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“He asked after you.”
“Don’t. I can’t. Just…don’t.”
~*~
“He asked after you.”
There was a long sigh.
“Not yet. I’m not ready.”
~*~
“Do you think --?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did. But I can’t. Not now.”
~*~
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
A pause.
“Has he – asked about me?”
~*~
He ran through the chemical formula for his webs in his head, trying to calm himself down. It’d been months since he’d tried this; months since he’d been willing to put on his suit and practice. Anything more real and he panicked.
But he’d finally gone on a few missions with the X-Men, and it led to a scathing article in the Daily Bugle that vacillated between gratitude Spider-Man had left the city and fear-mongering that he was now assisting the mutants and terrorizing other cities and countries around the world.
And now he was home. He’d been commuting into the city looking for work, following up leads generated by friends of the X-Men. Looking for an apartment, once he’d found the job. When he moved into New York City again, it’d been stressed he was welcome back at the Mansion if he needed, any time. The city air was just as he remembered it, the scent of millions of people crushed together with exhaust fumes and the occasional cleansing breeze from the harbor wafting through. The grit and grime of the city gave him as much peace as the chemical equations did.
For three days, he’d been coming up to this rooftop, shedding his clothing down to his suit, and then…putting everything on and climbing back down. Even though he’d gone out as Spider-Man with the X-Men, this felt different. This felt more real.
This was his city, and he didn’t want to screw up again.
He reminded himself it was okay to make mistakes. That he was not required to be perfect. That no matter what abilities he had, he was still human, and mistakes were how one learned.
He took a deep breath, and a running leap, and flung himself off the building. Concrete and glass swam in his vision as the air rushed past. Muscle memory curled his body, and he flung out his hand, webs spinning forth, latching onto the next skyscraper, going taut and dragging him forward.
And then he did it again, for the pure joy of it, swinging from building to building. He landed on the side of the Daily Bugle and waved at Jameson before taking off again. Across the city he went, waving to people as they shouted his name, performing acrobatic tricks for the kids who begged.
He didn’t try to stop any crime, although he knew he’d have to, now that he’d announced he was back. But for this first time, he just let himself enjoy the city and the people in it.
~*~
Deadpool teleported into Chicago outside the Hellhouse. From the noise level he could tell it was a raucous evening, and he almost teleported back to San Francisco, but the door opened and several people stumbled out, and it was almost like an invitation, so he entered.
Inside, Weasel took one look at him in costume and nearly ran from behind the bar to grab Wade’s arm and drag him into one of the back rooms. “I knew you’d be showing up,” he grumbled. “Spider-Man’s return to New York City was national news. So of course you’re here. And I bet you’re not looking for work.”
“Unless you have something in New York?” Deadpool quipped half-heartedly, and Weasel’s eyebrows rose with surprise.
“Really? ‘Cause I’ve got a couple of cards that could use your special touch.”
“No.” Wade gave a little shake of his head. “No, I’m just not…not ready. I don’t want to take the chance I run into him and fuck him up again. It’s too soon.”
“Sure,” said Cable from the doorway, and Wade jumped, training his guns on the man, and Weasel gave a squealing, squeaking noise as he dove under the desk from startlement. Nathan didn’t seem to notice either reaction to his unexpected arrival. “But what are you going to do if he decides to come looking for you?”
“I—don’t know.”
Quiet settled over the room, and before Wade could be uncomfortable with it and need to babble, someone shouted for Weasel from the bar. Weasel crawled out from under the desk, shouting back, and headed off to pour drinks, and the moment was broken as Wade and Nate followed.
By the end of the night, he’d picked up a new contract. He was a mercenary, after all, and a job was a job. He was good at the work he did. This contract was well away from New York City, too, just like he’d asked.
Lose himself in the work. Don’t think about Peter Parker, who was better off without him, anyways.
~*~
“Hey Nate.”
“Hello, Peter.” Nate settled onto the edge of the rooftop next to Peter. “How’s New York treating you?”
Peter grinned under his mask. “The hubbub’s died down and I’m back to being a public menace. It’s good to be home.” He held out a thin box. “Pizza? I’ve got a slice left.”
Nate shook his head. “No thanks.” And waited. It never took long, if he was silent and patient.
“How’s Wade?”
“About the same.” He watched a slight droop enter Peter’s frame, a subtle click of the eye lenses from curious to worried.
“Has he asked – has he said anything about me?”
“He’s not ready yet.”
“Oh.” Peter pulled up the edge of his mask to eat the last slice of the pizza. “Nate, do you think he’s ever going to actually feel ready?”
Nate shook his head with a sigh. “I don’t know, Peter. He heals incredibly from any physical damage, but his mental and emotional states are always broken and damaged. He may never manage what you’re looking for from him, now. He might never be ready to see you again. Or he may show up tomorrow with an engagement ring and flowers. The only thing anyone can predict about Deadpool is that we can’t predict Deadpool.” He gave Peter a small smile. “Not even me.”
Peter nodded. “I can wait,” he said, standing up, brushing off his gloves on his thighs. “And I can always hope, right?” he added. “See ya around, Nate,” he said, evenly enough, before he shot out webbing and leapt from the building.
He could always hope.