Originally, these were two entries set to go back-to-back, but I combined them into one longer entry for the sake of convenience. ;)

Enjoy it!

Entry #34: In Which JARVIS Is Demoted

The Avengers were gone.

Loki had gone with them.

The SHIELD agents and work crew had finished repairing Clint's house.

Phil Coulson had attempted to explain the smoke and alarming noises from the night before to the neighbors: Clint had gone on vacation (this was partially true—he was certainly on vacation now) and some hoboes had decided to have a party in his unlocked house (this also contained inklings of the truth, although whether two mad scientists and two equally crazy demigods could reasonably be considered "hoboes" was debatable—Thor and Loki were certainly misplaced and might have been termed 'homeless,' but Stark was another story altogether). Why the door had been unlocked and why a gang of hoboes had been wandering around that part of Manhattan went unexplained, but Coulson could be extremely persuasive with very few words, and none of the neighbors asked any more questions about the matter.

However, there was one other resident of Clint's house who had hidden under the bed until the SHIELD agents left, and was now prowling around the kitchen, waiting hopefully for someone to give her dinner.

It was not any of the agents or construction crew who discovered the little creature wandering around the newly repaired house.

It was, in fact, the unfazeable Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.

Nick Fury had arrived late that night to check up on things, i.e. make sure the construction crew had done more good than harm. When he opened the door, he was greeted with wild enthusiasm by none other than Fluffy, who was convinced that she was about to undergo death-by-starvation.

"Welcome to the Barton residence, Sir."

Director Fury rolled his eye and tried to peel Fluffy off his leg. He'd heard the whole story from Coulson: apparently Mr. Stark had installed Jarvis at some point during his visit. Phil had gotten complaints from the workmen that they were being harassed by an uncannily observant security system. The SHIELD agent had put two and two together, and realized that Stark's sassy British AI unit, J.A.R.V.I.S., must have been eavesdropping on the workers somehow.

"Jarvis," Nick said dryly. "What are you doing here?"

"Minding my own business, Sir. As usual."

Nick finally managed to detatch Fluffy from his pant leg, and inquired, "What… is this thing?"

"It is a feline, Sir, of the Persian variety. 'Fluffy,' if my memory database is accurate. And it always is."

"Fluffy," scoffed Nick, glancing around the room. Aha! There was the camera up in the corner. …And the speakers. "I didn't know Clint had a cat," he grumbled.

"He does, Sir," Jarvis reaffirmed. "You may also be interested in knowing that it is exactly three hours after six—and she has not had anything to eat since early this morning."

Fluffy backed up this statement with a yowl.

Nick sighed. He was allergic to cats. "Didn't Clint leave any instructions?" he asked.

"None, Sir. I doubt he even remembered to pack his toothbrush."

Two hours later, Fluffy had been fed, and Nick Fury had managed to improvise a cat food dispenser. He had also put together a makeshift "automatic door" (at least, that's what he called it. It looked more like a modified set decoration from the first Star Wars trilogy). He prided himself on being able to work with just about anything—not that he would brag about it, of course—and he had made use of the odds and ends in Clint's garage and leftover electrical wiring from the recent repairs.

Jarvis hadn't made the job much easier. He had decided to annoy Fury by spouting off random facts about cats, such as "The house cat is the only feline that can walk while holding its tail vertically" or "Sir, did you know that the Kodkod cat is on the verge of extinction?" or even "You may not be aware that the average feline ingests approximately 0.1 milliliter of fluid with every lap."

After what seemed to Nick Fury like an eternity, he had finished the task at hand.

"Your most important job," he informed Jarvis, "is now to feed the cat at the appropriate hours, and open and close the door when it desires access to the great outdoors."

"Only Stark is qualified to give me orders," Jarvis retorted, sounding unusually snide for an Artificial Intelligence system.

Nick glared up at the kitchen camera. "Do you see Stark in this house anywhere?"

Tony Stark was sitting in the folding chair that Natasha had thoughtfully brought along, spraying himself with copious amounts of insect repellent and wondering why he had even allowed Nick Fury to give him orders.

"'Go camping!' he said. 'It will be fun!' he said. Hah! This is about as fun as a spending another week in Gulmira…."

