Marvel owns the X-men, no profit is to be made from this work.

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Living as long as he had, Victor had met people who had proved to be stubborn kills, people with the devils own luck turning up time and again. Being the consummate professional, if there was one thing that pissed him off it was running into those men and women who didn't have the decency to stay dead.

"They ain't dead till ya see the body."

He hadn't been born a killer as much as he might let the world at large believe, he picked that up over time, sharpening his claws from one kill to the next. Wondering just who it was that had first told him that sound bit of advice, a vision of bloodied snow flickered for a moment between the beats of his heart. It was one of the reason he liked to get down in the thick of it, stalk his prey until he could see the whites of their eyes.

The hunt was what made it all worth the sweat, blood, and every bit of pain that came as he dragged them kicking and screaming into their grave. But there were times he had to just trust that they were dead, times when the shit hit the fan so hard that bugging out was the smart move. But sticking like a bone in his throat each and every time he was reminded of it, Three Mile Island was proving to be one mistake after another.

"Next time someone gets their fuckin' head cut off I'm havin' it mounted."

Needing a long soak, a cold beer, and the kind of company that should have been waiting for him back at his suite, finding out his little Lee had been snatched was just one more aggravation he didn't need after his payday had gone belly up. The only thing that had been waiting for him had been an address to some shitty part of Lowtown and the stale scent of a man who by all rights should be dead.

Wondering just who was on the other side of the door, the mouthy merc he'd once known or the monster Stryker had turned him into, Victor found an answer in the music that was playing and the smell his little hell cat six kinds of pissed off and just the right kind of drunk. It was their first night together all over again and every reason to get the reunion over with.

With no sense in standing on ceremony, it was time to get his evening back on track. Knocking by way of his shotgun, a well placed kick was all that was needed for the door to swing open. A mule kick of answering fire was enough to wind him, his lips pulled back in a wheezing snarl as he glared at the one and only Wade Wilson.

"Pretty lively for a deadman!" Victor bellowed as he found his breath.

"You got me wanting to cover some Offspring Vic! And all the girlies say I'm pretty spry for a dead guy!"

The classic surfer music played on between bursts of gunfire, a glance from his latest bit of cover saw his little Lee sitting tied to a chair in a...

"What the hell's up with the sandbox Wilson?" As much as he was sure he'd hate to hear the answer, Victor just had to ask.

"She clashed with the decor, I had to spruce things up. A bikini babe does not go with today's modern industrial, except if tanks are involved. Tanks tie everything together."

So far the last few minutes had revealed a few important tidbits, most of which was that it was Wade he was dealing with and not whatever Stryker had thrown at him the last time. Of course there was still a whole nights drinking worth of questions he needed answers to.

"Ya mind tellin' me why ya ain't dead?"

"Do we have to go there? I mean, don't you get tired of people asking you that question all the time?"

Keeping Wilson talking was a tricky gamble, sure he might distract him, but if there was a man with the gift to gut a man while keeping up a conversation it was him. Of course there was also the risk that Wade just might damned well drive him up the wall before he slipped up, turning the tables as it were.

"Gettin' yer head cut off sounds a might terminal."

"Terminal, actually that reminds me. Hey Vic, ya remember how we all figured Three Mile Island was the perfect set up because everyone figured they'd get cancer if they stuck around too long?"

There had been a 'we' at one point, him, Stryker, Zero and even Wilson. Well, all until Stryker showed just what his word was worth. Three Mile Island was a can of worms he didn't need his little Lee finding about, it cut a little too close to a lake somewhere else where Stryker had come into a whole mess of karma.

"Yer not tellin' me ya got cancer are ya?" Victor asked, steering the question back to Wilson's favourite topic, himself.

"Terminal, and a low sperm count."

"Yer shitting me?"

"Only about the sperm count, Deadpool don't shoot blanks baby!"

Proving his boast, the game of cat and mouse they were having behind cover was over, and Vic answered in kind. Taking one last breath as the first rounds of submachine gun fire tore at his chest, somewhere in that game Wade had switched from whatever high calibre pistol he'd been using to something that went more quantity over quality.

Pumping round after round of shot gun slug into the man, Vic ran empty just about the time Wilson spent his last clip. Smoke wafted from the barrels as blood splattered against the floor, and staring at another, Victor watched the holes he'd so carefully worked at filling Wilson with heal before his eyes. That answered one question he had but just begged another.

"Ya can't still ghost around like Wraith, can ya?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I could?"

Knowing the lie for what it was, he looked off to where his little hellcat was growling through her gag just glaring daggers at him and Wade alike. Likely knowing Jimmy like she did explained why she looked a might more irritated than anything after everything him and Wilson had done to another. Ambling up and cutting her loose, his surprise turned to respect as he caught her charging her one time kidnapper and captor.

"Here's your low sperm count!" Jubilee snarled, lashing out with a kick of unsportsmanlike conduct.

"She's a keeper Vic!" Wade gasped, his voice a horrible wheeze as he fell to his knees.

"And if you think I'm picking any of those bullets out of you after all this...!"

Finding himself intrigued at that outburst, sure enough Victor felt like he had a date with a back alley doctor and a bottle of whiskey to deal with that itch that came with a good gun fight. For now though he just needed everything that had been denied him earlier after his bad day at the office, a beer and a good long soak with his little Lee, looking every bit as tempting as he figured she would in that bikini.

Snatching her up for a hungry kiss that lead to grazing his teeth down her delicate neck, every breath told how eager for a fight she was. It was intoxicating in a way no whiskey could ever be, feeling her struggle against him in some vain attempt at escaping. Snatching her wrists in his hand, the rope marks from her bondage were there to see, red and vivid against her smooth skin.

"Yer lookin' like ya could use a drink every bit as bad as me, since we're in Lowtow we might as well head to an ol' favourite."

"I'm still not pickin' bullets outta you."

Feeling like his night was finally getting back on track, a trip to the Princess Bar with his little Lee on his arm was a good first step. The rest of the questions he had for Wade could wait until he got down to running up a tab all while chasing after a good buzz.

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