by Perri Smith
"Hey, Red, long time no see!" Deadpool greeted Siryn cheerfully. "Still got that great fashion sense, huh?"
She'd forgotten about how much skin she was showing -- her t-shirt had acquired a few more rips along the way. It wasn't her top priority at the moment. "Wade, what the devil is goin' on here?"
"Sorry, Red, exposition ain't my department; you'll have to ask the boss for info. I'm just playing messenger and resident thug for right now. But I'm movin' up in the world. Man, if they could see me now. . ."
"You start singin', I'll take out yer lungs," Wolverine growled.
"He starts singin', I'll do it for you," the small woman said, her face still expressionless.
"Now that's love for ya, huh, Red? One second, she's sweet and kind, the next second she's threatening vital body parts. Pretty typical, dontcha think, with my luck with women?" Deadpool was on a roll, his mouth moving faster than Jessie Owens, as obnoxious as ever. No one had ever managed to shut him up.
Except Theresa Cassidy.
She'd thought, when they'd fought Black Tom together, that she'd learned something about him. Learned who he was. It looked like she'd been wrong.
"Wade? What're ye doin'?" It was a whisper, almost a plea.
If it had any effect, it was hidden behind the mask he always wore.
"I'm doin' my job, Red, same as always. And my current job (drumroll please) is to find out what you have to tell us about the defenses at your current digs."
"Ye'll have t' look somewhere else, mercboy," Siryn spit out, hurt confusion drowing in a rush of anger. "Y'r not goin' t' get anythin' here!"
"Told ya she had spirit, Del -- you two'll get along fine."
"Put a sock in it, Wade." The woman turned to Wolverine. "You got any words o' bravery you want to get out?" Her accent was Texan; a soft, heavy drawl that didn't seem to match the eyes and face.
Wolverine's answer was equally soft, but no less lethal for it. "Still taggin' after him, huh, Jordie? When ya gonna figure out he ain't worth it?"
"'Bout the same time Xavier gives up on you, berserker boy. That all you have to say?"
"Except to tell ya how many pieces yer gonna be in when I get done with the two o' ya. Shoulda finished that job a long time ago."
Amazingly, she smiled, a crooked quirk of the lips with absolutely no humor in it. "Yeah, but you didn't. Mistake number one."
"And why don't you tell him what mistake number two is, Delphi?" Deadpool pronounced in his best game-show host impersonation. "Maybe he'll win our grand prize -- another grenade in the kisser! Didya have fun healing from that, Wolveroonie?"*
She ignored him. "Don't make this too hard, Logan. I hate the sight o' blood."
"Well, yer gonna see a lot of it."
"Enough of this." The voice over the speakers had lost patience. "The two of you leave. We have more important business right now. Let them do a little thinking -- maybe they'll be more inclined to talk. "
"That's assuming the little hairy one can think, which I gotta tell ya is a real stretch," Deadpool cracked, before turning back to Siryn.
"Please, no drawn-out farewells, I got a plane to catch, or something like that."
Bars or no bars, she almost went for his throat. "The only farewell I'll be givin' ye is when I'm dancin' at y'r wake, Wilson!"
He turned away. "Jeez, some women. Save their lives once, they get all huffy when you don't send flowers."
"Cork it and come on, Wade." The woman headed out. Deadpool followed her, mouth moving all the way. The door closed behind them with a hollow thud.