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The hours stretched on and on after the last visitor fled (or after Jack chased them away, whichever came first). The day turned to night, and all that was left were the few nurses who continued to pass by, checking charts and vitals before moving on to the next bed, all quiet and still as Finn continued to sleep, throughout the darkness, and into the morning light as it spilled in through the windows. It was not a troubled sleep by any means. Instead, it was actually quiet, blessedly empty of any dreams, of any memories, and free of the pain.

And then, finally, a stirring. His eye came open, his head still sluggish and slow. It was a moment full of peace, of a strange disorientation that left him clueless as to where he was or what he might be doing there, a split second where he forgot everything that had happened, but was still drugged up enough to feel calm about it, rather then leaping straight into panic. His thoughts dredged through his mind slowly, in an attempt to piece together just what was going on.

He was in the infirmary. Right, good. He recognized the smell of disinfectant, and the white ceiling above him. He recognized the sounds around him, of pages of paper being turned, of light footsteps, of beeping machines and squeaking, wheeling trolleys. He thought that he aught to sit up, to let somebody know that he was awake. He thought it might be important to let them know that his mouth was incredibly dry, and tasted faintly sweet, yet bitter, almost like medicine.

It wasn't until he shifted that he felt the stiffness in his body, his torso wrapped, his leg, his shoulder, all inhibiting his ability to move properly. And then there was his face, his eye, the press of fabric against it suddenly not only noticeable, but stiflingly so. He reached up with his left hand, that arm not wrapped up, at least, and pressed fingers to the bandages there, running them down along it, tracing their soft coarseness against his skin.

He remembered now. A jolt ran through his whole body, leaving him feeling cold and hollow in it's wake. At first he wanted to think that it was all a dream, that he was actually just sleeping now and this wasn't real. But it was real, even if it felt hazy and like it hadn't happened, he knew that it had. This was no dream.

He closed his eye and forced his breathing to slow, recognizing that it had begun to pick up pace, that his chest felt too tight, that a wave of dizziness had come over him. The early signs of panic, a feeling he hadn't had since he was 16. He still recognized it even after all of this time. <********> He whispered, his hand dropping back to his side, clenching into a fist. <********> He felt the need to say it louder, because the first time he'd said it, his voice had cracked, his throat too dry. <******** ******** ******** ******** ******** ********!" His fist was shaking his teeth gritted. As the drugs wore off, his wounds began to throb.

< Finn. > The voice, his weapons voice, had been quiet up until then.

What?

< Shut up. >

His lip had pulled back from his teeth, and he had begun to slowly move, trying to sit himself up in the bed, or at least find a button that would adjust the head rest and do it for him. Despite not caring to do anything Trynt told him to, he did stop swearing.

< I'm only going to say one thing about all of this, and then I'm finished talking about it. We can move on, and I will continue to do what I can to fix what you've done to yourself. >

Go ahead then.

< You are an idiot. A selfish candlejacking jackhole that deserves every bit of torture you endured, plus more. > The voice snarled his his head. < This is not just about you, but both of us. Nothing is ever just about you, and you'd better take that into consideration in future when running your mouth or making terrible decisions that affect us both. >

There was silence for a time, and Finn had found the button to push to get his bed moving, to get himself propped up.

Will that be all then?

More silence. Or at least, as silent as Trynt ever got, though his light, rumbling growls were ever present in the background. Finn had never actually heard him so angry before, at least, not directed right at him. It was...almost refreshing, actually. And satisfying, that he could piss his weapon off as much as he could everyone else. Apparently nobody was immune to his brand of selfish a*****e after all.

Now that he was upright, he could glance around himself, eye searching for one thing in particular but first landing on a few odds and ends that seemed to be scattered about a small table top near the head of his bed. A button, with Finn the Human's smiling, goofy face on it. Abbi, he thought, more then likely. Some sort of small package with a note on top, a half deflated balloon.....

He looked the other way, having to turn his head more then usual to be able to see. His jacket...was not there, and he belatedly remembered that it had been soaked with blood, his blood, and likely had been taken away. What was sitting on the chair next to his bed was all he really cared about, however, and he turned even more to grope for that, fingertips barely managing to brush against it, pulling it closer before his hand was able to close around it, and he could lay back flat on his back with a gasp.

His phone.

He flipped it open.

It still had a good charge, and looked to be in decent condition, somehow. Maybe somebody had gone through the effort of cleaning it up?

There weren't any messages.

Flipping through it's contacts, he found one name in particular, his thumb hovering over it before pushing down.

