Midnight

"Steak any good?"

"I think you did a decent job with it. But I'm no connoisseur - I could have eaten it raw without issue."

Dinner time has come around again after a surprisingly smooth day of work. Impressed with how much Midnight had accomplished the prior day, combined with the difficulties in slowing down her overactive mind, I decided to break out something a little more upscale.

A nice pair of ribeye steaks, one cooked rare - if that. Midnight wanted it bloody, and as she just mentioned - raw would not have been an issue for her.

It's still odd to watch someone who should really be an herbivore mowing down red meat with vigor. So far she hasn't noticed I gave her the choice steak out of the two. Middie would probably flip shit that I was spoiling her or something like that.

As much as she's come around to me, she's got her odd streaks of reluctance to accept anything above the bare minimum. Maybe she thinks I'm trying to bribe her or something. Weird, but what else is there?

All I'm looking to try to do is try to make the highlight of my life happy.

...alright, that sounds fucking weird. Back that train up.

I'm trying to make my friend happy because she's dealt with too much misfortune. She's a highlight because I don't have friends I keep in contact with any longer. Otherwise, all I have is work.

So Midnight is... her existence is the most interesting thing I deal with, in the sense of the doldrums of day-to-day life, because I don't live alone anymore.

That's a better explanation.

Complicated and meandering thoughts aside, there had been no excitement tonight when I gave a call to Theodore, notifying him his parts were ready for pickup whenever he had time.

Midnight insisted upon the call right away, despite my attempts to alleviate her mind of thinking about this earlier. Relief and disappointment replaced the palpable tension when I only heard the droning voicemail introduction cut in. I left a short message, only notifying him his parts were ready whenever he desired to pick them up, and my phone number in case of any delays or questions.

And that was that.

"Same old, same old tonight?" I ask Midnight while she goes to town on her meal. It must be pretty damn good or she's hungrier than normal because table manners are on the verge of disappearing entirely. Granted, I also made her wait until my food was done - so she had to just stare at it. Next time, I plan on starting mine first instead of doing them together.

"I unno," Midnight replies, shrugging with a mouthful of chewed-up steak distorting her response.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, heathen."

Rather than respond again with words, Midnight opens her mouth and gives me a clear view of her meal in a childish manner.

"How pleasant. Thank you for that," I groan, mildly disgusted by the sight.

Midnight seems content with that response, finishing that mouthful before speaking up.

"Don't ask questions when you aren't ready for the answer next time," she suggests.

"Okay, you can answer now - just the same old routine tonight?"

"Should I be doing something else?" she replies with her own inquiry.

"I didn't know if you had some other plans for the website or the junkyard in general - or maybe something new you're reading about."

Another shrug of the shoulders ensues whilst continuing her feast. I follow her hint and continue with my own plate.

It isn't until after Midnight polishes off the last of her dinner that she breaks the silence.

"What's gotten into you asking me about my plans?"

"Trying to converse, I guess. Show I have some interest since you live with me," I clarify. "Just sort of what friends do - we are friends, yeah?"

"Are we?" she proposes, raising an eyebrow.

The response makes me feel like I just got kicked in the gut. Maybe I am playing this closer to my heart than I thought.

"I didn't mean it like that," Midnight chimes in, her ears dipping as she looks at me with some sympathy. I didn't think I made a face about it, but evidently, she picked up on some sort of visual cue.

"What?"

Midnight is visibly uncomfortable as I try to keep my inquiry as vague as her answer.

"It's... you stupid bastard. I told you I didn't want you to get all queer and sappy after last night," she grumbles, rolling her eyes as she attempts to dismiss her own discomfort.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Bullshit, you took some sort of offense to my question like I hurt your feelings. I could see it in how you dropped your head!" she accuses, pointing a hoof at me.

"And you're pointing it out and apologizing for it like you feel bad that you did it," I remind her.

Midnight recoils, her face twisted into an odd amalgam of emotions.

"No. Don't turn this on me. I live with you, I don't need you crying for a hug," she mutters, looking off to the side.

"So what didn't you mean?" I ask, now finding some amusement in how she's gotten spun up about nothing.

"Stop it."

"No, you can't accuse me of doing something as a result of something you said that was left rather ambiguous."

"That's a rather big word for you - 'ambiguous.' Do you actually know what it means?" she asks in a sly attempt to shift the squabble.

"I do, but I don't know what you meant by asking if we were friends, but not actually meaning to ask it," I offer in rebuttal, crossing my arms over my chest.

"What's your definition of 'friend'?" she finally relents, albeit with a grumbling tone.

"What's yours?"

"I don't have one. So don't play this off on me," she says.

"You've never had a friend?"

She looks at me with incredulity staining her expression.

"Are you being dense on purpose now? I was born in a test lab - what kind of social situations do you think I've experienced?" she counters. "Might I remind you that you pointed out earlier today that I apparently possess no social grace - but you're expectant of me to have had a friend?"

Yeah, that might have been a stupid question to ask, with that earlier conversation in mind. But still, I would expect she had at least one...

Pony? Or person?

Someone that she conversed with.

