Two Guys, a Girl, and a Dead Fiancée

"Go home. You've been here for three days, Wade. You smell like somebody shit in a civil war wound after it had become gangrenous. They should have just amputated it. Why shit in it? It doesn't make any sense."

Weasel stared at his grieving friend, hoping a bit of humor might perk him up, but Wade continued to stare blankly into his half-empty glass of beer, unable to bring himself to finish it. There wasn't really much point. It wasn't like he would stay drunk for long, anyway.

"Why is it simultaneously so clean in here, yet smells so bad?" an Australian accent cut through the surrounding drunken chatter.

Weasel looked up at the sound of the familiar voice, smiling instinctively, but was quick to reel the reaction in. He glanced back down at Wade and found it had sparked the tiniest of lights in his eyes, but still the mopey merc didn't move.

"Dopinder and Wade," Weasel replied to the gangly owner of said voice, as she made her way towards them. "In that order."

He glanced at the luggage clutched in her hands before his eyes swept over her frame. No matter how many times he saw her tall, willowy figure, she would always remind him of a baby giraffe. There was an awkward kind of gracelessness to the way she moved.

"Dopinder?" she asked.

"Hi, Jess!" an Indian-accented voice replied enthusiastically from the other end of the bar.

She looked over at the friendly taxi driver as he leaned forward on the mop clutched in his hands and chuckled, giving him a wave back.

"He's mopman, now," Weasel explained, as he pushed his thick-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose, "Thought I'd hire someone to do some actual work around here."

"Ouch," Jess pretended to wince, taking that as a jab at herself given her lackluster performance the last few months. After working at Sister Margaret's for over three years now, she'd grown used to the jokes at her expense, particularly from him.

"Don't put yourself down like that, Weas," she quipped back, feigning concern before adding, "Let others do it for you."

Weasel watched as she dumped her bags on one of the stools and stepped up behind Wade, draping her arms down around his neck as she hugged him from behind. She pressed a kiss to the side of her friend's head, whispering, "You smell so bad."

He managed a small huff of empty amusement in response as one of his hands came up to grip her forearm in return.

"What's that like?" Weasel asked, observing their casual intimacy curiously.

Jess stared back at him. "Friendship?"

"Kissing his skin when it's all–" He gestured at the disfigured mutant in the most respectful way he could, given the circumstances.

Wade felt her grip tighten around him in a way that felt almost protective. He relaxed back against her, feeling better in an instant than he had since Vanessa's death.

"Well, I don't know about him," Jess said, giving the barkeep a disapproving look as she rested her chin on top of Wade's head, "But it gives me the warm and fuzzies."

Wade finally managed a smile, as weak and empty as it felt. "Aren't you supposed to be in Australia right now? Or did they realize you weren't a Hemsworth and turn you away?"

"I was," she replied. She released him to take a seat on the adjacent stool, ignoring the puddle of piss on the floor beneath him. "In Australia, that is. The Hemsworth thing I'm still working on."

Wade suddenly felt a lot colder at the loss of physical contact, and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his baby blue cardigan in an attempt to combat the feeling. The cardigan, paired with his awful Hawaiian shirt, gave the impression of a horribly depressed grandpa on the shittiest holiday ever. That, or he hadn't been able to bring himself to do any laundry for a while.

"I caught the next flight as soon as I heard," she went on, giving Weasel a rare nod of thanks for the heads up. He placed a tall glass of beer in front of her, then leaned on the bar as he looked between them. He did his best to keep the eye contact fairly even, but he would always find himself lingering on Jess for a little bit longer. He had seen more than enough of Wade's haunting façade to last any man a lifetime of nightmares, but that wasn't the real reason his gaze lingered on her; only the one he continued to tell himself.

