Tony was about to be on the receiving end of further exasperation until Wanda realized that he wasn't wrong and, terrible as it was, if anyone was qualified to dispense advice about drinking it was Tony Stark. Wordlessly she turned on her heel, leaving her little circuitous path around the room, and went to a cabinet in the kitchenette to crack open a bottle of tequila and take a long gulp. Which didn't so much relax her but the coughing fit that followed at least put her mind on something else for a moment. See, it did help after all.
"What?" she asked, after she'd swapped out the bottle for a glass of water and could breathe again. "Of course not. I just- I came here to check on that." She jerked her head at the thing as if he didn't already know exactly what that was. "And I don't know what it's doing but I don't much like it. The last thing I need is to be inadvertently responsible for the destruction of Brooklyn." She didn't mean to be so short with him and she'd like to believe she usually had more grace under pressure but for some reason this was getting to her. Maybe it was just the trial that had her on edge, the way she'd been threatened, the way Nick had been treated throughout that whole travesty. Maybe it was the fear knowing that Nick was gone, that buffer and fall back and fail safe for any mistake or problem in the world. Having that gone was terrifying and Wanda was certainly tired of feeling afraid. She'd thought that was over with, at least for a little while, didn't the world deserve a break?
Well, if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was not to tell Tony a damned thing about being afraid. It was that thought, actually, that pulled her together and she took a deep breath and gave him a rueful sort of smile before she muttered, defeated, "Nick fucking Fury." The perpetual answer to the questions 'what happened here?' and 'who's to blame'?