Hello, all! My apologies for the delay. School had been particularly draining lately, and I didn't remember to upload until today.

Before we go any further, I'd like to give a BIG thank-you to everyone who has read and reviewed this fanfiction: you've stuck with me all the way to Entry #20... I'm floored! You're all amazing, and I hope this chapter gives you lots of laughs. ;)

Also, this is the longest entry I've ever written, so hopefully that will make up for the wait. Enjoy it!

Entry #20: Manhattan

Dark clouds had begun to loom in the distance, and before their barbecue was quite finished, a loud thunderclap shook the back deck.

Loki froze for a split-second, his green eyes wide and panicked, and then ran across the deck toward the door for the second time that evening.

Clint got up and ran after him. "No! Wait! Come back!" The last thing he wanted was for Loki to lock himself in the bathroom again. Clint had nothing left to bribe him with.

Back on the deck, the rain started to fall. Stark clapped a hand over the top of his Dr. Pepper glass and got to his feet, moving swiftly toward the kitchen. Natasha threw a tarp over the charred barbecue and began to collect the paper plates and bags of chips that were sitting on the table. Dr. Banner looked up as another streak of lightning flashed across the sky and sighed, rising from his chair and helping Natasha rescue the party stuffs.

Once everyone was safely inside, Natasha headed down the hallway toward the guest bedroom to retrieve the game of Twister she had thought to pack for just such an occasion.

On her way to the bedroom, she witnessed an odd spectacle. Clint was standing protectively in front of the bathroom, his arms spread out to encompass the width of the door, and Loki was crouched on the other side of the hallway, watching the SHIELD agent with narrowed eyes and a very dangerous look on his face as he held the toilet plunger aloft.

"Nat!" Clint gave Natasha a frantic look. "Tell this crazy demigod that he's not allowed to lock himself in the bathroom! There are other people in this house that might need to use it!"

Another peal of thunder rattled the house, but before Loki could stave in both Clint and the bathroom door with his toilet plunger, Natasha sighed and resigned herself to taking a detour. Obviously something had to be done. She grabbed Loki's arm—he turned to glare at her in surprise but said nothing—and marched him down the hall, through the kitchen, past his couch, and to the front closet.

"See this?" she said, her voice clipped and business-like.

Loki stared.

"This is a closet. It's just as safe as the bathroom." She opened the door and gave him a gentle shove. "And if you decide you don't like it, you can always just come back out. In you go."

Looking befuddled and extremely indignant, Loki stepped inside, brushing a hanger out of his face. It was dark and musty and somewhat cramped, but he decided that it looked harmless enough. Clint rarely cleaned out his closet, but there was just enough room for someone to stand in between the coats and sweaters and old winter hats.

"Excellent. Will you be okay in there?" Natasha smirked, setting one hand on her hip and cocking her head at him. Loki didn't exactly like the look she was giving him, but he nodded wordlessly. "Good. Just call if you need us."

With that, she shut the door and walked toward the bedroom. When she bypassed Clint in the hallway, he gave her a raised eyebrow. She gave him a thumbs-up in return. "We'll probably have at least a couple hours of peace before he starts yelling."

Clint blinked. "What did you do to him?"

"Do to him? Nothing. He has decided to take up residence in the closet," Natasha informed him.

"Nat…" Clint shook his head and sighed. "Do you not realize that the lunatic is now stuck in there? He can't open the door from the inside!"

"Of course he can't. And you're welcome." Natasha clapped him on the back and then continued down the hall toward the guest bedroom.

A slow smile worked its way across Clint's face. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"I don't know," Natasha called over her shoulder, "but it must have been pretty darned good!"

Ten minutes later, the dreaded game Twister had been set up on the living room floor, and Natasha was holding the board. "Alright! Who's playing?"

There was a moment of awkward silence before Clint spoke up. "Isn't Twister a kids' game?"

"No," Natasha said with a broad smile. "It's a game for the double-jointed. Although I do realize that some of you may not be as young as you once were…"

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Clint.

