Chapter Six

The Halves and the Whole

“Do you feel strong enough to eat?”

The sun was beginning to sink below the western horizon, and Trixie had awoken from the first truly restful nap that she had enjoyed for the better part of a year. Sleeping in the Everfree was rarely comfortable, and her rest had been eternally haunted with the knowledge that she may be forced to wake at a moment’s notice, should one of the forest’s less desirable residents happen upon her camp.

The unicorn had come around from her slumber with a small smile on her lips. She felt far stronger than earlier, and the numbness had largely retreated from her limbs, although there was a weight in her sinuses that could herald the first signs of a cold. She noticed, with gratitude, that a hot water bottle had been tucked thoughtfully between her forelegs, and that the mare responsible was resting in a nearby armchair. The pegasus quietly sipped from a mug of hot chocolate.

At Fluttershy’s question, Trixie suddenly became aware of how painfully empty her stomach was. She shifted a little, and it let out a loud growl. The pegasus giggled. “I guess that’s as good an answer as any.”

Trixie smiled, her cheeks colouring. “Sorry!” She gave a faux-grimace. “Food sounds wonderful, but…” she bit her lip, meeting her host’s eyes a little guiltily. “I don’t really feel right sponging off you like this. I mean, I still owe you an explanation for everything, don’t I?”

Fluttershy waved her down. “I’ve always got more than enough food from the allotments, and half of the animals are hibernating, so I’ve always got plenty left over in the winter.”

She stood, trotting over to the supine mare, and knelt down to meet her eyes. “I don’t want you to explain anything to me, until you feel strong enough. Look at you; you’re starving, Trixie. I mean, of course there are some things I’d like to know. The last time you were here, you were a little…” she broke Trixie’s gaze, and the unicorn shifted guiltily, “…different.”

Fluttershy met the former showmare’s eyes again, and Trixie gave her a reassuring smile. “But I won’t ask for your story until you’re good and ready to tell me.” She spoke briskly, with an air of finality, and leaned over to pull the warm covers up to the unicorn’s chin. In a strange way, the gesture was almost maternal.

“Hey...” Trixie’s eyes widened a little, as something occurred to her which did not seem to quite add up. “You found me in the middle of the Everfree, right?” Her expression was thoughtful. “How in Equestria did you get me back? I wasn’t even conscious.”

There was no doubt about it; Fluttershy did not meet Trixie’s eyes. She looked suddenly evasive, and a pinkish tinge stained her cheeks. “Oh,” she mumbled, her tongue tripping over even such a simple sound. “I just… I guess I improvised, that’s all.”

Trixie decided not to push the subject. Her eyelids were leaden again, and in any case, Fluttershy had been kind enough not to press her for information that she had no desire to reveal. It was the least she could do to return the favour. “Oh… okay then,” she replied, stifling a yawn.

“Now,” Fluttershy smiled down at her charge, obviously grateful that Trixie had let drop the matter of her rescue. “I think you need something warming, after all that time out in the snow. How do omelettes sound?”

Trixie grinned a little embarrassedly, as the suggestion set her stomach rumbling again. “I like the sound of that. Thanks, Fluttershy.” It was the first time she had used the primrose pegasus’s name aloud. The thought gave her a strange sense of contentment, which must have shown on her face, because Fluttershy giggled again.

“You really are different, aren’t you?” she said, softly. “I mean, seeing you up on stage, you were so…” she tailed off.

“Horrible?” Trixie suggested, rolling her eyes.

“I was going to say overconfident, but… well, yes,” Fluttershy conceded with a small smile, but her eyes were both intrigued and concerned. “Was that really who you were back then?”

“I thought it was for a while,” muttered the unicorn, shortly. She realized her response sounded unpleasantly blunt, and so she continued, raising her head a little. “There were times when I believed that was who I was. Those were always the worst times; the times when I needed to escape, and play out my foalish little fantasies. I mean, thinking about it now, it looks so absurd. I mean, I claimed I was a monster hunter.” She snorted. “How trite can you possibly be?”

