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Finn had been on shift when they were brought in. Two bodies, both familiar, though one in a much more dire state then the other. He shouldn't have been surprised, really, to see that familiar long white hair, those pale features, the blood soaked clothing he was adorned with before it was cut off and stripped away. He shouldn't have been surprised. He shouldn't have been alarmed, or upset, or even concerned.

And yet, he was. He was all of those things, the moment he recognized who it was, the moment he saw with his own eyes the severity of the wounds. It had been a quiet day, up until that moment. He had been reading a book on common surgical errors, relaxed, his rounds completed. But then, like so often on that ******** piss stain of an island, all hell had broken loose.

Or at least, that's how it felt. Really, this was the type of s**t that Finn was supposed to be used to, the kind of s**t that he was going to be dealing with on a day to day basis. And yet, the fact that it was Ripley of all people...that made it somehow so much worse than it was supposed to be. He'd suspected he'd been growing some amount of attachment to the man, but now.....

Now was not the time to think about it. The past few hours spent helping to patch him up from the inside out was definitely not the ******** time. He had lent hands where they were needed, opinions when they were asked for, and all of the time he had, his shift ending, running into a new one, and yet he remained, refusing to leave even when told that he could.

The death intermediate had been in critical condition, near death, barely hanging on by a thread from what Finn could tell. Or perhaps he was overreacting, his mind creating a more horrible situation than it truly had been.

Whatever the case, hours had passed. Ripley had been stabilized and moved out of surgery and into recovery. Finn had been awake for god knew how long. He could have left if he wanted to, at any time, but instead he stayed at the white haired mans bedside, watching him sleep, keeping an eye on the monitors, napping in a chair when the need to get some amount of shut eye completely overcame him, and, at times, simply holding his hand, because at the end of the day, no matter how screwed up their relationship, this man was his, and he wanted to be there when he woke up.

----------

The curtain that Chance was looking towards opened, and then closed, though not quite all of the way, revealing a very disheveled and tired looking Finn Connor who had just been woken up by one of the life techs on duty and told, for at least the twentieth time, to leave. He didn't plan on leaving, but he had at least decided that a cup of coffee might not be such a bad idea.....

But first, another person to check on, one who was not given such urgent diligence as Ripley but who's presence in this situation was still noted with some amount of importance.

Finn's eye landed on Chance, who was, it appeared, awake.

"You've got some explaining to do." Was the first thing out of Finn's mouth, and was nowhere near a normal type of greeting.

"What. The ********. Happened. In that house?"

He only barely registered when Chance had come back for him; by the time their battle was over he only felt oddly numb, like a pleasant disconnect from his body. His vision was spotted and off-colour, like looking at old, burned photos, but he was pretty sure he felt something holding his arm and that he saw a familiar shape above him, saying something he couldn't quite understand, but somehow completely agreed with. He wasn't sure any more. The numb feeling had spread to the point where he didn't even care any more.

Everything went black, and after that there was only a series of choppy images, nothing more than mere glimpses into the world outside this dark little cocoon of his. They didn't make sense, and more often than not, he ended up back in the abyss, the pleasant, heavy darkness.

Except for once; one short, horrifying moment where he saw her above him, the sword poised to come down on his stomach - just as easily as it started, it was over, the vision cutting off suddenly, but his panic was still there. Somewhere in the distance a machine let out an alarming scream -

Darkness again.

The clipped images came less frequently after that, almost to the point of stopping entirely; but he could hear things now. Voices. One voice in particular, that he knew very well, he heard only once...and he ached to hear more, but each time he became audibly aware, it was absent. There was nothing but the steady, droning beep at his side. Another time, he felt a familiar pressure against his hand, one that gave him a brief, overwhelming sense of deja-vu...

There were voices again. The one speaking was the same one whose alien words had been with him before it went black, only this time, as his mind chased after the jumbled sounds, words began to form. He began to understand what was being said, but he couldn't quite grasp the concepts. It sounded familiar - like something that had happened to him - but it was lost in the current haze.

He had followed the voices, and slowly the rest of the world opened up to him; the steady beep, the way he felt both incredibly heavy and overwhelmingly light at the same time, and of course the pressure in his stomach, shoulder and neck. Pressure that should have been incredibly pained, but for now was simply white noise. Not long after he realized that he could open his eyes, though it was a venture he started carefully, because it was so bright compared to the darkness that had surrounded him prior. He couldn't focus on anything just yet, but he was trying. His fingers twitched slowly, vaguely searching for the warm pressure he vaguely remembered being there.

"...Finn...?" He breathed out in weak confusion, his voice hoarse and aching, as he realized the hand was gone. Hadn't it just been there...? Or was be imagining it? He couldn't tell. Then again, there was a lot he couldn't tell; he couldn't even figure out if he was alone or not, though the presence of voices told him that he probably wasn't...at least not completely. "Where...?"

He had not expected gentleness and did not even take it into consideration. Finn's obvious coldness was met with the same sort of calm that Chance always tried to maintain, the latter relatively unfazed by the lack of concern for his own wounds. He was obviously alive, which meant he was going to live, and that was good enough right now.

"He'll live" was certainly better than "I don't know," though it still lacked information. Chance's eyes flickered towards Finn's face.

"I don't - " he started to say, but the sound of a weak voice on the other side of the curtain distracted both of them. Something flickered across Finn's face, so brief it was hardly even noticeable; but Chance with his sharp eyes had almost caught it, though he didn't know what it meant.

