Time seemed to cease.

Vanessa faded away, locked up in Stark Towers. She became a ghost, a pale imitation of a young woman, flitting between the bed and couch and back daily, pacing uneasily, barely eating. Her stomach swooped and knotted over and over again until her body was wracked with unbearable anxiousness from some unseen factor, crippling her mind into a black hole of unease.

The military doctor said it was post-traumatic stress, not just the result of the battle, but the uprooting of her entire existence. Her apartment was gone, her job, Gregory's emotional and physical abuse and of course, his murder. She was left with nothing, no understanding of who she was and what life was supposed to be.

And the one person that could have pulled her from this dark place was dead.

That's what they told her, at least, and that's why her room was guarded at all times. They didn't want her to do anything rash. As if she had the energy to do anything rash. In fact, she hadn't uttered a word since she came to in the private hospital of the Helicarrier. Mostly, in good sense, she was left alone. Only once had anyone visited, Pepper, and she found she couldn't rise from her spot on the couch to answer her knocks. She waited patiently until her footsteps faded away from the door and went back to sleep.

Then one day the phone started ringing.

The first time Vanessa ignored it, barely hearing it from the cocoon of numbness that had begun to surround her senses. But by the fourth call it became so incessant she slowly rose from the couch, walking to pull the cord from the wall. The voicemail had just picked up.

"This is Colonel Fury," growled a voice through the phone box, "I recommend you call me back."

Vanessa struggled internally for a moment. She wanted to forget, to never see a military agent, an iron man, or super-powered hero again. She wanted S.H.I.E.L.D. wiped clean from the agony in her heart. But he was a Colonel in the army. Was this a federal offense, ignoring his call? She didn't know.

She wrenched the phone off the stand with purpose and brought it to her ear. But when she opened her mouth to speak her mouth was suddenly dry, her whisper trapped somewhere at the base of her neck.

"Is this Vanessa?"

"Yes," she croaked and cleared her throat, "This is she."

"I have a bit of information for you."

Fury wasn't interested in her emotional state; he was all business, a soldier in his hardened heart. Vanessa was grateful.

"Alright."

"Our lab recovered some hair samples from the site of the mission in which you were involved."

Vanessa was too tired to comprehend why she needed this bit of information, "Okay."

"There were live cells attached to those samples, Miss."

There was a long pause.

"What do you mean?" she said slowly.

"The transformation," he rumbled, "From mere cells to body mass will be brutal. But if you wish, we've got an expert here and he says it can be done, if we're patient."

Vanessa felt the cool plastic of the phone slipping through her fingers. Suddenly she was on the ground, the sleek tile bruising her knees, the phone falling with a loud clatter.

Somewhere near the floor, she heard Fury sigh, "I'll be in touch."

Her hands went to her face, but once the tears began she couldn't stop them. She sank to her knees as sobs wracked her body, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking back and forth on the shiny black floor. Snot and hot, salt water dripped down her face and off her chin but she let them come, relishing in the emotions that were finally washing through her.

Afterwards she lay on the floor, exhausted again, but her mind clear for the first time in a week. When a waiter came to her door with a menu, as he did every night, she ordered a feast of food and ate every bite. After that she ordered a whole pie, and she ate that too, and cried some more when Pepper called to see if she got the news, and promised her she would keep her informed.

For the next week she perched herself in front of the wide windows, watching the sun rise and fall over the landscape of New York, watching as the bright moon turned the landscape to a rainbow of greys: charcoal, sepia and slate. The city had never been more beautiful.

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They wouldn't let her be there when it happened, protest as she might. They wouldn't let her watch the sinew and tissue grow slowly and painfully back over the bones, the veins fill with blood. She wanted to be there, to share her joy despite the cold, sterile table on which the cells multiplied into the perfect human they had been crafted to make.

The doctors told her that he would probably not remember her when he woke. Only some memories, as he had told her on the rooftop so many nights ago, returned. Only some emotions. She told herself it didn't matter, that knowing he was alright was enough. But she really didn't know how she would feel.

In the back of her mind a little bubble of anxiety had begun to form. What if she hadn't done the right thing? What if he wanted to finally be free of the curse that held him suspended in life, indestructible, immortal?

Would he remember me? And if he did, would he hate me?

Nonetheless, when the call came she left to go to the Helicarrier without a moment's hesitation. But in the elevator she caught herself biting her nails. Her stomach had knotted into a tight ball inside her.

