I no longer possess a laptop; now, I get to borrow it from the new owner on special occasions.

Since Sunday morning's discussion, Midnight has taken possession of the electronic device. In reality, I'm good with it after seeing how adamant she was in finding some way to turn the business around. The one I've run into the ground.

I put the goodwill offer out there after I made Midnight swear to keep out of any personal items and files on it. Even with that agreement, I went through and locked as many files and folders as I could behind a password to be safe – but she didn't need to know that.

Much to my surprise, I got an apology from Midnight in regards to her snooping around on the PC downstairs. It was an apology with a noticeably snarky bite, but that seems to be the extent of her capabilities in terms of social grace.

Regardless of the positive twists here, I'm still left with a bitter taste in my mouth that she invaded my privacy. But I have to admit, that is more due to what she could have found in my internet history; it's possible she could have discovered the website and company where I believe she originated. I don't know how she would feel about that, and I don't want to find out.

Deep down, I know why I feel anger toward her – Midnight's investigation has made me face reality again. It's embarrassing to have anyone know how much this place has gone downhill. I took over the helm less than five years ago, and between the stupid purchases I've made, the salvage cars that I've bought that seemingly have no market in terms of restoration interest, and the stubbornness to do it all on my own...

That sounds awfully familiar. Hm.

It has all culminated into an awful mess of a revenue spreadsheet and a helpless pit inside me. I just keep pushing it out of my mind, since I don't know what to do. It has become a "nonissue" because I convinced myself everything was fine.

Midnight seems to have some sort of vision of how to go about reforming the salvage yard now. Of course, it's fair to say she does not care about how the business does for me; she just doesn't want to start over again finding somewhere to live.

Despite it being a junkyard. I get it – this is where she ended up, and she can't exactly wander the world. It doesn't make the goal sound any less odd. However it gets sliced, we inadvertently share a goal of keeping this place on its feet and solvent.

Currently, with another day of work out of the way, I stare mindlessly at the television with not much else to do. Midnight is in her normal place on the couch – the opposite end from where I sit. She's dead silent, and has been for some time; on occasion I hear the tapping of keys or a double-click actuated by yet another chunk of scrap metal she has utilized as a tool but that's the scope of information I've gotten out of her.

On that note, there are different shapes and sizes of metal scattered all about my living space at this point. Each one has its own unique use as a tool for Midnight, made to handle objects or accomplish a task her hooves are incapable of achieving. The presence of the little scraps is not a big deal, aside from the rust they tend to harbor. Tetanus sounds like a good possibility if one of them falls on the floor and I step on it.

I have tried to steal glances at the laptop screen on several occasions, just out of pure interest in what she's trying to do. But the angle I have to contort myself to see and understand what she's reading is nearly impossible without causing me pain.

It's been like this every night for almost a week now – and even during the day from time to time. Most of the space in the cramped room of shelves downstairs that I call my warehouse is jam-packed with tagged parts from the engines Midnight has ripped apart. At this point, I can't have her going full bore on what's left of that pile. There is simply no more room.

"John."

Jolted out of my numbed stupor, I turn my head to see Midnight pushing the laptop across the couch cushions with her left wing, beckoning me to see for myself what she's been working on.

Reaching over and picking it up for the first detailed gander, my initial impression leaves me feeling a bit underwhelmed. It looks like a blank page with some words scattered about at a glance. But as I take a closer look and read the contents, I realize Midnight has a basic order form laid out, with blank areas marked above each space. There are specific boxes to type in year or series of years, make, model, submodel, and a massive blank area for requested parts.

"Where did you find this?" I ask, intrigued by the idea.

"Hit the back button," she instructs.

I'm expecting to find some site dedicated to creating and printing forms or webpages. Instead, my crappy website comes up – a basic site I threw together for free some time ago.

"Uh... what am I looking at here aside from my site now?"

"Exactly - it is your site," she replies, a bit put off by my question. "Do you see the tab at the top?"

Above the banner announcing "John's Vintage Auto Salvage" in faded and rust-marked letters is a bright eye-catching yellow bar labeled "Request Parts" that stretches across the entire span of the page. I hover over it with the cursor and click, which returns to the order form she had originally showed me.

"I thought you didn't know shit about computers and making stuff like this?" I ask, shocked by her accomplishment.

"I didn't. What do you think I've been doing the past few days?"

"You managed to figure out how to do something like that in a matter of less than a week?" I ask, unable to fully comprehend.

I set the computer back down between us; Midnight gladly accepts it, using her hooves to manipulate it back into position in front of her. "It wasn't that hard," she replies, flushed with embarrassment. "Did you even try to do something when you realized you were in trouble?"

I shake my head, which makes Midnight's frown return in full force. "I guess it just happened sort of slow," I admit, feeling myself growing a bit warm. "I gradually started taking in less money and spending more money than I was taking in. I was lost by the time I realized I was in deep, so I just didn't worry about it."

"Because ignoring your problems will solve them?" she proposes in a haughty tone.

"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

"It is stupid," she shoots back, not bothering to be anything other than blunt.

"It's okay, tell me how you really feel," I remark.

Midnight stares momentarily before shaking her head, displeased by my rapid-fire answers.

"I was trying to be funny," I admit to her.

"And I am dead serious right now," she replies, locking eyes with me again. "You just gave up? You didn't try to change something, anything at all?"

