Peter laughed and Wade found himself chuckling along, enjoying how natural and relaxed the sound was coming from the boy. Theyâd been snipping and snarking all night at one another so to hear a genuine sound was⊠nice. Wade figured heâd better return the favor. âWhat? Whatâs funny?âPeterâs explanation had them easily slipping back into banter. Wade smirked. âGot a thing for a guy in a onesie, huh? You artist-types are fucked up. But Iâm flattered, I am. Iâd offer to be your muse and inspiration if I didnât get the feeling Iâd take a stroll downtown one day and find a mosaic of me on a building side made entirely out of Twizzlers and well-thrown tomatoes.â
Peteâs body language changed. His face started doing something weird. And he got quiet. Wade busied himself by taking off one of his gloves, the velcro strap taken up in his teeth so he could tug it away. He knew that look Peter was giving - only because it was one he gave himself every morning in the bathroom mirror. Trying to find a way to say what you really wanted ( even to yourself ) and then thinking better of it.
He wouldnât pry. At least not yet.
The answer he got was too simple for the amount of brief, concentrated contemplation that had passed over Peterâs features but Wade accepted it with a snort, speaking through the fabric held between his incisors. The glove swung back and forth against his chin as he fished for his phone in the recesses of his utility belt. âWas it in black and white? Ten bucks says it was in black and white.â
Their pacing slowed and Wade was grateful for that because it was taking him some time to find his cell. What about him? âYou answered your own question there, pal,â he tried the tactic of deflection himself. âYou take a girlâs picture and your problems start from there.â
His features scrunched up as Pete demanded some more honestly, tilting his head sidelong to catch the photographer out of the corner of his eyeholes with a âseriously?â expression. âAlright. Only because when you took a pic of that crow bar wielding jug-head back there the flash was on and Iâm pretty sure that gave me enough time to wrassle him good. Directorâs cut. Actually⊠not too far off from yours.â His problems had started after heâd taken that picture with Vanessa.His middle and index finger hooked his phone, shimmying it out of his belt. âYou get diagnosed with a terminal disease, you go through the stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, lead, and steel.â His gun and katanas were errantly gestured to for the latter words. âI guess I just sorta⊠embodied my past.â This time all of him was gestured towards. â⊠complicated.â
Wade could feel his face threatening to do what Peteâs had been doing a moment again. Thankfully he had a barrier for it. Still, he sucked in a breath and clicked his phone to life, briefly illuminating both of them. He had to confirm the cartel was taken care of. For now. âYou work up an appetite swinging that point-and-shoot around with those stick arms? I know a twenty-four hour breakfast place that makes a mean eggs Benedict Cumberbatch.â
âTwizzlers and tomatoes? Â Nah, My art, my rules. Â You strike me more of a red hots and chili pepper kind of guy anyway.â Â He holds up the thumb and forefinger of each hand in a rectangle, squinting at the merc through an imaginary frame. Â Â âSelf-induced intestinal distress and morning after regret.â Â Mock serious. Â By the time his arms drop back to his sides heâs grinning again. Â Relaxed, valuing the back and forth enough to let the conversation slide further into casual familiarity.
Acquired tastes. Â Peter can kind of understand the appeal. Â Ignoring the giant murdering elephant in the room, Wadeâs camaraderie was refreshing, even when they were baring teeth. Â Itâs a nice departure from his usual costumed associates. Â Wolverine, Peterâs pretty sure heâs one poorly timed quip away from being fatefully sniktâd by the X-man regular. Â Avengers, well Steve seems to have defrosted with a WWI era sense of humor and itâs impossible to talk to Natasha without being hyper-aware of the fact she has probably formulated twelve unique ways to dispatch him, quietly and cleanly. Â Of course Stark was a likely enough candidate given their mutual interest in all things tech and science, but the billionaireâs excessive lavishness often came hand in ironclad hand with an even larger ego. Â Peter wasnât having any of that. Â He had his own frayed sense-of-self to grapple with.
Wade, on the other hand, seemed about as far from those examples as a guy could get. Â Wade was- Â
Complicated. Â The word carries more weight out the other manâs mouth. Â He believes him. Â Itâs not the explanation he was looking for - it doesnât answer anything and itâs flagrantly vague - but it doesnât exactly ring as disingenuous either so Peter takes the statement at face value. Â He doesnât really have a choice. Â Who knows, maybe he was better off not knowing the details.
Wadeâs offering to extend the evening to a local diner and, not for the first time that night, Peter starts to sober. Â His head bobs indecisively, torn between keeping the night going and not being sure about rubbing elbows with Deadpool in quite so public a setting. Â To his credit the mercenary really does have the kind of unsavory reputation any rational do-gooder would be beyond reluctant to associate with. Â Custom-made, efficient violence. Â There was merit to keeping this strictly professional. Â Away from the exposing glare of the street lamps that lined the heart of the city, at least without the obvious pretense of work.
The sensible thing to do would be to call it a night and head back to his cramped studio apartment. Â Maybe even get some decent sleep for once.... but Peterâs never really been a stickler for âsensibleâ.
âUh, sure." Â He glances around the street for a moment, it's empty. Â "I could eat. Â Iâve been staring at your leather-bound dumper through a fifty millimeter lens all night so one us of probably owes the other a meal at this point." Â Tongue in cheek. Â Who could they possibly run into at this hour anyway? Â Itâs the end of the night, Peterâs awake, the cartel is burning and to hell if heâs not going to chase this high with greasy eggs and hash. Â