Disclaimer: Heller, Lee, believe me. Give me a week with the rights to X men and the Mentalist, and I will blow your mind. I'm not promising in a good way or anything but...
For Zany aka Indigo-Night-Wisp.
Wade whistled a tune as he drove to his meeting with a potential client. It was a beautiful, bright California day. Smog tinted the sky an odd rainbow, and a bird swooped in front of his 'borrowed' Hummer. There was a thunk, and a few blue feathers were trapped under the windshield wipers.
"Wow, the talking heads were right. These things are bad for the environment."
He flicked the wipers on, sending the feathers free to fly. Wade glanced into the rearview mirror and gasped. His hands flew up to his face, pulling and poking the smooth skin.
"Ho-Lee! I am gorgeous!"
Angling his face, he was able to see perfect, unscarred skin and – wait for it…Eyebrows! It had been so long since he'd had eyebrows. And they were very nice eyebrows. In fact, he sort of looked like that one guy –
A blaring horn took his attention away from his new-found prettiness to the fact that his foot was still on the gas, he was driving with his knees, and the Hummer was drifting into on-coming traffic. He jerked the wheel to the right, nearly forcing a Prius off of the road.
"What an obnoxious little car."
Says the guy in the five mile per gallon tank.
"Whatever. That thing makes the Beetle look like a muscle car. And its horn sounds like a sheep in heat."
Do sheep go into heat?
Wade's eyes flicked back up to the mirror.
Oh, hey. You know who you look like? That one guy who divorced Scarlet J –
"We're here," he said, parking outside of a bar. "And by we, I mean me so you both must shush. You'll make me look bad. Besides, I don't like you when you're not in your properly colored boxes."
I don't like you ever.
"Oh, yeah. This is gonna be a good day."
The Golden Brew was one of those Irish pubs open all of the time, always with someone at the bar munching on peanuts and watching sports channel. Wade's pal Weasel had called him up about some girl who wanted her ex beaten into a sniveling pulp of humanity. He was a mercenary, which were really nothing more than Jacks of all trades. While being a one-time enforcer didn't pay as well as invading other countries under the government radar, times were hard. A man had to take what he could get.
A woman with flaming red hair watched him from the moment he entered. He paused a moment to glance around the bar for a short, growly man or a guy in dorky shades but found neither. Wade assumed she was his client or just some hot chick giving him the eyes. Either way, he slid into the booth seat across from her.
"Hi," he sent her his most disarming smile. "How you doin'?"
"I have a problem. My friend says you're a guy who can handle it?"
"Wade Wilson, honey. Your problem solver for a price."
"Have you done this type of thing before? I mean, you know what you're doing, right?"
"Oh, sure. You want specifics done to him or whatever comes into my head? If you have a list, I'll take that too."
"I want you to make him scream and beg. Then I want you to cut off his ear and send it to his new girlfriend."
Oh, wow. She's a crazy one.
We can work with that.
"Okay. I can do that. Would you want it wrapped nice, preference of either ear…?"
"Left ear. How much?"
"Well, it's enough to hurt, but for you, I think I could work something out. Maybe we could talk about it more over dinner."
Wow. That was surprisingly smooth.
"Sorry. I'm working."
She reached into her jacket and pulled out a shiny, gold badge. A short, Asian man and a big, white guy approached him with guns drawn.
And there's the expected burn.
Wade glanced at the two men and back at the woman. Lower to her badge.
"What the heck is the CBI?"
California Bureau of Investigation. That sounded familiar and false at the same time. Like NASA or OSHA.
Wade sat in a chair, feeling jittery and a little annoyed. Jittery because someone had given him soda with caffeine and annoyed because they'd taken all of his weapons and now he felt naked. And not in the fun way.
"Just an angel in disguise. La de da de da de da…" Wade hummed the tune, staring at the one-way window. He knew they were watching him, but that wasn't really something he concerned himself with.
He fingered his short, chestnut-colored hair, amazed. It was so soft!
"I have such great hair now. I must find a way to keep this in all of my stories."
The little cop who the big one had called Cho walked in and sat down in the chair across from him, setting a manila folder down as well. Wade frowned.
"Oh, it's you. Can I be interrogated by the red-head instead? Or that little one. She's cute too, in a mean, pixie sorta way."
"No. We have you for conspiracy, possession of stolen weapons, and the vehicle you were driving was reported stolen in the next county."
"First, that conspiracy crap is just that. The whole conversation is circumstantial at best." That's right. He watched Law & Order, too, sucker. "Second, I bought those weapons. Where they came from before that, I wouldn't know. And I didn't steal the Hummer either. I borrowed it from a friend. You just call him up and ask him about his old pal Wade."
