Starlight would never tell Twilight this, but the Crystal Castle wasn’t exactly a comfy home. Sure, it was impressive to look at from the outside and its internal maze of crystalline corridors and long, empty halls left many a visitor in awe, but trying to make a home in such a place was a little eerie. Sometimes Starlight felt like she lived in a museum, silent save for the murmurs of visitors and the echoes of hoofsteps.

In stark contrast to the grandeur of the castle where Starlight lived was her marefriend’s little wagon that had been parked out back for the better part of a year. Trixie’s cramped living space was… Starlight thought it was an unmitigated disaster, but Trixie just called it ‘well-lived.’ Discarded snack wrappers and the half-finished remains of a dozen different brands of energy drinks littered nearly every surface, piled atop trunks of faux-magic fireworks that Starlight was pretty sure were a fire hazard.

Neither the castle nor the wagon were what Starlight really wanted. Late at night, when the world was dark and she lay alone with her thoughts in the discomfort of a bed that never really felt like her own, she would imagine herself and Trixie finding a little place to call their own. It didn’t need to be a grand palace, nor a mobile home with no roots to keep them truly grounded. It just needed to be enough. Just a small, quiet slice of domesticity, where Starlight could live with the mare who made her happy for as long as time would let them.

Those waking dreams were what led her to Trixie’s wagon, with a wish in her heart and an offer on her lips. After living so close to Starlight for so long, Trixie was a little less rough around the edges—or at least Starlight liked to think so—and would hopefully be receptive to the idea of the two of them moving in together. Twilight would probably think it was a bad idea, but this wasn’t about her. Twilight already knew her home, and her future. It was high time Starlight knew hers.

Deep breaths. Good air in, bad air out. Starlight made her way across the unkempt grass surrounding Trixie’s wagon, approached the door, and threw on her best smile. This would work out. Trixie could be a lot, but in Starlight’s experience, she was always worth the effort. Holding that truth close to her heart, she knocked on the door and waited.

And waited. And waited.

“Trixie?” Starlight called out, though she did so at a neutral volume. Trixie wasn’t a fan of raised voices, except for her own.

After about a minute, the gears whirring in Starlight’s mind came out of sync. “Trixie? Are you in there?” What if she wasn’t? What if she was in town somewhere? But where would she go? Trixie never left her wagon without Starlight anymore. She wasn’t even legally allowed to, given the incident at the credit union. A second arrest on her record would mean—

“Starlight?” A thin, raspy voice cut through Starlight’s anxiety. “Is that you?”

That was permission enough. Starlight threw her smile back on and pushed the door open and marched inside—only to stop in her tracks at the scene playing out before her.

Trixie was standing, or rather awkwardly hunched over, in front of what Starlight could only assume was a homemade printing press. The more analytical part of her mind wasn’t too surprised. Trixie’s various posters for her shows had to come from somewhere, but that thought was quickly shoved aside when she saw just what Trixie was printing. Crudely drawn renditions of a blue unicorn that was probably supposed to be Trixie stared at Starlight from a messy pile of posters on the floor, each with a wide, crooked smile and a bold line of text beneath them that read, Vote for Trixie, or else!

Starlight had several questions. Maybe more than several. But when she heard the raucous fit of coughing that burst forth from her marefriend when Trixie tried to speak, all of them fell away to the back of her mind, save for one. “Are you sick?”

Trixie shot her a glare, rolling her eyes. “Trixie is fine. It’s just a—” She was cut off by another fit of heavy coughs, only to clear her throat and continue. “Just the feather flu. Don’t worry about it.”

Starlight’s brow furrowed. “Only pegasi get the feather flu.”

“Then it’s a cold, whatever!” Trixie snapped. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Help me with this.”

“With what, exactly?” As Starlight cautiously approached her marefriend, she got a better look at the posters, frowning in the face of their really, really wide smiles. “Are you running for office or something?”

“Yep. You’re looking at the next Governor of Equestria.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Says you,” Trixie grumbled. “Didn’t you hear? The Royal Sisters are stepping down. It’s gonna be a free-for-all. Trixie always told you anarchy would come for this country.”

Starlight fought the urge to groan. Doing so would just set Trixie off, and if she started yelling with whatever illness she had, Starlight was pretty sure her marefriend might lose a lung. “I hate to break it to you, but Princess Twilight is taking over next. The succession has been sorted out for a while.”

“Without giving the ponies a say? Please!” Trixie stomped a hoof, leaving her mouth uncovered as she coughed again. “Trixie didn’t vote for her! Nopony did!”

“…How do you think our government works?”

