Midnight

I don't believe I have ever seen it rain this much in the desert. Almost all day has been one long soaking rainstorm of varying intensity. As a result, customers were non-existent, and pulling parts out back was a no-go.

It's already rutted bad enough in some spots; why make it worse driving through mud? Or another possible issue arising – somehow managing to get the truck mired way out there in a quagmire.

That's probably unlikely with the 4x4 capabilities, but it sounds better than 'I don't want to get wet'.

On a more positive note, I have noticed an uptick in online business since Midnight created that order request option on the website and put it into action. Enough revenue has come in the past week or two that I decided to throw some money at the Trailduster as I had mentioned to Midnight previously.

That will be a surprise for her, as it will take a while for the leaf springs and bushings to arrive. But the shock absorbers are scheduled to arrive here within a week; I'll have to play them off as either for another car or leave it unopened and pass them off as something else entirely.

However, today was not a complete time waster; I spent almost three hours going through the warehouse and referencing every part against the list on my computer downstairs. That was good enough for me to feel like I accomplished something, and Midnight was satisfied with the outcome.

In the meantime, Midnight herself started work on a new and improved spreadsheet, listing the automobile inventory with what cars the two of us had gone through in-depth thus far.

It's only been a week since that scope of the project began, but going through just four incomplete rows puts the car count data close to one hundred fifty. It seems like just a number until having to traverse the space that many cars take up.

On a side note, I think I'll need to buy another laptop at some point. Sure, I have my phone, but it's rather sluggish and the small screen is a pain to focus on for a long period of time. With all of my shop manuals exhausted by Midnight's voracious appetite for reading, that old laptop has been her go-to for information – even when she's not helping me out with something.

Or in her words, helping herself, which also helps me. She's still adamant about that, and it's a real sticking point for her.

Probably pride.

Bored with a rerun of some 90s sitcom on the tube, I cast a glance over to her familiar spot to catch a glimpse of her current interest.

...Jaguars?

"Hey!"

My shout actually manages to startle her for once. Her head jerks around to scan the room before honing in on me. "What?" she barks, confused and frustrated by the sudden interruption.

"This is Amurrica, we don't do them fancy Yuropeein cars like that. You bring me great shame," I scold her in jest, putting on the most serious, disapproving face I can muster.

"Oh. Sucks to be you, then," she retorts with a smug grin.

I feel disappointed the altercation stops there. She saw right through me.

"Did I push it too hard, or do you just not care?" I ask, curious where I went wrong.

"Hmm. Both, I guess."

"And are you being honest, or are you trying to throw me a bone so I don't feel like a complete failure?"

"Probably closer to the second option."

"That's bullshit," I mutter, crossing my arms and feigning a pouting expression.

"You're the one that asked, dumb-dumb," she jabs back making a face of disgust. "And I don't know what that face is, but stop it."

"Fine," I relent, relaxing and returning to my previous normal sitting posture. "What got you interested in Jags, anyway?"

Midnight shrugs as her eyes glow with a faint light, a strip of metal hovering over the touchpad to scroll down on the current webpage. "Something different. I just started clicking on different manufacturers, and this happened to be the one you caught me with. Do you actually dislike them?"

"Nah, I'm just fucking around," I admit, waving my hand to alleviate her concerns. "Sort of just playing that trope out."

"What do you mean?" she asks, cocking her head in curiosity.

"Most Americans and Europeans don't understand each other's tastes in cars. Europe has more twisty roads, so their cars favor a sporty suspension, and tend to have less emphasis on acceleration or speed. Here, we have a lot of straight roads. Having something that can turn well doesn't matter – we just look for the raw throw-you-into-the-back-of-your-seat acceleration and smooth-riding comfort."

"Have you ever driven a Jaguar?"

"I can't say I've ever had the privilege of being in one, but there are some models I wouldn't mind taking out for a drive."

"Such as...?" Midnight leans forward just a bit, now invested in this conversation. I get the sense that she has not gotten far into reading the topic.

