"To The Expendables!"
The men clinked their beer bottles together. Hale let out a roar of excitement, raised the beer bottle to his lips, downed a quarter of the scalding liquid. Erin, perched on the edge of Tool's tattoo chair, grinned, watched each man in turn take a gulp of their beer. She took a sip from her bottle, enjoyed the feeling of the liquid slide down her throat, burn the tissue. She picked up the slice of pepperoni pizza on her lap, took a large bite, cheese and sauce warm and delicious. Gunner and Toll road edged away from Tool as the tattoo artist lifted his slice of pizza with anchovies piled excessively on the top.
"Ain't nothing to be afraid of, boys," Tool laughed. "Fish is good!"
Hale crammed his slice of sausage pizza into his mouth, ravenous. Only Yang, Christmas, and Ross seemed to have enough dignity to eat like gentlemen. Even Erin ate like a pig as she shoved pizza into her mouth.
Night had slowly begun to descend on the day, pushing its way across the sky, forcing the sun to slide behind the horizon, extinguished by the blackness of the evening, the moon rising up to take the sun's place. Tool had opened the garage door to let the cool night air in; it wafted in unheeded, cooling the faces of the excited men. Erin leaned back in the chair, enjoying the breeze, allowed it to caress her face, mess with her hair. A soft smile touched her lips. Her eyes fluttered close, listened to the conversations around her. Christmas couldn't help but stare at the woman, slowly and ineffectively chewing his pizza. A Brit by nature, the American pizza tasted sourer than normal and stuck in his throat when he swallowed. Only the beer appealed to his taste buds.
Wish I had some German beer, he thought, smirking to himself. That's the good stuff.
"She looks sad," Ross commented, voice low behind Lee's shoulder; the younger man turned to the leader.
"How so?" he asked, taking a sip of his beer.
Ross shrugged. "I don't know." He paused, gazed at Erin's face for a moment. "Look at the way her eyes are. They're almost squeezed shut, don't you think?"
"Yeah, that's fair, but still. She looks peaceful."
"You aren't a people person, are you, Lee?" Ross shook his head. "Really look at her. Her smile is sad, and she looks like she's about to frown. She's tense."
"Maybe that's why she wanted the beer," Christmas muttered, eating the last of his pizza. "To relax."
"I don't like it."
"And you say I'm picky."
"You are."
"Whatever you say." Lee chuckled, settled down on a motorcycle seat. "You're just a bloody bastard, that's all."
"And you're a fucking prick."
"Only if you tattoo 'bloody bastard' on your forehead."
"Then you get 'fucking prick' on your ass."
The two men laughed, grins stretching wide across their faces, eyes twinkling brightly. Ross passed a hand through his hair, scratched the back of his head.
"I should cut my hair," he said, rubbing his jaw. "It's getting long. Next thing you know, I'll look like fucking Rambo."
"Rambo would look better," Christmas countered. "He's younger."
"He's fucking imaginary."
"He's fucking spectacular. He'd own our asses any day."
Ross paused. Then, "Rambo's fucking old now, though. He's like – what? – sixty or something?"
"I'd be careful." Christmas smirked at the older man. "You're getting up there yourself."
"No kidding."
"Hale! Toss me another one, would you?" Erin called, cracking open one eye. "I'm empty here!"
Hale lobbed the beer bottle over Yang's head. "Catch!"
"Thanks!" Erin caught the bottle, popped off the lid with the heel of her hand. She gulped the drink greedily, wincing as the scalding drink rushed down her throat and into her stomach. Sighing, she closed her eyes again, stretched out on the seat.
"The only way we can tell if she's good," Christmas began, "is if we land a job sometime soon."
"Then let's hope we get one," Ross muttered. "Something easy and low-key this time around. I don't want to go through Vilena again."
"I second that." Christmas rubbed a hand over his fuzzy, balding head. "Did you fix your truck, by the way?"
"It took a while, but, yeah, it's fixed." Ross took a long swig from his beer. "Bullet-proof glass is fucking expensive. I nearly paid an arm and a leg."
"I can imagine." Lee set his beer aside, his gaze falling on Erin's reclined body once more. "Still got Sandra's drawing in that car?"
Ross nodded, face growing solemn. "I'm glad we helped her out."
"Ever gonna see her again?"
