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Franky chews his cigarette and kicks his feet up on the bulky radio equipment crowding the back of the surveillance van.
“This sucks. I need new friends,” he grumbles aloud.
He watches the smoke curl in the air above him and slowly dissipate. There’s no one around to listen to his complaints, but that’s never stopped him before. A voice comes crackling from the headphones around his neck to prove him wrong in his assumption that he’s totally alone.
“Please refrain from talking unless necessary. I need to focus.”
The sound of Nightfall’s voice has Franky scrambling to sit upright like he’s a student caught goofing off in class. He pulls the headphones onto his head and adjusts some of the dials on the radio.
“Sorry ‘bout that, didn’t know my mic was still on,” he says with a chuckle that he hopes will smooth over her annoyance. The long silence on the other end suggests that it doesn’t.
“Is there any movement on your end?” she finally asks.
Franky flips through the radio channels, listening for any particularly interesting chatter. As Nightfall infiltrates a high security laboratory, Franky has been enlisted in providing backup by decoding the lab’s encrypted radio emissions.
“Nope. Got nothing,” he answers, “You’re good so far.”
He gets silence in return. No thank you, no acknowledgement, nothing.
Then finally: “You’re not smoking in the van, are you?”
Franky feels a chill run down his spine.
“No,” he says quickly, the cigarette in his frozen hand like a child caught reaching into the cookie jar. He hears her sigh into his ear.
“Whatever, it’s fine. Just don’t get ashes on the equipment.”
“I’m not gonna.”
“That’s what you said last—wait, do you have the van radio on?”
The van’s radio in the front is turned on low while it plays a quiet jazzy ballad.
“Am I not allowed to listen to music?” Franky whines into his headset, “This is so boring.”
“This is a mission of great importance, we cannot allow for any distractions.”
Franky releases a frustrated sigh and flops over onto the radio equipment. This is why he needs new friends. All he ever seems to do these days is hang out with spies which is not nearly as fun as it might sound.
“Don’t you like music, Nightfall?” he asks offhandedly. He’s worked a number of missions with Nightfall at this point and yet he knows very little about her.
As expected, he gets no response.
“I’m just sayin’ it wouldn’t kill for you to have a little fun now and then,” he mumbles. “What’s the point of fighting for peace and freedom if you’re never gonna let yourself enjoy it?”
There’s another long stretch of quiet from Nightfall. Franky clicks his lighter open and closed in his hand while he waits. The quiet click…click…click accompanies the static in his headset. A small voice comes crackling through.
“I used to.”
The words are so quiet that they’re almost lost in the white noise. Franky raises an eyebrow even though she can’t see it.
“Used to?” he prompts.
There’s the sound of shuffling on the other end.
“No one’s born a spy, Franklin,” Nightfall says simply.
Franky laughs somewhat bitterly to himself. If living among spies has taught him anything it’s that they value identity above all else. They treasure it more than anything and yet they hide it away and neglect it as if they don’t want it. Sure, Franky changed his name and took up an alias but that was all so he could live the life he wanted. Nightfall, Twilight, and the others gave up everything that made them who they were all so everyone else could live a life they never could have. It’s a sad existence but a noble one he supposes.
“Am I allowed to know who you were?” Franky asks as he leans back.
“You already know what the answer is.”
Figures, but it never hurts to try. Despite her curt and sometimes rude responses, Franky can’t help but feel but a bit of a kinship with Nightfall. They had a bit of a rough introduction, but it’s become clear to him that she trusts him as an asset. That’s practically the highest praise someone can get from Nightfall. It also doesn’t hurt that she’s a very pretty lady, although Franky isn’t exactly picky.
“Well, I hope that one day you’ll be able to enjoy music again,” he says absentmindedly as he flicks his lighter on and watches the small orange glow light up the dark van. His fingers readily accept the warmth. It’s not too cold outside but there’s a slight chill in the air.
“Thank you, Franklin,” Nightfall murmurs.
He accidentally flicks the lighter lid closed, extinguishing the flame and plunging the van back into darkness. He stares at the small rectangle in his hand. Did Nightfall just…thank him? If he didn’t know better, he might’ve even thought he heard a smile in her voice.