"Well, you know, you get up there in years and arthritis sets in and you get a stiff back and creaky knees, and—"

"Are you saying," Clint began dangerously, "that I'm OLD?"

"Not at all." Natasha beamed at him, looking unusually angelic. "You're only what… forty? But I'll understand if you don't want to play. One more decade and you'll have hit the big five-oh."

"Oh for—I can't believe I let you talk me into this," muttered Clint, stepping up to the mat.

Stark stood next to him. "I'm in," he said simply.

"Good. Dr. Banner?" Natasha questioned.

Bruce shrugged his shoulders and trudged over to the mat. "I might as well."

Clint looked a little nervous. "Just you. Not the Other Guy. Right?"

With an intense stare, Bruce nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Right."

"Okay, then!" Natasha called out happily, sitting down on Loki's couch. "Last one to quit gets first dips on the double-layer chocolate fudge cake I hid in the refrigerator. Right hand, red!"

There was a mad scramble for the red dots on the mat. Clint almost fell over as Stark reached past him to claim the most promising circle.

Natasha spun the dial. "Left foot, yellow!"

All left feet were planted firmly on a yellow circle.

Five colors later, Stark was bent over backwards, Clint had twisted himself into a pretzel, and Dr. Banner had somehow managed to reach across both of them to claim an elusive green circle.

Ten colors later, Stark now appeared to be tackling Clint in slow motion, and Clint was having some difficulty reaching both a red circle with his right foot and a green circle with his left foot. And—caught in the middle—Dr. Banner looked to be on the verge of a Hulk-out.

Fifteen colors later, all three Avengers were ready to collapse on top of each other, and the dreaded green vein on Dr. Banner's forehead had swelled to an alarming size.

"Right hand… green!"

Clint reached awkwardly for a green circle, but Tony slapped a hand across Dr. Banner's forehead. Bruce took on the look of someone who had just been assaulted in the most violent manner.

All eyes widened in shock and horror (except for Tony's, of course).

Then the doorbell rang.

Clint flinched, but didn't move. He couldn't. Stark had him practically pinned to the mat.

Natasha cleared her throat and then said smoothly, "Dr. Banner. Why don't you take a break and go answer the door?"

Bruce extracted himself from the game and stretched, cracking his back. The throbbing vein in the middle of his forehead eased somewhat. "That… is a very good idea… Miss Romanoff."

"Well, then, no chocolate cake for Bruce," Natasha sang out, spinning the dial again.

When Bruce opened the door, he was greeted by the smiling face of one soaking-wet Captain Steve Rogers. The smile froze in place as he took in Bruce's clenched jaw and slightly greenish tinge.

"I… um… Good to see you again, Dr. Banner! Clint said… er… that you were having a barbecue," Steve stammered, taking several steps back. He was beginning to wish that he had brought along his shield. Although that may not have proved a very efficient weapon in the case of a Hulk-Out.

Bruce relaxed, and then said in shockingly mellow voice, "It rained on us." As if that was not blatantly obvious. The street was practically flooded.

Steve watched Dr. Banner for another minute or two, and then cautiously stepped past him into the house. Once inside, he stared at the ongoing game with a look of bemusement. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Playing Twister!" Natasha explained. "Would you like to join?"

The delighted look that spread across Steve's face more than answered for him: something new to try!

Clint had a hard time twisting his head around far enough to look over at the First Avenger, but he shrugged a shoulder at the closet. "Put your coat in there," he said tightly, trying to keep from falling flat on his face. No way was he giving up that chocolate fudge cake… He hadn't had one of those in ages.

Steve grinned like a little kid on Christmas morning, gave Clint a thumbs-up, and then marched over to the closet, removing his leather jacket and grasping the handle. Natasha held her breath and prayed that Loki would not automatically assume that the closet-door-opener was a hostile.

Steve opened the closet.

He stared.

He blinked.

And then he slammed the door shut again.

"Mister Barton!" he said loudly, taking a swift step back. "Did you know that Loki is in your closet?!"

Clint rolled his eyes skyward, but instead of looking up at the ceiling, he found himself staring up at Tony Stark's smirking face. He quickly looked away again. "Yes, Steve, I did know that."

