“The kind where we disappear?” he suggests, hopefully; the flirting – it is flirting, he thinks, isn’t it? – compensates for the distance between them, the careful, calculated placement of bodies and arms.  “Doesn’t have to be for long.”  Or it could be longer, but he knows he, at least, can’t leave quite yet. Showing his face might usually be enough at this kind of event, most people familiar with why he prefers to keep a low profile, but he’s got an agenda he won’t be waylaid from. 

         “Unless you don’t think you can manage it.” 

      He’s challenging her. Cuts right to the chase, knows exactly the right buttons to press and he earns a narrow-eyed glare for his efforts ( all in good humor, of course ). Maria lifts the glass to her lips, still eying him over the rim. When it’s empty, she sets it down, leaving it to collect condensation on the bar, sweet-laced liquor leaving a trace in her mouth that spurs the ensuing smirk.

                           “Oh, it’s not me I’m worried about.” A hand slips into her bag, pulls out her phone- “The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. taking a phone call? Nothing odd about that. So sorry, Banner, I have to take this outside.” She flashes her teeth, lifts the phone to her ear and looks pointedly determined as she strides toward the nearest door, slipping free of the party and heading toward a quieter section of the building.


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