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Peter wasn't sure when he first realized that Wade liked to cross-dress.
He supposed the signs were there from the very first time he saw the merc without his suit. That first morning in Wade's apartment, he wore a pink apron trimmed with lace as he made pancakes.
Or the second time, in a pink terry cloth bathrobe that looked like it had seen better days.
Peter assumed it was just an eccentricity of Wade's character at first. He liked goofy things just to be weird, sometimes. If Peter thought much about it, he assumed it was a machismo humor strategy, like making homoerotic jokes with The Boys.
But he soon realized this was more serious. A means of self-preservation. A survival strategy, for an unkillable soul.
Sometimes Wade would come out of the shower with his chest wrapped in a towel and another coiled around his head (quite funny given the lack of hair). He'd just sit like that, watching TV and flipping through a Cosmo for a while.
One day Peter came in to find Wade painting his toenails a pretty lilac color. He stared, transfixed, as the martial arts and weapons specialist applied a delicate layer of shellac to his nails. "That's a pretty color," he commented.
When Wade was done he wiggled his toes for Peter. "Want me to do yours next?"
Peter hesitated. "Do you have black?" Wade fished around in a box on the dresser and produced a bottle of Sally Nails in Black Velvet. Peter let him paint his toes, and it excited them both so much they spent the rest of the afternoon in bed.
Later, Peter took a break from slathering Wade with affection to fish around in the under-bed shoe box of goodies. He found a pair of red lace panties. Peter was quite familiar with the contents of the box, and swore that the panties hadn't been there yesterday. Wade lay prone, hips up in the air. His head was to one side, pressed into the pillow and eyes closed with an expectant look on his face.
Peter put the panties in his mouth. He crawled towards Wade, putting his face right next to the big man's. Sensing the movement, Wade opened his eyes, and they locked with Peter's. Wade’s eyebrows rose. Peter spat the panties out on Wade's face. "Put them on," He demanded.
Later, with the panties pushed to one side, Wade came faster and harder than Peter had ever seen.
But Peter met Anita by mistake, or maybe happy coincidence. Wade had gone down to the Bodega to grab some groceries, and Peter took it upon himself to fold Wade's laundry. The merc's preferred style was to stuff clothes in any available drawer, which drove Peter's analytical brain crazy.
Peter dug around the depths of a drawer and pulled out a long black wig with square bangs across the forehead. He took it out, put it on his hand, and brushed out the strands to admire it.
Just then, Wade opened the door with his arms full of groceries (mostly Funyuns, Twizzlers, and root beer). Peter looked at him, wig in hand. Wade just walked nonchalantly to the counter, saying over his shoulder, "looks like you met Anita."
"Who's Anita?" Peter asked, watching Wade.
Wade started shoving junk food into random cabinets. "She goes by Anita Lover, or Hardyk as her given name. She's a jazz singer down at the nightclub, you know the one. She belts out old standards and 80s love ballads, usually draped across a baby grand, while the regulars sip their cheap drinks at the bar. It doesn't pay well, but it's a living, and she's happy."
"She sounds entrancing," Peter said, watching Wade carefully for signs of excitement. "I'd love to get to know her better."
Wade came over and took the wig from Peter, lovingly combing out some more tangles before tossing it back in the drawer. "I think she'd like to meet you too."
That evening, Peter sat excitedly on the edge of the bed. Finally, the bathroom door opened. Peter's breath caught, it was so much more put-together and thoughtful than he had expected.
Anita wore a black satin dress that draped past her knees but was slit up to the thigh. It hugged every curve and had a square neckline across her flat chest. The dress was accessorized by shiny black vinyl stilettos and long black gloves that went up past her elbows. She'd combed the wig out, and wore a large heart-shaped locket around her neck. Wade had even applied lipstick, smoky eyes, and blush to define her cheekbones.
"All that Cosmo reading paid off, sugar," Anita said with a wink. She spoke in a soft, slightly pitched up voice with just the barest hint of a southern drawl.
"It sure did," agreed Peter "Where have you been all my life, baby girl?"
"I've been through the wringer, buddy. Used and abused. Go easy on me, Peter Parker."