Steve marched past two seconds later, carrying three fishing poles and a sleeping bag. "Aw, cheer up, Mister Stark. Tomorrow, I'll show you how to catch a fish!"

"I'd rather catch a plane back to Manhattan," groused Tony.

At that moment, Tony's cell phone started ringing. He mumbled something that was probably profane and set down the bottle of insect repellent, digging his cell out of his jacket pocket. When he flipped it open and held it up to his ear, not bothering to check the caller ID, he said grumpily, "Who is this and what do you want from me? But whatever it is, my answer is 'NO.'"

"Sir, please inform Director Fury that my services are not at his disposal."

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Sir."

Tony sighed with relief and leaned back in the chair. "Jarvis! About time you called. Is there any way you can hook up all available satellite channels to my portable battery-operated mini-TV?"

"Right away, Sir. But Director Fury is here, and he is trying to turn me into a cat-sitter."

Reclaiming the insect repellent, Tony sprayed more on his legs, which looked rather pale, sticking out from his khaki shorts. He usually wore jeans. Or his Iron Man suit. "So? You could use a little diversion. It'll be good for you."

"But Sir—"

"Later, Jarv." Tony slid his cell phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket.

The last thing Jarvis said to Nick Fury was, "I seem to have been demoted."

It was already getting dark out, and the whole gang had gathered around the campfire, armed to the teeth with hot dogs, ketchup, mustard, and bottled water. Except for Stark, who had brought along a case of Dr. Pepper, (and also the makings for an early-morning coffee).

Loki was sitting off to one side, looking miserable and clutching a spray bottle of mosquito repellent. He doused himself with it at least once every sixty seconds. Thor had his own bottle as well, and Natasha felt some pangs of sympathy for the demigods. Which is why, sometime before they had all congregated around the campfire, she managed to sneak an extra Hershey's bar to each of them. Loki hadn't touched his, but Thor had declared chocolate to be even better than a poptart.

Steve eagerly peeled some green branches, sharpening the ends, and immediately stabbed his into one of the largest hot dogs. Everybody else followed suit, holding their food near the hot coals at the bottom. Stark was again the exception. Instead of roasting his hot dog in the coals, he plunged his into the hottest flames, and then pulled it out on fire and smoking. The rest of the Avengers—plus Loki—stared at him in amazement as he waved it around in the air to cool it off, and then plopped it into a hot dog bun. Ashes dusted the ground. "What?" he asked innocently, smiling as he reached for the mustard.

Steve just shook his head and removed his lightly toasted hot dog from the coals. "Am I really sleeping in the same tent with this guy?" he muttered, reaching out to take the bun Natasha had offered him.

"Hey," Tony said through a mouthful of burnt hot dog. "I didn't choose the tents, okay? That was Nat's job."

Steve gave Natasha Romanoff a pleading look. "I request a transfer."

She smiled. "Sorry. Too late for that."

"S'mores!" demanded Tony, reaching for the entire bag of marshmallows. Natasha slapped his hand away, and he gave her a hurt look. "What?"

"You may have two s'mores. We have to ration these out."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Please! How long do they have to last?"

"How many more nights do you want to have desert after dinner?" retorted Nat.

"But we're not staying here that long are we?"

"Fury sure made it sound that way. Two marshmallows each," Natasha repeated, handing Stark his 'rations' for the evening.

He took them gingerly between his thumb and forefinger and examined them in the firelight. "These are tiny," he stated bluntly, before spearing them with his metal poker.

"Deal with it." Natasha put two marshmallows on her own stick and held it out toward the fire. They immediately began to swell up and turn brown.

"So these are the 's'mores' you mentioned in the store, Agent Romanoff." Loki's suave voice startled everyone, and all the Avengers turned to stare at him. He stared back from his shadowy perch outside the circle of firelight, his green eyes luminous in the dark. "I should like to try one," he confessed, moving a little closer.

Clint eyed him warily, but Natasha kindly offered him a stick and held out the open bag of marshmallows. "When you're done roasting those, you can get some graham crackers out of the box over here, and some Hershey's bars. It's like a sandwich," she explained.

"Only a lot better," added Tony, pulling his charred, crumbling marshmallows out of the fire and blowing on them.

Natasha gave him a concerned sideways glance.

Thanks for bearing with me - R&R!

~Alassiel