"Maybe." Ross rubbed his eyes wearily, rolled his shoulders. "I don't know anymore."
"Personally, I don't think she's your time."
"Oh, shut up."
Christmas chuckled, drank another quarter of his beer. "So, you really think Erin'll tell me who Pretty-Boy is?"
"Probably. She told me what the tattoo stood for." Ross shifted his weight on the table, picked up the crust of his pizza, nibbled on the end. "She'd probably give you some answers if you ask nicely." He rolled his eyes over to the younger man, looking pointedly at him.
"What? I can be nice."
"You better hope so. If I hear anything bad tomorrow, I'll fucking hurt you."
"Touchy, touchy." Christmas tutted, shook his head. "I won't do anything so long as she doesn't try to kill me."
"Don't worry. You can take her."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"The hell you don't!" Erin screamed.
Everyone stiffened, pivoted around to face Erin. The woman leapt to her feet, black knife arcing through the air. It zipped past the man standing at the garage door, just barely clipping his shoulder. Eyes widening in fear, he took off, Erin racing through the shop after him. She slid out onto the gravel, skidded, nearly slammed into sidewalk on the other side of the street. Elbows and hands scraped, she flung another knife after the man. He ducked, darted around the corner, the knife clattering harmlessly onto the street.
"Get back here asshole!" Erin cried, sprinting after him.
Christmas and Ross were outside in an instant as Erin rounded the corner, running full speed.
"Around back!" Ross shouted to Christmas, following Erin.
"On it!"
Christmas circled around the building, turned the corner too fast, slammed his shoulder into the concrete. "Fuck!" he cried, nearly tripping on a curb. The night swirled around him, punctuated by the hazy streetlights. Christmas hurried forward, rounded another corner. He heard Erin shouting, heard her footsteps hot in pursuit ahead of him. A figure ran straight at him, glancing over its shoulder, back at Erin.
"I don't think so." Lee swung his arm out, caught the man in the neck.
The man flipped, smashed into the ground, a cry of surprise ripping from his throat. Erin skidded around the corner, nearly lost her balance, knife in hand. The man twisted, kicked the back of Christmas's leg, brought him to the ground. Fist connecting with Christmas's jaw, the man clawed at his skin, struggled out of Lee's grasp. Erin came up behind him, yanked the man off Christmas, kneed him in the stomach. She shoved him to his knees, hooked her arms around his neck, squeezed. He gagged, spluttered, fought against her, drawing blood with his nails.
"I ain't done nothing!" he screamed. "Nothing, man, nothing! Lemme go!"
Erin jerked her torso, pulled the man's neck into an unnatural position. He yelled, tears of pain streaming down his face. Ross skidded to a halt behind Erin, breathing heavy, heart pounding against his ribs, threatening to break out of his chest.
"Who sent you?" Erin bellowed, spittle spraying onto the man's face.
Ross and Christmas glanced at each other, both equally perplexed and disturbed. The man shook his head, said, "Nobody! Ain't nobody sent me!"
Erin tightened her arms around his neck, glanced up at Lee. "Punch him," she said, eyes blazing. "Now."
Christmas landed a blow to the man's solar plexus, knocking what little breath the man had out. The man gasped for breath, pulled on Erin's arms, drawing more blood; it dripped off Erin's wounds, streaked the man's face. Beads of perspiration broke out on Erin's forehead, face tightened into an expression of pain, disgust, and hatred. Her knee found the soft spot of the man's back, connected with the tender muscles. The man screamed again, voice dying in his throat, gurgled.
"Tell me who sent you!" Erin roared, her voice deepening to an unnatural volume.
The man threw himself forward, yanking Erin off her feet. Ross and Christmas leapt at him simultaneously, landed on Erin instead. A boot connected with Ross's nose, drawing blood; a fist slammed into Christmas's skull, white spots bursting in his vision. Erin forced the men off her, snatched at the man's jeans. He kicked her arm, her face, took off, gasping. Erin and the two other mercs scrambled to their feet, Erin after the man like a shot. A car skidded onto the street. The man threw himself into its open window, body hanging out as the car sped off, leaving Erin in the dust. She stopped in the middle of the street, the car disappearing around the corner, long gone. Ross and Christmas hurried to Erin's side.
"Who the fuck was that?" Christmas shouted at Erin.
