A/N: Ha! Told you all you wouldn't have to wait so long for the next chapter! Thanks for the reviews, everyone. You're an inspiration to our entire 'Just Shoot Me' fanfic section! Yes, as Cloudburst2000 has pointed out to me, my story has taken a rather bleak turn. Everyone's against Finch! *sniffle sniffle* I am aware that this fanfiction has a very dark humor running through it. Nevertheless, I chose to put it under the 'humor' category instead of 'angst'. That's right, I prefer black humor over no humor at all. And plus, well, no one would read it if it were listed otherwise. So anyway, enjoy the next chapter! I guarantee it won't be as depressing!
Ciao
a 'Just Shoot Me' fanfiction
by Wakizashi
Saturday, 7:24 A.M.
They hadn't even gone an hour into their road trip, and Maya already wanted to stuff Finch in the glove compartment. She was relatively certain he would fit, too.
She was in a bad mood from having been rousted from her warm apartment while the sky was still dark, and Finch had been taciturn and unresponsive from the moment he showed up on her doorstep; something she had rarely had the misfortune of witnessing. For the most part, when something wasn't going his way, Finch responded to it with his usual lightning-fast wit and cutting sarcasm, but this day was different. One-word responses were all she could seem to get from him. At first it had worried her, but now it simply annoyed her.
"Maya, we're six minutes behind schedule! Now get your lazy butt out of the shower before I have to come in after you! Do you really want that?"
*Like I want a piano dropped on my head,* she thought irritably as she dried herself off and twisted her long brown hair into a clasp. Finch had been barking orders at her the entire time from her living room couch, where he had made himself quite at home. "Maya, you better have everything packed. I don't want to have to stop at K-mart so you can buy pantyhose." Or "Maya, bring your cold medicine. If I catch whatever you've got, I'm stealing all your sick days." She swore that if she heard another "Maya" in that biting voice, she would lock the little mosquito out on the fire escape and crawl back in bed.
Pulling on a pair of black pinstripe pants and a crisp white blouse, she literally flung her makeup on her face and opened the bathroom door. Finch stood up, raising an eyebrow, and grabbed her suitcase off the floor. "You ready?"
"Yeah, I just need to get my purse," she replied, retrieving it from her bedroom. She turned around to close the door behind her.
"Hmm. Nice ass."
She whipped around to face him. "*What* did you say!?"
"I said 'nice pants', what's the matter with you? Jeez." Seeing that Maya was not convinced in the least, he shrugged and walked over to her closet to get her coat. He offered it to her, and she snatched it out of his hands. As she pulled it on and crammed her feet into a pair of polished black loafers, she grabbed a cup of yogurt and a spoon.
"Okay. *Now* I'm ready."
Finch herded her out the apartment, apparently in too much of a hurry to bother hanging around and waiting for Maya to deadbolt the door as she went. She made a face at the back of his shaggy blond head and followed him down the dark stairwell. After nearly killing herself at least twelve times, she caught up with him in the street next to his car, where he had put an admirable sum of fifteen cents into the parking meter upon his arrival. He had dumped her suitcase gracelessly on the sidewalk, allowing her the privilege of loading it into the battered station wagon.
Maya had glimped Finch's car numerous times in the dim parking garage at Blush headquarters, but until now had never seen it in the increasing dawn light, in all its junkyard glory. Painted a lack-luster shade of mustard yellow and beautified with wood panelling, its ghetto quality would be improved solely by a strip of red fringe adorning the windshield or a dancing hula girl on the dash.
On the plus side, the seats were broken-in and therefore implausibly comfortable, and Finch had installed a fabulous sound system to the point of almost being ridiculous.
Loading her bags into the trunk and closing it with a jarring effect on the car's entire frame, Maya climbed into the passenger side and fished a tissue out of her coat pocket to wipe her nose. As Finch turned the key and the metal heap sputtered to life, she took one long last look at her apartment building, wondering -- not for the first time -- why she had agreed, if she was this sick, on going on this absurd expedition in the first place.
