Careful's Charge - Table of Contents:
-Parts 1-2: http://pastebin.com/CkZbn3E6
-Part 3: you are here

-Secret non-canon scene: search part 2

Part III: Citizen Safe

>Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.

>The cart carrying Anonymous wheels away on the cobblestone street.
>The morning sun peeks over the neighborhood rooftops.

>Your senses are still primed from the skirmish in Over the Moon.
>Everything is in slow motion. No detail misses your eyes or ears.
>It's a useful state in a fight, but an overwhelming one in the calm after. All the information overwhelms you.
>You inhale and exhale deeply and slowly, suppressing the adrenaline still in your veins.
>Things normalize. You can focus on one thing at a time again.

>You attention shifts to Careful first (of course it does).
>She looks unwell.
>She's walked to the next building down the street and stopped, facing away from the crime scene.
>Her legs quiver. They look ready to buckle, but she remains upright.
>She removes her helmet and places it in the snow beside her.
>Her mane, more red than brown in the clear, dry morning sunlight, spills out over her ears and down to the ground, trailing in the snow as her head droops.
>She's gasping for breath like the bookstore was filled with toxic gas.
>Her state concerns you.
>You've never possessed the capacity to feel and share in the emotions of others.
>Not acutely, anyway.
>You're not a psychopath. Hence your concern.
>But you can't tell what exactly has triggered this reaction in her.

>You can understand her basic concern: you two failed.
>Not totally, but not negligibly.
>The interior of Over the Moon is a wreck.
>It'll be weeks, at least, until Moondancer can operate her business out of it again, and you don't even know how many of the books themselves were damaged.
>It's not as bad as it could have been if you two had not contained the threat.
>But still.

>Then there's Anon's injuries.
>A unicorn, one of the leaders, had levitated him and turned gravity in a local bubble around him, sending him upside-down into a glass-paneled case at nearly the speed of a professional flyer.
>After Careful disabled the assailant, Anon was unconscious for several minutes, lying with his left arm bent behind his head, articulated in places where it should never be.
>Meanwhile, he soaked in a slowly-growing pool of his blood around his thigh.
>A shard of glass nicked an artery, you believe.
>It was unlikely a life-endangering amount of blood for him to lose, based on his size, but that much would certainly be fatal to a pony. It was a ghastly sight.
>You and Careful managed to place a tourniquet on him, but he'll still need emergency surgery, most likely, and may need magic and time to heal fully.

>Grim business, all of it.
>It's shaken you quite deeply. You'll likely be given time off for this to recover.
>It's customary for the RG's city branch to grant breaks for ordeals like this. You'll need it.
>But your reaction is emotional. Internal.
>What you are seeing Careful have is a physical reaction.
>You do not understand why, but this does not change the fact that she requires help.
>Now.

"Medic."

>You look back to the scene.
>Nopony heard you.
>The emergency division are still sizing up the scene, or otherwise chatting with the lingering paramedics and keeping away curious, early-bird bystanders.

"MEDIC."

>Heads turn.
>You do not like being loud - or having so many ponies look at you - but you do not avoid it when it is necessary.
>You're sure your expression carries any remainder of the message if your voice did not.
>One stallion who came with the ambulance gallops over.
>'Shock,' he had suggested to you, pointing out Moondancer and Careful when he had first arrived. But he became distracted with all that's going on.
>You nod toward Careful.
>He looks her way. His eyes narrow.
>"Need one more to assist over here," he calls back to his group. "And a blanket. Now!"

>He reaches Careful as her legs give out.
>Her face splashes in the dirty slush of the roadside.

>"Careful!"
>Moondancer gallops over to the fallen guard and the paramedics.
>You're unsure what to do.
>This is one of those pieces of social protocol you don't understand: the medics probably need space, but standing and staring ten yards away seems neglectful.
>You remain stuck where you are with indecision.
>Careful manages to struggle back into a shaky, upright position.
>One paramedic drapes a blanket over her and checks her vitals as she trots towards the other emergency wagon. The other hurriedly takes notes on her condition.
>"You did so much for me, Careful. Safe, too. And Anon. He's the reason I could get help. I know it looks bad, but it could have been so much worse. I'll get it back in shape... eventually..."
>You suspect, though you'd never know what to listen for in her voice to tell, that Moondancer is not completely disconcerned about the state of Over the Moon.
>She's not the one who just passed out in the street, though.

>You realize that, while this transpired, you unconsciously trotted closer to them.
>You've met the group by the time they get to the wagon.
>So much for not crowding her.
"Careful?"
>She turns her head to you.
>Something is... off.
>You don't understand her expression, but you can understand what she's looking at, where her focus lies.
>It's not you.
>Her eyes look in your direction, but she may as well be examining a wall you happen to be standing behind.
>She doesn't react in any other way to you.
>It's as if you're simply standing before a mannequin or a doll.
>You suppose she sees and hears you, but you don't know if she understands you at all in her state.
"You're gonna be fine. So will Anon. I promise."
>She tilts her head, completely dazed.
"I'll go and visit him. Right after my report. I'll stay with him. You... you rest. Yeah?"

>For a moment, the fog around Careful seems to clear.
>She looks at you, steps forward, and nuzzles her cheek to yours.
>Electricity runs through your body from her touch.
>You wish it wouldn't.
>Still, your thoughts drift back to before the fight, when you were perched above her, free to quietly, serenely examine her at her best...
>This is the most intimate contact you've ever had with her, you're inescapably aware.
>You barely manage not to detest yourself for it.
>This isn't the time, the place... she's unwell, for Celestia's sake.
>At least nopony will notice that you're blushing. The attention is all on Careful.

>"Thank you Safe. Please, don't tell him... I don't want him to worry. I'll... come later," she explains, before falling back into the haze.

>"Can you help us with her armor?" asks a paramedic.
>You adeptly find and unlatch each clasp, letting piece after piece of bronze plating clunk to the ground.
>Moondancer magics each piece into the wagon as the paramedics help Careful do the same.
>Soon she's being wheeled away over the cobblestone, just as Anon was minutes ago.

>...

>"... and that's when the first responders arrived?"
"Yes."
>"Alright. That completes the report unless CSI brings up anything you missed."
"I missed nothing, Guard-Commander."
>"Acknowledged, R.G."

>The pony before you is Honor Bound, Canterlot's Guard-Commander.
>... Colloquially 'Captain,' since that's the role she would serve as the leader of a remote shire or city post, such as Ponyville.
>But this is Canterlot, and her full title is much cooler.
>Cooler still are her connections. She answers only to the Princesses themselves, as well as Lady-General Argent, the leader of all Equestria's Royal Guard and Cavalry.
>The Lady-General is your hero. She is who inspired you to join the guard, who you aspire to be...
>But now's not the time to gush over foalhood heroes.

"Is anything else required, Ma'am?"
>"Nothing more from you, Safety. Though I'd like to have a word in private once we're done here."
>Moondancer, who joined you to corroborate your report and provide her own testimony, takes this hint and hops out of her chair.
>"Is there anything more I can offer to help the Guard with my case?" she asks.
>"You've given us quite enough, Moondancer. You owe us nothing more. Rather, we owe you as well as Mr. Anonymous. Had we done our duty adequately, neither of you would have come to harm in the first place."
>"Of course. Please, though, do not hold Safety and Careful accountable for that. If it weren't for them, it would have been so much... so..."
>She trails off, her imagination going somewhere disquieting, you assume.
>You hardly understand why she's taking so much energy to defend you when her place of business - and, to a certain extent, her home - lies in disrepair.
>"We understand. The fault does not lie with R.G. Safety or Careful individually. However..."

>She's getting into her speech mood, you believe.
>You believe this because her speech mood is not subtle, like other emotions.
>She's just hopped up onto her desk.
>She looks grimly through her office-door porthole window, overlooking the rest of R.G. Headquarters.
>Her wavy, nearly platinum-blonde mane sways with the motion of her head.

>"All but a few of our best and brightest guards have, in recent days, grown... complacent."
>She raises a forehoof and steps lightly but loudly on the desk, punctuating her point.
>"They think little of themselves and each other. As escorts for thin-skinned diplomats. As intermediaries for neighborhood squabbles. As the over-funded, over-decorated guard of Canterlot, the 'SAFEST city in Equestria!'"

>Honor's enthusiasm for her work disquiets some ponies.
>Moondancer included, it seems.
>Her body is positioned as if to make for the door, but she still seems nervously attentive of the yelling, desktop mare.
>You admire Honor's passion, herself.
>It's the way you wish you could express yourself about the things you love the most: the Guard, the law, your friends.
>But the way you try to do it, when you try, it sounds forced.
>For Honor, it's natural.
>Her eyes focus like lasers on some high and distant object she desires but can't reach.
>You sit and watch happily as she continues.

>"They FORGET that Canterlot is not the safest city in Equestria because it is Canterlot. Canterlot is the safest city in Equestria because the CANTERLOT ROYAL GUARD made it so!"
>She hops back off her desk and relaxes in her chair.
>"... as some of our guards need reminding. I may need to gently jog their memories."
>A silence follows in the speech's wake.
>Moondancer nervously breaks it.
>"T-thank you, Guard-Commander."
>"Our pleasure."

>"R.G.?" asks Honor, once Moondancer has left.
"Yes?"
>"Some time off. For physical and mental recuperation. Do you want it?"
"No."
>"That was a rhetorical question, Safety. You and Careful Watch did good work last night, but you were only two ponies. Shit still hit the fan, and however well you did, you don't believe it. Do you?"
"I..."
>You can't stop yourself from sighing.
"We did all that could h-have been expected of us. We have no reason to feel-"
>"R.G., you have many talents. Lying is not one of them. You're aware of this."
"... yes."
>"Are you a Yakyakistan-temple zen-master who will perform her duties at 100% in the following weeks, entirely unhindered by earthly connections and inner turmoil?"
"... no."

>"Matter settled. Take the time, Safety. For your partner if not for you. She's in a bad way. We need you both in good shape. You're two of our best. I wouldn't tell you that and inflate your ego if you didn't already know it, or... well, if you had an ego to inflate at all, Safe. But I don't think R.G. Watch knows or believes that right now."
"Is she okay?"
>"I don't know much more than you. She's seeing a doctor, then a therapist. She give you anything to do?"
"She wants me to visit her boyfriend in the hospital."
>"Better get to it," she says, matter-of-factly.
>You make your way-
>"Oh, and R.G.? Time off starts now. Stow your armor and rinse off on your way out. You can visit, but I see you in uniform, you're leaving with my hoof for a cutie mark."

>On the other side of Honor Bound's office door, you take your helmet off, take a deep breath, and sigh.

>"R.G. Safe?" asks a voice, before you can even begin to relax.

>Up trots a mint-green unicorn stallion, wearing the black combat armor of the department's Special Magic and Tactics team.
>SMAT had backed you up earlier, entering Over the Moon and cuffing and carting off many of the MILF ninjas you and Careful had already knocked out.
>Even if they came as soon as they could, you can't help but to feel a little resentment towards them.
>Their intervention earlier could have meant fewer bruises taken and less damage done.
>And maybe Anon and Careful would have been alright.
>Maybe.
>Still, you can't help but to put a stopper in your frustration for a member of your class back at the Academy.
"Clear River. How are you?"

>"Oh, never mind me, darling. How are YOU? Goodness, a mix-in with masked MILF mischief... what worse treacheries could this department put a poor mare up to?"
>He raises a hoof and flicks his meticulously-styled curls.
"I'm... okay."

>Clear has always been different than the other male guards in the department.
>He's more friendly, especially with you and the other mares.
>You're not sure why.

>"DARLING!" he interjects. "You look anything BUT okay. Oh, your beautiful blue mane. It's mussed up! Bedraggled! I know you were in a scrape, my dear, but can't you even condition, like I tell you? Oh, let me..."
>He licks his hooves, reaches for you, and begins smoothing out your hair before you can stop him.
>You'd ordinarily flinch from a pony getting so close to you so unexpectedly, but, for Clear, you can manage a smile.
>Your natural smile, not the kind you have to practice.
>It's more... subdued... than other ponies', you understand.
>But Clear recognizes it as acutely as he would a huge grin on a foal's face.
>"See? Isn't that better. Oh, dear, what would you do without me. You'd be helpless. Helpless!"
"Do you need something, Clear?"

>He gasps, mock-offended.
>"Safety First! As if I would need an ulterior motive to come check up on YOU."
>He looks left, right, and lowers his voice conspiratorially.
>"I need your help with a suspect, R.G."
"Yes?"
>"Come. Look."

>He leads you over to the glass panel between the general office and one of the insulated, sound-proof interrogation rooms.
>The glass is one-way: inside, it's reflective, but outside, you can see through it as clearly as a window.
>Inside, seated at the suspect's end of the interrogation table, is a pegasus with a yellow coat and black hair.
>She nervously cradles a foal to her chest, identical in coloring.

"That's Honey Hive. She was in the attack, but I don't think she did any damage. May have been coerced. Anon - the human - he vouched for her... though, in his condition..."
>"It's enough for now. She doesn't seem too dangerous, and that corroborates her story."
>Clear magics open the door to the room, pokes his head in, and calls, his voice an octive lower than he normally speaks to you:
>"Ms. Hive. One of our guards from the scene backs up your story. You're free to go, but don't leave town until we follow up. Give us a week. We'll be speaking to the victim once he comes to."
>"T-thank you," replies Honey, rising shakily from her chair and fluttering from the room.
>On her way out she looks at you.
>She takes a moment to recognize you, after which she nods, smiles, and continues on her way.

>Clear returns and resumes speaking in his normal tone of voice.
>"You see that little filly of hers? So cute."
>He grins, but not the sincere kind of grin, you think.
>More the kind of grin one gives in response to a grim joke.
>"Too bad mommy's probably getting locked up. Her defense is, what. The testimony of someone with a brain injury?"
"Anonymous is a friend of mine and Careful's. He was confused after the... the accident, but I believe he was lucid enough to vouch for her."
>"Oh. I'm sorry, sweetie. I shouldn't have assumed."
>You're not sure why he's apologetic. You only meant to correct him.
"Yeah. Anyway, Clear. I have to be on my way. Need... I need a shower."
>"Of course you do, darling. I do too... but duty calls. You enjoy your time off."
"You knew?"
>"I assumed correctly. This was a mess. But you and Careful finally caught those MILFs doing the dirty in person. The rest of them have paper-thin alibis at best. They're all going away. Huge thorn out of our side, R.G."
>He salutes.
>You return it.
>As soon as you do, he brings both his hooves to his face and squishes his cheeks.
>"And on my next day off, I'll treat us three to a spa date. You need it, I need it, I'm sure Careful needs it. You don't miss it, or I'll never speak to you again!"
>He winks, which he does because, the first time he said that, it had hurt your feelings, because you didn't understand it was a joke.
>You wink back.
"See you then."

>You make your way, this time uninterrupted, to the mares' lockers.
>They're deserted. At this time of day, everypony's still out on patrol.

>You trot over to your locker and begin the slow process of suiting down.
>First goes the plate itself.
>Each piece is secured to the secondary layer by at least two straps, keeping it from shifting under any blow or rattling from the wearer's movement.
>Day-by-day, or in the field, you wouldn't undo these.
>It's faster and easier to change by managing the straps that hold the secondary layer directly to your body, donning or shedding both layers together like you would ordinary articles of clothing.
>But you're putting away your armor for a while, you've just been on a long job, and the soft layer...
>Well, it smells.
>And you can't just throw the plate with it into the clothes-washer.

>So, full disassembly it is.
>You remove each piece of plate and hang it on its hook in your locker.
>You remove the soft layer with less ceremony, allowing each piece to fall to the floor and sighing with relief once the warm but suffocating regalia lies scattered about your hooves.
>You shove it all in the bottom of your locker, where there's room for it.
>The last of your official equipment is, for winter, some thin, pocketed, thermal underwear for your front half, colored white and gray to help a lightly-equipped guard to blend in with snow.
>The pockets are on the front arms, regions accessible by mouth and not covered by the top two layers of armor.
>They each hold a heavy beanbag packed with metal pellets and filings.
>Non-unicorns are trained to use these against telekenetic holds, which could otherwise leave them stranded and helpless in mid-air.
>Flinging one with the mouth can give one enough rotational or linear momentum to approach a solid surface or her attacker.
>They can also be kicked. They hold together long enough to make a dangerous projectile.
>You're trained to aim for the eyes, face, or head of a caster holding you in a field.
>If they hit home, you get precious seconds of freedom to outmaneuver them.
>If they explode on contact, you're free, period.
>In worse times, these were used for riot control, not just defense... but it's been decades since that's been needed.
>You needed both of yours last night, so you have no munitions to worry about storing.
>You peel the tight garment off your tired body and throw it in your locker over the soft pieces.

>Lastly, you undo the flexible cloth wraps you like to wind around your lower front and hind legs before suiting up.
>It's the same kind boxers use.
>Some ponies think they're for good sports who want to pad their hits, softening the blows to their opponent and making fights safer.
>This is a misconception.
>Such ponies forget - or don't understand - that each force has an equal and opposite force.
>If you kick too hard, you risk fracture or dislocation from your bones bending and shifting in response to the hit.
>Without something to keep them in place, you'd have to moderate your attacks.
>This is especially true for pegasi, who have light bones and lack the natural armor of earth ponies' thick muscle.
>With a firm wrap, though, you're free to kick as hard as you like.
>You'll never hope to match Careful - your lithe, light build prohibits that - but you can get near her, which is exceptional for a pegasus.
>As you shed the last one, a rich soreness radiates from your hind-right leg.
>It's the one you got your first knockout with the previous night.
>It's a satisfying soreness. The kind that informs you of a job well-done.

>You close your locker, take a charcoal stylus from a common tray, and mark the pewter rectangle on its front, under your nameplate:
>'P. W.'
>Polish the plate and Wash the soft pieces, the letters mean.
>Chores for the Academy ponies.
>You don't envy them, but, hey.
>Somepony has to.
>Out of curiousity, you look over at Careful's locker.
>'P. S. W."
>The 'S' is for 'Smithing.' Dents in the plate need hammering out. She took some hits.
>You hope, not for the first or last time, that she's alright.

>You're now exhausted, naked, sore, off-duty, and a little off-scented.
>You want only one thing right now: a long, steaming-hot shower.

>You head straight into the showers and turn the water on, not even waiting for it to heat.
>The initial cold shocks you.
>You shut your eyes, breathe deeply, and let yourself feel it.
>The chilly stream gives you gooseflesh as soon as it hits your head, then it flows down, down...
>Down your neck, your sides, wings, flanks, legs, and off the end of your tail.
>The sensation is just like flying through a saturated raincloud.
>You extend your wings, let the water flow through and over your feathers, and flap them, sending little droplets everywhere.
>As the water warms to room temperature, then to lukewarm, you briefly step out of it to retrieve a clean cloth, a small block of mild soap, and a pewter lathering bowl from the watertight cabinet in the corner of the facility.
>You add water and lather the soap with one wingtip while you test the shower temperature with the other.
>It's getting hot.
>Time to wash up: you dunk the washcloth in the lather and cover yourself with a generous layer of hot suds.
>By the time you're done, you look like a bubbly, light-blue snow-pony.
>Then you rinse off.
>The hot water relaxes your muscles, as if they've been stuck in "on" mode since you were put on duty.
>It seems to carry away your troubles along with last night's sweat, dust, and grime.
>You can't stop yourself from moaning contentedly.
>This is bliss.
>Lastly and vitally, you lift your tail to make sure whatever soap and dirt is left on your backside gets rinsed away with the warm, flowing water.
>You can't pretend not to particularly enjoy the sensation of the water flowing across a few particular parts of your body and down the inside of your legs.
>...But, of course, you're in a communal shower.
>There's no time to dawdle.
>The hot water may get used up soon, in any case.
>You shut it off, leave the shower, and beeline for the fluffiest-looking towel in the stack.

>You step outside, your old, fleecy Academy hoodie firmly zipped up.
>Next stop: hospital.
>Anon's there, Careful might be there.
>...you don't really understand how your mere physical presence there will help either of them, but you understand it's the kind of thing ponies like, even if you're not sure what to say to them.
>May as well not waste time: you take wing and climb to fifty yards, high enough to clear most rooftops but not so high you get tumbled or frozen by the wind.
>You effortlessly reach a dozen times the speed of a brisk trot on the ground.
>You can't stay up indefinitely in this weather without risking frostbite or ice clumping in your feathers, but a quick wing across town only takes a few minutes.
>The snowflakes hitting your face are admittedly a nuisance, though.
>You should have brought your goggles with you.
>Where... where are they, actually?
>...
>Moondancer's shop!
>In your rush to suit up during the break-in, you left them in the overnight-room.
>Wouldn't have been any good to have a loose item on you in a tussel.
>Over the Moon isn't too far out of the way.
>You bank West, retract your wings, and let gravity pull you to the street as you cut through the mid-winter air.

>The shop's incomplete bell makes a hollow "ping" as you come through the door.
"Hello?"
>"Safety! Hello."
>Before you know it, you're in a hug.
>Having somepony suddenly in your space takes you off-guard, but, as it's Moondancer, you don't mind.
>Hugs from cute mares are nice.
>Even if their sweaters are a little scratchy and musky.
"I, uh. I."
>Moondancer releases you and smiles at you.
"You're not upset?"
>She looks over her shoulder at the mess that formerly was her store.
>"Not with you, Safety. It's thanks to you, Careful and Anon that we could get help at all."

>You cast your gaze down.
"If only we were of more help ourselves."
>"You were the difference between them making a mess of my place and them destroying it beyond repair."
>She shakes her head.
>"I'm going to be reminding you of that constantly over the next few weeks, aren't I?"
"Oh. You are?"
>She raises an eyebrow at you and doesn't reply.
>Is she going to say anything?
>...
>Oh.
>You must have misunderstood something.
>Dummy.
"I-"
>"Uhh, sorry! I just meant, uh, I thought... assumed, well, you and me and Careful... and Anon too, right, we'd continue to hang out. Unless you're busy. Or you don't want to. That's fine."
>Wait - is SHE the confused one now?
"Oh, I'd love to! That would be great."

>She sighs with relief.
>"Great! I thought I might've... presumed... oh, nevermind. What's up? I'm glad you came by, but there's not much to do here yet but clean, and, well, I need to plan..."
"Plan?"
>"I can't just put everything back where it was, because some of the things can't be put back. Most of the books weren't damaged, but the ones that were, well, it wouldn't do to glue them together."

>She steps back.
>You realize she's been standing over a circular, deep-violet glyph freshly inscribed on the floor.
>"I'll be drawing a few of these. Do you know what they're for?"
>You shake your head.
>"It's a spell, a complex one. Coltzmann's Entropic Reversal."
"It undoes 'entropy?'"
>You wrack your brain for whatever you learned about that in your school science courses.
"That's... not easy. Right?"
>"It's physically impossible. In nature, all systems tend towards higher entropy - states of disorder - over time."
"Mm-hmm."

>You try to think on that for a moment.

"I... might need an example."
>"Like... a raw chicken's egg, right? If you put it in a box and shook the box, you can be sure you're gonna open it to find a yolky mess. But if you start with the cracked egg, the shell and all, you're even more sure it's not gonna spontaneously 'un-break' and turn back into the pristine egg. The cracked egg is more disorderly."
>You think you get it, though you can tell Moondancer's done her best to really dumb down the concept for you.
"So... a page of a book can be torn up..."
>"But the pieces can't be un-torn from each other! That's right! You're getting it."
"Not even by somepony really handy?"
>"No matter what they do, it wouldn't be the page it was before the tear. Not EXACTLY."
>You nod.

