jottings: so i've actually had this on my laptop for almost a year. i sort of forgot about it. hm. but yes, it's safe to say that Finn and Holley are my biggest guilty pleasure ship. like, ever. like i said, this is going to be a six-shot; i have the first two (almost three) written, so they should be posted sporadically. also, i'm terrible at coming up with actual plot; enjoy the abundance of head-canons and awkward otp moments.
disclaimer: Cars 2-Pixar. title-maps by yeah yeah yeahs.
maps
wait; they don't love you like i love you.
;;
five times Finn should've taken his own advice
(and one time he's glad he didn't).
;;
[one.]
The plane is filled with artillery and its times like these that anyone can see why CHROME agents don't fly commercially.
Finn's busy with his pre-mission weapon checks. Its border-line compulsive, the way he's cocking the pistols and examining the magazines for faulty rounds.
"Any advice?" Holley's voice cuts through the white noise hum of jet engines.
He's focused on ensuring that the sights on gun number four are properly aligning with the 3 on the wall clock. "Hm?"
He stows the gun in a holster on his belt and faces his partner.
"You know," she says casually. Only, she's got her shirt pulled up to there, all pale skin and bright purple lace, threading a communication wire from her back pocket to her ear. "You always seem to have some words of advice before missions."
He attempts to respond, but unfortunately, his eyes are fixated on the exposed skin and she doesn't seem to realize the position she's putting him in.
But then again, knowing her, she probably realizes all too well.
Finn drags his eyes up to hers and forces a suave grin. "Don't get shot."
"Excellent plan," laughs Holley, blessedly tugging her shirt down. She adjusts the fabric so that it covers the guns strapped to her hips.
"I do try, Miss Shiftwell." Finn turns his attention back to the weaponry and fights to block out the images bursting in his mind. He swears up and down that they're purely involuntary, the flashback freeze frames of Holley in certain compromising positions.
Then again, they've got time to waste; it wouldn't be impossible to—
"Alright, my friends," the intercom crackles as Siddely speaks from the cockpit. "Our landing is approaching in several moments."
Thank god. The mission is already dangerous enough, the last thing he needs is another distraction.
It's a hostile situation. Essentially, they're dropping into the epicenter of a drug-filled wasteland, and that never exactly bodes well for anyone. Especially when both parties have guns.
Holley plops onto the chair beside him. He acknowledges her with momentary silence, and then says "I am serious, Shiftwell. Do not get shot out there."
Her magenta smile is tainted with nerves. "It's not exactly something I'm planning on doing, Finn." Her voice is flippant, but Finn can see her poker tells all over the place. The furious way she's jiggling her foot makes her uneasiness obvious to him.
"Holley." He catches her gaze and for a split second, her body stills. He rarely uses her first name, generally on occasions when he's feeling particularly sentimental (and sometimes when they're alone at night and she's—). "It'll be alright."
Holley breathes deeply and nods. "Of course it will be."
.x.
And of course, things go awry.
"Fuck," Holley whispers through her communicator. "There're too many people here." She snakes a hand through her chestnut hair tensely.
Across the square, Finn eyes the target suspects as they saunter through the street. "I know." He cautiously moves closer to Holley. "But it's too late to call it off—I've already tried."
Finn is thirty feet away when one of the perps must recognize him. The gunshots that follow are inevitable. People scream and run desperately. Holley fights her way through them. She pulls a gun free, holding it steadily.
She spies Finn holding his ground, amazingly calm whilst being shot at. "Behind you," she calls, cocking a pistol and raising it. She aims and doesn't catch the look of surprise on Finn's face as the bullet whizzes past his shoulder, straight into a gang member's skull.
"Excellent work, Miss Shiftwell," he extols, grinning.
Holley doesn't have a chance to respond before another shot leaves her ears ringing. There's a burst of red and Finn crumples to the ground. The man holding the gun turns to her and cocks the barrel; he's dead without a second thought.
Holley rushes past the bodies and debris that litter the pavement. "Finn?" He isn't moving. Heart racing, she drops to her knees and searches for a pulse. "Finn, this isn't fucking funny, say something."
"What happened?" he mumbles, looking up at her with half-lidded eyes. His shirt is stained red around the entrance wound on his abdomen.
"You got shot," she says. Tears brim in her eyes and she brushes them away impatiently.
"I'm well aware of that, thank you." He grimaces, clenching his teeth as Holley peels his shirt off of his stomach. "I meant you. Are you alright?"
"I'm perfectly fine. You're the one bleeding," she snaps. Her voice snags on the sob trying to fight its way out of her throat.
Finn touches her hand, which is pressed firmly to the bullet hole in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. "Wasn't part of the plan, was it?"
Holley's reluctant laugh borders on hysteric, because she shouldn't be laughing at a time like this, but Finn smiles faintly in response.
CHROME reinforcements come rushing in. They circle like vultures, checking the gang members for death, and arresting the ones that move. Two medics approach the partners with a stretcher and heave Finn's bleeding body onto it. Holley stands on the sidelines and watches. At least he's alive.
As they're loading him into an ambulance, Holley steps up and says adamantly: "If you're even thinking of dying, I will kill you."