Chapter Text
…Bullseye becomes someone else’s problem
Bullseye tugged at the collar of the rented suit, as he impatiently waited for the two women to get done dolling themselves up for the Charity Gala. Had it just been Domino, who knew how to clean up in a few minutes, they’d have been done by now, but Black Cat was a meticulous groomer and she insisted on ‘fixing’ Dom’s make-up too and covering up her spot.
“Girls, girls, you’re both beautiful as you are, so fucking shake a leg and get your asses in gear!” He hollered and kicked at the door, not caring if he scuffed the dress shoes he was wearing.
“Lester, darling dear, shut your big fat mouth, okay?” Dom yelled back at him sweetly.
“Fuck you, Neena~”
“Never doing that again,” was the fast retort, “we’re done in a minute, you fidgety yowling puss--”
“Oh please, both of you stop yelling,” Cat interjected and opened the door, showing off what her primping had accomplished. It was a classic black dress with what looked like diamonds on the collar, her hair pulled up and her make-up drawing attention to both her lips and eyes. “So?” she asked and twirled.
“You done?” Bullseye sighed.
“Can’t a girl get a single compliment out of you?”
“Don’t expect him to show any interest unless you’re splattered in blood, Felicia,” Dom said, sidling next to her in a not quite matching black dress, pearls on her rather than jewels, her face seemingly devoid of her usual markings and unnatural whiteness. She at least had the sensibility to have a deep slit on her gown that would allow her to run.
“Huh, she made you look human,” Bullseye remarked, a little impressed by that rather than the fact that both women had dressed up to the nines and looked ready for a photoshoot. Black Cat threw her arms up and rolled her eyes, grumbling under her breath, making Domino laugh and pat her on the shoulder.
“He’s a Philistine and doesn’t know to appreciate this. I, however, do, thank you. And you, Lester, fuck you with a bazooka.”
“Blah, blah, you’re dressed and done so let’s get this show rolling,” Bullseye urged them and waved at them to move. “I hope you’re packing heat somewhere in all that.”
“Thigh holster and a nice .22 snugly between my legs.” Dom stuck out her tongue at him. “Besides, I’m lucky, she’s unlucky, and you’re magic. I think we’ll be just fine.”
They moved toward the door, intercepting Taskmaster who paused to stare at them. “Ladies and gentlemen, your ride to the Museum Gala awaits,” Taskmaster announced as he reassembled himself, “the driver is one of mine, so don’t worry about him. Try not to kill him, Bullseye.”
“Also, no killing anyone else than the target,” Black Cat added, making Bullseye scowl at her and start to interrupt before she just raised her voice, “I’m not having my reputation ruined by your trigger happy fingers nor getting wanted for murder. I’m a thief, Bullseye. Show me that you have the skill to kill only when you need to. Don’t make a mess.” She held a brave face, knowing not to show any weakness in front of him.
“I kill whomever I want, bitch, I’ll kill you too,” Bullseye growled.
“So you’re saying that you can’t do it.”
“I can do whatever--”
Domino interrupted them both, “Oh clam it, girls. We need to hit the road.”
Somehow they actually managed the ride without coming to blows, and Black Cat walked them through the plan despite Bullseye’s mutterings and misgivings. The plan was simple: they got in with fake invites and IDs, courtesy of Taskmaster, and a bit of luck, staked out the targets, Domino and Bullseye would do the violence as Cat got the jewels and art. It would be simple.
Felicia sipped her champagne, eyeing the crowd while seemingly admiring a Degas, instinctively cataloging its security system as well as the quality of the brushwork. She had pointedly avoided lingering anywhere near the Cartwright Collection that was currently on display, nearly a billion dollars worth of diamonds. She’d had her sting on his gala planned for months, but Masters’ had gone and ruined it all with a phone call and the two idiots she had in tow.
It wasn’t very charitable toward Domino, but the mercenary was no thief or grifter. She hit hard and fast, thinking with her powers and guns rather than her head, which was indeed a skill itself. But she and Bullseye cheapened what was supposed to have been a grift of world-class skill and audacity into a simple smash and grab. No finesse. No glamour. But what had she expected from a psycho like Bullseye and a thrill junkie like Domino?
