[Author's Note: I finally got over my writer's block! Yea!]
Coulson waved goodbye to Deadpool after extracting all the information the mercenary was willing to provide. Apparently, he'd been hired by one mobster to take out another. But he didn't like his boss and planned to kill him sometime, as well. Before Deadpool could completely disappear, he turned back curiously. "Is SHIELD going to come after me now?" he asked.
"Well, yeah, we kind of have to." Coulson shrugged. "Sorry, Wade."
"Aww, come on. SHIELD would scare away the guy who hired me, and I can't have that. Once I get paid for this job, I'll actually be able to make my cable bill for this month. I hate how it keeps getting switched off." He straightened as an idea struck him, and Steve thought that his face probably brightened underneath his mask. "I know! I'll give you some of that money I'm collecting. You can have everything but my cable money. Oh, and my rent, I guess."
"Nope. I can't be bought."
"Can you be bribed? Need someone killed? Tortured? Anything?"
"No, there's nothing you could possibly do for… On second thought, there is. See, I have this friend…"
xXx
At first, it wasn't hard to follow the screams of anyone who saw the Hulk. Then people stopped screaming, and the Avengers and friends all fervently hoped that meant he'd turned back into Bruce Banner. Unfortunately, there was no sign of him in either form.
"He'll be all right," Selvig assured an anxious-looking Tony Stark. "If anyone messes with him, he'll just Hulk out again."
"I know that," Stark said defensively. "I'm more worried that he'll get too embarrassed to come back at all. I feel like we should've found him by now, if he wanted to be found."
"He's probably just stealing some clothes," Darcy suggested. "Once he's found some, he'll probably call us from a payphone and have us pick him up. I speak from experience. Jane knows."
Jane rolled her eyes. "Look, if he's not back tomorrow, we can scan the area for gamma radiation. I'll bet he still has the signature."
Tony nodded quickly. "Right. You're right. We should go back to the hotel, in case he heads there." He still couldn't help scanning the area one more time with half-dejected hope. "Where are you, big guy?"
xXx
As soon as the five invaders were securely restrained, Clint reluctantly asked them, "Do any of you think you need immediate medical attention? The cops are on their way, but…" He was interrupted by the arrival of a red-and-black clad masked man holding a bulging duffle bag. "And who might you be?"
"Wade Wilson," he replied brightly, "and your partner'll vouch for me. The Black Widow and I go back a ways…"
Natasha shot him in the chest in response, and when he extracted the bullet, she curled her lip in disappointment. "He's right. We go back."
"And might I say, you are as lovely as ever, even without all your beautiful hair. This way, you look fierce."
Clint stepped up with a glare, his pistol aiming at Wilson's left eye. "The lady isn't interested, so I advise you to move along."
Wilson held up his hands in surrender. "Woah, woah. Calm down. I'm not here to pick a fight. Agent Coulson sent me. He said he had an archer friend with a broken hand… which, I have to say, is one of the saddest things I have ever heard. He said he wouldn't call SHIELD down on me if I could cheer you up, even for a little bit. I guess he figured we share some violent tendencies, and I might have a few ideas."
Clint's hand didn't waver, despite the futility of the exercise. "So far, you ain't doin' a stellar job."
They heard silence in the distance, and Deadpool went on, his voice speeding up even more. "I know, I know. I just had to explain. But, look, I have to go. I'm going to give you something, and if it cheers you up, you have to tell Coulson. If not, you can shoot me, and that should do the trick."
Even without looking at Tasha, Clint knew she was shaking her head in warning. But curiosity overpowered his good sense, and he nodded. "Okay, set it on the floor and push it over slowly.
Wilson set down the duffle bag and toed it in Barton's direction. Clint crouched over it, holstering his weapon and leaving Natasha to cover the suspicious masked man. He opened the duffle bag, peered inside, and felt himself shiver in delight. Inside, a beautiful, compact crossbow lay with a quiver of bolts. He pulled them out, realizing the compromise for what it was. It wasn't his usual bow, but it was the closest thing he could shoot one-handed.
His heart pounded as he eagerly fitted the first bolt into place. He fired off a quick shot at an empty beer can and watched the heavy tip slice through the aluminum. "I'm calling her Linda," he announced.
"So, are you calling Coulson?"
After slinging the crossbow strap over his shoulder and clipping the quiver to his belt, Clinton retrieved his first shot and went for his cell phone. "Mr. Wilson, you have earned it." He speed-dialed Coulson while keeping his longing gaze fixed on the smooth and delicate curves of the crossbow. "Phil," he announced, "I think I'm in love."
