The Golden Rule of being on a team like the Expendables was that you never pried into your teammates' lives. Sure, the boss did a background check, asked you a few questions, but a reputation and certain skills were all you needed for this industry.
She had a clear head when it mattered, that's why Barney had let her on the team. In his many years in the military and as a mercenary, he had seen what adrenaline and the sight of blood could do to a person.
He had seen men panic when bullets began to fly, their faces turn green when they saw a fallen comrade.
Molly Booker didn't even flinch when she saw men killed.
Perhaps it was the fact that the Lone Wolf raised her, that she had his blood flowing through her veins.
Barney didn't know, but he wasn't going to complain.
"This is going to hurt, Ross," her voice broke through his thoughts. His dark eyes met hers.
She hadn't gotten out of this last job unscathed. None of them had. Blood dripped from a cut on her brow and she was standing stiffly, hinting at broken ribs.
"Just do it," he said gruffly, forcing his muscles to relax. She slid the metal probe into the bullet hole. Barney gripped the arm of his chair tightly.
He forced himself to survey his team. They were patching themselves up. Yang was wrapping gauze around his arm, Gunnar had a bottle of vodka and was alternating between pouring it on Christmas's injuries and drinking it. They would all survive.
One bullet wound wasn't too bad for a mission.
Molly popped the morphed bullet out. Barney hissed out an oath. She didn't even bat an eye. She was used to this.
Barney watched her carefully as she debrided the wound in his shoulder.
She was much younger than the rest of them, maybe in her mid twenties, but her dark eyes and weighted expressions always made her seem older, more mature, wiser than she should have been.
She shouldn't be here, Barney thought helplessly, she should be getting her heart broken by some boy, getting married, having kids, being a mother.
She shouldn't be playing nurse to a few old men who were too stupid to quit the life of a mercenary.
"What are you doin' here, Booker?" he asked. She glanced up at him.
"Patching your sorry ass up, Ross, what's it look like?" she asked impatiently.
He had never given it a thought that she refused to call them by their first names. He thought it was just professionalism, and he didn't mind it.
But now that Barney Ross thought about it, he had seen the medics in the military employ the same strategy.
They kept their distance, just in case. He hadn't made the connection until now.
It had been almost two years since Booker called Tool and asked if they needed a medic. Molly Booker had shown up with a small duffel bag and a med kit the next day.
None of the Expendables knew where she lived or what she did in her off time.
"Alright, don't get 'em wet," she warned, tying off the last stitch.
"I have had stitches before, kid," Barney informed her. She gave him a thin smile as she packed away her tools. "Siddown and let me look at that cut," he said, rising from his seat. Her eyes flashed.
"It's nothing," she said coolly. So, it was true that doctors made the worst patients.
"I can make it an order, if you want," Barney remarked. Molly glared, but sat in his vacated chair.
With practiced ease, Barney cleaned the cut on her brow and butterflied it closed. "How bad are your ribs hurt?" he asked. She looked up at him stonily.
"I've had worse."
"I don't doubt it, kid, but I'd sleep better if I knew you didn't have internal bleeding."
Sulkily, she unbuttoned her jacket, revealing the black tank top. Her shoulders were a deep golden brown from days under the sun. She had more difficulty taking her top off than she should have. The whole left side of her torso was painted with deep, brutal purples and violent reds.
"Jesus, kid, how did you manage this?" Barney demanded, pressing a hand to her side. She flinched away.
"You know that big guy they had, he didn't wanna kill me outright. He thought it'd be a fun game of cat and mouse. He knocked me into the pile of beams they had. I shot him," she said bluntly.
Barney surveyed her coolly. She looked a lot smaller and a whole lot younger in her olive fatigues and the black sports bra.
"I should call your dad..." Barney shuddered to think what the Lone Wolf would do if he saw how badly his daughter had gotten hurt.
"You think my dad's gonna care, Ross? He's a mercenary, he knows the Life. " There was a bitterness to her voice as she said it, pulling her shirt back on. "I'm going home. Call if you need me for anything," she threw her jacket over her arm and picked up her med kit. The guys all called their goodbyes. She waved to show she'd heard them.
Barney inwardly battled with himself.
To pry or not to pry.
On one hand, he didn't know how well she would react to his attention, seeing how well she had managed to distance herself from them.
But on the other hand, she was part of his team, and as a leader, it was his job to watch out for the team.
He watched her peel out of the parking lot with a grim expression on his face.
Barney followed her out of the city to a cabin in the woods. She didn't say anything as she watched him pull up her driveway, but she left the door unlocked.
"There's beer in the fridge and some chips in the pantry. Help yourself. I'm going to shower," she told him. Exhaustion was clear on her face. She either didn't care that he'd followed her, or she was just too tired to put up a fight.
So Barney spent the night on her couch, with some football rerun on silent, a beer in his hand.
The next morning, he woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs.
Molly was holding herself stiffly and her lips were tight as she hovered over the stove, a spatula in one hand.
She slid a plate of toast, fluffy yellow eggs, and crispy bacon in front of him as he sat at the breakfast bar.
"Sorry there's no waffles. I'm out of flour. You want apple cider or milk?"
He was mildly surprised at seeing this part of her. He had only ever seen Molly in her fatigues and Kevlar, with a gun on her hip. The thought of her making waffles was laughable.
Now, though, she was wearing a t-shirt that was two sizes too big and flannel pants, with her red/blonde hair hanging in unruly curls down her back. She didn't look like a mercenary.
"Ross," she snapped her fingers to gain his attention, "cider or milk?"
"Cider," he answered abruptly. She poured two glasses and sat down across from him at the breakfast bar.
They didn't speak as they ate. After they finished, Barney washed the dishes while she dried and put them away.
"I called my dad last night," she offered, "he told me to tell you hi."
"I thought you weren't going to call him...?" Barney trailed off.
"I call him every time I get back from a mission. That way he'll know if something goes wrong," she said simply.
"How is he, anyways?" Barney wondered. Molly shrugged simply.
"He's with my step mom at the moment, somewhere in Romania. I dunno."
Barney shot a glance to her fridge. There was a single picture on it, held there by a magnet. Molly herself wasn't in the picture, but Booker was, with an Eastern European woman on his arm, and a dark haired little boy on his shoulders. They were all wearing big cheesy grins.
"That your brother?" Barney asked, putting the pieces together. Molly's head snapped around to look at him.
"Half. He's my half brother."
It all made sense then.
Molly had left Booker to his new family and joined the very same business he was in. To earn her father's love and respect, maybe?
Barney didn't know and he wasn't keen on breaching the topic.
There was that Golden Rule again. You didn't go prying.
So he wasn't going to.
Barney was going to accept that he had a medic on his team who was damn good under fire. He would accept that she kept her distance so as not to get attached if the worst should happen.
And he would leave it at that.
After all, she was the Lone Wolf's flesh and blood.
He doubted he could get her to talk if he tried.