Midnight [Part 4]

"Laying in my bed. What are you doing?"

"I'm not, though."

"Do I need to put down tape lines to mark boundaries and prove you wrong?"

"Told you."

"What, you're afraid I'm gonna bite now?" you joke. "You seemed content enough to be beside me while you were sleeping..."

"Probably. It did get down to a chilly seventy degrees last night," you comment with a shit-eating grin crossing your face.

"You know I'm not judging you, right?"

"Midnight."

"Relax. Isn't shit like this the reason we talked a few nights ago?"

"Early enough to not worry about getting up yet. Just think, another week or two, and our focus is spending the day pulling parts, rather than stand around."

"You're right - you might have to do most of it," you jokingly threaten.

"Hey, I'm just doing my part."

"You got it all fucked up, Middie," you say, sarcastically scolding her. "Were you just rolling around on the bed all night? Is that why I woke up before you did?"

"Remember what you told me about how you overthink things and it ends up riling you up?"

"Yep."

"I have a vague idea. But when it comes down to it, what's really bad about this? What are you trying to rationalize?"

"Don't be coy. I'm trying to help you."

"I'm trying to help us both understand why you're so... well, uptight."

"No. I want you to not be so adamant in keeping to yourself. Lean on me - metaphorically and literally."

"I am. But I'm curious - do you feel better or worse about life since the day we first met?"

"No, but that proves my point, doesn't it?"

"I know you do."

"I do. But I refuse to hate you."

"Oh. Not really, no."

"Midnight, you know we've been around each other for a while now, right?"

"I'm serious, Midnight."

"Midnight, I've been around you long enough to feel comfortable around you. So no, I don't have this fear you're going to harm me or you're dangerous because I know you give a shit about my well-being, as I care about yours. But that's me we are talking about - you scared the shit out of that stoner a few days ago."

"Midnight, you don't need to act like a hardass all the time. I understand that's how you've managed to come this far to where you are now, but... well, is that all you want out of life? An image?"

"All I'm saying is I know you well and you know me. There's no shame in letting that tough mare relax a bit in private. While I realize that night we went out you got drunk, it let another side of you come out that I've never seen. The macho mare is still renowned in the public eye and as much as I love the snappy back-and-forth interactions we have, I want to get to know the mare behind that. Does that make sense?"

"Consider this a new chapter in your life, Middie. You got a home, you got someone to talk to and cares - you don't have to fight 24/7. Just like how I can act like a retard, I can be serious and display a fair amount of intelligence. I'm still the same person, just different facets of me and different moods for different situations. You said you couldn't deny that what you said that night - what about how you acted? All alcohol does is wash away inhibitions, Middie."

"You'll get there. I'm not asking you to change yourself. I'm trying to help you find yourself," you explain, moving your hand back to her hair. "The fact that you're willing to acknowledge what I'm saying means a lot."

"We can get up. You're gonna have to pull me up, though."

"Because you're good at getting shit done."

"And someday, you'll learn to be sappy, too."

 

 

 

 

 

"Done?"

"As in..."

"Midnight, this is amazing."

"I'm serious, Middie. I could have finger-fucked this keyboard for two years straight and still wouldn't have come up with anything like this. Take the compliment - you did a hell of a job."

"Give me more credit than that, damn."

"You're feeling savage tonight, huh?"

"I can kick you out of my bed if you hurt my feelings too much."

"I dunno, you can keep trying your luck..."

"Well, no - feelings are gay. But if I did, and you hurt them, then I'd kick you out."

"Kinda like you insulting me before snuggling up close to me, huh?"

"I thought so."

"It's still fun to point out and make you squirm," you say, petting her side. "I'm surprised you took the plunge this deep already."

"Oh, in that case..."

"Life's tough."

"You know, we should try to do something more than our own separate things in the evening."

"Like how I'm usually flipping through the channels on the tube or fiddling with my phone, while your eyes are glued to that computer screen," you explain, gesturing to each piece of technology.

"I do, I'm just thinking which one would be best to offer up first."

"Miracles happen," you say with a shrug and a sheepish grin.

"Well, I *am* open to suggestions."

"I dunno... cards maybe? I mean, I don't know how to play, but we could probably figure it out. Maybe board games or something?"

"There's nothing wrong with it. I just feel like sometimes, we're just sorta..."

"Fine," you say, crossing your arms and pouting in an exaggerated fashion.

"Aw, thanks."

"I feel like I have a mop hanging on my shoulder now," you joke.

"It was a little funny."

"I thought it was funny."

"What about in ponies?"

"I'll agree with that," you reply with a chuckle, throwing an arm around her.

"We could always have a small fire out back on a cooler evening. That might be nice."

"Honestly, it's something that is hard to put into words," you admit. "There's just something being around a fire ring with others, listening to the crackle and the smell, the warmth it gives off... I'll see if I can't get some firewood to burn, we're going to do that one of these nights. Maybe try to cook on it, too - definitely brings a different flavor out that the stovetop or gas grill won't do."

"I'll just need to get a bare rim from out back, that way I'm not burning the whole junkyard down."

"With the number of crapwagons that have been hauled in and out of here and the leaks they possess, I wouldn't be totally shocked, Middie."

"Maybe someday we'll do a double date with Teddy and Starla."

"I said someday, not tomorrow," you reiterate. "Though it's good to know you're not opposed to actively dating in the public eye."

"Maybe," you say, reaching over with your left hand and ruffling her hair up even more than it already is at this point. "But it's fun seeing you all worked up, little wisps of steam coming out of your ears..."

