But yep, I can definitely be bought. At least tonight. I can throw some decent ballroom dancing in there, for the right price.

I don’t think I’m a good bid, though - things I did and do don’t tend to impress people too much.

[she quirks an eyebrow at him holding up their charade of addressing SHIELD and Avengers as a company.] We’re all here, getting bid upon, save for Steve who sadly couldn’t attend. The boys are surely going to have fun tonight.

Your partner? Like, partner in crime? I wouldn't count yourself out. You're pretty damn impressive, Nat.

That is too bad. I bet they are. And the ladies too. Is there anyone you're hoping to wind up with?

Oh. Right. Well, uh, this is definitely my first. And I'm feelin' kinda hunted. [He chuckles.] Tonight's hopefully going to be a good time for a good cause. We'll see, I guess. It kinda sounds like you're more used to the hunting, though. [He smirks, thinking of the asskickings she must have delivered after luring her targets in. That's what she meant, right? Spy games.]

I have been well, just not very busy these past weeks, that’s probably why I was convinced so easily to participate  in this auction.

I’m itching to get back into the thick of it, though. 

So work's been quiet? I think I've seen a couple of your office pals around. Guess you're not the only one who's going stir crazy.

MJ was at her wits end as she sat in the kitchen floor of her aunt’s apartment. She was stripped down to her bra and a pair of shorts with a box fan trained on her to ensure that she did not roast completely to death in the summer heat. Her aunt had went on a weekend vacation to see a friend and MJ had been left alone. She never dreamed that the air conditioner would quit working in the apartment while the temperature outside was nearing one hundred degrees in the shade. She called the owner of the apartments and they said they would have a man out there tomorrow. Mary Jane resigned herself to possible death due to heat stroke at those words.

She was bored and covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair thrown up into a precariously messy bun. She looked flushed and miserable as the fan blew on her providing little relief. She sipped on a glass of water that had ice in it, but the ice at had long melted and she felt like she was doing the same. She picked her phone up from the floor and checked it. No new messages. She quickly decided to compose one. The text was for Flash. It was a simple one. She needed a distraction from the heat and the fact that her sister called last night to tell her how horrible she was and how she could have at least come home for her nephew’s birthday. The text read: I’m burning the fuck up. Get your ass here now. It was cryptic, but she got her message across.