Deadpool Makes A Friend

Professional Disclaimer: I do not own Deadpool. I am making no money from this.

Personal Disclaimer: I am a very new Deadpool fan (and may have actively disliked him before a couple of months ago). I've had a couple of hardcore Deadpool fans read over this story to give feedback on its accuracy, but I apologize if any mistakes slipped through. However, with the new 50 Shades movie coming out, I thought we would have a little reminder about the best Valentine's Day movie to ever premiere.

Last Note: Deadpool's white mental box is in italics, and is referred to as the 'voice' of Doctor Bong. The yellow box is in the bolded letters and is referred to as Madcap. Research tells me that these are who the boxes are popularly believed to be, but please let me know if you think otherwise. Deadpool's own thoughts are presented in bold italics.

Careful not to burn his fingers yet again, Deadpool – sometimes known as Wade Wilson – lit the old-fashioned pipe with a flaring match. Nothing spoiled the ambiance he was going for like a string of hastily-muffled curse words. This time it worked perfectly, and the tobacco inside the bowl began to burn, giving off a not horrible scent. Deadpool took a deep draw from the stem, gagged twice, threw the pipe away, and clenched the still-smoking match between his teeth instead.

"Now, my dear Watson," he said to the empty air beside him. "What can we deduce from the current state of this apartment?" He didn't give poor, imaginary Dr. Watson a chance to respond before crying, "Wrong! It's the only one without lights on, no one's touched that doorknob in at least two days, there's mail in the mailbox, and it smells worse than my apartment. Conclusion?" Deadpool pulled the match from between his teeth, feeling very much like Wolverine and heartily enjoying it. "It means that the old Regeneratin' Degenerate still doesn't have to pay for a motel room. Let's go!"

Though he had never lost confidence in his powers of deduction, Deadpool still breathed a sigh of relief when the apartment was empty after all. "Go, me! Go, me! Great ass! Go, me!" When the small celebration was complete, Deadpool tipped his head back and sucked a lungful of the foul air through his mask. Ah, the scent of victory…

One would think the true scent of victory would come in the form of a clean, pleasantly-scented hotel room that we have more than enough money to pay for. Doctor Bong's concise and cultured voice, dripping with as much disdain as always, made Deadpool want to slam his head into a wall until his skull busted wide enough for him to reach in and pull the snobby little voice out. Maybe then, I could get rid of him forever…

The true scent of victory comes from not having to pay for wherever you end up, Madcap argued, not entirely wrong. Deadpool supposed he should be a little more concerned about agreeing with the predefined 'crazy' voice – especially since he had so much history with the voice's inspiration – but he couldn't bring himself to care. Instead, he distracted himself by rifling through the kitchen.

Engrossed in the task of counting roach carcasses, he completely missed the sound of a key entering the lock. A woman walked in a split second later, humming tunelessly under her breath as she toted a large brown paper bag filled with assorted groceries. Deadpool was so shocked that he barely had time to strike his favorite pose and shout, "Honey! You're home early!" before she saw him.

The woman's hazel eyes widened in shock and Deadpool grinned at the reaction, but his blankly white eyes snapped from excited triumph to dismay when she dropped her grocery bag unceremoniously on the ground and drew a gun in the same smooth motion.

That was hot. Or- well, it would have been if she had chosen a different gun. I mean, really, I love me some Sigs, but they're just too boxy for a female. She needs something sleek, something with a small handle to help her grip. Also, maybe a concealed carry purse. Come on, a shoulder holster? So 90s FBI movie.

Ever agreeable, Deadpool raised his hands up into the air. "So, how do we want to play this? I mean, technically, I was 'trespassing', but it could turn into something else. Can't help but notice that you haven't taken your eyes off me since you got home." He added a wink for effect, though with all the reaction she gave, he shouldn't have bothered making the effort. Thinking he might have used the wrong approach, he moved to sign a greeting to her, but the motion made her tense and raise the gun even further. "Whoa, whoa," Deadpool said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "Just trying to make sure you understand me. Do you? Do you maybe read lips? I know it can be tricky with the mask…"

He reached to pull the bottom of the mask so his mouth was exposed, but the woman took a half-step forward with one leg, easing into what looked like a very practiced shooting stance.

"Hands on the counter."

