Don't... talk all big like that. It makes you sound like a jackass. [Because she is afraid of hurting him. And she's scared by how he doesn't seem to be afraid of hurting himself.] If this is something you get off on, I can learn from somebody else. [She holds the knife out, hilt first, for him to take.]
[He reaches out to accept the knife... and instead snatches her wrist, hard. He then carefully maneuvers the knife, gripping both it and and her before he slashes himself deep right underneath his right armpit.]
You feel that bite? You have to use that much pressure. [And blood is immediately gushing from the wound, coating the blade and his clothing.] Can't go wrong with doing it too hard. [It hurts, a burning that persists even now, but he's talking like he can't even feel it.]
[And Fiona screams. It's stupid, but all she's thinking right now is about how she didn't want this. She wanted to have nice, stupid conversations with friends and not think about the fact that she just died. Instead, there's blood on her clothes and it's her fault again. Tears well up in her eyes.]
Stop it! Stop, oh, God, christ, you're bleeding- [She's struggling to free herself from his grasp so she can help him, because she never wanted to be someone who hurt people who were friends. She wants to protect people.]
[She wonders if that hurts as much as when she died. Or if it hurt worse, like when Monica slit her wrists on the kitchen floor. That had to hurt more, because she didn't die- the thought causes her to panic.] Let me go, please, I'm sorry, please-
He lets go immediately, still holding the knife slick with his own blood even as he raises his hands as though to placate her.] Whoa, whoa, sugarlips, it's okay. It's fine. I'm fine. [Woozy, sure, but already the wound is beginning to heal, fueled with his unease of upsetting her.]
[The entire process takes ten seconds: Fiona steps back, takes a deep breath, and covers her face with her hands. In the process she manages to smear her forehead with his blood. She takes another breath, as though she's about to sob again- and when she removes her hands, she's not crying anymore. Another few seconds, and she's no longer even frowning.]
[She manages, weakly, to smile. It becomes less weak as time goes on.] It's okay, look. I've got gauze. [She pulls a wrapped bundle of the stuff from her inner coat pocket, and takes a step forward to press it to his arm.] Is that knife clean?
[It's a little disturbing, how quickly she dons this facade like everything is fine. Deadpool doesn't discourage her, though after only a few seconds he pulls back and lifts his arm. The wound is healed. Besides the cut in his outfit, it's like he was never injured at all.]
[Besides that, and the blood still on her clothes and head. Fiona is left feeling embarrassed and unsure-- was she wrong to be upset? Was she being stupid? Ultimately, she's not sure, and she puts off the decision in favor of swatting Wilson on the shoulder-- gently and away from any wound, healed or no.]
You still didn't have to scare me like that. [She still can't muster the right kind of smile, a crack in her armor. Some part of her hates that he saw that.] I got it without the whole... show. [Hesitantly, she puts the remaining gauze back in her coat.]
[He's never been good with apologies. They make his tongue twist up, and eventually, he just offers a helpless shrug.] You had to know what it felt like.
[That makes it okay, right? It has to. The ends justify the means.]
[She doesn't want to hear this right now. She wacks him, not particularly gently, on the shoulder. Not really trying to wound or harm, just- anger is a safer emotion to express than sadness or fear. She channels her excess feeling into that.] Shut the fuck up. All I know now's how it feels like when someone on my fucking side bleeds on me.
You need to be on your side. [His words are harsh, and he barely even registers the smack.] No one else's. [He's tired of this goddamn coddling mentality going on between the people here. It's survival of the fittest, and no one should die for anyone else. No one's hopes should be that shitty.]
[Fiona, meanwhile, is used to working in groups. And while, yes, she's usually the unspoken and uncontested leader of that group, she's used to a similarly unspoken loyalty between its members.] I'm on my fucking side. And if you're not, I need to know fucking now.
[And that shuts Fiona up. She frowns, fighting back another wave of unwelcome emotion, and rubs the heel of her palm into her forehead. The blood gets a little more smeared for it.] And I wanna learn. But I don't wanna fucking stab you. [There's been too much of that lately- and there's another memory she doesn't want. She already checked, and there isn't, but it feels like there should be a scar there.]
I'm fucking sick of friends stabbing each other and blood on my fucking floor- face. [This is just not going well for her.]
[So she stays angry, because angry is safe.] I know how to fucking cut somebody. I seen it happen, and I- [She reacts with startled terror when he picks up the knife again, clearly preparing to try and wrestle it away from him, but- he doesn't cut himself. She relaxes.]
