It was pretty loud. 

There might actually be a hole in the wall, indent at least, and Bruce pushes his shoulders back down when he realizes it’s just Maria coming home from the party. The forceful snick-ing of the locks, and he feels his eyebrows going up – there’s nothing much in the way of television at this hour, but he’s found a cricket match that’s being broadcast by some Irish folks, killing time and trying to will his eyes to translate heavy to sleepy. 

He twists his head over his shoulder to watch as Maria comes closer, a bemused smile tugging his lips as he realizes –  Maria’s a little inebriated. Alert and aware, yes, though a little uncoordinated (for someone who marathons precision and efficiency on the daily). 

               “It’s around noon, in India,” he answers easily, throwing an arm on the couch and twisting a little to rest his chin on it, taking in the slight flush in her cheeks and her narrowed eyes before reaching out for her hand ( and hopefully, bring her around to join him on the couch ).

“How was the party?” 

Okay, know-it-all.

She’s not really frustrated. It’s amusing, actually, that he had the answer so readily available. Maria can’t imagine that kind of mental efficiency at this hour ( or in this state ).

     “Who’s playing baseball this late?”

The screen has grabbed her attention; bats and balls and men in uniform running around a vibrant field. Eyes asquint, she can feel his fingertips along the underside of her palm and she shifts her hand to accept them, curling her own fingers inward and following the motion of his hand out and around the arm of the sofa, but she’s still frowning at the game. 

      “What team is this?” 

There’s a lend to her voice that suggests she might be offended. By what, exactly, is unclear. Her body melts down onto the couch, pressing a touch too close to Bruce having misjudged where he’s sitting. She’s working on prying her shoes off with her feet when the men on the screen suddenly start moving after a ball is hit. Maria grimaces but doesn’t comment, instead turning toward him and letting her head loll heavily against the cushion. 

              “It was a party. Loud. I think Sharon invited all of Brooklyn. Thor brought out the Asgardian liquor and that’s when I had to get outta there- moral responsibility and all that. Didn’t want to be on hand when shit inevitably went sideways.”


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