Christmas stopped his motorcycle across the street from Lacy's house. Removing his helmet, he sat back on the motorcycle, stared at the porch. He frowned, half-wishing Lacy would step outside, look at him, and take him back without so much as a word of protest. The late night cool breeze tickled Lee's cheeks, curling over his balding head. In the dimly lit street, the half moon's light did not reach the asphalt, let alone the tops of the few trees that lined up on the sidewalk. Christmas cast his gaze to the horizon, noting the sea-green color that was still slowly fading from view, the remnants of a sunset now an hour-and-a-half gone. The darkness that stretched above that, forming the overturned bowl that was the night sky, brought to mind the pitch-black knife from half and hour before, reminding Christmas of the sound the blade had made as it sliced through the air. His frown deepened, and he fought the images that followed thereafter of the woman – Erin, she claimed – who had dared stepped into the Expendables' lives. The sway of her hips, modest yet sensual; the delicious curve of her breasts, her calves and ass included; the long brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail; but most of all, her eyes as she had stared at him – it all put Lee on edge, and only because of the odd feeling that charged up and down his spine and spread throughout his stomach. The images kept coming, his senses on overload. The breeze brought the smell of the mysterious woman to his nose, a not-too-distant memory that Christmas prayed he would forget. The look in her eye, the one that dared him to retaliate, seared itself in his mind, along with the recollection of Ross's expression as the woman had left the store, carrying herself with the grace and poise of a dancer, but also with the enthralling slinkiness of a panther, dangerous yet captivating. The expression on Ross's face reminded Christmas of the look that had crossed the older man's features when they had met the general's daughter on their previous assignment in South America…only, this time, Lee sensed it was different. Whereas before, it had been a look of I-need-to-protect-this-woman-because-she-shouldn't-have-to-suffer, the one Christmas had seen on Ross when Erin had talked to him was more along the lines of holy-shit-what-the-fuck-is-this-girl-doing-to-my-brain?

Lee shook his head, rubbed his temples wearily. The inexplicable fury he had felt earlier no longer coursed through his veins uncontrollably. Simmering beneath his skin, Christmas was well aware of the anger, was reminded of his unusual reactions towards Erin, a woman who had done nothing to him, so far as he could remember. Her face, vaguely familiar, itched in his mind as he filed it away on the backburner, knowing that whatever was bothering him would eventually come to mind. Christmas, with great difficulty, forced himself to think of Lacy. Erin's words, "I know that you and Lacy are having problems," echoed in his ears as a result. Lee growled inwardly, glanced up at Lacy's house. He knew, deep down, that Ross was right, that Lacy wasn't his type and that women couldn't understand why Christmas – and the rest of the team – would disappear for weeks, even months, at a time, not unless they were informed of the job. Women couldn't go without knowing where their men were, so it seemed. Women hated secrets, hated being told that they didn't need to know what was going on. They assumed it was an affair, that their man had left them without having the guts to say something to their face. What had Christmas been thinking? That Lacy would be different from all the rest? She couldn't be, because she was a woman – an inexperienced woman, in regards to any and everything dealing with military operations and federal plots and plans. Lee knew he couldn't tell her anything, couldn't inform her of his whereabouts or what he did exactly for a living. It would only put her life in jeopardy. And although Christmas trusted her, he could still imagine her telling someone about what he did, should they be put through a rift like they were now.

But this one's permanent, Christmas thought. She said she's not taking you back, Lee. And when Lacy makes up her mind, there's no changing it, understood? Just move on. Move. On. There are other fish to catch.

Again, an image of Erin rose unbidden in Lee's mind. He swallowed thickly, wondered if he could let go of Lacy. He had loved Lacy with a passion, a deep, profound love that had made his soul ache. Now, left to suffer without the woman he thought had loved him back, he felt as though his cold insides had been scraped away with the very knife he used as his weapon of choice. Life wasn't easy for him – for any of the Expendables, for that matter – but he thought he could handle it. Ross handled it, didn't he? And Tool? Christmas frowned, realized that Barney didn't chase after women anymore – the leader hadn't in a while – and Tool picked up any broad he could find just to fuck her. The rest of the team seemed to be just as loveless as Tool, only Lee was certain they weren't as precocious as the ex-mercenary-now-turned-tattoo-artist. Unlike Christmas, they realized that relationships were futile for them unless they retired…and they loved the action more than they could ever love a woman. Was Christmas wrong to think otherwise? He thought not.

