FicWad

Pete sat down on the couch, chewing on his pancakes. Patrick was gone, and he was pissed. Meg was a great girl, and to a certain extent, he could understand Patrick's frustration. This was actually very typical of him, but then on the other hand, he could have gone about leaving in a totally different way. He always pulled shit like this, leaving Pete to clean up the mess. The amount of pain he tended to cause was never intentional but it was always the same; selfish. Pete scratched his head, and headed back into the kitchen. Mal was standing against the kitchen counter playing with her PDA. Pete quietly sat his plate in the sink, and grabbed a pancake off the plate of almost 20. Mal watched him, and noticed that his look was a look of discontent.

"Shitty pancakes?" She asked. He shook his head, grabbing her gently by the elbow, pulling her aside. He didn't particularly care to let the other members of their breakfast party hear about Patrick's fit. Who could blame him?


"No. Patrick left." Mal shrugged, glancing at Meg, then back at Pete.

"And..." Pete moved in closer. Mal noticed his proximity breech, and decided this was serious. "What the hell, Pete?"

"And, he left because of Meg." Mal made a face.

"What did Meg do?" Pete just shrugged, stuffing more pancake into his mouth. "And are there going to be pancakes for anyone other than you?" He shrugged again.

"Who gives a fuck about the pancakes? Point is, Patrick left because of Meg, and she didn't even do anything. She didn't have to. He freaks. People are talking shit about him and Meg's little meeting last night, and apparently, he's being turned into some romantic jackass, and he hates it, so he split." Mal just scoffed.

"What a piss-head. So he's scared?" Pete nodded.

"Like a little boy about to get kicked in the balls. It's totally a Patrick the piss-head thing to do. He hates romance. He told me he was leaving, and of course I wasn't pleased, but, I don't really ask questions. You make Patrick mad; you prepare to feel the rain. No one wants to feel the rain. I promise." Mal just scrunched up her nose, and looked over at Meg.

"Does she even know he left?" Pete shook his head.

"That's what I was hoping I could talk you into informing her of. So...how about it?" Mal shook her head, reach for her own pancake.

"No way. She might be my best friend, but if I tell her something she doesn't want to hear, if anyone tells her something she doesn't want to hear, for that matter, there's going to be a scene. I promise you. Patrick's rain is nothing like Meg's." Pete rolled his eyes.

"Great. You just made this whole informant thing sound really easy and not terrifying at all. Thanks." He flashed a sarcastic grin at her, and she shrugged, chewing a huge bite of pancake.

"This is your news. Not mine." He grimaced.

"Don't talk with your mouth full. It's sick." She opened her mouth as wide as she could and pointed over at Meg. He made a face and nodded.

"I know. I'm on it."

Pete made his way over to Meg, who was standing, hand on her hip, one foot resting on the other. He tapped her on the shoulder.

Meg looked up and smiled, grabbing the pen and writing on the marker board.

"Yes?" He pointed at his lips, and she wiped her note, leaving the board shiny and white, waiting for another message.


"You know that I appreciate these pancakes, and would never do anything to make you upset, because I'm eating your food and taking up your space, and basically invading your apartment." Meg looked over at Mal, eyebrows pointed down.

"What's going on?" She signed, and Mal closed her eyes, exhaling. She discreetly motioned for Meg to follow her down the hallway. Meg nodded, and gave the spatula to Katy, who began flipping billions of pancakes.


Mal lead Meg and Pete to the little office that was the home of Patrick and Meg's rendezvous the previous night, and shut the door. Meg looked at Mal, getting impatient.

"Seriously. What's going on? It can't be that big of a deal, unless someone is dead..." She paused, losing her confidence. "Is someone dead?" Mal shook her head quickly.


"No, no, no. No one is dead. It's just...Pete, has something to tell you." Meg was getting angry now.

"What the fuck, kids. Just say it. I'm tired of waiting." Mal looked at Pete.