It surprised her how she found talking about her past life to be, if not easy, at least possible when she was with this mare, and also at the clarity of thought she could summon with which to address the matter. Ordinarily, dwelling on the past sent her into ever-decreasing circles of egotistical angst and confusion. Now, though, she felt as if she were analyzing somepony else’s life, and could look slightly more objectively at her past’s fantasies and idiocies.

Her little outburst had drained her strength, however, and her head fell back onto the couch. It was frightening how weak she had become over such a short time, and she was uncomfortably aware of how fast her heart was pumping, even at such a minimal exertion.

Trixie felt Fluttershy rest a hoof on her shoulder, and a pair of searching aqua eyes met her gaze. The pegasus’s expression was apologetic. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I shouldn’t be asking about these things yet; I’m just curious. You stay there, try and have another nap, and I’ll get dinner ready.”

The unicorn would have liked to reply, and to indicate her gratitude, but every action felt unbearably heavy again. As the warm fingers of sleep closed once more around her mind, however, she fancied that Fluttershy understood.

The sun had all but set when Trixie awoke again to the sound of a tray being set down on the coffee table. Her eyes flickered open, and she tentatively raised her head. The experiment was a success; this time, her vision did not swim, and dizzying exhaustion did not claim her.

Her gaze settled first upon Fluttershy’s smile, the sight sending a tingle trickling along her spine, born of gratitude and of the kindness that the mare so freely radiated. Then, she caught sight of the food, and her stomach let out another rumble. Fluttershy had prepared two perfectly-browned omelettes, one for each of them, obviously made from eggs laid by the chickens that could even now be heard clucking contentedly around in the back garden. Each omelette sat on a bed of roasted winter vegetables, and the delicious smell rising from the plates was all but visible.

For Trixie, who had spent much of the last year existing on roots and wild berries, and to whom even so simple a thing as hot food was a rare treat, the sight of a large, well-prepared meal was almost overwhelming. “They look amazing, Fluttershy,” she murmured appreciatively, sitting tentatively upright.

The timid pegasus blushed, hiding embarrassedly behind her mane. “It’s nice to be able to cook for somepony else,” she admitted. “With all the animals to look after, I usually just eat on the go these days. I know I’m not much of a chef, but­—”

“It’s perfect,” Trixie cut her nervous rambling off with a gentle smile, her horn flaring. “Thanks, Fluttershy.” She levitated her plate and fork to rest on the arm of the couch, relieved that her head was still remarkably clear.

“It’s alright,” the pegasus replied with a small grin, her cheeks still a little pink from the compliment as she took her own plate, and sat down beside Trixie on the sofa.

For a few minutes, the mares sat in a companionable silence, broken only by occasional noises of quiet appreciation from the unicorn, as Trixie enjoyed her first genuine meal in many a month. She could not help glancing across at Fluttershy every few seconds, almost in wonderment at the strange sense of rediscovery, as she reacquainted herself with every lovely little quirk of everyday life, from food to conversation.

In truth, she had been starved of true conversation since even before her self-imposed exile, surrounded in every town either by dull, sycophantic fools, or more intelligent ponies who were wise enough to ignore her, and not rise to her boasts.

Rosemary, the thought flitted almost idly across her brain. She was the last one I really talked to. She was the last one to know me.

It was remarkable, too, how she had forgotten the nuances of eating. In the forest, food had been a functional thing; a means of survival, not something from which enjoyment could be derived. “Mmm,” she moaned quietly as she swallowed the first piece of hot, subtly-seasoned courgette, the flavours spilling across her tongue and sparking a strange, half-acknowledged nostalgia into life at the back of her mind.

As she ate, she felt a little of her strength rekindling. Enough to talk, at any rate. She steeled herself mentally; she would not delay for any longer than was necessary, and Fluttershy deserved to know the truth about her.

The mare turned to the pegasus, who caught her gaze with a sudden curiosity. “I’m ready,” Trixie said, quietly. “I feel stronger now; ask me whatever you want.”

Fluttershy swallowed her mouthful of omelette, looking a little concerned. “Are you sure?” she asked. “I don’t want to rush—”

“I’m sure,” Trixie interjected. Then, she smiled a little, weakly. “Promise.”

