Hola! This is my second Romy fic, and I'm tossing Deadpool into the mix just for fun. In here, he's got the personality he has in the comics, and he can talk, but he has the movie appearance. The one thing he won't be doing is breaking the fourth wall. :P
Criticism is accepted. I'm warning you: I adore cliches.

Chapter One

It was my choice to leave the X-Men, and nobody else's.

Things weren't going so well for me. The Cure wore off, of course, and left me as untouchable as I was before. Bobby and I fought over whether or not he had feelings for Kitty, and we eventually broke up. Mystique came out of nowhere, a scaly-skinned mutant once again, and told me she had morphed into the person I called my ma—that she was my ma, and had raised me.

Isn't that strange?

And Logan—oh, the man I trusted, the man I had a teeny-tiny crush on—was different. Jean's death had truly affected him. On the outside, he was still the rough, growly Wolverine he was known as, but inside, he was a heartbroken wreck. I could tell.

Of course, he didn't stop me from leaving, just like he hadn't stopped me from originally taking the Cure, but he didn't even bother to talk to me this time.

Leaving was easy. I packed up my bags, took the sock full of cash sitting at the back of my underwear drawer, emptied out my savings account, and moved a bit south to start over and rent an apartment building in Brooklyn. It was the type of small but cozy New York City apartment you see in movies, kinda lonely and cozy but not roomy enough to depressing.

There was a kitchen connected to a small living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom. In the room, I had my bed pushed into a corner, my dresser on the side, with a tall lamp and a small table. I had a new job, too—teaching and taking care of little snot-faced children at a nursery school. Apparently, you don't need a degree for that, and everybody simply assumes you're über-germaphobic when you wear gloves while tending to the children.

I was so quiet about moving into the building that nobody noticed me until the third week. I knew I'd been spotted by then, because I came home after a long day of wiping noses and cleaning spit to find a huge gift basket placed in front of my door.

I was pleasantly surprised, and didn't realize how strange the basket itself was until I'd unlocked my door, walked in, and set the thing down on my wobbly coffee table.

Once it was sitting directly in front of me, I noticed that the plain white straw basket was covered in hundreds of half-stoned smiley face stickers, and the handle had a large pink sticky note the size of my ass on it. Scrawled in big loopy letters were the words, Welcome to the building! Love, Wade, your neighbor from 4-H.

And underneath that, there was a heart, drawn in the way hearts are used in text-talk.

Well, not really, because the 3 was actually replaced with a #.

The strange thing was, the note was handwritten, so a typo made no sense whatsoever.

Frowning, I turned the basket upside down and dumped everything out. I rummaged through the mess, sorting things into piles.

The content of the gift basket was, evidently, stranger than both the note and the doped-up stickers combined. The first thing I found was a G.I. Joe doll with its head chopped off. The second thing was a half bar of soap with teeth marks on one end, as if someone had been eagerly gnawing on their Dove products.

Next, I found a dog-eared copy of The Little Mermaid (Disney edition, with a smiling red-headed Princess Ariel on the cover) and a partially empty container of Wite-Out. Then, there was a small clay sculpture of a swan… plus a dead tulip, an empty mechanical pencil, a CD collection of songs from the 80's, an English-Gaelic dictionary, a cardboard heart, a leaky Sharpie pen, a pack of instant noodles, and a broken toy soldier.

I was confused. Was this supposed to be a form of welcome? Or was Wade from 4-H, whoever he was, mocking me? Maybe he was laughing at me right now, making fun of the crazy girl who lived in 4-I and always came home with mucus and saliva on her gloves.

A sharp round of knocking on my door startled me and pulled me from my reverie. I got up to my feet, shuffling to the door. Forgetting about the peephole, I wretched the door open without thinking.

Jesus Christ.

There, standing there with his lips curved into a smile, was a Greek god in the flesh. Ruffled brown hair, chiseled facial features, stubble creeping across his jaw. Tall, lean, muscled but not barrel-chested like a bodybuilder.

After a double take, two things made me realize that he was real, and not a Greek god:

One—his eyes were red and black, demonic and piercing, but with a certain quality in them that made me want to trust him and keep him.

Two—when he spoke, his drawl was so French and southern and Cajun that I was reminded of my home in Mississippi, just across the river from those Louisiana swamp rats.

