New Orleans in June was always a good time, especially at night, and tonight was really no different. Muggy heat was keeping Magnolia's shirt clinging to her shoulders, wet with sweat, but she didn't really care—the perspiration from her Coors bottle kept her hands cool and wet enough to run across her brow when she was warm, and the hot breeze was enough to sneak down her shirt to keep her dry inside. She pulled in a deep breath of heavy air, the smell of wisteria engulfing her senses and soothing the edginess that always clung to her nerves.

The music drifting out of the open windows of the bar was upbeat and a throwback—Bon Jovi was a nice touch on a night like this when she needed to clear her head, think, and kick her feet up. The sound of dancing, laughter, rowdiness and good-natured bar life blasted through the atmosphere outside the New Orleans pub. Magnolia chuckled when she watched a staggering couple, all clumsiness and arms, try to neck on the front steps. Their result was an awkward, prepubescent looking make-out session, and she just shook her head. Biting her lower lip, Steele pushed up the sleeves of her cotton shirt and sauntered back into the bar, her cowboy boots heavy on the wooden floors oiled with peanut shells and sunflower seed remains. The beer, now empty, hung loosely between her fingers at the bottleneck.

She approached the barkeep, a woman with ringlet red curls, tied back in a braid and bandanna. Slipping onto a stool, Magnolia waved her down and the woman promptly popped the cap off another Coors and plunked it right in front of her. Discarding the old bottle, Magnolia didn't waste time on drinking the other one, feeling a hot and heavy stare blast her shoulder blades. She turned in her chair and caught a huge guy staring at her from the jukebox. Tall, muscular, black as oiled midnight, he had the look of a dangerous man. Or, maybe, it was just her. Since Africa, she eyed all men with distrust and apprehension.

"You got a date?" The woman asked. Magnolia was drawn from her reverie. She gave her a small smile and made a face, shaking her head no. Lieutenant Pinksley, otherwise known as the bartender down at Sly's, winked at her and threw her head back laughing when Magnolia made another overly dramatic face. "He looks like he might come over and ask."

"Let him try," Steele shrugged her shoulder, "I haven't socked someone good in about a week." She took another drink and then darted a look to Lieu, "Well, besides you."

She snorted, "At least you can say you tried to slug me."

Magnolia wrinkled her brow, "Keep talkin' and it won't be trying. It'll be succeeding."

At her own statement, Magnolia looked down Lieu's arm to see the purple marks around her wrists, cleverly hidden between heavy black leather bracelets and other biker jewelry. She shifted her gaze, however, when Pinkie reached behind the bar and popped a cherry into her mouth.

Lieu then grabbed for a bar rag and tossed it over her shoulder, crossing her arms in front of her. Rippling forearms led to toned shoulders, tan from the sunshine, her hair a fiery red due to hours of being outside and riding her bike. Pinksley had taken this job when her latest man, Sly, had moved them from Mississippi to New Orleans in honor of a new life of drinking, love-making, and good times. It'd been a disaster ever since she'd met Sly—Lieu had done nothing but work at this slimy hell-hole since she'd been with him, and he'd done nothing but beat the living daylights out of her—or at least try. Magnolia had barely kept it together when she'd bunked in NOLA these past few weeks.

It'd been six months since Lesedi—and the nightmares still haunted her days and her nights. Magnolia had recovered from her injuries well enough, and had dodged the CIA, drifting onto the MIA reports, but try as she could, she couldn't shake the faces that haunted her dreams and her footsteps. Everywhere she went she saw her girls—living, laughing, breaking hearts. She didn't feel right having a life when they were dead. She could tell too that Pinkie felt the same way but masked it behind anger. She took another drink, letting the bottle clatter to the table in her hands.

"You heard anything from Church?"

Magnolia's gaze shot up to Lieu who was lazily cleaning out a glass with the bar rag. It was somewhat calm tonight, as it was Wednesday, and not many people were hammering out money to get slammed. Magnolia wrinkled the corner of her mouth and shook her head, reaching for a peanut and cracking it between calloused fingers.

"Nah. I don't associate with Church anymore."