I won't fuck it up. I got people to get back to. [She's not going to be selfish. She just won't hurt people for no reason.]
Seeing doesn't mean a damn thing. You have to feel it. [He's adamant about that. When she mentions people she needs to get back to... well, he relaxes a little. That's good. If she won't fight for herself, she has to fight for someone else.]
Good. That's good.
Aw. Should have had you practice on that fuckin' snowwoman.
[Fiona rolls her eyes, dismissing his insistence on feeling as some weird masculinity posturing, easily shoved aside. She knows now, far better than she wants to, with his blood drying on her temple.]
[And then he reacts, and the thought occurs to her-] Have you read my file? [There's an edge of disbelief, or maybe annoyance, to her voice. She figured of all people, he would have read it. Would they have had to do this if he had?] Read my fucking file. I read yours on those fucking superheroes.
No, I haven't read your file. [But since she insisted on it, he'll fiddle with his cuff and pull it up. He scans it after a moment, then shrugs, letting his arm drop.]
Okay. So you're super not-mom. It doesn't tell me if you've put a knife in someone before.
[Fiona hates her file. It's strange and nerve-wracking to watch, and it makes her feel anxious. And then he dismisses it like it doesn't matter, like the whole painful pit of her life doesn't tell him anything about her.]
[And that... she doesn't know how to deal with that. So she straightens her posture a little, almost in challenge.] I been in fights. [Never with stabbing, but whatever.] If you really gotta see me stab something to get off, I'll attack some fucking animals or something.
[For some reason, Fiona never thought about Wilson having family. Something about being scarred and wearing a mask and thinking superheroes are real, that all seems like some kind of story, like he came out of nothing. It's strange-- stranger than Wilson is on his own-- to think he's got a normal, vaguely familiar past.]
[It's even stranger to think he comes from the same stock as her. But it's comforting, in an unexpected way. He's one of them, one of what she is. She deflates a little-] Nobody deserves shit, and nobody keeps their word. But I'm here anyway, what else am I gonna do?
[You just have to keep going. Every day, you keep going.] I'm sure not gonna die again. [She's done with that.]
[It takes Fiona a moment to figure out what he's doing. He's trying to cheer her up? Normally, she'd be angry, or offended, but at the moment, she just came back from the dead and stabbed him. This whole day has been too much, and she decides to laugh instead of crying over it.]
[She reaches out to brush her fingers over the little heart Wilson's made, trying with something like playfulness to break it in half. Can they just forget what just happened? Fiona's sure trying.] Alright, alright, deal. Neither of us're allowed to die. [Ha, ha.] Anything else with the knife?
[Ahhhh, noooo, fuuuuuuck, why is she touching him again, why's she gotta always do that, why's she gotta make this weiiiiiiiiird. He lets his fingers fall, trying to pretend they aren't tingling.]
Just make sure you clean it well after you use it. You take care of your tools, they'll take care of you.
[She stares at the knife, still a little bloody. She can remember
that, clean your toys.] Yeah, okay. I can do that. And, uh,
don't- don't tell anybody about this, okay? [She means the crying
and stabbing, but, you know, she's hardly going to clarify that when she's
trying so hard to forget it happened in the first place.]
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no subject
Date: 2014-10-07 02:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-07 02:30 am (UTC)[He reaches out to accept the knife... and instead snatches her wrist, hard. He then carefully maneuvers the knife, gripping both it and and her before he slashes himself deep right underneath his right armpit.]
You feel that bite? You have to use that much pressure. [And blood is immediately gushing from the wound, coating the blade and his clothing.] Can't go wrong with doing it too hard. [It hurts, a burning that persists even now, but he's talking like he can't even feel it.]
no subject
Date: 2014-10-07 02:38 am (UTC)Stop it! Stop, oh, God, christ, you're bleeding- [She's struggling to free herself from his grasp so she can help him, because she never wanted to be someone who hurt people who were friends. She wants to protect people.]
[She wonders if that hurts as much as when she died. Or if it hurt worse, like when Monica slit her wrists on the kitchen floor. That had to hurt more, because she didn't die- the thought causes her to panic.] Let me go, please, I'm sorry, please-
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Date: 2014-10-07 02:42 am (UTC)That's the last thing he wanted.
He lets go immediately, still holding the knife slick with his own blood even as he raises his hands as though to placate her.] Whoa, whoa, sugarlips, it's okay. It's fine. I'm fine. [Woozy, sure, but already the wound is beginning to heal, fueled with his unease of upsetting her.]
It wasn't you. It was me. Promise. It's okay.
