Fluttershy buried her face in her hooves. She was too ashamed to make eye contact with anypony else in the room, but she didn’t have to. She could feel the anger and resentment burning through the damning silence as her friends passed their dreaded judgement on her crimes. At least it would all be over soon, though the fate of her animal friends still hung in the air. Perhaps—

“Um, Fluttershy?” Applejack asked in obvious puzzlement. “Mind runnin’ that by us again?”

Of course she wanted to hear it a second time. After all, what pony in their right mind would ever think Fluttershy was capable of such craven fraudulence? “I’m not really a fog specialist! I’ve been lying the whole time but now everything’s ruined and I’m going to jail and you all hate me!” Fluttershy cried out, covering her head in case one of her ex-friends lost control and decided that physical violence was in order (because it probably was).

“Um, Fluttershy?” Pencil Pusher said tentatively. “What are you talking about? You’re on our files as a certified fog expert. I know; I’ve seen them myself.”

Somehow Fluttershy’s ears managed to droop even lower as she looked up at the poor, naïve bureaucrat who’d been going the extra kilotrot for her for nearly two days now. She couldn’t really blame the stallion for attempting to deny the obvious; if she’d invested as much time and energy into a project like this as he had, she’d make desperate attempts to stave off the cold, harsh reality as well. “I’m sure it looks that way, but... but did you see where I took my certification classes?”

“Well, no...” Pencil Pusher tapped his chin as he tried to recall what Fluttershy’s file actually said. “But I really don’t see how that would make a difference.”

“Wait a minute,” Rainbow Dash said. “How did you get that certification? There aren’t any colleges in the area, and somepony would have noticed if you were away from home for hours at a time.”

Rarity gasped. “Fluttershy, are you saying that you faked a course?!”

“That’s impossible,” Pencil Pusher said. “In order to be certified, you have to take the course at an educational institution that’s been accredited by the Department.”

“Which is why it doesn’t count in my case,” Fluttershy admitted. “I... I took a correspondence course. I never left my home.”

“Uh, Fluttershy, that sounds like a matter of semantics, not a moral failure,” Twilight Sparkle said. “Many institutions offer quality education through the mail.”

“Maybe... but I got my course from Five-C.”

Twilight would have asked Fluttershy what “Five-C” was had Rainbow Dash’s wincing groan not cut in: “A Central Cloudsdale College Correspondence Course? Are you kidding me?!”

Applejack raised an eyebrow at this outburst. “I take it this here school ain’t exactly the Manehattan Institute of Technology.”

“It’s your standard-issue diploma mill,” Rainbow Dash with a dismissive wave of her hoof. “They’ve got ads all over Cloudsdale. Save money, get your degree from home, that sort of thing. What they don’t mention is that those degrees aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on... or at least that’s what I thought.” She turned her attention over to Pencil Pusher. “How the heck did Five-C end up getting accredited by the Department?”

Pencil Pusher, for his part, had an oddly disgusted look on his face, as though he’d accidentally stumbled across an open sewer. “That’s... a really good question, actually,” he finally answered. “They didn’t let you take the certification test at home, did they?” he asked Fluttershy.

“Yes,” Fluttershy replied sadly. “I mean, I had to contact a notary public to come to my house so I could take it. You know, so they could verify that I followed the Department of Weather’s rules.”

“Oh,” Pencil Pusher said, looking relieved. “Well, if a licensed notary administered the test, then that shouldn’t be a problem. You see, regardless of what you learned from the course, the actual certification test is standardized. The Department of Weather developed it, and we’re also the ones who grade it.”

“So she really is a specialist after all!” Pinkie Pie proclaimed. “This calls for a party!”

“Uh, maybe later would be a better idea, sugarcube,” Applejack advised. “We still got other things to worry about, even if this problem’s behind us.”

Fluttershy, however, was having none of this optimism; she suddenly burst into tears, much to everypony’s surprise. “It... it doesn’t matter if the certification’s valid,” she managed to say in between shudders. “Even if... even if that’s true, it still doesn’t change the fact that I’ve... been cheating on my taxes.”

Finally, her friends were showing an appropriate display of shock, instead of bewilderment. “What?!” the shouted in unison.

