To Kill A Goddess

by EmeraldFlight

Goddess is a genius. She's taken revolutionary strides in music the likes of which were previously unimaginable. She's brought some of the best music to ever see the light of day into the mainstream, and isn't going anywhere anytime soon. But her name? Her history? Still hidden in shadow. Mostly.

3. To Kill A Goddess, III - A Final Return

no

The word popped up onscreen in a moment. It felt like it was frosting her over, slowing her blood down and icing her heart. It was true, undoubtedly, but it still hurt to say.

if not then, then when will you be back

She stared at it, just for a moment, and pressed the phone to her chest, locking it as she did. She didn't want to see it anymore. No more guilt, no more frustration. No more her.

It had been two years, and two years too much. The small standalone that was once new had grown old before her eyes, and in the eight months that she'd been out of school she hadn't done anything but play orchestras and sit in her room and write.

A sudden awareness of her position made her pick up the phone again, just because it felt impossible not to.

if the album does well, she typed out, the keystrokes a dim source of white noise in the dark, messy, pink little room.

it'll definitely do well

will you come back then

yes, she typed, no hesitation. Yes, she would go back, immediately, and run to her and touch her for the first time in years. Messages hadn't been enough. Her love letters and songwriting hadn't been enough. She was obsessed.

im glad you didnt forget about me

Each sentence made her chest tighter.

i love you

She always said that, usually when she was about to sign off. And more than it had before, it hit hard. Alone, in her bedroom, emotional. Silly. i love you too, she sent back quickly. i really want to come back. i'll leave as soon as possible

In five days, Goddess was considered a cultural icon.

---

The plane was familiar, even moreso now that it was part of a memory she would have forever, but for the moment her eyes were glued to her phone. "Wow," she murmured, her voice filtered and staticky over the headset's mic system.

She heard Scootaloo's reply in the same fashion: "What's up?"

"I've never cleared out the messages from my phone. I have some on here from five, six years ago." She stared at them for a second, scrolling through what seemed like thousands.

"How big is your phone?"

"It just warned me it was getting full, so I'm assuming pretty big. I should delete them, I guess."

Scootaloo leaned over. "Maybe we should go to the movies tonight. Ha ha, okay. I'll ask Applebloom," she read. "Huh, these are from before."

"I don't even remember ninety-eight percent of these," she commented, and turned off the screen again, levitating it back into her bag. "It seems like hundreds of years ago."

"Yeah," Scootaloo replied, the single syllable buzzing as they hit a patch of turbulence. She switched to the main channel. "Hey, what's our ETA?"

"Should be about eleven."

"At night? I'm gonna sleep, if you don't care," she added, turning back to Sweetie.

"If you want. I'll be listening to music, just tap me on the shoulder if you need me."

Scootaloo switched back to the private channel. "We need to put a plan on paper when we get to the Acres." Sweetie felt a gentle hand on her own, rubbing it softly. Scootaloo was staring down at it, her expression blank. "I don't want to get into too much of a mess. It should be perfect, you know?"

Sweetie smiled, and squeezed her hand, just a little. "I promise. I'll make it as perfect as I can. On one condition."

"Hm?"

"I get to have a couple surprises for you."

Scootaloo grinned.

---

It was good to be back home. Ponyville, the backwoods town that her sister had made a personal haven, was a thread out of time's tapestry - always unchanging, for the better. It followed the seasons as they came, and embraced each one with a quaint vigor. And it saddened her, how good it was to be back home. If it wasn't night, it was difficult to walk around - all kinds of tactics went into keeping herself safe, but they never provided her any real freedom.

Scootaloo had fallen asleep almost immediately after she'd said she would, and she was light enough for Sweetie to wrap her up in a warm blanket of invisibility and carry her back home. But she woke up before Sweetie even got a chance, and with a drowsy, weak little goodbye kiss, flew herself over to the Acres. So Sweetie was alone.

She walked the streets, like a ghost, the late-night stragglers entirely unaware of her. How many would care if the spell failed then and there? How many knew who was under Goddess' porcelain mask? Each person she passed was either clearly scouting for her, considering it was just the time for her to return, or was someone she recognized. Hayseed, and his bar-hopper buddies, for example. She wondered whether he knew, and why he hadn't leapt at the chance of fame with that precious knowledge.

The town ended quickly, and gave way to a moderate suburb. Right there, just down the yellow-lit street, the Boutique stood in a familiar glory, surrounded by the evergreen shrubs and bushes that had somehow survived through the years. It had been purchased, and made into a family home, entirely redesigned for the parents and their three foster children. Different. Meeting that family those couple years ago was what sealed the fact that they weren't coming back.

A thought went off inside her head, and she glanced behind her as though someone could hear it. Maybe - perhaps she could have a look around. If no one noticed. And it wasn't like she could get in any real trouble, anyways, being who she was. Right? Yeah. That's a safe idea.

She made her way soundlessly down the street, each footstep unnaturally muffled. It made her feel as though she was flying, a clear bird of prey darting without resistance through the heavy night air. A breeze picked up as she approached the door while her plan fleshed out slowly in her mind. The idea finally settled on her, crawling suddenly across her back like the breeze.

But it was okay, she reassured herself as she touched the worn white paint lightly. Yes, it was illegal, but there were ways of getting around that. And all she wanted was to see the inside of her home again. It was okay. Her breathing slowed regardless of her logic as she placed her palm over the keyhole.

She stopped, pulling her hand away a bit. Maybe they had a magic defence system. No, that was stupid, it was expensive. And complicated. She concentrated on her hand again, feeling the pressure of magic along its length. One short burst, a control of movement against the tumblers, and that should do it.

A fizzle of magic lit up the air and a metal clang echoed around her. She whipped her head back, hoping that no one had heard, and no one was there at all. Just an empty street.

"This is a terrible plan," she muttered, and looked back at the door, ready to quietly step inside, and ready to dart back out at the first sign of life. But she was never very good with magic - the handle didn't turn at all. Come on. One more go. No. One more? The green flashes sped up for a moment, five or six consecutive, before they died altogether.

She stepped back, feeling the beginning of a bitter sigh as she stared up at the building. Memories flooded her mind's eye - the Boutique's familiar structure reminded her of the little hiding spots she could use when she was playing around with Applebloom and Scootaloo. Only she knew those places. It was the better half of her childhood, her sister's boutique, and this was probably the last month or so that she would see it for a very long while.

She touched the wood pillar again, more firmly. In a way, it was exciting. If everything went according to plan, and the wedding fell into place, she would be gone, doing what she loved with who she loved, maybe forever. It was her new life, and the Boutique was her old one.

A drift of wind brought her mind back to the street. The street held its fair share of memories as well, each closer to her than the last. She threw another look at the old building, smiled, and went on her way. Scootaloo wouldn't mind if she took a few minutes to reminisce.

---

Her mind was hazy. She was never very good with magic. If the spell was cast incorrectly, it could cancel itself at any time, leaving her stranded, visible, in the middle of the street. Her heart was beating out a furious percussive symphony as she practically sprinted through the town, her feet hitting the cobblestone silently.

Finally, she began approaching the light wooded area near the Boutique. They always said they would start renovating there, but of course they never did. Over her heavy breaths, she grinned. But it was no time to stare at the old memories. There was only one thing on her mind.

It propelled her, the image. Outside of the pictures they were able to send back and forth, the last she saw of Scootaloo was young, hastily-dressed, trying hard not to cry as she waved with both arms. Celestia, how could she forget. The bright, shining violet eyes as they kissed for the last time in what would turn out to be almost three years. Three whole, dragging years.

Where is she, the sentence rang in her mind as she crossed the curb onto the hilly forest ground. She said she'd meet me here, where is she. Is that her in the distance? No.

After a moment, she slowed, her exhaust catching up to her. She put her hands on her knees and sighed, her breath trying to regulate itself. "It's chilly," she whispered, leaning back up and looking around the dark woods. The streetlights had only come so far into the area, and now they did nothing but cast fair shadows and give contrast to discern them with.

Suddenly, there was movement. Just nearby, to the right and a couple yards forward. Her heartbeat fell from ten to two. There she was, her hood down, searching hastily back and forth at a brisk walk. Something about the situation fit her perfectly. A movement, alone in the forest at night, illuminated by bright yellow lights far away, like she was separate from the earth.

For a moment, Sweetie could say nothing. Her mouth wouldn't form words. She felt herself taking subconscious steps forwards, and didn't override the autopilot. The trickle of magic fell away, and she clasped her hands together and against her chest firmly in a sort of self-defence mechanism she didn't know she had.

It was almost slow motion when Scootaloo turned her head towards her. Her eyes opened wide, her lips parted slightly. She was closer than Sweetie had thought. Tantalizingly close. In a hushed voice, unlike anything she'd heard before: "S - Sweetie?"

The action was momentary. In a split second, she'd run forwards and absolutely tackled her, almost unaware of what she was doing. They fell backwards, in an embrace so tight one might think they were trying to merge together. If her mind was hazy before, it was in the clouds now. She tried to say something into her shoulder, but all that found its way out was a muffled sob. Her face felt like it was going to split in two.

