There was a cough, a sputter as he took the bottle from her, her hand hanging in the air where it had been holding the bottle for several moments before it dropped, lifelessly, to her side. The fridge door swung shut and she stumbled back several steps, glass crunching beneath bare feet, her rear meeting the counter and holding her up. Deep down, in that part of her that didn't feel so broken and splintered, she knew that Archer had a point, a very good one, but with how she felt right then, she couldn't reconcile it with reality.
Swallowing hard, Isobel lifted her head to meet Archer's gaze, the way his features were twisted in irritation, annoyance... it felt wrong, strange and surreal. But she nodded at his words, a small bob of her head.