"Well, the E-Type is arguably the peak of automotive design. They were named the XK-E here in the US, I think. I'd probably feel at home and more comfortable in an XJ-S, but I've also heard those can be maintenance nightmares. At least the V-12 version is. Think there's at least one or two of those out back."

"Really? Where?"

"In the far back corner. That's where all the foreign makes are."

"Oh." Midnight's shift in interest is drastic with that single, flat response being all she is able to muster. Her attention just as quickly returns to the laptop screen.

"You don't seem too thrilled about that."

"It's just junk cars. What's there to be excited about?" she replies in a hasty manner.

"Bullshit."

Midnight is forced into a double-take by my terse response. "Excuse me?" she asks as if offended by my language.

I am legitimately a bit irked by her attempt to save face. After all, I was truthful when she asked what was stressing me out a few days ago. She can at least return the favor.

"This is the second time you've tried to avoid any discussion or visit to that particular area of the yard – what's the reason for that? I haven't been back there in some time, so if something is wrong—"

"Nothing is wrong," Midnight replies through gritted teeth, her ears pinned back. "Just stop worrying about it - I just don't have interest."

"You did have an interest until I mentioned where those Jaguars were at," I point out. I know this is heading down a rocky road the fuether I press this issue, but so be it.

Frustrated by my prying, she turns away from me in virtual silence, her nostrils flaring as she lets out a huff during this motion.

"You helped me by making me spill my own guts, the least you can do is let me offer the same."

"That was different," she snaps back.

"How?"

Midnight doesn't offer any excuse — merely silence as she tries to ignore me.

"Midnight."

Nothing.

"Miiiiidniiiiight," I call her name in a dragged-out fashion. With no response, I scooch closer to her on the couch.

The weight shift by my movement makes Midnight unable to keep her focus turned elsewhere. Still, she's willing to only grace me with a sharp glare out of the corner of her eye. "What the fuck are you doing?" she demands, her tone sharp and impatient.

"Getting you to stop ignoring me so you can tell me what's got you so bent out of shape."

"It's none of your business."

"So there is something bothering you about that back corner."

"Fuck you."

"Come on, I'm trying to help you, I protest, inching just a bit closer...

"I don't need your help!" she snarls, going on the attack as her head swivels back around to properly face me, her eyes glowing with more intensity than normal. "You think I'm just some weak-minded, feeble little pony?! That I can't take care of my own issues?! I'm perfectly capable of dealing with what I've been through! You couldn't understand it anyway, so stop trying!"

I keep my mouth shut as she releases that verbal tirade. It's impossible to miss that her whole form is slightly trembling now.

Maybe I'm pushing too hard. I can't remember ever being in a situation that even remotely resembles this in order to decide what I should do. But if she doesn't want to talk, I can probably do detective work on my own.

"I'm not trying to be an asshole, Midnight. I know you can deal with your own issues," I reply, keeping my tone calm and paitient. "But I can't guarantee my curiosity won't get the best of me at some point; I can always drive back there and have a look. Am I going to find something?"

"It's a fucking graveyard back there," I hear her mumble. "It's where I was dumped, along with... others."

Oh.

Somehow, I never considered Midnight might have been the only pony bot to be sent here. After all, it's where any sort of generic scrap is dumped off, and the factory that likely produced her has visited and offloaded junk multiple times...

"Others... there were others?" I try to tiptoe forward with my inquiry with something she gave me.

"Parts. Some nearly whole. But not actual others like me – alive."

"Why did you make it?" I ask. Despite my desire to hear more from her, I can't deny I feel nauseated by her short, vague description. Logic would dictate it's just robots or cybernetic parts – industrial waste.

But it's personal for Midnight. "I don't want to talk about this. You got your damn answer, now leave me alone," she snaps.

While I still would like to hear more from her about this piece of her journey, I recognize this is far enough. At least now I understand why she wants nothing to do with that area – and with that knowledge, I should see about doing something to alleviate that reminder, even if she never goes back there again.

Burying it, at the bare minimum.

