Thank you for the reviews! They're very encouraging, and even though I can't reply directly, I do make sure I read them. ;)

Here's the next entry... Enjoy!

Entry #5: SHIELD [or, "Agent Fuzzwell Goes AWOL"]

Natasha was fiddling with an earring.

Clint was awkwardly readjusting his bowtie.

Steve was munching happily away on a soda cracker.

Bruce was studying a scratch on the counterpane.

The irritable Director was drumming his fingers on the hard surface and giving each Avenger his personalized Nick Like-A-Boss Fury death glare.

And Tony was staring dismally at the glass of chocolate milk sitting on the table before him. (MILK! Not wine, or tequila, or a martini, or even a lousy can of Keystone Ice—but milk! Milk was for children, not Iron Man. Didn't SHIELD have any respect for its VIP guests?)

Finally, Nick spoke up. "May we proceed?"

When nobody responded—except the captain, who gave him a polite nod—Fury resumed his original thought: "It has come to the attention of certain persons affiliated with SHIELD that it may be necessary to establish some form of communication with Asgard. Certain disturbing occurrences and unconfirmed sightings have aroused suspicion as to the actual whereabouts of one extra-terrestrial criminal—"

Clint flinched.

"—and I think you all know who. I informed the Council that Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark would help our scientists construct an intergalactic—"

Tony glanced up, forgetting his stare-down with the glass of milk, and everyone in the room could sense his invisible hackles bristling. "Excuse me? Tell me I did not just hear that you volunteered me for something…"

"Not 'volunteered', per se. You see—"

"No, I don't."

"Stark, you have your own laboratory facilities, don't you?"

"…"

"Yes, he does," supplied Bruce Banner. Tony shot him a dangerous glare.

"Excellent. Then I'm sure you can figure something out, since you're such a genius," growled Fury. "And I have no doubts that you can afford the research."

Natasha had stopped fiddling with her earring and was now staring at the wall, an expression somewhere between befuddlement and undiluted horror crossing her face. Clint elbowed her. "Nat?"

Every eyeball immediately focused on the pair of super-power-less-but-by-no-means-defenseless SHIELD agents.

"Nat?" he prodded again.

Natasha's face had turned an odd color of red, and she was sitting as still as a statue. "I think—I think—" She suddenly fumbled for the pocket of her dressy jacket. Seconds later, she withdrew an empty half-plastic half-wire-netting container that was a few centimeters bigger in diameter than a box of playing cards. For a moment, she remained speechless.

Then she whispered, "It's escaped."

And that's when Clint bolted.

It was impressive, really. He leaped onto and over the counter, scattered two piles of important documents, upset three chairs, and would have made it out the door in two seconds flat had Tony not reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket.

Fury narrowed his eyebrows in suspicion. "What has escaped, Romanoff?"

She buried her face in her hands and cried in a muffled voice, "Mister Fuzzwell!"

The assembly all stared at Natasha with expressions that alternated between amused and mildly disturbed. Barring Clint, who just looked terrified.

Fury cleared his throat. "Who is Mister Fuzzwell?"

Natasha groaned. "I found him in Brazil six months ago… and brought him back to the States with me… and fed him crickets every night… and took him with me to work every day… and now he's gone!"

By this point, everyone was looking uncomfortable to varying degrees. Even the unfazeable Nick Fury.

A strained, wheezing whisper made all heads turn in Clint's direction. "Did I mention that it's highly venomous?"

There were several exclamations of displeasure—including some vehement swearing on the part of Tony Stark—and everyone suddenly began scanning the walls and floor for anything small and deadly.

"What is it?!" demanded Nick, extremely perturbed.

"Phoneutria Arachnida," Natasha clarified, glancing up with another hot blush.

"A spider," translated Bruce, looking somewhat interested. "How fascinating."

"Spider? Where?!" Tony actually began doing an emergency self-appraisal then and there: running his hands through his short hair, brushing imaginary spiders from his jeans, and ripping off his jacket. He then proceeded to shake it out violently, as if expecting to find a disgusting arachnid lurking within its flawless designer folds. Before he could start removing his shoes, however, Fury stepped in.

"I strongly suggest we all vacate the premises and call in an exterminator. And Romanoff!" he bellowed. "I'll have a talk with you later!"

Everybody realized the sense in his words and scrambled for the door.

Then Natasha shrieked. The sound was so unexpected and so uncustomarily high-pitched that the Avengers all turned to look at the distraught SHIELD agent. "Clint!"

Clint Barton turned deathly pale.

"Clint, it's on your jacket!" yelped Natasha. "Don't move…"

By now you all know that I enjoy picking on Clint. :)

Please review!

~Alassiel