“N—No problem, Nightfall,” he stammers with a grin. “You know—”
“There’s movement in the guards, third floor. Check the radios again.”
And she’s gone, slipped back into spy mission mode. They don’t have a chance to make idle small talk (or rather for Franky to talk while she ignores him) for the rest of the job. She narrowly escapes the lab with the target of the mission tucked under her arm—a small cooler containing several vials of a certain synthetic bacteria on ice. Franky isn’t privy to the exact reason why she had to jump through so many hoops for just these few vials, but he knows that WISE is always wary of whatever biowarfare weapons Ostania might be developing. As far as he’s concerned, he’s just getting paid to watch her back.
Nightfall quickly slides into the driver’s seat and, without any warning to Franky, peels away from the lab before the guards chasing after her can catch up. Franky goes tumbling sideways as the van tears through the dark streets. For someone so concerned with the safety of the radio equipment, she sure is driving rather recklessly. His complaints go unanswered until they finally pull over near one of the river wharfs on the edge of town. Franky slowly sits up as he rubs at a growing bump on his forehead.
“Are all Westalians this bad at driving?” he groans, “Every time I get into the car with one of you guys it always ends up like this.”
“I had to shake a tail,” Nightfall answers coolly. She pulls the small cooler onto her lap and checks the contents to make sure they’re still intact. They are but her eyes still narrow in annoyance when she looks out the windshield. “Why are there so many people out tonight? It’s far past midnight.”
Franky adjusts his glasses as he follows her gaze. Sure enough the wharf is alive with civilian activity. The boardwalk is crowded with chatting spectators, a few street performers playing on guitars or saxophones, and carts selling fried food. At first Franky’s eyes and smile grow wide with recognition but then he checks the time on his cracked wristwatch and curses.
“Aw c’mon, we missed it,” he grumbles, “Just barely, too.”
“What? What is it?” Nightfall begins scanning the crowd, looking for any possible threats.
“It’s nothin’ bad,” Franky says, “just the annual Berlint boat races.”
“Boat races? I didn’t get any intel about that,” Nightfall replies with a scowl.
“That’s ‘cause it’s not an official event. That’s what makes it so fun,” he explains, “Every year a bunch of locals set out from Liebwal at midnight on the Hafen River to race to Berlint before sunrise. Everyone gets together to get drunk and bet on which boat’s gonna win. Too bad, looks like we just missed the betting window, though.”
He realizes Nightfall is giving him an unimpressed look.
“What? It’s tradition,” he mumbles defensively. She rolls her eyes.
“Well, it’ll be a good cover. Your contact instructed us to meet him here,” she says as she slips the cooler into a large purse and she pulls on a civilian coat. “Let’s move out.”
Franky powers down the radios and climbs out of the back. He feels the bump on his forehead ache in retaliation as he stands up and the blood rushes from his head. It stings when he brushes his fingers against his skin.
“Are you okay?”
Franky leaps, realizing that Nightfall is right beside him, watching him wince as he feels his head.
“Hm? O—Oh, I’m fine,” he mumbles, “Just bumped my head in the van.”
Her eyes scan his face. Suddenly her hand is on his forehead, pushing back his thick curly hair and examining the swelling on his face. Her fingers are unbelievably cold against his quickly flushing skin. He suppresses a shudder.
“Does it hurt?” she asks softly.
“It’s not that bad,” he answers as casually as he can manage with his heart thumping wildly against his chest. She studies him a moment longer and then retracts her hand. He misses her touch almost immediately.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters. For once she actually seems remorseful for hurting him.
He laughs forcefully and waves a hand. “No worries, you were kinda in a hurry,” he says with a smile. Then he adds with a slight puff of his chest, “I’m pretty hardy.”
One of Nightfall's eyebrows raise as she glances from his head to his toes. Even without her heeled boots on she’s noticeably taller than him and obviously twice, probably even three times stronger. Next to her he looks more like a scrawny teenage boy.
“Right.” She turns away and begins striding towards the wharf with her usual air of confidence. “Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep our contact waiting.”
