Fic: G-Men, Then and Now (Captain America/Deadpool, PG-13) (3/4)
Title: G-Men, Then and Now (3/4)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7,035
Fandoms: Captain America: The First Avenger (and general Marvel Cinematic Universe)/Deadpool
Characters: Cap (Steve Rogers), Nick Fury, Agent Coulson, Darcy Lewis, Deadpool, and a surprise character
Warnings: None for this chapter.
A/N: This was written last August for this prompt on capkink (back when there was virtually no plot information about The Avengers yet), which is why one character appears the way he does. Also, this fic places 616 Deadpool within the MCU rather than combining the two canons.
Summary: Steve has a lot of questions and suspicions about Deadpool. Naturally, he goes looking for answers, but he can't quite make sense of what he finds out.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing in this wonderful sandbox.
Wilson's words followed Steve for the next few days, echoing every time he turned a corner. He needed answers and he figure he wouldn't get a straight answer from Wilson, so he went to the only other source he could think of.
"Director Fury." He saluted, though his eyes wandered to the too many screens littered around the control room. "Permission to speak freely sir?"
"Granted." Fury nodded and Steve felt that one good eye examining every inch of him. Maybe the patch was studying him, too. "Tell me, to what do I owe this rare visit?"
"Was the Super-Soldier Project ever re-opened?"
"The government attempted to improve upon the project several times over the years, with less-than-desirable results." The eye (and the patch) zoomed in. "Why the sudden curiosity?"
Steve took deliberate steps as he walked onto the raised platform. "Dr. Erskine told me right before the operation that the serum enhances someone's perosnality, like turning goodness into greatness. Would it turn oddness into complete insanity?"
"Wade Wilson is not one of the attempted relaunches' failures."
"He's one of its successes?"
Fury began to pace back and forth. "Wilson was never part of that project. He was a test subject in the Weapon X Program, an attempt to graft mutant abilities onto humans."
"Mutants?"
"The next step in evolution---a new type of human with seemingly supernatural abilities: flight, telepathy, telekinesis, cryokinesis, pyrokinesis, and any other 'kinesis' you could imagine. But that's another briefing session."
Steve ran his hand through his hair. "What in hell did you folks give him?"
"It was not a S.H.I.E.L.D. project and only a few files remain. The rest were destroyed." Fury tapped a few computer buttons and brought up a picture of a man with wild dark hair and metal claws coming out of his hands. "As far as we can tell, Wilson was dying when he enter the program, so he received DNA from this mutant, Wolverine. It contained a healing factor as well as superstrength and heightened agility, but you've already seen that, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir. It was...a bit disgusting." Steve nearly shivered imagining that snaping sound.
"Has he told you why he's here, Captain?"
"You want information on something, but he has no idea what. Or can't remember."
"We've been running tests. We've learned that his body has both embraced and rejected the healing factor, which is why his mind is in constant flux."
Steve tried not to roll his eyes at the words. "He's mad as a hatter. Are you using him to catch this Wolverine?"
"Wolverine is not a threat, for the time being, at least."
"So he's just a lab rat? A frog in biology class?"
Fury glared at him.
"Director, what does he look like under that mask?"
"No one knows. He refuses to take the suit off---we just poke the needles through." Fury stroked his chin. "But he trusts you, Captain. And wouldn't you like to know?"
"I'm not an informant, sir."
"Of course you're not. But you could make yourself useful---"
"That's not a mission; that's betrayal."
"You grow loyal pretty quickly, you know that?"
"I think I can afford to be picky with the directives I accept now that there's not a war on."
"Not the kind you're used to," Fury said with an icy stare.
Steve turned to leave and heard one set of footsteps hurrying away in the corridor.
*
Steve went looking for Wilson. Instead, he found Coulson lurking behind a corner wearing one of his two facial expressions.
"Like I already told Miss Lewis, you should avoid Wade Wilson," he said in his usual, almost icy way.
"Because he's nuts, right?" Steve sighed.
"Because he is one of the most unpredictable and strangely competent assassins I have ever seen."
"I think he prefers the term 'mercenary.'"
Coulson sneered slightly. "Regardless of terminology, we have footage of Wilson weaponizing a pair of water wings."
Steve blinked. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Men like him do not have friends or buddies. In my professional opinion, it's only a matter of time before we have a dead icon on our hands if you continue to associate with him."
