The gym was quiet except for the echoing sounds of someone hitting a punching bag over and over again. The shadows of cars passing by rippled over the floor and abandoned exercise equipment, and most of the lights inside of the room were off. It was lonesome and gloomy, but that was how she liked it. Some things, she figured, never really changed.

She slammed her fist forward with another sharp hiss of breath and the bag exhaled in response. Another hit, another breath, and another satisfying deflating sound. Her form was sharp and tight, her core squeezed into taught abs that were starting to form from relentless training. She felt more powerful with every hit, more in control of herself and of her fate. Her body was sore and in need of a break but she pushed through the feeling, punching away at the memories of death and rushing water as they flashed through her mind like they always did.

Her knuckles were aching from every punch. She'd formed some strong callouses over them, but that didn't do a whole lot at limiting the pain of repetition. She had a tattoo over her ribs that poked out from under her sports bra and it glistened from the sheen of sweat over her skin. She was tan from her daily runs and all of her hours logged at the tattoo shop, where she tended to sit outside on the sidewalk to dream up designs. Some loose hair flapped against her neck, overtop of the buzz cut that decorated the lower part of her scalp.

She punched.

The sound of rushing water echoed around her. She drew in a breath and lost her balance for a second, panic flashing over her eyes.

She grunted and punched again as hard as she could.

It sounded like the bullets firing and landing in Biffo's chest as she collapsed into Barney's arms.

She punched again. And again. And again.

The image of her baby sisters vacant, eternally still expression flashed in her mind and she lunged forward with a loud, strangled grunt. The bag swung back and she caught it with her palms before it could knock her over. She ran her gloved hands over her head and sucked in a few heavy, panicked breaths. Outside, a car drove by and the light from its headlights rolled over the room as it passed. She heaved in a few heavy breaths and sniffed hard.

She hadn't cried in a long time. She didn't want to cry. She equated crying with the past, and she wanted to move on. She wanted to leave her sister buried behind her, in the rear view, so that she could keep finding herself the way she was meant to be; not as a reflection of who her sister could have been. She wanted to stop dreaming about Biffo and the spray of bullets that found his chest and narrowly missed her the day that everything in her life changed. She wanted to stop drowning in that river and take a deep breath, but the currents were always pulling her downstream and towards the sandy bottom. She couldn't swim against nature or the wrath of God or whatever it was that was forcing her down. She was powerless against it. She had the power not to cry, though. So she bit her lip and slammed her knee up into the bag with a cracked, whispered whimper.

She stumbled backwards and knocked her gloved fists together a few times. Her hands were shaking and her joints were aching. It was dark outside, but when she arrived it had been light out. She wondered for a moment how long she had been there punching away at that bag, but she dismissed the thought quickly. She had nowhere else to be; no late-night shift to clock-in on, no family to call and check up with, and nothing at home that was begging for her attention. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor as she backed up a few steps, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her gloves. She tried to undo one with her teeth, exhaling hard as the soreness caught up with her body for the first time in hours.

"Need some help?"

She turned on her heal and found Barney leaning in the doorway, an unlit cigar between his pointer and middle finger, hovering near his lips. His hair was greying and slicked back, his brows heavy over his eyes, his hip jutted out and freehand resting half in his pocket. He looked her up and down. She sighed.

"Sure," she said, holding out her gloved hands and fighting to catch her breath.

Barney pulled himself off the wall and tucked the cigar into his mouth. He glanced up to her eyes as he closed in briefly, noting the sad tilt to their edges and the hardened film dulling the once vibrant color. He knew it wasn't all the jobs fault; life had a habit of dulling people that had never even seen death, that had never even fired a gun, that had never even tied those two things together. He was worried for her regardless. They all were, but the best thing they knew they could do was be there in case she needed it. She knew she had them. Hopefully it was good enough.

He tugged loose both gloves and helped her as she pulled her hands from them. She stretched out her fingers, loosening the wrapping around her knuckles.

"Anything interesting come up lately?" He asked, tossing the gloves aside. His voice was muffled by the cigar hanging in the corner of his mouth.

"Nothing worth the money or the effort," Sammy said, cracking her knuckles and unwrapping her hands. Her fingers felt a bit numb and her brain a bit foggy. She needed some water and some sleep.

