Three days pass without any further contact from either Solomon or Archer. She has been left waiting and confused once again, with a cryptic note written partially in phonetics and horrific grammar.

November 11 is the only part that makes any real sense to her. It's a date, obviously, but for what she still has no idea. She reads the note every day, hoping that each time she casts her eyes upon the sheet of paper, some great mystery will be revealed. Unfortunately, the only real thing that is made clear to her is that Archer is being an ambiguous bastard. She understands why he has to be, but that doesn't mean she likes it.

Even with this little contact, as brief and confusing as it has been, she gains some sort of short-lived inner peace that helps her power through the day. Knowing Archer is at least alive has given her a way to drown out the outside world and get things done. So long as her mind lingers on him, she can function. She hasn't told anyone at all about anything. It isn't as if they would care or even understand the significance of his life, but having that little secret all to herself causes some kind of happiness to blossom in her heart.

When she arrives home on the 11th of November, she is partially hoping to see some kind of package in her mailbox. Maybe another pink that no one was told about? Maybe some kind of package full of additional names and numbers she can use in her journalism. Maybe even something more profound than that. But as she pushes the key into the lock and turns it, the door to the mail box swings open and there is nothing but envelopes.

She scans through them quickly, searching for one without a return address. Maybe one that has been hand-written. All that looks back up at her is a pile of advertisements and bills.

As she holds the pile of mail out in front of her, she bows her head and gives a sigh, her eyebrows knit. She isn't sure what this means.

Her first instinct is to rush upstairs to her apartment and call Solomon, time differences be damned. But she remembers the note safely lodged in her pocket, and Danny's explicit request to NOT contact anyone.

"Damn it." Her voice is low as she whispers the curse to herself.

Frustrated, she slams the door to her mailbox shut and retrieves the key, then enters the elevator. The ride up to her floor is maddeningly slow.

After she's locked her apartment door behind her, she draws the note out of her pocket again, and scours it, trying to turn every single possibility over in her head. 11 November. Obviously, that is today. The phonetics still make no sense – at first she considers that it might stand for JFK, as in John F. Kennedy International Airport, but the concept seems so silly she doesn't consider it for any longer than it takes her to think of it. The four digit number is as ambiguous as ever, but 9PM is clearly the time of day. What is supposed to happen at 9PM? There are no instructions other than not to contact anyone.

She would have to trust him.

After a shower and a dinner of leftover Thai food, Maddy manages to force herself to relax as much as possible. She lays out on the sofa in her living room coddled in blankets, the TV playing CNN International. More bad news; it never mattered which channel you chose. In retrospect, it probably isn't the wisest choice in the world, but what could she say? She is a glutton for punishment, and everyone knows it.

She looks up at the wall clock occasionally.

7:24.

8:12.

8:56.

When the hands on the face read 9, she pauses. She listens. She waits. For what, she isn't sure. Maddy hopes that something, anything will happen. She wills the phone to ring. She silently begs her fax machine to turn on. Still, it is as quiet as ever. Nothing spectacular or notable about 9PM.

Minutes tick by.

When 9:30 rolls around she crosses her arms at the note she had left out on the coffee table.

"Ridiculous." She isn't really talking to anyone in particular, but the fact remains that she's followed instructions, and to no resolution. It's November 11. It's past 9PM. Not a damn thing has happened.

Momentarily, she considers staying up as late as she possibly can to see if anything occurs; if the elusive creature known as Archer decides to step out of the shadows and make contact. She isn't counting on it, so she thinks better of wasting her energy. She turns the volume down on her television set so that it is barely audible, and grabs a pillow for herself from a nearby armchair. She'll stay awake until she succumbs to sleep. It is all she can do, for now.

"Hello, Maddy Bowen –"

"Yeah." A heavy gasp. "Thought I'd never call, huh?"

"And I'm so glad you did! Um… when am I gonna see you?"

"Maddy – I want you to do me – one more favor, huh?" He sniffs wetly. "I want you to go meet Solomon in Conakry."

"…In Guinea. Why do you want me to go to Guinea?"

"We found his son, but-" It's getting harder for him to speak, now. Gasps and panting becomes more frequent than the words themselves. "He's gonna need some help. You understand...Maddy?"

He lets out a grunt of pain and brings his hand to the bullet wound. The pain is intense.

"You're hurt… Are you hurt?"

"Ja, well, I've got a little problem here…" He sniffs again, trying to hold his composure.

"Okay. You, um… You tell me where you are." She gets no response, only the sound of a Cessna engine. "…Archer?"

"I'm looking at… at an Incredible view, right now." He sighs, his voice wavering. Sincere. "I wish you were here, Maddy."

"Okay, then I'm coming to be with you, you just tell me where you are."

Another sigh. "I don't think so."

"Are you still in Kono?" She nearly chokes on her words. "Because I can get someone there to help you."

"Maddy, you find someplace safe for the boy, a'right? And keep him out of sight. And get Solomon to London. He-" Archer is panting again, the pain piercing through his words, although he tries in vain not to let it. "He's bringing something with him, and he's gonna need your help."

