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xp_logs2011-02-06 10:31 pm
x-deadpool.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2011-02-06 10:31 pm
Vanessa/Wade, Hank/Wade, & Jean/Wade | Sunday Afternoon/Evening
Wade visits the firing range and finds Vanessa.
The walls didn't go back much further than to obscure Vanessa's body from view and obscure anyone else from her own view. The headphones fitted snugly over her ears helped to put the former mercenary in her own little bubble. She had three different handguns laid out on the counter in front of her along with ammunition for each of them. Beside her stood a hunting rifle with its ammunition on the counter where the barrel of the gun rested. Her crossbow was in the trunk of the zipcar she had rented for a few hours to drive out here to the mansion in order to use the shooting and archery ranges. It was likely she'd just sleep here for the night rather than driving back to the city. Each firearm had been lovingly taken apart and cleaned in the previous days and after loading them all she checked the clip on her favored gun, a Sig Sauer P226 Tactical.
The Sig Sauer raised as Vanessa's stance shifted for shooting. She sighted her paper target down the distance in front of her and promptly squeezed off five rounds, all of which found their target in the center of the paper outline's head.
Wade walked into the firing range with his M&P 9 Pro in its case because, as he'd been told, this was a school. He'd be storing her in the gun closet when he was finished with her this afternoon, but flying over the Atlantic always seemed to make him twitchy and he needed some quality bonding time with Miss Bea Arthur, handgun extraordinaire, to get back on track. The gun laws in the UK drove him batty when he bothered with trying to obey them - mostly because, legally speaking, he wasn't allowed to have a gun at all.
He took in his surroundings, noted the other shooter on the range, and then took Bea out of her case. She'd been cleaned yesterday, since he'd had to leave her all hidden and packed while on Muir, but he'd made sure she got the tender loving care she deserved after getting everything settled in his room.
Taking the headphones off the little hook where they hung, Wade put them on and then pushed the button to bring his target in so he could actually attach the target. Then he pushed the other side of the button and the paper zoomed back to the other end of the firing range.
He smiled as he slid a clip into Bea and checked to make sure the safety was off.
Today, he thought, raising the gun, is going to be a good day. He squeezed off five shots in quick succession and paused, then let his smile widen to a grin. He'd hit the heart for two and the head for three. Today was going to be an awesome day.
The second target had drawn Vanessa's attention. Garrison was the only other one in the mansion with a gun unless someone else had decided they wanted to learn since she'd moved out of the mansion. That was entirely possible. Vanessa wasn't around the mansion or the range nearly as much since she had left to work for Snow Valley and especially not since she and Bishop had gotten X-Factor off the ground. Shooting was cathartic or routine, depending on the day. Some days it was just about the practice. She wasn't sure which it was for the Canadian so she didn't bother him. Vanessa watched his shots hit their target and decided she'd drag him out for a beer after.
For now, though, she'd come to give her best friends some attention. Another three shots were squeezed off, this time each of them hitting where the heart should be. Her target was devoid of the usual oblong loops. Vanessa knew where her kill shots were without the guide.
Humming a little tune to himself, Wade tipped his head to the side and considered his target. He had thirteen bullets left in his clip. Was that enough to get creative? Probably not for normal people, but Wade Wilson was anything but normal.
Eying the other person's target, he considered his options, then squeezed off four shots in a slightly upward curving line beneath the grouped three that, if you looked at it right, could sort of be taken for a nose. Then, a little higher up, he gave his target two eyes and frowned a little. The nose wasn't looking quite right, so he shot it out - his target could just have a really big fucking nose, what did he care? He was dead in fact as well as theory now.
The odd scatter of where the shots landed on the other target made Vanessa question whether or not that really was Garrison. Maybe he was having a very odd day. Nonetheless, she emptied her last few rounds into her target, all of them clustered about between the eyes if her target had any. She checked the chamber to confirm all of her bullets her spent, ejected the empty clip and set the gun down. She recalled her target so she could swap out a fresh one for the new gun. Her back up gun, which was a compact version of the gun she'd just used, was up next. Vanessa was doing this in order of use and the compact was the backup gun that got stashed in her waistband or at her ankle most often.
Wade considered Sammy's face, decided he was satisfied, and then pondered his options for Bea's last six bullets. He widened his stance, then raised the gun and very carefully, very deliberately, shot those six bullets into grouping he'd made over his target's heart. He made it actually look like a heart - or at leat, that was the idea. Recalling the target, he waited when it got to him and made sure he'd cleared Bea's chamber, then examined his handiwork at close range.
Not bad, if he did say so himself.
Pulling the target down, Wade laid Bea down to let her cool off and took a Sharpie from his back pocket. Then he gave his target a speech bubble and wrote, "Shot through the heart, and Wade's to blame..."
After he took the headphones off, he let them rest around his neck and put Bea back in her case, then meandered over toward the other shooter. Wade held the target up in front of his face at arm's length, but kept his body far enough back that he could watch through the next cubicle at the other shooter's second target.
That right there, he decided, was some sexy shooting - he didn't care if it was a guy standing over there, he'd say as much. Once all the lovely, lovely guns got put away. Or at least once the headphones were off.
Without one round going astray, each gun left clusters of holes over the heart and through the center of the head on each of her targets. The rifle hadn't been touched yet, but she was in no rush. Vanessa inspected each of the three targets and their clusters of holes. It was clean work, but she was frowning anyhow. What she needed was a three dimensional humanoid target. That was, perhaps, too macabre for a school but she thought it would be more effective and useful. Paper didn't have the weight a body did and the force of the round hitting it blew it back. It was, perhaps, a very small shift in where the holes would have been on a person but it was enough of a shift that she didn't like it.
Vanessa pulled the headphones off and hung them on their hook on the wall. The goggles followed and then she packed her guns and their boxes of ammunition into her duffel bag. The hunting rifle she was going to take into the woods where she could have the sort of distance she wanted for accuracy of her marksmanship.
"There's probably something I could say here full of innuendo, but instead I'm just going to compliment your fine shooting. That's some of the sexiest work I've seen in a while." Wade jiggled his own, smiling target, since he'd heard the goggles land on the hook, and shifted it forward so whoever was in the little booth could see his friendly 'hello.'
That certainly wasn't Garrison's voice. She turned at the crinkly sound of the paper rustling to find a smiling target with a word bubble. That was...cute in a way. Vanessa brushed a loose lock of hair from her face that had escaped the rather haphazard ponytail her hair was pulled back into and shifted so she was standing directly in front of the paper, head cocked to the side. "Aye? Thanks, anonymous paper man." The Irish in her Southie accent had become more prominent in response to the presence of a stranger. Apparently she hadn't conditioned herself out of the Morgan persona completely. "Aye, and who's this Wade lad that went and shot you up? That's terribly rude of him. Kids, they've no manners these days." A small smile was on her lips as she'd spoken.
Oh, it was a lady - nice. He could make a lady friend. And the lady had a really sexy voice to go along with the sexy shooting - excellent. That voice - kind of like honey over unpitted, bitter cherries. Sweet, but if you weren't careful, they'd break your teeth. Wade liked it. "He's actually a really nice guy - gave me life and everything. And he picked some awesome music for me to have stuck in my head." Wade moved the target paper like it was headbanging and sang, "Shot through the heart...!"
Vanessa pulled her lips in and clamped her mouth down shut on them to keep herself from laughing. At least whoever this guy was, he was amusing. He had the sort of deep, gravelly voice that she imagined most male porn stars strove for. "That was nice of him to share his music with you. Aye, but I'm not sure it makes up for shooting you in the head and the heart. I get right cranky when someone goes and shoots me."
Lowering the target a bit, Wade peered around the wall of the booth he'd positioned himself in, his eyes the only part of him really visible above the edge of the paper, and asked, "Do people shoot at you a lot?" He got his first actual view of her and barely kept his eyebrows from rising - sexy shooting, sexy voice, sexy everything else - Wade really liked living at the mansion all of a sudden. "Cause we can beat them up, if they do."