Steve looked pointedly down at Coulson. "Let me worry about that." He left Coulson in his corner and continued down the hall.
This time, Darcy popped out of nowhere. "So did you get the 'stay away from that boy because he's trouble and we'll have no dancing in this town, missy' speech yet?"
"I think so."
"You think he's right?"
"I'd like to find out from the source."
*
Steve scoured the building for Wilson for the next three days and didn't find so much as a blood-stained sword. Or chimichanga. Or Golden Girls DVD boxset, whatever that was. He checked almost every floor, from offices to supply closets. Every time, he expected to hear that 90 MPH voice saying something like, "So you know, Steve, I have decided to invest in a time-traveling phone booth, and you and Darcy are coming with me," or "Do you have fun in the Land of Make-Believe? Or are Daniel Tiger and Prince Tuesday even whinier douches in real life than they are onscreen?" or "Elmo is just about four steps away from total world domination." Instead, the mops and brooms seemed to stared him---Steve wondered if they had cameras hidden inside them, but he decided that Wilson's paranoia was a bit contagious.
Wilson had been right about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s "mooks," as he'd called them---Steve got five radically different answers when he asked around. The last one told him he should try the roof, so he camped out there at sunset with his sketchbook, on the off-chance that the mook was right or Wilson just showed up because he found the whole thing funny. He would.
Steve took a charcoal pencil from the set the gave him and began tracing small lines on the paper and sketched until the became Puppy Deadpool. He ripped out the page and tossed it aside, and then flipped back through his sketchbook and saw a theme running through his recent drawings. Deadpool. Darcy and Deadpool. Lion Deadpool. Wolf Deadpool. Darcy holding kitten Deadpool (she'd asked very nicely). Ballerina Deadpool (Wilson commissioned that one). He slammed the book shut and turned to leave.
"It's a shame you don't like this one. It's rather good, really," said an accented stranger who must have jumped out of a plane because Steve didn't hear the anyone come up.
"How long have you---"
"Not too long. I didn't mean to frighten you, Captain Rogers. I'm just a little sneaky." His big, green eyes blinked. "Bad habit."
"What do you want from me?" The hair on Steve's arms stood on end, like he'd just received a static shock.
"He wants to see you," the man said serenely. Something about him wasn't quite right---Steve could just tell. Maybe it was his slicked-back hair, maybe it was his pale, gaunt features, or maybe it was those large green eyes with the strange gleam in them; whatever it was, it was just off.
"You mean Wilson?"
"Of course." The black-haired stranger smiled. Steve's stomach did a flip.
"And who the heck are you?"
"Luke. A friend of Darcy's."
Steve remembered the name. "From the file room."
"Yes. She was supposed to retrieve you, but Coulson sent her on an errand, so Deadpool sent me." Luke turned to leave, but looked back. "Aren't you coming?"
*
Luke led Steve down to the top floor elevator and pushed the button for the building's cellar.
"The basement?" Steve furrowed his brow. "Wouldn't that just be storage?"
"Oh, yes. They have to keep him somewhere." Luke said briefly as the elevator plummeted downward. He didn't seem quite so off-putting indoors, though Steve had no idea why. In the artificial lighting, his features were still sharp, but looked...prettier. Steve never thought he'd call a guy that, but it was true. As he looked at Luke, the silence became weirdly oppressive.
"So, uh, are you and Darcy---"
"She told me you'd ask that. Honestly, Captain, you're not what I expected when I heard you were blond and brawny," Luke remarked with a sideways glance.
"What did you expect?"
"Someone louder. More brash. A bit reckless. Like my older brother." He smiled slyly. "And he's bigger, actually."
"Oh."
The elevator THUDed to a halt. They stepped into a slightly dim hallway with bland, cracked concrete walls and lights nearly swinging from the ceiling. As Luke led him down the hall, a familiar voice echoed against the walls and shaking lights.
"Oh, YES! I'm the GREAT! PRETEEEEENDERRRR!!! Adrift in a WORLD! Of my OOOOOOOWN!!! I PLAY the GAME! But to MY REAL SHAAAAAAME!! You've left me to DREAM ALL ALOOOOOOOONE!!!!!"
The words pounded in his ears as he turned about a dozen corners, until he and Luke finally reached Wilson's room, where he was hanging upside down on a bar that protruded from the wall and singing at the tops of his lungs.
