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Christina hauled Four kicking and screaming out of his grief ("I neither screamed nor kicked." "Whatever you say, Four."), with all the careless, aggressive candor that came of her birth faction ("You're not a coward, so man up, and face the d— world without her already." "If I wanted—" "—to put up with Candor, you'd have joined the faction. Heard it all before.").
It wasn't really that far from staying up late in his apartment on trumped up excuses of needing help with this or that for their jobs to train new adults in their mixed faction/factionless society to admitting she was watchdogging his access to memory serums and worse to admitting he didn't really want to drown forever in what might have beens to...
Whatever this was.
"Call it comfort."
Four sighed and rolled over in the bed. "I'd rather call it nothing."
She was still too candid and he was still too curt. Somehow they made it work.