As much as Midnight gushed about her importance and superiority over others, she clearly has some sort of guilt or trauma from experiencing that sight of... bodies.

Maybe she knew some of them. Maybe some of them were her friends. Or family.

Well, maybe she considered them family.

Midnight has gone back to staring off in another direction, her barrel slightly heaving now. It's a sight that makes a part of me regret uncovering this bit of the mystery surrounding her. Yet I know trying to comfort her will end up like trusting a fart after Taco Bell.

"Hey, Midnight?"

"What?" Her reply is short and bitter.

"Do y— can I have a hug?"

"Why the fuck would you ask me that?"

"I dunno. Just feel like I need one, I guess."

I don't get a response - not that I'm surprised. But I felt like it was worth a try.

"This never gets discussed or mentioned. Ever. Fucking baby."

Is that an invitation or...

When she slaps the couch cushions beside her, I scoot over, unable to shake away a hint of nervousness and vulnerability from myself. Midnight doesn't say anything as she sits up and shifts her body toward me, placing her chin on my shoulder in a motion so quick I am unable to view her face.

I place an arm around her neck, feeling her muscles tensing up for a moment at the touch. Midnight takes a deep breath before finally allowing herself to relax. She doesn't say anything, and I let her have peace.

Slowly bringing up my other arm to complete the embrace, my fingertips brush her neck, causing me to marvel at the silky and soft texture of the midnight-sky blue fur. Part of her rich violet and blue mane falls over my arm as well as tickles the side of my face.

Meanwhile, I can feel something warm drip and soak into the back of my shirt.

Must be a leak in the roof. I'm not bothered by it, though.

No reason to mention it to Midnight, either...

I didn't bother keeping track of how long Midnight was in my arms. At some point, she finally pulled away from me without a word, turned away, and lay back down. I felt the only thing to do was move back over and give her space.

During the comforting embrace, Midnight made sure to keep herself as silent as possible. The only indications of her outpouring of emotions were the occasional hitch in her breathing, as well as the dampness that now permeated the right shoulder and back area of my shirt.

Now, I sit in silence on the couch with the TV on mute. Once in a while, I find myself glancing over at Midnight's now-slumbering form. It's an awful feeling, not knowing what to do at this point. How does one help someone who doesn't want to be helped? How does one teach another how to accept help?

I have assumed for a while now that Midnight had been putting on an act to mask any potential vulnerabilities, but I hadn't necessarily expected she had experienced any sort of trauma that was left alone to be bottled up.

Who knows what the hell else she went through? She certainly doesn't want to share it. Whether that be fear of reliving it or appearing "weak" – that is up for debate.

Hell, I had to play it off that I needed a hug just to try to comfort her. Yet she still had a hissy fit about it.

If that wasn't souring enough, I'm left with more haunting questions. Midnight was the only one dumped here that was apparently alive - why? Maybe it was not done purposely. Maybe she escaped – could EquisCo be looking for her? Could I be in deeper shit than I thought for harboring her?

That last question doesn't really matter much to me. Like hell I'm going to give her up to the shithole she came from if they come a-knocking.

It's now that more guilt creeps in. My views on how I thought about her when she first arrived – particularly regarding why they didn't deactivate her. Now the mere thought makes me feel ill. She's much more than a mass of circuits like I originally thought.

And... the pony thing doesn't really affect me anymore – I just wish I knew how to help her. Ignoring problems and lingering pain is unhealthy; I can attest to the first issue, and she's helping me with that. But Midnight just refuses help. She boasts of superiority, of her being a strong pony...

I don't know shit about psychology. But even I can say this reeks of deep-seated insecurity that can't be brushed aside. I can only hope I made some inroads with her tonight.

I glance over at Midnight again for another check-in. This time, I spy a sliver of blue iris peeking through a crack in her eyelids.

"What are you doing?" she mumbles, sounding like she's half-asleep.

"Sitting here, I guess."

"You're watching me, you freak."

"No, I glanced at you," I protest, keeping calm and composed.

"Multiple times."

"...so you've been watching me while pretending you're sleeping. And I'm the creepy one."