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle."

And I was looking into his beautiful eyes and freaking out and having a miniature heart attack, so I just blurted the first thing on my mind.

"You're a mutant."

The Cajun god blinked in surprise, and suddenly the red-and-black of his irises magically faded into a rich chocolate brown. Had I imagined it? "Well… oui, I am. I'm also your neighbor."

My mind raced, and I thought about the gift basket on my coffee table. "Are you… are you Wade from 4-H?"

The Cajun god blinked. "Huh? Non, I'm Remy LeBeau from 4-J."

Lord. I had neighbors on either side of my house, and they were both attractive men.

Well, I wasn't sure about Wade, but Remy was gorgeous.

Who's Logan again? Who's Bobby? I'm sorry, they've just been wiped from my mind.

"Well, hello, Remy from 4-J. I'm Ro—uh, Marie." I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest.

Wait, no. That was an unfriendly gesture. I uncrossed my arms.

But… I needed to appear casual. I crossed my arms again, hoping he wouldn't notice my repetitive spastic arm motions.

"Um, okay, Marie." Remy looked at me strangely. "Are you new here, cherie?"

"Yeah-ep."

"Right. Could I borrow your phone? I need to call my date, and I forgot to pay the phone bills for this month, and I've lost my cell."

I slumped. He was taken. Screw this. "Oh. Come on in." I invited him into my home. "The cordless is in the kitchen."

Remy-Cajun-god LeBeau stepped in, and I gave him an once-over while trying not to be too obvious about it. He was wearing an open button-up over a black t-shirt, jeans, and boots. A leather cuff with a buckle was fastened around his wrist.

It was a simple outfit, but I was having trouble not foaming at the mouth.

Pulling off my gloves and tossing them into the bathroom sink—I would need to scrub them thoroughly later to get rid of the kid slime—I waited in the living room for Remy to finish making his call.

"…oui, I'm using somebody else's phone." He paused. "What? No, just a neighbor. Female. Mmm hmm." He sighed. "Don't be so paranoid. Wait, what? Wha—fine. She's a… a six point five, chere."

A six point five? I glared at his back from the open kitchen door. Okay, so it was possible that I looked a little disheveled after a day of handling toddlers, but I was at least a seven, even in this state.

"What?" Remy continued his conversation, oblivious to the daggers I was shooting into his back with my eyes. "Non, I haven't called my wife. Do you not understand the meaning of sworn enemy guilds? I shouldn't have told you about her at all!"

Wife? Lord. This man was crazy, telling his girlfriend about his wife. He was crazy in the first place for dating another girl, much less telling her he was married!

Remy glanced over his shoulder, saw me burning holes into his body with my gaze, and flinched. "Well, see you at seven. Uh-huh." He hung up quickly and tried to smile charmingly at me.

Alright, it worked, but just barely. "I can't believe you!" I exclaimed. "You're married, and unfaithful! I know it's none of my business, but since you called me a six point five, I think I can say whatever I want."

Remy twiddled his thumbs, cracked his knuckles, and let his hands drop limply to his sides. "You see, chere, there's a funny story about me and my wife…"

"I don't want to hear it." I shook my head and pointed to the open door. "Get out of my house."

"Non, wait!" He held up his arms in defense. "Don't be angry. I just want to explain a few things…"

"Get out!" A god, ha. He was a demonic Cajun womanizer.

"Wait!" He pleaded, trying again. "You recognized me as a mutant. Are you a mutant, too? Are you…" Remy glanced pointedly at the white streaks in my hair. "…Rogue, from the X-Men?"

Wonderful. Spiffing fantastic. "No."

"You are, you are! I recognize you, chere. I almost joined the X-Men at one point, did you know that?" He flashed a stunning grin.

"No, I didn't. Don't call me chere."

"Aw, chere, you're just as beautiful as you are in the pictures."

"I thought I was a six point five."

"I changed my mind."

"You changed your mind?" I stared at him incredulously.

"Uh, I mean… I just made up that line to please my date. You're actually quite beautiful. Tres belle." He nodded hurriedly.

"I should go warn your girlfriend about you," I told him. "But since she already knows you're married and doesn't seem to care about it, I don't think she'll be so bothered by my warning."

