The sounds took him a while to identify, and a little longer to snap him out of programmed stimuli-response sets. Crying did not add up with the person issuing commands.

Ever.

Crying was the target, sometimes. But Fuu wasn't a target. This datum was acquired after all programming, and he didn't doubt it in the least. Which forced him to focus, on what it mean, and on what he could do.

He moved quietly - most of the noise he made coming from his left arm, and the running of the faucet. Until, in the end, he scratched lightly on the screen in warning that he was coming in - and he only did so to leave the glass of water on the ground beside Fuu. There was neither humor nor mockery on his face, as he moved through the small space.

He didn't intrude as directly for long. But he knelt in front of the screen, close enough that the light from the rest of the apartment outlined his shadow. He was sitting in a correct manner, his body held with care - the Western World hadn't been the only place where the Winter Soldier had been supposed to blend in, to disappear.

"I apologize, Fuu. I don't know what mistake I made, but I would rather correct my behavior than..." He hesitated, considering the options. "Than risk repeating it mindlessly."

There was no derision in his voice, either. This was not in any way 'the woman went into hysterics, have to appease her' - in various ways, he had accepted her as a teacher, or maybe guide, when it came to actual interaction with people. Actual being people. He wasn't imposing his opinion on things over her, nor was he asking for what he clearly had forfeited - respect, probably. Trust didn't quite occur to him, because he didn't think anyone, not even her, should trust him.

But he was extending his own trust. In supplication. For her to decide what to do with.