Entry #18: Manhattan [or, "Dr. Banner Arrives"]

Clint had looked everywhere – in the laundry room, the kitchen, the living room, under the couch, under the table, in the cupboards, in the pantry, in all the hallways… and Loki did not have access to Clint's office or bedroom or guest bedroom, or even the garage.

With a huffing sigh, Clint stopped in front of the last door he had not tried: the bathroom. Of course, that door had no lock except on the inside, for obvious reasons. He lifted his hand and knocked loudly on the door. There was no response, so he tried the handle: aha! Locked.

"Loki?"

…silence.

"Loki, I know you're in there."

…silence.

"Loki, I want that bathroom to stay INTACT, okay? As in, use it if you have to, but please don't try anything like that stunt you pulled on my dishwasher."

…silence.

Clint rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. It wasn't that he enjoyed Loki's company—not in the slightest—but he felt much better when he could actually see his worst enemy. At least then he had a chance at stepping in before something went haywire.

"Listen, come out of there… please," Clint choked out the last word with a pained grimace. "I promise Dr. Banner won't Hulk Out on you this time, okay? I mean, give the guy a break. You were sort of destroying Manhattan when he showed up."

…silence.

Clint sighed. This was getting old. Fast. "Alright, I'll make a deal with you. If you come out of there, I'll give you your own personal bag of Fritos. Deal?"

At first, Clint thought that silence would once again be his only answer, but then the words, "Do not attempt to bribe me, Mortal," came from directly behind the door. Obviously Loki was standing right next to the chink in the wall, listening to Clint.

"Two bags," offered Clint. "Two bags, and your own bottle of root beer, too. Come on, now, you can't say no to that."

"Yes, I can."

Clint sighed and slumped against the wall. "You drive a hard bargain," he complained, checking his watch. If Steve's time estimate had been correct, Dr. Banner should be there in about two minutes or less. "Listen, if you come out now…" he gritted his teeth. What had Natasha told him that Loki liked? She had spent most of the day with him, after all. There had to be something.

Oh yes.

Clint's sports car, she had said. Loki liked his sports car. (Just not the radio).

Well, that certainly wasn't going to happen. Over my dead body, Clint thought bitterly. What else did the belligerent demigod like?

Nothing came to mind.

And then the door-bell of doom announced Dr. Banner's arrival.

If Clint just left Loki there and attended to his guests, the demigod could very well sneak out while they were all on the back deck and cause unthinkable mischief in Clint's house. And Clint couldn't allow that. Obviously drastic measures were in order.

"I will… I will let you drive my sports car tomorrow! And we will take said sports car to the grocery store! And we will buy ALL of the balloons!" Clint proclaimed loudly, stepping away from the door and holding his breath.

There was a short pause. And then a click as the bathroom door was unlocked. The door opened a crack, and one wide green eye peered out at Clint. "All of the balloons?"

"ALL of the balloons," repeated Clint, licking his lips and fidgeting nervously.

The door finally swung all the way open and Loki stepped out, looking more frazzled than his usual sleek self: his hair was in slight disarray, and bits of wire mesh from the screen door were stuck to his jeans and T-shirt. He was holding something that looked like a staff… a very small staff. When the rest of it came into view, Clint realized that Loki had confiscated the toilet plunger, presumably for possible use as a weapon should Dr. Banner prove hostile.

"Um… Loki?"

After glancing furtively around the hallway and deciding that it looked safe enough, Loki slunk toward the back door, plunger still in hand.

"Loki! Put that—what is—where do you think you're going with that thing?!"

Loki was already out of sight, and Clint growled, marching toward the other door to let Dr. Banner inside. The doorbell rang again. "I'M COMING!" Clint bellowed irritably, stepping into the front hall and unlocking the door (which had, since Nick Fury's despicable "upgrades," become considerably more of a challenge).

When he finally got the door open, he found himself face to face with the Hulk's pacific, humble alter-ego. "Ah. Good evening, Clint."

"Is it?" Clint asked mildly, stepping back to let Bruce through the doorway.

"Well, maybe not," agreed Bruce, squinting hard at Clint. "Director Fury told me about your mission. How are things going with your new and exciting life as a jail warden?"

"Miserable," Clint informed him sharply. "That demigod has destroyed my dishwasher, turned all my white T-shirts pink in the laundry, stolen my favorite clothing items, and just now he walked out the back door with the toilet plunger."

Bruce let out a hum of sympathy, but Clint thought he saw a small glint of amusement in his grey eyes. "I came to see Tony. Is he here?"

Clint pointed in the direction of the back deck. "Yeah. We're all having a barbecue on the back deck. Or we would be if we could get the barbecue started."

"Oh. May I stay a while?"

"You might as well." Clint rolled his eyes.

The doctor took the light jacket that he had thrown over one arm and started to toss it on the couch, but Clint grabbed it quickly. "I wouldn't advise doing that," he explained when Bruce gave him a completely baffled look. "Loki won't let anyone so much as lay a finger on that couch. It's his. Well, at least he thinks it's his. I told him he was only borrowing it, but he doesn't seem to know what that word means."

Bruce didn't bat an eye. "Of course not. He thinks he's a god, and therefore, this entire world is rightfully his."

Clint sighed. "He's driving me positively insane. And when he heard you were coming, he locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out until I bribed him. He's terrified of the Hulk."

"And rightly so," Bruce pointed out.

"Yeah, but now he's probably running around here with revenge on his mind," countered Clint. "I don't know what he could possibly do with a toilet plunger, but he IS the god of mischief."

Bruce frowned. "I'm not going to Hulk Out at this barbecue, am I?"

Clint looked decidedly disturbed at this inquiry. "I certainly hope not, Doctor," he mumbled, trudging toward the back deck. "I certainly hope not…"

Loki and his toilet plunger... That'll be the day. :P

Thank you for all your favorites and reviews - hugs to everyone!

~Alassiel