"Not so much anymore, no." Of course, as she said that she slung the strap of her duffel over her so it went across her body and picked up her hunting rifle. She smiled at the pair of eyes peering over the paper. "Occupational hazards have gone down and some people have been smart enough to figure out if they shoot at me likely they'll be shot at back. I don't miss much."
A low whistle escaped Wade and he nodded, his eyes on the rifle. Jesus, things just kept getting better and better. "I'll just bet you don't." Lowering the paper in front of his face, he quirked a half-grin. "I'm Wade Wilson and, if I'm not mistaken, that's a Remington you've got there - what model?" His eyes snagged on the knife at her belt and his respect for her, whoever she was, went up a few notches. That was saying something, given that her shooting had pretty much impressed him and Bea at 'bang bang.'
"Model seven, predator variant," she told him a bit smugly. She had tracked his eyes to her rifle and her knife both. When surrounded by mutants so much of the time it was rare that Vanessa came across anyone who appreciated weaponry, never mind knew much about it. "Are you recently arrived, Mister Wilson, or are you only new-ish and my infrequent presence here has just managed to miss you whenever I've been about?"
"Just got here this morning, actually," Wade answered, tipping his head to the side. He knew that knife. Not intimately, of course, but in a general sense. "And that... that's a SEAL Pup, isn't it?" His free hand dropped to his own knife and he stroked the hilt almost absentmindedly before folding the paper target in half and tucking it under his arm so he could offer her his hand. "Can the lady with all the sexy artillery and the impeccable taste in knives be bothered with giving one poor, lowly soul her name?" The smile he turned on her was beatific.
She had to shift her rifle over to her left hand in order to take the offered hand. She was even trying not to smile - because that obviously set and inadvisable precedent - but her efforts weren't working terribly well for the moment. "Sorry, it's Carlysle. Vanessa." Her eyes moved toward from Wade's face to their clasped hands and then to the knife hanging off of his belt. Her head tilted a little to the side as she looked at it. "Boker?" Since the movement of her eyes wasn't noticeable she nodded in the direction of the knife.
"Yes, ma'am," Wade said, letting go of her hand so he could unclip the knife and offer it to her hilt-first. "Ginger Fighter, six point two five inches on the blade and twelve point five ounces for overall weight - she's my favorite."
Her eyebrows were up in an instant. The stranger with the smile was offering her his knife? Either he was incredibly trusting or he had lightning fast reflexes. Or he was stupid. She didn't normally give people the benefit of the doubt but he could ID her rifle and knife by maker so he couldn't be too ignorant. The rifle slid through her hand until the butt of it was on the ground and she could lean the firearm against her hip. With both hands free she took the sheathed knife from Wade and pulled it out. She was smiling the moment she saw it. "I know a guy who has one of these. He's damn near in love with it. If he could marry a blade then this is the one he would marry." Eamon had taught Vanessa much of her knife fighting and this was his favorite blade here. It was clear she knew how to handle the weapon as she tested its weight and grip in various positions before sliding it back into its sheath. "She's beautiful," she told Wade as she offered the sheathed Boker back to him, hilt first of course.
"She is, isn't she?" Wade said, grinning. He reclipped Selma to his belt and then nodded toward the rifle. "What're you and Mr. Remington there going to do with the rest of your afternoon, Miss Carlysle?"
She was smiling again. "Well, after we put the handguns back in the car to hang out with the crossbow we were going to head out into the woods. There's a section set aside for hunting and the like. I don't know how the deer population 'round about here is doing so I don't know I'm going to take down anything big. But there are rabbits and they can be a nuisance." She spoke very reasonably. Clearly the rabbit population had to be controlled. And clearly she was going to help make sure it was.
"That, my new and intriguing friend, sounds like a lot of fun." Wade didn't actually go hunting much, he was more a burgers and fries kind of guy, but moving targets were always more fun to shoot at than little paper people, even if he could give his paper people smiley faces and hearts. He and Bea weren't really fit for that sort of thing, though, and while he might have asked about the bow she apparently had in her car... you didn't ask to use other people's weapons and besides that, Wade didn't actually know how to use a bow. "I think I'm scheduled to talk to people for the rest of the day, but... y'know. Had to blow off a bit of steam. Trans-Atlantic flights always make me fidgety."
An eyebrow arched upward. "You schedule talking to people? For fun?" It was clear she did no such thing herself. Vanessa was more a fan of showing up out of nowhere, calling out of nowhere or making plans to meet up - usually with alcohol. She supposed the latter could be seen as scheduling time to talk to people, but hanging out with mates was never just about talking. Other than work Vanessa wasn't big on scheduling her life, really. "I'm surprised you're not twitching. I'd be out running for miles to work out all my energy after a long flight. Too much energy, it's a curse."
"I had to check on Bea," Wade said, nodding toward the case he'd settled at his feet. "I'm planning on taking advantage of the pool later, though. After the talking. The Professor's already rooted through my brain to make sure I'm not planning nefarious things, but I need to talk to a huge, blue, furry guy, too. It's that kind of talking, not the fun kind."
Her eyebrow crept up higher. "Hank's a decent bloke. But...Xavier had to root through your head to make sure you were safe?" There was obviously a bit of suspicion in her voice. "The last person I know of having to go through that was, well, me."
"He doesn't vet everybody who comes through here?" Wade asked, tilting his head to the side. "You'd think he would, with kids involved and everything. The doctors over on Muir cleared me, but I thought it was more... high level clearance that I needed to get in here or something." He'd been through more than enough of that sort of thing in his life. "Why'd he have to dig around inside your head?"
It wasn't suspicion in his voice, more a subdued kind of curiosity. He had a feeling he knew what the answer to his question might be - they both liked guns and knives and she could shoot a bow. He'd bet his balls her hand-to-hand was as good as someone without augmentation could be, too. And he knew why he'd been put through the psychic wringer, too. So that pretty much only left one option for her, didn't it?
"Everyone is vetted, but not everyone needs telepathic security clearance, no. Most people come here because they have nowhere else to go. Because they need help or safe haven. Most people here are dangerous because of their abilities but they aren't dangerous people. He had to go through my head for the same reason he had to go through yours, I'd bet." She looked Wade over and nothing about it was sexual. He was fit, he could shoot well enough to make designs in a paper target, he carried a double-bladed fighting knife. Chances were he was either one of Lex's people or one of hers. "Because I am too dangerous to not be sure I wasn't a danger to the kids. And to make sure work wouldn't follow me here. There's nothing inherently dangerous about my mutation."
Vanessa's head cocked to the side again and she chewed on her lower lip a bit while she considered things. "So is it you or the mutation that's so unstable you needed clearance?"
"The mutation's why I'm here," Wade answered. "The job's what required clearance. You put it a good way - I'm too dangerous for him to make sure I'm not a threat." And he left it at that, because what else was there to say, really? He'd given his word to the Professor that he was out of the business as long as he was here and he was good enough to have kept his working identities over the past several years separate from his real one and it wasn't even his real one he was using while here, so. Everything always had to be so carefully planned, so perfectly executed - and there was a nice symmetry to all this, he supposed. He was just getting... well. Tired of it, in a way. Wade hoped getting his mutation figured out would maybe make him untired.
She nodded. "I trust the Professor. If he says you're good to be here then I trust that. But if hell from your job ends up following you here..." She gave the barest of shrugs. "There are people I love here. I may not live here or be around much, but if anything happens to them because of the job I'll hold you responsible and I'm not very forgiving, aye?" While it was technically a threat there was no malice in her voice or her body language. He couldn't help if his job followed him here entirely. It wouldn't be his doing, but it would still be his fault. She expected anyone to hold her accountable if her job ever brought hell down on the mansion as well. "The job's the job, I don't much care about that. But you do everything in your power to keep these people safe from anyone you've got in your past. You do that and we're good. They're good people here."
"It won't follow me here." That was as close as they were going to get to him giving her his word - for the moment, at least. Anybody who actually attempted to find him would wind up in the middle of the Congo, in a hut with a blow-up doll and a motion-sensor voice modulator that'd run lines from bad porn until somebody shot it or they quit moving. Then he nodded down to the bulge at her ankle. "Have something at the small of your back, too?"