Fluttershy nodded sadly; it was almost a relief to hear her confession generate the indignation it so rightly deserved. She wiped the moisture from her eyes and did her best to regain her composure long enough to tell the whole, ugly truth. “I’ve been writing off the utilities on my home because I read that fog specialists are allowed to do that, but you don’t actually need to live on the ground to be a fog specialist, so it’s not really a business expense. I was just trying to make ends meet and support my animal friends, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m a tax cheat, and I’m no better than a common criminal!”

There it was again. That harsh, unforgiving silence, judging—

“Er, Fluttershy, that’s not cheating,” Rainbow Dash said as she awkwardly scraped a hoof across the library floor. “In fact, you kind of did exactly what the government hoped you would.”

The urge to shed tears was suddenly gone, mostly because this claim was so blatantly ridiculous that Fluttershy was too busy trying to make sense of it to feel sorry for herself. “Why would the government want me to commit fraud?” she eventually asked, her face finally mirroring the bemusement of her friends.

Pencil Pusher sighed. “Fluttershy, are you familiar with the concept of a tax incentive?”

“Um, I think I’ve heard of it. I’m not certain what it means.”

“It’s never come up in discussions with your accountant?” Pencil asked.

“I’ve sort of been doing my own taxes for the last few years, because... well, I guess it’s obvious why.”

“Oh, I can explain it!” Pinkie Pie shouted enthusiastically as she waved her hoof in the air. “Pick me! Pick me!”

Although she was almost completely certain that Pinkie had no accounting experience, Fluttershy was still curious about what the pink earth pony might have to say on the subject. “Um, okay...”

“A tax incentive is when you don’t have to pay as much money to the ERS because you’re doing something super-duper awesome!” Pinkie grinned broadly as she finished.

“That’s... reasonably close to a standard definition,” Twilight admitted. “How do you know about that, Pinkie?”

“Because the Cakes found out about a loophole that reduces their property taxes to next to nothing, all because they’re housing a public servant. That’s me, by the way.”

“What?!” Applejack cried out. “How come nopony told me about this? If bein’ one of the Elements of Harmony means I count as a ‘public servant,’ that’ll cut down on the farm’s expenses like nopony’s business.”

“Aren’t you already doing that?” Pinkie Pie asked as she scratched her head. “I mean, Big Mac was the one who told the Cakes about it in the first place.”

Applejack seemed stunned to learn this. “Huh... I really oughta talk to him more often during tax season.”

“Wait,” Rarity said, “we’re allowed to use that loophole if we’re housing ourselves? Perhaps I ought to have a discussion with Macintosh as well....”

Fluttershy wasn’t certain how the conversation had morphed into a discussion of Applejack’s brother, especially since the fact that she was a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad pony seemed to be much more pertinent. “But why would the government let ponies write off so much money on their taxes just because they’re fog specialists?”

“Because we need fog specialists,” Rainbow Dash said. “Like, really badly.”

Pencil Pusher nodded. “If you’ll recall, when we first met, I told you that the reason the Department put you in charge is because you were the only available specialist, and I wasn’t exaggerating. The shortage has been bad for years.”

“But why?” Fluttershy asked.

“Because under normal circumstances, ‘fog specialist’ is one of the most boring and thankless jobs in the whole DOW,” Rainbow Dash said, “and it requires specialized knowledge that most pegasi don’t want to get, because most of them don’t like being at ground level unless they have to. I’m pretty sure that the idea behind the loophole was to encourage pegasi who already have a vested interest in ground-level weather to consider becoming specialists on the side, or something like that. And in your case, it worked perfectly.”

“You sound unusually well-versed in Equestrian tax law as well,” Rarity noted.

Rainbow Dash, however, shrugged it off. “Actually, most of that was from a pamphlet all the lead weatherponies got a while back. We were supposed to tell any pegasi we knew who lived on the ground about the specialist thing, but I sort of procrastinated and never got around to telling Fluttershy,” she said with a slight blush.

“Well, there you go,” Twilight Sparkle said cheerfully. “Not only have you not been doing anything illegal, but your actions aren’t even unethical, since the government tried to publicize the loophole in the first place.”