"Midnight, it's very early in this relationship to be thinking about the horizontal bop."

"Nothing. What were you talking about?" you ask innocently.

"Pictures last longer, you know."

"Can you actually do that?"

"I remember you mentioning that before... would you really want to work on that after a day of pulling parts?"

"Shit costs money, too. You really want to spend that on a shitbox after only recently making a profit?"

"Maybe. But that reminds me, you wanted to go to a car show at some point. We ought to do that soon."

"Small ones, which are probably best suited for us. I know Sunday morning once a month, there's a little gathering at a coffee shop in town. Want to go to that next time?"

"Just don't bite anyone, I think you'll be good. Maybe a bit of alcohol will help you out."

"Fiiiine. Gonna have to do it sooner or later, so I can hear that singing voice draw me in like a siren again."

"You mean my laptop?"

 

 

 

 

 

"Well, it looks like a decent turnout."

"Too far for you to walk, huh?"

"Yeah, I wasn't really sure what to expect, but it is what it is. Shall we?"

"I think it *was* a Hyundai Tiburon," you reply, noting - as expected from this kind of car - the piss-poor fitting of the body kit.

"Needs wheel spacers. Or better yet, not a body kit on the lower half."

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Front and rear bumpers are body-colored and extended outward to cover up the five-mile-per-hour bumper bullshit the government forced on everyone."

"I guess I should have expected you to know with all the reading you do - but I certainly didn't expect you to know that offhanded term for this era."

"I always thought they looked good - certainly one of the best integrations of the new bumpers in any car of that era. I've heard the build quality on some of em were horrendous though - certainly not something you would expect from an expensive homegrown sports car."

"Hm. Point taken. Still, I wouldn't mind owning one. Obviously, it's easy to tune these things to a performance level at or beyond anything that was available during the golden age. And aside from the possible leaks they could have, the T-top is nice."

"Nope, just making small talk."

"Ah yes, the forgotten orphans of the American auto scene - AMC."

"Yep."

"Second-gen, '71 to '74 I know that much. Not an AMX - those all had the same grille through those years."

"Makes it easier to fit massive race tires for Trans-Am racing. There was a lot about this car that was made or designed with racing in mind. Actually pretty neat cars, when you take a closer look."

"I don't know how true it is, but I also heard that when they were designing that generation, the look the designers were going for was the winner of a wet t-shirt contest."

"I'll explain when you're older."

"As if I'm going to just trust the word of someone trying to convince me they aren't underage."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

"I hope you aren't too disappointed with this morning's turnout. I really expected something decent out of it."

"No, I just said we were going to a car show and-"

"So you are still a little leery being out in public? I didn't notice."

"I bet you will never down a glass of water that's served to you again," you tease her.

"Is it because of the horse badge?" you joke, pointing to the emblem in the grille.

"Nothing, just giving you shit," you say, easing up a bit. "It's why pony cars are called pony cars. That Javelin was part of the class. Funny thing is, the Barracuda came before the Mustang - it just wasn't attractive or popular."

"Pictured a car specifically for ponies like yourself to drive around in?"

"So yes."

"How do you know I didn't make it worse?" you propose in a jestful tone.

"That's a trend among the yee-yee fucktards that feel the need to stand out, I guess. It's great if you don't want to see what's directly in front of you."

"Yeah. How ironic that it is a turd."

"You and me both. Shows like these are a mixed bag - you get good stuff, meh stuff, and straight-up what-the-fuckery."

"It is nice to have variety, though," you reply. "There are other things I wouldn't mind owning that don't fit in the vintage American category. You should try expanding a little bit for shits and giggles."

"Middie, if you start liking trucks like that, I will beat the stupid out of you."

"Well, after those, did you want to head inside and maybe get a little something to eat?" you ask. "They have phenomenal doughnuts."

"Well, that settles it. Come along, you poor deprived thing."

"I make no promises."

 

 

 

 

 

"Maybe an open mind will help with your perception?"

"I know, you don't have to apologize," you reassure her. "We aren't fancy around here - otherwise, we wouldn't even be outside."

"It doesn't bring up bad memories, does it?"

"The early days? Living out here?"

"That something that really can't be replicated."

"There's not really a right or wrong way to enjoy a campfire, Middie. You don't seem upset discussing this."

"Laziness. Also, this is a really short fire ring - I would want something that I don't have to practically get on my knees to flip and check how food is cooking."

"That doesn't mean I won't ever do it - just not with this setup," you say, leaning over and booping her on the nose.

"That would be ideal," you say with a nod. "Heck, I could probably stack a couple of rims on top of one another and tack weld em. I bet that would work well enough, assuming I can find some more of these. Probably have more somewhere..."

"You have no idea. Took all three of my brain cells lining up and connecting together in a short circuit to do that."

"I don't follow," you respond, turning to her.

"I get it, Midnight," you say, hooking your arm around her and pulling her up next to you.

"I guess I don't have an answer to that. Relationships are... they're just a closer friendship, I suppose? Don't get me wrong, I don't have much experience, and it's been some time since my last attempt. But I like being around you, and you seem to be a bit more tolerable of me. So stuff like this, just talking, being close, enjoying each other's company... I guess that's what it's about."

"That wasn't very much help, was it?"

"You could have just said no."

"And now you're worried about my feelings? What are you, gay?"

"Ow," you announce monotonously.

"You know, for someone so full of hellfire and rage when we first met, you can be surprisingly mellow when you want to be. It's nice to see."

"Or picking at you for my own amusement."

