"Dead and Alive"

There was a barrage of gunfire, and it was through sheer damn luck and instinct that Phil ducked out of the way in time. He rolled behind an overturned cart, and quickly reloaded. Pockmarks were forming in the woodwork; a few more lucky hits from the enemy and there'd be just as many holes in Phil, something he was keen to avoid today, preferably ever.

"Don't make me come out there!" he called, examining his surroundings for anything to use as an improvised weapon. Over the shots, he managed to make himself heard on the comms. "May, how far out are you?"

"Forty-five seconds."

"Right. I may not have that long."

"Boss, I made a potentially terrible call," Hunter said. Phil could almost hear him wincing.

"What was that?"

"Got a call this morning from an old acquaintance looking for work."

"And?" Phil poked his head around, and it was nearly blown off. He pulled back, and grabbed a wheel. As he propped it against the worst of the damage to the cart, Hunter continued.

"I told him where we'd be, only this came up, and—"

"Is he in danger?" Phil said. That was the last thing he needed; another civilian to take care of. Unless, knowing Hunter's former line of work, it was an assassin. Oh, goody.

"No, but—"

There was the ping of bullets meeting metal, multiple pings. Phil wondered, for a crazy moment, whether they had a visitor from Asgard who was deflecting the bullets. He peeked over the top of the cart, and his eyes widened.

A man with two swords, moving so fast that he was blocking every single damn bullet headed Phil's way. When the enemy seemed to run out of bullets, the man then took them all on, swiping and slashing and kicking, until they were all the ground and the swords – katanas? – were dripping with blood.

Katanas. Jesus Christ.

"Your friend is Deadpool?" he hissed into the comm. unit.

"Acquaintance, boss, not friend."

"That doesn't make me feel any better. He's a loose cannon."

"Who just saved your ass," May said, and Phil noticed that the `jet was finally hovering near them. Phil sighed, and figured he should at least say thank you. He approached Deadpool, and opened his mouth.

"Hell of a ride you've got there," Deadpool said, pointing at the plane as it landed. "At least I'm guessing it's yours, if you're the guy I think you are. I've heard a lot about you, and it'd be great if… holy shit, you're injured!" Phil looked down dazedly, and saw that he'd caught at least one bullet to the side. "Okay, hold onto your hat… you know, if you were wearing one."

Phil gasped in pain as Deadpool pulled him close, and then teleported them – damn, he'd forgotten that one – onto the plane. Skye yelped when they appeared.

"You might wanna get him some help," Deadpool said. "Since there's blood, and I'm pretty sure it's his."

"I've got you, DC," Skye said, supporting him. "Let's get you to Simmons."

"Wade, you really have the best and worst timing," Phil heard Hunter say.

"Nice to see you, too, Hunter. That was your boss, right? I like him. Doesn't say much, which means more for me! Do you think he likes me? I kinda saved his life back there, so I really hope he doesn't die now. But you said he came back to life or something, didn't you?"

Phil massaged the side of his head, a migraine already forming.

"We've got a problem," he mumbled.

"Yeah, you got shot," Skye said. "That's not a fun thing."

"Not that. Deadpool."

"Deadpool? That guy is Wade Wilson?"

"Seems so," Phil said. Simmons followed them into the room as Skye helped him lie back on the bed. She began to undo his shirt, which was just as well, because his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"If he's joining the bus crew, I think we're all gonna need spare earplugs," she remarked.

"His voice isn't that bad."

"But does he ever shut up? I seriously don't think he took a breath. At all."

"Just get these off, sir," Simmons said, helping Phil strip to the waistline. His tie was undamaged, which was good, because Phil customised them himself.

"Well, if this is the kind of service we get around here, I'd love to join up," Deadpool said from the door, looking over everyone in the room. Hunter sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Not right now," he said. "I'll get you a drink. Stop bothering them."

"Damn, if all your crew is as attractive as this, you won't even have to pay me a salary, Director Coulson," Deadpool said. "And you can call me Wade. Using 'Deadpool' too much sounds ominous, especially in the narration. I have a real name, you know."

Hunter growled, and tugged him away by the collar. "Not this again."

"See you later, Coulson, ladies!"

Phil didn't say anything. He glanced at Simmons, and then sat forward.

