6032/Visiting Hours are for Squares

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Visiting Hours are for Squares
Date of Scene: 20 December 2018
Location: Unknown
Synopsis: Visiting hours really are for squares - and people not brave enough to thwart SHIELD security and say hi to Steve via the ceiling. Deadpool steps up to the task!
Cast of Characters: Deadpool, Captain America




Deadpool has posed:
The atmosphere has been relaxing and quiet, as those permitted to come and give well wishes to the extremely injured Captain is a very very short list. And the bouquets of possibly-explosive things are kept well away, so there aren't even any interesting gifts to look at.

There's some noise overhead, then. There isn't an AC vent or grill that leads into the room: that wouldn't be good for security, but there are some very narrow channels related to the fire extinguisher system that are very sealed, with only a few long slats by the overhead lighting that reach into that overhead space.

A few little bangs of knees on metal, a shuffling sound, and a grunt later, it may be apparent somebody squished inside that ceiling corridor, though. There's also some bad words, muffled. A few little chime noises, small cheerful little dings and boops.

Then there's just silence.

And a following series of more little chime beep-BIP noises, appropriate to an extremely cheerful little video game or phone.

Captain America has posed:
This time around, the sedative drop in Steve's IV is welcome. No more joking about benchmarks being set now -- this one nearly took the entire cake. However, while it might dull the super-soldier's senses, it doesn't negate them entirely. He's been cat-napping again, bundled up to his chin against the possible chill of the sterile recovery room, and his closed eyes squint at the sounds. A slow, sleepy blink and then he looks upwards.

"...what the hell...?" comes the reaction, each word spoken as if he had to remember English to start with. "Who's up there?" Security's gotta know about this, right? The Captain can't go about swinging, not so soon after surgery. At least the drainage and breathing tubes are out?

Deadpool has posed:
"Just a minute, I'm almost out of lives," comes the voice of the ceiling-cat. Or God. Or most specifically, the possibly pretty memorable voice of Deadpool. It IS filtered through the bulk of the ceiling. "JUst need tooooooooooo ... yay," Deadpool chimes in the ceiling, with an explosive fun little glittery noise from his phone. He shuffles a little futher, and some reflections from the pink and neon green images on his phone flit along the ceiling light.

Captain America has posed:
"Out of lives?" Steve mouths to himself, squinting at what has to be the largest rat he's ever heard in the ducts -- no, wait, human, duh, it spoke. Unless there's a speaking rat in the ceiling, in which case, he wants his sedative levels checked, please. Then memory taps him on the shoulder and there's a slow sigh. "Wade. 'S'not a good idea unless you wanna get yelled at. Nurse Danika's been on th'war path."

True statement. After the last few times of being walked all over by Avenging visitors, the trauma nurse is the major bulwark to everything entertaining to the Captain. He must rest. No distractions. Borrrring.

Deadpool has posed:
"It's cool. I'm stealthy Ay-Eff." A pause. "That's 'As Fuck' but censored for your sensibilities," Wade supplies, scooching further in the ceiling thing, making it flex and wobble. He's trying to see down. "As if I minded being yelled at. It's almost as if I'm used to it. Also there's a lot of sensors in here, so, fun times! I came to visit. But aside from cutting a hole downwards, there isn't a handy-dandy vent," the merc laments, very sad indeed.

"So I am unsure about holding your hand to comfort you."

Captain America has posed:
"They mus'not be too concerned then," mumbles the Captain up at the ceiling. "Enough sensors 'round here to make Fort Knox seem like a walk in th'park." Talking to empty air is totally normal, right? No one outside the room seems to notice or care overly much, even with the door cracked to the airy space containing the reception desk. "Language," he adds in a crankier tone before closing his eyes again.

It almost seems like he falls asleep on Wade, but then inhale somewhat sharply as if rousing himself. "You might as well jus'remove a ceiling panel at this point. It'll be a change of pace. 'm tired of counting my heart-rate." Indeed, on the machines beep, steadily keeping track.

