Chapter Two
When this old world starts fucking me around
And people puke when they see my face
I climb waaaay up to the top of the stairs (Fuck that's a long way)
A peep on the hottie (?) I had to chase
On the roof, it's still nasty as can be (well, it's New York)
And now I really have to pee
Let me tell you now (right off the roof)
Uhm. That's the best you got?
Well, you're the one who couldn't come up with a song for this chapter. Besides, what's wrong with The Drifters' 1962 classic Up on the Roof?
I don't know. Somehow it just doesn't feel right. Let's face it, you're no Weird Al. Hell, you're not even Blind Al. I bet she could come up with a better parody than that, unless you've killed her. She hasn't been seen in years.
Oh, she's alive. Didn't you see my movie?
Yeah, but we're not really doing the movie canon.
Canon? What canon? You're fucking that up right and left. We're way into an AU by now.
Have you been reading ahead? I haven't started to fuck things up yet. That starts in this chapter.
Well, I've been bored. I mean seriously, what the fuck was I doing in a divorce support group with all those losers. Sheesh!
Your marriage did just kind of fall apart. Unless you're into being cuckolded by an undead blood-sucker, in which case I should have crossed you over with Twilight.
Don't you fucking dare. Motherfucker, I will slice you up. I don't want anything to do with those sparkly poofdas. And that scrawny little Kristen Stewart... well, she's kind of hot, especially now that she's a lesbian. Hey maybe you're on to something. How about we have Bella meet Domino and they get a hotel room and they order pizza and I'm the delivery guy and ….
Uh, no. But keep working on those ideas. You never know when I'll get writer's block again.
I sit on the roof with my knees pulled up to my chest, leaning against the parapet. Yeah, that's what the wall around the top of a roof is called. I can think of that, but I can't think of how to find out whose tracking me and how to make them stop.
Ugh! Maybe all the booze is slowing my mental processes. I'm exhausted, I'm beat up and I'm hungry. I reach into my pocket for the sandwich. It's a little squished but, hey, its a turkey sandwich. How damaged can it be? I peel back the slightly soggy smashed bread to reveal a squished tomato, a wilted piece of lettuce and enough mayonnaise to sunscreen the Hulk. Ugh!
"Nice night for a picnic. Love the view. But I think we could do a little better in the comestibles department."
The voice is close and I whip my head to the left to see Hoodie Guy step out from behind a vent fan. How the hell did he get up here? I didn't hear a thing. If he's going to shoot me I'm dead, so I freeze.
"I know this great little Slovakian place that serves great bryndzove halushky. Really filling. Comfort food, ya know. Just the thing after a brisk run through the city and a twenty story (almost) leap."
"It was at least twenty-five and I made it just fine," my defensive gene kicks in, despite the abject terror which threaten to empty the contents of my stomach in spite of the fact that it's already empty. Good thing, too. I do not want to go down with puke all over me.
"Sure you did. And that road rash all over your face is really just a beauty mark."
He's mocking me. He's mocking me. That's good; I can use that. Rage. I am not some helpless girl. I am Jessica Fucking Jones. I haven't been helpless since... No, don't go there. No good comes from those memories.
I stand up casually. "Speaking of faces, what's up with yours?" I edge closer. If he's got a weapon, distance is his ally.
"What'a you mean, 'what's up with my face'?" He seems genuinely defensive. "It's a perfectly good face."
"I saw it flicker, asshole. I know its not your real face. So who are you working for? SHIELD? HYDRA? AIM?" I take a step closer. We're maybe twelve feet apart now.
"AIM?! Do I look like a beekeeper?" Again he seems actually offended. "I've never put on any of those costumes. Well, maybe the HYDRA one, one time. But that was to bust a couple of my buds out of one of their bases. And..., well maybe one other time. But that was for Happy-Funtime-Grownup-Roleplay, so that doesn't count."
Oh my God! What if he's not with any of them? What if he's just a whack-job? I am not getting raped and killed, or killed and raped, by some delusional fanboy ninja. I take two more slow steps. Seven feet. Almost.
"I saw it flicker. I know that's not your real face," I repeat it casually with slight emphasis, as I take one more step. Four, maybe five feet. That will have to do, as Hoodie Guy is starting to get agitated.