"Tool review those too?" He asked.

"Yeah, and he said the same," Sammy said, perking a brow at him. "Why?"

"I'm just checking in," he said. "Haven't worked a job in a while."

She made a face but sighed and turned back to her hands after a second. Barney kept watching her. She was slim, muscular, and deadly accurate. He knew that; he'd seen it. If somebody had told him how much of an asset Lee's neighbor would become to the team a year ago, he would've laughed in their face. But Sammy had made herself indispensable; to the Expendables she was the furthest thing from expendable.

"It's only been about three weeks," she said, unraveling the last of the wrap and setting it aside. "What're you doing at the gym at this hour?"

Barney smirked and looked around. He could remember a time when he was like Sammy, when punching something was the only way he could cope or find solace. Overtime he grew out of that; he'd found Lee, he picked up smoking, and his joints would ache like hell anytime he tried so he just gave up.

"I got a text from the grinch wondering if you were held up at the shop," Barney said, holding up his smirk and searching her face. "I knew you weren't, and I figured if I were you… I'd be here."

"Alright then, Sherlock," Sammy said with a little laugh. "I just lost track of time. My phone is with the rest of my stuff."

Barney held up his hands and shrugged.

"You don't have to explain anything to me," he said. "Maybe to Lee, though."

Sammy looked down and felt her lips spread into a shy smile. Barney wanted to scoff and roll his eyes but he didn't. A part of him- a big part of him- was glad that the two had begun sorting things out between them. A near-death experience could do that, he figured.

"Yeah, I will," she said. "He's just worried I'm gonna throw myself off a building or something."

Barney raised his brows and wondered how she wanted him to react to that. It hadn't been terribly long ago when he might've worried about the same thing, but something in his gut told him Sammy had left that part of her in the before.

The before for a soldier, or a mercenary, was always sort of hopeful, sort of naive. Sammy's before wasn't particularly unique, but Barney could remember how deeply rattled his second in command had been after cleaning her up off Tool's bathroom floor. Sammy's before was Riley, New York, college, and whatever else had plagued her.

Then there was the during. During the war, the fight, the battle; the peak of the origin story that crafted a person into a mercenary. Sammy was neck deep in her during when she went to basic all the way to the end of her first mission. That was usually how it went.

Barney was hopeful about Sammy's after. It was the after that usually got people, not the during like some would assume. PTSD and anxiety could kill like a bullet, just with a bit less gore and pain (sometimes). He'd seen countless people through it all. It wasn't a linear system, either. Some people had countless before's. Some were stuck in their during. Some never made it to their after. Barney wasn't sure where he was and he found comfort in not giving a shit about it.

"Can't blame a man for worrying," he said finally, his voice deep and dry. "Need a ride home?"

Sammy checked the time on her phone and saw the missed calls and texts from Lee. She stuffed it down into her pocket and nodded.

"Sure, if you don't mind," she said. "I caught a ride to the shop today and I didn't even think about it when I came here."

"I don't mind," Barney said. Her skin was glistening in the hazy traffic light through the windows, her hair frizzy and strewn about her head. The woman standing before him then was such a stark contrast to the woman who had walked into the backroom of Tool's shop and introduced herself to him. There were the obvious physical differences, but even in the way she held herself and took in a room, she had transformed. Like a human into a vampire, or maybe into a werewolf. She was strong. Pain had made her strong.

But that's what it meant to be strong anyway, right? How could somebody get stronger without experiencing pain?

Sammy was strong. She was strong for herself and for anybody else who might have needed it.

"Hopefully Lee won't be mad," she said, scratching the back of her neck as she settled the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

"Lee? Mad?" Barney teased. "Never."

