"Exactly that," he answers, and his gaze holds steady with hers for a moment before dropping to the pasta. He uses his fork to arrange it on the plate in a way that only makes sense to some deeply buried section of his brain, a stall tactic he often used during meals where he hadn't prepared a statement. That was a good sign. When he was being combative, he tended to stare people down. Here, he was being subservient, almost sheepish. If nothing else, that meant her pedestal was intact. "In every aspect," he clarifies, finally finding a voice for his internal script. "Your intelligence. Your strength. I know what you're capable of, Adelaide. I'm not stupid."
He glances back up at her, just a bit flustered. Compliments weren't really his strong suit, and instead of flowery language he tended to resort to more direct statements that could be taken either way and sometimes sounded defensive. Still, when he was trying to express how he felt about her or the baby, he'd often blush. Here, the color is already becoming visible in his cheeks as he continues. "I realize that I've been... neglectful, lately, out of necessity. I'd hate for you to think I take you for granted. I don't."
This was the lead in that had absolutely nothing to do with the file. A precursor to an apology gift, perhaps, but those generally came in the form of pretty, expensive trinkets or luxuries, and not bland, manila folders.
"I asked if you were all right..." he continues, but falters here again, unsure how exactly to put it. Quite simply, he'd asked because he'd realized that he couldn't tell, one way or another, what sort of mood Adelaide was in. She was as much -- if not more -- of a mystery to him now as she was when they'd first met, and that was something he'd assumed would lessen over time, as he learned to read her. She said she was fine, and he'd taken her word, but she was almost always fine. There'd been deviance during her pregnancy, naturally, he'd even seen her on the rare occasion afraid... even in tears or in pain. When the dog had died. When their child had been born. But the rest was a peaceful constant. No dips of depression or great leaps of joy.
Robert didn't show these things, either, but it was because of a mask he'd spent a lifetime fixing into place. Like him, Adelaide was always fine, and he'd begun to worry that it wasn't true. But how to verbalize that without worrying her? Without risking her seeing his own cards, and knowing that he was largely only fine these days because he knew she needed him to be.
He took a breath in and sighed it out, collecting pasta onto his fork from the approved section of his plate, but not yet tasting it. He wouldn't take a bite without finishing his sentence. "I asked that because I don't underestimate you. If you weren't, I'm not sure I'd be able to tell."