Pinkie huffed out a breath and chuckled, "S'pose so. Pretty tough to do when you're AWOL."

Magnolia frowned. "I'm not AWOL. I'm MIA. There's a difference."

"You wished there was a difference, Steele."

Perhaps so. Ever since they'd touched down in the States after the failed assassination, Magnolia hadn't had the balls to confront Church and the CIA about what had happened to her girls—hadn't had the courage to hear how they'd died, which she knew they'd kill her for if they'd ever found out. Not one to shy away from the ugly face of the business, it had taken everything for her to high-tail it out of California and get to Oregon, where she'd stayed in the backwoods for a couple of weeks before she figured they'd trailed her. From there she bounced to New Zealand, and then to India, with a short stay in Alaska before finally making it back to the lower 48 to stay at Lieu's place in New Orleans.

It'd been a hard six months, nothing to do but sit and shoot the breeze with no one. She'd tinkered here and there on her car—a 1969 GTO with all the chrome a woman could ask for—and she'd kept her aim up with frequent runs to the range and shooting contests with Lieu and her boyfriend. Nothing serious. She had money so she didn't need to work a job. But, Steele was restless and she knew she needed something. So, maybe, not just any job—she wanted her job back. Somewhat. More than once she'd considered going back solo, but there was the CIA problem hanging a wet blanket over everything.

Lieu, bristling a bit and shifting from her position leaning against the back of the bar, lifted her chin to glare behind Magnolia. She knew that look, and glanced over her shoulder in the direction Pinkie had been looking. "What's up?" She asked.

"Nothin'. Your juke box stud decided to call it a night. Jerk. He didn't even buy anything."

Magnolia chuckled, "Maybe he didn't like what you had to offer."

Lieu made a "whatever" face and shrugged her shoulder, "Guess so." She then turned away from Magnolia to tend to other customers who came up to the bar to place a dinner order and get another round of tequila. Magnolia just sat, staring at the array of liquor shimmering before her in pristine bottles and all seeming to call out her name.

Last Night

"So, you mean to tell me Church has us on some wild goose chase…for a woman?"

Lee Christmas hadn't been all that excited when Barney assembled the guys for a debriefing after his meeting with Church. The others hadn't been too excited either, relishing their day off before they got the call telling them they had another undertaking, one that was big and would require all their efforts—their best foot forward.

And now, it seemed Ross was barely awake after a day of fact finding had led him nowhere. Barney was exceptional when it came to tracking down information—heck, he'd go so far as to say he was the best there was in the business: he could get anything from anybody, if he pulled the right amount of strings and rearranged a few faces. He could've got dirt on the Pope if he snooped around hard enough.

But—not one thing more on Magnolia Steele. Not a drop. He'd been trying all day and everywhere he'd turned was a dead end. Either no one knew where she was, or there was no record of her existence. Nothing on file, no credit cards - zip, zilch, nada. The woman had cleaned her act up pretty well getting out of Dodge—he couldn't have found her if his life depended on it. Granted, he'd been trying only six hours, but if in six hours a man like him didn't have what he was looking for, screw it.

Barney related to the team all he knew, what Church had told him and what was in the file— former Marine, ex-mercenary, wanted by the CIA. Awards in archery and marksmanship, kickboxing in college, and a record of assassinations as long as his arm. He shared details from her military record, and how she'd lost a team in Iraq, which had resulted in her prompt exit at twenty-one years old due to authority issues. Which, of course, he and most of the team understood—losing men was the hardest thing a soldier could experience, but losing your entire squad when you survive? It might as well have raked you over the coals and back again.

Ross then shared the details of the mission in South Africa—or at least, what Church's file held. She'd been hired to assassinate a target, the head of the ARM which was beginning to terrorize Americans and missionaries, with threats to destroy the Embassy. The hefty six million dollars for a price-tag had baited her into it, no doubt, and split four ways total? It was a pretty penny that he would've pounced on. Correction: he had pounced on. Only now, the price-tag had doubled.

Her team had died in Lesedi after being discovered as traitors and terrorist by the local Movement—or so the file read. She had one woman alive—a Lieutenant "Pinkie" Pinksley—, who'd holed up in New Orleans, yet wasn't a priority for the CIA.

