Welcome To Wherever You Are Who: Archer and Adelaide Where: the old Austin flea markets What: It’s been more than a month since they’ve laid eyes on each other, since she was broken out of jail. Arch has missed Ads. It’ll be good to see her. So long as a handful of other things don't go wrong, that is. The chief is maybe a little worried. When: early afternoon, November 4th
After he’d stood in the the apartment that used to be hers, now scrubbed clean of its former family, Archer Avery drops a text to Adelaide Lansing to ask if she could get away to meet with him the next day, the way they’d talked about. The coast is about as clear as it is ever gonna get, which isn’t saying much, but he honestly can’t see a better time coming on the horizon. This troubles him. Every fucking morning, Archer rolls out of bed -- if he bothers to sleep in one, or sleep at all -- and pins on the badge, is chief of police for the city of Austin. Every damn day, he guides the men and women who still think enough of this town to want to protect it, and he does so knowing that there is too fucking much wrong behind the scenes for him to fix on his own. The guns showing up on the lawn may have been one of the more blatant signs of trouble for Archer to deal with, but it is by no means the only thing since the fantastical upset of Adelaide’s jailbreak that Archer has in his line of sight.
All of that being said… he’s fucking missed Ads and wants to touch base with her in person. He misses her son Charlie, too, but he’s already steeled himself for the fact that Charlie isn’t someone he’s going to see in person again anytime soon. Archer’s trying to work on the fact that he might never see Charlie again in person ever, though he’s not about to bring this up to Adelaide and upset her. Scratch that. He’s not about to bring that up to Ads and piss her the fuck off. That’s closer to accurate. Yeah, it makes him mad to think about it, too… but Archer’s under the impression that he’s trying to be realistic. His lifespan might not be what he’d like it to be. His life is dangerous, and not merely because of his uncertain immunity status, not just because he’s a cop. Archer is willing to risk more now than he ever was in New York because he loves more people now than he ever did when he was first partnered up with Brannon; he has a brother in Bran now, a family out of the friends he’s made through the tough times in Austin and a couple of those people are especially dear to the seemingly stone-faced chief. For them, he’s willing to continue to be in some fairly fucking delicate situations. It was originally dangerous for him to know that Adelaide’s brother was James Hawkins, leader of the Hellhounds (Archer has never been able to think of Hawkins as his nickname, Rodeo, and trying to call him The Dog King makes him sound like a high school garage band that wasn’t allowed to play at Homecoming).
Archer kept that secret, kept it so well that the mayor, Reeves Olinger, still has no idea that Archer knew of the family connection and Archer is damn well gonna keep it that way for as long as possible. Now he’s keeping the secret of how to get in touch with Adelaide, though he’s really never understood why Olinger, seemingly obsessed with eradicating them and James Hawkins in particular and with more resources at his disposal than most, hasn’t amassed an army and razed the Dog Park to the ground.
Maybe because Olinger knows that an army would rise up against him. Archer sure as fuck would rise up against the mayor in that scenario. As Archer thought the night before, maybe he’s picked sides in this war already without meaning to, without knowing all of the facts, without even wanting to be in a fucking war… but there it is. If he had to pick between his job and Ads, he’s picking Ads. If he had to pick between his duty and Charlie, he’s picking Charlie. It’s not a choice he’d have to make alone: Brannon is restless, cagey, whiny… annoying. More than as a way to get attention and to jolt his quieter partner into random conversation but as if he’s actually unhappy. It struck Archer, after he texted Ads last night and actually went back to his quarters to make an early evening of it, that Brannon may be staying here and doing his job simply because of him. Because of Archer. Because Archer asked him, years ago, to follow him to fucking Austin after he got shot, and Brannon said yes. Why break up a perfect partnership, right, Archie?
Right, pal.
This roils through him again as Archer makes his way on foot through the edge of the old flea market grounds, able to content himself with the thought that at least he’d found a roundabout way to hint to Bran about Adelaide’s and Charlie’s safety without giving him any real information to put him in danger. Archer was trying to be cautious in every way possible. He’d parked a little farther out because the only way he was getting the fuck out of the office today was in a police vehicle and while it’s one of the unmarked jeeps, it’s still as likely to be made as a PD issue car as he is to be made as a cop. A couple of years into an apocalypse and you get to learn which cars on the road go to which people. He doesn’t mind if people know that he’s out and about, but he’d prefer that on the odd chance there’s an outlier about, someone who just happens along, it shouldn’t look all Secret Fucking Squirrel out here. Archer’s got a small-ish, well-worn duffel slung over his back; until he can hand the bag over to Ads, he’s got his rifle in his hand, and his gaze sweeps back and forth like he’s looking for something. Out pretty far for a regular supply run, but there’s always something out there to look for, and you go out armed because zombies are still very much a part of the landscape. He looks for all the world like he’s gone scrounging, something Archer hasn’t done personally in quite some time, but something he’s actually acquainted with.
He can’t hide who he is; no disguise in the world is going to make Archer any less… Archer. Not unless there’s someone to set it up for him, and this isn’t some undercover operation that he’s trained for. Yet he’s not in APD uniform; he’s not wearing his badge. No need to paint the target on. He doesn’t have his tactical vest on but his duty piece is in his shoulder holster, under his jacket. What matters is he’s not dressed as Archer Avery, Chief of Police. He’s just Archer: a nondescript grey jacket with a loose button, pale cadet-blue shirt, ash-colored cargos. As he tends to unconsciously aim for when not in uniform, Archer’s clothes -- almost always in neutral tones and shades of greys, browns, and blues -- seem designed to make him blend in with his surroundings, make him somehow less noticeable or intimidating. Depending on the situation, this is a hit or miss approach, but Archer can’t honestly say it’s something that he’s done consciously most days. Today, he just doesn’t want to be in uniform. Later, if anyone saw him out and about, fine, but he’s not on the job. Jenkins keeps telling him to take a break now and again, right? Well, here’s his fucking break. Mission accomplished.
His current mission will be accomplished when he can see Ads with his own two eyes, currently closed off behind polished sunglasses in the mid-afternoon glare, and make sure she’s doing all right. There’s an odd feeling in his chest, in his stomach that Archer can just about put down to a mix of anticipation and dread, with a cool slice of fear mixed in that he keeps locked down with even breaths and steady steps. No one followed him. No one knows he’s here. Adelaide’s safe. She is safe and Charlie is safe back at Hellhound HQ. If there’s zombies that show up here, he and Ads can take care of them. She’s gonna be fine. She is really gonna be fine. And he is also gonna be fine. There’s no trap for him here, not Hellhounds, not patrolmen, not any of the old skeletons he’s buried under years and fresher corpses, thanks to the infection. His nightmares are just that, and he’s here to spend time with a friend that he’s missed so hard that it hurts, which is actually a better explanation for that feeling in his chest. Archer stops walking, face utterly expressionless, heart pounding. Waiting for Ads.