"I suppose life is a work in progress. Never fully completed. To be fair, I didn't really know how to act around you. You didn't want much to do with me, and the only way I felt I could dispel the tension was by being a purposeful dumbass. And you are kind of cute when you're spitting fire."

"...okay, so you can be a little frightening."

"Planning? You mean getting the junkyard to make a profit?"

"You good?"

"I know."

"So, you meant for me to find you?"

"And you took a chance on me."

"Hi."

"Likewise, Middie."

 

 

 

 

 

"No."

"Twenty more minutes."

"Changed my mind. Goodnight."

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

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

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

"You first."

"Sucks to suck, I guess."

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

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

"So you mean to tell me mornings were just... always mornings? That doesn't make sense."

"Now why would you say such a thing?"

"I could do without the attitude."

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

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

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

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

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

"Not even in the beginning?"

"Actually, they're canines."

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

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

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

"You win."

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

"Well look at you go. Thanks."

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, what part?" you ask knowingly.

"Fine, mom. Geez."

"Sounds good to me."

 

 

 

 

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

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

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

"Oh-ho, is that a challenge?"

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

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

"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."

"Stop it, Middie. Take the compliment," you say, leaning over and smacking a kiss right on her nose.

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

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

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

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

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

"Not for dinner, I don't."

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

"Liar."

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

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

"Okay, wiseass. Get in here and open up the damn box before I throw it at you," you jokingly threaten while picking it up off of her seat.

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

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

"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?"

"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?"

"Which part? The bag or the tools?"

"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."

"Think nothing of it, Middie," you reply, putting your arms around her and kissing her on the head, minding her horn. "But do you still want to blow off tonight and get after it starting bright and early Monday morning?"

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

"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 thinking I'm trying to be productive after all. You might start expecting that from me."

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

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

"Now, are you saying that because that's what you want, or you spied the chicken breasts I already prepared in the back of the fridge?"

"Fair enough."

 

 

 

 

 

"Hi, Starla. Been a little while, huh?"

"Yeah, I did it a day or two ago," you reply, flipping it with a quick motion of your head.

"No, just kinda... wanted to change it up a bit, you know?"

"He doesn't get a say in it, I do what I want."

"Not too much. We finally got the junkyard squared away and everything set up to switch to online and part pickup only. So that's a relief."

"Well, it means roaming free for me during the days and actually working, rather than sit around and share stares with Anon for eight hours," you calmly explain. "I don't like sitting idle, and there is something..."

"I sort of miss spending time out there, I suppose. It was the first place that felt like home to me. I knew certain areas and little paths through piles of scrap like the back of my hoof."

"Probably the latter."

"Yeah, there's a comfort in being around cars. I'm trying to convince Anon to adopt a project car for us to work on, now that we will likely have more free time with the shift in the business."

"Yeah, maybe..."

"No, I just... I'm sort of agreeing with you."

"It is more about the car though," you affirm, feeling a bit vulnerable.

"Nothing happened!" you blurt out instinctively.

"It's... complicated, Starla," you start hesitantly, keeping your eyes focused away from her. "I guess I sort of... I said things. And I didn't really know what I said at the time. But later, when I heard what I had said - things made a bit more sense to me?"

"Anon and I are... enjoying each other's company."

"No, that's not-"

"It's kinda embarrassing, Starla," you admit.

"It feels weird. I don't feel like I'm... well, me."

"What kind of a question is that? Have you lost your marbles?" you snap, feeling insulted by such a stupid question.

"You think I'm just an act?"

"I don't follow."

"I'm just not used to being open with someone else. Being more... close with someone? That isn't me."

"To my knowledge, I've *never* been close to anyone," you bitterly comment.

"It is quite a foreign sensation having someone else play with your hair or hug you..."

"Shut up - I did my hair, not him. And I like keeping it out of the way when I work, too."

"Glad I can do it on my own, to be honest with you. I don't know if I would trust Anon's styling abilities."

"I've already been a guinea pig once in my life - I don't want to do it again."

"Not to be an ass, but you don't seem like the kind to worry about perfection."

"I think I understand that a bit more now," you reply, unable to prevent a chuckle from escaping. "A few days ago, Anon tried cooking chicken over an open firepit - it came out rather charred. It wasn't too bad though."

"I understand that you can't do your hair - but how do you do other stuff? Like cooking?"

"... really? You just grab and use utensils and other tools with your mouth?"

"You aren't as stupid as I thought you were."

"Sorry, sorry!" you frantically backtrack, waving your hooves in desperation. "I meant that you're smarter than I gave you credit for, being a real pony and whatnot. The few I remember being around... I was probably being judgmental then, too. Again, I didn't mean that."

"I need to work on my social graces," you lament.

"Oh stop - you're sounding like Anon now," you joke.

"He's full of something, alright."

"You bet. Thanks, Starla. Take care."

"It's not that big of a deal, you know," you tell him.

"Oh, shut up. I'd chuck something at you if you weren't holding food."

"Me too," you agree, unable to prevent a grin from spreading onto your face. "I think this is something I need."

 

 

 

 

 

"What's cookin, good lookin?" you comment as you lean out the window.

"Did I live up to your expectations?"

"It was wittier than I expected. So you kind of failed," she says, glancing over at you.

"Damn," you sigh expressively. "Everything going okay?"

"Wiper motor, right?" you ask to be sure.

"Yeah, sometimes you really gotta work the shaft before you get a release," you reply, tongue-in-cheek.

"See? It helped."

"That was good work, Middie. Sorry the last job of the day had to be a shit one."