Scootaloo pulled away, for a second, just to look at her, and kissed her without any pretence. Sweetie was at her mercy; she couldn't even figure out a way to move her lips. She just took it in, second by second, sound by sound. To stroke her hand along her head, through her hair; to feel firm, gentle arms wrapped around her back warm as fleece; to be lost in the soft passion of a kiss; it was incomparable.

It felt like forever before she finally pulled away, and that was a good thing. Their lips were still touching by molecules. "... Moonlight tryst," Sweetie managed suddenly.

Scootaloo grinned, and Sweetie could feel it. She moved her legs up and around, a lazy massage against Sweetie's. "What's that supposed to mean."

"It's a cliched phrase. Moonlight tryst." She kissed her again, tender, bringing a hand up to her cheek. "Nighttime meeting between lovers."

Scootaloo hugged her a bit tighter, beginning to laugh, but only for a second. She cut herself off as she rolled over, pinning Sweetie down and returning to a kiss, exponential in passion. Sweetie sighed, just barely suppressing her volume, and stared upwards at Scootaloo, her breath quickening again. "... I'm so sorry." The words spilled out before she had a chance to structure her sentence.

Scootaloo's eyes softened, the passion turning to compassion. She took her hand off of Sweetie's arm and brushed her hair to the side of her head. "Sweetie, it's okay. You're here now, alright?"

Sweetie nodded, her face tightening as she felt tears. They were worthless tears, and they didn't need to exist at all. But her brain began travelling places she never wanted it to, scanning in detail over all the years she missed because of her newfound business. To hell with the business. "I'm sorry," she said again, her voice breaking as she wiped at her eyes.

"You shouldn't be sorry. I should be sorry," Scootaloo replied, her whisper sharp but caring. "I could have followed you out there, you know that. I don't have anything here, Sweetie."

"Yes, you -"

"You had your mother out there, and your sister, and your new thing. If it was a choice between here and there, and I'd thought harder, and I'd tried more, I..." she trailed off, stiffening. "You're here now, alright," she repeated as her fingers made their way slowly around the base of her neck. "You're here now."

"Yeah," she agreed, suddenly out of words. She finally looked back up at Scootaloo. Even in the darkness, her eyes were velveteen, magical, wide and staring back at her. The sudden recognition of the weight across her, pillowy against her, each breath gently pressing against her chest - it made her suddenly and extremely uncomfortable. "... I want you. Here."

Scootaloo's shortness of breath alone sent an unexplainable flutter through Sweetie's chest. Her eyes were immobile, and her warm hand on the back of Sweetie's neck brought with it a memory that caused another flutter. "Don't you think we should go to my ap-"

"Scootaloo - right here." She moved her hands down her sides little by little, only tangentially aware of it. "Now."

Scootaloo swallowed, steadying her breathing. And then breaking out into a wide, lopsided smile, of course. "O-okay."

---

It was strange. She could almost convince herself that the grass was still warm beneath that tree, the one that would always be ingrained in her memory. Her hand returned to her pocket, and she stepped back, looking up at it like she had with the Boutique. It, too, made her feel small again.

If anything, that was the most romantic evening they'd ever had. Scootaloo said things then she'd never heard before and doubted she would again - it was the most emotional she'd gotten since they'd known each other. And some of those phrases still rang clearly in her head.

With that, she took her leave, and began her long walk towards the acres.

It took her more time than it usually did, even forgiving her detours. She just wanted to stroll. Whenever she voluntarily let her mind wander, it was hard to force it not to cloud itself with regrets. It was always the same thought, too: So many years wasted, so many that could have been beautiful.

And yet, as she crossed the long dirt path arcing from one side of Ponyville to the other, and gazed across the open field to her left to watch the white clouds in the star-punctured navy blue night stroke the shadowed wheat as it touched the horizon, she wondered. If it weren't for those years, would they be as strong together? Midnight in the grass wouldn't have happened, ever. She wouldn't have those memories. And the thought, as the night began to ice over, gave her a hope for the future like fire - warm, bright, inviting.

Her pace quickened.

It only took a couple minutes from there to the Acres, and right away she threw off her spell. There was Scootaloo, and Dash, together on the deck, drinks steaming in hands. She waved, and they stood, Dash then Scootaloo, as she broke into a happy little sprint, skipping up onto the echoey wooden floor.

"Hey, Sweetie," Scootaloo began, reaching out for her hand and receiving a deep hug in return. It was short, but she needed it. "Oh. Hurting, a bit, actually," Scootaloo forced, and pulled away slightly. "You alright?"

"Just..." She looked over at Dash. "Perhaps later."

Dash stood shorter than Scootaloo, and about the size of Sweetie. Tough, sinewed, sleeveless, yet well-dressed. She hadn't changed. "How's it been, Rainbow?"

Dash broke into a grin. She had dimples when she smiled, and her smile was always full and genuine. "... Come here," she said after a moment, and pulled both of them into a close embrace, Sweetie on the right pressed painfully tight against Scootaloo on the left. "I'm so glad," she began, and never finished what seemed like a longer sentence, but laughed and let them go.

"You're gonna choke me," Sweetie gasped melodramatically, and laughed with her. Scootaloo joined in in a moment. "I have the dresses and the theme all picked out. I'm having them delivered in a few days," she continued, and Dash looked away, her grin not fading. It wasn't untrue, but she had to pick her words carefully in front of Scootaloo. "I'll get yours to you right away."

She put a hand around both of their shoulders again. Sweetie hasn't seen her so excited in a while, if ever. "I can't wait, guys," she said, uncharacteristically quiet. "I'm, like, I'm really happy for you, seriously."

"She was gushing since I got here," Scootaloo said with a laugh.

"Yeah, well," Dash murmured. "I didn't tell Applebloom, like you asked. I didn't even tell Applejack, just in case."

"Thanks. We'll be meeting up in the den like we always do - you're gonna be there, right?" Sweetie asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing at the door. Apparently, no one had noticed she'd arrived yet.

Dash nodded. "I just have to wait for a couple others. Everyone wants to congratulate you."

"How many did you tell?"

"A couple. Not many."

Sweetie smiled halfway, turning to Scootaloo, who had the same face on. "Not many," she repeated lowly, and giggled.

"No, seriously, only, like, four or five or six," she insisted, a hand on her hip. "... I don't remember."

"Hey, it's fine," Sweetie replied with another short laugh. "We should go, though."

"I have the ring in the box so we can have a reveal and everything," Scootaloo commented.

"Tactful." She grabbed her by the hand and walked them over to the door, knocking her knock. "See you inside, Dash."

The door opened before Dash could respond, to Applebloom. As Sweetie noticed the frustration playing on her lips and the upset in her eyes, the wave of memories rushed back to her. She didn't seem angry. Not at all. In fact, in a moment, she smiled, those small emotions parting. But Sweetie understood.

"How was y'all's vacation?" she asked, stepping out and giving them an amicable hug (like they hadn't already had enough).

"It was awesome," Scootaloo replied. "Probably the best one yet. I'm a bit mad you didn't go with us."

"So am ah, a little. Pictures?"

"A bunch of pictures," Scootaloo replied with a grin.

"Come on in." She stepped aside and motioned into the house, shutting the door behind them.

Sweetie had lost her train of thought once she saw Applebloom's face. "It... uh, it smells really good in here," she mentioned offhandedly, suddenly aware she was staring at her but not wanting to look away.

"So -" Scootaloo began.

Sweetie grabbed her hand, which was headed for her pocket. "Wait a moment," she said quietly, as Applebloom finally looked over at her.

Her smile had fallen away again. "Um... Scootaloo, Sweetie and ah have to talk about somethin'."

She knew it was coming, but the words out there seemed to slow her pulse. What was it that made her so uncomfortable about confronting it? She shouldn't be. Right?

She glanced over at Scootaloo, who had an eyebrow raised. "Uh... that's fine, I guess? I mean..." She turned to Sweetie.

"Sorry," Sweetie said quietly, to no one in particular, and followed Applebloom into the dining room nearby.

She stepped in and was greeted with a chill. The dining room was the largest room in the farmhouse, two and a half stories tall and all hardwood, floors and furniture. The colours were warm and inviting, like the rest of the house, but any actual warmth was absent. It didn't sit well with her.

Applebloom closed the door behind them, much more slowly - almost silently. And she leaned against the door as Sweetie found a spot nearby, her hands behind her back out of nervous habit. She couldn't even muster the power to think through what she was going to say, as the room settled into stillness and cold.

Suddenly, Applebloom stood and walked over to a small end table against the wall. Sweetie's stare fell to her feet in a sudden shame.

"Here."

She glanced back up at Applebloom, who was standing in front of her, offering the banded stack of bills.

Sweetie exhaled strongly as she stared down at it, the shame falling away as her second wind came along. "Look... how about we just wait until later, and we can dis-"

"No. Just take it, and then we can head down to the den."

Sweetie hadn't looked away from the bills. "... I - I didn't mean to offend anyone, I was just -"

"Well, you did." She paused. Sweetie knew that pause - but Applebloom didn't ever take back what she said. "Take it and we won't talk about it again."

