Spitfire looked up from the morning’s copy of Equestria Daily as a flash of blue caught the corner of her eye. “Hey Dash, what’s up? How’s our newest recruit coping with stardom?”

“I’m late,” whispered Rainbow Dash to midair, eyes glazed and staring somewhere through and past the Wonderbolts’ captain.

“Are you kidding?” Spitfire chuckled. “I was telling Soarin' last night, if the mighty Rainbow Dash is up before noon, I consider it early.”

Dash continued her unbroken and glassy stare. “I’m late.”

Spitfire's snort ruffled her newspaper. “No you’re not. I called off morning practice today, remember? After that last show I figured we could use a little extra rest. And today’s the day you decide not to sleep in!” The fire-maned mare shook her head and returned to her paper. “Newbies. Go figure.”

Dash wandered slowly, aimlessly, out of Spitfire’s office on halting and irregular hoofsteps. She stumbled absently into the Wonderbolts’ dressing room. Two pegasi were conversing over coffee, their lightning-barred azure uniforms hung carefully in lockers labeled “Fleetfoot” and “Rapidfire”.

Rainbow's voice held low, barely betraying the edge of annoyance. “I’m late.”

The stallion of the pair rolled his eyes. His companion, a white-maned mare, laughed. “You? Late? Dash, I’ve seen you nap through an entire practice, wake up with seconds to spare, and still end up in formation before either of us could blink.”

Dash's ear twitched as she repeated in dead monotone, “I’m late.”

“Yeah right. It’s physically impossible for you to be late for anything, RD.” The mare turned her back on Dash and sipped her coffee, her fellow Wonderbolt doing likewise.

Dash trudged down the empty hallway, directionless and dazed. Her eyes were blank and her expression unreadable, depthless. She meandered down corridor after corridor, bumping into doorways and walls formed of cloud-stuff, solid enough to hang “The Wonderbolts Need YOU!” posters on but not solid enough to rouse the young Wonderbolt from her fugue.

She passed waiting rooms and conference rooms, meeting rooms and restrooms. Trophy cases and grand, dramatic photos of legendary Wonderbolts from years gone by passed her on both sides. She’d memorized the photos and their subjects’ histories years ago, and a few of the newer trophies even bore her name, yet none of registered or slowed her shambling, shellshocked gait.

She wandered into the wing of private suites, past rooms with glittering nameplates she’d long idolized: “Blaze.” “Misty.” “Fire Streak.” “High Winds.” Toward the end of the hallway she passed her own room, the “Rainbow Dash” plaque still sparkling, bold, and brassy. Finally she found herself before a room labeled “Soarin’”. She paused, closed her eyes and whispered “I’m late,” and let herself in.

The pale blue stallion was sitting on a long, low couch, his casual smile ever-present. He looked up and perked his ears, eyes suddenly overwide. “RD! Hey, how are you?” He managed a too-big smile and continued, “I’d tell you to knock first, but you know you’re welcome here anytime. You’re up early, I see.”

Her voice was harsh and tense as she stepped in and eased the door closed. “I’m late.”

“Huh? For what? Morning flight time is canceled. I was just about to look over Spitfire’s reviews from the last show, if you want to join me. She was…”

“I’m late,” she growled, volume rising and brow furrowed.

“Um, I heard you the first time. Like I said, nothing going on today. No reason to get all worked up.”

Rainbow leapt across the room and hoisted the stallion by his crest. Her voice was ice and steel, and her eyes burned holes through the shaking pony in her grasp. “I’m late!”

Soarin’ trembled in the smaller pegasus’ grasp. He raised his hooves in mock surrender and pleaded, “What the hay, Rainbow? What’s going on?”

She let him go suddenly, dropping him onto the couch where he panted and crept backwards.

Dash backed up a few steps and drew a sheaf of papers out of her flightsuit pocket. She stared at the cover sheet for a few long moments then threw the papers at him , the stapled pages fluttering like tiny wings. He recoiled a little as the papers settled onto the couch at his side. Looking down at it, he flipped the pages with trembling hooves. Suddenly he froze, eyes wide and pupils shrinking. He looked up, jaw slack as the papers shook.

Across the room Dash stamped her hooves, grit her teeth, and screamed, "I'm late!"

Soarin' looked down into his hooves again. “No,” he mumbled. “You… You can’t be late. We… It was just that one time, after your first show.” He looked back up at her pleadingly. “You’re sure?”

She stood shaking, muscles coiled and ears pinned back, before she broke visibly, shoulders slumped and wings drooping. The few steps it took her to cross the room and reach the couch echoed in the stillness. She lay down, defeated, next to her one-time idol. Her head rested on his chest as she closed her eyes and whispered “I’m late.”

She reached for his free hoof and placed it gingerly on her stomach. She shook, fighting nausea and tears as he pulled her closer. She placed her own hooves across his, cradling her stomach with his arm.

His words came in shivering whispers. “Dash…” He swallowed hard and lay his muzzle across her head. “I want you to know, I’ll be here for you. We can…”

“Velocity.”

Soarin’ looked down, his trance broken. The papers he'd forgotten he was holding floated to the floor. There below the Cloudsdale General Hospital logo was a scribble of red ink with a circle around the words, "Test Results: Positive, estimated early first trimester."

“Velocity,” Rainbow Dash repeated, her voice strong and clear. “I want to name our foal Velocity, if it’s a filly.”

Author's Notes:

TMP Prompt # 121. The prompt: “I’m late! I’m late! For a very important date!”