Jess blew a piece of her strawberry-blonde fringe from her eyes and took a sip of the complimentary drink. At least she assumed it was complimentary. She hadn't paid for a drink at the bar for so long now that she couldn't even remember if she had a tab. She leaned back in her seat for a moment and met the gazes of some of the regulars, greeting them with a smile and a nod. Some returned the gesture, while others looked back warily. Clearing her throat, she placed the beer back down on the bar, swiveled in her chair to face Wade, and took his face between her hands. She leaned in towards him and made strong on the eye contact as she readied herself to talk some sense into him. Weasel had given her the rundown on what to expect when she arrived. She had seen Wade low, but she had never seen him like this. This was even worse than the cancer stuff. She was still convinced that whole thing had fucked her up more than it had him, but then she and Vanessa had at least had each other to lean on during his disappearance. And she'd had Weasel, she supposed.

As she looked at him now – the sad emptiness in his eyes, the dark circles that surrounded them, and the hesitation to meet her gaze – she swept aside her own pain and stayed focused for him. She had loved Vanessa dearly; not just as a friend, but for what she had brought to Wade's life. As pathetic as her own love life had always been, she knew true love when she saw it. She hadn't believed in soulmates before she had seen them together. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much pain he was in, but she could do everything in her power to make it hurt that little bit less.

So she looked at him now, his face between her palms, giving him a gentle little shake to get him to look at her properly. "Come stay at my place for a while. We can have chimichangas for dinner every night, and stay up late watching Disney movies, and in the morning I'll make as many pancakes as you can eat. But first, I'm gonna run you a hot bath and let you pick the glitteriest bath bomb I have. Priority to the bath part."

Weasel smiled as he watched the two. Regardless of the less-than-nice comments he and Jess often threw back and forth between one another, he couldn't deny that she was there for them when it mattered. She had saved his bar from imminent destruction numerous times, and even saved his ass on one occasion. Sure, it was technically what he had hired her for – despite knowing how hiring a woman of Jess's build to act as bouncer made him look – but given her abilities, she had no reason to stick around in a job like this other than out of loyalty.

Wade considered the offer. There was no way he wanted to go back to his place; the last place he had seen his girl alive. The place he had lost her. He had honestly been planning on going to annoy his other old roommate, Al (emphasis on the 'old' part), but even that felt wrong. He didn't see the point in burdening anyone. Not with what he was planning to do, which certainly wasn't something anyone who loved him enough would approve of. So he struggled to meet Jess's eyes, knowing exactly how much he meant to her and exactly how little he deserved that. Especially now. He began to shake his head, but Jess's hands stilled the movement almost immediately.

"I will literally drag you. I will carry you out of here like a newborn baby, Wade. Do not make me do that," she told him.

"Yeah, no one wants to see that," Weasel agreed, frowning as he pictured the lanky-limbed redhead bridal-styling the soiled mercenary out of his establishment.

"So are we doing this the easy way, or the really easy way?" she asked Wade, her eyes, full of determination, searching his.

"Okay, easy there, Mr. Weinstein," he said, jerking himself out of her grip. "At least save the inappropriate touching for when we get there."

Jess grinned. She looked to Weasel.

"You've still got a few days of your leave left," he told her, sensing what she was getting at. But he knew it didn't really make a difference. At this point he was essentially paying her to do whatever she wanted to, and it concerned him how little that mattered to him.

"Awesome. Then I will see you bright and early Friday morning," she said, getting to her feet and snatching up her bags with one hand, clutching Wade's hand in the other.

"If you want," Weasel replied, "But your shift doesn't start until seven."

"Dark and late it is, then."

Weasel nodded as Wade finally got up off the stool, grimacing at the squelching noise that came from the man's piss-filled shoes. He pitied Jess's bathtub.

"Do you still have Netflix?" he heard Wade say as they made for the exit, "Because I still have my chill."

"Do you ever think we're a little too comfortable with each other?" Wade asked from amidst the gently swirling currents of pink and blue sparkles. Despite the absolute chaos that was his mind right now, the hot water was actually making a difference. He sunk lower into the colorful liquid, adjusting the pink polka-dotted shower cap on his head before reaching out to poke one of the rubber ducks floating in front of him. Jess looked over from her porcelain seat nearby.

"No. Why do you ask?" she replied, pulling some paper off the roll. Moments later she got to her feet, pulled up her jeans, and flushed.