But, for the sake of her friendship with her travelling companion, she chose not to voice any of her displeasure. Despite their disagreements, Maya was fond of Finch, and God only knew what an argument out on the road would lead to, especially with him in his current mood. She was not too eager to be shoved out of the car on a deserted freeway.
Thus, in an effort to cheer her sullen friend up, she decided to make casual conversation.
"So Finch," she prompted, twisting in the impossibly yielding leather to face him better as he changed lanes. "How are you this morning?"
"Fine," he replied, his eyes glued to the windshield.
*Don't look 'fine' to me,* she thought, frowning. "Anything interesting happen at work after I left?" she tried.
One eyebrow raised; a half-assed version of a shrug. "Nuh-uh."
Maya had to wonder, despite Finch's fully convincing response, what had indeed happened to him to make him so uncommunicative. For every one clever quip the average person had in his arsenal, Dennis Finch had eighteen thousand. To see him making no use of his rare talent was simply unnatural.
As she peeled the lid off her yogurt, she made one more attempt at inciting speech from Mr. Talkative. "So, Dad called me last night about the meeting I missed," she said. "He told me about that idea Nina had to do an article on women professors and their affairs with their college students. Don't you think that's just a little too risky?"
"Sure," he said shortly, braking for a reckless pedestrian.
That was it; time to pry. "Finch, is anything wrong? You're being extremely quiet, and it's starting to scare me." She smiled slightly to let him know she was joking.
Evidently Finch did not acknowledge her light humor. "There's nothing wrong," he said flatly, casting a fleeting glance at her. "What, do you think I'm only being myself when my mouth is flapping or something?"
Maya nearly choked on her yogurt. "What? Of course not! Finch!" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Did Finch really believe that was what she thought of him? Studying his set features, she realized it was true. "You've been kind of down ever since we were at the apartment, that's all. I was just worried about you."
"Please, Maya. Spare me your pity." Finch snorted disdainfully, shooting her an unpleasant smirk. She literally recoiled from the force of it. "Unless your illness has spread to your ears, I'm pretty sure you heard me the first time when I said that nothing is wrong. You got it?"
"Yeah, I got it," she muttered, sinking back into the seat. "Sorry for caring."
So here she sat, in the passenger seat of Finch's Ford Gutless Wonder with the souped-up radio on, listening to a song by The Police that she'd heard about five million times and staring out at the endless highway, if only to avoid the alternative, which was staring at Finch.
She admitted it; she missed the Finch of yesterday. The Finch who had driven her home when she had felt particularly under par. The Finch who had given her juice simply because he had wanted her to feel better. The Finch who had made her laugh, not because he was so good at it, but because he knew she needed it.
The Finch who had kissed her.
Something about that innocent goodbye peck on the cheek had had an unforeseen effect on her, and she had no idea why. If it had been Elliott, it would have been expected; they had already gone out, after all. If it had been Kevin the mail guy, she would have simply punched him in the stomach and run away screaming. But Finch was most emphatically neither of the two. Before Thursday night when he had called to offer help on her article, he had only occasionally given evidence that he cared about her; although she knew he did. This sudden flood of affection, however, had caught her off guard, and now she was wondering where in Heaven's name it had gone.
Unable to bear trying to look interested in the long stretch of road, Maya finally risked a slight turn of her head to look at Finch. His blue eyes were fixed directly in front of him, and his face wore a look of eternal disinterest. Maya was starting to get the feeling he didn't want to be there-- that he was only doing this out of obligation. He took one hand off the steering wheel to push a stray tendril of blond hair behind his ear, and back to the statue he went. He gave no indication that he was aware of her gaze.
As much as she would deny it if anyone asked her, she thought Finch was awfully cute. "Cute" being a word she would never use to describe anyone else, for it was reserved exclusively for him. Yes, he was only five feet seven inches, and she could probably lift him if she tried, but it only added to his "cuteness". And yes, she had hated his wispy blond hair at first, but she had grown used to it. In truth, she believed he was the only person who could pull off that hairstyle, and she couldn't imagine it any other way. "Cute" was simply the only word fitting enough.
