Beyond the mission of Bucky, of attempting to find a balance between his own desire to hunt for his friend to remind him of who he was and what they had lost, of what was not necessarily lost, and the understanding for the need patience, Steve was something at a loss. The presence of friends he had made in recent years, and that of the opportunity for more, or at least new interactions without his past weighing heavily on both sides of the equation, kept his days from dragging in between the windows of the feeling of being watched.

His needs were simple: that of the hunger that had become an ever-present thing in his life, rarely uncomfortable though it seemed to gnaw at him at a low-level throughout all he did, as if he could never quite get enough to eat; and that of the need to then burn off the energy that buzzed through him, unspent on battle or fights outside of those organized in matches against those who could take him at more than a half-level.

Steve was on his way back from satiating the first, emptying plate after plate at the buffet and trying not to draw too much attention to himself as he did, when he heard the sound it took him a moment to recognize. A muffled sob, a ghost of a thing half-swallowed, but carrying enough weight to it that he could not help but stop there in the hallway and look for the source of that sound. The breadth of his hearing had him needing to search around several corners before he was able to trace the soft, high sound back to its owner. When he caught sight of her, a slip of a woman who looked as if she were a second away from shaking apart with what she was holding inside her, he slowed but did not falter as he moved in toward her.

"Miss?" He called, attempting to make himself as non-threatening a shape as he could as he spoke to her in a voice kept gentle. "Are you alright? Do you need any help?"