Vanessa nodded her acceptance of his word. "No, there's nothing at my back. Not while I'm here. Those all in the bag. But you haven't found them all yet." She had on a long sleeved shirt and a zippered hoodie as well. The material of the sweatshirt concealed the flat throwing knives strapped to her forearms. She also had another at the back of her hip inside her pants, but that was a last ditch effort blade, short and folded. Vanessa's head never moved when her eyes flashed down to Wade's ankles, making the visual surveillance imperceptible. "You won't need the ones on your ankles here. They've got a very thorough security system and it's not all tech." A faint smile played over her lips. "Or the apparent rape kit strapped to your inner thigh. Your manhood is probably safe."
"See, it's that 'probably' there that's got me being all kinds of paranoid," Wade deadpanned. Really, though, that was his 'oh fuck' knife. He never had to use it - that time in Cuba definitely didn't count - but it was always good to have a back-up. The once-over he gave Vanessa was definitely more obvious, but also entirely nonsexual. "I'd guess..." He tipped his head to the side. "You seem to have a fondness for airborne objects - throwing knives. Wicked little bitches at your wrists. I'm not going to try and figure all the others out, though." Then he grinned. "But you haven't found all of mine yet, either, and I'm not really one for show-and-tell." Unless it came to scars, of course. He would totally show-and-tell about his scars. He'd bet her scars were sexy, too.
It was practically the mercenary equivalent to a dick measuring contest, and it had Vanessa smiling. While it was fairly hit or miss whether or not Vanessa got along with someone upon first encounter, she couldn't help but like Wade. He was nonchalant and not trying to impress her. And he wasn't out to prove his dick was bigger than hers. It was that which had gotten him on her good side. Whether or not he could stay there remained to be seen. "Mm...maybe another time we can see who can find more of the other's stash on them. A time when you don't have to be scampering off to meet with strapping, furry men." There was flirtation in her voice now, but for Vanessa it was that good-natured and amused flirtation that didn't really mean anything. One day she'd remind herself that other people usually didn't realize it meant nothing.
"He's a strapping fellow, this furry blue man I'm meant to meet?" Wade considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Not really the kind of blue I'm into, but you know. I can probably handle it. And you've got small, fuzzy animals to slay." He handed her the target paper. "That's Sammy. Take good care of him while I'm getting poked and prodded in uncomfortable places by the big blue guy." Then he bent down and picked up Bea so he could put her in the gun closet, all careful-like. He'd come back and clean her after the swimming, but a quick check of his watch told him that he really was going to be late if he wasn't careful.
Vanessa looked down at the folder paper in her hand and shook her head. "I'll make Sammy my number one priority." Sammy, the paper target with Bon Jovi lyrics in his head. She picked her rifle back up and tucked Sammy the target under her other arm. "I hope you like your men big, Wade. Hank's definitely more a bear than an otter or a cub." She grinned.
***
Wade goes to see Hank, accidentally a day early, and they start the testing to try and figure out what's up with Wade's healing factor.
Wade dropped Bea off in the gun closet and made his way back up to the main building. He'd been given a rough tour of the place and he had a good memory for layouts, so it didn't take him long to actually get to the medlab. He waited till he found the one with the right name on the door and then nudged it open a little farther so he could stick his head inside. "One hairy, cancerous mutant with an apparently defective healing factor ready and willing to get jabbed with needles in the name of science at your disposal, big blue fella." He even through in a tiny salute.
Hank raised an eyebrow at the new arrival, he'd met the man briefly on his tour and wasn't expecting him in until the next day, "Well, I guess there's no time like the present to get started." The doctor locked up the cabinet he had been doing inventory in and motioned for Wade to hop up on one of the examine tables in the main chamber. "I read over your file, Mister Wilson, and I'm happy to be able to be working with you. This is a strange development, we've not seen this sort of a reaction with a healing factor before."
"Apparently nobody has, but you're the expert, so don't get discouraged." Wade sat on the table as directed and held his arm out for Hank. "Blood pressure and tests and all that, right?" There were several long scars on his forearm, obviously defensive wounds, but the crux of his elbow was spattered with tiny, circular scars. "Those're from medical needles, nothing narcotic. That stuff doesn't really work, anyway. The needle sticks used to heal clean, but there've been so many lately that I think they've quit trying."
"No, we already have a fair amount of data from your stay at Muir Island. My original plan involved ultra-sound equipment, but we may skip that and head directly to our magnetic resonance imager. I'd like to take a look and see if any of your other vital systems have been compromised by your leukemia." Hank paused, pulled out his pocket computer and asked the system to warm up the machine, "And while that's getting started, I need to give you a once over, just to ensure your state hasn't changed in the time between your departure from Moira's facility and your arrival here." He pulled his stethoscope from around his neck.
"Whatever you say, doc," Wade said, nodding equably. "What's the policy on talking about age?" It might have seemed like an odd question, but he wanted to make sure that his plan to keep his real age to himself and the doctors would work. Given patient confidentiality and everything, Wade was pretty sure the doctors would gossip unless it was amongst themselves, but it might come up in casual conversation or something and he didn't want his cover accidentally blown.
Hank paused, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand your question, Mister Wilson." He began to listen to Wade's breathing through the stethoscope, moving it around slightly to hear other various functions. "Obviously, anything you tell me will be protected under doctor-patient confidentiality, unless I believe you to be a harm to yourself or those around you. I don't see why your age would come up at all young man."
"You read my file," Wade pointed out. "You know I'm not so young. I just don't want to deal with everyone calling me gramps." Fifty-one was definitely grandpa-esque territory. "Call it justifiable paranoia - Murphy's Law and all that stuff. Also, is this magnetic resonance imaging thing going to make the whomp whomp noise at me for like a half hour? Can I listen to music? Do you get a channel for AC/DC and Kansas?"
The blue doctor smiled, "You're not that old yet, Mister Wilson- and you certainly don't look your age. I will, however, to acquiesce to your peace of mind and promise that I will take your secret to my grave." Hank removed a light-pen from the side of his touch-pad and began to scribble notes on the surface in rapid succession. "How are you feeling, by the way?"
"Twitchy, but not as twitchy as I was before I made use of the shooting range. I really thought I was supposed to come see you today, but I probably misheard. Or I was distracted by the lovely lady who was kind enough to show me around. Even odds on both of those, really. I'm kind of tired and sort of sore, but I'm still planning on swimming after we're finished here because I'll just get twitchy again if I don't. Don't have any bruises at the moment. How old are you?"
Hank strapped a blood pressure cuff around the older man's arm, "I will be turning thirty-eight this March actually. I'm making plans to surprise my partner back in Scotland with a trip home," as he looked at his watch and took mental count of the number of Wade's pulse, Hank's smile became nostalgic.
"Partner?" Wade tried to keep his breathing even and the restless fidgeting to a minimum as the doctor did his work and took his measurements. "You never answered me about the radio station in the MRI machine. They let me listen to classic rock at Muir."
Uncuffing the blood pressure sleeve, the doctor nodded to Wade, "I believe we have an excellent selection of classical rock-and-roll music on our central em-pee-three drive. Any particular group you would like to hear, or just a mixture?"
"Mixture's good," Wade said. "You've got a partner? Sounds official."
Doctor McCoy nodded and pulled up the music library, quickly sending a mixture of classical rock into the speakers in the MRI room. "Doctor Madelyn Bartlet, she's back in Edinburgh at the moment with my son William. I'd be there too, but emergencies keep seeming to present themselves. No matter, I'm making excellent progress on my research here and I get home to visit whenever I can."
"Huh," Wade said, nodding. "Let's get this party started." Only before they could get anything started, he needed to get naked. Or mostly naked. "Where do you want me to change? And where can I put my knives?" He'd put most of them away before coming here, but he still had one at his waist and one at each ankle. Just in case someone decided to jump him on his way to the MRI. Or something.'
"I'd be happy to hold onto them," Hank held out his hands. "And you can undress in one of our exam rooms over there."
"Thanks," Wade said, unstrapping the knives from his ankles and then unclipping Selma from his belt so he could hand them all over at once. Then it was through to the exam room and off with the clothing. He walked back in with just the patient gown, his boxers, and his socks on. "Have at it, doc."
