A purple blur ran around the two-bedroom loft in uptown New York City. A shrieking, hysterical laugh flew from the little whirlwind, even as she tripped over her own feet onto the floor. The blur, who was actually an eight-year old Anna Howlett, rolled on the hardwood floor, gasping for air, and a smile splitting her face.

Logan stared down at his child in disbelief. There was just no way. He wouldn't. The man should know better.

Then he thought just who he was talking about here.

"WAAADE!" Logan bellowed.

Anna's attention snapped to her father, who was still standing near the door and debating whether he wanted to be here or not.

"Daddy's home!" she bounced off the floor and to him, singing, "Daddy's home, Dad's home, home, home, he's home, I'm home!"

As she sang, she latched onto his arm, dragging him in and destroying all hopes of escape. Yes, her joy and excitement over him being home did slightly warm his heart. Yes, it was kind of cute. It was nice having someone who cared if he came home. But she was so incredibly loud, and you can't turn super hearing off.

When he arrived, Logan wasn't sure, but suddenly Wade was jumping up and down around him, singing with Anna.

"Jimmy's home! Jim-Jim's home! The homey's home. Ji - iiigh!"

Wade's singing was abruptly cut off by a beefy hand around his throat. His face was brought down level to Logan.

"Did you give her sugar?"

Wade made a strangled noise and pointed at his throat. The pressure lessened minutely but just enough.

"A bit," Wade's voice came out in a falsetto.

"Ooh, Uncle Wade, you sing good!"Anna noted, now dancing away from them in an odd, swaying motion.

The men both stared at her 'dance' in a morbidly curious way.

"Wow, your kid's, like, psycho."

"I don't want to know why you would do something so stupid, but I'm tellin' ya I ain't dealin' with it. Get her out of here. Take her to a park or something 'til that wears off and keep an eye on her."

Wade was a closet evil genius. He'd once thwarted an organization's attempt to overthrow two major, world armies and take over as their commanding officer. Essentially, he'd been boss of the largest army ever. But then there was this really sparkly…thingy he'd been distracted by. After that and hearing something that strangely sounded like a sledge-hammer hitting cranial matter, his world went black. When he next woke up, World War II was over, and no one spoke Wade-ese anymore so that was pretty much blown.

He was mostly okay with that because he probably would have ended up being an insane, tyrannical, impulsive ruler who stabbed people at random times and accidentally on purpose blew up the planet then the only people left would have been him, Jimmy, maybe Mystique – because really, it was her –, and Vicky. Maybe a few other random guys, but the word there was guys. As in no chicks, aside from Mystique and even if her and Jimmy were having problems, Wade wouldn't even want to go there. He would say just shoot him, but that didn't really work. So he got over it.

Point is, his grey matter functioned just fine...aside from the voices and occasional hallucinations and flashbacks. Meaning, he could think, plan, and plot fairly well. Jimmy, despite himself, was a sensitive soul. If let to his own devices, he'd go to a forest, cut down some trees with his bare claws, and live there for a hundred years. A real nature-boy, he'd even enjoy it, probably. In Wade's personal opinion, Anna's hyper-activity affected her like a man who's gone on his first, drunken binge. Meaning, much as he loved his daughter, Jimmy did not like dealing with her when she got like this.

In past experiences when Jimmy was working – for obvious reasons, Wade did not have a nine to five -, and he and Anna had been out and about, he'd noticed something. Now, he wasn't an ugly guy – not in this lifetime anyway. No disfiguring scars all over his body. He could get a chick, but sometimes, his awesomeness overwhelmed them. Being so incredible just intimidated the poor things, and admittedly, he came on a little strong. But then Anna, cute, little, sweet child, changed all that with her…cuteness.

No, he felt no remorse nor did he feel at all wrong about using his niece to get chicks. He knew for a fact…this was Genius.

At first, he'd been shocked at how easy it'd been. They were all just running around, like free-range chickens! It was like magic, really. He'd just scope out a nice, decent looking park bench near the play gym. One requirement: hot chicks.

East Central Park usually served his purposes nicely.

"All right, Blue, how 'bout ya let me handle this from here on out?"

Whatever…if you insist.

"I do. I really do."

So here's me and the kid, right? Walking through the lovely – didn't I tell you I had this? I don't use words like 'lovely' so stop messin' with my active vocab. Anyway, we're headed to the little play gym where they usually congregate like ants on honey. 'They' being the honeys. Ya know what I'm sayin'?

Anna's all happy and excited, and it's adorable. Even with that sugar-induced glaze over her eyes. Actually, because of the sugar. That was part of the plan, giving her sugar. Her pure, unadulterated cuteness, I've learned, is heightened and attracts them to look at her delightful hyperactivity and me by way of being there.

So skip, skip, skip, we're at the swings. It's not that Anna can swing herself; it's that I have to be seen with Anna in order to establish that I'm not some random creeper guy hanging around a bunch of pre-adolescent kids.

…

…

…

I will not make that joke. I won't I won't I won't.

'Kay, the urge is gone.

All that's left to do is waaai – hello, there.

Picture this if you can. Five feet nine inches of blond, blue-eyed hotness. Did I mention blond? I like blondes. I like yellow. Just because I run around in a skin-tight red and black suit doesn't mean I don't like other colors. Like, what's another color? Blue, like that girl's eyes. Hold up…she's wearing Capri pants…scratch that one off.