“It doesn’t work at all!” Trixie said. “The whole thing is a total sham! If you’d bothered listening to any of those podcasts I sent you, you’d know that—”

Trixie coughed so hard that she staggered back, tumbling into the makeshift printing press. For a moment Starlight was silently grateful, at least until she realized Trixie was still coughing, and that she should probably do something about it. “That sounds really bad, Trixie,” she said, pointedly ignoring whatever political stump speech Trixie had been about to give. “Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“Please.” Trixie stood, trying and clearly failing to appear composed. “Trixie doesn’t need some quack with a fancy degree to tell her how to treat a cough.”

Starlight glanced around the room, her gaze lingering on the many cans of energy drinks. “Whatever you’re doing, I don’t think it’s working. This is exactly why I want you to move in with me, you don’t know how to take care of yourself!”

At that, Trixie just rolled her eyes and smirked. “Please, Starlight. We both know you’re not ready for that kind of a commitment.”

Well there went that idea. Starlight stuffed the little pieces of her broken heart away for another time, preferably one with lots of ice cream and a pillow to scream into. “I’m serious, Trixie. You need to see a doctor.”

“I said I’m fine. It’s just a cough.”

“I’m not so sure it is.” Reaching out with her magic, Starlight felt for Trixie’s temperature—and flinched back when she found her scalding. “Yeah, you’ve got a pretty nasty fever…” But from what?

Fever, cough, stupid indignance in the face of treatment… Suddenly Starlight gasped. “Wait. Trixie, have you been vaccinated for ponyvirus?” She paused, then muttered, “I still can’t believe they called it that. It’s such a stupid name.”

“You’re a stupid name!” Trixie turned back to her printing press, gathering up its creaking carcass from the wagon’s cramped floor. “And no, Trixie didn’t get stuck with that mind-control serum if that’s what you’re on about.”

“…What?”

“Honestly, Starlight, I thought you were smart.” Trixie waved a hoof. “Ponyvirus? Please. That’s all just a great big conspiracy by Celestia and her evil Doctor Ouchie designed to usher in the new world order and redistribute Trixie’s hard-earned wealth to, like, dragons or something. You’d know if you listened to those podcasts I sent you.”

All pretense of politeness was gone. “A conspiracy? Seriously? Like a million ponies died from it, Trixie!”

“That’s what Doctor Ouchie wants you to think, but Trixie isn’t fooled!” Trixie waved one of her posters in Starlight’s face, the wide smile of the pony on the drooping page distorting into a frown. “When Trixie’s in charge, you’ll see! There’ll be hearings! And investigations! And—!”

Again, Trixie was cut off by her own coughing fit. Starlight took the opportunity to teleport back to her bedroom in the castle and retrieve a mask from her dresser. Being fully vaccinated and with all her boosters up to date, she wasn’t too concerned about her own health, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

That idea was tested the moment she popped back into Trixie’s wagon. “Oh great, of course you’re wearing one of those stupid things,” Trixie said, her voice a little wheezier than before.

“Well excuse me for not wanting to get sick,” Starlight said. “It’s a very serious illness, Trixie! Haven’t you been reading any news for the past, I dunno, four years?”

“Please. You know Trixie doesn’t read.”

Starlight rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t, or can’t?”

“It’s a matter of principle!”

“What principles do you even have? Being hospitalized from an extremely preventable illness?”

“You wouldn’t understand, being so thoroughly infected by princess propaganda,” Trixie shot back. “There goes a place for you in Trixie’s cabinet. I would’ve made you Secretary of Cutie Marks!”

“That’s not a real position.”

“Not for you!”

Starlight sighed. Now that Trixie was all worked up like this, all she could do was wait her out. That would best be done in the safety of a hospital though, given how badly Trixie was coughing again. “Whatever. Hold still, I’m gonna teleport us to a doctor.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Trixie huffed—and huffed, and huffed, each breath more labored than the last. “Are you seriously in on it too? Honestly, Starlight, your cutie mark should’ve been a bunch of sheep if you’re gonna be this gullible!”

“Trixie, you can’t say that!” Starlight was suddenly mortified. “Some of our neighbors are sheep.”

From the wagon’s open window, a dull voice could be heard. “Meh-eh-eh. We’re used to it.”

Starlight poked her head out the window, grimacing when she saw a couple of sheep passing by. “I’m so sorry about her. She’s… she’s very unwell, and—”

One of the sheep glanced up at her. “Trust me, we know.”