Hank noted the scars that covered much of Wade's exposed skin on his charts as he motioned for the younger-looking man to hop onto the MRI's retractable gurney. "I take it you have done this before?"
"Yeah, before Muir and then while I was there. I've been trying to figure out what's up with my mutation since the middle of last year." Wade hopped up on the gurney and got himself settled. "My first doctor referred me to Muir and they sent me here. I'm hoping some information will actually turn up this time. I mean, I get that I'm difficult, but when it comes to this stuff, I'm really not trying to be."
The melodic tones of Kansas began to fill the air as Hank activated the motor to wheel the gurney into place, disappearing into a side room. Speaking into a microphone, "Mister Wilson, we'll be starting momentarily. I just wanted you to know that I will be trying my best to discover the root of your troubles and then we can go about fixing things. You really are in the best place possible for this sort of thing."
Everybody always said that, but Wade was inclined to give the big blue fella a chance, since... well. He was fuzzy. And blue. And that was kind of awesome. The 'medical expert' bit came in a close third, though. Definitely. "Thanks, doc."
***
On his way back up to his room after his meeting with Hank, Wade meets Jean. Wade decides he likes Jean.
Wade was on his way out of the medlab after all the tests with Doc McCoy when he caught sight of a shapely redhead and detoured - the medlab might become his new favorite place despite the needle sticks and the whomp whomp of the MRI. "My name is Wade and you are too beautiful to be alone down here, even if you're not technically alone because the big blue guy's going over all the possible results and meanings of my genetic testing. I think you should come swimming with me. In the pool. Swimsuits optional."
Jean had a lot on her mind: updating charts, lesson plans, grading, not to mention meeting with Maria-Luisa again to talk some more about Warren helping out with the clinic. So she was only aware of this new...rather forward...person's mental signature for a few moments before he started talking. Usually she had a jump on at least a few minutes of knowing someone else was around.
She glanced over her shoulder, looking the man over with a highly amused grin.
"Wow. When Hank said you were a talker, he wasn't kidding."
"It's also February, by the way."
"Yes, but the pool is inside and, thus, the snow outside doesn't matter," Wade responded, feeling he should definitely address the most important thing first.
"One of the pools is, but either way, I'm not much for swimming," Jean said, a casual smile still on her lips as she kept walking right past him toward her office. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder.
"Also, if I catch you sleeping with any of my students I will make you think you're a French Poodle," she said.
"Arf?" Wade quirked a brow and tipped his head to the side so he could at least appreciate the view as she walked away. Then he said, "I'm not sleeping with students." He raised his hands to show he was seriously serious about that, at least.
His mental reaction to her words (he was an extremely loud thinker and she didn't know why she didn't notice it before) was a positive sign.
She turned all the way around, studying him. He reminded her a little of Garrison and Logan put together, that's why she was humoring him. That and the reaction also bought him serious points.
"Good, keep it that way and we'll be friends. You, happily unmarried and chasing after tail over the age of 21 and me, happily married and teaching high school science," she said, bringing up a bright sparkly ring to punctuate that statement.
"And if you run into another redhaired doctor with a scowl, be careful, she takes her disdain out with needles."
"Damn," Wade said, sighing dramatically. "Shapely, intelligent, good with kids, and taken." He shook his head, leaving her comment about him chasing tail over the age of 21 unaddressed because Jesus. He was turning 51 this year. It was awful to even really think about having sex with an eighteen year old. Wade's eye actually twitched at that thought and he veered his mental images off to the left.
Jean was not kidding about Wade's thoughts being loud, or exceptionally vibrant. Her eyes fluttered a moment as she quickly brought up a much thicker mental wall to block out, well, all of that. But 51, that caught her attention. It had to have been a side effect of the healing factor that had been reported in his file. Same thing with Logan.
"Sorry, I'm quite flattered though."
"Eh, I got used to," Wade said, grinning. "Tell you what, though - come swimming with me and I swear I won't hit on you. Boy Scout's honor." He held up his hand. "Also, do you have access to my medical files? I know Doc McCoy does - and the other lady doctor, her too?"
"Make it coffee in the kitchen between friends and you have a deal," she said with a smile.
Swimming didn't bother her much anymore, but she didn't much equate it with something to do in the middle of February. Most of her bathing suits were actually back in California in storage.
"Yes, due to the specialization of the care done here we tend to share files on consultation if need be, or if another doctor is not available."
"Huh..." Wade nodded. "I don't drink coffee much, but I could go for some water while you caffeinate up, Doc." He gave her a small salute. "But before we go getting all friendly in a platonic kind of way, you should tell me your name. Otherwise I'm gonna go around calling you the hot, shapely redheaded commander of the medlab's most awesome file folders who doesn't mind making threats about making people think they're poodles - could you not make me a French poodle, if you have to one day? Please?"
"Hank's made a machine that makes a bunch of different drinks all in one," Jean said as she opened her office and slipped off her labcoat. She neglected to mention the fact that many of the residents were convinced it was going to become evil and try to kill everybody. They'd cross they bridge when they came to it...and probably never let Hank invent any kitchen appliances again.
As far as the no French Poodle part was concerned...
"We'll see what happens," she added wryly.
Closing the door behind her, she pushed a 'lock' button on the door and the keypad flashed red as it locking mechanism snapped into place.
"I'm Dr. Jean Grey-Summers, not quite as much of a mouthful but a lot of people usually call me Dr. Jean, Dr. Grey, or just 'Jean,'"
"Hot Doc Jean - you got it," Wade said, tipping his head toward the elevator even as his grin widened. "Up, up, and away."
"Just Je--nevermind," Jean said, smirking as she stepped onto the elevator. There were some times she knew to pick and choose her battles sometimes.
"So how's Moira?" They spoke every once and awhile by phone or e-mail but both of them were too busy with their own lives to do much more than that.
"Good, I guess," Wade said. "It wasn't exactly a social call, when I was over there." And Doc MacTaggart had been just as firm as Hot Doc Jean about keeping things professional. Wade's life - so hard.
Jean nodded as they started to head up to the upper levels. That was true, most of the time she preferred to keep it that way. She tried to still make things friendly enough, though.
"Is it the caffeine or the taste you don't like about coffee?" she was curious.
"D'you know how much coffee I'd have to get he caffeine to have any kind of effect?" Wade shook his head, pausing when the elevator doors opened and then stepping out first - old habits died hard. His knives were a comfortable weight at his waist and his ankle, familiar. "If I'm gonna drink something, it's at least gonna have to taste good without me adding six pounds of sugar to it."
Jean smiled. "Right, part of the healing factor. I forget," she said. They were little idiosyncrasies that she sometimes associated with certain people subconsciously so when someone else had something similar it took her some time to get used to
She walked beside him, ambling around the wood paneled corner as the kitchen came up to their right.
"I am a huge coffee lover but tea's also nice for relaxing. Less bitter too."
Wade's mom had liked tea, but he'd never seen much use for it - just murky water, so far as he was concerned. Then he walked into the kitchen, caught sight of the coffeemaker, and blinked. "Jesus."
Jean glanced over at it and laughed. She'd gotten over the initial shocked reactions a few days ago.
"Hank calls it the Home Barista 2.7. Why it looks like a giant mace would be a question you would have to ask him."
Walking over to the machine, Wade reached out and poked it.
It came on and beeped at him, lights flickering, and Wade withdrew his hand cautiously. "Can I get a water?"
"The refrigerator door has filtered water," the machine answered, making Wade's eyes move to the fridge.
"Okay, how about a..." The mercenary looked at the page of instructions on the counter. "Uh... a large, iced coffee with six shots of espresso and some sweetener?" It beeped at him again and then started making other noises. Wade stepped back. "Is it supposed to do that?" He asked Jean, looking at her with raised brows.
Jean tilted her head at the machine. "Either that or it's arming a thermonuclear device. But generally yeah," she said.
She really needed to talk to Hank about it saying "Good Morning, Jean" when she went to make her White Chocolate Mocha Latte. It creeped her the hell out.
