A/N: Sorry it's so short! Enjoy!

Cold water showered over Lee, made him inhale sharply. He adjusted the knob on the wall, changed the ice cold water to that of mild warmth. The water pounded his tense muscles, trickled down his skin. Christmas supported himself against the wall, arms planted on either side of the showerhead. Watching the water swirl down the drain, he remembered the sweat, the passion, from the night before. He groaned inwardly, his hand wrapping around the bar of soap in the corner. Working up a thick lather, he ground the soap against his skin, desperately trying to wipe away the memory of the sex, not just the sweat. He nearly rubbed his skin raw, half of the bar of soap gone down the drain. The water barraged against the shower floor, echoed loud in Lee's ears, grated on his frayed and damaged nerves. He rubbed the soap furiously over his head, as though to cleanse himself of the images that rose unbidden in his mind. The panting, the moans, the cries of ecstasy – how Christmas wished they would slip down the drain, too, lost forever in the sewers to plague another mind, not his! As former British SAS, how could he lose control? The very concept had been drilled into his mind the very first day of training, along with grueling work. Control was his middle name...so where had it gone?

Lee washed the last of the soap from his body, turned the shower off. He grabbed one of the body towels on the rack, dried himself, wrapped the fabric around his waist. He imagined the bathroom was his at home, that the sex had just been a wet dream, that Erin had just been a dream. The face in the mirror did not resemble him, Christmas noticed, glancing away from the reflective glass. He cringed as he thought about the pleased expression in his eyes, although he felt anger rather than pleasure deep within. He opened the bathroom door tentatively, peered around. The bedroom was empty, the double doors shut and locked from the inside. Lee sighed with relief, found that Erin had laid out fresh clothes for him on the bed. He frowned, picked the jeans up. On the inside of the waistband, the name Pretty-Boy had been stitched into the fabric sloppily. The pants fit him well, just the right size. The t-shirt hung a little loose, the name Pretty-Boy again stitched sloppily into the collar. A long-sleeve, light-blue button-up Oxford shirt lay on the bed, ready for use. Upon close inspection, the name Leroy occupied the inside of the collar.

Old team members, Christmas remembered, keeping the shirt unbuttoned as he tugged it on and rolled up the sleeves. God, she must've fucked them all.

Wanting nothing more than escape, Lee forced himself down the stairs, frowned as he reached the bottom step. He stepped wide to avoid the floor in front of the stairs, noticed that the floor had been swept clean of ripped clothes. A washer hummed in the background, punctuated by the clink and clatter of dishes. Steeling himself, Christmas stepped into the kitchen, wandered by Erin warily. Her back turned to him, she worked on the stove, eggs sizzling in a pan over one of the open flames. Lee sat down at the table as quietly as possible, hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He inadvertently recalled the feel of Erin's body beneath his, the smell of her sweat and pheromones, her voice crying in his ears.

A plate of steaming scrambled eggs slid into his vision. He glanced up from the table, looked into Erin's deep brown eyes. She smiled at him softly, settled herself down in the chair across from him, a bottle of ketchup in one hand. Squeezing the condiment onto the eggs generously, Erin dug into the food with her fork, eating quickly but silently, save for the sound of the fork scraping against the plate. Lee made himself eat the eggs, grimacing every time he swallowed. Never a fan of eggs, Christmas's lack of appetite made his dislike of the food nearly intolerable. He was surprised when he finished off the plate, leaving nothing behind but the dishware. Erin swept the plates off the table, hardly making a sound. The silence stretched.

"Last night…" Christmas heard himself say.

"Uh-huh?"

Lee's tongue felt swollen in his mouth. "Last night wasn't supposed to happen."

"But it did."

"It was a mistake."

The plates clattered in the sink. Erin, back facing Christmas, leaned against the counter, stared hard out the window. She shook her head slowly; Lee swallowed thickly.

"It was a mistake?" Erin asked, her voice low.

"It shouldn't have happened."

"I see." Erin exhaled heavily. "I should've known…" She pushed herself away from the counter, turned to look at Christmas.

