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As promised, here is the next entry - enjoy it!

Entry #14: Manhattan [or, "How to Live with a Demigod 101"]

At exactly 8:45 AM, the doorbell rang for the second time in two days. And again. And again.

A suave, extremely annoying voice called out, "I'll get it, mortal," but Clint managed to beat Loki to the door (the demigod wouldn't have been able to open it anyway without the combination). He also, thankfully, managed to get the lock open before Tony Stark broke the doorbell.

The billionaire stepped in, looking unusually disheveled, dreadfully pale, and alarmingly wide-eyed. He gave the overall impression of someone who belonged in an insane asylum, but managed to croak out one very demanding word: "Coffee!"

Then he collapsed on the couch.

Loki swaggered in just after Clint sprinted through another door into the kitchen.

The front room suddenly fell silent. Loki stared at Tony. Tony stared back, albeit with glazed eyes. It was doubtful that he actually recognized Loki. All he knew was that a tall, dark person was looming over him. A person who, oddly enough, smelled strongly of raspberries. Tony blinked once, trying to clear away the fog. "Hey… You got any coffee…?"

Before Loki could come up with a stinging reply, Natasha waltzed into the living room, wearing bell-bottom jeans and a white blouse. Her hair was done up in a towel-turban, and she was barefooted. Her toenails had been freshly painted a startling neon green color, and her bright red lipstick was back.

"Oh!" She blinked, raising both eyebrows, and then frowned at Tony. "What are you doing here?"

Tony heaved a sigh, sinking lower into the leather embrace of the couch. "Coffee," he whimpered, the look on his face resembling that of a lost and lonely little puppy.

At that moment, Clint walked back into the room, a mug in his hands. "This is all that's left of my coffee from this morning. It's caffeinated, so it should tide you over until the other pot is done brewing."

Tony reached up weakly and accepted the slightly-warm mug, downing the entire thing in two swallows.

"Don't drown yourself," cautioned Clint. "It's not going anywhere. And—hey!" he yelped, suddenly noticing Loki. "What are you doing out here?"

Loki crossed his arms and looked very prim. "I finished 'rinsing my bowl' and 'loading the dishwasher,' exactly as you commanded. Then I read the pitifully inept instructions next to the strange metal beast 'Kenmore,' filled it with the liquefied soap I found under the sink, and pressed the little green light which said Normal Wash. I assumed that would suffice."

Clint nodded slowly, and then froze. "Wait… how many dishes were in there?"

Loki gave him a very condescending frown. "Just mine."

"Just yours? And how much soap did you use?" demanded Clint.

"All of it, naturally." Loki shrugged. "There was no recommended amount listed anywhere."

Clint let out an unnatural, horrified squeak (which did not sound at all manly) and dashed back into the kitchen.

Natasha quickly followed him.

Loki smirked.

Tony stared into the empty coffee mug with a wistful expression.

Then a loud wail emanated from the general direction of the kitchen. "LOKI! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DISHWASHER?"

Putting one pale hand over his mouth, Loki widened his eyes in mock-disbelief as Clint came storming through the door, several soap bubbles clinging to his black pants. He tracked sudsy water into the living room, but didn't seem to notice. His face was flushed bright red: one of the clearest warning signs that Hawkeye had been pushed too far. He was also shaking his fist at Loki. That was bad news as well. "THERE IS A TWO-INCH TIDE-POOL OF BUBBLES AND DISHWATER FLOODING ONTO MY KITCHEN FLOOR! DID YOU KNOW THAT?"

Loki spread out his hands and shrugged. "I am terribly sorry."

"YEAH? WELL YOU'RE GONNA REALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO BE SORRY ABOUT IF YOU DON'T REPLACE THAT DISHWASHER!"

"Clint, stop yelling," Natasha said quietly, emerging from the kitchen and brushing soap suds off her hands and onto her jeans.

"I'M NOT YELLING!"

"Yes, you are."

"HE RUINED MY FAVORITE BREAKFAST BOWL!"

"Clint…"

"NOT TO MENTION MY KENMORE!"

"Stop it, Clint."

