A/N: Seriously, guys, you are just swell! Your reviews made me so happy!
The next morning found Molly scrubbing her jeans in the mess hall sink, trying to get the wine stain out.
"Everybody accounted for?" Barney asked, referring to the security guards. She nodded once. Judging by the bruises around her eyes, she hadn't gotten any sleep last night. "You got anything you wanna talk about?" he pressed. She lifted her dark eyes. In that moment, she looked like she had the world caving in on her.
"No."
Barney nodded once. God, he wanted to ask her. He wanted to know who had hurt her, what had happened to her unit in Iraq.
The wound was still too fresh, though, he knew that. It was too raw for her to think about.
They finished the job out in relative peace. Molly's wrist lock seemed to have scared off Jason Elwes, because no more dinner invitations came.
She looked like hell, though, when they landed back in New Orleans. Barney knew she hadn't slept more than an hour a night for the last week.
"Welcome back!" Tool enthused when they arrived back at his shop. Molly didn't respond. She just threw her bag in the back of her truck.
Tool glanced curiously at Barney. The leader just shook his head.
"I'm heading home, Ross," she said soberly.
"You wanna go check on her, or should I?" Tool asked the next morning. Molly had been weighing on Barney's mind.
"I'll do it," he was the leader, it was his duty. Tool caught his arm, his face uncharacteristically serious.
"Go easy, brother...Molly...Well, she ain't had it easy."
"You know," Barney cocked a brow at him. Tool pressed his lips into a thin line.
"It ain't my story to tell, Barney."
Molly answered the door in a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top that was a size too small. Barney could see the 'Steadfast' tattoo over her heart clearly. A half empty bottle of Jack hung limply in her hand. Her hair tumbled down her back in an unruly mess.
"Yeah?" Oh, yes, she was definitely drunk, he could tell by the belligerence in her tone.
"I thought you didn't like to get drunk," Barney folded his arms over his chest. She scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Are you here to lecture me, O Fearless Leader? Because that's awful hypocritical. You get three sheets to the wind every time we get back from a mission," she snapped.
"I was worried. You haven't been the same since dinner with the Senator," Barney said evenly, keeping his temper in check. Getting in a fight with a drunk Molly wouldn't solve any problems.
"Well, don't you worry, Ross, I've been pacing myself. Now, if that's all, I'd like to get back to my mind numbing alcohol," she started to close the door, but he slid his foot over the threshold, using it as a doorstop.
"You've got a lot of emotional baggage, Molly. There's nothing wrong with that, but you haven't dealt with it. It nearly cost us the job-"
"I know how to do my job, Barney Ross," she ground out, not appreciating the invasion.
"I'm not saying you can't, I'm just saying that there can't be a repeat performance. I know you like your space and distance, and I'll try to handle the rest of the dealings on my own, but I can't make any promises."
A muscle in Molly's jaw twitched.
"I know you're damn good at your job, Booker, and that's not in question, but you're wound as tight as a spring. Do you understand?" Barney wasn't good with this touchy-feely crap, but he'd ruffled her feathers. And it wasn't a good idea to get on the medic's bad side.
"Resolve any PTSD you may still have over Iraq and a psychotic ex boyfriend. Got it, boss," she said icily.
"Booker, I'm here. Tool's here. If you ever need-"
"Thanks, Ross, but I can deal with it myself."