"I'm not poking fun at you when I say this - you look worn out."

"A lot of work."

"I was joking when I told you to put your money where your mouth was in regards to pulling more parts than me - you know that, right?"

"You don't need to kill yourself over it, though."

"I am a little bit - but remember, I did all of this shit by myself before you came along. In the shop for eight hours, then out back for three or four hours. So with eight hours and the two of us - yeah, I suppose I'm going at a slower pace. Let's be honest, I'm also using the truck, while your stubborn ass walks all the way to the other side of the junkyard every time you decide to fetch a part without me."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying be smarter about it because I know you can look at what we need and determine what is close by. You're trying to prove something to me that I already know you can do."

"No, no it's not," you reply, trying to hide the astonishment from your voice.

"Nothing's wrong, I just didn't anticipate you agreeing with me," you admit.

"I try to say smart things."

"Is that an insult, or a compliment?"

"What's that?"

"You know I'm not opposed to that - what made you consider it?" you inquire.

"Man, she's got a hold on you, doesn't she?"

"My bad, I didn't mean it quite as crude as that," you apologize. "I just meant you really do take what she has to say to heart, yeah?"

"I think I get it - but it also sounds like you're apologizing to me," you suggest.

"You already proved to me at the start of this conversation you have an ear for my suggestions," you calmly remind her.

"You really are burned out from today - don't sweat it," you console, momentarily leaning and putting an arm around her in a hug.

"What, you and her?"

"Welp, my turn to feel stupid now. Glad I'm used to it," you wisecrack.

"Nope, too easy," you respond, smirking.

"There's three of us with the same opinion - it's about timing and the price," you answer.

"You think you can afford to be picky?"

"Well, I suppose - if something tickles your fancy, and it's not completely roasted, I'll consider it."

"You get to pick. Pending final approval that it's something doable with parts availability."

"Nope. Shower first - you look like you were rolling around in the dirt," you tease her.

"Should we just knock out a shower together?" you suggest casually.

 

 

 

 

 

"Hi."

"I just wanted to see you pout for your seat."

"Hey, what-"

"TV, I guess."

"Yeah, probably. You not computering tonight?"

"Fine. You're needy," you jab at her. "And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're using my greediness as an excuse to cuddle with me."

"Guess we're at an impasse, then."

"Who said it was a chick flick?"

"So am I."

"Seen it. Just not in a while."

"Alright, just this once."

"Plymouths. '58 Plymouth Fury, to be exact," you note, knowing that was Midnight's reason for the comment.

"Yep, that's the only way they came. Cream white with gold trim. Gold interior."

"I always liked em, but then there's-"

"In reality, yes. This one's actually a Belvedere - one trim level lower than the Fury, and they did come in this color combo. The movie just badged one as a Fury. You'll see why."

"Haha, you jumped," you tease her.

"Proof that smoking kills," you wryly quip.

"Yep. Hell hath no fury like a Plymouth Fury."

"Don't blame me, that was a tagline of the movie or book - something like that," you calmly protest.

"I'm not gonna win this argument, so okay."

"Yeah. It was all part of the times and what was going on in the world at the time," you reply, idly petting Midnight from her head to her neck. "I can't really say I know a hell of a lot about those era cars, but they are quite unique, to say the least."

"Nope."

"350."

"Chrysler had a 350 engine for a little bit - I think it was only during the fifties," you clarify for Midnight. "I really don't know a lot about em, just bits and pieces. 'Golden Commando 350' is what they called it if I remember right."

"The fifties is when performance in terms of horsepower really started to become of interest in terms of selling points."

"Shut up. I'm supposed to make the stupid comments."

"You're gonna miss the next bit if you do that."

"Movie logic. Don't question it," you reply, waiting for the right moment...

"Boop!" you comment, touching your index finger to Midnight's nose just as Christine finishes off the last guy.

"I was hoping you would jump."

"I'll have to change it up then."

"Pot, meet Kettle," you say.

"Yeah. It was that easy."

"No. I don't think there were ever plans for one. That's just the way they decided to end it, I guess."

"That movie teaches a strong lesson, though."

"Don't name your car."

"Fine - don't blame me if you don't heed the warning and whatever shitbox we start to work on begins terrorizing everyone."

"Hm. That's a tough choice. But isn't fixing it up part of the fun?"

"Yeah, someday - but not tonight. I think it's time for bed," you reply, catching the infectious yawning virus and mirroring Midnight's sentiments.

"We have to turn the lights off anyway, Middie," you remind her, motioning to the kitchen light still streaming from the ceiling out there.

"Alright, you put up a decent argument," you yield, putting your arms around her.

"Goodnight."

"No? What is a proper goodnight?"

"G'night, Middie."

 

 

 

 

 

"Whatcha doin?" you ask as you glance over to Midnight.

"What were you doing before that?"

"It's Saturday."

"Aww, now I have to come up with a cute pet name for you too."

"No, I don't. Hit me again, mistress."

"Too far?"

"Well it is Saturday, so if you want me to spend the time, I can tell you everything."

"No one ever wants to hear my problems," you pout.

"Anything of interest car-wise or part-wise?" you ask, hopeful to hear a reaction from something she lists.

"AMC Rebel Machine. One year only car - patriotic as hell, and rare as hell. I doubt I have that."

"I guess I'm just sort of shocked you haven't settled on a project car, Midnight," you admit reluctantly. "By no means am I pressuring you to decide, but with how excited you were with the prospect - haven't heard anything since."

"Not really, I guess. I don't know - never gave it a thought."