"...Just laughing and GAAAAAYYYY like a CLOOOOOOOOWN!!!!!!! Oh, hi there, Lukey-Luke."
"Guess what I brought you?" Luke pulled Steve into the small room by the arm.
"STEVE!!!!" Wilson squealed. His right leg slipped and he crashed to the floor. "Nice job, Young Skywalker! I owe you like...I don't even know, but I'll definitely think of it later."
"Alright then. Have fun." Luke grinned and waved before he headed down the corridor.
Wilson stood up and spread his arms out wildly. "So, Captain America, protector of all that is shiny and patriotic, welcome to my humble (and hopefully temporary) abode. What do you think?"
"It's...nice." It was a dim, dank cell about ten feet wide with no windows and one threadbear cot.
"I'm glad you like it. I tried to spruce it up with some paint," he nodded towards the red splatter on the walls, "but they took it away because they thought I'd get ideas, whatever that means."
"You did a good job with what you had." Steve bit his lip.
"I always do! Now come on, sit down or something! You're way too tense!" Wilson began to massage Steve's shoulders. Steve didn't stop him.
*
"So, you know, I'm sorry about the disappearing act, but it was Lukey's idea. He said it would bring us closer together in the long run. Or something like that---he told me while I was trying to think up Golden Girls porn, so I was only half-listening, but he's a super-persuasive guy." Wilson's fingers pressed so hard on Steve's shoulder muscles that he flinched. "Oh. Sorry again. Anyway, I figured you'd probably forget me and move on."
"You're not forgettable, believe me." Steve sat down on the cot to get away from Wilson's crawling fingers, which felt a little nicer than they should have once he lightened his touch.
"I probably am if you try hard enough. I'll just turn into some red-and-black talking blur in the back of your mind that only rears its head when you're dreaming. It's probably 'healthier' that way, at least that's how all the shrinks in this place would put it." Wilson took on a high, nasal voice. "'Wade, you know that you'll never improve if you continue to indulge your own fantasies of having a constantly present audience.' 'Mr. Wilson, you will never change unless you stop blaming your behavior on your condition. The moment you begin to take responsibility for your actions is when you will finally stop taking pleasure in violence.' Yeah, let them wrestle with cancer and a healing factor reenacting every major Civil War battle in their bodies and we'll see how they handle it. I think I'm on the Battle of Shiloh right now..."
Steve's ears perked up at the last couple of sentences. "Cancer?"
"Yeah. Why, what did they tell you?"
"Just that you were dying. Fury didn't go into details. It sounded like you were mortally wounded."
Wilson plopped down next to Steve on the cot. "If that were true, dude, d'you think this would've happened?" He peeled his mask off slowly.
Numbness crept into Steve's face as he stared at Wilson's. Veiny lines of skin wandered across once decent-looking features, forming now-pitted cheeks, a somewhat lumpy nose, and a bald head with more craters than the moon.
"Aren't we g-boys handsome? They just love churning out an army of GQ models." The face formed a wry smile and two brown eyes twinkled. They were still nice eyes.
Steve opened his mouth, but only air streamed out. His arm reached out toward Wilson almost involuntarily.
"Alright, here." Wilson grabbed his hand and passed his fingers over the vein-like skin, pressing them into the small pits. Steve took several deep breaths. He thought Wilson's face would feel hard, maybe coarse, but it really only felt like plain old skin. Just a face. "You know, Steve, I'm pretty surprised that you haven't run out screaming yet. Hell, I'm surprised that you've been nice to me at all. I mean, every TV episode dealing with hero worship can't be wrong, right? I used to imagine that if they ever found you, you'd turn out to be this giant jerk and we'd all learn a lesson about propaganda and believing in heroes, but I'm really, really glad you're not because when I'm around you, I feel like less of a psycho because you're the first person I met in here who doesn't treat me like I'm a whackjob, which I am, and I probably wouldn't have run into Darcy and Luke if it weren't for you, and dear Jesus, this is the stuff I'm not supposed to say out loud, but dammit---"
Steve smashed his lips against Wilson's---Wade's. It was rash, it was sloppy, and Steve didn't care because he got Wade to stop talking before he blushed anymore. Then he pulled back. "Well, Wade, you're the only person in this crazy future who actually thinks I still matter."
Wade rested his forehead against Steve's and ran gloved fingers underneath his T-shirt. "You do, Cap. You do."