The anxiety transformed to surprise momentarily when she set foot on the rooftop. Tony Stark stood in front of a roaring helicopter, dressed in a tuxedo. He looked so casually comfortable that he could have been at home in front of the television.

"Well I feel underdressed!" Vanessa shouted over the roar of the helicopter, "Did I miss the gala?"

"For you Vanessa," he said, opening the door for her and flashing her a million dollar smile, "We travel in style."

Inside they strapped on headphones, Vanessa's breath catching as they lifted off the ground.

"I've got some business to attend to, actually," through the headset his voice sounded choppy and mechanical, "Just passing through."

She started to apologize for interrupting his night but he waved her off. Vanessa knew that look; it was the look someone like Tony gave when they felt bad for someone. It was pity.

"Any luck?" she said cautiously.

The grim look on Tony's face washed all the hope out of her, "They've told him all about you."

Vanessa nodded, biting down hard on her lip, eyes stinging. She pretended the landscape of New York below was suddenly very interesting. It probably didn't fool him, but getting weepy in front of Tony Stark was not on her to-do list for the evening.

When they landed in the Helicarrier, she had managed to regain composure. Tony, with a nod of assurance, handed her off to another soldier who led her to the hospital wing.

It looked and felt surprisingly like a normal hospital. The walls were painted in calming colors, eggshell and pastel blue, and the same smell of sterile cleaners hung in the air. At the nurses' station, there was a young woman with an expression frozen somewhere between solemnity and compassion.

"Hi, I'm looking for Wade Wilson's room?"

The nurse's lips formed a curious little line, "Yes. He's in 110. Let me show you where it is-"

Just then a commotion broke out down the hall that made them both look up. A group of soldiers were restraining a wiry little doctor with his hair and glasses askew, his face purpling with rage.

"He just makes me so angry!" he shouted at the soldier gripping his right shoulder, whose temple was beading with sweat, "SO ANGRY!"

"Yes. I know. Doctor Banner we're going to need you to calm down. Calm down. Breathe."

A soldier tailing the group was muttering into his walkie-talkie, "Back up to sector three, I repeat, back up to sector three."

Vanessa gave the nurse a wry smile and pointed down the hall, "Let me guess, that way?"

The nurse gave her an irritated nod.

She walked quickly down the hall, so quickly she skittered on the polished floor a little when she came to 110. Instantly she raised her hand to knock, but hesitated. What would I even say? she thought, "Hi, my name's Vanessa, we shared a night of passion?" or better yet, "Sorry you almost died trying to save me." No, it was better that she backed away now, let him get on with his life the way he wanted it.

She started to turn around when the door swung open. Suddenly she was eye to eye with an incredibly surly looking man whose searing, narrow eyed glare gave him the appearance of very strong distaste for human life.

"Oh," Vanessa backed up to look at the door, "110, right?"

He stared at her.

"I guess the nurse gave me the wrong number," she dwindled off, slowly backing up.

A familiar voice came from inside the room that made Vanessa's heart leap, "Bye sweetums, come again soon!"

The surly man growled, "Stay out of trouble, 'cuz I ain't making these calls anymore Wilson, I'm not your shrink."

Wade clearly ignored him, but his voice was suddenly bitter, "Thanks for everything, as always."

Vanessa heard the other mutter, "yeah, yeah," as he pushed past her, stalking away with a hand scratching through his dark sideburns. She stepped under the door frame as he passed.

In the chair across from the door there was a gawky, black haired young-man with coke-bottle glasses so thick they magnified his eyes like a bugs. He wore a very over-enthused expression that was magnified by the height at which his hair stuck out from his head. When Vanessa rapped lightly on the frame of the door he jumped about a foot.

"Excuse me?" she said peering around the corner of the door.

There he was, propped in his bed uncovered, shoveling chocolate pudding into his mouth. When he saw her he froze, a spoonful hovering just in front of his open lips. His eyes swiveled up and down her body, a glob of pudding splattering to the bed.

"Hi," Vanessa said, awkwardly. Then for lack of ideas she turned to the skinny man in the chair, "I'm Vanessa."

Wade's spoon dropped out of his hand, "THIS is the girl? WHY DIDN' YOU TELL ME SHE WAS SMOKIN' HOT? WHA' KINDA PARTNER ARE YOU?"

"How was I…?I-I had no idea!" he squawked, "Sir."

A pudding cup hit him square in the face, "AUGH!"

"Get out Bob."