"I just..." she began again, and trailed off into a sigh. As she looked away, the shame and guilt morphed little by little. "Just keep it. I don't want it back."

Applebloom shook her head, squinting at her in confusion. "What did ah just say? Applejack won't have it. It ain't something we do."

"Well, I'm sorry about that, but you're going to have to take it. Or burn it."

"Sweetie, what the hell. Just put it back in your suitcase. We don't want charity."

Sweetie scowled, her lips unconsciously pursed. Of all the bullheaded people on the planet, the most bullheaded had to be her friend. "I'm not giving out charity, I'm sharing. Keep the money or - or I'm leaving."

They were close, and Sweetie could feel the tension building, but paid it no mind. She pushed Applebloom's hand down. "Keep it."

"Do you want to leave?" Applebloom replied suddenly, her voice raising in volume, her eyes opening wider in surprise and frustration. "Fine. You know where the door is. But you're taking this with you."

"It's not mine to take anymore." She was speaking through her teeth. Of course Applebloom wouldn't understand. There was no way she could understand.

"We earn what we have!" Applebloom shouted, throwing the money at her feet in a sudden wide motion that made Sweetie step back, startled. "And we ain't got nothin' we didn't earn!"

"Woah, what's going on?"

Sweetie jumped again, and turned to the door. Scootaloo was eyeing them both, calculating. She'd noticed that she'd backed up against the table, and grabbed onto the side for support. "It's -"

"Your girlfriend is trying to give us money," Applebloom spat, kicking at the bills on the floor.

"Hey, calm down," Scootaloo replied, raising a hand. Sweetie caught the tired frustration in her glance, and looked away again. She thought she heard Applebloom's response, but it was hazy and backdropped against some kind of abrupt weight she felt in her stomach.

"It's fine," Scootaloo was saying. "You don't have to get so angry about it."

Sweetie turned back to the pair of them. Applebloom had stuffed a hand in her jacket pockets and was looking away, the other hand on her forehead. "No, sometimes ah do have to get angry about it. Look - when - we..." she was stuttering. "We really can't. We can't take it. It ain't somethin' we do."

"That's okay," Scootaloo replied.

"It isn't," Sweetie blurted, recovering her train of thought.

"Sweetie -" Scootaloo said in a sigh.

"No, no, listen."

"Ah'm not doin' this again."

"Listen," she hissed. "It's not about how much money I have. I mean, it's not about me being high and mighty or whatever. It isn't. So don't take it that way." She walked over and picked up the bills. "It's that I'm your friend and I - I just - I never expected - I want to -" She stopped herself, feeling the weight in her stomach again.

"Hey, just -"

"No, keep going," Applebloom interrupted, crossing her arms.

Sweetie held the bills to her chest. It felt like the two pairs of eyes on her were piercing her, attacking her for something she didn't know how to fix. What did she want? Her mouth moved uselessly.

After a moment, Applebloom scoffed. "What, did you lose your train of thought?"

"I'm sorry -" Sweetie managed, her mind swimming, looking for diplomacy. It felt like such a small thing, but she felt the bills against her chest and realized it wasn't. "I didn't mean to." Scootaloo was nearby in a second, a hand gripping her shoulder gently.

"Oh, don't give me that."

Sweetie shook her head. "I - I don't -"

"Having money ain't hard. You can't bring that crap to the table."

"Wh-"

"It's not having money that's hard. You should know, too, considering we all used to be in the same boat." Her arms had fallen to her hips, and her scowl had been replaced by an angry surprise. "Ah'm not guilty just because you're a martyr about it."

She blinked, and suddenly felt the reality of it crashing down on her.

"Hey. That's harsh," Scootaloo interrupted, her voice rising as well. "In fact, you should take it back."

"Ah -" she started, and clenched her teeth, her scowl and arms both lightening. "Ah'm sorry, Sweetie."

"No, look, don't apologize. You were -"

"We're getting married," Scootaloo said suddenly.

The air stood still. Applebloom put a hand over her mouth, silent. After a moment of shuffling around in her pocket, Scootaloo found the ring, and opened the box. It seemed to be in slow-motion as Applebloom stared over at it, walked closer, and bent down to examine it, her hand not moving. "... Honest?"

"Yeah," Sweetie said briefly. It seemed that everything died as the ringbox opened. It made her proud. Calm. It brought her back, a little, to that happiness of her proposal.

In a moment, Applebloom had leaned forwards and wrapped both of them in a hug. A tight one, too. "Ah'm..." she began softly. "Ah think ah got a little caught up. But, ah mean, you can't give someone eighteen thousand bits and expect it to be not confusing," she added with a short, uncomfortable chuckle.

"Eighteen thousand -"

"Calm down," Sweetie said, shaking her head with a small smirk.

"You didn't know?" Applebloom asked, pulling back and raising an eyebrow.

She looked over at Sweetie, who smiled nervously. "It's - I - I do that."

"Yeah," Scootaloo agreed roughly.

Applebloom looked down at the money again and rubbed at the back of her neck. "... Look, how about we talk about it later?"

"That's what I've been asking for a while."

"So it's settled," Scootaloo said flatly, and grabbed the stack from Sweetie's hands, tossing it onto the table. "Now shut up about it and let's go get that free cider."

"Hear, hear," Sweetie replied weakly.

---

They were back in the den, the most condensed area of the house. Green wall-to-wall carpeting, huge comfortable recliners and loveseats, a stone fireplace near the back to warm up the room around this time of year. It was memories on memories of perfect, and they were back again, greeted by the warm hellos and such of the Apple family.

Dash brought two within a couple minutes. She said that they were the only ones she invited who showed - Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie. It was odd seeing them suddenly after more than a year, after so much time with the Apples. They were different, clearly, but parallel - an imprint of how much they lived in the same world. The neverending Ponyville.

"Hiiii!" Pinkie squealed and hugged them both, before releasing the massive load of questions that Sweetie assumed she would. Pinkie was different, yes, but not much at all. Her hair was a bit shorter, and a bit less frizzy, but almost everything else had remained unchanged. And, of course, the scent of cake and cherries preceded her.

Fluttershy, on the other hand, gave only a quiet "Hello, girls" and sat down nearby. Pinkie wasn't giving her any space for anything more, anyways. Sweetie glanced over at her and saw her small, knowing smile, which she'd worn to perfection over the years. It figured that Dash would have trusted her with the information, if not both her and Pinkie.

Scootaloo brought out the pictures soon after everyone had settled down. They laughed about them, one by one, and tossed them onto the coffee table to pass around. The scene-by-scene recap and all the reactions lit up the room, almost until she'd forgotten.

"Remember this one?" Scootaloo was saying. "That was the zipline, over that valley. That's a good one, tell that one."

"Lemme see!" Pinkie cried, and Scootaloo tossed it over.

"Okay, this is good. Do we have any pictures of the aftermath?"

"I dunno. Lemme see - yeah, one."

"Save it for a sec. Okay, so we were about to get on this zipline thing that was part of a tour package thing, right? And first off, Scoots was totally peaked."

"Ah'd assume," Applebloom replied. "She was always gettin' us this close to killin' ourselves way back when."

"I've got the blood of the daredevil," Scootaloo said, laughing.

"Well, try not to lose too much of it."

"Applebloom, you're adorable. Now shut up and let them finish," Applejack called out from near the fire.

"We were - we were being prepped and stuff, and we get all our gear on and take off, and -"

"She was not ready for taking off, first of all," Scootaloo interrupted. "Her eyes were like dinner plates the whole time, it was hilarious."

"We take off and I'm definitely terrified, she was right," Sweetie continued. "I was grabbing onto that handle thing like it would save me if I fell."

"And we got to the midpoint and I look over and Sweetie's reaching at her harness all quick, 'cause one of the straps broke on it."

"What?" Pinkie said with a thespian incredulousness. Sweetie thought she heard Fluttershy gasp, but she wasn't sure. Meanwhile, Applebloom was cackling in the back, almost doubled over.

"Yeah, and it was loud, like a bone broke," Sweetie added. "I was there, grabbing at the thing, and I pulled as hard as I could on it to stabilize myself -"

"We're hundreds of feet above ground right now, by the way. I'm trying to undo mine so I can catch her if she falls."

"And I was straining to hold onto this thing, and right when I was about to let go, we hit the end."

"Jeez," Pinkie interjected.

"That's what you get," Applebloom said, trying to catch her breath. "Y'all think it's a good idea to get on a cheap thrill ride, go ahead, but ah won't be joinin' ya."

"No, no, no, never again," Sweetie said, and Scootaloo laughed. "She took a picture of me with the rig guy at the end," she continued, tossing another picture onto the coffee table.

"And I've never seen someone happier to have almost died," Scootaloo added with a laugh. Sweetie's face in the picture looked like she'd won the lottery twice in a row. A little insane, too.

"I was happy 'cause I wasn't dead," Sweetie corrected. "My arm still kinda hurts."

Of course, once the pictures were over, things kind of died down. So it was perfect timing, just like Sweetie wanted. It felt good to see things slip into place.

She smiled at Scootaloo, still sitting on her box for no reason beside an empty chair. "You want to do the honors?"