"Thermonuclear... device..." Wade eyed the coffeemaker again, head still tipped to the side. This... was going to be interesting.
The walls didn't go back much further than to obscure Vanessa's body from view and obscure anyone else from her own view. The headphones fitted snugly over her ears helped to put the former mercenary in her own little bubble. She had three different handguns laid out on the counter in front of her along with ammunition for each of them. Beside her stood a hunting rifle with its ammunition on the counter where the barrel of the gun rested. Her crossbow was in the trunk of the zipcar she had rented for a few hours to drive out here to the mansion in order to use the shooting and archery ranges. It was likely she'd just sleep here for the night rather than driving back to the city. Each firearm had been lovingly taken apart and cleaned in the previous days and after loading them all she checked the clip on her favored gun, a Sig Sauer P226 Tactical.
The Sig Sauer raised as Vanessa's stance shifted for shooting. She sighted her paper target down the distance in front of her and promptly squeezed off five rounds, all of which found their target in the center of the paper outline's head.
Wade walked into the firing range with his M&P 9 Pro in its case because, as he'd been told, this was a school. He'd be storing her in the gun closet when he was finished with her this afternoon, but flying over the Atlantic always seemed to make him twitchy and he needed some quality bonding time with Miss Bea Arthur, handgun extraordinaire, to get back on track. The gun laws in the UK drove him batty when he bothered with trying to obey them - mostly because, legally speaking, he wasn't allowed to have a gun at all.
He took in his surroundings, noted the other shooter on the range, and then took Bea out of her case. She'd been cleaned yesterday, since he'd had to leave her all hidden and packed while on Muir, but he'd made sure she got the tender loving care she deserved after getting everything settled in his room.
Taking the headphones off the little hook where they hung, Wade put them on and then pushed the button to bring his target in so he could actually attach the target. Then he pushed the other side of the button and the paper zoomed back to the other end of the firing range.
He smiled as he slid a clip into Bea and checked to make sure the safety was off.
Today, he thought, raising the gun, is going to be a good day. He squeezed off five shots in quick succession and paused, then let his smile widen to a grin. He'd hit the heart for two and the head for three. Today was going to be an awesome day.
The second target had drawn Vanessa's attention. Garrison was the only other one in the mansion with a gun unless someone else had decided they wanted to learn since she'd moved out of the mansion. That was entirely possible. Vanessa wasn't around the mansion or the range nearly as much since she had left to work for Snow Valley and especially not since she and Bishop had gotten X-Factor off the ground. Shooting was cathartic or routine, depending on the day. Some days it was just about the practice. She wasn't sure which it was for the Canadian so she didn't bother him. Vanessa watched his shots hit their target and decided she'd drag him out for a beer after.
For now, though, she'd come to give her best friends some attention. Another three shots were squeezed off, this time each of them hitting where the heart should be. Her target was devoid of the usual oblong loops. Vanessa knew where her kill shots were without the guide.
Humming a little tune to himself, Wade tipped his head to the side and considered his target. He had thirteen bullets left in his clip. Was that enough to get creative? Probably not for normal people, but Wade Wilson was anything but normal.
Eying the other person's target, he considered his options, then squeezed off four shots in a slightly upward curving line beneath the grouped three that, if you looked at it right, could sort of be taken for a nose. Then, a little higher up, he gave his target two eyes and frowned a little. The nose wasn't looking quite right, so he shot it out - his target could just have a really big fucking nose, what did he care? He was dead in fact as well as theory now.
The odd scatter of where the shots landed on the other target made Vanessa question whether or not that really was Garrison. Maybe he was having a very odd day. Nonetheless, she emptied her last few rounds into her target, all of them clustered about between the eyes if her target had any. She checked the chamber to confirm all of her bullets her spent, ejected the empty clip and set the gun down. She recalled her target so she could swap out a fresh one for the new gun. Her back up gun, which was a compact version of the gun she'd just used, was up next. Vanessa was doing this in order of use and the compact was the backup gun that got stashed in her waistband or at her ankle most often.
Wade considered Sammy's face, decided he was satisfied, and then pondered his options for Bea's last six bullets. He widened his stance, then raised the gun and very carefully, very deliberately, shot those six bullets into grouping he'd made over his target's heart. He made it actually look like a heart - or at leat, that was the idea. Recalling the target, he waited when it got to him and made sure he'd cleared Bea's chamber, then examined his handiwork at close range.
Not bad, if he did say so himself.
Pulling the target down, Wade laid Bea down to let her cool off and took a Sharpie from his back pocket. Then he gave his target a speech bubble and wrote, "Shot through the heart, and Wade's to blame..."
After he took the headphones off, he let them rest around his neck and put Bea back in her case, then meandered over toward the other shooter. Wade held the target up in front of his face at arm's length, but kept his body far enough back that he could watch through the next cubicle at the other shooter's second target.
That right there, he decided, was some sexy shooting - he didn't care if it was a guy standing over there, he'd say as much. Once all the lovely, lovely guns got put away. Or at least once the headphones were off.
Without one round going astray, each gun left clusters of holes over the heart and through the center of the head on each of her targets. The rifle hadn't been touched yet, but she was in no rush. Vanessa inspected each of the three targets and their clusters of holes. It was clean work, but she was frowning anyhow. What she needed was a three dimensional humanoid target. That was, perhaps, too macabre for a school but she thought it would be more effective and useful. Paper didn't have the weight a body did and the force of the round hitting it blew it back. It was, perhaps, a very small shift in where the holes would have been on a person but it was enough of a shift that she didn't like it.
Vanessa pulled the headphones off and hung them on their hook on the wall. The goggles followed and then she packed her guns and their boxes of ammunition into her duffel bag. The hunting rifle she was going to take into the woods where she could have the sort of distance she wanted for accuracy of her marksmanship.
"There's probably something I could say here full of innuendo, but instead I'm just going to compliment your fine shooting. That's some of the sexiest work I've seen in a while." Wade jiggled his own, smiling target, since he'd heard the goggles land on the hook, and shifted it forward so whoever was in the little booth could see his friendly 'hello.'
That certainly wasn't Garrison's voice. She turned at the crinkly sound of the paper rustling to find a smiling target with a word bubble. That was...cute in a way. Vanessa brushed a loose lock of hair from her face that had escaped the rather haphazard ponytail her hair was pulled back into and shifted so she was standing directly in front of the paper, head cocked to the side. "Aye? Thanks, anonymous paper man." The Irish in her Southie accent had become more prominent in response to the presence of a stranger. Apparently she hadn't conditioned herself out of the Morgan persona completely. "Aye, and who's this Wade lad that went and shot you up? That's terribly rude of him. Kids, they've no manners these days." A small smile was on her lips as she'd spoken.
Oh, it was a lady - nice. He could make a lady friend. And the lady had a really sexy voice to go along with the sexy shooting - excellent. That voice - kind of like honey over unpitted, bitter cherries. Sweet, but if you weren't careful, they'd break your teeth. Wade liked it. "He's actually a really nice guy - gave me life and everything. And he picked some awesome music for me to have stuck in my head." Wade moved the target paper like it was headbanging and sang, "Shot through the heart...!"
Vanessa pulled her lips in and clamped her mouth down shut on them to keep herself from laughing. At least whoever this guy was, he was amusing. He had the sort of deep, gravelly voice that she imagined most male porn stars strove for. "That was nice of him to share his music with you. Aye, but I'm not sure it makes up for shooting you in the head and the heart. I get right cranky when someone goes and shoots me."
Lowering the target a bit, Wade peered around the wall of the booth he'd positioned himself in, his eyes the only part of him really visible above the edge of the paper, and asked, "Do people shoot at you a lot?" He got his first actual view of her and barely kept his eyebrows from rising - sexy shooting, sexy voice, sexy everything else - Wade really liked living at the mansion all of a sudden. "Cause we can beat them up, if they do."
"Not so much anymore, no." Of course, as she said that she slung the strap of her duffel over her so it went across her body and picked up her hunting rifle. She smiled at the pair of eyes peering over the paper. "Occupational hazards have gone down and some people have been smart enough to figure out if they shoot at me likely they'll be shot at back. I don't miss much."