Fluttershy felt like crying again, but this time out of frustration, rather than despair. Why didn’t they understand? This wasn’t about whether her actions were legal or illegal (at least, not any more it wasn’t), this was a matter of compromised principles. “But none of that changes the fact that I thought I was cheating on my taxes. I was trying to do something illegal!”

“And you failed spectacularly, darling,” Rarity said as she flipped a hoof through her mane.

Pinkie Pie nodded vigorously in agreement. “That’s right! If you’re going to be bad, it’s better to be bad at being bad, and you’re so bad at badness that you actually managed to do something good!”

“Um...” Fluttershy said, clearly not following her friend’s reasoning.

“I think what Pinkie’s tryin’ to say is that your actions are more important than your intentions,” Applejack said as she pushed her hat up her brow. “I mean, sure, the fact that you tried to be a tax cheat is a problem, but we can deal with that later. Right now, there are more important things to worry about, like that massive fog bank sittin’ on the other side of the mountains. Besides, it sorta sounds like the government managed to fool you into bein’ a good citizen anyway, so becoming a qualified fog specialist is sorta like your community service, if you think about it.”

Fluttershy sighed and stared at her hooves again, which were now rubbing each other with small circular motions. “I... I guess you have a point. And I suppose I should be relieved that I won’t have to find somepony to take care of my animal friends, but...”

“Oh, come on!” Rainbow Dash said as she smacked her forehead with a hoof. “There’s another reason we’re supposed to think you’re a bad pony?”

“Well, I suppose this wouldn’t technically make me a bad pony. It’s just that I’m not really qualified to be a fog specialist.”

“Darling, we’ve already been over this,” Rarity said. “You’ve already passed the test.”

“But it was a fluke!” Fluttershy insisted. “The notice in the mail said that my test score was only ‘Acceptable,’ and I had to answer all of my questions from my personal experience, since the course hadn’t really taught me anything! I can’t possibly know everything I need to know about fog to do a job like this.”

Twilight Sparkle gasped. “‘Acceptable’?! Oh, no!” There was look of genuine panic in her expression as she rushed over to Fluttershy and nearly poked her in the forehead with her horn in an effort to make uncomfortably close eye contact. “How far off were you from the top of the grading scale?”

“Uh, actually,” Pencil Pusher cautiously cut in, “that is the top of the grading scale. The test is a simple pass/fail: if you get more than three-quarters of the questions correct, you’re certified. For all we know, Fluttershy answered every question correctly.”

Far from being relieved, the yellow pegasus looked like she was about to burst into tears again. “But... but I’ve been worrying about this for the past two days! I must have done something wrong!”

Pencil wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. He never expected that a fashion model with the confidence to get away with picking her nose on the runway would have this many self-esteem issues. Eventually, though, he decided that this didn’t matter. After all, if he’d spent two days convinced he was facing jail time, he’d probably assume that a simple solution was too good to be true as well. “The only thing you’ve done that could be considered ‘wrong’ was the decision to try to make the fog rain out, and that’s just because you didn’t know enough about it to make an informed decision at the time. Now that you know better, you’ll be able to come up with a real plan.”

“But I can’t! Even if I am qualified, nothing like this was in the course or on the test!”

“Maybe, but that means that none of the other specialists are ‘qualified’ to handle this, either.” Pencil Pusher walked over to Fluttershy and cautiously rested a hoof on her shoulder. He was momentarily distracted by a barely repressed squeal from Rarity, but he shrugged this off and continued, “Listen, from what I’ve seen so far, you’re doing everything that could be reasonably asked of you. I don’t see any reason to give up—especially since trying to quit in the middle of an emergency when there’s nopony to replace you will probably get you into actual trouble, if I understand your contract with the Department correctly.”

Fluttershy looked slightly pale. “Oh... right. I forgot about that part.” She stared at the ceiling for several interminable seconds before looking at Pencil Pusher. “You really think I can do this?”

The bureaucrat turned his gaze towards Fluttershy’s assembled friends. “What do you guys think?”

“I don’t ‘think’ anything,” Rainbow Dash said as she flew out of her chair and landed behind Fluttershy. “I know she can.”