So, it was a tainted little dove in their sights and he was in charge of getting her back. Well, he'd argued with his team, they'd had worse assignments. But, the fact that his men were thoroughly ticked about being called away from home less than thirty-six hours after returning from a brutal mission meant he couldn't deny them their anger. They'd just stood around his old Ford pickup, drinking beers, smoking cigars and twirling knives as he had talked.

"I still don't get it," Toll shifted his weight on his feet, gripping his beer can tighter in his hands. He shook his head as if it would make the information fall together in his brain, "So…this chick fails her mission and then high tails it out of South Africa, dodging the Feds and no one's heard from her since?"

Barney smacked his lips together, giving him a slight, pathetic smile, "Yep. That's the word."

"Sounds like she ain't got no guts," Caesar retorted from his place leaning against the door, hands drooped through the open window.

"She did lose her team, guys," Barney defended slightly from his place across the hood of the truck. Taking a draw of his drink, he shrugged a shoulder, "Can't blame her. It's tough losing your guys on the field." He nodded to Christmas, "You know that and I know that. It's not like she bailed with the cash and said 'Screw you'."

"She did, however, get scared and run," Christmas spat spitefully, "and that's what makes it a problem."

Gunner crossed his arms over his chest and spread his legs shoulder-width apart, staring hard at the front of the Ford, looking like he was thinking. They were quiet a moment, except the music and far off sound of bikes revving to life noising up the air around Tool's tattoo parlor. Gunner finally broke the silence, "So what's with South Africa? Why's Church want her so bad anyway—why not send out a new team?"

Barney shifted his feet, "Your guess is as good as mine. Apparently Church thinks she's got some information and contacts already in place, which is probably true." He looked between his guys, "And he did hire someone new. Us."

"Fantastic," Christmas mumbled, "I hate clean-up duty."

Toll looked up from his drink and gave Barney a less than satisfied look. "Where's she hold up? Or does Church expect us to send smoke signals or something?"

Barney gave him a quelling glance, "Don't be flip." He pushed the file in Toll's general direction and pointed at it as he added, "New Orleans. She's got a buddy who lives there who survived South Africa. Lieutenant Pinksley."

"First name?" Christmas already had the file open and was scanning the front. Barney chuckled and took another drink, turning from them and walking to the table, where a bowl of pretzels, half empty, awaited them. He dove his hand into it and pulled out a few, popping them into his mouth.

"I said her name was Lieutenant."

Caesar snorted, his brows rising, "That's original?"

"Authentic," Christmas grumbled.

There was a heavy thud and all of them turned to the door of the shop, where a female figure filled the frame. She approached them, grocery bag in one hand, six packs in the other, the bobbed style of her light hair framing her face. This was Shady "Boots" Powell, former Navy pilot and ex-NCIS agent – and, the only female Expendable on their team.

Oh, and the current woman in Lee Christmas' life.

"What's authentic, my love?" She demanded, looking directly at Christmas for answers. She approached the Ford and set the six packs and bag on the hood. Caesar and Toll didn't waste time and began rummaging for new snacks. When Boots didn't get an immediate answer, she rounded on the Boss, "Don't tell me you gave the briefing while I was gone."

They looked to Barney. "Busted," Toll muttered, popping open a bag of BBQ chips as Caesar ripped open the case. Gunner came around and began sorting for his own snacks. Lee slid the file to Shady and then stepped behind her, arms on either side of her, braced against the car. He nuzzled her neck as she began to read about their new target. Barney was now leaning against the other side of the Ford.

Shady's brow crinkled as she digested the information from the file marked CONFIDENTIAL. She also didn't miss the CIA stamp. Finally, Powell engaged Barney. When he didn't immediately respond, she demanded, "Well? Spill."

Lee beat him to it, "We're cleaning up after a chick who failed her assassination in South Africa." He said nonchalantly, "Church wants her back because she has info and we're temping for her team."

Shady looked back to Ross only to hear Gunner intone, "Well that's the short and sweet version," before the blonde giant made his way from the Ford to the sofa Tool kept in the shop.