"No reason," Wade said.

After washing her hands, she took a seat on the ground with her back to the bathtub, arms draped around her knees, deep in thought.

"Why is Dopinder working at the bar?" she asked.

"Well," Wade began, in a 'boy, do I have a story for you' kind of way, "Have you ever seen Interview with the Vampire?"

She turned her head to look at him. "Aryan Tom Cruise?"

"That's the one."

He watched the range of emotions that crossed her face as she attempted to connect the dots. First, deep thought, then confusion, suspicion, and then finally revelatory alarm.

"Wait, vampires aren't a real thing, right, Wade?"

In a world full of people with superpowers, anything felt possible; even a taxi driver turning to night-time janitorial duties to cover up his new allergy to sunlight.

"Not unless you count Michael Bay's ability to suck the life out of his audience."

She seemed to relax.

"But to answer your question," he went on, "Our South-Asian friend has decided that he wants to join the stellar ranks of ours truly."

"He wants to be a merc?"

"Mm-hm. Contract killer, to be exact."

"Wow. He's gonna die, like, straight away."

"Also, 'mm-hm'. Although, with a little determination and a dash of enthusiasm, he might just be able to do so in a really cool way."

He went silent and Jess found herself staring down at her hands. Too much death talk.

"And the bar fits into that plan how, exactly?" she pushed on, in an attempt refocus. "Let me guess, Weasel's idea?"

"We've all gotta start somewhere."

"Started from the bottom," she muttered.

"Now we here," Wade finished quietly. He stared back down at the water, then let his gaze drift around the old, familiar bathroom. There was the weird, 'see no evil' monkey toothbrush holder by the sink, home to only one, lonely-looking resident. A resident that needed replacing if the bent bristles were anything to go by. Jess had discovered the unusual piece at a flea market they'd gone to a couple of years back, buying it despite his warnings that it looked like something they could base the next Conjuring movie on. He continued his visual journey to the half-empty cabinet that she had fished her stash of Lush products from for his perusing pleasure, ignoring the orange bottles of medication and noting the distinct lack of coconut-scented everything. He frowned.

"Hey, Jess?" he asked in a tone that suggested innocent curiosity, "What happened to Isla?"

She hung her head back as she rolled her eyes. "Oh. That whole thing."

"What whole thing?" he asked in the same tone.

"Turns out she's kind of, sort of, you know, 'anti-mutant'."

"Whaaat?" he replied, in dramatic disbelief.

"Yeah. She may or may not have freaked out when she walked in on me lifting the couch with one hand while I was…cleaning."

"Jess."

"Okay, fine. While I was looking for the red skittle that I dropped under there."

"Understandable. It is the best flavor. So she just left? Packed up her tropical-scented ass and disappeared into the night?"

"Well…There may or may not have been an incident involving Peter, Ellie, this apartment, and a tasty taco dinner."

"'Peter and Ellie'. So formal. What's wrong with 'Colossus' and 'Negasonic Teenage Warhead'? Those names roll right off the tongue."

"One look at Peter's huge, metallic ass and she was about ready to cry."

"Well, we've all been there."

"So I didn't really expect her to be here when I got back."

"When did all of this happen?"

"A couple of days before I left."

"And I wasn't invited? Tacos? Come on."

"I did ask you. You said you were on a job that night, and then I asked…" She stopped herself before the name could escape her lips. Vanessa hadn't been able to make it, either. She'd had an appointment with her gynecologist to have her IUD taken out. She had been so excited about it. Jess had offered to drive her, but Vanessa hadn't wanted her to change her dinner plans. She had always been thoughtful like that.

A heaviness swept over Jess and she had to duck her head back down to keep Wade from seeing the way her eyes shone. She cleared the thickness from her throat and added, "Oh yeah, and Weasel was there, too. It was an interesting night."

"I bet it was. So what time did he leave in the morning?"

