Once upon a time, in what felt like a lifetime ago, she would have kissed him until he stopped talking- before he started rambling- but that wasn't an option here and there was maybe a trace of remorse in her expression even while her smile brightened. He hadn't pushed her away, which would have been a victory if he hadn't almost shuffled close again. That was actually strangely painful.
Even though she didn't want to make pointless small talk she knew it was necessary, that things were awkward enough with out it, but they both had to know she didn't actually believe his reason for being here. Tony Stark didn't come to say hi, Tony Stark sent a message or hid away and waited until he had no choice but to face you because you came to him first. So, there had to be something else, there usually was. Wanda eyed his briefcase but said nothing about it.
"Thanks, it's not," she answered, polite, because she knew that she looked tired and that her dress was old and just something she'd packed from California. Wanda leaned against the opposite mirrored wall as the elevator made its laborious way upwards and onwards. Before a silence could settle she asked, "How have you been?" But left the rest unsaid; since the plague, since the Raft, since you left the Avengers, since we stopped talking. Again. She wasn't expecting any honest answer. The ding of the elevator coming to a stop on the eleventh floor was something like salvation. The doors took their time in opening, though.