A Mercenary is Not like a videogame
Author: emocezi
Title: A Mercenary is Not like a videogame.
Wordcount: 977
Pairing/Fandom: Jensen/Wade Wilson (Not an actual pairing, just silly crackfic)
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own The Losers or Deadpool nor do I make any profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: I was depressed that I have to wait for a kink_bingo card till they open round four, so I asked blind_nights to give me a prompt and here it is. The dialogue killed me a bit at first, but they have such similar personalities that it turned out somewhat easier then I expected. :D
Wade Wilson had been sent to Afghanistan of all places, to work with a group of highly trained operatives. His mission was to assist them with gathering data and assassinating a warlord who had been getting weapons from the American government in exchange for vast amounts of drug money. The public had somehow gotten wind of it, and the warlord was expendable all of a sudden. So here he was, stuck with some rogue Special Ops group that called themselves Losers.
It was an apt name he'd decided after spending the first twelve hours with them. They thought in a linear manner, which should have either gotten them either killed or kicked out of the army, but some General had seen potential and stuck them together with silly putty and knives and lots and lots of guns.
So here he was, taking a break from the scorching hot sun, out in the middle of the desert, sitting in a makeshift war-room with Glasses McGee. Sure, his name was Jensen, but Glasses McGee sounded so much cooler.
“So, what's a complete pussy like you doing in a place like this?” Wade asked, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the wobbly table. The tech didn't even blink, literally, just kept muttering to himself and typing line after line of code. “Really, not even gonna knock me feet off the table? God you tech's are boring.”
Wade clasped his hands behind his head and started pushing the table with his feet, raising an eyebrow expectantly and hoping for an outburst of some kind.
“That's not gonna work.” Glasses muttered distractedly, still typing. “I've almost broken through this last firewall. Give me ten minutes of uninterrupted work time and then we'll talk about whatever topic comes toddling through your tiny brain.”
“My brain isn't tiny.” Wade muttered, eyeing the tech and wondering if his ass was numb yet. “Is your ass numb yet?” Note to self, reinstate brain to mouth filter. Glasses snorted, his lips turning up at the corners even.
“I take it you don't have much experience in sitting still for long periods of time.”
“I'm a merc, we take action, not inaction.”
“And you're sitting here bothering me because?”
“Haven't been given a target yet. Apparently it's on that....drive-y thing-y you're working on.” Wade grinned to himself and jostled the table again. “You done yet?”
“Finished five minutes ago.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Solitaire.” Wade eyed him again, not really sure where to go from here. When he'd arrived at the makeshift camp Glasses had already been working on the hard drive, and that had been three days ago. Every four hours on the dot, a short Mexican sniper would come in, shove food down the tech's throat and muscle him out of the chair and towards the latrine, Glasses complaining every step of the way.
“You winning?”
“No.”
“Starting a new game?”
“Rewriting the code.” Glasses muttered, glaring at his computer and tapping a few keys. “It's easier.”
“Rewriting code is easier then starting a new game?”
“It's like...” Glasses paused, trying to think of a good analogy that Wade would understand. “It's like this warlord you're after. Sure, the government could publicly go after him, crucify him and waste millions of dollars that they need to wipe their own asses with. Or they could send in you to fix your problems with a few quick knife strokes.”
“Did you just compare me to a computer game your not winning?”
“No, I compared you to my mad hacking skills. The warlord is the computer game I'm not winning.” Wade paused, seemed to think it over and nodded after a moment. The flap of the tent rustled and the transportation expert stuck his head into the tent.
“Jensen, you finished hacking that sonuvabitch?”
“Yeah Pooch, The sonuvabitch has been executed with style and grace.”
“Yo Clay, he's all finished.”
“Jensen.”
“Yes sir?” Jensen slumped into his seat.
“Go to bed.”
“But I'm winning at Solitaire.” Jensen pouted, kicking his feet out like a cranky, sleep deprived child.
“Wilson.”
“Yeah Colonel?”
“Is he actually winning or is he rewriting the game?” Jensen was shooting him a mutinous expression that wouldn't look out of place on a ten year old being denied his favorite toy. Wade Wilson was a lot of things, but denying a man the simple pleasures of rerouting his computers subroutines so he could beat a computer game after he'd spent seventy-two hours hacking a hard drive was just plain mean.
“Winning.”
“God dammit, fine. One game Jensen, one game and then you sleep or I'll send Cougar in.”
“THAT'S PLAYING DIRTY.” Jensen yelled, shooting a conspiratorial grin at Wade who couldn’t help but smirk back. The merc leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on the wobbly table and started shaking it. “STOP IT. CLAY, WADE'S BEING A JERK.”
“Wade, stop being a....GOD DAMMIT JENSEN, GO TO BED!”
