Chapter Text
The sun was beginning to slip behind the cloudy mountains of Cloudsdale, tinting them gold and orange. The Wonderbolts' training was officially coming to an end for the week, the formations gradually breaking apart amid a rustling of tired wings and nervous laughter.
"End of training !" Spitfire shouted, hissing sharply.
The pegasi immediately dispersed... at least, apparently.
The captain had not moved. She remained suspended in the air, her wings still widely spread, her gaze hard, scrutinizing every movement with almost excessive attention. A rolled-up parchment protruded from the strap attached to his chest, already covered in hastily scribbled notes.
"Stratus!" she suddenly barked. The young Wonderbolt froze mid-flight.
"Your dive trajectory was too wide. Third time this week. You fix it by Monday."
"Y-yes, captain!"
Spitfire didn't respond. She had already turned her head.
“Fleetfoot! Are you planning to break the world record for delay or is it just to test me?"
Fleetfoot grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck before reluctantly landing.
"Sorry, Captain..."
"Save your apologies for the debriefing. If you're late again, you'll do laps at sunrise. And that goes for everyone, got it?"
A collective “yes, captain” replied, a little too quickly, a little too relieved. The Wonderbolts began to leave the area, aware that Spitfire's bad mood was contagious...and dangerous.
The captain took a deep breath.
Once.
Twice.
It wasn't enough.
In his head, everything was jostling:
minor incident reports to complete, recruits to be reassessed, the next air show to organize, the demands of his superiors, impossible deadlines.
She gritted her teeth.
“Great…” she muttered. "There was more missing than that."
A poorly formed cloud gave way under a nervous wing blow. Spitfire landed abruptly, hooves clicking against the vaporous surface. She detached the parchment, unrolled it, then immediately replaced it with an annoyed grunt.
"Too late for that."
Around her, the land was rapidly emptying. The laughter faded away, giving way to the blowing of the evening wind. Spitfire usually loved this quiet time, but today it only added to the pressure.
It was then that she noticed him.
Thunderlane had been hanging back since training ended. Resting on a cloud slightly below, he observed the scene without intervening, his wings folded, his face serious. He hadn't run away like the others...but he hadn't come any closer either.
Spitfire frowned.
"Thunderlane."
He immediately raised his head.
"Yes, captain?"
She examined him for a moment, looking for something to say... without really knowing what. He hadn't done anything wrong since he officially became a wonderbolt. His flight had been clean, precise, reliable. As always.
This observation almost irritated him more.
"Why didn't you leave?" she asked dryly.
Thunderlane hesitated for a split second, then shrugged slightly.
“I thought...maybe you still needed help."
Silence fell between them again.
Spitfire opened his mouth to respond, a dry, automatic response, then stopped. The annoyance was still there, burning beneath his chest...but something else was in the mix. A deeper, more personal fatigue.
She looked away.
“We’ll see about that later,” she finally said. "Go rest."
"Alright, captain."
Thunderlane slowly walked away, casting one last glance in his direction. Spitfire remained alone, her gaze fixed on the burning horizon.
The day was over. But for her, everything was just beginning.
Spitfire dispatched his shower faster than usual.
The hot water hadn't managed to relax his shoulders or silence the constant buzzing in his head. She just rinsed off the sweat and fatigue, then put on her clean uniform without a glance at her reflection. When she came out, the mare locker room was still lively: laughter, light chatter, the kind of noise that usually reminded her why she loved leading this squadron.
Tonight, she didn't want it.
“Good evening, captain!” shouted one of them.
Spitfire responded with a curt nod and continued on his way without stopping. She carefully avoided the occupied benches, walked around the groups, ignored the surprised looks. In a matter of seconds, she had disappeared behind her office door.
She closed it. Then locked it.
Silence fell immediately.
Stacks of documents were already waiting for him on his desk. Reports, schedules, evaluations. Spitfire dove into them without really reading them, annotating mechanically, as if the activity could keep his thoughts from drifting. Hours passed without her realizing it.
When she finally looked up, the light outside had changed. The last rays of the sun filtered through the windows, tinting the ground with amber reflections.