"So it's physically impossible, but not magically impossible?"
>"The more absolute the physics, the harder the magic. And thermodynamics are inviolable."
"Then how could the magic work?"
>"It's not a true reversal, just very, very close to one. The closer you get, the harder the magic gets. Exponentially harder. It's why necromancy is only in fantasy books: nothing short of a true reversal can put things back exactly the way they were before death. Even enough just to make a zombie."

>You've really got her going now.
>She's adorably excited to explain this.

>"... But for things like book pages, you don't need to get that close to a true reversal. A page just needs to convey words. Not every single subatomic particle needs to be perfect. Little nicks and tears can't even be told from normal wear-and-tear."
"So you're not really breaking physics, just getting close enough to it that nopony could tell the difference?"
>She shrugs.
>"Not without a microscope, I think."
>She looks out over the wreckage again.
>"It will still take a long, long time. Especially for this much stuff. A professional wizard could do it in an hour. As for me... I KNOW the spell, so I can cast it. But it'll take hours a day. Weeks."
>She gets quiet.

"... That long?"
>"That long."

>Then she perks up.
>"But I won't bore you with any more of that. Why'd you stop by?"
"Ah! Um... my goggles?"
>She smiles.
>"In the back room where you left them. They're really cool!"
"Th-thanks!"

...

>You hang your cold-weather gear, moist with droplets from cool, low-hanging clouds in the afternoon sky, in the racks by the hospital entrance.
"Is Careful Watch here?"
>The receptionist looks at you sideways.
>"Name?"
"Safety First."
>"You family?"
"Partner."
>She hooves through a few pages of a form on top of the other papers littering her desk.
>"Her emergency contacts list a *boyfriend,* miss."
>You barely manage not to roll your eyes.
>Ordinarily, such a misunderstanding would embarass you.
>But these aren't ordinary circumstances.
"R.G., ma'am."
>The receptionist starts slightly and checks the next page.
>"Oh - you are listed! I'm sorry. She's in PE-1."
>Psychiatric / Emergency, that abbreviation is for.
>So she wasn't just sent to the E.R.
>This could be bad.
"Thank you."
>"You're welcome."

>You climb a flight of stairs, trot a short distance on a hallway, and, sure enough, there it is: PE-1.
>The door's ajar.
>You let yourself in.

>The scene takes your breath away.
>Canterlot Hospital isn't your typical sterile-white joint.
>It's closer to a home for the retired, but without the dusty and dated furnishings.
>The room's decorated like one might decorate her own home, albeit with only the most rudimentary furniture: a table large enough for a few ponies to have lunch, two armchairs, and a double-sized bed, upon which Careful lies, sprawled out, towards the headboard and over the scarlet bedclothes.
>A flickering-flame illusion covers the heating vent opposite the bed, lighting Careful as though she's seated besides a cozy hearth.
>An IV stands beside the bed, leading down to her shoulder, where it's taped, fixed to her skin.
>Her head lies on her pillow, facing the door.
>Her eyes and her fur around them are dark and moist.
>She is, or has been, crying.

"C-Careful?"
>You'd never have expected that seeing her like this would affect you so.
>But, then, you NEVER expected to see her like this.
>As silly as you know it is, you guess you just assumed that Careful doesn't cry.
>She's strong, beautiful, condident - a badass, really.
>On the few assignments you've been on together that have turned ugly, she's never wavered.
>She's kicked a few ponies into this very hospital.
>For none of them did she show any concern greater than she once did returning an overcooked eggplant parmesan to a downtown take-out joint, the evening before your first stakeout together.
>Yet, here she is.
>Crying like a scared filly.
>She's only a pony.
>All ponies are.
>You need to remind yourself of that more often.
>It's easy to forget.

>"...Safe?"

"Careful!"
>You trot up to her bedside.
"Are you okay? What happened to you? Why are... why...?"
>The IV worries you.
>What could have happened that she would need it?
>You understand she wasn't well, but... could she have taken a worse hit than you thought?
>Did you fail to help her somehow?

>"...that thing?" Careful asks.
>She caught you. You shouldn't have stared at it.
>"It's 'cause... I couldn't... well."
>She pauses.
>"...fuck. Safe, are you okay? Thank you so much for visiting. I know... I know we don't see much of each other off-duty. Maybe we can start. I..."

>Your head spins.
>She's in this condition and she's worried about YOUR well-being?
>Color rises in your cheeks.
"I'd love hanging out with you more! I'm... well, I'm fine, though. I came to check on you. I was really worried."
>"Thanks--HUP," she chokes on a lingering sob.
>You let her catch her breath.
>Having regained her composure momentarily, she pats the bed beside her.
>"Wanna come up? It's quite luxurious. And I'm not contagious."
>YESYESYESYES-
"Sure."

>You opt to climb up rather than fly up.
>It's clean in here; no reason to risk leaving a stray feather or two around and mucking it up.
>"Right. So."
>Careful gestures to the IV.
>"It's cause I... well. My symptoms... I couldn't keep fluids down-"
"Okay."
>You don't need anypony's help to know not to make her elaborate on that.
>She appreciates your interruption. You think.

"Are you alright?"
>"I..."
>She's quiet for a moment.
>Does she not want to tell you?
"If you'd rather not-"
>"It's fine. I need to talk to somepony. You're a good friend."
>Your heart skips a beat.
>"Just need a sec."
>You wait.

>"I had a traumatic incident when I was a filly. A while after getting my cutie mark, but still young."
>You nod.
>You know she probably means the death of her father.
>News of Meticulous Gear's passing had spread through the city quickly.
>Not to say it was widely publicized.
>Not even the tabloids stoop low enough to sensationalize loss.
>But violent and accidental deaths are nearly unheard of in Canterlot.
>When they happen, the impact they have on the city's community is like the reverberating footstep of a towering beast.
>Your own parents had been quiet and contemplative that night.
>Both of them took extra long tucking you into bed.

>"The doctor says - she's a shrink, I think, she came in after the ones in scrubs were done - she says... when you experience something like that, sometimes you process it funny, so that certain sights or sounds can make you relive it."
"You relived...?"
>You're honored she can confide this in you, but stupefied as to how she can discuss it as casually as she is.
>Neither of these feelings even compare to your surprise and unease.
>You haven't exactly idolized Careful, but you've certainly held her on somewhat of a pedestal.
>You admired her enough that you may not have ever thought she was only a pony.
>Your realization feels like ice trailing from your head down to your stomach.

"I can't imagine..."
>"Don't worry, I feel... I feel fine now."
>Obvious, but partial, lie.
>She's on a hospital bed...
>"It was when we were walking through all that wreckage after the fight, that we couldn't stop no matter how hard we tried. And then we saw Anon like that, and... it went right off."
"I couldn't tell until we were outside."
>"Necessity. We had to get help. But once we were outside, and I heard the sound of the ambulance-cart going away over the cobblestone... that must have sent me the rest of the way over the edge, 'cause that's the last thing I remember before waking up here."
"You... you were conscious. I spoke to you."
>She shrugs.
>"I say anythin' interesting?"
"You said not to tell Anon."

>She smiles.
>"Don't."
>You're happy to see her relax, even a little.
>"Tell him I'm still making my report or whatever for now. I don't want him worrying about me right now."
"Maybe you can come with me to visit after a little more rest? I'm sure he'd like to see you..."
>Her smile vanishes.
>"I..."
>She hesitates.
>"They want me to make sure to spend time with him. After I physically recover. It should... help."
>She breaks eye contact.
>"But if I see him now, while I'm still recovering, while he's still... hurt. It could send me right back again."

"...oh."
>You're not sure what to say.
>This sounds bad.
"I'm really sorry."
>"It's okay. I just wish-"
>She wipes at her eyes with a foreleg.
>"I wish I didn't feel so useless."
"You're not."
>Your comment doesn't seem to register.
>"Every gossip in the department gets their laughs from my taking any menial job I can day-to-day, just to help ponies feel secure. That I do this only for supplemental income because of how much that means. But when a real danger comes across - not just a belligerent pickpocket or a performance artist taking it too far - I do... what? Moondancer's shop's in ruins, my boyfriend nearly died, and I couldn't bring myself to see him now even if I were allowed to... oh, Celestia."

>She bites her lip, unable to continue.
>How can she...?
"Moondancer's gonna fix her shop. She can only do that because we kept enough of it intact. We saved Anon's life, too, even though he was hurt. I'll check on him for you. Tell him you're still tying up loose ends."
>She nods.
>...
>She's still moping.
"I acknowledge that there is still a lot to feel bad about. But it doesn't make us useless. Or failures."
>...
"It doesn't make you a failure."
>...
"It would take so much more to make you a failure. You're a really good guard. You're smart, you're nice, you're strong. Everypony you're assigned to says how great you are. And..."
>You muster up all your bravery to give her the best, most sincere compliment in your arsenal.
"You're beautiful! You're so pretty. You're like a PRINCESS." 

>...

"I want... I like... you... I mean... I'm... I'm jealous of..."

>You freeze.
>Your stammering's doing little to make this better.
>That string of compliments... it all just sort of spilled out.
>It's more than you meant to say.
>Was it excessive?
>You've sweated over telling her that for a while. Should you really have-

>"...like a princess?"

>Careful's looking up at you, her eyes glistening.
>You nod vigorously.
>She smiles at you as widely as you've ever seen.

...

>You've never had platonic girl-friend talk before.
>You've never been close enough to other mares to have it.
>Now that you have it... you like it.

>"OH! You're so pretty, too! I don't see you often enough out of the uniform. Is the blue stripe natural, or do you dye? It suits you so well either way. And you're so fit... I wish I could get that skinny! Stupid earth pony genes... Do you fly every day? Do marathons?"

>There's definitely color in your cheeks now.

"Uh... hehe... I like mountain flying. High up. Lower air pressure. Need a faster cadence to keep aloft... View's nice..."
>"I'm sure it is. Maybe you can take a scrying crystal some time. I'd love to see..."

>The talk continues for a while, and, for a while, it's like Careful's forgotten all about her day.
>You've never been sure if you could cheer ponies up like more emotionally intelligent ponies could. If only you knew it was so easy... or is Careful just that friendly?
>You feel closer and closer to her with each word.
>The feeling's like a hot glow, growing inside you until it warms you from your head to the tips of your hooves.
>Is now the time to tell Careful your interest in her is a little more than just a mutual girl-crush?
>...
>No.
>No it isn't.

"I need... I need..."
>...
"You wanted me to visit Anon, right?"
>Careful thinks for a moment.
>"Mhm. But I'll be out in a day. Did they they give you mandatory 'time off,' like me?"
>You nod.
>She grins.
>"We'll make the best of it. I'll stay in touch."

...

>Anon seems to have appreciated your visit.
>He's fallen asleep, a calm expression on his face from whatever thought might have occured to him as he nodded off.
>You can't blame him.
>It's been an exhausting day.
>But...

>...well.

>You need to pee.

>His arm's draped over you.
>You could escape under your own power, but waking him up doesn't seem right.
>You're stuck.

>You appreciate his expert cuddling, even with one arm.
>You have that going for you.
>You try to focus on that.
>You close your eyes.
>Zen monks, you think.
>You read about them once.
>They meditate, they separate themselves from the material.
>Or something.

>You try to meditate.
>You breathe in, out.
>You focus on your breath.
>A minute, maybe, passes.
>Based on your reading, now's the time to think of some thought puzzle to deepen your meditation.
>Can Celestia make a stone she can't lift?
>Yeah, that's a good one.
>...
>But, well, she's not omnipotent.
>In fact, she's sometimes gotten in a rut in recent months and needed local heroes to assist her.
>So it's not that meaningful a question.
>There are plenty stones she probably couldn't lift.
>Question solved.

>...

>You still have to pee.
>Worse than before.

>"ANON-E-MOUS! MISTAH ANON-E-MOUS? AH GET THAT RIGHT?"

>The eruption of country drawl from the door causes Anon to stir.
>His doctor's standing there, waiting for him to wake.
>"...huh?" he inquires, raising his arms to rub his eyes.
>Now's your chance.
"BerightbackAnonstaywellbye-"
>You dart out of the room over the doctor's head and beeline for the mares' room.

>You return to see the doctor tapping his hoof and Anon looking at him sideways.
>"I just... take this one thing?" he asks the doctor. "And I'm fine? No lasting prescription?"
>"'Prescription?' Not in a unicorn hospital, son. We practice magic, here, boy, not..."
>He shudders.
>"...pharmacology."

>"But, really?" asks Anon. "This one thing and I don't have to worry about any damage or lingering symptoms from a severe concussion? I've heard people can get seizures and shit, does this cover that? Everything?"
>"Sir, please take your pill."
>"In... one gulp?"
>"Yes."

>You hover up to get a better look at the scene.
>You don't envy Anon.
>It's one of those big, magical remedies.
>A capsule full of enchanted runic dust and ashes.
>Grape flavor, judging by the color.
>It's small enough to, probably, be concealed by Anon's closed fist.
>But only just.
>At least he's been given a pitcher of water to take it with.

>"If you say so."
>He pops it in his mouth and takes a swig of water.
>He cringes.
>You can see the lump moving down his throat.

>After a minute, he clears his throat.
>"I... wow. My headache's gone."
>"There you go," explains the doctor. "We'll have the cast off in two weeks or so. Healing accelerant'll take care of that. Might have a scar or two from the glass, but besides that, son, you're dandy. Free to go when you will."
>He trots out of the room, murmuring to himself.
>"'Prescription...' feh."

>"You check out Foghorn-Leghorn?" asks Anon.
"Oh. I. Um... Yes?"
>"Oh. Sorry. The doctor?"
"Oh. Yes. He was a bit brusque."

>He's looking to the side of you, avoiding eye contact for a bit.
>"So. Er. You doing alright?"
"Yup."
>"Uh, glad to hear it. I think I'll head out in a few hours, but I'm not feeling quite mobile yet. Before you go, you think you could grab me a book? There a library in here?"
"I think so. I can ask at the front desk. What do you want?"
>"Heyton, if they have him. Or... hm. I've always been curious about reading Lovecraft..."
>What on earth is he talking about?
>He looks at you.
>You feel confused, so you must look confused.
>"Oh. Or whatever the equivalent of Lovecraft is here. Like... Horror genre... stuff."
>You nod, although you're not sure you understand him any more clearly.
"I'll go check."

>You looked as well as you could through the small wing of the hospital shelved with books and extracted the closest one you could find to either of Anon's suggestions: "World of Horsecraft."
>It looks like fantasy.
>That's what Heyton writes, you think.
>You hope he'll like it, even if you feel a bit like a mother going out to buy her foal the wrong toy that only sounded like what he asked for.

>You needn't have worried.	
>"This is great! I'd never have thought they had it here... Oh, it's choose your own adventure. That's really fun. I wonder if Moondancer has this."
>With Anon's fascination with books, it's interesting that, of the few ponies he knows, he ended up in a couple with Careful and not Moondancer.
>Not that you'd ask him such a personal question, for fear of offending him.
>Even though it probably has a simple answer, and it's a perfectly reasonable thing for you to want to know.

"Are you comfortable?"
>"Perfectly. Thanks for coming by, Safe."
>You make your way out almost without a hitch.
>"- hey, can you let Careful know my room number once she's done with her report?"
"Y-yeah."
>You couldn't hide the stutter in your voice.

>You updated Careful on the situation on your way out.
>She thanked you, assuring you she'd figure out how to break the news to Anon gently.

>Outside, the sun is setting.
>Snow falls in the still air.
>It's been a long day.
>It's too cold for a decent fly.
>You're too tired for one, anyway.
>You fasten the buttons in back of your academy hoodie and wear it over your wings.
>The thick material warms you excellently.
>You ruffle contentedly underneath it.

>You follow the way back to your home a ways, but take a detour near your block.
>You know just what you need to take the edge off of such a day as this.

>You walk on, and, soon, you find yourself in your favorite part of the city.
>The clean, manicured cobblestone of the upper districts has given way to old, red, weathered brick.
>Many of the buildings are warm and wooden instead of cold, modern stone.
>Canterlot's Old Town is indeed rich in character, a quality you struggle to observe and understand in individual ponies, but which you can spot intuitively in physical environments.

>On your way to your destination, you pass a cozy-looking two-story building: a shop and abode above labeled "Locksmith" above the door.
>Its notched-log walls would look more at home as the supports of a forest cabin than an urban building, but, like the other buildings of the district, it dates back to the traditional style when Canterlot was more of a mountainside colony and less of a city-fortress embedded in the rocky flesh of the mountain itself; before the three races were allies, and the earth ponies brought to the unicorns their techniques of stone-shaping and mining through the hardest, densest ore.
>It's the home you grew up in, a place which still houses your aging but lively parents.
>You'd stop by and visit now if only they weren't morning ponies.
>Pin Spring and Tumbler Twist retire to bed as soon as dusk hits.
>A few ponies line up outside their door at the crack of dawn every day for their services.
>They can come no later if they want the work completed the same day.

>You pass a number of other familiar locations, all fixtures from your foalhood.
>The blacksmith's, which you used to visit every day to collect freshly-cooled metals and components for your family's business, where your father and mother still do the same.
>The tailor's and wool-worker's, where the fleece garment you wear now was made stitched (it's so warm you'd be certain it's enchanted, if not for the old tailor's assurance that he uses magic for naught but the physical work).
>The cheesemaker's, to and from which the so-called "cowpokes" - usually the children of whoever works there at the time - run every day, from the storefront to the main mountain path all the way to the valley, where a cattle colony has provided the city with fresh, tasty milk for centuries.

>The common haunt of of the cowpokes and cheesemakers alike, of the tailor's and wool-worker's, of the blacksmith's, and of your mother and father themselves is your destination tonight: the pub.
>It changes hooves and names every generation, but always remains beloved by the district natives.
>It's possibly the oldest building in the area, and, by some, is thought to be the district's heart, likely the village "living room" shared by the original settlers.
>It's occasionally been remodeled or reorganized on the inside, never from any material but the classic wood, but the outside has always been kept the same, save for the hanging oak sign which reads the pub's current name for the current generation of colts and fillies growing up in Old Town.
>Tonight, it reads the same name you've known the pub under every since you were a filly: "Mareseilles Maelee's."

>"Safety First, mon amie! Please do take a seat."
>Maelee's gotten to know you well, especially since you started your rigorous course of training back at the Academy.
>Her accent is extraordinarily fake, a fact that only you seem to pick up on.
>You've never questioned it, though.
>It's a harmless affect, and probably one she values.
>Like your goggles.

"Thank you, Mael."
>She smiles and nods, the foremost plume of her mane - the tiniest bit grey from middle age, but, for the most part, golden blonde - bobs with her movement.
>She turns to retrieve a drink menu for you, showing off her deep red coat.
>Her hostess outfit, lightly based on the traditional garb of the French maid, lets it show at her shoulders, legs, and ample rear.
>You try not to fixate on this latter feature.
>She's a mare, and one with some years and experience on you, at that.
>But you can hardly ignore it, especially when she bends over to the lowest of a few shelves behind her.
>Which she always does.
>You would never admit to anypony precisely when and how often images of her maraschino cherry cutie mark and its accompanying canvas invade your thoughts.
>Or to what extent they contribute to the allure the Old Town pub has always held to you.

>Nopony can contest, though, that the drinks here are fantastic, the food is greasy and delicious, and the atmosphere is warm and inviting.
>Tonight the lights are dimmed, the hearth is glowing and spitting embers, and the modest stage is occupied by dark figures, yet to be illuminated by the stage lights.
>"Performers tonight, my dear," remarks Maelee, handing you tonight's drink menu, special for the holidays.
"I'd take a table by the stage. They're well-reviewed."

>You do enjoy live music.
>You could take or leave the phonographs and records some ponies collect.
>The recordings, identical each time they're played, become dull after the first play.
>But live, there are always changes, always different nuances.
>The music is a reflection of the performer and the audience.
>It's another mysterious way you can learn more about ponies than you ever could in conversation, trying to glean information from their inscrutable vocal tones and facial expressions.

"That sounds nice. I'll let you know once I want something."
>"Of course."

>You head to your seat.
>You try to more closely examine the stage, but the performers are still setting up their equipment.
>If you really tried you could call upon your training, focus on them in the dark, wait for your acute vision to adjust... but that would be conspicuous.
>And, anyway, you're off duty.
>No guard senses tonight.
>Just...
>Well.
>Civilian senses.

>You examine the drink menu, now with all sorts of festive options for Hearthswarming.
>One is a hot cocoa with coffee liquer, decorated with bon-bons and candy canes to look like the face of a reindeer.
>... not the most species-sensitive drink ever.
>But, then, this is Old Town, and the city of Canterlot as a whole hardly ever gets reindeer visitors, anyway.
>You read the descriptions of the other specials, mostly for the novelty, then order your usual.
"Mael?"
>"Mademoiselle?"
"Sidecar, please. And fried eggplant."

>Your cocktail comes first, served in an elegant but stemless glass, a kind designed less to show off the drink and more to drink out of and refill.
>Maelee and the staff here must know customer's habits like you know criminals', you figure.
>You sip it gingerly but consistently, savoring the complimentary flavors but draining it by the time your entree arrives with your second and a glass of water.
>You down the water with dinner and begin your second cocktail as the stage-lights flare up and the music begins.

>The first act is local: two of the cheesemaker's sons, this generation's so-called "cowpokes."
>They may not be the ones to carry the family business into adulthood, though: one has a treble clef for a cutie mark, the other, a bass.
>They open with new takes on a few of the old ballads.
>You listen, drink, and hum along with the old melodies set to new instruments and rhythms.
>As you finish off your third drink they close with "Blue Moon," one of the regular crowd's favorites.
>Treble, whose actual name you've never known, croons the lyrics beautifully, while Bass accompanies him on - what else - a stand-up bass.
>You've had enough now that you get the familiar feeling of your mind floating off in the sky, looking down on earthly, day-to-day concerns...
>...yet, you find yourself looking down at the lingering drops of your drink after you finish it.
>You swirl them around the bottom of the glass, fixated on the sight.
>"Without a dream in my heart... without a love of my own..."
>...you decide to order a fourth.

>You nurse number four throughout the following two acts, half-listening to them, half-daydreaming about the day's events, about what you plan and expect for your time off...
>You snap back to attention at the fourth act.
>As a few bearded stallions set up instruments upstage, the vocalist enters: a beautiful mare, blonde and light orange, wearing a brilliant red dress that fits her... just right.
>It leaves her right flank exposed through a thigh-high slit.
>Her cutie mark of a gleaming sword shows off, emblazoned on her shapely figure, visible even in the pub's modest lighting.

>The instruments begin to sound: lute and drums, distinct but quiet.
>You lean in to listen. You're sure the rest of the pub's audience is, too.
>The singer begins.

>"She melt my heart and molded it, a beating sphere..."

>You're already enraptured by her soft, breathy voice.
>You're swimming in the calm clarity of thought every drunk thinks she has, one that makes you certain that this performance is something special, something significant, a landmark that will later accompany a memory of a day or moment that changes your life...

>"It held no edge nor corner sharp to cut her..."

>Her hips sway gently and alluringly with each verse.
>You're not sure whether you're staring, but she wouldn't notice.
>Her eyes are closed; she's deeply focused on her performance.

>"Its thrumming surface took no glyph she wrote on it..."

>Her wavy mane sways with the motion of her head as she turns it slightly.

>"Yet still she took and cherished it beside her..."

>Her eyes open, scanning the audience.
>You could swear they stopped on you for a moment.
>She smiles and continues the song.
>At some point during it, you finish your fourth drink.

>...

>The song ends.
>The singer offers a polite thanks for the following applause, and the group packs up and leaves the stage as quickly as they set up.
>She descends the short flight of stairs on stage right and walks...
>...
>Towards your table.
>"May I sit here?" she asks.

>You look around.
>She definitely means your table.
>Or, rather, she is definitely addressing you.
>You feel like a deer in the lamp-lights, but your face, you're certain, betrays no more than an ordinary, drunken interest.
>You smile for her.
"Yes."

