Disclaimer: I do not own Deadpool nor do I own Bea Arthur nor do I own the song nor do I own the scene this fic is based nor do I…You know I'm beginning to realize what I sound like to people.


Dedicated to Beatrice Arthur (1922-2009)

She brought love to the Merc with a Mouth and Laughter to the Hearts of Millions

Thank You for Being a Fried, Bea


Date: April 25, 2009

Time: 6 AM

Location: Deadpool's Crib (Because, let's face it, that's what he'd call it. He's just that white.)


Wade Wilson AKA Deadpool AKA the Merc with a Mouth AKA the Love Platypus (Don't ask) tossed and turned in his bed. Something was wrong. Normally, he would be lost in the deep thrall of sleep, dreaming of his beautiful angel, Bea Arthur. Tonight, something was off. There were no dreams. It had to have been the steak dinner he had eaten a few hours ago. Bea hated meat. That's why she was staying away.

Wade turned over again, his eyes shooting open when he heard the sound of his coughing beeper. That Fresh Prince guy had some great ideas if you really listened to the message of the show.

Wade shot up and checked the beeper, reading the number of Hydra Bob.

"Oh, great," Wade muttered to himself. "You owe a guy 200 bucks and they never leave you alone."

Wade stood up and stretched his aching muscles. Something was wrong; he could feel down to his healing factor.

"Wade?" he heard a deep, but feminine voice call his name.

Wade turned around, hoping it wasn't Emma Frost. Her seeing him in his Golden Girls boxers might give her the wrong idea. Wade was stunned when he saw Beatrice Arthur, a vision in white, standing before him.

"Oh, wow," he said, crossing his legs to hide Wade Junior from his one true love. "What are you doing here?"

"Do I have to have an excuse to visit the handsomest man in the world?" Bea asked, her tone suggestive.

"Can I come with you when you visit John Stamos?"

Bea stared at Wade, her trademark annoyed reaction on her face.

"Yes, Wade, I took a wrong turn on my way to Falling Star Land," she quipped.

Wade giggled, only Bea could deliver a quip like that. She was like him with estrogen.

"Follow me, Wade," Bea said, her finger telling him to move.

Wade followed her into the back room of the empty warehouse he called home. The room had a shining black player piano.

"I've heard that you have quite the skill with the 88 keys," she said.

"Well, it helps when you play with yourself all the time," he replied, unaware of his own double entendre.

Wade stepped into the light coming off of the piano and was revealed to be wearing his mask and a tuxedo.

He looked down at the tux. "I am definitely dreaming. Unless I fell asleep drunk playing in the Danger Room."

Bea stepped into the light, wearing a lovely white dress. Her smile encouraging Wade to play, which he did.

Bea sang as Wade played the piano. "Unforgettable that's what you are…Unforgettable though near or far…" she smiled at her friend, his gentle licks of the piano keys contrasting with her powerful voice."Like a song of love that clings to me, how the thought of you does things to me. Never before, honey," she chuckled, "has someone been more."

"Mind if I take this?" Wade asked.

"Go right ahead, honey."

"Unforgettable in every way," Wade sang, dropping down a couple of octaves for his baritone. "And, forever more, that's how you'll stay."

"That's why, darling, it's incredible," they crooned, sharing a moment, "that someone so unforgettable thinks that I am unforgettable too."

Bea glided across the piano, her hand moving around Wade's neck. She slipped her long fingers up his mask, pulling it onto the top of his head. She kissed him sweetly on the lips, her psychical form fading away.

Wade looked around the warehouse, she was gone.


Wade was awakened by the sound of his TV turning on by itself. He sat up and found his remote in his boxers. Those Bea Arthur dreams lost him more remote controls than he cared to count. His radio alarm clock turned on as well, the sound of Nat King Cole's "Unforgettable" playing to rouse the anti-hero.

"And in a sadder note," he heard the sad voice of the newscaster, "Emmy Award-winning actress, Beatrice Arthur, best known for her work on Maude and The Golden Girls during the 70s or 80s, has died. She was 86 years old…"

Wade struggled to find his breath, the words of the newscaster completely drowned out, but the sound of Nat King Cole's deep, penetrating voice filled the air. The Merc with the Mouth fell to the ground, tears streaming down his face.

She came to say goodbye. Goodbye to him…


A/N: I hope everyone enjoys reading this story. I've wanted to pay tribute to Bea for more than a year now, but I could find the scene or the poem or the song that would explain the feelings of sadness I felt for the loss of classy and talented actress.

To Bea, your fans love you and will never forget you. And we'll all thank you for being our friend when we see you again.