Deadpool has posed:
"Remove a panel? WELL. If you insist!" chimes Wade. "Don't mind our dust," he entones in a more serious way, and then there's some banging and scuffling as he tries to scooch backwards some, and then decides instead to go forwards. "I need to disarm some things, soooooo, patience might be necessary, because while I am good, it's like people care about your safety or something," Wade observes, fiddling around, by the sounds of it.

Captain America has posed:
His hazy focus roll towards the cracked door. Right off the bat, it seems no one's immediately responding to the sounds -- oh, nope, wait, that's the faint roll of a wheeled chair being rapidly scooted out from a desk.

"Wade, shh!" Steve barely has time to hiss it before the door to his room cracks open. One gimlet-eyed Nurse Danika peers and steps half-way through the portal. Hopefully the scuffling has paused.

"You doing okay, Captain?" she asks, professional despite the amount of suspicion rolling off of her like fog from the sea.

"Never better, Miss Brown," replies the man quietly, giving her a mild smile. "Had to move around a bit. Not used to being still."

Nurse Danika mollifies him with a polite and professional, "You'll be up and about soon enough. Rest while you can." A flicker of sympathy and then she's gone, closing the door entirely behind her. A blown sigh from Steve and he considers the ceiling again.

Deadpool has posed:
"Wade, SHHHHHH," echoes ceiling-voice. It's not mocking in tone, he's just talking to himself. Quietly, at least, and he did it before the nurse came in. Technically during the sound of the door opening, but close enough.

There is, perhaps shockingly, proof that the mercenary can actually follow a directive. It's really just a case of when it is actually going to matter or be important. It is just as well that Steve can't see, because Wade plastered both hands over his mouth in an overdone expression of being quiet.

"What a nice lady," Wade observes, though, after she leaves. "I might be stuck, by the way."

Captain America has posed:
The soft coughing sound is a laugh checked up short by chest pain and lingering wonderment at dread Nurse Danika waiting outside the door to catch him red-handed at -- at -- something troublesome! Sedated Steve is clearly someone who encourages trouble, by the way he squints up at the panels and lighting.

"She's nice enough," he allows. "Won't lemme have my jellybeans, however, so...we're gonna have words when I get th'chance. 'nd how are you stuck, Wade? You a superhero or what?" Rah-rah, Wade's his man -- entertainment? -- if he can't break free, no...well. He should be able to. Maybe it's all that frayed and detached sensor wiring up there now.

Deadpool has posed:
"What I'm hearing is the mission is now a search and rescue for Captain America's stolen jelly solider platoon," Wade responds seriously. "What I mean is, when I tripped this, it started to mush me a little. Mostly just my legs. But I think I can just pop on out, after I spread some lubric---you know what, even I feel awkward describing what I'm doing to you. Just imagine it instead," Wade sing-songs.

There's some squishing sounds and some fumbling in the overhead area. And then some slicing, a short blade penetrates the edge around the overhead light. Tactical and skilled, quick and measured. A reminder that there actually is a very trained assassin in the ceiling, not just a clown.

Captain America has posed:
"I'd have to award you some merit if you manage to rescue that jellybean platoon," intones the Captain most seriously...with a tiny lisp. "They're deep behind enemy lines at Miss Brown's desk. I don't think she's eating them herself, but dunno if anyone else might think about it." And this is clearly a travesty.

He tries not to consider what Wade's up to, especially after hearing what sounds like joints doing things they //really// shouldn't be doing. A bemused blink at the quick flash of knife seen through the adhesive keeping lighting unit to paneling. "Now that's a knoife." That was his best attempt at an Australian accent. Bad. So bad, and accompanied by another rough-sounding little chuckle.

Deadpool has posed:
"I am jealous of whatever painkillers you are on," Deadpool says with deep yearning. He continues the slice along the ceiling, draws part of the light panel up, removing some of the back of it to one side. He twists the panel a few degrees, pulling it to put it in front of him in the ceiling area. He then looks down, arms crossed on the edge of the small opening he made. "Hi!" Wade greets cheerfully, finger-waving. He looks like 'himself', in terms of that he is in his usual Deadpool mask and costume.

