1/2
He feels just the slightest bit cracked, chipped like the mugs of tea the mayor offered, and Archer knows that if he gives into that chink in his armor that he will wind up hitting the nearest wall with his fist until something breaks. Archer's not given to fits of rage, not accustomed to feeling his temper this close to the surface, and it reminds him very much of the tangled skeins of thought and emotion he had to cautiously sort through after he'd been shot. He can't sleep. He needs to sort this shit out. So as Sunday night bleeds into Monday morning and he continues to walk -- arguably, he's set himself a patrol, but it's in a safe zone and is just a way to quiet his mind -- Archer is mostly unsurprised to find that he's not furious, exactly. Not entirely.
In truth, it's grief he feels, stronger than he thought possible, mixed with a little bit of anger and something that resembles betrayal if he squints at it. He'd worked with Grady and Roccolini for long enough that to lose them hurt. Even living with the knowledge that there's always danger from zombies, this is tragic. Cops always take it hard when one of their own falls but this is just too damn heavy on his heart... and heavier still on his shoulders.
Archer Avery is now Chief of Police in Grady's stead. His partner, Brannon O'Brien, is his Deputy Chief.
The new chief keeps his quiet vigil throughout the night and through the dawn, walks himself tired until the buzzing in his head becomes a low hum and his muscles protest against further hours of needless abuse. He'd worked through the weekend -- not much else to do -- before the message came through to meet with the mayor. With this all-nighter attempt to put his head back on straight, Archer has done something he really hasn't done in a long time: purposely avoid rest. It's not a pattern he's looking to reclaim from the days in New York. Bran would have something to say if he saw Archer spinning his wheels like this, because it's not smart in a fucking apocalypse to put yourself off your game for any reason. Now, as he makes his way down a hallway and feels the muscles in his left leg especially twinge at him, Archer thinks: you can't outrun the nightmares. And he doesn't want to outrun the responsibility. These people... he wants to protect them. Will do anything he can to do so. It's just that no matter how he reacted in front of the mayor, in front of Thomas Lansing... Archer is not as cool and calm as everyone expects him to be and he is frankly exhausted by all of the changes that have been wrought in less than half a day's time.
Instinct has him heading for the kitchen, because even though he's beat, Archer isn't sure he can face turning in and catching a few hours of sleep just yet. By rights, as this is Monday morning, he'd be checking in with Grady in a couple of hours to see if there was anything that needed his attention. But he's the chief now and it's not like he has to check in with himself, now is it? There'll be much to do in the coming days; Archer can permit himself this brief respite now.
The kitchen is the surprisingly logical place for him to think of as a refuge. Archer revived all of his childhood and young adulthood cooking skills because they turned out to be perfect for a post-apocalyptic world where canned goods were the starring attraction. There's a certain peace to be found in those memories, even if he believes all of the principal players besides himself are dead and gone now. And he's glad to be of use to his fellow survivors as more than just a cop, with meals that aren't half bad and that manage to stretch their limited food supply.