"These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which as they kiss consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in his own deliciousness
And in the taste confounds the appetite.
Therefore love moderately; long love doth so;
Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow."

-William Shakespeare

Trench Mauser was a successful businessman, and he had a bit of a hand in politics, too. He was responsible, straight forward, and a good guy to smoke a cigar with at the end of a long day at work. He could drink his weight in beer and still be sharp come the morning, could crack jokes like the rest of them despite his stony outward appearance, and he loved his daughter the way any father should love their daughter: with his entire being, unapologetically.

But Trench Mauser really did like to kill.

He liked the rain of bullets storming around him. He liked the scent of mud and blood and sweat and gunfire and gasoline. He liked the sounds of explosions and automatic rifles firing shot after shot after shot after shot.

He would never admit that he liked it. He would never admit that he liked to kill. But in his line of business, if he didn't like to kill- if he didn't like the chase, the adrenaline- then he was going nowhere incredibly fast.

On days when he was younger and his daughter would test her limits with his nerves, he'd find himself wanting nothing more than to be in some jungle blackop-ing his way over enemy lines. Picky with her food after he already set the meal down? God, what he wouldn't give to be throwing a grenade into a tank at that very moment. Fighting because she got a bad grade on her report card? Damn, he'd love nothing more than to be running through an exploding compound. Catching her sneaking out with those damn friends, getting piercings and talking to boys? Holy shit, he would do anything to be in deep cover in some desert ready to covertly assassinate a warlord. It would be easier for him.

Trench Mauser loved his daughter fully, but in the only way a mercenary knew how to love: with military precision and no goddamn nonsense. So maybe, at the end of the day, she was perfectly correct in holding a grudge against him. She didn't get timeouts, she got KP duty. She didn't get spankings, she got a mag full of bullets and the orders to shoot until the bullseye was Swiss cheese. She wanted a normal life, but if she had a normal life, she wouldn't be where she was in that moment, having one hell of a good time.

She was in the jungle, sweating buckets with a rifle strapped across her chest and her bow loaded with an arrow clasped in a white-knuckled grip. Blood was dripping from her hairline- a combination of both her own and the guards she had taken out- and she moved quietly, stealthily along the forest floor. She raised that bow, the string gently caressing the dirty skin of her cheeks as she aimed.

Lee Christmas was toe-to-toe with their target of the month, and he was fighting a losing battle. He'd gotten shot in his vest at some point, and it had knocked the wind severely out of him. Still, he was fighting that guy because his life very well depended on it. He stumbled back with a grunt, hands gripping at a slice that cut through his arm. When he looked back up, their target had an arrow through his eye and was gurgling as he collapsed down on the ground.

Mission accomplished.

"Dusty!" He shouted, holding his arms out at his side, irritated.

"You're fucking welcome," she said, trudging out of the tree line, tucking her bow over her shoulder with the rest of her equipment. She had a smug smirk stretched across her cheeks.

Lee dropped his hands to his hips and chewed on the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to wince as every breath teased at the growing bruise on his stomach. He had a nice solid cut above his eye, dripping blood along the side of his face. Amelia stopped a few feet in front of him and bit back a smirk as she looked him over.

"You should really learn how to fight," she said, the smile growing in spite of her attempt to keep it at bay. Lee opened his mouth to speak, but as he did, Gunner and Caesar ran out from the tree line dripping in sweat, their clothing and gear molded to their slick skin. Gunner's hair was tangled and slicked over his scalp, and he smiled as they ran towards the two standing in the clearing over their dead target.

"Ooh," Caesar winced, covering his mouth with a fist as he looked down at the guy with the arrow in his eye, "another one for Dusty. Damn."

"You fucking kebab-ed that guy!" Gunner laughed, pointing down at him. "Holy shit!"

Lee popped his lips and shook his head, pointing a finger at Amelia's armored chest. "I had it under control. I was gonna get him!"

She rolled her eyes and knocked his wagging finger out of the way as she rolled and stretched out her shoulders. "Whatever you say, Lee," she said with a smile. "But now it's done, so let's get the hell home, huh? I'd kill the whole lot of you right now for some vodka gatorade and a hot shower."

Gunner slapped her back and let out a bellowing laugh, securing his weapons against himself. Barney and Toll came out from the tree line, unused explosives in hand. Barney, looking between his guys and the target, seemed a little bit disappointed. But whatever- he was getting old and his fucking knees were killing him. He couldn't wait to kick it on the plane.

Amelia wiped some of the blood from her forehead with a sigh, the exhaustion of the last three weeks catching up with her as the adrenaline started to dump. It was a bit of a trek back to the plane, but that would be fine. The job was done, and that was all that mattered.

Trench Mauser had raised a good soldier- one of the best. He loved her with all of his heart and with all of his black-as-pitch, soldier-for-hire soul. He was proud of her, and the decisions she'd made, and the life she was making for herself. He was scared about one thing, though- something he'd never admit to anyone.

He was scared she'd like to kill.

