Thank you all for your reviews! I'm glad you're still enjoying this story. ;)

And so, the adventure continues...

Entry #24: Manhattan [or, "Driving Lesson"]

"Now… ahem," Clint settled into the driver's seat of his black sports car and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He felt a drop of sweat trickle down his temple and hastily wiped it away. "Please pay attention."

Loki flashed him one of those 'You-Funny-Little-Mortal' grins that reminded Clint of his days as the demigod's pawn, and then said smoothly, "Oh, of course."

Clearing his throat again, Clint put the car in reverse and slowly backed out of the driveway. "Do you see what I'm doing with my feet?"

Loki leaned uncomfortably close in order to see the pedals, and then nodded.

"Good. This one's gas, this one's break. One to go forward, and one to stop. But—" Clint promptly shifted the gears to put the car in drive and pressed the gas pedal again. "Make sure the car is in the right gear. See these little lights?" And he explained to Loki what Park, Drive, Neutral, and Reverse meant. "Whatever you do," he finished, "Make SURE that the car is in the right gear. If you pull a fender-bender on some little old lady's Volkswagen, you're paying for the damages."

One corner of Loki's mouth twitched into an amused smile.

Clint tried his best to ignore him. "Now… uh… here is the turn signal. When you are about to turn right, you flip this one on. When you are about to turn left, you flip that one on. That way, the people around you what you're doing."

Loki gave Clint a very unimpressed stare. "And what is the point of that?"

"So that they don't crash into my car and kill us," Clint said flatly.

"Ah. But you forget – I am immortal," Loki reminded him.

"But I'm not! And if you crash this car and I die…" Clint wracked his brain for a suitable threat. "If I die, Agent Romanoff is next in line for your guardianship."

Loki's cheeky smile quickly melted. "Ah. I see. Carry on, then."

"This is the wheel," Clint explained. "You turn it whichever way you want to go. But not too hard," he warned. "And you MUST look both ways before turning at a corner, and make sure to stay on the right side of the road at all times. There are lights hanging above the street. The one dangling above your lane is the one that tells you what to do. Red means stop. Green means go. And yellow means that you should probably either jam on the gas or jam on the breaks, depending on the situation."

"Excellent." Loki waited for several minutes, examining Clint's every move, and then requested politely, "May I take my turn?"

Clint stiffened, clenching the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Yeah… okay… but don't drive past the speed limit. That gauge right there tells you how fast you're going. And the signs on the road tell you the number that the needle should hit. Don't go any faster than that or you'll get us pulled over, and I'll have one heckuva time explaining why you don't have a driver's license."

Grimacing, Clint opened his door and got out of the car, and Loki did the same. They met at the front fender, passed each other, and switched seats. Clint buckled in with some trepidation. Before Loki could push the gas pedal, he reached over and grabbed the wheel. Tightly. "One more thing."

Loki turned to stare at the mortal with more than a little indignation.

"You so much as scratch the paint on my $200,000 sports car—let alone TOTAL my $200,000 sports car—and you, Sir, are dead meat. Do we understand each other?"

"Quite."

Clint nodded stiffly. "Okay then. Step on it."

Loki did 'step on it,' with such gusto that Clint's head snapped back and he found himself plastered against the passenger's seat. "Slower!" he instructed, in a voice that was more panicked than assertive.

Loki obediently eased up on the gas pedal, but as he did, he veered to the left, so that the car was heading directly into oncoming traffic.

"GET BACK IN THE RIGHT LANE!" Clint shouted frantically, trying to catch hold of the wheel—but Loki swerved, and Clint was thrown almost into the demigod's lap, despite his seatbelt.

Burning rubber, Loki steered the sports car back into the other lane, but went a little too far and scraped the curb with the tire.

"Gah!" Clint finally grabbed the wheel and tried to direct the car back into the middle of the lane, but Loki brushed his hand away.

Eventually he seemed to figure out how to handle the steering wheel, but Clint did not sigh in relief. Not yet.

