Marie-Ange & Wade | Monday Afternoon (backdated)

[x-deadpool.livejournal.com]

Marie-Ange thinks Wade is dead. Wade thinks Marie-Ange is dead. They're pretty happy to discover they're both wrong and Wade accidentally emotes.


Wade had only been giving about a small part of his attention to the whole 'everybody talk about what happened' or 'update us on what went down on your end of things' thing because there were a lot of redheads in the general area and his eyes kept skipping over them. One after the other - he was pretty sure she was dead. Nobody'd told him otherwise, but he'd seen some stuff going on during the main battle that seemed like she could've had a hand in it. Only there'd been those cards of hers and she'd been shady as hell about the meaning - it seemed like years ago. Decades. But it couldn't have been that long.

Still. Her cards had thrown Death at him like it was going out of style and the redhead on the cards and been all mixed up in and maybe... maybe he was just looking for ghosts. Maybe he was just wishing he'd find one to haunt him. This whole 'feeling' thing was overrated. No - not overrated. It flat-out sucked. There was no other word for the whole damn thing. It sucked and if he'd been smart he would've avoided it. But he hadn't been, he hadn't wanted to be, and now he was left with this weird... emptiness. An empty pit somewhere near his stomach that he'd been successfully ignoring the entire time he was stuck in the Genoshan bush. He'd had stuff to do, kids to protect, people to kill - he'd been able to keep his mind occupied.

Not so much now.

Which was why his eyes kept flitting from redhead to redhead. Jean. Mads. Angel. Terry. Callie.

Wade stopped. He'd been working his way slowly around the perimeter of the group, one quarter of his mind paying attention to whoever was speaking, two looking for Marie-Ange, and one keeping an eye on everything else that might become a threat. Fuck, everything'd been a threat just a little while ago. It could be that way again.

But no, that was redhead number six and though she was wearing a set of clothes he was pretty sure she wouldn't have picked for herself on a normal day, since stretchy yoga pants had never really seemed like her schtick, the mercenary was pretty damn sure that was her. His heart did a weird little half-drop-thump combo and he was moving without thinking, working his way through the people between them until he was close enough to touch her.

And yet... he couldn't think of a single thing to say, since hey, you're not dead, awesome just wasn't appropriate at all. Reaching out, Wade very carefully took her hand in his.

Marie-Ange was so normally reticent about being exuberantly affectionate in public that she didn't blame Wade for the shocked look as she grabbed his hand and then wrapped both arms around him tightly and buried her face in his chest. "I thought you were dead!" she said, though muffled through his shirt and chest and possibly entirely incomprehensible since she was too tired to remember to switch from French to English.

It only took Wade a moment to get over his shock at her reaction. Since, y'know. It was her and the empty spot in the pit of his stomach seemed to've gone away now that he'd found her and she wasn't dead.

Some things, he decided, were pretty much universal. When your girlfriend buried her face in your chest and started mumbling things that you didn't understand because you didn't speak the language, especially after traumatic experiences, the best thing you could do was reassure her.

That's what Oprah said, at least. He might've been paraphrasing a bit. He didn't care.

"Hey," Wade said, sliding his arms around her and pulling her close. Keeping his voice low, he continued, "Hey, it's okay."

"It is not okay! Doug told me you were dead!" Marie-Ange said, into Wade's chest. "I saw it, that you would die, how are you not dead?" She pulled away very slightly and looked up at Wade. Who looked ... bad. Drawn and older somehow and sort of jaundiced around his eyes and mouth and nose. "I am not wrong about dying! How are you not dead? What did you do?"

"Me? I've got a healing factor," Wade said. "I'm basically impossible to kill permanently. I thought you were dead - your cards kept showing the redhead getting all..." He paused because he needed to breathe. He didn't have the fungus in his lungs anymore, thanks to the healer and Callie, but there was only so much that could be done for him given his condition and generally speaking, he still hurt like he'd been hit with a ton of bricks. "That redheaded Priestess kept showing up with Death." He stopped again, voice very soft as he looked at her, caught her eyes with his. "I thought you were dead."

"You thought I was... " Marie-Ange blinked a few times, and scrubbed at her face with her hands until her fingers were wet and sticky with tears. "Wade, that reading meant I was to be with Death, not that I was going to die." She laughed a little, despite the crying. "It meant you were going to die or that I was sleeping with someone that would soon be changed by death."

Shifting his hands up so he could brush away some of her tears with his thumbs as he cradled her face between his palms. "I sort of died one and a half times, but with the healing factor..." He shrugged. He never worried about himself. Then he leaned down, rested his forehead against Marie-Ange's, and just inhaled slowly.

"I have got to stop having boyfriends who die at all." Marie-Ange said. "Could you possibly not die any more, at least for a while? I punched Doug when he told me." She would have to check on him later, in all the chaos she'd forgotten about the fight. "And do not yell at him, please. He is having a very hard time. It was... it was very bad."