"You haven't seen my bare back," he said. "You might want to, so you understand."

"I'd prefer to repair that hole in your side," Simmons said firmly. "Don't move around."

"No," Skye said. "Actually, you kinda need to see this."

Phil knew damn well about the wall of writing that showed up on his back after he was resurrected. No one had recorded it, and the handwriting didn't match anyone at SHIELD. It was unusual for marks to show up so late in life, and Phil could only assume – judging by the average lifespan of an agent – that his soulmate might have lost theirs, maybe in New York, and then gained another mark. It wasn't unheard of for marks to form and disappear and change. At his age, he'd expected to be one of those blanks. The Leftovers, to use the slang term, those who were standbys for people who lost their original soulmate. The consolation prizes.

It was a lot of writing, and the first time he'd heard those exact words – and with that many, it was pretty damn exact – was today. From Deadpool.

…Not good.

"Sir," Simmons said. "That is a very long soulmark. Is it…?"

"It has to be," Phil said, sinking his head into his hands. The action pulled at his injury, and he hissed.

"Lie back down! That can wait `til later."

"Don't tell anyone," he said, flinching at the antiseptic basically being poured down his side. "I want him to find out from me, if it's really him."

"Okay," Skye said. "D'you want me to start making a report on the spaghetti western?"

"We are not calling it that. No spaghetti was involved."

"DC, when are we ever gonna have a chance to refer to a mission as The Spaghetti Western?"

"We might."

"In which case it'll sound even more impressive to have The Second Spaghetti Western!"

"Skye, go start that report. Or check on May. Both."

"Does the director of SHIELD have to fill out clothing requisition forms or whatever you call them?"

He glared at Skye, and she left, both hands raised in surrender. Simmons tutted until Phil relaxed and let her get on with her job.

Skye checked in the kitchen, where Hunter was keeping their guest out of the refrigerator.

"Just go and sit down! You're such a menace."

"You told me where you were gonna be," Deadpool said.

"Like you wouldn't have found us anyway."

"True, but this way you get to take some of the blame, and I'm not told off for butting in where I'm not wanted, so it's win-win!"

"Yeah, for you."

"But we've all heard you're on the side of the goody-goodies now," Deadpool said, throwing the water bottle cap at Hunter and hitting him in the middle of the forehead. Hunter looked supremely unimpressed. "So if I'm gonna redeem myself – and make use of my talents – what better way to start, am I right? And you do have a seriously hot crew here. Look at this one. But hey, you got some blood on your shirt, probably from the director, smells like his, and wow, if I stopped and listened to myself I would probably notice that that sounds pretty creepy, but—"

"Wade!"

"…Yeah, Hunter?"

"Stop. Talking. Just for a second. I'm sure Skye wants to say something."

"Skye?" Deadpool said, turning to face her properly. "I heard a rumour that that isn't your name."

She swallowed. "If you're referring to 'Quake'—"

"I'm referring to Daisy. Can I just say, sweetie, that your dad's a real crackpot? And c'mon, this is coming from me, although I can't say all the stuff in my head's entirely my fault."

"Okay, yeah, just stop talking for a sec," Skye said, holding up a hand. "Nod if you're met my dad." He nodded once. "Is he still alive?"

"Yep, though it was a close thing—"

"Right, I'm gonna go talk to May. Hunter, please warn him about her. She'll cut out his tongue if he doesn't shut up around her."

"May barely talks at all," Hunter pointed out.

"Another quiet one?" Deadpool said. "I like this gig even more! And it'd be great if people could just call me Wade, okay? Too much to ask? How am I supposed to be redeemed with an ominous name like Deadpool? I mean, when has a good guy ever had a name like that? You get things like Captain America and Iron Man. Yeah, War Machine doesn't sound so good, but he was re-branded as Iron Patriot! Do you think I could be re-branded?"

"As Wading Pool?" Hunter suggested.

"Nah, sounds too much like a kid."

"He's your friend, your responsibility," Skye said, ducking out and heading for the cockpit. She needed to warn May.

"Acquaintance, not friend!" Hunter called.

"Aw, I'm hurt, Hunter, I'm really hurt…"

Phil couldn't delay it anymore. The look May had given him after her first 'conversation' with Deadpool had Phil blaming Hunter for him being onboard.

