This fanfiction just hit the one-hundred mark in reviews! You are all amazing... I never thought this little story would do half so well!

God bless, and enjoy the next entry. ;)

Entry #22: Manhattan [or, "Loki vs. the Clock"]

It was about half an hour past midnight, and Loki was still awake.

He wasn't sure why. He had always been a light sleeper, but since he had not slept at all the night before, this was getting to be a bit ridiculous.

It may have been the two glasses of Dr. Pepper.

It may have been the itchy plaid pajamas Natasha had picked out for him.

Or it may have been the fact that the god of thunder was cocooned in a sleeping bag at the other side of the living room.

The instant his adoptive brother started snoring, Loki rolled off the couch, crawled across the floor, and - with a tremendous effort - shoved Thor over on his side. He snorted, but didn't wake up. It was a handy little trick that usually worked. Thankfully, it worked in this instance as well, and Loki slunk back to his couch and curled up in a ball on one cushion, hoping that sleep would overcome him quickly.

Unfortunately, as soon as Thor stopped snoring, a soft ticking sound from the kitchen became painfully audible.

It began as a small annoyance, but the longer Loki lay awake, the louder it seemed.

At one o' clock in the morning, Loki decided he had finally had enough. Grumbling curses to himself, he got up from his couch, tripped over the rolled-up Twister mat (which nobody had bothered to put away), grumbled a few more curses, and padded into the kitchen.

Now, where was that infernal ticking noise coming from?

After prowling around for several minutes, Loki pinpointed the source of the disturbance: the round little dial on the wall.

Loki was tall—extremely so—but when faced with the task of removing the ticking appliance from its station high above the kitchen sink, he found his height woefully inadequate. He prepared to use magic to retrieve his victim, but then he remembered the Allfather's nasty proclamation: No magic. With a loud sigh, he grabbed a chair, dragged it over to the counter, and stood on top of it. There!

Loki grabbed the clock with a vengeance, yanked it off the wall, and put the chair back where it belonged. Mumbling threats to the inanimate object, he marched back into the living room and stuffed the clock under the couch cushions, between two pairs of his new blue jeans.

Ten seconds later, he realized that more drastic measures would have to be taken. He could still hear that incessant ticking...

Pulling the clock out from under the cushion, Loki glared at it in the semi-darkness. "Cease your noise-making, little wretch!"

But the clock just kept on ticking, ignorant of Loki's demand.

"Very well." Loki clenched the clock in an iron fist and rose from his couch yet again, this time striding swiftly back into the kitchen and glancing around. Ah-ha!

With a determined scowl, Loki flung open the dishwasher, pulled out the top rack, and jammed the clock into the spokes. Then he shut the door, turned the dial to "Heavy Wash," stepped back, and waited. Clint's dishwasher started with a low, gentle hum. Loki could still hear the ticking, faintly, but upon reentering the living room he realized that it was no longer audible from his couch.

Sinking down into the cushions with a rather smug smile, Loki closed his eyes and listened to the pleasant hum of the dishwasher.

At one-thirty, a truly dreadful thing happened:

Something touched his face.

Something soft.

Something furry.

Something warm.

Something ALIVE!

Horrified, Loki froze, and then cracked one eyelid open, not even daring to breathe. Two equally green eyes stared into his. They were set in a black, fluffy face, and crowned by two gently pointed ears.

The thing batted at his face again, and Loki forced himself remain calm.

…For about two seconds.

Then he flipped off the couch, swiped madly at his face, shrieked like a little girl, and darted across the living room to nimbly scale the light fixture standing in one corner. He clung to the lampshade on top and held his breath, terrified.

Still ensconced in his sleeping bag on the floor, Thor rolled into his former position on his back and moaned in his sleep, mumbling, "I will… save you… Jane Foster…"

Even in his present state of panic, Loki managed an eyeroll at his brother's sleepy words.

Then he saw a dark fluffy blob sitting in the middle of the living room floor. A blob with pointy ears. It stared up at him in quiet bewilderment, letting out a squeaking call that sounded vaguely like, "Eeow?"

Loki slowly slid down the lamp and crouched on the floor, watching this new disturbance with a wary eye.

"Eeow?" the thing chirped again, cocking its head at Loki. Then it rose to its fuzzy black paws and began to saunter across the floor toward the disgruntled demigod.

"Stay where you are, foul demon!" Loki hissed, inching backwards, but the small, fat little menace was undeterred. When it was a mere six inches away from Loki's bare toes, the thing squeaked again and stared up at him with those luminous green eyes.

Loki did not react in the usual manner of the mortalsupon being confronted by a cute, cuddly little kitty. Instead, he shuddered with revulsion and, taking the cat carefully in both hands, held it as far away from his body as possible. Then he stood up and made a beeline for the—

"OOMPH!"

(Curse that Twister mat)

—bathroom. At least if it was locked in there, this bothersome creature could not interrupt his beauty sleep.

Loki opened the door to the bathroom, flipped on the light, stalked inside, and carefully placed the menace on the rug (though what he really felt like doing was throwing that darned cat under the sink and slamming the cupboard door).