I killed her.

He began typing in a message.

I poured a vial of black liquid down her throat and she's dead. I killed her.

He hit send.

The day was waning on, and Finn's worries weren't easing in the slightest. He had still heard nothing back from Fini. Jack hadn't been by either, which was unexpected. He had thought to at least be able to question the other man, to ask him what was going on outside of the infirmary, to find out if any of the others had been punished beyond signing their names on pieces of paper.

But no. There was nothing from Jack. That was less upsetting and more annoying, though he had a feeling the other man had been here before, when he had first been brought in. He vaguely recalled hearing his voice.

Dinner had been brought to him, a tray full of questionable substances, none of which looked particularly edible. He was pushing those around with a fork, debating whether any of it was suitable for actually going into his mouth.

The sound of the curtain being pushed open had Finn looking up, wondering if finally his woman or his best friend had bothered to show up, or if not them, expecting yet another nurse to be checking in on him, to see if he was actually eating anything yet, and making a show of checking his monitors and vitals once more.

Instead, it was Ian.

He snorted, then looked back down to his food, stabbing at what might have been a lima bean, limp and drowning in some kind of white, buttery sauce.

"You're one to talk." He lifted the questionable food up, inspecting it with one eye. "Bring anything to drink with you? And don't ******** lie to me, I just bet you have a flask hidden on you somewhere, you greedy a*****e."

There was no way in hell Finn was allowed to be drinking, pumped full of pain medication and well...being stuck in the middle of an infirmary as he was. That didn't stop him from unscrewing the top of the flask as it was pushed into his hands and taking a long swig of it's contents, however, before thrusting it back towards Ian, letting out a long sigh of appreciation. His fork with his not food now laid discarded on his plate, and once the flask was gone, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and picked it back up.

"You may stay. Briefly." He said, being nice only because Ian had shared.

Shoveling a mouthful of mystery meal into his mouth, Finn chewed and swallowed before answering, his chest feeling warm and his head already feeling faintly fuzzy. The joys of mixing alcohol with medication!

"I think you know me well enough to understand that I never keep my mouth shut, not even when it's good for me to do so. So yes, thank you so much for pointing out the obvious."

He looked up from his dinner to gaze at the other man carefully with one cold, brown eye.

"Why did you stab yourself?"

Finn nodded thoughtfully, taking another bite of his dinner, chewing it slowly. He understood, in a way, why Ian might have preferred that over plunging to his own death.

"I like to be in control too." He said, pushing his fork around his plate to scrape up more of the whatever-it-was-he-was-eating. "I like to take situations where I know I am going to lose, and I like to push the boundaries. I like to get a reaction. I like to piss people off. It makes me feel like, even though I am going to lose, that I somehow also won."

He glanced up at Ian, and he smiled, and it was perhaps the coldest smile he'd ever leveled on anybody. "Do you think I succeeded adequately this time?"

And then, completely at random.

"Did I kill her?"

< Finn... >

This is why Finn liked Ian. Sometimes, they just seemed to click, their thoughts almost the same when it came to certain aspects of their existence. He continued to smile, not judging the other man at all for his choices, just as he hadn't judged him for all the drinking he'd been doing lately.

"Thankyou." He shrugged, treating the insult like it was a compliment. "I do try, though I think that might be obvious by now." And then, tilting his head to the side just slightly, he narrowed his eye.

"Oddly...yes. Yes I am." Proud of himself. Because at least he had stood up, and had done so until he had been shot down. Even if he had begged for it to stop, in the end, he knew he would have only hated himself for signing that ******** piece of paper, that ******** lie put down on print, a mark on his record for only doing what had been the right ******** thing to do.

His own question, when he delivered it, had been a serious one, his tone turning strangely hollow. Ian's answer, however, surprised him slightly, his eye twitching, his smile dropping. "Cass." He repeated, then gave his head a small shake. "Right. Her. Ya I saw her in the classroom afterwards. I'm sure I've made myself an enemy, or rather, a few, with that little stunt." He remembered Ro's words in the dungeon room after it had been done, and he was sure Marcus couldn't be happy with him.

Anyways, she wasn't who Finn had meant, but if that's the only name that came to Ian's mind, he wasn't going to press it further.

< Finn, it is pointless to ask. That memory is not real, I have told you. >

Doesn't matter. It seems real enough to me, no matter what you say.

"Ya I don't care about that." The smile returned. "Gonna share some more? Because if not I don't really see why you're still here."