She’d been a Kingpin of crime, a Queen, for a hot minute, and now she was strong-armed by mercs into dealing with their problems. Speaking of problems, Bullseye was a ticking time bomb, and the way he looked at her with those dead eyes told her everything she needed to know. He was easy to trigger and nigh impossible to steer even with her talents and assets. Domino was necessary to keep him even slightly controlled and it wasn’t like that would last long either.
She hoped that the two would be in place and not take action before the signal was given, the main speech by the host, and risk ruining everything even more. Her hopes weren’t set very high. It felt like her bad luck had come to bite her back.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A man who seemingly had styled himself after Tony Stark told her, looking up at the Degas. She gave him a slight smile, keeping up appearances.
“Did you know Degas was blind? He could never appreciate the beauty of his own art, which is a shame because all art is to be admired,” he continued and tried to give her a roguish grin, implying that she was also a beautiful piece of art to be admired. His attitude annoyed her.
“Degas wasn’t blind. He had a degenerative eye condition, his earlier and mature works, like this one from 1871, were made when he was fully capable of seeing what he did. In fact, he had a very particular eye for color and motion, leaving nothing to chance. He painted well into the 20th century,” she succinctly corrected him and sipped her champagne again. “Furthermore, he was an angry bigot who had little appreciation for anything.”
The man stammered something to regain his footing, but she ignored him, striding toward her next position, leaving him floundering where he was. She had better things to do than to flirt with idiots who wouldn’t deck her in diamonds or knew their Degas from their cheesy one-liners. She deserved better.
“It’s worth $32 million to $48 million, that’s worth appreciating,” Bullseye remarked, having sidled in, and eaves-dropped on her. Felicia stiffed but otherwise avoided showing how much the assassin unnerved her.
“I didn’t know you knew anything about art,” she commented drily. “We shouldn’t be seen anywhere near each other,” she added under her breath, eyes set on the parkette floor in the painting. Degas had done a good floor.
“I used to steal this stuff for a pretty penny. It got boring,” he remarked, standing next to her and looking at the painting. “Don’t fret about it. I know my job.”
“Then go do it,” she hissed and stalked away to talk to someone who wasn’t Bullseye. She couldn’t wait for this to be over, her crew was in position already -- dressed as security and a waiter, ready to smuggle the stolen haul out. She really deserved better than this, while Bullseye deserved all the bad luck he could possibly get.
Bullseye grinned to himself as Black Cat escaped him with the sharp clip of her stilettos; he assumed she had an actual stiletto blade on her as well. It seemed like her taste. He knew she was good at what she did, a born thief, but he wasn’t amused at having to compromise his job for her sake.
He was there to kill. He gave a shit about Taskmaster’s restrictions, but it was also a matter of professionalism. Bullseye was no chump and he could have killed the target without breaking a sweat, but the client had stipulated conditions. He’d abide by them -- for now.
He moved slowly, seemingly aimlessly browsing art and people, until he was in place by the balcony walkway above the hall; the mezzanine had been decked in art as well. He did see some pieces that were passable and worth the money, the expressionist modern exhibition a half-floor up was more to his tastes than the old masters a floor down.
The String Quartet in the corner played Christmas tunes that floated over the conversations in the Grand Hall, reminding all these Fortune 500 fools of the season of giving. Primarily, they’d soon be giving their lives to them. The big speech was upcoming and the impromptu crew was ready in their positions.
Dom and Cat were far from each other in order not to have their powers messing with each other. Bullseye was ready in the middle of it all to take out Laurence Abel - a conglomerate man with his fingers in every pie, including criminal ones - and Darryl Woods of the oil fortunes and lobbyist fame. They both had sizable bounties on them that he’d claimed, despite having dismissed the jobs earlier. They weren’t worth his skills, but he hoped that it was worth the mundanity to see how good Johnson’s men were. He’d take his frustrations out on the string quartet if they weren't. Their rendition of Carol of the Bells was already an offense in his books.