"But-"

Wade pointed at the door, "BOB. OUT."

Bob scurried past Vanessa, dropping her a lopsided grin as he past, "Nice to meet you!"

Vanessa wanted to grab Bob by the hand and beg him to stay. She swallowed, hands shaking as her eyes glanced up from her feet.

Up close he was strikingly different than he had been. His skin was smooth, unmarked by the thousands of scars that had previously tattooed it. His nose was straight, the little chunk missing from his eyebrow intact. There was even a hint of a five-o-clock-shadow along his jaw.

"Wow," she said, clearing her throat, "You look… really good."

"Fuggin' great right?" he said raising his arms and looking down at himself, "I'm all shiny and pretty."

I liked the scars, she wanted to say. Instead she uttered a soft, "Hi."

"Heya, toots," he grinned.

Vannessa's tense features fell flat as disbelief washed over them, "Y-You know who I am?"

He cocked an eyebrow, "Waddya think I was gonna forget?"

"I just thought," she said weakly, shoulders sagging, "They said- they told me you wouldn't know me. You… acted…just a second ago-"

"Had to get Bob outta here, didn't I? Got my memory back 'bout a day ago. Besides," he looked at the monstrous pile of empty pudding cups on his side table, "when they stop feeling bad for me, they stop bringing pudding."

Vanessa's lip trembled as her mind flooded with memories of their captivity, "I thought you were-"

She couldn't bring herself to speak; her eyes were filling up with tears. If she spoke one more word they would spill over the brim of her lids.

"Hey," Wade's voice was warning as he pointed a finger at her tearing eyes, "Don't." He scooted back and patted the bed, "C'mere."

She sat cross legged on the mattress in front of him, wiping her eyes. He handed her a pudding.

"Thanks," she sniffled. He watched her quietly as she peeled back the wrapper, by the cautious look on his face, not wanting to upset her again.

Vanessa bit her lip, "I'm sorry."

"'S fine, I've got like, twelve more," he gestured to the pile.

"Not about the pudding," she swallowed hard, "I feel guilty. For telling them to let you live. They did it for me," Vanessa looked up at him, "I was selfish. I just- I couldn't let you go."

He pulled a face, "Vanessa are you shittin' me?"

The harsh edge of his voice made her cringe, "I'll go. I'll just go."

"No. Don't do that," he furrowed his brow, holding out a hand to stop her, "Just- You know I'm-not good at talking to women. You know…'cuz I mean, look at me, I'm smokin' hot… but I've never had a way with those things…those… whatchamacallits?"

"Words?"

"That's the one," he grunted, "What I'm tryin' to say is…"

Her eyes met his questioningly, making his frown deepen.

"I hardly remember a thing," his hand raised to his temple, fingers wiggling like his scrambled thoughts, "Kinda blurry up here. They tell me things, since no one knows what happened 'sides you. And my head tells me things. 's always hard to get a grasp on reality when my brains are growin' back."

He cleared his throat, "All I can remember is that I was about to die, and I looked at you lookin' at me with, you know, that look, and I…" his face suddenly softened, Adam's apple jumping with a hard swallow, "You made me want to live."

He fell quiet, for once. After all this, the sole thing that silenced him was speaking about his feelings.

Vanessa, in turn, stared, astonished by the warm exhibition of emotion that was offered her. Emerging from a creature of inconsistent thoughts and jokes, of scarred, unsteady reality, was someone she had never imagined she would find there. But here he was after their own epic adventure, however small and ridiculous it may be in the grand scheme of things, the man of her dreams.

She found she couldn't move, only hold his angelically white gaze. He seemed to run out of silence, shoulders tensing anxiously as he shrugged, "What are ya just gonna sit there?"

His response to her glare was his haphazard grin.

As Vanessa flung herself across the bed the setting sun burst through the window and the room blazed a flaming vermillion, light matching the warmth of the strong arms that wrapped completely around her. She sighed into the soft cotton of his shirt; her cheek rested against the smooth skin of his neck, and closed her eyes. Without his rubbery uniform he smelled of soap, and burning matches.

His voice was muffled in her hair, "Also the sex was fantastic!"

Vanessa pulled away and smacked him.

"Ow! AH! NURSE! NURSE THE CRAZY LADY IS ATTACKING ME IN MY DELECATE STATE!"

They fell onto the bed laughing.

"Oh my god! Honestly you people!"

Vanessa tilted her head back to find the Natalia Romanova standing in the door way, shielding her eyes.

