Vincent ducked and stepped to the side as Rafferty feinted with her left hand. He was practically begging to get smacked with her right hand, which still hurt from pounding on Katrin's captive God. She wondered if he did it on purpose.

She swung and struck his temple, which put him on his butt. Rafferty's hand barked at her angrily, and she shook it as she drew it back. She hadn't even made it through the second shake when she was falling to the ground. Vincent had managed a short leg sweep that she hadn't seen coming.

Vincent had pushed for two days for Rafferty to spar with him, until she finally relented. He just had to see her in action up close, he said. It was late at night, and it was only the two of them in the Box.

Rafferty hopped up, determined to be the first back to her feet. When she got there, Vincent was waiting for her, a smirk on his face. She only just barely deflected a swipe at her ear

How is he up already?

She had to admit, Vincent was good. He always seemed to be in the right position. It was like fighting Sheridan, if Sheridan made a bunch of goofy faces and never shut up.

Rafferty snuck in a nifty little kick to Vincent's midsection, which bent him over. He leaned left again, away from her left hand, and threw up his arm, which would block another kick. He was in position for her right hand again, but knew she couldn't throw it full force.

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So she went ahead and did it anyway.

There was a satisfying thwack, followed by long strings of pain. She'd be regretting that for a few more days.

Vincent was on the ground in front of her again. If Rafferty had been wearing her bracelets, he'd have flown all the way to the wall. He had insisted, however, that she leave all of her gear in her room.

The Roughcoat put up his hand, and Rafferty nodded. She held out her hand to help him up.

"Why can't I use my gear, anyway? Are you scared?" she asked as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Maybe a little. But, more importantly, I figured you needed the practice, and I bet they never make you do it," he said.

"Why? I'd never fight without it," she said.

"What if broke, or got stolen, or some creepy guy had you strapped to a table in his basement? It's not like you can just ask nicely for him to give it back," he said.

Rafferty rolled her eyes.

At least he didn't make it dirty.

"Or what if you were attacked while you were showering, or, you know, in the middle of other traditional night time activities?" Vincent continued.

Dammit.

"Why are you obsessed with the idea of me being naked? Is that all you ever think about?" she asked.

Why? Why did you ask him that?!?

Vincent paused, considering it as if it were a serious question.

"All I ever think about? No, definitely not. Usually just once or twice first thing in the morning. Maybe again at night if I'm having trouble getting to sleep," he said.

Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew.

"You ready?" he asked, stepping back and indicating they could start again.

Rafferty nodded. Her voice didn't seem to want to work right now.

She jumped and kicked before he finished raising his hands. Strictly speaking, he may not have been ready. The kick landed true, and it knocked him down again.

It was possible that she might have deliberately targeted his still-bandaged shoulder. The one with the bullet wound.

But that would be really hard to say for sure.