Fan Fiction ❯ Ciao ❯ Friday, 6:00 A.M. ( Chapter 2 )
[ P - Pre-Teen ]
By: Trick Sparrow 
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.15.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 202 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 05.15.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.8K | Visits: 202 | Status: Completed
A/N: So, you liked the first chapter enough to endure a second? You brave people, you. Very well, if you're willing to read on, be my guest. I have little experience writing this kind of story. But I must admit, it's EXTREMELY fun writing Finch's character. He's just so sarcastic and devious. But his sense of humor is a little too like mine than is comfortable. My parents tell me that being not just funny, but "David Spade funny" isn't necessarily a good thing, but I would have to disagree. In fact, I deem it the highest praise possible. But anyway, thanks for your reviews for my last chapter, and I hope you like this next one. Ta!
Ciao
A 'Just Shoot Me' fanfiction
by Wakizashi
Friday, 6:00 A.M.
The alarm clock radio blared "The Rockafeller Skank", and Dennis Finch rolled out of bed, muttering a curse as he hit the floor with a dull thud. *If I have one more of these two-hour nights of sleep,* he reflected sourly, *I'm gonna go on a shooting rampage.* For the past four days-- or, to be more precise, since Maya Gallo had brought up that idea for her article at the meeting on Monday-- Finch had spent his nights staring blankly at either the television screen, the first page of a borrowed novel, or the monotonous white of his bedroom ceiling. Nothing short of a tranquilizer intended for large African mammals, in his opinion, would be sufficient for knocking him out.
For reasons known only to him, apprehensions arose every time he thought of Maya and her stupid article he just *had* to express an interest for. Only the night before had he worked up the courage to suggest to her the notion of interviewing his grandmother, and even then he had had to write down in advance what he was going to say to her. He had, of course, completely blown it by freaking out when she failed to answer her phone. The most illogical reasons for her absence riddled his brain until he could barely restrain himself from calling Jack and asking him if he knew where his daughter was. *Pathetic, even for me,* he thought, running a forceful hand through his blond hair.
Belatedly, he remembered Maya had mentioned something on Wednesday about getting together with some friends from college. Mentally kicking himself for being so panicky, he finally turned off the radio and dragged himself into the bathroom for a shower.
Cleansing process completed without incident, save an unfortunate mishap involving the shampoo and his left eye, Finch towelled himself dry, shaved, fussed with his hair, and threw on whatever clothes were not at the dry cleaners. Wishing irrationally for bacon and eggs, he settled for a bagel and a cup of coffee brewed the night before. Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to Maya. What was she eating for breakfast? Probably something healthy. As he leaned against the kitchen counter, he allowed himself a brief smile, wondering what eating breakfast with her as his wife would be like, before pulling himself reluctantly back to reality, and his own burnt excuse for a meal. He really needed to get a new toaster.
"Crap," he said unnecessarily, looking at his watch. No more than five minutes of free time were left before he would be officially late for work. He pushed himself off the counter and grabbed his coat, which he had haphazardly thrown on the couch the evening before. Momentarily, he speculated with a pang of distress the many different ways Elliott could maim him if he ever found out how he felt about Maya-- or what Jack would do, for that matter. Most likely roll him up in an area rug and throw him off the Brooklyn Bridge. Finally he cleared his head with a shake and headed out the door.
"Morning, Finch, I heard you and Maya are driving up to your grandmother's to interview her for that article. What's Elliott going to say?"
*That's it,* he thought, closing his eyes. *I'm a Dennis Finchilada.*
Instead of finding a nice broom closet to hide in, he stood his ground. "Nina," he said casually, trying to keep up the appearance of looking through his file cabinet, "what's the big deal? It's strictly business. Besides, what's he gonna do to me? Him and Maya are long since down the drain."
"Good point." Nina Van Horn frowned, looking for all the world like she was actually thinking. "I suppose he won't be that angry. Well, anyway, Maya's in her office. She needs to talk to you. Says it's important."
"Oh, she is *not* backing out now," he said under his breath, eliciting a strange look from Nina as he brushed by her on the way to Maya's office. He had been planning a day alone with her for practically an eternity, to tell her how he felt, and now that a perfect opportunity had arisen, he was not going to throw it away because of a little change in his plan. *I have waited far too long for this,* he thought, his eye twitching noticeably.