“Hear, hear!” Rarity concurred as she rapped the tabletop with her hoof enthusiastically.

Pinkie Pie had already grabbed a pair of pom-poms and had begun a cheer: “Gimme an F! Gimme an L! Gimme a U...”

“Oughta be a snap now that she don’t gotta worry about gettin’ in trouble,” Applejack said sagely.

“That’s right,” Twilight Sparkle agreed. “Fluttershy, if you put your mind to it, you’ll come up with something. I’m positive.”

Pencil Pusher smiled as he turned his attention back to Fluttershy. “Well, the experts sound pretty confident, so I’m assuming they’re right.”

Fluttershy wiped a tear from her eye as she finally cracked a smile. “Well, I guess it can’t hurt to try again....”

Pencil Pusher hadn’t known this group of mares for more than two days, which was probably why he hadn’t expected this to be a cue for a spontaneous group hug. He also hadn’t been expecting to be caught in the middle of that hug, which was a lot tighter than any he’d ever experienced before. “Ugh... can’t breathe....”

The mares, however, were focusing all of their attention on somepony else. “Hey, Fluttershy, are you crying again?” Pinkie Pie asked.

“Yes...” the yellow pegasus said timidly.

“Um, but that’s the ‘tears of joy’ kind, right?”

“Actually, I think Pencil Pusher’s hoof slipped and poked me in the eye.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that,” Pencil Pusher wheezed out. “I don’t have much experience with group hugs.”

This was enough to get the Elements-Bearers to release their friend, who sat in silence for a few seconds rubbing her eye, which, fortunately, was not injured.

“So, feelin’ better?” Applejack eventually asked Fluttershy.

“A little bit,” Fluttershy said. “Though I’d feel more confident if I already had an idea.”

“Well, then,” Twilight said as she gathered up her notes from a nearby desk, “I’d say it’s high time we got to work.”

Greg was still stewing in his office as his lunch break neared it end. He still couldn’t believe that Pushme-Pullyou had shown the audacity to speak to him that way. That stallion had hardly seemed like the type who would let a pretty face convince him to be so disrespectful to his thoughtful, caring boss who’d given the kid countless opportunities to prove himself over the years. So what if that floozy had more authority? That was mere flowchart authority (and temporary flowchart authority at that!), which was far less important than loyalty to those who had shown you repeated kindness. Once this fog business was in the past, that backstabbing little ingrate would was going to pay. First, he would—

Greg’s train of thought was interrupted by a series of rapid knocks on his office door, which immediately swung open before he could actually tell whoever was knocking to enter. “Greg!” Hard Hitter said at the top of his lungs as he carelessly slammed the door behind him. “You are just the pony I wanted to see.”

“Hard Hitter?!” Greg said, clearly surprised to see the journalist in his office. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’ve been in the archives, following up on a lead.”

Greg seemed skeptical of this explanation. “Actual journalism? Seriously, what are you doing here?”

If this had been intended as a jest, Hard Hitter was rather unappreciative. “What crawled up your butt and died? I’m on the trail of a big scoop.”

“Uh huh. Headline: ‘Ditzy airhead fog specialist is ditzy airhead.’”

Hard Hitter just waved his hoof dismissively. “Actually, I’m dropping the Fluttershy angle. I saw her file, and the worst you can say about her is that she doesn’t like to spend money, and that won’t get anypony’s attention. Besides, I found something bigger.”

“Bigger?”

“Oh, yeah. I just need a question or two answered.”

“Don’t really have time for this—”

Hard Hitter cut Greg off here. “I’m almost certain that you aren’t going to be in trouble.”

That, as the saying went, was a horse of a different feather. “Ask away.”

“Which division is in charge of accrediting certification programs for the Department?”

The journalist’s smirk was so gleefully malicious that Greg was already questioning whether he was going to stay out of trouble, but he answered anyway. “Personnel.”

“Excellent... and who actually makes the final decisions about it?”

“Subcommittee, I think. Headed by Synergy—she’s the Personnel Division manager.”

Hard Hitter chuckled darkly. “Well, that’s true for now....”

Author's Notes:

Fun Fact: One of the reasons I named the journalist "Hard Hitter" was because "Red Herring" made things too obvious.