Even though his life had gone pretty well, all things considered, he knew what happened when pleasure mixed with violence. It never ended well. He was on track for it to not end well for himself when he opened his front door to the mewling little rugrat and had no choice but to straighten himself out for her sake. He was on track, in more ways than one, to get himself killed all those years ago, and he couldn't bear the idea of burying his daughter.

But he had raised a soldier. No, not a soldier. A mercenary. Violence was her birthright, death an accepted inevitability.

If he could do it all again, he'd read those damn parenting books.

—-

The plane was up in the air in no time at all. Lee had shrugged off his gear and plopped himself down in his usual copilot seat, and quickly set to work checking controls and meters and whatnot while Barney lifted her off the ground.

The rest of the team was in the back sorting their gear. Amelia tucked her bow and arrows away in their little crate and deconstructed her guns and shoved them off towards Toll, who was standing with all the rest of the guns in a crate at his feet.

She pulled her shirt over her head and used the inside of it to wipe the blood and sweat and mud from her face. Once she used up every inch of clean fabric on it she tossed it down to the bench and lifted her backpack and started rifling through it for the extra clothes she had packed and-

"Oh hell yes," she said, tugging out a pack of baby wipes. "Thank the good lord."

"What the hell is that for?" Caesar asked, pulling his own shirt off and inspecting a small scrape under his arm.

"Mobile shower," she said, pulling out a wipe and waving it around before she tossed it to him. "I forgot I got these before we left."

She pulled out a few and ran them over her face with a pleasant sigh, and then down her neck and over her shoulders. They came back dirty and bloody.

She grabbed a few more and ran them over her stomach, dipping just under the lip of her sports bra and under the waistband of her pants.

"Let me try," Gunner said, moving next to her.

She tossed him the pack of wipes and he tugged a few out, yanking off his shirt and rubbing them down his chest.

"How come we never thought of this?" Caesar asked, tugging the pack away from Gunner. "I feel like a new man."

"Because you're a bunch of bumbling idiots," she chuckled, reaching up and across Caesars exposed chest for the wipes. He held them up away from her.

"Hold on, hold on," he said, "you're gonna use them all."

"Well they're mine!" She argued, reaching up and jumping just as Gunner snatched them. He pulled out a few more. Toll took them next and grabbed a couple, inspecting them with an approving frown. Amelia stalked over to him and grabbed the package, mostly empty.

"What the hell is going on back here?" Lee asked, watching the shirtless party rubbing themselves down with the wipes. Amelia crossed her arms, glancing over at Gunner, Caesar, and Toll as they hesitated at Lee's intrusion.

"Showers," she said, tossing the pack towards Lee, who was, for lack of a better word, disgusting. "You desperately need one."

He made a face but considered the baby wipes in his hand for a moment. After a second he tugged his shirt off and threw it to the corner, taking a few wipes and wiping at his head and face.

Amelia went back to her backpack and tugged out her change of clothes- an oversized henley and leggings.

Lee winced as he ran the wipes over his forming bruise and Amelia snapped her head up, inspecting him from a distance. He was slim, muscles tensing as he inspected his injuries. She stepped out of her combat pants and chucked them to the side, changing into the clean leggings that still smelled like fresh laundry.

She made her way over to him and took his wrist and grabbed a medkit from over his shoulder as she did.

"You got beat up," she said, voice low as he watched her, eyes soft and curious.

"You should see the other guy," he tried half-heartedly.

"I saw him," she teased, pulling out a pop-able ice pack, "with my arrow through his eye and everything."

Lee rolled his eyes and hissed as the ice was pressed into his stomach. She took him by the shoulders and dumped him onto the bench seat, pulling out some strips to close the cut above his eye.

"Most people would be grateful to have their lives saved," she said, wiping down the wound.

Lee chuckled and let one of his hands wander to her waist, pulling her a bit closer to him. The other guys averted their eyes, awkwardly shuffling to their clean clothes. Lee looked up at her as she worked on him, holding the ice pack to his gut with his other hand.

"Thank you for saving my life," he said, a smile playing on his lips. "But I had it under control, show off."

She dumped a bit of alcohol over his wound and he hissed while she chuckled, shaking her head and cleaning up the medkit to put it back on its shelf. He stood up and tugged at her shirt, pulling her back towards him. He spun her around and took her head in his hands, inspecting her for wounds.

"I'm okay, Lee," she said, her voice softer now, less venomous. "A few scrapes. Nothing that needs any attention."

He hummed, still looking her over anyway. His fingers traced over her skin, his eyes following the movement. He stopped when his hands got to her neck and he looked up to her face, into her eyes.

She offered him a smile and closed one of her hands over his.

"I'm okay," she said again.

He sighed and nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he grabbed his own clean shirt and tugged it over his shoulders. His stubble was more grown in, scratching against the fabric as he tugged it down. He made his way back to the cockpit, settling into his usual seat with a long, deflating sigh.

Amelia dropped herself onto the bench and tried not to smile like an idiot while the guys glanced up awkwardly.

The mission had been a success, and life was good.