"I HAVE A PUBLIC MENACE LIVING IN MY HOUSE! AND IT'S ALL NICK FURY'S FAULT! I'M GONNA—"

"CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON!" Natasha's voice rose to an unbelievable pitch. Loki covered his ears with his hands. Clint stared at her in disbelief. Tony watched the whole spectacle unfold from his slumped position on the couch.

"…What?" whimpered Clint.

"Calm down. We'll mop up the water on the floor and fix the dishwasher."

Tony looked up darkly to insert his unoriginal two cents: "Coffee."

Clint stared blankly at him for a moment, still stunned from the recent trauma he had endured, and then nodded stiffly. "Right. Coffee." With that, he trudged into the kitchen again, grumbling under his breath.

Loki was looking fairly pleased with himself—until Natasha gave him her signature Evil-Eye Glare. "You. You knew I was going to take a shower this morning, and you used up a shameful amount of hot water. Why?"

Loki backed a few steps away and held up both hands in defense. The truth was that Loki, being half Frost Giant after all, much preferred ice-cold water for bathing. But after getting out of the bathtub, he had, of course, run the shower on hot for half an hour anyway.

"And I don't even want to know what you were thinking when you reached for MY raspberry body lotion."

Again, Loki had done that simply to provoke (he thought) Clint Barton, not realizing that the lotion was actually Natasha's. He had rather liked the way it smelled, though…

"But," Natasha finished warningly, "if you continue to torment Clint, I will gladly stoop to your level in retaliation. Got that?"

Loki was not quite sure what she meant by that, and did not respond. He wondered what would happen once Clint found out that all of his white T-shirts had somehow ended up in the same load as Natasha's bright red pajamas. The handwritten list of DO NOT's hanging on the wall (likely derived right from the mishaps of one bachelor SHIELD agent) had included an advisory about the dangers of mixing light colors with red, tie-dye, or neon-anything. "Red" had been highlighted.

"I'm going errand-running this afternoon," continued Natasha, crossing her arms and glaring at Loki. "And since Clint is obviously on the verge of a complete mental breakdown—or at least a mild conniption fit—guess who gets to come shopping with me?"

Loki stared down at Natasha, looking about as happy as a child who had just been assigned five straight hours of math homework. There were few things in the universe that frightened Loki Laufeyson. Natasha Romanoff happened to be at the bottom of that list—but she'd made the cut, nonetheless.

"That's right," Natasha established, as if he had actually answered her question. "And we are going to run the errands at a leisurely pace, as a special favor to Clint. He needs a break. The errands I had in mind include going grocery hunting, stopping at the jewelry store to pick up my watch, and getting you some of your own clothes so you can quit stealing Clint's. For the last two, we'll have to take a trip to the mall. Oh yes, and you are going to handpick a card and something really nice for Clint. Then we're stopping at his favorite restaurant to get take-out. And a double-layer chocolate cake for desert." She put her hands on her hips, smirking just a tad. "Hopefully that will make up for the loss of his dishwasher. And his sanity…"

At that moment, the topic of conversation stumbled into the room, holding two navy-blue mugs. "Coffee anyone?"

It was amazing to watch the reaction. In a flash, Stark had leaped up from the couch and dove across the room, hastily grabbing one of the mugs from Clint (despite the agent's warning cries of, "DON'T SPILL THAT ON MY RUG!"). Then he took one long, refreshing drink of pure caffeine. When he finished, he sighed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, some of the worry lines vanishing from his face. "Clint," he said genuinely, clapping his fellow Avenger on the shoulder, "I owe you one."

Then he turned around and came face-to-face with Loki. There was a brief stare-down. After a moment, the god of mischief slunk over to the couch and seated himself on the middle cushion. Another silence ensued before Loki said flatly, "This is mine." And then added, in a voice of the utmost disdain, "You were sitting on it."

Tony stared blankly at him for a moment, and seemed to be in the process of thinking up a very snarky reply. In the end, he simply leaned toward Clint and stage-whispered, "Did Fury say how long you have to put up with this?"

Who wants to see Natasha take Loki shopping? XD

Review!

~Alassiel