He crossed the room and pushed open the glass door to Maya's office. "Gooood morning, Starshine," he said, grinning as he pulled the door shut behind him. "You had something you nee-- OHH my God, Nina, what did you give her?"
"What? I didn't do anything!" was the confused response outside the door.
Maya Gallo was slumped forward on the surface of her desk, fast asleep. Her long chestnut hair covered her face, stirring slightly as she exhaled. Finch took an uncertain step toward her and raised one of her limp arms. It hit the desk when he dropped it, and he passed a hand over his face. "If you didn't do anything," he retorted, "why is Maya lying comatose on top of her desk?" He groaned and shook her shoulder gently. "I'm just waiting for this to get worse."
The door suddenly opened, and Elliott DiMauro walked in, a blueberry muffin in his hand. "Hey Finch."
He looked up, eyes wide. "And there it is."
"Maya, they didn't have any of those Australian toaster biscuits, but I got you this." Elliott stopped, muffin forgotten. "Oh jeez. Finch, she didn't take any of that cold medicine, did she?"
Finch threw up his hands. "How should I know? When I came in here, she was like *that*."
"She said she was coming down with something, and she brought this stuff... Ah. Here it is." He threw a white bottle to Finch, and he inspected the label closely.
"'Side effects may include drowsiness, disorientation, loss of appetite--' Oh, this is just perfect." He collapsed in one of the chairs against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest.
Elliott frowned. "What's perfect?"
"I'm surprised you haven't found out yet," he snapped, still rooted to the chair. One fair eyebrow raised, daring him to make something of it. "Maya and I are going to my grandma's house for the weekend."
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air like a sudden presence.
"Really," Elliott finally said. "What for?"
"Oh, it's just uh... Maya had that, umm... article that she's gotta have done by... next week, yeah," he replied, silently berating himself for avoiding eye contact with the photographer. "She needed to find an older woman to interview about the war, so I suggested my grandmother."
"Uh-huh." He sounded less than placated.
At last Finch raised his eyes to meet his. "Wwwwhat?"
"Oh nothing." Finch was definitely convinced that it was not "nothing" that was bothering him. "It's just that your grandmother lives upstate, doesn't she? Kind of a long way to drive."
"Yeah, so?" He shrugged casually. "I haven't seen her in a while. It'll be like killing two birds with one stone."
"Wait, wait, wait," he said, shaking his head. "I've never known you to do anything like this before. What's up?"
Finch rose from the chair indignantly. "Nothing is 'up'," he protested, cringing inwardly at the sound of his own voice cracking. "Maya needed help with her article, and I offered it. Okay? Just being nice."
"I'm sure." Elliott walked passed him and opened the door, sticking his head out. "Hey everybody! Finch is being nice!"
A cacophony of laughter issued from the office outside. Elliott closed the door again with a look of triumph, and Finch narrowed his eyes. "Complain all you want," he said, a smug smile forming on his lips, "but the poor ex-boyfriend has no say in what Maya does now. If she wants to spend the weekend with the Finch, there's nothing you can do to stop her." He glanced over at the unconscious form of the journalist. "Not even if she's... experiencing technical difficulties."
"Fine. You know what? Go ahead. Spend a whole weekend with only each other as company. Only one of you will come back alive, and my money's on Maya." The photographer smiled with false sympathy. "She can't stand you."
The breath suddenly caught in Finch's throat. For only a fraction of a second, his vision clouded, but an instant later all he felt was rage. "Get out," he whispered.
"No need to get angry." Elliott's tone was deceptively innocent. "I'm only telling the truth."
"I said get out."
"All right, all right," he said, raising his hands beseechingly as he walked out. He took a bite of the muffin. "Have fun on your trip," he called on his way out.
As soon as the door closed, Finch's thin, wiry form crumpled into the chair in front of Maya's desk, his head in his hands. He had expected Elliott to react negatively to the news. He had not, however, anticipated evoking such a cruel, biting remark from the photographer-- and so indifferently hurled at his defenses. It wasn't true. It couldn't be.
But what if it was?
A/N: Poor Finch! *sniff* I know, Elliott's not normally such a jerk, but he is in my story! It was necessary for the plot, and besides, he's not a jerk through the whole story. Just during his sudden bout of jealousy. ANYWAY, thanks for waiting for the next chapter to come up. You were so patient! I hope I'm not stretching Finch's character too far from his usual personality. Seems like I've made him a shade too touchy and emotional. Well, tell me what you thought, and if you want me to continue.