Wade then immediately slides his torso through, both arms hyperextended to allow that. He flips his grip acrobatically and hangs there, from the waist, seeming entirely fine with all of it. "AND I didn't have to cut my legs off," Wade assures Steve with a thumbs up. Or is that thumbs down? He flips it over, since he's inverted. Then back. "Which way should this be?"

Captain America has posed:
Color the Captain transparently impressed at the amount of effort put forth. Only residual pain keeps him from applauding weakly. Tah-dah: there's a Deadpool, suit and all. Steve considers the thumbs-up/down most seriously, looking sincerely perplexed. "...I dunno, Wade, you're upside-down now, I can't help you," he replies. "'nd you can take the sedative drip if you want." A pause and then a scowl. "No...you prolly shouldn't. Nurse Danika would notice."

Still, he beams mildly at the inverted merc. "It's good to see you, y'know. Just...no selfies this time. Not my best side," he quips, moving slowly under the sheets to assauge the ghost of restless limbs.

Deadpool has posed:
"No selfies of shitty appearance, got it," Deadpool promises, crossing his heart with a scout's honor gesture of fingers. He looks around below him, and arcs his body to flip slowly out of the ceiling, using a grip of fingers along the edge of another ceiling tile to partially spider-cling up there. He slides sideways and then drops neatly next to the bed, popping to his feet.

Nearly to his feet. He set his forearms on the metal rail at the side of the bed, chin against his wrist, head tilted. "Just 'cause I heal fast doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. I know what you're going throoooough," Deadpool says, with a swell of emotion in his voice, attempting to seize Steve's hand and squeeze it tight.

Captain America has posed:
Another bemused and owlish blink at Wade. Extra tah-dah, now the man's completely in the room instead of half a bat hanging from the ceiling. Magical, how that processes in Steve's brain right now -- like some still-motion film that slides in and out of smooth reel. It'll be one hell of a reverie to remember later.

No real gumption to stop his hand from being snagged up, given he pulls arms out from under the sheets earlier in his wriggling. He squint at it and at Wade, at his hand being held by leathery gloves, and back at his visitor again. "You been shot in th'chest before?"

Deadpool has posed:
Wade stares at Steve. "Yeeeees," Wade answers, as if the question was asking if he has ever breathed. "Poor Stevie. It's Deadpool here. Deaaaaadpool," Deadpool says, raising his voice louder, as if volume would make things easier to understand. "I mean, /shot/? I've had my lungs removed through my throat. And that was just like, last month, that I can think of just off the top of my head here. The head injuries muck with memory. So. Not recommended for most people."

Deadpool considers, and then flips a gun out of a holster, offering it to Steve. "I'll let you shoot me in the chest if it'd make you feel better?" he suggests playfully. HELPING. "Oh. It might be loud. Did you know if you shoot through your forearm it can act like a silencer?" Deadpool asks, upbeat.

Captain America has posed:
The Captain winces a little as the merc's volume increases and glances at the door. If it opens anytime soon, it'll look like something out of a twisted novel and then Nurse Danika will probably say things that'll make Steve knee-jerk respond with, "LANGUAGE." But, thankfully, no one's apparently going to check in again.

"...I did not," replies the bed-ridden soldier slowly. "If I'm ever desperate to make a shot, I'll keep that in mind." He shakes his head on the pillows, further mussing up his blond hair. "'n shooting you's'not gonna make me feel better, but thanks for offering." Like this is totally normal. No creamer in his coffee, please, and no bright arterial spray on the white-washed walls of the recovery room.

Deadpool has posed:
    "Desperate shots are rarely needing to be silent. If you're desperate at that point, silence probably is not exactly important," Deadpool prattles 'wisely'. "So, I'm gonna go get your soldiers! Sit tight!" Deadpool announces unpredictably, lowering his head to press his cheek to Steve's thumb, and then is suddenly off, black and red, gun swapped for a tazer that crackles with foreshadowing, and the merc slips out of the doorway into the hallway. This will end well.