Midnight fully joins the sentient world, opening her eyes and raising her head off the couch, glancing up at the clock on the wall above the TV. "It's midnight," she states.

"Are you telling me your name or the time?"

"Ha, ha," she replies with sarcasm, shaking her head. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

Judging by the tone her voice carries with that question, there is only one answer she will accept. If there's any chance Midnight is going to let me crack open a door into her emotional and psychological health, it's time to make a positive impression.

By being honest.

"Concerned, I guess. I know you don't want that but – look, you're helping me out getting shit straight financially and getting my head on right. I just don't want you to feel like I'm not willing to listen to you."

"So... you don't listen to me when I say I don't need your help. Interesting," she replies, rubbing her chin with a hoof as if pondering that thought despite the coldness in her voice.

"Midnight, I'm not implying you aren't strong, if that's what you're trying to get at," I argue. "What you told me earlier tonight - that's straight-up nightmare fuel. I don't know if I could mentally handle that situation as you have for so long."

"I appreciate the compliment, whether you meant to do so or not," she replies.

Rather than reply, I remain mum as my focus remains on her. The lack of any biting retort seems to frustrate her a bit as she exhales. "What do you want from me? To cave and become your damsel in distress? Some submissive little mare you need to take care of? Is that your fetish?"

"No. But stop putting up this facade that you're invulnerable to pain. Pretending it doesn't exist does not make it so, Midnight. Isn't that what you argued in my case? You told me I was stupid for doing that."

"That was different," she says in a stern voice, averting her gaze to the opposite end of the room. It's a tone and a habitual gesture that lets me know anything else I try to use to ram my way into her head will be a waste of time.

I'm back to square one for now. But she does admit in a roundabout way there are unresolved issues – issues she is keen to retain a stranglehold upon.

Not that it surprises me. It's just a reminder that there's more to the attitude than just being an ass for fun.

"Alright then."

My white flag of a statement catches Midnight by complete surprise, judging by her head whipping back to me in an instant. "What?"

I shrug my shoulders. "You don't want to talk about it. That's fine, I can't force it out of you. I don't own you Midnight. You're your own mare. All I want to put out there is if you need an ear to listen, I'm always available. Fair enough?"

Her eyes narrow, threatening to bore through me as suspicion takes hold of her. "This is supposed to be some sort of reverse psychology where I feel like there's an opportunity slipping away right now and I need to seize the moment, isn't it?"

"If that's what you want to believe, sure. I'm not trying to argue with you Midnight. I'm really just... putting myself out there. Okay?"

"Riiiight."

I feel a twinge of irritation bubbling up with Midnight after that sarcastic response. Some of that probably has to do with my own fatigue in addition to her aggravating response to my genuine heartfelt concern. Reaching over for the TV remote, I unmute the volume before flipping off the power.

"You are right that it's getting late, so I'm going to get some sleep," I tell her before getting up and shuffling off to my room. I hit the main light switch en route to bed. The kitchen light is still on, but I figure Midnight will get that when she's well and ready.

"Hey, John."

I stop just as I reach the door frame and spin around. Midnight's head pokes up over the couch back, her eyes giving off the faintest blue glow in the dim light. "You didn't bring up anything else about... earlier tonight," she says, sounding quite uneasy.

"Was I supposed to? I didn't think anything needed to be said," I reply, the back of my shirt still offering the slightest reminder of the emotions from earlier.

Midnight hesitates, mulling over my response. Without a word, she disappears from view behind the couch.

"Goodnight, Midnight."

"Good night," she says, her voice now muffled by the obstacles between us.

I close the door to my bedroom, leaving it open just a crack.

"...thank you." It's a faint mumble, but the pervading silence means I still hear it clear as day.

If this night hadn't been so serious, I would rush back out there and point out she actually thanked me - and I heard it.

Whether that 'thank you' was for listening to her and offering a helping hand or simply not bringing up her emotions is up for debate. But I'm not concerned about minute details.

Instead, I nod in silence and fall into bed.