I have a thing against Capri pants. I mean, what are they? Are they pants or are they shorts? I do not wish to be forced to look at your calves if I can't see the whole thing. It's a pet peeve of mine. But I'm not picky.

"Push me higher!"

"Yeah, sure kid."

I'm not really paying her much attention, but I'm making it look like she's the center of my attention. You know, so they don't see me checking them out. Another reason why I love 'my' Costas. Did you catch that? The 'my'?…tough crowd.

Blond, bleach blond, ick. It's not that I have anything against chemically altering oneself. I'd have to be against my entire existence seeing as my very DNA has been screwed over so much. Rather painfully, I might add. With electrical things and sharp pointy ones and this long curved thing. Seriously, did no one tell those people about anesthesia? But I digress…that's the word, right? Digress? Eh, I don't care. No, my problem is I can see three inches of black hair at the roots. Put a bit more effort into the deception. Invest in the lie, ladies. Make me believe in it. That's all I'm asking for.

…What the heck was I doing?

"Whoo!"

Anna jumped off the swing. Like at the highest point of the arc. Problem: at that height and speed, she's gonna break her leg. Or some other part of her.

I might have cursed something that rhymes with rubber-truck – or I might have just said that, I don't know – as I'm lunging through the air to catch her. With skills I'd almost forgotten about, I jump through the swing ropes, snatch the kid out of the air, flip, and land on my feet in a crouch.

"Crap, Anna!"

I might have said something stronger than crap.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? You're not hurt, right? 'Cause if you are, I'm really gonna freak out and Uncle Wade freaking out is a bad thing for everyone else an – "

What the funnoli? Is this crazy, little monkey laughing? Why yes, yes, she is. I don't think she can breathe actually. But hey, laughter means there are no wounds which is a huge relief to me. And yeah, I guess me - I mean, it's me – freaking out like that's kinda funny. At least she's not crying.

"Hi."

I did not snap my head around like some paranoid freak. Calmly, coolly, Cruise-y…maybe not the best choice, but back in the day, that guy was all right; he's pretty creepy now. So I turn to her. Frankly, if I might say so, she is foine. Yeah, I know no one says that anymore, but I just did. Problem? Too bad!

"Hey," I say back to the red-haired hottie, flashing her 'I'm-a-nice-considerate-guy-but-still-got-an-edge-so-you-know-you-want-this' smile.

"Is she okay?"

Brown eyes. Full lips. Nice b – wait, what's this rated?

T, but you know kids read this stuff.

Okay…she's a very nice looking lady with very nice lady things.

Uhm. I guess that's okay.

"Oh, yeah. We're good. Right, Sunshine?"

"Is that your dog?"

What dog? Oh...that thing. That huge, slobbering German shepherd hanging off a chain. I hate German shepherds. They have very sharp teeth, and they're deceptive. One minute calm like they don't mind you, the next you're beating the suckers off with some guy's arm. Probably their master's, but whatever.

"Yeah, he is, Sweetie. You wanna pet him?"

Instead of a word, Anna squealed and practically jumped the thing. She started cooing and fussing over it, and it seemed like it was tame. Anna was loving the thing. I'd let the mutt live. For now.

"Your daughter's adorable," the pretty, pretty lady said.

"Oh, I'm not her dad. I'm her uncle. Do I look that old?" I ask, knowing I don't, but for conversation's sake.

"Uncle Wade says he's a lot older than he looks," Anna piped up.

She was hugging that mutt now. She was going to be covered in dog hair later. Gross.

"My name's Anna, and that's Uncle Wade. What's your name and the puppy's? How come ya didn't get a girl?"

"You're so cute! My name's Britt, and this is Rosco. It's nice to meet the both of you."

With that said, Britt sat herself down across from me, a hand still on the leash of that monstrosity. I wonder how attached she is to that thing. I wonder if she'd be devastated if it suddenly died of unknown causes. I wonder if she'll need a strong, supportive shoulder to cry on. In case you didn't know, I have very strong, supportive shoulders.

But anyway, her guard's down so I'm pretty much free to mold myself into some bad boy with a soft underbelly that all the girls go for. Not that I have much work to do. I mean, it don't get much badder than mercenary or softer than playing in a park with a little girl. I got this!

'Hey, Blue. Get this thing over. I have mack to play, and it doesn't actually fit into your little T rating.'

By the end of it, Wade miraculously got Britt's number and a promise for him to call her.

'Miracle? That's skill. Get your words straight, author-chick.'

Blame Kazoo.

'No way am I getting in a fight with a blue, talking, dancing fox. There are some things even I won't do.'

…I shouldn't talk to you during these things. I have no idea what to say now.

'Obviously, we get the girl.'

'Not we, I. You're just one of the voices in my head that sometimes gives unwanted, yet helpful advice.'

Yeah. Almost like common sense.

This has degenerated so much.

'Who are you calling a degenerate? I will have you know that I am a regenerate! Get your facts straight.'

I didn't mean – nevermind.

A/N: I love the Mentalist. Simon Baker as Patrick Jane…lovely. Even though he's a total sociopath. But he's a very pretty, charming one.

Sorry about the ending. I've been messing with this one for months but get the same block up at the end.