Nearly in tears, she pleads with him, childlike and afraid. "Why aren't you bringing it yourself?"

"I'm saying – it's a real story, now. And you can write the hell out of it."

There is silence between them, aside from his labored breathing. She is lost for words.

"I'm really happy I met you. You know that?" He wants so much for her to understand that he means every word of it. He wishes he had the heart to say more.

"Yeah, I'm um – I'm really happy I met you too. And… I wish I could be there with you."

"That's alright." He manages. "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"Archer?"

"Archer-!"

She gasps, sitting bolt upright on the couch. Her heart is pounding. There are hot tears on her cheeks, and that detestable familiar lump has risen up in her throat like a rock. She tries to swallow it, and paws at her eyes with the backs of her hands. It was a dream.

Only a dream.

As she rubs the tears and sleep out of her eyes, she slowly lets them adjust to the TV still glowing in the dim of the room. She squints at the wall clock, and it says 10:22. She's been asleep for barely an hour, but it feels like days. Her limbs are heavy and every motion is tinted with sleep. She is uncomfortable, for lack of a better word. Almost instantly, her attention is drawn to the wrinkled note on the coffee table. For a moment, relief fills her from top to bottom. It was a dream. He's alive. He isalive.

It takes her a second to realize though, that the note was essentially meaningless. How typical of him. First he calls her and causes her heart to break for him, and then suddenly reappears out of thin air three years later, bearing cryptic messages and notes sent by messengers who should have cut ties with him long ago. She is thankful for his life, but part of her is still bitter towards him. She is doing her best not to take his existence for granted, though.

Maddy manages to look away from the note, and bring herself back down from the emotional high. She slips down against the warm blankets and brings a hand up to wipe the sweat from her brow. This is too much.

She shuts her eyes only for a moment, and feels as though she is about to slip away into sleep again, when an unfamiliar sound catches her attention.

It's tapping.

Once again, Maddy perks up, her eyes wide open now. Tapping?

At this hour?

Not to mention, no one ever comes calling for her at home, and her neighbors may not even know she exists at all. She pauses and listens for it again, and sure enough, soft rapping is coming from her apartment door.

Slowly and quietly, she manages to wake her arms and legs up and get them into somewhat of a working fashion, and she creeps over to the foyer, careful of the floorboards that whine when you step on them. She can see shadows from beneath the doorjamb. Someone is out there. She can't yet say who it is exactly, but there is definitely someone behind that door.

She had never been particularly clever-footed, but she manages this time to keep some sort of silence and stealth going, though she's not quite sure why she is doing it. She chalks it up to having to try and avoid conflict wherever she goes. It is habit, at this point.

The tapping continues, and she can see that whoever is outside the door is shifting their weight nervously. She narrows her eyes and closes one, looking apprehensively through the peep hole.

And there he is.

Standing right in front of her between a two inch slab of wood, he is there. Danny Archer is there.

The familiar appearance of the former-smuggler seems to have disappeared completely, though. He seems to have foregone the white wifebeater and patterned shirt for a rather smart looking suit and a pair of glasses. His hair is combed. He looks tame, almost. Nervously, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and glances down at a piece of paper. He looks to the right and to the left, confused. He seems unsure of himself.

He is about to try tapping on the door once more before he stops himself at the sound of the locks being unlatched.

It's been so long.

He tenses up and straightens his back as much as he can, and swallows thickly. This is going to be interesting.

As the last lock sounds off noisily, the door is flung open, and he is met with quite a sight.

There stands Maddy, hair a disheveled mess, wearing only an oversized tee, a pair of socks and what he assumes are pyjama bottoms. He looks her up and down, and she can only stare back, almost as if she is looking at a ghost.

"Hi." He grins. "Long time no see, huh?"

Wordlessly, she reaches out and grabs him by the tie and reels him into the apartment like a game fish. He flounders a bit, losing his footing to her impressive grip and strength. The door closes behind the pair with a loud slam, and at this very moment, courtesy to her neighbors is the absolute last thing on her mind.

Her heart is beating faster than it ever has, and again that wellspring of emotion inside her is bubbling up, threatening to explode. She can only look at him, now. Her hand is still clenched tightly on the soft piece of silk fabric around his neck, and she relishes the tangibility of it. He is here. Alive! He's smiling at her, grinning like a damn wild dog. She doesn't know whether to be furious or elated, and her heart isn't giving her much assistance in deciding.

"If you like the tie that much, you can have it, huh?"

Classic Archer. He attempts to dissuade the situation with that trademark dry humor of his, only because he has no idea how to react, either. He can see the fire, the anger in her eyes. There is a look of confusion and relief on her face. She is pulling him closer, and there isn't much he can do about it.

Gingerly, he raises a hand, and motions to the silken noose she is choking him with. Deft fingers pull on one end of it, and the thing comes loose, falling limply from his neck. She still clutches to the green fabric, and he takes a step back, still smiling at her. He is waiting for a response, and he isn't sure of what to expect. This woman was, and still is a firecracker. The only thing that's changed is their location.