Before Starlight could reply, she heard a crash behind her. Trixie had fallen to the floor again, collapsing into a pile of energy drink cans and crumpled posters. Starlight shook her head—there was no more time for arguing. “Alright Trixie, listen up. I know you don’t want to see a doctor, but you can't weasel your way out of this. I’m taking you to the hospital one way or another.”

Between coughs, Trixie glared at her. “Do you only wear that mask because you’re so insistent on spewing a bunch of—”

“Trixie!” Starlight shouted. “C’mon, family friendly!”

Trixie just crossed her hooves and frowned. “I’m not seeing some quack doctor.”

Starlight’s patience had long since run out and was now deep into the negative. “Your hooves are literally turning blue!”

“Idiot. Trixie’s always blue.”

“Even more than normal!”

“If you’re so worried about it, fine.” Trixie rolled her eyes. “Go bring Trixie some bleach, I heard that can help with ponyvirus.”

“Wh-what?” Starlight wasn’t sure she’d ever heard anything so stupid in her entire life. “Where the heck did you hear that?”

“Podcasts! Truth Slaughterer’s got a whole series about—”

“No. I don’t wanna hear it.” Starlight cut her off. “And as soon as you’re better, I swear I’m gonna find the guy who’s been filling your head with this nonsense and—”

There was a knock on the door of the wagon. A second later, Princess Twilight Sparkle poked her head in. “Starlight? Trixie? Is everything okay? I heard shouting, and…” She glanced around the tiny space, at the toppled cans and the broken printing press and the crumpled posters strewn across the floor, before her gaze settled on Trixie lying in a heap in the middle of it all. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”

Trixie’s frown sank into a scowl. “So Trixie’s opponent decided to show her face. Save it for the debate stage, Sparkle.”

Twilight looked more confused than upset. She turned to Starlight and asked, “What’s she talking about?”

Starlight groaned. “Don’t ask.”

“You think this is Trixie’s first gubernatorial election? Your stupid purple face doesn’t stand a—!” Trixie started yelling, only to be thankfully cut off by more coughing.

“She sounds really bad,” Twilight said softly. “Should we get her to a hospital?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do,” Starlight replied.

Trixie raised a hoof as if to reply, but couldn’t get any words out past her coughs. Twilight approached her slowly, smiling sweetly as she did. “Don’t worry, Trixie. You’re gonna be just fine,” she said. “Let’s get you to somepony who can help.” Her horn began to glow, and—

With some sudden, secret well of strength, Trixie shoved Twilight away. “No!” She turned to Starlight, her eyes wide with terror. “Starlight, help! The woke alicorn mob is trying to silence Trixie!”

“Oh, now you want my help?”

Twilight pulled herself up from the floor, rubbing the back of her head. “Ow, that really hurt! What the hay, Trixie?”

Trixie crumpled up a poster of her own smiling face and threw it at Twilight, missing entirely. “Trixie’s rights will not be infringed!”

At that moment, Starlight decided she was done. In a flash of light, she, Twilight, and a deranged, shouting unicorn vanished, then reappeared in the lobby of Ponyville general hospital, where Trixie finally passed out.

— — — — — — — —

Hours later, Starlight found herself hunched over in a chair beside her marefriend’s hospital bed. The only sound in the world was the soft, steady hissing of the ventilator Trixie was hooked up to. Starlight sighed, trying to enjoy the silence, but it was fleeting—a moment later, the door to the hospital suite opened, and Twilight stepped inside.

“The doctor says she’s gonna be okay,” she said quietly.

Starlight didn’t even look at her. “Yup.”

“Starlight?” Twilight sat beside her, and Starlight felt a feathered wing settle around her shoulders. “Are you doing okay?”

Again, Starlight sighed. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I mean, Trixie really scared me today, but that’s honestly nothing new.”

Twilight nodded, her eyes soft with concern. “Is there something else going on?”

Was it okay to talk about? Starlight couldn’t see a reason not to. It’s not like it was going to happen any time soon. “I went to see Trixie to ask if she wanted to move in with me.”

Immediately, Twilight looked uneasy. “Like into the castle…?”

“No, no. Like we could get a little cottage or something,” Starlight said, and Twilight seemed to relax again as she did. “I dunno, maybe it’s a stupid idea. I couldn’t even get the question out before she started yelling about some harebrained scheme and started coughing all over me.”

“Does she yell at you often?”

Starlight fought the urge to roll her eyes. “You know she does.”

Twilight gave a slow nod. “But you still want to move in with her.”

“I do. I mean, I did. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just not the right time.”