"Who, Colossus?" she joked back, deflecting yet another of Wade's attempts to unmask the secret, non-existent, sexual relationship between her and the bar owner. He had been making the same, suggestive remarks since she had first started working at Sister Margaret's, and although it had started out as a weird kind of indirect, meaningless flirting on his part, as the dynamic between the three of them had grown more comfortable, he seemed even more convinced of the impending boning sesh. Jess had been on maybe one date in the time he'd known her, despite him and Vanessa's best attempts at setting her up with people, but things never seemed to take. If it weren't for the stash of sex toys he knew she kept in her bedside drawer, he might have thought she had surrendered to a life of celibacy.

"I think we both know that Colossus is saving himself for me," he replied.

She chuckled as she heard him sigh.

"What am I going to do, Jess?"

The question was so out of the blue that it took her a moment to process what he meant. She looked back at him and caught the lost, frightened way he stared down at the water.

"We were gonna start a family. Did you know that? We were already trying for a kid. I was gonna be a dad. Can you imagine?" He chuckled softly in disbelief at the thought.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice low, "Ness told me." The tightness was back in her throat. Pulling herself out of the yawning pit of despair before she could tumble down with him, she pushed herself up off the cold tiles. "Well, first you're going to keep enjoying that bath. Then you're gonna come snuggle on the couch with me while we watch children's movies and give ourselves diabetes. Then I guess we'll wing it from there."

He nodded, but she wasn't sure if he was really hearing her.

"Anything else you need before I go?" she asked him, if only to break him from his stupor. She glanced over at the fluffy, pink robe she had left hanging on the back of the door for him, then at the unicorn slippers below it; remnants from the time he had once shared the space with her. "Something else for the tub?"

"Do you still have that toaster I bought you?" he joked darkly.

"Don't even joke about that."

He looked over and caught the irritated frown on her face. It wasn't like it would actually kill him – not for long, anyway – but he should have known better than to joke about that with her.

"But in all seriousness, I think you've done enough. You're practically my butler at this point."

"Marshter Wayne," she replied, smiling as Wade huffed a laugh. "Alright, I'm going to go make a start on dinner," she said as she moved into the hallway, her voice raising in volume as she drew further away, "So if you smell anything burning…"

"It's just my hopes and dreams for a happy future!" he called back to her, smiling dully at the tired groan he heard in return.

It was the cookbook that did it. Flipping through it for her carefully-crafted pancake recipe, she had come across the bright, beautifully decorated page in the middle. She paused to run her fingers over the winding flower stems, reaching the colorful petals at the top before moving up to the messy, cursive heading. The recipe itself was nothing special. A simple cookie dough – perfect for two friends who had gotten ridiculously high together while their mutual best friend was out killing bad guys for money. The night she had watched Vanessa draw it in was etched vividly into her memory. The beautiful way she had giggled as she added shades of red to the crayon petals. The perfectly-intoxicated concentration on her face as she scribbled in the ingredients. Jess skipped to the second last step – GET HIGH AS FUCK – and an odd sound escaped her. It came out as a laugh, but was instantly sucked back in as a sob. She clapped a hand to her mouth. Color rose in her cheeks as she wondered if Wade had heard her, but as her throat began to tighten up again, and the tears began to flow, she lost interest in caring. She sank down to the floor, resting back against the cupboards as she began to shake with silent sobs. With her hand still clasped over her mouth to stifle herself, she attempted to get another look at the lazily perfect artwork, but couldn't see through the tears. She pushed it closed if only to preserve the physical memory, and let the grief flow. She had thought that she'd gotten all the crying out of the way on the twenty-one hour plane trip back, but she hadn't accounted for all the little memories she would come home to.

As the sobs grew further apart, she felt this latest wave of anguish slowly beginning to subside. She stayed on the floor for a little while, listening out for the man that had brought them together, basking in the odd post-cry combination of physical tiredness and satisfying release. Pulling herself together, she managed to get back on her feet and headed straight for the sink to rinse her snot-covered fingers.

Now. Pancakes.

