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It was hot.
No.
Beyond hot.
Nuclear.
You were sprawled out on the couch of your tiny apartment feeling like you were going to die of heat. You couldn’t even bring yourself to move and call someone to see if you could crash at their place until your air conditioner was fixed. You internally cursed New York for its heat. And then Shield for stationing you here to play baby sitter to the Avengers. And yourself for declining when Tony offered to put you up in Stark Tower.
Stark Tower.
What you wouldn’t give to be there now, in its air-conditioned embrace, able to move about freely.
Shit.
You were supposed to be there now. For work. You lolled your head to the side to find the time on the clock across the room, it told you that you were officially two hours late for your job. Fury was going to kill you. You reached out an arm lazily to grab your cell phone and call in sick, finding that it was deader than a doornail before rolling off the couch and on to the floor.