Chapter Text
Wade Wilson had always prided himself on his ability to read people. It was a survival skill, really – know who wants to kill you, who wants to hire you, and who just wants to buy you a drink and hear war stories.
As he sat across from the man in the white dinner jacket, he was starting to think his people-reading skills might need some serious work.
The guy was a closed fucking book wrapped in expensive fucking fabric and tied with a black bowtie that probably cost more than Wade's last three jobs combined. One eye studied Wade's expression, but the other was hidden behind a black eyepatch.
Wade had been calling him "Eyepatch Guy" in his head for the better part of two hours, mostly because the man hadn't offered a name and Wade's imagination had latched onto the obvious (and also because "Mysterious Hot Guy with Great Clothes" was too long to think repeatedly).
"Your move, bub," Eyepatch Guy said, and Jesus, his voice. He'd either been chain-smoking since birth or gargled with broken glass as a hobby.
Wade glanced at his cards again. Jack-high nothing, which was pretty much the story of his evening. He'd started with a decent bankroll – enough to play conservatively and maybe walk away with his dignity intact – but Eyepatch Guy had this way of looking at him that made him want to do increasingly stupid things, like bluff with garbage hands and order drinks that cost more than his utilities.
"You know," Wade sighed, arranging his cards, "I'm starting to think this game might be rigged. Not by you personally – I mean, you seem like an upstanding citizen who definitely doesn't have the callused knuckles of someone who's punched his way out of numerous underground fighting circuits – but by the universe in general. The universe has trust issues with me."
Eyepatch Guy's expression didn't change. If anything, he looked bored by Wade's rambling, which was both insulting and also a little attractive. "You gonna bet or you gonna talk?"
"Both, obviously. I'm a multitasker. Efficient. Watch this." Wade confidently pushed a stack of chips forward. "Raise you two thousand."
The other players at the table (a nervous businessman who'd been sweating through his shirt since the first hand, and a woman in red who looked like she could kill a man with her earrings) both folded immediately.
Smart people.
Wade was beginning to suspect he wasn't smart people.
Eyepatch Guy studied him for a long while, and Wade tried not to fidget. "Call," he eventually said without even glancing at his own chips. "And raise you three."
"Three what? Thousand? Million? Goats? I feel like denomination is important here."
"Thousand."
Wade did the math (quick math, panicked math) and came to the deeply uncomfortable conclusion that he was about two thousand dollars short of being able to call.
"Ah," he said. "You know what? I think I might need a minute to–"
"Havin' trouble?" Eyepatch Guy leaned back in his chair, and Wade caught a glimpse of an expensive watch under his sleeve. Everything about this guy screamed money , which made the current predicament significantly more awkward.
"Trouble? Me? Nah, I'm just…thinking. Making sure I'm not about to do something really stupid." He paused. "Again."
"You short?"
Wade's laugh came out slightly strangled. "Short? That's…that's such an ugly word. I prefer 'temporarily experiencing a liquidity shortfall.' Much more dignified."
Eyepatch Guy's gaze moved from Wade's face to his remaining chips, then back again. "How much you got left?"
"Technically? Or after I pay for my drinks and cab fare home?"
"Technically."
Wade counted his chips with the grim precision of a man calculating his own execution. "About…eight hundred. Give or take. Mostly give, because I'm an optimist."
"So you're what, over two grand short?"
"Math was never my strongest subject, but yeah, that sounds about right." Wade slumped in his chair. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in an IOU? I can be very artistic. Could draw little hearts over the i's."
He was quiet for a moment. "Got a proposition for ya."
"I'm listening. Listening and hoping it doesn't involve black market organs, 'cause I'm pretty attached to my kidneys, both literally and figuratively."
"Come up to my room. Take care'a somethin' for me. We'll call it even."
Jesus, the implications.
On one hand, this could be perfectly innocent – maybe he needed help moving furniture, or assembling IKEA furniture, or debugging his laptop. On the other hand…
Wade glanced around the room. This wasn't exactly the kind of establishment where people asked strangers to help with their taxes. "When you say 'take care of something,' are we talking about the kind of something that requires special skills? I'm not great with electronics, I can't fold fitted sheets to save my life, and my cooking has been described as 'weaponizable.'"
Eyepatch Guy's mouth turned into what might've been a smile if you squinted and had a very generous definition of the word. "Think you can handle it."
Fuck, he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on Wade, which was, frankly, an entirely inappropriate effect considering they were in public and Wade was supposed to be maintaining some semblance of dignity.
"And this would…settle my debt? Completely?"
"Completely."
Wade looked at his cards again. Jack-high garbage. Then he looked at Eyepatch Guy. The smart thing would be to fold, walk away, and figure out some other way to come up with four thousand dollars. Maybe he could sell a kidney after all – his healing factor would probably grow it back.
Eventually.
The stupid thing would be to follow the mysterious hot guy in the expensive suit up to his room and "take care of something" that was almost certainly going to be either illegal, immoral, or incredibly stupid.
Wade had never been particularly smart.
"You know what?" he replied and tossed his cards onto the table. "I fold. But I accept your extremely generous and definitely-not-suspicious offer."
Eyepatch Guy nodded twice, then gathered up his chips. "Room 2347. Gimme ten minutes." He stood, straightened his jacket, and walked away without looking back.
Wade watched him go and tried not to think too hard about what he'd just agreed to.
"Well," he murmured to himself, "this should be interesting."