She smiled back - no grin, just a small smile - and cleared her throat. "Hey, everyone?"

There wasn't too much to silence, but it was silenced right away.

"We have an announcement."

"Nooo," Pinkie breathed immediately, staring over at the two of them with her mouth an 'O'. "Really?!"

"Let's - can we say it first?"

Dash, who'd been standing silently near the door, finally made an amused little noise. Sweetie glanced over at her, folding her arms and watching the scene with twinkling eyes, and grinned. When she looked back, Scootaloo was showcasing the ring again. It probably wasn't anything really substantial, but Scootaloo wasn't looking at everyone's surprised faces. She was looking into the box, that small smile still on her face. And it ran another wave of warmth through Sweetie.

"We're getting married."

"Woah," was the first reaction she heard, right before the uproar from Pinkie and Applejack (and all the rest soon after). It came from the back of the room, where Blaine had suddenly perked up.

"What, were you not payin' attention?" Applejack asked, pulling him up and guiding him over with everyone else to see.

"No, I was, I just didn't put two and two together," he mumbled in his almost-monotone.

The words were washed over in a swell of other noises, including an 'oh my gosh' or four and excited hug from Pinkie, with jumbled 'wow's and 'ooh's and 'ahh's from all around them. It was sudden, and warmly encouraging, and forced a grin out of her. She'd almost forgotten about everything that entailed.

"Guys, everyone," she called out, waving her hands to settle them down. It didn't work for a second, but momentarily they grew quiet again. "There are a lot of things that go along with this that we have to still figure out."

Scootaloo picked up. "For one, we're planning on having it at the end of the month, somewhere in Ponyville."

"Most of the stuff's already planned, but, uh..." Sweetie looked over at Applejack and Blaine, Applejack staring excitedly up at her and Blaine staring absently at the ring. She threw a quick side glance at Applebloom and continued. "We need a location."

Applejack's smile fell, only a bit, and she raised an eyebrow. "... What did ya have in mind?"

"Well..." She inhaled. "We were thinking of borrowing a bit of the Acres."

"In case ya didn't notice, there ain't too much open space around here, what with the trees and such," Applejack replied, a hint of amusement ringing in her voice.

"That's part of what I wanted to ask you about. We could... we could clear some space."

At this, Applebloom gave a derisive snort from the back of the room. "Those things have been standin' for three of my lifetime. We ain't tearin' em down."

"I mean, I'd replace them," Sweetie continued quickly. "And I'd rent the labor and land. In fact, I've..." She pursed her lips. "I've already offered a price."

Applejack simply stared, that small smirk frozen on her face. For a moment, Sweetie thought she may not have understood, but then she shook her head and chuckled. "You have to get your way."

"I don't understand what's happening." Pinkie whispered, loudly.

"We're negotiating," Sweetie replied.

Blaine blinked. "Is - this about the -"

"Yup," Applejack replied, in a tired-sounding sigh.

"If you agree, we'll invite you," Scootaloo joked after another moment of tense silence. Applebloom laughed once from the back, giving a confused, amused shrug, and Scootaloo chuckled as well.

"... You know, it's early in the harvest cycle," Blaine murmured. "And we can use the money for landscaping when it's over."

She could see Applejack's gears moving. From the back, a small voice popped up - Applebloom's: "... And they are just trees."

Finally, Applejack snorted and folded her arms. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. But the ceremony better clean up nice."

"Oh, definitely," Sweetie replied, already grinning widely. She could see it. Two in the afternoon, quiet, a light breeze rippling by. Scootaloo in what she'd picked out, her face bright in the unobscured sunlight. She'd already subconsciously thrown an excited arm around her, pulling her closer, and felt Pinkie's embrace grow tighter as the congratulatory noises started up again in a short wave.

"Where are ya gonna have the reception? I wanna go to that, too," Applebloom called from the back, breaking her imagination. "That's the fun part."

"Don't worry," she called back. "I have everything planned out." She looked away, remembering that there was something else. Oh, duh. "Also," she added, looking back and squirming some room out of the small crowd of people, "we're gonna be leaving right away afterwards for the studio, and we were wondering whether you'd want to go."

The sound died away again, to silence. Applejack looked over at her again, the first expression with the raised eyebrow on her face. "Uh..."

"Maybe we should explain," Scootaloo began, badly suppressing a laugh at the sudden reaction. "Uh, I'm gonna be working with Sweetie in music, probably for a while. And we thought it would be cool to tour around a little bit, and we thought that Applebloom could come along."

"... Well, for how long?" Applebloom asked, her mouth hanging open.

"I dunno," Sweetie replied. "Like, a year."

"Jeez," Applebloom said, glancing over at Applejack, who shrugged and murmured "I don't care."

"I mean, you don't have to decide now. We still have a couple weeks before we leave," Scootaloo said.

She rested her head on her cheek and leaned against the back of the nearby easy chair. "Uh... phew. I'm gonna need some time to think about it, yeah."

Sweetie grinned over at Scootaloo, feeling a little rush as the pieces fell into place and the check boxes were checked. "... We're getting married," she said lowly.

At that, everyone started up again. Just like she wanted.

---

They left not too much later, after a couple more words from everyone. Dash took off first, and it cued them to say their goodbyes. Then, they walked hand-in-hand into the chill of the late night, washed with staticky, ticklish excitement.

"I can't believe it," Sweetie continued, trying to hold a low conversation as she beat out the shivering. "I mean, I can, but... wow, it just - it's all coming together, and then it's... it's the rest of our lives."

She looked over at Scootaloo, who smiled quickly in reply. "... Yeah, I know."

"We're still a go for the end of the month?"

Her smile, already weak, faltered.

Sweetie opened her mouth to say something, 'what's the matter' probably, but held her tongue as Scootaloo looked down. She knew what that meant, and stopped walking, waiting in the relative silence of the night.

Scootaloo glanced up for a moment, and caught her eye before looking back down. She began with a deep, calculating inhale. "... I'm still kind of worried."

She remained silent, putting a hand in her pocket slowly.

"I - I mean, it's..." She swallowed and started again. "Because, you know, we're only 'together' now. A 'couple'. But when - eventually we're gonna be married. And it'll be totally a different kind of thing," she continued, kicking at the rocky dirt path as her eyes darted out of the gleam of moonlight.

Sweetie reached out hesitantly for her hand and grasped it gently once she found it. "... Is this about your parents?"

"No," she replied immediately. Then she looked to the door, throwing a hand on the back of her neck. "I mean, so what if it is? It isn't anyway."

"You know I'm just here to help -"

"Can - do you understand at all what I'm saying? How everything'll change?" She glanced up again, longer, but quickly stared back at her shoes. "What if - what if we get annoyed at something, like, a quirk that the other one has? It wouldn't be the same, and - and I really want it to be the same."

Sweetie smiled a small, dumb smile despite the situation. "Scootaloo. We've known each other forever. What could change?"

"I don't know, alright?" Scootaloo snapped, pulling her hand away and stuffing it into her jacket pocket. "I don't know, but I don't want to know. I just don't want to - to get tired of everything that we have together now 'cause -" She cut herself short, unable to form the rest of her thought, and breathed into her hands with a shiver instead, her gaze still steady on something off in the distance.

Sweetie understood full well what she meant. It was something that had crossed her mind, but it was something she could always rectify with images of the future, both near and far. She was more enthusiastic than anxious, but didn't know how to relate that to her. With a short inhale, she tried to take Scootaloo's hand again, but she quickly put her hand back into her pocket.

"I just don't know what the best idea is. What the best way to go about this is," she continued softly, more to herself, as she stared solidly at the ground. "It - it's all over the place with me, and I don't -"

"Scootaloo."

"- I don't know whether to go through with it, or wait, because I do want to, but I don't really know how soon -"

"Scootaloo, look at me."

"- because, I mean, it's - just - it's what could happen that freaks me out -"

"Scootaloo, look at me."

The tone in her voice made Scootaloo lift her head, her sentence cut short abruptly. And as their eyes met, Sweetie promptly lost her train of thought. "... I don't... I know that..." she attempted, looking around as though to jog her memory. But in a moment, she gave up and pressed a quiet hand against her neck, stroking her cheek once slowly with her thumb and watching her stare soften. With no words forming in her mind, she simply brought Scootaloo in for a kiss just long enough to communicate her sympathy.

It sometimes took her by surprise that Scootaloo was another acting person, who moved on her own. It sometimes felt odd to recognize the hand on her back as that other acting person's hand, or the gentle breath on her lips as that of another. It was a subconscious feeling, subtle, but present. And for whatever reason, it filled out every meaningful kiss even more.

Their lips were no longer touching. Sweetie was staring up at Scootaloo's closed eyes, trying desperately to reduce the complex to simplicity. "Maybe... we just won't do that," she whispered. "We're smart enough to work around it, right."

Scootaloo said nothing, but after a short, fluid, and probably unintentional nuzzle, she pressed forwards once more.

It was cut short by the closing of a screen door just beyond them. Scootaloo pulled away before Sweetie had any time to register the sound. "Hey. Uh, sorry, we just got... caught up," she said, her voice a sudden neutral as the beam of electric light from the house framed them both.