Franky quickly follows after her, having to nearly trot to keep up her to powerful strides. They’re to meet up with one of his associates, one that specializes in analyzing bacteria and the like. Typically WISE would prefer to have their own people perform the analysis but that would require sending the samples over the border. They settled for relying on Ostanian technology.
However it doesn’t require special spy training to know that the contact is currently nowhere to be found. When Franky planned the meeting, he hadn’t specified an exact place for the contact, only that it was at this wharf on this night. He must’ve forgotten that the Berlint boat races were scheduled for tonight. If he had remembered, he would’ve tried to convince Nightfall to try a different day so he could partake in the joyful merrymaking unfolding around them. Instead he’s stuck with an increasingly agitated Nightfall as they both scan the crowds for the contact.
“You didn’t get the time or location wrong, did you?” she grumbles dangerously with a sideways glare.
“No, I made it clear that it was tonight at the wharf,” he insists.
“Then where is he?”
Franky laces his fingers together and holds his hands behind his head as they walk. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to hanging out with Nightfall while they waited for their contact—she’s nice to look at after all—but her impatience is souring the mood.
“I dunno, I don’t have a telepathic link to the guy,” he says, “He might be late.”
“Unprofessional,” is all she growls.
“Aw, is it really that bad?” Franky grins at her, hoping to cheer her up. “We can have some fun while we wait for him. It’s better than waiting around an empty dock.”
He expects her to shoot back an irritated retort, but instead she chews the inside of her cheek like she’s pouting.
“I’d rather just be done with this already,” she mumbles.
“Don’t be like that, you’re allowed to enjoy yourself from time to time.” Franky sits down on a bench overlooking the wharf and pats the space next to him. “C’mere.”
She stares at him for a moment before rolling her eyes and joining him, drawing a cheer from Franky.
“I love going to stuff like this ‘cause it’s fun to people watch,” he says as he pulls out a carton of cigarettes. “Want one?”
Nightfall only stares back at him with a deadpan expression.
“Suit yourself,” Franky says with a shrug, unperturbed. He speaks as he searches his pockets for his lighter. “As I was saying, I like to watch people passing by and make up stories about them. Like that guy over there—”
He nods to a man wearing a heavy wool coat clutching the leash of a dog with long fur.
“—he might look like a regular guy, but what if he’s actually an exotic pet dealer? And he’s waiting for his business partner so they can discuss their next smuggling mission—wait no! What if he was waiting for his lover who’s from a rival smuggling gang and they’re to meet up tonight and sail away to a faraway country to leave their old lives behind?”
Franky laughs to himself and looks over to Nightfall who’s studying the man intensely.
“Whatcha think?”
“No, he’s just a regular civilian who got off a late shift. He’s likely a factory worker of some sort considering the uniform under his coat,” Nightfall says, squashing Franky’s fantasies in an instant. “Considering the amount of fur caught on the wool of his jacket, he probably habitually walks his dog after work.”
“Ah. Well.” Franky scratches his head awkwardly. “What about that couple?”
This time he gestures to a young couple sitting at a bench a little ways down the dock. The woman talks excitedly to the man who shifts uncomfortably.
“I’ll bet they’re secretly undercover agents for the secret police and they’re talking about how they rigged the whole race so one specific boat wins,” Franky says animatedly, “But the guy already bet a ton of money on another racer before he knew who the real winner was.”
Nightfall watches the couple carefully for a moment.
“They’re talking about how she got a promotion at work,” she says flatly.
“Are you reading their lips?”
“Of course.”
“That’s cheating,” Franky huffs.
“It’s the truth,” Nightfall replies.
Franky folds his arms. “What’s got the guy so wound up, then?”
“He’s planning to propose to her,” she says, “He’s hiding the ring in his pocket, which is why he keeps reaching into it all the time. You can see the outline of the ring box in his pants.”
Franky sighs and a cloud of bluish smoke joins his foggy breath in the air.
“Reality is so boring. It’s way more fun to imagine,” Franky mumbles.
“Your imaginings are too dramatic,” Nightfall mutters back, “You’re setting yourself up for disappointment when you see everyone as smugglers and secret agents.”
“I guess.” Franky leans his head back on the bench and watches the slow moving clouds obscure the moon. It’s such a nice night out.
