A/N: Merry belated Christmas! And yay for the Expendables DVD, which I got for Christmas!
I hope you guys all had a wonderful Christmas and got lots of gifts and love and happiness! I know I did.
Enjoy this new chapter!
"Merry Christmas!"
Beer bottles clinked against each other, glass against glass, the sounds of laughter and good cheer rebounding through the tattoo shop. The men lounged around on a variety of seats, joking and sharing and getting drunker and drunker. The table in the middle of the room – really just a whole bunch of smaller tables pushed together – had been ravaged, the food on the serving plates nothing but scraps. The bones of the huge Christmas turkey lay piled on every plate, alongside the remains of mashed potatoes, gravy, and various vegetables 'macho men' didn't eat. The wine glasses, aside from one, were the only things untouched by greasy hands.
Erin leaned back in her seat, wine glass in hand. The cheap, Italian wine bottle in front of her – just opened – tasted better than she had expected. The tart berry wine slid down her throat with ease, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste that only accentuated the sharpness of the wine. Feeling the warm drink settle in her full belly, Erin glanced around at each man in turn, watching them through half-closed eyelids.
Tool was so drunk he was about ready to pass out. He weaved through the chairs with uncoordinated staggers, leaned on various objects to catch himself and stop the world from spinning. Gunner and Toll Road sniggered at the tattoo artist's actions, tipsy enough themselves to stumble around if they ever stood up. Hale and Yang were snapping at each other – all in good fun – as the alcohol went to work on their brains, killing brain cells and making them all the more compatible. Christmas sat in the corner, stared periodically between Barney and Erin. The older Expendable sat up from his chair and stretched, oblivious of Lee's curious gaze.
"Want some wine?"
Lee nearly fell out of his seat. Wincing as his shoulder – rehabilitated, but still bitchy once in a while – irritated him with pain, he turned his head to see Erin standing right there behind him, a clear wine glass in hand. The wine bottle looked far from promising – Christmas had tasted a few good wines to know what packaging they came in – but he nodded his head anyway and let Erin pour him a generous glass. Hell, he'd only had one beer so far, and the day was almost over. Why not some wine to make it a real Christmas dinner?
Erin pulled up a chair beside Christmas and dropped into it, a sigh escaping her throat. "That was some good food."
"No kidding," the Brit replied quietly, took a sip of the wine; his eyes widened. "This is, um, pretty good."
"For a cheap wine, it sure is." Erin swirled the dark liquid around in her glass, stared into its depths. "It's one of my favorites."
Lee's eyebrows arched in surprise. "You drink wine?"
"Sometimes. Not lately…" She chuckled, took a sip from her glass. "I used to drink a lot of wine, back when I was with The Ravenous. We drank wine, whiskey, and vodka." A happy grin touched her lips. "Those were our poisons. I never got as drunk as the rest of them, though, 'cause I only drank wine – only one bottle – and they were busy chugging the whiskey and vodka like it was their last day alive."
"I don't blame them." The hot liquid ran down Lee's throat, warmed him in a pleasant way that beer couldn't achieve. "With this kind of job, there aren't many things to distract us."
"That's 'cause you have some morals," Erin replied. "It really isn't enough for you to just go around screwing every girl you can find. But then you have Tool over there, who grabs at every piece of ass that walks by just 'cause he can't think of holding down any kind of real relationship." The woman shrugged. "So, I guess it really is true."
"What is?"
"That one man's treasure is another man's trash."
Christmas nodded, eyes Erin out of the corner of his vision. She stretched out in the chair, legs reaching out a mile before her. The wine bottle stood at her feet, a green sentinel guarding a greenhorn who knew much more than she let on. Christmas rolled his shoulders, pressed his fingers into his bad one. Eventually, the slightly damaged tissue would heal completely and there wouldn't be anymore pain.
"I thought Kevlar was supposed to keep you from getting hurt," he muttered, tears springing up in his eyes as he pressed into his shoulder harder.
"Yeah, well, Kevlar probably doesn't like you very much," Erin retorted, smirked. "Even with Kevlar, bullets are still mean bitches."
"No shit."
"Mr. Christmas, my man!" Tool's heavy hand clapped down on Lee's bad shoulder, sending an explosion of pain through the Brit's torso.
"Fuck!" The wine glass nearly fell from his hand. "Easy on the shoulder, Tool!"
Tool held his hands up, backed off. "I just wanted to know," he slurred, "if you were up for a round tonight."
"Tonight?" Christmas eyed the swaying tattoo artist. "Like that?"