"He saved my life," he added in a last-ditch effort to get that look re-directed. Eventually, he skulked out of the cockpit and to the interrogation room, where Deadpool had been left for the time being.

"Don't hate me for this, boss," Hunter said. He was waiting outside the room, watching the door. With Deadpool's teleporting device, there didn't seem much point in security; but, for some reason, he was staying put. To win favour, maybe?

"May might not have gotten there in time, so I can't fault you for that," Phil said. "You didn't even know he'd show up."

"I try not to prepare for Wilson."

"I can see why." Phil sighed. If he waited any longer, he'd have to put up with Skye's eyebrow of what-the-hell and Simmons' eager questions about how it went. So he turned the handle and entered the room, surprised to see that Deadpool… no, he should probably call him Wilson, remained in the chair.

"I'd say it's nice to see you dressed again, but I think I liked it better before, except for the whole bullet wound thing, which seems to be fixed. Pretty young doctor there." Phil pursed his lips, frowning. "Okay, so I won't be going after any of your staff. Yet. I fall in love pretty quickly, so I make no guarantees. I nearly pissed myself when I met Agent May, though. Are you sure her superpower isn't silent intimidation or something? `Cause if so, she's got that in spades, and I've faced some mean enhanced people before."

Phil had come in with every intention of 'Hello' being his opening line. Something generic, so that Wilson wouldn't guess, especially as Phil knew not to react to whatever he said next.

His plans went out the window.

"I understand you're looking for work, Mr. Wilson," he said. Okay, not so generic, but it was something he must've heard before—

Wilson grinned.

"Well, what d'you know?" he said. "Wow, you must have the longest soulmark in the universe. Can I see, can I see? I wanna see it. Here, is this yours?" He pulled up his shirt, and bang in the middle of his torso was Phil's writing: 'I understand you're looking for work, Mr. Wilson'. He nodded weakly, and Wilson lowered his shirt again. "I knew whoever said that was either gonna be one of those polite baddies, or one of the good guys. I was hoping it'd be column B… though I don't mind if you're a little column A sometimes, too." He winked, and Phil's cheeks flushed red.

"When did you get it?" he said.

"Not long back, probably around the time you got yours," Wilson – he should probably be Wade now – said. "Didn't have one for… well, all my life. Kept waiting and waiting, and nothing happened. Fell in love with love, which led to a whole bunch of failed relationships with people waiting for their soulmate to come along, and happy enough to go with what Fate wanted instead of saying 'Screw it' and staying with me. And sometimes they just wanted to kill me." He shrugged. "When I woke up with this burning into my chest, I thought I was actually, finally dying. When I looked in a mirror and saw the words, I made it my mission to find… you." He cocked his head. "Heh. Funny expression, isn't it? Cocking your head? I'd rather cock your—"

"Back on topic," Phil said.

"So anyway, I started putting out the feelers, letting people know I was for hire again, in any capacity. Didn't accept any jobs unless someone said the words. No one's seen me naked since then, so it's not like anyone could find out what they were. Well, except maybe an extremely talented mind-reader, but now I don't have to worry, because it's you. I found you! You're my soulmate! Soulmate, soulmate, soulmate, soulmate…"

He began chanting it softly, and Phil feared for many things: his sanity, Wade's sanity, the health of everyone on the team. He pushed a paper and pencil across the desk and interrupted the litany.

"Just write something, so I can make sure," he said.

"Whatever you like, sweetheart!" Wade wrote those very words, and shoved the paper back to Phil. While he was examining it – and noting that, yes, it was the same handwriting as on his back – Wade began to hum. Phil looked up. Half a second later, Wade had vaulted over the desk and perched on the edge of it in front of Phil. He parted his legs and dragged the chair close with his toes. Phil put his hands up, trying to halt the movement, and they landed on Wade's inner thighs.

"Look, just stop—"

"I like where this is going, Phil. I can call you 'Phil', right? Can I see my words now? Can I, can I, can I?"

"Not while you've got me trapped."