A low whistle escaped Wade and he nodded, his eyes on the rifle. Jesus, things just kept getting better and better. "I'll just bet you don't." Lowering the paper in front of his face, he quirked a half-grin. "I'm Wade Wilson and, if I'm not mistaken, that's a Remington you've got there - what model?" His eyes snagged on the knife at her belt and his respect for her, whoever she was, went up a few notches. That was saying something, given that her shooting had pretty much impressed him and Bea at 'bang bang.'
"Model seven, predator variant," she told him a bit smugly. She had tracked his eyes to her rifle and her knife both. When surrounded by mutants so much of the time it was rare that Vanessa came across anyone who appreciated weaponry, never mind knew much about it. "Are you recently arrived, Mister Wilson, or are you only new-ish and my infrequent presence here has just managed to miss you whenever I've been about?"
"Just got here this morning, actually," Wade answered, tipping his head to the side. He knew that knife. Not intimately, of course, but in a general sense. "And that... that's a SEAL Pup, isn't it?" His free hand dropped to his own knife and he stroked the hilt almost absentmindedly before folding the paper target in half and tucking it under his arm so he could offer her his hand. "Can the lady with all the sexy artillery and the impeccable taste in knives be bothered with giving one poor, lowly soul her name?" The smile he turned on her was beatific.
She had to shift her rifle over to her left hand in order to take the offered hand. She was even trying not to smile - because that obviously set and inadvisable precedent - but her efforts weren't working terribly well for the moment. "Sorry, it's Carlysle. Vanessa." Her eyes moved toward from Wade's face to their clasped hands and then to the knife hanging off of his belt. Her head tilted a little to the side as she looked at it. "Boker?" Since the movement of her eyes wasn't noticeable she nodded in the direction of the knife.
"Yes, ma'am," Wade said, letting go of her hand so he could unclip the knife and offer it to her hilt-first. "Ginger Fighter, six point two five inches on the blade and twelve point five ounces for overall weight - she's my favorite."
Her eyebrows were up in an instant. The stranger with the smile was offering her his knife? Either he was incredibly trusting or he had lightning fast reflexes. Or he was stupid. She didn't normally give people the benefit of the doubt but he could ID her rifle and knife by maker so he couldn't be too ignorant. The rifle slid through her hand until the butt of it was on the ground and she could lean the firearm against her hip. With both hands free she took the sheathed knife from Wade and pulled it out. She was smiling the moment she saw it. "I know a guy who has one of these. He's damn near in love with it. If he could marry a blade then this is the one he would marry." Eamon had taught Vanessa much of her knife fighting and this was his favorite blade here. It was clear she knew how to handle the weapon as she tested its weight and grip in various positions before sliding it back into its sheath. "She's beautiful," she told Wade as she offered the sheathed Boker back to him, hilt first of course.
"She is, isn't she?" Wade said, grinning. He reclipped Selma to his belt and then nodded toward the rifle. "What're you and Mr. Remington there going to do with the rest of your afternoon, Miss Carlysle?"
She was smiling again. "Well, after we put the handguns back in the car to hang out with the crossbow we were going to head out into the woods. There's a section set aside for hunting and the like. I don't know how the deer population 'round about here is doing so I don't know I'm going to take down anything big. But there are rabbits and they can be a nuisance." She spoke very reasonably. Clearly the rabbit population had to be controlled. And clearly she was going to help make sure it was.
"That, my new and intriguing friend, sounds like a lot of fun." Wade didn't actually go hunting much, he was more a burgers and fries kind of guy, but moving targets were always more fun to shoot at than little paper people, even if he could give his paper people smiley faces and hearts. He and Bea weren't really fit for that sort of thing, though, and while he might have asked about the bow she apparently had in her car... you didn't ask to use other people's weapons and besides that, Wade didn't actually know how to use a bow. "I think I'm scheduled to talk to people for the rest of the day, but... y'know. Had to blow off a bit of steam. Trans-Atlantic flights always make me fidgety."
An eyebrow arched upward. "You schedule talking to people? For fun?" It was clear she did no such thing herself. Vanessa was more a fan of showing up out of nowhere, calling out of nowhere or making plans to meet up - usually with alcohol. She supposed the latter could be seen as scheduling time to talk to people, but hanging out with mates was never just about talking. Other than work Vanessa wasn't big on scheduling her life, really. "I'm surprised you're not twitching. I'd be out running for miles to work out all my energy after a long flight. Too much energy, it's a curse."
"I had to check on Bea," Wade said, nodding toward the case he'd settled at his feet. "I'm planning on taking advantage of the pool later, though. After the talking. The Professor's already rooted through my brain to make sure I'm not planning nefarious things, but I need to talk to a huge, blue, furry guy, too. It's that kind of talking, not the fun kind."
Her eyebrow crept up higher. "Hank's a decent bloke. But...Xavier had to root through your head to make sure you were safe?" There was obviously a bit of suspicion in her voice. "The last person I know of having to go through that was, well, me."
"He doesn't vet everybody who comes through here?" Wade asked, tilting his head to the side. "You'd think he would, with kids involved and everything. The doctors over on Muir cleared me, but I thought it was more... high level clearance that I needed to get in here or something." He'd been through more than enough of that sort of thing in his life. "Why'd he have to dig around inside your head?"
It wasn't suspicion in his voice, more a subdued kind of curiosity. He had a feeling he knew what the answer to his question might be - they both liked guns and knives and she could shoot a bow. He'd bet his balls her hand-to-hand was as good as someone without augmentation could be, too. And he knew why he'd been put through the psychic wringer, too. So that pretty much only left one option for her, didn't it?
"Everyone is vetted, but not everyone needs telepathic security clearance, no. Most people come here because they have nowhere else to go. Because they need help or safe haven. Most people here are dangerous because of their abilities but they aren't dangerous people. He had to go through my head for the same reason he had to go through yours, I'd bet." She looked Wade over and nothing about it was sexual. He was fit, he could shoot well enough to make designs in a paper target, he carried a double-bladed fighting knife. Chances were he was either one of Lex's people or one of hers. "Because I am too dangerous to not be sure I wasn't a danger to the kids. And to make sure work wouldn't follow me here. There's nothing inherently dangerous about my mutation."
Vanessa's head cocked to the side again and she chewed on her lower lip a bit while she considered things. "So is it you or the mutation that's so unstable you needed clearance?"
"The mutation's why I'm here," Wade answered. "The job's what required clearance. You put it a good way - I'm too dangerous for him to make sure I'm not a threat." And he left it at that, because what else was there to say, really? He'd given his word to the Professor that he was out of the business as long as he was here and he was good enough to have kept his working identities over the past several years separate from his real one and it wasn't even his real one he was using while here, so. Everything always had to be so carefully planned, so perfectly executed - and there was a nice symmetry to all this, he supposed. He was just getting... well. Tired of it, in a way. Wade hoped getting his mutation figured out would maybe make him untired.
She nodded. "I trust the Professor. If he says you're good to be here then I trust that. But if hell from your job ends up following you here..." She gave the barest of shrugs. "There are people I love here. I may not live here or be around much, but if anything happens to them because of the job I'll hold you responsible and I'm not very forgiving, aye?" While it was technically a threat there was no malice in her voice or her body language. He couldn't help if his job followed him here entirely. It wouldn't be his doing, but it would still be his fault. She expected anyone to hold her accountable if her job ever brought hell down on the mansion as well. "The job's the job, I don't much care about that. But you do everything in your power to keep these people safe from anyone you've got in your past. You do that and we're good. They're good people here."
"It won't follow me here." That was as close as they were going to get to him giving her his word - for the moment, at least. Anybody who actually attempted to find him would wind up in the middle of the Congo, in a hut with a blow-up doll and a motion-sensor voice modulator that'd run lines from bad porn until somebody shot it or they quit moving. Then he nodded down to the bulge at her ankle. "Have something at the small of your back, too?"