>Her horn ignites, pulling the chair beside you out in a sunset colored telekinetic envelope.
>You hadn't noticed she was a unicorn on stage, but, then, your vision is not so well-focused this evening.
>She seats herself.
>Up close, you see her makeup is well but not over-done.
>Her eyliner and lip gloss accentuate her best features without over-emphasizing them.
>She must be wearing just a spot of perfume or oil.
>It's citrusy.
>You like it.

"I..."
>Keep it simple, Safe.
"-liked your song."
>"Thank you! I like to sing it. Even if the lyrics are a little..."
>She gestures over her shoulder to one of her two bandmates, a large, slightly overweight stallion with a long blonde 'do and a two-week beard likely grown via neglect rather than purpose.
>"...well, Geo there wrote them. He enjoys his cliches."
>You nod, not at all understanding what she means, but feeling like you do.
>Thank you, alcohol.

>She takes a look around the pub, a scene likely different from your table than from up on the stage.
>Then she says something that does make you feel confused.
>"I have to admit, R.G., I'd never have taken this for your type of place. Are you native Old Town?"

>You blink heavily, trying to clear up your vision or at least your mind.
"I..."
>You squint.
>The smiling face before you becomes familiar.
"...Ma'am?"
>"We're off duty, First. 'Honor' is fine."

>You can't not cock your head.
>Seeing the Guard-Commander in this setting...
>In this... attire.
>It just won't click.

>"What, you think Watch is the only pony in the department with a hobby?" asks Honor.
"No."
>Your confusion hasn't made her uncomfortable, as far as you can tell.
>That's good.
"I am from here. Locksmith's up the street is my parents'. I moved out, but no that far."
>You don't think you're slurring too badly.
"And, uh. 'Safe' is fine, too."

>Honor grins.
>"Okay, 'Shafe.'"
>...Maybe you are slurring.
"I apologize. I'm not..."
>Honor waves a hoof.
>"A little joke. Sorry. It's not my business what you do off-duty. Just..."
>She's looking at your glass.
>An ordinary pony wouldn't notice, but, even drunk, you can make out lines of precipitated ingredients and marks of handling that show your glass has been refilled several times tonight.
>Honor can probably read them as easily as she can read the spotty, laminated menu between you.
>"...you don't do this EVERY night, do you?"
>Her smile flickers to a neutral expression for only a second as she speaks.

"...No. Only on days when... when-"
>"No need to explain. Just... if you were overdoing it, your well-being WOULD be my business. Some ponies on the force... well, guards and alcoholism go together like cake and ice cream. Speaking of which..."
>She waves at Mael, across the room.
>"Hi! Layered chocolate cake and a glass of milk for me?"
>Mael waves back and trots over to the kitchen.
>Honor turns back to you and smiles.
>"Sober five years last month."
"That's... good!"
>Is that the right thing to say?
>Should you elaborate?
"Uh, congratulations."
>Honor nods.
>"Thank you, Safe!"

>You'd never have guessed the Guard-Commander was so easy to talk to.
>She's always clear and straightforward on duty, of course.
>It's part of the job.
>Every time you've spoken to her in her office, you've understood her more clearly than you ever do any other pony.
>She'd speak with clarity and certainty like her words were written with permanent ink, choosing each word carefully and deliberately, leaving no ambiguity in her speech ]to be filled in by tricky things like tone or subtle facial expressions.
>It's like she knows a language formulated especially for you to understand.
>Until now, you've supposed it's just a way she trained to speak officially.
>But it's how she's talking to you now: closely, personally, off-the-record.
>For once, you find yourself leaping into a conversation on all fours, bantering back and fourth over your background in Old Town, the music scene in Canterlot, the pub and other dives here and there in the city...
>Honor does avoid the topic of the past day's mission, which you appreciate.
>You've spent half of today, it seems like, trying to convince Moondancer, Anon, and Careful that it went as right as it could go.
>But something about it still doesn't settle well with you.
>Whenever you think of it, you purposely shift your attention to a different topic.
>At some point in the discussion, you order another drink.
>Honor politely catches Mael before she leaves the table and orders a water for you to come alongside it.
>You finish the cool, non-alcoholic refreshment in two gulps, and slurp down your last drink nearly as fast.

>Later, Honor suggests heading out.
>"I can afford to miss my crack-of-dawn rounds for a good night out, but I'm afraid I can't push it much further. Sleep's a critical part of the job. Never miss it."
"Me... me too... time to... home... go to... bed..."
>You try to sound confident, but you know you're slurring and you dread to think how cold it's gotten since the sun set.
>"Safe, sweetie. Shall I walk you home? I'd like to see the Town at night, and it's not far out of my way..."
>This is one of the few turns of speech you get: she's lying about it being on her way, but she means for you to understand it's a lie.
>It's just meant to make you more comfortable with the prior suggestion.
>Which it does.
>You think.
>You nod groggily.
"Yes, please!"

>It's freezing outside indeed.
>Thankfully, Honor knows a spell to make her glamorous, furry parka large enough for two to share and then some.
>It's like sharing a warm, portable tent.
>You can each peek out of it through the fluff of the collar well enough to see the street before you, but not much to the sides.
>It's just enough to navigate by.
>"Lovely place," remarks Honor. "I envy your growing up here."
"Yeah..."
>You walk.
>You feel happy and satisfied with each pair of hoofprints you two leave behind you in the crunchy, fresh, falling snow.
"I envy you too. You're the best guard commander, and you're a stage diva, and you're... well, you're hot!"
>Honor chuckles.
>"Preaching to the choir, Safe. Our profession keeps us looking good, huh?"
>You make some drunk noise of agreement.
>"We've different figures, but I could recommend you a dress or something some time that would suit you nice. Give you make-up tips... if you like that sort of thing..."
"I would!"
>You think.
"I... yeah."

>You peter off, becoming, suddenly, very tired.
>The day's turning over, you realize, and only now is all of it beginning to weigh on you.
>Or maybe that's just that last drink.
>"...Safe? Safe!"
>Did your attention just lapse?
>When did that happen?
"Huh?"
>"This is your house, you said?"
"Uh, right. But... um... I. I..."
>This doesn't feel good.
>Thankfully, Honor's guard senses are on-point.
>"I'll walk you in, sweetie... here we go..."

>...

>Everything you ate in the past two days came up with your drinks.
>You stare down at the bowl you're bent over, too tired, drunk, and sore from your heaving abdominals to feel any special disgust at the sight within.
>Sunset-colored magic tugs a chain to your left; the contents spiral and disappear, leaving only clear, clean water behind.
>Honor pats you on the back.
>"Anything I can do?"
>Your voice comes out in a croak:
"Baggies of charcoal - hall closet. And... water, please."
>She gives you a quick rub and gets up.
>"Sure. Be right back."

>You brush your teeth as Honor places the air fresheners around your bathroom.
>The pony you see in the mirror looks unbelievably tired.
>Her eyes look dark and bruised, her ears droop, her mouth hangs a little slack, and her mane is all over.
>By the time your mouth feels clean, you can't stand to look at the reflection any more.

>You turn to leave.
>"Drink this," insists Honor.
>You sip at the water as you walk from the bathroom to your bed.
>"I magicked clean sheets onto the bed. Hope they're the right ones."
"T-thank you.'
>You clamber in, managing to do so without need of further assistance.
>It's embarrassing, really.
>Of all ponies, your superior officer is basically tucking you into bed.

>"I'll get you another water. Stay upright and drink it before you sleep, or the dehydration's gonna be awful."
>You think more on your situation as she goes to get it.
>It's more than slightly pathetic.
>Even worse, it's irresponsible of you.
>You're a pegasus; you don't have the weight to drink like other ponies.
>And you're a guard. You have an image to maintain.
>Even on days when your responsiblities feel... they feel...

>...by the time Honor gets back, you're quietly crying.
>You've never cried any other way. Loud sobs just don't come to you.
>Still, anypony can recognize it when you do.
>Your eyes water, and you can't control your breathing except between gasps.
>The shame you feel at Honor seeing you in this state does little to ease you.

"Sorry."
>"No worries. Tiring day. Would you like me to leave?"
"No, n-no. Just... minute..."

>You let yourself cry and wait for your behavior to come back under your control.
>This happens sometimes when you drink, especially on days like this.
>There were moments positive and negative both, today... but there was so much overall you became overwhelmed.
>You never cry sober, so the experience of being able to do so that alcohol gives you is cathartic.
>It erodes some unwanted wall in your brain and lets all the Safe leak out.
>It's a release for exhaustion and fatigue, physical and mental, the same way you've found orgasm to relieve stress and tension.
>You'd prefer not to have that happen on front of your ranking officer either.

"I'm..."
>You manage to steady your breath.
"I'm good now."
>"I'm glad. Anything more I can do?"
"I couldn't ask any more-"
>"Nonsense. Let me at least..."
>Honor's horn flickers.
>Your corner woodstove flickers, its fuel set alight.
>The room seems immediately to warm.
>Honor smiles.
>"I won't insist on anything else. Sorry."
"It's fine. I actually would have forgotten..."
>"Right."
"I'm humbled that you would... well, spend time..."
>"Oh, it's nothing. I always like helping my guard... uh."
>She seems to want to correct herself.
>"I don't want to come off wrong! I don't have a precinct-mommy complex or anything. Some of the captains I meet at the regional meetings do that. It's... weird."
>She scratches the back of her head in the firelight.
>She might be blushing.
>"I just... you all give Canterlot a lot, and you give me a lot. I just want to repay it. Maybe get back my balance of friend-duty to guard-duty while I'm at it..."

>That was more of an outpouring than you expected.
"...Oh. Well."
>This might be turning into an 'awkward silence.'
>You've never felt awkward in any silence, but you understand other ponies don't like just... looking at each other.
"I suppose you'll have fewer problems with that. Since you know where I live now."

>You didn't intend it as a joke, but Honor laughs and laughs.
>You sip your water, chat with her a little more, and tuck yourself in as she goes on her way, magicking your front door's lock shut behind her.
>You promptly fall asleep, the images of her, Careful, Moondancer, and Anon all lingering in your head.
>It's been a hard day, but a good one.

...

>KNOCK.
>KNOCK.

>Ow.
>Sound hurts.

>KNOCK.
>...
>KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

>You don't have it in you to bellow a response downstairs.
>You press your head into your pillow and wrap it around your ears.

>...

>You wake up a few hours later, the pain in your head nearly gone.
>Just after noon, you figure, from a quick glance out the window.
>It's later than you like to get up, but not bad for a night after a long watch.
>And for the amount of drinking you did.

>Your earlier guest left a note under your door, scrawled on the back of a donut-shop receipt:
>"safe. where are you???? need to talk... not about bullshit you told me about C... Im pissed but water under the bridge... about loose ends. Ill help at moons since I cant see my fuckin marefriend now... fuckin pos docs. anon"

>You sigh.
>Anon can wait.
>Especially if he's worked up.
>It's hard enough to understand ponies when they're not foaming at the mouth in addition to everything else.
>Some tiring chore like that is the last thing you want to do today.
>Careful's in good hooves, and if Anon doesn't care enough to check back with you, his "loose ends" can't be that important.
>No. Today, you will relax.

>...
>"CHEEP CHEEP CHEEP."
>You hadn't had long to loiter by the door before a cacophony of attention-seeking chirruping met your ears from across the room.

"...oh! Cheep cheep cheep. Cheep. Cheep cheep..."
>You think your apology made it through to your five zebra finches, housed in an extra-large cage in the lounge, which you now trot over to.
>They still don't seem very pleased.
>You've been home twelve whole hours, after all, and you haven't let them out of their cage so large it can only be taken in and out of the house in pieces.
>The cage they can fly freely in you paid big for, specifically so they would be comfortable and entertained even while you were on duty overnight.
>"CHEEP CHEEP!"
"Cheep cheep... cheep."

>You open the cage.
>They let loose a small barrage of shit and take flight, zipping out of the cage and to their favorite spots in the house.
>For the little one -- you don't give them names more specific than that, as you believe they name themselves, and you don't wish to impose -- this place is your left shoulder, under your mane.
>He perches there, gets extra fluffy, and accompanies you for your morning routine.
>...or afternoon routine, as it is.

>Before long, you're lounging on your couch, sipping decaffeinated coffee, munching animal crackers (you're breaking your fast with them, so they're "breakfast," right?), and doing light reading: 'Luna: Her Exile and Return. Facts, Fiction, and Rumors!'
>The sun shines in bright through the windows, reflecting off the snow outside.
>Your birds keep you all the company you could want.
>You think you'll keep this up a while.

>...
>You turn the last page of your book and take another look outside.
>Sun's still out, but it's lower in the sky.
>It's not too late to go out, if you want.

>...

>But you don't want to.
>This is a day to relax, to stay in.
>To...

>...but you made friends yesterday.
>That doesn't happen a lot.
>And you've learned from experience not to rely solely on their initiative to get to know each other better.
>Careful is either under observation or not taking visitors, and Anon is indisposed, so that leaves Moondancer to visit.
>So be it.

"Cheep. Cheep cheep."
>The finch on your shoulder ignores you, fluffing himself up and scooching closer to your neck.
"Cheep..."
>You give him a pat on the head and nudge him with the same hoof.
>"CHEEP."
>He flies off, out of the room, to his cage.
>You hear a flutter of wings following him.

>...

>It's late afternoon by the time you get to Over the Moon.
>From outside, you couldn't possibly tell anyone's in.
>The sign says "closed," and not a peep is coming out of the place.
>But inside, you know, renovation is taking place.
>Moondancer is working a complex spell and Anon is doing manual work to undo the damage caused by the MILF attack.
>...or, he was.
>As you approach the door, he walks out.

>You brace for some excited or upset exclamation from him, but get none.
>"Oh. Safe. Hi."
"Hi, Anon. I got your note. Sorry I missed you."
>He sighs.
>"No problem. I was overly urgent anyway. Wasn't in the best mood after learning about Care. We can wait to talk about it."
>He glances over your head, over the rooftops, to the upper mountain and city skyline.
>"Tomorrow works. If you're free. Won't hold you tonight and couldn't anyway. I'm... tired. One more errand then home for me."
"I can come by at noon?"
>"That works. I live-"
"Near the library. Careful told me a while ago. I know the place from my patrols."
>He nods.
>"See you then."
"See you."

>You head in, ringing the hollow bell with the door.
>No response.
"Moon...?"
>She's not hard to find.
>Purple ribbons of magical energy flow from each book, shelf, and page strewn across the floor to a spot in back of the store.
>The debris floats and shifts, sometimes in orderly ways, sometimes in ways mysterious.
>The latter must have been knocked around the most in the fight, you think.

>At the meeting point of all the ribbons is Moondancer, sitting in the center of a glyph of drizzled wax that must have taken hours to draw.
>At a glance, she looks serenely relaxed, her eyes closed and her head down, but her facial expression is one of tense and utter focus.
>"Safe," she says, looking your way, the ribbons fading, leaving the objects of their attention fixed where they are in the air or on the floor.
>She opens her eyes.
>They're bloodshot.
>She's smiling, but she's the picture of utter exhaustion.
>So much for hanging out.

"Moondancer. I had hoped we could do something... together. But... well."
>She nods.
>"Another time. I'm a little tuckered out."
>A little?
>You shake your head.
"You're badly fatigued. Did you ask Anon to stay? I believe he'd be willing to-"
>"I told him he could go. He has enough worries of his own, and I'm sure he... he... zzz."
>She falls asleep on the spot.
"Moondancer?"
>She starts awake.
>"Needs time to himsel... him..."
"He's fine. I was with him at the doctors. Quick recovery. I'm going to get him. Take a nap in the beanbag."
>"Oh..."
>She tries to protest only to nod off again.
>Eventually, she acquiesces.
>You exit the shop and gallop after Anon.

>"That bad?" he asks, once you've explained things.
"She's only overworked, but she's very overworked. I've only seen ponies that tired when guards come to HQ after double-overnight duty. Somepony needs to make sure she doesn't push herself any harder."
>He shifts his weight from foot to foot, looks up into the evening sky, and sighs.
"Okay. I owe her that much."

>You walk back to Over the Moon at a more relaxed pace.
>"Since we have time now," starts Anon.
"Yes?"
>"Wanted to talk about Careful."
"I don't believe you need to worry. I've never seen her... the way she was... yesterday. But she's been through worse and recovered."
>"Glad to hear you say that. I've forced myself to be optimistic. It's good to hear that's realistic, too. What I mean, though... I wanna talk about what I need to do for Care."
"After she's better, you mean?'
>"Yeah, the quarantine bullshit. No. I mean now."
>He yawns.
>"Tomorrow, rather."
"I'm sure it will only be another day or two-"
>"I won't break doctor's orders. They're overly-cautious pussies, but if it's Careful, I want to be an overly-cautious pussy. I'm talking about..."

>A few ponies pass on the street.
>Anon pauses, keeping his eyes ahead, giving no indication that you two are conversing.
>They pass.

>"The ones who got away, Safe," he says, his voice low but clear.

>...it takes a moment for you to understand what he means, but once you do, you speak without thinking.
"Vigilantism is illegal. Our laws regarding it are extensive, exact, and unforgiving. The Guard doesn't overlook it, and I personally will not tolerate it."
>"Safe-"
"Do not say another word."

>You each stop.
>Anon looks down at you, his eyes wide, his newly-mended arm hanging free but bending awkwardly at his side.
>His free hand is raised in a gesture you've never seen but understand intuitively: 'stop.'

>He doesn't move a muscle.
>Neither do you.
>Your own reaction is unconscious; over-the-top, given the situation, but no more in your control than your face during a fit of sneezing or a bout of sobbing.
>Your stance is spread and low, ready to take off or deliver a kick at a moment's notice.
>You're trying to maintain what you hope is concern in your eyes, but...
>...well, in the past, some less-than-kind ponies have let you know that your gaze can be unnerving.

>You wouldn't stand down even if you could, though.
>You've become fast friends with the man before you in the past forty-eight hours.
>Maybe too fast to know who you were actually meeting.
>You shouldn't have put so much trust in him just on Careful's word.
>Even if he's... nice.
>Really nice.
>But history's worst criminals were all nice.
>Really nice.
>The slyest thieves, the sickest killers.
>It's part of their camouflage that you, uniquely, can see through, even if you want desperately to understand what it looks like to everypony else.

>Anon takes a deep, unsteady breath.
>Slowly, he lowers his good hand.
>His stance relaxes.
>This puts you at ease, but you don't step off entirely.
>If he's only doing so as an act, you can't afford to.

"I'm sorry, Anon, but please explain yourself. I will not let you off if you try to tell me you misspoke."
>He takes a deep breath, more steady this time.
>"I didn't misspeak, but it's not what you think. I'm really sorry. Didn't mean to upset you."
>You relax a little more.
>"You're aware a few of them got away? My memory's hazy, but at least one of the MILFs ran off when I helped Moondancer get out that night. We doubtlessly missed others. Maybe some never entered, or never got their hooves dirty in the first place."
"Our witness from the group said she knew of no others involved."
>"She was blackmailed. She said so, right?"
"Yes."
>"The ones who were caught were caught, but what about anypony left on the outside? If she got them turned in, they'd know it was her."

>You back off physically, now, but you still want answers.
"Okay. I hope you understand my caution."
>"I'm allowed not to?"
>You ignore the comment.
"Never mind. Just, what did you want to ask me in the first place?"
>"I wanted to ask you,"
>He speaks carefully and deliberately now.
>"If it would be okay... if I talked to Honey Hive. Just talked. I... figured you'd know."

>If you hadn't interrupted him, you don't believe that's what he would have said.
>However, you believe he's telling the truth.
"You two spoke during the incident. Maybe you have a rapport with her the Guard doesn't..."
>"Yes. Exactly."
"That's fine."
>"Awesome! Thanks for the advice, Safe. Sorry again, I really appreciate-"
"-only if I come with you."

>"B-but... there's no way she'll talk if a guard's right there."
"I'm off-duty, and I'll be with you. I'm also the pony who verified your story about her and cleared her to leave once we questioned her."
>"I just... really want to do this alone. I'm certain that's the best way to do it. I'll pass on every bit of info to-"

>You scowl as well as you know how to.

>"...I just want to be the one who helps Careful. Myself."
"I don't understand. Two would be more effective in any situation."
>"Not what I mean. Just... out of you, me, and her last night, who was the least helpful?"
"You mean you. So... you DO want my help?"
>He shakes his head.
>"Look, here's what that made me realize: I underestimated her when I first met her. She can handle herself and I need her more than she needs me."
>He pauses, looking at you intently.
>...
>"So..."
"Um."
>What does he want you to say?
>"...so I really wanna do this alone. I need to prove I can handle myself. To myself and to Careful."

>...this is hopeless.
>Celestia, what is he talking about?
>Careful had as much agency in initiating their relationship as he did.
>If she doesn't mind his perceived shortcomings, why should he think they matter?

>You shake these thoughts out of your head.
>No use letting them stew.

"I don't really understand, but I'll accept that. And I would let you go if it weren't for the danger. You can't handle yourself in a fight."
>Anon glowers.
>So be it.
>Another pony might have been able to put it more tactfully, but at least he's not disagreeing with you.
"What do you wish to learn that will put an end to your questions? A detective measures or establishes the scope of an investigation before undergoing it."
>"Well... I..."
"But you seem to want to tug every loose end. The outcome of this, if you have any success, is that you will encounter the ponies that physically assaulted you. You will be alone with them, and you will be the only one who knows their identities. How would this turn out?"

>Anon mouths something to himself - 'fuck me,' you think you read, even though he disguises it by scratching his nose.
>You ignore it.
>You intend to keep him safe physically and legally regardless of whether he likes you for it.
>"Okay. Fine. I get it."
"Let me accompany you. I can try to be hooves-off if you strongly prefer."
>"For the visit to Honey's, yeah. After that... I guess, out-of-uniform, ponies wouldn't be able to mark you as a guard unless they knew you."

>You smile.
"I'm glad you're amenable to this. I understand this is difficult for you, but if we take proper precautions and preparations and advance on this in the correct-"
>"Safe, sorry, but I'm tired of this discussion. I don't want to do anything until tomorrow, at least. Can we just change the damn topic?"
>Something about the flat calmness of this interruption hurts you where his frustration before bounced right off.
>Ignore it, Safe.
>Sometimes you've got to take the reins and be responsible for your own happiness.
>You've learned that on more than one occasion.
>You turn and continue on down the road to Over the Moon.
>Anon follows.

>You two only share a few more words the rest of the way back.
"I'll visit Careful if you take care of Moondancer?"
>"Sure."
>...
>"...thanks."
"You're welcome."

>...

>"Ohh, ish our Moonie-Woonie tired? Yesh she is. Yes she is!"
>Moondancer yawns enormously and mumbles as Anon scoops her up off the beanbag chair, around her middle.
>"...nonymous.... grown mare... don't have... stop..."
>"Oh, she IS a big pony! Yes she is. And she needs her big pony bed..."
>"...glass... water."
>"And a little drink a' water first!"
>"Mm."
>"And plenty cuddles."
>"Anooon."
>"PLENTY cuddles. And a lecture about overworking herself..."
>She sighs.
>"Take... my place... want... actual bed... not far."
>He says some more nonsense in response and begins the process of closing up the shop.
>He looks at you and motions to the door.
>"I've got it. See you round."
"Right."

...

>It'll be a bit of work hefting Moondancer around the twilight streets of Canterlot for the second time in a week, but you welcome it.
>Over the Moon's a mess, after all, and as nice as her improvised den in the back happens to be, it doesn't hold up compared to a proper bedroom.
>It would also be nice to stay somewhere you weren't last woken up in by violent intruders.

