Steve's nearly halfway up the steps to meet her, a few steps away and reaching out but his hands don't quite connect. He isn't sure she'll react well to grabbing. And by then, she's starting to stand.

His head is spinning with a vision of someone he doesn't know, of dying by gunshot, and it's disorienting, like when a blow comes and you expect it to hurt, and it doesn't quite feel like what you were bracing for.

It's still not pleasant. He still wants to raise a hand to his own head to make sure it won't come away bloody. He still wishes his stomach didn't feel like a pit of lead. "I saw - did you see? Something?" he asks, quietly. "Someone with a gun?"