Midnight

*Beeeeep!*

Midnight trudges up to the driver's door of my truck as I continue to lean on the horn, offering her a welcoming smile even as her deadpan stare narrows into a proper glare. "Can you fucking not?" she finally barks.

"I was curious to see what sort of reaction I would get," I answer her, relaxed and unfazed by her choice of tone. Behind me, I can hear Starla stifling her laughter in the passenger seat, barely audible above the sound of the idling truck engine. "Where's your haul for the day, anyway? All I see is a toolbag."

"I got some small stuff in here," Midnight protests, shaking the bag to broadcast the sound of clinking metal inside. "And did you seriously not notice the pile of parts slowly accumulating in the back that wasn't your stuff?"

"Oh, I noticed it," I admit, waving off her minor disbelief. "I just wanted you to admit to being a try-hard – in a roundabout way."

"I was not being a try-hard!" Midnight shouts, stomping a hoof down in defiance.

Starla might be thinking I'm taking this just a bit far, but she doesn't know what I know. "Come on, Midnight. You and I both know you always leave parts in a pile out in the open to pick up later when I drive by."

Midnight's eyes widen as my revelation brings a stark reality check to her actions today. Despite this, she takes the reins of her emotions again and doubles down, resuming her expression of disapproval. "I don't do that all the time, John."

"You know what, that's a compromise I'll take," I relent, much to Midnight's abrupt surprise. That surprise lingers and spreads to me as Starla suddenly lunges forward and sneaks her way between me and the steering wheel to get a view of Midnight.

"Did you get everything on your half of the list?" she asks with an eager, barely contained enthusiasm.

Perhaps it's the barrage of comments and conversation after hours of solo work, but Midnight takes a half step backward with unease following Starla's seemingly awkward question. "Yeah, of course I did," she replies with caution, wary of possible hidden agenda. "I just finished up."

"Oh good – I was just curious," Starla comments, laying back on her energy for the moment for a relaxed approach. "John and I finished with our half of the list fifteen or so minutes ago – we've been driving around looking for you."

Now Midnight takes a full step back, her eyes flicking to me. "Bullshit. There's no way you got everything on your list done after the first three hours of delay," she vehemently protests.

"You said it yourself. Starla is a good helper," I chime in and offer a final shrug as the best answers I can provide.

"Dammit. I'm never gonna hear the end of this from you," Midnight mutters, hanging her head.

"It was never a competition, Middie – but you wanted to run your mouth," I remind her. "You do that more than I do, so you're in your own head right now."

"Yeah, yeah."

"It was my idea to pick up the pace and try to get our list done first anyway," Starla adds as Midnight shuffles toward the back of the truck.

"So it was a betrayal on your part. Interesting," Midnight hollers, leaping up onto the open tailgate and closing it behind her. "I'll remember that."

"Nope, just a result of wanting to show I can make a difference," Starla answers as Midnight makes her way through the collection in back to rejoin us.

"Someone sounds moody this afternoon – you okay?" I question, turning to look at Midnight.

Midnight once again rolls her eyes. "Maybe you got too used to Starla being around her today, forgot how I am."

While I assume that's meant to be a joke, it doesn't really come out with Midnight's normal sass. As I turn to face forward and get the truck moving homeward bound, I spy Starla in the passenger seat suddenly fidgeting a bit in discomfort. Before long, she herself turns to gander at her friend.

"That was a joke. You know, because our personalities are different," Midnight spouts, her eyes scanning both of us with incredulity at our lack of response and the resulting awkward silence. "You really think I'm the jealous type?"

Starla and I both look at each other, perplexed at that sudden bizarre follow-up inquiry.

"That was supposed to be a resounding 'no'," Midnight grumbles, shaking her head. "Did you two get heat stroke today or something? I'm the one who suggested you two should work together while I solo. I'm fine."

"Are you fine, though?" I suggest as I take a look at her through the rearview mirror. "I enjoyed getting to know Starla better, but the real reason you went out on your own was for time to... 'think'."

Instantly, Midnight prepares to clam up on the turn this conversation is being steered toward. She turns to look out the passenger window in the back, pretending as if she did not hear me. But she can't hide those pursed lips and the air of uncertainty she gives off. Maybe Midnight doesn't want to talk about it – but she knows she needs to. And I'm sure she knows I'm not going to let her keep silent all night on what's been eating at her.

"Midnight," I call to her as I already begin to tire of the silent treatment. She turns her head to look at me, her face stone cold and emotionless now. But rather than respond, she settles for a staring contest, awaiting my next move.

"If you don't tell me what's up, I swear I'll turn this truck around," I threaten, hoping the silly remark is enough to throw her off-balance. Just judging by her face as she scoffs and internally questions my words, I know I did something to get her to eventually speak.

"Turn around where, stupid?" she remarks with a developing smirk. "We gonna go camping out in the yard tonight?"

"You act as if I would have thought that far ahead."

"C'mon Midnight, he's been worrying about you," Starla speaks up, breaking open the seal around the forbidden subject. "He just wants to know you're alright."

"Well, that's very sweet of him," Midnight coos with a hint of sarcasm. She steps forward until she's behind my seat, resting her chin on my shoulder. "Yet I swear I'm absolutely fine," she reiterates quietly next to my ear.

'I'm fine' is still the best she can do, and I'm not thrilled with the continued stonewalling. I reach over with my opposite arm and try to boop her nose – but she pulls away before I come close.

"You're gonna have to change it up – I could see that coming from a mile away," she snickers.