Sweetie turned. Applebloom was standing on her porch, a hand on her hip. "It's - fine. Ah just wanna, um..." She trailed off, looking up for a moment. "Ah've decided that ah'm gonna do it. Ah'll go."

Scootaloo smiled - she felt it. "Really? Cool."

"We'll set up the details sometime in the next week," Sweetie added, with a smile of her own as her imagination booted back up. "But for now, start packing, I guess."

"Also," Applebloom said, her hand falling to her side tiredly. "Would... would you come up here for a moment? Just - just you."

Sweetie looked over to Scootaloo with a wry smile. "Sorry, I gotta take this," she joked under her breath before approaching the deck.

"No, just inside the house," Applebloom said, motioning to the open door.

She stepped in to the warmth and aroma again and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms, as Applebloom followed her in. She didn't say anything for a moment as Applebloom looked up the stairs and down the nearby hall.

Finally, she turned back to Sweetie. "... You know ah'm - ah'm sorry."

Sweetie nodded, not wanting to make eye contact. "Yeah, but... I dunno, you were kind of harshly truthful."

"Ah don't want you to take it like that -"

"No, it's okay. I've tried to be humble, but that was just a trip-up. It won't happen again." She pursed her lips, and her arms relaxed a bit.

Applebloom was silent for a moment, a hand on her hip again. "Either way," she began after a moment, "thank you."

"It's fine."

"Ah mean it," she continued, prompting Sweetie to try to rebut once more before she found herself cut off by a forceful hug. "Ah do mean it."

She opened her mouth for a moment, but simply reached her arms around and returned the hug soundlessly.

Suddenly, they jumped in unison as her phone beeped at the maximum volume. She backed up and checked it with a quick flip of the wrist. "Oh. I gotta get back to the apartment." She looked back up. "Uh - I'll see you later sometime."

Applebloom had a small smirk on. "Ah'm... ah'm kinda excited."

"I know, right?" She grinned.

On the way back out, she took Scootaloo firmly by the hand and threw invisibility over herself, glancing over at her smile. "Are we gonna be alright?" she whispered.

Scootaloo nodded after a moment. "I just got to thinking. Everything's still ready for the end of the month."

"So..." she trailed off. "We're clear?"

Scootaloo gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they made their way out of the acres. "We're clear."

She waited a moment as they walked down the dark dirt path, Scootaloo's footsteps loud in comparison to her own. The chill of night began to settle on her as soon as it grew quiet, like shadow filling a room as the door closes. "Here's what we're gonna do," she began.

"Yeah?"

"We're gonna do the wedding as planned, on the thirtieth."

"Okay."

She scanned her voice for objection before she continued. "Since, uh, I'd planned the wedding a few weeks ago, we basically already had our honeymoon."

"Aw," she replied, and chuckled under her breath.

"So we're just gonna head over to the studio and I'll show you guys around. I'll show you the house, too."

"Right."

"And..." She repositioned her fingers to better fit around Scootaloo's. "We agreed to be public?"

"That's what I'd assumed."

"Well, here's a plan. I have four or five little pieces lined up unpublished at the studio. I was thinking I'd rework some of them, to more fit a congruent mood, and I'd publish an extended play - and the album cover would be our hands together, yours out with the ring."

She saw Scootaloo nod. "That's... that's clever. A lot more clever than what I was thinking."

"And here's the cool part. Goddess is mystery, right? Well, you wouldn't even be actually mentioned. You'd be a concept. It'd fit the whole vibe."

She saw Scootaloo nod again, slower.

"Is - is that okay? I don't want to make you seem unimportant, if -"

"No, no, it's cool. And it could even keep, like, the safety net together. It's clever." She paused. "Would we be in public together?"

"Oh, absolutely. I already have a wardrobe for you."

"I bet you do."

Sweetie snickered, and Scootaloo followed along with a laugh, slowing to a stop in a moment. Sweetie leaned in for a kiss, but stepped back when Scootaloo jumped.

"Woah, don't - don't do that. That's freaky, seriously," she said, wiping at her lips and shaking her head.

"What?"

"I mean, I can't see you - you could be, like, anything. If you were randomly something else, I'd have a heart attack and just die."

Sweetie laughed. "I guess I'll wait until we get home," she replied, and reached forwards for her hand again. "Is this less scary?"

Scootaloo chuckled. "I wasn't scared, I was startled."

"Sure."

---

She always turned the ceiling light off before she get her guitar out, but left the bedside lamp on. Its shade bathed the whole room in baby blue - it felt more secretive that way.

She watched the notifications in the chat pop up one at a time, and ignored them, waiting patiently for the call to go through. The notes formed in her head one by one as she glanced at the strings - there's the G chord, and the D, and the E sharp. She plucked out a muffled scale, only barely audible above the grey noise in her earbuds.

It was 1:32. They'd said 1:30. She bit her lip and moved back to the chat, which was still rotating rapidly. Her friends from school - Red Vine, Crest Gleam, and Chanterelle - were still going on about their Philosophy class. Of course, it was the one class she wasn't a part of, so maybe they wouldn't mind that she'd left for an hour.

That's not true. Mrs. Grisaille said that psychology begets destiny.

but think about what that means! a person can change, so that cant be valid.

How so?

because the statement assumes that a person cant change or their psychology would change and so their destiny would change! and then what about their cutie marks?

what about dual cutie marks? she typed quickly, keeping an eye on the call.

no because the first one would still be invalid

Suddenly, the little watery sound that meant the call was answered rang in her earbuds and she quickly minimized the chat. "H-hello?" she said quietly into her small microphone.

"Hey," came the bright voice, quickly becoming clear through the clipping. "It's late, so let's get through this progression so I can go to bed."

Lily smiled unintentionally as the picture cleared. It was so odd, seeing her in a sweater and pajama pants almost mirroring hers, sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed with a six-thousand bit guitar. No one had ever seen her out of either her white suit, her casual white ensemble, or her business three-piece tuxedo. But there she was. It gave her chills sometimes.

Goddess smiled back, moving to a G. "Do you have your fingers right yet?"

She nodded, and moved over a bit to show her. It still wasn't comfortable, with her ring finger bent as oddly as it was, but it produced the sound right.

"Raise your pinky a bit more," the soft voice commanded. She did. "Alright, play it." She did, and was met with a responding G-chord. "There you go. Can you move from A to G yet?"

"I - I think," she replied, flexing her fingers over the strings.

"Lemme see."

She fumbled as she pressed against the fret, muting one of the strings. "N-no, wait. Y - um, one sec." She tried again, producing a sound a bit louder than she'd wanted. "Was that it?"

"That was really close. Keep working on that, and don't go for speed at first. It's always clarity before speed."

"O - okay. Thanks," she added in a distracted mumble as she leaned over the body again.

As she played the chord, she heard a harsh ringing in her earbuds, and glanced up. Goddess was reaching across the bed, mumbling past her microphone something like 'I gotta get this'. She sat and waited, her fingers moving subconsciously.

It was sudden. Goddess looked down at her phone and frowned before holding it up to her ear. Whoever was on the other line had spoken fast. Within seconds, the phone had fallen from her hand and her eyes had grown twice their size in pure, virulent fear.

"Scootaloo?!"

She stared on in confusion as Goddess scrambled off the bed, and cringed when she heard the sound of the guitar clatter against the ground. "We have to go," she was shouting, frenzied, tearing apart the closet only barely in view. "Scootaloo! It's my mom!"

Suddenly, she caught motion in the corner of the screen. Someone she'd never seen before came practically sprinting into the room, dim purple hair a total mess, shouting "What? Are you okay?" almost as loudly.

Goddess looked up and behind her, before grabbing a bag out of the closet and beginning to stuff clothes into it. "We have to go! Get stuff for a week, we have to leave now!"

At 'now', her voice had broken and she'd turned closer to the camera. Lily clasped a hand over her mouth as she realized Goddess was crying.

Scootaloo had rushed over to her, and pulled her away from the bag, bringing her swiftly into a tight embrace. Lily could only see their shoulders down at that angle. "Calm down. Sweetie, come on. Tell me what's going on," she heard, barely distinct through the microphone, over Goddess' rising sobs. That was her name - Sweetie something.

"It's Mom, she -" Goddess paused, and moved away. "We have to go. If we go now, we can see her."

A moment of near-silence as Goddess began to pack again. "I - I'm so sorry, Sweetie."

"No, no, she's not - not gone - not yet, but we have to go. Go pack." The crying had quickly deteriorated, but her words were still strained and thick with tears.

Scootaloo walked closer to her and pulled her up from the closet again. "Come here," she heard. Then there were muffled words, a couple short sentences between the two, and a stressed breathing laced with short whimpers picked up as their embrace grew tighter.

She still had her hand over her mouth in shock, watching in silence and morbid curiosity. Who was Scootaloo? What about Goddess' mother? There was a flurried influx of questions and she had a feeling she wouldn't be getting any answers.

She saw Goddess go back to the closet, and Scootaloo walked closer to the bed. Her eyes were bright violet, and wet, her eyebrows furrowed in stress and worry. She looked closer at the camera, and reached out a hand to shut the laptop.