Wade wasn't sure how to respond to that, so instead he just nodded a little to demonstrate that he'd heard and understood, then pulled Marie-Ange into a hug. He tried not to hold her too tightly because he knew breathing was important, but he needed to reassure himself that she was there and safe. Oprah was very rarely wrong, he'd found, but she often neglected to mention important things like how to deal with life in general when you thought your girlfriend was dead.

Voice muffled and rough, words half-mumbled into Marie-Ange's hair, Wade said, "I promise not to die for a while but you have to promise not to get kidnapped or killed, too, because I love you and I'm not really good at coping with that kind of thing. I sort of suck at it. A lot."

Marie-Ange nudged her head just a little so she could look up at Wade, well really at the bottom half of Wade's face, the rest pressing into her hair, and made a sort of indistinct noise. "I promise not to get kidnapped without warning you first." She finally said, carefully, quietly. "I do not think any more kidnappings are in my schedule anytime soon." These promises she could keep - warn him if she knew, and if she didn't know, well it was not really her fault. He wasn't asking her not to keep secrets from him at least.

Nodding a little, Wade said, "I can work with that." And he could. "I'm probably going to be kinda trigger-happy for the next little while." He couldn't really give an accurate estimate of how long he'd have his finger on both the literal and metaphorical triggers, but he wasn't really worried about that at the moment. He'd just have to make sure he didn't anybody who didn't deserve it. "You'd definitely see Death coming, wouldn't you? If it came for you?"

"I presume so." Marie-Ange said. "Also I may steal all your guns while you sleep. You are too sick to be shooting anyone anymore. We are done here, now is just cleaning up and going home." And sleeping for a week. There was only so much she could do to stave off the truly heinous headache that was going to creep up on her very soon.

"I'll be twitchier without them," Wade said, not upset by her assertion. He just felt like she had the right to know. "I'll probably wind up carrying around a kitchen knife if you disarm me." So saying, he backed up just a little and looked down at himself. Shoulder and thigh holsters in addition to the knives he had all over him. "Also, it would probably take a while. At least I'm not coughing up fungus anymore. Go team Callie for that."

He had to be ... no, wait, it was Wade. He was not kidding. Marie-Ange raised her eyebrow at him. "I would rather you carried the knife, please. At least once we are home." She swiped her face with the back of her hand, catching the last of the tears she was never going to admit to and stood up on tiptoes to kiss Wade lightly. "I am not going to pat you down for weapons, but only because you look as though you are about to fall down. Let someone else take the burden of safety for a few days." Or perhaps the next two weeks. She was determined to take at least that much. "Please?"

Well, if that wasn't disarming in its own right. Wade nodded because really, how was he supposed to tell her no? "Yeah, okay. I can probably manage that." He waited for a moment while she wiped away the last of the tears he was never going to mention and then asked, "Can I have more than one knife?"

"You can have all the knives you want, and... two guns, until we get home?" Negotiation, this she could still do even if she wanted to do nothing more than curl up in a dark place and put a bag of ice on her face. "I would just prefer not to wake up next to you while you are cuddling a large semi-automatic weapon, or open a closet and find out that you have built a pyramid of spare ammunition clips."

Wade's smile was tired, ragged around the edges. "I can do that. Though that pyramid of spare ammo sounds like it might be a most excellent idea. I'll credit you, if I wind up doing it."

"No spare ammunition in my shoes!" Marie-Ange said, all sternness except for the way she wrinkled her nose trying not to smile. "I just... you need rest." She was not going to tell him just how tired he looked. That seemed rude. "I think the others can handle the defending everyone for a day, no? Yes? While you sleep?"

"Sure," Wade said, nodding. "Sleep sounds like an excellent idea, honestly. And some food. Food and sleep." He pressed a kiss to Marie-Ange's temple and didn't ask her to stick close while he was out because he'd already had to deal with more emotions today than he wanted to think about and explaining that he'd be twitchy if he woke up and she was gone was just bordering on too vulnerable for him. Wade was pretty sure it wouldn't really be a problem.

"And another ten hot showers." Marie-Ange added. "Also oui, food. Some food that tastes good and is not mushy peas. I am banning mushy peas forever." She made a disgusted face, and shuddered. "I have heard rumours of hotel rooms. Perhaps room service and a very hot shower?"

"Room service would be awesome," Wade agreed, nodding easily. He could probably even support himself to the room of this hypothetical hotel where they may or may not have room service.

"I am sure this country has pizza delivery. Or chinese, or greek or middle eastern." Or all of those, as she was starving and she was fairly sure Wade could eat a horse. Made of marzipan.

Proving Marie-Ange's thought process uncannily accurate, Wade's expression lightened just a little as he said, "Or we could get all of them."