"Right?"

"Whoa whoa whoa - you can't spring a question like that and expect an answer right away, Middie," you caution her.

"That is something that requires a lot of soul-searching and thought to answer - if it is even possible at all," you wax with a flair of drama.

"And you haven't found that particular something that just vibes with you," you add, beginning to understand her predicament.

"Is there a certain kind of car you're looking for? Some sort of attribute that I can sort of work with to help, or is it just having to see it to know?"

"Of course - I'm not putting something together that's all show and no go," you comment in agreement. "But let's not go overkill, either."

"It should be something streetable. I don't want something that is miserable to drive around town or idles like shit because of a hot cam."

"Believe me when I say you'll thank me for that boundary - been around enough to know unless you're drag racing or trying to win a dick-measuring contest, you can't completely sacrifice drivability. But that's stuff we can hammer out later in any car - either aftermarket parts or an engine swap. We got plenty of engines laying around."

"Maybe. I want to see how stupid I can make your hair look. You have so much of it."

"I wouldn't go overboard. I like your long hair. Maybe a trim? That's up to you."

"What else are you looking for in a car?"

"Like a full-size car - a land yacht?"

"But you don't want a Dart or a Nova."

"Aww, but then I can't make any lame 'pony in your pony car' jokes."

"So basically midsize and up, comfortable, and something that offers a good kick when you mash it."

"So why are we even trying then?"

"We sure as shit ain't finding something as good looking as you. Chill."

"I think that's the first time you ever referred to yourself as good looking, rather than disparaging," you say with a grin, reaching over and scratching an ear.

"Fine, be that way."

"You look crazy now."

"Is that really so bad?"

"So you like it."

"That was a nice scalp massage, though. I could get used to this."

"That's abuse."

"Alright. So what do you want to do today?"

"No, not really. You just want to lounge around on the couch all day?"

"...eh, screw it. You talked me into it. I'm surprised you're learning to be a lazy ass."

"I can go with that argument. Now, entertain me," you demand, laying over on your side, using Midnight as a pillow again.

 

 

 

 

 

"I can make time. What's up?"

"Lead the way."

"You are crazy, but that's a solid piece, Middie," you say as you rise back up out of the rather cramped space.

"Well, if you really feel adventurous, you can try taking the head off now. But yeah, we're gonna have to ask for clarification on that one."

"I think it's more trouble than it would be worth right now - I think it's a pushrod engine," you announce, turning to her.

"I figured as much, but who am I to judge if you had a wild hair up your ass?"

"I don't think that was the original intention, believe it or not. When Chevy first came out with the Corvair, it was touted as a compact economy car - like the Volkswagen Beetle. And that's what the engineering and design teams leaned toward - something that would stand out, rather than just a normal small car like Ford and Chrysler did."

"They have a certain charm, particularly the second generation," you reply, patting the weather-beaten fender of the car in question. "I don't know exactly when or why, but at some point, Chevy came out with the Nova - well, Chevy II when it first came out - and that was their economy car, and moved this to something more sport-oriented as far as advertising. But there were wagons and light pickups based on this chassis design, too."

"Thinking about this as a project?" you ask with a grin.

"Really? The Porsche 911 would like to disagree with you."

"Same as most failed GM products - bad press and questionable decisions."

"Well, that's the truth of it. What else should I say?" you reply, unable to prevent a shit-eating grin from crossing your face.

"You mean another storytime about shitbox cars? Albeit not a shitbox this time?"

"Only a kiss from you can save me from the clutches of faggotry, Middie."

"Anyway, the second generation didn't have an issue, but the damage was done by what happened with the first-gen. Having an engine in the ass end like that makes for much different handling qualities than your run-of-the-mill front-engined car."

"A little bit of that. The issue is the first gen's rear suspension - swing axles. It's the same thing the Beetle uses, but we're talking about a heavier car here. And the thing with that kind of axle is it has massive amounts of camber change because the drive axle itself is only jointed where it goes into the trans, not the wheel. So you lose contact patch of the tire in situations where you're turning or hitting the brakes - or even bumps in the road. Makes the ass end want to come around when weight starts shifting."

"Oh, they did, and the simple solution would be a front sway bar to counteract the issue. But the bean counters said that would not be cost-effective, so it was eliminated in favor of tire pressure differences between front and rear - which works, if people paid attention to the owner's manual."

"Not really, no. They weren't much worse than any other car, even taking those handling quirks into account."

"Yeah, in some ways. But let me remind you that I fall into the category of human."

"I figured as much."

"Taking a stubborn intake manifold off of this car. Let me reiterate that I don't give you shit jobs," you say, pointing the end of a ratchet to two bolt heads snapped clean off, now lying on the radiator support.

"Oh yeah. I honestly forgot about that."

"It's an interesting question to consider. But honestly - probably not," you admit. "There's a lot that's unique just to that car, and once the seventies rolled around and everyone was struggling for sales - hell, you see how much badge-engineered crap GM made in the eighties. I think it would have been axed sooner or later. But it's a neat little footnote in history."

"Shoot."

"Sorry. Really not trying to be annoying, but you're also taking more time than I expected," you admit.

"Midnight, you already do that to me every time I watch you walk away."

"Hm?"

"Okay, lemme know if you need anything."

"Gonna be hard for you to get parts pulled when you're lollygagging!"

 

 

 

 

"I'd say that went pretty smooth, how about you?"

"I still can't get over that old lady commenting how cute you were in the deli section," you remind Midnight with a shit-eating grin.