"Oh?" There were a few seconds of blessed silence as one of Wade's eyebrows crept up. "I wonder where your mark could possibly be. Could it be… here?" He touched Phil's chest. "Or maybe lower?" He ran his finger down, dipping between the buttons to touch skin. Phil's face grew hotter, and he squeezed Wade's legs. "Wanna show me, or should I go the whole way?"

Embarrassed beyond all reason, Phil pushed the chair back and wrenched himself away from Deadpool.

"Okay," he said. "I'll show you." He shucked off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Hesitant, he shrugged it down enough to show off the mark, without having to take it off or show Deadpool the front of his scar. It was bad enough seeing the entry wound.

Years of combat training nearly ended with Deadpool against the opposite wall when he embraced Phil from behind. It seemed he was shirtless, and Phil trembled. His hands began to shake again, with stress or… or… something, he didn't know.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Showing you how it'll be when we bond," Deadpool said. He tsked. "And I just got you calling me Wade. Have problems with intimacy?"

"No."

"What about the author?"

"Author?" Phil frowned, and tried to turn to see Wade. But his arms were strong, and Phil couldn't move. He should have felt vulnerable, and extremely worried that Wade was talking complete nonsense.

"Incomplete nonsense, unless you let me finish my sentences."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Phil said.

"Good thing those aren't my soul-words, because if I had a penny for every time someone said that to me—"

"You'd be a millionaire?"

"Nope. Still be looking for work. Most of the people I talk to I've known for a long time. The rest of them are targets I kill before they can even say anything to me."

Phil tried to coax Wade's arms away, but it didn't work.

"This is uncomfortable," he said. Wade nuzzled his shoulder.

"It wouldn't be if you took your shirt off properly," he said.

"I'm not bonding with you, Wa… Mr. Wilson."

"Call me Wade! You were calling me Wade in your third-person limited narration."

This was not happening to Phil. This was a very, very strange dream, and he'd probably been drinking with May again. Clearly he never learned his lesson about playing drinking games with her, if this level of weirdness was the result.

"I'm not bonding with you, Wade," he said.

"Here? That's cool. We need supplies, because I wanna do this the traditional way. Well, not completely the traditional way. Superheroes getting married? Disaster waiting to happen. Look at what happened to Reed Richards and Susan Storm. I tried to crash the wedding, but I didn't need to, because the silver dude got there first. But bonding with sex would be so much more fun. I promise, you can top me first. I'm immune from diseases, but if you want condoms, we'll get some. You got some? We'll also need lube. There's cooking oil in the kitchen, which I really don't recommend even when going bareback. Now, that's an idea—"

"I mean," Phil said, finally detangling himself from Wade, "that I'm not bonding with you at all. Not here, not anywhere."

"…What?"

"No."

"But…" He became uncharacteristically quiet. "Why not?"

Phil could list many reasons, but many of them weren't Wade's fault. He couldn't put any of them politely. Then he had his reservations about himself. Wade appeared young, and was effectively immortal, or so he'd heard. Phil was still fit, didn't feel past it at all, but was well aware of his own mortality. He and Wade seemed to have nothing in common. He couldn't say that the guy was annoying; Phil didn't mind the noise, to tell the truth, considering that his conversations with May were very one-sided. It'd be nice to be the one talking in only facial expressions for once.

"I… don't know why," he admitted.

"Then why're you saying no?" Phil didn't reply, and Wade's expression fell. "Never mind. I think I can guess."

"Wade—"

"Can I stay for awhile? Got nowhere else to go at the moment, and maybe I can help."

"Of course," Phil said. "Someone with your skills would be a great addition to the team."

"But not me specifically," Wade said. "Only someone with my skills."

"Deadpool, there's no one else like you."

Instead of continuing to chatter, Wade nodded, half-smiling, and left the room with his shirt flung over his shoulder. Phil sank into his chair, pulling his own shirt back into place, and wondered what the hell to do next. He had to find somewhere for Wade on base. There was definitely a spare room near Phil's, but would that be appropriate under the circumstances?

He was still thinking when Wade appeared.

"Can I have a kiss first?" he asked. He waited for an answer. Slowly, Phil got to his feet, and he tilted his chin up in invitation.

The kiss was soft, much gentler than he'd anticipated considering their naked torsos had been pressed together only a few minutes before. He closed his eyes to avoid Wade's gaze, and leaned into the kiss, parting his lips expectantly when Wade moaned.

