Midnight

Before my senses become aware of any other stimuli, I feel something prodding at my back. It takes a lot of effort just to reach back with my arm and shoo away whatever is trying to disturb me.

"Get up, you lazy shit," I hear Midnight mumble behind me.

"No."

The intruding limb returns, this time between my shoulder blades for a few seconds. I'm still too slow to catch it - but I'm not helped by it being in an awkward position for me to reach.

"Twenty more minutes."

"You said 'five more minutes' about ten minutes ago."

"Changed my mind. Goodnight."

This time, I feel Midnight's hoof on the back of my head. Gentle - but firmly goading me to get out of bed. With no warning, I whip around to face her.

Midnight hasn't gotten out of bed either. She lays about a foot from me, sporting her traditional bedhead-styled hair, wild and free with errant hairs sticking out in every direction imaginable.

"You shouldn't be throwing stones if you live in a glass house."

"Why am I going to get out of bed if you're going to just lay here?"

"What if I started poking you while you were trying to sleep?"

"You would go to sleep and never wake up again."

"Well, that's not sleep, now is it?"

"You're awake now. Shut up and get out of bed."

"You first."

"No, I've been waiting on you."

"Sucks to suck, I guess."

Midnight frowns as she raises her head off of her pillow. In a swift movement, she grabs it with her teeth and throws it atop my head with a resounding *whump*, transforming the sunlit bedroom back into a pitch-black abyss.

"Aww, thanks, dear. Much easier to sleep this way."

I hear her snort as the bed shifts under her movements. "You're fucking insufferable when it comes to the mornings," she chides, followed by a thump as hooves meet the thin carpeting that covers the floor.

"Blame the person that invented mornings, not me," I groan, tossing aside the pillow to reluctantly greet a new day.

Okay, mornings really aren't that bad. But it's more fun to fuck around with Midnight. Especially as of late.

"I don't think anyone invented mornings, John," she laments, whipping her head back and forth in a half-assed attempt to fix her hair.

It improves... maybe a little?

"So you mean to tell me mornings were just... always mornings? That doesn't make sense," I comment, straining to keep a serious face.

"You're going to make the next several hours a pain in the ass, aren't you?"

"Now why would you say such a thing?" I gasp mockingly.

She can't help but smirk even as she goes wide-eyed. "Well, gee, I dunno," she says in a mocking tone. "Maybe because at the end today, we're closing the doors to walk-ins and self-service. Does that ring a bell?"

"Hm. I could do without the attitude."

"Nah, I think you would rather have it."

Midnight takes a look at herself in the mirror mounted on the bedroom door.

"Holy shit - why do I always look like hell in the morning? I never had this problem on the couch, or out in the van..."

"You probably roll around, snuggle in, relax - sleeping okay?"

I get on my feet and shuffle over to her, helping her out with her hair. Midnight's power levitates a brush purchased just for her off of the top of my dresser while I make do with my fingers, straightening out some of the tangles.

"You should consider getting another brush," she suggests.

"This is more satisfying for me," I reply with a grin.

Even Midnight is sporting a smile, despite her recommendations. While I won't get it as smooth as a brush, it at least speeds things along. Even though this really doesn't take that long to begin with.

"You just like playing with my hair, don't you?"

"No, I'm trying to help," I whine in protest.

"Maybe you're the reason my hair gets all fucked up," she accuses, pouting at me through the mirror and using her brush to point at me.

I really have nothing to do with this recurring 'issue' - but part of me wants to see where leading her on and teasing her about it will lead.

I'll save that idea for another day.

"You never did answer my question, Middie - you sleeping okay?"

"I think so. Sleeping more than I traditionally have in the past."

"Probably because you're sleeping on something comfortable and not having to worry about coyotes."

That musing gets a glare and a disapproving snort out of her as she turns away from the mirror to loom directly at me.

"Bitch, please. I never feared coyotes out in the yard - those flea-bitten fucks feared me!"

"Not even in the beginning?"

Her gaze softens as she returns to the mirror, finishing up the last few strokes that lead all the way down her mane

"I was cautious in the beginning. Never scared, John," she retorts. "May I remind you, I had no idea what they were or what they were capable of - but they're pussies."

"Actually, they're canines."

Midnight turns to me, with a look of utter disdain. "That's enough out of you this morning, chucklefuck," she says, rapping me on the head with the back of her hairbrush before it gets tossed back onto the dresser.

"Oh, alright. I'm going to assume you want me to make breakfast."

"Honestly, I'm not that hungry - knock yourself out, I'll just do some jerky."

"Hell, if you're gonna make it a quick meal, I guess I will, too," I concede, opening the bedroom door and following Midnight into the kitchen.

"You getting dressed at some point, or are you wearing boxer shorts and a wife-beater all day?" she asks, pausing to turn and face me.

I look down at my aforementioned attire, then back at Midnight.

"I do look pretty damn fine, don't I?"

"You look like someone planning to put a really stupid suspension setup on a 4x4."