>You haul her to the door, closely following Safety First as she makes her way out.
>Her offer to see Careful confused you - you hadn't been aware she was taking visitors - but you assume if Safe said she would do it, she'll do it.
>Fibbing is not that pony's strong suit, and, after her great, lawful stand against your doing a single bit of work on your own for Careful, you believe she's too moralistic to lie in such a manner anyway.
>You don't want not to like Safe, but you're not overly optimistic that her shadowing you the next few days won't stress you further than this evening's conversation already did.
>The intrigue and danger she pointed out... could it really be that big a deal?
>The MILFs were happy to cause harm and damage under the cover of night, sure.
>But in the daytime they were a harmless bunch of squabbling, big-assed sign-wavers.
>And you haven't forgotten how much time an adrenaline-fueled kick bought you the other night... even if what went around came around when you lingered.

>Your mind drifts to your injured arm, which twinges painfully as you let Moondancer down by the door.
>Your magic treatment reduced it from a compound fracture and a possibly major and permanent downturn in your physicality to something resembling an unharmed limb, but you can still feel the places where your skin bruised, your muscles tore, and your bones broke and fragmented.
>It'll be in a sling for days, perhaps weeks, yet, and it took persuading to even get the doctor to let you out after he saw how little it had progressed by day two.
>He gave in when you really held him over the coals for overstating the effectiveness of the 'magic' treatment, though.
>That football-sized pill turned out to feel less like a panacea and more like the biological equivalent of arts-and-crafts glue coupled with a Woodstock dose of slow-release opiates.
>A hell of a thing by the standards of regular medicine, sure... but you made sure not to voice this concession to that blustering old foghorn.

>So you got out.
>There are things you can't do with one arm - encasing Moondancer in her astonishingly fluffy parka before you drag her out and lock up the shop, for example - but you're out.
>Even if a pony named Safe is on your ass for the only reason you bothered to hurry out.
>You smack Moondancer playfully on the butt to get her moving.
"C'mon, Moon. I can't do everything for you. Suit up and I'll get the door."
>She yawns and staggers over to the coat rack, starting with her parka only after looking reproachfully over her shoulder at you.
>You worm into your own jacket.
>It's a rough process with one arm held immobile across your chest, but you're starting to get it.

>Once she's done, you reach for the knob and pull the door open.
>Winter air swims in to fill the entryway, accompanied by a few, sparse snowflakes.
"Alright. Ready to get on up?"
>You turn your good shoulder to her.
>She looks tired at you, gazes tentatively at your empty coat sleeve for a moment, blinks heavily, and sighs.
>"I can walk. Not that far. Need to show you the way anyway."
"Sure? It's really no problem."
>"It looks like one. And..."
>She turns away, regretfully.
>"If I'm not wrong, you essentially took it on my behalf."
>You prepare to contest this, but she's already out the door.

...

>The other night had forced you to concede that your Academy hoodie alone was not enough to keep out this year's pre-Hearthswarming cold.
>...how many days is it, now, until Hearthswarming?
>In all the excitement of the past few days, you've barely thought of it.
>A week... no, eight days.
>You need to get presents for Mom and Dad.
>Dad insists he doesn't need one, even though you always get him one.
>He's happy, he says, with your company, with your coming over to spend the morning and evening, with your sitting on the couch with him, competing to see who can pick a pin-and-tumbler the fastest while Mom stokes the hearth, with your eating a mountain of his special baked mac-and-cheese he knows he can't get you to eat any other time of year, lest you lose your honed flyer's figure.
>And Mom needs one, of course, since she's always giving you so many.
>The very thing keeping you warm tonight, the jacket you're wearing as an outer layer to your hoodie, is one of them.
>It's clearly and lovingly homemade, not at all Canterlot-fashionable with its visible stitching and patching and its utilitarian design, but utterly functional in every area fashion fails.
>It covers you from the top of your neck to your hind knees, even fastening across your underside for particularly cold nights.
>Unfastened, it looks nearly vagrant apart from its cleanliness and lack of wrinkles, the type of garment you expect one of the MILFs might fear you'd corner a filly in an alley with, opening it to expose pockets filled with questionable and even obscene wares for their perusal.
>The thought makes you smile as you trot comfortably down the road to the hospital.

>...

>"...out," explains the receptionist.
"Out?"
>"Out," verifies the doctor.
"So soon?"
>"This afternoon."
"On your advice?"
>"And her request."
>You're bewildered.
"Shouldn't I... somepony... have been notified?"
>"She's had a much snappier recovery than we predicted from her immediate physical and mental symptoms. Her..."
>He glances at the receptionist, probably to check whether you're a pony in-the-loop regarding the confidentiality of Careful's health concerns these past days.
>She nods.
>"Condition... is something she has had, and something she will continue to live with. But we believe she can safely live back at home now, considering that she has been given a break from her duties as a Royal Guard. We have allowed her to decide herself when to contact her friends and relatives and let them know of this, as a cautionary measure. Let her re-enter regular life at her own pace."
>Makes sense enough.
"Would I be able to visit her?"
>"She asked that we allow anyone seeking her here to do so. She is at home this evening."
>Out again you go, into the cold.

>...

>You've never been to Careful's before, now that you think of it.
>Not unless the odd patrol in this part of town counts.
>An older stallion walks down the street with a torch on a pole, lighting the gaslamps alongside it.
>They glow vividly in the young night.
>Ponies here are certainly... well-to-do.
>You're hardly poor yourself, but... a guard, coming from such a background?
>That does not happen often.

>You go to the door and knock: twice, then a third time to make sure she hears.
>The curtain behind the display window flutters.
>Hoofsteps approach.
>The door opens.

>"Safe! Come in! Oh, brr, it's chilly. Come in. Fast. FAST!"
>You comply.

>Careful slams the door behind you and wraps you in a hug before you can even remove your coat.
>You're no pushover, physically, but Careful is in another league.
>You can feel her warmth and strength even through your winter padding.
>When she stops, you wish she had held on just slightly longer.
>"I wasn't expecting visitors yet! If I'd known earlier they were gonna let me go early, I would have... but... oh, well, never mind. I've made hot cocoa. Do you want some? Of course you do. Let me hang your... here we go."
>She hangs your coat, boops your nose with hers (you hope your blush doesn't show in the flickering light of the hearth), and half-trots, half-gallops toward her kitchen, in the opposite corner from...
>...wow.
>Behind the curtain you noticed earlier, the corner is a fully-furnished jeweler's workshop, with several carpentry tools to boot.
>You recognize several of the very same tools and instruments you grew up with, helping your father to assemble locks and safes.
>A pristine silver pocket-watch lies finished upon a clear, square workspace.
>It ticks quietly. The sound is almost smoothe despite the regidity of the components that surely produce it.

>Hoofsteps again approach.
>Careful comes with a tray and two steaming mugs balanced on her back.
>"Come sit by the fire?"
>She gestures to the couch across the room, on front of the hearth.
>You spare it a glance, but you're not so ready to abandon the simple beauty of the corner of the house you've only just discovered.
>You gesture to the watch.
"Did you... make this?"
>She smiles.
>"Yeah. Just finished it an hour ago. I wind them up and make sure they're not off by comparing its time to a reference piece-"
"It's beautiful. You're... amazing."

>You've been transfixed with the piece, but you look at Careful long enough to see her let her mane sway as she smiles and breaks eye contact, pawing at the floor with one hoof.
>"Well, all I do is follow Papa's old designs... nothing to it, really..."
"May I watch you work some time?"
>"I'm done for the day, but... another time?"
"I'd love to."
>She grins.
>"Want your cocoa now?"
>You smile.
"Yes."

>...

>It's good and dark out by the time you get to Moondancer's.
>"Here," she mutters.
>It looks rough around the edges, but cozy.
>It's the only house of an older style of architecture on the block.
>You wonder whether it's a custom design or just old.
>With Moondancer, it could be either.
>Magic encircles the door knob; the latch clicks.
>You follow her in.

>"Mmbrush," Moondancer mumbles, as the door closes behind you.
"Huh?"
>She takes a deep, invigorating breath.
>"I keep extra toothbrushes for guests."
"What, my breath stink?"
>"S'healthy."
"How presumptuous of you, just assuming I'm gonna spend the night."
>"You don't have anywhere else to be," she says matter-of-factly but not unkindly.
>You shrug in defeat.

>As Moondancer proceeds down the hall, towards the stairs, tiny sparks fly from her horn to candles along the walls.
>They flicker and glow with enchanting blue light, casting a cozy, dim, and quite wizardly glow across the violet, indigo, and midnight hues of Moondancer's home decoration.
>Curiously, you notice, they emit no heat.
>On closer inspection, you see they're not candles of all, but ornaments of marble and pewter shaped to look like candles.
>Foci, maybe, designed to make temporary spells, like a spark off a horn, permanent.
>Instead of doors, light, cloth coverings hang in the doorways, with the exception of the downstairs bathroom.
>"You coming?" asks Moondancer, from the top of the stairs.
>You've been staring at one of the candles too long.
"Yeah."

>You sit on the edge of her bed as she goes about her nightly routine in the bathroom.
>It's big, especially for a pony.
>Human king-sized, maybe.
>It even has a canopy.
>This pony spares no expense on personal comfort within her own home.
>The bathroom door swings open.
>"All yours. Left the toothbrush on the sink."
"Thanks. So, do you have sheets for that couch downstairs? Or a guestroom?"
>"You don't want to sleep on the bed? It's comfy."
"Feels like it. But where would you-"
>"Sorry?"
>You had stopped your own question because you knew the answer.
>You're still not entirely deprogrammed from human customs.
>Pony friends share beds all the time.
>Right.
>They lie together all the time, not at all in the biblical sense, because there is no Bible and God lives up the street.
"Never mind. I'll get ready."

>You think on this as you brush your choppers and strip down to your lowest decent layer of clothing, the removable, patterned flannel lining of your winter trousers.
>They're not supposed to be PJ-pants, but they're nearly identical to them.

>"Ooh. Plaid. Nice jams," remarks Moondancer as you make your way out.
"Thanks."
>She yawns.
>"G'night."
>You crawl into bed, trying not to put all your weight in it at once for fear of bouncing Moonie into the ceiling.
>As you do so, she magics the canopy shut and tucks the quilt around you snugly.
"Night, Moonie."

>As you begin to nod off, she tosses, turns, and ends up a few inches closer to you under the sheets.
>You try not to think too much of it.
>This is supposed to be platonic, after all.
>At least, you're pretty sure.
>The last thing you remember is scratching her behind the ear.

>Later in the night, you awake.
>Judging by the light, it's midnight or near it.
>It was dark out when you went to sleep, but it was an early winter evening.
>Moondancer is pressed up to you like a favorite stuffed animal.
>Her freshly-washed coat and mane are nearly silky.
>She stirs as you do.
>After a few minutes, you're both looking each other in the eyes.
>You think.
>It's dark.
>But as the time goes on, you become more certain you're conscious, more certain she is.

"...you awake?"
>"I'm glad you're here."
"Oh... Good."
>You're not sure what exactly you expected her to say, but that wasn't it.
>Something's... off.
>Hopefully... not what you think.
>But definitely... some...

>...

>Boy, she looks nice without the glasses.
>Her eyes are usually pretty magnified in the lenses.
>Never to ill effect, you mind.
>They've always been cute.
>But without them, they're... small.
>Not abnormal, but no longer the dominant features of her face.
>They're narrow, keen... 
>...
>...interested.

>She blinks... slowly.
>You try to relax... and manage it just as she leans in, only slightly.
>You lean in to meet her.

>Thankfully, with Careful--no, don't think of her now, don't... fuck--
>...
>Thankfully, with... your... time... in Equestria... you've learned a thing or two about... well... making out with horses.
>You avoid thinking too hard about what it means that that knowledge now meaningfully applies to your life, but there it is.
>Their lip and jaw structure is different, but their mouths are about the same size, so if you do this and that with your mouth... your teeth... your tongue... it's fun.
>You're allowed some error anyway.
>Poners like kissing.
>You accidentally catch the edge of her lip with an incisor at some point.
>She giggles, and, the next time you trace her lower lip with your tongue, she gently nips it.
>That drives you crazy.
>You push your thoughts of Care--
>Of... your worries... out of your head...
>...and go back on the aggressive.
>The kind when you can barely stand to pull apart, where all you can hear is your heartbeat, those wet, slick sounds, and the sounds of you both breathing, hard, through your noses, lest you suffocate during the interaction...
>You keep at it long enough that a cloud shifts and a sliver of moonlight shows in through the window.
>You don't want to stop. You--

>...

>--sip your hot cocoa and stare at Careful, lounging at the other end of the couch.
>A moan escapes your mouth.
"Thick."
>She turns her head.
>"Huh?"
"This cocoa. I really like the texture. Did you melt actual chocolate into it?"
>She beams.
>"Yep! The packet kind doesn't cut it when you need to indulge."
>A capful of brandy would top if off nicely, you think... but after the other night, you're hesitant to reintroduce your stomach to alcohol so soon.
>You take another sip and sigh.
"Indulgence is good."
>"In moderation."
"If it's moderate, you're not indulging. By definition."

>You intended a little humor in the statement, and you're delighted to see Careful laugh in response.
>A lock of that long, red mane falls across her face.
>She sweeps it out of the way.
>"Sorry if I'm a little manic, Safe. And that I haven't had you over until now. You're a good partner and a great friend. It's... things have been..."
"I understand. And I'm happy to be over. Mania or not."
>She smiles.

>Okay: time to make... conversation.
>You're the guest, but you're here to keep the host healthy and happy.
>And that means talking.
>Or even... girl-talk.
>You're not great at conversation, and even worse at... that other thing, which you shudder to name even in your head.
>You're supposed to kind of... prattle. Right?
>Gossip and giggle, talk excitedly about how last week's plans turned out and how you hope this week's plans will go, talk  about boyfriends' sexual proclivities and refer euphemistically to how heat's been, say things an outside party would misunderstand or roll their eyes at unless they were "in the know," thus reassuring each other that you're close enough to have private... things... between each other...

>...Or, at least, that's what you've learned of it from those "Quick-Gait Girls" novellas Mom likes.
>They weren't to your taste at first, but they had so much dialogue you felt compelled to read through them for research.
>At the end you had been a little sorry to turn that last page over.
>They were quite packed with drama.
>Mom always called them "frighteningly juicy" with a chortle -- you guess that's what she meant by that.
>You guess you like drama.
>At least in fiction.
>Maybe it's genetic.

>...
>It's been dead quiet, Safe.
>What are you doing?
>You're supposed to be stimulating. Interesting. Supportive. And you're daydreaming.
>Say something!
>Say--

>"Your smile's really nice."
"I... huh?"
>"The expression. The one you make. Sometimes."
"Oh. Right."
>"Not the one you put on to be polite with ponies. The little natural one you get when you understand something or somepony just right, or you've been thinking and you just reached some irrefutable conclusion. I love seeing it in the field because it means you know exactly what's going on. That we're on top of things. It's just as nice off-duty too."
>You're... not sure what to say to that.
>You grin as you feel a blush rise in your cheeks.
"I... ha-ha..."
>Careful's eyes widen with concern.
>"Oh, I didn't mean to embarrass you! I just... there's never really a... not-awkward... time to say that kind of thing. But I wanted you to know."
"I... thank you!"

>She notices.
>When was the last time you spoke with a pony who understood you like this?
>...one who wasn't one of your parents?
>Instantly, ridiculously, you feel at home.
>Is this... could it be... girl talk?
>Well, there's one way to find out.

"So, how's Anonymous in bed?"

>She laughs so hard she spews cocoa across the coffee table.

>...

>Finally, you break for air, pulling apart from each other like you were stuck with magnets.
>Moondancer's ended up on your chest.
>She's panting.
>Even in the moonlight, you can see she's flushed.
>She's looking at you like she's just come out of the desert and you're a water fountain, but she's not sure whether or not it's a mirage.
>She shifts onto her side.
>Her soft haunch rubs against your crotch as she does so.
>She must feel how hard you are as surely as you're feeling her.

>After a minute, she rests her head on your chest, giving you time to recuperate.
>You're panting yourself, you realize.
>You're panting like you just ran the distance from here to Over the Moon.

>What the fuck are you doing?
>You have Careful.
>There's no great rift between you for... this... to happen.
>You haven't seen much of each other for two days. Three? So fucking what?
>And that doctor's order not to see you... it's just first-day shit. Keep her mental state good until she's in the clear. You're damn sure that's no long-term PTSD treatment.
>You're... you...
>...
>Fuck, God, she's soft.
>Careful's always great to cuddle, with her body, her muscle, her hips... but Moonie just runs soft, like a down pillow.
>Not... fat. It's a combination of fur and... just... you guess that's just what an average pone feels like, one who can't uproot a tree stump by kicking it as easily as she'd twist open a pickle jar.
>No wonder she's easier to pick up.
>Muscle is heavy.

>She kisses you again.
>This one's shorter, but still far from a peck.
>You can't help but to return it.
>You force yourself to keep from bucking and rolling your hips against her, from sliding your hand down her back to the soft roundness of her ass, from reaching an exploratory index and middle finger out across her cheek, under her tail.
>The possibilities of such actions weigh on your mind nonetheless.

>"Wanted one more before we went and started... thinking," Moon explains.

>You've given up trying to understand the larger picture here.
>You're too tired and too turned-on by half too much to do anything but go through this sentence-by-sentence.
"Yeah."

>"I really like you."

>She says it calmly, as a matter of fact, leaving you free to address it as you deem appropriate, hurting her no more than if you disagreed with her over the solution to an equation.
"I like you too. And we shouldn't do this."
>Those words alone take all the air in your lungs to say.
>You take a breath.
"Everything else in me is screaming for my mouth not to say that. But if I didn't we'd have made up our minds in two seconds."
>"I don't want to come between you and Care."
"I don't want you to either."
>"You can visit her tomorrow. You can both visit me. I just... the magic to save my shop, doing it alone... it's exhausting. The exhaustion persists even if you sleep. It's physical and mental and... it's hard to translate the concept for non-magic races... 'spiritual,' I guess, but not in the woo-woo way, in a way you can measure, in a way you really feel. And..."
>She turns the academic tone off.
>"...well, you can guess what would help me take the edge off."
"What, there's no platonic solution?"
>"I love you and Careful, but I can't cum from being taken out to ice cream."
>That gets you both chuckling, if a little humorlessly.

"What now?"
>"I guess we're making the right choice."
"I'm still too worked up."
>"S-so am I. Sleep spell with a twist will hit like the coldest shower you've ever had, though."
"Fine. Hit me, I guess."
>"Wait."
>She casts her gaze aside, shyly, then looks back at you.
>"Just in case," she says, as she snips a single hair from your head with magic, storing it somewhere to the side.
>"Is that alright?"
>You're confused, but it seems to give her peace of mind.
>And maybe, maybe, maybe... you want that 'just in case.'
>Whatever it is.
>You pray you won't hate yourself later for it.
"It's alright."

>"Okay."
>She climbs off you.
>"Ready?"
"Ready."
>"One, two..."

>There's no 'pop' or 'poof' or anything, and the weight of the conversation you two had doesn't disappear.
>Your desire to squeeze Moonie close and absolutely fuck the shit out of her does.
>Your heart rate's down.
>You're not breathing like a marathon runner.
>You just want to cuddle again.
>It... it feels great.

>You scratch Moondancer behind the ear and put your arm around her.
"Good night."
>"Good night."
>You fall asleep simultaneously.

>...

>You ended up conceding to just one glass of wine.
>Careful hadn't insisted, but when she went to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of 'Lot Valley Pinot Noir, you couldn't resist.
>It's just enough for the alcohol to lighten the tip of your tongue and ease your state of mind without spreading down your body and making you clumsy and nauseated.
>You wish you could feel like this all the time.
>You'd be more... normal.
>But, you condede, that's a dangerous impulse.
>The kind that lead you to where you were the night after the break-in.
>Not that that was all bad.
>You had gotten to meet the Captain off-duty, she walked you home, all but tucked you in.
>And she was so...
>...
>So...

>"Safe?"
>You snap out of it.
"Huh?"
>Careful smiles at you, her cheeks framing it with cute little outwards-facing brackets.
>In her tipsiness, some of her mane is covering the side of her face toward the fire.
>In the yellow, orange, and red light from the hearth, you could almost believe her mane is a deep ruby, the color of the wine in the glass she holds.
>"I don't know what you were thinking about, but you were blushing. Wine gettin' to ya, or was it just that good a daydream?"
>You look away briefly, feeling only a little shy.
"Um... both."
>Truthful enough.
>Care leans in conspiratorially.
>"Wanna let me in on it?"
>You feel your blush deepen even further.
>Whatever expression you're making to accompany it must speak for itself.
>"Hee! It's okay if you don't want to."
"It's... fine. Not private."
>"Oh!"

>She scooches up to you.
>Right next to you.

>You're certain no color has left you face, but you can at least keep yourself from stammering from her presence.
"The other night, I met the Guard-Commander... off duty."
>Careful gasps.
>It's the exaggerated type of gasp you understand ponies do when they hear something that's not SUPER-juicy, but which is pretty juicy nonetheless.
>It makes you smile.
>"She takes time OFF? How does she find it? I've never even seen her out of her armor..."
"She has a sword cutie-mark. It's very pretty. I got to see it up-close."
>Care lifts a hoof to her mouth, failing to hide a little grin.
>"Up close?"
"She didn't moon me."
>You both laugh at that one.
>You're embarrassed by your laugh -- you think you sound hoarse, braying -- but, around Careful, you feel safe to be yourself.
"She sings. Her and her band were performing at a pub I like. She has a wonderful voice..."

>...

>By the time you're done recalling the other night -- or was that just last night? -- you and Careful are lying parallel on the couch, examining the grooves and ripples in the wood paneling of the ceiling.
>"If I'd known you'd had that much, so recently, I wouldn't have offered you wine..."
"I feel fine."
>"If you say so."
>You lie silent a moment.
>"Guard-Commander's a pretty nice mare, then, huh?"
"I think so."
>"Relieved to hear it. Not that I thought the opposite. Just, yanno. I like hearing she's a normal pony."
"Yeah."
>...
>"You ever, uh, link up with her later?"
"I haven't had the chance to, but I guess I didn't think to, either."
>"Right, right."
>...
>"Time's kinda gotten away from us. And it's cold out. You wanna spend the night?"
"Sure."

>...
>...
>As it hits what you just agreed to, your body seems to warm ten degrees.
"Oh. Wait. I don't want to be any trouble."
>"You've never troubled me. My bed's really cozy. You'll like it. I promise."
"I..."
>You look at Careful.
>You're not great at reading expressions, but you know she's not wearing the one you expected her to.
>Ponies who want you to come do something with them, they're usually grinning, which means, you think, they have no doubt you want to agree with their plans, come along, and have fun.
>Careful, though, she just looks... neutral.
>Solemn, even, if you had to put a word to it.
>Maybe... pleading?

>"I... I would really appreciate the company, to be honest. I... I-"
>You smile.
"Okay."

>...

>Careful wasn't lying when she said her bed was cozy.
>It's a big four-poster, something you could possibly afford but probably not fit in your place.
>There's a lot of room, a lot of give, a lot of pillows.
>Careful keeps the temperature up here a little cooler than you like.
>You suggested to her, very cautiously, that you're a little less naturally insulated than she is.
>She took it with a giggle and threw you some plaid, flannel tops and bottoms to you from her closet.
>They don't fit you at all, but the bagginess is nice; it gives you room to move around.
>And lying side-by-side with Careful... it's hard not to fidget.

>"Sleepy? Or you wanna chat a little more?"
>You think on the matter.
"Sleepy."
>"OK."