Remy blinked. "My girlfriend? Who?"

My mouth fell open. "The girl you were talking to on the phone!"

"Ohhh." He nodded, understanding now. "She's not my girlfriend. Just someone I got drunk with and accidentally told my life story to." He shrugged. "The first date matters, but the second date's not really important. She'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Oh, God." I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. "Get out."

"But—but we're off to such a good start, chere!"

"Get out." I pointed to the door.

Remy sighed, heading toward the door and disappearing around it. "Fine. I'll see you in the morning, Marie."

Whatever that meant.

I collapsed on the shabby sofa, rubbing my eyes. If I hadn't been worn out enough before, I was exhausted now. Remy LeBeau from 4-J was such a strange guy, and it was tiring to be around him.

Only five seconds of rest later, someone poked their head into my door and called out, "I heard the noise. Salutations, neighbor from 4-I!"

Salutations. What the hell? Was he from Charlotte's Web or something?

I cracked one eye open to glare at whoever was approaching me and rudely walking into my apartment without permission.

"Hello! Your name is Marie, isn't it? I heard Frenchy trying to woo you. Now, you see, if you were Barbie and he were Ken, things would've gone differently, wouldn't it? I could be Skipper, with my potty-training set and bedroom sixteen-piece." A face in a red and black mask towered over me.

"Who are you?" I sat up straight.

"Wade! From 4-H!" He rocked back and forth on his heels. "I see you've gotten my gift basket. The soap is quite a delicacy, isn't it?"

I stared at him. His uniform was a close match to the ones the X-Men wore, form-fitting and made out of some mysterious material. Two swords were strapped onto his back, forming an X shape with the handles near his head. "Are you a mutant, too?"

Wade smiled cheerfully. Or, at least, I think he smiled. His mask just moved slightly. "Not by birth. If I'd been born a mutant, instead of engineered into one, I might've been more free-willed, ya know? My favorite foods probably wouldn't be Rufies and soap, for one thing."

"Engineered?" I was having trouble following his rapid-fire stream of consciousness way of talking. "What do you mean?"

Wade easily pulled off his mask. "Like this!"

I gasped.

He was hairless, his scalp smooth and white. His eyes were huge, big red scars marking where they'd been peeled open. His mouth seemed to have been stitched closed, then forcefully ripped open, a thin line representing what he used to speak.

"Also, I can do this!" He unsheathed his swords, and two matching blades popped out of his fists like long, twin demented versions of Logan's claws. Wade waved his four weapons around madly, slicing off the handle of his gift basket. "Oops."

"Wade," I exhaled, "can you please try not to destroy my apartment?"

"Right. Righteous. Riiighhhttteoouuus." He put his swords away, and the ones that were part of his body slid back into his skeleton. Wade pulled on his mask, letting the elastic snap as the bottom reached his chin, and sang in a high-pitched falsetto, "'I am beautiful, no matter what they say. Words can't bring me downnnnn!'"

I blinked. Music? Christina Aguilera, for Christ's sake?

He danced.

"Please get out of my house, Wade." He was better than Remy, but not by much.

He moon-walked out the door, waving his arms spastically while his feet moved smoothly across the floor. "Bye-eeee!"

I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

I awoke only when sun's bright rays began to stream through the shutters covering my bedroom window. I never used an alarm clock; alarm clocks were for wimpy night owls, not brave morning larks like me. The early bird catches the worm, and that was all I believed in.

"HOLY SHIT."

Yes, that's exactly what I said. Shouted, actually, and at the top of my lungs. Wade from 4-H could probably hear me from his own bedroom. And Remy LeBeau from 4-J could certainly hear me, because he was in my bed.

Remy blinked groggily and rubbed his eyes as I leapt up and ripped the covers off his body, revealing his striped pajama pants… and nothing else but miles and miles of toned tan skin.

"What are you doinghere?" I cried, trying not to stare.

He started cheekily, "Well, chere, I was sleeping, but now—"

"What are you doing in my bed?" I demanded.

"Again, I was sleeping until—"

"Remy!" I threw my arms up, then quickly lowered them, realizing I was clothed in only a thin tank top and boxer shorts. "How did you get in here?"