Wade paused in the hallway as he caught the sound of poorly covered-up crying. He had always wondered if Jess knew how much noise she actually made when she cried, but since she always seemed to do it in private, he had never made a point of asking. No matter how comfortable they had become with each other, Jess had never been one for showing too much weakness in front of others. It was partly stubbornness, in a way, especially around the bar where she would fight to the death to never let Weasel get the upper hand. The other part was her condition. He was aware of the stigma that came with that sort of stuff – he could relate, after all – but in his case he was far more open about it, actively leaning on friends (or pissing on their bar floors, in this most recent case) when he got low. Jess was the opposite. There were weeks at a time when they had lived together where he had barely seen her, aside from the times he would slip food through the crack in her door to at least make sure she was eating. She dealt with it in her own way, and though he hated to let her go through it on her own – especially since she would never allow him do the same – he respected her need for space. So, rather than interrupt her moment of vulnerability he slipped back down the hallway for a literal trip down memory lane.

Jess had had the dumb luck of scoring an apartment that was both large and relatively cheap, given the area it was in. It wasn't going to receive any awards for interior design anytime soon, but the old, wooden floors and smattering of brick walls gave it a distinctly 'New York loft' feel that he had grown to appreciate. Jess had made the most of what she had to work with when it came to decorating – which, given her budget, mainly involved picking up furniture from the least suspicious-sounding craigslist ads – and even after living in his own place with Vanessa for the past couple of years, the mismatched items still felt like home to him.

He paused to look into his old room, which still contained some of the furniture he had brought in, including the Ikea desk and bed suite. He flicked on the light for a better view. It had been left in disarray after Isla's hasty departure. The bed was unmade, half-melted candles remained scattered across various surfaces, spilled wax ruining the surface of his Arkelstorp. As he stepped inside, he caught a whiff of coconut body lotion. He had met Isla on a couple of occasions, making the poor girl uncomfortable on just as many, but wouldn't have pegged her for a racist. Damn university students. You never could tell.

Taking a seat on the end of the bed, he stared down at a pair of long-forgotten, hot-pink panties left abandoned on the floor. His mind drifted back to the last time he had seen Vanessa in lingerie; the night she had been murdered. His hands fisted against the cotton bedcover. What a waste. And it was all on him. Someone so perfect had gotten caught up in the fucked up world that was his life and he had allowed it to happen. Usually when he started to feel like this, he would look for something to hit – the combat dummy at Al's being his usual target – but he had learned from experience that the brick walls in this apartment were a lot less forgiving, and that was before he'd developed regenerative abilities. Instead, he reminded himself that he wouldn't have to feel this way for much longer.

He got up and switched off the light before slipping back into the hallway and drifting down towards the room at the end. Being the first one to move in, Jess had gotten first pick of the rooms, and had picked the one that got the most sunlight. Though it had a distinct, underlying dog smell, beneath that he could make out the familiar, comforting scent of the perfume she wore. Flicking on the light, he found the room to be in equal disarray, but then that was just Jess. He ran a finger along the top of her desk as he passed by, picking up the weeks of accumulated dust her absence had left, pausing to give the plant she kept beside her stationary a light, absent flick. Sighing, he fell back onto her messy bed, ignoring the dog hair, soothed by the familiar surroundings, and stared blankly up at the ceiling. He squinted at a faint crack in the plaster, only to have his thoughts interrupted by a loud announcement from the person who, in a fit of rage, had accidentally put it there:

"Wade! Food!"

"Alright, one stack for you."

Wade tore his gaze away from her telltale-red eyes and stared down at the steaming plate of breakfast food as he took it from her with one hand, accepting a knife and fork with the other. Any other time and he would have gladly wolfed them down, but he found himself struggling to work up any kind of appetite.

"Chocolate chip?" he asked.

"Of course."

He looked at the white powder sprinkled on top. "Cocaine?" he asked, hopefully.

"Sorry, had to substitute icing sugar."

He gave a mock-disappointed scoff. "Well, there's still plenty stashed in the wall of my old room. You know, for next time."

She narrowed her eyes at him as she shoved the first forkful of food into her mouth. "Yeah, I meant to talk to you about that."