"You're just so cute when you're grumpy!" you babble, reaching over and pinching her cheek.

"Midnight, I can drive home blindfolded. It's muscle memory at this point."

"Well, not really. But close."

"Fuck."

"You're screwed out here if we get lost in the desert if I am, Middie."

"You know, I haven't seen you actually fly yet - can you really do it?" you ask, genuinely curious.

"You don't have to lay low anymore - at least not at home."

"Sure hope you know what you're doing, captain," you say, staring forward and saluting.

"The Hills Have Eyes."

"Don't worry about it."

"I dunno. Might be a hermit - you feeling social?"

"What?"

"Midnight, we got frozen food and other cold shit in the back, I'm already kinda pushing my luck taking the long way home," you remind her. "It's probably all junk anyway."

"It's interesting Midnight, but let's get going."

"What is?"

"Midnight, do you see a 'For Sale' sign anywhere?" you hint.

"Midnight, that doesn't mean an-"

"To beat your ass with that cane for trespassing, stupid."

"Yeah, it is a nice morning. Didn't mean to bother you," you say apologetically.

"It caught her eye," reply, pointing to Midnight. "I'm having a hard time putting my finger on it - what is it?"

"You never looked into it?"

"What she means to say is we were just passing by and were curious about it. Also, I'm sorry to hear about your wife."

... honestly, since it doesn't even run, I'll take fifteen hundred."

"Fifteen hundred, or fifteen thousand?" you cautiously ask.

"Hey, I'm the one with the finances here, Middie," you remind her.

"Just a moment, mister..."

"Well Art, I'm Anon, and this is Midnight - and I think we need just a moment to discuss something," you reply, patting Midnight on the back of her neck to urge her away.

"Is that really what you want?"

"It's..."

"I didn't expect a project from the fifties. We gonna cruise to the malt shop, me with a greaser haircut and you sporting a beehive, too?"

"Midnight, you are not naming that car, and the first time the radio comes on by itself playing fifties rock and roll - it's gone."

"I mean it, Arnie."

"Anyway, if you're really serious about this and that's what you want-"

"-I guess I'm in."

 

 

 

 

"Ready for round two?" you ask, placing your hands on your hips and stretching your back.

"Ain't that the truth."

"You know I started at the back to be sure if it did roll, it would be away from me - right?"

"I figured your mind would be full of ideas brewing about what to do with the car. No?"

"Alright, chain is undone, winch is still attached to the front so it will go slow - or at least not allow the car to take off without us," you announce, slinging the last rusted chain off to the side of the trailer, the clang of metal resonating for a moment.

"Hell yeah," you cheer, feeding more cable off the reel as the car slowly heads down the ramp, coming to a stop once it reaches level concrete.

"Sometimes shit works out that way. Now, let's get it centered on the lift."

"You sucked me in - and yeah, I suppose this is sorta a whole new experience for me. I've never had the pleasure of really doing a deep dive into a car like this."

"No, I don't want to intrude on your-"

"First off, if it were me - I'd get better tires for it."

"No, that wasn't me stating the obvious - I'm saying get rid of the skinny bias-ply tires they used back then. I don't have an issue with white walls- but more modern - and wider - rubber is going to be a hell of an improvement in ride and grip."

"It sounds like it, but it's a matter of how much clearance we have to work with and how it fits," you cautiously explain, patting the front fender near the wheel opening. "You don't want the tire sticking out of the fender, and you don't want to hit the inside fender well when turning the wheel. So that's going to take time to figure out."

"Honestly, most of the car I would keep the same. It's a clean design, chrome is already used conservatively. Maybe just a fresh coat of black paint. But I could see lowering the car just an inch or two - nothing crazy, and certainly not slammed to the ground."

"Other than that, I don't really think it needs much in terms of personal touches as far as cosmetics. The car speaks for itself - I like the design."

"I know a fair bit, I just didn't want to throw you into a hissy fit."

"I'm rusty on my knowledge and identification. That doesn't mean I don't know anything.

"The banker's hot rod."

"Affectionate name for the letter series cars from Chrysler - the banker's hot rod. Particularly the first few years, like this one."

"Ahead of the curve, I suppose, and because of..."

"We got so caught up in all the banter and excitement, we never looked under the hood, Middie," you snap, in a harsher tone than you meant.

"Sorry. I wasn't blaming you, and I didn't mean to sound like a dick."

"And to be fair, you were caught up in the moment."

"That's what put Chrysler and the letter series on the map," you announce, motioning to the silver and gold powerplant.

"No, but the shape should look vaguely familiar for another reason - this is the first generation of Chrysler's Hemi engine - the forefather of the sixties and early seventies Street Hemi."

"Probably not. These things sometimes went straight from the dealership to the dragstrip and dirt track - and won. They really were outstanding in their time - though the Tri-Five Chevrolets tend to overshadow that."

"392. This was the last year, I think. Maybe one more - but it started out as... I believe a 354 cubic inch when they introduced it, at least in the letter series. But Dodge and DeSoto had their own versions of the "Firepower," as Chrysler called it."

"What was that? Care to try again?" you crow.

"Oh stop that, you're much more sophisticated than a dog."

"Anyway, with all of that being said - hopefully, we can keep this engine," you quickly continue, avoiding the completion of Midnight's musing. "I can almost guarantee I don't have any parts for this out in the yard, and I honestly don't know how easy it is to get parts for these. All depends on if it really is a bad bearing in the bottom end or something worse - but we'll figure something out regardless of that outcome."

"You will never let me live that down, will you?"