Deadpool almost jumped at the unexpected sound of the woman's clipped, professional voice resonating through the small room, but he heard voices on a regular basis, some of which liked to change it up occasionally. He had long since gotten used to sudden strange voices ordering him to do things, though this time, he complied.

With gloved hands safely pressed flat to the counter, Deadpool smiled at the woman. "You know, most people prefer 'hands in the air'. I prefer it, too. Many more possibilities for song references."

"And many more possibilities for you to grab those katanas of yours?" she asked lightly.

Shocked by the offered comment, Deadpool decided to soften her further by offering a compliment. "Oh, you are good. Most people wouldn't recognize these as katanas."

To his continued surprise, the woman gave a loud snort. "Please. Of course I know they're katanas. I do watch The Walking Dead."

'I do watch The Walking Dead,' Deadpool mimicked internally. How many freaking times have people called me 'Michonne' lately because of that show?

27, a voice answered helpfully.

Deadpool paused, momentarily distracted from his rage. Wait, you're a new one. Who are you?

I'm your inner OCD! I'm a new development, compelling you to count things that bother you as a form of coping mechanism.

Ah. Makes sense, makes sense. But I really don't need another quirk to add to my positively charming collection, so I'm gonna have to turn you down. Thanks anyway! Great sales pitch.

I-I'm a personality trait... a mental compulsion. You can't just opt out.

Yeah, well, I'm a very picky lunatic. Guys? There were sounds of scuffling then, audible only to Deadpool. They stopped with OCD's rapidly-fading screams. Okay, back to the problem at hand..

The woman was watching him oddly and Deadpool forced a laugh. "Michonne, right. I'm more of a Daryl guy, but either way, great show!" Carefully keeping a casual demeanor, he pressed the advantage of perceived common ground. "Why don't we sit on that couch over there, put the weapons away, and talk? I'd love to get a woman's perspective on the implications of Carol and her character arc."

One eyebrow flicked up, but the woman's voice held no inflection. "Alternately, why don't you tell me what you're doing in this apartment?"

"Gas leak. Wait, that makes no sense. TV repair guy. No uniform. Dropped in by mistake?"

"You broke the lock," the woman contributed dryly.

"Okay, fine. I'm a secret government agent-" It was Deadpool's philosophy to pick a lie and stick to it and would have done so in this case – even with the exasperated look on his host's face – if not for the interruption when she put a bullet into the wall next to his head. There are only so many interruptions an actor can deal with while practicing his craft… Out loud, however, he only exclaimed loudly, "What the f-"

"Tell me. Why you're. Here. I missed you on purpose; the next bullet can easily go into your head."

Deadpool considered that threat very carefully. He would heal, sure, but the time and energy it would take… Probably not worth it. Besides, this woman might have some insight into his deduction skills and where he had gone wrong. "'Kay, so it's like this: I'm real into Sherlock Holmes-"

"Sherlock Holmes," she repeated blankly.

"Yeah, like, the detective. Anyway, I've been watching the movies, watching the TV shows – even thought about reading the books, that's how into it I am. Well, I'm on a job right now and needed a place to lie low for a while and thought, 'hey, what would Sherlock do?' So I used my newfound deductive reasoning skills to channel the Stark-looking guy and discover an abandoned apartment, where a crazy lady came in and held me at gunpoint, which brings us up to now. Tah-dah!"

The woman's eyes had taken on an almost-dazed expression toward the end of this highly logical explanation and – while Deadpool was used to this from people – it was a little more frightening coming from someone aiming a gun at him. He would heal from the headshot, yeah, but the bullet would hit his eye, and regenerating an eyeball still hurt like a bitch.

She shook her head. "In any case, this apartment isn't abandoned. It belongs to me."

Deadpool smirked. "Then that blush is for what, your terrible cleaning habits? This whole place is covered in a solid coat of dust, it smells like a rotting rat exploded, and the fridge is emptier than the part of my soul that holds my morals. If this is actually your apartment, I'll eat something nasty. Like that rotting, exploded rat."

"So I work a lot! I haven't been home in a while and, as you can see, I'm working on the grocery problem. And as for the cleanliness, I'm sorry. I'll try to make sure everything is spotless for the next person who breaks in."