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 7,035
Fandoms: Captain America: The First Avenger (and general Marvel Cinematic Universe)/Deadpool
Characters: Cap (Steve Rogers), Nick Fury, Agent Coulson, Darcy Lewis, Deadpool, and a surprise character
Warnings: None for this chapter.
A/N: This was written last August for this prompt on capkink (back when there was virtually no plot information about The Avengers yet), which is why one character appears the way he does. Also, this fic places 616 Deadpool within the MCU rather than combining the two canons.
Summary: Steve has a lot of questions and suspicions about Deadpool. Naturally, he goes looking for answers, but he can't quite make sense of what he finds out.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just playing in this wonderful sandbox.
Wilson's words followed Steve for the next few days, echoing every time he turned a corner. He needed answers and he figure he wouldn't get a straight answer from Wilson, so he went to the only other source he could think of.
"Director Fury." He saluted, though his eyes wandered to the too many screens littered around the control room. "Permission to speak freely sir?"
"Granted." Fury nodded and Steve felt that one good eye examining every inch of him. Maybe the patch was studying him, too. "Tell me, to what do I owe this rare visit?"
"Was the Super-Soldier Project ever re-opened?"
"The government attempted to improve upon the project several times over the years, with less-than-desirable results." The eye (and the patch) zoomed in. "Why the sudden curiosity?"
Steve took deliberate steps as he walked onto the raised platform. "Dr. Erskine told me right before the operation that the serum enhances someone's perosnality, like turning goodness into greatness. Would it turn oddness into complete insanity?"
"Wade Wilson is not one of the attempted relaunches' failures."
"He's one of its successes?"
Fury began to pace back and forth. "Wilson was never part of that project. He was a test subject in the Weapon X Program, an attempt to graft mutant abilities onto humans."
"Mutants?"
"The next step in evolution---a new type of human with seemingly supernatural abilities: flight, telepathy, telekinesis, cryokinesis, pyrokinesis, and any other 'kinesis' you could imagine. But that's another briefing session."
Steve ran his hand through his hair. "What in hell did you folks give him?"
"It was not a S.H.I.E.L.D. project and only a few files remain. The rest were destroyed." Fury tapped a few computer buttons and brought up a picture of a man with wild dark hair and metal claws coming out of his hands. "As far as we can tell, Wilson was dying when he enter the program, so he received DNA from this mutant, Wolverine. It contained a healing factor as well as superstrength and heightened agility, but you've already seen that, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir. It was...a bit disgusting." Steve nearly shivered imagining that snaping sound.
"Has he told you why he's here, Captain?"
"You want information on something, but he has no idea what. Or can't remember."
"We've been running tests. We've learned that his body has both embraced and rejected the healing factor, which is why his mind is in constant flux."
Steve tried not to roll his eyes at the words. "He's mad as a hatter. Are you using him to catch this Wolverine?"
"Wolverine is not a threat, for the time being, at least."
"So he's just a lab rat? A frog in biology class?"
Fury glared at him.
"Director, what does he look like under that mask?"
"No one knows. He refuses to take the suit off---we just poke the needles through." Fury stroked his chin. "But he trusts you, Captain. And wouldn't you like to know?"
"I'm not an informant, sir."
"Of course you're not. But you could make yourself useful---"
"That's not a mission; that's betrayal."
"You grow loyal pretty quickly, you know that?"
"I think I can afford to be picky with the directives I accept now that there's not a war on."
"Not the kind you're used to," Fury said with an icy stare.
Steve turned to leave and heard one set of footsteps hurrying away in the corridor.
*
Steve went looking for Wilson. Instead, he found Coulson lurking behind a corner wearing one of his two facial expressions.
"Like I already told Miss Lewis, you should avoid Wade Wilson," he said in his usual, almost icy way.
"Because he's nuts, right?" Steve sighed.
"Because he is one of the most unpredictable and strangely competent assassins I have ever seen."
"I think he prefers the term 'mercenary.'"
Coulson sneered slightly. "Regardless of terminology, we have footage of Wilson weaponizing a pair of water wings."
Steve blinked. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Men like him do not have friends or buddies. In my professional opinion, it's only a matter of time before we have a dead icon on our hands if you continue to associate with him."
Steve looked pointedly down at Coulson. "Let me worry about that." He left Coulson in his corner and continued down the hall.