She sighed in defeat, wishing she could have her friend back. To her surprise, she heard an answering sigh.
Turning again in her seat, she saw Finch shake his head. "I'm sorry, Maya. I've been a complete jackass all morning. I'm not mad at you, it's just..." He suddenly laughed at his own lack for words. "It's all me. Don't worry about it."
Maya had to fight back the urge to reach over and hug him, sending them off the road into the ditch. Instead, she just grinned at him. "It's okay, Finch. Everyone has bad days. I'm just sorry you have to be doing *this* today. Trust me, if I knew you didn't want to go, I would've--"
"No, no, no," he interrupted quickly. "That's not it. I'm here because I *wanted* to get away from the city, I *wanted* to spend time with you. Little Maya, my bestest buddy," he declared, removing one hand from the wheel and squeezing her knee. She laughed and slapped his hand away, and he smiled innocently as he reached up behind the visor and pulled out a cd case. "Now let's just forget the whole unpleasantness earlier," he suggested as he extracted a cd, inserted it in the car stereo, and cranked the volume up obscenely high. Maya braced herself for the bombshell.
Daft Punk came blaring out of the speakers, and the seats shook from the force of the woofers. Maya was fully convinced that the music could be heard in Romania. She looked up at the rear view mirror to see that it was vibrating madly. The bass made her seat feel like one of those massage chairs at the Sharper Image, and she couldn't help but laugh when she noticed Finch doing the "robot" in his seat.
*Oh, God, he's back,* she thought, grinning wildly.
A/N: I could *so* see Finch doing that. Man, I'd give anything to be friends with him. Just for the record, I have no idea what his car looks like. Does he even have one? He must. Oh well, whatever. I figure, as long as it runs, and has a killer stereo, he's satisfied. So what'd you think? I know what you're thinking: "Finally, this retarded story is going somewhere!" Yeah, I know. I take forever with these chapters. Cloudburst2000 can attest to that. (How can she publish so dang fast? It's bloody incredible!) Well, sorry I'm such a lethargic writer. But yay, at least I'm serious about finishing it! I really can't stand it when people start stories and then give up after the first chapter. Some of them have so much potential! Rest assured, I'm not one of them, and though my chapters may take a while to get posted, you can count on them to show up eventually. That being said, leave a review, because you're so nice! Thanks everybody, for your support!
Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com
Ciao
a 'Just Shoot Me' fanfiction
by Wakizashi
Saturday, 7:24 A.M.
They hadn't even gone an hour into their road trip, and Maya already wanted to stuff Finch in the glove compartment. She was relatively certain he would fit, too.
She was in a bad mood from having been rousted from her warm apartment while the sky was still dark, and Finch had been taciturn and unresponsive from the moment he showed up on her doorstep; something she had rarely had the misfortune of witnessing. For the most part, when something wasn't going his way, Finch responded to it with his usual lightning-fast wit and cutting sarcasm, but this day was different. One-word responses were all she could seem to get from him. At first it had worried her, but now it simply annoyed her.
"Maya, we're six minutes behind schedule! Now get your lazy butt out of the shower before I have to come in after you! Do you really want that?"
*Like I want a piano dropped on my head,* she thought irritably as she dried herself off and twisted her long brown hair into a clasp. Finch had been barking orders at her the entire time from her living room couch, where he had made himself quite at home. "Maya, you better have everything packed. I don't want to have to stop at K-mart so you can buy pantyhose." Or "Maya, bring your cold medicine. If I catch whatever you've got, I'm stealing all your sick days." She swore that if she heard another "Maya" in that biting voice, she would lock the little mosquito out on the fire escape and crawl back in bed.
Pulling on a pair of black pinstripe pants and a crisp white blouse, she literally flung her makeup on her face and opened the bathroom door. Finch stood up, raising an eyebrow, and grabbed her suitcase off the floor. "You ready?"
"Yeah, I just need to get my purse," she replied, retrieving it from her bedroom. She turned around to close the door behind her.
"Hmm. Nice ass."
She whipped around to face him. "*What* did you say!?"
