"Yes, she's here," a voice answered quietly, somewhere behind him, and Wanda appeared on the walkway between a pair of lush plants dripping with flowers. She paused for a moment to caress the golden blooms, a distracted frown on her face. "If she's me," Wanda continued and paused just behind the swing to stare down at Tony with eyes red-rimmed but dry of any tears. She'd finished her crying some time ago, had melted from rage to despair and now to sullen stubborn refusal that urged her to believe Pietro would return any moment now, that Nick was wrong, that all would be fine. Deluding herself was not working particularly well.
"Do you need something?" she asked quietly, subdued, though not unkindly. In truth she didn't exactly want company, but if was to be anyone seeking her out she was glad it was Tony. She was too ashamed of her outburst to face Cap and Clint, but Tony understood what was wrong with her, knew the explanation.
Nick was probably still livid. She unconsciously rubbed at one of her wrists and her frown deepened at the recollection. Wanda hated what Nick said to her, but given her behavior she could not entirely blame his actions. Her hands were, in a sense, weapons of a sort. Even if she didn't mean them to be. Still, the encounter was close enough to the Nick of her hallucinations to make her feel wary, a little frightened, and the news of Pietro left her completely rattled. So she escaped here to a haven from the winter chill outside and the confines of the building below.