Chapter 1
“Riots erupted in Washington this evening following a series of legal negotiations concerning the recently drafted mutant registration act. Authorities report that representatives from The Friends of Humanity, an anti-mutant religious organization, attempted to storm Capitol Hill and injured several police officers in the process. Speculation is circulating that the protestors were targeting Professor Charles Xavier, the renowned humanitarian and geneticist who has been an outspoken figure in trying to halt the registration bill before it passes to the senate floor. We now go live to -”
The screen went black, and it took Lane a moment to recognize their reflection on the empty screen. Wade’s frowning face, however, was in perfect relief as he wordlessly stood behind the couch with the remote in hand.
“Rude? I was watching that.” Lane said, giving Wade’s reflection a glare.
“Don’t care, we have a problem.”
“Do we now?”
He climbed over the back of the couch and plopped down onto the cushion beside Lane, forgoing his usual gymnastic routine of a triple backflip, spring boarding off of the couch and finishing the routine off with an ‘oops-I-accidentally-broke-Xavier’s-lamp-again’.
There was no flamboyance to his movement, no sound of crashing furniture, and somehow that made Lane even more uneasy. He was serious, and that was cause for concern.
“Yeah. You and the giant metal boyscout have both been walking on eggshells for a week and a half now.” Wade stated. “You guys were making heart eyes at each other for almost three months, and then all of a sudden you won’t make eye contact with the guy.”
“That’s not -”
The floorboards creaked, and Lane didn’t even have to turn around to know who the footsteps belonged to. Piotr was the biggest (if not heaviest) man in the house after all, and as such his footsteps had a certain cadence. They had learned that cadence; hell, they had even learned his smell after a while - metallic, obviously, but layered with subtle notes of pine and warm spices that came from his soap. They had taken that information and clung to it like a safety blanket - ]this is real, and he is real - but now it felt more like a noose around their neck when they couldn’t bring themselves to look him in the eye. They were too worried of what they’d find looking back at them, afraid to find even a fraction of horror or mistrust in the face of their friend.
Lane wasn’t sure if their heart could take that again, even with a healing power.
They didn’t turn around.
“Hey, full metal jacket, you gonna pop a squat or what?” Wade asked, giving Lane a side-eye as he addressed Piotr. Then, not breaking eye-contact with Lane as he did so, the merc reached up his legs and placed his feet on the table.
“I, ah, no. I was just passing by.” Came the quiet rumble of Piotr’s reply.
“Oh, well…okay?”
The large footsteps receded gradually down the hallway,
“Seriously - you’re going to sit there with a straight face and tell me that was a normal interaction? He’s so spaced out he didn’t even read me the Miranda Rights of putting my feet on the table!” Wade dropped his voice an octave and put on a thick accent. “‘Wade, table is for cups and plates, not for feet.’”
“Yep. Totally normal.”
Wade leaned in close and fixed Lane with a pointed look. “Did something happen? Do I need to break some silver kneecaps?”
“Wade, no.” Lane put their hands to their face and slowly dragged their palms down their face. “It’s…complicated. He didn’t do anything wrong, not really -”
“See, that’s a phrase that makes me want to break some silver kneecaps.”
“Fuck, Wade, just drop it.” Lane snapped, fixing Wade with a glowering look that could strip paint off of the walls.
Any sane person would have turned tail right then and there, but Wade Wilson was no sane person by any stretch of the imagination. Similarly, he was no stranger to Lane’s current state, easily able to sluice out how their biting words were rooted in hurt. It reminded Wade of a cat backed into a corner, striking out when it sensed a threat come too close.
And so, after a long moment, Wade let out a low huff and leaned back into his seat with a shake of his head.
“Fine,” Wade grumbled, moving to pick up the remote. “Can we at least watch something decent while you sulk? Golden Girls is on.”