I wanted to mess around with the Wade/Widow ship. Its slightly based off of a Twitter RP idea/concept. Big props to MercLife and his writer, Curt, for this interpretation of Wade's mental state ...I've barely started writing this today without any previous planning whatsoever. Just seeing where it takes me.. (Oh and obviously, I don't own Deadpool, Wade Wilson, Natasha, or the Black Widow. All credit goes to Marvel on that one.)

Wade

"Whhhhyyyy am I stiiiill aaaaaawwaaake?"

I'm answered by silence. Well, at first I am..

It's because of us, of course! Forgot about us already have you?

And there they are. The voices. They're always there. No matter where I go, no matter where I am. Maybe it's because they're inside of me. Inside my head, to be exact. And they never shut up. Its fun sometimes, but not when it's- …what time IS it?…. I lift my head to look at the clock: One thirty-five. I groan as I toss and turn in my already-uncomfortable-to-begin-with bed, my face smothered into a pillow, while I rot all alone in this practically-empty room that might as well be a holding cell. And it's cold. Stupid S.H.I.E.L.D. insisted that I stay here.. And by "insist" I mean that if I was to even try to refuse, they would've thrown me in an actual prison, probably with some hot-headed, second rate supervillian as a cellmate.

Welcome to my life. I'm Wade Wilson, by the way. You may otherwise know me as Deadpool. I know, I know. You're a big fan. But it's not all that great being me. Especially wh-

OH HEY! THE DOORBELL! …wait what? The doorbell? This place has a doorbell!? Who could possibly be visiting me here at two in the morning? I trudge over to the door in my boxers (and not even the nice ones, the old ones that should have already been thrown away by now) and there she is.. Na-

Waaaait a second, we have NICE boxers?!

Ugh. Yes, /I/ have nice boxers…. Somewhere. Hmm I wonder where I put them… I should look around and- AAGH! See what I mean? They pop up out of absolutely nowhere! Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah..

I look up and she's still standing there. Staring at me with a look that I've gotten used to: curious, but not the good kind of curious, if you get what I'm hinting at (teehee).. She's looking at me like she would if I were an animal. An animal of some species she's never seen before. Some strange, ugly, deformed species of animal that people don't even like glancing at for more than a few seconds at a time. I'm so tired of that look. As if I'm being observed. Like they want to poke me with a stick as they stay as far away as physically possible from me. People have been looking at me with that look ever since- ..ever since they-

…..yeah, nevermind. Let's not talk about that right now.

(Or ever.)

Widow

I'm fuming right now.

I can't believe Fury woke me up in the dead of night, called me out of my nice warm bed, and for what? To check on his little pet. I've heard the stories: Deadpool was the result of an experiment that went horribly wrong. Weapon X was technically a success.. Wade still ended up with regenerating abilities, enhanced physical strength, telepathic immunity, and even an extended lifespan, among other things. But it had left him physically disfigured. He's pretty damn disgusting too from what I hear…

I walk swiftly down the deserted hallway until I reach the one that's his, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. I'm about to knock when I notice a doorbell, so I push that instead. I wait outside the door impatiently, arms crossed, wondering what the hell is taking him so long. I lean against the wall, and I think I can hear him talking -no, arguing- with himself. Ha! Guess he really is insane.

The door jerks open and suddenly I'm at a loss for words, the irritable smirk I was wearing just moments ago is wiped clean off my face. A man stands in front of me, wearing only a pair of overly-used boxers and, interestingly enough, a red and black mask that covers his entire head. His impressive stature is strong and built, it would be pleasant to look at if it wasn't for the grotesque, convoluted scars that covered every single inch of his skin. He watches me as my eyes run the entire length of his body, perhaps searching for just one hint of normalcy or familiarity.

"Hi, Natasha." There is a tinge of resentment and bitterness in his voice, though he tries only slightly to conceal it. How does he know my name? It would be so much easier to read him if he wasn't wearing a mask. I almost wish I could see his face. But then again, I don't.

"How do you-"

He cuts me off. "How do I know who you are?" He finishes my question for me as he struts back into the room with a teasing confidence. He elongates the words, annoyingly, like a child attempting to taunt his older sibling. "How would I not know who you are, Natasha Romanov? Or should I say, the Black Widow?" I can practically hear the smug expression on his face as he leans towards me. This is going to be a long night.


So what did you think? Please tell me your thoughts on how it's written, what you think should happen, where you think its heading.. etc etc. I'd really love any feedback you'd care to give!