Midnight

As I set aside the last crankshaft bearing cap and toss the last bolt into a nearby coffee can with a *plunk*, I feel at least some sense of accomplishment. It may be little more than a heavy paperweight, but the crankshaft of the Chrysler's Hemi is free to be pulled out of the block – and the block is officially disassembled.

As I finagle for a firm grip on the crankshaft to lift the component from its home, Midnight continues to work on her own project nearby, just a couple of steps from my side. By the looks of it, she's taking the time to do a deep clean on the carburetors, but stopping short of a full teardown for the time being.

Though she may be distracted, I have faith in her...

"Hey Midnight, catch!" I call, giving her just a second to react. As her head turns, I heave the crankshaft up in the air and toward her – at least, to the best of my abilities with such an unwieldy lump of iron.

Middie's eyes widen as she realizes what I've done. She drops the parts in her grasp back onto the workbench and in an instant, the crankshaft halts in mid-air about a foot away from her. "John, what the fuck?!" she cries out. "What is wrong with you?"

"Just keeping you on your hooves. No big deal," I reply, trying to pass off some semblance of innocence.

"I always have an eye and ear open – especially around you," Midnight retorts. The crankshaft resumes its journey toward Midnight, now under control and at a leisurely pace. She takes a moment to inspect it before her gaze falls back to me. "What would you have done if I somehow missed this and it hit me?"

"Uh, I would have made sure you were all right. Then probably laughed," I tease, starting to feel like this idea was more stupid now as time goes on and flaws are uncovered.

Despite this, the scowl that has taken hold of Midnight's muzzle shows the slightest signs of cracking into the beginnings of a smile, but nevertheless remains. "How thoughtful of you," she drones.

"Aww, you know I would never hurt a pretty little face like yours, Mid," I gush, taking a step toward her with and reaching to said face with my hands.

"Don't touch me," she warns, taking a step back as the crankshaft she levitates rotates into a position to be used as a club. "Your hands are filthy."

Somehow it takes a moment of me looking down to connect the dots. Indeed, after toiling in the remnants of the Hemi's bottom end for the last hour, my hands are stained dark brown with oil and grease, capped off with a big glob stuck to the back of my left hand.

"What if I hadn't caught this, anyway?" Midnight continues to chastise. "Then what would you have done?"

"Uh – did you forget that crankshaft is junk? It really doesn't matter what happens to it," I reply, grabbing a rag from nearby and wiping off my grungy hands as best as I can.

"No, I didn't forget – did you forget forged metal beats concrete? This could have easily left a mark or divot in the floor."

"Eh, just another mark on the floor that would have told a story. Like the scrape marks you left on the floor over there when pulling engines apart," I respond, pointing her attention to the far corner of the shop. With that quick distraction, I smirk as I get a baby of grease from the rag and smear it on my thumb.

As Midnight turns back around, I take another step toward her. But whether it be my expression or movement without a word, she's become wary and guarded, taking a step back in turn to match me. "What are you up to?" she questions in a low voice.

With no possibility of surprise in my corner now, I resort to just raising my hand up, thumb up, and facing outward toward her with a dollop of grease. "Simbaaa," I croak.

"I don't know what the hell that means – just stay away from me with that," Midnight growls back in warning.

"Funny, that's not what you said last night."

"Wh— oh, shut up!" she cries emphatically, her face contortions with mild disgust when she catches my joke.

"Aww, come here, I'll make it all better, I coo, trying to close in on her with quicker steps now.

"Nope, fuck you. Get hit, dumbshit," she answers, taking steps back as she swings the crankshaft in a slow, controlled arc.

However, both of us freeze as an electronic beep rings out from the counter to... well, my right, Midnight's left.

"I bet that's Starla. I've been waiting to hear back from her," Midnight comments, trying to disguise the anticipation in her voice as her eyes dart back to me, then to the crankshaft. "Where do you want this?"

"Eh, just set it on the floor or somewhere out of the way for now," I answer. The crankshaft finds its way to a shelf on a cart nearby before Midnight trots to the counter.

Maybe this time it really is Starla.

There have already been a few false alarms with spam messages in the day and a half since giving Midnight the go-ahead for a possible sleepover. She has been ensuring the laptop is not far out of reach and enabled the annoying audible notifications that have become increasingly frustrating to Midnight when her hopes are dashed by junk mail.