The comparison makes me instantly head back into my room.

"You win."

"I thought you might see things my way," she calls after you with an air of cockiness.

"Shut up and eat your damn jerky!" I holler back while rummaging through my dresser for clothes.

"Aww, someone sounds like a bitter little baby."

By the time I get some proper clothes on and head out to the kitchen, Midnight is already mowing down a bag of peppered beef jerky. Meanwhile, the space opposite her on the table already has a bowl sitting out, as well as some off-brand peanut butter crunch cereal.

"Well look at you go. Thanks."

"I figure you're at least attempting to look more presentable, I could at least put forth a token effort. Jerky?"

The bag hovers over to me.

"Uh, I'll pass. Jerky isn't breakfast food, you weirdo."

"Oh, but pizza is?" she sasses.

"Yeah. Now I kinda wish I had cold pizza for breakfast - thanks for that," I dish back to her.

"Just eat your damn cereal."

I oblige her command, pouring myself a bowl and digging the milk out of the fridge.

"I don't suppose you already took a gander at any new orders, have you?" I ask, pointing my spoon at the laptop set aside on the counter.

Midnight shakes her head. "Those orders will still be there in an hour."

"Starting to sound like me, Middie. Careful - that's a slippery slope."

"The difference between me and you is I will check it in an hour," she taunts, sticking her tongue out at me in defiance.

While I like giving her shit, the fact that she's not so anal about checking every little detail every minute of the day is a surprising change.

Maybe she's finally figuring out how to calm her mind.

"By the way, you know we should put up a sign somewhere out front or on the building that we don't do walk-ins or self-serve anymore after this week. Also, we need to finish pulling that transmission crossmember off of that '72 Malibu that you had a hissy fit with and gave up on last night."

Alright, maybe it's calmed a little bit.

"We'll get it. Promise. But I'm thinking we ought to set you up with a toolbag."

"I wouldn't be opposed to that," she says, her eyes betraying the excitement she is attempting to hide. "Two of us with separate lists could cover more ground."

"My thoughts exactly - at least when it's a bunch of simple little shit. Otherwise, it's you and me together."

"That sounds a lot nicer than it did a month ago," she muses.

"Oh, what part?" I ask knowingly.

"Your cereal is going to get mushy if you don't eat it," she replies, pointing at my bowl.

"Fine, mom. Geez."

"Stop dragging your feet."

"I'll go slower if you're going to whine how about that?"

I feel Midnight press her snout into my back between the shoulder blades, earnestly pushing me forward. in addition, I can feel the very tip of her horn graze the back of my neck as she leans into me.

"Hey, be careful there, rhino. I like my spinal cord. It does vital... spinal cord things."

"That's not my problem. Perhaps that's extra incentive to get a move on, hm?"

"I will be your problem if I'm paralyzed from the neck down. Then you will have to do all the work."

"I already assume I'm going to be quicker than you and get more done."

"Oh-ho, is that a challenge?"

"Nope, just speaking facts," she replies innocently.

With Midnight's assistance, I reach the junkyard gate, personally pulling one half of the gate closed while Midnight gets the other half, meeting in the middle. The clang and clatter of metal chains on chain link fence sends a message.

Closing time. For the last time.

Well, for self-serve customers anyway.

With a click, I ceremoniously snap the weathered padlock closed within the links of the chain. The sound is like a trigger for Midnight to let loose.

"Haha, that's it!" she shouts, trotting in place with excitement. "No more boring days of standing around doing nothing, no more being cooped up in the shop all day! Free roam over the whole yard and actually getting things done!"

"Okay, that's not normal to actually want to work," I remind her.

"It's not normal to have the hots for someone outside your species, either," she retorts with a devious grin. "But here you are, fucking that up."

"You know that comment puts you under the same blanket, right?"

Midnight halts her celebratory prancing. "...just shut up and let me have my moment. And nothing is definitive yet."

I smirk, but acquiesce with a nod and cross my arms, watching her prance around just a bit more before she calls it good.

"Now, I have to give you your due - this is possible because of all the effort you put into turning this place around and shifting it into a more productive direction. So you do deserve to brag, at least a little. But thank you for the little show, as well."

"Well, you didn't have to go and make it all awkward now," she replies, averting her gaze. "Remember, I basically did it for myself."

"Stop it, Middie. Take the compliment."

"God, you're so sappy," she grumbles.

"It's either that or I turn up the stupid. I think that would be out of place."

"Well I'll be damned - you actually considered what would be most appropriate for the occasion?"

I shrug. "Even a retarded squirrel finds a nut every now and then."

Midnight freezes, considering my comment for a moment.

"Isn't it 'even a blind squirrel finds a-'"

"Nope, we're sticking with retarded squirrel. Unless you're suddenly afraid of offending someone."

"I still call you retarded - what do you think?"

"Crass and crude - it's why I like you," I reply, heading back toward the shop and beckoning Midnight to follow me with a wave. "Come on, we still gotta get shit done tonight."

