Holding Back - 8. Chapter 8

Peter unlocks the door and enters. ‘Aunt May? You home?’ He still has a key, knows he’s still welcome whenever he wants, even though he’s moved out.

‘Peter?’ comes her voice from somewhere upstairs. ‘I’ll be right down, sweetheart!’ He can hear her footsteps on the stairs, and then she appears in the kitchen, bright eyed and smiling. Her silver hair is done up and she looks the same as ever.

Aunt May hugs him tightly, much stronger than she appears, and then looks up to examine his features with that piercing gaze of hers that reads secrets off his face like it’s a damn book. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages, doesn’t it?’ She gives him a shrewd look, and Peter runs a hand through his hair rather awkwardly.

‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that,’ he murmurs. ‘Things have been kind of crazy lately.’

‘Well, you’re here now.’ She smiles. ‘Come on, have a seat! I’ll make us some cocoa. You hungry? I think I have some leftover apple pie in the fridge . . .’

Sitting down at the table while Aunt May bustles around the kitchen makes Peter feel like he’s in high school again. Like he’s still just a kid, still just Peter Parker. He watches her fondly as she makes the cocoa and tells him about her day, responding only where it seems warranted. She heats two slices of apple pie in the microwave before topping them with scoops of vanilla ice cream, and then they’re sitting there, face to face with cocoa and pie between them.

‘So! How’s your day been, dear?’ Aunt May asks, lifting a piece of pie to her mouth with a fork. ‘Or should I say week, or month, perhaps?’

They used to do this all the time, every weekend, when Peter had just moved out, but over the years it’s become a far less regular occurrence. Peter feels guilty about that. He feels guilty about a lot of things.

‘It’s been okay. A lot going on. Got some really tough subjects this semester, so school’s pretty demanding. Then there’s work, but honestly I don’t even want to talk about that.’

Aunt May nods, taking a sip of her cocoa. ‘Mary Jane Watson came by here asking about you the other day,’ she says suddenly. ‘Seems she’s back in town. She said she hasn’t seen you in a while either.’

‘For obvious reasons,’ Peter mutters. Aunt May raises an eyebrow at him and he sighs. ‘Look, we split up, okay? Things are bound to be weird and awkward for a while and if I’m perfectly honest, I don’t really want to see too much of her.’

Aunt May sighs. ‘It’s been months, Peter. I’d hoped the two of you could at least be friends. You spend so much time alone . . .’

Peter hesitates. ‘I’ve actually made a new friend lately . . . Kinda.’

‘Oh? Someone from school?’

‘No, we . . . We work together occasionally. His name is Wade.’

She smiles warmly. ‘Well, I’m glad to know you’re making friends. What’s he like?’

‘He—’ Peter hesitates again. How would he even begin to go about describing Wade? ‘He’s . . . Kind of a loose cannon, actually. I mean, he’s nice, and he cares about me a lot, but he has . . . A lot of issues, I guess. He’s got practically no social skills, so most people don’t know how to act around him. He hasn’t really got a lot of friends, or family or, well, anyone.’

‘Sounds like you feel sorry for him.’

Peter frowns, picking at his pie with his fork. The melting ice cream forms rivers along the apple slices, turning into a lake on his plate. ‘That’s not really it. He’s helped me out in a lot of tight spots, and he . . . He looks out for me, to the point where he’s really protective. Sometimes he goes a little overboard, but . . . I dunno, I gotta admire his tenacity, you know? And when we just hang out, he’s like this huge teddybear, like he’s just the sweetest guy, even if he can seem kind of scary otherwise. We’ve got a lot in common,’ superpowers, secrets, hunting bad guys, ‘so talking to him is easy. So even though he’s got enough mental problems to fill up New York state and then some I, you know, trust him.’

Aunt May chuckles softly at this. ‘It’s so like you to look past what everyone else sees and just see the person underneath, Peter. This Wade is lucky to have you for a friend, and by the sound of things you’re pretty lucky to have him.’

Peter smiles and looks down at his melting ice cream. ‘Yeah,’ he says, nodding slowly. ‘I guess you’re right.’

* * *

‘Damn, girl, you’ve got thighs of steel!’ Tonight’s villainess, top dog of a cell within a drug cartel, has her thick, muscular legs wrapped around Deadpool’s neck, in what is clearly an attempt to crush his windpipe. Of course, Wade being Wade, he keeps talking, though his breathing is growing slightly laboured. ‘Seriously, do you do pole dancing? Cause, fuck me, people would pay serious money for that shit! I mean, I’m impressed.’

