Early the next morning, when Celestia had only barely lifted the sun over the horizon, and the world was painted in shades of yellow and orange, Mayor knocked on the door of Golden Oak Library. Twilight opened the door, saying, "We're not open yet, but—oh!" Joy surged through her. "Excuse me, Mayor. Come right in." There was a stack of books on Twilight's desk, and two of her file drawers were open. "Sorry, I'm in the middle of processing the overnight returns."
"That can wait a few minutes. Twilight, it's about the forms you gave me yesterday."
Twilight's joy was replaced by foreboding. "Did I—were they—I'm sorry. I'll try again right away."
"No, it's nothing like that. I'm here because I'm impressed. They were perfect."
"Perfect?" Twilight gasped. Hearing Mayor call her work perfect made her heart pound.
"I'm ashamed to admit it, but I tried harder than usual to find something wrong. I thought I couldn't let you off so easily, not on the first batch of forms you've ever submitted to me. But there was nothing wrong. They were especially impressive for having been written in only twenty-two minutes. Good job."
Twilight wanted to act casual, but she couldn't hide her grin. "Thank you. So you approved my request?"
"Yes. Which means I have more forms for you!" Mayor pulled out more sheets of paper. "First, I need you to sign the amended budget. Then you need a property requisition request form. And a postal service attestation form stating that you're using the public postal service to the extent possible. And the Equestrian Paperwork Reduction Act requires you to complete an itemized breakdown of how much time you've spent filling out forms. But that's the last step. After that, you can order the books for the library." Mayor laid the forms on Twilight's desk. "And that will be the end of our first adventure together."
"But not our last, I hope." The eagerness in Mayor's voice had spread to Twilight. They looked at each other, each transfixed by the other's eyes, both considering their future.
Twilight, inexperienced in romance, was a churning, roiling river of feelings. She yearned to be around Mayor. She wanted to remove Mayor's bifocals and look straight and unobstructed into Mayor's blue eyes. She would lean forward and kiss Mayor, a long and deep kiss of foolish passion and extravagant folly. Mayor would kiss her back, and by noon they would be married, the capstone of a day of infatuation. It was a bold plan that felt incautious to Twilight's orderly mind, but she did not immediately carry it out only because, at any step, Mayor might reject her. Rejection would crush Twilight's hope, and fear of rejection so paralyzed her that she could do nothing more than look into Mayor's eyes and daydream.
Mayor found it enjoyable to be around Twilight. Quite enjoyable. But not in an unseemly way, she told herself. There was nothing indecent about admiring Twilight's diligence and conscientiousness, traits that were visible even in little things like her evenly tended mane and scrupulously trimmed hooves. That kind of care was admirable in any pony. It deserved, even required, admiration. Mayor was simply giving Twilight the attention that such a remarkable pony deserved. And what a remarkable pony! But her adulation of Twilight was tempered by wisdom. Even the appearance of favoritism, let alone romantic interest, could damage both of them. A pony in Mayor's position needed to be cautious. If she could have put aside her feelings for Twilight entirely, she would have, but she didn't know how. When she was with Twilight, time seemed to stop. Her schedule went unheeded, and her checklist disregarded, and she could think only and utterly about Twilight.
"Good morning!" said Spike.
The lovesick mares jumped, and Twilight found herself blushing. "Thank you for bringing these by," she said. "I'll have them back to you right away."
"Bring them to me whenever they're ready," said Mayor.
Outside, Mayor paused and took out her checklist. She checked off the line, "Bring forms to Twilight." Below it, she inserted a new action item, "Admire most beautiful mare I have ever known," and checked it off, too.
Twilight was conscious of her duties as public librarian, her continued studies with Princess Celestia, and her ever-present desire to read books. Despite those, she immediately began preparing the forms. She needed her signature on the amended budget to look perfect, so she practiced on scrap paper, varying the sizes of the loops and changing the amount of slant in the letters. She tried turning the dots in the i's of "Twilight" into little hearts, but it looked fillyish, and she didn't want to look fillyish to Mayor. She wanted to look ripe.
The important part of the property requisition request form was a table of books, divided first by section of the library (fiction, non-fiction, or foal), then (for fiction and foal) by author's last name or (for non-fiction) by RCLCN (Royal Canterlot Library Classification Number). She prepared it on a separate sheet of parchment, using a pencil and a T-square to sketch guidelines, sharpening her quill after inking each row, and erasing the guidelines when the ink was dry. On the form itself, she proudly wrote, "See Attachment 1." The postal service attestation form was just checkboxes and another signature. To ensure she had the data for the itemized breakdown on the Equestrian Paperwork Reduction Act form, she tracked the precise minute when she started and stopped each of the other forms, as well as any breaks she had to take to help library patrons.
