1/3 (IJ being a jerk)
Their transition is seamless, Adelaide stepping away and Archer stepping up to accept the spoon she'd been using to portion out the chicken without her having to set it down. They got good at knowing how the other moved when puttering about the place and preparing food even before Charlie came along; after he was born, it quickly became second nature. Archer hasn't questioned it. In truth, he doesn't think about it much. He doesn’t have to; their give-and-take simply is and it includes this simple knowing of who needs to be where and when with barely a gesture and rarely a sound. It's the much quieter, calmer version of knowing that Bran's got his six in any hostile situation. There's something about the way their friendship developed and the hours spent in this kitchen that allows for this automatic understanding. It requires no words -- like the way Archer now reaches over with his free hand to snag the dish towel that Adelaide used to dry her hands and lays it over his shoulder, at the ready in case something bubbles over or slops out. Not a likely scenario with either of these two at the stove and oven, but Archer tends to have contingency plans for contingency plans. No words are needed with these sorts of gestures... and given the conversation they're already having, that's indeed a good thing.
Archer finishes putting chicken into the casserole dish and the crock, sets about combining the vegetables and the soup on low heat so the flavors will warm and mingle first. They've done this recipe with more ingredients before. They've tried it with less prep work. This seems to be the best variation of Adelaide's recipe. Her comfort food is far superior to his half-remembered teenage creativity, bachelor fare, and Food Network recipes -- well-remembered and highly adapted -- and he's been okay with that for a good long while now. It's possible that the only real skill Archer brings to the table is the experience of having to do without, having to substitute whatever's available. He privately finds more value in Adelaide's contribution of well-worn and well-loved recipes. He can pull things from library books, off the backs of cans, out of his brain; Ads draws from the heart. It's why the food tastes better when she makes it, or when they make it together, than when some of the others attempt to cook. Maybe Bran would scoff that his stoic Joe Friday of a partner was getting all sentimental on him, but Archer has to pick and choose what he believes in anymore. He's seen enough bad shit in his life, in the last few years especially, to know when to appreciate something good.
Glancing over at her and Charlie at her 'warmup' comment, Archer tips his head with an almost-smile of acknowledgement and agreement. He doesn't find the words for a dry reply before Adelaide is offering up a heartfelt speech that means more than any words could express and maybe Joe Friday is getting fucking sentimental in his old age, because there's a moment where shell-shocked dark blue eyes lock onto the determined grey and she can see him struggling with the torrent of emotions that won't allow themselves to be tamped completely down the way they normally are. The way they should be, and Archer fights for it to be so.