Over the years there have been plenty of times, sitting up late in the trailer when Mama wasn't home, watching a movie and wedged between Jims and Sarge on the sofa, that felt like this. Like everything important to Adelaide in the world was right within reaching distance, like all was well and safe at least for this one blessed moment. Inevitably that safety broke, that calm shattered, but she learned early on to take it when she could get it, to hold it tight and ignore the rest. That cocoon-calm is over Adelaide now, and warms up to hum when Sarge's rough, half busted hand covers hers. She feels like pleasantly warm and comfortable pudding, probably something to do with very little sleep in the face of all their planning, combined with the comedown from the day's adrenaline and her injury and a crush of relief. Her smile looks as sleepy drunk as his words sound. "I'm not biased, I have insider information," she corrects.
She turns her hand over under his, spreads it so each fingertip traces its counterpart before settling palm to palm. She can see him relaxing, knows how rare a thing that is, and there aren't a whole lot of things in this world that could budge her from this spot right now. She lets mischief into her eyes, but it's the lazy kind that doesn't have to go anywhere, while she pulls the giant down comforter over to puddle around her. She doesn't comment on Sarge falling asleep right where he is, instead preferring to just let it happen so he doesn't get spooked and bolt. "Course we are, in all the best ways," she says, as prim as one can be while shrugging an oversized blanket up around her shoulders. "And she can like it or scram," she adds, ever personifying that contrast between steel and fluffy down comforter.