Sr. Rachel expelled a sigh as she plopped down in a chair at the convent's small kitchen table. She removed her habit from her head to let her short locks of brown hair rest upon her shoulders. And finally her limbs relaxed, weak after a full day's use. They had awoken the children, cooked their meals for the day, chased them around the playground, chased them around the classroom, wiped their noses, cleaned their faces, scolded them for failing to brush their teeth, and then her limbs had tucked them quietly in to sleep. Her arms sagged at her sides, wonderfully useless.

Normally after a long day of teaching and nurturing, there was a smile on her face. But not tonight. Bags hung under her eyes, her body robbed of sleep since Jordan had been taken into custody. Things had been bad at the orphanage before Jordan's encounter with the NYPD, but now matters were worse.

The beeping microwave shirked her from her thoughts. Crawling back up to her feet, she opened the microwave door and unwrapped a Tupperware container. Her body had been bothering her for food, and she had reluctantly obliged. However, when she looked down at the reheated meatloaf and potatoes, she made a face.

Sr. Rachel rolled her eyes at herself. Must eat, can't eat… Fuck it, she thought and poured the food unceremoniously down the garbage disposal. No matter how her body needed it, she was so sick from the past couple days that the very thought of eating turned her stomach.

It was then as she stood there, staring at the remains of her uneaten dinner, that the phone rang beside her. Frowning, Sr. Rachel looked to the clock. It was past ten. Curiosity and her last bit of strength picked up the receiver.

"Sr. Rachel Corrione," she answered, voice drained of energy. "St. Luke's Parish."

"Hey," a familiar voice greeted, equally exhausted.

Danny Taylor. "Hey."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. I've been up since this morning." Her voice became pointed. "What're you doing calling?"

"Um, I dunno," he admitted. "Hoping to hear some good news, I guess."

She made a derogatory sound. "You called the wrong place for that."

"Ha ha," he said, but there was no humor in his voice. They were past humor by this stage. "I just wanted to see how you were."

Sr. Rachel wasn't entirely certain what brought it on. Maybe it was the way he had asked the question, so simply, so casually. Maybe it was the fact that he was calling so late. Or maybe she was so tired, so ridiculously tired of it all, that she would have taken any excuse in the world, even a five second conversation to say what was truly on her mind. But whatever the reason, bitterness swiftly possessed her voice. "Yeah," she spit the word out. "Like anyone actually wants to know how I am."

Even across the phone line, she could detect the hurt in Danny's tone. "What? Oh, c'mon, Rachel. Why would I even ask if I didn't-"

But his pleadings only made it worse. She was losing control. On the other end, she shook with something akin to anger. "No, just save it," she shot back at him, her biting tone cutting him off. "Every single day every single person that walks through this convent asks how I'm doing. And you know what I tell them? I tell them I'm fine. I tell them I'm perfectly fine, that I couldn't be better. And you know why I tell them that? Because that's exactly what they want to hear. So they can go about their day and put their minds at ease."

There was a long pause as Danny took in her words. "I didn't call to make you angry," he told her, his voice made all the more sincere by its fatigue. "And I didn't call you to hear some invention about how happy you are with your life. I called you because I want to know how you are. Not what you think I want to hear about how you are."

Sr. Rachel sucked in a sob and held it back. He meant what he said. Knowing that she was on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown, she turned on her defense mechanisms. In practiced motions, she bottled everything inside of her threatening to burst. She pushed it down, deep down until she could speak in a clear, business voice.

Danny made the mistake of continuing to talk. "Rachel, I know you think you're going through this alone, but you're not. I'm going through it, too. You think I don't feel it? The waiting kills me, too. I understand-"

Her voice was the coldest contrast. "No, you don't," she told him. "You always think you know, Danny. But you don't."

Her words were harsh, and soon he became just as angry. Later Rachel would realize that maybe she had wanted it, for someone to be just as hurt and upset as she was. "And why wouldn't I?" he demanded hotly. "Oh, because I'm not there, right?"

"That's part of it."

"And what's the other part? Because I couldn't get her out? Because I wasn't there the night it all happened? Is that it?"

"I never said that."

"Yeah, looks like you didn't need to." He sighed, furious…but then, he quickly became devoid of anything but exhaustion. "Christ… I only called to see how you were."

"I'm fine," she said, embittered. "Never better…"

"Rachel."

"I have to go." He said her name again with more urgency, and the sister deliberately set the phone down on the receiver, successfully shutting him out. In the deafening silence of the convent, Sr. Rachel put her head in her hand. She started to cry ever so quietly, but then stopped herself. It was stupid, silly. Why should she cry over one phone call? One stupid phone call that didn't matter at all.

You're stupid, Rachel, she told herself. Stupid for even answering that phone when you knew it would be him.

Collecting herself and forcing herself to get under control, she shook away the resentful feelings. Running a hand through her brown hair, she took a deep breath and started cleaning up the dishes. She began to calm. Routine set in, and any irritation slowly began to fade. She scrubbed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and shut the lights out for the night.

She summoned other thoughts to keep her emotions at bay. It wouldn't be smart to stay up much longer. She thought of the children. She would have to wake up early. Putting things into perspective, she had resolved to check her email before going to bed, when a scuffling sound caused her to stop in her tracks.

The sound didn't alarm her. At any orphanage, a lot of tossing and turning took place during the night. She wondered which of the children had left their beds, and what bad dream or midnight snack was keeping them up this time.

"Who's that in my kitchen?" she asked in her best authoritative voice.

The noise stopped all together.

Sr. Rachel rolled her eyes and traipsed back into the room. "No sense in hiding," she said, semi-playfully. "You're caught." She flicked on the light.

Only a spotless kitchen remained, not a fork or spoon out of place.

Now she could feel it, a knot in her chest. "Kylie?" she called, hopefully. "Is that you?"

Nervously, she looked around the corner, searching for any sign of… And then, she saw it. Footprints, black with mud from outside.

Sr. Rachel raked in a gasp, and then…gave a cry of pain.

Behind her, the blunt of a handgun soundly struck her head. Colors swirled before her eyes. So heavy was the blow that the nun was unconscious before she even hit the ground.

- - - - - -

"Rachel," Danny intoned. "Rachel."

She hung up on him.

Muttering, he let the phone clamor onto the desk. Dammit, why did she always balk? Why did she always close like a safe the minute he got too close? Alone in the conference room, he held a hand over his eyes. Just like that, the desperation overtook him. What he had at one point kept in perfect control began to unravel. He thought about Jordan, about the possibility of never getting her out of jail. He thought about the orphanage…and how from the look of things it would not stay open past New Years. He thought about how lonely his life had become. He thought about Rachel, and the nasty way she had dealt with him over the phone. Like he was a stranger. No worse than a stranger, an annoyance.

Danny was forgetting. He was forgetting about the child that had been found earlier that day, about his ever-growing support group, about the good things that had happened in his life.

He could have gone to see anyone on the team that night, Vivian, Samantha, Jack or even Martin, and they would have listened to him talk about his problems. Instead, he left the conference room and gathered his jacket and keys.

Samantha was still drinking her coffee. "Heading out?"

"Yeah," Danny said, walking past her. "G'night, Sam."

She arched her neck, watching him in concern. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." He kept his back turned to her. "Never better…"