This time, Darcy popped out of nowhere. "So did you get the 'stay away from that boy because he's trouble and we'll have no dancing in this town, missy' speech yet?"
"I think so."
"You think he's right?"
"I'd like to find out from the source."
*
Steve scoured the building for Wilson for the next three days and didn't find so much as a blood-stained sword. Or chimichanga. Or Golden Girls DVD boxset, whatever that was. He checked almost every floor, from offices to supply closets. Every time, he expected to hear that 90 MPH voice saying something like, "So you know, Steve, I have decided to invest in a time-traveling phone booth, and you and Darcy are coming with me," or "Do you have fun in the Land of Make-Believe? Or are Daniel Tiger and Prince Tuesday even whinier douches in real life than they are onscreen?" or "Elmo is just about four steps away from total world domination." Instead, the mops and brooms seemed to stared him---Steve wondered if they had cameras hidden inside them, but he decided that Wilson's paranoia was a bit contagious.
Wilson had been right about S.H.I.E.L.D.'s "mooks," as he'd called them---Steve got five radically different answers when he asked around. The last one told him he should try the roof, so he camped out there at sunset with his sketchbook, on the off-chance that the mook was right or Wilson just showed up because he found the whole thing funny. He would.
Steve took a charcoal pencil from the set the gave him and began tracing small lines on the paper and sketched until the became Puppy Deadpool. He ripped out the page and tossed it aside, and then flipped back through his sketchbook and saw a theme running through his recent drawings. Deadpool. Darcy and Deadpool. Lion Deadpool. Wolf Deadpool. Darcy holding kitten Deadpool (she'd asked very nicely). Ballerina Deadpool (Wilson commissioned that one). He slammed the book shut and turned to leave.
"It's a shame you don't like this one. It's rather good, really," said an accented stranger who must have jumped out of a plane because Steve didn't hear the anyone come up.
"How long have you---"
"Not too long. I didn't mean to frighten you, Captain Rogers. I'm just a little sneaky." His big, green eyes blinked. "Bad habit."
"What do you want from me?" The hair on Steve's arms stood on end, like he'd just received a static shock.
"He wants to see you," the man said serenely. Something about him wasn't quite right---Steve could just tell. Maybe it was his slicked-back hair, maybe it was his pale, gaunt features, or maybe it was those large green eyes with the strange gleam in them; whatever it was, it was just off.
"You mean Wilson?"
"Of course." The black-haired stranger smiled. Steve's stomach did a flip.
"And who the heck are you?"
"Luke. A friend of Darcy's."
Steve remembered the name. "From the file room."
"Yes. She was supposed to retrieve you, but Coulson sent her on an errand, so Deadpool sent me." Luke turned to leave, but looked back. "Aren't you coming?"
*
Luke led Steve down to the top floor elevator and pushed the button for the building's cellar.
"The basement?" Steve furrowed his brow. "Wouldn't that just be storage?"
"Oh, yes. They have to keep him somewhere." Luke said briefly as the elevator plummeted downward. He didn't seem quite so off-putting indoors, though Steve had no idea why. In the artificial lighting, his features were still sharp, but looked...prettier. Steve never thought he'd call a guy that, but it was true. As he looked at Luke, the silence became weirdly oppressive.
"So, uh, are you and Darcy---"
"She told me you'd ask that. Honestly, Captain, you're not what I expected when I heard you were blond and brawny," Luke remarked with a sideways glance.
"What did you expect?"
"Someone louder. More brash. A bit reckless. Like my older brother." He smiled slyly. "And he's bigger, actually."
"Oh."
The elevator THUDed to a halt. They stepped into a slightly dim hallway with bland, cracked concrete walls and lights nearly swinging from the ceiling. As Luke led him down the hall, a familiar voice echoed against the walls and shaking lights.
"Oh, YES! I'm the GREAT! PRETEEEEENDERRRR!!! Adrift in a WORLD! Of my OOOOOOOWN!!! I PLAY the GAME! But to MY REAL SHAAAAAAME!! You've left me to DREAM ALL ALOOOOOOOONE!!!!!"
The words pounded in his ears as he turned about a dozen corners, until he and Luke finally reached Wilson's room, where he was hanging upside down on a bar that protruded from the wall and singing at the tops of his lungs.