>She leans over you and blows out the light.
>The room's plunged into a darkness, one that grows timid only near the edge of the wood furnace in the corner.
>Suddenly, Careful embraces you.
>You guess you were expecting it, but that didn't make you ready.
>You force yourself to breathe measuredly, to not gasp at her touch.
>You've been on all-night missions with her before, sure... but that was always professional, even if your professional relationship was relatively personal, even friendly.
>But that's different.
>Tonight it's one-on-one.
>You get her to snuggle all to yourself.
>If she knew how much you wanted this... or even more simply how you wanted this... would it upset her?
>You don't think so, necessarily... and, yet, you're hesitant to physically respond to her.
>You scooch your shoulders and torso closer to her...
>Then your backside...
>Then you hug her back.
>She sighs with utter comfort.
>"Sleep tight."
"Mmm."
>Her hooves around you... her body against yours... they feel like they always have in your dreams.

>...
>"No," says Careful.
"Mmh?'
>"Just... look."
>Why is she...
>Uh...
>You're confused.
>...
>Were you asleep?
>You're not holding each other anymore, it's dark...
>You must have drifted off.
>Fuel in the stove is still burning. It can't have been more than an hour, an hour and a half...
>"I can't. You need to..."
>You're awake at this point.
"Careful, what do you mean?"
>"I... no, not like that."

>It hits you: she's sleep talking.
>It's not a habit you would have guessed of her, but there it is, you guess.
>It sounds like she's dreaming about returning something to a store, or having an argument, or something.
>You put your head back on your pillow and try to let it be.
>...but she keeps getting louder.

>"No."
>...
>"No. No."
>..
>"No. NO. NO! PLEASE. NO!!"
>She thrashes and kicks you in the shin.
>Not too hard, but still painfully.
>You're going to have a bruise.

>You're scared.
"C-Careful?"

>She's done talking.
>She's shaking, making a wavering, whimpering sound like nothing you're heard or imagined you'd hear ever come from her mouth.
>It comes and goes, gradually getting louder, louder...
>Suddenly, she's on the verge of screaming.
>That's when you begin to shake her.

"Careful. Careful! You're asleep. Are you okay? CAREFUL!"

>She jolts awake, breathing like she's run a marathon.
>She looks at you.
>Even in the dark, her pupils are are constricted.
>She's shaking violently.
"You're okay. It's me."
>Her expression doesn't change.
"You were dreaming."

>Slowly, gradually, her breathing slows.
>It becomes irregular.
>The crying starts.
>It's not loud or hard, but the effort exhausts her nonetheless.
>You hold her as tight as you can.

>Finally, she recovers.
>It's been fifteen... twenty... thirty minutes?
>You can't tell.
>The hour's too late.
>"T-thanks," she manages to get out. "That was a bad one. Worst yet. If you weren't here..."
"They're that bad?"
>"Last one, I threw up."
"I'm... sorry."
>"Not your fault."
>She takes a deep, stabilizing breath.
>"I'm just going to get water. Then I think I can fall back asleep."
"Okay."

>...

>Cuddling Careful to sleep is a dream come true.
>She's soft, she's warm, she fills your arms.
>You take no pleasure in her pain, but to be here for her, to be able to take a little of it onto yourself and take care of her - how many times have you fantasized about this?
>Mostly, you feel tense and worried, feeling every movement she makes, listening to every sound she makes, hoping sincerely for her to get to sleep soundly.
>But such feelings are sweet, visceral reminders that you're alive, that you're with somepony you care about.
>You nuzzle the back of her neck (she's the little spoon) and whisper to her.
"Better?"
>"I think so."
>That's a little indefinite.
>You want to help more, but you're not sure how.
>Coming up with conversational items on the fly isn't your strong suit, especially when it's critical for you to do so.

>You take a mental step back and think:
>You don't need to say any magic words.
>You can take what other ponies might say as examples, and try to be like them.
>Mom always came to you when you had nightmares as a filly.
>What was her old story...?
"My mom used to say that, long ago, if you had nightmares, you didn't need to worry, because you might be visited in your sleep."
>"...That's an old mare's tale, isn't it?"
"I don't know. But I always liked the story. And... *She* is back, now. For real."
>"She hasn't been for long. And she doesn't even leave the castle. We're guards and we've never seen her..."
"There are rumors she does it."
>"Rumors based on dreams..."
>You hope that's curiosity you hear in her voice.
>A little of it -- just a little -- might be all she needs to comfortably nod off.
"We could ask her."
>The suggestion popped out of your mouth before the idea of it was fully formed, before you spared any thought to how feasible it would be, to what the consequences might be.

>If Careful's curiosity wasn't piqued before, it is now.
>She turns over and looks you in the eyes.
>You try not to let on how deeply you feel you could fall into her gaze.
>"We can't do that, Safe. Not for us. We're... I'm... not worth Their time..."
"We're Royal Guards."
>It's as much as you can think of to say.
>It's an inane defense of an insane idea, you know.
>Well, you tried, even if you've failed to cheer up-

>Careful smiles.
>"Let's give it some thought. Tomorrow."
>She takes you in your arms and pulls you close.
>You suppress a squeak.
>"Good night again, Safe."
>You close your eyes.
"Good night."

>...

>You wake up to a sliver of sunlight and the pressure of Moondancer's plush hip against your side.
>You fell asleep with a perfectly Christian distance between you, so you must have shifted in your sleep.
>You move away from her.
>You don't want to think about what's transpired.
>It's a complication you're certain you don't want to introduce into your life.
>The kiss was nice, sure. Fine. You can admit that.
>You're human. You're capable of error. You feel bad about it, even if you nipped it in the bud before it escalated. Careful might not even mind if you admitted it to her honestly and directly.
>Except.... you haven't spoken to Careful in days, not since the accident.
>But that's an unpleasant thought.
>You push it away.

>Today... think of today. What are you doing today?
>Meeting Safety First and questioning Honey Hive. Right.
>Except you never agreed on a time and place to meet Safe.
>'Tomorrow.' That's as much as you said when...
>When you snapped at her to shut up.
>Fuck.
>Of course: you try to avoid your guilt about one action, and you run into another.
>You didn't regret it at the time.
>Safe was gung-fucking-ho about supervising you just for a few questions you wanted to ask, it was cold out, and she was not. Letting. Go.
>Accusing you of trying to go vigilante? After you had just been sent to the hospital?
>She was nuts, you thought.
>But you had gotten so wrapped up in her examining you that you had never considered she might be right.
>Was there not an element of desire, of fantasy, in your wanting to go out and tie up the loose ends from the night at Over the Moon?
>Of you administering your own kind of justice?
>Maybe there was.
>And maybe you're a bastard for getting on Safe's case for, what - her sniffing that out in you before even you could?
>For, despite her being... like she is, managing to know you a little better than you really knew yourself?
>You still feel bitter about the interaction - at her, at yourself - but, looking at it like this, you feel trust, maybe admiration, in the skinny, blue pony.
>Maybe you get along and maybe you don't, but... having her along probably would be helpful.
>Fine.
>Then, if you're going to meet her, it may as well be good and early.
>To Careful's it is.

>The snow falls thickly outside as Moondancer prepares breakfast.
>You tried to decline her offer to prepare a meal, insisting a boal of oatmeal would be fine, but she insisted.
>She flits from place to place, magicking through disorganized shelves and drawers to extract her needed tools and utensils and humming a tuneless, happy ditty as she does so.
>Yet she will barely meet your eye.
>When you look straight at her, she smiles and shies away from your gaze.
>You know her to be introverted, but not shy.
>This is the pony who hit on you a minute after she met you and before she even knew what species you were, after all.

>"Here you go!" she says, and magicks a tray over to you.
>Fried eggs over a potato-and-soy hash.
>You'd rather see corned beef in it, but it still looks and smells good.
>Moondancer eats with you, occasionally and furtively glancing up at you as you chew.
>When she comes to get your empty plate, her side brushes against your leg.
>You think it's time to clarify some things before they blow up in your face later.
"Moon?"
>"Ah?"
"I'm sorry if I... led you on. Things have been rough for all of us, and I haven't gotten to see Careful, and it's just been... confusing. I hope it's not gonna... make things weird between us. Or anything."
>She considers this for a moment, frowning.
>"I'm... sorry too. I like you either way. I hope you know. It is hard."
"Thanks for telling me."
>She appears to dwell on it a second longer.
>"Can, uh..."
"Out with it."
>She blushes.
>"Can I just sit on your lap while we have coffee, and we'll call it even?"
>You smile.
"Sounds good."

>You figure that this as far as things will go with Moon, so, fuck it, you let her cuddle into you a bit on the chair in the corner of her living room as you each sip your coffee.
>She brought a few sweet, dry biscuits to go with it.
>While the drinks are still warm, she dips hers halfway into her drink, lets it soak up the hot, aromatic liquid, and raises it up to your mouth, suspending it in a light, lavender magic field.
>"Wanna try?"
>You take a bite.
>The sweet, vanilla flavor complements the bitter, nutty flavor of the coffee well.
"S'good."
>You dunk your own in your drink and present it to her.
>She happily takes a bite.
>Her lips brush your fingers as she does so.
>They're wet and warm from the coffee.

"Careful's."
>You say it out of the blue, after a few minute of idly sitting around in the chair, stroking Moondancer's mane.
"I wanna head over there. Safe and I arranged to meet today, to... get some things done. She's probably over there. Provided Care's been discharged. Don't know why she wouldn't be at this point."
>Moondancer climbs down from your lap, becoming, suddenly, a little more... sober, you guess you'd say.
>"I'll come with you. Just let me put my sweater on..."

>A few minutes later, Careful's looms on the street ahead, to the right.
>The snow fell thickly, last night, and the plow-pones haven't yet made it to this part of the neighborhood.
>It crunches with each step you take.
>Moondancer wears her parka, a fluffy getup that only her spectacles and cream-colored snout peek out of.
>You manage fine with your insulated boots, a scarf, and your winter jacket, though you wish you had something to cover the top of your head.
>At least the sun's out.

>You thought a moment ago that Careful's house seems to be looming.
>Looming, indeed, is the right word.
>You thought you were excited to go back.
>It's part of why you decided so spur of the moment to go there.
>Yet it looms, and, as you approach the door, you realize you're afraid to knock.
>You haven't seen Careful since the accident - an accident which befell you, and yet, which seems to have hurt her far more.
>Will she welcome your coming?
>Does she even... want to see you?
>Some of this, you know, must be ordinary and irrational anxiety talking.
>But, if there weren't a chance at all of either of those happening, you wouldn't be worrying.
>Stuck in these thoughts, running around and around the cognitive hamster wheel, you don't even realize you've arrived at the door, doing nothing but staring it down for half a minute.
>Not until Moondancer looks up at you, notes your mental absence, and knocks for you.
>You try not to tense up as a voice inside replies "coming!"

>It's Safe.
>"Hello."
"Hey."
>...
"May we come in?"
>"Oh. Yes. I think so."
>"Careful's still in bed," she remarks, as you're prying your boots off.
"Sure."
>You think nothing of the remark until you look at her.
>She's wearing an expression that sure-as-day says she felt she's made a social mis-step.
>Her mane's messy.
>So she spent the night?
>No big deal.
>Ponies do that.
>You'd be insane to begrudge them a girls' night, even if last night you didn't (no don't think about that)
>It's... it's perfectly normal.
>Maybe she just thinks she shouldn't have invited you in without the homeowner's permission.
>Not that Careful would have denied you and Moondancer entry.
>It's just the formality of the thing.

>"She'll be up soon, I think," Safe remarks. "I'm making breakfast. If you'd like some, I can make extra. I'm not a very good chef, but she has a lot of this veggie bacon, which isn't too hard..."
>Yeah, you're definitely in the right house.
"I'll skip. Moon and I already had, uh, had some."
>Your turn to feel unnnecessarily awkward about an inocuous statement.
>Safe, like you did before, doesn't seem to make anything of it, yet still you feel you shouldn't have acknowledged where precisely you woke up this morning.
>Or with whom (stop dwelling stop dwelling stop dwelling stop-)
>"May I have two strips?" asks Moondancer, her parka now shed.

>You sit at the counter, facing the stove. 
>As Moondancer eats and Safe fries some more bacon, you stare through the door to the left, across Care's workshop, and through the display window to the white, frosty streets.
>You listen to cutlery clacking behind you, to gas sputtering and igniting, to bacon sizzing... and to a thump from upstairs, to a clip-clop, clip-clop as hoofsteps go to the stairs.
>Maybe it was a bad idea to come here.
>Maybe you should have stayed out there, where the plow-pony is only now coming through the street.
>Should have just let Safe know you were around and met up with her later.
>Maybe it's too soon to be here.
>But it's too late to change your decision.
>Another voice from behind you.
>"Safe? I smelled bacon..."
>You look back.
>It's Careful.

>"Anon!"

>...

>Careful trots excitedly to Anon.
>Her mane, ruffled and whispy from her sleep, bobs and sways around her shoulders as she does so.
>Beautiful even with bed-head: another fact about her to file away in your mind, never to be used.
>It sways slowly before her and comes to rest as she stops before Anon.
>He had turned toward her, and his left arm, still in a sling, emerged from around his torso.
>You're not sure if she meant to stop there, or if she hesitated at the sight.
>"I... I," she says.
>But she collects herself.
>"I didn't expect to see you out of the hospital so soon."
>"Likewise," replies Anon.
>You wonder: are either or both of them holding something back?
>-not that you could tell this from either of them alone, unless they told you outright.
>But, merely by context, you think there's an elephant in the room they might be stepping carefully around.
>Couldn't there be, given this is their first meeting since the break-in?

>But she goes to him.
>She nuzzles his leg.
>He gets off his chair, bends down, and hugs her.
>"I missed you."
>"I missed you, too."
>Moondancer politely looks away a moment.
>You follow suit.

>Careful gets bacon and coffee.
>She and Anon go to the next room to speak in private.
>You're left with Moondancer.

>The silence between you is getting awkward.
>You go for broke and try to start the conversation for once.
"Are things well? With the repairs?"
>You'd have been more detailed in your question, about the spell and all...
>But you don't remember much about the spell.
>What she had described to you a day or two ago had been fascinating, or, at least, you had found her fascination fascinating, but... well.
>You have wings, not a horn.

>Moondancer shrugs.
>"As well as I can do on my own. I'm beginning to realize I'll need to pace myself, or the spell might kill me before I get the store back in shape."
>You stare.
>She chuckles, looking away from you.
>"Little joke."
"That's good."

>Another silence.
>You can hear Anon and Careful chatting in the next room.
>You force yourself not to eavesdrop.

>"So," asks Moondancer. "Any plans now that you're on break?"
"Anon and I will talk to Honey Hive. See if we can get names, tie up loose ends."
>"So, guard work? On your time off?"

>In the other room, Anon and Careful's conversation goes up a notch in volume.
>It's harder to ignore, but... you guess it's natural, since they've been apart.
>They're excited to see each other.
>That makes sense.

>You give Moondancer a smile.
"Guard work is my habit. Habits require work to break. But the point of my civ time is to relax, so..."
>She chuckles.
>"Can't argue with that."

>"... *my* safety? I'm five times your weight, Care, is that really..."
>Anon's exclamation drifts in from the other room.
>It's not angry, you think, but it's hardly calm.
>Then, in drifts Careful's voice.
>You hear only bits and pieces.
>"...love you. But ... just ... space ... dust settles. Don't know ..."
>"But I... I..."
>"Anon, you know I ... it's..."

>The voices are coming closer.
>"If that's what you want," concedes Anon.

>"-the Hoof Socks? Personally I don't they have a chance. Go Canterlot Chargers! Ha-ha. Am I right? Ha-ha... ha," you notice Moondancer saying, as Careful and Anon enter.
>She's speaking oddly loudly.
>Has she been talking the whole time you were distracted by them?
"I don't follow hoofball."
>"Ah. Uh, right. Right. Not for... not for everypony."
>She's blushing heavily.
>You wonder what prompted her sudden change of topic.

>"Girls?" asks Anon. "I'm actually gonna take off. Sorry to ditch you so soon. Have some errands. Moon, I'll come by the shop later, try to help with the clean-up."
>Moondancer nods. "Sure. I'll see you later."
>But you're confused.
>Did he forget your plans?
"Anon, have you changed your mind about seeing Honey?"
>"I... no, Safe. Let's just postpone to tomorrow. That work?"
"Uh, okay. Sorry you have to go so soon."
>"Yeah."
>He hurriedly puts on his coat and leaves.

>That was less than expected.
>With how incessant he was about tying up loose threads from the other day, you didn't think anything could put him off it.
>It must be something really important.
>At least you have backup plans.

"Careful, since I won't be busy today, shall we-?"
>"One sec, Safe."
>She plods over to the fridge, pours herself a glass of orange juice, and nurses it, her back to you and Moondancer, who finally brings you to the next room and quietly fills you in on what you're missing.
"They... fought?"
>"Not explosively, but I think this ordeal's been tough on them. Just keep in mind it'll be a sensitive subject."
>You nod.

>"So, Moon," remarks Careful, as you both re-enter. "Safe and I were talking. And she suggested... uh."
"Maybe start from the top?"
>"...right. So... I've had dreams. Since the break in. And... Anon. Bad ones."
"Worse than bad."
>"Yeah."
>She downs the rest of her orange juice in one swig, about half the glass.
>She grimaces at the acid taste.
>"Like she says. So, we're thinking-"

>"You can't mean it," interjects Moondancer. "She's only been back a few years. Ponies still hardly ever see Her. We don't know that she's..."
>'Sane,' you think she may have finished, if she had allowed herself to.
>She collects herself and lowers her voice, seeming like she's trying very hard to be polite, not to condescend.
>"Aren't the stories about Her, about the dreams, just rumors?"
>"More than rumors.", says Careful, matter-of-factly. "The RG extends all the way from the top to the bottom of Canterlot. And word travels more reliably through out it than it does through the general population."
>"Can you explain?"
>"Force of habit. There's a stickler inside every gruff detective, and they won't put one letter out of place reciting a three-page loitering law while they escort you off the market past six on leap-year solstices."
>She nods over at you and winks.
>"Case in point."
>She means it as a compliment, of course.
>You fluff your feathers happily.

>"So, you have the gist of it," finishes Careful. "Would you, uh, like to come with us?"
>She had been speaking earnestly and confidently about the guard, but as the topic comes back to mundane matters, her tone drifts back to the tired one it's been since she was in the hospital.
>"I would... but I can't. Sorry. The shop."
>"Oh!" replies Careful, raising her hoof to her face. "I forgot."
>"No worries."
>You bid her farewell as she bundles up and steps out.
>Careful shrugs at you.
>"'syou and me, then."
>You can think of worse arrangements.

>First stop: your place.
>Mail needs checking, birds need feeding.
>You have trouble herding the squabbling finches back into their cage afterward.
>Careful giggles at the spectacle.
>You ham it up a bit. Let a few of them go and insist she help.
>They eventually cooperate, but not before you both collapse into a giggling heap from the effort.
>You show her to Mareseilles Maelee's for lunch.
>Maelee is absent; she usually is, this time of day.

>After that, a long walk through the streets and up the hundreds of steps to the higher districts finds you on the street to the Palace.
>It dominates the skyline. The central tower is taller from top to bottom than the rest of the city from the highest tier to the lowest.
>"I'm having second thoughts," says Careful, examining it.
"We're guards. They'll let us in."
>"That doesn't mean we have to."
"I-"
>She looks at you, her head cocked.
>Maybe she didn't expect you to object.
"It's the only way I know how to help you."

>She'll understand, you hope.
>That you can recognize her difficulties, but you can't feel them yourself; you can't empathize, you can't support her.
>That you can only help her seek a remedy, not be it.
>You're surprised when she places an arm around your shoulders.
>"You help more than you think."
>She walks ahead.
>You stand in wonder, the heat from her body still radiating where she hugged you.

>...

>Over the Moon.
>That's where you'll go.
>Nothing special at home.
>You've kept it tidy, and it's stayed familiar.
>Too familiar.
>At the shop, there's things you can do even if you aren't a magic horse.
>Books, magazines, and articles intact on the floor near the back and front, filing cards to store and organize.
>You can even just housekeep around the half-kitchen and the back room.
>Anything to keep yourself out of the house, productive, happy.
>The worse thing you could do right now is put yourself in some hole, to stop living the new and exciting life you have been the past few weeks only because you've run into the first problems you've ever had in it.

>Fundamentally, you agree with Careful.
>Back there, she wasn't angry and she wasn't panicked.
>You're not even sure you can call the conversation you had with her a fight.
>She had calmly discussed her point of view on the matter, allowing your interjections when you had them, conceding to some, addressing others.
>You went over it all until you found a common ground, and it was roughly this:
>A situation like what's happened the past few days would be an obstacle even for an old and tested couple to go through.
>You were each hurt by the break-in at the shop, and if more crime like this happens in the near future, then Care can not, as a guard, guarantee you'll always be safe when you're close to her.

>She didn't have to tell you what your getting hurt under her watch was like for her, either.
>You had known until now, in a purely intellectual sense, what it meant for her to be a guard, to keep ponies safe, to keep you safe.
>But you hadn't understood, not fully, until you had seen her today, for the first time after the break-in.
>The shadows around her eyes alone told you much.
>She's been a heavy sleeper as long as you've known her.
>To see her on the edge of exhaustion from chronic lack of sleep put a knot of worry in your stomach enough to double you over.
>You had taken your recovery for granted: magic ponies, magic pills.
>Simplicity itself, you figured.
>Not so for Careful.
>You'd had the luxury of unconsciousness during your injury.
>You didn't see how close you were to bleeding out on the spot.
>And if you had... no.
>No, you can't think about that.
>For your own sake, and because to even imagine what it would have done to Careful is too much.

>You both need time to heal, and a little time apart is not the worst solution to that.
>You both have it in you to be part of each other's support system - but a little later on.
>Something this big, this soon after you met, you can't keep lounging around her place 24/7 and pretend things will get immediately better through mere proximity.
>You're not cutting contact.
>On the contrary, you want to stay in touch, see each other once a day or every other day, watch each other's progress.
>And in a week or two, once you're both healed enough you can afford to be vulnerable with each other again, you can face the rest of the recovery together, head-on.
>Until then, you'll keep your status as a proper couple on hold.
>Take time to think things out while you heal.

>This is reasonable, you think.
>What if her PTSD had been worse? If your mere presence could now have permanently sent her back to her darkest memories? If she could never have beared to see you again?
>Sure, that's an extreme case, but it was plausible, and until you saw her, it had worried you.
>This is infinitely better.
>And it still feels like you've been punched in the gut.

>...

>Even from several blocks away, Canterlot Palace seems to nearly soar above you.
>The central tower alone casts a shadow along the whole length of the street until around ten.
>As the daughter of a locksmith, you still have a sense of the material.
>It tells you that mere stone couldn't possibly hold it up.
>There's magic in those towers.
>Not the kind a unicorn uses to hold her coffee mug.
>No: it's built into the palace itself just as much as the marble and metal, you suspect.
>It's magic that has persisted for a thousand years.
>It could probably go a million more.
>There's little room for error in mountainside architecture.

>Careful snickers beside you.
>You turn to her.
>"Phallus Palace," she says out of the corner of her mouth, through her teeth.
>It's the first you're seen her mood improve today.