Sammy chuckled and knocked herself against his arm. She was content, maybe. She couldn't be sure because it was a bit of a foreign feeling to her, but she imagined that's what it would be like, anyway. Just the lack of anything else. The grief over her sister was a dull ache in the background, and not a day went by when she didn't think about her, but the raging pain had mostly simmered and settled. She would have her days, though. Days of silent brooding and flashing back to that lanky body in that hospital bed under the fluorescent lights of the pediatric ICU. On those days, she would wonder what her own body would have looked like if she hadn't survived her first mission. Would she have even made it to a hospital? Been wrapped in a sheet? Gotten a proper burial? Who would notify her parents, Barney or the Major? None of that mattered because she hadn't died. That didn't stop her from thinking about it, though. Sometimes she would dream about it; she'd pull back the sheets from Riley's face and find herself laying there, pale and lifeless. She never knew how to feel when she would wake up. The truth was that she didn't really feel anything, had no grief for her own life. She felt like she had lived as a handful of different people already, and how could she mourn herself when she didn't even know who she was? It would be like crying for a stranger at a funeral full of people she didn't recognize.

Barney's truck smelled like tobacco and stale old leather. He had a very refined taste for everything, especially his vehicles, and his truck was no exception. It felt a little bit small for a man like Barney, but it was spotless and powerful. It got the job done and it looked good doing it. The bench seat was more than a little lived in, sunken in in most spots and bouncing against the springs. Sammy closed the door and tucked her feet under the dash, feeling the exhaustion ripple up her ankles and knees and hips until it settled in her stomach like a pit. Barney closed the drivers side door and started up the engine, filling the cab with that loud purr of an old vehicle. He didn't notice it because years of service had taken a good chunk of his hearing. Sammy could hear it loud and clear, but it had become less abrasive and more like white noise over time. When he shifted gears and pulled out from his parking space, she looked up to the sky and traced the spots between the few stars she could see.

The night sky had been so clear in the jungle. It was one of the only good memories about that trip. The stars were layered and colorful and flickered with the pulsing beat of the universe, of life, of creation. It was so mesmerizing that she wished she could have just stared at it all night. Even then there wouldn't have been enough time to take it all in. The world was full of wonderful things, but she realized she had never really stopped to enjoy them. She was always either numbed from drugs, numbed from stress, numbed from grief and pain, or numbed from all of that combined. She couldn't see the universe from where she was situated in NOLA, and for the first time she could ever remember, the classic metallic encasing of Barney's truck felt more like a cage than a triumph. The thought weighed heavily on her chest, like an elephant suddenly dropping its entire weight on her sternum, and she sucked in a long, uncertain, foggy breath. She didn't understand how being so near death could feel more free than riding in the passenger seat of an old pickup with a friend. How could the stars be clearer in the jungle? How could the jungle be so lush and vibrant when it was nursed with death? Did the decomposing bodies of the dead militia men fertilize the soil and spring nature to life in a way that it never did anywhere else? Did the sky shine so bright on a cloudless night there because all of the stars were watching with wide-eyed stares at the carnage? Did the air feel more pure because it was flooded with souls?

The roads they drove to her house had once felt like home. They had felt right. So much more than upstate New York ever had, or even the halls of the buildings she explored on her college campus had. She didn't know if it was her that had changed or if it was New Orleans. Maybe it had always been a cage, and she had always been a bird flying into containment, drawn in by the romance of it all. A zoo exhibit always looked perfect to the animals inside until they realized there were people on the other side of that glass, or that there was glass at all.

"Something on your mind?" Barney asked. His voice was thick and raspy from years of smoking but he didn't cough or wheeze.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," she said. It wasn't a lie; she had been thinking about those things a lot recently. She didn't want to be back in the jungle, but in some sick way she missed the rush of the river rapids through her hair. The adrenaline of it all. She didn't miss the panic of almost losing Angel, or the unknowing if her closest friends and comrades were okay, or the instinctive sick feeling that hovered around her after a clean kill. The killing wasn't even what had bothered her the most out of it all. She knew she should have felt guilty because a living persons heart had stopped beating because of an action she took, but she just didn't.

"If you need to talk-"

"I know," she said, turning her head towards Barney and pressing a cold smile up onto her cheeks. "I appreciate it. But I'm fine."

