Hello, all!

Thank you so much for the welcome back. Here's to an early (but short) update... Enjoy!

Entry #30: Manhattan [or, "Chaos"]

Suddenly Clint's bedroom door flew open again. This time he was not holding his teddy bear, and looked fully awake (if a little confused). Tony and Bruce both stepped back as he marched down the hallway in his purple pajamas, with a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, shouting rapid-fire questions in a deafeningly loud voice. "WHAT'S GOING ON IN MY HOUSE? WHERE'S LOKI? AND WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING OUT HERE?!" he demanded, pressing the edge of his black bow against Stark's arc reactor. "WHY DO I SMELL SMOKE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY OFFICE? STEP ASIDE! NOW!"

Tony obeyed immediately (he knew better than to argue with that tone of voice) and Clint threw open the office door. Clouds of black smoke poured out into the hallway and Clint coughed, stumbling backwards. "What the heck did you do?! Set fire to my desk?"

"No," Tony corrected. "Our miniaturized thermal power plant malfunctioned."

At that moment, Natasha's ever-unruffled voice came from the general direction of the living room. "Boys!" There was a jingle, probably Nat dropping the keys on the kitchen counter on her way through. "I had hoped you would be good in my absence. But when I saw blue smoke coming from Clint's office window and heard a sonic boom in the garage on my way up the front walk, I began to lose confidence…"

"Noooo—(cough-cough-AHEM-cough)—really?" Tony drawled, leaning up against the wall and fanning smoke away from his face as Natasha appeared in the hallway.

Bruce looked incredibly sheepish. "It was my fault," he admitted. "I shouldn't have let Tony anywhere near a test tube. Or Clint's teacups."

Natasha stopped and stared at the open office door for a moment, and then turned her gaze to Clint standing there in his purple PJs, holding his bow like it was a club. "Um… wow," she remarked, poking her head around the doorframe. "But seriously, that's nothing compared to what Thor did in the garage."

Clint freaked. "MY SPORTS CAR!" he shouted, sprinting down the hallway in his bare feet. Natasha stared after him for a moment, and then turned her full attention on Bruce and Tony. "What did I tell you before I left," she growled, putting her hands on her hips.

Tony shuffled his feet on the floor, and then looked up at the ceiling. "Um… oh, yeah! You told us that we should explode something, because that would be cool."

Natasha shifted her classic Someone-is-Goin'-Down glare to Bruce. "Dr. Banner?"

"No explosions," he replied with a sigh, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"That's right. And what did you do while I was gone?"

Tony made a face. Bruce answered for him. "We exploded something. But we're sorry."

"How sorry?"

"Sorry enough to clean up Clint's office," said Bruce. "By ourselves."

"WHAT?! … That's not fair!"

Bruce patted Tony on the back, shaking his head.

By this time Clint had reached the garage, and was standing in the hallway with a horrified look plastered across his face: indeed, the garage door—and part of the wall—had been completely demolished. Thor had planted both feet in the middle of the ruin, holding his hammer aloft and looking rather proud of himself, and Loki was standing awkwardly off to one side, glancing nervously at Clint.

Finally, the god of mischief spread his hands out in a pacifying gesture and said quietly, "I didn't do it."

Before Clint could murder anyone, however, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" offered Natasha from the back hallway, but Clint aimed one final glare at Loki and began to march toward the front door, his bow slung over one shoulder and the arrow tucked into the pocket of his purple pajama shirt.

When he reached the door, he set about unlocking it (a monstrous task, as always), and then flung it open, still wearing his most menacing glare.

The look froze on his face for a moment, and then melted into something more like horror: Nick Fury was standing on Clint's front doorstep. The Director of SHIELD stared for several seconds at the marksman's strange attire, and then ventured, "Clint?"

"He's not here!" Clint deadpanned, and then slammed the door in the Director's face. Then he slumped against the wall, ignoring the insistent knocking of one very irked Nick Fury.

Natasha sauntered into the front room, her brow furrowed. "Was that Fury's voice I heard?"

Clint didn't bother to look up as she walked in. "No… just some random salesperson…"

Nat put her hands on her hips. "What were they selling?"

"Heart attacks," mumbled Clint, stumbling over to the chair in the corner and collapsing.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha opened the door and blinked. "Director Fury?"

Tony Stark sauntered around the corner with his hands in his pockets, did a double-take, and promptly disappeared again, shouting, "Hide the contraband! Our parole officer just showed up!"

Nick raised an eyebrow. "I just came over to check up on things."

"They could be better," Natasha informed him dryly.

Nick stepped inside, taking in the clothes stuffed under the couch cushions, the twenty balloons that had overrun the living room, one bedraggled-looking Clint glaring wryly at him from his chair, and the blue smoke that was slowly trickling down the hallway.

"So I see..."

Alright, now for an update on the status of this fanfiction:

This may be my last official entry, depending on how many people wish me to continue. If it's an overwhelming majority and nobody seems to be getting tired of this story, I shall either begin anew with a sequel or continue to add on to this particular fanfiction.

Please review and give me any comments/suggestions you may have!

~Alassiel