"Bullshit, and I don't appreciate the attitude. This isn't your apartment, so why are you here? You know what? Fuck it. I really couldn't care less about your reasoning. If you call the police, I'll turn you in, too. Just put away the piece."

She sputtered. "I might not call the police, but I could still shoot you!"

"And I would heal it." Deadpool indicated himself, carefully including the bright red suit, and gave a casual shrug. "Super."

Deciding he was done being held at gunpoint, Deadpool moved to the couch and sat, trying to ignore the dust explosion this caused. After a tense moment, he listened to the woman holstering her gun before she moved on to gathering the dropped groceries.

A gentleman would help her, especially if he was the reason she dropped her items in the first place.

Yeah, well, I'm no gentleman. Even if I was, she just pointed a gun at my eyeball for the last five minutes. I don't exactly have a case of the warm fuzzies for her after that. There was no response.

When everything was straightened up and put away, the woman walked reluctantly to the couch and attempted to beat the dust out of her chosen cushion, carefully located as far from Deadpool as possible. As she settled onto her claimed section of the sofa, she said softly, "You didn't add an identifying noun."

Deadpool cocked his head to the side, cupping a hand around the ear farther away from her. "I'm sorry. One more time for the non-nerds in the audience?"

She seemed to barely restrain the urge to roll her eyes, but the woman managed. "You just said 'super'. You didn't say whether you're a superhero or a supervillain."

He waved his hand carelessly. "Nuance."

"That's not an answer."

"Technically, there wasn't a question, but I get what you mean. Also, no, you don't get an explanation. I don't answer questions about my backstory for free. Now, if you want to trade stories, I'm all for that. Makes the time pass, anyway. If not, I'm fine with silence."

"Let's say I agree to this. Who talks first?"

"You, of course."

"What do you want to know?"

Interested at her acceptance of his proposal, Deadpool sat up. "Oh, the general stuff. Who you are, what you do, why you're here, cup size…" he trailed off as she shot a glare across the room. He shrugged. "Like I said, just the general stuff."

In a longsuffering voice, the woman began to speak. "My name is Ashton and-"

"Ashton what?" Deadpool interrupted. He required the full truth, after all.

"Ashton none-of-your-business," she returned with a glare.

"Sounds like an inconveniently long name, but you can't help what you get stuck with."

Ashton pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Anyway, I'm a bail bonds agent-"

"Ah, a skip-tracer!" Deadpool cut in knowledgeably. He'd had to race a few skip-tracers in the past and had picked up a bit about them. Ashton seemed confused about this contribution to the conversation and he explained, "I'm familiar with the industry."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, seeming relieved.

Wow, look. A dropped guard. How convenient!

Recognizing what she thought was a kindred spirit, Ashton became much more conversationally-inclined. "So, I've been given a couple cases, but mostly small jobs. Stuff you wouldn't get out of bed for, you know?" Deadpool nodded understandingly. This was common enough occurrence in his line of work, after all. Encouraged, she went on. "Well, they finally sent me a good one. What's more, I get first crack at it. This case won't even be sent to another agent for a week, but the trail is completely cold. More than cold, it's disappeared."

When he kept quiet, Ashton made eye contact with him, growing defensive. "It's not like I'm a rookie, either! I might be one of the younger agents, but I'm good at what I do."

"No one's saying you aren't," Deadpool replied soothingly. "There's got to be an explanation for where this guy went. And now, you answered who you are and what you do, but what about the last question?"

Ashton grew visibly red. "If you actually think I'm going to tell a masked stranger what my cup size is-"

Deadpool burst out laughing, having long since forgotten about that. "Tempting as it sounds to try convincing you, I meant 'what are you doing in this apartment?'" He studied her. "Unless you're also trying to lie low or avoid someone…"

"No, nothing like that." Ashton was avoiding his eyes, and Deadpool leaned forward, sensing dirt. In a low voice, she admitted, "Things are really tight now financially. I got kicked out of my last apartment because I couldn't make rent. I've been living in my car, but when I got this case and came here, it was obvious that the guy is gone and not coming back anytime soon. I picked up the spare key from a neighbor and figured I would borrow his place – Just until I can get a couple more skips and afford to get a new lease."