Vanessa nodded her acceptance of his word. "No, there's nothing at my back. Not while I'm here. Those all in the bag. But you haven't found them all yet." She had on a long sleeved shirt and a zippered hoodie as well. The material of the sweatshirt concealed the flat throwing knives strapped to her forearms. She also had another at the back of her hip inside her pants, but that was a last ditch effort blade, short and folded. Vanessa's head never moved when her eyes flashed down to Wade's ankles, making the visual surveillance imperceptible. "You won't need the ones on your ankles here. They've got a very thorough security system and it's not all tech." A faint smile played over her lips. "Or the apparent rape kit strapped to your inner thigh. Your manhood is probably safe."
"See, it's that 'probably' there that's got me being all kinds of paranoid," Wade deadpanned. Really, though, that was his 'oh fuck' knife. He never had to use it - that time in Cuba definitely didn't count - but it was always good to have a back-up. The once-over he gave Vanessa was definitely more obvious, but also entirely nonsexual. "I'd guess..." He tipped his head to the side. "You seem to have a fondness for airborne objects - throwing knives. Wicked little bitches at your wrists. I'm not going to try and figure all the others out, though." Then he grinned. "But you haven't found all of mine yet, either, and I'm not really one for show-and-tell." Unless it came to scars, of course. He would totally show-and-tell about his scars. He'd bet her scars were sexy, too.
It was practically the mercenary equivalent to a dick measuring contest, and it had Vanessa smiling. While it was fairly hit or miss whether or not Vanessa got along with someone upon first encounter, she couldn't help but like Wade. He was nonchalant and not trying to impress her. And he wasn't out to prove his dick was bigger than hers. It was that which had gotten him on her good side. Whether or not he could stay there remained to be seen. "Mm...maybe another time we can see who can find more of the other's stash on them. A time when you don't have to be scampering off to meet with strapping, furry men." There was flirtation in her voice now, but for Vanessa it was that good-natured and amused flirtation that didn't really mean anything. One day she'd remind herself that other people usually didn't realize it meant nothing.
"He's a strapping fellow, this furry blue man I'm meant to meet?" Wade considered that for a moment, then nodded. "Not really the kind of blue I'm into, but you know. I can probably handle it. And you've got small, fuzzy animals to slay." He handed her the target paper. "That's Sammy. Take good care of him while I'm getting poked and prodded in uncomfortable places by the big blue guy." Then he bent down and picked up Bea so he could put her in the gun closet, all careful-like. He'd come back and clean her after the swimming, but a quick check of his watch told him that he really was going to be late if he wasn't careful.
Vanessa looked down at the folder paper in her hand and shook her head. "I'll make Sammy my number one priority." Sammy, the paper target with Bon Jovi lyrics in his head. She picked her rifle back up and tucked Sammy the target under her other arm. "I hope you like your men big, Wade. Hank's definitely more a bear than an otter or a cub." She grinned.
***
Wade goes to see Hank, accidentally a day early, and they start the testing to try and figure out what's up with Wade's healing factor.
Wade dropped Bea off in the gun closet and made his way back up to the main building. He'd been given a rough tour of the place and he had a good memory for layouts, so it didn't take him long to actually get to the medlab. He waited till he found the one with the right name on the door and then nudged it open a little farther so he could stick his head inside. "One hairy, cancerous mutant with an apparently defective healing factor ready and willing to get jabbed with needles in the name of science at your disposal, big blue fella." He even through in a tiny salute.
Hank raised an eyebrow at the new arrival, he'd met the man briefly on his tour and wasn't expecting him in until the next day, "Well, I guess there's no time like the present to get started." The doctor locked up the cabinet he had been doing inventory in and motioned for Wade to hop up on one of the examine tables in the main chamber. "I read over your file, Mister Wilson, and I'm happy to be able to be working with you. This is a strange development, we've not seen this sort of a reaction with a healing factor before."
"Apparently nobody has, but you're the expert, so don't get discouraged." Wade sat on the table as directed and held his arm out for Hank. "Blood pressure and tests and all that, right?" There were several long scars on his forearm, obviously defensive wounds, but the crux of his elbow was spattered with tiny, circular scars. "Those're from medical needles, nothing narcotic. That stuff doesn't really work, anyway. The needle sticks used to heal clean, but there've been so many lately that I think they've quit trying."
"No, we already have a fair amount of data from your stay at Muir Island. My original plan involved ultra-sound equipment, but we may skip that and head directly to our magnetic resonance imager. I'd like to take a look and see if any of your other vital systems have been compromised by your leukemia." Hank paused, pulled out his pocket computer and asked the system to warm up the machine, "And while that's getting started, I need to give you a once over, just to ensure your state hasn't changed in the time between your departure from Moira's facility and your arrival here." He pulled his stethoscope from around his neck.
"Whatever you say, doc," Wade said, nodding equably. "What's the policy on talking about age?" It might have seemed like an odd question, but he wanted to make sure that his plan to keep his real age to himself and the doctors would work. Given patient confidentiality and everything, Wade was pretty sure the doctors would gossip unless it was amongst themselves, but it might come up in casual conversation or something and he didn't want his cover accidentally blown.
Hank paused, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand your question, Mister Wilson." He began to listen to Wade's breathing through the stethoscope, moving it around slightly to hear other various functions. "Obviously, anything you tell me will be protected under doctor-patient confidentiality, unless I believe you to be a harm to yourself or those around you. I don't see why your age would come up at all young man."
"You read my file," Wade pointed out. "You know I'm not so young. I just don't want to deal with everyone calling me gramps." Fifty-one was definitely grandpa-esque territory. "Call it justifiable paranoia - Murphy's Law and all that stuff. Also, is this magnetic resonance imaging thing going to make the whomp whomp noise at me for like a half hour? Can I listen to music? Do you get a channel for AC/DC and Kansas?"
The blue doctor smiled, "You're not that old yet, Mister Wilson- and you certainly don't look your age. I will, however, to acquiesce to your peace of mind and promise that I will take your secret to my grave." Hank removed a light-pen from the side of his touch-pad and began to scribble notes on the surface in rapid succession. "How are you feeling, by the way?"
"Twitchy, but not as twitchy as I was before I made use of the shooting range. I really thought I was supposed to come see you today, but I probably misheard. Or I was distracted by the lovely lady who was kind enough to show me around. Even odds on both of those, really. I'm kind of tired and sort of sore, but I'm still planning on swimming after we're finished here because I'll just get twitchy again if I don't. Don't have any bruises at the moment. How old are you?"
Hank strapped a blood pressure cuff around the older man's arm, "I will be turning thirty-eight this March actually. I'm making plans to surprise my partner back in Scotland with a trip home," as he looked at his watch and took mental count of the number of Wade's pulse, Hank's smile became nostalgic.
"Partner?" Wade tried to keep his breathing even and the restless fidgeting to a minimum as the doctor did his work and took his measurements. "You never answered me about the radio station in the MRI machine. They let me listen to classic rock at Muir."
Uncuffing the blood pressure sleeve, the doctor nodded to Wade, "I believe we have an excellent selection of classical rock-and-roll music on our central em-pee-three drive. Any particular group you would like to hear, or just a mixture?"
"Mixture's good," Wade said. "You've got a partner? Sounds official."
Doctor McCoy nodded and pulled up the music library, quickly sending a mixture of classical rock into the speakers in the MRI room. "Doctor Madelyn Bartlet, she's back in Edinburgh at the moment with my son William. I'd be there too, but emergencies keep seeming to present themselves. No matter, I'm making excellent progress on my research here and I get home to visit whenever I can."
"Huh," Wade said, nodding. "Let's get this party started." Only before they could get anything started, he needed to get naked. Or mostly naked. "Where do you want me to change? And where can I put my knives?" He'd put most of them away before coming here, but he still had one at his waist and one at each ankle. Just in case someone decided to jump him on his way to the MRI. Or something.'
"I'd be happy to hold onto them," Hank held out his hands. "And you can undress in one of our exam rooms over there."
"Thanks," Wade said, unstrapping the knives from his ankles and then unclipping Selma from his belt so he could hand them all over at once. Then it was through to the exam room and off with the clothing. He walked back in with just the patient gown, his boxers, and his socks on. "Have at it, doc."