"Fuck," Erin responded. She stormed over to the nearest building, kicked the wall viciously, a deep yell ripping from her throat. "Fuck!"
"Did you hear me? Who the fuck was that?"
"Bad fucking news!" Erin barked, nostrils flaring.
"Hey!" Ross's voice overpowered both Christmas's and Erin's shouting. They turned to him, both shaking with fury. "This isn't the place to talk about it."
Erin shook her head, fighting to catch her breath. She passed a hand over her face, unknowingly smearing blood all over her features, and headed back to the shop, picking up her knives along the way. Tool and the other mercs waited for her at the entrance to the garage, looks of confusion and horror etched deeply into their expressions. They gasped as Erin stepped into the light, revealing the bump on her forehead, the blood all over her face and arms.
"Holy shit!" Tool rushed forward. "What the fuck happened?"
"I'm drunk, that's what!" Erin snapped, wavering on her feet. "I got my ass kicked!"
"No shit," Hale said dryly.
"Fuck." Gunner nudged Toll Road, gestured to Ross and Christmas. "You guys alright?"
"Does it look like we're alright?" Christmas stumbled into the shop, nursing his wounded shoulder and sore jaw. He turned on Erin, eyes flashing. "You've got some serious explaining to do!"
"Let's get cleaned up first," Ross said, tugging Lee away fiercely. "Tool, take care of Erin."
"Come here, baby girl." Tool led the girl aside, sat her down on his tattoo chair.
Erin glanced down at her bloody forearms, winced. "Shit," she muttered, taking note of the extent of the damage. "He had fucking Fu Manchu nails. Jesus."
Tool came back with water, bandages, and towels. He set about cleaning up the blood, cringing every time he felt Erin tense with pain. Ross and Christmas cleaned each other up nearby. Ross wiped away the blood from his nose, gently poked and prodded the cartilage. Yang came up behind him, touched his nose, shook his head.
"Not broken," he said.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Ross grumbled, exhaling heavily. "How you feeling, Christmas?"
"Peachy," Lee snapped, rubbed his jaw, touched the muscles tentatively. "It's gonna bruise."
"That's what happens when you get hit in the face," Ross stated dryly, removing his soiled and bloody shirt. "I'm getting too old for this shit."
Christmas stormed over to Erin, towered over her. "Who the fuck was that?" he repeated.
"A fucking Mexican asswipe, that's who," Erin snapped, winced as Tool applied hydrogen peroxide to her wounds. "He recognized me." She cursed under her breath. "And he fucking got away. Shit."
"What do you mean he recognized you?" Ross asked. Although as frustrated and angry as Christmas, he restrained himself and pulled up a chair next to Erin, realizing that yelling would do no good.
"He's an old contact," Erin explained, staring at the floor. "The fucker's gonna rat me out, the fucking asshole. Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"Rat you out to who?" Ross forced Erin to meet his gaze.
"Anybody he comes across," Erin answered, lifting her right arm so Tool could bandage it. "Next thing you know, they're gonna be all over my ass."
"They who?"
"Old contacts and shit."
"Why would they care?" Christmas asked. "What the fuck did you do?"
Erin's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze dropping to the floor again. Hale shifted uncomfortably on his feet, giving Yang, Toll Road, and Gunner a sideways glance. The awkward silence stretched, interrupted only by the sound of bandages being wrapped around skin. Christmas paced away from Erin, struggling to calm down and reign in his anger. Ross placed a hand on Erin's knee, drew her attention. She forced her attention to stay focused on the ground, refused to look up at Ross's kind and deploring eyes. Christmas paced back, the toes of his boot stepping into Erin's vision.
"What the fuck did you do?" he repeated, nearly yelled. "Answer me!"
"I killed my fucking team!" Erin screamed, on her feet and inches away from Lee's face. "I wasn't there when they needed me, and they all were fucking killed, that's what!" Tears spilled over her eyelids involuntarily, even as she tried to fight them. "I was the only one who lived, and I should've been there!"
A hush fell over the room. Erin looked away from Christmas's softened gaze, wiped away the tears furiously. The men traded looks between each other, unsure of what to say. Ross shot a glance at Christmas, berating the man with his gaze. Tool fiddled with the damp towel, emotion threatening to rise up in his throat as he recalled old members he had watched die in his own team. A car zoomed in the distance, engine revving hard. Erin sniffled, pressed her fist into her temple, eyes squeezed tight, images flashing in rapid succession in her mind. Blood dripped down her left arm, fell to the floor, glistened on the concrete. Her shoulder twitched, the tattoo peeking out from under the tank top strap.