‘Don’t you ever shut up?’ she growls through gritted teeth, twisting her lower body in a move that would break most people’s necks. Peter thinks he hears a crack, but of course Wade is still standing. She’s holding onto a metal pipe in the low ceiling of her basement hide-out, long dark hair coming loose from her tight pony tail and coffee and cream skin glistening with sweat.

‘He really doesn’t,’ Peter informs her while knocking out one of her lackeys with a well-aimed kick to the head.

‘Seriously, though, while normally I’d relish the thought of being between the thighs of a hot babe such as yourself,’ Wade huffs, clutching at her legs and trying to force them apart, ‘I’m afraid my heart belongs to someone else. I’m all about pecs and biceps these days, if you know what I’m saying. I mean,’ he utters a loud groan, trying to free himself, ‘you’re gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, and I’m all kinds of into bad girls, usually, but it’s just kind of a bad time . . .’ He glances at Peter over the top of her thigh. ‘Sweetums? Little help here?’

Peter has knocked out the last of the lackeys, so he doesn’t need to be asked twice. He jumps up onto drug lady’s back, prying her fingers off the pipe she’s been holding onto, and causing them all to topple over backwards. Peter lands hard on his back, the breath very nearly knocked out of him, but the move had the desired effect. In a final, desperate bid for escape the woman lets go with her thighs and tries to scramble over to the stairs on her hands and knees, but Deadpool is already on his feet and swiftly strikes her across the temple with the butt of his sidearm. She drops like a tonne of bricks, out cold.

‘She wasn’t kidding, though. You could pretty much talk people to death if you wanted to, couldn’t you?’ says Peter, getting to his feet. He’s a little winded but otherwise fine. ‘I mean, your guns and swords are just for show, really.’

‘It’s true,’ says Wade solemnly. ‘That’s my true super power. You were bitten by a radioactive spider, I was bitten by a radioactive talk show host. One that’s on really late and swears a lot.’

Peter frowns. ‘Wait, how do you know how I—’

‘Classic superhero origin story,’ says Wade dismissively, kneeling next to the now unconscious woman and searching her pockets. ‘Especially the ones that were invented in the fifties and sixties. Man, everything was about radiation back then! Mostly cause people didn’t understand nuclear power yet. Aha!’ He fishes her keychain off her belt and—while Peter webs her up with her lackeys, trying very hard not to try and make sense of Wade’s ramblings—walks over to a locked cabinet.

‘Let’s see what’s behind door number one!’ He fiddles with the keys for a moment, until he finds the right one, and then opens it up. Wade gives a whistle. ‘Jackpot! About twenty kilos of top grade cocaine! And . . . Ooh, what’s this?’ He turns around, a manila folder in his hand. ‘What do you wanna bet this has got info on her suppliers?’

Peter smiles. ‘Not bad! Leave that open. Police should be by pretty soon.’

‘Yes, sir!’ says Wade, and Peter can see his grin through the mask. As they head up the stairs he sighs wistfully. ‘Man, I miss drugs . . . I mean, my memories from before Weapon X are pretty vague and muddled, but still, I’m pretty sure I used to party. But the healing factor makes the whole thing kinda pointless, you know? I can’t even get drunk. My body just bypasses the whole drunk state and, if I drink enough, sends me right into the world’s briefest but also most intense hangover. It’s not pretty. And hallucinogenics are out, even if they worked there would be no point as it’s like I’m already constantly tripping balls . . .’

Peter laughs in spite of himself. He’s always been fairly anti-drugs, and didn’t even taste alcohol until he turned twenty-one, but somehow the whole conversation seems weirdly innocuous. Besides, he feels pretty good right now. They’ve just taken out a branch of a large criminal organisation, made New York that much safer, and didn’t have to kill or even seriously injure anyone to do it. He feels comfortable calling that a huge win.

They leave the scene on foot. Peter’s back is sore from the fall, so he’s not sure letting Wade piggyback would be a very good idea. Instead they climb up walls and parkour across the rooftops. They’re a block away by the time Peter starts hearing sirens in the distance.

‘Hey, Spidey,’ says Wade, ‘wanna call it a night and stop by my place for a beer?’

Peter finds himself smiling again. ‘Sure, why not?’ And they set course for the Bronx.

* * *

Wade pulls two beers out of the fridge and tosses one to Peter, who catches it. It’s Canadian lager of some description. Peter pulls his mask up to his nose to take a sip, and has a sudden urge, not for the first time, to just take it off already. Say, ‘My name is Peter, by the way,’ and smile at Wade, show him that he trusts him.

