Comfort. It isn't something they're any good at, not really. Not any of them. Comfort was never one of the directives of the Red Room. But there is a comfort in her mother's arm curling around her, the press of her cheek against the top of her head. Almost like she's just a little girl again.

"Stupid bear," she mumbles as she pulls away slowly, swiping her hands under her eyes to wipe away any evidence of her tears.

That at least gets a laugh out of her, brittle and shaky, but immensely better than crying. "Honestly..."