"Tell her if you're going to tell her." Pete looked at her, then back at Meg, struggling to make the situation as serious as it wasn't.

"You're making me the bad guy?" Mal nodded, and Meg slapped her in the back of the head.

"What the fuck? Why did you do that?" She yelled, and then signed. Meg was beyond pissed now.

"Because no one is telling me what the fuck is going on, and it's going to end up being this huge build up, and incredibly anticlimactic, and you know how much I hate that, so if you could please, just inform me, and get on with the rest of our very happy, and drama-free lives..." Mal looked at Pete. He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and pointed at his lips. Meg nodded, signaling for him to go on.

"Patrick left, and he isn't coming back. He didn't say good bye. He didn't say thank you. He said you were turning him into a romantic jackass, and he walked out the door. That's all." Meg read, even though he was almost mumbling. Hell, yes, he was afraid of her rain.

She was turning him into a romantic jack ass? Oh, hell no. Meg looked over at Mal. Mal looked at Pete.

"Here it comes. Close your eyes." Pete did as he was told, and Meg unleashed the monster.


"I'm turning jackass into even more of a jackass? I don't think so. I invite him into my home. Feed him. Provide him with an umbrella so he doesn't have to get his ass kicked in the freezing rain. I give him a damn-fucking second chance even after he stood me up...AND, I kissed him on the nose? Are you kidding me? All I say to him is "I just want to hang out some more..." or something like that, and he's flipping out and saying that it's too much?" Mal just looked at her. What would you say, really? Meg looked at her feet.

"Why didn't you tell me I was such an overwhelming friend." Mal looked at her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Pete stood, having no clue as to what was happening.

"You're not, and you know better than to think you are. I think it would be beneficial to both you and Patrick if you found him and talked to him." Meg scoffed.

"Hell, no. I've known him for three days, and if in those three days, he misinterpreted my request for friendship as a request for his hand in marriage somehow, then I'm going to leave him be. It's really not worth it. It's been three days. My life hasn't changed. Apparently neither has his." Mal looked at her friend, and then did what she knew she had to.

She pushed her to the floor, stomach first. Mal then motioned for Pete to take a seat on her back. He laughed.


"No way. I'll kill her. Plus, I barely know her." Mal was getting mad.

"Pete, I'll throw your ass on the floor too. I'm not afraid. Either sit on her, or you're going to feel my rain." He raised an eyebrow, taking a seat on Meg's back.

"Really, Mal. I'm going to be perfectly honest and say that doesn't sound so bad." She flipped him off, and placed her self face-to-face with Meg, stomach-first as well. She propped herself up on her elbows, leaving her hands free to sign.

"Alright. You're where I want you, and you have no choice but to pay attention to what I say." Meg smiled, and closed her eyes. Mal slapped her, and she opened them quickly, making her dirtiest face at her friend.


"What made you go to Kennedy to get the note Patrick wrote the night he stood you up?" Meg looked away, thinking. She pulled her hands out from under her torso, preparing to answer. Mal shook her head.

"No. Talk to me." Mal didn't sign; she instead, spoke, leaving Meg to read her lips. Meg shook her head.

"No." She mouthed. Mal closed her eyes, and raised her hands to sign.

"Fine. We'll fight that battle later. Answer my question now, though. What made you go?" Meg rolled her eyes, sighing.

"I don't know. Regular human curiosity? That's it, I think. I wasn't pining for him after day one. I just wanted to know what the note said. I wanted to know why he didn't show. Yeah, curiosity is the only reason, really." Mal nodded.

"So you aren't curious now?" Meg ignored Mal, feeling the pain in her ribs begin to intensify. She took her fist, and swung behind her. Pete, who had been rubbing his hands together, staring at the wall in front of him, felt her fist make contact with his outer thigh.

"Ouch! What the fuck? Who did that?" He looked down at Meg. Mal laughed.