But he’s kept his identity secret for this long for a reason. He has a responsibility to protect his identity in order to protect the people close to him. At the moment, that’s pretty much limited to Aunt May, but even so. It’s a tough habit to break.

Instead he takes a swig of his beer, watching Deadpool do the same.

‘Hey,’ he says suddenly, ‘if you can’t get drunk, why do you drink beer?’

Wade looks at him for a moment, and then just shrugs. ‘Beer is tasty. I can like something even if it doesn’t get me drunk, can’t I?’

‘Of course,’ says Peter, feeling slightly stupid, and to fill the silence he takes another large sip of the golden liquid.

‘Hey, Spidey,’ says Wade, ‘wanna show me your moves?’

Peter looks at him blankly. ‘Huh?’

‘We could spar! Just, for fun. Besides, I figure with alcohol in your blood is about the only time I stand a real chance of beating you in mano a mano.’ Wade grins widely. ‘Come on! It’ll be fun. No weapons, promise. And good practice for you, too, as you won’t have to hold back on the super strength. Can’t hurt me, anyway.’

Peter considers this for a moment, draining his bottle. Wade has a point. It’s not often he has the opportunity to train outside of a life and death situation. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he says in the end, and Wade whoops happily.

‘All right! We’ll go up to the roof. I’ll bring some more beer. This is gonna be epic!’

They scale the fire escape to the roof, and Wade sets down a few bottles in a corner. He discards his weapons next to them, and even takes off the belt of pouches around his waist. Then he stands facing Peter, a smirk on his lips. They’ve both still got their masks pulled up to their noses.

Without warning, Wade lunges at Peter with his fist raised. Peter side-steps, blocking with his forearm, and lands a light kick to Wade’s side. Wade laughs.

‘The hell was that, a love tap? Come on, baby boy, I told you you don’t need to hold back!’

Peter shrugs. ‘I thought we were just getting warmed up.’

Wade laughs again and beckons with his left hand. ‘Come at me, super-bro!’

Peter feints to the right, his dominant side, and at the last minute strafes left, bringing his fist up to Wade’s shoulder. He’s fast, but Wade adapts and blocks the incoming punch with little difficulty. Soon they’re trading punches and kicks at the speed of dancing. Wade’s clearly had martial arts training in the past, his moves quick and precise, and he’s almost as good at reading incoming attacks as Peter is. Where Peter notes the minute movements of musculature before a punch and dodges intuitively, Wade seems to have a different approach to reading his opponent’s moves, a keen and well trained eye. He takes calculated risks, occasionally taking a hit in order to return one with more force.

For the first time Peter understands why no one’s managed to take Wade Wilson down fully, why S.H.I.E.L.D hasn’t managed to bring him in yet. Deadpool’s healing factor isn’t the only thing he’s got going for him. Behind it lies both skill and intelligence that enables him to match punch for punch, kick for kick. It’s impressive, and the longer they fight, the less Peter feels the need to hold back. Soon he’s going all out, and Wade laughs gleefully every time a blow connects, his mouth running more or less constantly. Peter tries not to let it distract him.

‘Oho, that hit the spot!’ Wade says as Peter lands a particularly vicious punch to his stomach that knocks him backwards. He coughs once and is back on form again, taking advantage of the halt in flow to return the blow with a kick. ‘That’s what I’m talking about, baby, give it to me!’

Peter doesn’t know whether to laugh or blush, so he settles for catching Wade’s fist in his hand the next time it comes for him. With his other hand he grabs Wade’s wrist and pulls, while tripping him up and knocking him off his feet. Wade falls on his back with a loud, ‘Oof!’ but he has time to grab Peter’s wrist in turn and pulls him down with him. He rolls them over, so Peter’s on his back, and sits on his chest, pinning his arms to his sides with well toned thighs.

Bucking his hips, Peter tries to throw him off, but he’s got six foot two and two-hundred pounds of muscle sitting on his chest, and Wade grins down at him as the realisation seems to dawn on him that he’s winning.

Wade brings his face close to Peter’s, and for a moment Peter wonders if he’s about to kiss him. He finds that he’s strangely comfortable with the idea. Instead, Wade murmurs, ‘You give, baby boy?’

Later, Peter will probably blame the beer, or the adrenaline rush of the fight, or basically anything but his own will, but for now he stops struggling and, wiggling his torso slightly, manages to raise his shoulders off the ground and his face right up to Wade’s. Pausing only to give a slight smirk he whispers, ‘I give,’ and then closes the distance, meeting Wade’s chapped lips with his own.