Careful's Charge Part IV

Careful's Charge: Part IV

>Whump.
>The front door swings shut, the slam muffled by cold air gushing in from outside.
>Even Safe understood pretty quickly when to leave you and Careful to talk.
>She gave Careful a hug that evolved from awkward to close and loving, exchanged a few quiet words with her, promised to visit tomorrow, then nodded politely at you and bounced.

>You sit on the couch with Careful.
>You haven't said anything to her yet except "hi."
>Silence is never awkward between you two, but it won't do here nonetheless.
"I've missed you. You feeling better?"
>"I need to check in with a shrink every week," admits Careful, rolling her eyes. "Only way to get back on duty as soon as I want."
>You love hearing her voice again.
>Even tinted with boredom and exhaustion from civilian life and physical recovery, it has a certain melody to it.
>"You been okay? This whole thing has been..."
>Careful trails off, gathering her thoughts.
>"You look so much better. Magic worked fast, huh?"
"Still a little stiff. Some scars. I'm fine otherwise. Great, even."
>"Great."
>She smiles.
>What a smile.
>That face of hers alone just makes you happy.
>Your stomach tries to wrench.
>You don't let it.
>"You've got something on your mind," says Careful, her expression turning reflective, then concerned.
"...yeah."
>She waits.

>You spill it.
>All of it.

>"I love you."
>It's the first thing she says.
>At first you're not sure you heard it right.
>You hold your tongue.
>You reflect on it.
>It's what she says.
>She waits for you.
>You can't bring yourself to say anything.
>Your chest heaves.
>You try to keep your eyes from watering.

>"Do... you still love me?"

>She can't stifle a hiccup.

>That does it for you.
>You're not a crying man, but Careful brings out aspects of yourself you sometimes forget are there.

>You try to shake yourself.
>This makes no sense.
>No sense.
>Right?

>Try to surface.
>Try to breathe.

>You feel like this for a... for a talking horse.
>How does this make sense?
>How can you feel these things?
>How would this have made sense before?

>Not that you can even remember before.
>That's it.
>That's your backstory.
>The great secret.
>The one you don't think about.
>The one you certainly don't talk about.
>The one even Careful doesn't know.

>You can't remember.

>You remember certain things about yourself, but not who you are.
>You remember things about where you came from, but not where it was.
>You woke up around here about a year ago.
>You came to the city.
>You found a place.
>That's it.

>You can rely on the last thing you know for certain.

"I love you."

>Careful sniffles.
>"I-I'm sorry."
>You nearly gape.
>"I didn't pay enough attention. I didn't help you with what you needed. I didn't know how to help you feel close to me."
"Care-"
>"I could have... like other mares, I could look into a hormone supplement, or I could find toys, or I could help with... with my mouth..."
>You have to say something.
"That was never-"

>"Then what was it?" Careful asks.
>Not desperately.
>Not coldly.
>Just calmly.
>Eerily and unexplainably calmly.

"I won't make any excuse. You deserve better."
>"An explanation, then. Anything. Please."
"I... I thought it was over. I don't know why. I wanted to feel what I feel with you. I... I just wanted it."

>You can't get anything else out.

>Careful nods.
>"Okay."

>You sit in silence a while longer.
>It's not awkward.
>It's something close but worse.
>Something you don't know the exact word for.

>"Can I be alone?"
>'Can you leave,' she means.
>"I need to think. Please understand."
"Yeah."

>You've only started with the zipper on your coat when Careful ushers you to the door.
>You're not too stupid to cooperate.
>"Come back later."
"I will."

>You leave through the door.
>"You-"
>You turn back.
>She leans toward you, as if she forgot something she needs to give you.
>"You... YOU..."
>Her features contort, then harden.
>Her tears drip and glisten in the icy cold.
>She shakes with sheer effort of physical control.
>"You god damn imbecile."

>She slams the door harder than you could ever believe.
>Snow cascades from roofs all down the street.
>Flakes blow in the wind, silent and unaware.

>...

>Marescow Mel's isn't the first place you'd choose for a beer alone, but damn if you wanna walk any further.
>It's late in the day as far as you're concerned, but still not quite happy hour.
>It's just you and a few of the regulars in there.
>Not the regulars who like being there.
>The ones who have to be there.
>One lounge singer plays bongos on the stage, crooning softly.

>Mel gives you her usual look as you sit at the bar.
>It's better than contempt, but not as kind as disinterest.
>"It's you."
"I love you too, Mel."
>"You look like shit."
"Yeah. Can I get a stout?"
>"You want fudge with that?"
"I don't have the appetite."
>"PEANUT BUTTER FUDGE!" she calls to the kitchen.
"That on the house?"
>"No."

>You don't bother to drum up any over-the-bar conversation with Mel.
>She's not the type to offer you sympathy even when you deserve it, much less now.
>You haven't said a thing to her since ordering, and still her look hardens each time she passes by you.
>You're certain you're not imagining it.
>Maybe she can smell guilt.
>Is that a thing ponies can do?
>Does guilt have a scent?

>"Something weighs upon you, my son," observes someone behind you.
>You swivel on your stool to identify the speaker: a big, fat stallion with a thin mustache and a well-fitted, well-worn suit.
>"Miss Mel," he says over the bar. "If you would, another plate of double brownie and one of the mint surprise for my table. And a bottle of wine. That 1635 Celestian, if you would."
>He gestures to a dusty, well-aged bottle on the liquor shelf.
>Mel regards him stoically, nods, and fetches it, giving you a sideways glance as she makes her way toward a booth out near the stage.
>The stallion drops a stack of bits near you on the bar.
>"Should cover my tab as well as yours, plus gratuity for Miss Mel. May it lift some of that weight from you, if only a little."
>That was out of the blue and more than slightly eccentric, but you appreciate the favor.
"Thank you very much."
>He waves a hoof as if it were nothing.
>You extend your hand.
>He takes it and gives it a single shake.
"Anonymous."
>"Fat Stacks."
>You just manage to suppress the smirk that comes to your mouth, but you must have a tell.
>Stacks tilts his head.
>"Do you find my name amusing?"
"Only a little. Very sorry."
>He waves his hoof again.
>"Just how I weed out bullshitters. You're not one. You should join my companions and I at my table. I insist."
>You can't see the harm.
>He did pay for your shit.
"Glad to."
>"Oh, and what is that, peanut butter? Bring that."