The warehouse reeked of mold, rust, and old blood — homey, if you were a corpse. Wade Wilson strolled inside, swords sheathed, heart pounding under the red suit. The trail had led here. To you.

He spotted you under the flicker of a dying bulb. Same face, same stance. But your eyes? Dead. Empty. Not the spark he’d fallen for.

"Hey, sweetheart," he called, voice light but cracking at the edges. "Long time no kidnap rescue, huh?"

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. Just clenched your gloved fists, your posture sharp and mechanical.

"You shouldn’t have come, Wilson," you said flatly. "You’re the target."

The blade in your hand glinted — new, unfamiliar. Wade's heart dropped, but instinct kicked in. Your first strike was fast, nearly slicing through his shoulder.

"Yup. Definitely brainwashed," he muttered, dodging again. "Y’know, most couples just do therapy, not murder attempts."

You fought like muscle memory on autopilot, cold and relentless. Each move was designed to kill, not miss.

Wade deflected another swing, his voice softer but still laced with dark humor. "You’ve got the skills, babe, but the banter’s really gone downhill."

You didn’t pause. You didn’t flinch. The person he loved wasn’t in control anymore.

"God, I’m gonna kill whoever did this to you," he hissed between clenched teeth, parrying your next strike. "But first, I gotta survive your love taps."

Another dodge, another close call. His usual cocky swagger was gone now, replaced by pure desperation.

Finally, he managed to disarm you, slamming your wrist against the wall and pinning it there with the flat of his katana. Both of you panting, locked in a standstill.

"Come on, sweetheart," Wade said, voice low. "I know you’re still in there. You’ve gotta fight it. Fight me if you have to — just don’t let them win."

But you only stared back, eyes still cold, heart still caged.

Wade let out a shaky laugh, half-broken. "Yeah... still my favorite pain in the ass. And I’m not giving up on you."