As "call ended" popped up on the screen, she ran a hand through her hair, briefly unable to even attempt comprehension.

She sat her guitar gently by her bed, and looked dumbly at the motion of the chat. In a few moments, she snapped the laptop shut, another shiver rippling through her as she forced herself to remember that a secret is a secret, and a promise is a promise.

---

The dim white lights were doing nothing for the roil brewing in her mind and in her chest. The distressed sobbing had left her once the plane had arrived, but the facts remained, and so did the dull pain of anxiety. For a while, she'd stared at the dim white lights and periodically forced herself calm when she felt her face growing tight. It wasn't any comfort.

This one was larger, and she got it specifically because the seats were sleepers, and adjacent to one another. It felt good to have a new plane. If it were the old plane, she would be reminded about... when...

She felt another round of hot tears and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her wrist, sniffling.

She felt Scootaloo's hand on her shoulder in a moment, massaging it with a ferocity. "Hey," she whispered, hoarse for lack of sleep.

Sweetie laid a hand over hers. "It's okay. Go to bed."

"I can't until you do," came the sluggish response. "You first."

"I won't be able to," she murmured in reply, trying desperately not to think about it.

"You haven't had much sleep." She chuckled lowly. "Neither have I." When Sweetie didn't react, Scootaloo drew her hand down Sweetie's arm gently. "It's gonna be alright."

"You don't know that," she replied, hit momentarily with the truth of the statement. "You have no idea."

"Of course I have no idea," Scootaloo replied roughly. "I'm just trying to be comforting. It's not easy." She sighed, and Sweetie saw her turn to the window in her peripheral. "You're a mystery, Goddess."

The discomfort from the situation, and the noise of the plane, and the lack of sleep, and the unnecessary conversation, had grown to a boil. "Can you stop with the quips for just one - just five minutes, please?" she snapped, whipping her head around. "For five minutes."

"I'm just trying to lighten the mood," Scootaloo replied with a scowl.

Sweetie sputtered on her words for a moment. "I don't want the mood lightened!" There it was. "I want to feel sad. And worried. And upset. Do you get that?"

Scootaloo's scowl fell away, and her tired resignation returned. "... Alright. I know how you feel."

"No, you don't!" She wasn't done yet. Scootaloo couldn't be more unfiltered. Not once had she ever thought anything through before speaking, and it suddenly frustrated her to no end. "You know you don't know how I feel! This is - this is the -" She felt the tears return, their intention indiscernible. "This is the - the worst feeling possible."

Scootaloo's hand had returned in a second, gripping her own as the tears sprang forth in full force. In a moment, she'd leaned forwards and pressed a hand against her forehead, over her eyes, like it would relieve the pressure from her tightened lungs. She barely heard Scootaloo's quiet shushing, or her quiet "It's alright. Let it out now. You don't need to be strong."

At 'strong', she clenched her jaw to regulate her breathing and, with some effort, sat up straighter. She did need to be strong. With her sister likely in the same state, she couldn't arrive on scene as the mess she was. As she recognized the warmth tender on her forearm again, she glanced over at Scootaloo through the tears - her violet eyes half-lidded but still concerned.

She didn't deserve what Sweetie had said. "... I -"

"I know. It's alright," she repeated, glazing over a bit. "You know... I think you need a good cry."

Sweetie raised an eyebrow, her teeth still clenched. "What do you mean."

"Well..." Scootaloo began, shifting about in her seat. "You cry a bunch. You know? And you're always still emotional after. A good cry should drain you, right?" She chuckled bitterly. "I've gotten that once. Twice, actually. I think it's healthy, personally."

Sweetie stared over at her, only softly illuminated by the dim white lights, her eyes no longer shimmering as they usually did. Dead and serious. As she spoke, a wave of memories flooded around her, and worries came in tow, overpowering each memory one by one. "B-but..." she managed, feeling that burning again, so seditious to any level of grace or stability.

"Just let it out. I won't tell anyone," she added drowsily.

"I - I can't mess this up," she began, her voice already weak and strained. "I can't let this happen again."

"Happen... what happen again?" she asked in a slur, repositioning herself once more (perhaps to wake herself up).

Sweetie looked back at her, and caught eye contact for the first time in a while. "You... don't know." Scootaloo gave a weak shrug, and Sweetie . "I wouldn't expect you to. I don't think I ever told you."

"Well, tell me."

She looked away, down at her feet, not particularly wanting to recount it. But she swallowed that feeling. "When... I - um..." she began, unsure of how to phrase it with her head all muddy.

"... Take your time," Scootaloo said, just above a whisper.

She felt her lip tremble. It wasn't something she wanted to revisit. "When Dad - when he went critical, I wasn't there." She inhaled slowly. "I knew it had happened before, and he'd been fine."

She heard no response, and looked over at Scootaloo, who was staring at the seat across from her, her eyebrows knitted.

"So - so I sat at home and played my -" she motioned to the air, reaching for words. "... My violin."

Another gentle circle was traced along her back by a soft palm as the tears became unstoppable. "And - and when I heard the news, the f- the first thing I did was break that violin. I hung up and threw it at the wall." She barely managed the last couple words - her throat was too tight.

She didn't expect silence. She expected Scootaloo to somehow overreact, or throw more condolences at her, or something. Not silence. But there it was, over her labored breathing and quiet sniffling. She wiped at her cheeks again, uselessly, and glanced over, thinking for a moment Scootaloo had fallen asleep. But she was alert, and the only feature with any sympathy showing was her eyes, glimmering flatly in the dim white lights.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, more clearly than she'd spoken previously, and moved her hand lower down Sweetie's back. "Everything's going to be alright."

Sweetie didn't argue this time. Scootaloo's shift in tone comforted her, in a backwards way. She wasn't being false about it. She never was. And if she was genuine, maybe she was right. In the hushed moment, Scootaloo leaned down and pressed her head against Sweetie's chest, dwarfing herself as she curled up tightly in the seat as far as the seatbelt would allow. Without any other words, she fell asleep.

Sweetie stared down at her for what must have been a few solid minutes, her mind running in circles around everything. A hand found its way down to Scootaloo's side to rest, and she kept it there. The tears had stopped as suddenly as they had come, and she felt drained. So she stared back at the dim white lights, imagining them as stars, and wishing desperately on them as she drifted to sleep.

---

They'd taken a taxi from the private airport. Scootaloo had said that she was worried, a bit, that they would be in a major city and she could be recognized, so her disguise was a bit more in-depth - the hair, the eyes, and some facial blur that she'd been working on. It was a low-grade perception filter, but it would work on most unsuspecting people.

The taxi smelled like cigarettes and cheap cleaning liquids. But it should have, anyways, and it wasn't surprising. Sweetie was lost, looking out the window, and couldn't remember speaking a word during the entire drive. Scootaloo was leaning against her, warm and comforting, but it didn't distract from her mood all that much.

Finally, they'd made their way into the suburbs. Deeper they went, past dozens, hundreds of houses of varying aesthetics. The colours sped by, and blended in the early, early-morning sun, and Sweetie simply couldn't keep her mind off of it no matter how hard she tried to tell herself it was going to be okay.

It felt like an hour. It may have been. But finally, they arrived at the large plot of land, with the tiny brick rancher as centerpiece. She saw the familiar fence to the left as they pulled up, and threw off her seatbelt immediately, probably waking Scootaloo up in the process. Before the cab had stopped, she'd flung open the door and begun sprinting down the cobblestone path to the house. Maybe it was happening now. Maybe she could make it in time.

She saw Rarity open the door, and almost immediately she felt tears on her face again. Frustrated tears, frightened tears. "Rarity!" she called out, her vision narrowing, her sprint falling to a jog. "Rarity? Is she okay?!"

"Sweetie Belle," Rarity cried over her, as she came to an aggressive halt at the porch. "She's stable."

"She's okay?"

"Yes, darling, she's fine, it's fine," Rarity replied quickly, her arms open to accept Sweetie's embrace, which followed momentarily, and intensely. She grabbed the back of her jacket and balled a fistful of linen, the tears building up into those terrible, uncontrollable sobs. And she thought she wouldn't cry.

"The doctor's in the room now," Rarity said, her voice only just above a whisper. "I brought him over once I got your call. He'll tell you about it."

Sweetie wanted to say something, probably, but there was no room to think about conversation in her brain at the moment. She was only able to mutter a consonant or two in-between short breaths.

"Sweetie," she heard Scootaloo vaguely behind her. "... Let's get her inside," probably to Rarity.

Use your brain, she managed to think, lamely. Speak. But she couldn't find words. And she wouldn't let go of her sister, not if they tried to pry her off.

---

It settled in a few minutes. Sweetie had fallen back to a scowl and periodic shuddering breaths, and was resting her head against her hand on the kitchen table. The fan above blew light, lukewarm air down onto the top of her head, making her eyes itchy.

Rarity had gone to talk with the doctor again, and Sweetie decided she'd put a suit on before dealing with him. Now, she was just sitting at the scratched blue kitchen table, glancing periodically over at Scootaloo, who was reading something in the chair opposite.