“I do suppose it’s a bit humorous when you consider what people think when they see us,” Nightfall says quietly beside him. “They’d never suspect who we really are.”
Franky gives her a sideways glance.
“And what would people think when they saw us?” he asks.
She thinks for a moment. “They’d probably think we’re just regular civilians. Two friends going to the boat races.”
There’s a slightly melancholic edge to her icy exterior. He hates it when she’s sad.
“Nah, they’d think we’re two henchmen for an evil mob boss, here to get illegal cargo from one of the racers from Liebwal,” he declares dramatically, “But little does our boss know that we’re actually double crossing him and we’ll turn in the cargo to the police and collect the reward. But then—!”
He sits up straight, eyes sparkling, hands waving enthusiastically.
“We fake out the police and give them some dummy cargo, keeping the real stuff for ourselves. What’s the real cargo? A secret, high-tech engine strong enough to power a rocket. And we build just that—a rocket that takes us to the moon and we claim it for ourselves, so far away that neither the mob or the police can catch us.”
At the conclusion of his tale, he hears the quietest laugh beside him. Nightfall watches him with a small, bemused smile that, he realizes, she isn’t aware she has.
“That’s even more ridiculous than the truth,” she says. Franky shrugs.
“It’s fun to pretend,” he replies with a grin. Nightfall considers that for a moment.
“Perhaps,” she murmurs.
There’s once again a silence between the two, but it’s not unpleasant at all. They listen to the chatter of excited passersby and the melody of a street performer plucking away on a guitar. Beneath the hubbub is the shifting of water below the wharf. Franky tries not to think about how much they seem like a couple out on a late night date right now, lest he ruin everything like he always does. He stamps out the last of his cigarette and stands up.
“Well, it wouldn’t do for us to blow our cover if we act suspicious sitting here all night,” he says, “Let’s go explore a bit.”
Nightfall doesn’t offer any snarky comments or roll her eyes when she follows him into the crowds.
“Tell me more about the racers,” she says as they meander aimlessly on the dock, watching the city lights dance on the river water.
“Ah, I thought you’d never ask!” Franky exclaims. He picks up a homemade flyer that one of the bookies was handing out to bettors which displays a list of names. He looks over the list and points out one to Nightfall. “Some of these guys have been in the race for years—like this guy, Rolf. He won it a few years ago. He’s usually in the top three.”
“Is he a safe bet, then?”
“Not always. He’s kinda unpredictable. If he’s not in the top three, then he’s dead last.”
“Very unusual,” Nightfall murmurs, “What could possibly cause his performance to fluctuate so much?”
“I heard it’s ‘cause he built his own boat and maxes it out with crazy new custom-made mods every year. Some of them work, some of them don’t.” Franky squeezes his fists. “I wish I could get a look at the stuff he makes. They’re probably so cool!”
“You could join the race next year with your own customized boat,” Nightfall suggests, “Then you could get close to Rolf, build comradery, earn his trust, and then learn his secrets.”
It’s Franky’s turn to give her a strange look.
“I just wanted to see his inventions, not steal his secrets,” he says. “Besides, I don’t wanna be the one racing the boats, just betting on them. I can’t swim.”
Nightfall’s mouth forms a disappointed frown but she doesn’t press. “So if you shouldn’t bet on Rolf, then who would you bet on?”
Franky laughs knowingly.
“You mean if I hadn’t missed the betting window? Probably this guy, Henrik.” He taps the name on the list. “He’s never won before but I’ve got a good feeling about him. He’s been slowly improving every year. I think he’s got what it takes to win this time.”
“You were going to bet money based on a gut feeling?” Nightfall asks. She’s looking at him like he’s stupid, which she clearly thinks he is.
“S—Sometimes you just have a feeling! It’s intuition!” he stammers, “And not many people are betting on him so the payout’s bigger!”
“That’s a terrible reason to bet on someone. You need to gather data, compare it, and analyze it to get the best results,” she lectures, “Betting based on intuition seems like a needlessly expensive hobby.”
“Yeah, but it’s fun.”
“It doesn’t seem like much fun.”