With Clint's cat safely tucked away in the bathroom, Loki thought that, perhaps, he would finally get some rest.

At two o' clock, the furnace came on.

Loki groaned and buried his face in his hands for a moment. Then he heaved himself up off the comfortable leather couch, stumbled over to the thermostat, and stood there for a moment, staring at it with bleary eyes.

How had Clint done this earlier?

He had flipped a switch.

But which one?

After some fiddling around, Loki managed to turn off the furnace (thank goodness) and went back to his couch, collapsing on the cushions and throwing an arm across his eyes. The next thing that bothered him would meet a very, very unfortunate end indeed.

At three o' clock, the dishwasher had finally stopped running, but a new and much less soothing noise took its place: it was a brief crunching sound, and then a soft buzz that came from somewhere in the kitchen. About two minutes later, the crunching sound repeated itself, and the buzzing continued.

Falling off of the couch and onto the floor, Loki lay there for a moment, utterly exhausted, before dragging himself upright for the fourth time. He gazed silently up at his balloon for a few moments just to muster the courage he needed to cope with this fresh annoyance. His day had certainly been a far cry from "awesome" thus far. With a scowl that looked more sleepy than sinister, Loki trudged wearily into the kitchen.

The buzz was coming from the fridge. What on Midgard…?

Loki bent closer, examining the door of the appliance. The crunching sound had vaguely resembled the noise the refrigerator-ice had made when Clint had filled Loki's Dr. Pepper glass. Perhaps—

The crunching, thumping noise sounded again, and Loki jumped, taking a few hasty steps backwards. But nothing happened.

Loki glared at the ice dispenser.

That was it. That silly ice was rattling around in there. Well, he thought to himself, if it hoped to deprive him of a few hours' precious sleep, it was badly mistaken.

If all the ice was gone, there would surely be no more annoying clinking and clanking from the refrigerator.

Opening up the cupboard above the sink, Loki removed Clint's salad bowl from the shelf and held it under the ice dispenser. Then he pressed one pale finger down on the button and waited. Ice flooded from the refrigerator in a steady stream. When it filled the salad bowl to the brim, Loki placed it on the floor and reached for a breakfast bowl. He filled that one, too. And another. And another.

The refrigerator kept letting out annoying beeps and buzzes, and occasionally that extremely loud crunching sound, but Loki did not give up easily. He would NOT be beaten by this annoying Midgardian ice-machine.

When all of the bowls were at the point of overflow, Loki began filling all of Clint's glasses and coffee mugs, one at a time.

When he had filled the last glass and set it down on the table with the others, the refrigerator seemed to have been subdued. It made no noise but for the regular low thrum of the fan.

Tired beyond belief, Loki stepped over a fruit bowl filled with half-melted ice and made his way back to the living room. When he reached the couch, he fell onto the cushions and lay there, weary and satisfied.

At four o' clock, he was shaken out of his stupor by a loud and grating crrrunnnch from the direction of the kitchen.

Loki tensed.

Then the buzzing started.

Frantic, Loki finally resorted to wrapping three of his new T-shirts around his head in order to block out that diabolical racket.

At five o' clock, the demigod was rendered unconscious, simply from pure and unadulterated exhaustion.

Clint woke up at six-thirty that morning to the unpleasant sight of the notorious insomniac Tony Stark dissecting Clint's bedroom alarm clock. ("This thing is defective!" he had exclaimed in self-defense). Clint considered giving the genius a lecture, but then thought better of it and sighed heavily, wriggling out of his sleeping bag. He decided to take that much-needed shower he had been denied the previous day, and stepped out into the hallway.

Upon opening the bathroom door, he was surprised to hear an ecstatic "EEAAAOOWWW!" and see Fluffy leap out the door and go zipping past him down the hallway.

Shaking his head, Clint closed the door and ran the hot water.

Half an hour later he had showered and dressed himself, and then headed to the kitchen for a bite to eat. He stopped in the doorway and blinked several times, wondering if he was still dreaming.

Every bowl in his house was sitting on the tiled floor, filled half-full of water. And the polished oaken surface of his table could not be seen. It was buried beneath every glass, mug, and cup he owned. And each one was filled almost to the brim as well.

His brand-new wok was sitting on the counter, also full of water, and so were most of his sauce pans.

Clint wondered what, exactly, had gone on while he was sleeping.

Stepping around his favorite salad bowl, Clint paused in front of the dishwasher. The little green light announced that the cycle was complete.

Clint frowned. He hadn't started a load of dishes before going to bed the previous night.

Opening up the door to release a puff of steam, Clint coughed and peered inside. "What the—oh—uh-oh…"

Clint pulled out the top rack and stared down in horror at his old clock, which had been fused to the metal rungs. Something that vaguely resembled two melted clock hands fell to the floor.

"LOKI!"

My excuse for all the ridiculous fluffy angst you just read: I LOVE LOKI! And I also love bringing him to his knees once in a while...

This entry should probably have been called "Loki vs. the Clock, the Cat, the Refrigerator, and the Thermostat", but that IS a bit cumbersome, and wouldn't have fit in the chapter title. ;)

Review!

~Alassiel