Two minutes passed with Clint barking out simple directions that would take them on the fastest route to the grocery store and Loki obediently turning either right or left. They had a couple of close calls with pedestrians that nearly gave Clint a heart-attack... Every time he began to relax, another crisis instantly occurred.

Then Loki aimed for the blinker but flipped on the wipers instead. He recoiled, his eyeballs bugging out of his head, and immediately began to zigzag, trying to shake their attackers off the windshield.

Clint reached out to flip the wipers off, but in his haste he accidentally hit the soap, and two white streaks of foam flashed across the windshield, blocking their view of the road.

"STOP THE CAR!" bellowed Clint.

A surprised Loki slammed on the breaks—throwing Clint face-first into the windshield—and started to perform a Chinese fire drill right in the middle of the road; however, Clint snagged his sleeve before he could step out of the car and quickly explained the concept of "windshield wipers" to the demigod.

Loki listened nervously, and then slowly closed his door and just sat there for a moment, looking somewhat flustered (a new experience for the immortal, Clint decided).

When Loki finally pulled into the grocery parking lot—a triumph that Clint had feared he might not live long enough to witness—Clint told Loki exactly how and where to park the car. Fortunately, he was able to do this with little difficulty.

Clint opened his door, fell out of the car, and literally kissed the ground. Then he got up and began to hobble toward the automatic doors.

"Yes, that's what I said. We'd like to buy ALL of the balloons," snapped Clint, feeling completely ridiculous.

After a minute of finagling, Clint and Loki were walking back to the car, both of them holding five balloons in each hand.

When they reached the car, they both stopped and stared at it for a moment. Then Clint shifted all ten balloons to one hand (with some effort) and opened the door.

"I think," Clint began firmly, sitting down in the driver's seat and trying to keep from getting the balloons caught in the door, "you should let ME drive on the way home. I only said I would let you drive it to the store, not back to the house."

Loki acquiesced without much bother, and Clint sighed, feeling better about the ordeal.

Once safely buckled in, Clint and Loki found themselves surrounded by twenty bobbing balloons. Annoyed, Clint demanded that Loki keep his new merchandise away from the windows. The demigod immediately began trying to corral his slippery, obnoxious stash of balloons, which usually ended up in Clint's face despite his efforts.

Natasha jumped her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, and an automated female voice announced, "Call from: My Dear Clinton."

And then the ring tone began. Natasha had a certain ring tone for every person on her contacts list.

Nick Fury's was the 'Imperial March' from Star Wars.

Steve Rogers's was 'America the Beautiful.'

Bruce Banner's was 'Monster' by Skillet.

And Clint Barton's was the love theme from 'Casablanca.'

Fishing the phone out of her pocket, Natasha sprawled out on the bed in the guest bedroom and held the cell to her ear. "Clint?"

"NAT! I'M ALIVE!"

Natasha yanked the cell phone away from her ear, and then slowly returned it to its proper place. "…Of course you are," she said, wrinkling her forehead.

"Trust me. It's a miracle. We're on our way home right now."

"We?"

"Driving lessons. Remember?"

"Oh yes… I do remember you grumbling something about it last night."

"Well, I survived."

"Glad to hear it." Natasha thought for a moment. "Hey, while you're out of the house, can you do me a favor?"

"What is it, Nat?" Clint suddenly sounded suspicious.

"Take Loki to the Bellavia Salon. That boy needs a haircut."

Dead silence.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Will you?"

"You mean you weren't kidding?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "At least get it trimmed. He's already used up three bottles of my lilac-scented shampoo—in two days!"

"Nat, he's a demigod. I'm sorry about your shampoo, but I am NOT taking this… this thing to the Bellavia. And besides, have you seen all the hair styles out right now? He blends right in. Nobody's really given him a second look."

There was some static in the background.

"Loki, may I remind you who paid for those balloons? … Thank you."

Natasha sighed, smirking. "Okay Clint. I'll set up an appointment while you're driving there. Will you or won't you?"

There was a very long pause. And then the wry words, "Your wish is my command."

Hope you enjoyed Entry 24!

Review for more... :)

~Alassiel