"I was in over my head, Midnight," I protest, crossing my arms as she prods for more insight. "I always kinda believed once you figured out your passion or what you enjoyed, doing that would just— work out, I guess? I dunno. I knew the owner, worked with him, and the opportunity arose to buy it so I took out a loan. Figured it couldn't be that hard to run a junkyard, right?"

"You couldn't ask the previous owner for advice?" she continues onward.

"I mean, that was why the opportunity presented itself – health issues, old age. The guy was long gone by the time I realized shit wasn't as rosy as I thought it was. I guess I never realized he was in such poor shape, either."

Midnight exhales deeply, hanging her head. "Do you realize you live in a world and have the means where endless amounts of information are within reach at any point in time?" she remarks, pointing a hoof to the laptop screen. "Do you realize that what I have gathered in knowledge that allowed me to create this order request page was gleaned from sites found solely by a few keywords in a search engine?"

I don't know how to respond to that. She makes it sound so damn simple. And maybe it is – like I told her, I guess I never really tried.

"You just told me this was a passion, that this business was something that you wanted. The memory you shared with me growing up, your father's Charger, the mindless little quirks you can spout off about practically any car we have to pull off parts. You still have an interest in making this work. So start showing it. Don't just roll over and accept something because the alternative isn't easy, or because there isn't an answer that just smacks you between the eyes – find it. Run after it, take what's yours."

Where in the hell did that fiery speech come from? Hell, I expected to get something insulting or demeaning from her. I swear Midnight changes up her act just to fuck with me.

"Alright, alright," I relent, throwing up my hands. "Did you learn how to give good pep talks online, too?"

"Stop acting like a fucking moron," Midnight warns, glaring at me.

Well, there's the attitude finally making an appearance. I did instigate the flare-up – may as well roll with it now. "Who said I was acting?"

"I—" Midnight stops in her tracks before she can get out any sort of retort. Her frown starts to melt away, with the ends of her mouth threatening to reverse course and flip upward. But she gives up the fight and whips her head around to face away from me, unwilling to share that expression.

"Are you really going to try to play that one off?" I whine.

"Shut up." Her voice is shaky in time with the slight heave of her sides, trying as hard as she can to contain any laughter from my stupid joke.

"You can at least relax a bit now that I'm actually on board with you, right?"

Midnight doesn't answer that until she composes herself, turning back to face me with her standard stony expression. "Relaxing is something I'm not familiar with, and this is only one small step forward," she finally replies.

"Still a step in the right direction though, and I'm tired. Not going to get it all in one day."

"I suppose so," she replies, yielding to my argument.

"Good. Now you get to share something," I say, leaning back into the couch.

Midnight whole form stiffens at my words. "What do you mean?" she asks, her reply spoken slowly.

"I mean you know a shit ton about me now, digging through my computer and asking me questions about all of this. I've been answering all the questions you've thrown at me in succession," I explain, leaning back into the couch. "I think I should be able to ask some things of you to even the score here."

Midnight's eyes dart around the room as if expecting to find something. Before long, she has to give up and return her focus to me. "Like what?" she asks.

"Well, I still really don't know much about your past, how ab—"

"No." Midnight's interruption is calm but firm. While I'm not particularly shocked by her throwing up a barrier, the speed at which she walled off any queries is frustrating.

"Alright – I get it, you're helping me now because this is 'all you have'," I reply while waving my arms around the room. "What comes after that? What do you want to do after this?"

"Comes after what? Succeeding in making this place stable?" she asks. I can't help but note how her ears flatten against her head now. Evidently, they show just as much emotion as her face does, if I could understand it...

"Yes."

There is a long, deafening pause after my affirmation. Midnight's blue eyes glaze over as she ponders the relatively simple question I've put forth.

I figured she had some sort of long-term goal in mind; she obviously doesn't want to spend eternity here, right? Not that I'm looking for her to leave...

That scenario has not crossed my mind until now, because she can be so difficult to interact with. I can't deny that despite this, it's been a nice change of pace to have someone else here.

"I don't know," she admits with a hush mumble.

"You just... planned on living out your days here?"

Midnight looks... lost. This is only one in maybe two moments I've seen Midnight naked.

Well, physically she always is. But emotionally, there's always a wall that she tries to keep up, keeping as serious and confident as possible.

"I guess? I never really thought about anything other than – well, surviving," she replies, shrugging. That was my only goal, and with you allowing me to stay here – not just in the old van, but here in your home... I dunno."

The simple notion that being alive is her one and only goal leaves me feeling uncomfortable. It's not the first time I've heard her say something to that effect, but it affirms Midnight has never looked further than that, based on her response and her sagging frame.

"Hey, it's fine. I just thought maybe you had something grand in mind. There's no shame in focusing on the short term, and as you said, there's quite a ways to get there," I assure her, trying to steering away from what is becoming a touchy topic.

"Indeed," she replies with a quick nod, perking up as I loosen the pressure I put on her.

It feels like every day, there's something more to Midnight that leaves me with more and more questions I want to ask. Those questions will probably come with time.

A lot of time.

Author's Note

This ended up being a short chapter as I could not find a good 'fit' combining this particular greentext installment with another like most chapters have been thus far. There may be more like that in the future. More a heads up than anything particularly noteworthy.