She glanced up over her shoulder, "I thought we didn't trust Church." The Brit shrugged in response. When she didn't get any other details, her brows shot up, accentuating her next inquiry. "Okay. Where's her team?"

Barney finally interjected, "Gone. She lost them in South Africa. She and one other of her girls made it out. She's running."

Shady's mouth formed a silent 'O', and she nodded slowly. Barney could see the understanding in her eyes, no matter how hard she was trying to hide it from them. Ross knew it would strike a chord with this one, too, having lost her own team in the same incident that had, for all intent and purposes, ended her career with NCIS. She added quietly, "Wow. That's rough."

Ross knew she was on board. He left the truck and went to seat himself next to Gunner. Shady turned in Christmas' arms. The former husband and wife team shared a silent glance. Lee knew her history, too - more detail than even their team leader. He kissed her before releasing her so she could follow Barney. The music outside was slowing into a jazzy blues tune as she dropped into the tattered armchair across from the Expendables commander. She folded her hands on her knees and leaned forward, Barney popping the top to a new beer before taking a long, chilled drink. Her eyes were ablaze with questions. "So…what's the plan?"

He shrugged, "Find her and bring her back. Finish the mission, collect the cash. Same as always."

Her brow quirked. "You know where she is then?"

He nodded. "Yep. New Orleans."

Shady nodded slowly, a mischievous smile pulling at her face. She looked to the Ford where Lee remained, leaning casually on the hood, his arms crossed over that hard, massive chest. He cocked a challenging brow. Boots turned back, asking, "When're we leaving?"

"Whenever we're sober enough to fly."

She gave a curt nod then got up, and headed for the exit, bike keys at hand. She pulled open the door and stood in the frame, twirling the keys around her fingers. "Then, I suggest you boys start packing. Wheels up in an hour," she checked her watch. "Anyone who's not at the plane gets left behind and doesn't get their cut." She once again gained Lee's attention, him smiling at her, "And that includes you, Mr. Christmas."

"I'll come when I'm good and ready, darlin'." Knowing the guys were all staring, he couldn't resist the challenge and raised his beer slightly to acknowledge her statement before taking a long drink. Lee didn't break eye contact as she smirked at him.

"I'm sure you will," she retorted back snidely, "I just might not be there when you do."

The boys chuckled at that one, all exchanging knowing looks that Lee tried to ignore. He glared at them hotly which only made them laugh harder; a couple rolling their eyes. Turning back to face Shady, Christmas set the beer down loudly and mumbled incoherently while Powell grinned at him, her jade eyes sparkling to life.

Barney was genuinely entertained, as he usually was, when Christmas and Boots got into the lover's spats. Usually they were more entertaining and physical, ending when Lee tossed his former undercover wife over his shoulder; but this time it was jibing and light.

Rolling his eyes, Ross called out a familiar warning to them, "You two know the rules: No grab-ass on the plane and keep the PDA to a minimum in front of the team." He pointed at them to emphasize his point before he and Gunner shared a side-glance. Giving their attention back to Shady, however, they chuckled and Gunner popped another pretzel into his mouth. Barney situated himself on the couch and propped his feet up on the table in front of it, wondering who would win the now silent battle of wills raging between the couple. From the look on their faces, he wasn't entirely sure.

"Well, I hope we're still around when you're good and ready," she responded, using air quotes to emphasize her statement and then deliberately added, "Darlin'." Boots pointed a finger at Barney, "Yeah, we know the rules, Boss. But, for now, I suggest you get yourself sober and we'll talk later. Might I recommend a shower and some coffee? See you in an hour." She gave Lee one last knowing smile before she sauntered out the door and was gone. Christmas didn't even make a five-count before he was chasing the female Expendable out of the building, the others bursting into good-natured laughter.

"And you want another one of those around?" Toll said from his place at the fridge, stocking it with the fresh beers Shady had retrieved for them. He chuckled and whistled, "Hell might just freeze over."

"Shut up, Road." Gunner spat at him, sighing and rolling his eyes.

Barney closed his eyes and sighed. It'd be a long flight to Louisiana.