Wade had hobbies, though he wasn't sure that teaching teenage girls how to fire rocket-launchers would really go over well with a liberal journalist. Maybe he could tell her about his Captain America collection? Or the fact that he'd seen every episode of Golden Girls?
"Yeah," he shrugged, "my dad was a decorated officer and I thought being in ROTC and planning to join the army would make him proud, but he died when I was seventeen-" though died was probably dancing around the subject a bit, "-and never got to see me enlist. I was a sniper in the US Army, then when they let me go - the turnover rate in that field is pretty high from what I've been told - I crossed the boarder and did Special Ops for the Canadian government." Which, again, was putting it lightly, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to spill his entire life story to some woman he met in a bar.
Then again... It might not be a bad idea. If he ever really fucked up and landed himself in the news, at least there would be one person who knew who he really was and was in a position to say as much. Not that he thought she would. As a rule, he didn't trust people very much.
He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly finished his beer, nudging it across the bar for another. He'd lost count about an hour ago, but it didn't matter anyway because he couldn't get drunk anymore. "How much do you know about the stuff they did during WWII - the program that created Captain America?"