>As you reach the main square before the palace, the so-called "Entry," though no part of it lies between walls or under a ceiling, an object which from a distance appeared to be a gilded, gleaming walkway through its center separates into a hundred golden dots, then into the individual, stylized crests worn by the palace guard.
>Most of them, you know, are only ceremonial.
>They're Royal Guard are sure as you and Careful are, and their function is the same: keep the ponies of Canterlot feeling safe.
>But their function is mostly the "feeling" part.
>They receive the 101-level combat training every recruit gets, but beyond that, their training is mostly of a ceremonial nature.
>A few of them, though -- perhaps five out of the hundred -- have gone through that as well as far more than you or Careful have ever done.
>It's their expertise that's called upon when real dangers meet the palace's first organized line of defense: the foe samples their strength and assumes it is shared by the rest.
>It is a psychological barrier as well as a physical one.
>And you've gotten here just in time to see the guard change.
>"ABOUT! FACE!" bellows one guard toward the center, so loudly you can hear him before you've even distinguished which one he is.
>"FORWARD! MARCH! ONE, TWO! THREE, FOUR! ONE, TWO...!"
>From the far side comes a new line of guards, marching in synchronization with those departing and staggered such that each guard departing passes through two coming, and vice-versa.
>The line splits in the middle, and from the middle guards march alternatingly forward and back until they've formed two borders to a patch leading from the front of the Entry to the palace's front entrance.
>"INWARD! FACE!" bellows the conductor, and the guards on either side turn to face the other, completing the formation.
>Its meaning is clear from its structure: visitors are welcome, but a hundred pairs of eyes are upon you.

>Through the tall, arched doorway, in the atrium, there are only three guards, flanking the great stairway and keeping watch over the front door and the reception desk.
>These guards are the real deal: Palace Interior.
>The Entry Guard is an army to repel individuals, but the PI are individuals to repel armies.
>The halls inside the palace are not small, but they are not wide enough to accomodate groups as large as the entry guard.
>Such a force could only file through the doorway four or so at a time.
>Three of the PI are more than a match for four ponies.
>And they are not known to tire.
>They guard in squads of three: pegasus, unicorn, earth pony, making advantage of each pony's innate ability to the greatest possible extent.
>There are perhaps a dozen squads of them total.
>And they only guard the parts of the palace visitors can access.
>Whoever guards the most secluded and secure parts of the castle -- that's something you don't know even as part of the RG.
>You don't even know which rank you need to learn how deep the palace goes into the mountain.

>"Miss? Can I help you?"

>The receptionist beckons to you and Careful from the 'WELCOME' desk.
>You don't know as much about the Palace's receptionists as you do about its guards.
>Except... well.
>They're probably quite well-qualified receptionists.

>This one appears to fit the role.
>Her attire fits well and leaves her cutie mark on display, which appears to be a stylized golden-ratio spiral.
>A small lock of hair hangs free from the otherwise tightly-kept bun of her mane, adding a dash of friendliness and trustworthiness to her appearance without sacrificing professional style.

>Careful nods towards her, intending for you to do the talking.
>She might still be apprehensive about this idea, but at least she's going along with it.

>You smile at the receptionist.
"You can."
>"Wonderful! What will it be? Do you have a meeting here? Would you like to arrange a tour? Both?"
"This might be unusual, but we're actually seeking royal audience."
>You expect her to hesitate or cock an eyebrow at this, but she answers immediately and straightforwardly:
>"Of course! The next available time is in the afternoon, one fortnight past Hearthswarming. Will that do?"
"We'd prefer to see her sooner. Actually, we're not in proper uniform-"
>You shift a wing, showing the RG Academy crest on your hoodie.
"-but we're Royal Guard, here on business regarding the MILF break-in. We hope the Princess can help us with something."
>You don't have to specify *which* break-in.
>Crimes of that magnitude are rare in Canterlot.
>Once more, the receptionist doesn't miss a beat.
>"Oh, I should have noticed! City RG may join today's queue and speak with Princess Celestia as soon as the scheduled civilian parties in physical attendance have been able to. Your position will be held for tomorrow if we reach Her allotted time for the day first."
"Actually, we were hoping to see Princess Luna."

>The receptionist misses a beat.

>Then another.

>One of the statuesque Palace Interior Guards, the pegasus of the squad, moves his head barely perceptibly to glance at you, then returns to attention.
>It's a look a civilian would have missed but a trained guard wouldn't.
>He likely knows that as well as you do.
>You receive the message loud and clear: we may not look like it, but our attention's on you.

>"I'm... sorry?" asks the receptionist, her head tilted to the side, oblivious to the silent conversation in the room and confused either way at what you said.
>Then it sinks in, her speech-processing catching up with her hearing.
>"Princess Luna. Ok."
>She regains her composure as another beat passes.
>Could it be you're the first ponies who've asked her this?
>"I will... check! Be back with you in a shake of my tail."
>She flicks her tail for emphasis, ignites her horn, and vanishes.
>A 'pop' sounds through the atrium as air rushes fills the vacuum she left.
>"She sounds so enthusiastic," Careful whispers to you, smiling.
"I didn't notice."

>After two or three minutes, another 'pop' sounds through the atrium as the receptionist returns.
>"Thanks for your patience! Even I have to speak to one of the throne guards before I can interrupt Celestia's 'office hours.'"
>She chuckles.
>You smile, though you're not sure what the joke is.
>"You can see Luna now, under the provision that you'll be escorted to and from her part of the castle."
>She turns to the pegasus guard who looked at you earlier.
>"PI?"
>"Ma'am."
>He trots over.
>"As soon as you're both ready. Please follow me."
"We're ready."
>You turn to the receptionist.
"Thank you!"
>"You're welcome!"
>The relief in her voice is audible even to you.

>...

>Over the Moon: still a total mess, but less of a total mess.
>Many of the books and shelves on the ground are intact.
>In disarray, but intact.
>But not all of them.
>Not even the majority, in fact.
>This spell Moondancer's working works slow, even though she busts her hump over it every day.
>Probably to an unhealthy extent.
>It might help you if you stick around, make sure she paces herself.
>Maybe you can even get help.
>She can't be the only magic hobbyist in Canterlot.
>Though you don't know whether she'd allow any help.
>She's not prideful, but you wonder whether she'd trust other ponies to get it right.

>For now, you do what you can, starting near the register, organizing the spilled files of purchases and loose-leaf receipts that have fallen all around the area.
>You place books upended on their spines back on the "to be reshelved" shelf, and, for good measure, you get some cleaning solution from below the kitchen sink and wipe the desktop clean.
>Then you wipe the kitchen counters, wash a few fallen plates and glasses, clean up shards of others, and leave it looking... passable.

>Last is the back room.
>Then you can relax, kick your feet out, wait for Moonie to get here, and just... think on things.
>It'll be nice to have her around, even if she's working.
>It'll keep away the loneliness you know is inevitably going to come nagging.

>The back room was spared in the break-in, but it could still use tidying.
>Moon's not the completely untidy type, but she probably hasn't had time to get around to it back here.
>It's the least you can do for her in case she needs to crash here another night.
>You take out some trash and make the bed, tucking it in tight at the corners and making a mental note to pick up clean sheets for her.
>You pick up a few more things and turn around to put them on the dresser.
>On the dresser is some literature you recognize: "Lonely Cowboys of the Appleoosan Highlands."
>Open to the centerfold.

>The model in the photo, lying on his back, is golden, lanky, and rugged, sporting a five-o-clock shadow.
>He gazes wistfully off-frame.
>You guess that makes him look 'lonely.'
>What makes him a 'cowboy' must be his hat and respectable dick, pointing up and towards his face, casting a shadow across his torso.
>You've never had the full experience of color-horse dick and nuts right in your face, and you have been fine with that arrangement, thank-you-very-much.
>Alas, all good things must end.
>At least you could just fold this up, put it to the side, laugh it off once Moonie gets here.
>'Hey, Moon. You left out the nudie mag. Warn me next time.'
>Chuckle. Blush. Back to business.
>That's what you could do if only there was not lying to the magazine's right, in unashamed accompaniment, a long, flared, silicone toy.

>This complicates things.
>You can't hide that you've been in this room, and you sure as hell can't hide the dildo.
>You do not get to touch that.
>No question.
>Hell, even Careful was embarrassed 'special' drawer.
>And your fingers were no strangers to certain regions of her body, even before your first time proper...

>...The memory intrudes before you're able to dismiss it.
>It was the night after... no, maybe two nights after the Rum and Nacho challenge at Mel's.
>Your stomach would still have hurt otherwise.
>She was lying on top of you, her breath warm on your neck.
>You'd been having a good cuddle, like you do.
>And you'd been massaging her lower back with your right hand.
>Which isn't too far from gently squeezing her backside.
>Like you sometimes do.
>And that's not so far from what you did next.
>Something you hadn't yet done.
>Your fingers had traced slowly inward, across her buttock, signaling your intention.
>You stopped as she read the signal, lifting her gaze to yours.
>Her blush had been strong enough to see even in the dim light.
>That look on her face... had it been surprise?
>Bewilderment, even?

>You had been about to stop when she relaxed her head again, kissed your neck, and flicked her tail, letting it come to rest on the back of your hand.
>She trusted you.
>You moved your hand in and lightly stroked her vulva.
>That's all you did.
>Sometimes feeling the outside.
>Sometimes gently moving one lip aside and extra-gently rubbing the very inside.
>If you had done any more it wouldn't have been comfortable for her -- not while she wasn't in heat, which was still a concept you were wrapping your head around -- but you didn't break her trust.
>Absurdly, it was hardly even sexual.
>Intimate, yes, but not so much more so than your usual cuddling.
>Just more... exploratory.

>"Do you like it?" she asks.
"It's... soft."
>She giggles.
>"Yeah."
"I was curious. I've seen it now and then, but I've never felt it."
>If that sounds creepy out loud, she doesn't care.
>"Now you know."
"Is... this nice for you? Even though-"
>She smiles at you.
>"I can't make up my mind. You'll have to keep doing it."
>You do.
>Before you went to sleep that night, she reassured you:
>"We won't be waiting much longer. I promise."
>She didn't need to, but you loved her for it nonetheless...

>...you snap out of it.
>You've sat on the bed, ruining your perfect tuck.
>What a time to overthink a dildo.
>Moondancer's probably on her way now.
>You don't need to sit in here ruminating until dusk.
>Embarrassing things happen sometimes.
>You're adults.
>It's no big deal.
>You close the magazine and cover the toy with it, taking care not to touch it.
>There.
>You both know what happened, and neither of you have to talk about it.

>You don't.
>Not until that evening.

>...

>The pegasus Palace Interior guard leads you up the stairs, through a hallway, and into the ballroom.
>It's a place mainly known for the yearly gala, but for the rest of the year it serves primarily as a large, hospitable waiting room for citizens scheduled to meet Celestia.
>Attendants trot up and down the line of fifty-or-so ponies who have come today, providing them with water, clean seating, and occasional snacks.
>You've heard they even serve lunch at noon.

>You're lead parallel to the line, closer and closer to the entrance of the throne room.
>Near it, you're turned left, away from the line and towards a door you hadn't noticed.
>Its silvered edges and pewter surface give it a remarkable appearance, although it's still dwarfed by the high, arched doorway to the throne.
>The PI proceeds through it, holding it for you.
>The hallway on the other side is plain, undecorated marble and pewter.
>The only natural light comes from candles and the wedge of light projected from the ballroom, which wanes and disappears as the door swings shut.
>As it does so, all ambient noise from outside is shut out.
>It's quiet in here except for the little flickers and pops of the candles and the steps of hooves on stone.

>"We're remodeling this part of the castle to accommodate Luna," explains the PI. "Watch your step and let me know if you have trouble seeing. She works nights, you might be aware."
>The barest flicker of a smirk appears on his face at this remark, though it might just be a trick of the candlelight.
>But... even if he didn't, why is he speaking to you?
>The Palace Interior are known to stand watch like statues, to hardly move an inch unless ordered to do so.
>They're certainly not allowed to make casual conversation on duty with civilian charges.
>You'd question him on this, but, for now, you know his rank and you know your place.
>You figure Careful will answer his question, but she doesn't.
>She must still feel apprehensive about all this.
"Thank you. We can see well."
>You can speak confidently for her on that count.
>"You're both City RG, aren't you? Careful Watch and Safety First, under Has-"
>He stops himself.
>"-er, Honor Bound?"
>He's obviously made a question of this only as a formality.
>The stutter didn't sell it.
"We are. You know us?"
>"I know all the RG. There are few enough of us that memorization and upkeep is a task worth doing."
"Oo-ra."
>"It's also part of my job."
"Oh. Yes."

>The hall goes on.
>Occasionally it branches in this direction or that, but you always take it straight.
>It takes long enough that the silence apart from the echoes of hoofsteps begins to sink in.
>It sinks in enough that you're willing to risk formality to break it.
"Do you know the Guard-Commander?"
>"Have for years. Same class at the Academy. We took different career paths, but we stay in touch."
>He deliberates over what next to say.
>"I've visited City HQ a few times, actually. I think I even bumped into you two one time."
>He stops, perhaps to stretch his muscles or examine some detail on the wall.

>"Don't remember me, do you?"

>He asks it like an afterthought, an idle comment to make while he examines his unremarkable wall-spot.
>It's a strange question, one even less formal than your previous topic of discussion.
>But maybe he just let his tongue slip.
>"I don't believe so," pipes up Careful, before you can say roughly the same.
>Maybe she's picking up on something you aren't.
>"Ah, good, good," says the PI.
>You're not sure if he's addressing you or the wall spot.
>"I must be mistaken then. You're RG, of course you'd have remembered if I were there in uniform."

>He resumes the lead.
>The spot on the wall must not have been that important.
>After walking for another minute, something unnerves you.
>Well, two things.

>First: you can't see where you entered this hallway anymore.
>It's so far back it's obscured by the dark.
>The exit, of course, is not yet in sight, either.

>Second: the PI hasn't uttered another word.
>He was talkative, even chatty before.
>Now, he's all business, as you had expected him to be from the beginning.
>You can't resist the urge to probe.
>If nothing else, it'll settle your unease.

"Sir?"
>"Ma'am."

>Silence again.
>The answer required of him to your question and nothing else.
>The pony who casually made conversation while on duty would have said more.

"May I request your name and station?"
>"Ma'am. R.G. Penny Farthing, Canterlot Palace Interior."
>Nothing more.
>Only what was required of somepony of his position to respond.
>A suspicion forms in your mind.
>Well... no, not a suspicion.
>A near certainty, as it's the only explanation you can think of that makes sense:

>He didn't forgo his duty at all by chatting with you.
>For some reason, that WAS his duty.
>Something it was his duty to do only once you three were completely alone, halfway through this endless, dark hallway.

>Your apprehension grows.
>You examine him closely.
>His wings are toned and pristinely feathered and groomed.
>They're a racer's wings.
>If he had reason to, he could fly down to either end of the tunnel too fast for you and Careful to follow, leaving you in the dark.
>Maybe until he brought reinforcements back, maybe forever.
>You've only gone straight, sure, but there are intersecting halls, and if you were turned around even once...

>You look back at Careful.
>She's looking at you.
>You're not sure if she has more of a clue than you do, but you're both definitely on the same scent.
>If only you could put in words what exactly he said that triggered your guard sense.
>Then Careful voices it perfectly:
>"Why ask us questions you already knew the answers to?"

>This time, you and her stop first.
>He only stops once he reaches what you assume is the maximum distance he's allowed to be from his charges.
>He doesn't look back.
>"I suggest we keep moving, ma'am," he says, as if Careful had said nothing at all.
>"We're only curious. Professional interest?"
>"Shall we be returning to the lobby, ma'am?"
>"Would you receive permission to speak freely?"
>"From a charge? Yes, ma'am."
>"Granted."
>"Not my job if I don't use it, though!"

>Careful sighs.

>"Are we going or not?" Penny asks. "I'd like to be napping back at my post as soon as possible, if you wouldn't mind."
>Despite what he said, he's exercising his permission liberally.
>"I'm not going anywhere without you, so wherever you're going, let's get moving. Going once. Going twice..."
>"Can you at least answer our question?" moans Careful.
>"You're RG. I think you know everything you need to figure it out."
>Suddenly, it clicks.
"You've never visited city HQ, have you?"
>"No. Honor and I, we really do go back, though. Are we going to Luna's, then, or staying -- ah, there we go. Glad you didn't turn back. It's a long way to come to give up halfway through. Boy, do I love patrolling in here, though. Always nice and quiet. No one noisy can get this far in here because, heh, well, that's another thing I can't tell you. Hey, speaking of the Guard-Commander, did you know 'Honor Bound' is an honorific name? No pun intended. It's like the names the old monarchs took before the Sisters. In Academy she was just -- you can revoke my permission any time you like, by the way --"
>"I will."
>"Ma'am."

>You look away from the PI and back down the hall... directly at the door.
>You look behind you.
>The door you entered the hallway through is no more than fifty meters away.
>The hall hasn't lightened at all.
>The ends simply weren't visible moments ago; now they are.
>At the rate you've been walking, you should have reached the point you're at now ten minutes ago.
>Another question the PI will never answer.

>But you're relieved, because at least you've figured out the first question, as he said you could.
>When somepony asks questions he already knows the answers to, it's not an inquiry: it's a test.
>You could only have gotten those questions wrong if you were not who you said you were.
>Even though he knows your name.
>Even though he knows your face.
>Even though the silver lining around the door that lead you in here, you're beginning to think, may have looked similar to a scripture of illusion-erasure you learned from an Academy elective.

>The question that chills you is this: who or what is this test meant for?
>What happens if the PI ends up alone with one in the endless hallway?
>What if it *fails* the test?
>A thought reoccurs to you from earlier: he has a racer's wings.
>He could outpace you and leave you alone in the endless stretch.
>The reappearance of the doors means that won't happen.
>Not to you, at least.

>You reach the far door soon enough.
>The PI opens it and gestures through it.
>"This is as far as I take you. The others will take you to the Princess's quarters."
"The others?"
>You didn't think there were others.
>The Palace Interior are elites among elites. They're not the last line of personal defense for royalty themselves?
>He gives no answer.
>"Please proceed."
>You do.

>The door swings shut behind you.
>You stand in an empty throne room illuminated by a facsimile of the moon in the ceiling.
>Clouds pass by it exactly as they would in the night sky.
>You'd have taken it for an open view if you didn't know for a fact it's only early afternoon outside.

>Careful looks up at this display, taking a deep, steadying breath.
>You can't blame her.
>It's calm in here.
>Serene, even.
>But it's silent.
>It remains so for another minute until hoofsteps approach.

>They seem to start only just beyond the mouth of the hallway to the left of the throne.
>A pegasus stallion appears from this hallway and trots over to you.
>His physique is impossible.
>You have noted, on occasion, that Honor Bound has a tremendously fit body for a unicorn.
>Pegasi are generally even slimmer, but this pony's musculature surpasses even Careful's.
>His form is like that idealized in the statues and paintings of ancient civilizations.
>The blonde locks of his short, wavy mane, and the pale, moonlight gray of his coat compliment this.
>He nods to the two of you, turns his head to the hallway, and calls:
>"Vain."

>A thunderous snap like an enormous sheet whipping through the air echoes off the walls.
>Beside the first guard has appeared a second from thin air.
>Her wide, outstretched wings aren't those of a pegasus.
>They're arched and leathery, their joints appearing prominently under the skin like the frame of a large, webbed hand.
>She relaxes them to her sides.
>You notice now that the first guard's wings are very much the same.
>She looks to him.
>"Glorious."
>He nods.

>"We'll escort you to Luna's personal quarters," explains Glorious. "Understand you've been granted this privilege because you're of the Royal Guard. We'd not otherwise entertain your presence, regardless of whose permission you had to come."
>Vain makes a noise that could be a loud exhalation or a suppressed giggle.
>You've never heard a guard refer to Celestia so irreverently.
>You wonder if anypony else has made to where you stand now, only to be left alone in the dark to find their own way out.
>"Careful Watch, you will follow me. Safety First, follow Vain."
>He doesn't so much as look in your direction.
>You've never met ponies like this before.
>If they were clearly Royal Guards, you'd take their demeanor as cold professionalism, the only type guards directly responsible for royalty can afford.
>But they simply seem aloof.
>If they're guards, they're not conventional ones.
>Your unease lingers.

>"Safety, come with me."
>You turn to Vain.
>She's smiling.
>It puts you at ease, though you can't help but notice her incisor teeth are sharp and pronounced.
>Then you blink, and you're not so sure.
>Was it a trick of the light?

>Careful and Glorious are long gone now.
>Vain looks over her shoulder toward the hallway, then back to you.
>"You're concerned. I'm sorry."
"N-no!"
>She cocks her head and frowns sorrowfully.
>...and, admittedly, adorably.
>You notice she has freckles.
>You cast your gaze down ashamedly.
>"It's okay. You understand why we'd want to escort you one at a time, don't you?"
>Of course you do.
>That way, they could each focus on you individually.
>Plus, one-on-one, each of them could probably overtake nearly anypony.
>Vain's not huge, like her partner, but she's certainly stronger than you are.
>If she pinned you down--
>You cast that thought away as soon as you feel a blush rising in your cheeks.
"I do. Sorry. I was distracted."
>"Sure."
>She turns.
>You follow.

>This hallway is as dim as the last, but it is clearly something more special.
>The arched ceiling soars overhead.
>It's no illusion this time.
>The ground-level is lit by the occasional candle, but the darkness swallows everything beyond a certain height.
>At the end, several minutes down it, a door to the right brings you and Vain to a spiral staircase.

>As you follow her up, you can't help but notice something that you were trying to ignore before.
>Vain has a gait such that her gray posterior moves in a certain way as she does.
>The powerful muscles of her haunches move and flex to maintain her posture...
>Her wine-red tail periodically sways just far enough to give you quite a view of them.
>The difference in elevation between you on these stairs is not making it easy to pretend you don't notice.
>You hope beyond hope she doesn't notice-

>-she looks back at you, raising her eyebrows.
>"Anything on your mind?"
"I-I..."
>She smirks.
>"Let's take a short break. These spiral steps are rough on the hooves, even in shape like ours. Right?"
>Saying this, she gestures to a little alcove carved into the wall next to the door of the current floor.
>There's a few chairs and a table there.
>"Glory and I like to play chess here."
>It looks cozy, but...
"Shouldn't we keep going?"
>"We're taking the short way. We have some time."
>Well, it can't hurt.

>You sit down across from Vain.
>You're not sure if she expects you to speak with her.
>She's focused on the candle lighting the alcove from the stairway's central column.
>The flame dances in her yellow eyes.
>You admire her armor as you rest your hooves.
>Its violet and midnight hues camouflage her well in this level of light.
>There's more plating than in the standard-issue armor city guards wear.
>It can afford it because each piece is precisely fitted to her.
>It likely protects her better yet hinders her movement no more than ordinary clothing.

>Your eyes return to her face to find her glancing back at you.
>You were mistaken before: her eyes are a deep blue, not yellow.
>How could you have mixed that up?
>But, then, before, you had thought she had fangs for a moment, and then...
>And then...
>...

>"So, what are you keeping secret, Safety?"
>She leans in close enough to kiss you.
>"Can you tell me?"

>Even in this little light, her pupils are small.
>She can see you as well by candlelight as an interrogator can by a bright lantern in her suspect's face.

>You already know you're going to tell her.
>You don't want to, but it is inevitable.
>Even with your acute senses, you're not sure when this trap was sprung.
>Perhaps as soon as she first spoke a word to you downstairs.
>Perhaps earlier.

"You hypnotized me."

>The words feel and sound like the involuntary vocalizations one makes waking from a dream.
>Very likely, the hypnosis was woven into every little word and movement she displayed since meeting you.
>You didn't know you could be aware of hypnosis and still powerless to fight it, but you learn new things every day.

>"Can you please tell me, Safety?"
>You'll have to.
>This sensation grows no less pleasant over time, but, even after several minutes, it does not weaken.
>You don't think Vain has even blinked.
>You take a deep breath, hope you won't blush too much, and tell her.
"I'm in-"

>...