He retrieved the hidden rifle in a bag from beneath a seat in the corner of the mezzanine, right in a camera blind spot. He reassembled it quickly and noted with some satisfaction that it was a good piece. DVL-10 M2 was a light and maneuverable piece if a bit overkill in the limited space he was operating in. It’d do more than well enough. Hell, he could have done the job with a toothpick.
Neena could already feel the adrenaline rising, that rush she felt on a job, and on this one, she had no qualms. Her job was to distract the security guards, kill them if need be, and to divert attention for both Felicia and Bullseye to do their part. She was ready to dance. The speech was soon over, and she sidled into position, paying little mind to what was being said. She kicked off her high heels, pulled out her gun, and set her sights on the chandelier. As the final toast rose, Neena took the shot, sending the glass monstrosity down. No one got hit, sheer luck that, but panic ensued and she was prepared for it.
Before security had even noticed her she was drawing their attention by shooting a series of glass cases, luckily without harming the valuable content inside. The alarms went off and started blaring, more guards running in shortly. She emptied her clip and tossed the useless gun in the face of a guard. It was all noisy and splashy, just as wished, all eyes were on her and Neena loved it.
Avoiding being grappled, she went low and swept the guard closest to her off his feet, sending him flying into his colleague. He dropped his gun and Neena caught it before it hit the floor. A full magazine by the feel of it and a reliable model. She spun back on her feet and ran up toward the Grand staircase, bare feet pattering on marble, a wide smile on her painted face. She was chased, of course, just as planned.
Neena ripped the necklace off her throat, tearing it and throwing it down the stairs with a clatter. She’d deliberately asked Felicia for something she didn’t care about with this in mind. Lucky for her, two of the guards after her tripped on the pearls and were sent down in a tumult of limbs and shouts.
Distraction accomplished, now it was up to Lester and Felicia to do their job - she couldn’t keep this up forever regardless of how lucky she was.
In a smash and grab, speed was the key element. With a team, cooperation was also crucial, and Felicia had honed her crew into a well-oiled machine. Boris and Bruno were handling the exchange and the exit. In the chaos Neena had ensued, she ransacked the shattered cases and hid the items on guests. She tagged them with a dash of lipstick somewhere somewhat visible, they were evacuated without much of a search and the boys stole the items off them. In essence, it was a shell game but with contraband and unknowing ‘cups’.
Where it got tricky was the artwork. Felicia hadn’t planned on taking any of the paintings but she’d stared at that Degas long enough to decide that she would take it. 48 million dollars, as Bullseye noted, was nothing to scoff at and she liked it. She refused to leave empty-handed. Of course, Taskmaster would get his cut, but Tony hadn’t haggled for anything major despite him having a fence lined up. She might even forgive him for saddling her with Domino and Bullseye.
Speaking off Bullseye, he had started his side of the job as Neena had run up the stairs, distracting the museum guards. The private bodyguards were still hovering near their clients, but their attention was inevitably drawn to Domino. Felicia tried not to watch as the slaughter began, the screaming being the major tipoff but used the ensuing panic to unfasten the Degas. She didn’t care to bypass the vibration detection on the cable but merely cut it free with the vibranium blade she had hidden in her hair. All alarms were already going off as it was. She stripped the frame in a minute, and rolled up the painting, only stripping the magnetic strip of it as her only precaution.
Unluckily, she wasn’t left fully alone to do her thing as a security guard was approaching her, attention drawn away from the shooting by seeing her strip the frame off. “Hey--”
“Bye!” she countered and ran for it, refusing to relinquish her $750 Jimmy Choo heels, dress pulled up to her thighs. It wasn’t elegant, it wasn’t covert, but sometimes speed was all you needed. The Degas was hers, and as the panic made the other guests run, she joined the flow, exiting into the street and hitting the van with Bruno and Boris.
“Neena here yet?” Felicia asked as she stepped in.
Her answer was glass exploding out of the museum windows, screams, and Domino coming flying out. She should have hit the pavement and crippled herself, but somehow Domino grabbed the vertical exhibition flag, gliding down it and bouncing off a canopy as the fabric ripped off the flag post, landing safely on her feet. It was criminal to be that lucky, bless her freaky powers.
