The Major had returned just yesterday from his small mission abroad. He took that afternoon and that night to recover -- to sit in his new apartment and painstakingly peer over his journal. Long moments to look at what had happened in his absence, with no Patrick Harper to report to him.

But today he strides stiffly (and half limps) his way to Molly Carpenter's apartment. With each step, he seems to be mumbling to himself. Palm on the pommel of his sword; his green jacket brushed down and neatly buttoned. Perhaps he even tidied the buttons, sitting on the edge of his basic cot.

His knocking on the door came across as too loud, to him. Too ungainly. Too thunderous. He tried again, softer. His opposite hand remained behind his back, hiding a gift -- a sprig of plant dotted with orchids. Scavenged from the jungle itself.