"I said 'nice pants', what's the matter with you? Jeez." Seeing that Maya was not convinced in the least, he shrugged and walked over to her closet to get her coat. He offered it to her, and she snatched it out of his hands. As she pulled it on and crammed her feet into a pair of polished black loafers, she grabbed a cup of yogurt and a spoon.
"Okay. *Now* I'm ready."
Finch herded her out the apartment, apparently in too much of a hurry to bother hanging around and waiting for Maya to deadbolt the door as she went. She made a face at the back of his shaggy blond head and followed him down the dark stairwell. After nearly killing herself at least twelve times, she caught up with him in the street next to his car, where he had put an admirable sum of fifteen cents into the parking meter upon his arrival. He had dumped her suitcase gracelessly on the sidewalk, allowing her the privilege of loading it into the battered station wagon.
Maya had glimped Finch's car numerous times in the dim parking garage at Blush headquarters, but until now had never seen it in the increasing dawn light, in all its junkyard glory. Painted a lack-luster shade of mustard yellow and beautified with wood panelling, its ghetto quality would be improved solely by a strip of red fringe adorning the windshield or a dancing hula girl on the dash.
On the plus side, the seats were broken-in and therefore implausibly comfortable, and Finch had installed a fabulous sound system to the point of almost being ridiculous.
Loading her bags into the trunk and closing it with a jarring effect on the car's entire frame, Maya climbed into the passenger side and fished a tissue out of her coat pocket to wipe her nose. As Finch turned the key and the metal heap sputtered to life, she took one long last look at her apartment building, wondering -- not for the first time -- why she had agreed, if she was this sick, on going on this absurd expedition in the first place.
But, for the sake of her friendship with her travelling companion, she chose not to voice any of her displeasure. Despite their disagreements, Maya was fond of Finch, and God only knew what an argument out on the road would lead to, especially with him in his current mood. She was not too eager to be shoved out of the car on a deserted freeway.
Thus, in an effort to cheer her sullen friend up, she decided to make casual conversation.
"So Finch," she prompted, twisting in the impossibly yielding leather to face him better as he changed lanes. "How are you this morning?"
"Fine," he replied, his eyes glued to the windshield.
*Don't look 'fine' to me,* she thought, frowning. "Anything interesting happen at work after I left?" she tried.
One eyebrow raised; a half-assed version of a shrug. "Nuh-uh."
Maya had to wonder, despite Finch's fully convincing response, what had indeed happened to him to make him so uncommunicative. For every one clever quip the average person had in his arsenal, Dennis Finch had eighteen thousand. To see him making no use of his rare talent was simply unnatural.
As she peeled the lid off her yogurt, she made one more attempt at inciting speech from Mr. Talkative. "So, Dad called me last night about the meeting I missed," she said. "He told me about that idea Nina had to do an article on women professors and their affairs with their college students. Don't you think that's just a little too risky?"
"Sure," he said shortly, braking for a reckless pedestrian.
That was it; time to pry. "Finch, is anything wrong? You're being extremely quiet, and it's starting to scare me." She smiled slightly to let him know she was joking.
Evidently Finch did not acknowledge her light humor. "There's nothing wrong," he said flatly, casting a fleeting glance at her. "What, do you think I'm only being myself when my mouth is flapping or something?"
Maya nearly choked on her yogurt. "What? Of course not! Finch!" She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Did Finch really believe that was what she thought of him? Studying his set features, she realized it was true. "You've been kind of down ever since we were at the apartment, that's all. I was just worried about you."
"Please, Maya. Spare me your pity." Finch snorted disdainfully, shooting her an unpleasant smirk. She literally recoiled from the force of it. "Unless your illness has spread to your ears, I'm pretty sure you heard me the first time when I said that nothing is wrong. You got it?"
"Yeah, I got it," she muttered, sinking back into the seat. "Sorry for caring."
So here she sat, in the passenger seat of Finch's Ford Gutless Wonder with the souped-up radio on, listening to a song by The Police that she'd heard about five million times and staring out at the endless highway, if only to avoid the alternative, which was staring at Finch.
