10608/But I left a note

But I left a note
Date of Scene:	01 January 2020
Location:	Steve's Room, Avengers Mansion
Synopsis:	Wade drops by Steve's for a movie and holiday cheer.
Cast of Characters:	Deadpool, Captain America

---

Deadpool has posed:
On the exterior door of Steve's room, there is a little note posted. Not to worry. Clearly it has some highly restrained way of giving information.

In green crayon, the note says:

STEVE I GOT BORED WAITING SO I CAME IN

DEADPOOL!

And also a giant smiley face. That's in purple crayon.

Captain America has posed:
Steve doesn't need to squint at the note. If anything, he's got far beyond 20/20 vision at this point -- thanks, Erskine! -- but when he plucks the note from his door and stands there, he peers at it regardless. A flick of his brows and a nod of acceptance and then he's entering the bedroom suite.

"Hey Wade, it's Steve." Not every day one announces one's self in their own living quarters. "I've got enchiladas. Turkey," the Captain further clarifies. Balancing the broad platter of ("stolen") food from the kitchen on one hand, he closes the bedroom door and then walks towards the small table by the equally small fridge. Still steaming, the enchiladas are turkey and green chile. There's only one fork at the moment anchored by its tuck beneath one of the folded deliciousnesses, but that's easily remedied by a scrounge through the silverware cup tucked next to the fridge.

Deadpool has posed:
"I don't wanna go to school," Deadpool complains from the couch.

"I'm naked and I didn't study for the TEST."

Don't worry. He IS dreaming. And even more importantly ... IS NOT ACTUALLY NAKED.

However, Wade was sleeping on the couch (is sleeping?), while the TV is on. It's a quiet part of the movie: looks to be Home Alone. The burglars are discussing breaking in or something like that, but the volume isn't up very high, plus it is a quiet part of the movie. Deadpool rolls over with a grunt onto his face. He's not in his suit - he's in just jeans, a dark red zip hoodie, sneakers. Whether he has his mask on is unknown at this time, since his face is now buried.

Captain America has posed:
There is a moment where Steve just stares down at the other fork he plucked from the cup proving to be the silverware collection point.

Naked -- oh, whew, wait, no, that's //sleep mumbling//. Craning his head to see the current status of his visitor on the couch, the man then slips the second fork into the small mound of enchiladas; more like, shoves the fork in like an explorer claiming the food for the grand land of Rogerston. Bam: fork perfectly upright.

"Wade. Wade, it's Steve," says he from behind the couch, thumbs hooked on his jean pockets. Steve wears an Army-green hoodie and plush thermal boot-socks. "There's no test. You're in my room watching a movie."

Deadpool has posed:
"Mom, why is Captain America with you? Aren't you fucking Mel Gibson?" Wade mumbles. He rolls -- entirely off the couch in a very sudden move, crashing onto the floor.

And Wade's up like a shot, orienting quickly, raking his hands down his thighs and to the belt area, baffled by his lack of automatic weaponry.

"What? What. WHAT."

"What."

Wade stands there, and then evenly recovers. "Howdy. Sorry, wow, those sex dreams up creep up, don't they. One second you're riding a unicorn, the next-- you know, all my dreams are sex dreams, I'm not a good example. What's up, Stevie?"

Wade is not in fact wearing his mask, which can make him hard to look at, but Steve has always been a good sport about it.

Captain America has posed:
Mel Gibson?

There's no saving Wade from rolling off the couch to his short-drop doom. Steve's mouth parts in somethig akin to shock while his brows quirk in pure perplexion. He composes himself quickly enough, though Wade might catch the bemusement before the First Avenger's giving him a mild smile.

"Hey Wade. Nothing much is up, just thought I'd eat another enchilada before I tuck in for the night. You want one?" He thumbs over his shoulder towards the plate with its polite fork and the Very Present Vertical Fork. "Beer's in the fridge as always."

Should Wade feel inclined to have a drink, there's a selection of a few ambers, one pale, three dark, and three 'tropical punch' malt-brews (courtesy of Janet).

Steve walks over to seat himself at the table and plucks the polite fork. His phone comes out briefly and he pokes distractedly at one folded foodstuff as he thumbs through some text messages; none appear to be critical by his lack of reaction.

Deadpool has posed:
"Yes, I will, thank you," Wade says, as if he were entirely lucid and coherent with everything that was going on. He walks over like a normal person to accept the food and the fork, without doing anything weird with it or scratching his itchy balls or ANYTHING.

"I feel like it's important to note that my mom /was/ fucking Mel Gibson. I mean. Was him. Not that she was having sexual relations with him. That Mel is mom. Just so there's clarity. And Mel is a lot nicer to me about school than David Hasslehoff."

Wade salutes with the fork, and fetches one of the tropical punch things to drink because they are colorfully labeled.

Captain America has posed:
Away goes the cell phone into Steve's jean pocket and he nods slowly as he considers Wade across the table.

"Good call." His own fork gestures at the drink chosen. "Those're too sweet for me. Tastes like taking a straight shot of fruit concentrate with some rubbing alcohol in it. You can take 'em all home if you want. Janet won't miss 'em." A conspiratorial little smile appears and disappears, quick as a sparkle of sun on water.

"Isn't David that one actor with the whole quip about 'Don't hassle the hoff'? Figure it has to be him," Steve asides mostly to himself as he briefly frowns down at his enchilada.

So many social media memes to learn, so little time.

Deadpool has posed:
"Yep, that's the man. I have a picture in my bedroom of him in a pile of puppies," Wade answers evenly. That MIGHT NOT be a joke. "Maybe that's why the dreams. Hm. That could explain that a little bit."