Silence continues between them as she looks him over. He looks good. Really good. Whatever he has been doing, he's been taking care of himself. That is for certain. The only real difference is there is now the most subtle hint of grey about his temples. Other than that, he looks toned, well fed, and definitely well dressed. This stokes the fire in her belly even further. She wasn't sure what to expect. She honestly wasn't even expecting him to begin with, but she definitely did not picture Danny Archer the businessman. She pictured a war-worn ex-smuggler with a sizeable bounty on his head, ragged from stress and running. This polar opposite was almost infuriating.

With a wail, she lurches forward and tries to whip him with his tie. She howls at him and he backs away, trying his damnedest not to laugh at her.

"Oi! Come on, now! That isn't any way to treat a guest, huh? Ow, Maddy-!"

She manages to slap him square in the face with the wide end of the tie.

"You mother fucker!" She screams. "You son of a bitch!" Tears flow down her cheeks, and her voice seems to rise with every word. "How… why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

He continues to back away from her, hands up in surrender. He tries to coax her into toning her voice down, but it is essentially useless. Archer knows he can't blame her after all she's been put through in the past weeks. He knows damn well why she is cross with him.

"Hey, now come -" He manages to dodge another blow. "I did tell you, huh? You didn't get the note I had Solomon send you?"

"I did get the fucking note, but I didn't know what the fuck to make of it, you asshole!"

Tie in hand, she lunges at him again, and he backs away against a wall. Just as she is about to bring her hand down against his cheek, he catches her wrist and holds it. He is gentle, but firm. Maddy's eyes lock on to his, and she sets her jaw at him. They are both overwhelmed. They can see it in one another. Archer is struggling to find words, and Maddy is struggling to stifle herself. She watches him. She looks at the familiar lines of his face, searching him as though she needs to confirm that he isn't an impostor. The harder she looks, the more she knows that it is really him. Those blue eyes made even bluer by the glasses can't lie to her, no matter how much his tongue can.

"You… fucking…"

Before she can finish her insult, she crumbles. The wellspring breaks. Tears flow like rain, and her grip on the tie loosens as it falls silently to the floor. Her heart is aching and bursting all at once, and her mind reels as her knees weaken, and she buckles. She falls forward, face buried in his shirt. She grabs the lapels of his jacket tightly, and refuses to let go.

He's here.

He is HERE.

I'm not letting you go, again.

It is a promise that she silently makes to him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be clearer, huh?" His voice is barely a whisper. He sets his chin on top of her head, wraps his arms around her, and holds her tightly should she choose to lose her footing. It isn't just for stability though, he's missed this. He's wanted this for three years.

"I didn't want to risk anything."

She can only cry. Everything is so overpowering. Her life has been such an up and down roller coaster during the past few weeks that now this sudden realness and stability has caught her off guard, completely. She breathes him in. His cologne combined with that natural smell he has – a little like leather and tobacco and some kind of grain – is heady. It's something she never thought would enter her senses again. She lets her hands drop from the lapels, and instinctively, they go around his neck.

He can only pull her closer.

This is something he refused to allow himself to have for far too long. Even now, he is apprehensive about letting her get close to him, but it isn't Maddy he is trying to punish. He knows what he is, what he was, and who he will be. He knows the circumstances of his employment, past, present and future. But now, maybe there can be some resolve. Maybe now there can be some peace, if only for a while.

Archer brings a hand up and tangles his fingers in her hair. He closes his eyes and presses his cheek against hers, trying to get used to her physical presence. The idea of her was always lovely. It was something he'd kept tucked away in his mental locker for safekeeping. Her eyes, her smile… everything about her was sacred to him. But now, here she was, and here they were, together. Something he had wanted, but denied himself for far too long.

"Shh, a'right? Hush, now. Come on." He tries to coax her into calming down, but he knows it is useless. "Come on, Maddy. It's enough, now, huh?"

She swallows a few sobs, and manages to shake herself, mentally. Still, her mind is a blank.

"I…" She tries to talk, but now, words are nonexistent. She remains pressed against him, and all she wants to do is feel him. His strong arms are around her waist and back. He's holding her like a doll. As her knees weaken further, he tightens his hold on her, and does his best to keep her on her feet.

"Let's sit you down." He manages to turn her so they can walk together, and with some effort, he escorts her to one of the bar stools in front of the kitchen island. She is shaking all over. Her hands are tremoring and she feels a strange tingle run down her spine as contact between them breaks. When he lets go of her, Archer looks at her for a moment, examining her.

"You alright?"

Without looking at him, she gives a weak nod.

Archer is satisfied with that response, for now. He takes a moment to survey his surroundings, and rubs the back of his neck nervously. He really can't blame her.

He slips off his jacket and tosses it carelessly on an armchair in the living room area, and then goes back to pace the kitchen. Neither party says word one to each other, and Archer likes it that way, for now. His eyes scan the counter tops and fall on a can of coffee grounds. Without asking permission, he rifles through the cabinets and is somewhat intrigued to find them more or less bare, save for a few empty mugs and the odd china plate. He retrieves two of the cups and a coffee filter from the open box.

Now seems like a good a time as any to drink something caffeinated.