"Yeah." Tool's pipe-scarred lips peeled back into a wicked smile. "Oh, man, you ain't scared, are you, brother?"
"The hell I'm scared," Lee snapped, setting down his wine glass; he stood to his feet, stretched. "I've owned your ass so many times, you're the one who should be scared."
"Uh-uh." The tattoo artist shook his head heavily, his eyes widening as the world spun for a moment. "I ain't never scared."
"Tool." Ross's weathered voice broke through the conversation, drew the tattoo artist's attention. "You aren't doing anything tonight. Sit down and rest, will you? I really don't want a knife in my ass tonight just 'cause you thought it would be fun to throw knives while you're drunk."
"No, no, I can do this, Barney. I'm alright." Despite his words, Tool sank down in the nearest chair, eyelids fluttering. "I'm – I'm good."
In a moment, the man was snoring, beer bottle landing on the ground with a loud clack. Gunner and Toll Road fell out of their chairs, spluttered with laughter, hiccupped. Yang and Hale surfaced from their bitching session for a brief moment, laughed as Tool's snores intensified and mimicked the sounds of some kid's imaginary monster hiding under the bed, waiting to strike. Even Christmas chuckled, his mouth widening into a semblance of a grin through his subsiding pain.
"Why don't we go a round?"
The Brit faced Erin, one eyebrow quirked. "You and me?"
"I beat you once," Erin said, stood to her feet. "I bet I can beat you again."
Christmas felt himself rise to the challenge. "Keep dreaming."
"I don't have to."
Ross listened to the exchange quietly. Ever since Erin had taken out Montoya, Christmas had been relatively subdued around her. His normal, emotional self had been put in check, hampered whenever Erin came into the room. On the plane ride back home, Ross had been the only one who had noticed Erin slip into the back of the plane to talk to Christmas. And although he hadn't heard a single word said, Ross guessed that Christmas had, in his own way, thanked Erin for saving his life. Perhaps the two could actually have a stable friendship after all.
Hale leapt off his seat. "Party time! I've got my money on Erin!"
Christmas glared at the man. "Thanks for being supportive."
"Hey, man, I just call it as I see it. She fucking owned your ass the last time."
"Don't remind me."
The men clustered around the doorway, barely out of the way for the two knife throwers. Erin fished out her panther-black blade, spun it in her hand. Her elbow nudged Lee's side.
"You want to try it this time around?" she asked, offering the handle of the SOG knife.
Christmas let his eyes roam the dark blade. "You bet."
The two traded knives and spent a few moments feeling the knives up, testing weight and power. Christmas hooked a finger through the O of the SOG logo on the knife's handle, let the blade spin around his finger for a moment. Erin mimicked the action with Lee's blade, her finger looped through the round hole at the end of the blade's handle. She nodded to herself, passed a finger over the contours of the knife – slowly, sensuously. Christmas glanced away, tossed her blade up into the air, caught it. The men around them shifted from one foot to the other, agitated, eager for the competition to start. Hale, the most impatient of them all, muttered incoherently to himself, eyes darting between the knife throwers and the colorful dart board. The beautiful skull's empty eye sockets taunted them all.
"You first."
Christmas glared at Erin, shook his head as he backed up and stared at the dart board. He held the knife loosely in his hand, his fingers caressing the sides of the blade. A thrill of excitement darted through his spine, imbued him with anticipation and a heightened sense of euphoria. Whether it was the rush of the competition or the combination of beer and wine in his stomach, he wasn't sure.
The blade smacked right between the skull's eyes, quivered just above the skull's empty nose. Hale gave a sharp whistle, jumped up and down as his own excitement, fueled by alcohol, overcame him. Erin nodded her head, met Christmas's smug smirk with arched eyebrows and a deadly gleam in her eye. She tossed Lee's blade into the air, caught it by the loop, spun it once in her hand, let it fly.
The blade hummed against the board, clinking against the SOG knife.
Silence descended on the room.
"Damn," Hale finally said, turned to Erin. "How'd you do that?"
"Do what?" Erin asked, one eyebrow quirked.
"Get it right next to Christmas's?"
"That one," she said, glancing at Lee, "was pure luck. That knife has some weight issues."
"Weight issues?" Christmas glanced at the two blades in the board. "What the hell are you talking about? It's perfectly fine! If anything, your knife is too light."
"Whatever you say," Erin muttered, chuckled to herself. She sauntered over, pulled the knives out of the board. "We'll call that a tie."
"The hell we will." Christmas snatched his blade out of Erin's hand. "One more round."
