The captain was still laying out the plan, striving to make use of everyone's specialties and strengths while minimizing the pointless time wasted traveling.
"Captain, let me come too?" Wade saluted Steve like a soldier, then rubbed his fingers together with a lewd grin. "Look, you're short-handed, and I happen to be an exceptionally capable mercenary. You know, slurp!"
For some reason, after having just sold the headless robot Fury to Tony and counted several stacks of cash, he started drooling again.
Captain America glanced at Deadpool. He had always maintained a certain degree of wariness toward this man who claimed to be Deathstroke's cousin.
For one thing, the guy smelled like a mental patient—urine and other bodily-waste odors, mixed with durian paste heated in an oven and the rotten innards of dead mice.
And once he started talking, he sounded even more like one.
But perhaps...
"It's not impossible for you to join." Steve handed the map to Bucky and had him arrange the details, then said to Deadpool, "But I need to ask you a few questions first, to determine whether you can become our teammate."
"I understand, import and export Beast Inspection. You're worried I'll suddenly turn into a werewolf and kill all of you. Perfectly reasonable suspicion. But can we skip the temperature-taking part? My rectum's a little uncomfortable today. Though if you insist, you can stick your finger in. Be gentle."
Wade nodded repeatedly, turned around, and made as if to take off his pants.
Steve hurriedly stopped him, sweeping his leg out to trip the bastard before calling Falcon and Hawkeye over to pin down his limbs.
"Watch your language! Not that kind of examination. I'm just asking you questions!"
"A quiz game? You should've said so. Why did several beefy men have to