Then it was over. Wade pulled back abruptly and teleported away again.

Lips tingling, Phil acknowledged to himself that it was much more complicated than he'd thought.

"What the hell did you do, boss?"

Phil looked up. It'd been a rough couple of days. The Spaghetti Western – and he could kill Skye for calling it that, because it'd caught on – had sparked something, and suddenly everyone wanted to fight western-style. They were no match for Phil's team; but it sucked to be called a heathen and barbarian for taking down the bad guys with one shot, and a spoil-sport for not playing along. It wouldn't have been so bad if they weren't photographed and exposed on Twitter. Skye did her best to pull it all off the internet, but pictures kept resurfacing.

Then Natasha Romanov somehow got his number, and there was hell to pay. They were on their way to New York when Hunter cornered him in his office.

"What do you mean?" Phil said, head resting on his folded arms. He didn't care enough to sit up straight at the moment. "What're they saying now?"

"It's what he's not saying that worries me. How did you threaten him? I think you could take out a patent on getting Wade Wilson to stop talking."

"He's stopped talking?" Phil asked. He hadn't been near Deadpool since they last spoke, only seeing him in the distance during one of the fights. He was honestly expecting the merc to leave any day now. He probably would after he met the Avengers.

"It's a miracle. It also scares me. What did you say to him?"

Phil sighed, and sat back. Better than getting hell from May for ruining his posture.

"We're soulmates."

Hunter laughed for half a minute. Phil didn't react, and the laughter petered out.

"You're serious," Hunter said. "You and Wade Wilson… are soulmates?"

"You heard me."

Hunter stared at him. "Either you shagged him into submission – which I don't even want to think about – or you rejected him."

"The second one."

"You… you know that he's wanted a soulmate forever, right?"

"He's been alive for a long time—"

"No, no. If you get him onto the topic of soulmates he'll nearly talk your ears off with tales of searching until he finds The One, and guarantees that it'll happen one day. He's incredibly susceptible to anything he sees as reciprocation. Even a smile is enough to make him think he has a chance. I can't think how he'd take it if he thought there wasn't one, and from his soulmate." Hunter shook his head, and glanced at Phil. "Why did you turn him down?"

"My reasons seem pretty flimsy in hindsight," he confessed. "But I can't figure out why Fate thinks we would fit together."

"You sure as hell won't find out sitting around by yourself!"

"Okay, okay," Phil said, waving Hunter out. "Just… give me a few minutes to myself. Do you know where he is?"

"Probably the common area. Just because he isn't talking doesn't mean he's going to be anti-social."

"I'll be there soon."

Phil had barely spent five minutes total in Wade Wilson's presence, but even he could see the difference in the mercenary. He was slouching in a chair, arms crossed, and watching everyone else in the room with an settling intensity. Even May kept glancing at him. Wade was tense, but there was a chance that he'd heard Phil coming, if his senses really were strong enough. Could he hear Phil's heartbeat speeding up as he walked closer?

"Can I have a word with you?" he asked. Wade looked up at him, but didn't speak. "I was… I shouldn't have." He took a calming breath. Deadpool was still giving him nothing to work with. "I think… I'd prefer a different way to stop that mouth of yours from running off."

Wade's eyebrows twitched upwards. Quickly losing patience, Phil grabbed him by the shirtfront and dragged him up into a kiss. There. That'd loosen his tongue. He was rewarded when Wade stood up and pulled him close. There was a moment when everything shifted, and Phil blinked when the kiss was broken. They were in his office. He didn't even know that Wade knew where it was.

He waited for the talking to start again, but it didn't come. Wade looked unsure, only holding Phil's arms loosely. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"I was stupid," Phil said. "I couldn't see why we'd be paired. We're so different. But I guess… I only know what other people have said about you. I shouldn't have just relied on rumours to judge your character and personality." He stroked the back of Wade's head, running his fingers through the short hairs. "I died for about five days. When I came back, I had a soulmark. I'd never had one before, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do when I met you. I thought I'd know, but instead I screwed everything up because I… didn't expect you to want me."

Wade still didn't say anything, and Phil let his hand drop. He stepped back, his heart sinking. He really had screwed up.

