Though lies are something that come somewhat easily to Adelaide's lips in many circumstances, she seriously dislikes untruths within the scope of those people that she genuinely cares for and lets in. She wouldn't think twice of telling tales to most people if it was expedient, but to tell Archer a lie would leave the sourest of sour tastes in her mouth.
And so he gets these truth-bits, and she knows that he realizes their significance. The fact that he does is a large part of what draws her to his friendship in the first place - he is a deep-thinking person, one who sees beyond the surface. One whose regard isn't easily given, and therefore in her mind is worth so much more than most.
So they share a smile there in the kitchen, a laugh that sort of marvels that there really are sometimes good things left and that sharing them makes them multiply. He doesn't need to spell out those things he can't find words for - she's another deep-thinking soul, and she knows. That nudge that mirrors hers earlier says a lot, to a kindred kind of soul.
"Same goes, Arch," she says. "No matter how big the complications are, I'll be keeping an eye out for you. And a fork in your hand," she adds with easy humor. She opens up the oven, puts in the pies. They're better with mashed potatoes, and when he returns later he may just find that she's made up some of the boxed kind. It's sacrilege, but it's all they have. Then she puts out her arms for the baby. "And for my first act of duty - you better get some sleep, before a stiff breeze takes you down. And don't you forget to pass along that badge and shirt to me when you get a second. After you've slept," she adds.
She knows the job, the complications, this life will take its toll on them both - on them all. But she also knows, more firmly now than ever, that neither one of them will be taking it on without backup.