Hello all! Ok so first of all, let me say "yay me!" because I think I'm the 10,001st story for X-Men. We've hit a major mark! Woot!

Ok. So down to business. I really have been wanting to post this. I'm going to try really, really hard to write more chapters (I have the next chapter and a half written) and keep up with posting them. I'm starting college on Thursday, so I'm going to be very busy. Please bear with me (and please give me a nudge here and there to get my butt on updating)!

I really hope you all like it. Here's the stats:

Title: Intrigue

Summary: Wade Wilson was only looking for an assistant - a spy, if you will - but instead he got a fireball in the form of a woman. Now, he not only has try to live with her, but he has to try to not fall for her. WW/OC

Rating: T right now for language and more adult language, may go up later on

Author's Note: POV jumps around. I think I've covered everything else for now? I don't know… I calls 'em as I sees 'em!

Please enjoy, and REVIEW (reviews might make me post faster ;-D)

Prologue

The tiny bar was filled with at least one hundred people, all packed on the dance floor, reeking of sweat, alcohol, and lust. The band, whose name had gone unheard through the static of the cheap amplifiers, was playing a surprisingly good cover (compared to their other songs) of Heart's new single "Barracuda" – insinuating that they practiced little else.

The man at the bar slammed his shot glass down, and shook his head in distaste. "Think I can get drunk before the end of this song?" he asked, leaning his bare arms against the tarnished wood bar.

"Not a chance," the man next to him replied.

"Not even drunk enough to make the song sound good. You ain't no lightweight," the bartender added, eyeing the sleeveless man's muscled arms while pouring him a second shot.

He had barely brought the shot glass to his lips when he heard his name over the static and noise.

X

The woman walked into the dingy little bar. She looked around with disgust, and rolled her eyes as the band started to play "Barracuda." Compared to what she had heard from the outside, this cover deserved a Grammy.

Her informant had told her that he would be here. But why he would spend any time at this bar was beyond her.

She glanced around the room, looking for any sign of someone who looked similar to how she pictured him, but the room was too dark and too crowded. So she walked through the dancers in the middle of the room toward the bar.

This, however, was a huge mistake. The dance floor was so packed that it probably would have been quicker for her to scale the building and find the back way in. But eventually, she made it to the other side.

It only took her a few moments to figure out who he was. In fact, she didn't even need to use her powers. The only person at the bar – in the entire bar, she was fairly sure – who looked anything like how she imagined… someone in his profession was the man in the sleeveless shirt.

His lean muscles bulged as he threw his head back to down a shot, then said something to a person on his left. She walked closer, forced by a small crowd of people standing in her way to come up behind him. He was wearing, she noticed, somewhat baggy jeans and a simple black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up – like herself, he was dressed drastically different than the other people in the club.

"Wade Wilson," she called out over the wrong notes in the background. The man turned around, and she was almost stunned speechless.

She had expected someone older, but instead she was met with a very good looking man approximately two years her senior.

X

Wade turned around to find a tall, very pretty woman staring at him. Her hair was long and wavy, either brown or black – he couldn't tell in the club's dim lighting. She was wearing black skinny jeans, black stiletto ankle books, and a white scoop-neck t-shirt with a black, leafless tree on it that had slipped over her left shoulder, revealing the strap of a black tank top. She wore a long necklace with a peace sign and a heart that said "love" and a few bracelets of all different colors and sizes and types on her wrists. Her eyes were smoky and her lips shimmered in the multi-colored lights of the dance floor.

"Well hello," he said, giving her a charming half smile and lazily looking her up and down. Raising an eyebrow flirtatiously, he asked, "Where exactly do those legs end?"

The man that sat to his left – a rodent-like man with slightly stringy hair – looked at her with a "Me Tarzan, You Jane" expression and added, "And what time do they open?"

The woman's jaw dropped and Wade turned around slowly to look at him with an expression of disbelief. Even the bartender was eyeing him with distaste. But the man just nudged Wade obviously.

"Forgive me," Wade said, sounding slightly exasperated, "This is Weasel."

"And what is he doing here with you?" she asked doubtfully, staring at Weasel with disgust.

"He's my right-hand man," Wade answered, glancing at the clearly-human bartender who was very blatantly eavesdropping. No sense in teaching him a lesson and causing an uproar in here; Wade wasn't in that kind of mood tonight.