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Date: 2014-10-07 02:55 am (UTC)[She manages, weakly, to smile. It becomes less weak as time goes on.] It's okay, look. I've got gauze. [She pulls a wrapped bundle of the stuff from her inner coat pocket, and takes a step forward to press it to his arm.] Is that knife clean?
no subject
Date: 2014-10-07 02:57 am (UTC)[It's a little disturbing, how quickly she dons this facade like everything is fine. Deadpool doesn't discourage her, though after only a few seconds he pulls back and lifts his arm. The wound is healed. Besides the cut in his outfit, it's like he was never injured at all.]
I don't get sick. See? Just peachy.
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Date: 2014-10-07 03:05 am (UTC)You still didn't have to scare me like that. [She still can't muster the right kind of smile, a crack in her armor. Some part of her hates that he saw that.] I got it without the whole... show. [Hesitantly, she puts the remaining gauze back in her coat.]
no subject
Date: 2014-10-07 03:11 am (UTC)[He's never been good with apologies. They make his tongue twist up, and eventually, he just offers a helpless shrug.] You had to know what it felt like.
[That makes it okay, right? It has to. The ends justify the means.]
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Date: 2014-10-07 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-07 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-07 03:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-10-07 03:32 am (UTC)You wanted to learn. I'm tryin' to teach.
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Date: 2014-10-07 03:45 am (UTC)I'm fucking sick of friends stabbing each other and blood on my fucking floor- face. [This is just not going well for her.]
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Date: 2014-10-07 03:52 am (UTC)[Using the knife, he'll gesture on himself all of the major arteries--but he won't cut.] Here. Here. Here. And here.
You can't hesitate. If you're gonna do it, do it--and do it well.
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Date: 2014-10-07 04:03 am (UTC)I won't fuck it up. I got people to get back to. [She's not going to be selfish. She just won't hurt people for no reason.]
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Date: 2014-10-07 11:02 pm (UTC)Good. That's good.
Aw. Should have had you practice on that fuckin' snowwoman.
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Date: 2014-10-08 02:53 am (UTC)[And then he reacts, and the thought occurs to her-] Have you read my file? [There's an edge of disbelief, or maybe annoyance, to her voice. She figured of all people, he would have read it. Would they have had to do this if he had?] Read my fucking file. I read yours on those fucking superheroes.
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Date: 2014-10-08 03:00 am (UTC)Okay. So you're super not-mom. It doesn't tell me if you've put a knife in someone before.
no subject
Date: 2014-10-08 03:09 am (UTC)[And that... she doesn't know how to deal with that. So she straightens her posture a little, almost in challenge.] I been in fights. [Never with stabbing, but whatever.] If you really gotta see me stab something to get off, I'll attack some fucking animals or something.
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Date: 2014-10-08 03:16 am (UTC)[Like she hadn't just made an offer that would make most people double take.]
My mom was an alcoholic though. Real mean drunk. Had to learn to move quick. Only so many places a kid can hide.
[He lapses into silence, thinking.] Animals don't deserve shit. People, though. People usually do. You think you got this, fine.
But if you're dead, I really doubt some shitty little so-called contract is gonna make these fucks keep their word.
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Date: 2014-10-08 03:40 am (UTC)[It's even stranger to think he comes from the same stock as her. But it's comforting, in an unexpected way. He's one of them, one of what she is. She deflates a little-] Nobody deserves shit, and nobody keeps their word. But I'm here anyway, what else am I gonna do?
[You just have to keep going. Every day, you keep going.] I'm sure not gonna die again. [She's done with that.]
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Date: 2014-10-09 11:03 pm (UTC)Damn right you aren't. If you do, I'll kill ya. [He fixes his fingers into the shape of a heart.]
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Date: 2014-10-09 11:26 pm (UTC)[She reaches out to brush her fingers over the little heart Wilson's made, trying with something like playfulness to break it in half. Can they just forget what just happened? Fiona's sure trying.] Alright, alright, deal. Neither of us're allowed to die. [Ha, ha.] Anything else with the knife?
no subject
Date: 2014-10-14 06:12 pm (UTC)Just make sure you clean it well after you use it. You take care of your tools, they'll take care of you.
no subject
Date: 2014-10-14 06:28 pm (UTC)[She stares at the knife, still a little bloody. She can remember that, clean your toys.] Yeah, okay. I can do that. And, uh, don't- don't tell anybody about this, okay? [She means the crying and stabbing, but, you know, she's hardly going to clarify that when she's trying so hard to forget it happened in the first place.]
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