Memoria Obscura In Little Yellow Boxes

AUTHOR: Marcelo
LJ: __marcelo
For: Shrift
Requested characters used: Deadpool
Notes: Special thanks to Livia, devildoll (maven of all things Marvel) and mneiai, who betaed the unbetaeable thing. They rock.

I pay Cable a last visit before leaving the island.

Say goodbye, steal one of his cool plasma dohickeys, see if Irene wants to maybe elope with me. Who knows, maybe she was just waiting for me to make the first… second… and sixth move.

The look she gives me, though, is pretty clear. Like maybe Providence was her spotless kitchen and I am the single murdering cockroach crawling over it. Makes something shrivel inside me, and I don't mean my balls.

"I'm on my way out," I tell her instead. "Don't bother to take off your top. People to murder, ice cream cones to steal, yadda yadda. Is Cable around?"

She says "No" to me, cold. Cold as those lonely nights when you realize that maybe being the world's coolest merc would be even cooler if you could share it with somebody other than your loyal bottle of hand lotion. Nights like that, I feel maudlin like an old MGM movie; usually somebody ends up dead. I wonder if I killed Barat in a night like that.

She's just watching me in silence. She's disappointed, but if she knew that I don't remember when or why I killed the old goat… I think she'd be scared. Disappointed is better. Disappointed is normal.

Speaking of which, I take a step as if to kiss her. She turns away, and I swipe one of Cable's thingies from a table while she's giving me the lovely cold shoulder. It's either a boom thing or a technobabble thing, but it's shiny and it's not avoiding me, so I take it.

I put on my fedora and leave.

In the plane, the thingy starts beeping. I scream a bit (not girly-like at all, more like a warrior roar thing… a high-pitched warrior roar) and threaten it with a gun, but it turns out it's just a recording from Cable wishing me luck and giving me the name of a good neurosurgeon he knows who specializes in metahumans.

I have no idea what he means by that, and besides, the stewardess is cute and agrees to dinner if I don't blow up the plane. Wasn't planning to, but now I have to choose.


* * *

Alright. I'm sitting in my apartment, among the mixed fragments of my furniture. What bastard dared cut up all my furniture with a katanna like mine… Um. Why did I do that?

Wait, here's a note. "Dear Me: In case you forget it, you found ten million dollars hidden in your couch. I didn't know you kept your millions there. I didn't know you had millions. Love, Me. PS: The DVD of Memento is in the microwave."

Apparently, besides the dough, my furniture hid two roaches, half an AK92 clip, and a lot of whatever they use to stuff couches with, but not more money. I might have to raid IKEA.

Wait, no. That's surely what they want me to do. Those tricky Finnish, with their… and their… Damn. No country can be so bland, dammit. I'm sure they are up to something.

No, I'll outsmart them and spend this money on hookers. Yeah. Unless they're Finnish hookers – they might be in to the trap.

Damn it. If you can't trust hookers, who can you trust?

I know, I'll send the money to Cable. I'm sure he must have some sort of bank in his island, right? Even his hippie army must use cash to pay for candy imports and stuff.

Besides, I'd like to see Finland try and attack Providence.

Hmm. Actually I'd like to see that. Maybe it's on CNN… on my spliced-and-diced TV…


* * *

Pain. Pain again. What's with the pain?! Can I go back to the head-splitting pain of the other day? Everything hurts now, and not in the good "morning after the thing you'll never ever talk about" way.

On that topic, why is Cable standing next to my bed without a nurse's uniform… Not that I have ever picture him in one. Or outside one. You know.

"You are awake," he proclaims, in his special "Lo and Behold, I am the Messiah of the Obvious" voice. I try to raise an eyebrow in understated questioning (chicks dig that), but it's too painful.

"You fought with the Cat," he adds. That explains all the hurting, but doesn't explain why I did it. I'm getting tired of that, by the way. I hate having the attention span of the President. "Something about who had the biggest contract."

I remember vaguely something about the Cat wanting to take something from me. I'm not sure if it was a contract or my special Tara Reid DVD collection, but wither way it was war.

I'm glad I survived it, and Cable is here, so the Cat didn't take, it after all.

I'm not sure what one thing has to do with the other, and in the off chance that Cable has regained his telepathy, I hit my head against the back of the bed, hard enough to bla-

* * *

I could, right? Two miles range, stolen experimental sniper rifle, clear path, distracted target.

It's not fear. I've never feared anything. I guess I'm too dumb to feel fear. What do I have to lose, after all? A face that'd made god vomit, less friends than fingers in a blind axe sharpener's hand, nothing going on for me save the couple of times I accidentally saved the universe and the world's best-looking ass.

I could.

Of course, then I'd have all the fucking X-people (all two hundred twenty seven teams of them) after me, which would make for rather bad odds. But let's face it: do I look like somebody who gives a rat's ass about odds?

No. If anybody could look at me behind my psi-proof camouflage, I'd look like somebody who has his whateverthehellCableis in the sights of a very illegal weapon, and is trying to remember exactly why.

But fuck it. I could.


* * *

"...And then you disarmed the bomb by blowing up the section of the plane where it was hidden."

That sounds like something I would do and it's not like Cable would lie
to me.

"Good thing we crash-landed on this empty island. It's not a bad place to wait until Irene picks us up," he adds.

"Or we could bodyslide," I say.

He shrugs. "We could. But I haven't had a holiday in far too long." He smiles like nobody I know. He also looks quite… something, sprawled shirtless on the beach like the world's meanest, cybernetically enhanced towel.

Wait, wasn't that a South Park episode? I hope to hell I'm not Kenny.

"Wade, do you remember how you knew the bomb was there?"

I try shrug it off nonchalantly, but nonchalance is hard. ‘Specially when you don't know what the word means. "Probably I saw it on 24."

Cable has the politeness not to suggest that I likely put the bomb there myself. Hey, if I saved him afterward, it doesn't count as an assassination attempt, right? He just shrugs and closes his eyes to let himself bask in the sun. I wonder if he has solar cells somewhere, and also how far down (or up) do his enhancements go.

It's almost a relief when the sand explodes below us.

* * *

Yes, there is pain. Thanks for asking. I open my eyes to see what the fuck I did now, and there is a very naked Cable tied up to a very kinky-looking machine.

I close my eyes.

I open them again.

Yep. Still there. Also, I get my answer about the "enhancements" question (no, and also didn't need them, and also I'm never thinking about that again).

"We are disappointed with you, Mr. Wilson," says a slimy voice behind a dark glass wall. "We hired you to kill Mr. Summers, not to save his life."

If I had my hands unchained, I'd smack my head in relief. That was what I wasn't remembering! No wonder I was feeling so stupid, you'd feel stupid, too, if you had accidentally agreed to kill your best buddy.

Now, I have my suit on, because even mystery shadowy organization types want to keep their breakfast in their stomaches. Which means that even "disarmed" I have about half a dozen explosive things at hand.

Cable winks at me. He still looks unconscious, and as far as I know he hasn't recovered his telepathy yet, but I know he winked at me. You just know when a huge, ripped, half-cybernetic naked guy winks at you.

I blow the chains and attack the glass wall. If I'm quick enough, they'll send guards before Cable has time to find something to wear and he'll have to do it in the buff.

I step through the blown wall and start looking for the security tapes.