Rafferty absently picked at the decaying gray tape that made up most of the truck's passenger seat.

She glanced into the back seat and saw Katrin applying pressure to Vincent's wound. Trevor had removed Vincent's coat, and was preparing to get to work. Rafferty's Jack apparently carried a needle and thread with him at all times, including on his way to deliver a cookie in the middle of the night.

Nicole was in the driver's seat, blood still trickling down the side of her face. Each time the truck bounced over the uneven ground, Rafferty got a jolt of pain in her head, back, and hand, but she barely noticed.

She was too busy wondering why she hadn't done anything.

Trevor had moved immediately to tend to an injured teammate, one he didn't even like. Nicole and Vincent had been able to return fire, and they had both been shot.

Rafferty had managed to step quickly to safety between two windows.

Katrin had flung herself into the field of gunfire and created a sandstorm that probably saved lives.

Rafferty had managed to cut a pipe in half.

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And even that had been Katrin's idea.

To be fair, the situation wasn't exactly her fault. Rafferty hadn't been the one who failed to notice there was an ambush waiting on the other side of the ridge. Nor had she been the one to rush headlong into that ambush in the middle of a sentence, rather than create a coordinated plan. Certainly, she hadn't been the one to stand in the middle of a backlit room, reading her enemy's letter slowly and theatrically, rather than reading it quickly and silently like a normal person, and, you know, ducking.

Still, it bothered her that she didn't do anything.

It was all just so unRafferty like. Usually she got into trouble because she just did stuff, without giving it much thought. Wasn't she the same girl that just went all out against Katrin's captive God, in a fight that didn't even matter?

Was she afraid of getting shot? That wasn't usually the case. Trevor had told her more than once that she had all the self preservation instincts of a moth near a flame. Maybe she had spent too much time with the snails and didn't want to go back. Had she been all messed up because Vincent was injured? Could she not function if one her friends was hurt?

She didn't think any of those things were true, but it really didn't make a difference.

She had been thrust into a fight, one that did matter, and had stood around while everyone else was trying to win.

And that was basically unforgivable.

The tape was starting to fray, the seat's seam starting to split under a fan of wiggly gray fibers.

Hey, I'm accomplishing something

The truck stopped outside the Abbey. Rafferty turned around, and asked if Vincent wanted to come inside so they could finish tending to his wounds. Vincent declined, announcing that Trevor made for an ugly nurse, and that what he really needed was a drink.

Rafferty exited the truck without another word, and walked back inside with Katrin and Trevor. She expected trouble, but Katrin just gave a little nod to Justin, and they passed without incident.

She walked back to her room. Blaspheme must have heard her coming, and poked her head out of her own door. She gave Rafferty the strangest look, her curiosity clearly at war with her lingering resentment.

Rafferty put up a hand, and mouthed the word "later." She entered her room, and flopped down on the bed.

It had been a long, long night.