Lee flinched inwardly, imagining Erin's black SOG knives embedding themselves into his chest. The wolves on her shoulder seemed docile in comparison to the blackness that had replaced Erin's eyes, barely restrained anger carved into her face. Christmas slowly rose to his feet, wishing he had remembered to strap on his knives.

"Last night was nothing," he continued.

"Nothing? Ha!" Erin's laugh sounded like grated glass. "Last night was definitely something, bucko!"

"It won't happen again."

"Oh, that's right, 'cause you're gonna go crying back to Lacy," Erin snapped, "and you're gonna tell her you're so sorry, and she's just gonna take you right back, huh? You sorely underestimate women, Christmas! She's not taking you back!"

"You don't even know her."

"Oh?" Erin's forehead creased. "My brother was her boyfriend before you came along, dumbass! So don't you tell me I don't know Lacy!"

Lee staggered. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Lacy was gonna marry my brother," Erin snarled. "When he died, she was so fucking heartbroken that she told me never to show my face around her place again, just 'cause it reminded her too much of my brother. We were best-fucking-friends!"

Christmas's mind went numb. Marry, died, heartbroken…best friends? He shook his head. "You're lying."

"Am I, Lee?" Erin's scowl deepened. "James Ludolf, my brother. Did Lacy ever mention him to you, huh? Did you ever notice how depressed she gets around the beginning of April? Betcha if you asked her, she'd tell you all about it. And don't forget to mention that you met his sister."

As Christmas thought about it, he did remember the sadness that he sensed from Lacy around April, specifically on April Fool's Day. Although Lacy had never mentioned the name James Ludolf to him, Lee suddenly saw the picture Lacy kept by her computer desk, the one that she said was "just an old friend." The harder he recalled the photograph, the more the man in it resembled Erin. Christmas glanced back at Erin, both incredulous and stunned.

"Two years later," the woman continued hotly, "you came around. I knew right off the bat what you were. You'd sweep Lacy off her feet, and then she'd eventually get rid of you 'cause you'd never be able to tell her everything. It was you who led me to The Expendables."

"What the fuck were you stalking Lacy for?"

"To make sure she was okay, that's why!"

"Why the fuck did you care?"

"She was gonna marry my brother, dipshit!" Erin nearly picked up the egg pan to throw at Christmas. "She became my friend!"

"Some friend you were if she told you to fuck off."

"You know what? Fuck you!" Erin chucked the pan at Lee's head. He ducked, the edge of the pan bouncing off the top of his scalp, drawing blood. "My brother died, and then my team was fucking slaughtered! Lacy knew I was a fuse waiting to be lit. She knew I didn't have a normal job, and she was scared. She was afraid that I thought it was her fault that my brother died and that I was gonna hurt her."

"Sounds about right, 'cause you're one fucking scary-ass bitch!"

"Yeah, and you fucked this scary-ass bitch last night, so fuck off!"

"Fine!"

Lee stormed away, hurried for the garage. He heard Erin slam a spoon into the sink, cuss words streaming out in a long, never-ending line. He hopped on his bike, tore away from the house. Instead of heading for the shop, he hooked a hard left, gunned the engine. Before he knew it, he was in front of Lacy's house, heading for her porch. Tossing his helmet aside, he rapped his knuckles hard on the frame, pressed the doorbell a thousand times. The door opened, revealed Lacy wrapped in a bathrobe. Her eyes widened.

"Lee," she stuttered. "What are you doing here?"

"Come on, Lacy," he pleaded, "let's make up."

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, Lee, but I just can't let you into my life if you won't let me into yours."

"Then I will, I promise!"

"That's what you said the last time." Lacy kept the iron door shut between Lee and herself. "What do you want? Closure? 'Cause I'm perfectly fine, Lee, and I want you to cope and move on. I'm sure you'll find somebody who will be content knowing only half your life."

"Lacy," Christmas whined, "think about what you're saying. You love me!"

"Yes, Lee, I did." Lacy shook her head again, tucked some stray hairs behind her ear. "I'll always have a place for you in my heart, but I just can't deal with it anymore. What am I supposed to do? Sit back and enjoy myself while you're gone for weeks at a time to someplace I don't know about doing God-knows-what? I'm sorry, but that's not me."