"And that he is wearing your hat?"

Clint suddenly scrambled to his feet—sending Stark flying backwards into a wall—and dashed across the room to the entryway. "That I did not know!"

He wrenched the door open and came face-to-face with Loki. Indeed, the demigod was wearing Clint's favorite trilby hat. He was also sporting Clint's favorite jeans jacket.

Clint clenched his teeth. "What is it with you and stealing my clothes?!"

"I have come to realize," intoned Loki, "that for a human, you have excellent taste in Midgardian apparel." As he said this, the demigod reached up and pushed the right side of the brim so that the hat sat on his head at a rakish angle.

Clint reached out with his lightning quick reflexes, jerked the hat off of Loki's head, and slammed the closet door closed.

"Looked better on him than it would on you." Tony was grinning from across the room.

At this comment, Clint jammed the trilby hat firmly on his own head and turned to face the billionaire. "That's not funny Stark! So tell us, did you ruin my barbeque just so that we would have to order shawarma?"

"No, but that's a great idea. I'm still hungry." And Tony whipped out his cell phone to do just that.

At that moment, there was a dull thump from inside the closet, and then a growl. Loki's muffled voice penetrated the door. "I am… hello? I'm stuck! There is no… that is, there does not seem to be a handle anywhere…" Scuffling noises emanated from the closet. "Will one of you mortals kindly open the door?"

Clint swaggered over. "What do I get out of it?" he inquired.

"Clint!" Natasha got up from Loki's couch and stalked past Agent Barton, flinging the closet door open. Loki stepped out, still sporting the jeans jacket, and still holding his toilet plunger. He bowed stiffly, and then sauntered over to his couch, where he sat down with a look of supreme condescension.

"Well then," Natasha said, brushing off her hands and smiling at her little troop of boys. "Clint left early, so Stark gets the cake."

Clint looked extremely put out.

A few hours later, Stark was sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling in yet another mouthful of double-layer chocolate fudge cake, and Clint was sitting across from him, glaring fiercely out of the corner of his eye. Captain America had claimed a chair next to Stark, and was digging into the leftover shawarma.

Loki had poured himself a glass of Dr. Pepper and had stationed himself on the couch once again, very close to his "Awesome" balloon. Every time it thundered outside, he got the wide-eyed look of a frightened cat and twitched nervously.

The clock ticked on the wall.

Several more minutes passed.

Stark finished his cake.

Natasha brought out a puzzle game (which Stark busily went to work on).

And then there was another tremendous peal of thunder. At the same moment, a deep and bellowing voice echoed through the house: "MY FRIENDS! ARE YOU DOWN THERE?"

Everyone jumped. There were no exceptions.

Clint and Natasha sprinted into the living room to find that Loki had squeezed himself underneath the couch and was peering frantically around the room.

Stark and Captain America came rushing in behind them. And they all waited.

A small scratching sound entered the room. Clint's teeth were visibly chattering: Who was this new intruder?

"HELLO?"

The voice of doom spoke yet again, but this time it sounded less daunting and more familiar. It was coming from… the chimney?

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF ODIN DO YOU USE THIS TINY LITTLE DOOR FOR? I DID NOT KNOW THAT MORTALS PUT DOORS ON TOP OF THEIR HOUSES. THIS IS A STRANGE CUSTOM INDEED."

Everyone visibly relaxed at this. Except for Loki, who was trying valiantly to melt through the floor.

"Use the front door, Thor!" Natasha suggested loudly. "And what on earth are you doing on the roof?!"

"I LANDED HERE OF COURSE! IN MY DEFENSE, I WAS ABOUT TO GO DOWN TO THE FRONT DOOR, BUT I WONDERED WHAT THIS LITTLE PASSAGEWAY LED TO. UNFORTUNATELY, I COULD NOT FIT INSIDE."

"Thank heavens," breathed Clint.

Hope you had fun reading this entry - Review!

~Alassiel

P.S. I hope I'm not alone in my love of Twister... XD