It was gone as quickly as it had come, and then Finn had turned to Ripley's bed, pulling back the curtains and revealing the man behind. Ripley looked more than a little worse for the wear, his already pale face even paler, and as Chance turned to look, Finn's hand closed around Ripley's.

Chance remained silent on his side, Asher murmuring reassurances in his head, figuring Finn would explain things better and wondering whether he'd be reprimanded for disobeying Ripley's direct order to pendant out and leave him behind.

He hadn't been sure if the contact would have been wanted, or appreciated. Ripley's hand in his was as much as a reassurance to himself as it might have possibly been to the other man, though Ripley's skin was cool to the touch, not warm as he wished it would be. He should have probably waved a tech over and let them know that Ripley was awake, but he wanted this short moment to himself, however brief, and however silly the concept might be.

He caught the smile, though it was small, and the way Ripley's hand moved in his felt a little like he was trying to squeeze back, so Finn's grip tightened just slightly.

At Ripley's single word question, Finn's body turned, and he glanced back towards Chance, who was now clearly visible since the curtain was drawn back, though Ripley would likely not be able to turn his own head to see him. "He's here, he's fine....or will be, soon enough." He was still looking at Chance, expression carefully neutral, though he knew the other man could clearly see him holding Ripley's hand.

"He can probably tell you for himself, though. His throat didn't get practically torn out like yours did." He arched an eyebrow at Chance, an open invitation for him to speak if he wanted to.

Ah. The bad news first. That was enough to bring a small smile to Finn's face, for some reason, because it was so very Ripley.

He probably should have told the other man not to speak, but he was also sure it would be pointless to do so.

"Well, you're still alive, which means that you're going to have to put up with me, here, all the time, making your infirmary stay pretty much as unbearable as possible, so that you'll never get the bright ******** idea to land yourself in here again." He turned back to the bed, and smiled down at Ripley pleasantly.

"The good news is I wont start being unbearable until tomorrow."

He didn't even wait for Ripley to ask that time.

The bad news tore a disgruntled groan from his dry lips; he asked for bad news, not the worst news. Damn Finn. Damn him. The rational part of his mind tried to tell him that he was actually relieved at the threat, because that meant he was alive and would stay that way long enough to find the other man unbearable, which was actually good news. He didn't know what to think, so he fell back on his natural response: mild annoyance accompanied by the massive inconvenience of having to feel mild annoyance.

"Hate. You." He rasped out, his eyes pinching closed. But, that would come tomorrow, when he was hopefully in better shape. He could feel Wilhelm in his head again, which meant his shield was reforming, and helping the surgeries close and heal the wounds he had endured. He would be a little better tomorrow for the start of promised torture.

Hearing Chance's voice was a relief, and his amber eyes opened again in slow slits, eyes turning to try and see the trainee. It didn't do anything but strain him, and without his glasses, it was a useless venture anyway.

"Good." The word took a couple tries to start, but he got it out just fine. His next set of words provided a great deal more difficult: "S-should...have...p-port-" He gave up after that, trying to clear a throat that wasn't cooperating. The disapproval was there though, and despite surviving because Chance hadn't left him, he still stood by his orders. He was sure he could have found his own pendant at some point, it had to have been there under all that blood.

He was still watching Ripley, so he could see the other man's attempt at turning to face him, each movement slow and awkward and pained. Everything was spoken in single words, as though it hurt too much to say more than that - which, given the state of his throat, was hardly surprising.

The chair beside the bed scraped as Finn readjusted himself to sit back down. But Chance was more focused on the few words that Ripley had managed to get out - and the words he hadn't been able to: Should have ported out. Should have left.

He didn't regret disobeying the order, but it would be unpleasant if Ripley got to disliking him so soon after they had spent that little amount of time getting to know each other. Ripley himself was an interesting man, and so was Finn, whom Chance suspected would be of the same opinion, all things considered.

"I'm sorry," he said, exhaling a breath. "About not following your orders. I should have ported out, I know, and I'm sorry that I disobeyed so early on, but leaving you behind was the greater of two evils. That thing would have eaten you alive, and I figured it was better to try and get you out instead of just up and leaving."

Finn's thumb, strictly out of habit (though perhaps partially because he enjoyed the contact and the feel of Ripley's gloveless hand in his own) began to run across the other mans knuckles, brushing back and forth against them lightly. It perhaps looked a little bit out of place, the cold man with one eye and a don't give two ******** about anybody but myself attitude, behaving in what appeared to be such a gentle manner.

He remained silent while Chance and Ripley had their exchange, reaching up with one hand to rub at tired and red rimmed eyes.

"Okay, shut up." It was directed at both of them. "First of all, Chance, if another hunter gives you the ******** opportunity to get the ******** out of a deadly situation, you should take it." His gaze was hard as he stared at the other man, before he shifted his expression to look at Ripley instead.

"But you....you should have ported the ******** out of there the moment she...it?" Lion...what? "Came through the door. You knew what she was capable of. There is nothing in our contract that states we have to stick around to be mauled by monsters when we're on Haunted House duty." Clearly, Finn was surrounded by idiots.

Though they were idiots that both knew Finn's stance on self preservation over assisting others.

"But, considering the circumstances, I really don't see any other choice but to say...Thank you." This, directed back at Chance, his attention shifting again. "For bringing him back. a*****e probably would have turned into a ghost and ******** haunted me if you hadn't."

His hand squeezed a little more tightly on Ripley's again, and his next question was directed at him.

"How much pain are you in? I should go and grab the tech on duty to check on you now that you're awake."