Twilight was silent for a long moment. Starlight spent the whole time watching Trixie’s face, how the mask of the ventilator partially hid the tube that snaked between her lips. Ugly as the machine was, at least it got Trixie to shut up for a while.

Suddenly Twilight spoke up. “Can I ask you something?”

Starlight let out a long, slow breath. “Go for it.”

“Why do you stay with her?” Twilight asked, gesturing to the unicorn laid out on the hospital bed. “It seems like she makes you really unhappy.”

Starlight closed her eyes. “I… I can’t tell you, Twilight.”

Twilight’s concerned tone elevated into deep worry. “Why not?”

Rather than reply, Starlight thought of all the things she wanted. The little cottage, the simple life, all the sweet, quiet, special moments that made her happy to be alive. None of that would be enough to make up for Trixie’s stupid, destructive antics, she knew. None of that would make up for getting yelled at, insulted, neglected, disrespected. None of that would balance the scales, making a life with Trixie worth all the nonsense Starlight knew she’d have to put up with if they ever moved in together. Only one thing ever did, but…

“Starlight, please.” Twilight sounded so urgent. “If something’s wrong, if you don’t—”

“It’s fine, Twilight,” Starlight said, forcing a weak smile. “There’s nothing wrong. Trixie is a lot, but she doesn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Oh.” Twilight looked relieved, if only a little. “Okay, good.”

The two of them fell silent again, until Twilight spoke up in a cautious whisper. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? Why you stay with her, I mean.”

“Wanting has nothing to do with it, Twilight,” Starlight said. “I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

Starlight sighed. “Because contest stories have to be family friendly.”

Twilight blinked. “What?”

“Look, she’s just…” Starlight looked away, her face flushing with heat. “She’s really good at making cookies.”

“Oh. That’s cool, I guess.” Twilight stared at the floor for a moment, then said, “Does she make them often?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Maybe I could try them sometime—”

“No! I-I mean, uhm…” Starlight shook her head. “It’s kind of our thing.”

“Oh.” Twilight stared at her for a moment, then her eyes widened. “Ohhhhh.”

“Yeah…”

“Well that’s okay! Pinkie Pie makes really great cookies too, I can always ask her!”

At that, Starlight raised an eyebrow. “Really? You and Pinkie? Huh.” She shrugged, and said, “I’m sure some ponies expected that, but honestly I never would’ve guessed.”

“Why not?” Twilight tilted her head to one side. “Pinkie makes cookies for everypony.”

“Okay, that I could guess.”

“Well it’s not exactly a secret, silly. ”Twilight giggled. “She works in a bakery.”

Starlight watched her friend’s plain, innocent smile for a moment, then said, “I think we’re not on the same page here.”

“What do you mean?”

Oh no. Starlight was not ready to have this conversation with Twilight Sparkle of all ponies. “Didn’t Princess Celestia ever teach you, about, y’know… Making cookies…?”

“Nope!” Twilight chirped. “Princess Celestia only taught me about magic. And I guess friendship, but that started as like a field work assignment.”

“Huh.” Starlight returned to staring at the floor. “Y’know, that explains a lot about you.”

Twilight grinned. “Well if you know any good cookie recipes, maybe you could show me sometime.”

Starlight’s brain froze over for a second, then she scooted her chair very slightly away from Twilight. Somehow this conversation was even more uncomfortable than the shouting match she’d had with her marefriend earlier in the day. “I don’t think Trixie would like that very much,” she said.

“Aw, fine.” Twilight gave a cute little pout. “Guess I’ll just go ask Pinkie.”

“You go ahead and do that,” Starlight said, forcing her voice to remain neutral. “I’ll just be here.”

“Alright,” Twilight said as she stood and stretched her wings. “I hope Trixie feels better soon. And if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, Twilight was gone, leaving Starlight alone with her thoughts and her sick marefriend. As the hissing of the ventilator faded into the background and silence crept in from the edges of Starlight’s mind, she stared at the motionless form of the mare she wanted to spend her life with. The mask of the ventilator obscured Trixie’s face, so Starlight closed her eyes, trying to imagine the smiling face she’d seen on so many posters back in the wagon. Instead, all she saw in her mind’s eye was Trixie throwing yet another tantrum. Whether it would be about weaseling her way out of treatment for ponyvirus, or grand ambitions for a gubernatorial race for a position that didn’t exist, or something else entirely, Starlight knew it would be inevitable. As would the tantrum after that, and after that, and after that.

Her eyes opened. Starlight stood and approached the bed, leering down at her bedridden marefriend as she did. She leaned in, lowered her voice to a sharp whisper, then said, “You owe me so many damn cookies after this.”