"...Just laughing and GAAAAAYYYY like a CLOOOOOOOOWN!!!!!!! Oh, hi there, Lukey-Luke."
"Guess what I brought you?" Luke pulled Steve into the small room by the arm.
"STEVE!!!!" Wilson squealed. His right leg slipped and he crashed to the floor. "Nice job, Young Skywalker! I owe you like...I don't even know, but I'll definitely think of it later."
"Alright then. Have fun." Luke grinned and waved before he headed down the corridor.
Wilson stood up and spread his arms out wildly. "So, Captain America, protector of all that is shiny and patriotic, welcome to my humble (and hopefully temporary) abode. What do you think?"
"It's...nice." It was a dim, dank cell about ten feet wide with no windows and one threadbear cot.
"I'm glad you like it. I tried to spruce it up with some paint," he nodded towards the red splatter on the walls, "but they took it away because they thought I'd get ideas, whatever that means."
"You did a good job with what you had." Steve bit his lip.
"I always do! Now come on, sit down or something! You're way too tense!" Wilson began to massage Steve's shoulders. Steve didn't stop him.
*
"So, you know, I'm sorry about the disappearing act, but it was Lukey's idea. He said it would bring us closer together in the long run. Or something like that---he told me while I was trying to think up Golden Girls porn, so I was only half-listening, but he's a super-persuasive guy." Wilson's fingers pressed so hard on Steve's shoulder muscles that he flinched. "Oh. Sorry again. Anyway, I figured you'd probably forget me and move on."
"You're not forgettable, believe me." Steve sat down on the cot to get away from Wilson's crawling fingers, which felt a little nicer than they should have once he lightened his touch.
"I probably am if you try hard enough. I'll just turn into some red-and-black talking blur in the back of your mind that only rears its head when you're dreaming. It's probably 'healthier' that way, at least that's how all the shrinks in this place would put it." Wilson took on a high, nasal voice. "'Wade, you know that you'll never improve if you continue to indulge your own fantasies of having a constantly present audience.' 'Mr. Wilson, you will never change unless you stop blaming your behavior on your condition. The moment you begin to take responsibility for your actions is when you will finally stop taking pleasure in violence.' Yeah, let them wrestle with cancer and a healing factor reenacting every major Civil War battle in their bodies and we'll see how they handle it. I think I'm on the Battle of Shiloh right now..."
Steve's ears perked up at the last couple of sentences. "Cancer?"
"Yeah. Why, what did they tell you?"
"Just that you were dying. Fury didn't go into details. It sounded like you were mortally wounded."
Wilson plopped down next to Steve on the cot. "If that were true, dude, d'you think this would've happened?" He peeled his mask off slowly.
Numbness crept into Steve's face as he stared at Wilson's. Veiny lines of skin wandered across once decent-looking features, forming now-pitted cheeks, a somewhat lumpy nose, and a bald head with more craters than the moon.
"Aren't we g-boys handsome? They just love churning out an army of GQ models." The face formed a wry smile and two brown eyes twinkled. They were still nice eyes.
Steve opened his mouth, but only air streamed out. His arm reached out toward Wilson almost involuntarily.
"Alright, here." Wilson grabbed his hand and passed his fingers over the vein-like skin, pressing them into the small pits. Steve took several deep breaths. He thought Wilson's face would feel hard, maybe coarse, but it really only felt like plain old skin. Just a face. "You know, Steve, I'm pretty surprised that you haven't run out screaming yet. Hell, I'm surprised that you've been nice to me at all. I mean, every TV episode dealing with hero worship can't be wrong, right? I used to imagine that if they ever found you, you'd turn out to be this giant jerk and we'd all learn a lesson about propaganda and believing in heroes, but I'm really, really glad you're not because when I'm around you, I feel like less of a psycho because you're the first person I met in here who doesn't treat me like I'm a whackjob, which I am, and I probably wouldn't have run into Darcy and Luke if it weren't for you, and dear Jesus, this is the stuff I'm not supposed to say out loud, but dammit---"
Steve smashed his lips against Wilson's---Wade's. It was rash, it was sloppy, and Steve didn't care because he got Wade to stop talking before he blushed anymore. Then he pulled back. "Well, Wade, you're the only person in this crazy future who actually thinks I still matter."
Wade rested his forehead against Steve's and ran gloved fingers underneath his T-shirt. "You do, Cap. You do."