A throaty motorcycle engine topped the rise at the end of the street, drawing Lee's attention. He squinted into the bright headlight as the vehicle rode closer and soon recognized Ross's face. Barney parked his bike in front of Lee's, angling it so that the younger man couldn't zip away unchecked, and settled down into his leather seat. He said nothing at first, letting Christmas think about what the older man might say. Ross glanced at Lacy's house, kept himself from shaking his head and sighing as he had a million times before. As he was preparing himself to speak to the knife-throwing prodigy before him, Lee spoke up first in a subdued and restrained voice.

"She loved me once," he said, staring hard at his ex-fiancé's home, "and I think she still does, but she can't live with the lies anymore…and I can't tell her the truth, now can I? She wouldn't understand. And even if she did, she would be put in danger. All because of my job."

"You chose it," Ross pointed out.

"And you'd think I'd have the choice to leave it, wouldn't you?" Christmas shook his head. "But when you've been taking jobs for what feels like forever, you don't really have a choice anymore, do you? It's like the job chooses you, not the other way around. And once it's chosen, it doesn't want to let you go unless it has to. Once we've had a taste, we just have to keep coming back."

"You can always choose," Ross said, throwing out the kickstand of his motorcycle so that the bike could support its own weight. "Life is about choosing."

Lee nodded his head, unable to meet Barney's gaze. He paused, then said, "Do you ever wonder if you made the wrong choice, Ross? About anything?"

"Every day," Ross sighed. Erin's knife weighed heavily in his pocket, reminding him of the decision he had made moments ago. "Some of the jobs I've taken and put my team through…most of them were never the best decisions. Tool and I – we were just lucky bastards to come out of it all alive. And the price was everybody else around us was dead, and we were the only ones alive, and my hand was shot to death."

Christmas passed a hand over his face, refrained from saying anything. A comfortable silence enveloped the two teammates, broken only once by the barking of a dog down the street. Ross watched Christmas carefully. The younger man, from what Ross could tell, was thinking long and hard about too many things at once. Barney hated to disturb Christmas when he was moody and pensive, but he felt he had no choice. Slipping out the SOG knife, Ross rapped the steel against Christmas's handlebars, drawing the knife-thrower out of his musings. Lee took one look at the knife and shivered, both thrilled and appalled to set his gaze upon the black steel once again. He took the knife from Ross's hand tentatively, uncharacteristically afraid to handle the blade now that his anger had simmered down. Sleek in its design, the knife itself reminded Christmas of Erin, something he hardly doubted Ross had missed. He flipped the knife once in his hand, felt the weight of it as it landed in his palm. Perhaps a pound in weight, it was nevertheless an excellent blade, manufactured as a top of the line throwing knife. Ross noted the dampened surprise and awe in Christmas's eyes, noted the way Lee gripped the knife as he would grip something fragile, yet revered. The younger man pricked his index finger with the tip of the blade and drew blood without applying much pressure.

"Her name is Erin Frey," Ross began quietly, not one to break the beautiful silence with loud and harsh tones. "She lives a few blocks away from the shop. Other than that, nobody knows anything about her. She doesn't work for the Agency or the Bureau. Yang couldn't even find out her age. So far as anybody knows, she doesn't have a family, she's single, and she's not listed anywhere as a merc. Yang couldn't believe she showed up in the system at all."

"Did he check for any purchases under her name at SOG?" Christmas asked, passing a finger over the logo on the handle of the knife.

"There's no Erin Frey in their records."

"Either her name is an alias, or she used an alias to buy the knife." Christmas handed the knife back over to Ross. "Did Yang check for a recent large purchase? If she's good a throwing knives, she'll have more than one. She's bound to practice."

"Yang went back only so far." Ross accepted the knife gratefully, slipped it back into his pocket. "Tool said that, for that kind of knife, Erin would've had to have practiced for years to nail the throw she threw tonight."

"She could've been lucky."

"Tool doesn't think so."

Lee shrugged, unwilling to argue against Ross's strong conviction of believing practically everything Tool said. "Did he test it out himself?"

"Yes."

"And then he said that?"

"Yes."