She turned fully toward Deadpool. "I know it's asking a lot, but if you'll agree not to tell anyone, you can stay here as long as you need."

Carefully keeping as stern a face as possible, Deadpool asked, "Are you offering to let me co-squat in a difficult-to-find skip's apartment?"

"Please?" Ashton asked, face earnest. "Tracer to tracer?"

"Oh, I'm not an agent," Deadpool laughed. "And don't worry. I'm really not going to tattle on you to your boss or whatever."

Ashton's relief was strong enough to make her forget the first part of his statement, at least for a moment. Eventually, though, he watched it sink in. "W- wait. You're not an agent? Are you an ex-agent?"

"Nope," he drawled, making sure to pop the 'p'.

She shifted uncomfortably on the couch, stiffening her back and folding hands in her lap – close to the holster with her gun, he noticed. "Okay, new question: who are you, masked, unkillable stranger sitting on my couch?"

"Oh, did I forget to mention it? How terribly rude of me!" Deadpool grinned under his mask. He loved this question, looked forward to the moment of reveal. "I'm a masked super, persistent in the struggle to make the world a better place. I straddle the line between good and evil sometimes, though I always stay true to my own personal set of morals. In short…" he took a deep breath and made intense eye contact with his audience. "I'm Batman."

He could literally watch as Ashton's expression shifted from tense readiness to exasperation and it was a beautiful transformation. Before she could start lecturing him, he laughed. "Nah, just kidding. Despite a startling similarity in confidence level and wealth, I'm actually the very intimidating and creatively-violent Deadpool."

"Well, that answers one question – sort of. What about why you're here?"

"We already went over this, Ashton." She frowned at him and Deadpool heaved a hefty sigh. "Fine. You want the instant replay, we can do that. I'm on a job and needed a quiet place to hide out. Since I'm basically Sherlock Holmes now-"

"You're the worst Sherlock Holmes of all time and no, I wasn't talking about that. Why are you in this city? What went wrong in the job you were doing? And what exactly is it that you do for a living?"

Deadpool yawned. "That sounds like a pretty long list and I'm tired. Catch you after a nap?"

"Humor me," she said, voice dangerously soft.

He lolled his head lazily until he was looking at her again. "I'm here on a mission. I do a job and sometimes, that job gets messy. When that happens, I either make it even messier or I keep quiet for a while. This time, I chose the second option. If I tell you more, you'll be in danger, though whether from my enemies or myself, I can't say for certain." He dropped the dark tone and laid his head against the back of the couch. "Goodnight!"

It seemed to be only a few blissful minutes later when Ashton spoke again, frustration making her voice harsh. "I need to know what your job is."

Deadpool opened his eyes, having been oh-so-rudely pulled from his wonderful dream of eating chimichangas while riding a unicorn. Also, Spiderman was there. Irritably, he said, "Fine. You want to know? You want to be in danger? If it'll get you off my balls, I'll tell you. I'm a mercenary." Ashton stared at him blankly. Relieved at the silence, Deadpool closed his eyes only to immediately open them again as he sent her a sickly sweet smile. "It means I kill people for a living."

She gave an indignant little huff and Deadpool mentally congratulated himself on infuriating her before dropping off to sleep.

Ashton sat for nearly an hour while the strange man slept on her recently-appropriated couch. I could leave. I mean, it would suck to go back to living in the car, but wouldn't it be worth it to know no unstoppable costumed mercenary is going to come in to tie up loose ends? I really don't want to die for being a loose end.

Mind made up, Ashton eased to her feet and crept over toward the door. She half-turned, taking one last, longing gaze around the apartment where she had been so close to staying. She was reaching to grab the doorknob when the voice behind her made her jump nearly into the door.

A very groggy Deadpool had sat up and simply advised, "Don't do that."

When she was done feeling as though she was going to keel over, Ashton responded, "Why not? It'll be easier for you to hide with only one person here, especially since the registered renter is a male around your age and height."

"Just don't. Trust me, it's a bad idea to try leaving."

Ashton waited until her voice steadied before speaking again. "Why? I think it's better that I leave now rather than risk finding out any more detrimental information about you."

He laughed. "You're the one who decided you wanted to know everything! And why shouldn't you leave? That right there is why!"

