Anyone who didn't know better would have thought that she'd found something about the world that lay beyond the lobby's big picture window incredibly fascinating. Truth was, none of it seemed to matter at all-- the world outside the facility, the facility itself. She was better during training, focused, pouring all of her energy into becoming a team player, in responding to a leader who seemed to understand that each member of this team had their own needs, that they were all carrying their own pain. Some of that pain was more obvious than the rest, and when there was nothing else to focus on, no work to be done, she wore it on her sleeve, a raw and open wound that was almost tangible for how deep it ran.

All she could think about is what good this place could have done her, done them, if she were whole. If her other half had not been ripped away from her as they fought to save their home.

There's a delay before she finally comes to attention, turning her head slowly to face Steve as he speaks to her, his voice low, even, kind. He's patient, and she appreciates that, even if she has yet to really trust him. It's hard to trust any of them-- but she's resolved to try, at least with him. He's earned the attempt, at the very least.

"Quieter?"

She had been letting the thoughts and worries of those that surrounded her wash over her, a low and steady din of chatter that helped to drown out her own thoughts. Now she shut them all out at once, slamming her mental walls up so quickly that it was almost deafening in how very quiet it suddenly became, even with the shuffle of feet and rustle of actual conversation moving past them. She exhales slowly and her shoulders drop, followed by a single nod.

"Yes. Perhaps-- quiet would be good."

It had been quiet when she'd first found her way to the lobby. She's not quite sure when that had changed, as distant and unfocused as she was.