"I, um," she began, her voice unnaturally loud in the unnaturally quiet room. "I want you to know I didn't mean to make a big show out of that."

"No, no, I know," Scootaloo replied. "Like I said, you needed a good cry."

Sweetie felt the tug of a smile play on her lips. "I don't feel all that much better, really."

"I wouldn't expect you to," she replied softly, and turned another page. "I hope you get better soon, though."

Sweetie rubbed at her sore eyes. "Thanks." She looked up at the fan, which was moving much slower than she felt it. "... What are you reading?"

"Oh, just, uh, tech stuff. A magazine."

Sweetie suppressed a giggle. "I never figured you would get into that."

She rubbed her neck, closing the magazine on her finger. "I mean, you know. It's interesting, I guess."

"But don't you like doing any kind of adventuring things anymore?" Sweetie asked, getting up and walking around to her. She leaned on the table with a hand on her hip. "Like, when's the last time you did something dangerous?"

"Well, we just went on a zipline."

"No," Sweetie laughed, "I mean when I'm not around. Don't you do something dumb every once in a while, like base jumping or something?"

Scootaloo looked pensively at the nearby counter. "Uh... I went mountain climbing last year. A couple people from work and I backpacked through the Capitols."

Sweetie leaned down next to her, resting her chin in the little gap between her neck and shoulder-bone that she knew so well. "We should think about doing more of that kind of thing."

"Yeah," she mumbled, and grinned in that half-amused way she did every once in a while.

Almost as though nothing at all was wrong, like it was a dream, it had grown silent again. In a momentary decision, she let the warmth on her cheek settle, before leaning forwards a little and turning her head for a kiss. Only twice did she feel any pressure on her lips, but it was soft and loose and caring, and she didn't mind how short it was.

Then, the weight fell on her heavily. "... I should go... talk to the doctor."

She finally caught Scootaloo's eye, and stared at her for the second of quiet. "... You know what I'm going to say," she murmured, her voice like liquid, gentle on the ear.

Sweetie inhaled, and swallowed her lips. "Say it anyways," she whispered in reply, the whisper loud in the stillness of the room.

Scootaloo nuzzled against her slowly. "... I love you."

Maybe she didn't know what Scootaloo was going to say. It certainly wasn't that. And Scootaloo always said that towards the end of a conversation. She felt her eyebrows tighten into a familiar worried scowl. "I love you too," she breathed in reply, and stalked off for the stairs.

---

She had one last scrutinizing glance at the mirror and made her way out into the hall.

As she turned the corner she saw Rarity standing by her mother's closed door, her arms folded, speaking quietly to a balding middle-aged man in a casual dress shirt and bright blue tie. His face was pinched, but doughy, and he didn't appear to have a jawline at all. The doctor, she presumed.

His reaction was gold. He did a double-take, and Sweetie could see the exact moment of recognition. As far as Sweetie could tell, he was trying to say something, but it came out a waterfall of babbling. "G - w - is that -" and on. But Sweetie didn't have time or patience.

"Okay, first rule," she began, her voice heavy and forceful. She stepped up to him, squaring up as well as she could for his height. "Ignore my identity completely. No questions, no comments, no requests."

His mouth was still open in shock, and it almost made her smile. But not quite.

"Rule two." She held up another finger. "You will be on call twenty-four seven. If she ever needs something, you will be on your way in five minutes. You'll get a bonus of seven thousand bits."

He hadn't nodded yet.

"Rule three, final rule." She held up a third finger, her expression hardening. "Nothing spoken in this house leaves this house. Nothing at all, not even the fact that I was here." She put her hand on her hip. "I'm sure I don't need to threaten you."

He said nothing, but looked, confused, at Rarity, who put a hand to her forehead. "... Yes, give her the information."

He looked back at Sweetie, then closed his eyes as though preparing himself. "Um... how much are you aware of already?"

"I know the details of the disease, and I know she was very recently in critical," Sweetie replied, her voice falling from Goddess to concerned daughter.

He cleared his throat. "Yes. We were able to save her through some quick work, but she's still technically in a critical stage. We've set the stage's ending point by about three weeks from now."

"So... she has to make it to then." Her tongue had grown numb.

"Not quite," the doctor replied with a sigh of bedside sympathy. "If she reaches that point, she will simply remain in the severe stage of the disease, rather than the critical. One of three things can happen: she could make it past the three weeks, she... could not make it, or she could go into remission and stabilize."

Sweetie's mouth had gone dry again. "... What are her chances."

"For pulling through?"

"Either."

The doctor moved his folder from his hands to under his arm. "For pulling through, she has about a thirty percent chance. For remission, ten."

so it'll be this month then

"... Thank you, doctor."

The hallway was silent for a moment as Sweetie reflexively cupped a hand over her mouth.

Rarity placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "She's awake, if you'd like to see her."

"Of course I would. You're dismissed," she nodded to the doctor, who, reinvigorated with a little fear in his eyes, promptly took his leave. "Oh, and Rarity, could you get Scootaloo? I'm not sure she's met Mom."

When Rarity had gone downstairs, she leaned against the door and allowed herself a couple silent tears.

---

She heard her gasp before she'd even fully opened the door. "Sweetie Belle! Is that you, honey bunch?"

Her mother was as she'd left her - stranded in bed, weak, pale, but with her hair up like she was going out, and with a bit of persistent pep still radiating from her. Exactly like her mother would be.

Immediately she was struck with relief and a crushing sadness, and practically leapt to her bedside, taking a knee. "Yeah, it's me, Mom, how - how are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she responded immediately, her brash voice filling the room and tingling with her accent. "I mean, besides bein' a little tied up at the moment," she added, and laughed.

Sweetie felt herself laugh too, intertwined with a sob. She grabbed her mother's hand and pressed it to her face, only tangentially aware that her cheeks were already wet. The warmth relieved her like nothing else.

Her mother tsk'ed through her grin. "Don't ya worry about me, Sweetie, okay? I'm holding out as long as I need to." She leaned in a bit. "Rarity tells me you're gettin' hitched."

Sweetie had entirely forgotten about Rarity and Scootaloo, who had followed her into the room, but was reminded with Rarity's snort. "Not the way I put it at all."

"Yeah, I - I am engaged, though, Mom," Sweetie stammered in reply, standing and grabbing Scootaloo by the arm. "This is my fiancée, Scootaloo."

"H-hello, ma'am," Scootaloo interjected awkwardly, sticking her hand out.

"Oh, I can't use my hands all that much, dearie," her mother replied, as kindly as she could - not that any amount of kindness could help in that sort of situation. Scootaloo immediately dropped her arm and began mumbling some kind of apology, which her mother waved off. "Don't think anything of it," she said, and beamed. "How do you two know each other?"

"Oh, we go way back," Sweetie replied, glancing over at Scootaloo, who gave a half-grin. "We've been friends for a while now, and together for - what, five years?"

"Doesn't feel that long," Scootaloo replied, quietly.

"That's all well and good, but do you treat my baby like you should?"

Scootaloo's body language read 'uncomfortable quite clearly, and it made a sort of excuse to get her and Rarity out of them room for a while. "Y - yeah... ? I - I mean, yes. Of - of course."

Her mother giggled. "I'm only teasin', ya know."

"Hey, I'd like to talk to Mom one-on-one for a while, so could you..." she trailed off, looking from Rarity to Scootaloo pleadingly.

"Oh, sorry. Yeah, definitely," Scootaloo replied, waving a short goodbye to Sweetie's mother. "Sorry," she added again before ducking out into the hallway with Rarity quietly behind her.

Sweetie turned back to her mother, who was still staring at the door. "... She seems nice."

"Oh, she is. She certainly is."

"I hope I'll get to know her better."

Sweetie felt that pressure behind her eyes again, but couldn't think of anything to say. She simply wiped at her cheeks as surreptitiously as she could.

"... Do ya think that you're perfect for each other?"

"... I don't understand." Her mother's voice had become almost somber - a rare occurrence.

"That's the only way love can really work - if you're perfect for each other," her mother replied, looking up at her with a brightness in her eye. "Ya know that."

She knelt back down. "I guess I do," she replied quietly. "Mom, I love you. I - I didn't get to say that to Dad."

Her mother nodded. "I remember. But you know I'll be fine."

She grasped her hand again. "... I know you will."

"Now that you've got that all settled," she said, her voice rising again, and her eyes shining even brighter, "play me something."

---

She hadn't been paying full attention, but her mother had fallen asleep by 4:47.

She only knew that because the grandfather clock in her mother's room had been dropped in the move, and its gears had shifted - so instead of chiming on the hour, it always chimed exactly 47 minutes after. The chime was dull, as well, as though a bell had dented somewhere in its broken wooden head.

The muffled bong had caused her to look over from the violin. For a moment, her heart skipped - her mother had fallen still, her mouth open, her head to the side. But then Sweetie saw the sheets rise and fall, and held a fist against her own chest to calm herself. She whispered a low, relieved chuckle, and walked out, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her.

No one was in the hallway. She turned around, and stared at the blank wooden door for a moment, ruminating.

i could have had this with Dad

But that was a useless thought. She shook her head clear of it and walked downstairs, looking around to the den and the kitchen and the dining room. No one there, either.

