"Charles Thomas, don't you climb that," Adelaide says, calm but sternly, while Teagan thinks and Charlie sets his sights on the stairs up to the loft. The baby looks stubborn for half a moment, such a familiar expression that Adelaide can't think on it too long, but she keeps her eyes on him and he listens in the end, plopping on his butt again to pick up a toy duck to chew on. She used to watch that Dog Whisperer show, and she doesn't think that parenting a toddler is all that much different - "calm assertive energy" and all that business.
Her attention turns easily back to the conversation. It's really not Adelaide's business, and that ages old instinct to mind her own wavers there for a moment. Usually, there isn't interest enough inside of Adelaide to kindle the kind of curiosity, the kind of empathy it takes to dig into someone else's problems, but as has often been the case with Teagan, Adelaide finds herself far more inclined than she normally is to invest herself. Something about the other woman is undeniable, loud and real enough to make the reclusive Hawkins take that step across personal boundaries.
And the way she says the word fine lights up a little kindling of indignation that waits only for more information to flare up.
"And he's not?" she questions, eyes narrowing so that her casual questioning is clearly shifting. "What the hell does fine mean?" They aren't fine people. Fine is for the slow and steady folk up at the Capitol, the upstanding citizens over at the LBJ. Those people do fine. These people do rage and lust and passion and need - even Adelaide herself with Sarge, as slow and simmering as they've been, have wells upon wells of volcanic things right under the surface and there's nothing fine about it. Red flags have just popped up all over.