"It's gonna be a long road to getting it... well, back on the road," you remind her.

"Fun, frustrating, fulfilling..."

"Step by step, we'll get there."

"The hell you will."

"You are a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

 

 

 

 

 

"Yeah, like a tumor."

"Anyway, what are you trying to wrestle me into buying now?"

"I'm going to be broke, aren't I?"

"Glass packs sound nice for a while, but they get blown out after a time. I'd suggest looking at proper baffled mufflers, Middie."

"Not necessary, but they look and sound nice. I'm assuming they don't make shorty headers?"

"They can be a bit of a pain in the ass to install or work around. We can make do if that's what you want."

"I'm going to doubt that, just because that is such an old motor with fewer and fewer available," you reply, reaching over and stroking her hair.

"Midnight, you're drunk."

"So you forgot that it's a pushbutton trans?"

"I feel like blaming alcohol would have been a better way to save face."

"I'm sober enough to know there's no shifter in the car!"

"Maybe - but why would you want to do that?"

"First off, you don't have fingers - so that phrase is exclusively mine."

"I know you will. Second - the pushbutton is actually a pretty neat little feature, and it was actually pretty popular with drag racers. To a point, some racers engineered the pushbutton mechanism into their later race cars when Chrysler discontinued that feature. So it stays."

"The bench seat stays too, before you get any ideas. You know why?"

"Yeah. And it's easier to snuggle up with your passenger," you tease, leaning over and pecking her on the cheek.

"It's true, though."

"You're all flustered by it."

"I know what you are, but what am I?"

"Glad to hear that. I don't know anything beyond the number two."

"Aww come on, I have a beautiful voice. You would miss it."

"Well, let me know if you figure out a way to silence me."

"So you would miss me," you coo, plastering on a smug grin just for her. "Don't worry, I'll keep talking just so you can-"

"Uh... huh?"

"That was a neat trick," you finally answer.

"Midnight, you're drunk. Maybe we should call it a night."

"I get that, but that was... what was that?"

"And what is that?"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm no stallion, by the way," you say sheepishly as she eyes your member.

"Which part?"

"Midnight, was that-"

"Shut up. Are you alright?"

"Goddamn, you gonna tease me all nig- FUCK!"

"I - can't let you have all the fun, can I?"

"Nonsense - those looked lonely," you groan, tweaking one of the nipples to get a lustful cry from her.

"If this is weird, I'm good with it."

"So you have been fucking teasing me!"

"No, mine."

 

 

 

 

 

"I dunno - now what?"

"And get a start on tomorrow's work?" you ask while scratching your head, eager to feed the flames.

"Not particularly."

"Alright, I suppose I'm game. What did you want to focus on tearing apart tonight?"

"All depends on what you want to do. You could start with taking the interior apart. Or you could start tearing into the suspension. And the engine bay is gonna need attention - personally, I'd like to start looking through the guts of the engine."

"Hell, it looks like you know what you're already doing," you idly comment as Midnight awaits your arrival.

"I'm not dawdling - but I'm not going to run, either."

"Yes - you know I have one now," you answer back, motioning to your crotch.

"Relax - there's no one here."

"Are you ashamed we... did it?"

"You spent a while teasing me leading up to that - so I'm going to do it verbally. Fair's fair."

"Less sore today. It's getting there."

"Heat of the moment, that odd sort of shit. At least you only made me into a fleshy pincushion rather than a meal."

"I'm fine. And if you apologize again, I'll bite *you.*"

"What do you think needs to be done? Because in all reality, I'm sure you have it covered."

"Sounds about right to me. I'd recommend two other things - pull the radiator out for extra room, and remove the hood so we aren't limited to how high the engine can be lifted once it's ready to come out."

"Yes I do - do you think we need it tonight?"

"I promise if we need it, the stand will be on...standby."

"That pun was not intended."

"How goes the fuel lines?"

"They look like they're worth a shit?"

"It would have - we really don't want to save that ancient thing. Look at how hard the rubber is."

"Alright, go ahead and raise the car on the lift, Imma go get some chain."

"Well, if you really want to pull the engine tonight, we're going to need something to hold the transmission in the front once it's been disconnected from the block."

"One thing at a time - it can wait another day," you calmly explain. "Tearing everything apart at once is how shit gets lost."

"Yeah, I've learned a thing or two from experience," you comment while heading over to the storage room.

"Probably be easier to see with a light of some sort."

"Must be nice having night vision built in."

"Nothing."

"I'm not quite that retarded. I just didn't expect to hear you be so calm talking about - well, your past."

"I mean, I could have said that was really sweet and a wonderful thing to hear you say after all you've overcome, but I figured you didn't need that - and if I don't say anything to make you embarrassed, you might be willing to share more heartwarming little things like that."

"Oh come on, I was only saying that as an example," you whine.

"Fiiine."

"Hang on a sec and watch your eyes," you caution Midnight.

"I might try these bolts yet tonight, but I'm not feeling confident about the chances."

"Gotta try something other than brute force - but I don't think the engine is coming out tonight anyway."

"Yeah, this work can be pretty-"

"-exhausting."

 

 

 

 

 

"How are we looking right now?"

"I'm going to take it slow, speak up if you find something."

"Duly noted."

"What's up?" you ask while heeding her instructions.

"What?"

"Alright, so I'm a little tense."

"Bite me - no wait, you might."

"What if I am?"

"Still clear?"

"It didn't look like it to me," you admit.

"Midnight, that's a lot of weight to heft around with your abilities."