"This is a hospital, not a brothel!"

As she crossed her arms Nick Fury pushed passed her and into the room.

"Wilson," he grunted, tossing a thin white envelope on the bed. Wade's eyebrows quirked a little as he fingered the seal open, pulling a leaf of paper free. His jaw dropped.

"I believe that covers the agreed upon pension," Fury turned Vanessa, the space behind his eye patch darkened, "Miss O'Conelly, I'd like a word."

She didn't want to leave Wade's side again. Not now, not ever. But she nodded anyway, unease growing in her stomach as she followed him into the hallway.

"Miss O'Conelly-"

"Please," she sighed as the door clicked shut behind them, "Vanessa."

He leered at her, "There are a few details that need to be worked through concerning the aftermath of this incident. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been reviewing options for you."

"Options?"

"As in, where you will go and what you will do now that we're cleaning up the mess that Thorton created."

Her brow furrowed, "Isn't that my decision? After all, it's my life-"

"And your life has been in the constant spotlight of not only our division but the US Government. When you are the center of the attention in the United States, Miss O'Conelly, you are the center of the world's."

They stared at each other in silence. Vanessa couldn't deny the truth of the statement. But she hadn't meant for things to be this way, she hadn't meant to be in the center of it all. Had she? She bit her lip.

"I just want everything to go back to normal," she said softly.

There was a miniscule tone of patience in his voice when he finally spoke, "We're things ever, truly, normal for you, Miss O'Conelly?"

She thought about that for a moment. Before Wade she was the trophy girlfriend of a wealthy Senator, and assistant to the Governor of New York. And before that, even when she was curled up in her tiny, freezing apartment with a bowl of ramen noodles, she was an overly outspoken political science geek. No, truly, she had never been normal.

He seemed to understand her silence, "After your and Stark's little show the other day, it just so happens that our division has an opening for a press secretary. I thought you might be interested, considering your background and fondness for," his eye narrowed slightly, "public displays."

Vanessa mouthed at him, "Mr. Fury… I'd be honored… I mean, I suppose I'm qualified but-"

He raised an eyebrow.

"But," she said slowly, pulling her thoughts together, "I would hardly want a job that was just handed to me. I see no reason to consider me over other candidates."

"You will be judged fairly, Miss O'Conelly. At S.H.I.E.L.D. we take justice very seriously," he turned to leave, "I'll expect your resume to be in HR first thing in the morning."

And with that, he walked sharply away.

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Two weeks later Vanessa found herself shoving armloads of dead flowers into the trash bins of her new apartment building, the reeking result of the Senator's funeral. She had hoped that attending would have made some sense out of the tangled feelings in her heart. But the confusion remained, a churning stew of anger, sadness and relief that she hadn't quite sorted out yet. She did know, however, that she never wanted to see a tastefully arranged floral arrangement ever again.

After, she trudged up the rickety old stairs of the building, pulling off her black lace gloves and heels as she went. The door was notoriously sticky, and she shouldered it with a grunt to free the rusty knob. The heavy door swung open, carrying her with it, and slammed shut with a hollow bang.

She unzipped her dress and began to pull on a neat black suit, tidying the little studio apartment as she went. One small bathroom glowing with a lavender candle, a tiny kitchenette with a sink full of dishes, a great big bed spread with a thick quilt her mother had made. Sure it wasn't an Upper East Side loft with a driver and a view, but it was home. Or at least, it would be. It was just missing one thing.

There was a heavy knock at the door.

Vanessa grinned, perfect timing.

She buttoned the last button on her sleeve, and swung open the door. Wade was standing there with a green military duffle slung over one burly shoulder.

"Heya toots."

She stared at the bag, "That's it?"

"Thas' all of it."

She stepped aside as he pushed passed her, "That's everything you own?!"

He let the bag drop and it hit the floor with a clank that promised artillery, "Waddya expecting a U-Haul or something?" he said looking around, "So," he stuffed his hands in his pockets self-consciously, rucking up his sleeve. There was a fresh scar on his wrist, "This is it, eh?"

Vanessa nodded, "Home. You have a whole closet to yourself," she said pushing the door closed and pulling open the front closet, "See?"

"Great," he grabbed his bag and dumped a huge collection of black metal parts and red spandex onto the floor. He slammed the door, wiping his hands with accomplishment, "Done."

A grenade bounced towards them, stopping up against Vanessa's bare toes.

