begin teh Awesome Plan. XD
warnings: slash. reference to violence. reference to torture and human experimentation. Earth-339 (think of it as 'the Waking Man universe'). spoilers, i guess...for Messiah War. language: r (primetime tv plus s***, f*** and c**k).
pairing: Nate/Wade, Stryfe/Wade.
timeline: 3922, the day Nate and Hope arrive in Earth-339.
disclaimer: marvel owns Cable & Deadpool, disney owns marvel.
notes: 1) i've made a little game out of Wade's nicknames for people. i try not to repeat myself too much, except for Hope (who's almost always 'munchkin,' 'precious,' or 'princess'). 2) why doesn't Hope wonder how Wade knows so much? the real reason is narrative convenience. XD; but we'll say it's because she assumes Eight-ball told him. 3) i'm sure i had something else to say about this one, but lunch is almost over. _ pretend i said something profound. =D
Pretend
Wade remembers now that it is surprisingly difficult to play dumb.
Bishop has been annoying and suspicious from the moment he arrived, even through all the bowing and scraping he does. And god, he hovers around Stryfe like a fly on a damn turd, and sometimes Wade just wants to say 'fuck it' to his Awesome Plan and just fucking kill the bastard. Sure, he's Someone Besides Stryfe, and he's a fine example of masculinity, and all that jazz, but he wants to kill Hope, and that makes Wade want to stab him a few dozen times. In fact, if he stops to think about it, he starts to hate Bishop about twice as much as he hates Stryfe.
"Stryfe, honey, do the food synthesizers know how to make Funyuns?" Wade calls as he wanders into the throne room.
Apparently, Stryfe and Bishop have been plotting, because the viewer is active and Wilt Chamberlain's evil twin shoots Wade a dirty look over his shoulder.
The hell with that. Wade isn't scared of much of anything, but he is particularly not-scared of a fucking chicken-shit baby-killer like Lucas fucking Bishop. Nate did the 'I'm From the Future and I Said So' thing, sure, but fucking Bishop actually uses it as justification to kill people who haven't done shit to anybody.
So Wade curls around Stryfe's arm like he did in the old days and ignores Bishop (Stryfe smells too much like Nate, and while it was comforting at first, it rankles after all the torture shit).
"I'm not sure what a 'funyun' is, but you could simply ask the food synthesizers," Stryfe replies, waving a hand to shift the viewer's focus to a different part of the city.
"Hm. Didn't think of that." He tugs at Stryfe's arm. "Let's go do something, cuddle-bug. It's been ages since the last time you did something fun like drive hot needles under my fingernails."
Stryfe smirks. "Bored again, my pet?"
"You haven't even sent me off to kill people lately."
"Cable will be here any day now," Bishop interjects. "You can kill him."
"Yeah, sure, Cable," Wade scoffs. "Good one. He's been dead for—" …one thousand, eight hundred, and ninety-eight years, two hundred and twelve days, thirteen hours, eight minutes, seven seconds, eight seconds, nine seconds… "—a helluva long time."
Bishop rolls his eyes. "He'll be timesliding in."
Wade makes a show of scowling over at Bishop before leaning closer to Stryfe. "Listen, honey-bee, the stick-in-the-mud over there's been cutting into our 'alone time.' We could totally ditch him for a day and think of something creative involving strawberries. Whattaya say, sugar-pie? You, me, a bed, 'n a bowl of fruit…"
Stryfe chuckles and tickles Wade's chin. "Tempting, my dear, but Bishop and I were deep in discussion before you interrupted."
Two can play at that game.
Wade straightens with a snort and draws a sword from his back. "Fine. Whatever. I'm gonna go cull the ranks again, in that case. I still say the whole idea is ridiculous—even if Nate shows up, what's he gonna do? Sacrifice himself nobly at you? Saw that rerun a few times last millennium, and I'm pretty tired of it by now, so I think I'll watch something else that day."
"You sound bitter," Stryfe notes cheerfully.
He gestures to Bishop with his sword. "That's because the bastard son of Tyson Beckford and Arnold Schwarzeneggar is seriously cramping my style. I'm bored and horny, and you're too busy being deep in discussion to do anything about it. What the hell good is it being the pet killer of the guy who conquered the world if there's no porn? Ugh. I gotta go kill somethin'." And he turns to go.
"Not the guards, please," Stryfe calls after him. "It's hard to find good help, I'm sure you'll agree."
