The secret of a good lie is don't over explain, and throw in one good detail.
[ book three of assassin series ]
[ daughter!hawkeye oc x peter parker ]
[ au, less than a year before infinity war ]
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What kind of person goes to prison and hires a mercenary to kill an assassin? Oh, right. That would be psychotic monster of an ex-girlfriend, Liz Allan. Then again that was according to the man who referred to himself as Deadpool, and he could be trying to deceive me. While I found it hard to believe a man who was dressed in black and red spandex, I didn't find it hard to hear that Liz of all people had sent him to kill me. She must really be desperate.
"So Liz is paying you to have me killed?" I ask Deadpool, who is now going through the refrigerator in the kitchen.
"You know," he pauses from chugging the last bottle of Pepper's Kombucha, "I always imagined Avengers Tower to be filled with, well, Avengers."
"Well one, this isn't a tower, two the Avengers sort of broke up, and," I reach up to take the glass bottle from his hands, "don't drink that! It's Pepper's kombucha."
"The Avengers can't break up." He attempts to persuade me when I realize the bottle is empty. I toss it in the recycling bin, and do my best not to murder this man. "I mean it's not like they fucked up the time line like a certain group of superheroes I know," he fakes a cough, "fuck you, Wolverine."
I stare at him, awaiting for him to explain his reference, only to shut my eyes and fight off the oncoming headache he was causing. "Aren't you supposed to be trying to kill me?" I ask repositioning myself on the chair I was sitting at. The kitchen island was between us, and my pistol was tucked beneath my leg, awaiting for me to pull the trigger at any moment. I raise an eyebrow, "unless you plan on killing me with your annoyance?"
He pauses to take another stare inside the refrigerator. He grabs the plate of leftovers with my name on it, without giving the sticky note his full attention, "I've got this thing against killing kids. Makes me feel weird. But seeing as though Little Liz was willing to give me so much dough, I thought 'hey, why not see what the deal is?' Plus, I didn't want to be alone on Thanksgiving and Colossus has a girlfriend now and isn't up for a threesome," he sighs heavily, setting the plate aside and lying on top of the counter. He's face front on the counter, his entire body is on the kitchen island as he takes a dramatic deep breath. After a short moment he pops his head up and rests what exposed skin that shows from underneath his mask against his fists, "so what is the big deal? You and her have some lover's quarrel? Why does she want you dead so bad?"
I'm not focused on his question, instead I'm looking at his chin. His skin has little to no pigment left because of the scars that cover his skin. It resembles the skin of my past victims. I can't help but ask, "did you burn yourself?" Was he one of my countless victims, one that I couldn't remember, like Peter's parents. The sudden pinch of guilt in my stomach makes me nauseous.
He sits up, abruptly, only to tug his mask over his chin once more. "Not what I asked," he deadpans, hopping of the island. He then returns his focus down to the plate of Holiday left overs. "Wait. You're name isn't Lily?!"