"Fucking WeasleMotherfuckershithead! He promised he had the glitches worked out. I'm going to slice his stomach open and fill it full of kale. Then I'm going to sew him back up and wait for the nuclear reaction between the vegetable and all the beer and Hot Pockets in his system! Hey, speaking of Hot Pockets, you given any more thought to getting some food? If you're not into Slovakian, I know an all-night food truck with great carne asada."
"Didn't you eat your three foot tall sandwich before you chased me?" Weight on my back foot. Round house kick to the face, then I'll leap over the edge. Oh shit, I'm going to jump off the building.
"I ate it on the way, but that was ages ago and I didn't chase you. I followed you. There's a difference." His head rises slightly and he cocks an ear. This is my chance.
"Down!" he screams and he's on top of me before I have a chance to process that a dart just whizzed past my face. Again, I'm flat out on the cinder roof, this time on my back with a mad man on top of me. I can't get my breath to scream but he's already pulling me up.
"Stay in front of me and keep your head down," he screams as another dart whizzes past. Hoodie Guy has produced a gun from his pocket and is firing blindly over his shoulder. The other hand has an iron grip on my upper arm and he's steering me toward a fire door on the roof.
I hear a soft 'thunk'. "Owie! Owie! Ooh that stings!" shouts my would-be savior.
We make it to the door and I rip it open with my free hand in spite of the deadbolt. We duck inside and Hoodie Guy slams it shut. As he does, I catch a glimpse of our attacker. I recognize the costume. It's fucking Bullseye. Shit! Whose next? Punisher? Man-Thing?
The door is metal and I hear another dart clang against the outside.
There's a short piece of rebar leaning against the wall and I wrap it around the spring arm that automatically closes the door.
"You think that will hold him?" I ask my companion in a wheeze, still trying to take in a full breath.
Nooo," Hoodie Guy drawls. "But we have a minute to catch a breath. Old Bullshit will want to study the situation before deciding whether to fill the door with armor piercing rounds or just blow it off the hinges with semtex. Really it comes down to whether they're here to take you in, or take you down."
So much to process. Where do I start.
"They? Who's They?" It comes out rough and he blinks.
"They, Them, the Men-In-Black. Whoever you've pissed off. Does it really matter right now?"
"It might," sounding much more calm than I am. "How are you so sure they're after me and not you?"
"With tranq darts? Bullsy's not dumb enough to come after me with tranq darts. Speaking of which could you...? Would you mind just..." He's turning his back toward me and I have an impulse to clobber him over the head and run like hell. But, he may have just saved my life and I may still need him. I sure as hell need answers and he may be able to give them to me.
He turns fully and there it is. It looks like a lawn dart grafted to an Epipen. Its huge. There must have been enough tranquilizer in there for a rhino. Unless there wasn't. This could be a ploy to get me to trust this guy. Wow, paranoia is not as much fun as it seems. Especially when they really are out to get you. I pluck the dart out and stare at it blankly, still trying to come to a conclusion.
"Oooo, that's better. I think our time's about up," Hoodie Guy says. "We really should be..."
"Wade? I know its you Wade." The voice, surprisingly high and melodic, comes from beyond the door. "What are you doing, Wade? This ain't your fight. We got our orders and you ain't going to stand in our way. I'm going to blow the door now and I want you to move the girl around the side so she don't get hit with any flying hinges or nuthin'. Then your going to hand her over to us and go about your business."
"I don't think so Bullpatty. We both know how this is going to end and it won't be good for you," Hoodie Guy calls back. But now he's dropped the hood revealing a red and black full head mask with weird white eyes. I swear he winks at me. "You interrupted my date night and I don't take that lightly."
"What? Its not a date...," I realized how ridiculous it sounds under the circumstance as the words leave my mouth and the tumblers start to fall into place. The mask, the ability to sneak up on me on top of a twenty-five story building, the ability to shake off a butt-load of tranquilizer. Its Deadpool, Fucking Deadpool. How the hell did I get mixed up with him? And wait, isn't he one of Captain Fascist's attack dogs too. Maybe this is a trap. I start to back away.
He winks at me again. How does he do that through the mask? He leans his ear next to the door then steps back to appraise it. Then, in one quick motion, he draws an eighteen inch K-bar knife from his boot and slams it through the door just next to one of the hinges.
There's a primal scream from outside. "Aww! Fuck you Wade! You damn near sliced off my hand. That's it. I'm filling you both full of lead and Cap can have the pieces."
"Time to go Sweet Cheeks," Hoodie Guy nee' Deadpool says, grabbing my arm and launching us both down the stairs.