Ooh ooh! Before I forget, go here and see what I drew! Do iiiit...
http://www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php?id=83640
And I'd be very VERY happy if you left a review, because I want to know what you think. All right, ciao!
Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com
Ciao
A 'Just Shoot Me' fanfiction
by Wakizashi
Friday, 6:00 A.M.
The alarm clock radio blared "The Rockafeller Skank", and Dennis Finch rolled out of bed, muttering a curse as he hit the floor with a dull thud. *If I have one more of these two-hour nights of sleep,* he reflected sourly, *I'm gonna go on a shooting rampage.* For the past four days-- or, to be more precise, since Maya Gallo had brought up that idea for her article at the meeting on Monday-- Finch had spent his nights staring blankly at either the television screen, the first page of a borrowed novel, or the monotonous white of his bedroom ceiling. Nothing short of a tranquilizer intended for large African mammals, in his opinion, would be sufficient for knocking him out.
For reasons known only to him, apprehensions arose every time he thought of Maya and her stupid article he just *had* to express an interest for. Only the night before had he worked up the courage to suggest to her the notion of interviewing his grandmother, and even then he had had to write down in advance what he was going to say to her. He had, of course, completely blown it by freaking out when she failed to answer her phone. The most illogical reasons for her absence riddled his brain until he could barely restrain himself from calling Jack and asking him if he knew where his daughter was. *Pathetic, even for me,* he thought, running a forceful hand through his blond hair.
Belatedly, he remembered Maya had mentioned something on Wednesday about getting together with some friends from college. Mentally kicking himself for being so panicky, he finally turned off the radio and dragged himself into the bathroom for a shower.
Cleansing process completed without incident, save an unfortunate mishap involving the shampoo and his left eye, Finch towelled himself dry, shaved, fussed with his hair, and threw on whatever clothes were not at the dry cleaners. Wishing irrationally for bacon and eggs, he settled for a bagel and a cup of coffee brewed the night before. Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to Maya. What was she eating for breakfast? Probably something healthy. As he leaned against the kitchen counter, he allowed himself a brief smile, wondering what eating breakfast with her as his wife would be like, before pulling himself reluctantly back to reality, and his own burnt excuse for a meal. He really needed to get a new toaster.
"Crap," he said unnecessarily, looking at his watch. No more than five minutes of free time were left before he would be officially late for work. He pushed himself off the counter and grabbed his coat, which he had haphazardly thrown on the couch the evening before. Momentarily, he speculated with a pang of distress the many different ways Elliott could maim him if he ever found out how he felt about Maya-- or what Jack would do, for that matter. Most likely roll him up in an area rug and throw him off the Brooklyn Bridge. Finally he cleared his head with a shake and headed out the door.
"Morning, Finch, I heard you and Maya are driving up to your grandmother's to interview her for that article. What's Elliott going to say?"
*That's it,* he thought, closing his eyes. *I'm a Dennis Finchilada.*
Instead of finding a nice broom closet to hide in, he stood his ground. "Nina," he said casually, trying to keep up the appearance of looking through his file cabinet, "what's the big deal? It's strictly business. Besides, what's he gonna do to me? Him and Maya are long since down the drain."
"Good point." Nina Van Horn frowned, looking for all the world like she was actually thinking. "I suppose he won't be that angry. Well, anyway, Maya's in her office. She needs to talk to you. Says it's important."
"Oh, she is *not* backing out now," he said under his breath, eliciting a strange look from Nina as he brushed by her on the way to Maya's office. He had been planning a day alone with her for practically an eternity, to tell her how he felt, and now that a perfect opportunity had arisen, he was not going to throw it away because of a little change in his plan. *I have waited far too long for this,* he thought, his eye twitching noticeably.
He crossed the room and pushed open the glass door to Maya's office. "Gooood morning, Starshine," he said, grinning as he pulled the door shut behind him. "You had something you nee-- OHH my God, Nina, what did you give her?"
"What? I didn't do anything!" was the confused response outside the door.
