FN-2199

He tilted his head and studied Nines’ face. “We can do anything we want now, you know. Is there anything you’ve always wanted to try?”

His expression hardened after a long moment, and he cleared his throat, looking away. “--No,” he said, and the challenge was apparent in his tone. The defensive ‘fight me’ was strong with this one. “--Why, have you been fulfilling lifelong dreams?”

                         ❝ Let’s get this over with, then. ❞

      At least he hadn’t gotten very far in his own medical treatment, the ex-trooper thought as he led them to the training room, trying to see the bright side of things, so it wasn’t as if he’d be spoiling the medic’s work or wasting supplies. But Nines… Hereally didn’t want to hurt him; this wasn’t about him, anyway, but about Nines getting his revenge.

      Once they arrived, he turned the lights on and undid his       former teammate’s bonds before he stepped back,       spreading his arms out beside him as if telling him to       come at him. 

                         ❝ Show me how much you hate me, Nines. ❞

And he was right.

Nines stood for a long moment, staring at 2187 as his breathing grew deeper and more huffy. Most of his weight was on his left leg, his uninjured leg, and he massaged his wrists now that they were free. Then he lunged. Then he fell, because he tried to beat someone up while he could barely stand on one of his legs, and tears stung at his eyes as he landed hard on the ground.

“--I hate you,” he muttered, despite the gravity lost by his new position.

It’s difficult to find the words to explain to Nines that Ruby is not only bad at talking to people, Ruby does not like people. It sounds so drastic, to put it like that, but it’s the shy truth, and this interaction isn’t endearing him more than any other. Ruby rubs his neck and throws a look over his shoulder, as if making sure nobody else is around to witness this moment of supposed weakness.

“--Good. And if anyone gives you any bantha fodder, just... Tell the Captain. Alright?”

He almost didn’t notice the arm around him until Mirrors-- Harper started talking. “--Yeah, it just takes some getting used to. They’re just so... They’re so...different. Y’know?”

Despite his previous statement to not fight the redheaded male until he was healed, it didn’t look like Finn had that option anymore; especially when Nines went and aggravated the injuries he already had in an effort to instigate something. Stepping forward, he put a hand on top of the other man’s restraints in an attempt to stop his harmful movements—at least he was abiding to Nines’ request not to touch him, since he technically wasn’t.

❝ You wanna do this? Fine, let’s go. You, me, training room, right now. I’ll undo your restraints, you’ll beat me ‘till I’m bleeding from every orifice of my body—that’ll make you feel better, right? Make you happy? ❞

“--It. Would make. My kriffing. Day,” he growled, tears still streaming from his eyes.

Unfazed, Nines raised his blaster, finger on the trigger, safety off, ready to shoot. And he would. It was a courtesy to their time as friends that he hadn’t yet.

             Finn paused he came face to face with the other again, as string of curses left him but it was hushed under his breath. Hues darting around, he wanted to RUN he didn’t want to see him, even if a tiny very tiny deep down part of him did. Not to mention he wasn’t completely healed and he was currently on his own waiting to be picked up by the Resistance. His hand curls around his blaster as he attempted to move away though he was sure he was already spotted. 

“--You! On the ground, now!”

[ hmu if you want something specifiic, if nah it’ll probably depend on the easiest fit for the character

He looked back into the other man’s eyes. “You you know, Nines, the strangest thing about this place, the parts that are the most different from the Order, has nothing to do with the war. It’s not that we’re on a forest planet instead of an icy rock, or how they wear orange and sing songs at night and we wear — wore — white and stood at attention. It’s the names — the people here have names, real ones to call their own.”

He swallowed, eyes flickering to the side. “Yeah,” he mumbled, voice sounding almost as tight as his throat felt. “Yeah, I know they do.” His fingers tightened around his tray, suddenly not hungry. “It’s kriffing weird.”