Fluttershy nodded, her expression pensive. “Okay then.” She raised another mouthful of food to her lips, chewing, as she mulled over the direction in which to lead the conversation. They had all the time in the world in which to talk, after all. Then, she took a deep breath. “Who were you?” she asked, meeting Trixie’s gaze with a surprising intensity. “Before the act took over? And…” she nibbled a little nervously on her lower lip. “What made you change in the first place?”

Trixie looked away with a small sigh, wondering exactly where to begin, and how much to say at first.

“I was… unsatisfied, if you want to know,” she began, in a small voice. “I grew up in Trottingham. I had normal parents, a normal life, a normal foalhood, and before long I hated it. I wanted adventure, I wanted to discover some incredible hidden power. For me, that was how the world worked; and I felt entitled to it.”

She snorted. “I was a conjuror, but that was as far as my abilities went. Even telekinesis didn’t come naturally. Really, I was nothing but a weak illusionist, and deep down I knew it. I grew up in a world surrounded by ponies who could work true magic. I knew I was a failure, but I refused to accept it.”

She met Fluttershy’s gaze, and was surprised at what she saw there. She had expected sympathy, and that was certainly visible in her eyes, but the dominant emotion in the canary mare’s face was recognition. She looked as if Trixie were telling a story that was all too familiar to her.

“I went to Canterlot one year,” Trixie continued. “Like most unicorn foals, I went with my parents during the solstice, to watch Celestia raising the sun, and it made me feel so… so angry. I knew she was practically a goddess, that to be jealous of her was insane, but really it wasn’t just her. I mean, you’ve seen your friend, Twilight Sparkle. You’ve seen what she can do, and she’s not the only one who can perform magic I can only dream of. I grew up in this world, surrounded by real magicians, and what was I capable of?” Trixie waved a dismissive hoof. “Party tricks.” She let out a low groan, shaking her head. “Ugh. Look at me, getting carried away. I’m sorry. It just… it hurt, Fluttershy. I’m not going to deny it.”

For a few moments, she lapsed into silence, taking another bite of omelette. Then, she carried on speaking, faster now, the words spilling out before her thoughts could catch up with what she was saying.

“That’s where the act came from, or at least, that’s what it turned into. I wanted to see the world; I didn’t dare be tied down to one place, so I bought the caravan and headed out on the road.” She let out a low, bitter laugh. “The thought of an ordinary, settled life… it scared me. The day I lived a normal life would be the day I had to accept that I wasn’t great, and I wasn’t powerful. So I built myself up against it, and I guess I just got better at ignoring the real world.

“Looking back, that’s how the whole act began. The Great and Powerful Trixie started off as a show persona, but it was different back then. It was more like… banter, I suppose. Patter to keep the audience interested, and to hide the sleight of hoof that goes with conjuring tricks.”

She shook her head, unwilling to bring Rosemary’s name into events quite so soon. One step at a time, she decided. “Long story short, it all went the way you’d expect. It stopped being about the magic; soon, it was just ego gratification. The act became nastier, I guess. I thought the best way to hide my own failings was to highlight those of others, and giving everypony something to laugh at kept the audience on my side… usually, anyway.

“I started talking like her outside of shows, and I never introduced myself as plain old Trixie anymore. The mask got tighter, or maybe I just changed to fit it. Either way, in the end, the Great and Powerful Trixie became me, off the stage as much as on it. I just… couldn’t see it.”

Trixie felt the hot, bitter sting of tears biting behind her eyes. “I… I got hurt a few times. Each fall just made things worse, and after a while, it all became a spiral. I really believed all the nonsense in the end; that was the worst thing. In my head, it wasn’t just a show anymore.” She sat up straighter, staring off into the rafters as if enraptured by something visible only to her shining eyes. “I was great, I was powerful, and it felt wonderful because suddenly reality didn’t matter anymore. Reality was whatever I wanted it to be. Isn’t that magic? Isn’t that what magic’s for?”

Her voice had unconsciously risen, and she was holding a hoof out in an eloquent gesture before her, as if addressing an audience. Her cheeks were bright with moisture. Her foreleg fell limply back down by her side. “Then, one day in Ponyville, I was reminded,” she whispered. “That’s not how reality works.” The unicorn felt Fluttershy reach out to her, gently touching her shoulder. She fell back into the plush sofa, seeming to collapse in upon herself, and realized that her voice was choked with barely-suppressed sobs.

