The first time he saw her, Deadpool was not sure what to think. It was a miniature, estrogen fueled, mammary gland-ed, monthly moon-cycled Wolverine. As if Wolvie wasn't scary enough without having to worry about shaving his legs. Hm.

That was why he jumped out of his hiding spot mere feet away from her, and she turned, like a paranoid wombat (Wombats are terribly jumpy) and slashed at him with her razor sharp claws. He flipped backwards, avoiding the lunge.

"Hey!" he began. "I just have a question, that's all! Really!"

She curled her lip back and shot at him again, this time swinging her foot around, unsheathing the claw that rested within, and slicing him across the chest. He just sort of looked at it. There was a small spurt of blood as his heart went pit-a-pat, but he ignored it.

"Well, someone needs a pedicure!" Deadpool announced while pulling out his twin swords. He ran at her, blades ready and he returned the slashing gesture. It was good to share. His sword caught between her two claws with a clang and the slight glow of sparks bouncing off the clashing metals.

"Aw, snickers!" Deadpool said. "You're full of that newfangled metal too?" One of his eyes squinted beneath the eye holes of his mask. "Is everyone but me gonna get some of that? That ain't too fair considering I was in the club before you, kid! Next thing you know, they'll give adamantium to little cyborg cats named Tinker. Oh, wait."

She pushed against him, dislodging his weapon from her claws. "You talk too much."

Deadpool re-aligned his stance. "It's my shtick, babe. Some people smash, some use the word bub like it was punctuation, some carry lots and lots of guns, I talk. And talk. And talk-..."

She became rather confounded that the man indeed, did not stop talking, indulging in his own gravley gibber.

"...And talk and talk and talk and taaalk and talk and talk and talk, talk, talk, and talk some more. Then after that, I talk again. Hey!"

"What?" She cocked her head, itching to rend that mask from his chattering face.

Moving swiftly, he pulled some small disc shaped objects from a pouch. "Have a cookie!" He flung them in her direction, and she managed to dodge, but the force of the impending explosion sent her hurtling towards the neighbouring building. She crashed through the flimsy plywood walls, and Deadpool followed. When he found her, she was slowly rising to her knees, discombobulated and with almost no sound but a high pitched ringing in her ears. She focused on him as he drew a gun on her.

"Ok, Wolver-ette, Girl-talk time. What's going on? Who are you?"

She could feel the cold kiss of the gun barrel against her forehead, and she stared, fearlessly into his almost void-like eyes. With a sound almost akin to a bark, she swept his legs out from under him, using her own leg as the means to an ends. Deadpool tripped, but rolled back to his feet. She was behind him now, and pounced on her enemy, wrapping her legs around his middle and arms around his neck. The two danced a dance of struggle. She was a slippery thing, but Deadpool possessed muscle training that she did not. He managed to grab her by what could only be called the scruff of her neck, and flung her away from him. It was then that Deadpool heard the shattering of glass and realized that he had given the young girl a quantum case of defenestration. He ran to the window and peeked out to see her body lying in a halo of broken glass.

"Eh, were only on the first floor." He shrugged, vaulting out of the shattered fixture.

She gasped as he put his heavy foot on her chest, compressing her lungs and causing difficulty of breathing. "Are we done now, sweetheart?" The wrinkles beneath his mask made the shape of a smile.

She rasped out a sound, choked by her lack of air, her long hair mussed about the ground, strands reaching out across her face.

And like a fool, Deadpool bent over to hear what her answer was. It was now her turn to smile, as she let her claws pop out and stabbed them into his eye sockets.

"Aww, I got my eyes on you."

That reaction was one of the more disturbing things that she had ever experienced. In fact, it caused an unexplainable tightness in her chest and stomach, one she could not identify. She tried to breathe again but the sound that came out was like a staggering cough.

Deadpool let the sound of her snickers fill his ears. It was kind of sweet, actually, and it was the kind of laughter that was never heard, always smothered by anger or pain. He let her laugh.

"I mean, ow." Deadpool clarified with a little snicker of his own. "This hurts. A lot."

She retracted her claws with a wet, scraping sound, letting the sopping things disappear between her knuckles. Deadpool sat next to her, cupping his head with a hand, tears of blood flowing down his mask. "Worst. Hangover. Ever."

"What do you want with me?" he heard her ask.

His eyes were already healing, his vision obfuscated by the blood and scabs, but they would soon heal.

"What do I call you?"

"..X-23." She answered hesitantly. "You are...?"

"Deadpool, everyone's favorite Merc With A Mouth." He answered, smugly.

"Because you talk."

"Something like that."

"Why are you after me? Because I am free? They want to take me back, don't they?"

"They? Uh, no. I just wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?" X-23 asked quickly, suspiciously.

"Look, I know Wolverine. He's a short, dirty, hairy little crank. And what I wanna know is... How can someone like that share the same genes as a looker like you?"

There was that feeling again, the tightness in her chest, the suffocation, the eminent eruption of nervousness and air and voice. He made her feel that way, but how and why?

It was all so awkward that she had to snicker.