“Oh yeah? What does sound like fun to you?” Franky snorts, “I’ve never seen you have fun.”
She goes quiet and Franky fears he’s hit a sore spot. This is the one time a woman wasn’t utterly repulsed by his presence and he’s gone and screwed it up. He scrambles to think of something to make her laugh again or at least cheer her up, but she beats him to it.
“I do enjoy music,” Nightfall nearly whispers like she’s sharing a grave secret. Franky nods encouragingly, afraid that she’ll withdraw again.
“Do you play an instrument? Or sing?”
He watches her jaw tighten like she’s fighting an internal battle. Finally, she surrenders.
“I sang, long ago. And played the piano.”
Franky nods again. “I see, I see,” he says. He plays it cool to not scare her off. “I would’ve never known. Do you miss it? Singing and playing the piano?”
Another battle, another surrender.
“I haven’t thought about it in a long time. I don’t have time,” she confesses. That melancholic tone has crept back into her voice.
“Aw surely you could sing along to the radio once in a while,” Franky says, “No one’s so busy that they can’t even do that. There’s music everywhere, look—”
They’re approaching a small trio of musicians that play a slow rendition of a popular song. There’s a small crowd of onlookers milling close by as they enjoy the performance.
“Music! What’d I say? Let’s listen to them.”
They slow to a stop to watch the performers and lean against the wharf railing. Out of the corner of Franky’s eye he notices that Nightfall’s fingers tap ever so slightly against the strap to her purse in time to the music.
“D’you like this song?” he asks. She notices his gaze settled on her traitorous fingers and she stills with a slight blush.
“I do,” she admits.
“Then sing along!”
Her face twists into a deadly glare.
“I’d sooner throw you into the river to drown.”
Franky laughs. “I know, I know, it was just a joke.”
Nightfall stares at him a little harder and he briefly wonders if she’ll actually throw him into the river. But after a moment her expression softens and she looks back to the performers. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Not today, but maybe one day,” she says, more to herself than to him, “When there’s peace, then I’ll sing again.”
Franky looks out over the dock, watching as people talk, laugh, sing, and dance. He doesn’t remember much from wartime—he tried to forget—but he knows it never felt like this.
“I dunno, seems pretty peaceful right now to me. I think you can find moments of peace anywhere,” he says as he folds his arms, “I really did mean it when I said earlier that I hope one day you’ll be able to enjoy music again. You deserve that much at least.”
The words hang in the air. He might’ve stepped over some boundary, but it’s how he feels. He tentatively glances over to Nightfall who gazes back with a small smile.
“I hope so, too.”
There’s no sharp edge to her voice, only a warmth he’s never heard from her before.
They lose track of time; listening to song after song, walking around the wharf, and buying a late dinner from one of the food carts. Nightfall’s never been the chatty sort, but the conversation flows so easily between the two that Franky wonders why they’ve never talked like this before. He isn’t sure if this counts as a date but he doesn’t care—he just doesn’t want this night to end.
That’s precisely why his stomach drops when he spots the familiar face of his contact in the crowd. Their eyes meet and then light up with recognition.
“Sorry I’m late,” his contact, an unassuming man with round features and dark hair, apologizes, “There was a mix up at the lab and I had to do some overtime.”
Franky can sense Nightfall tense up with suspicion beside him.
“No worries, Dan,” Franky says, hoping it’ll soothe her nerves, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Franky discreetly passes the package to Dan. As Nightfall keeps an eye out for any trouble, Dan leans in close to Franky as he takes the cooler.
“I almost didn’t recognize you with a girl, Franky,” he whispers with a slight grin.
“Oh shut up,” he hisses back.
“I’m just saying it looks like you’ve got a good thing going on.”
“Yeah, and don’t screw it up by making things weird.”
“Is something wrong?” Nightfall asks. Franky shoves Dan away with an innocent smile.
“All good! I’ll keep in touch, Dan!” he chirps as he not-so-subtly pushes the contact to get on his way.
Dan rolls his eyes but soon disappears into the crowd, leaving the two behind. There’s a new silence between them, not at all like the comfortable quiet they’ve shared many times this evening.