And Peter did. Something about Anita demanded a softer, gentler touch than Wade. Where Wade enjoyed pain, being told what to do, being demeaned and punished, Anita was the opposite. She was a selfish lover, she asked for what she wanted, and she told you if she didn't like what you were doing. She wasn't dominating, just self-possessed in bed. She liked to be cared for and held and spoken to gently, and she liked to ride Peter from the top. Sometimes she liked it rough, but she would tell you exactly what she wanted and how to do it with a loving smile on her face and a soft, "sugar." Peter found it incredibly sexy to be with Wade in this way, even though he loved topping the big, mouthy merc as well.
Anita still had a mouth, she still had the sense of humor and sharp tongue, just not in the self-deprecating and occasionally painful tone that was Deadpool's style. She joked as if you and her were the only ones in the room, and you knew exactly what was on her mind. She heavily referenced 80s and 90s female pop icons like Whitney Houston, Bette Midler, and Madonna, and movies like Pretty Woman and Sleepless in Seattle
One night, as they lay together in post coital reverie, the wig tossed to the floor long ago, Wade with his head on Peter's chest, smearing lipstick and mascara which mingled with his sweat, Peter said, "you know, Anita is always welcome. Not just in bed. I love her, like I love you."
Wade looked up at him. Tears welled you in his eyes: "Thanks, baby boy. That means more than you know."
Even then, Anita wasn't always around. Maybe a few times a week, sometimes he would go weeks without seeing her. Then she would emerge from the bathroom with an elaborate lip sync and strip routine, and eat breakfast with Peter the next morning. Occasionally, she and Peter would go out on little dates together, strolling through a park one day, and later visiting a specialty grocery store for some good olives. (Anita wasn't a better cook than Wade, but she seemed to be trying to learn. She loved exploring refined tastes, despite the duo's slim discretionary budget.)
Peter couldn't see much of a pattern in when or where Anita would emerge, but he was always happy to see her. She had a certain way of carrying herself and acting that made Peter feel happy for Deadpool. Wade could be really hard on himself. Peter had seen him do violent, self-harming things, usually if he thought he was to blame for causing someone to suffer.
Once, they were fighting some masked marauders who were wreaking havoc through downtown in broad daylight. A stray bullet of Wade's ricocheted off someone's metal head and hit an innocent man in the chest next to his 6-year-old son. It was a random accident, but later that week Peter found Wade in the shower, arms slit from wrist to elbows and bleeding out as fast as his healing factor could replace the blood.
By this point, Peter had seen Wade cut, shot, blown up, disintegrated in so many ways he could barely count them all, but this sight terrified him. He knew the healing factor would kick in soon and there was nothing to be done to help. He took his clothes off and climbed into the shower to sit behind Wade. He cradled Wade's head against his chest as Wade sobbed into him, blood pooling around them and running down the drain.
Another time, Peter didn't even know what had happened to provoke it, but he started finding body parts in random places in the apartment. An ear in the bathroom sink, a big toe in the shower drain, then a whole hand, inexplicably, in the freezer. Peter approached Wade, and told him that he could not wake up to a scene from Saw in the apartment. This was going to have to stop for Peter's sanity.
At least when Anita was there, Peter felt reassured that the merc could handle his emotions a little better. She had a simplicity about her, but also a wisdom. She acted as if she knew what life had to throw at her and could handle it. If things didn't go her way she would shake it off, saying "Well that wasn't in the cards today. Better luck next time, sweetie." She was cheery and pragmatic, if not outright optimistic.
One afternoon, they were sitting together, Wade's head resting in Peter's lap as he played Halo PVP on the Xbox. An idea occurred to Peter, and he voiced it right there, in a moment of uncharacteristic ease. "Baby," He asked Wade, "Does Anita feel more…like you …than Wade does?"
One of the things that Peter treasured about Deadpool was that, despite his unending barrage of sardonic commentary, when asked a serious question he would always give a thoughtful answer. "Hmm," He pondered, "I don't think so. I think she's a part of me. I think she helps me do and say and see things differently than I can otherwise. But I don't think she is me. Just a skin that I slip into sometimes, when I’m feeling her."
"It's just that, when you're upset, it seems like Anita can handle things a lot better."
"Yeah, she can. She doesn't have my baggage. She has her own, of course. But she's been able to live a life where she is just unapologetically her. She hasn’t been forced into boxes and holes by her circumstances. She hasn’t caused hurt or loss or just been a general asshole her whole life."