Cho glanced aside back toward the glass, a subtle signal for someone to go make the call. Wade didn't worry. He knew that his friend knew that if he didn't corroborate his story that he was going to wake up dead one day.
"Who sold you the guns?"
Cho spread several pictures across the table. "This guy?"
Wade picked up one. Then he turned it, tilting his head.
"Well, maybe if the other half of his face was there, that might resemble my guy. Ugh. What a mess. Just not classy at all."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I mean, look at the cut on his neck here. Missed the artery completely. And it's clear that someone let their anger get a little out of hand here. I mean, you don't just set a dude's face on fire. That is some amateur work."
"You're saying you're not an amateur."
Yeah, not trying to become a cell boss just yet.
"I'm sayin' this ain't my first rodeo, partner." He dropped the picture back on the table. "I know what you're trying to do."
"I'm just trying to do my job."
"And you know, I can respect that. Only," Wade held up a finger, "if you can respect what I do. That's only fair."
"Yeah, and what exactly is it that you do, Mr. Wilson?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Wade leaned forward on the table, cupping his chin in his hand. "I'm a Ryan Reynolds impersonator."
The stoic, little man stared at him.
"I don't see it." Cho looked down, reading over the file. "Says here you several priors, most of them violent. We have evidence that you were at the scene, and you called the victim two hours before he was killed. Whether it was you or not, it doesn't look good for you."
"But I didn't kill anybody." He practically pouted.
Does the bird count?
"Birds aren't people."
The CBI agent looked up at him, and Wade waved. The door opened again, and the mercenary was once again disappointed. This time, a blond man walked in and held his hand out to shake Wade's hand.
"Mr. Wilson, nice to make your acquaintance. I'm Patrick Jane, consultant with the CBI."
"Consultant. Like Neil Caffrey."
"The difference being I'm real, yes."
"Suuuure you are."
"May I ask you a question? You don't mind, do you, Cho?"
The Asian man shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms.
"Great. Mr. Wilson, this is an extremely important question. Do you prefer cheeseburgers with or without mayonnaise?"
"So what's the diagnosis, blondie?"
"Well, you're definitely psychotically deranged, suffer from…fantastic delusions, but you're not our killer, I'm sorry to say."
"Maybe some other time then, yeah? But hey, I might be able to point you in the right direction if you can forget about this nonsense with the guns and stuff."
"The right direction or the one you want us to go in?"
"Can't it be both? Now you, of course, know about the dead guy's girlfriend."
"Of course. Miss Grey DeLisle. Charming woman."
Wade laughed. "If charming means evil dragon lady, okay. But did you know that's an alias? And did you know that if you find her real name, then you'll find that her father is Yakuza boss with diplomatic immunity?"
"This was a Yakuza hit?" Cho asked, almost looking interested.
"Probably not. Probably the little princess was havin' man troubles, and things got a little…heated. Yeah, you knew I was gonna say it. Good luck with a conviction though. So can I get outta here now?"
"No," Cho said.
"But what about our deal?"
"A deal between you and Jane. Jane is a consultant. He doesn't have the authority to make deals."
"Point for Cho," Jane conceded.
"Crap baskets," Wade muttered.
The door opened again, and this time, some young guy in a suit poked his head in.
"Mr. Wilson, your lawyer is here. You're free to go."
For a moment, Wade's face showed his bafflement. He didn't have a lawyer. He hated lawyers. It was like they spoke some complex, cypher language, stemming from the Lying. Then a familiar face walked through the door with unfamiliar dark hair, and Wade gasped in horror.
"Honey bunny! What did you do to your hair?
Irritation briefly flashed across the woman's face. She spoke in a clipped, British tone.
"I believe you've done enough talking, Mr. Wilson. If you're not going to arrest my client, then we'll be leaving now."
"But your hair!"
The lawyer cleared her throat and stepped deliberately to Wade's chair, heels clicking. She leaned down and whispered urgently in his ear.
"It's a wig, calm down, let's go now or I'll stab you."
She stepped back as Wade stood.
"Gentlemen. We should do this again sometime."
"I have a feeling," Jane grinned. "that we will."
Wade and his lawyer walked out of the door, allowing her to precede him. After they'd walked away, Agent Wainright shook his head, as if just suddenly waking up.
"I'm going to go follow up on this DeLisle woman," Cho said, leaving the room as well.
Agent Luther Wainright stepped back to let him pass. Jane straightened his jacket and grinned at the young agent.