>Moondancer's been at it for two hours.
>You don't know how she does it.
>She sits upright on the floor, a small cushion keeping her posture healthy and (you suppose) her butt from getting cold.
>She opens her eyes only occasionally to survey the state of her work.
>Her horn glows.
>The debris that once was the looks more like the shop again, but it still has a long way to go.
>Scraps of paper scuttle across the floor heedlessly of the occasional draft and join to form pages.
>Pages crawl more slowly towards scratched hardcovers and up the sides of worn and toppled shelves.
>And so on.
>Inch by inch, Over the Moon appears to reconstruct itself, but all the work is Moondancer's.
>At first, you had thought all the work is for her is mindfulness.
>Like meditation.
>Which wouldn't be so bad.
>You've never meditated, but you've heard people who do it as a hobby can do it for an hour or two, when they have time.
>But that's a relaxing activity for them.
>Channeling this spell leaves Moondancer exhausted.

>You can't do much for her, but you do what you can.
>It's not as if you have other plans.
>She prefers that you not touch or talk to her while she's channeling, but in her brief lapses of attention, when she stops to stretch and catch her breath, she doesn't object to your rubbing her back and shoulders or scratching her ears.
>There's something therapeutic about that for you, too.
>You don't think about why.
>During one of her lapses, you suggested she take structured breaks.
>She scoffed.

>Eventually, thirty minutes since her last perceptible movement below the neck, there's a popping sound as her magic sputters.
>She sways on the spot.
"Moon?"
>"...huh?"
>You place a steadying hand on her.
"You okay?"
>"Uh."
"Answer me, Moon."
>"I..."
>She leans into your lap.
>She's shivering as if she's freezing.
>Her teeth chatter.
>Panicking, absent of any other idea, you feel her head.
>She's feverish.
>At least that's something you can address.
"I'm gonna bring you somewhere to lie down. Up we go. One, two..."
>Ponies aren't small enough for you to exactly cradle, but you can lift Moondancer easily enough from under her forelegs.
>She doesn't protest.

>"...thanks. You're right. I should.. lie down," she says as you set her down.
>You're relieved, but she sounds hoarse.
"I'll get you water."
>"Mm."

>"...magical overexertion. You treated it about right," Moondancer manages to say a few minutes later.
"You should take the rest of today off."
>"I-" she begins to object, but she stops herself.
>She sighs.
>"...no, that's right."
"Need the doctor or anything?"
>"Only if I had remained confused."
"Okay. I should-"
>(pack it up for the day)
"...eat. Or, uh, something."
>(day's kaput. Go home. Veg out. Get a full night of sleep.)
"You wanna come with?"
>(you can't screw anything up if you don't do anything.)
"Bit early for dinner, but we can just hang out for a while."

>Moondancer smiles.
>"I need a few minutes. But sure."
"Awesome."
>"Thanks for tidying up back here, by the way."
"Oh. Uh, yeah. No problem."
>You fear where this conversation might go.
>"But, uh... what's the deal?"
>She blushes and nods towards her dresser, where the upturned magazine lies over... you know.
>You had forgotten about it until now.
"I... well..."
>"Out with it. You have a problem with cowboys? Huh?"
>You laugh, and she joins you.

>...

>"Oh," says Vain.
>Her control had loosened as soon as you spoke.
>You wouldn't have thought the haughty pony capable of embarrassment until now.
>Her blush shows plainly across her face.
>"That's... interesting."
>She reflects on that, then shakes her head, forcing herself to her senses.
>"I'm sorry. I don't get the right to remark. You told me that in confidence."

>You're not sure 'in confidence' is how you'd describe telling her what you did.
>Even in her embarrassment -- an explosive firework-display of emotion relative to the subtle and nuanced motions she consciously used to entrance you -- Vain has the wherewithal to apologize for remarking on your secret, but not for prying it from you.
>Her expression and body language might suggest humility to other ponies, but, naturally, they're lost on you.
>What you do understand are her words:
>'I don't get the right to remark.'
>and the negative space they outline:
>'I have the right to force the truth from you.'
>Such is the conduct of a being who personally guards the Night Princess.

>'Impressed' isn't the right word to describe your feelings about Vain.
>They weigh nonetheless upon you in a manner you believe would satisfy her.
>"I promise never to tell anypony your secret. And there are no more questions."
>That, at least, is sincere.
>But these halls echo.
>You can only hope Careful and Glorious were nowhere in earshot as you spoke.
"Will that be it for security checks?"
>You hope you're hiding your exasperation.
>Vain smiles.
>"Yes."

>You reach Luna's private quarters the same time as Careful and Glorious.
>"Mine's clear," says Vain.
>"As is mine," replies Glorious.
>"I'll take them from here."
>"Very well."
>He trots off into the dark.

>Careful comes to you and Vain.
>"She usually sleeps this time of day, so we let her know you were coming," exclaims Vain.
>You wonder when exactly that was, though, with ears like hers, you wouldn't be surprised if she heard you when you were still coming down the hall with Penny Farthing.
>"In the morning she's grumpy, but when she's only sleepy-"
>She leans in and whispers conspiratorially.
>"-she's adorable. Just be polite."
>You're not sure if this advice makes you more or less comfortable.

>KNOCK KNOCK
>"Princess? Your guests are here."
>KNOCK KNOCK
>"Princess?"
>KNOCK KNOCK
>"Hey, Princess, your guests-"
>A voice behind the door responds.
>"We are... YAWN... aware, Vain. Only a minute."
>Vain turns to you.
>"Enjoy yourselves," she says, grinning a little unnervingly.
>She unfurls her huge wings, turns, places one before her like a curtain, trots behind it, and vanishes as she flaps it.
>You're buffeted with cool air from the action.
>You exchange a look with Careful, each of you seeking assurance you're not in over your heads.
>Pegasi that can teleport -- nopony will ever believe you if you tell them.
>That in itself could be another security meas-

>-you never heard the door open.
>The shadow standing in it greets you.
>"Careful Watch. Safety First. Welcome."

>You're not sure how to make sense of what you're seeing, but you and Careful both have another priority, one ingrained in you at Academy.
>You practically race each other to rub your noses on the floor-
>"-thank you, but, please, worry not. These are not Our working hours."
>Luna, the Night Princess, chuckles at her own joke.
>"Do come in."

>You accept her invitation.
>Her quarters are luxurious, though not what you would expect of royalty.
>They resemble single-bedroom apartments you've seen in the Mezzanine district.
>You can tell this even though they are lit now only by starlight.
>They must be simulated, you know, but they look absolutely authentic.
>You can only tell where the ceiling is by where the walls end.

>You also have time to examine the Night Princess up close.
>You're convinced she's corporeal, but you can only barely tell so.
>Every slight shadow cast by the dim starlight stretches to meet her, and the boundaries between them and her form are impossible to distinguish.
>It gives her an appearance nearly of not existing, of being projected onto this reality from somewhere else.
>This is what divinity looks like, you suppose.
>Or something close to it.

>"Do the stars light your way well enough, my little ponies? We prefer it to be dim so as not to affect Our internal rhythm."
"They're fine."
>"They're beautiful, Princess," says Careful.

>...

>"We're glad you think so, Careful. And we're glad you've relaxed. You were... We mean, were you apprehensive about coming?"
>Is she really being shy about omniscience?
"I was. Sorry."
>"You've nothing to be sorry for. We've... we... YAWN..."
"We're..."
>You're about to apologize for being here at such an hour, but that would make two apologies in a row.
"-it must be late for you."
>Luna grins, rubbing her eyes with a foreleg.
>"In a manner of speaking."
"You can relax if you want. Safe and I wouldn't mind."
>She raises an eyebrow.
>"Are you certain? I... We wish to give you the proper, royal experience, what, for all your trouble visiting, going through security..."
>You shrug.
"We're guards. We've worked nights."
>Her expression returns to a smile.
>Some tension seems to go out of her.
>"Very well. I understand. So."

>She gestures with a wing.
>"Welcome to my room. Safety, I have tea and books if you'd like them to pass the time. I'll be returning to sleep and having Careful join me. It may take a while."

>"So you know-?" begins Safe.
>"-why you're here, yes. The rumors are true. I can see dreams. Even participate."
>Safe casts her gaze to the floor and shuffles a hoof back and forth.
>"You see... all of them?"
>"I only look when ponies very clearly want me to see. Sometimes they call for help, consciously or not, which can lead me to them."
>She looks away guiltily.

>"I'd like to participate more, but the magic... well, I can't yet separate dreams in which I'm welcome from dreams that are... private."
>Safe can't hide the relief that comes to her.
>"It's rather like strolling down a hallway along which everypony's bedroom door is open," Luna explains, sheepishly. "Once I refine the magic, I should only see those that the dreamer's subconscious welcomes me to. But until then... well, you understand why I haven't yet allowed my talent to become public knowledge."

>Your mouth starts moving before you can stop it.
>"And what about sex dreams they don't mind you visiting?"
>Good job, Careful.
>She's gonna smite you now.
>"W-well," says the Princess, instead. 
>She smiles coyly.
>"Then there's no ethical quandary, is there?"
"That's-"
>You stop yourself from saying 'saucy.'
>You don't want to be smitten for real.
"-that... makes sense."
>It might be time to shift topics.

"How exactly does this work, Princess?"
>"You'll fall asleep, then I'll join you."
>She closes her eyes, thinking about something for a moment.
>"...now would be a good time. I've made my bed with clean linens. You may use it."
"Now? It's dark here, but it's the middle of the day. I'm not tired."
>"You will be soon enough. Lie down."
>You do so.

>Luna trots over to chat quietly with Safe.
>Ignoring them, you work your way under the sheets.
>They're better than you expected.
>Good, old cotton.
>Not silk or any of that rich-pony stuff that costs a lot but doesn't comfort one at all.
>The bed's nice and roomy and the pillows are soft.
>You feel relaxed, for sure, but you're nowhere near sleep.
>You could lie here for an hour and only get bored.

>The Princess comes to the bedside.
>"Are you comfortable?"
"Very cozy, Princess. But I still don't think-"
>"We'll see how you feel momentarily. Are you ready?"
"I... guess so."
>Her horn flickers.
>"Sleep."

>She nearly whispers the word, but it echoes in your mind like distant thunder across an overcast valley.
>You have the sensation not of becoming tired, but of all physical and mental desire to be awake leaving you.
>You're aware, you're sure, of some... thing... about the nature of what she's... doing.
>But each rivulet of thought you gather to ponder this is redirected to the rushing river which is SLEEP.
>Your consciousness leaks away.

>...

>You're not much of a tea pony, so you didn't take Luna up on that offer.
>The Princess is hospitable, though.
>She said you could help yourself to anything in the fridge before she nodded off.
>Anything but some slice of cake in back.

>You weren't that hungry when they went to sleep, or, rather, when Luna cast a power word on Careful and then fell asleep naturally on her own.
>Half an hour later, they still lie there, peacefully and separately.
>You hadn't expected this to be brief, but it's looking like you underestimated how long it would take nonetheless.
>This may be a stay of several hours.
>May as well eat something to keep your energy up.
>You go to the fridge.

>Everything is FAR over the top for you.
>Exquisite cakes and cheese wheels in the rind, exotic curries, some dishes you don't even recognize.
>Maybe easy to prepare and serve in bite-size portions with magic, but you were hoping for just a snack, and you don't even like many of the things that look more easily edible.
>You check the freezer.
>Enough ice cream to fill an apocalypse bunker -- that won't do -- and a solitary banana.
>That seems acceptable.
>You like banana.
>The freezing, you figure, will give it a nice, confectionery edge without affecting the flavor.

>You manage to get its peel off in a few flaky chunks.
>Then you try to eat it.
>It's... not what you imagined.
>The freezer was COLD.
>The fruit is as hard as a block of ice, and about as flavorful just to lick.
>It's not thawing quickly as one big piece, either.
>Not in your mouth, and certainly not in the air.
>If you could break it up, that might work, but you have no idea where the cutlery is.
>If Luna has any at all.
>Maybe she slices things like these with magic.

>Well, this is a pickle.
>You have to be responsible for this banana you don't want now.
>You peeled it.
>It can't be un-peeled.
>You can't just put a whole banana in the garbage.
>It would be wasting royal food.
>Or royal-owned food.
>You're not sure whether the distinction is meaningful.
>But, bottom line, you need to figure out this banana.
>Just get it into chunks.
>That's all you need.

>You turn it sideways, grip the end between your teeth, and try to snap off some.
>Just a little chunk.
>Enough to fit in your mouth like a hard candy.
>Alone, it'll probably thaw and get nice and soft.
>You slowly, carefully tilt your head, applying pressure.
>Slowly...

>SNAP.

>You have ended up with a much larger chunk of banana in your mouth than you wanted.
>You can't spit it out, but you dare not try to chew it until it thaws a bit.
>It nearly fills your mouth, but nonetheless you have to juggle it around with your tongue so the cold doesn't hurt your teeth and gums.
>They didn't train you for this at academy.
>Nothing to do now but kick back and try your best to enjoy the banana.
>One thing keeps you powering through it.
>Luna gave you another offer besides her fridge.
>If you wanted to, she said, you could join her and Careful in their sleep.
>You hadn't wanted to.
>It seemed like a violation of privacy.
>But it's beginning to seem much more appealing than waiting.

>...

>Another door appears.
>"Safe decided to join us after all," remarks Luna.

>Out here, unlike in Luna's room, it's bright.
>The moon shines so close and intensely that you can make out every detail of your immediate surroundings.
>The Princess is even discernible.
>You're amused to see that her body type isn't far from Safe's: slender, but not unshapely.
>She could model.
>Still, there are shadows between the cobbled stones of the path and underneath the blades of grass beside it, the edges of a field stretching from it to beyond the moon's reach, and each of them near Luna seems to reach and grasp at her image.
>It's like she's magnetic to them.

>"Shall I check on her?" she asks. "See if she wants to come along?"
"Sure."
>"Very well. I'll return posthaste."
>She goes through the door.
>She re-emerges ten seconds later, keeping her promise.
>"S-she'd rather only nap," she explains, hiding her expression partially with her mane.
>You get a vague feeling she's not telling the whole story, but no more.
>Guard senses don't work here.
>This is her dream.
>She decides what you see and what you can't.
"If you say so."

>You look up and down the path.
>One way, a hundred paces down, you see another door, then one more beyond it.
>The other, you think you see the outline of one other.
"So, where are we going?"
>"Not many ponies sleep this time of day, but some keep unusual schedules. One such pony may be of interest to you, Careful."
"Who?"
>"You'll see," she says, flipping her mane out of her face and smiling back at you coyly as she starts down the path.

>Doors begin to come into view.
>They fade in, float by, and disappear as you proceed down the path.
>Some are closed, others are open.
>"I'm keeping most of them closed tonight except for the reoccurrings," explains Luna. "So that I don't accidentally expose you to anything... unsavory."
"Reoccurrings?"
>"Ones I've visited before."
>She motions to the next open door.
>You look through it.

>You recognize the view through it as the interior of a local schoolhouse.
>A test is being administered.
>Fillies and colts bow studiously over their desks, some clutching quills between their teeth, some clumsily magicking them along each page.
>A middle-aged stallion with thick glasses and a little gray in his thick beard sits at a desk near the center of the group.
>His quill is flat on the table.
>He stares down at his empty test, shaking with fear, his face a caricature of dismay.
>"T-teacher?" he nervously asks an unseen figure at the front. "I didn't study. I didn't even know there was a test! Please, I need... I need extra credit, or... PLEASE, I can't flunk out. I checked my schedule a hundred times, I don't know how I forgot this course until the end of the year! Oh... I'm a failure. Please. PLEASE!"
>"Professor?" chimes in Luna, peeking through the door.
>"I... wha?"
>"It's only the dream again, Professor," she says, beaming adorably.
>"...oh. OH! Thank heavens."
>He chuckles heartily.
>"I don't think I'll ever stop having this one, Princess."
>"Good thing I keep stopping by."

>Over an hour or so, you pass by a dozen other dreams of afternoon nappers.
>Several are nightmares.
>Each of these proceeds like the Professor's.
>The rest are ordinary, or at least ordinary as dreams go.
>Most, you take a quick look and pass by.
>In a few, Luna is recognized and greeted.
>The last of these surprises her.
>In it is a stallion a bit younger than you.
>Anon's age, maybe, as closely as you've been able to convert it to pony years.
>Pretty handsome, you guess, though not necessarily your type.
>His mane and piercings are done in a slightly dated grunge style.
>He's sitting in an open, green field, petting a fluffy bunny.
>He looks up as you and Luna pass by the door.
>"...somepony there?"
>Luna pokes her head in.
>"Hi," she says.
>He's not at all surprised by her appearance.
>And he definitely looks pleased to see her.
>"Hi."
>"Is this a nap?"
>"Must be. I was resting on one of the hay bales a second ago. Just a breather."
>"I'm working, too."
>"Won't hold you up, then."
>He winks.
>"Bye."
>"Bye!"
>She can't hide a little jauntiness in her step for a while after that one.

>Then you come to the end of the path and the door at it.
>In retrospect, you will be better off for having looked through it, but you will not be glad you did.

>"We're here," explains Luna.
>The moon darkens.
>It's proper night out now.
>In the open air, her silhouette extends not merely to her immediate surroundings, but to the sky, space, and all it contains.
>Reading the descriptions in legend of the pony who was once Nightmare Moon is indescribably different from seeing her in person.
>You wonder if here, in a dream, you are seeing her as close as possible to her "true" form.
>You dismiss a momentary but horrifying thought that there could be more to her you can't see due to your own mortal, limited capabilities.
>If she is not, in fact, a deity, she is the closest thing you'll ever meet to one.

>"Before we start, understand that this is somepony's private memory. She shared it with me in confidence that I would use it as she asked. If you ever so much as intend to share it, you will forget it, and you will never remember it again, even if I were to bring you back and force you to watch it."
>She doesn't need to ask whether you understand the gravity of this.
"I'm not sure I'm ready."
>"We have time."
"How much?"
>"As long as you need, but not forever."
>She nods toward the door.
>"...or you could simply open it."
>That ends the discussion.
>You muster your courage and push the door open.

>On the other side is Guard-Commander Honor Bound.
>"She naps mid-day."
>You suspected as much.
>The Guard-Commander works hard, even for an occupation in which nopony bats an eye at regular all-nighters.
>If she only ever slept at night, she doubtlessly would not get enough.
>In the middle of the day, when nearly everypony at HQ is on patrol, you've occasionally walked by her office to find her door closed and windows shuttered.

>"I didn't mean-" says Honor.
>A different Honor than the one you know.
>Her voice is higher.
>Younger.
>She's... Celestia, she's hardly grown.
>Maybe just old enough to apply for the Academy.
>But you know better.
>At this time in her life, she was still higher up the chain of command than you are now.
>She's sitting, examining something on the ground.
>Something you can't see.
>She's painted upon an empty canvas.

>"I didn't mean-"
>She stops to gasp for air as if she's choking.
>She's crying, nearly wailing.
>She buries her head in her hooves.
>Her helmet lies discarded beside her.
>Whatever she didn't mean, you still don't know.
>Words are beyond her now.

>A pegasus stallion enters at her side.
>"Hasen," he says gently.
>If she hears him, she doesn't acknowledge him.
>"Hasen. Bunny..." he begs. "It's not your fault."
>Of course, his reassurance has the opposite effect he intended.
>Honor ceases crying only to begin screaming, a sound of elemental frustration and despair.

>Her cry goes on... and on.
>It continues longer than mortally possible.
>You can't look away.
>You will yourself desperately to wake up. 
>It doesn't work.

>Blood begins to pool before Honor.
>An impossible amount of blood for a pony.
>As it reaches her hooves, it... oh, Celestia.
>It climbs.

>Your vision vignettes.
"Princess-"
>"You're not watching."
"I've watched enough."
>"You haven't BEEN watching."
"I don't want to."
>"You can't be hurt here, Careful."
"Damage is done. Let me leave."
>"The damage was there before you opened the door."
"P-please..."

>You turned only to find your way blocked.
>Not by anything material.
>Just by a compulsion.
"I-"
>"A dream is not a stage-show. It exists in the mind. The audience shapes it as much as the actors."
"I've seen all I needed to. Whatever shape it is."
>"You're projecting, Careful. You're not seeing what Honor Bound saw. You need to watch *her.* Look again."
"IT WON'T CHANGE-"

>You look back.
>Honor Bound cries quietly over the body of a fallen guard.
>A comrade.
>The stallion comes and wraps a wing around her.
>The scene fades.
>There is sadness here, but no fear.
>No horror.
>Did those things... did they-

>"They came from you, Careful."

>She doesn't have to explain it.
>The scene attracted the... thing... ailing you.
>It painted its own strokes of red over it.

>"Look now."

>Honor Bound startles awake, breathing heavily.
"How can we see her?"
>"Have you ever had a dream remain with you after you wake, Careful?"
>You hardly hear the question.
>Mixed reality and unreality have left you dazed.

>Honor looks about, temporarily confused.
>She's in back of her office, lying on a fold-up cot.
>Gathering this, she breathes more steadily, but still heavily.
>She gets up and trots over to her desk, where a tall glass of water sits.
>She drinks half of it in slow, steady gulps.
>You can't help but to admire her as she does so, even in the state she's in.
>You've never seen her outside a suit of armor.
>You'd kill for a body like hers.
>You've got a physical edge on her, for sure, but that comes packaged with the earth pony tendency to be... chunky, you can't help but to think of it.
>You know plenty of stallions and mares alike admire your musculature, but they're not the ones who need to have every dress they buy re-tailored to fit their shoulders... never mind their hips.
>Oh my, how many times you have had metered tape wrapped around your bum.
>You had to switch from your original tailor to one who was a mare not long after you got your cutie mark.
>Since then, you have remained with seamstresses rather than seamsters.
>Mares like Honor or Safe, though...
>Well, Safe's flank probably gets its fair share of looks, to be fair.
>Just not from ponies who would build a church on it if they could.
>No, if they started a religion, it would be around those... those looks she gives.
>Those lovely eyes that tend to stare a little vacantly until you get her attention, when they shine like the sun behind a short summer rain shower.
>It surprises you there's no stallion in her life, even given her unusual personality.
>Even you have had the occasional, intrusive thought about leaning into that gaze, returning it, just to see how she would react...

>...you've been day-dreaming.
>Or night-dreaming.
>Or... dream-dreaming?
>Luna cocks an eyebrow at you.
>You look back to Honor.

>She lies back down on her cot.
>Resting on her side, she focuses on some distant point in the room.
>Her breathing returns to normal after another minute.
>"I miss you," she mouths, though in dream-space it comes across as clearly as if she had spoken.
>She promptly returns to sleep, her image and door fading away as she does so.

"She lost her partner?"
>"Suddenly, violently, and tragically. Honor did her best that day, and it was the best anypony could have done. But the situation was dangerous, and it was not enough."
>She locks eyes with you, as if to deliver her next words seriously, but then she casts her gaze down.
>She speaks quietly.
>Sadly.
>"My sister gave her a medal for her efforts. Whatever consolation it gave her was like driftwood in the ocean."

"T-that-"
>You swallow.
>It reduces the sudden impulse to laugh, or cry, or puke.
>You force yourself to complete the thought.
"That could have been me."
>"And it wasn't. Your friend fully recovered."
"Fully?!"
>"Careful Watch-"
"His arm is in a sling even after magical treatment and his femoral artery was cut. I saw them sewing gowns together for him when I woke up at the hospital. His clothes were being thrown out. They were..."
>Your anger fizzles into a sobbing hiccup.
>You catch your breath.
"They were too bloody to keep."

>Luna pauses, making sure you're finished.
>She starts, somewhat hesitatingly:
>"Understand I can only show you a dream. I do not know how Honor lives with her own trauma. But she does. She is healthy, and, as far as I know, happy."
"I don't know how to do that."
>She rubs the back of her neck.
>She wants to say something, but she's not.
>"I'm... not a therapist pony. My talents are strictly moon and night-related."
>You sigh.
"Hit me."
>"Honor makes sure to take care of herself when she has these feelings."
>You can't hide an instinctive frown.
>She hesitates.
>You try to dispel it.
"...yes?"
>"You haven't said much of your own stay in the hospital."
"What's there to say?"
>"Aren't you concerned?"
"Of course I am. My boyf-"
>You stop yourself, uncertain of how much you want to tell her about your personal relationships.
>Never mind what she already knows.
"My... my *best* friend nearly died. And I had to lie there for hours with nothing but the fact in my mind that I could have prevented it."
>"I mean your concern for yourself."
>You know very well what she means, but you can't bring yourself to address it.
"I was fine. Just some bumps and bruises."
>"...you were unconscious for a long time, Careful."

