"Wheels up, gentlemen! Move it!" Shady's voice echoed on the night breeze roughly an hour after she'd left the bar to prep the plane, ringing into the dark skies littered with pinpricks of starlight as the boys filtered out of Barney's hangar, each shouldering heavy packs and a nice array of weapons. She waved them onto the massive plane from her place in the cockpit, the wind catching her hair as she stuck her head out the window. She tapped her wrist for emphasis, "We ain't got all night!"

Christmas was the first on board, stepping up and tossing his bag onto the bench seating running along the walls of the plane. Gunner entered second, slinging the massive sniper rifle from his shoulder, smacking loudly on gum. Toll seated himself beside the Swede, checking his handgun, while Caesar came next trailing Christmas, who had made his way to the cockpit.

He leaned into Shady from behind, whispering, "Play nice up here, darlin'," as he played with the ends of her hair between his fingers.

She gave him a questioning look, "Don't I always?"

Lee answered simply, "No."

Bringing up the rear, Barney finally boarded, closing the door heavily. Stalking towards the front of the plane, Ross dropped his pack just before slipping into the pilot's seat past Christmas—which was already tight with the couple continuing their whispered conversation.

"You finished?" Barney asked gruffly, although it was more a statement than a question. He seated himself and began pre-flight initiations, trusting that the young woman in the second chair had done her job and completed inspection. Christmas gave him a fake frown, then quickly planted a kiss in Shady's mess of hair before slugging Barney's shoulder roughly. The knifeman then mumbled another warning for her ears only and disappeared to the back.

Boots slid the window closed, "Sober?" She asked him, giving him a smile. She put on the headset and began flicking buttons, reaching for the flight log beside her seat. Opening it, Shady clicked the pen and began making notes. Barney tossed her an aggravated side-look as she chuckled, "I'll take that as a no."

"I'm sober enough," he muttered, "You're just a bit too perky for one o'clock in the morning." He looked slightly over his shoulder to where the guys were settling in on the plane, his eyes landing on Christmas, "I wonder why."

She winked at him, "Jealous?"

"Of Christmas?" He sounded amazed, then waved her off with his left hand, complete with the leather finger and wrist brace he always wore on his bad side. He puffed air out of his lips and started the plane, "You shouldn't flatter him so much. It'll go to his head."

The slow grin lit up her eyes, "Don't worry. I know how to take him down a notch when it's necessary." She couldn't help looking over her shoulder to the man in question, the attraction a tangible thing between them. Bringing herself back to the moment at hand, she put the checklist away. Studying Ross for a moment, Shady chuckled, a rich, warm sound. Taking the controls, Powell quizzed, "You ready to get this bird in the air?"

"You're somethin' else," the humor was evident in Barney's tone. Shaking his head, he tacked on, "I don't know how Christmas does it."


Doc scuffed his shoe against a stone in the alleyway behind Sly's, the muggy breeze playing at the collar of his button down shirt. Sweat dripped from inside his hat down past his ear, dipping under the collar of the shirt, reminding him how hot Louisiana was in June. He bobbed his head, partially to the music, partially to the ringing on the other end of the cell connection.

"C'mon, Barney," he said deeply, looking to and fro around the alley. As he waited, Doc had to admit, he did like the look of the redheaded bartender inside the place, that much was for sure, and he'd briefly considered hanging around to introduce himself. But, he recognized her as Lieu Pinksley, one of the ex-mercenary girls who had run with Magnolia Steele and her Vixens six or so months ago. They'd been famous in the business for quick and hard work, from what he'd heard anyway, and of course a team like that hadn't escaped his attention.

Barney, along with Conrad Stonebanks, and of course himself, had been original members of the Expendables team. But, as was want to happen, a mission went badly and Stonebanks was presumed killed. Doc had left shortly after, making his own connections, establishing new friends and reigniting old contacts. He and Ross, however, had kept in touch. He'd also heard through the grapevine that the leader formed a new team with an international flavor - hiring a Brit, a Swede and an Asian. He also knew that Barney'd lost a young sniper a few years previous, nicknamed Billy the Kid. Interestingly enough, Ross had replaced him with a woman, Shady "Boots" Powell, former NCIS and ex-Navy pilot.

