Hippo's Creativity Challenge
Word Count: 908
Characters: Fynta Wolfe and Theron Shan (platonic)
Summary: Theron just got out of the medbay, and Fynta decides he needs to be a little more careful. Theron feels that the reckless Mandalorian is the last person who should be giving advice on staying out of harm's way.
Author's Note: I've got that "Anything you can do, I can do better," song stuck in my head after an amusing conversation with Salacious Crumpet about Fynta and Theron's unhealthy friendship. These two will never, not amuse me.

I Can Do Better

Theron threw himself into the chair across from Fynta and ran a hand down his face. She eyed the man, noting that he looked scruffier than usual, but neglected to comment on it. The silence stretched on as each became absorbed in their work. Finally, Theron sighed, dropped his datapad on the table, and huffed. "My head's killing me."

Fynta raised her eyes slowly, took a long pull of her caf, then went back to reading her messages. "It probably wouldn't hurt so badly if you didn't use it as a shield." The agent snorted, and Fynta smirked. "Granted, it is the hardest part of your body."

"You're one to talk," Theron grumbled, then fell silent.

They continued like that for some time, though Fynta became increasingly aware of his eyes on her face. She refused to crack first, and if she did, it would most likely be with her fist. She really shouldn't add to his list of new injuries just yet.

"I haven't had that many concussions," Theron finally complained. He folded his arms over his chest and glared as if that had ever had any effect on her before.

Fynta sighed and laid her datapad aside. "You've hit your head quite a bit in the time that I've known you. Do you even know how many concussions you've had?"

Theron's head tipped to the side, eyes narrowing as he mentally ticked off the ones he could remember. "Seven." Fynta thought that sounded too low and arched a disbelieving eyebrow. "Maybe eight," he added through a sip of his caf.

"Are you counting that one on Alderaan?" Fynta asked. She remembered it well, though he probably didn't.

Theron regarded her with suspicion, then his eyes widened. "You gave me that one!"

Fynta shrugged. "We were counting how many total, not just the ones from the enemy. And if memory serves, you deserved it."

"I'd just been tortured," the man argued, an annoyed flush creeping up his neck.

"Another bad habit you've developed," Fynta added with a nod. Theon managed to find himself in enemy custody a lot too. At least he was good at getting intel while there, though. He had a knack for reverse interrogation. Fynta pushed that all aside to keep them on topic. "Besides, you called me a disreputable name."

"Fine, eight."

Fynta thought back to their training days, the ones that Theron assured her he'd spent countless hours trying to forget, and grinned. "How about that time on Nar Shaddaa, with the Nicto gang?"

Theron coughed into his cup, dabbing his chin with the cuff of his sleeve, and cleared his throat a few times. "Oh yeah, I forgot about that one."

"I thought as much, you were pretty wasted. What was that girl's name again? The really tall one with all th—" Theron knocked his cup over and gave a few overzealous apologies while he dabbed it up with a napkin. Fynta figured she'd jogged his memory enough.

"Fine," the agent groused. "Nine, then. Happy now?"

Fynta leaned her elbows on the table and smiled at Theron while he continued to clean up the distraction. "What about on Hoth, and that one that I was pretty sure killed you on Dantooine?"

Theron paused halfway through the circle he had started and eyed Fynta. "You've been present during an alarming number of my concussions." She saw the wheels turning behind his eyes. "Should I reevaluate our friendship?"

Fynta offered a wide grin, the kind she knew would get under Theron's skin more than any words she could conjure up. Jorgan had made the same claim not long ago too. The man had never so much as broken a bone until Havoc-more precisely, Fynta-came into his life. The Cathar had just as much scar tissue and knitting in his medical scans as the rest of them now. If Fynta were a superstitious woman, she'd be concerned about these allegations. However, only a few of those had been a direct result of her actions, mostly, it was just the way the galaxy worked. If you hit hard, eventually, you got hit back.

The silence dragged on, and Theron tossed the napkin into a nearby bin. "So, we've settled on nine, right?" Fynta nodded, pulling herself back to the conversation. "Your turn."

Fynta didn't need to consider. It had become a running joke long ago between her and Dorne. Granted, Fynta found it more amusing than the medic. "Fifteen." Theron's mouth went slack, and his eyebrows jumped straight to his hairline. "Only a four since joining Havoc Squad. Dorne threatened to put me on a report if I managed another one."

"How are you still mobile?" Theron made a disgusted sound. As if the fact that Fynta was capable of sitting upright and carrying on a conversation was personally insulting. She got a cheap thrill out of his discomfort, or maybe it was his skepticism. Either way, she'd take it.

Fynta pushed to her feet, snagged her mug of caf, and smiled down at her old friend. "Lots of practice. At the rate you're going, you'll catch up soon enough." As she turned to head for the exit, placing her steps carefully to ensure she didn't ruin her grand exit by tripping over her own feet, Fynta swore she heard Theron mutter something to the effect of not likely. She smiled to herself. Perhaps, she'd ask Shan for a sparring match tomorrow.