“Well, I guess our work here is done,” Franky mumbles as he scratches the back of his neck. Nightfall’s played along enough, he’ll let her go. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
Just before he can turn to go, Nightfall stops him.
“Are you leaving already?” she asks. He pauses and stares back at her.
“Aren’t you?”
Her expression morphs into confusion. “Don’t you want to see who wins the race?”
It takes him a second too long to fully comprehend what she’s saying.
“I—I mean, I didn’t bet on anyone so there’s no point,” he stammers.
“Yes, but you need to collect data so you can make an informed decision next year.” A faint blush falls on her cheeks. “And I…I’m curious to see who wins.”
Franky stares at her for a moment before breaking out into a smile.
“Well now I am, too,” he says. “Wanna put some money on it?”
“You have a problem,” she snorts with a smile.
“It’s more fun that way.”
“If you say so. I’ll put ten dalc on Rolf.”
“Ten dalc’s nothing!”
“I’m not putting large amounts on someone I’ve only heard about once.”
They resume their walk down the pier where people are gathering to try to spot the racers. It’s still dark out but the sky is beginning to turn a dark blue.
“Ever the strategist, I see,” Franky teases, “Well, if that’s the case, then I’ll put ten on Henrik. I like a good underdog.”
They slip back into their previous conversation with such ease that he hardly notices the sun slowly rising over the Hafen river. Beside him Nightfall nearly glows in the growing light, the sun painting her features a lovely pink and orange. He’s felt infatuation before many times with many women, but he’s never experienced the warmth growing in his chest as he listens to her talk. He’s had enough bad first dates to know not to mess it all up by acting too eager, but he honestly would be content keeping like this. Just being close to her is enough.
“Thank you for tonight, Franklin,” she says gently, cutting through his thoughts. Her eyes are on the sun. “It was nice to pretend to be normal, even if it was only a little while.”
She doesn’t see his mouth uselessly flap for many moments.
“N—No problem,” he replies eventually, “Like I said, pretending is fun.”
She turns to him with the widest, softest smile he’s ever seen on her. She opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by someone in the crowd shouting.
“I can see one! They’re here!”
The wharf turns into a flurry of activity as all the spectators rush to see who the winner is. Franky and Nightfall join them, craning their necks and shielding their eyes against the morning sun. A chorus of “Who is it? Who is it?” begins to arise.
“I can see the boat!” one man with a set of large binoculars calls, “It’s…”
The crowd grows quiet with anticipation as the man tries to identify the winning boat. Franky sees Nightfall clench her fists.
“…it’s Ulrich! Ulrich won!”
A cheer erupts on the wharf accompanied by some boos and loud curses. People embrace and dance and others stomp their bettor tickets into the dock planks. One man, presumably a loser of a bet, gets tossed into the river while his friends jeer at him.
“Ah, I should’ve known Ulrich would win!” Franky pouts.
“Who’s Ulrich?” Nightfall yells to him over the cacophony of cheers.
“He’s some hotshot newbie! He’s won the last two years in a row!” he shouts back, “I was hoping he’d lose his streak!”
They retreat to a less crowded spot of the wharf as they watch the winning boat draw closer. The water looks like a river of honey in the sunrise.
“What happens now that we’ve both lost?” Nightfall asks. Franky shrugs.
“Guess we break even, then,” he says. She nods.
They’re both free to go now that they know who won, but neither of them move to leave. More than anything Franky wants to tell her he wants to stay and talk until sunset, wants to do this again, and hopes she does too, but just can’t find the courage to say it. Instead he asks:
“What were you gonna say earlier? Before they announced the winner?”
Nightfall’s eyes go wide before looking away.
“It was nothing important. I was simply going to suggest that we do this again.”
Do this again?
Like a date?
Franky grins.
“That’s plenty important,” he laughs. “You know how to contact me. I’m free whenever you are.”
She glances back up to him and mirrors his smile.
“It’s a plan.”
The boats are slowly starting to roll in one by one. They paint a majestic picture with the breaking sky unfurled above them and an enthusiastic crowd to welcome them, but Franky doesn’t notice any of it. None of it’s as captivating as the radiant smile beside him.
He’ll have to amend his previous statement. He needs no new friends, he’s in good company already.