Wade looks at the interestingly flavored beverage he's been 'assigned' more of, and shrugs, "Maybe if I like it. Give me a taste to rub it past the ol' taste buds."

Wade pauses, then clarifies, "But I'll take them anyway. I hear the conspiratorial wink in your tone, and I'm happy to leap on grenades. Literal or otherwise."

Captain America has posed:
"Appreciate you taking one for the team." Steve returns from his brief foray to the fridge with a bottle of something dark. He flicks off the cap with his thumbnail and reaches out to clink the top of the bottle to Wade's bottle in silent cheers. "Though this'll be no grenade for you to land on. If anything, I get the ragging if she notices they're missing."

His broad shoulders shrug. "I'll get more if need be. Oh -- that reminds me. Stay here for a second." Wade gets an uplifted pointer finger in accent to remain at the table as his host then scoots back his chair again. There goes Steve, into his bedroom, and he returns with a red envelope. On it, 'Wade' in precise print.

"For you," explains the Captain shortly as he holds it out towards the Merc.

Deadpool has posed:
"Ooooor you can tell her I drank them. I'm //really// okay with being blamed for something that I will, in fact, be responsible for actually doing," Wade says, clinking his drink in answer. While Steve is away, Wade followed orders: he stayed where he was. It's some kind of Christmas-- err, New years?-- miracle.

When Steve returns, Wade looks over. Does he absolutely lose his shit?

...Nope. "Cool. Gift certificate?" Wade asks with a grin (which is awful, considering the lip cancer), accepting the envelope and turning it over to look at the printed name, flicks his eyes to Steve, then drops them down again as he opens the envelope up.

Captain America has posed:
"Yeah." Settled back in his seat now, Steve's eyes can be seen to follow the motions of opening the cheerily-hued envelope. "I noticed you hum pretty often, or you sing. Lots of music. Figured a universal gift certificate to give you access to more music wouldn't go over badly."

He looks down at his serving of enchilada in a motion nearly sheepish. There's also what appears to be a charcoal sketch of the view from his apartment balcony in charcoal, this slipped inside a sleeve-cover. It's no bigger than the card itself and tucks neatly inside until discovered. Wade might recognize it from one of their discussions earlier in the year when he provided the Captain with company and a sympathetic ear.

Deadpool has posed:
"Thank you. Thoughtfulliest Captain. Singing? WELL. Often in the /shower/, how did you know? Sneaking a peek?" Wade teases, with a tut-tut of tongue, but Wade's staying fairly coherent, and out of the rafters of insanity for the time being. "I know you're not, nobody wants a peek of all this, burn your poor retinas, lose your faith in Jesus."

While Wade chatters, he wipes his hand on his pants, then draws the picture out, looking at it curiously. "I.... get this is sentimental but I don't understand it," Wade admits after a pause, and a wince at Steve. "I get hit in the head a lot." He holds it up, with a questioning look. And some other emotion under it: maybe something akin to embarrassment or unhappiness.

Captain America has posed:
Wade earns himself a dawn's blush of pink at the Captain's ears for his tease. Steve does his best to cover for his subtle reaction by forking up a mouthful of enchilada with manners better suited to the Army's grub-halls. He glances up when he hears the confusion in the Merc's voice.

"It's okay, Wade, it's not a problem," comes the reassurance. "You came over to my apartment one time 'nd we shared drinks 'nd talked. It wasn't about...Sentinels or the latest supervillain bent on enslaving the world. It was talk between friends. I appreciated it more'n you think. Learned more about emojis than I had in a while." A squint of concentration zones in on Wade. "...that 'nd there was something about Betty White having an alligator steak dinner."

Deadpool has posed:
"Dawwww," Wade says, inviting himself over, to try to throw a friendly arm around his buddy's overly broad shoulders. Wade himself has some impressively athletic and bulky shoulders, but he's not Cap-freakin-'merica.

"Love it, buddy o' pal," Wade expresses, thoroughly charmed, it seems. "Betty White chat definitely was me. I don't recollect that scene but I'm sure it was a great situation where we hugged, we loved, we //connected//," Wade entones. He doesn't go for a smooch, though it appears to occur to him, but instead he pats at Steve's shoulder instead. Patpatpat.

Captain America has posed:
For his side-hugging efforts, Wade gets a few firm (but not too firm, no need to rearrange anyone's vertebrae) thumps between his shoulderblades. "We connected, yeah. Made me think about things 'nd take account of where I was at in life at the time. I felt...normal." By the twist of his mouth, that is the right word chosen but it sits funny nonetheless. "Like I was just Steve and not the whole public persona. Anyways," and the man shrugs again. "That's the view from the balcony at the time."

Hearing the sound of someone screaming due to what...appears to be grabbing a redhot door knob, Steve turns in his chair to watch. "Oh, this's...Home Alone? Haven't seen this one, mind if we start it over?"

Steve enjoys the movie more than he expects as he sits on the couch and finishes his beer. The company chatters and the Captain doesn't mind a bit. After all, friendly commentary is amusing.

Deadpool has posed:
"Not a bit! I was sleeping. Also, I love this movie. Although it's not the ultimate Christmas movie, which is either Dire Hard or Dire Hard," Wade says, snaring the remainder of his drink (that food disappeared like it had wings on it into Wade's stomach), and heading back to the couch.

"I couldn't think of a New Years movie, so here we are," Wade explains his logic line. At least he did pick a holiday? "Also, Happy New Year, buddy." Wade lifts his glass.

"To all the panels we fill with our nonsense in the future!"