So, when Barney finally got a lead that Lieu Pinksley might be tending bar in New Orleans, he couldn't believe it. He'd quickly contacted Doc who he knew was sometimes keeping house in the Big Easy. The former medic had heard some of Steele's sad tale. Word on the strip was she'd been MIA, hiding from the CIA for about six months, ever since intel confirmed that her team was dead. What Doc found surprising, though, was that Barney and his new Expendables had agreed to take the CIA's offer to round her up.

Now that he'd confirmed her presence at Sly's, he had called Barney. He hung up, dialed again - for the third time – and pressed the phone to his ear, counting the rings. A leggy blonde passed by the alley, catching his attention, but he didn't move, listening for someone to pick up. "What's the point of having one of these things if you don't answer it—"

"—Doc. Good god," Barney's raspy growl came over the line, cutting off his statement. Doc winced and rolled his eyes, shifting his weight on his feet. "You've called me three times. You dyin' or what?"

"You should learn to be nicer to people calling to help you out," he chuckled. Barney was silent on the phone but Doc heard other noises, including a female voice he presumed to be Boots Powell.

"I've helped you out more times than I can count. Now what've you got for me?" His bluntness warned Doc he wasn't in the mood to be played with – either hung over, tired, or both. Doc chuckled again and smacked his lips together, remembering Barney from their early days.

"Why are you really dealing with Church?" he interrogated, "Thought you didn't trust the man."

Barney countered, "I trust his money. That's about it."

Doc laughed at this, taking in a deep breath of heavy air. He scratched at the back of his neck then straightened the cuff of his sleeve. He smiled as if Barney could see him, drawing out the conversation to aggravate the Expendables' leader.

Barney, obviously irritated, swore. "Do you have a purpose for this call or do I need to just reach through this phone and beat it out of you?"

Doc snorted, "Chillax, my man. Doc's got you handled," Yep, definitely hung over. He peeked around the corner of the alley, towards the door, where the last patron was being rudely shoved out by the staggeringly beautiful redhead in a bandanna. He smiled at this and whistled, "This is a fine situation if you ask me, Ross," he was talking more about the scene playing out in front of him than the mission, but Barney wouldn't know the difference.

"Dammit, Doc."

"Yeah, okay." He nodded, getting back to task, "The purpose is, Barney, my man, that I found your little girly right here in NOLA." Doc snickered, "Magnolia Steele. Pretty little thing with brown curls and blue eyes and God knows what else under all them curves. She's definitely hanging here at Sly's Bar down on 5th Avenue. And, you were right, about the redhead friend; who's pretty as nobody's business, I might add. She is definitely with her."

Barney was silent, contemplating the next chess move. Doc waited patiently.

"She's got to be leaving soon, right? It's close to what, three, there?"

He checked his watch. Right on the nose. "Yes sir. I'll shadow her and make sure she don't go nowhere. Doesn't look like she'll be leaving anytime soon, anyway. Her friend's pretty smashed." He shrugged a shoulder. "Let me know when you guys get in here." The former Expendable was still quiet. His voice couldn't hide the grin as he added, "You're welcome, Ross."

"Yeah, thanks, Doc. See you in a couple hours." He hung up the call. Doc grinned at the phone before slipping it back in his pocket. He leaned against the alley wall, the cool bricks sticking his shirt to his shoulders. He watched the door, then the patron staggering down the street towards the corner where he'd probably called a cab already.


It was 3AM when Pinksley, angrier, drunker and more exhausted than ever, shooed the last customer out of Sly's. She staggered back behind the bar after dropping the deadbolt into place. Magnolia was still there, sloshing around a cherry in a Coke spiked with rum, watching the dark liquid spin circles like a miniature storm, wondering if it had mirrored intentionally the emotion in her head.