Title: A Mercenary is Not like a videogame.
Wordcount: 977
Pairing/Fandom: Jensen/Wade Wilson (Not an actual pairing, just silly crackfic)
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own The Losers or Deadpool nor do I make any profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: I was depressed that I have to wait for a kink_bingo card till they open round four, so I asked blind_nights to give me a prompt and here it is. The dialogue killed me a bit at first, but they have such similar personalities that it turned out somewhat easier then I expected. :D
Wade Wilson had been sent to Afghanistan of all places, to work with a group of highly trained operatives. His mission was to assist them with gathering data and assassinating a warlord who had been getting weapons from the American government in exchange for vast amounts of drug money. The public had somehow gotten wind of it, and the warlord was expendable all of a sudden. So here he was, stuck with some rogue Special Ops group that called themselves Losers.
It was an apt name he'd decided after spending the first twelve hours with them. They thought in a linear manner, which should have either gotten them either killed or kicked out of the army, but some General had seen potential and stuck them together with silly putty and knives and lots and lots of guns.
So here he was, taking a break from the scorching hot sun, out in the middle of the desert, sitting in a makeshift war-room with Glasses McGee. Sure, his name was Jensen, but Glasses McGee sounded so much cooler.
“So, what's a complete pussy like you doing in a place like this?” Wade asked, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the wobbly table. The tech didn't even blink, literally, just kept muttering to himself and typing line after line of code. “Really, not even gonna knock me feet off the table? God you tech's are boring.”
Wade clasped his hands behind his head and started pushing the table with his feet, raising an eyebrow expectantly and hoping for an outburst of some kind.
“That's not gonna work.” Glasses muttered distractedly, still typing. “I've almost broken through this last firewall. Give me ten minutes of uninterrupted work time and then we'll talk about whatever topic comes toddling through your tiny brain.”
“My brain isn't tiny.” Wade muttered, eyeing the tech and wondering if his ass was numb yet. “Is your ass numb yet?” Note to self, reinstate brain to mouth filter. Glasses snorted, his lips turning up at the corners even.
“I take it you don't have much experience in sitting still for long periods of time.”
“I'm a merc, we take action, not inaction.”
“And you're sitting here bothering me because?”
“Haven't been given a target yet. Apparently it's on that....drive-y thing-y you're working on.” Wade grinned to himself and jostled the table again. “You done yet?”
“Finished five minutes ago.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Solitaire.” Wade eyed him again, not really sure where to go from here. When he'd arrived at the makeshift camp Glasses had already been working on the hard drive, and that had been three days ago. Every four hours on the dot, a short Mexican sniper would come in, shove food down the tech's throat and muscle him out of the chair and towards the latrine, Glasses complaining every step of the way.
“You winning?”
“No.”
“Starting a new game?”
“Rewriting the code.” Glasses muttered, glaring at his computer and tapping a few keys. “It's easier.”
“Rewriting code is easier then starting a new game?”
“It's like...” Glasses paused, trying to think of a good analogy that Wade would understand. “It's like this warlord you're after. Sure, the government could publicly go after him, crucify him and waste millions of dollars that they need to wipe their own asses with. Or they could send in you to fix your problems with a few quick knife strokes.”
“Did you just compare me to a computer game your not winning?”
“No, I compared you to my mad hacking skills. The warlord is the computer game I'm not winning.” Wade paused, seemed to think it over and nodded after a moment. The flap of the tent rustled and the transportation expert stuck his head into the tent.
“Jensen, you finished hacking that sonuvabitch?”
“Yeah Pooch, The sonuvabitch has been executed with style and grace.”
“Yo Clay, he's all finished.”
“Jensen.”
“Yes sir?” Jensen slumped into his seat.
“Go to bed.”
“But I'm winning at Solitaire.” Jensen pouted, kicking his feet out like a cranky, sleep deprived child.
“Wilson.”
“Yeah Colonel?”
“Is he actually winning or is he rewriting the game?” Jensen was shooting him a mutinous expression that wouldn't look out of place on a ten year old being denied his favorite toy. Wade Wilson was a lot of things, but denying a man the simple pleasures of rerouting his computers subroutines so he could beat a computer game after he'd spent seventy-two hours hacking a hard drive was just plain mean.
“Winning.”
“God dammit, fine. One game Jensen, one game and then you sleep or I'll send Cougar in.”
“THAT'S PLAYING DIRTY.” Jensen yelled, shooting a conspiratorial grin at Wade who couldn’t help but smirk back. The merc leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on the wobbly table and started shaking it. “STOP IT. CLAY, WADE'S BEING A JERK.”
“Wade, stop being a....GOD DAMMIT JENSEN, GO TO BED!”