"I hope you don't mean that literally…."

Wade was momentarily surprised, but he quickly regained his composure and smiled brilliantly, pleased that she seemed feisty (and that she seemed able to keep up with his mouth). "I don't, but the 'right hand' position is available if you want it."

"As tempting as that sounds, I'm actually here because of the other open position."

"Does this have to do with your legs?" he cut in.

"I heard you were in the market for a new spy," she said, ignoring his comment.

"Oh, that position," he said, trying to sound disappointed. "I forgot about that one. But yes, Weezy here is… uh… retiring his inner James Bond."

"How unfortunate," the woman replied sarcastically.

"Why do you ask?" Wade inquired.

"I didn't, I made a statement. But since you asked, I'm actually interested in taking his job."

Both men just looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"What?" she asked defensively, frowning.

"You're a… chick," Weasel said, as though giving an unsure solution to a math problem. Wade clapped sarcastically.

"I taught him that." He waggled his eyebrows at her and pretended to proudly wipe a tear from his eye. Weasel just scowled and turned back to his drink. "What's your name?" Wade asked her.

"Gypsy," the woman responded with a small smile.

"That's intriguing," he told her, flashing another charming smile. "What do you do?"

The woman – Gypsy – grinned at him. "I have enhanced senses. I can hear the conversations going on outside this bar, I can read the specials list outside of that restaurant across the street. Touch and taste too, and I can smell every freaking person inside this damn bar."

Wade tilted his head from side to side, considering her words. "Impressive," he finally said. "Is that it?"

"Of course not. What idiot would have the name 'Gypsy' if all they could do was sense things better than most people?"

"I was wondering that myself," Weasel grumbled from somewhere behind Wade. Both Wade and Gypsy ignored him.

"I can also read minds, identify intentions, and tell if a person is lying – just by looking at them."

Wade straightened up and took a step towards her, leaning in so their faces were close together. She was tall for a girl – even without heels, he figured – and he still towered over her; she also smelled absolutely fantastic. She revealed no emotion, however, as their bodies brushed when he asked her, "And what am I thinking now?"

She shook her head. "I don't read the minds of employers. Or potential ones. I don't use my gift unless I have to."

"Hmm…. So why the name 'Gypsy'? Do gypsies read minds or something?" he asked, nonchalantly sitting back down and taking a drink and acting as though he hadn't just tried to trick her.

Gypsy smiled. "No," she said, "But according to gypsy lore, gypsies can predict the future of a person. You know, all that tarot card stuff. Well I can kind of do the same thing – if I touch a person, I can see their Path."

"What's a 'Path'?" he inquired.

"If I touched you and I decided I wanted to see your Path, I would be able to see the direction your life is taking based on all your current or recent decisions and whatnot. So if you went home with that blonde girl who has been eyeing you up for the last ten minutes and I touched her tomorrow, I would be able to tell if she'd be suffering from morning sickness in a month or so.

"Do you mean pregnancy or a STD?" Wade asked dryly, implying that there was no difference between the two. "Because lots of things can result from ons."

"Ons?" she asked.

"Ons – it's, you know, an abbreviation for a one night stand. And the abbreviation is perfect; it's literal and figurative," he informed her. "I came up with it," he added, sounding pleased with himself.

Gypsy laughed. "I could tell if she had an STD, too. Or I could tell if she would become some sort of dirty whore or if the whole experience of... 'ons' with you would result in her joining a nunnery."

"Ok, I think I get it; although no girl would ever join a convent if she had a night with me," he said cockily. "I also convert nuns to sex kittens, if you happen to know any who are interested." Spying Gypsy's raised eyebrows, he quickly added, "I'm just saying! Anyway, that's a pretty impressive gift you have there, and it sounds perfect for some dirty… digging. Feel free to interpret that however you want, by the way."

Gypsy smiled and asked, "How much do you pay?"

"I've never been asked that before. Usually the women tell me how much they charge. But I suppose if you're good we can figure somethi-."

"That's not what I meant."

Wade smiled mischievously. "It's generally a 70 – 30 deal."

"That's it?" she asked with mild distaste.

"Well, I suppose it's open to interpretation. We can talk if you don't suck on your first job."

"So I have the job?" she asked with a small, hopeful smile.

Wade smiled and held his hand out, which she took. He squeezed her hand and flirtatiously winked at her, then said, "I think we can give it a trial run."