Maya Gallo was slumped forward on the surface of her desk, fast asleep. Her long chestnut hair covered her face, stirring slightly as she exhaled. Finch took an uncertain step toward her and raised one of her limp arms. It hit the desk when he dropped it, and he passed a hand over his face. "If you didn't do anything," he retorted, "why is Maya lying comatose on top of her desk?" He groaned and shook her shoulder gently. "I'm just waiting for this to get worse."
The door suddenly opened, and Elliott DiMauro walked in, a blueberry muffin in his hand. "Hey Finch."
He looked up, eyes wide. "And there it is."
"Maya, they didn't have any of those Australian toaster biscuits, but I got you this." Elliott stopped, muffin forgotten. "Oh jeez. Finch, she didn't take any of that cold medicine, did she?"
Finch threw up his hands. "How should I know? When I came in here, she was like *that*."
"She said she was coming down with something, and she brought this stuff... Ah. Here it is." He threw a white bottle to Finch, and he inspected the label closely.
"'Side effects may include drowsiness, disorientation, loss of appetite--' Oh, this is just perfect." He collapsed in one of the chairs against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest.
Elliott frowned. "What's perfect?"
"I'm surprised you haven't found out yet," he snapped, still rooted to the chair. One fair eyebrow raised, daring him to make something of it. "Maya and I are going to my grandma's house for the weekend."
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air like a sudden presence.
"Really," Elliott finally said. "What for?"
"Oh, it's just uh... Maya had that, umm... article that she's gotta have done by... next week, yeah," he replied, silently berating himself for avoiding eye contact with the photographer. "She needed to find an older woman to interview about the war, so I suggested my grandmother."
"Uh-huh." He sounded less than placated.
At last Finch raised his eyes to meet his. "Wwwwhat?"
"Oh nothing." Finch was definitely convinced that it was not "nothing" that was bothering him. "It's just that your grandmother lives upstate, doesn't she? Kind of a long way to drive."
"Yeah, so?" He shrugged casually. "I haven't seen her in a while. It'll be like killing two birds with one stone."
"Wait, wait, wait," he said, shaking his head. "I've never known you to do anything like this before. What's up?"
Finch rose from the chair indignantly. "Nothing is 'up'," he protested, cringing inwardly at the sound of his own voice cracking. "Maya needed help with her article, and I offered it. Okay? Just being nice."
"I'm sure." Elliott walked passed him and opened the door, sticking his head out. "Hey everybody! Finch is being nice!"
A cacophony of laughter issued from the office outside. Elliott closed the door again with a look of triumph, and Finch narrowed his eyes. "Complain all you want," he said, a smug smile forming on his lips, "but the poor ex-boyfriend has no say in what Maya does now. If she wants to spend the weekend with the Finch, there's nothing you can do to stop her." He glanced over at the unconscious form of the journalist. "Not even if she's... experiencing technical difficulties."
"Fine. You know what? Go ahead. Spend a whole weekend with only each other as company. Only one of you will come back alive, and my money's on Maya." The photographer smiled with false sympathy. "She can't stand you."
The breath suddenly caught in Finch's throat. For only a fraction of a second, his vision clouded, but an instant later all he felt was rage. "Get out," he whispered.
"No need to get angry." Elliott's tone was deceptively innocent. "I'm only telling the truth."
"I said get out."
"All right, all right," he said, raising his hands beseechingly as he walked out. He took a bite of the muffin. "Have fun on your trip," he called on his way out.
As soon as the door closed, Finch's thin, wiry form crumpled into the chair in front of Maya's desk, his head in his hands. He had expected Elliott to react negatively to the news. He had not, however, anticipated evoking such a cruel, biting remark from the photographer-- and so indifferently hurled at his defenses. It wasn't true. It couldn't be.
But what if it was?
A/N: Poor Finch! *sniff* I know, Elliott's not normally such a jerk, but he is in my story! It was necessary for the plot, and besides, he's not a jerk through the whole story. Just during his sudden bout of jealousy. ANYWAY, thanks for waiting for the next chapter to come up. You were so patient! I hope I'm not stretching Finch's character too far from his usual personality. Seems like I've made him a shade too touchy and emotional. Well, tell me what you thought, and if you want me to continue.
Ooh ooh! Before I forget, go here and see what I drew! Do iiiit...
http://www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php?id=83640
And I'd be very VERY happy if you left a review, because I want to know what you think. All right, ciao!
Wakizashi
tricksparrow@hotmail.com