Wanda continued to watch her mentor from the corner of her eye, straining to hear what was going unsaid. She had found Natasha difficult to read even before the weeks of Wanda's endless, all-consuming grief had strained whatever fragile accord had existed between them before the Games. The confidence and self-assurance that Wanda had so appreciated in Natasha while preparing them for the Games, turned to one more thing to hold against her mentor after their conclusion. Now she even resented the easy way Natasha moved through the crowds, how she always could put her finger on just the right phrase to suggest Wanda say in her interviews. It was objectively unfair, this change in perception, but Wanda had no interest in fairness anymore. To her mentor's credit, she had never offered her any false words of comfort or pat condolences. That meant something to Wanda, even now. Natasha wasn't one of the Capitol ghouls who seemed to feed off tales of her grief, that much she'd say for her.
Her aloofness slipped somewhat at Natasha's admission. Almost against her will, her mind conjured up images of a twelve-year-old Natasha, dressed in the sort of frilly concoction adults always imagined little girls dreamed of wearing. An orphan forced to become a killer and then promptly deposited at loathsome parties like these for adults to fawn over, as if they hadn't eagerly tuned in to watch her sufferings weeks before. It was hard to reconcile that vulnerable little girl with the elegant, effortlessly poised woman now before her. But in the face of that image it was also proving difficult to neatly seal off her emotions. Wanda had sparse sympathy to spare for anyone that wasn't herself, but even she could imagine how terrifying this event would be to a child. As matter-of-fact as Natasha's tone was, the image lingered uncomfortably in Wanda's mind.
"I can't imagine," she murmured softly, almost inaudibly, but it was clear her comment was not about fireworks. She turned to regard Natasha fully then, trying to push past her sudden flickering of compassion to get to her real business in asking the question.
"And what was it like? When you went back to Seven, I mean?" she asked casually, too casually perhaps. "I was curious... it feels as if the Capitol is just as much your home now."