"And then I recall you complaining how tired you were and the headache you had for the rest of the day," you add.

"You know what you're trying to do, right?"

"Okay, because you said please," you relent. "But being serious - just wanted to make sure we were on the same page here."

"I'm here."

"It's just kinda the moment of truth now - I really hope this thing isn't a lost cause," you admit, releasing the hydraulics on the hoist at a leisurely pace.

"Depends on how long it was running like that - and at what RPM. The engine could literally tear itself apart if the bearing managed to seize the engine, Middie. I've seen destroyed engine blocks due to that shit."

"Well yeah."

"I'd just like to keep this engine."

"Alright - but you're going to put up with my sour mood if I find something I don't like," you joke.

"Drumroll, please."

"Spoilsport."

"It's not junk - at least the block isn't. But I'm going to get this rod cap off to get a better look at the crankshaft. I don't particularly like the looks of it."

"Well, that depends."

"That crank will make a nice mailbox post or a paperweight."

"I'm afraid she's totally fucked, mate. You can machine used cranks, but this one is pretty bad - probably not possible to make it work well if I wanted to do so."

"But, just at a glance, everything else is good. Won't know for sure until it's completely apart - but I feel a lot better seeing that than a fucked main bearing or cracked block."

"Hm?"

"Dinner - I'm hungry," you say, patting your stomach.

"Patience, Midnight. Remember - this is a big project. And this is a work night - I'd like to relax a little bit before bed."

"Desperation is not a good look for you."

 

 

 

 

 

"Nope, this one's dead," you reply while turning to your right and shaking the vessel upside down in demonstration.

"I don't think so - but I'm certainly putting out a fair bit of water."

"Yeah well, I try taking care of my best girl."

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh. I was talking about the water."

"What fish?" you holler after a moment, stretching an arm out and waving all along the landscape.

"What about the number twenty-two? I don't get it."

"Have fun!"

"Eat Phillips head, cocksucker!" you shout, throwing your tool at the coyote, who is close enough that you easily conk it in the head despite your quick and frenzied toss.

"Make like a tree and fuck off already!"

"Hey Midnight!" you shout through the gap between glass and steel. "I need your help at the moment!"

"MIDNIGHT!"

"Yeah, I suppose I could have been a bit more direct..."

"I'll get my gun and put it the damn thing out of its misery," you say, thumbing back to the truck.

"What are y-"

"Jesus."

"I guess that was just... I dunno, didn't know what to expect, I guess."

"You didn't get bit at all, did you?" you ask as the adrenaline in your veins dies down.

"No, I kicked the fucker with my shoe - that was the only contact I had with it."

"Haha. Fuck you," you retort.

"Hm?"

"Where the hell was patience while tearing apart shit when we first met?" you chide.

"Alright, thank you," you call after her, before adding a quick thought as the realization strikes you.

"I actually got to see you fly today!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I figured I should stop and mention what else we need to get today," you calmly reply, turning to her. "Need to get something from the import area."

"I'm not saying you can't handle it - and yes, that stuff is all gone and buried out of sight. But I'm putting it out there if you'd rather not - I can take care of it and you can head back to the shop."

"I... next time, what?" you ask, not quite understanding the question.

"You want to rip this off like a band-aid, now."

"I'm only giving you the option - whatever you want to do, I'm good with," you reassure her, patting her on the withers.

"I was more concerned with trying to be neutral than catch your ire - didn't want to suggest you're a puss that can't handle this, but I also know you aren't an emotionless hardass."

"Yes, except in that instance."

"Well, it's like you said - have to face it sooner or later. Who knows, maybe it won't bother you too much. But you shouldn't be ashamed."

"No problemo."

"You know what a Triumph Spitfire looks like, don't you? That's what we're after," you mention to Midnight.

"If *I* had brought the laptop? I hardly get to use the thing anymore," you remind her.

"That's what I thought."

"That one looks like our best bet. Just gotta get the bolts out of the frame and we're golden."

"You good?"

"Bringing back some unpleasant memories, I'm guessing?" you finally speak up.

"Ending up here, you mean?"

"Scare you being surrounded by all these cars? At least until you knew what they were?"

"I knew you learned quick but really? That fast?" you ask while finally pulling the first bolt out.

"Like built-in memory of stuff."

"I never did hear how you got out of there."

"Pity?"

"Maybe the guy that headed your - er, case? Project?"

"His loss, Midnight," you comment, leaning over to get an arm around her barrel and pull her up next to you.

"I know I have a point."

"No, I don't think so. Not bad to remember your past but... it's the past. I think you want to move on."

"What's that?"

"Music to my ears, Middie."

 

 

 

 

 

"No worries," you sleepily mumble, lifting your arm off of her back to free her..

"No."

"Oof. You fatass."

"Hm?"

"Nope, just trying to keep the air in there."

"How the hell did we get here?"

"Not what I meant, stop right there, you sick fuck."

"How pleasant."

"Anyway, what I meant to say is - how did we end up like this? Sharing a bed, some... intimate moments. You ever think about where we've come from until now?"

"Let's face it - you hated me. And I wasn't particularly thrilled with you being here. Both of us were kinda miserable to each other."

"Yeah."

"You had your issues, it was kinda understandable once I pulled that out of you."

"So we're both kinda shitty."

"There were no clear edges with you - it was all rough."

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

"Anyway... here we are," you muse.

"Somehow making this place successful."

"You have a very odd definition of pillow talk, Middie."

"Music to my ears. G'night!" you hurriedly reply, pulling her up tight to you and closing your eyes.