"When did you meet Anita?"
“I think she started showing up in high school. I was getting bullied a lot. I ended up dropping out because of it, to join the army. But sometimes I would listen to these songs on the radio, by women who seem to know exactly what they want and how to ask for it. I would lip sync in front of the mirror and imagine I was Bette Midler, and the feeling of loving myself and being self-possessed like that made me so happy."
Peter put down the controller and cradled Wade's head in his hands, kissing every inch he could reach.
On Valentine's day, Wade found a note on his dresser - “Baby Girl, meet me on the roof at sunset. Wear your best outfit for me, pretty please. XOXO, Spidey”
That evening, Anita climbed out the window carefully. She had donned her favorite red dress, a cap-sleeved number with a heart shaped bodice, fitted waist, and an a-line skirt that flared out in gentle pleats. She wore black stilettos, and her hair was done up in an elegant bouffant bun with her dark bangs over her eyes. She'd painted on bright red lipstick and clipped gold hearts to her ears. It was unseasonably warm for February, but she had a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders anyway.
Anita wandered back along the roof, heels scratching on the tar paper. Turning a corner, she found Peter. He was in a button down blue shirt, black sports jacket, and brown slacks, sitting cross-legged on a blanket. Around him he’d laid out Italian takeout, with containers full of pasta and breadsticks and even wine and a little fruit and cheese platter. He’d brought out plates and found real wine glasses somewhere. A candle was lit on the side of the spread, and a single long-stemmed rose sat in a little vase.
As soon as he saw Anita, he rose.
“Hey sugar, what a lovely surprise!” Anita came up to Peter and kissed him on the cheek.
He took her hands and looked down sheepishly. “I just thought you’d like a little date. I know it’s goofy, I…”
“Sugar, it’s been decades since anyone has treated yours truly this nice. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a gentleman, but I sure will take him in a heartbeat. I know better than to turn down a good time.”
Peter smiled and looked into Anita’s eyes, answering earnestly, “You deserve everything. You’re amazing.” He kissed her lips, brushing lightly to avoid smearing her lipstick.
Then he gestured widely towards the spread. “Dinner awaits.” They sat down to eat, Anita tucking her knees to one side demurely and patting down her dress to smooth it out.
As they ate, they watched the sun sink below the rooftops, and a beautiful pink and orange sky stretched out across Manhattan. They talked and laughed about them, about the world, and about nothing at all.
Dusk came, and the moon started to rise behind them. As Anita pushed away her empty plate, Peter fished around in his shirt pocket. “I have something for you. It’s not much, I’m cheap and broke, but I thought you might like it.” Peter produced a little blue box with a white ribbon.
Anita opened the box. Inside, she found her own oversized locket. She’d seen it at a thrift store several years ago and bought it for herself; it was one of her first pieces of jewelry. But it had always been empty, she'd never had anything to put in it.
She opened the locket. On one side, there was a picture of Spider-Man and Deadpool, a selfie that Wade had taken as Peter had hung upside down next to him, their heads touching. Their fingers were pressed together in a heart, with Spider-Man’s twisted upside down so they matched.
On the other side was a picture of Anita and Peter that Anita had snapped on a warm, sunny day. They didn’t get out much because of Anita’s conspicuous appearance and Peter’s desire for anonymity, but she had draped herself in scarves and sunglasses and a big, floppy hat and taken Peter to the board-walk. They’d bought ice cream, watched a balloon animal artist work for a while, and then went down to walk barefoot on the sand. They rolled up their pant legs and let waves lap at their toes. In the picture, the tide rolled in behind them and Peter leaned in to kiss Anita on the cheek, his eyes closed.
“Happy Valentine’s day, Anita Lover, and Wade Wilson,” Peter said.
Anita looked at the present, tears welling in her eyes. “I think Anita Lover isn’t around anymore, sugar. She found a lover. It’s Peter Parker.”
Peter leaned in, took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and kissed her tenderly.
Then he pulled back, something occurring to him. “Does that mean she’s gone back to her maiden name? Anita Hardyk?”
Anita smiled ruefully. “Oh, Anita Hard-Dick is always here.”