"Good god I'm glad that's over," Lieu mumbled, pulling a bottle of brandy up from behind the bar, followed by two shot glasses. The rim of the bottle clanked against the glasses as she poured, sweat pooling on her brow; her chest and collar bones slick from the Bayou humidity. Magnolia watched her pour the liquid, and then looked again to her wrist, where bruising was evident.

"I didn't think it was that busy," Magnolia countered, accepting the glass from Pinkie. They toasted silently, then threw their heads back and downed the drink. Their glasses thunked sharply back on the counter as they shared a smile, "I've seen you work harder."

Pinksley puffed air out dramatically between her lips, "Yeah, because you worked us like dogs." She shook her head, "Somedays I thought I was going to die."

Magnolia rolled her eyes, "It wasn't that bad. I worked right alongside you guys." Her voice trailed as her eyes fell away from Lieu, to the floor of the place, which was littered with garbage and bottles and broken glasses. The entertainment began tearing down for the evening. "We managed to make it a good time even when it was tough." Lieu nodded slowly, sloshing the brandy around the bottle, watching it.

"Yeah. I guess so."

There was silence a few moments before Pinkie lifted the braid off her neck and exhaled heavily, scanning around the room. Magnolia turned on her chair and slipped off it, bending to pick up a bottle and a few lemon rinds. They worked in silence for a while until the band left, and when Magnolia looked back at the clock, it was slightly after four. They set to sweeping and cleaning off tables when the door to the place rattled on its hinges, the deadbolt sliding open.

Lieutenant and Magnolia both shared a look, each diving for the bar. Magnolia wasted no time bringing out her Beretta as she hit the ground; Lieu sliding over the top and dropping behind heavily. The bartender chambered a round in her issued Glock, both of them suddenly even more sweaty and breathing quietly. They shared a look, listening as the door slammed against the wall, heavy footfalls stomping into the room. The neon lights about the bar were bright and a quiet blues song came from the corner of the jukebox.

"Lieu!" The slurred voice was familiar, and both women let down their guard. Pinkie tossed the Glock under the sink. Magnolia slipped the safety back in place and returned it to the waistband under her shirt. The redhead got up and rounded the bar towards the dance floor as Steele stood. She reached for the bottle of brandy to take a drink while Lieu tried to sidle up next to Sly, her boyfriend. He was slobbering drunk, disheveled, and mad. His skin was slimy with sweat and his shirt was unbuttoned.

"Baby," Pinkie answered quickly. The calmness in her voice was almost dream-like, and Magnolia knew it was because she was somewhat terrified of this man. Lieu was the only woman she knew braver than she was, willing to take down an entire army single-handed if it was asked of her. But when it came to Sly, she was like a church mouse. Magnolia watched carefully. "You're back early—"

He stepped away from his girlfriend, gripping her wrist and tossing her aside as if Lieu were the plague. Magnolia's chest constricted and her jaw set, watching the female mercenary take a few graceful steps backwards—the sudden shift of momentum meaning nothing to her. Magnolia could see the woman's shoulders square through the thin tank-top she wore. She took a long drink and continued to observe them silently.

"Yeah, I'm back early," he hissed at her, letting out a strong and disgusting belch. He staggered towards the bar, aiming for the register, Pinksley hot on his heels. He pulled up when he saw Magnolia leaning over the bar on her elbows, watching him with the bottle of brandy at hand. She raised her brows slightly at him and smiled.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded as he reached for the bottle. But Steele was quicker, pulling it away, causing Sly to stagger forward and trip over his own heavily-booted feet.

"None of your business," Magnolia said coldly, standing slowly and deliberately downing the last of the brandy. She tossed the now empty bottle into the already full trash-can behind the bar. He glared at her. Steele could see the drunken rage in his eyes and the redness of his nose, a sure indicator he was a chronic drunk. She pitied him but only for a moment, as she looked to Lieu. The woman looked ready for anything but terror filled her eyes—a terror that seemed foreign in such a strong person with dangerous skills.