"No procrastination because pulling parts will be our daily job? I'm legitimately surprised," Midnight says with a straight face. "Hell, I would not have been opposed to the idea, personally."

Well...

Normally I would have said fuck it, but there's something else to be accomplished tonight.

She trots to my side while I amble along toward the Trailduster. It's a quiet walk - but I can practically feel Midnight studying me while I keep my gaze straight ahead.

Yeah, she knows something's up.

"What did you want for dinner once we get done with orders? Something here, or done out?" I ask while opening the driver's door.

"I dunno. You seem like you already have a plan," she replies without hesitation.

"Not for dinner, I don't."

I take a glance at her while she circles around to the other side of the SUV.

She's nervous now. That wasn't meant to happen.

"You would rather I don't do surprises, huh?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

"It scares me to think what your brain could come up with when left unoccupied," she retorts - a disguised confession.

"You're fine. Come on, hop in."

I slide into my seat while Midnight opens her door and stares at her side of the bench seat. Well, what's on her seat.

A plain cardboard box greets her, an almost perfect cube a little more than a foot long on each side.

"The fuck is this?"

"You can either ask me or open it, Middie. One option will be more satisfying than the other."

"Alright, what's in the box?" she snidely inquires with a grin.

I can't help but laugh at her remark, even though I want to see her reaction to the gift inside. It's not much, but I know she will get a lot of use out of it.

"Okay, wiseass. Get in here and open up the damn box before I throw it at you," I jokingly threaten while picking up the package and setting it on the armrest.

"No you wouldn't," she says calmly, hopping up and closing the door behind her.

"Because I'd be afraid of you tearing me limb from limb?"

"No - you wouldn't dare hurt this pretty face," she quickly replies, flicking her hair back with a quick motion of her head.

"...I mean, I could just avoid your head and throw it at your body."

"Oh, shut up."

While I pull open the flaps on either side, Midnight's electromagnetic ability lifts a large black bag out of the box by the metal grips affixed to the straps.

"What is—" Midnight sputters, her eyes fixated on the object - and I know the one specific point she's found.

"Time to put your money where your mouth is. If you're gonna show me up by pulling more parts any given day, you're gonna need your own tools and toolbag, right?"

"And you thought this would be a good surprise?" she asks you in a flat tone.

I thought it was. Maybe I made a mist—

Midnight practically leaps over the armrest between the two of us, smashing the empty cardboard box.

Her forelegs snake their way around my body and squeeze me into a hug.

"How? Where?" she asks gleefully, hovering the bag to my line of vision where I can spy "Midnight" embroidered in subtle yet striking blue and violet threads.

"Found a place online that did custom work, was able to arrange to buy this and have it shipped to em to get the threads done. I take it you actually approve of the gift?"

"I love it! But don't tell me you spent a fortune on all of this," she says somewhat concerned as she gently shakes it.

The light metallic clink of tools within reassures her it's already set up for use.

"Which part? The bag or the tools?"

I get a stern look in response.

"Yes."

"I gave you some good hand-me-down tools rather than buy some brand new Chinese crap that will break after the first use. Went through all of my shit between what's in here and what I had in the shop - you're set for virtually any hand tool you need to fetch shit when I'm working on something else. The bag was reasonable."

"Thank you, John," she mumbles, sounding almost as if she's on the verge of tears.

Happy tears, but nonetheless, I can't bear to see such a pretty mare cry.

"Think nothing of it, Middie," I reply, putting my arms around her and giving her a tight hug and loving pats on the back. "But do you still want to blow off tonight and get after it starting bright and early Monday morning?"

"Are you high? After surprising me with this?!" she cries in exasperation, returning to her seat quickly to show her wide-eyed, incredulous expression.

"I thought you might end up seeing things my way," I reply with a chuckle, starting up the truck.

"When did you do all of this?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I've been sitting on the bag for a few days. Sorting through my tools has been an on-and-off project when I have had time and you've been preoccupied. I don't want you to think I'm trying to be productive after all. You might start expecting that from me."

Midnight gives me a playful shove at that last line. "Now I know you can do things like this when you set your mind to em, so you dug your own grave."

"Ah fuck. Here, give that back," I demand, frantically grabbing for the toolbag.

"Nope, fuck you," she says with a blep of her tongue.

"Fiiine," I give in with a sigh as I crank over the engine of the Trailduster. "In all seriousness - what did you want for dinner tonight?"

"Brisket sounds pretty good. I know where we could get some..."

"Oh? Do tell. Wouldn't happen to be at a quaint little drive-in, would it?"

"Maybe."

"You got money?"

"As far as I'm concerned, your money is mine, so yes."

"This is gonna be one of those relationships, isn't it?"

"Oh, shut up," she mutters dismissively, her ears flipping back in a minor boutique of embarrassment.

She's still being coy about using the R-word - relationship. Somehow, it just makes the whole thing better.

Whether it's her excitement or mine doesn't matter - a quick blip of the throttle sets us out toward our final evening of work.