Still, now that she has a preoccupation... I follow Midnight, attempting to match her steps. However, that doesn't last long as one of her ears swivels back to face my direction. "John, I swear I will beat you senseless," she warns me in a stern voice.

"Well, before we get started there – what's the safe word, mistress?"

My comment forces Midnight to turn her head and actually look at me, almost horrified by my joke. "You are just fucking awful today!" she cries out. Nevertheless, a bit of laughter taints the bite of her response, if the smirk didn't already.

"Must be something in the water."

"We drink the same water."

"Well, I dunno what to tell you. I'm out of ideas."

A sigh and shake of the head from Midnight as she walks around the counter to her laptop informs me I need not come up with any other excuses. Instead, I stay quiet as she opens up the device and starts a cacophony of clicks and keystrokes for a few brief moments. "Finally!" she exclaims, her face lighting up with giddiness.

"Good – what's it say?"

"I dunno yet, I haven't opened it," Midnight admits, slipping off of her high just a bit.

"Oh – I guess I didn't realize you were gonna get that hyped over just seeing she responded," I laugh.

But after that, a couple more rounds of keystrokes and clicks follow. Midnight ensures I have no visual on the screen or the keyboard by strategic placement and her positioning, leaving me perpetually in the dark as to what's transpiring.

"You uh — were you planning to read the message today, or am I just hanging out while you browse the web now?" I question, beginning to grow a bit skeptical as time goes on.

"Just a minute..." Midnight mutters, honed in completely on the computer screen. But soon enough, she perks back up, eyes ablaze with renewed vigor. "Hi, Star!" she cheers to the screen.

"Well, that didn't take long to get a response back from my message, did it?" I hear Starla giggle through the computer speakers. "Hi Middie, how are you doing?"

While the two mares exchange greetings through video chat, I attempt to sneak my way around the counter to get a view of Starla for myself. But I only manage two or three steps before Midnight's icy leer stops me dead in my tracks.

"What? I didn't realize I was a secret you were keeping from Starla," I comment loudly, hoping the microphone picks up my voice.

"John! This is a pleasant surprise – it's not often I get to see or hear you in our video chats," Starla answers. "How are you?"

"I'm being held hostage. Notify the authorities and send help," I reply, purposely blocking any sort of gusto or emotion from coming through.

"Oh shut up, you dumbass," Midnight grumbles, picking up a loose bolt sitting on the countertop. She tosses it half-heartedly, allowing me to easily sidestep the airborne missile.

"Now she's throwing things and being abusive toward me. But to be honest, that's normal."

I hear genuine laughter bellow out from the laptop now as Midnight rolls her eyes. Despite her charade, she's allowed a smile to grace her muzzle as she rotates the laptop for both of us to now see and interact.

Starla waves an off-color hoof in greeting at my sudden presence, her flame-colored hair decked out in braids once again and a big grin – as always – beaming back.

"Hi Star. Good to see you again," I properly greet her. "Though I gotta say, you've had Midnight all twisted into knots while waiting for a reply."

Starla's glee fades just a tad as her focus shifts toward Midnight. But Midnight is already rolling her eyes again in response to my comment. "He's exaggerating Star. It's something he loves to do," Midnight laments. "it's not been that bad – but I am glad to be hearing back from you."

"Still, I didn't mean to keep you waiting – sorry about that," Starla apologizes, her ears flattening.

"Really? Jumping up and running toward the laptop in a mad rush every time it dinged a notification was nothing?" I wonder aloud, shooting Midnight a smarmy grin.

"Hush, you," Midnight responds with a touch of bitterness.

"I got your message the day you sent it to me – Teddy and I have just been really busy, and we've been discussing the idea," Starla explains, flicking her braid back with a hoof. "It's not that either of us are against it – after all, Teddy worries about me being left alone even though I've proven time and time again it's no issue. My biggest hang-up is I don't want to get in the way. After all, you two have work to get done even if I'm around, right?"

"We do have to work, yes – but you aren't gonna get in the way," Midnight speaks up, trying to allay Starla's concerns. "On my end, John is concerned about you getting bored with us and having to be outside all day."