"This is why you get your own closet," she said with a shake of her head. He grinned.

"Ready?" he pulled the door open.

She slung her briefcase over her shoulder, "Ready."

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs he was already outside, holding a polished helmet out to her. Behind him was a cherry-red motorcycle so shiny and new it nearly blinded her as she stepped into the autumn sun. She put a hand up to shield her brow.

"When you said, 'I'm going to get us a hott new ride with all that money'," she said chuckling, "I thought you meant a car!"

He waved a hand at her and clucked his tongue, "A car!? Shit's boring!" he gazed at the Harley almost tearfully, clasping his hands under his heart, "Ain't she a beaut?"

"It's certainly more you," she said, the helmet posed above her hair, "Just remember only one of us has a healing factor, toots."

"Hey, that's my line!" he said as he swung onto the bike, "You're such a copy cat."

His protest was drowned out a second later, for the bike roared to life and lurched forward on the blacktop. Vanessa gasped, wrapping her arms around his thick torso and clung on tightly. Despite Brooklyn turning to a grey blur behind them, she smiled to herself. Because that, she thought as they soared across the Brooklyn Bridge, over the sparkling green waters of the East River, was just what you did with Wade. You smiled, and hung on tight for a wild ride.

Her thoughts rushed from her as they plunged suddenly into the dark, damp space of an empty parking garage. The roar of the bike echoed across the cement walls. Ahead there was a flurry of activity, the cave-like opening ahead of them the boarding entrance for the Helicarrier. Wade accelerated straight into the mouth of the ship, hurdling up the ramp and sending the check-in team into a shouting, flailing tizzy. He came to an abrupt, skidding stop in front of Colonel Fury.

"Boss man!" Wade winked, "Where can I park my ride?"

He held up his hand for a high-five. Fury ignored him and turned to speak into his earpiece, "Alright, that's everyone. Clear for launch."

Vanessa clambered off the bike and followed him, straightening her suit.

"Welcome to the team Miss O'Conelly," he said as she caught up to him. He pointed down the hall, "Press room is down this hall. You'll be issued access later today. In a few minutes you'll be escorted to the armory, where you'll be given a standard issue firearm, for your protection-"

Wade appeared in front of them, "She's getting a gun?" he moaned, "Might as well just tell me to get naked now-"

"No uniform necessary however-"

"Hey baby can I watch you pull the hammer back-?"

"On occasion you'll need bulletproofing-"

"Yeahhhh stroke that magnum-"

"WILSON," Fury whirled around, "I kept you to contract your services because of the success of your last mission. Don't let me regret that decision."

Wade snapped into a salute, "Aye-aye, Capitano."

He winked at Vanessa as they crossed into the main control, Fury leaving them to square away the launch. They stood in front of the huge windows together, Wade's arm snaking around her waist, the crawling cabs of New York turning to brightly colored ants below them.

"Mmm a gun," Wade mused, "Soon you're going to be regular hero."

She shrugged, "No superpowers here."

"You'd have eyes in the back of your head… or better yet, a psychic!"

"I see a six pack and a pepperoni pizza in your future," she said in an eerie voice, "After work that is."

He grinned and pulled her against him, "I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Their lips met and Vanessa's arms snaked around his neck, legs going weak as his tongue glided over her lower lip. She was suddenly lost in both the present and the future, dreaming of the days when the two of them would cuddle up in their tiny, freezing, Brooklyn apartment eating bowls of ramen noodles, not a shiny black limo in sight.

Suddenly Wade snapped back, and looked down at her, the white glow of his eyes brightening, "Hey what if right now some chick was sitting at her computer writing a story about us…"

"That's crazy," she said, smirking up at him.

"You're right, toots," he said leaning down to kiss her again, "It's absolutely insane."

~Fin~

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Sorry the ending took so long, I didn't want this to end! Thanks again for all the support I got in writing this. I couldn't have done it without the words of encouragement not only from all of your readers here but from my friends at the Official LOTR Roleplay on Tumblr.

Additional thanks for putting up with the constant reappearance of my all time biggest hero, the fabulous, ridiculous, inspiring Anthony Stark, and of course, the infamous Pepper Potts without whom he would not be complete. I can't write these two their own story, because I think what Marvel crafted for them is already perfection, so I used this fic to give them a little bit of my own voice.

I made room for a sequel that I alluded to in the last chapter. And I think that if enough people spoke up about wanting one, I'd write one.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.