"I killed them," Erin muttered, shaking her head. "They needed me, and I said no. And now they're all dead, and nobody cares. They're buried in the fucking desert somewhere, rotting away with no one to remember them but me." The tears continued, streamed down her cheeks. "Those CIA bastards wouldn't bring them back."
Ross stood to his feet, throat constricting, unable to see Erin cry. Christmas swallowed thickly, nearly reached out to wipe the tears from the woman's face. She rubbed her eyes furiously again, only agitated the tears.
"I told them no," she repeated, her voice almost inaudible. "I told them I wanted a break, that I'd catch the next job that came around. But there was no job. They didn't even make two days out there. They were blasted to pieces." Her voice cracked. "Pretty-Boy, Phil, George, Johnny, Leroy, Phantom, Teddy, Rover – they're all gone." Erin sniffled again, choked back the sobs as her next words came out. "I couldn't just go and tell their families what happened, could I? Pretty-Boy…he had a mom and twelve-year-old brother. And Teddy…his dad loved the hell outta him, even if Teddy was a forty-year-old man and his dad was eighty. What was I supposed to do? Tell Teddy's dad his son was a merc and died on the job? Tell Pretty-Boy's brother he wasn't coming back? Phil and Johnny were married. Phil had a two-year-old daughter. I ruined their lives without ever even meeting them." Erin shook her head. "I killed them."
She sagged against Christmas, shuddered as the sobs overtook her. Yang beckoned Hale, Toll Road, and Gunner to the back of the garage, hoping to grant Erin some privacy. Tool stood and followed them, fighting back his own tears. Christmas glanced at Ross helplessly, arms wrapped around Erin in an effort to support her. She cried into his chest, cussing to herself vehemently, brow creased. Ross stepped forward, placed a hand on Erin's shoulder. She relaxed under his touch, just slightly, another sob tearing from her throat. Christmas clutched her closer, felt her weight shift, became aware of her body against his. Her muscles were hard, tense and well sculpted, yet she fit into him, as if molding to his body. Sweaty and bloody as she was, she nevertheless carried an aroma of cinnamon, perhaps brown sugar. The scent tickled Lee's nose, ingrained itself into his memory. Erin's hair felt soft beneath his chin, though matted and sticky with sweat and blood.
"Erin," Ross murmured, gently pulling the woman out of Christmas's arms, "let's take you home."
She nodded, body trembling. Ross unceremoniously lifted her up into his arms, turned to Christmas.
"We can walk to her house from here," he said. "Watch my back in case we're attacked."
Lee nodded his head, followed Ross out the garage door. They walked into the cool night, the darkness enveloping them as a cloak swathes its bearer. Erin shivered in Ross's arms, mumbling incoherently to herself. The occasional car passed by, blinding the mers with its white headlights. Christmas and Ross walked in silence, each caught up within his own thoughts. Ross blanched as he recalled Erin's confession, her words. A lump lodged itself in his throat, old memories surfacing from the back of his mind. He'd lost mercs before, many of which had been dear and close friends. But never a whole team. He shuddered at the thought, glanced at Lee's stony expression. He could see the regret in the younger man's eyes, knew Christmas was wishing he hadn't pushed Erin so hard. Ross couldn't help but think, He deserved it.
Christmas rubbed his eyes wearily as Erin's house came into view. Ross pulled the keys from her pocket, let Lee in. They navigated through the dark garage, bumped into something covered with a tarp. Using his shoulder, Barney flipped on the switch for the hallway, nudged open the door with his foot. Lee secured everything behind him, taking in all aspects of the premises as best as he could. He went ahead of Ross, checked all the rooms, slunk up the stairs, deemed everything was safe. Ross ascended the stairs, arms straining despite Erin's light weight. He slid her onto her bed, put her keys by the bedside table, stood over her rigid form. Christmas joined his side; they both gazed down at the woman, noted her frustrated features as she fell into a fitful slumber. Ross reached down, brushed stray hairs out of her face, fingers lingering too long on her soft skin. Lee glanced at Ross, brow furrowing slightly, chest tightening as he glimpsed the peculiar look in Ross's eyes. The older man stepped away, pulled the Brit outside of the bedroom, the door clicking shut quietly behind him.