>You turn your back to the Princess and walk to the other side of the path.
>A window materializes.
>Outside, it rains.
>Lighting flashes in the great distance.
>Any thunder it produces is inaudible.

>"Who knows how bad it was, Careful? Did you tell anypony?"
"Safe knows. Kind of."
>"Does Anon?"
"I'm not sure."
>You really had never told him, now that you think about it.
>You two had talked, but it had been about him.
>How his safety was paramount.
>How he couldn't compromise it by being around you.
>And what was your solution?
>Convince him he's better off giving you space?
>You only met him because he was unsafe and alone in the first place.
>This... it's too much to think about.
>There's no way to win.

"So, I need to focus on myself? Is that really all I can do now?"
>"It's not all. But it is all I can tell you as another pony."
"I thought..."
>'you were going to help me,' you want to finish, but you can't bring the rebuttal to your lips.
>You don't wish to speak such a way to the Princess, who's gone to such lengths to look after you, to at least try to help.
>But, even more, you just don't want to reveal your own naivety.
>You knew, really, that you weren't going to walk out of here completely cured and happy.
>But you had wished you could.

>"I know no magic word to make you appreciate yourself more, Careful. But I believe in you. I know you can."
"...thank you."
>She's at least shown you there's a way.
>This won't be solved overnight, but there's a way.
"I'm ready to wake up."
>"Let's fetch Safety before we do. Only polite."

>The walk back to Safety's door is shorter than you thought it would be.
>"The afternoon naps are over," remarks Luna.
"...How long have we been here?"
>She only smiles coyly.
>"One moment," she says as you reach the door.
>She peeks in, backs out, and sighs with relief.
>"New dream. We can visit this one."
>You can't hold your tongue.
"And what was the last one?"
>Another coy smile.
>"In THIS one, she's in a mansion. It's very nice. Let's go in."
>She knocks twice.
>"Enter," calls Safe from inside.
>Something about her voice is... funny.

>You walk into the nicest home you've ever set hoof in.
>It's dark, polished wood from floor to ceiling, delicately lit by a crystal chandelier, half a dozen tall, candelabra lamps, and a single-log fire in the hearth.
>Across the room is something you recognize from Safe's actual home: her cage full of little finches.
>They chirp excitedly for your company.
>"Ah! Welcome," exclaims Safe.
>...something's definitely funny.
>Safe lounges in an ornate armchair, next to her birds, facing the fire.
>She's dressed up like a beautiful lady of the late ninth-century Celestian era.
>Her accent and demeanor match the outfit.
>She's barely recognizable as the Safety First you know in the waking world.
>"The new help, I presume. Do come over here! Don't be shy!"
>She gives you a playful look.
>"I don't... bite."

>It's around this point that you notice what Luna's wearing.
>She wasn't wearing anything before, but now she's dressed like a maid.
>It's... quite an outfit.
>Maybe not completely accurate to the time period.
>Not to put too fine a point on it, but if the Princesses' aura didn't shroud her so well in this partial light, you'd be blushing up to your fucking ears.
>She looks as surprised as you for a moment, but she shrugs.
>"Occupational hazard."
>She calls to Safe.
>"Shall I dust the bird cage, madame?"
>"Why, yes! Lovely. Be sure to clean up around the base, especially..."
>The grin Luna gives you as she trots over to her worries you.
>Then you realize what you're wearing.
>From the front, at least, you think it could pass for a conservative and accurate outfit for a head maid of the period.
>From behind... well, you don't have a mirror to look, but you're pretty sure there's a splendid view of your ass framed by the fluffy, white-and-black hem of your skirt.
>You're not sure if the tight, lacy underwear and stockings you're certain you've got on back there make it better or worse.

>Well, if Luna's playing along...

"I..."
>A tray materializes on your back.
>You glance at it.
"-oh. I have your tea, ma'am?"
>"My earl gray? Of course! Bring it before it over-steeps."

>You have to edge up right alongside a little table beside her chair to slide the tray onto it.
>You're certain she has a line of sight up your skirt, but when you look at her she's looking away shyly.
>Even in her own dream, for heavens' sake.
>You can't help but to grin as you pour her a nice-sized cup.
>This could be fun.

"...do you take sugar, Ma'am?"
>"Black is fine, miss."
>She takes a sip.
"That smells lovely."
>"I... I do like it."
"Would you like a biscuit with it?"
>"I... um..."
"Of course you would."

>You take a cookie lightly between your teeth, turn to Safe, and lean in, doing your best to coax her into taking it while your mouth is occupied.
"Eh? Eh??"
>The red's clear in her face now.
>For a moment, just a moment, she looks like she'll lean in.
>Then her eyes pop open.

>"C-Careful?!"
>You smile.
>"I... I."
>She looks over at Luna.
>"Oh... you're dressed like sluts."
>She looks around the room with dull realization.
>"It's my dream, isn't it?"
"We just finished up outside. You ready?"

>...

>After getting to Moondancer's, you passed the time by playing a few games of chess.
>You won.
>Moondancer knows her openings, probably from reading a bunch of books about the game aimed towards beginners, but that knowledge does her no good in the mid-to-late game.
>Each time, you manage to get numerous, small advantages on her, playing reactively rather than according to some stiff strategy, and when they added up they often won you games.
>Not all of them, but most.

>"You haven't read ANYTHING? Really?"
"I know the point values of the pieces. Apart from that all I've got is practice from grade-school chess club."
>"It's no fair. Humans probably play it more than ponies. Because you have hands."
"Make all the excuses you want, cowgirl."

>That remark gets you a mighty scrunch.
>It's worth it.

>At some point in the late afternoon, she produced a bottle of red wine from the pantry.
>Equestrian grapes aren't Earth grapes, but you'd place it close to a pinot noir or something.
>Moonie indulges a bit heavily for her size.
>She begins to lean in conspiratorially whenever she has something to say to you.
>Her breath is hay and horse and boozy grape.
>You kind of like it.

>As the more sober of you a half hour later, the duty falls upon you to get take-out.
>You don your winter gear and make the journey to the Indian place in Central, down the street from the boutique.
>Your favorite dish there isn't exactly chicken tikka masala, because instead of meat it has huge hunks of potato and cheese.
>But it's pretty damn close to a good chicken tikka masala.
>You get two helpings of it and a pile of samosas.
>Moondancer's eyes watered when you came back through her front door with the stack of boxes reaching your head, balanced on your good arm and your slung arm, smelling of spice.
>You both ate until you hated yourselves... and then you finished the food anyway.
>Curry is good shit.
>"This isn't going to help my figure."
>You're sauced enough to take the bait.
"Your figure's nice."
>It's not a lie.
>If you could, shit, you'd grab every plush inch of her, snuggle her like a stuffed toy.
>But something's kept you from acting on that impulse.
>Something... shit, something you don't want to think about so much.

>Soon enough, you're on front of a fire.
>The source of shelter away from the cold outside.
>Moondancer's place isn't Careful's, but there's no widespread central heating in Equestria.
>The fireplace is the comfy place in every home.
>Even when the flames are arcane, when the light they cast is lavender and navy and twilight.
>The wine's kept flowing, and the careful space you and Moon kept from each other earlier has diminished.

>Eventually you're tipsy enough that getting your hands on some pone fluff feels like the only way to keep your grip.
>That and switching to water.
>Moon's about in the same state.
>At some point in the evening after you washed and stored the dishes, her hair tie was dislodged, and her glasses were placed on the far arm of the couch.
>She rests over your lap.
>You can't help but to rub her head.
>Her mane's so nice and silky she feels like a warm, tailored cushion.
>Between that, the wine, and the depleted sunlight through the windows, you can't stave off drowsiness.
"'m about ready for bed."
>"You should stay over. It's cold out."
"...yeah."
>"I can..."
>Her voice tapers off.
>You scratch her ear.
"Yeah?"
>"I can show you some magic I've worked on. If you're interested."
"Is it good?"
>"I... think you'll like it."
>She's getting hot around the ears, you can feel.
>"I wanted it to be a surprise, but it might be too alarming if I don't tell you first..."
"Out with it, then."
>"I-"
>She explains the spell to you.
>It's a short summary.
>Under a sentence.
>It sounds fun.
"Sure. I'd like to see that."
>"Okay. Give me some space."

>You let her scooch back to the other corner of the couch.
>"Ready?"
"Much as I will be."
>"Okay. Here goes."

>Her horn glows.
>There's a 'pop.' Nothing dramatic.

>You can't speak.
>The magic worked phenomenally.
>Moondancer grabs the hem of her sweater and tugs it down to a more modest location on her thighs.
>With her other hand, she brushes her long bangs out of her face.
>She takes her glasses, fumbling around with them a bit before matching the rim to her ears and perching them on the bridge of her nose.
>She smiles, equal parts excited and embarrassed.
>"Did I get it right?" she asks.

"I..."
>No one's hair naturally grows in three colors, but that seems trivial now.
"How?"
>"The hair you lent."

>You just nod.
>You hadn't thought twice about it when Mondancer simply told you what she was going to do.
>Seeing it is something else entirely.
>You should have expected your reaction - how utterly visceral it is - but it's too late for should-haves.
>How long has it been since you've seen a human being outside of your reflection?
>How little did you believe you'd ever see someone again?
>Memories and longings you've tried not to dwell on flood your mind.
>You try to say something.
>It catches in your throat.
>You choke on it trying to suppress a hysteric sob.

>"Anon?"
>Her eyes widen with concern.
>Not the kind you've learned to read from pony faces, but the kind you understand intuitively, that you couldn't shake if you tried.
>"It's..."
>She reaches a hand to you, but draws it back and places it in her lap, understanding you need space.
>And thank fuck for that.
>If she had said "it's okay," if she had touched you, you would have shattered into pieces.

>"I'm sorry. I should have considered how this would make you feel."
>You've gulped enough air to regain a semblance of composure.
"It's okay. It's... thoughtful of you. Thank you. Really."
>"May I...?"
>She moves half an inch closer to you.
"Yeah."
>She gets up and sits back down beside you.

>She sits upright and awkwardly.
>She's not sure what to do.
>You take her hand.
>She starts a little but calms quickly, lifting her hand to examine your interlinked fingers.
>She moves them up and down one at a time, then, satisfied, lets the pair rest between you.
>You lean your head slightly away from her, pull on her hand, and wait to see if she gets the body language.
>She looks at you, confused.
"You can put your head on my shoulder."
>"Oh!"
>She does so, leaning against you, letting you support a little of her weight.
>You rest your head back against hers.
"...Moon?"
>"Yeah?"
"You have pants?"
>"No."
"Are you cold without your fur?"
>"...Yes."
"Want me to grab a blanket?"
>"Yes."
>You fetch a wooly green one folded up on a chair across the room.

>In time, Moondancer gets more comfortable.
>Her legs curl up under the blanket.
>She leans into you like you're a pillow, caressing your arm with her free hand.
>This has already gone too far, but you can't bring yourself to stop it.
>...can you?
>"...I l-"
"-Moon, you know I... I..."
>"...I just want you to know I'm here for you. W-whatever you need."
>She looks away.
>"I guess I'm fucking up the moment. There isn't an encyclopedia entry on what to do when a stallion you like is with another mare, and their relationship has gotten... complicated... and everyone was injured in a break-in, and nopony's even acting like themselves, and you just want to make him feel better, and..."
"There is no encyclopedia for that one. You're in the clear."

>She shyly meets your gaze again.
"You should use 'no one,' also. Since you're a person now."
>She chuckles derisively.
>"That's so pedantic. Any other operating instructions?"
"Cuddling's a little more romantic between people."
>She turns crimson.
>"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."
"I'm not. We can-"
>'decide what the rules are,' you almost say.
>If... something... happens, you don't want that on your record.
>Yes, if you just don't say that, there won't be guilt if... if something goes awry.
"...it's up to you whether it applies."
>Good enough.
>"I'll keep my conclusions to myself."
>Her hold on you doesn't weaken any.

"I'm pretty tired. I think we should-"
>You want to fall asleep in her arms, but you can't say it.
"-I should, I mean, go to bed."
>"I'll come with."

>...

>"It's... night?" asks Careful, still groggy from the sleep spell.
>Thankfully, you had the good fortune to fall asleep naturally and wake up at the perfect time in your sleep cycle.
>Your career of strategic napping between watches to keep your alertness up has thrust you beyond the reach of such trivial inconveniences as sleep inertia.
>On weekdays, anyway.

"We must have been asleep for a while."
>"It felt like a few minutes! We got here near noon!"
"It IS winter..."
>"Feh, winter. It feels like it's been snowing for a year already."
>She snorts.
>Her breath, cloudy and icy in the cold, floats away and disperses in the clear air.
>No clouds are out tonight. A sliver of moon illuminates the palace courtyard and reflects from Careful's eyes.
>With the palace in the background and her furry parka on, she's astonishingly picturesque.
>Reflecting on today, you think it might be the longest time you've ever spent with her socially.
>Or... close to socially.
>You're not sure where the distinguishing line lies, and the thought of asking makes heat rise in your cheeks.
>Thankfully, it's not dark enough for it to show, and it warms you slightly against the absolutely frigid weather.

"I'm tired."
>"So am I. Must be something about that spell."
"I'd rather glad of that. It avoided upsetting my circadian rhythm."
>Careful gives you a funny look, one eyebrow raised, her mouth a little "o."
>"Your..."
>She looks off for a moment before meeting your gaze again and nodding.
>"Yeah, I wouldn't want to be up all night either."
>She smiles.
>"But a little later wouldn't hurt. You're Old Town, right?"
"Yes."
>"That's really far in this weather. I suspect the evening's later than we think, too. Would you like to come over? Have a little nightcap?"
"A...?"
>Careful makes a gesture with her hoof, tilting her head back like she's doing a shot.
>Your impulse to make some polite refusal dies before it reaches your tongue.

>You don't focus too much on your surroundings on the way back to Careful's.
>For you tonight, it's just you, her, and the snow.
>You listen to your breathing and the crunch of the snow beneath each of your hoofsteps.
>In a tiny little part of your mind, just... just for fun, you entertain the idea that this is like coming home from a date.
>Just for fun.
>Yeah.
>It's cold, it's dark, and you're walking her home.
>Or maybe she's walking you home.
>Even though it's her place.
>Of course, when you get there, the fantasy will be over and the friendly sleepover will begin.
>Until then, you just focus on the moment.
>On the snow.

>"You look awfully contemplative."

>You shrug, trying not to let your thoughts emerge through your expression.
"Lot to contemplate."
>"Like?"
"Civilian time is annoying. Now that I've had time to check on you, I want to work."
>"You're too sweet."
>You offer up a shy grin for that, but now you're sincerely thinking about the topic.
"I'm not trying to be cute. I mean, I'm... glad you're well. But any further time off will make me worse. Not better."
>You pause.
>Careful nods and waits.
>She's taking you seriously, you think.
>You deliberate whether to be honest with her now or just drop the topic.
>With anypony else, you'd choose the latter... but it's Careful.
>You're outside, but you're alone with her.
>No noise but you two and the snow.
>Whatever you tell her, nopony else will hear it.
"I can't be comfortable being myself as a civilian. Because I'm not normal."
>She listens intently.
"As a guard and as a detective, I can be myself. I can have purpose, both for immediate duties and long-term goals. I can live with structure. And have fun. And make friends."
>"...what do you regularly do in your off time?"
"Fly. Read. Go to places I like."
>She has the courtesy not to ask you if you do that with anypony else, but you answer anyway.
"I enjoy myself. I just enjoy being a guard more."
>When was the last time you spoke so much with anypony about anything but law?
>The thought makes you happy.
"I didn't even have friends before my first day at Academy."
>You notice you can hear Careful's breathing among the sounds of your hoofsteps in the snow as you canter along.
>You're not sure it was so audible before now.
>Maybe she's feeling something you can't quite make out.
>Either way, her expression remains the same as it wants before.
>As far as you can tell, anyway.
>She listens.
"We were paired up that day. So you were my first friend."

>It's nice thinking of those times.
>You silently reminisce as the two of you continue your walk down the street, toward Careful's neighborhood entrance.
"Which turn is your-?"
>You turn as you ask, and you find Careful on the brink of crying.
>She's walking with and holding her composure, but there are clearly tears forming in her eyes.
>Damn it, Safe.
"I'm sorry. I upset you."
>You shouldn't have talked so much.
>This happens sometimes.
>You run your mouth and inadvertently cause hurt, confusion, or offense in the process.
>Most of the time, you're left helpless to understand why it happened.

>But Careful shakes her head.
>"No! No. It's not that."
>The two of you walk a few more steps, but she stops.
>Before you can react, she comes to you and nuzzles you.
>Warmth and comfort rush from your head to your tail as you're taken entirely by surprise.
>"It's an honor to be your friend, Safe."
"Thanks."
>You stammer it out, still taken off-guard.
>Then what she said sinks in.
>You're not sure how to respond.
>Nopony's ever told you that before.
>So you reply with what comes naturally.
"I'm lucky to be your friend, too."

>Careful smiles at you and wipes her eyes.
>"I'm the second turn on the right, up that way. Let's get going. I wanna warm my hooves."

>Neither of you waste time shrugging your winter clothes off onto the floor.
>As Careful flicks a flint-and-tinder to start the kindling in the fireplace, she points you toward a cabinet in the corner.
>Her liquor collection isn't extensive, but what's there is good.
>She instructs you to get the brandy.
>This is... much nicer than the stuff you get in your Old Town sidecars.
>You say as much.
>"Just be sure not to spill any," says Careful, flashing you a smile.
>You pour a glass for each of you.
>Not too generous, but enough to loosen you up after an unusual day, you hope.
>Maybe even enough to let you hold a conversation.
"This good?"
>"One sec."
>Careful blows gently on a few embers in the hearth until they begin to spread.
>She looks over.
>"Perfect. Bring them over. I'll get a blanket."
"Do you have any extras?"
>"It's big. We can share."
>You already feel warmer.

>You sit by the fire and chat, first long enough to warm up, then long enough to finish your drinks.
>The brandy makes the interaction smoother and easier for you.
>Not that it has to be smooth or easy to talk to Careful... but tonight you both seem to be stuck on smalltalk.
>You talk about the palace, about the Princess, about the spell, and about some of the dreams you saw, but not really about why you underwent the whole ordeal.
>Not at all, actually.
>You know it's the type of thing you might ought to bring up as a friend.
>But, well... it's not the type of thing you really do well.
>And if she doesn't want to talk about it, she doesn't want to talk about it.
>Maybe in the morning, after you've both had a good night of rest.
>Yeah.
>If you get a full night of sleep, get some toast and orange juice in you... maybe you can gather your wits and make sure the whole of today wasn't spent for just a slumber-spectacle.
>When Careful asks if you're ready to go to bed, you quickly say so.

>As Careful readies herself for bed, brushing her mane and changing in some clean sheets, you relax in your own way, stretching your legs and wings, limbering up.
>You can't get over how long and full is.
>Yours isn't short, but if you grew it that long you're certain you'd trip.
>A lot.
"Did you..."
>You stop yourself.
>You literally just told yourself to bring this up tomorrow, not tonight.
>Why did you...?
>"Huh?"
"I mean... was..."
>You know what it is.
>You need to know she'll be okay.
>That you could help.
>That's all.
>It's the only way you'll sleep soundly tonight.
"...did today help? Are you going to be better?"

>Careful pauses, then casts her gaze aside.
>She finally looks back to you, half her face behind the shelter of her mane.
>"It... helped. I think."
>You're not sure about her tone, but, either way, she only answered half your question.
>You don't have the courage to pursue this further.
>...but Careful, gods, Careful, she sees the worry in your face.
>"Sorry, Safe. I owe you more than that. Let's just..."
>She blows out the candle on her vanity, leaving her room illuminated only by the one on her nightstand and the glow of the wood stove.
>She climbs into bed, nosing under her blanket from the side and popping out cozily at the top.
>You follow suit.

>"It's... I have mixed feelings, yanno?"
"Not really."
>She smiles.
>"The dream she showed me... well..."
"If it's private, you don't have to tell me."
>"I'd tell you, but it's not just my privacy that matters."
>She pauses, contemplating.
>"I'm... not the first pony ever to live with... to have... trauma. The kind that stays with somepony."
>She shuffles around nervously, working her head deep into her pillow.
>This is hard for her. You can understand that much.
>"Ponies can live with it. That's what she showed me. It's not impossible... but just because it's possible doesn't mean I can."
"Of all ponies, I would think you could do it."
>"The Careful Watch I see doing that is... she's the best possible Careful I could be. I don't think I am that Careful. I'm... just the Careful that makes do."

>You initiate the cuddle this time.
>It's... not the type of thing you ordinarily do, but you wanted to try.
>Careful snuggles into you.

"Dumb."
>"...eh?"
"That's dumb."
>You surprised even yourself with the sudden remark, but you need to follow through on it.
"Nopony either of us knows has a single doubt about who the best possible Careful Watch is."
>"...Careful Watch does."
>She sighs.
>"Did Luna's guard interrogate you, too? Make you need to say what you were hiding? Even... want to?"
"Yes."
>"That's what I had to... wanted to... say. That I'm not the pony I need to be. That I doubted whether even the Princess could change that."
>You sigh.
"Moondancer owes you her safety, her business, and her peace of mind. Anon loves you. Vain made me tell her I'm in love with you. The Guard-Commander thinks you're one of the best additions to the force in years, and everypony else, even if they joke sometimes about your... work ethic..."
>You scrunch mightily.
"You're not just doubting yourself alone, in some vacuum. You're calling everypony else's judgment into question."

>You think Careful's actually taken aback at that.
>Her eyes widen with surprise.
>She won't meet your gaze, burying her face further in her pillow.
>"...that's a lot to think about."
>But, then, she lifts her face again, looking at you and gently raising an eyebrow.
>"...sorry, but... did you say you're in love with me somewhere in the middle of that?"

>It takes you a second to process her question.
>When it hits you, your insides turn to ice.

>...

>You sincerely expected Safety First to grin and say "gotcha."
>It would be the least Safe-like thing she's ever done, yet, somehow, you expected it.
>But that's nonsense.
>More likely, she's just taking a moment to mull back over what she said, to make a quick correction.
>...
>Oh.
>Uh-oh.
>That is not the face of a pony who merely made a Freudian slip.
>Safe looks more distressed than you have ever seen her in your life.
>Her cheeks are blazing crimson, her eyes wide in shock, already brimming with tears, her mouth open, trying uselessly to form words through paralysis like that of a deer caught in a spotlight.
>"I... I... I... I... just... an example... I... I-"
>She hiccups.

>It's your fault.
>If you hadn't been so down on yourself, hadn't gotten her so worked up...
>In the most Safe-like manner possible, she simply listed every example of something she could think of, matter-of-factly and devastatingly blowing your personal distortions out of the water without even giving any particular thought as to what she was saying.
>Until after she's said it.

>You're certainly in no mood to mope now.
>But...
>This isn't a cat out of the bag.
>It's more like a tremor and an avalanche.
>The snow and rocks, disturbed from their place of massive rest, have fallen.
>And they only go in one direction.

>Safe frantically pushes herself away from you, scrambling out of bed.
>She's only barely keeping from crying.
>"I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorr-*hic*-"
"Safe, sweetie, it's fine, come here, it's okay, I promise, you're my best-"
>She stumbles out of bed and bolts through the door.