With the chicken sizzling away and the stew simmering, the kitchen is filling up with homey good smells and to Adelaide that itself is comfort - or at least it once was. There is muscle memory attached that makes some of the tight knots in her chest try to unfurl some. She listens to his descriptions and has a few ideas how she can fashion what he's thinking of, but then he works his way around, around to that curse and the admission that they both already knew was true.
She nods, pulling half-cooked chicken from the pan and piling it into a round casserole-type dish, and then adding some to a smaller individual crock. "Course it's not," she says, though mid-statement Charlie gives a sudden whimper, and then mewling wail. Adelaide and Archer automatically switch places, Archer taking point and Adelaide going over, rinsing her hands and wiping them before picking up the baby. The conversation continues through it, Adelaide murmuring her next words against the blonde fuzz of Charlie's hair. "But it was a decent warmup, wasn't it?" She smiles a very small bit, bounces Charlie gently until he quiets and rests his chubby cheek against her shoulder, his knuckles drunkenly finding their way to his mouth.
"There's a million things to get in order beyond stars and badges. So you'll go to bed, and wake up halfway fresh, and you'll eat this adorable pot pie that I'm making you, and you'll start. And me and Bran and the good men and women under you will be there to lighten the load wherever we can, and if you don't share, we'll make you. And even though Thomas doesn't have a fraction of the heart you do, and the Mayor is kind of a weirdo, we'll get things done. Because this world is ours to remake now anyway, and hell we might as well kick some ass before we exit, right?" She isn't the type to make heartfelt speeches, and sure there is plenty of her wry humor in it, but she can only attribute such a burst of earnestness to how much she believes in Archer. It shows clear in the steady, dogged look in her gray eyes.