“I-I’m sorry,” Trixie forced out, wiping almost aggressively at her eyes. “I guess it… it still hurts a little.”

However, before she had time to speak another word, Fluttershy came across to lean reassuringly against her, and Trixie felt an electric prickle run the length of her spine. Silently, Fluttershy cradled the shivering mare in her forehooves, the remainder of her dinner quite forgotten.

“It’s okay,” she whispered at length, the words incredibly sweet for all their simplicity. Trixie could feel the soft, comforting bloom of Fluttershy’s breath as she nuzzled away the unicorn’s tears, just as she had done earlier that day. The hot satin of her muzzle was calming against Trixie’s cheek, and the sapphire mare melted into the pegasus’s warmth. The canary mare’s subtle, heady scent went some way to blot out the pain of the past, along with its library of failures and fears.

This had been a worthwhile warning; her history was not something to be trifled with. Skimming the surface, and dipping in and out of memory with this kind, beautiful mare was one thing, but her aim was to truly heal, and she knew that her past would not lay itself to rest without deep examination, and reconciliation. She now saw how painful confronting the haze of confusion, cruelty and lost love was going to be.

If she was honest with herself, she knew what the turning point had been. She knew what had tipped her once and for all over the edge, the moment that had made her and her act a single entity. She knew the face that would, perhaps, never leave her.

You’re still there, aren’t you, Rosemary?

“Ohh…” the needy little sound slipped unconsciously from her lips as she snuggled closer to Fluttershy, although she could not tell which of the uncountable emotions dancing in her brain had conjured it up. A strange, numbing heat was picking at every inch of her skin like a scalding drizzle. Part of her wanted to run and scream her every little unknown fear and frustration into the howling night, but the dominant part of her wanted, no, demanded that she stayed folded to this mare’s chest, close enough to feel her heartbeat, until both their hearts lost the will to beat any longer.

“This is the first time you’ve talked about any of this, isn’t it?” the pegasus murmured, stroking Trixie’s neck reassuringly with the soft fetlocks of her forehoof. The unicorn nodded mutely, head pressed against Fluttershy’s collarbone. “It’s going to be difficult,” she continued in barely more than a whisper. “That’s why I want you to get your strength back before we talk about this. But…” she sighed, leaning her chin on the top of Trixie’s head. “I just want you to know that I understand how you feel. The anger, the bitterness, all of that inadequacy… I’ve felt it all. I know how much it hurts.”

“You’re not a unicorn,” Trixie mumbled.

Fluttershy laughed quietly, but there was no humour in the sound. “No. I’m a pegasus. I’m a pegasus, and I spent my foalhood knowing that I was a failure to my kind. Even when I left school, I could barely fly. I sat and watched my friends dancing in that huge, amazing, open sky, and I knew it’d never be mine. It scared me, because I knew I’d fall if I tried to take it. Nopony hated me for it… they pitied me, which was so, so much worse. I couldn’t talk to them; I couldn’t talk to anypony. I became scared of… of everything.”

She nuzzled into Trixie’s mane, and the unicorn could have sworn she felt a tear that was not hers spill onto her neck. “I protected myself from those inadequacies with fear and repression, and you made your mask out of self-deception and arrogance. But really, it’s all the same.” She wrapped her forehooves all the way around the unicorn, and Trixie noticed how tight her grip had become, as if the pegasus were seeking comfort for herself, as much as she was offering it to the mare she was embracing. There was a pleasant elegance to that symbiosis. “I know how much it hurts, Trixie.”

“I… I didn’t…” Trixie faltered, biting her lip. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never told anypony how bad it was before,” Fluttershy admitted, quietly, still leaning into the unicorn’s mane. “Not even Rainbow Dash; I didn’t want it to look like I was whining. So don’t apologize… I guess I need to get this stuff out in the open as much as you do.”

“But… your friends?” Trixie asked, surprised. “You all seemed so close, what stopped you from talking to them about these things?”