Felicia stuck her head out and waved at her, Domino hurrying toward them.
“You lost the shoes,” she noted with slightly put upon distress. “They were Prada!”
“I have my limits, you know,” Domino retorted. “Got everything?”
Boris gave her the thumbs up and a grin. “The Cartwright Collection is now ours.”
“Let’s go!” Felicia urged, unwilling to hang around until superheroes started showing up.
“Bullseye’s still inside,” Neena interjected.
“I don’t care, he’s late, and we’re out.” Felicia countered, “Bruno, hit it!”
“Yes, ma’am.” He hit the road.
Bullseye was doing his job. Woods was the first to die, a clean headshot as the chandelier dropped. He rested the DVL-10 on the balustrade, watching through the scope at the chaos that had ensued. Woods dropped before anyone even knew where to look, and Bullseye’s attention was already elsewhere before Woods’ champagne glass hit the floor.
He killed a guard for good measure, one that was close to Johnson’s party just to see how they responded. Too slow for his taste, high end sure, but nothing extraordinary. It was a little puzzling how they didn’t try to move their client.
Meanwhile, Able wasn’t quite in position, his guards were hurdling him toward cover, and people kept on getting in the way. He could, of course, just kill them too, but he felt a resentful urge to prove Black Cat that he could stay focused on the job without excessive collateral. The guards didn’t count, that was a part of the job. He needed to see how Johnson’s men reacted. He waited and watched, steady as a rock and as still, the moment Able was in place he pulled the trigger. Straight in the heart.
His targets were down, but the job wasn’t over.
Bullseye found Johnson again, he eyed him and noted again that despite it all his detail seemed pretty lax given the situation. Going on a hunch, Bullseye set his aim on him, right between the eyes, and pulled the trigger one more time. The bullet ricocheted off Johnson and what seemed to be a force field, making Bullseye curse and discard the gun. He didn’t bother with the stairs, jumping the balustrade, and landing heavily on the ground floor beneath. He wanted to try one more thing, he had the time, Neena was still drawing fire last time he saw her and moved in the direction of Johnson and his security detail.
Bullseye stole a canape stick, just a tiny metal needle with a knob at the top, and threw it at Johnson, aiming for his shoulder, in case it worked. Again, it flew off him about a foot away from his actual body. A force field was the only explanation he had. This time, however, he drew the attention of the security detail who pulled their guns on him.
Biting his tongue, wanting to kill them so bad, Bullseye withdrew. Most of the crowd had evacuated by now, even if it had barely been minutes since it all started, and he knew that time wasn’t on his side. Bullseye ran, he had a ride to catch.
Back in the van, Neena threw herself at the side-door as a familiar figure ran into traffic in front of them. “Get in, you’re late!” She hollered out of the door and barely got out of the way as Bullseye threw himself inside, hitting the other side with a loud ‘thunk!”.
“Go go go!” He hollered as gunshots hit the van, as they speeded away. Neena pulled the door shut and let out a muffled laugh, which seemed to set off Lester who also started to chuckle madly.
“Don’t lose your cool, we’re not out of this yet, not until we’re off the road,” Felicia said from the front seat. “I want you two to be ready to give cover fire if we get cops or a superhero on our ass.”
“I’m too lucky for that,” Neena countered and stuck her tongue out, slightly out of breath still. She was still running high.
“Well, don’t count on it.”
“Ease up, kitty cat, it’s all good,” Bullseye chimed in, “We got what we wanted, right?”
“I’ll ease up when I’ve gotten rid of you. I don’t need the kind of attention you attract.”
“Bitch,” Bullseye started, but Neena elbowed him in the ribs, diverting his attention.
“Hey, you and me, drinks at the Bar? I can call Wade too,” Neena interjected and hoped that it would be enough. Luckily, it was as Lester gave her a grin and went into chatter about his last gig. Taskmaster better pay her back for this, baby-sitting Bullseye wasn’t what she’d signed up for.
Tonight, she wanted to get drunk.