Hank noted the scars that covered much of Wade's exposed skin on his charts as he motioned for the younger-looking man to hop onto the MRI's retractable gurney. "I take it you have done this before?"
"Yeah, before Muir and then while I was there. I've been trying to figure out what's up with my mutation since the middle of last year." Wade hopped up on the gurney and got himself settled. "My first doctor referred me to Muir and they sent me here. I'm hoping some information will actually turn up this time. I mean, I get that I'm difficult, but when it comes to this stuff, I'm really not trying to be."
The melodic tones of Kansas began to fill the air as Hank activated the motor to wheel the gurney into place, disappearing into a side room. Speaking into a microphone, "Mister Wilson, we'll be starting momentarily. I just wanted you to know that I will be trying my best to discover the root of your troubles and then we can go about fixing things. You really are in the best place possible for this sort of thing."
Everybody always said that, but Wade was inclined to give the big blue fella a chance, since... well. He was fuzzy. And blue. And that was kind of awesome. The 'medical expert' bit came in a close third, though. Definitely. "Thanks, doc."
***
On his way back up to his room after his meeting with Hank, Wade meets Jean. Wade decides he likes Jean.
Wade was on his way out of the medlab after all the tests with Doc McCoy when he caught sight of a shapely redhead and detoured - the medlab might become his new favorite place despite the needle sticks and the whomp whomp of the MRI. "My name is Wade and you are too beautiful to be alone down here, even if you're not technically alone because the big blue guy's going over all the possible results and meanings of my genetic testing. I think you should come swimming with me. In the pool. Swimsuits optional."
Jean had a lot on her mind: updating charts, lesson plans, grading, not to mention meeting with Maria-Luisa again to talk some more about Warren helping out with the clinic. So she was only aware of this new...rather forward...person's mental signature for a few moments before he started talking. Usually she had a jump on at least a few minutes of knowing someone else was around.
She glanced over her shoulder, looking the man over with a highly amused grin.
"Wow. When Hank said you were a talker, he wasn't kidding."
"It's also February, by the way."
"Yes, but the pool is inside and, thus, the snow outside doesn't matter," Wade responded, feeling he should definitely address the most important thing first.
"One of the pools is, but either way, I'm not much for swimming," Jean said, a casual smile still on her lips as she kept walking right past him toward her office. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder.
"Also, if I catch you sleeping with any of my students I will make you think you're a French Poodle," she said.
"Arf?" Wade quirked a brow and tipped his head to the side so he could at least appreciate the view as she walked away. Then he said, "I'm not sleeping with students." He raised his hands to show he was seriously serious about that, at least.
His mental reaction to her words (he was an extremely loud thinker and she didn't know why she didn't notice it before) was a positive sign.
She turned all the way around, studying him. He reminded her a little of Garrison and Logan put together, that's why she was humoring him. That and the reaction also bought him serious points.
"Good, keep it that way and we'll be friends. You, happily unmarried and chasing after tail over the age of 21 and me, happily married and teaching high school science," she said, bringing up a bright sparkly ring to punctuate that statement.
"And if you run into another redhaired doctor with a scowl, be careful, she takes her disdain out with needles."
"Damn," Wade said, sighing dramatically. "Shapely, intelligent, good with kids, and taken." He shook his head, leaving her comment about him chasing tail over the age of 21 unaddressed because Jesus. He was turning 51 this year. It was awful to even really think about having sex with an eighteen year old. Wade's eye actually twitched at that thought and he veered his mental images off to the left.
Jean was not kidding about Wade's thoughts being loud, or exceptionally vibrant. Her eyes fluttered a moment as she quickly brought up a much thicker mental wall to block out, well, all of that. But 51, that caught her attention. It had to have been a side effect of the healing factor that had been reported in his file. Same thing with Logan.
"Sorry, I'm quite flattered though."
"Eh, I got used to," Wade said, grinning. "Tell you what, though - come swimming with me and I swear I won't hit on you. Boy Scout's honor." He held up his hand. "Also, do you have access to my medical files? I know Doc McCoy does - and the other lady doctor, her too?"
"Make it coffee in the kitchen between friends and you have a deal," she said with a smile.
Swimming didn't bother her much anymore, but she didn't much equate it with something to do in the middle of February. Most of her bathing suits were actually back in California in storage.
"Yes, due to the specialization of the care done here we tend to share files on consultation if need be, or if another doctor is not available."
"Huh..." Wade nodded. "I don't drink coffee much, but I could go for some water while you caffeinate up, Doc." He gave her a small salute. "But before we go getting all friendly in a platonic kind of way, you should tell me your name. Otherwise I'm gonna go around calling you the hot, shapely redheaded commander of the medlab's most awesome file folders who doesn't mind making threats about making people think they're poodles - could you not make me a French poodle, if you have to one day? Please?"
"Hank's made a machine that makes a bunch of different drinks all in one," Jean said as she opened her office and slipped off her labcoat. She neglected to mention the fact that many of the residents were convinced it was going to become evil and try to kill everybody. They'd cross they bridge when they came to it...and probably never let Hank invent any kitchen appliances again.
As far as the no French Poodle part was concerned...
"We'll see what happens," she added wryly.
Closing the door behind her, she pushed a 'lock' button on the door and the keypad flashed red as it locking mechanism snapped into place.
"I'm Dr. Jean Grey-Summers, not quite as much of a mouthful but a lot of people usually call me Dr. Jean, Dr. Grey, or just 'Jean,'"
"Hot Doc Jean - you got it," Wade said, tipping his head toward the elevator even as his grin widened. "Up, up, and away."
"Just Je--nevermind," Jean said, smirking as she stepped onto the elevator. There were some times she knew to pick and choose her battles sometimes.
"So how's Moira?" They spoke every once and awhile by phone or e-mail but both of them were too busy with their own lives to do much more than that.
"Good, I guess," Wade said. "It wasn't exactly a social call, when I was over there." And Doc MacTaggart had been just as firm as Hot Doc Jean about keeping things professional. Wade's life - so hard.
Jean nodded as they started to head up to the upper levels. That was true, most of the time she preferred to keep it that way. She tried to still make things friendly enough, though.
"Is it the caffeine or the taste you don't like about coffee?" she was curious.
"D'you know how much coffee I'd have to get he caffeine to have any kind of effect?" Wade shook his head, pausing when the elevator doors opened and then stepping out first - old habits died hard. His knives were a comfortable weight at his waist and his ankle, familiar. "If I'm gonna drink something, it's at least gonna have to taste good without me adding six pounds of sugar to it."
Jean smiled. "Right, part of the healing factor. I forget," she said. They were little idiosyncrasies that she sometimes associated with certain people subconsciously so when someone else had something similar it took her some time to get used to
She walked beside him, ambling around the wood paneled corner as the kitchen came up to their right.
"I am a huge coffee lover but tea's also nice for relaxing. Less bitter too."
Wade's mom had liked tea, but he'd never seen much use for it - just murky water, so far as he was concerned. Then he walked into the kitchen, caught sight of the coffeemaker, and blinked. "Jesus."
Jean glanced over at it and laughed. She'd gotten over the initial shocked reactions a few days ago.
"Hank calls it the Home Barista 2.7. Why it looks like a giant mace would be a question you would have to ask him."
Walking over to the machine, Wade reached out and poked it.
It came on and beeped at him, lights flickering, and Wade withdrew his hand cautiously. "Can I get a water?"
"The refrigerator door has filtered water," the machine answered, making Wade's eyes move to the fridge.
"Okay, how about a..." The mercenary looked at the page of instructions on the counter. "Uh... a large, iced coffee with six shots of espresso and some sweetener?" It beeped at him again and then started making other noises. Wade stepped back. "Is it supposed to do that?" He asked Jean, looking at her with raised brows.
Jean tilted her head at the machine. "Either that or it's arming a thermonuclear device. But generally yeah," she said.
She really needed to talk to Hank about it saying "Good Morning, Jean" when she went to make her White Chocolate Mocha Latte. It creeped her the hell out.
"Thermonuclear... device..." Wade eyed the coffeemaker again, head still tipped to the side. This... was going to be interesting.