Before he could move any further, Wade cupped his face and kissed him again. Not prepared to waste any more time, Phil kissed back, running his hands over Wade's chest and down to the edge of his shirt.

"Not gonna say anything?" he whispered.

Wade raised an eyebrow and smirked, challenging. 'Make me', he was saying.

Challenge accepted.

"Okay, then," Phil said. He pushed Wade against the wall and pulled his shirt up. He licked the soulmark, and Wade groaned deeply. "Still no words? Guess I'm gonna have to try harder. Of course," he blinked innocently when Wade scowled at him, "if you want me to take you to my quarters so we could bond… you only have to ask."

Wade talked a lot, and it wasn't just dirty talk, or describing what he was doing to Phil. In fact, the only time he stopped chattering was when they bonded. It was a hell of a moment, becoming tied to someone like that. At first, Phil worried that he'd regret it, moving so quickly when they barely knew each other; but when it happened, it felt like the most natural thing, and he didn't know why people bonded less than they used to. It was more permanent than marriage, yet despite being tied to Deadpool, one of the most unstable people Phil had ever met, he'd never felt more stable in his life. He felt connected to Wade by something words could never describe. The soul.

"I feel whole again," Wade murmured against Phil's shoulder as they rested afterwards. It was physically exhausting, warm with an edge of pain, and then the most comforting, peaceful feeling when the bond settled. Phil held Wade's arm over his.

"Now I know what was missing," he said.

"When am I allowed to say I love you?"

Phil peered over his shoulder, and arched his eyebrows.

"Whenever you want, sweetheart," he said.

"You might get sick of hearing it."

"I don't think I will."

"You'll probably want to stuff a gag in my mouth or something."

"I'd prefer to kiss you if I want to keep you quiet. Or kiss you because I want to." He snuggled back further. "Because I love you."

"You love me? I'm kinda concerned that I've passed on the crazy to you now."

Phil laughed softly. "You're forgetting I know all about you, thanks to the bond."

"And you found something to love."

"Mmm. Everything." Wade was silent. "Talk, please. I like hearing you talk."

"What the… why? Shit, I wasn't gonna use italics. The author hates writing the code, even though she now knows that there's a way around it."

Phil rolled his eyes. He wasn't going there. "The noise stops my mind going to the dark places. It's a distraction, a good one. It gives me something nicer to concentrate on."

When he checked again, Wade was smiling broadly.

"Well, you keep rendering me speechless," he said.

"Not entirely. You were quite vocal before."

"You're damn talented, that's why. I'm pretty sure everyone heard us."

"You're worth it, Wade."

Wade growled and rolled Phil onto his back. Phil laughed, running his hands up and down his soulmate's biceps as Wade kissed down his chest.

"Gonna take care of you," Wade said. "Be whatever you want." He mouthed the sensitive scar. "Never let you get hurt again if I can help it."

"I'll never let them get to you," Phil said. "They'll never tamper with your mind again."

"I've got my soulmate to keep me sane. Well. Sane as I could ever be."

"Here." Phil pushed Wade onto his back. "You're the soulmate of the director of New SHIELD. I'm the soulmate of the dangerous and immortal Deadpool. We're untouchable. No one with any amount of sense or intelligence would dare go after either of us. Anyone who made that kind of mistake is either extremely unlucky or extremely stupid."

"Now who's talking a lot?"

"Hmm. You're right. I could be doing something better with my mouth." He grinned wickedly at Wade, whose eyes darkened. "I'll leave the talking to you."

This arose from a conversation involving who might have been Phil's mysterious benefactor and soulmate in 'Notes'. AnnaDruvez suggested the mercenaries Victor Creed and Wade Wilson. Until I can figure out how to write Phil/Creed – if ever – you're getting Deadpool. And I never knew how much fun it was to make the characters bitch about me! Mwah-ha-ha-ha! This has changed my life!

…Ehem.

Please review! And no, I'm not going to suddenly start writing Wade Wilson all over the place, because my gods, the amount of monologue-ing and fourth wall-breaking. I hope he didn't seem too out-of-character for a bit there. He'd been without a soulmark for decades, and was then rejected by his soulmate when they finally met, without being given any reasons, allowing him to assume the worst. Ouch.