“They knew I didn’t have a very good time as a foal,” replied Fluttershy, “but I’ve never really talked about the reasons. I mean, I trust them; I’d happily put my life in any of their hooves, but none of them would really understand, so it seemed pointless.” She pulled back a little to meet Trixie’s gaze, their wide eyes mere inches apart. “I’ve just… I’ve never met anypony the same as me before.”

For some reason, the words caused her to blush a deep pink, and she buried her face into the unicorn’s shoulder again.

The same as me… the words rang in Trixie’s head, turned over and over, re-examined with every possible inflection.

“Neither have I,” she whispered, simply. She wanted to ask what Fluttershy meant; she wanted to know how the pegasus had seen the similarities between them so easily, and how she had kept herself sane over those long, painful, all-too-familiar years of a frustrating, powerless foalhood.

You know the answer, Trixie, piped up that small, oft-suppressed voice of reason. She accepted her flaws. It made her terrified of the world, but she accepted them. You, on the other hoof, refused to. You lied to yourself from the start; you wanted a greatness you could never hope to achieve, you spent your entire life telling yourself that you were more than you could ever possibly be. Of course she stayed sane. She stayed sane because she was brave enough to stay herself, no matter how hard it was to accept that self.

For a few more minutes, they held each other in silence. Trixie reveled quietly in the contact, noting with a hidden smile how wonderfully soft the pegasus was. Trixie’s time in the forest had made her lean with hunger, and what little bulk occupied her limbs and body was born of lithe muscle, trained for speed and rapid reactions. The primrose mare, on the other hand, could only be described as curvaceous. She was by no means pudgy, but there was a delicious fullness to her figure that did no harm whatsoever to her beauty. Quite the reverse, Trixie thought to herself, fighting down the urge to squeeze the lovely, timid mare still closer to her.

Eventually, they broke gently apart. Fluttershy trailed a hoof over Trixie’s neck as she pulled away, as if unwilling to release the unicorn, and the pair of them returned to the remainder of their omelettes. Both of them were still a little pink in the face, although the unicorn suspected that their mutual bashfulness stemmed from quite separate sources.

“Thank you,” Trixie mumbled.

Fluttershy looked across at her. “For what?”

“For letting me know I’m not on my own; for trusting me with something like that. It means a lot, and for what it’s worth, I think it helped.” The unicorn smiled slightly, raising the final piece of omelette up to her mouth. After a few moments’ silence, she turned to Fluttershy, swallowing. Her belly felt pleasantly full; she had forgotten, or perhaps simply never noticed before, the wonderful, radiant warmth that came with the absence of hunger.

“I’ve never been able to understand myself,” Trixie explained. “Maybe all I need is somepony who’s felt the same way, so I can understand why I acted like I did. So I can understand what I can do differently in future.” She sighed. “I need to know who I should have been, if reality had been enough for me.”

The primrose mare smiled at her. “I think you’ve made a start,” she said, quietly.

“I want to help you too,” Trixie blurted out, almost without meaning to. She flushed a little, breaking eye contact, almost shyly. “If… if you need somepony to talk to about all this. You went through the same kind of pain as me, and you didn’t lose yourself. You were stronger than me, but it’s all still got to be in there somewhere. If I can help with that, it’s the least I can do… I want to help you.”

Fluttershy was silent for a few moments. “Thanks, Trixie,” she murmured at length, although her expression said far, far more. Then, she shook her head, and picked up their empty plates. “Now, let’s not talk about this anymore tonight.” She stood, turning on an afterthought to look at Trixie. “You don’t have to live day by day anymore. We’ve got all the time in the world to work this out; we can take as much time as we need to rebuild you.”

The unicorn nodded. “That sounds perfect,” she replied, warmly. “Can I just ask you one more favour?”

“What is it?”

Trixie bit her lip, a little fearfully. Her gaze was suddenly almost pleading. “Please, don’t tell your friends about me yet. I do want to meet them, if they’d be okay with that; I owe them all apologies. But… can that wait until I’ve got my strength back, and until I’m used to being around ponies again?”

Fluttershy nodded, calmly, putting down the plates on the coffee table, and trotting back over to Trixie. “I wouldn’t dream of making you talk to anypony, unless you’re ready,” she said, her tone one of reassurance. “I’ve already told Twilight about you, so I should probably let her know the situation, if that’s alright.” She raised a hoof at Trixie’s expression of concern. “I know Twilight. She won’t come around unless you want her to, and she won’t go spreading around that you’re here.” She suddenly looked a little guilty. “I had to tell Applejack.”