"Scoots? Rarity?" she called out, tentatively, almost hoping they didn't answer. And they didn't. She grabbed her purse from the mess of travelbags on the dining room table and stepped out the screen door in the kitchen to the back porch, shivering as the chill found her skin.

"Cold," she murmured to herself, her mind far removed. "Cold, cold, cold." Why did this have to happen now? Why, right before the wedding, before my new life? Why couldn't it happen later, when I was more myself? "Cold."

The two woven-metal chairs had been replaced by a dull blue-cushioned bench, matching the porch's bluish-white paint. She sat and stared at the fenced half-acre backyard, watching the wind ripple through the tall grass. It was good that she was here. It was good that she got to speak to her mother. It was good that she'd been feeling 'better'. But it was terrifying. Because she could do nothing but watch, watch as events fell into place. Watch the wind ripple through any sense of stability she had left.

She pressed her head into her hands, her arms resting on her knees. The way her face lit up when she introduced Scootaloo. It... it wasn't as nice of a memory as she'd thought it would be. Perhaps she'd never see it happen again.

no, stop, what are you doing

Her phone buzzed from her purse, tearing the stressed silence in two. Five o'clock had come quickly. She silenced it, and grabbed the pack from the bottom of her purse. It had become muscle memory, and took no thought at all. The taste from the imports was certainly better, but she didn't know whether she wanted that.

It'd only been a minute or so before she heard the screen door creak open. "Sweetie, we're making dinner," she heard her sister say, that gracious hush over her voice. "Mom needs to eat early, for her medication. Do you want to..."

She heard footsteps, and glanced over to see Scootaloo leaning out of the door past Rarity. "... It's casserole."

"Mom's asleep," she replied, and put the cigarette to her lips again, for a lack of words.

She didn't wholly expect it, but when she felt the bench shift to her left, then her right, and felt gentle arms across her shoulders, it felt natural. Rarity on her left, Scootaloo on her right, each close, in different ways. Her hand hadn't left her lips, and wouldn't for a minute or so, as the little white body of the cigarette shrivelled and died.

It'd crawled until only a quarter of an inch was left white, then she felt the pressure of a head on her right shoulder and the pressure of that little caress on her left, carrying endless nostalgia. And she suddenly felt unrestrainedly angry.

In a wild spasm, a sudden release of energy, she leapt to her feet and threw what was left of the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it under her foot. A reckless kick forwards sent its body into the air, into the lawn, little red embers flying after it. She watched it go and collapsed back onto the bench, back into the warmth of other people, and covered her face again.

She didn't wholly expect it, but when she felt those arms shift from around her back to around her torso in a two-sided embrace, it felt natural.

---

Her sinuses had flared up. The lack of smell made dinner odd, like she was in a movie rather than real life. She'd stuffed her earbuds in and drowned out Scootaloo's conversation with Rarity - it felt disjointed and out-of-place, and she didn't want to hear it.

It was with them that she'd gotten around to struggling, after the last few hours. It wasn't right to sit in a mood for the next month. She needed to participate a bit. Act natural. But honestly, she didn't at all want to make herself uncomfortable, so she wouldn't. And she knew they would understand.

It was her sister's casserole, the one she'd had so many times before. It was easy to make, so she'd heard, and it certainly tasted fine. But she just didn't want to go through the process of eating, she she simply stared down at it and twirled it with her fork, focusing more on her music than on the food.

As she picked apart another green bean, she felt a light, familiar pressure on her cheek. Not at the table, she thought, giving an amused little smile and batting it away. A couple seconds later, a carrot on a fork slowly appeared in her peripheral vision, and she turned to Rarity and Scootaloo, taking out one of her earbuds. "What?"

They were laughing. "We were wondering whether you were gonna eat," Scootaloo said, waving the carrot around, "so I tried to wake you up."

Sweetie felt the vestiges of that amused smile resurface. "Nah, I'm - I'm good for tonight. I'll just, uh, snack later or something," she replied. They stared back at her blankly.

After a moment, Scootaloo responded by pressing the carrot against her mouth. "N - n - stop - I don't want -" she spluttered, the splutter developing into a laugh. It felt good, for a moment. And she was glad.

Rarity and Scootaloo laughed with her, and it felt like they'd laughed longer than they should have. But they'd stopped laughing at something funny and started laughing just because.

---

As it grew dark, she gravitated to the window, just to look out at the illuminated suburb street. It was a while before her torrential thoughts died away and she found her way to her bedroom.

The lights were off. Instead of the fluorescent, "tastefully-dim" pink of her walls, the moonlight showed her a bluish, ashy red. Scootaloo was on her bed, in the shadow of the curtain, lying down cross-legged and holding a shotglass steady on her chest. Sweetie leaned against the lip of the wall near the light switch, staring.

It only took a few seconds before Scootaloo noticed her, and when she did, she slid off the bed and stood in front of the window, her drink still in her hand, and stared back. "... How you doing?" she began gently.

Sweetie's mouth was dry. Her gaze fell away, down to the floor. Scootaloo didn't know the diagnosis. In her head, there were words forming, but she couldn't find a way to say them.

In a moment, Scootaloo gave a caring sigh under her breath and walked over to Sweetie, leaning up against the wall and facing her. Her presence was tall: Sweetie was crumpled-up against her own wall, and Scootaloo hung over her like a warm shadow, ready at any moment to envelop her in an embrace and dry her tears.

Eventually, she found the words. "... She might... she probably... won't make it through the month." They tasted sour, and she felt her way around them like she was climbing a sheer cliff, unsteady and terrified.

There was a hush as she heard Scootaloo open her mouth, as though trying to respond. It took her longer than Sweetie would have thought, and it wasn't particularly poignant: "I don't know what to say," she whispered.

"It's okay," Sweetie said, her voice shaky, her mouth numb, her eyes still directed to nothing. "It's just something I - something I have to deal with. You know?"

She finally found the drive to look up at Scootaloo. Her eyes reflected the moonlight at a jagged angle and shone like violet lights through mist and black trees, a contrast to her darkened face. In that brief second, she was comfortable again. Just in that brief second.

Her kiss wasn't an excited one. It was slow, gentle, inclusive. And she could taste sweet alcohol on her tongue. Sweetie's arms were wrapped behind the thin of her back, gripping her sides violently - she relaxed when she noticed, but it rather calmed her down.

i didn't need to drag you into this

When they separated, they were close: it felt for a couple seconds like it hadn't ended yet. She didn't want to open her eyes and look back into Scootaloo's. Suddenly, she felt a pressing shame about the whole ordeal.

Scootaloo didn't notice, though, and she heard "Come here," loaded with compassion. And then came that embrace, and she nuzzled into Scootaloo's shoulder without a second thought.

"I didn't mean -" she began, but thought it over. "I - I didn't -" She felt her lip quiver. Now's not a good time. "I shouldn't have brought you into this," she managed.

"No, no, it's okay -"

"I know it's okay. I know you think it's okay," she said, stepping back. "I know, because that's what you do, but - but - just please let me make it up to you. Please."

Sweetie looked up at her to find her mouth twisted in thought. "... Nothing big," she replied after a couple seconds.

Why did she feel the need to break her soul. She burst into a weak grin, trying to respond, but couldn't find any words that fit the situation. Instead, she just returned to the hug.

"By the way," Scootaloo began, her voice only just above a whisper, "I want you to know that, uh, I don't really know what you're going through and all, but... I mean, you just do what you do to make yourself feel better and I'm here for moral support, alright? You just... do what you have to."

"... Thanks."

"And I wanna ask you," Scootaloo continued. "Are we... is the wedding still a go?"

At any other moment, in any other way, Sweetie would have thought about it. She would have that about the diagnosis, and about the nebulous future. But at that moment, in her room, in the moonlight and in the consolation of that embrace, she only knew that Scootaloo deserved a promise unbroken. "Of course," she replied immediately. "Of course."

She didn't want to change her clothes, so she just fell onto her bed in her full white suit with Scootaloo curled up behind her, around her. Good, too, because it was getting cold. After a minute or two, she felt Scootaloo's hand crawl down her side to her stomach, and lower. But she didn't feel the usual shiver.

"Not..." she began, leading her hand back up to around her core. "... Not tonight." She sighed through her nose, and stared at the pattern on her carpet from the Venetian blinds. "Instead, could..."

"Hm?"

"I've been asking a lot of you. An unfair lot. But," she spoke slowly and deliberately, "I have to ask one more thing."

"Hm."

She struggled to inhale through her emotion, black and blue and crushing. "I need you to hold me. And whisper into my ear that everything's going to be alright. And that you love me." She felt her eyes getting wet, and wiped them away in frustration. "And don't stop holding me until morning."

Hearing nothing but the quiet ticking of the clock in the room, she turned and looked back. "... Would you please do that for me?"

"Of course," she heard in whisper, and looked away, the wetness returning to her eyes. The body pressing against her back shifted, and she felt herself flush with a rosy calm as delicate lips touched her neck lightly.

And she fell asleep to "Everything's going to be alright."

And she fell asleep to "I love you."