Christmas passed a hand on his face, aggravated. "Who was James Ludolf?"

Lacy blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Who was James Ludolf?"

"He was an old friend of mine – "

"Bullshit, Lacy. Tell me the fucking truth."

"He was my fiancé," Lacy admitted, frowning. "He died in a car accident two years before we met, okay?"

"Did he have any sisters?"

"Yeah, one. She was never around." Lacy's frown deepened. "James said she was a bad-ass. When James moved out here, I got to meet her. She was a bad-ass, yeah, but she was okay. I really liked her."

"What happened to her?"

"I don't know. A couple months after James died, she lost it."

"You were her friend, right? Does she come around anymore?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." Lacy looked away.

"You're lying again, Lacy!" Christmas's voice rose a notch. "Why doesn't she come around anymore?"

"I told her not to, that's why!" Lacy's eyes misted. "I really liked her, I did, but something was wrong with her, and I was afraid she would hurt me. She was one of those people who just seemed dangerous, you know, but they act real nice. I was afraid, and she only came into town once in a while, so I told her that seeing her reminded me of James and it hurt too much."

Lee turned away from the door, paced on the porch, shook his head. No, no, no, no, no. Erin can't be right. She's just fucking with me, and she's dragged Lacy into this and everything! Fuck!

"What was her name?" Christmas demanded, pivoting hard on his heel.

"Erin," Lacy answered, edging away from the door. "Erin Frey Ludolf, I think. She lived out in California, even though James said she was gone all the time." The woman grabbed the edge of the second door, started to close it. "Look, Lee, it was nice being with you, but I just can't go through this again. Please, don't bother me anymore."

The door clicked shut in Christmas's face. He stared at the intricate work of the iron door, angry and confused. With a growl, he turned away, went back to his race bike. Stooping to pick his helmet off the ground, he couldn't believe what Lacy had said…or the fact that she had backed up Erin's claims. He was reminded of the sex with Erin as he straddled the motorcycle. He glanced at Lacy's house, brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "For every-fucking-thing."

When he arrived at the shop, Ross appeared in front of him in an instant, a scowl etched into his face. He yanked Christmas aside, shoved him against the wall roughly, out of sight from the other half of the team.

"Hey!" Lee cried, slapping Ross's hands away. "What the fuck?"

"What the fuck did you do to Erin?" the older man asked, eyes flashing.

"Nothing." Christmas tried to step around Ross, was slammed back against the wall.

"You obviously did something," Ross snapped.

"She was like that this morning," Lee growled. "She must be PMSing."

Ross shook his head, let go of Christmas's collar, stormed away. Lee rubbed his neck, glared after the older man. Although rough sometimes, Ross had never been so violent towards the Brit. Christmas tossed his helmet onto his bike, approached the front of the shop. He heard Erin's voice, followed by a round of raucous laughter. Erin looked up over the shoulder of Toll Road, her eyes flickering into a brief glare. The look passed, however, and she directed her attention back to the other men, laughed as Hale made an obscene comment. Tool rapped Erin's head playfully with his pipe, took a drag, exhaled a long plume of smoke over her. She snapped at him, mentioning something about second-hand smoke. He gave a throaty laugh, clapped a hand on Ross's shoulder, glanced up. His eyes met Christmas's, his face forming into a scowl. He shook his head, thin-lipped, and mouthed, "Asshole," before turning back to Erin and offering her his toothy grin. Ross flanked Tool's side, his gaze falling on Erin's head, eyes flickering with that emotion Lee still couldn't decipher. The older man shook his head, cleared the look out of his eyes, frowned to himself.

Christmas sighed, headed back over to his bike. Growling inwardly, he tugged on his helmet, revved up his engine. The rest of the team glanced up, craning to look at Lee as the Brit sped out of the garage and rode out into the street. Gunner jerked his thumb at the disappearing motorcycle.

"What's up with him?" he asked, glancing at Ross.

"He woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Erin commented dryly.

"He's a Brit, what do you expect?" Hale quipped, lips splitting into a wide grin. "Everything's on the wrong fucking side over in England."

"Touché."