Abby is not getting naked, only near enough, trousers and shirt off and left folded near the fire so they'll be warm when she comes, shivering, back to them. She finds she doesn't care if anybody else thinks they're being weird, she just — needs to move and do something rather than sitting and stewing in her own thoughts, making herself angry for no reason. It's stupid. This whole thing is stupid.

She follows Gigi down to the water, sans slow-mo Baywatch running, more watching where she steps because there are bits of rock everywhere and —

"Holy shit," yep, it's cold, but she drives her legs hard through the surf anyway, wading in without reprieve. But not without yelping, which she does once, when a wave smacks her hard below the belt.