"Is that it?" Starla blurts, blinking a few times. "That's nothing for me. I'd personally be really interested in seeing what you two do every day, particularly since cars mean so much to you, Middie."

"Really? So that's a yes?!" Midnight exclaims. Her eyes literally glow brighter now with the sudden jolt of excitement.

"Mhm. As long as it's fine with John..." Starla adds, her violet-magenta eyes flicking over toward me with anticipation.

"Hmm... I might have to think on it a bit," I tease, glancing at Midnight. Her glee fades as I continue with my obvious shenanigans. "Do you think it's still a good idea?"

"You really want me to hit you today, don't you?" she blurts out with a deadpan stare.

"Oh Middie, you have a touch that sends shivers down my spine when you beat me," I reply with a dreamy, wistful sigh, allowing my head to be propped up by the open palm of my hand.

On the other side of the screen, Starla bursts into a fresh set of giggles brought on by my antics, while Midnight sighs with mild disgust and looks away from me and back to the laptop. "Assuming you're willing to tolerate his bullshit, it sounds like we officially have a sleepover coming up to prepare for. When do you think Teddy is set to hit the road?"

"Oh, it will be another week, I think. But there's not much to prepare for me," Starla dismisses bashfully, waving a hoof. "I don't need anything special or fancy."

"Yeah, but with someone else in the house, I will have to get more food – and probably more variety," I chime in. "Fido doesn't stray too far from meat, I'm sure you aren't quite that narrow in your preferences."

"John, you realize I'm standing here, right?" Midnight huffs.

"Of course I do, Fido."

"I hate you." I feel one of her hooves prod me roughly in the ribs, making me recoil away.

Meanwhile, Starla is overcome with a new wave of giddiness, clapping her front hooves together and letting out a light squeeze. "Midnight, I'm going to put together a little list in the next day or two and send it in another email. Just a few things to get at the grocery store. At least one night, I'd really, really like to cook for you two!"

"Uh... alright," Midnight slowly responds, unsure what to make of Starla's outburst or her plans. "I'll keep an eye out for it."

"Can't wait to see what you got in store for us now," I chime in. "I'll be sure that Midnight checks her messages – or I'll check myself."

"No, you won't," Midnight warns with a harsh tone and a stony expression. But she softens up as her focus returns to Starla. "Thanks again, Starla. I'm really looking forward to this. And I'll try to get John to not be so stupid when you're actually here."

"Why? I think he's entertaining," Starla giggles.

I take a bow at that as Midnight pouts. "Star, don't encourage him."

"Alright – by the looks of what's happening in the background, you two have been busy – I ought to let you two get back to work," Starla concedes.

"Ah, it's just our personal project – nothing business-related," I assure her.

"Take care Star – talk to you again soon," Midnight speaks up, waving goodbye. I do the same, as does Starla on the other end before the feed goes black.

"Aw man, I can't wait till— well, whenever she comes over!" Midnight exclaims, prancing around in a tight circle.

"Yeah, I'll admit I'm looking forward to it. And maybe embarrassing you in front of her a few times, too," I playfully threaten, finding that small dab of grease from earlier is still on my thumb...

Midnight halts her celebration with my comment, suddenly appearing a bit worried. That hesitation gives me the opening I need as I lean toward her and smear a bit of grease on her forehead, just below her hairline.

"Simbaaa..." I call once again in a thick accent. The grease is not particularly noticeable against her dark fur coat, but no matter – I know it's there.

"Are you fucking serious, John?!" Midnight shouts, exasperated after my crowning achievement of antics for the day is realized.

Knowing full well this volcano may blow its top with my grimy work, I turn and start to walk away from her at a rapid pace, around the counter and heading for the opposite side of the shop. I don't get far before I hear her growl, followed by a white and silver object whiz by me and skip across the floor ahead.

"Hey, spark plugs actually hurt!" I shout, unwilling to turn my head to take a look back at her.

"Good! I'll make sure the next one doesn't miss!" Right on cue, I feel something pelt me between the shoulder blades – though if it's actually a spark plug, the force behind that throw was tempered.

"Oww!" I cry in a feigned half-sob, heading out the open garage bay door and into the desert sun. "I'm telling Mom!"