3/3
That tugs a true attempt at a grin to pull at the corner of his mouth and, however tired it may be, it’s an emotionally honest smile, some real warmth in it. “I’m gonna be fine,” adds Archer, because maybe it needs to be said aloud. “Survived this long. ‘M not alone. Someone’s got to lead. I can do it. So I will.” As much as everything else bothered him -- Thomas’ brevity in the notification, the meeting with the mayor, losing both cops, the badge, knowing what the stress would ultimately do to him, not knowing if he was really the right officer for the job -- it was really all moot. The apocalypse meant grieving the fallen was an abbreviated process, as the mayor put so bluntly the night before, talking of blood on anything and how they’d be too busy to clean any of it up. Thomas was doing his job. The mayor was doing his. The badge was a hunk of metal, regardless of what it stood for, regardless of the gore. Archer will handle the stress as it comes. Lastly, he is the right officer for the job, and not only because he’d been the next in line.
“Thanks, Ads,” Archer says again -- he can’t remember how many times he’s said it this morning, but it needs to be said again. After a second, Archer pulls the dish towel from his shoulder, wipes his hands on it as he takes the few steps closer to Adelaide, and bends his head to drop the lightest of kisses to the crown of hers. There’s another pause before the tall cop repeats the gesture with the boy in her arms, a swift gesture of affection that barely grazes Charlie’s blond fuzz and striped hat before Archer straightens up again and turns back to the stove. He hopes that does better than words to show how much her faith and support mean to him.
Though he turned back to the stove, Archer finds himself half-turning back to Adelaide and Charlie again. He’s not sure what sort of crust she wanted to attempt for the pot pies -- the options are limited, but it’s still her recipe -- so he winds up gesturing to the casserole and crock with a questioning head tilt, as if to say, you want to tag back in? Unconsciously, maybe Archer is trying to put himself in the passenger seat of the dish again for a chance to observe her. Her dogged stare of earnestness just now was markedly different than her faraway gaze when he first entered the kitchen and he wants to find a way to turn the conversation onto her, to see what it was that caused that look. Archer’s a cop that is, on paper, very by-the-book… and in practice, a man who trusts his gut. Gut instinct says that garden variety insomnia didn’t put that look in her eyes.