"What happened to the chimichangas? That was the whole premise of me coming here."

She smiled as she collapsed down next to him on the cushy sofa.

"I forgot the health department shut that place down. Apparently the rat problem was getting out of control. They probably got into your wall-cocaine and started shanking the customers."

"We all knew what we were getting into when we went there," Wade said, referring to their once-favorite, Mexican food truck. "The rats were part of the experience."

"I'm sure a new one will pop up around here. It was such a popular spot. Might explain all the sickness in the building, now that I think of it."

"Why does everything good have to end?" Wade sighed.

She felt him lean into her as he rested his head on her shoulder, his plate of food forgotten on his lap.

"To make way for better things," she tried, but the words felt wrong in her mouth.

"There is no 'better'. Vanessa was my better. Is this some sort of cosmic karma for me not dying? A soul for a soul?"

"Of course not. That's not how shit works. This isn't Supernatural. God, how is that show still going?" she thought aloud, as she stroked his head with one hand and shoveled more pancake into her mouth with the other. Despite the recipe being hailed by all six of her friends as the best they'd ever had – and goddamn right it was, since she had been perfecting it for years now – it felt thick and dry in her throat as she struggled to get it down. She glanced down at Wade's plate too, before grabbing them both and setting them down on the coffee table. "Vodka?"

"Vodka," he agreed. "Breakfast of champions."

"If there's any left by then."

"Did I not mention the wall-Vodka? Hey, where's Tom Jones?" Wade asked, looking around the room and down into the darkened hallway he had come from.

"Still at the kennel. Like I had time to pick him up."

"A kennel? That's unusual."

"It's not unusual," she replied absently, as she rifled around under the neighboring armchair for the remote.

He paused, waiting.

"Oh, ha ha. I see what you did there."

"Someone's a little off their game tonight," he said.

She straightened with a triumphant grin, remote clutched in her hand.

"So what'll it be?"

"I'm tossing up between Peter Pan, and the lesser-known porn version, Peter Pansexual."

"I didn't know they made a cockumentary about your life," she said, as she settled back down into the pile of cushions beside him.

"Slightly better, but still not the Jess I know."

"Give it time," she assured him.

"I never see you anymore, come out the door, it's like you've gone away…"

Wade's gaze trailed lazily after the little girl on screen, barely taking in any element of the story other than the familiar song. It was late – or early, depending on how you looked at it – and Jess had been asleep against him for a couple of hours now. She had tried so hard to stay awake to keep him company, but it was the soothing melody of "A Whole New World" that had sent her off into a peaceful slumber. That and the copious amounts of vodka they had ingested together. He glanced over at her and felt another pang of guilt for what he knew he was eventually going to do.

"We only have each other, it's just you and me, what are we going to do? Do you wanna build a snowman?"

"Papa can you hear me?" Wade sang absentmindedly, in sync with the song's final line. His voice was soft in the sudden silence and a terrible loneliness ripped through him despite the warmth of his friend's body. He wiped away the tears he hadn't even realized were falling and gave a loud sniff as he sat up. He checked his watch. Both hands pointed down towards a disapproving-looking Jake, though his interpretation of the cartoon dog's expression could have just been a projection of his own feelings. He sighed. As much as he enjoyed bugging Al, it was still a little early to be showing up at her house, even if she was the last stopover before he enacted his final plan. The woman needed her beauty sleep. No, she really needed it, and he wasn't about to deprive her of that. But he couldn't be there when Jess woke up. He knew she would be watching him carefully, and there was no way she'd be letting him leave the apartment by himself. Not for a few days, anyway. Luckily for him, the redhead was a heavy sleeper, especially with a healthy dose of jetlag. He carefully pried himself out from under her, laying her back down onto a cushion as he stood up. He glanced at the wet patch on his jacket where her mouth had been resting and couldn't help but smile sadly down at the girl. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then headed for the door, pausing in front of it to look back at her one last time.

If he survived this, she was going to be hella pissed. But then surviving it wasn't the point.