She admitted it; she missed the Finch of yesterday. The Finch who had driven her home when she had felt particularly under par. The Finch who had given her juice simply because he had wanted her to feel better. The Finch who had made her laugh, not because he was so good at it, but because he knew she needed it.
The Finch who had kissed her.
Something about that innocent goodbye peck on the cheek had had an unforeseen effect on her, and she had no idea why. If it had been Elliott, it would have been expected; they had already gone out, after all. If it had been Kevin the mail guy, she would have simply punched him in the stomach and run away screaming. But Finch was most emphatically neither of the two. Before Thursday night when he had called to offer help on her article, he had only occasionally given evidence that he cared about her; although she knew he did. This sudden flood of affection, however, had caught her off guard, and now she was wondering where in Heaven's name it had gone.
Unable to bear trying to look interested in the long stretch of road, Maya finally risked a slight turn of her head to look at Finch. His blue eyes were fixed directly in front of him, and his face wore a look of eternal disinterest. Maya was starting to get the feeling he didn't want to be there-- that he was only doing this out of obligation. He took one hand off the steering wheel to push a stray tendril of blond hair behind his ear, and back to the statue he went. He gave no indication that he was aware of her gaze.
As much as she would deny it if anyone asked her, she thought Finch was awfully cute. "Cute" being a word she would never use to describe anyone else, for it was reserved exclusively for him. Yes, he was only five feet seven inches, and she could probably lift him if she tried, but it only added to his "cuteness". And yes, she had hated his wispy blond hair at first, but she had grown used to it. In truth, she believed he was the only person who could pull off that hairstyle, and she couldn't imagine it any other way. "Cute" was simply the only word fitting enough.
She sighed in defeat, wishing she could have her friend back. To her surprise, she heard an answering sigh.
Turning again in her seat, she saw Finch shake his head. "I'm sorry, Maya. I've been a complete jackass all morning. I'm not mad at you, it's just..." He suddenly laughed at his own lack for words. "It's all me. Don't worry about it."
Maya had to fight back the urge to reach over and hug him, sending them off the road into the ditch. Instead, she just grinned at him. "It's okay, Finch. Everyone has bad days. I'm just sorry you have to be doing *this* today. Trust me, if I knew you didn't want to go, I would've--"
"No, no, no," he interrupted quickly. "That's not it. I'm here because I *wanted* to get away from the city, I *wanted* to spend time with you. Little Maya, my bestest buddy," he declared, removing one hand from the wheel and squeezing her knee. She laughed and slapped his hand away, and he smiled innocently as he reached up behind the visor and pulled out a cd case. "Now let's just forget the whole unpleasantness earlier," he suggested as he extracted a cd, inserted it in the car stereo, and cranked the volume up obscenely high. Maya braced herself for the bombshell.
Daft Punk came blaring out of the speakers, and the seats shook from the force of the woofers. Maya was fully convinced that the music could be heard in Romania. She looked up at the rear view mirror to see that it was vibrating madly. The bass made her seat feel like one of those massage chairs at the Sharper Image, and she couldn't help but laugh when she noticed Finch doing the "robot" in his seat.
*Oh, God, he's back,* she thought, grinning wildly.
A/N: I could *so* see Finch doing that. Man, I'd give anything to be friends with him. Just for the record, I have no idea what his car looks like. Does he even have one? He must. Oh well, whatever. I figure, as long as it runs, and has a killer stereo, he's satisfied. So what'd you think? I know what you're thinking: "Finally, this retarded story is going somewhere!" Yeah, I know. I take forever with these chapters. Cloudburst2000 can attest to that. (How can she publish so dang fast? It's bloody incredible!) Well, sorry I'm such a lethargic writer. But yay, at least I'm serious about finishing it! I really can't stand it when people start stories and then give up after the first chapter. Some of them have so much potential! Rest assured, I'm not one of them, and though my chapters may take a while to get posted, you can count on them to show up eventually. That being said, leave a review, because you're so nice! Thanks everybody, for your support!
Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com