"Jesus," he said, passing a hand over his face. "The whole fucking team."
Christmas glanced at the shut door, an image of Erin screaming into his face rising in his mind. "Eight mercs," he stated, disbelief dripping from his voice. "Eight bloody mercs."
Ross shook his head, turned away. He propped his elbows on the stair banister, buried his face in his hands, shoulders sagging. "That's a lot to live with. Christ."
"And she's not coping with it well, not if she breaks down like that," Lee stated, leaning against the double doors. He closed his eyes.
"It would've been worse if she had been there and seen them die," Ross mumbled, fingers tangled in his hair. "If I lost the whole team…" He couldn't even fathom the thought.
"Ross." Christmas opened his eyes, looked at the older man. "What are we getting ourselves into?"
For a while, Barney said nothing and just stared at the ground below, following the lines of the wooden planks that made up the floor. He sighed, thought about Erin, felt his throat constrict again. Rubbing his cheek, he felt the tears that had leaked from Erin's eyes. Bitter, grievous tears.
"I don't know," he finally replied. "I think we have no choice now."
"No choice for what?"
"We'll have to keep her on the team."
"She'll only bring us trouble."
"I'm not gonna leave her like this!" Ross turned to Lee, pointed at the double doors. "I just can't! Who knows what'll happen now that her old contact knows she's alive? She could be killed! We can't let that happen."
"This isn't Sandra from the island, Barney," Christmas said. "She can protect herself. You even said so."
"It doesn't matter." Ross rubbed the back of his neck, his free hand unconsciously curling into a fist. "The boys'll be angry if she goes, anyway."
"She's a danger to the team. We can't have people recognizing her on the street and running off to tell the CIA she's a part of the team!"
"Then what are we going to do, Christmas?" Ross planted himself less than a foot away from the man, gaze unwavering. "Leave her alone and feed her to the feds? Do you want to have her death on your conscience? Huh?"
Christmas pressed his lips together, looked away. "I don't want to die for a woman," he muttered.
"You would've died for Lacy."
"I loved her – no, dammit, I love her. Of course I would've died for her."
"Erin will kill herself if we don't help." Ross gripped Lee's shoulder with terrible force. "Think about her team. It's no wonder she is the way she is. Just…" Barney sighed, his brown eyes softening. "Keep her safe for tonight."
Lee nodded. Ross left him on the landing, descended down the stairs, and left the house, nearly turning back in the process. He forced himself onward, made it to the shop alive and intact. Tool came to his side, face forlorn, eyes reddened from his own tears.
"How is she?" he asked, the other men creeping closer for the answer.
"Sleeping," Ross answered.
"Barney." Tool shook his head. "Her team…"
"I know."
Christmas opened one of the double doors to Erin's bedroom, shut it behind him. He settled down into the comfy chair in the corner, eyes resting on the woman's tense form. She mumbled occasionally in her sleep, repeating names and phrases over and over, nothing but senseless garble to Lee's ears. He leaned back, forced her words out of his head, along with the images that accompanied it. Ross's voice bothered him instead, pleaded with him – commanded him – to think about Erin, to care for her. She was like him, the voice reasoned. She was like Ross. She was like all of the men combined, sent as a mirror so that each man could see himself reflected in her eyes.
Lee stood up, found himself walking over to the bed. He stopped beside it, his gaze resting on Erin's profile. His hand reached out, gently brushed Erin's cheek. His fingers trailed down her arm, curled around her hand. It fit in his like a glove, only slightly calloused in his grip. Warmth radiated from her skin to his.
"Lee."
Christmas stiffened, startled by Erin's voice, by the gentle squeeze she gave his hand.
"I forgive you," she murmured. "It wasn't your fault."
She let his hand go, turned over on her side, wiggled under the covers. In a few moments, her breathing grew shallow and light. Lee stared down at her, disbelieving. Relief flooded his chest, followed by unwarranted anger. Shaking the feelings off, he made his way back to the comfy chair, sat down. In the moonlight, he held up his hand, followed the lines on his palm with his eyes. He still felt the warmth from Erin's hand on his, felt her give him a phantom squeeze. He growled inwardly.
I love Lacy, he thought, closing his eyes. I love Lacy.