Barney kept his focus on the road ahead of him and held up his poker face. He knew the entire team was worried for Sammy. It was fair to be worried after everything she'd been through in such a short amount of time. In a selfish way, Barney was also cautiously worried about Lee. If something happened to Sammy, Barney knew that he'd probably lose Lee too. He didn't want that to happen. He couldn't let that happen. As much as he hated to admit it, Barney Ross needed his second in command Lee Christmas at his side making his life hell. If he hadn't been there up until that point, Barney was sure he'd be six feet under somewhere he didn't even know the name of. It was in his best interest to care about Sammy, but he was starting to wonder if somewhere over the course of caring for her it had become more than that; if it had become real. He tried not to make it a habit to care about people, but something inside of him pinged with pain when she would lie about being alright. Maybe she was just tired, or maybe it was just an off day. He didn't know, but there was suddenly a wall between them on the bench they sat on, and he knew it would be no use in asking. He'd just bring it up to the other guys at some point when she wasn't around. Add it to the list.

When they got to Sammy's house he shifted the car into park and they slipped forward with a weak thrust as the inertia wore off. She tossed Barney a smile and began her climb out of the truck.

"Thanks, Barney. I appreciate it," she said.

"Anytime," he said, holding up a hand to say goodbye and smiling ingenuously towards her. "Tell Christmas I said hey."

"Sure," she said, and she closed the door with a resounding bang and waved again. He started pulling out of her driveway as she made her way to the steps of her porch. Lee had been fixing up her home since they had started hanging out together. The door was closed tight and there was a fresh layer of paint on the front banisters. The rocking chairs were also in the process of being re-stained a dark wooden color with one being completely finished. She glanced over her shoulder as Barney rolled away, his headlights disappearing into the night, and she dug out her key and stuck it into the door. She shimmied it for a second before the door knocked open and she sighed as the air conditioning breezed over her damp skin.

She toed off her shoes in the hallway and settled her bag on top of them like she always did. The TV was on in the living room, the volume a low mumble fading into the background, like white noise or static on a radio. She was really starting to feel the burn in her muscles then, and she stretched her arms over her head and tilted back, a yawn ripping through her chest and coming out as a hum.

She made her way to the kitchen and her eyes fell on the little shrine she had made for Riley before leaving for basic. She'd added a few pictures to it, and Riley's smiling face melted into her mind and that sad, nostalgic feeling washed over her. She was used to that feeling now. It didn't hurt as much to look at Riley, or even to think about her, but it still made her feel some sort of way. There was a battery-powered candle flickering in the center of all the photographs, casting an orange glow over them all.

There was a small pile of mail waiting for her on the counter next to a cup of tea. She couldn't help the smile that grew on her cheeks when she saw it, and she made her way over and curled her fingers around the cup. It was hot, freshly made. She closed her eyes and breathed it in before she took a careful sip. She hummed as it snaked down her throat and settled in her stomach. She rolled her aching shoulders as she breathed it in.

"Hey," Lee said, snapping her out of her trance. She looked up and saw him standing in the hall near her bedroom, smiling faintly as he watched her. She could tell he had been worrying from the stress etched into his face, forming lines in his forehead, but she tried not to think about it too much. She matched his smile and placed the cup down in front of her.

"Hey," she said sweetly, shrugging up her shoulders. He took a few steps towards her, his bare feet padding on the wooden floor, and he let out a long sigh.

"I was wondering when you'd be home," he said. He cocked his head and examined her. Her face was still red from the workout, her muscles bulging from the exertion. Her hair, clipped short and messy, was frizzy around her face and falling from its ponytail at the back of her head. He did kind of like the new haircut, even if the memory of how she stumbled upon it made him tense and angry. He had beaten himself up relentlessly over that mission. He thanked his lucky stars that she had survived it all.

"I lost track of time at the gym," she said, letting her shoulders sink as she placed the cup back down.

Lee made his way over to her and opened his arms. She sunk into his chest and curled her fingers up in the back of his shirt. He lowered his head and breathed in her hair. She was his homecoming; the center of his galaxy. For all that he knew he didn't deserve her, he was grateful she was there in his arms. He'd spend his entire life trying to be worthy of it in the vain hope that whatever in the universe had brought them together would let them stay that way. He just held onto her and was grateful for another night. Another breath, another second, another minute, another heartbeat. Another moment between her and him that he could hold in his heart. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she hummed, nuzzling further into his chest. The tips of his lips twitched upwards and he held her just a little bit tighter. She fit differently in his arms than she had the first time he held her.

He was trying to learn that it wasn't such a bad thing.