The forms, being a tangible reminder of Mayor, made Twilight happy. But being finished with them meant she was finished with her excuse to think about Mayor, and that left her aching. She wished that Mayor would find some reason to come back to the library. Even if Mayor did, however, Mayor's other responsibilities meant that such a visit could only be a few minutes. Twilight thought she should ask Mayor out to lunch. But it was too late to do that today, and besides, she couldn't leave the library unattended. What she needed was a good excuse to spend personal time with Mayor.
That evening, Twilight's hooves splashed in moonlit puddles on Ponyville's cobblestone streets. Each step threw up a small scattering of drops that wet her fetlocks, and the evening rain trickled in sloppy rivulets down her flanks, but she felt none of the night's chill. She was warmed by anticipation. Her goal was simple, practical, and offered her the excuse she needed. It was something she needed to do anyway, but there was the prospect of deeper fulfillment, and the fantastic images in her mind made her walk nearly into a dance.
Twilight knocked on the door of Mayor's house. Right then, there was a lull in the rain, and Twilight waited in a tremulous silence of eager anticipation. She heard nothing from the house, and there was no light behind the windows. New images flipped through her mind: Mayor at an official function that Twilight had not been invited to; Mayor visiting a friend; Mayor asleep; Mayor at a tryst. Twilight had not thought of these before. She had been fixated on her secret hope, on fantasies that she now worried were foolish. She decided she should leave, not from embarrassment but from the practicality that if Mayor wasn't available, then there was no point in waiting. Yet she lingered, giving Mayor ten more seconds, then twenty, then thirty. She had just resolved again to leave when Mayor opened the door.
Though Twilight was lit only by the moon, Mayor recognized her at once. She knew the tidy straight line of Twilight's mane and the tint and location of its streaks. She knew the precise shade of lavender in Twilight's coat, the shape of her muzzle, and the sensual curve of her barrel. Mayor wore neither her collar nor her bifocals. It was a state of unpreparedness that she was uncomfortable letting other ponies see. Except for one pony, one whom she already trusted more than any other: Twilight.
"Twilight? What brings you here?"
"I finished the forms. And you said to bring them by whenever they were ready. And I thought, why not now? Plus, I was hoping you could document our interaction this morning for my friendship report, so I brought another form for you." She opened her saddlebag and presented a stack of paper to Mayor, holding it just inside the door so that it didn't get wet.
Mayor ogled the tempting stack. It would be so easy to take Twilight's finished paperwork now, to read it and to complete the new form now, and she knew Twilight would stay with her the whole time. If she deliberated over her answers, she might lose herself in an orgy of free-response questions, and it might take her hours.
Yet even as Mayor looked up from the forms at Twilight, at the prim librarian who had captured her heart, duty reared up inside her. She stepped back and raised a hoof as if to shield herself. She asked, "Twilight? How much of the Equestrian Civil Service Code have you read?"
"I've reached volume nine. Why?"
"So you haven't read volume 13, chapter 28, paragraph L, part (c)? Prohibition on civil servants providing material assistance to governmental functions on uncompensated time?"
"Oh. But what about my friendship report? It's not a governmental function."
"I review everyone's timesheet. I know yours uses the charge code for time spent writing reports to Canterlot. Twilight, why are you here? Be honest."
"It couldn't wait."
"It couldn't wait, or you couldn't wait?"
Twilight knew the reason she was there: She had wanted to see Mayor. She had known there was a chance of failure, but the urge that had seized her heart had been too strong. Now, seeing Mayor again had set her ablaze with passion. She moaned, "I couldn't wait! I just want us to do paperwork together. Beautiful paperwork. I want to fill out forms with you. I want us to check each others' boxes. I want us to write our names in evenly spaced boxes using all capital letters at the top of every page. And I want us to do it all in triplicate."
Desire struggled against duty in Mayor's heart, but she knew her obligations, and she had never failed at them before. The filly inside her had listened to Twilight's confession with excitement and now leaped and pranced with joy. It wanted to embrace Twilight, to invite her inside and tell her that this was her home, too, now, and they would be together forever. But the sober bonds of Mayor's maturity restrained it. Softly, with a calm voice that belied the struggle inside her, she said, "Do you remember the Ponyville city government organization chart? As librarian, you're in the Department of Parks and Recreation, which is in the Operations Division, which reports to the mayor. To me. And the Equestrian Civil Service Code, volume 13, chapter 22, paragraph F, prohibits me from having a romantic relationship with a subordinate."
Twilight croaked, "Mayor? Do you love me?"
"It's against the rules. I'm sorry, Twilight."
Mayor closed the door with a suddenness and force counter to her feelings. Her legs trembled, but she couldn't tell whether it was from weakness or fear or self-loathing. She lay on the floor and took out her checklist. She scrawled, "Reject most beautiful mare I have ever known," and put a check next to it. Then she hid her muzzle in her forelegs and cried.