The sight of him alone is an instant balm to Adelaide's churned-up heart - at least something is as it ought to be. She doesn't try for a smile when she steps up to him, because she knows that he knows, and knows that they are beyond pleasantries. Or they should be, after the lifetimes that are between them all.
She puts away her weapon so that she can accept the helmet, trusting him to watch her back while she does it, and as she fastens the bandana around her neck she thinks she likely looks like one improbable outlaw. "Makes me feel like John Wayne," she murmurs in passing, while she thinks about his question and the motorcycle rumbles. She thinks and moves quick, efficiently, because she knows standing still out here with that thing growling is asking for trouble. She's a Capitol girl now, but she's still from where they're all from, and their journey down here earned her a few stripes, and logic earns her a few more. Still, it's different to see her move fast without that kind of Queenly languor. What she told him is obvious, that she doesn't feel okay, that she's crawling up the walls with it all.
"The River?" she suggests, even as she slips onto the back of his bike. By which she clearly means the Colorado River, but which she means the Colorado Dried Up Gulch. Before she got knocked up, she liked to go and sit on the old bridges sometimes, though she couldn't really say why.
It's different than getting on a bike with Rodeo - because they have different styles, probably, and also because touching Sarge has always felt to Adelaide like touching a live wire. He's always so still and silent but she's never not seen everything that is built up underneath. His eyes, to her, have always looked like they were trying to overflow with things he doesn't let out. Holding on to him feels like it will give her a jolt, but she doesn't hesitate to do so. She's ridden on enough bikes that she knows how to hold on. She waits until they are breaking into motion to speak again, mostly so that he won't feel he has to answer her.
"Thanks for coming," she says, just loud enough to be heard. She does realize that the middle of the night in the middle of the end of the world is a hell of a time to ask for a ride, and in enemy territory, no less. As they start to travel it soon becomes clear she isn't the dead weight he usually expects. Rodeo taught her the right way to be a passenger on a bike, and on top of that she just doesn't feel passive right now. It may just be the first time she understands why so many people seem to feel the need for the speed, and the wind, and the edge.