He pointed to the kitchen window and a chill went up Ashton's spine. She approached the glass with caution, holding her breath as she pulled aside the thin fabric of the threadbare curtain. There was nothing in the street and she turned to shoot a look at Deadpool, but he was busy vaulting the back of the couch to stand in front of the door. When he reached it, he leaned against the wood with a solid-sounding thunk!

"Really?" she asked dryly. "You used the 'look over there' method? That's pathetic."

He wagged a finger back and forth at her. "Ah, ah, ah. That's a lot of sass for someone that method actually worked on."

Ashton grimaced, but couldn't fight the point. Instead, she folded her arms and glared up at him. "Give me one good reason not to leave."

"Because you don't want to die? Look, we don't know if I was followed here or whether the building is being watched. If you leave, they could decide you'd be a good way to get to me. By staying here, you won't be a target."

After studying him carefully for a moment, Ashton reached for the doorknob again. "I'll risk it."

Deadpool slapped her hand away. "I won't!" She frowned at him. "You leave and next thing I know, I have a line going down the street of people wanting a meet-and-greet with America's favorite superhero!"

She gaped. "If you had told me Captain America was here, I would have agreed to stay a lot sooner!"

"Oh, ha, ha, ha. You're an asshole, you know that?"

"Coming from you, I don't know if that's even an insult. But if I am an asshole, I'm a trustworthy one. I'm not going to go telling everyone where you are."

Deadpool snorted. "Trustworthy? I couldn't even trust you not to skip out on me the moment I fell asleep!"

"A moment- You were asleep for an hour, you colossal douchebag!"

He drew back, offended. "It was only fifty-four minutes, dramatic munchkin, so relax. Either way, you're not leaving this apartment."

The enigmatic man seemed very determined, planted against the door with no sign of movement. Ashton shook her head. If she was going to be trapped in this place with a mercenary, it would at least be while she relaxed on a couch rather than standing around in front of a door. Grudgingly, she made her way back to the sofa, followed by a gleefully-skipping Deadpool.

"How much longer do you think we'll have to stay here?" she asked, trying not to sound sulky.

"Eh, no more than three hours or so."

"Great, so forever." Sulkiness was definitely coming through. "Well, if we're going to be stuck here together for who knows how long, could you maybe lose the mask?"

He looked over at her, radiating bemusement from behind said mask. "That's pretty ballsy. You find out that the unknown man in your stolen apartment kills people for a living and the first thing you do is ask to see his face? Maybe you have a death wish after all."

"Come on, it's not like that! I just think it would be nice to actually see who I'm talking to instead of trying to figure out how you make your eyes look like that."

"No," he refused flatly, all traces of warmth and humor gone from his eyes. She made a noise of frustration but his only response was to shake his head. "I would sooner let you shoot me – maybe even shoot myself – than take off this mask. End of discussion."

"But it's creepy! I can't tell where you're looking with the blank white eyes."

"That's the point, babe," he grinned, adding an exaggerated wink. She rolled her eyes. Just then, something clattered to the floor in the kitchen and both turned. She noticed something and began to smile and Deadpool, noticing, turned forward again uncomfortably.

She sighed. "Well, I guess if you're not going to get more comfortable, I will instead." She moved her hands to the buttons at her chest. Deadpool's head whipped toward her and she flopped back against the couch. "Ha!" she crowed triumphantly. "I've figured you out. When you're looking at something, your left eyebrow flicks in that direction."

He shook his head at her. "One, it's not nice to tease. Two, you can totally redeem yourself by continuing that action."

"I think I'll pass, but at least now, I have a clue on where you're looking."

They sat in a disconcertingly comfortable silence until it was broken by Deadpool. "Thanks for skipping the 'I'm not pretty' dance."

She snorted. "It's less to do with me and more to do with you." He furrowed brows at her and she shrugged. "Attraction is subjective and pretty much everyone has someone who thinks they're attractive. But past that, I'm getting a real pansexual kind of vibe off of you."

"Is that so?" he asked evenly. She couldn't really peg a facial expression behind the mask, but his tone held something close to a wary offense.

"Yeah, you know Doctor Who?" After a moment, he nodded. "Well, I figure you're a Captain Jack Harkness kind of guy. You think everyone's attractive and that makes you attractive to everyone." He seemed stunned, so she added helpfully, "It's a good thing."