"It is my business when you're behind my bar drinking all my booze," he growled at her, his voice low and dangerous. Sly reminded her of a snake, coiled and ready to strike at any sudden movement. Magnolia knew his kind—had battled his type on more than one occasion. "Bar's closed. Get out." His sentences were slurred, short, and choppy—making him sound ridiculous.

"Sly," Lieu stepped toward him, her hands wrapping around his thick arm. She came close to him, then looked to Magnolia, pleading with her wordlessly. Steele walked around the bar to lean against it, crossed her arms over her chest and watched him as he glared holes into her face. "Magnolia was just helping me get a head start on closing—"

"—looks like she was doing a lot more drinking than working," Sly huffed, grabbing Lieu's wrist. He yanked her hands off his arm and jerked her forward, slamming her into the bar and bracing his arms around her, pinning her in place. He got in her face, sweat and filth and stench, and slobbered, "And if I didn't know better, I'd say you were helpin' her along, Lieutenant."

Pinkie closed her eyes and turned her face away from the man. Magnolia had seen enough. Reacting quickly, she soared towards the man, ripping past bar stools and grabbing at his clothes as if she were possessed. She yanked him off of Lieu, threw him backwards, releasing his shirt as she did. He staggered to a stop, swearing. While he was caught off guard and occupied with balancing, Magnolia stalked towards him and threw her leg around in a firm roundhouse, landing it right in his jaw.

Clocked, the man spun on his feet and stumbled to the floor, but not before Magnolia lunged out to grab the back of his shirt. Yanking him up, she whirled him back around, raised her knee, and slammed his face into it. He moaned, sputtered, and sank to the ground, obviously knocked into oblivion. He fell forward, hitting the ground hard. Magnolia stepped over him, straddling him before lowering on her haunches to turn him onto his back. Entirely out of it, Sly moaned, his face bleeding and his jaw swelling—probably broken.

Rage filling her chest with hot breath as the blood simmered in her veins, Steele grabbed a handful of collar and hissed at his face, "You touch her again and I'll kill you myself. Understand?"

He moaned incoherently.

"That's what I thought." Magnolia sneered, releasing him roughly. She stood and approached the bar quickly. Grabbing for the Coke, Magnolia took a firm drink as the sweat poured down the sides of her temples. Lieu just stared at Sly, silent, her face hard as stone. She didn't even look phased. Her entire persona changed and Magnolia gave her an angry, confused, and somewhat repulsed look.

"You're an idiot to stay with him." She took another drink of the rum-spiked Coke, "Heck. You're not staying. We're getting your stuff and getting out of here. If you protest, I'll shoot you myself."

Pinksley was quiet a long moment, staring at the man. Magnolia could see her processing, and she looked to Lieu's wrists, still black, and now red from where he'd grabbed her so hard and whipped her into the bar. What was wrong with this woman? Magnolia snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Hello? Earth to Lieu? What's your problem?"

"He's bleeding all over my floor," Pinkie stated calmly, her face looking blank, hot and exhausted. "I just waxed it on Monday."

Magnolia suppressed a laugh, the corner of her mouth twitching in a smile. Lieu turned back and finally pushed herself off the bar and hurried to the back room. Magnolia just sat, staring at the unconscious man who was bleeding on his own bar floor. The adrenaline in her brain began to dissipate.

Lieu came back, her tan suede jacket over her arm, a purse over her shoulder, and an envelope under her arm. She had keys on her finger and she waved for Magnolia to join her at the front door. Quickly dousing the lights and the neon, she opened the front door, waiting. Magnolia shrugged, reached behind the bar for another bottle of brandy, and sauntered towards the exit. The door fell into place heavily, Lieu pausing to lock it, then turned to Magnolia. Both women stared at the keys. Without another word, Pinksley whipped them to her left.

At Magnolia's questioning glance, Lieu shrugged a shoulder, "Let's get out of here."

Magnolia smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

They both laughed.