It takes all my abilities not to be dragged off my feet as we hurtle down the stairs, hitting about every fourth or fifth one. Five floors down Deadpool comes to a sudden stop and I slam into his back. He doesn't budge.
"Trouble coming up from the ground," he says opening a hallway door and pulling me through. In the distance I can hear footstep on the stairs, a lot of them; then, from the roof, a muffled explosion. We run to the middle of the hallway and I see a bank of elevators.
"I've got an idea. You're not going to like it," Deadpool says, prying the door of the nearest elevator open with his K-bar.
We look inside the elevator shaft. Its dark both up and down but I think I can make out the car at the bottom.
"Now what, genius," I ask, staring down the shaft. "We could have just called the car."
"We're not getting trapped in an elevator," Deadpool replies. "That's strictly an amateur move. I got something better in mind. Hang on."
With that he grabs me around the waist and hurls us into the elevator shaft. I'm proud of the fact that I don't scream but really I don't have time. I'm bracing myself for a horrible crash at the bottom but then, with a jerk, our fall begins to slow. I look up and see a gloved hand clutching the elevator cable, leather and then metallic sparks flying from the palm. After ten floors or so the sparks stop flying and I can smell an odor disconcertingly like bacon frying. A glance at the merc's face seems to show a grimace. I reach out with my free hand and grab the cable behind Deadpool's neck, adding my strength to his. It burns but we slow pretty fast now.
Our descent stops one floor above the elevator car. "This is our stop, Sugarlips," he says next to my ear. With that he swings me back then forward and hurls me toward the elevator door. I land on the tiny ledge, wobbling, my hands flailing about for a hold. I find one on the frame of the door just before I fall backward. Then Deadpool is beside me, the K-bar in his hand again. He pries the door open and sticks his head out looking deliberately up and down the hallway. We race to our right past nondescript office doors and down one more flight of stairs.
The lobby is dimly lit with security lights. There is a small desk near the door. Bench seating and fake potted plants make up the decor. At first I think the lobby is deserted and I start for the front door only to be yanked to a stop. Deadpool shakes his head when I glare back at him and he places a finger to his mask, where his lips would be. He points to the wall on the left and I see a figure partially obscured by a large plant.
Deadpool prances out of the stairwell on tippy-toes and comes up behind the lone sentinel, his hands held up in front like T-Rex arms. Then, in one swift motion, the man's head is twisted around in an anatomically unhealthy fashion and he slumps to the floor. Deadpool turns and waves me out and I dash across the lobby floor as quietly as my Doc Martens will allow. I glance down at the lookout and I am affected by how normal the guy looks: clean shaven, with short well cut brown hair. He's wearing black paramilitary garb with a small HYDRA patch on the shoulder. At least Captain Asshat has gotten rid of the green and yellow jumpsuits.
Outside, the street looks surprisingly normal. This is not a good part of the city but one effect of the New Order is that the street people have been driven further into the slums at night and the sidewalks are nearly empty. Across the way a large black woman walks along with a couple of bags of groceries. A couple of teenagers are joking and pushing each other back and forth a block to our right. We turn in their direction and walk quickly. Deadpool has his hood back up but his mask is now visible inside. I should ditch him. He's nuts and he's dangerous. Sure, he probably saved my life but its at least possible he put it in danger to begin with. Still, I need answers and he may be able to give them to me. If he doesn't get me killed or drive me out of my head first. Plus, if we run into Bullseye again I really don't want to have to deal with him alone. So, I'll stick with him, for now.
Half way down the block I notice and old man, bent over to pick up an old stylish cane, a heavy cloak pulled up against the cold. As we pass, a black clad figure steps out from the ally directly in our path. He's smiling like a fucking maniac. Which he is. Bullseye. Deadpool straightens and reaches into his hoodie pocket as I hear a "shwoosh". A damn metal shaft explodes through the front of his fucking skull with a pop and Deadpool sways before dropping to his knees, blood and brain matter leaking from his wound.
I turn to find the guy I had taken for an old man is actually a big guy wearing a skull mask. The cloak billows out from his body revealing gold and silver body armor over dark blue spandex. I can't tell anything about his expression behind the mask but his body language is relaxed. He holds his hands up in a placating gesture.
"Now don't get excited Ms. Cage. Wade will be good as new in no time. Well, as good as it gets for Wade, anyway."