"No, I get that. I'm just trying to figure out if I'm more flattered at that comparison or surprised by the accuracy."

"Either way, think you could try to give me a hand with my case?"

"Sure!" he agreed willingly. "Finding a tough skip is all about asking the right questions. I, for one, only have one question about your mark that needs to be answered: Does he have cable?" Ashton glowered at him as he kicked feet up on the coffee table and turned on the television. "Son of a- He doesn't have cable! Who doesn't have cable?! What a moron. He deserved whatever happened to him."

Ashton was just thinking about the merits of dying from Chrysomelid-poisoned arrows shot by the African San tribe when Deadpool turned to her. "Looks like we'll just have to queue up the old Netflix stream. Where's your phone?"

Wordlessly, Ashton dug in her pocket and pulled out the basic burner phone she had picked up to get assignments on. Deadpool snatched it from her hand and stared down at it disbelievingly. "This is your phone? Your current phone? How old is this thing?"

"Younger than some of the grease stains on your shirt, though that's not saying much," she shot back. "Seriously, do you ever do laundry?"

"Not important. But I guess we won't be watching Netflix on this disappointment of a phone."

"What part of virtual bankruptcy did you not understand? So sorry I prioritized having a place to live above keeping an expensive, high-tech smartphone."

He shrugged. "Well, it just means that our choices are sit here in silence or sift through your mark's impressive collection of pornos."

Ashton stared at him with one eyebrow raised. "Wait a minute. I distinctly remember you saying something about 'Batman levels of wealth'. Where's your smartphone?"

Deadpool gasped as if he was totally scandalized. "You think I would bring an easily-hacked device filled with sensitive information on a job?" She kept her gaze level. "Well, you might have a point there. It got broken."

He moved as if to hand her the shattered electronic, but she recoiled. "It's covered in blood!"

"Well, what do you expect? It broke in my pocket and has been stabbing me for the last hour."

"Disgusting! Oh, and look! You've left an absolutely beautiful bloodstain on the couch. Who knows what kind of diseases you've got?"

"Hey! The only thing running through these veins is talent. And the drive to succeed. And maybe some unresolved daddy issues. But none of that is communicable!"

Ashton raked a hand through her hair frustratedly. "How much longer?"

Craning to look back at the clock behind him, Deadpool said, "Two hours, thirty-eight minutes."

Groaning, Ashton complained, "That's so much time! What are we going to do?"

With a slight smirk, Deadpool looked her up and down, exaggerating the eyebrow twitch so she would be sure to know where he was looking. "Well, I just decided what I want to do…"

Ashton glared and crossed her arms uncomfortably. This placed her dominant right hand next to the butt of her gun. She stared at Deadpool, silently daring the masked mercenary to go on. Instead of speaking, however, his hands moved to his waistband as he waggled eyebrows at her. She tensed, ready to pull her Sig.

Deadpool drew his hands back, holding up a silvery disc in triumph as he watched Ashton's face. She blinked confusedly for a moment. "Wh- What?" she stammered.

"We're going to watch Spiderman!" He grinned at her shock. "Why, what did you think we were going to do?" He gasped theatrically and clapped his free hand over his mouth. "Ashton! Such a dirty mind. I thought you were a lady."

Seeming to ignore the last part of his statement, Ashton groaned. "Are you serious? I hate Spiderman!"

Trying to drown out the resulting buzzing of the voices in his head, Deadpool sang a nonsense song as he sat fiddling with the DVD player. Apparently unaware of his internal torment, Ashton spoke from behind him. "Are you even listening? I said-"

"I know what you said," Deadpool interrupted, working the words into the song he was making up. "But I'm pretending I didn't hear you because Spiderman happens to be my best friend!"

"Of course he is," Ashton said patronizingly. "And how are we going to 'watch' Spiderman? Is this just a collection of news stories and crappy YouTube videos?"

"Sort of, but it's in chronological order. And, of course, there's some exposition, a cameo, and an un-fucking-believable amount of sass." Deadpool let out a giggle and stayed sitting on the floor in front of the TV as the movie started.