—-

The bar was not too crowded, so the gang fit two tables together and pulled extra chairs around. Gunner had his flask grasped in his hands, eyes glazed over as he lost himself in one thought or another. Barney was sitting back with a cigar in his mouth, studying the group with the watchful eyes of a leader. Toll was quietly sipping his beer, shifting uncomfortably in the dull crowd. Caesar was mumbling about his plan for new bullets to nobody in particular and Lee was sighing into his seat, beer resting on his thigh in one hand while the other clutched his gut.

Amelia was at the bar and threw back a shot of vodka, cringing at the sour taste before she grabbed her beer and wandered mindlessly back towards the group.

"Long time no see," a man said, popping in beside her with a beer in his hand.

She looked up at him, squinting as she tried to place his face. It wasn't completely foreign, but no name or memory immediately came forward.

"I'm assuming that look means you don't remember me," he said awkwardly, brushing it off with a laugh. "We played darts. I was passing through, remember?"

"It's blurry," she said with a tight smile, "but yeah. Passing through again?"

He waved his beer around, motioning to a small group by the pool table. "Visiting, this time," he said. "Could I get you a drink?"

She glanced back at the table and then at the beer in her hand. She held it up. "You're a bit late for the drink."

He chuckled awkwardly, following her glance back to the table of men. "Right. Well, I'll be around if you wanna, you know, play darts again."

She held up the beer as though to cheer to him and continued on her way, dizzy as the vodka settled into her system. She dropped herself down into the seat next to Barney, smiling as the guys looked up at her. Lee studied her and glanced back at the guy as he retreated.

"Old friend?" Caesar asked with a smirk.

Amelia felt her cheeks get hot and she tried to cover it by taking a swig of beer.

"He wishes," she said, clearing her throat and thinking back to that night in the bar- what she could remember of it, anyway. She had ended up in bed with Lee for the first time that night, and most of them seemed to be aware of that now.

"We're gonna have a pretty quick turnaround this time," Barney said, looking over the group, trying to change the subject. "Take a week, get some R&R, and I'll let you guys know the details once I have them."

Lee knocked around the table with a sigh, "amen to that."

Gunner turned his stare to Amelia and smiled that creepy, half-drunk smile he had when he was in his head. She raised a brow at him.

"What, Gunner?"

He stood up, the chair scratching the floor behind him as he did, and held a hand out to her. She smirked.

"Let's dance Dusty," he said, motioning to the empty space where there was currently nobody dancing.

She chuckled and took his hand, placing her beer down besides Barney. Lee watched her curiously, watched as she stood and smiled at Gunner, her hand gentle with the looming giant. She was unafraid, even though he was drunk and goofy and loud.

He twirled her around with a deep laugh and pulled her closer to him, rocking her back and forth to the faint music.

"You are a man after my own heart," she joked, rocking along with him.

He hummed drunkenly along to the song- some old classic rock tune, the guitar crunchy and rhythmic while a sore male voice sang over it. She studied him, smiling, his cheeks and nose red from the alcohol, blonde hair sticking to his damp skin.

Gunner only stopped dancing when Lee tapped on his shoulder, smiling down at her.

"Gun, mind if I cut in?" He asked.

Gunner looked him up and down and frowned, but still he let her go. She took a step back, making a face at Lee.

"What?" He asked.

"Maybe I mind," she teased, glancing at Gunners raised eyebrows. "Frankly, I'm not sure you know how to dance, Mr. Christmas."

Lee looked dumbfounded and a little bit offended. He didn't have much time to react before she strutted back to the table and grabbed Barney by the shoulders, making him jump.

"But Barney," she said, patting his chest from behind. "I bet Barney knows how to dance right."

He shook his head and waved her away.

"Come on, boss," she groaned, reaching for his hand and pulling him up. "Show these two idiots how it's done."

She knew that if he didn't want to, he wouldn't have moved at all. He was older than the rest of the gang, but still stronger than her by a lot. He huffed as he took one of her hands in his and wrapped the other timidly around her waist, rocking along to the music.

"Didn't realize we were at a daddy-daughter dance," Caesar chided from the table.

Barney rolled his eyes and she chuckled and smiled up at him. Lee crossed his arms and shook his head, laughing one of those big Lee-Christmas laughs that made her heart light up.

She was so distracted by the guys around her that she didn't notice when Lacy walked into the bar and right up to the bartender, covering a split lip with untucked hair. She didn't notice when Lee's eyes shot to her, curious and uncomfortable.

She laughed as Barney guided her around the floor, singing along to the lyrics, sitting back in his hips as he finally relaxed.

I heard the wind rustling through the trees

And ghostly voices rose from the fields

I ran with my heart pounding down that broken path

With the devil snappin' at my heels

I broke through the trees and there in the night

My father's house stood shining hard and bright

The branches and brambles tore my clothes and scratched my arms

But I ran 'til I fell shaking in his arms

He spun her around and she laughed out, spiraling back towards him and bracing herself as he caught her against his chest. Caesar and Toll whistled from the table and Gunner rested back on a stool to watch the show.

Springsteen played on softly through the speakers, lulling her into what felt like a dream. There were no devils in the shadows there. Just her and that fucked up, perfect little family.

(song: my father's house by bruce springsteen)