"You do know that woman was his lover, correct? And that she also wasn't a lawyer?"
Jane kept grinning while Wainright stared in obvious bemusement.
"All right, I'm going to my office. Let me know if you figure out who the…woman…is."
Down the hall a ways, Wade was being given the silent treatment by his incognito ex-girlfriend, one Betsy Braddock. Naturally, he couldn't just take that. One must understand that Wade Wilson was also commonly referred to as the Merc with a Mouth. In the same way that Monk was obsessively focused on clean, Wade needed to talk.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to stand you up for lunch on purpose. It's not my fault I got arrested. These guys obviously don't know what they're doing. Letme actually commit a crime then you arrest me, you know."
Betsy stabbed the down button with a perfectly manicured nail. She gave him an accusing look. One that said 'You wouldn't have been arrested at all if you hadn't been working which you promised you wouldn't do anymore, you lying jerkwad'. Yes, he clearly heard that voice in his head. It was either that look, or she was doing that telepathy thing. Or there was a new voice up there. Wade bowed his head at the disappointment and anger radiating off of his ex-girlfriend, pouting.
There was a time when that worked. There was a time when he'd be able to look at her with his brown, puppy-dog eyes with a hopeful, little frown and just look so sad, she'd cave. This was not one of those times.
You're going to die alone.
Yeah. Well, if you were capable of dying. But you know, same idea.
"Shut up," he murmured under his breath.
The elevator opened, and the couple stepped in, with Betsy refusing to look at him. Knowing good and well that Betsy could hold a grudge for a long, long, long time, Wade looked at her and sighed loudly. She still wasn't talking to him. Wade narrowed his eyes. The woman knew he couldn't live like this.
"So can I, uh, borrow some money to get my guns back? Ow. What you kick me for? I mean, I know what it's for, but you're wearing stilettos, and not the cute ones either. OW! Stop that. Women can be arrested for domestic abuse too, you know!"
He received no further response, even after they reached Betsy's car. She immediately pulled off the black wig, revealing long, purple tresses. That inexplicably calmed him somewhat. It was when Betsy was navigating the car out of the CBI parking lot when the voices in his head mused rather loudly.
I wonder what Betsy'd do to him if she found out he was trying to go out with that hot cop?
Hey now. OH BEEEEEEEEEEEEEETSYYYYYYYYY!
Wade desperately tried to quiet the voices in his head that loved to see him suffer as the scene played through his mind like a cinema show. Betsy froze, car slamming to a halt as she hit the brake. He stared straight ahead, hoping if he didn't breathe, didn't move, she wouldn't do anything to him.
However, Wade utterly failed at clairvoyance, and this was not a good day.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned to glare at him. Eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, that little pulse fluttering at her throat were all clear indicators that the woman was pissed.
"Wade." Menacing. Her voice was menacing.
He suddenly wanted her to not talk again.
"You can't really be mad at me, you know. I mean, we're not together anymore, remember? You broke up with me."
Oh, that was such the wrong thing to say. The air was suddenly heavy, and the windshield cracked.
"And it was just gonna be dinner. And...and...you are so pretty when you want to kill me."
She just got a whole lot prettier.
"I love you?" He said.
A Prius beeped its horn behind them. Betsy flicked her wrist. The Prius was launched into the air and landed in front of them. They could then see a line of cars behind them as well. They went around.
"You want me to drive, honey?" Wade asked.
"Don't call me honey. And no. Driving relaxes me."
"Okay, hon - er, Betsy...honey."
The look she gave him was pure exasperation. Wade thought he saw a hint of amusement and fondness too.
Nah, dude. You're hallucinating again.
I concur. She's been talking to you for, like, five minutes.
And driving too. Wade had no idea where they were.
"...a fresh start, and I really that maybe we should take things slow." She was saying.
"I concur completely. What do you say to starting slow with ice cream?"
"Well, it's not lunch at the La Mont," she sighed then smiled a little, "but it'll do."
He was so hoping this wasn't another hallucination. That'd be cruel. That'd be beyond unusual and cruel. It wasn't clear to him whether he'd won their argument, but he'd definitely didn't lose; all of his pieces were intact. And he was going to have ice cream with Betsy.
Wade whistled a tune as he rode along, content that while the afternoon had mostly been a bust, the evening would be better.
Ugh. My 'V' key is going wonky. Don't do that to me.
So, Zany or Indy's birthday was the 5th and mine was the 4th, and I think that's really neat so I wrote this for her, and she wrote one for me. Now, Zany, you wanted Deadpool or Patrick, but I went and gave you both. Happy Belated Birthday!