An itching between his shoulder blades warned Deadpool that Ashton was watching him more than she was watching the movie and that was unacceptable. How would she ever experience the wonder that was Spiderman if she was busy eying up the masterpiece that was Deadpool? He glared back over his shoulder at her and pointedly patted the carpeted floor next to him.

Ashton curled her lip. "You can't be serious. I feel no urge whatsoever to sit on that disgusting floor."

"You have to," Deadpool whined. "This makes it better. Almost like you're in a theater, watching this on the big screen."

Ashton rolled her eyes, but joined him on the floor – though she sat several feet away. He looked over, irritated. "No, center yourself in front of the TV, otherwise there's no point." She scooted over roughly two inches and he gave an exasperated sigh. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he hauled her toward the middle of the screen, which was actually very close to where he sat. Deadpool refused to give up his spot, regardless. He wasn't going to miss a second of his Spidey.

Look at her. She's trying to keep her distance from the crazy guy.

Of course she is. She thinks he's hitting on her.

Yeah, right!

I don't understand the tone.

True, she's not a bad-looking lady. Little on the serious side for us, maybe…

Doesn't matter for what he wants to do with her.

*Sound of a fist bump*

Could you guys knock it off? She's pretty. Whatever. But right now… Spidey butt.

Deadpool sat forward and made a noise not unlike Homer Simpson when he sees a doughnut. At Ashton's curious face, he gestured at the screen, where a particularly glorious camera angle was showing Spiderman's backside to wonderful advantage. "Just look at it. Isn't that the most wondrous ass to grace the earth?"

Ashton's jaw dropped. "I thought you were friends with him? Friends don't usually comment on each other's butts."

"Maybe friends don't, but best friends do, and Spidey and I are definitely friends of the best variety."

"Wait!" Ashton burst, slapping a hand to the carpeted floor between them, though even her small hand barely fit in the space. "You're that guy who's obsessed with Spiderman, aren't you?"

Deadpool turned back to give the screen his full attention. Stiffly, he said, "I don't know what you mean."

"The ultra-threatening man who broke into my apartment is the Super-Stalker!" Ashton let out a laugh that ended in a groan. "I can't believe my life sometimes."

"And I can't believe I was thinking you were actually pretty cool."

"Were you now?" Ashton asked in a skeptical tone.

"Yeah, but not anymore. You're still an asshole."

"I think you need an asshole around to keep you on track." He made a noncommittal noise and she bumped his shoulder with hers. "Not me, of course, but I think you're pretty cool, too."

"Aww, really?" Deadpool squealed, wrapping an arm around Ashton's shoulder in a half-hug.

"Yeah, you are. Especially for a Super-Stalker."

Though he relished the back-and-forth of their banter, Deadpool gave his best offended gasp and pushed Ashton over. She rolled to lie on her back laughing and he chuckled along. He lay back, resting his weight on a forearm braced against the floor as he looked down at her. A warm feeling started to spread through his chest and he didn't like it, so he bounded up to check the window. Nothing was there. He checked the door as well, and it was also clear.

Ashton yawned and sat up, propping her head on her upraised hand. "It's time?"

"Yep. I'm headed out now." He stopped just in front of the door and looked back at her. "You know, you should stay here. I don't think anyone is going to come after me and look here. You might as well get some use out of the place."

She grimaced. "Nah. I need to get out and looking for my target if I ever want to get paid."

Deadpool sighed and stopped halfway through the door, resting his forehead against the doorframe to avoid eye contact with Ashton. "Yeah, that's the thing… Your target was my job. He's dead. Nice spending time with you! Bye!"

"Son of a -!"

Deadpool slammed the door behind himself and grinned cheerfully. "What a great Valentine's Day!"

Author's Note - Well, there you have it! Deadpool wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote this down and maybe I'll have a chance at peace now. That's a lie, actually. I already have half of a second installment written, but I would really like some feedback about this. As someone who is only as familiar with Deadpool as research and the movie can allow, I'm a little uncomfortable assuming that I know enough about him to keep writing. If you feel I've done Deadpool's character justice, I would love to continue this slow story. If not, I understand that I would need to abandon this fic or do a lot more research and reading. This isn't just a shallow bid for reviews, however. If you would rather send me your thoughts in a private message, please do so!

All of that being said, thanks for reading! This was a blast to write and I hope you enjoyed. Have a great Valentine's Day!