"You didn't have anyone to talk to? At all, that whole time you were... wherever you were?" I inquire with caution. I feel like I'm treading on thin ice now.

"Not really," Midnight says, sounding rather impatient with this branch of conversation. "Maybe before the whole... the start of the experiments with augmentations. Biological ponies like - well I guess like I was - we were kept completely separate from the robots. After all, we aren't supposed to exist. But we were kept sort of together, I think. Like a common gathering area."

"You think, or you know?"

I get a glare from Midnight before she even responds with words.

"I told you things are hazy for me, John," she mutters in frustration. "I only recall being - I guess reintroduced to that area."

Rather than ask for her to go on, I sit and nod my head. If this discussion is going to progress, it will have to be on Midnight's terms.

Midnight has sort of zoned out, her eyes glazed over in thought.

"I don't know, it felt familiar. But it was just so... fake. All of it," she says, sounding disgusted. "And some of the others - I don't know, they didn't feel like complete strangers, but..."

"Did you try talking to them?" I suggest.

She glances up, unenthused by the inquiry.

"You don't really 'converse' with bio-ponies - not the ones I was around, anyway," she scoffs. "They can speak, but there's very little of substance going on in their head, compared to me."

Midnight pauses and sighs, looking rather apologetic for that crass review.

"Honestly, I didn't want much to do with them. There might have been some idle 'hellos' and 'goodbyes,' but it just felt like everyone else was... content. Placid. Superficial. So I just sort of isolated myself out of frustration, trying to understand what the hell was going on, why I felt that way, why everything felt so wrong."

"So what happened then?"

"Eventually I got my own area. If you could call it that," she answers with an accompanying bitter chuckle. "It was more or less a glass room with a locked door. Never saw any of those ponies again - or any ponies, for that matter, aside from the occasional robot. Other than those rare sights, it was humans - and most of them looked at me like an exotic being or a thing to tinker with rather than something sentient."

Midnight's tone turns bitter and angry as she finishes. Her bright blue eyes harden again as her focus returns to me.

"So no, I don't have any experience with 'friends' - the ball is squarely in your court," she states with finality.

As much as I like having my curiosity sated when Midnight opens up, it's never satisfying. It seems like it's always something painful, whether she understands it or not.

"Well, friends can converse about idle shit - but there's a level of trust that goes beyond that. It's someone you trust with your personal issues and your memories. Someone you rely on in times of need. Someone you know won't judge you or make fun of you for something embarrassing - though you can usually rib each other for it. But it's someone that - well, you enjoy their company, their discussions, and their ear when you need to talk."

Midnight listens intently but offers no response. Likewise, I only sit there - before realizing I haven't finished eating. Might be a little cold now, but no sense in letting it go to waste.

"I know what the term means, John," she says in a subdued voice. "Kind of a fruity way to explain it - but I know what a friend is. Just never had one that I can recall."

"Oh," is all I can muster up for that little anecdote.

Silence wins over any sort of idle chit-chat while I finish up dinner. Rather than shuffle off to the couch and the comfortable isolation of the laptop screen, Midnight still sits at the kitchen counter across from me. Her attention isn't really honed in on anything in particular. Just watching her tell that tidbit of the past, I could tell she was experiencing it all over again.

And yet... That's it.

She has no response to my explanation.

I was hoping to get some sort of agreement or affirmation. But I get it - she's a macho mare. Even so, I cannot deny her insistence to keep up this barrier does sting just a bit.

Yet I still consider her a friend - just a very moody one. Then again, that's sort of her odd, slightly rough charm, isn't it?

I think I'm getting worked up over something stupid - a label.

Stop being a dumbass, dumbass.

Pulling myself out of that cacophony of thoughts, I take both empty plates and slip them into the sink. Along with the other dishes from this morning.

Maybe I'll get them washed tomorrow.

"If I get to that couch first, I'm lying down on it," I announce loudly, pretending to be oblivious to Midnight's presence.

"The hell you will," she sneers, staring a hole through me.

I lock eyes with her as if preparing for a duel. Just as I make a motion to get around the counter, Midnight bolts up and makes a beeline for her seat, leaping onto the couch.

"Not fair, you got a head start," I whine.

"Fuck you, you can share," she sasses. "Unless you want the victor to have the whole couch, as you essentially proposed.

"Fine," I huff, waltzing out into the living room and plopping down on my familiar cushion without any sort of grace or fanfare.

I flip on the TV with the remote and fish my phone out of a pocket.

Time to relax and look up stupid shit.

I feel the couch shift a little bit, and as I look up, the one cushion buffer between Midnight and I has evaporated - she's now on that middle cushion.

Midnight ignores my perplexed gaze while she shifts about to regain her normal posture - laying down, half-curled up, and flopped over on one side, with her forehooves dangling off the front of the couch.

"Punishment for being so damn slow, friend," she mocks me, booting up the laptop.

I can't help but smirk.

"Damnit. Guess that's what I get for making idle threats."

"Wasn't too smart, was it?"

I consider reaching over and ruffling her mane but think better of it. Midnight has her own odd way of expressing herself - it just takes time.

I can wait. I think it will be worth it.