Christmas nodded his head, cast a sidelong glance at Lacy's house. "So, he's saying we won't find anything in the records 'cause that woman would've bought them years ago to practice? That doesn't sound right. That knife is top of the line. She wouldn't practice with it, not at the risk of wearing it out. She'd use practice knives, blades that are similar but aren't the same thing. And that knife looks brand-spanking new."

"So do yours, and you use your knives more than she does, I'll bet," Ross stated.

"Touché." Christmas tapped his fingers against his helmet, forcing down the memory of the black blade slicing through the air above his head and embedding itself into the skull painting. He met Ross's gaze, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice. "Why are you here, Barney?"

Ross paused, knowing he was now treading on thin ice. "The rest of the boys are back at the shop. We met to make a decision."

"About what?"

"About Erin."

"You didn't."

"Except Gunner, they all think it's the best way." Ross glanced over his shoulder as a car rolled past and pulled into a driveway up ahead. "We have no choice but to have her join the team. It's the only way to keep surveillance on her without wasting time and resources."

"Ross, this isn't a good idea." Christmas shook his head, feeling his anger flare up again in his veins. "This is bad. You can't do this."

"Why not? I make all the decisions around here – "

"Not without me and Yang! It's not much of a fucking democracy if you don't have all your representatives with you when it's time to make a big decision!"

"So you're saying you like your British fucking Parliament better."

"No, that's not what I'm saying! You all made a decision without me."

"Majority overruled your decision," Ross stated. "I knew what you were going to say, it would've been two against five."

"And you said she should join the team." Christmas threw up his hands, exasperated. "I don't understand you, Ross, you know that? Something's not right in your fucking brain, not since the last assignment."

"I made the decision," Ross said, his voice growing hard, "to make her part of the team for security reasons. If she's with one of us at all times, we'll be able to tell if she's working for the feds or if she's setting us up. If not, then we're fine. There won't be any problem."

"No problem?" Christmas rolled his eyes. "Did you stop to think about what a woman would do to the team? She'd jeopardize our missions worse than Gunner ever could! She'd be nothing but a distraction. We don't even know if she's good or not. She could be the death of us!"

"Then we'll have to be extra careful, won't we?" Ross shifted his weight on the motorcycle, displeased with Christmas's mystifying reaction. "We have to find out how she got her information on us. As leader, it's my job to be concerned with people on the outside finding out about us just by listening. We could be in serious shit if there's information floating out there among citizens!" He sighed. "Do you know something about Erin, Lee?" He couldn't keep the mild accusation in his voice from ringing out loud and clear. "Is there something I should know?"

Christmas shook his head. "No," he said, voice firm, "there's nothing you need to know. I've never seen that woman before in my life."

"Then why are you shitting yourself over this? And don't give me some bullshit answer about your problems with Lacy."

Christmas opened his mouth to speak, decided against it. He glanced down at his rough hands, frowning. "I don't know," he answered, clenching his hands into fists. "I don't know."

Ross's phone vibrated in his pocket before he could say anything else. He flipped it open, said, "Ross."

"Better get over here pronto," Tool's voice said in his ear, and the call ended.

Ross slipped the phone back into his jacket, kicked the kickstand back against his bike. "We've got to get back to the shop, Christmas," he told the younger man. "Now."

He revved the engine. Christmas glared at him for a moment before tugging his helmet on and kicking his motorcycle into gear. With Ross in the lead, they sped back to the shop, weaving between traffic and making sharp turns to reach the garage as quickly as they could. Ross had hardly killed the engine before he leapt off the bike and called for Tool and the rest of the team. Christmas parked his bike next to Ross's, lifted the helmet from his head. He heard laughter from the front of the shop, picked out the harsh guffaws that were Tool's trademark. Even Yang laughed, although his voice sounded a little uneasy compared to the rest of the team. Christmas propped his bike up on its kickstand and strode to the front of the shop, close behind Ross. He nearly bumped into the older man as Barney came to an abrupt halt. Only half an inch taller that his leader, Lee nevertheless had to slide to the right to see what was causing the ruckus. His breath caught his throat, his heart seizing and tripping over itself in his chest. He heard Ross inhale sharply, was only vaguely aware of the accelerated pulse in Ross's neck.

"Hello, Ross," the silky feminine voice said. "Hello, Christmas. Feeling any better?"