Perfect. Wade sighs thickly and waves a hand. "Fine, fine, I'll go look for some bandit stragglers or something." He makes sure to gripe and complain his way out of the fortress. Once he's in the city, he turns on his stealth module, wanders a little more to make double-sure he isn't being followed, and takes Eight-ball out. Quickly, he turns to the sun (just a bright spot over the haze, really) and rotates the sphere until the control grid appears—he's been thinking lately that things would be a lot simpler if he just carried a flashlight for this, since it's the hardest and most time-consuming part of turning Eight-ball back on.
When it wakes up, it flashes red. ~Imminent timeslide phenomenon.~
"Yeah, I know," Wade mutters. "Where are they going to land, Eight-ball?"
~Examining resonance pattern…~
A map blinks within the depths of the sphere.
~The red marker indicates subject designate Wade Wilson WM339. The blue marker indicates the exit point of the timeslide. It is approximately two miles northeast. The timeslide will complete within one hour.~
"Shit," Wade hisses, picking his way through the rubble. "Shaft wasn't kiddin' when he said 'any day now.'"
After some awkward hiking, he finds the spot and tucks Eight-ball back into its pouch on his belt.
When Nate and Hope arrive, they look like crap. They look tired, and Nate looks like he's taken a beating. Good—they'll probably find a place to bunker down and recuperate before they try anything. He just follows them, secures their perimeter, scares off a patrol of Stryfe's guards by telling them he's hunting rebels in the area and doesn't want to be disturbed.
Wade waits until Nate is asleep before he goes in.
"Psst. Hope."
She whips her head around.
He turns off his stealth module.
"Mister Wilson," she whispers, and comes over to him.
"Hey, princess," he says, and ruffles her hair. "This is all gonna sound weird, but you're gonna have to trust me, okay? Let's go outside, so we don't wake Nate up."
She takes his hand, and the familiarity of it almost freezes him on the spot.
But he leads her outside. With his free hand, he pulls out Eight-ball and holds it up to the light. Symbols glitter in the depths.
"Wow, what's that?" Hope asks.
"It's my crystal ball," he tells her with a cheeky grin. "It can tell the future. And that's how I know that you have to come with me."
To her credit, she pulls away from him with a skeptical frown. "I…I think I should go get Nathan."
"No no no," he quickly says. "Don't do that. Please, just trust me. To keep you safe, I need you to pretend that I kidnapped you. We're going to go to Stryfe's place—"
Her eyes get big, and she opens her mouth to argue.
"—but I promise I won't let him hurt you. It's just for a little while. In about a day, Neena and the others will get here, and I'll send them to pick you up."
"You're not going to do it yourself?"
"Nate 'n I are gonna be busy killing Stryfe. That's why I want you to be somewhere else. Understand?"
Slowly, she nods.
He holds up a finger. "I dunno if you know this yet, but Stryfe looks and sounds just like Nate. So if Nate tries to get you to go somewhere with him, don't. Wait for Warren and Josh. Better yet, wait for Laura and Jimmy."
"I know about Stryfe," she says. "I've met two of him. They weren't very nice, even if they did look and sound like Nathan. But why can't I stay with Nathan?"
"Eight-ball, what are the chances of Hope surviving the next week if she stays with Nate?"
~Approximately 8%,~ Eight-ball promptly replies.
Wade shrugs. "That's why, princess. If I leave you with him, you'll be in danger, and we can't have that."
"But how do you know if I'll be safer at Stryfe's place?"
"Eight-ball, what are the chances of Hope surviving the next week if she's a captive of Stryfe?"
~Assuming that subject designate Lucas Bishop MP619-Delta is still being watched closely by subject designate Stryfe WM339-Alpha, 95%.~
"And ninety-five's a lot better than eight, sweetie," Wade says.
She frowns. "And what if Bishop isn't being watched by Stryfe?"
~Then he will still have to overcome security protocols. Chances of subject designate Hope WM338 surviving the week in that case fall to 75%.~
"Still better than eight," Wade points out.
"Okay," she says after a while.
So he hitches her up onto his hip and starts picking his way back through the ruins to the fortress. "And you'll have to pretend you can't tell the difference between Nate and Stryfe."
"Okay," she says again.
Thanks to the stealth module, he manages to get her back to the fortress by the end of the day with no interruptions.
"Honey, I'm home!" he calls as he walks into the throne room. "Look what I found—can I keep 'er?"
Stryfe looks up from watching a rebel patrol in the viewer. Bishop looks up and flinches.
Hope rubs her eyes with feigned sleepiness. "Nathan?" she yawns. "Oh. Here you are."