Trixie gulped, nervously. “The orange one?”

Fluttershy raised an eyebrow, but looked amused nevertheless. “Yes, the ‘orange one’. I had to leave her on the farm to come after you, and I owed her an explanation. She came around to see you.” For some reason, it seemed as if she could not meet Trixie’s eyes for a moment, and her cheeks coloured with something that looked remarkably like shame. “I… persuaded her not to come bursting in. She understood in the end, even if she wasn’t completely happy about it. You needn’t worry, though; she can keep a secret. Apart from her and Twilight, nopony knows you’re here, and until you give the word, that’s how it’ll stay.”

The unicorn let out a small sigh of relief. “I appreciate that, Fluttershy,” she murmured, gratefully.

Trixie watched as the pegasus trotted back into the kitchen with their empty plates, her gaze dancing almost unconsciously over the curves of the retreating mare’s back and legs, taking in the detail of her perfect little wings, and lingering on the soft cascade of her flowing tail, every carnation strand glimmering in the firelight.

The ghost of those delicious, stolen dreams floated in her mind’s eye for an instant, and Trixie toyed with the memory of that lone warmth, the delicious, guilty sensations that had invaded her sleep during those last, freezing Everfree nights. Her ear twitched a little at the phantom caress of the dream—Fluttershy’s tongue, gentle and teasing. She bit down on her lower lip, and forced back the tiniest of moans at the recollection, taken aback by its vividness and by how suddenly its grip had closed upon her.

Then, realizing what she was doing, Trixie shifted guiltily and looked determinedly away as Fluttershy vanished into the kitchen. Fixing her eyes on the dark, snowy garden outside the window, she shook her head vigorously. Her cheeks were burning with shame and inwardly-directed anger.

She wanted, with all her heart, to be able to look at Fluttershy without suffering that hot twist of desire in the pit of her stomach, but the inescapable truth was that she found the delicate mare simply intoxicating.

You knew this would happen, Trixie.

From the kitchen came the sound of running water, and Fluttershy humming quietly to herself. Trixie let out a low groan, massaging her temple with an irritable hoof.

It was the reason you didn’t want to go back to her. You knew you’d fall for her, and by staying here, you’re accepting that it’s your problem to deal with, not hers.

She’s so affectionate, it’s hard not to think…

She’s affectionate because she knows it’s what you need. She’s affectionate because, deep down, she needs it too; she needs somepony to hold on to, to trust. Somepony who’s gone through the kind of pain that she has. If you do fall for her, then there’s nothing you can do about it, but don’t make her regret taking you in.

I’m more grateful than I can ever tell her for taking care of me. But… you can’t deny how beautiful she is. It’s hard not to look at her.

Look at her all you want, but if you’re looking at her in that way, and thinking like that about her, then you’re abusing the care she’s giving you. She’s willing to give you the affection you need to heal, but if you take advantage of that for your own gratification, then you’re no better than you’ve ever been. You’d be just as cruel and self-serving as ever, but then again, maybe that is the real you after all.

“It isn’t!” the words spilled in a sharp whisper from her lips, thankfully masked from Fluttershy’s ears by the sudden whistle of the kettle.

I wouldn’t know; neither of us have the first idea of who you really are.

She curled up on the sofa again, yawning as she pushed the thoughts forcibly away. If she knew one thing for sure, it was that her strength was beginning to return. Tiredness weighed on her, but it was a warm and sleepy sensation. It was a world away from the harsh, insistent bite of exhaustion that had been pulling her from consciousness at the smallest effort on her part. With a bellyful of food, she could feel her stiff muscles relaxing, and the dozens of aches that life in the forest had bestowed upon her seemed to ease.

Fluttershy was right. She did not have to live day by day anymore.

I’m not going to hurt her. I don’t care who I am; I can keep my feelings to myself.

Of course, thoughts rarely translated smoothly into realities. Gazing into the flames as they danced ever higher, Trixie reflected that she ought to know that. Perhaps better than most.