"I picked the lock of your door." Remy shrugged, as if saying, no big deal.

I glanced at the mirror placed on the wall above my dresser. My hair was a mess, my eyes bleary, and my low tank top was one inch and a nip-slip away from resembling what's-her-face's costume—Emma? Emma Frost? The White Queen, or something like that.

"I have to get ready for work," I said flatly, turning back to Remy. "Can you please leave?"

"Chere…"

I paused. Why wasn't my mind swimming with French pick-up lines and perverted thoughts yet? I'd had to have touched him at least once in my sleep and absorbed him. There wasn't an off switch for my mutation, not even when I was unconscious.

Ohhh. Could it be…?

"Wait a minute… will you touch my arm?" I asked nervously, lifting my bare arm and holding it out to him.

"What?" Remy stared at me suspiciously. I recalled that he had asked me, the day before, if I was Rogue from the X-Men. Obviously, he was thinking about this.

"Just do it," I snapped, anxious to see what would happen.

Cautiously, as if he might implode any second, Remy placed his warm hand on my arm. Goosebumps popped up everywhere, trailing down my skin like a pathway.

I held my breath.

Nothing happened.

"YES!" I jumped in the air. For a moment, I was expecting to freeze in mid-air in happiness like a goddamned High School Musical character. Of course, that didn't happen, and all I got was gravity and a baffled look from Remy.

"Wait, so you are Rogue?" He asked, sitting up. His muscles rippled at the movement. Lord.

"Yes, I'm Rogue!" I bounced excitedly. "My mutation's gone! IT'S GONE!" I squealed.

"Now, listen here, chere—" Remy began.

I ignored him and ran out the door, out another door, and into the stark cold hallway. I padded a few feet across the sickly purple carpeted floor and knocked on the door of 4-H with enthusiasm. Okay, so maybe Wade was a bit of a psychopath, and maybe I didn't know him that well—but he was a person, a person I could share my good news with, even if he had no idea what I was talking about.

"Wade, Wade!"

The door swung open. Wade was shirtless too, of course, and his body just as fit as Remy's was. Did any guy go to bed with a shirt on?

"Mmm?" He yawned widely, and it was the scariest thing I'd ever seen, the slit that was his mouth stretching to accommodate the size and sleepiness of the yawn.

Actually, if you took away the baldness and facial 'corrections', Wade wasn't that bad. He could be Ryan Reynolds' twin brother.

"I LOST MY MUTATION!" I shouted with glee, and attacked him.

"Oh…" Familiar spider web lines cracked his skin, and he twitched. "Rufies flashback! Whee!"

I gasped, tearing myself away from his chest. But I was too late—before I could reach out to catch him, Wade fainted, his head creating a loud clunk sound as he hit the floor.

I froze.

"Not very smart, are you, Marie?" Remy chuckled from behind me.

I spun around. "What did you do?" I screeched.

"I didn't do anything." His voice held a note of amusement. "False accusations don't get you anywhere." He cleared his throat. "However, I have a good idea of what's wrong with you."

"What?"

"A lot of things." He smiled.

I glowered at him.

"Kidding. Nothing's different. You haven't lost your mutation—but you can touch me."

I glanced at Wade, who was sprawled on the floor with his eyes closed and a woozy grin on his face. "Why you?"

"Well, why not?" Remy waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'm handsome and talented. You're the untouchable, helpless leech who left the X-Men. It was a match made in heaven, oui?"

"Oh, God. You are so humble." I said sarcastically.

"Merci."

I shook my head. "I have to get to work." I stepped out into the hallway, pushing past Remy's tall figure. My forehead only reached his nose.

Wade bolted upright. "Cheese burritos!"

Behind him, I could see a cluttered mess of a living room staring unflinchingly at me. Papers and random objects were scattered everywhere. "O-kay. I'll see y'all in the evening." I turned and reached for my own door.

"Oui, you'll see me in the evening," Remy grinned, and reached out to wrap his arms around me. I ducked away, my walk turning into a run. I'd be better off surviving with the X-Men, I thought.

Oh, screw it. There was no turning back now.

Ah... thanks for reading. If you've read my other story, "Rainbow", you know what I'm going to say.

CLICK THAT REVIEW BUTTON!