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After Ripley had left, Finn had gone about his morning as usual, all while shoving away the niggling feeling of wrongness to the back of his mind. Ripley had had a nightmare, and was a bit shaken up, and likely didn't want Finn to see him shaken up, that was all. It made sense, and was also fairly unfamiliar territory for the moon hunter, so of course it seemed off, as it was not something he'd ever had to deal with before (dealing with his own nightmares was not the same). After his shower, he had almost expected to come back into his room to see Ripley's gloves gone, but they were still there. He knew, however, that they were not the only set the other man possessed, so again, no reason to look to much into it.

As the day drug on, however, his mind wandered back to that morning often, and around lunch time, no matter how much he wanted to pretend that there was nothing he needed to concern himself with, he gave in, pulling out his cell phone mid cafeteria sandwich.

Which he then stared at for ages, thumb hovering, before he typed in anything at all.



Stunning.

Finn knew better than to assume Ripley would answer right away. He almost never did, unless it was some kind of emergency. He went back to his lunch, which hadn't become any less bland, and didn't even blink when his phone buzzed back at him.

The reply message was pretty much what was to be expected as well, though for some reason something inside Finn eased with that message, as if he had been a bit worried none would come at all. Lunch as terrible as the one he was having could now be easily ignored as he focused instead on his phone.



There were times when Finn could actually be more thoughtful than brash.

The return message filled Finn with a sense of relief. Pushing back his chair, he abandoned his lunch completely as he turned to leave the cafeteria while typing in a reply.



He smirked as he sent the message, because in his head, this was not being a jerk, this was being funny.

Haunted House duty. Finn frowned, not recalling this ever being mentioned before, though he also wasn't one to memorize Ripley's schedule either.

The great thing about texting was that, since he had no idea what Ripley was actually thinking, nothing seemed different at all. The short replies, practically dripping with dryness and sarcasm, were all so very much Ripley.

And it was all that he expected, and what he had gotten used to, and had over time come to appreciate, quite a lot. There was never pretending to be somebody different between them, and somehow, they still managed to actually stand being with each other.

Finn was actually smiling when he tapped out a quick reply, feeling much better than he had all day. Whatever weirdness had gone on that morning, it seemed like it had passed.

Made more sense. Bigger bed and all.

Finn had spent his afternoon in the library, studying various medical texts, before heading back to his room for the evening. The next day would be busier, with a double shift in the infirmary in store for him, but after everything that had happened lately, and with only just starting to feel better from it, it was nice to have one last, slightly more lax day.

And what better way to top it off except with a nice stiff drink and good company?

When Ripley texted him to let Finn know that he was on his way, the Moon hunter turned off the video game he'd been playing, and set about getting drinks poured. When the death intermediate arrived, Finn turned towards the door with a whiskey in each hand, taking a few steps towards it with a smile.

"Hey." He offered the drink, though his gaze slid immediately to Ripley's neck, the fresh gauze that peeked out something that the Moon hunter, with all of his field and infirmary experience, could hardly miss.

"What the ******** happened??" He asked, concern leaking into his tone, though knowing Ripley, the man probably tripped and fell down a flight of stairs only to land on a reapers blade.