Erin shrugged, grinned as she caught the glimmer of playfulness in Lee's eyes. "You first."
Christmas's blade arched through the air, slammed into the skull's eye socket. Lee grimaced, hoped that Erin would do worse than him. Erin's blade smacked into the board before Christmas could even turn to look at the woman. The blade quivered in place, right in the middle of the skull's nose cavity.
"You got too cocky," Erin said to Christmas, giving Hale a high-five as the black man nearly shit himself from excitement.
"Hock it over," Hale cried, stuck his hand out to Toll Road; the once-wrestler cussed vehemently and pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket.
"Asshole," he snapped.
"Oh, come off it." Hale turned to Gunner. "Hock it over."
Gunner shook his head. "My money's been on Erin the whole time." He extended his hand to Toll Road. "You owe it to me, too, buddy."
"You guys are a bunch of assholes," Toll Road growled, peeled away a few more twenties from the wad. "Fucking assholes."
Erin pulled her knife out of the dart board, tossed Christmas's blade over to the Brit. He caught it and held it tightly in his hand, unable to keep the surprisingly pleased expression out of his eyes. Erin came over and clapped Lee's good shoulder, a tender smile on her face.
"Next time," she said, smacking him lightly on the cheek. "Ross, take me home. I'm ready to crash."
"It's only one-thirty!" Gunner protested. "You can't go to bed this early!"
"Unlike you guys," Erin began, sliding her knife back into its rightful place, "I only stay up really late on New Year's Eve." She picked up the wine half-full wine bottle from the floor. "Besides," she continued, a coy smirk touching the corners of her lips, "if I don't go to sleep, Santa won't come by my house and bring me presents. This is the first time I've ever stayed up late Christmas Eve to celebrate Christmas day at midnight."
"Santa?" Yang's eyebrows arched high on his forehead. "You believe in that?"
"Do you believe in guns?" Her smirk changed from coy to smug. "That's what I thought."
Ross reached out, touched Erin's shoulder. "Ready?"
"Yep."
Leaving the men to protest angrily at Erin's party-pooperness, Ross drove Erin back to her place. Motorcycle tucked away in Erin's garage, the two mercs stumbled into the house and went through the house, carefully checking each and every room for anything suspicious. Erin called an 'all clear' from upstairs and proceeded to slip into her pajamas, trading her usual sleeping basketball shorts for full-length, cotton pajama bottoms; the old tank top was replaced by a long-sleeve shirt. She was done the stairs in an instant, wine bottle still in hand.
"Want some?" she asked.
Ross glanced at the green bottle. "I don't drink wine."
"You can at least try it."
"Fine."
In the kitchen, Erin poured herself and Ross a glass of wine. She handed the smaller of the two to the Expendable and drank her own in silence, watching Ross's reaction. He sipped the berry wine, nodded his head.
"This is good," he murmured, sipped some more. "What is it?"
"Some cheap-ass Italian wine." Erin smiled, poured the last of the wine into Ross's glass. "Some of the more expensive, high-end stuff is too dry for me."
"You like wine?"
Erin nodded. "I always have. I guess that's my mother's fault. She would have me taste-test wines now and then, just 'cause she liked them enough to share."
The two lapsed into silence and finished off the rest of their drink. Glasses in the sink, empty wine bottle on the counter, Erin wandered upstairs to her bedroom, Ross close behind, double-checking the second floor. All the windows were closed, all the doors shut. Nothing was disturbed or changed.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness of Erin's bedroom, the chair in the corner beckoning him. Erin reached for his hand, however, and led him to the bed again. He lay down unbidden, his shoes cast on the carpet. Erin crawled in beside him, her body snuggling close to the man for comfort. He stared into her shadowy face, trying to read the expression in the woman's eyes. She smiled at him, kissed him softly, gently, on the lips.
"You thought I was going to die," she whispered. It had been almost a month since the Montoya assignment, and not a single word had been spoken about it.
"I did," Ross agreed just as quietly.
"You were scared."
"I was worried – "
" – about me."
The two lapsed into silence again. Erin traced the contours of Ross's weathered face, her fingers delicately sliding across his skin. Ross involuntarily sighed in response to her touch, a not unpleasant shiver emanating through his body. Erin kissed him again, a little longer this time. Her fingers slid down his arm, intertwined with his fingers.
"It's been a long time since someone was scared for me," Erin said, her voice wavering. A single tear slid down her cheek, hot on her skin; Ross wiped it away with his thumb, lingered there for a moment.
"You're welcome," he whispered.