“Great…” she muttered.
She stood up, her muscles stiff, and left her office to do her usual rounds. The locker rooms were empty. Silent showers. The laughter had disappeared, replaced by the muffled echo of his own footsteps.
Spitfire closed the lockers, turned off the lights, locked the entrances one by one. Finally, she exited the main building and pulled the large door behind her.
That's where she stopped dead in her tracks.
On the deserted training ground, a gray figure stood out from the twilight. Thunderlane was sitting on a low cloud, his wings slightly outstretched, as if he had been waiting for a while.
Spitfire immediately frowned.
"Thunderlane? What are you still doing here? Everyone's long gone."
He straightened up immediately.
"I know."
“Then go home,” she ordered. “The day is over.”
She pretended to pass by him, key in shoe. Thunderlane moved slightly to stay in his line of vision.
“Captain…wait.”
She stood still, without turning around.
“It’s not a request.”
“I know,” he replied calmly. “But… you’re not your usual self.”
Spitfire clenched his jaw.
"I'm tired. End of explanation."
“It’s not just fatigue.”
She turned abruptly towards him, her gaze hard.
"You're crossing the line, Wonderbolt."
Thunderlane didn't back down. He didn't raise his voice either.
"Maybe. But you've been pushing everyone away all day. You disappeared, you avoided the others... and you stayed locked in there until night."
He paused, more gently.
“It’s not nothing.”
The evening wind passed between them, making the flags on the top of the building flutter. Spitfire looked away, staring at the darkened horizon.
“You don’t have to worry,” she finally said. “That’s not your role.”
“I know,” Thunderlane repeated. “But I’d still like to understand.”
The silence stretched on, long, heavy.
Spitfire took a deep breath. Once. Twice.
“Go home, Thunderlane,” she whispered, her voice less harsh than before.
But he didn't move. And for the first time since the start of the day, she didn't insist.
Spitfire finally broke the silence, a little too quickly, as if looking for an escape.
"Your little brother is probably waiting for you."
She expected the argument to hit the mark. It didn't happen.
Thunderlane blinked, surprised... then a slight smile stretched his lips.
“The school holidays started since last monday, Captain.” He shrugged his shoulders. "Rumble's home. He's probably asleep already."
The word vacation took a moment to reach Spitfire.
Her gaze troubled imperceptibly.
“…Ah.”
She turned her head away, annoyed. Of course. She knew it. She should have known that. But between the schedules, the reports and the demands of certain people, this detail had completely escaped him.
A slightly less tense silence settled between them.
Spitfire took a deep breath, then grabbed the keys from his side, as if that simple gesture would help him put his thoughts in order.
“Look… it’s not that I don’t want to address your concerns,” she said finally. “It’s just that…” She hesitated.
“I have too many things on my mind right now. Too many responsibilities. And I don't want to say something I'll regret."
Thunderlane listened to him without interrupting, attentive, serious.
“I need time,” she concluded.
There was no mockery, no impatience in his eyes. On the contrary.
“Okay,” he replied simply.
Then, almost immediately: “How about we see each other this weekend?”
Spitfire jerked his head up.
“What?”
“To talk about it,” Thunderlane clarified, without hesitation. “Calmly. Without training, without files, without the rest." He paused.
“What you’re going through seems important. And I think it deserves more than five minutes on an empty field."
The wind gently waved their manes. Spitfire remained silent, surprised by the frankness... and by the seriousness with which he treated the situation. She thought for a moment that he doubted her abilities to do her job, but Thunderlane wasn't that kind of person.
But as someone who truly cared about her.
"You're persistent," she remarked.
“When something matters, yes,” he replied bluntly.
Spitfire felt something tighten in his chest. Don't panic. Not annoyance.
Something more confusing.
"…I'll think about it," she said finally.
It wasn't a yes. But it wasn't a no either.
Thunderlane smiled slightly.
“That’s enough for me.”
They stood there for a few more seconds, under the Cloudsdale night sky, before Spitfire turned away for good.
“Good evening, Thunderlane.”
“Good evening, Captain.”