"What do you think? Me? The girl who isn't even close enough to spit on you?" Pete made a mock-hurt face.

"Why would you spit on me?" Mal laughed.

"I wouldn't. I was simply implying that it was pretty obvious that Meg punched your leg. I would say that's sign language for 'get off'." He rolled off of her, and Meg leaned against the wall, bringing her knees to her chest. Mal leaned her back against the wall opposite Meg, and did the same.

"Either you go, or I go. You pick." Meg signed a reply.

"How about neither one of us goes? How about we just stop caring? I think we should try those. It would be better for baby Patrick. Probably better for us too." Mal closed her eyes, letting her head fall. Pete noticed.

"What did she say?" Mal looked at him, letting her legs relax on the floor.

"This isn't going well, Pete. I'm trying to talk her into finding him and letting him know how she feels about his sudden disappearance, but I'm really just, failing. If I know Meg, and I'm pretty sure I do, this visit to Patrick probably isn't going to happen." Pete racked his brain for ideas. Then he remembered the millions of sign language manuals Patrick had bought. Just for Meg...

Just to talk to her. He looked over at Mal, smiling.

"What?" He looked at Meg, and pointed at his lips.

"Yesterday, Patrick came home from Border's with like, a thousand how-to books. Guess what their topic was." Meg just looked at Mal, and shrugged. Mal smiled.

"Is he, like, taking up carpentry, or something?" Pete flipped her off, and continued.

"They were Sign-Language how-to's. And Patrick was buried in them for hours yesterday. He is dying to communicate with Meg, and I promise you, once he puts his little hat-covered head to something, he finishes what he starts. He's going to see that he has all of this knowledge regarding how to talk to Meg, but no Meg to talk to." He looked directly at Meg. "Go find him. Go show him what a prick he is for leaving, when all you wanted from him was friendship. Seriously. If that's not a shitty thing to do, then I don't know what is, and Patrick needs to be put in his place." Meg looked at the fuzzy carpet her and Mal had installed two year prior.

Mal got up from her spot against the wall, and sat on her friend. Meg punched her back...repeatedly. Mal laughed and turned to her friend, speaking. Not signing.

"I'm not getting up until you agree to put your coat on, get one of your cute little umbrellas, and find him." Meg looked at the ceiling, then down at Mal.

"It's not raining." She signed. Mal shrugged.

"Take the umbrella for good luck." Meg thought about it, and exhaled loudly.

"Ok." Mal threw Her hands in the air, feeling completely victorious, and looked over at Pete.

"You're my fucking hero. How you talked her into that, I'll never know." He shrugged.

"I'm fucking sexy." Mal rolled her eyes.

"This is Meg we're talking about. That has nothing to do with it."





Meg placed her coat gently across her shoulders. Why was she doing this? What was this even going to accomplish. Why was this guy even worth it? She placed her scarf around her neck, grabbed her clear, plastic umbrella, and headed out the front door.


Mal looked at Pete, and smiled.

"Really, although your sexiness is totally not a factor here, I'm still going to thank you, because she would have been a high-strung bitch for weeks had you not convinced her to talk to him." Pete shrugged his signature shrug.

"Sure, the singer makes the ladies swoon, but really, it's the bass player that takes them home." She looked at him.

"Oh, god. You've got to be kidding me."





Patrick couldn't believe it. No matter how indignant he thought he was, his indignance still had his nose buried in books. The books that connected him to her. They were in three days deep for christ's sake, yet there he was. Reading furiously, moving his hands as the pictures instructed, linking himself to the girl that left him scared as a little lost boy. Ridiculous. He closed the book and leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. Yeah, it was a jackass thing to do, just leaving her like that, in the middle of preparing food for him. But he had to do what he had to do. His heart and hers could have been on the line, and guys like him really didn't have time for that. It was an entanglement that he wasn't willing to risk. Surely she could be a little understanding.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock, knock, knock on the wood paneling framing the door of the studio. He looked up.