"You're really just gonna make us sit here and suffer while you keep the lid on your little secret?" I whine in frustration. I still don't get a verbal answer, so I turn my attention to Starla. "You have my permission to beat her up – see if you can get something out of her," I say, nodding my head toward the back.

"I'm not a fighter, John, " she replies with a chuckle. "But I'll agree Midnight's making this harder than it should be."

"I'm not doing it out of enjoyment," Midnight sighs, the first proper chink in the armor she's displayed thus far. "It's... I have things I'm trying to understand, so explaining it all makes it even harder."

"What exactly are you trying to understand, Midnight?" I press. "You've had roughly four hours to dwell on whatever it is, and if you still don't know... well, don't you think it would be better to try and share to see if we could offer some helpful input or different insight?"

"Do you want me to tell John what you explained to me earlier?" Starla offers. "Would that at least help things get started?"

"No, I'll just... alright, fine. John, I remember a bit more about some of my... hazier memories," Midnight concedes, doing little to hide her bitterness between the subject and having to divulge the matter.

Of course, now it makes a bit more sense why she's not willing to share. No memories of her time as a test subject are pleasant – at least not that I'm aware of. But that really does nothing to explain why she's having to give those memories even a minute of her time. The past is the past, she's buried it and moved on... right?

"Sorry. I know that's a tough subject for you," I console her, hoping the soft approach will get her to keep going. "You know I'm always willing to lend an ear and ease your burden on that sort of thing."

"It wasn't that bad, I'm just hung up on something about it I can't quite figure out," she responds, dismissing me once again even as she throws on another cryptic statement for good measure.

I've had enough of this. It's been a long day of work out in the hot sun, and trying to be courteous with Midnight only to be repeatedly rebuffed despite her commitment earlier to discuss this topic has me pushed beyond minor frustration now. I take my foot off the throttle, letting the truck coast to a stop before throwing the shifter into park.

"Wha— did we forget something?" Starla is the first to respond to the untimely stop as she looks outside, then to me and Midnight.

"No, we're stuck here," I announce, keeping my eyes focused straight ahead on the horizon.

"What the hell do you mean we're stuck?" Midnight demands. "We were moving along just fine."

"No, we're well and truly stuck. Doing the same damn thing as before, tucking away something that bothers us to appear tough."

"...Come again?" Starla stares from the passenger, utterly lost in my short monologue.

"Midnight back there. The hardass," I tell her.

"Oh... Oh!" The light bulb in her noggin clicks on after a brief moment of thought.

"Holy shit, give me a break," Midnight groans. "Why do you have to be like this?"

The snide response from Middie only serves to stoke the fire that's been lit under my ass. I turn my whole body as much as I can to properly face her. "I'm dead serious, Midnight. You have two friends in the front seat here wanting to help you out and listen to what's troubling you, and here you are being an ignorant ass playing games."

Momentary surprise by the volley I've launched at her quickly dissipates as she leans toward me with a simmering temper. "I'm not playing any fucking games, John!" Midnight snarls back, baring her teeth.

"Then what is this, Mid?"

"Complicated."

Reaching behind from memory, I find the steering column and my keys in the ignition. One twist, and the engine sound and vibration it provides die off. "We can sit here all night if you want to keep being stubborn," I threaten. "We'll wait until the morning when it's time to go back out and pull parts. I really don't care."

"Why are you being a stubborn asshole about this?!" Midnight counters, raising her voice. "I'm not allowed to have my own personal thoughts now?!"

"Both of you take a moment and breathe!" Starla's surprisingly sharp tone causes both of us to halt our escalating quarrel. As eyes fall upon the passenger seat, Starla shrinks back a bit as she realizes she's thrown herself into the middle of this spat – but musters up the confidence to sit up straight and stoic.

"Midnight, I'll say it again – John is concerned for you. He's had that lingering concern from the time you went off on your own until now. I don't know everything that you're going through, and even though John asked me multiple times, I didn't fill him in on what little I do know. Just as you asked."

Starla turns her head toward me, her jaw kept firm as she studies my face. "John, I understand you want to know what's on Midnight's mind, but forcing a standoff until she speaks isn't very nice. Maybe you have a point in her not wanting to look like she can't handle her own emotions, but I know there's more to the story than that."

"I said I was going to tell you tonight, John," Midnight utters in a subdued voice. "That's still my plan – I just need more time to sort out how to explain what I'm thinking."

"And as stated before, we're both going to hold you to that," Starla reaffirms, nodding toward Midnight before she emits a sigh. "But it has been a long day, hasn't it? Why don't we head back home and relax?"

My eyes meet with Midnight's luminous blue peepers in a pervading silence, each of us unsure what to say to each other at this point. But carrying on with the arguing certainly isn't the answer.

"Dinner first, the discussion," Midnight solemnly bargains with me. "I swear on it."

"Alright, I'll live with that," I agree, scratching the back of my head. It's awkward having just had our guest calm the two of us down – if arguing in front of her wasn't bad enough already. "I just worry when you bottle stuff up. That's why I pressure you on it. Sorry for getting snippy."

"I know – and I'm not bottling it up. That's not my goal here. I want to figure something out before I speak on it," she responds. "Sorry."

"Starla, home sounds good – as does dinner," I quip, turning around and starting the truck up. "What are we making tonight?"

Star laughs at my inquiry. "Oh, you won't be making anything. You get to sit back, relax, and watch if you're interested," she says with a renewed vigor. "Midnight, I hope you're ready for your first trials in the kitchen!"

Well, it should make for a fascinating show – far better than anything on TV. I'll take a front-row seat.