"See, I toldya I'd take you to him, Hope," Wade says.
As always, Stryfe catches on quickly. He stands from his throne and comes over to them. "Yes, here I am," he says. "But you must be sleepy…Wade, find a place for Hope to rest."
"Okie-doke!" he chirps, and walks back out.
"Mister Wilson," Hope hisses urgently.
"Just keep pretending," he whispers out of the corner of his mouth.
She clams up. Good girl.
He takes her to the armory.
~Organic presence detected—welcome, Wade Wilson.~
"Q, lock us down," he says, and sets Hope on her feet.
The doors hiss shut, and the thick blast panel thuds down over them.
~The armory is fully shielded from observation and intrusion.~
Wade takes a moment to just look at Hope.
Seven-ish, like she was in his very earliest memories of her. So young, but already used to running, already used to seeing wars. Unwashed face and hair. Ill-fitting hand-me-down clothes. Bright, brave eyes.
"You okay, princess?" he asks her, and she nods.
"I'm glad you know who I am, Mister Wilson. The last Mister Wilson didn't know me. I'm not sure he even knew we were there. The one before that didn't seem to know me very well."
"Well, I know you very well. You know who that big dark-skinned dude was back there?"
"Bishop," she says in a hushed voice, eyes wide with fear.
He pats her head to reassure her. "Yeah. Good, that saves a lot of explaining. While you're in here, you'll be safe from him. If he comes by, Q will warn you and let you into a good hiding spot—all you have to do then is be very quiet. This room is set up to survive a seige, so it's got everything—food, water, blankets, even a bathroom. I need you to stay here."
After a while, she nods again. "Okay. What if Stryfe comes?"
"You can tell the difference between Nate and Stryfe?" he asks warily.
"Yes."
"Yeah, I thought I could, too. But I was wrong, once. This Stryfe is very good at pretending to be Nate."
"Then how will you know if you killed the right one?" she demands.
He holds up Eight-ball. "My crystal ball can tell them apart. And I remembered something about Nate that Stryfe can't fake."
"What's that?"
He grins, kisses her forehead. "Nate loves you very much. Stryfe doesn't love anything." With one last affectionate ruffle of her hair, he stands and goes to the door. "Q's not that great a conversationalist, but you can talk to him any time, if you get lonely. Be a good girl."
When the doors are shut and locked behind him, he casually strolls his way back to the throne room to tie up the pair of oversized loose ends there.
"I trust you have an explanation," Stryfe drawls.
"Found her wandering around in the ruins," Wade lies easily, and shrugs. "She called out my name, so I figured she must be one of our dimension-hopping guests. I dunno—maybe she'll make good bait."
Bishop doesn't say anything, but he's giving Wade his most suspicious and distrusting look yet.
"Bait?" Stryfe echoes.
Wade waves a hand at Bishop. "Yeah. He was sayin' about how Nate 'n the gang are s'posed to be showing up, right? I've never met a Nate who wasn't a sucker for a little kid in distress. Way I see it, I go out there, play up the dumb-and-crazy routine, tell them I saw her leave with you… Y'know, a little turncoat action. Some double-agent work."
"What a surprising stroke of brilliance, my pet," Stryfe remarks.
Wade beams. "Aw, shucks, babe… I try." You smarmy, underestimating jerk.
"And what's to stop you from joining Cable's side?" Bishop asks sharply.
But Wade is ready for that. He scoffs. "Yeah, that would happen. Hello? Earth to Bishop! That mook is useless, doesn't rule the remainder of the world, and doesn't have a machine that can make me any kind of cookie I want."
"What the hell does that have to do with—"
"Any kind of cookie!" Wade interrupts loudly. "Also, our iron-fisted tyrant is better in bed and scratches all my itches. Or did until you showed up and started cock-blocking. And the sooner those feebs are outta here, the sooner you're outta here and I can get back to my blissful existence of torture, sex, and junkfood."
Oh, yeah. Shoulda been an actor.
Stryfe laughs. "Excellent! Go on, then. Play out your little charade. Have your fun. I promise you that when this is over, you will have my undivided attention."
That sounds more like a threat than a promise, but Wade bounces and claps like a cheerleader on crack. "Yay! Who's gonna get evil conquerer sex? Wade's gonna get evil conquerer sex! Don't be too jealous, Luke!"
"Ugh," Bishop says, looking ill.
Awesome Plan in place, suspicion averted.
Wade prances out of the throne room.
.End.