"Meg." He said. She half-smiled and waved. He motioned her in, towards the direction of the chair directly across from him. Meg sat. She looked at the table in front of her. Pete hadn't been lying. Books. Seven. All manuals on how to sign. She smiled discreetly, and Patrick, for the first time, didn't catch it.

Meg pulled a pen and paper out of her bag, preparing herself for the conversation/madness that was about to take place. Patrick watched as she clicked the pen, and began to write. For a solid minute, she furiously scribed what she was thinking, feeling...hating. He was all of a sudden a little scared. She finished writing, and handed him the paper.


"I noticed you'd left earlier. I'd also noticed that there was no thank you or goodbye involved in your departure. If I said something to upset you, I'm sorry. Actually, that's impossible. If I did something that maybe offended you, again. I apologize. But I don't really know how that's possible considering my only actions against you this morning were kicking you out of the kitchen so I could make you food. I would say that whole confrontation was still pretty selfless on my behalf anyway. Pete says you always do this. I think that's a pretty half-ass quality. Not to mention selfish. I invite you into my fucking home and think I'm possibly building a friendship with this really cool guy, and all he can think about are his feelings and the way this could end up. Fuck you for that. Fuck you for leaving my house, and fuck you for thinking I wanted anything more than friendship from you. I've known you for three days. Three. And in three days, I'm logical enough to know that you can't decide how you're going to feel about someone. I wouldn't expect to. Ever. Fuck you for thinking I'm stupid, as well." He finished reading and looked up to her. She didn't look angry. She didn't really look anything. He knocked on the table to get her attention. She looked up, and he pointed at his lips.


"You don't know what the hell you're talking about Meg. I was being totally unreasonable. I was fucking clearing my schedule for some girl that I've known for three days. I don't have time for this. That's not logical. God knows it's not rational. What the fuck did you expect me to do? I have a huge responsibility to a lot of people and to throw that away for a girl I've known for three days...I don't know. I know we weren't there yet, but the way we talked. The way you kissed my nose...the way...the way everything you do makes me want to see everything you do. I had to leave today Meg. You've got to understand."


She read every word, despite how quickly and unintelligibly they were coming out of his mouth. She stared at him for a second, and then reached for the paper.

"I understand completely. I understand that you're a selfish, stupid coward. I wanted friendship, Patrick. I wanted someone who was willing to learn to talk to me. I saw that in you. I need that, Patrick, because besides Mal and 400 little kids, I really don't have anybody. I spend my days writing what I have to say instead of using my hands like they're supposed to be utilized by me. But I guess you just aren't that guy. I see now that you aren't that kind of friend, and it was ridiculous of me to ask so much. What the fuck ever. I'm going home." Patrick read, and when Meg noticed he'd finished, she stood to leave. Patrick quickly wadded up the piece of paper, throwing it at her.

Meg turned, and looked at him, sighing.

"W-h-a-t?"

He looked down, walking towards her. When he was only a foot away from her, Patrick pointed at his lips.

"You deserve so much more than I can ever offer you as a friend." She nodded, looking down. "But I'm asking you to try putting up with me anyway. I'm a selfish jerk. You've witnessed that already. I can be a total prick, and I'm not going to even try saying that won't ever be the case with you. If you feel like dealing with my idiocy, I'm asking for your forgiveness, and maybe a second chance." She smiled, and began to sign, but in that instance, she didn't feel like it. So she did what she never thought she'd do again.

"Third." She said. She spoke. Patrick smiled. It was perfect. She was perfect. "This is your third chance. But okay. Only if you can put up with what a bitch I am." He laughed. Her letters were misshapen and her "r"'s couldn't be understood, but it was music. It was Meg.

"I'm a sappy bitch." He said. She kissed his nose as she'd done the night previous, and hit the bill of his hat, pushing it down over his eyes. He adjusted his hat, and followed her out the door.