with, and ponies who I don’t know.”

“We understand,” Spitfire says evenly. “We can add new places at whatever pace you’re comfortable with. Provide you with the materials you need, that sort of thing.”

“The pay looks good.” Doug counts silently to himself, his eye twitching. “Better than I’d get working on the farm.”

“And it frees ponies to do what they love. Working the weather, not deciding what to do with it.” Spitfire grins as she reaches a quill forward. “You’re on board?”

“Tentatively,” Doug says, taking the quill and twirling it in his hand. The motion is fascinating to the yellow mare. “You know, I should do this as well. Been putting it off for far too long.” He rises, returning with another sheet of paper and signing it along the bottom.

Spitfire glances at the official looking application for Equestrian Citizenship, already signed by Mayor Mare. “Congratulations,” she offers, sounding weak to herself. Her grin widens as he signs the second paper. “Excellent.” Her happy expression turns grim as she reads the name. “Doug… Graves? That’s… not exactly a pegasus name.”

“That matters?” Doug says, frowning. “You think they won’t want to use a system designed by a non-pegasus?”

“No,” Spitfire says bluntly.

“I’m with her on that,” Rainbow Dash says regretfully. “I mean, if I didn’t know you, I might not trust it either.” She smirks. “We just need a pen name. And I know just the one.”

“Oh?” Doug says, looking up at his mare.

“Cold Digger,” Rainbow Dash says with an apple-eating grin.

“I like it,” Spitfire says with a matching smirk.

“You ponies and your puns,” Doug says, shaking his head as he finishes filling out the application.

Next Chapter: Ch. 96 - Cinderswallow Urn Estimated time remaining: 2 Hours, 44 Minutes